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psithurista · 2 years

Text

Stuck

pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, mentions of Steven Grant x F!Reader word count: 4.1k rating: Explicit 18+ warnings: Improper use of contact details in a workplace, brief mention of injuries, mentions of alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), protected PIV sex, brief overstimulation, some scratching. Anything I haven't flagged appropriately, please let me know x

an: My understanding of Marc and Steven's 'system' is that Marc is conscious of Steven's life, while Steven, as an alter, is not conscious of Marc's. This is an expansion of Marc's (maybe slightly selfish) attempts to assist with Steven's romantic life, based on the detail that Marc had apparently tried to set up a date for Steven without him realising. The reader is not aware of their disorder, and Marc doesn’t tell her, but she is aware that he is not Steven when she gives consent.

You stop by Steven's place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.

part two

Standing outside the door, you consider, once again, that you are not supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to work late tonight. You were supposed to leave with everyone else; get home early, get a good night’s sleep for once. You felt good about the decision—so good, in fact, you’d felt the tension melt away from your temples, leaving you free to sink comfortably into the embrace of the stack of didactic labels and exhibition programs spread in front of you.

It wasn’t until the clatter of a vacuum cleaner startled you back to reality that you’d finally looked up from your screen to find the entire office around you had faded to darkness; the rest of the archival team long gone.

In your frustrated subsequent rush to leave, you’d nearly missed it. Just barely managing to juggle your bag, your thermos and your keys, the little white rectangle on the floor leading out to the museum’s exit had looked like a piece of litter; nothing worth paying attention to. You couldn’t say what it was that had made you stop and clumsily crouch to pick it up.

It’s lucky you did. The black lanyard clipped to the top had been camouflaged by the carpet. Turning it over, you’d met the dark, sleepy-lidded gaze of Steven Grant. Of course. Out of every single staff member, he would be the person most likely to drop his ID card.

He’s also the person most likely to hold the door open for you, or stop and help pick up a folder full of dropped papers, or to dash out into the street to give you his umbrella—this being the most recent example, having only happened a few weeks before.

You’d developed something of a crush on him; drawn in by his sweet nature and earnestness—his animatedly bright love for the exhibits that of a first-time visitor, not a man who sees them day in and day out. And, secretly, you’d stifled more than one undignified snort at his cheesy jokes; though nobody else had seemed to find them funny.

You’d shoved it down, trying not to feel too wounded by the nervous, stunned way he’d waved before skirting around you in the halls at work, or stumbled over his words, hurrying off with his shoulders hunched after you’d wished him a good morning one day as you passed the gift shop. He didn’t seem to want to talk to you. And that’s fine. You’d left him alone, even as you still harboured your soft spot for him.

Sweet, absent-minded, gentle…and on his absolute final warning. You’d overheard as much just this morning when Donna was tearing him a new one for inexplicably missing an entire week’s worth of work, while he’d stammered some flimsy apology about being sick in bed.

You should just leave the ID card on the counter of the gift shop. He can pick it up in the morning. Never mind that Donna will probably be in earlier than he will, and find it first…and drag him over the coals again.

You’d stood there, deliberating, chewing your lip, remembering the way he’d looked that afternoon as you’d slipped silently into the break room to make a cup of tea. Slumped sleepily over the table; a library book in one hand, a falafel wrap in the other. Wearing colourful, mismatched socks; a dark, loose curl hanging across his forehead.

So, your second poorly-considered move of the night: breaching privacy policy. Well intentioned or not, you definitely weren’t supposed to access the staff directory to find his home address.

Now, outside the door, you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Looking down the street, you feel cold and nervous. Should you ring the buzzer again? Maybe it’s broken. Maybe he doesn’t even live here anymore. Maybe he’s moved and forgotten to update his records.

Then a click, and a quiet beep. Bewildered, you test the door to the building, and find it’s been unlocked.

Okay. You take a hesitant step forward, then pause. He’s inviting you up. Right? He unlocked the door; he must be inviting you up. The foyer is empty as you step inside, brutally self-conscious.

“Oh, God, Steven,” you mutter to yourself, shut safely in the lift. “Please don’t report me to HR for this.”

By the time the doors open on his floor, you’ve almost convinced yourself to turn around and head straight home. It’s sheer force of will that gets your feet moving, one in front of the other, until you’re at his door. You just need to slip the ID under the gap and leave him to it.

You kneel to do just this, when the door swings open. You’re face to face with a pair of knees, and your gaze travels upward, your face tilting.

He leans his weight comfortably to one side, his arm propped against the doorjamb, a faint smile playing around his lips as he looks down at you. You swallow.

He looks…hot. There’s no other word for it. You can’t tell what’s changed, exactly…he looks no less exhausted, but he seems to be wearing it remarkably well. The shadows underneath his heavily-lidded eyes accentuate their darkness; their depth.

Gone is the hideously baggy jacket he was wearing at work, as is the novelty-print button down. Instead, a dark, form-fitting shirt stretches tight across his chest, pushed up to bare his toned forearms.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You open your mouth, close it again. You hurriedly stand, awkwardly straightening your skirt back down over your thighs. “Um. Hi, sorry, I wasn’t going to disturb you.”

He grins; a flash of white. “You’re not disturbing me.”

You blink, confused. His voice sounds…off. Is he making fun of you? Is that an accent? He’s still considering you, his expression open and vaguely amused. You can’t remember why you’re here. Has he always had such high cheekbones?

“Would you like a drink?”

You stare at him, stupidly. “Huh?”

He tilts his chin, gesturing back into the flat behind him, but his eyes don’t leave your face. “I was about to make a drink. You want to join me?”

This is not the response you’d expected. You swallow again, feeling a little hot. “I. Um. Sure.”

He steps aside to let you in. His flat is dim and cluttered; books and decor piled haphazardly on every surface. It’s not an entirely unpleasant overall effect, you consider, peering around. The warm lamplight makes it feel cosy; almost like a tiny jazz bar.

You plonk your bag on top of a leather-bound collection of translated poetry, digging through it. “I have your ID card. You dropped it. And I thought…well, I didn’t want you to get in trouble again. You don’t deserve the way Donna speaks to you.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you,” he says, distractedly. “Just leave it anywhere.”

You drape the lanyard over the back of a chair, and wander off to snoop at his profusion of stuff.

“Old-fashioned? Or G&T?” he says, the top of his curls sticking out from the open door of a low cabinet, half-tucked behind a bookcase.

You turn away from the glowing fish tank in front of you, something tickling in the back of your mind. You step toward him, frowning. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

He stands, and places two glasses on top of the counter. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you said you didn’t. At the Christmas party.”

He nods to himself, as though he’d forgotten, turning and leaning against the counter. You creep another step closer, your eyes narrowed. He’s looking at you with a directness you find slightly disconcerting. You can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the bow of his top lip. His posture, his voice…

He’s not just hot. He’s gorgeous. Exuding confidence. Some shift in his body language; a certain quirk of an eyebrow here, the timbre of his voice there…it’s difficult to believe this is the same guy you once busted crying over a dog video in the break room. He’d denied it, of course, scrubbing his hands over his face, but you’d been able to tell. Even the way he blinks is different; slower, easier, calmer.

It hits you like a freight train. “Holy shit,” you breathe. Somehow…impossibly…this isn’t Steven at all. “Who are you?”

His lips are pressed together thoughtfully, still slightly lifted into an easy little smile. As he speaks, he leans in, tucking a loose wisp of your hair behind your ear. “You can call me whatever you want, beautiful.”

You’re utterly thrown off. “Oh. Thank you. Um. You’re…beautiful too.” You laugh, nervously, swaying toward him. Internally, you cringe. What are you saying? Heat muddles your head; creeps out to the tips of your toes and fingers. You wet your lower lip with your tongue, still staring helplessly at his mouth. “But I don’t understand. Are you…his brother?” I don’t care, you think, dizzy. He called you beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” he says, his face close to yours.

You feel like your insides are liquefying. “Okay,” you breathe, your voice embarrassingly weak, “so expla—”

His lips meet yours, and you let out a strange little squeaking noise. He kisses firmly, almost with an insistence, but it’s slow. His lips coaxing yours apart, the heat of his breath, his tongue, softening your entire body.

Your knees wobble worryingly, and he smooths his hand down your back, holding you against him as you bend weakly in his arms. He walks you backward, across the flat, humming a low note of amusement into your open mouth as you stumble over the lip of a rug.

When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, you drop gracelessly onto your ass, panting up at him. “Is this…are we really doing this?” you manage, your face hot.

The extent of your secret daydreams had seen you cosying up with Steven on a cool afternoon, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was reading, or curling your fingers around his underneath the table at that cute vegan bakery down the road from your place, oat lattes in front of each of you. You never got quite this far.

He leans over you, tilting his head, brushing his lips across your jaw. “That’s up to you.”

Your heart is thrumming in your throat, and you reach for him, wanting to feel him under your fingers. He feels solid enough. Okay. “Okay.” You nod, biting your lip, spreading your knees as far as your tight work skirt will allow.

He lowers himself to his knees, catching first one foot in his hand, then the other, coolly easing off your shoes and dropping them to the floor with a pair of low clacks.

You gawp down at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide. But he just continues smiling privately to himself, coasting his hands up the outsides of your thighs, shucking your skirt up, finding the edges of your underwear.

“Do you…want me to help?” you gasp, feeling awkward, unsure whether you should stand up to let him slide them off. He doesn’t answer, lifting your ass in his palms, rolling your underwear off in a fluid, practised movement.

He knows what he’s doing. Clearly. You don’t need to help him out. You didn’t think it was possible to feel any hotter, but with this realisation, you’re suddenly on fire. Your skin prickles; leaving you feeling slick and overly sensitive.

His nose brushes the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs apart. “Oh my God,” you hear yourself say, flopping onto your back. Warm breath fans over your skin, and then his lips; dragging lightly, the feel of his tongue pressing gently into the soft give of your leg.

As he works higher, your breaths grow shorter. He’s barely even started yet, and he has you shifting your legs, squirming into the bed. His hands gently encircle your knees, holding them apart, and you hear the quietly wet glisten as he spreads you open. You make an undignified little choking sound. “Doing alright up there?” he drawls, his strange accent resonant.

The sound of his voice alone has you squeezing your cunt in anticipation. “Um, yeah. Doing…doing well. Thank you. How about you?” You wrinkle your nose, staring up into the shadowy beams of the ceiling, wishing they’d come tumbling down to crush you. He’s too smooth. You’re embarrassing yourself. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I’m good.” Then his nose meets your cunt, and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

He closes his lips around your clit, his mouth hot and close. His tongue rolls against you, steady and skilful, and you rock your hips unconsciously up to chase his movement, bumping into his nose.

This feels nothing like the clumsy, half-hearted efforts you’ve experienced in the past. This is masterful; attentive, glorious. Better than your own fingers. Better than your vibrator. You’re already seeing stars.

He grips your thighs, pinning you in place while you whimper and gasp. You can feel his jaw working as he drags each little sound out of you; every movement unhurried but deliberate. You crane your neck down to watch; his thick curls tickling at your sensitive inner thighs.

You jolt as you meet his gaze. While the entire lower half of his face is pressed between your legs, you find his attention still fixed to your face; his eyes inscrutable. You have the crazed, ridiculous urge to wave down at him, even as your legs begin to shake and cramp with the tension of holding still. It would be such a Steven move, you think.

He works firmer, and you choke out a tiny curse, grasping fistfuls of the sheets. It might be because your thoughts have drifted, but it’s at that moment you notice the tiny scar just above his left eyebrow. You know exactly where he got it: walking dozily into the edge of a packing crate down in the collection stores. You remember it vividly. You’d even had to write up the incident report for it while he’d dug a bandaid out of the first-aid kit at the security desk.

So…he is? But he isn’t, he can’t be. You’re so confused. You’re too far gone to figure it out.

The pleasure is winding tighter, and your leg jerks alarmingly in his grip as your abdominal muscles tense to the point of breathlessness. Your head swims from lack of air, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath, sucking in a frantic lungful just as time stops around you.

You cry out wordlessly as you come, suspended in the moment, arching up off the bed even as he calmly pins you in place.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…” You don’t even realise you’re saying anything until he’s climbing up over you onto the bed, grinning again, pressing his finger to your lips.

“I know, I know. Shh,” he says, his humour palpable. You can’t seem to get enough air in, and you shake your head at him, your eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” you finish, breathless.

He traces the outline of your breasts through your work shirt, still buttoned to the top. “You want to keep goi—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, already reaching down to yank your shirt from where it’s tucked in under your rumpled skirt. “Yes, keep going, Ste—whoever you are.”

He shifts your hands away, opening your shirt far faster and with more dexterity than you would’ve managed. One-handed, he pulls his own shirt over his head, and you stare at the lean muscle of his torso; scarred and toned and beautiful.

The thought of Steven caring enough to cultivate a body like this seems laughable. His chest muscles flex as he kicks his pants down. So, this is your answer. Your heart lurches uncomfortably. This feels like a betrayal, despite the fact that there’s nothing going on between you and Steven.

And yet, the man now tossing your bra over the side of the bed looks so much like him. You dart a not-very-subtle glance down, and see his cock is hard, flushed, thick. Beautiful. Awestruck and filled with renewed heat, you trace the edge of his bicep with your fingertip. “Do…do you think it’s okay? Doing this? In his bed?”

He shrugs. “Well. Technically, it’s my bed.” He places a strange, ironic emphasis on ‘my’, then stretches up to reach toward the nightstand.

Nothing is awkward about him. Even ripping open the condom, rolling it over the length of his cock, shifting his weight onto his knees over you. Every movement fluid, easy; like that of a man who trusts his body implicitly. It’s unsettling, but it’s unbearably sexy.

He gently cups your face, his thumb stroking across your lower lip. “Still good?”

You nod, and he tilts his hips forward, and you exhale breathily as he slowly eases you open.

“That feels…oh,” you groan, dazed. He sinks deeper, angling himself downward, and you could swear your eyes roll back.

He’s nodding slowly, gently easing himself back before sinking back in, deeper than before. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. God, you’re pretty. No wonder he likes you so much.”

You don’t have time to figure that out before he’s rocking into you again, more smoothly this time. He cups your breast, groaning quietly, and you let your head tilt limply back as he begins to set a steady, beautiful rhythm.

Your bones feel like melted caramel; thick and syrupy and warm. He feels perfect inside you; the ridge around the head of his cock stroking at your g-spot, even through the layer of latex.

Your grasping hands are curling and uncurling in the covers, when you find the edge of what feels like a bicycle chain lock with a buckle at the end. You turn your head to the side to squint at it, shaking it free and finding the other end affixed to the column at the foot of the bed. You blink at it. “Is this…?”

“You should probably ignore that,” he murmurs, covering your lips with his own. He tastes of you, tangy and slippery. You moan weakly into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, reaching up to feel the softness of his hair. The bed thuds hollowly against the bookcase behind it with the force of his movements inside you.

He stays deep. Barely withdrawing; grinding himself inside you. You aren’t sure whether it feels any good for him. But God, it feels good for you. He noses along your jaw, his lips at your neck, gathering your limp body up into his arms to hold you close.

You’d like to be more engaged. Pull your weight a little. Make him feel as incredible as he’s making you feel. But you’re too pleasure-drunk; floppy and lazy and warm underneath the weight of him. The best you can manage is a lifting of your hips to meet his, and he pauses, letting you clumsily work out your own disjointed rhythm. “Can I…? I’d like to…” you trail off, unsure what you’re even asking for.

But he seems to understand all the same. He shifts to the side, gripping your hips and taking you with him as he turns onto his back, until you’re straddling his waist, his cock seated deep inside you.

It’s immediately even better. You gasp down at him, and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, a faint sheen on his forehead. “S’this what you wanted?” he murmurs.

You nod, encouraged, and lift your weight onto your knees before sinking yourself down onto his length. This time, he’s the one who groans. It travels straight to your cunt, and you clench around him, the feeling exquisite.

“Careful with that,” he breathes, his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You’ll make me…oh, fuck—”

You hadn’t meant to do it again, but it’s hard to control yourself. Everything feels incredible. Grinding yourself down onto him, sheathed all the way to the base, where his neatly trimmed dark curls are already stuck damp to his skin with a combination of sweat and your arousal.

You rock your weight back and forth just a little faster; the movement catching at your breath, and your head drops limply forward as you brace your hands onto his chest.

There’s too much blood pounding in your brain. You feel dizzy and desperate, riding down harder, your inner thighs tensing with the movement. You feel as though you’ve been there for hours, but it hardly matters; it’s good, you think, the softness of your breasts rippling upwards with each bounce, it’s so good, so good…

Too soon, you can feel yourself reaching a renewed peak and, needy with the sensation, you chase it down, your legs cramping with your sustained effort. You can feel yourself growing weaker; trembling with exertion and overwhelming pleasure.

You feel as though you’re racing your own stamina toward your release, whimpering brokenly, grinding yourself down. It’s an awful thought; you’re desperate to continue, but your movements are losing their rhythm; too weak to continue. You can’t bear to stop, but you have no choice.

He doesn’t let you.

Seizing the softness of your ass in both hands, he drags you back and forth against him, forcing you to keep riding, even after you’re too weak to move yourself. You could be a toy in his hands as he pulls you onto his cock; thrusting up into you, gritting out something obscene as his cock twitches inside you.

You can tell he’s growing close, and the thought is enough to nearly push you over your own edge again. He fucks you harder now; your head rocking back on your shoulders, and your cries are softer, more breathless as your entire body tenses.

Your orgasm crashes over you, near-violent, and instead of slowing, he speeds up, forcing you toward immediate overstimulation as his hips smack up against your slick skin. You mindlessly sink your nails into his chest, hard enough to break the skin.

His brows draw together and he hisses, long and harsh, and you’re worried you’ve hurt him, but then he curses, his hips stuttering as he empties himself into the thin layer of latex separating you.

Panting, you unpeel yourself from his hot skin, slumping onto your side on the bed. He reaches over, mindlessly stroking his hand along the length of your side, down to the swell of your hip.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say, your attention caught on the way his hair sticks in ringlets around his ears. “I’ve never done that before. Jumped into bed with someone I’ve only just met.”

“Mmm,” he returns, his palm gentle on your skin, dark eyes lazily half-lidded. “Have we? Only just met, I mean?”

You frown at him, bewildered. You don’t know how to answer that.

When you stand, your bare feet hit the cool wood floor at the foot of the bed; weirdly grainy, as though in need of a thorough clean. You shake out your bra before you put it back on, sand skittering out of the cups. He stays reclined, watching as you straighten your skirt and tuck your now-wrinkled shirt back in.

He slips out of the bed behind you, stepping back into his pants, leaving his chest bare. As he walks you to the door, you realise your nails have left painful-looking little crescent moon-shaped cuts in his skin. They’ll probably fade after a few days, you tell yourself, but you feel slightly guilty all the same.

You need the loo, but you’re too shy to ask. You itch to get home and mentally sort through the events of the night. As though in a dream, you turn to leave without saying goodbye. But he catches your elbow, pausing you just outside the door. “He doesn’t know how to show you, or tell you. But he likes you. A lot. Give him a chance.”

It should be a wildly strange thing for him to say, considering what you’ve just done together, but in the context of the entire nights’ disjointed, unreal sense of overall strangeness, you know precisely what he means. Your heart swells in your chest, and you nod, shy, a tiny smile lifting your lips.

“I’ll, um. See you around,” you tell him, not knowing if that’s true.

You wait until you’re back in the lift before you slip your shoes off to shake out the loose grains of sand still stuck to the bottom of your feet.

#marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #marc spector smut #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant imagine #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight smut #moon knight imagine #moon knight fanfic #marc spector fanfic

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mochikeiji · 3 years

Text

Exact Replica

Request: "Hi! I really love you're writing and was wondering if you could do prompt 25+29 for Kuroo Tetsuro from Haikyuu? And could it be angst to fluff? (Maybe Kuroo was ignoring the reader due to lots of work/stress so reader feels neglected?) It's totally up to you tho! Ty so much!!"

25. "Would you notice if I was gone?"

29. "I didn't mean it."

↠ Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and kuroo's sad childhood

↬ Word Count: 3.7k

↠ a/n: okay this is my longest one yet. I swear the prompt screams angst to fluff so much that I go into it.

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Kuroo Tetsuro achieved many great things in life after graduating from his university, with multiple acknowledgements and honors. Landed a position as a young CEO from a sports association at the age of 24, he had enough money in his pocket and bank to stable both of you financially. Life was good to him after having to build from the roots of his ruined childhood; the only years of defeat Kuroo doesn't ever want to repeat. His father and mother were in the same position as you both are; owning your own shared house, good working environment, investments and stability, married.

Up until this day Kuroo questions why his parents split. They were fortunate that they had every thing completed, sadly it was the family and love that wasn't taken care of. You could be the happiest person, yet the void inside would still be there, Kuroo thought. Foolish people were to neglect something more valuable than any object that is given. Whether it was his father or his mother that stopped nurturing what they both bonded for the longest time, they were both fools to let each other go over something simple. He vows to never let history repeat itself.

But now the tables seemed to have flipped for the both of you. Your lives not far from what he had ran away from. If Kuroo could eat his words back, he would've now that he was running late yet again to coming home, forgetting about the promise he swore to about joining you after a full month of being occupied in his office. Coming home to have you already tucked in bed, but suffering in silence.

Most days he didn't bother greeting you in the morning and night. As a good wife, you understand. He was a busy man with an important position to maintain.

There were times where you'd be tapping your foot down on the floor as the clock strikes at an ungodly hour with your messages still not bothered to be replied to or even read. But you understand. He's working! Always doing what he can for the both of you like the good husband he wanted to be.

Even if sometimes he'd come home without a kiss or a simple, "I missed you." you understand. He's drained. No time for silly, endearing affections. You've done them a lot before back when you were younger. You're adults! Married! A married partner shouldn't be feeling so needy when the other was only doing their part.

Even when sometimes your insecurities would kick in whenever you'd visit your husband to drop his forgotten lunch again, only to see him flocked by different women; probably secretaries, interns, and assistance.

You understand. You always did took such good care of what you two have.

Well had.

His home office door slams shut, awakening you from your nap on the couch. Didn't Kuroo notice you when he walked in? Looking at the clock you noticed it was near 11:30 PM since he's arrived. Late again, maybe he hasn't eaten anything? No worries, you thought sadly. Stretching your aching muscles, you made your way to the dining area. So far dinner was left untouched once more. Just how many times has it gone to waste because you continued on cooking for two?

Or rather, three.

You beam at the sudden reminder while preparing your husband's plate. You'd always miss him whenever he'd come home, never had the chance to surprise him at the right time of your little discovery about a week ago. Fear did struck you because of the possible reactions he'd give, but you were so excited in sharing the news that a couple would share the equal happiness from, you couldn't contain it any longer.

Maybe you should've chosen another time unbeknownst to you how your husband was hunched over his desk, clearly in displease of the previous events that had occurred during the meeting back in his office. Hence why his work stack added more piles of predicaments, only fueling his headaches more wishing he could just lay down peace and quiet without disturbance.

He grumbles at the knock on his door, only typing furiously with emphasized taps on the keyboard. You, not sensing the emitting aura from the room took it as a response for you to enter. It surprised you a bit on how disordered his home office had become. It was obvious his coat had been thrown carelessly as it lays on the floor, wrinkled. Carefully placing the plate full of food on the small coffee table at the side, you gingerly picked up the article of clothing. Lightly trying to smoothen out the lines before hanging it behind his door and turning back to your husband.

"Tetsu?" cautiously calling out his name, you were kind of wary at the fact he didn't turn to see you unlike he does before whenever you'd enter the room. "I brought you your dinner. You came home pretty late." you tried to maintain the light hearted tone of your voice to hide how nervous you were in telling him the big news.

The atmosphere was kind of eerie when all he did was hum meekly from your words. Feeling a bit disheartened from his lack of attentiveness, still forcing a smile, you padded a little closer behind him with your hands clasps together. "I also wanted— well needed to tell you something." averting your eyes away from him as you prepared in your head. With a small hope he'd turn around for once after a long time.

"Can it be another time? I'm in the middle of stuff here."

Another time.

Why is it always next time? It's frustrating enough to not see him or have him speak to you even for a moment, but this made your stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Frowning at his poor reply, you gulped a few of your sentence back. Not fully trusting your emotions getting in the way, "You never really talked to me before, Tetsu.. I get that you're busy, but it wouldn't hurt for you to give a little minute for me."

Even just a second as long as he'd finally notice you.

"(Y/n) if you understand then why bother? You can clearly see I'm busy." chest huffing out a harsh sigh, still not bothering to turn around. Gripping your hands tightly, your patience were starting to snap. "You're always busy, Tetsu! I never had a proper conversation with you again." raising the volume of your voice a little made his actions come to a halt. Chair revolving around to face you. His appearance made it obvious how exhausted he has been; tousled hair that he usually takes longer to style, the light forming bags underneath his eyes from the screen and lack of sleep. The visible annoyance marked in his expression. But couldn't he say the same for you?

"Fine. Here, you have my attention now. Are we talking properly now?" his way of provoking you wasn't in the right place. It only made you look at him in disbelief because you've grown to never meet such side of your husband before. The news you had originally planned to share vanished from your head, replaced with the restrained emotions that has been building up inside your heart, tipping over.

"Tetsu, what is wrong with you?" looking at him now seemed like you were talking to someone else. His words were curt and short with no intention of prolonging the conversation, itching to get back to work so he could be done with it. "I already you I'm just busy. I would be done by now if you didn't want to talk properly with me." he says as if he's the one in distraught. "Seriously, nothing's wrong but I think you aren't. You're never like this."

"That's because you never cared to noticed in the first place!" wailing out the collapsed emotions that has weighed you heavily. It was too late to stop yourself from voicing out the things your husband left aside. A full month of being a good, understanding image of a wife thrown away to the rubbles without even appreciating the the long nights of you waiting up for him, cooking meals even though the next day they'd end up being in the trash, tolerating the coldness of the used to be warm sheets, putting up with the insecurities you took upon yourself to hide to avoid troubling your husband further when all you wanted was for him to assure you that he still loves you and only you.

The fascade you put up just for him crumbles. And it infuriates you more of how he still doesn't notice.

"(Y/n), you know I've been working! There's so much stuff that needs to be attended for just so you and I could live normally!"

"Tetsuro, we are stabled, it's okay to slow down a bit. How is this any normal to you when you don't even realize how this affects me?!"

The chair slides back roughly against the floor with a loud creak as he towers over you. Glowering eyes with a dark expression looming over his face, clearly now enraged. "You're being selfish right now. I'm here doing what I can to support us and all you could think of was you, you, you. Can't you see I'm doing this for you as well? God what else do you want from me, the world?"

"I only wanted you to give me your time and attention even just for a second, Tetsuro! I've been doing my best for you all this month and I never said anything to trouble you!"

It hurts when he said how you were being the selfish one when it was the opposite. It dawned to you that all those days of giving your all for him wasn't once noticed. "Will you ever grow up already? Attention? Really? We're adults, (Y/n) not teenagers for fucks sake. My time is just wasted because of you!" he doesn't stop there even if you've had your mouth already shut from how he portrayed you as. His words were beginning to leave a deep scar in you as you quiet down to the next line.

"If you think that nothing is troubling me, there is! And you just happen to add in for crying out loud!"

There were no words exchanged after his meltdown. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks away from you— who's eyes were already watery. Unable to even tell your side anymore at the ache of your heart. "So..I'm just troubling you then?" quivering out your words, Kuroo clenches his jaw as the bubbling frustration was being held back with the last bit of restrain he had.

"Would you notice if I was gone, Tetsu?"

Instead of being alarmed by your chosen form of sentence, you watched with sad eyes as your husband pulled back his chair and faced his workload. He didn't even noticed you're already crying silently, "Not now, (Y/n). We'll talk later."

He doesn't even noticed how you walked out sobbing with a shattered heart nor the door in the living room closing. Leaving him alone for the next few hours in peace like he wanted.

Time went on quickly when one doesn't take their eyes off from their consecutive workaholic state. With a groan, he almost slams his laptop shut before stretching his bones, slowly relaxing the tense muscles. It's up to his co workers and assistance to deal with the load he's prepared to dump onto them after they threw all theirs to him. Hoping to freshen up his face, Kuroo tidies his desk up before making his way to the door. Stopping in realization of the now cold dinner that was left on the coffee table.

His stomach growled loudly at the lack of food it's digested in the longest run. It was still good if he heats it up, he does miss eating home made meals than his stale ones back in the cafeteria of his workplace. Grabbing the plate carefully he first made a short journey to the kitchen to heat up his food. Unusual it was to have all the lights out in the house. You'd always leave some opened when he was awake. Then again the guilt started to crawl up to his chest knowing he's the cause of why you'd forgotten.

Now entering the bathroom with water running down his face, he plans ahead the apology he owes you when he wakes up tomorrow morning. He could reschedule his own time since he is the boss. He closes the faucet right after he was done rinsing. Looking around for the towel his eyes caught something below the small organizer you put up next to the sink. Grabbing the towel above the first part of the organizer, bending down slowly to avoid getting cramps, his actions were quick to grab the object that caught his attention the moment it seemed so familiar and surprising.

Pregnancy test. Two lines for positive.

Having a child with you was the last thing he's yet to accomplish from his list, and here it was. As much as he wanted to be in denial, it all felt like surge of contentment drowns him in because he was going to be a dad. However his body began to tremble whilst still holding the test and staring intently at it. The previous guilt that was crawling beneath his bones became a dark, desolated hole of anxiety and fear that ate him whole. The things he's said and done will never be taken back no matter how he apologizes to the past events a few hours ago.

Hours ago. It was already 2:25 when the fight had ceased. Deep down he knows he couldn't wait until the next day to plead for forgiveness. After all, he did vow to never leave you both a day feeling heavy alone. Kuroo felt nauseous of how much of an asshole he had treated you. Like starting a game of volleyball once more, he was beyond nervous when he approached your shared bedroom. There was no excuse of his actions indeed as he solemnly enters the dimmed room. He sighs a little shaky when he closes in your bed, "Baby?" he starts, "Baby, are you awake?" it was one of the little things he's memorized that you'd do when you both aren't in good terms. You never really slept, just pretended because you always had the heart to wait up for him.

When he gets no response he reaches out to pat you, only coming to the sense that the sheets were left untouched; no warmth traced behind. You weren't there, any where. His blood runs cold and immediately fishes out for his phone in his pocket, speed dialing your number while he circles the entire area of the house in case you'd be there. Now he was more terrified when he hears the familiar voice mail from the living room couch where you had slept while waiting for him.

You left your phone. His wife wasn't home— his pregnant wife.

"Fuck." running a rough hand through his tangled hair. The lump on his throat grows but he refuses to let out a string of sobs. It was his fault you were gone at such an ungodly hour. Kuroo felt more than a bigger asshole than before he's made you come to the point of leaving home. Just as his mother did and never returned. The one thing he swore you two would never be the same came to life, only thought now is Kuroo doesn't know whether you've left him for good after being a neglectful husband and to have dishearten his own beloved wife like that.

"Would you notice if I was gone?"

Rang in his head as he stood outside the neighborhood, running. Chasing after a hallucinated image of you any place he tried to remember you'd be in. A fool he has been to have left you in a loveless marriage. He loves you, he really does. He can't imagine a life without you in it. Just as it was about to become the happiest he's wanted, he pushed it all too soon. A bad husband, he cries. "(Y/n), please come home." legs aching and panting from having to study all areas. It was pitch black; there were no opened spots for you to even go at an hour of slumber and chaos. The only convenient store did not even have you in it. You were no where to be seen and Kuroo breaks.

Of course he'd notice when it was all too late. The past he's ran away from was still the place he's returned now that the house was only occupied by nothing but rotten memories of the love he didn't took care of. The exact replica of a married life he desperately tried to dodge. "I'm so sorry." for the lonely nights he's left you to sleep, over thinking of what may have been your fault and always figuring him out tirelessly. For the small efforts of adoration he didn't took a glance at and gone to waste. For the words that were never even meant for you to ever feel. For being a neglectful husband. He was sorry he noticed too late how he ruined his precious wife.

Now he's left you on your own out in the dangers outside. If anything horrible happened to you he will forever be crushed. But the world thinks that second chances are given to those who truly deserve them after you came in quietly, slipping off your sandals and waving back to your friend who had dropped you off home. Your short break to the convenient store changed when you met up with her and drove back to her place to rant about what happened. Being the sluggish person you are whenever sadness hits, you never noticed how long you've over stayed. It wasn't like your husband was going to know if he still was working.

Much to your surprise that he wasn't, you stifled a gasp to find him with his hands holding his head that was leaned down on the table. His shoulders were lightly jolting with escapes of audible sniffles, indicating that he was in fact crying. If he looked exhausted before, it wasn't enough to describe his current state; as if he was a man who'd lost every thing as he sat there with all hope lost. Your foot padded on the creaky part of the floor in attempt to tiptoe over his hunched back to comfort him. Squeaking in the awkward situation you've put the room in when Kuroo turns his head behind to see you standing there a bit frightened, but concerned when you saw how disheveled his face looks.

"Tetsu—" his name got cut off short from when you almost tripped over your balance at the sudden impact of Kuroo throwing himself into your arms with his weight. You couldn't make out what he was mumbling on about, but you melt to his embrace even if he squeezes the living day lights from you, afraid that he was going crazy and you weren't real. "Thank God," litters of kisses were placed on your clavicle, "You're back."

He repeats, slowly convincing himself that you are indeed home in his arms, safe, no harm detected. Just home. "I'm so sorry.."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of what I said, I-I'm so sorry." your bodies swayed gently to the sound of your hushes and his cries of apologies. "Please don't leave me like that again. I was so scared."

"Shhh, it's okay, Tetsu. I'm sorry. I'm okay— we're okay." leading him to sit down at the couch, you placed the bag of different brands of sweets and junk on the table before facing your husband. You had to stifle in a laugh watching him wipe his nose, you couldn't help but be reminded of a mini Tetsuro by looking at him. The argument that stung you faded when he took a hold of your hands and mumbled another apology.

"You shouldn't be sorry for anything. I should be.." flickering his eyes from your belly to your bloodshot eyes from your own fiasco back in your friend's place, he slides in closer next to you where your shoulders touched. "I haven't been a good husband lately, have I?" he looks at you expectantly. Frowning, you still nodded. Tired of hiding your own feelings from him.

"I know you're busy most of the time, Tetsu. But I just wanted you to recognize me as your wife." thumbs quick to swipe away the tear that had shed from your eye, "We're in this together, remember?" he pulls you right from the arm, shoving your face to his chest in need to hold you for all the times he should've. Ignoring the dampness of his white long-sleeved polo, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. You were still so forgiving and understanding despite on how equally tired as he was you are.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I never cared anymore. You never deserved that." his lips found it's way to the crown of your head. "I don't deserve you, and I really don't want to lose you after me being stupid." giggling through tears, fist connecting a soft punch on his chest, bubbling a chuckle to the surface as he lightly pulls you away from hiding.

"I really didn't mean all of those things I've said, baby. I love you and only you." stroking ever so lovingly your cheek, you don't catch on to the fact that his other hand was placed over your stomach protectively. Making a silent promise to not only you, but the soon to be new addition to the family that he will never again neglect what he should've cherished more and looked after than the constant worries at the back of his head.

Because he will never again repeat the replica of a broken family he once was born in.

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x (y/n)#kuroo testuro #kuroo angst #kuroo fluff #hq kuroo #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #raines: gogatsu event

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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

Text

You Aren’t Somebody? (Bucky x Reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2647

Summary: Bucky knows that the reader has struggled with an eating disorder before, but thought they were doing better. Little does he know, they had just gotten better at hiding it. Until one night, he catches her doing something she had promised she had stopped

Warnings: eating disorder, purging, angst, fluff

Tags @abitgryffindorky @buckys2thicc @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @barnesplums @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @thundering-barnes

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s finals week and I am running on energy drinks, reading fanfiction, and longgggg hot showers. But the semester is almost over, and then I have no obligations aside from my hobbies. I see the requests and I’m working on them I promise! I have a list of all the requests that I get, and I am working through them I PROMISE!!! Thank you all for all of your support.

A/N 2: This deals with heavy and dark themes of mental illness. The specific warnings are above. If you feel that in any way reading this will be harmful to your mental health and your journey, PLEASE skip it. I write from my own experience and I know what I would’ve wanted to hear in these situations, and writing/reading fics helps me feel comforted. This fic is based on one experience more specifically than most of my fics, so I apologize if it’s not exactly the same as your experience. This is what I would’ve wanted to hear. If you need or want someone to talk to, vent to, or get advice from, feel free to message me, really. I’m here! <3

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Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his.

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky.”

He looked you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red, voice raspy. He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

“You promised.”

You closed your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you had promised. But that was because you never thought you’d see the day when you were purging again. You thought you had gotten over it. You really thought that this time you wouldn’t slip up.

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

You had been struggling with an eating disorder for a while. The cause, you weren’t quite sure. An innocent diet soon turned into a competition for yourself, but the end goal was never there. At first you had thought it was just about the weight and how you looked, but then you found that some of your behavior patterns were tied to your emotional ones.

Stress was the major trigger, you had come to learn.

Whether it was a mission gone wrong, you getting injured, someone else getting injured, or even just basic social interactions you thought could’ve gone better, you found yourself inclined to comfort yourself with food.

Until you panicked, which would lead you to the bathroom with music blaring and water running to cover up the noises of your retching.

You hated it, and every time you told yourself it was the last time. But the more you did it, the more you felt the urge to do it. At first it was triggered by large stressors, but now smaller things could trigger you to want to throw up. You tried to keep it hidden, unaware of the true reasons for why you did it. You were able to help yourself sometimes, it wasn’t worth bringing anyone else into.

You couldn’t explain it to yourself, so how were you supposed to explain it to anybody?

The best way that you had figured out how to describe it was that whenever you felt a negative emotion, you could soothe it in a physical way with food, especially with all the warm comfort foods that are known. But at the same time, that feeling lasted as long as you could taste, and you would feel guilty as you felt full. When you threw up, it felt like you were also throwing up the negative emotions.

But when you said it out loud, it didn’t make sense. When people are sick and throwing up it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. Inducing it hurts sometimes, but it’s almost not as bad. Like you know it’s coming, and you’re in control of what’s happening and you could stop at any point. And there had been times where you could soothe yourself in other ways, and you knew your own physical limits. You knew when you had to stop for your own health.

Until you couldn’t stop.

Which is what led to you fainting on a mission after purging too much. Your electrolytes had bottomed out and you almost had a heart attack at an age no one should. Bucky, your boyfriend who was on the mission with you, had put it together when the first words out of your mouth upon gaining consciousness were “Is this a glucose drip?” while tugging at the IV.

He hadn’t been mad, not exactly. He wasn’t mad at you but he was furious with himself for not noticing, and for making you feel as though you couldn’t tell him. You assured him that you did trust him, but he wished you had come to him before you could’ve gotten yourself, and those on the mission, seriously hurt or killed.

Nonetheless, you still didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Can you try to tell me about it?” he asked gently, running a hand through your hair. He held you to his chest, you unable to meet his eyes.

“It won’t make any sense,” you had said, tears glazing your eyes.

“I want to understand. Can you help me understand?”

You paused for a moment. “It’s a long story and I don’t know where to start. There’s so much going wrong.” you had said, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“I have all the time for you. And it doesn’t have to make sense, these things rarely do. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to listen.”

And true to his word, he had. He had listened and held you while you tried to talk about what you could. He didn’t understand everything, he naturally had a ton of questions, but they weren’t for that moment. He had promised to help you the best that he could, and you had promised to try and tell him whenever you felt the urges get too strong. And if you couldn’t, to tell him after.

It was easier to talk to Bucky than anyone else. Not because he was your boyfriend, but because he seemed to understand you more than anyone else could. He had his own share of mental health struggles. Neither of you knew exactly what the other was going through, but you both understood that it was easy to feel alone and guilty even though you couldn’t control it.

It was rough, but he was never mad. He was sometimes firm, and sometimes you had gotten angry with him. Only to later apologize to him with tears in your eyes. He was never mad with you. He understood that this was something internal. Upon research he had done and conversations he had had with Bruce, he understood that this had nothing to do with him. Some people thought eating disorders were about getting attention when it was one of the furthest things from the truth.

All he could do was love you and be there for you.

And to your surprise, talking about it did help.it took a long time, months, of long and hard conversations, panic attacks, slip ups, and really dark days. But it got to the point where Bucky felt that you were doing better, making an effort to tell you how proud he was and how much he loved you.

And you were doing better, in a way. But you had been slipping up more recently, and you hadn’t told Bucky. You didn’t know how. After going the longest you’d ever had between slip ups, you found yourself retching over the toilet. You would have gone to Bucky but he had been away on a mission that was extended a few days. You couldn’t interrupt him because your feelings were too much to handle. People needed his help more than you did.

You were going to tell him, but he had been so tired when he had come back. He needed his time to relax, and it wasn’t the right time to tell him. And the next day when he was rested, you felt that it was irrelevant. Any negative feeling you had felt the day before had since past, and you didn’t see the point in bringing it up today. It would worry Bucky, he wouldn’t want to go on missions, and you weren’t going to do that to him. Besides, it was just one time.

Right?

You soon found yourself purging when Bucky wasn’t around. If he had gone out with Steve, if he was on a mission, or if he was down in the gym you found yourself taking more opportunities to give into your urges. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but you were spiraling. But at this point you had been slipping up so many times, you had been so secretive about it.

It would kill Bucky inside to know that you were hiding this from him again. He would feel like you didn’t trust him. You trusted him with your life.

You just didn’t want to let him down. Not again, not when he had explicitly told you to come to him and you had been blatantly ignoring that.

You wanted to tell him, you did. But you couldn’t let him being so proud of you be based on a lie.

One day you were hunched over the toilet, legs sahking and tears streaming down your face from exertion. Bucky was away on a mission, so you didn’t even bother with the music or the water. What you hadn’t anticipated was him coming back hours earlier than he should’ve

The mission had gone much more smoothly than anticipated, which everyone was happy about. Bucky was glad he would get a few more hours with you. He had gone up to your shared room and let himself in, surprised to see you weren’t there. But then he heard you coughing from behind a closed bathroom door.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. You had been doing so well, what had happened?

He walked over to the door, knocking on it and calling out your name. He heard you muffle a small fuck before he knocked again.

“Y/n please, let me in.”

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, you on the other side washing your face. You could feel the tears from exertion be replaced by ones of shame and embarrassment, biting your lip slightly. What the fuck were you going to tell him?

When you finally turned off the water, you rubbed your face with a towel, sighing heavily into it. When you took it away, you looked long and hard at the doorknob.

Bucky sighed on the other side of the door. “Y/n please. I’m not mad. We’ve been here before, I just wanna talk to you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a breath before you made your expression nuetral and opened the door.

Bucky’s eyes immediately saddened when he took you in. your face was still red and there were tears in your eyes. You had tried to put up a front, he could tell that too. Sometimes you got angry with him because you didn’t want to be vulnerable. He was prepared because like he said - he’d helped you before.

Before he could say anything you crossed your arms. “You’re home early,” you said coldly.

“Y/n.”

“How’d the mission go? Well, I assume.” you tried to slip past Bucky but he was blocking the door.

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, the mission went well.” He wanted to be gentle with you. “But how are you?”

You shrugged, trying to appear oblivious. “I’m fine,” voice wavering slightly as you looked away.

“Y/n please. You’re not fine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The same thing that always happens” you said bitterly. “Something stupid comes up, I start feeling like shit about myself and I ignore it until I’m puking it up with everything else, alright? It’s the same story, different time, and now I have you looking at me all hurt just like I was worried about which is why I couldn’t tell you!” you exclaimed, eyes filled with anger and tears. Bucky looked at you as if you had just punched him in the face. He would’ve much preferred that you had.

“Y/n.”

You shook your head, trying to get through the door that he was blocking. “Bucky, just let me through the door, forget it.”

“Y/n just talk to me please, I -”

“JUST LET ME THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR.” You yelled, surprising Bucky. It had been a while since you had gotten this angry or defensive. But he stood his ground. Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his.

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky,” you said, feeling tears threatening to spill over.

He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

You closed your eyes and felt a pang in your stomach. “Bucky, I - “

“You promised,” he said, voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Why do I have to talk about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anybody”

“You’re hurting yourself, y/n.” he said calmly.

You shook your head and narrowed your eyes slightly, tears falling. “That’s different Bucky, you know it is.”

“You aren’t somebody?”

You looked at him for a moment before a sob escaped your body, leaning on the counter for support as you brought a hand to your mouth. Bucky quickly came up behind you and pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know how to tell you, I -”

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright y/n, I’m here.” Bucky kept whispering reassurances in your ears, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

After some time passed, you didn’t know how long, you were able to calm down enough to take some shaky breaths, hiding your red face in Bucky’s chest.

“When did this start happening again?” he asked softly

“I don’t know… few weeks at least, not really sure.”

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. A few weeks and he hadn’t suspected anything, and you were alone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on a mission, I couldn’t interrupt that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back?” he pressed gently.

“You were so tired Bucky - ”

“Y/n.” he said more firmly.

You paused for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t take those answers. If they were truly the reason then you would’ve told him the next day or the day after, as soon as the opportunity came. There was more to why you waited, and Bucky knew that.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered.

You heard Bucky sigh. He was angry with himself, for not being approachable to you. All he wanted was to make you feel safe enough to come to him, and to hear that you hadn’t because you thought he had expectations for you crushed him. “Y/n, I told you you could tell me about this. When have I ever been disappointed or angry with you?”

“You haven’t. You were just so proud and I - I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were proud of a lie.”

“Hey, hey look at me.” Hesitantly you looked up to meet his eyes. “None of this was you lying. You put in the hard work day after day, and I told you I was here to support you. But I never did the work for you. You did that. I’m proud of you and I always will be because you’re a fighter. It’s okay to have bad days, it’s okay to slip up. It’s okay to need a little help too, and that’s what I’m here for. A slip up doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in before. I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve made, and of the work you put in. This doesn’t change anything sweetheart.”

He pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

#Bucky Barnes #buckybarnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x you #MCU fanfiction #mcu imagine #mcu fic #MCU #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #eating disorder comfort #tw eating disorder #tw

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

The Purest Things-A New Home

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is a repost considering it didn’t show up in any of the tags yesterday. have i mentioned how much i despise tumblr sometimes :) again, i want to give a special shoutout to @avengersbau for giving me a second set of eyes on this one.

word count: 2k

warnings: canon-typical violence and descriptions of injury.

The Purest Things Masterlist

gif is not mine! credit goes to @hqtchner

au! october 2007

Bookend: “It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

++++

"I am SSA Hotchner. Welcome to the team Agent Y/L/N," his voice reminds you of the transatlantic accents of Hollywood stars of old. The kind you used to hear in the old black and white movies you would watch as a child.

"It's an honor to be here sir," you stare directly into his brown, soulfully deep eyes.

"J.J., get us started, please," SSA Hotchner suggests.

Sitting down, you look to the screen that displays the frightful footage of bombs detonating in various locations.

"Yesterday, an 81-year-old woman was severely injured when a bomb exploded in the toilet of a women's restroom," J.J. informs.

"Interesting spot to hide a bomb," Agent Prentiss sneers.

Jennifer flips through the slides and shows another bombsight located in a subway station, "Last year a similar bomb that had been attached to a phone box detonated. No outstanding injuries were reported. However, the bombs' similar makeup alerted detectives to dig into other bombings throughout the years. They have positively identified attacks over the past twelve years as perpetrated by the same bomber."

Spencer adds, "His M.O. is similar to George Peter Metesky, better known as the Mad Bomber. He terrorized New York City over a period of 16 years. He planted bombs in theaters, subway stations, libraries, and offices. They were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms."

"Do you think we are looking at a copycat?" Derek questions.

"If we are, we need to stop him soon," declared David.

"He's escalating-becoming bolder and more vicious," you say, scanning the report.

"Tell Boston we can be there by 9:30," Hotch notifies J.J...

++++

"It seems like he's a textbook paranoid schizophrenic. People suffering from this disorder may think that other people are regulating them or plotting against them. They tend to be reclusive, antisocial, and obsessed Hwith hatred for their presumed enemies," you twist a loose string from your shirt around your finger, unwind it, then repeat the process.

It's a nervous tick you developed over the years that has worn down numerous tops before achieving their intended lifespan. You glance at Agent Hotchner, seeking a sign of approval. His eyes meet yours, and he poignantly nods.

Did I say too much? No. Don’t overthink this. They can probably smell fear.

"In his letters left at the bombsights, he uses words like 'broad' and 'chick' to signify women," Dr. Reid chimes in.

"Do you think the unsub is motivated by hostility towards women? "

"It's possible," he continues, "These speech patterns age him significantly, however. Phrases such as these were mainly used in the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

Agent Hotchner begins to delegate tasks before the jet lands, "Morgan and Reid, I want you to head to the bombsights and see if you can't work out the motive. J.J. and Prentiss talk to the victim's families, determine our victimology. Y/L/N, Rossi, and I will head to the precinct and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land and see if we can't formulate a geographical profile."

++++

At the precinct, you observe Agent Hotchner's ability to singlehandedly transition an entire police force's obligation to under his jurisdiction.

"Captain Moreno, this is SSA David Rossi and SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N," the Unit Chief introduces you.

The captain tilts his head at you, "Aren't you a little young to be in the FBI? How old are you anyway?"

You nail him with a you're-full-of-crap look.

Everyone gets to be young once; your turn is over, old man.

Choosing to take the high road, you say, "I'd like to get my hands on the bombers handwritten notes. There has to be something in those letters that can give us a clue into the who, what, when, and where of this case."

Skeptical of your request, he narrows his eyes and looks to David and Agent Hotchner.

"You hear her," Dave exclaims, "Lead the way!"

Your enigmatic smirk no doubt gives away the great pleasure Dave's gibe brings you.

++++

"Agent Hotchner," you hand him your preliminary geographical profile. With his arms crossed, he intimidatingly peers into your research.

Don't burn a hole in my paperwork; I worked hard on that.

He is impressed by your work, taking in your comprehensive outline of proof that details the unsubs point of origin. For someone so young, your attention to detail puts even his most observant profilers to shame. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"My family is from Chicago. When I was little, I used to read through my grandfather's old newspapers that he collected throughout the 1950's. On the jet, I knew some of the phrasings that Dr. Reid was using sounded familiar, so I cross-referenced it with some of the particular articles I remember from my childhood and found his wording to be exact iterations of the Chicago Crier."

Without taking his eyes off of the paperwork, he commends you, "Impressive use of your prior knowledge. Often, the information drilled into us through education is lackluster compared to that of real-world experience."

You turn to walk back to your makeshift desk when he calls out to you, "And Y/L/N, call me Hotch."

Your shoulders relax from the tension you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging onto, "Alright. Hotch."

++++

You immediately regretted your decision. In pursuit of the unsub, you had wandered off down an abandoned subway tunnel and cornered him.

"Harold Watts, FBI. Gently place the remote detonator on the ground," You shout. Grappling to keep your gun from slipping between your clammy palms, you grip the weapon tighter.

Ordinary people's first days of work are uneventful; they're given a series of mundane tasks at most. Me? Of course, my first day involves being secluded in a subway tunnel facing down a man decked from head to toe in explosives and wires.

"D-don't come any closer. I have my finger on the trigger! I'm not afraid to die, and I will not hesitate to take you up in flames with me," he stammers.

The stampede of footsteps, no doubt from your colleagues and half of the Boston police force, resonate through the echo chamber you're standing in. Watts spooks and loses his balance. You begin shouting for the people behind you to stand down.

"The tracks are live, one wrong step, and we all blow up. I repeat, stand down!"

Turning your attention back to Watts, you attempt to soothe his irrationality. You slowly return your gun to its holster, raising your hands up in surrender. Hotch yells something unintelligible from behind you, but your focus is on the unsub and trying to prevent any more casualties.

"Harold, let's just talk this through for a couple of minutes. My men behind me will leave us alone. It's you and me now. Before this, you never wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to be heard. All of your life you felt like you were forced into the shadows, and you began to fester there in your pain and rage."

He tenses up; you have his attention now.

"Those girls who teased you and ripped your masculinity from you needed to be taught a lesson. But you didn't just stop there; you decided to do all women a favor and demonstrate to them the kind of pain they could cause, hoping to prevent them from making the same mistakes. In fact, you helped me to see what I can do better. I never want to make someone feel the way you did."

"Y-you learned that...f-from me?" Harold quietly sobs.

You nod, "Yes! Yes, Harold. And you can still be heard, but not if you die today. I could be your greatest advocate. If we walk out of here right now, think of how famous you could be. Harold, you will never be stuck in the shadows again."

It is crucial to your survival and your teams that you are brave just long enough to analyze the situation and keep your self-control. Panic won't do anyone any good right now.

Your mouth dries as you await Harold's next move. Suddenly, he hunches over, extending the hand gripping the detonator. Pausing for a moment to be sure he isn't making any drastic moves, you promptly hurry to his side and gently pull it from his clutch.

As the police officers and your colleagues rush to your aid, Harold looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Make me famous," he murmurs with a grin that churns your stomach.

Hotch ushers you away from the unsub, backing you up against the wall of the tunnel, "You actively defied my orders."

Searching every inch of his face for an accurate reading of his emotions, you are unsure of how to respond.

"I'd like to think it won't happen again," his eyes studying you just as intently.

You swallow hard, aware of the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "You have my word, Agent Hotchner."

"Good," he affirms, eventually freeing his hold on your arm.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and relax your spinning head against the wall.

Opening your eyes, you observe your new team tieing up all loose ends. They're safe. You are safe. Despite this first day not being as mundane as others, you wouldn't have it any other way. This feeling is what you signed up for, and it's already fulfilling you in ways you couldn't fathom before stepping inside the BAU office this morning.

++++

Aboard the jet, you tuck your legs underneath you and open up a book to read.

A cup of steaming hot coffee appears on the table in front of you.

Hotch sits across from you with a similar cup and offers you a subtle smile, "Impressive work out there today. I'm sorry your first day of work couldn't be more eventful."

A joke? I didn't take him as the joking kind.

Rolling your eyes, you put on a disappointed tone, "God...if you guys drag your feet like this every day, I might have to consider a transfer."

In a more serious nature, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess. You were right, you know, no amount of studying or lectures can truly prepare you for what it's like when you're staring into the eyes of a killer. I've learned the negotiation techniques and memorized the textbook 'put the gun down' speech, but all of that flies out the window when you're in the moment."

"You will find that improvisation at times is the key to success in this job. Just know that this team is a family. You will never face this alone or be at a loss for anything. Your career is in its infancy, but I can tell you have a long and triumphant journey ahead of you. We will do whatever we can to ensure that you are at home here and can use this team as an opportunity to refine your abilities. All I ask in return is that you work with us, not against us. You have nothing to prove. They see your resourcefulness. So do I. You are one of us now."

Some gazes are the promise of protection; his is all that and more. The words "at home" resonate in your mind. You've spent your whole life searching for a home, and here it is, its doors being opened to you. After a lifetime of running from place to place, perhaps this is where you can finally settle down.

"Get some rest," Hotch whispers to you. And with that, you lean your head against the chilled window and shut your eyes.

++++

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shini--chan · 4 years

Note

Okay, I've been wracking my brain to think of an ask for you because I know your writing is fire, and I don't want to waste it! If the mood strikes you, can you write a little yandere Levi in a universe of your choosing or constructing? I'm sort of interested to see how you imagine him as a yandere 😊

Thx, fam!

As I told you once before, this is the ask that almost made me forfeit my principal of answering asks chronologically. :P

So, this will be my usual mix of headcanons and Imagines if you don’t mind, since I have a lot of thoughts on this man and just don’t want to stumble into the snare of writing a full length story … yet.

I’ ll also keep this general, since the universe any Levi fic is set in just changes the nuances, and not fundamental character traits.

Also, I have to remark that it is already too late for me - I’m hip deep in academia.

Yandere Levi Ackerman

Captain Levi is a very orderly person, it is part of his lifestyle and how he interacts with others and himself. It is something he is really strict about and he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfect hygiene in a lover. To him, there is nothing less disgusting than poor body hygiene and should you start slacking off in anyway when it comes to taking care of yourself, a very fundamental aspect, then he won’t shy away from taking matters in his own hands.

You gasped as a bucket of water was frigidly emptied over head and you threw yourself out as your bed, expecting your assailant to have lunged onto you, should you have remained there.

Instead, he was standing right in front of you.

Somewhat shyly, you looked up into Levi’s pale face and sneered at the accursed object that he was holding in his hand. He sneered right back at you, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards in disgust. A rather uncommon display of extreme emotion on his part, for being a commonly stoic man.

“Get up!”, he curtly barked to which you stiffly groaned. Sloppily, you got up, still groggy from being rudely awoken and not in the best mood because of it. The water running in rivulets down your body and made your sleep wear cling to your skin didn’t help either.

“What was that for?”, you whined, completely oblivious as to why he was being so imperious to you. What had you done to warrant such poor treatment?

“Don’t get cheeky now, little brat. You didn’t shower last night and went all sweaty to bed. You deserved what I did to you now.”

Him being orderly isn’t restricted to personal cleanliness, it is also about how disciplined a person is with themselves. Having had to live in harsh environments for his whole life, he is a firm believer in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. That also means that should you suffer from any mental disorder, trauma induction or not, he wouldn’t be very understanding. Not that he wouldn’t be concerned about your broken state of mind, rather he wouldn’t see how being kind and coddling you would fix it.

“You know brat, if you would stop sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, your life would start getting damn better”, he snarled at your cowered form.

Hunched over the table, you had elected to grab a beer to numb the pain that was ravaging your heart. Watching people die never became easy, especially when they were close to you.

“Just leave me alone”, you begged and raised the tankard to your mouth again. Yet before the wooden rim could touch your lips, it was shamelessly ripped away from you. Levi’s sharp grey eyes were honed on you, the fire of anger dancing in them. Just why did he have to play judge now of all times?

“No, you look like shit and you’re talking shit. Moping around wouldn’t make anything better you idiot. You need to your act together, not get piss drunk.”

Furthermore, he needs to be in control. As soon as he feels like his vice-like grasp over reality is slipping, he does what all people do that are losing their power – he scrambles to re-attain it. And he doesn’t hesitate to utilize violence. On top of that he sees respect given, as power given, so he demands the piety that his position ought to give him. It doesn’t matter that you’re his lover, if anything you ought to give him his due. Rows with him are literally the worst – be prepared to be swept of your feet!

Roughly, you were slammed against the wall in a manner that knocked the wind out of your lungs with a crude sound. It was followed by a gasp as your ears rang from your skull having banged against the stone and your muscles and bones ached.

“What did you just say?”, Levi snarled, a rare look of utter rage on his handsome face. You knew it was a rhetorical question, he had heard you the first time around. But you were too steep in your own anger to not push your luck.

“Don’t be like that, darling”, you spat the last word as if it were poison in your mouth. Warranted actually, since you had been coerced and tricked into this relationship. “I said that maybe you should take a leave out of your superior’s book because all your shortcomings make you unbearable to be a runt. Somehow, I doubt that would work, though – you’ll always remain a sewer rat at heart.”

A wrong move – those handsome features contorted to something utterly ghastly.

“You know we wouldn’t have such problems if you could control that attitude of yours. And if you would show me respect”, he hissed as he pressed you further against the wall, so that you were sandwiched between stone and muscles to a painful degree. The hands grasping you by the front of your clothing didn’t help either.

Lips twisting into a snarl of your own, you countered: “Respect is supposed to be earned, Captain. I will only respect you if you respect me.” You were really insistent on digging yourself your own grave, weren’t you?

“You’re much prettier if you keep that mouth of yours shut.

“Consider the feeling to be mutual, brat. Why should I give you any respect if you won’t give me any? And remember, I’m above you, so I don’t owe you anything. You owe me the world.”

Levi also has a strict set of rules that he expects you to follow to the dot. A fair warning, however, he may change the one or the other spontaneously and not inform you of it until you’re bent over his desk. Also, it is common knowledge that he endorses corporal punishment and celebrates pain as a prim method to install discipline. He really thinks that bad behaviour can be beat out of somebody. He is also exceptionally cruel with his punishments. This can be traced back to how he was desensitized to violence at a relatively early age and revels in have people submit to him.

You had barely set foot in his study when he looked up from his paperwork and ordered you: “Come over here, and bend over the desk.”

Shocked by his harsh words, you nevertheless complied. You knew that resistance would only make matters worse. Still, as you bend over and pressed your cheek against the cool oak you asked: “What did I do wrong this time?”

Briefly, he stopped rummaging through the chest that stood by the window and glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you serious? Don’t you already know? And I though you weren’t so goddamn stupid”, he snapped.

Finally, having found what he was searching for, he turned towards you again. There was a semi-bored expression gracing his visage as he drawled: “I told you a thousand times before, pet. When you are finished with your afternoon chores you are to come directly to me. No chit-chat with somebody else, no fooling about and yet you disobey me again and again. Your ears really are just for decoration.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he carelessly cut you off: “I don’t care if they are your friends, you don’t need them. You just need me.”

Upon that you fell silent and closed your eyes in hopelessness as you waited for your punishment to commence. When do pain came after a minute of silence you dared to open your eyes and glance back.

Seeing that you were focused on him, Levi cleared his throat as if to say “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Then you remember and with a great amount of shame you bared your bottom and meekly requested: “Please Levi, my love, spank me thoroughly.”

As usual, it sickened you that he made you ask to be punished. It was his way of normalizing and justifying his abuse. And conditioning you.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he grabbed you by the nap as he pressed you against his desk. “There is a good little pet”, he whispered as leather made contact with your supple flesh.

This man has a difficult time warming up to people. All the agony of losing those that meant the world to him repeatedly has caused him to become cold and reserved. That means that in his mind, you should view it as a privilege that you are the love of his life. Because of that, he won’t accept rejection. Also, since he hasn’t had somebody really close to him in ages, he will be very clingy and overprotective. The world has the habit of robbing him, so you won’t allow you to be stolen as well. Not to forget that he is a man of action – being passive or also relying on words to solve situations just isn’t his style.

Your skin was on fire due to his ministrations, or rather because of the disgust they evoked. The arm around your waist that pressed you against him made you want to claw at his skin and his lips against the tender skin of your neck made you want to throttle him.

Yet you knew that it was just wishful thinking. Engaging in such protest would be futile since he was stronger and quicker than you.

“Look here Levi, I told you…”, you tried to reason with him but he just silenced your objection:

“Shush, sweetheart. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Then he resumed kissing your neck and collar bone, sometimes tugging at your skin with teeth in order to cause bruises. You tensed as his free hand snaked down your leg and hooked itself under your knee.

The captain is a military man and fairly intelligent. He knows how to deal with an enemy, how to assess their strengths and weaknesses and how to keep them contained. And also, how to best combat them and capture them. He really is the worst opponent you could meet on the battlefield.

So how to evade him? You take him off the battlefield, place him in a situation where aggression can’t help him achieve his goals. He is a military man, as said before, so he is accustomed to low context communication – words must be direct, and you must mean what you say so that they are no muck-ups. Little conversation and more orders and demands. Levi doesn’t have a silver tongue to begin with, quite the contrary actually.

That means he cares a bit for codes, since they are of use to him in his branch of expertise. But he cares little for symbolism since he has categorised that as sappy nonsense reserved for romantics. So, you have an avenue to express yourself that he won’t catch up on unless somebody explicitly told him what it meant. Consider yourself lucky, it is exactly this that will prevent you from going insane.

“Flowers? Again?”, he gruffly asked.

It made you look up from the novel you were reading to see him eyeing the tansy and peonies that you had placed in a vase on the nightstand.

You had to suppress a smirk and work to keep the self-satisfaction out of your voice as you meekly inquired: “They are there to give a bit more colour to the room. I can always put them away if you want.”

You were being obedient to him for a change and that was why he decided to allow you a few luxuries. Besides, since you were so affectionate in the past two months, why shouldn't he return it with gestures of his own.

“Keep them. I’ll just never understand why you like them so much”, he answered and then stalked over to the bathroom. Of course he would never comprehend it, with his spartan and austere tastes, just like you would never understand that the small yellow flowers meant ‘I declare war on you!’ or that the orange lilies that had been there a few days ago actually proclaimed your hatred for him.

Hopefully, he would never find out.

Intelligence doesn’t automatically mean that he is omnipotent or that he is an all-powerful overlord. It just means that he is quick to comprehend tactics and strategies and devise his own. He isn’t immune to mistakes. So, when he ropes you in, in his games, you have to play a wholly different game of your own if you want to get out. Military, remember? There are many walks of life that he is unfamiliar with, many possibilities for you to escape his clutches that he wouldn’t even account for.

Giddily, you smiled at yourself in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself, with all the paint and heavy cloth that decorated your body. Levi didn’t either, just how it was supposed to be.

You had spotted him in the audience as you had pranced about the stage, looking very disgruntled at not having you by his side or locked up in his quarters. Even you had heard the rumours of how a few days ago he had flown into a frenzy, searching high and low for something.

You were one of the few that knew it was someone and that someone was you. Knowing him as well as you did, you made the fair guess that he also wasn’t here by his own volition, rather his comrades had dragged him here in an attempt to distract him.

And you also knew that had looked everywhere he presumed you to be – in the forest, somewhere tucked away in his estate, in the taverns and at the city borders and at the docks. Just not amongst the theatre troop.

That would probably stay that way, and you could use the opportunity to escape him.

Adding to the fact that he is bad at expressing himself like a normal human being, he is also very emotional underneath that stoic veneer. In combat situations, he has an outlet for all his pent-up emotions. Else you have to suffer his outbursts and mood swings. Nonetheless, the world isn’t a gigantic battlefield and if the right buttons are pushed, he could lose it at exactly the wrong time and place. Levi would lose badly at the game favoured in the royal courts of provoking-the-other-until-they-embarrass-themselves.

Levi was very close to unleashing his unholy rage and as a precaution, you had taken to stepping out of range. While you found the whole situation very amusing, you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

“…however, since you come short on some things, I don’t expect you to understand that. Should I repeat what I said, in bitesize chunks so that you don’t lag behind this time”, the nobleman prattled while he looked down on your “lover”.

Said man pressed through gritted teeth: “You filthy swine, go stuff all your pretty words up your ass.”

The noble emitted a fake gasp and murmured aghast: “You really are so crass. The rumours of you being a dwarf barbarian are true.”

That was the last straw for Levi. In the following minutes, a small crowd gathered to see what the commotion was all about and it ended in the guards having to restrain him. Really, it was hypocritical of the Ackerman to threaten you about causing a scene when he was the one prone to temper tantrums.

#yandere levi #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere snk #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere levi x reader #my writing #yandere levi ackerman

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alice-dont-break · 3 years

Text

checking | janthony one shot

Jasmine's heart wasn't racing, but rather beating slow and heavy in her chest, a steady thumping to remind her of the weight she carried. She could tell herself her fears were stupid or irrational, but that only served to amplify her frustration. She couldn't shake the obsessive thoughts that gnawed at her relentlessly, so she'd just have to sit with them for now, fingers drumming repeatedly over the back of her phone.

Watching Anthony's leaden breaths was the best reminder that tranquility was still possible. He looked so peaceful, so unworried, so content, and she just wished she could fold herself into his shelter. She yearned to lift the arm that rested heavy on the mattress, slightly outstretched as if searching for the body it usually held secure, and lay it over her rigid midsection. Every inch of her was tense, and while she knew her husband's touch could unbind her, she couldn't bear to wake him. These thoughts were too ridiculous to be worth his time, she thought, and she'd hate to disturb such a peaceful-looking sleep for her childishness. But luckily, all her stressful energy, or perhaps some invisible power of their bond, did the job for her.

"Whatchu still doing up, baby?" Anthony grumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes. He rolled onto his side to face Jasmine, who was propped up against the headboard scrolling through her phone. He didn't know exactly what time it was, but he did know that when he rolled over in the night, he'd expected to find her fast asleep.

"Go back to bed, love," she cooed, reaching over to comb through his tousled curls. Her mind was protesting against the words she forced from her lips, but her hushed tone concealed the stress of conflict in her voice. She looked over to him with soft eyes, letting the genuine adoration of his sleepy and disheveled appearance mask her underlying anxiety.

Regardless, the non-answer concerned Anthony enough to draw him out of his groggy state. He looked over at the alarm clock and found it was nearly three in the morning, so he sat up and shifted towards his wife. "Jas, what's going on?" He asked softly, sweeping a curl behind her ear so he could capture her gaze and study her expression. "Trouble sleeping?" His hand came to rest on the top of her shoulder, where he kneaded her taut muscles.

"Not really," she mumbled, "just haven't tried." Her eyes broke away from his, dropping to her lap while her fingers twisted and tugged at the sheets.

Anthony noticed her fidgeting and reached over to slip his hand into her restless one. He squeezed her palm gently until he felt the tension dissipate, then rubbed his thumb carefully over each knuckle. "It's late, Jas, d'you wanna tell me what's keeping that beautiful mind so busy?"

Jasmine grappled with whether to admit her silent battle, until she met Anthony's eyes. They had widened but they weren't strained; they were just locked on her with a quiet concern that showed her she was safe and welcome, and compelled her to let him in. "I'm trying not to go check the stove," she muttered.

"Oh, babe, you don't have to worry," he frowned, "I checked it before I came up." His pitch escalated along with his worry. He knew whatever was keeping her up wasn't as simple as his response implied.

"I know. We didn't even use it today because we had salads and then ate out for dinner, and we haven't used it since yesterday and I checked it yesterday so there's no way it's on," she rattled off, as if the schedule for using their stove was imprinted on her mind. It may as well have been.

"Baby, is this...? I thought the meds - "

"I know, I'm sorry," she cut him off with a deep sigh. Her eyes fell to her lap again, sunken and clouded. "I haven't been good about telling you what's gone on at my appointments..."

Anthony shook his head sharply before looking over to find the shame that squeezed up her shoulders into hunches. "Don't have to apologize Jas. You dont owe me any explanations. All I wanna know is if there's a way I can be taking better care of you." His last few words lightened, as he looked over to catch her heavy-lidded eyes.

Her jaw relaxed into a sad smile, before tentatively giving a slight nod. He reciprocated though just barely, as if offering a safe place for her to speak if she wanted, but imposing no expectations. Blinking away the haze, she inhaled a trembled, hollow breath. "With us trying and all, I've been talking to my therapist about weaning off the meds because they aren't super safe during a pregnancy, which means a lot more of other methods of treatment. So we lowered my dosage a little and I'm just supposed to make it a little longer every night without checking."

Jasmine's obsessive-compulsive disorder had been mostly kept at bay over the past few years by a combination of therapy and medication, but he recalled many sleepless nights from when it was more prevalent. He remembered the pit that would fall in his stomach whenever he would wake to the mattress sinking beside him, signaling she was back from checking the door lock or the stove. He, like most people would, first envisioned meticulous cleaning and organizing when she first told him about her diagnosis, but soon he learned that was only one possible manifestation.

For Jasmine, compulsions were a need to go check something that she simply couldn't shake. The obsessive thoughts would barrel through her mind with no regard for rational thinking. It didn't matter how many times she'd dragged herself out of bed to go check already, or how desperate she was to sleep; the thoughts and the anxiety that always tagged along wouldn't go away until she got up. The anguish grated against Anthony's heart even as a bystander. For so long, there was nothing either of them could do to fight back, but after weeks and then months of treatment that started to change. Every night that passed, even the ones that were far from perfect, had Anthony growing more and more proud of his girl. He knew he was watching her endure something that would at times feel excruciating, so the least he could do was be by her side. Tonight would be no different.

Anthony pushed against the mattress to sit up, and leaned back against the headboard with his arm outstretched. "How much longer we got?"

"Ant, you don't have t-"

"I know," he said firmly, "but I don't want you sitting and stewing all on your own." He reached over to love on her, tenderly holding her opposite cheek as he began to paint every inch of the side of her face with soft, slow kisses.

"It's just another hour and a bit. I just need to get through it... it's gonna suck but then tomorrow maybe it'll be easier..." Jasmine trailed off as her eyes fell back to her lap. She soaked in the warmth of his lips for one more breath, then tilted her head away to shake off his grasp. "It's stupid, babe. The point is you should go back to sleep." Her hand softened in his as she tried to pull back, but he redoubled his grip. His spare hand moved to cradle her chin again and his thumb brushed over her cheek in soothing half circles.

"You can argue all you want baby, but I'm staying up with you. Now are you going to leave me hanging, or curl up into this awfully inviting arm and cuddle me?" He wiggled his shoulder with a goofy smile, letting her arm flop around as he held her hand tightly.

Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut, but relented as a giggle tumbled from her pursed lips. She couldn't resist the way his eyes softened through his laugh, saying more than his snarky words ever could. With a final roll of her eyes, she released his hand and curled into his side. Her head found a pillow in his chest while she was enveloped in the warmth of two protective arms around her. He knew from practice exactly how tight to squeeze so she felt secure but not trapped, and quickly the tension in her shoulders seeped away. She nuzzled against his t-shirt to inch just a little closer, as his fingers delved into the curls that tickled his chin. The thumping of his heart coaxed her to melt just a little deeper into his arms, as his nails grazed her scalp in calming strokes.

His lips affixed to her forehead with careful attention, pressing and relaxing every few seconds. They weren't distinct kisses, as Anthony couldn't bear the thought of space between them, but rather one long transfer of the warmth and protection he wanted to seclude them in. Her eyes were squeezed shut with little creases spurting out from the outer corners, as she tried to focus on all his sweet touches while blocking out all the distractions and intrusive thoughts that threatened to disturb their peaceful little bubble. Every second she melted further and further into the embrace, letting the easy feelings of warmth and safety crowd out the obsessions that had been hoarding her energy.

Even as Jasmine started to settle, she still had nervous energy vibrating through her body. Needing an outlet, she started tracing little circles, mindless drawings, around Anthony's chest. It was an easy way to fidget; just small movements that she could keep up without shifting from the cocoon formed around her of Anthony's arms. After a while she realized it was a familiar pattern, essentially the same thing she did when she was on her own, but it felt so much safer. Whenever Jasmine needed to expel some tension on her own, she'd use her fingertips to write words on her thighs. She would silently come up with lists of absolutely anything, to let her mind focus on something other than the stressor at hand, and give her anxious buzz an escape route. The difference now was that she had yet to choose a category.

When she thought about where she was, and what brought her here, it was easy to think of something that would soothe her. She voluntarily lessened her medication not just because she wanted to give herself and Anthony the one thing they wanted most in the world, but because she already cared about that baby so deeply. She would already do anything to protect them and give them every chance at health and happiness, no matter how hard this battle to adjust might be for her. The thought of holding a baby, their baby, to her chest, and witnessing a heartbeat and giggles and cries that were all theirs to nurture was motivation enough to keep fighting, and also helped her realize the perfect inspiration for her musings.

What she hadn't realized was that the use of her new notepad also threatened to expose her little game. "Whatcha writing?" Anthony asked with a cheeky little grin.

Her fingers froze, and then curled into her palm. "Nothin', jus' fidgety I guess." Her cheeks started to burn but luckily they were still hidden as she nuzzled against his chest.

"You can keep goin' if you like. S'kinda fun being your canvas," he smiled.

She lifted her chin so he could see the shy smile that crept across her face, then unfurled her fist. For the next few moments, she focused again on mindless patterns. Fleeting circles, hearts and spirals tingled across his t-shirt until Jasmine had wrongly assumed he'd forgotten all about her artwork. She started spelling again, and Anthony tuned right in.

"J..." he thought to himself, mentally following the paths of her fingertips to solve her secret message. "U... L... I..."

"Julia? Who's that?" He asked, breaking the silence that had floated for the past few moments.

Jasmine rolled her eyes sleepily, and hushed him. "You didn't let me finish."

"E... T... T... E..." her fingers continued to dance.

"Juliette? I still don't get it," he frowned. "Who is that?"

"It's nothing babe," she sighed, "seriously it's embarrassing just ignore me. I just like to make lists when I need a distraction."

A series of kisses peppered across her forehead and temples was Anthony's way of pleading for an answer, and it had Jasmine's resolve melting away. The way he had her totally engulfed in his essence - his musky smell, the warmth of his skin pressed to hers, his voice's vibrations against her head - and the way it had her heart slowed and her mind cleared made his efforts irresistible.

"Okay, okay, fine. Was makin' a list of baby names," she mumbled under her breath.

Anthony knew better than to push her any further given her delicate state, so he tried earnestly to contain the burst of excitement that pulsed from his heart. He reached a little further with each of his hands, trying to pull her even closer despite the fact that she was already flush against his side. The thought of a family never failed to send his mind spinning, and all he could think about was being close to her. It was something they'd talked about of course, even already tonight, but something about seeing her use planning for a baby as a way to calm herself down had him near flustered. He reached down to squeeze her knee gently, then pull her leg over his hips. She was straddling him now, laying fully on top of him with her head undisturbed in the crook of his neck. He rubbed up and down her back slowly while pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of her head until she had fully settled, content with the new way their bodies had melded together.

As time passed, Jasmine no longer had to focus on steadying her breath; it had simply aligned itself with the slow rhythmic heart beat that vibrated against her cheek. Truthfully, her focus wasn't being tugged towards anything anymore. No more worries forcing themselves upon her, and no more obsessions pleading for her attention. Instead, her mind had been granted the freedom to focus on whatever would make her feel most comfortable, most safe, and most at home. And right now, that was certainly Anthony. The stubble on his chin that prickled against her forehead, the hands that radiated heat across her back, and the soothing trills that hummed from his lips all worked in tandem to make minutes feel like seconds until Jasmine's internal timer was up. Not long after, Anthony noticed the time despite her still appearing unfazed.

"Hey, it's about time, isn't it?" His words came as quiet murmurs, with silent pleas for her to stay as calm and composed as she was before.

"Mhmm, about five minutes ago," she grumbled, nuzzling deeper into Anthony's chest.

He grinned and lowered his chin to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Jas, that's amazing babe. You did that and I'm so, so proud of you. Do you wanna go? I can come with you, or wait here, or -"

Jasmine closed her eyes to inhale deep into her belly, letting the comfort Anthony exuded drown out the last of the her pestering thoughts. "You checked it, right? And it's fine?"

"Yeah, but there's no shame if y-"

"Okay, I think maybe I'm good," she interjected, needing him to just agree before her compulsions reclaimed the ground she'd fought for. "Maybe we could just sleep?"

His smile pressed into her curls as felt his cheeks warming with pride. "Whatever sounds best to you, angel."

Jasmine just nodded, letting her cheek rub against his chest before tilting up to kiss his chin. She smiled into the kiss he pressed to her forehead, then let herself slide off his torso to sink back into the mattress. She kept a leg draped over his, and he slithered an arm under the arch of her waist so he could pull her tighter to his side. Her head tucked into the crook of his neck like a puzzle piece locking into place, and their hands clasped together just as perfectly atop his chest. Warm breaths washed over Anthony's neck, the slow rhythm allowing his worry for Jasmine to dissipate just slightly. She was still fragile, but she was fighting through it and at least for now she was okay. Her breathing was under control, and he could keep her just like this, snuggly in his protective hold.

"D'you know how ridiculously proud of you I am?" He murmured.

He felt her cheeks puff up, her lips curling into a bashful smile, but she banished that from her tone. "No reason to be. Jus' using common sense, really."

Anthony shook his head, fighting off the emotion that was started to glass over his eyes. A lump formed in the back of his throat, as he reflected on the significance behind why Jasmine was needing to be so strong tonight. "We both know its not that simple, babe. You're fighting something wired into your brain and you're doing that for our.. for us," he choked out."You're already making sacrifices for our baby and they don't even exist yet." A tear finally broke free and slipped down his cheek. Jasmine heard the break in his voice, and reached up to press a series of kisses down the track now paved through his freckles. "I'm just, so proud of you, and I love you so much," he added, his voice no stronger than a whisper.

"I love you too, Ant." Jasmine squeezed the hand in hers and felt whatever tension they each still held disintegrate. The weight she felt had finally been lifted as a peaceful sort of exhaustion washed over her - it wasn't one she had to fight off, but one she could now embrace.

Anthony could feel a heat spreading through his chest, made of some mix of pride and admiration. This woman was a warrior and he was lucky enough to be the one by her side. He nodded down to watch her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly as her breaths deepened. "Now get some rest, my love. God, do you ever deserve it."

#janthony fics #my fics #janthony

18 notes · View notes

squidlyskeet · 3 years

Text

Joyride -0.007

Pairing: StreetRacer!Bakugou x Fem!reader

Genre: TokyoDrift!au, Noquirks!au

Status: Ongoing

TW: Violence, Blood, firearms, eventual nsfw, 18+, mentions of anxiety and OCD disorders, grand theft auto, gang activity, eventual soft yandere Bakugou.

Summary:

It started with a simple question. “What do you say Y/n? You coming?”

After the sudden death of her mother, Y/n is sent to live with her estranged aunt who made a home in Tokyo, Japan. Weary of what this new adventure might mean for her future, Y/n lets loose for her first night there, but how was Y/n supposed to know it would lead to a car chase? A car chase in the passenger seat of a very angry, very hot, street racer’s super car.

A/n: Bold Italics means the words are spoken in Japanese. PLATONIC UNCLE MIRIO SUPREMECY🥰 -Squidlyskeet ✌🏻✌🏻

The morning sun filtering through the partially opened curtains of my window had a light beam blinding me awake before my body was ready to get up. I groaned in annoyance at my light sleeping. I pulled my hand out from under my covers to slap my alarm clock before it could go off and wake me further, but confusion set in when my hand fell through the air instead of hitting my bedside table.

On top of me was an orange oversized hoodie, a skull of some sort on the front as the logo. It wasn’t the hoodie that grounded me back to reality, but the smell.

A man's musk of Burnt sugar, and Gasoline.

My thoughts cleared as I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply, the smell a comforting one as I used it as a security blanket when yesterday’s events came rushing back.

Getting off the plane. Seeing Noel again. Finding out she was in some type of street race gang. Cars. Helicopters. Maps. Police.

Burnt sugar.

Orange.

Him.

Bakugou.

A mystery of a man, with words that don’t fit his actions, a foul mouth, and a temper that explodes so fast it could rival a bomb.

He really was unlike any man I’ve ever met, even just from knowing him from one night. His hateful words didn’t match his actions, telling me I don’t matter and then making sure I was safe the whole way through the police chase. Rechecking to make sure the harness was buckled correctly umteen times, and then helping to unlatch them when I was too shaky to do it myself.

Allowing me to play my music, when he didn’t seem like the type let anyone touch his radio.

Apparently also allowing me to use his hoodie when I unknowingly fell asleep in his car.

How did I get inside anyways?

Jesus I hope he didn’t carry me, although he wasn’t nearly as vicious as his tone would portray, that didn’t mean he still wasn’t a jerk.

I threw the hoodie from on top of me and shook the thoughts of the confusing explosive man from my head.

Promising myself I’d revisit them later I stretched as I stood, wincing when the muscles pulled taught over my bones. I must have been sore from the car chase last night, my collar bones took most of the impact from the harness when I flailed around in Bakugou’s seat like a wet noodle.

He didn’t have a bar to hold on too anywhere in the car, so that left me to try and sit straight in the thick straps iron like hold on my torso.

I figured a hot shower would do the sore muscles some good, and grabbed my towel off the hook before opening the sliding door and walking down the hall.

I was just about to open the bathroom door when I heard voices, whispering but harsh with anger.

“..Mirio, how could you. She’s only eighteen! Literally, we were just supposed to show her that Japan could be her home.” I heard a thump, I assumed that was Noel throwing something at him. “Now what, huh? How are you gonna fix this one? And you better not say any more dumb shit about ‘he’s gonna help’. You saw the way he treated Camie.” Her voice was growing louder as she continued to scold Mirio.

I leaned further into the corner trying to hear better, I knew eavesdropping was bad, but they were talking about me.

“If you would just hear me out about it, he would help. You wouldn't have to worry about her. We aren’t gonna let anything happen to Little Chick.” He replied, his voice even and full of confidence.

My heart warmed at the nickname he donned me with.

“Hey guys is everything okay?” I called out from around the corner, allowing them a moment to collect themselves before I stepped out fully.

“Oh! Y/n, did we wake you? I’m so sorry honey. I was trying to let you sleep in,” She shot a livid expression back at her boyfriend before turning back to me. “Are you hungry?” She asked.

I stepped from around the corner and looked at the two who were in the kitchen, on either side of the island. Noel looked primped for the day already while she cleaned up her breakfast mess, and Mirio was sitting at the island, broad shoulders hunched over his food like a gremlin and shoving it in his mouth like someone would take it from him.

I couldn’t help myself from a giggle, especially at the thought that just minutes before Noel was reprimanding him while he looked like this. Mirio noticed and visibly changed his eating stance, sitting back taking a more respectable approach by softly placing the food in his mouth while avoiding eye contact with Noel.

I laughed harder when I saw that she held up a wooden spoon as a threat, glaring at him like a mom would her child.

“I was just going to shower but I’d love some food, so I suppose it’ll just have to wait.” I said when I finally calmed down enough to speak.

I picked up a plate and served myself some rice and eggs,taking a little of whatever sauce Noel had set out with it. Taking a seat at the island next to Mirio, I looked down at the food before me in hesitation. I wasn’t a picky eater by any means, but the choice of foods was throwing me off.

“It’s so good, just give it a try. Rice is served three times a day here so get used to honey.” Noel said while handing me a long packet, I took it without a second thought.

I understood that it'd be rude to turn down what was offered to me, but I couldn’t help but long for French toast.

“Ehem -I uh- I don’t know how to use chopsticks.” I spoke, both Mirio and Noel looked at each other and back at me.

Before they started laughing.

My face flooded with heat and embarrassment, and I forced myself to sit there and not run back to my room and hide. I hid my face in my arm before I felt the chopsticks being yanked out of my hands.

Cold metallic replaced it, and when I looked I sighed in relief. A fork, thank the lord. I started eating as quickly as I could so I didn’t have to sit with embarrassment flaming my cheeks.

“We‘ll have to work on that later Little Chick, not many places here will have forks and stuff for you to use.” Mirio said, talking around the food shoved in his mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Noel's playful scolding piped up from the sink. “So what are your plans today Y/n?” She asked me, sounding a little forced to be casual.

The tensing in her shoulders made me a little suspicious, but I chose to ignore it.

“Since I start school tomorrow, I wanted to maybe go out and explore a little, maybe find someplace where I could get a job. I was hoping maybe you and Mirio weren’t busy today, I don’t need to stay with me. Maybe just drop me off?” I explained.

I wanted to help pull my weight here. I always did at home, and sitting here all day while she had to go to work would make me feel terrible. I was using her stuff and I didn’t want to freeload.

“You don’t have to get a job Y/n, I promise we are doing just fine here. As for exploring, Mirio and I can’t make it. We’ve already promised that we’d go with the guys to the beach today,” She said as she finished up the dishes. “We were actually going to ask you if you wanted to come.”

Noel smiled at me, and as much as I wanted to make her happy, the beach was a big no from me. The sand in places I don’t want them, the sun beating on my skin, but mostly the tight swimsuits. I didn’t have a second thought about before I gave her my answer.

“I'd love to, but beaches really aren’t my thing,” I said, before pausing. “N-not that I don’t appreciate the offer! I just -uh- I really don’t like going to the beach.” I gritted my teeth, annoyed at myself. I hated how my voice stuttered when I got nervous.

“I’ll just find, like idk, a bus or something?” I continued meekly when no one said anything.

Noel and Mirio had their eyes locked on each other in some kind of silent communication, and I looked between the two, back and forth, trying to figure it out.

Finally Noel just gave a defeated huff and nodded her head at Mirio with a flick of her wrist.

“Fine.” Was all she said before grabbing Mirio’s empty plate and turning back to the sink.

My confusion grew further when Mirio stood up out of his chair and pumped his fist into the air.

“Awesome. Thank you baby, I promise you won’t regret this,” He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone and scroll through it. “I gotta make a phone call, and then I’ll be back in to get ready baby.”

He blew her a kiss before putting his phone to his ear and walking to the front door.

When it slammed shut I looked back at Noel, confusion painting my face and my food long forgotten.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Nothing sweetie, just some driving arrangements for you. If you still wanted to go exploring that is.” She said over her shoulder.

“Yes, thank you! I was kind of dreading trying to figure out the transport system here.” I replied honestly.

“As for a job, if you really wanted one, one of my closest friends owns a Bakery shop. Although I don’t know if that would be the best idea for you, schools in Japan are very different from the ones in the US.” She explained.

I was excited that she mentioned something about a job, but was weary, because as she said, schools were very much different. I didn’t doubt my academics though, I was always able to keep my grades almost perfect, and how hard could it be?

“I’d love that, thank you for the offer. And thank you for the food,” I slid from the stool, getting up to hand her the plate. I’d have to take note to wash dishes at dinner tonight.

“I’m gonna go get in the shower, I feel like I need a good scrub after last night's adventure,” I said while walking away.

I heard her distant ‘ok honey’ while I headed back towards my towel and the relaxing hot water calling my name.

Hopefully, today will go better than yesterday.

———————————————————————

💥Bakugou POV💥

I slammed the paint gun down on the work bench beside me. I kicked my foot forward, launching the steel toed boot into the bucket that sat on the ground in front of my work station.

I growled when it hit the concrete wall with a loud ring. My already pounding headache became that much worse when the sound rattled my brain.

I turned around to look at my half painted car that sat in the middle of the garage bay. The orange was my favorite but I couldn’t decide if I was sold on the gun metal grey I chose when I finally settled on a color. The orange accents I liked, but the color was so dull.

“Oi. You good?” I heard from a couple bays down.

Todoroki.

“Oi, shut the hell up half and half. I’m just sick of fucking painting.” I yelled back, mad that anyone was in the garage to even hear me.

It was morning and I hadn’t slept yet, skyrocketing my annoyance to the point of violence. I knew I needed sleep, but there was nothing I could do about it until this damn car was done. I had shit to do, and if I tried to drive it, even still half orange, I’d probably get a complimentary bullet straight to the forehead.

“Damn, can you two stop arguing for like five seconds.” Sero chimed in from his bay on the other side of the building.

“Maybe if you’d have painted this for me I wouldn’t be so damn pissy.” I snapped back at him, making sure my voice was loud enough for him to hear.

While I wasn’t great at painting -I’d never admit it- I was still half decent. I could paint a car and have it look fine, but no one matched Sero’s skills. He could have an old beater looking sleek with a new paint job.

My forte was more along the lines of upgrades and ‘go fast’ parts. If you wanted to go fast, I’m your go to guy. Nitrous had to be handled carefully, and no one else here had quite the gentle touch I did when it came to the explosives.

“Kaachan, maybe you should take a nap on the cot in the back.” Midoriya said next, his bay being directly across from mine, I heard him clearly.

His towering frame was crouched underneath a car mounted to the lift, and in his hands he had a torch. Most likely trying to get the VIN number off of any parts that could be traceable.

A day in the life at the chop shop.

I was about to go off on the optimistic twat when the familiar ring of phone brought me out of momentary rage.

I recognized the ringtone and immediately sighed. What did this overgrown idiot want now? I debated on not answering when my tired brain finally caught up, and I almost slapped myself.

Was Y/n alright?

The thought had me lunging and fishing through my tools I haphazardly threw on the table for my phone faster than I’d like to admit.

“Hello?” I answered when I finally found it.

“Bakugou, what’s up dude. I gots some news.” Mirio’s cheery voice filtered through the phone.

“What’re you calling me for?.” I cut straight to the point.

“Noel agreed. She was a little against it at first, but then the little chick started talking about wanting to go everywhere and do all kinds of stuff and she finally caved.” He explained.

I sighed in relief, but immediately felt myself tense when a thought occurred to me. I wouldn’t be able to go get her or start my duties as an escort until this car was done. What if she needed something up until then? Sure, I said Shinsou and Denki would take care of it, but now that I knew she was my responsibility for certain , it ground my gears that other people could potentially mess up on my behalf.

My annoyance grew with myself too when I realized I was actually relieved I’d be allowed to escort Y/n. If anything here they, and she both should be grateful I was even wasting my precious time on this. It didn’t change the fact though, that I couldn’t officially start until I got some sleep. Or that I’d be entrusting her with the two biggest idiots on our squad, simply because I couldn’t let myself allow her in a car with someone who might take too much of an interest in her.

Godamnit, I hated trusting people with things I was supposed to be responsible for.

“Ok. Well does she need anything right now?” I wanted him to say no. I was tired, and I didn’t want to deal with any of this right now. I just wanted to finish this car and go to sleep.

“Yeah actually, she was talking about wanting to go find a job. We tried to talk her out of it, but she said she felt ‘obligated’ or something.” Mirio replied.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to work out the headache behind my eyes at his statement. My annoyance, and now my anger, were rising rapidly.

“Why does she need a shitty job? Just tell her I’ll get whatever she wants. I’m her escort for fucks sake.” I said through the phone, my tone flat and exasperated.

“Oh yeah, that’ll go over just fucking great won’t it Bakugou. ‘You don’t have to worry about money at all Y/n, Bakugou will get you whatever your little heart desires with the money he makes lifting and chopping cars for a living.’,” Mirio paused, laughing loudly. “I’m sure that’ll go just as smooth as sandpaper my guy.” Mirio snorted through the phone.

“What the hell does she need a job for anyways?” I growled back in response. I was fully prepared to spend whatever I needed to get her to not go out today.

If for nothing else just so I could sleep without having to worry that shit for brains one and two didn’t mess anything up.

“Something about she wants to help Noel pay bills or for the house or whatever.” He replied, his tone uncaring and bored.

“Fine I’ll buy Noel's house then. How much?” I growled, getting fed up with this conversation.

“You can’t buy it, cause I already did. There was no way I was letting my girl struggle for anything. You better change that attitude though Bakugou, I have a feeling Y/n isn’t the type of little chick that would be impressed with you throwing your weight in money around simply because it benefits you,” He sighed, clearly understanding that I wanted no part of dealing with this. “She seems like more of a girl who values trust. I’d start there with her, instead of you know, literally buying her a house so she doesn’t leave it.” Mirio finished his rant.

I was so done with his ‘insightful’ rambling.

I rolled my eyes with a quick explanation on why he could go fuck himself, and hung up the phone.

I turned to set it down and pick the paint gun back up, while also doing a quick scan of the shop.

“Oi,” I yelled, getting everyone’s attention. “Where the hell is the dunce face and purple top?” I questioned.

“They went out on a run, they just checked in twenty minutes ago, they said they’d be back in about thirty.” Jirou yelled from under her car, banging on something I couldn’t see.

“Someone get them on the phone, I want them back in three minutes.” I commanded.

Everyone stood for a minute, but no one had the nerve to fight with me. They knew how I got when I was tired and angry.

Kirishima stepped out from behind the black Audi he was working on, phone already out and dialing. I knew without a doubt he’d back me up, and I couldn’t be happier he did what I said without causing some kind of scene unlike Midoriya's, who’s expression revealed that he might. While I didn’t match Midoriya in bulk-I was close, but the man packed on muscle like a grizzly bear-, I matched him in height, and in a fight with him, I’d win. Just like I always did.

“Shinsou said ‘I can't believe he thinks we are that slow.’” Kirishima said, clearly repeating the purple top's snarky attitude.

I scoffed, turning to grab my phone off the bench again while scenarios of how today could go wrong played through my head.

I shot the text as quick as I could, shaking my head and putting the phone back down before regretting asking Mirio for Y/n’s number.

______________________________

👄Y/n POV👄

Unknown #: This is Bakugou. Save my number. Shinsou and Kaminari will be your ride for today. I will call u later for a full report.

I stared at my phone, jaw hung open. Did I really get a text from Bakugou? And what the hell a full report? What is that supposed to mean. I tapped the screen to save his contact, before hesitating, and then cracking a smile when I typed in his name.

To AngerManagement: uhhh..hi Bakugou? who is Shinsou and Kaminari again? And what’s a full report?

I was trying to push down my smile when I got a text back almost immediately.

From AngerManagement: Just pick up the dam phone when I call u. They r on their way, they already been given orders 2 do wht evr u want so you better tell me if they dont.

I could barely contain my smile now. Orders? Hah. I wouldn’t make anyone follow my orders even if I was a queen. That would be cruel, my whims could get out of hand.

I rolled my eyes before replying back, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

To Angermanagment: i’ll be waiting on your call ☺️💕

I giggled at my use of emoji’s, hoping that beyond anything else it’d irritate the moody man. Something tells me he wouldn’t take very kindly to the sentiments insinuated by them.

I’d realized only then that he’d said they were on their way, and I was still on the bed, in nothing but a towel, staring at my phone like a goon. I threw my phone to the bed, and rushed to pull clothes out of my half unpacked suitcase, when I finally settled on some leggings and a corded knit sweater, I looked in the mirror. I threw my hair into my favorite simple style and was mid make-up application when I heard the sound that was quickly becoming familiar and hard to misplace. The deep rattle of a souped up engine, although this one didn’t sound nearly as loud. On the other hand, the music that was spilling out of the car was the loudest I’d heard yet, I could almost make out the song from wherever they were on the street, and that in itself made me start mentally preparing for the barrage of sounds I’d probably experience later.

I continued my make-up, trying to hurry, as I heard the engine cut and a knock on the door. I knew Noel and Mirio were getting ready to leave, and it made me feel bad that they had to entertain the two guys until I was done.

The sound of rapid japanese traveled up the stairs, and with it the sound of footsteps. My speed make-up came to a close with the last swipe of my mascara wand just as Noel peeked her head from around the corner.

“Well you look cute,” The blonde smirked, “Those two idiots are here by the way. I have no idea why Bakugou would send them of all people, but I guess it's better than you taking the bus. I don’t care if you make them wait, and neither does Mirio, but Shinsou can get a little testy, so it’s up to you.” Noel rambled, clearly nervous.

Probably to literally leave me in the hands of strangers. I was nervous too, but if she and Mirio trusted them then I suppose I would too.

“Another testy racer? Jesus will I ever catch a break,” I mumbled to myself. “It’s fine. I’m done anyways, let’s go.”

Following Noel down the steps, I saw them before they saw me and the dots connected. Kaminari and Shinsou were the two idiots in the lawn chairs at the race.

This was just my damn luck. They are -or at least Kaminari- the reason I’m still having heart palpitations from last night's car chase.

“...if anything happens to Little Chick in your care, I’ll hunt you down, am I understood?” Mirio was standing tall, arms crossed and looking intimidating as we caught the tail end of his never ending threats.

My heart swelled, but internally cringed.

It’s been so long since I actually had people who care about me, I was stuck somewhere in the middle of craving and appreciating the actions, but not knowing how to accept it.

“Mirio.” Noel’s stern voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the foyer.

Mirio’s face dropped in surprise and his fierce expression was replaced with an easy going one.

“Oh, hey baby, hey Little Chick. Let me introduce you, this is Shinsou Hitoshi,” Mirio pointed to the man. I didn’t get a good look at him at the race and my jaw dropped at the vibrancy of his purple hair. “And this is Kaminari Denki, he is a player so don’t talk to him unless you have to.” Mirio said, but smiled as he was talking.

“Hey man! I’m trying to make a good impression here.” Kaminari replied, almost whining as he scoffed and ran his hand through his yellow hair.

“No need, that first impression ship has long since sailed. You know, when you made me voluntarily get into a car with Mr. Anger Management.” I spat back at Kaminari, mad, and not moving until I received an apology.

On his left, Shinsou let out a laugh, while Kaminari’s face heated to an embarrassed beet red. If I didn’t know any better, it almost looked like fear flashed in his eyes before he schooled his expression.

“I uh- I’m really sorry. It was only meant to be a joke, I didn't think anything would come of it. And I get a little mischievous when I’m tipsy.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at anything but me.

“You’re forgiven. Thank you for apologizing, I’m Y/n L/n, please, call me by my first name.” I introduced myself, to which both men spoke their hello’s to me with a courteous bow.

“Well, if introductions are done, Mirio and I have to leave, Amajiki is waiting on us. I expect you two will remember what it was that Mirio said?” Noel cut into the awkward moment, trying to get the show on the road.

“We’ll remember. We should be going too.” Shinsou spoke, his voice deeper than I imagined.

“Goodbye sweets, text or call if you need anything!” Noel kissed me on the cheek and Mirio side hugged me before waving us out the door.

“Your chariot awaits Miss Y/n.” Kaminari’s laugh echoed in the foyer as he opened the door and ushered me out.

My first thought about the newest car sitting on the curb, was that it had to be Shinsou’s. The purple color of the car matched his messy locks, and as funny as it was the black accents matched the black bags under his eyes.

I didn’t have much longer to think on the topic, only because Shinsou had the driver side door open with his seat pushed up and was waiting for me to get into the car.

It’s only a few hours Y/n. You can do this.

I huffed as I climbed into the seat in the back.

Here we go again.

————————————

“TELL ME WHYYYYYYY-”

“AIN’T NOTHIN BUT A HEART BREAK!!”

Three hours.

I’ve had to sit in the back of Shinsou’s car and listen to their incessant caterwauling for three hours.

The only thing getting me through was the boba tea Kaminari recommended and counting down the seconds until our next stop. Finally, after they chauffeured me across Tokyo, we were pulling our way up to what was -thank fucking god- our last stop. The bakery Noel had told me about.

It was a quaint little building, attached to other quaint little buildings. A bookstore to its left and a humble tea shop to its right, an introverted heaven and I could already tell I’d love it. I was anxious to get the introductions with the woman Noel told me about done and hopefully she’d like me.

“Do you want us to come with you? Or are you okay going in yourself?” Kaminari asked from the front seat.

“I think I’ll be good, thanks though,” I began to unbuckle the harness strapping me to the seat and Shinsou got out to pull the seat out to let me out.

“If you hear the horn honk make sure you drop whatever you're doing and come back to the car, only precaution but you can never be too careful.” Shinsou said as I hopped out and began making my way to the door.

I saluted him with a smirk and opened the glass door that rang out with the cute tinkles of bells on the other side. I looked around the shop and gasped. I really was in love. It was a greenery heaven, with ivy plants climbing the brick walls and exotic ferns gracing the corners. The Pink of the cookies and cupcakes in the display looked not only delicious but complemented the color palette of the place perfectly.

“Hello, welcome to Yin’s Cakes, how can I help you?” A gentle voice rang out from behind the counter and brought me out of my jaw dropping awe.

“Oh hello! My name is Y/n, I’m actually here to talk to you,” I replied, taking the last few steps to the counter with what was hopefully a friendly smile on my face.

Yin’s expression visibly dropped, confusing me. Her eye’s became apprehensive as she looked at me and then shifted them towards the floor to ceiling windows on the other side of the room, to where Shinsou’s purple Audi sat on the other side.

She grimaced, and shifted her gaze to the floor before clearing her throat.

“Look…I don’t want anything to do whatever you and your racing buddies have going on. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Yin said, unable to make eye contact with me from behind the counter where she stood.

“Uh..they are just my ride for today, I’m Noel L/n’s niece. I was hoping to talk to you about a job..” I drifted off, hoping she’d just hear me out.

Yin’s face heated from the neck up at the misunderstanding and she stuttered on her next words. “O-Oh! Noel’s niece? Jesus I’m so sorry, you should’ve started with that. Of course, she called me this morning. Come with me!” She waved me around the counter, and I went willingly.

“Okay so, I won’t have you fill out an application only cause I trust Noel’s word and we need help bad. We’ll get right into it, this is the kitchen and where all the magic happens! I’ll have you come in early mornings to start baking with me just so you can get the basics, and then in a few days when school starts you’ll come in in the afternoons to work those shifts. We start at four in the morning and close at five, over there is the co-owners office. She is sweet as pie, but don’t go in there if you value your life, she gets weird about it. Mmmm..let me think, I think that’s all,” She stood against the metal workbench, covered in flour with her pointer finger touching her chin. She really was pretty. “Are you okay to start in the morning?” She finished.

Man can she talk. I was trying to process everything when the door chimed once again.

“Ope! One second honey, I gotta grab this.” Yin rushed from the kitchen only to be stopped by a feminine voice, smooth as honey.

“That’s alright Yin, it’s just me,” A woman walked from around the corner and my jaw dropped. Dark silky hair tied into a flawless high ponytail. High cheekbones and sharp dark grey eyes, and a body to die for dressed in designer silk. “Oh, and who do we have here?” The woman smiled at me, and I swear my heart fluttered and skipped a beat.

“H-hi, m-my name is Y-y/n.”

Smooth, real smooth.

“Oh shit! Well what do you say Y/n, start tomorrow?” Yin asked again, clearly forgetting about our previous conversation.

“Y-yeah, t-tomorrow. Four then?” I asked again, and Yin vigorously nodded her head, her thousand watt smile borderline blinding me.

“Oh, you're our new employee? What a precious thing you are,” The woman’s soft smile was comforting and a huge contrast to Yin’s infectious enthusiasm. “I nearly forgot my manners I’m so sorry,”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/n, my name is Momo Iida. I’m the co-owner of Yin’s cakes.” Momo bowed politely as she said it.

And for the rest of my time at Yin’s Cakes, the only thing I could think of was how pretty the name Momo Iida was.

————————————

Taglist: @thatonegeekchick @garnet-redtailedhero @nightlygiggless @miydizzle3000 @akaashisus @notyourfavorIte @oikawasb1tch @breadmouthbread

I think this is everyone😭💕💕

-Squidlyskeet ✌🏻

MASTERLIST

#my hero academia #mha #this took a lot longer than i thought it would #uhgggg #bnha au #bnha fluff #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugou #tokyo drift #mha angst #bnha angst

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knotnotknowing · 3 years

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♓️ i find it fascinating the way things align in the stream, where waves stream and revert back to signatures that ripple into presenting a similar energy or vibe, the frequency that gives you feedback to spur activity ♊️ idk, if i were to break that down, it’s like, i get hit up with an image by a person and their sign is the same as the next person and something the other does correlates to something i did and that sends me on a wave that activates my brain to recognize things and see how it links to other things ✡️ for example, the thought to post on tumblr came yesterday, and after a few interactions and occurrences i was sparked into motion that lead to me doing a few things that lead to something that brought me to do this *♋️ i’ve been doing drawings in that nature thanks to @laysiaprincess ♑️ who recommended i number the things in the order that they happen and ever since then an entirely new world has been unfolding 🌹 and what kicked it off was @imturningblue ** liking one of my posts on ig(afroknotical) that came when i was speakin’ with a colleague ♋️* earlier this morning that got me in the flow of even creating that current piece, but the fact that one of her** posts had a slide of the same exact sake sent me 🍾 excitement got the best of me and i went on a liking spree, now i’m coming back to my senses (´∀｀) on the spectrum(autistic) and sometimes mania(schizo) tends to get me goin’ off on a trip (｀・ω・´)

even creating this post reminds me of a why that commenced this journey[circa 2013], when i saw the similarities and parallels with mental illness/disorder** with spirituality***. psychology paints it one way, but in ancestral times it was embraced because they knew there were spirits doing work and that person was channeling entities that made for communion and communication with other realms to which those that knew and understood could consult those who were in between worlds** were able to bring back to them things to contribute to the tribe and community. ⚡️

***psychosis or spiritual awakening: phil borges at TEDxUMKC on youtube

alexander shulgin - varieties of psychedelic experience

dr. rev phil valentine also speaks on this subject matter(i have this here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CSPcxOEFBN7/?utm_medium=copy_link )

these 3 cases support something i’ve had a hunch about in my gut and am recently coming into information and knowledge that are either peer-reviewed or backed by facts of what i’d felt so long ago. i’m only beginning to find the words and articles and things to be able to communicate this stuff clearly{still in the process of learning, unlearning, and relearning}, but the timing of this all is intriguing because had certain things not occurred in the order that they did this post would not be, so continued thanks to @imturningblue for interacting with my instagram profile.

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now, back to this hunterxhunter episode (*´ω`*)

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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Alone in the Ashes {22}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Yeah....I don’t even have a nice little book quote for this one.

The days passed by quickly, the weeks all blurring together. Planning a wedding was stressful, apparently, and trying to fit it into three months was a nightmare. With a month and a half to go until he and Feyre said I do, Rhysand had only crossed off half of his to-do list.

He had the day off of work and planned to try and knock off the other half during his afternoon at home, but it was morning, and Rhysand sat with Mila in the visiting room of the Velaris State Prison.

He hated Amarantha.

Loathed her.

But he loved Mila, and he couldn’t say no to Azriel when he’d asked. Azriel couldn’t miss Elain’s doctor appointment. They would be listening to the heartbeat for the first time. It was unmissable.

“You scared, Rhysie?”

Rhysand looked down into Mila’s big, pleading eyes. He hadn’t said much, felt incredibly uncomfortable. But for her, he smiled. “I’m okay. She should be coming soon, I would think.”

“The big men bring her in,” Mila said, referring to the guards. “She can’t talk a long time. They take her away.”

Rhysand nodded, taking her little hand in his as the door pushed open and Amarantha entered. The minute she walked in and spotted Rhysand, she grinned.

Rhysand hated that grin.

He and Amarantha had dated right after he graduated from high school, for just a few months - a few months too long.

She sat across from them and Mila beamed. “Hi, mama. Rhysie came with me today! Uncle Azzie is with Lain at the doctor.”

“Hi baby,” she smiled, then looked to Rhysand. “Rhys.”

“Amarantha,” he said, her name uncomfortable as it rolled off his tongue. “How’s prison life?”

“About what you’d expect,” she said. “I hear you’re getting married. To Feyre, of all people.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Rhysand said, trying to keep his voice light for Mila’s sake. “Talk to your daughter.”

“Oh, I will,” Amarantha said, “but this is such a great time for us to catch up. So. Feyre finally got rid of Tamlin, did she?”

Rhysand’s jaw locked. It seemed his last visit to Tamlin went better than he’d hoped for. Neither he nor Feyre had heard from the asshole since that day.

“Ah, she did, and fell in love with you,” Amarantha crooned. “And Azriel’s a baby daddy. How about Cassian?”

“Cassie is in love with Nesta,” Mila said.

Amarantha’s brows nearly shot into her hairline. “Archeron? Shit, his standards must have really lowered.”

“Shit,” Mila repeated, and giggled.

“Don’t say that word,” Rhysand whispered to Mila.

“Don’t tell my daughter what she can and can’t say,” Amarantha snapped. “She’s not your daughter.”

“Do you even know who her father is?” Rhysand asked, before he could stop himself. Mila didn’t seem to notice, an older guard was coming around, handing lollipops to the kids, and Mila was waiting eagerly in her chair.

Amarantha’s eyes had narrowed. “Yes, jackass, I do, and now that Az is having a child of his own, Mila will be seeing him a lot more.”

Rhysand stilled. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks,” Amarantha said, sitting back. “Azriel’s negligence has already begun. He’s not here, doing his duty to Mila. Instead, he’s with Elain, obsessing over his unborn child. It’s only a matter of time before he starts ignoring Mila entirely.”

“Azriel loves Mila like she’s his own,” Rhysand spat. “Letting her go with anyone else would be fucked up, even for you.”

Amarantha took no offence. She simply grinned as Mila hopped up from her chair and dug through the bucket of lollipops.

“I disagree. In fact, I’ve already given Mila’s dad a call. He’ll be paying a visit to Azriel, soon.”

Rhysand said nothing as Mila crawled onto his lap. “Can you open this, Rhysie?”

Clearing his throat, Rhysand took the sucker and took off the wrapper before giving it back to Mila.

“Thank you,” she grinned, putting the sucker in her mouth before throwing her little arms around Rhysand’s neck.

“You can’t do this,” Rhysand breathed. “You just want something to control, but it’s not right, and you know it.”

Amarantha shook her head. “You don’t even know who her father is.”

“I know if he slept with you he must be a lowlife dipshi-” Rhysand’s word broke off, remembering there was a four-year-old within earshot. “Not good.”

Mila was singing a song in his ear, oblivious to it all, her entire, innocent world revolved around her lollipop.

“You’ll all find out soon, won’t you? Besides, you used to sleep with me,” Amarantha said, lips twisted upward. “Now, Mila.” Mila turned around at the sound of her name. “Tell mama what I’ve missed.”

Just like that, Rhysand was forgotten. Mila told Amarantha about preschool, about all she did while Azriel was at work.. Then, she told Amarantha about Rhysand’s wedding, and how pretty she felt in her flower girl dress. She also told her mother that Uncle Az was going to be a daddy, and she would have a little brother or sister soon.

Rhysand’s heart broke at the words, at the little girl’s excitement.

Innocent.

She was so fucking innocent.

Rhysand felt sick. He didn’t know who the father was. None of them did. They all just assumed Amarantha was sleeping with so many different men that she didn’t know. The thought of some random dick coming to take Mila away from Azriel…

Azriel would be crushed.

But he wouldn’t let Mila go, not without a fight - a fight he didn’t need as he prepared to bring a child into the world. Elain would support him, of course. She had grown to love Mila, too.

They all loved Mila.

The guard by the door soon announced that visiting hours were over.

Amarantha stood diligently from her chair, kissed Mila on the forehead, then pressed her lips to Rhysand’s, quickly. His jaw went hard, his lips tight.

The second she broke away from him, she whispered, “Let Azriel know about my little surprise.”

As Amarantha walked away, Mila looked up at Rhysand. “Why you kiss mama?”

Rhysand didn’t answer. With a sigh, he stood up, picking her up as he did so. She clung to his neck, the sucker still in her mouth, as they hauled ass to the parking lot.

~~~~~

Elain was practically bouncing out of her chair. Azriel, as always, seemed perfectly calm.

“How are you not freaking out?” she asked.

Azriel chuckled. “Because I know everything will be fine.”

“How?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Oh, I’m gonna puke.”

“There’s a garbage-”

But she had already found the trash can and was hunched over it, vomiting up what little she had managed to get into her stomach for breakfast that morning. Azriel was behind her, instantly, holding back her hair.

She leaned back into him and groaned. He stood there for a moment, comforting her as she caught her breath.

“What if they can’t find a heartbeat?” she whispered.

Azriel turned her around so that she was facing him. He kissed her forehead, softly. “Nothing out of the ordinary has happened, okay? According to my sources, you are a perfectly healthy pregnant woman, and there is a baby with a strong, little heartbeat in there.”

Elain couldn’t help but smile. “And who are your sources?”

“The internet,” he mumbled, and Elain laughed, pressing her forehead into his chest.

She didn’t have to stress about the unknown for much longer, though, because the door opened and the doctor walked in. They had gone to high school with him, he had been in the same grade as Azriel, played basketball alongside him.

His icy blue eyes shone as he took in Azriel and Elain.

“Hey,” he grinned, clapping Azriel on the shoulder before shaking Elain’s hand.

“Hey, Kal,” Azriel replied with a smile. “Long time.”

Kallias chuckled. “Yeah, it has been. I’m glad you told Viv you were looking for a doctor. She hauled ass home and told me if I didn’t make room for you two, she’d riot.”

Viviane was Mila’s preschool teacher. She had also graduated the same year as Azriel. Her and Kallias had gotten married just after high school.

Elain laughed, quietly. “We appreciate you getting us in. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replied, gently. “Hop up on the table for me.”

Elain did so and laid back.

“Morning sickness?” he asked, as he sat on a stool that he wheeled toward her. Azriel stood on the opposite side of the table, quietly.

“Ugh, yes,” Elain began.

“Good.”

When she looked at him like he was crazy, he chuckled. “Believe it or not, it’s a sign that the baby is healthy.”

Elain looked at Azriel. He was grinning - no doubt something he already knew from his sources.

“At this point, your baby is the size of a kidney bean and only weighs a few ounces,” Kallias continued, pulling out a tube of gel. “You may start to notice your abdomen starting to grow, and you may notice your breasts getting bigger, too.” At that, he winked at Azriel. “If you haven’t already.”

Elain’s cheeks heated.

Kallias huffed a laugh. “Alright, pull up your shirt for me.”

She exposed her belly and took Azriel’s hand. Kallias’ smile softened at her tiny, growing bump. “Alright. We’re gonna try to find a heartbeat. If we don’t find one today, don’t panic. It’s normal, considering the fetus is so small. In that case, I’ll have you come back in a few weeks to try again. Okay?” Elain nodded. Kallias asked, softly, ”Ready?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed.

“Sorry, this part’s cold.” He squeezed the gooey gel onto her abdomen, then took a little probe and spread out the gel before slowly moving it around her abdomen.

The seconds seemed to pass too slowly.

Azriel’s thumb was lightly brushing over the back of her hand as they waited.

Suddenly, Kallias stopped and looked up at Elain with a smile as a fast-paced beating filled the room.

Elain looked up at Azriel and laughed. The heartbeat was fast, seemed too fast, but Kallias said it was normal, meant it was a healthy heartbeat.

Elain decided then, as tears filled her eyes, that it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. Judging by the softness of Azriel’s eyes, of his smile, he felt the same.

~~~~~

Cassian pulled into the townhouse’s driveway. He’d barely taken off his helmet as he knocked on the front door.

He hadn’t seen Nesta since the night he spent with her, watching movies. He had texted her the night before, though, asking her if she wanted to go out.

She had said yes, replied quickly.

So, Cassian had taken a bike home from work and planned to take her to dinner.

The door opened a minute later, and Nesta walked out onto the porch. She took one look at the bike and raised a brow.

“You should know by now what a night out with me entails.”

Nesta huffed a laugh then gestured to her close-toed shoes. “Obviously.”

He grinned and handed her the extra helmet. “Come on.”

She took the helmet and pulled it down onto her head. Cassian helped her fasten the chinstrap before putting on his own.

Her arms wrapped around him as they sped down the road, into the heart of the city, where they eventually came to a little restaurant in a brick building. Nesta smoothed down her hair as they entered.

“Italian?” she asked, keeping close to Cassian as they were led to a little table by the window.

“You don’t like Italian?” he asked, as they sat down.

“Everyone likes Italian,” she muttered, with a small smile, looking down at the menu.

But Cassian was looking at her.

She didn’t look up from her menu when she asked, “May I help you?”

Cassian chuckled, picking up his own menu. “You look nice.”

“I know,” she said, quietly. “You look pretty nice, too.”

“I know,” Cassian said, mimicking her tone.

Nesta shook her head. “So, after we eat a delicious meal, where are you taking me this time?”

“You’re so impatient,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, I am,” she laughed. “Answer my fucking question.”

Cassian shrugged. “Wherever you wanna go. Tell me where, and I’ll take you there.”

“Anywhere?” she asked, brow raised.

“Within reason,” Cassian muttered.

She snorted, but nodded. “I like that idea.”

“That’s because you like to be in charge,” he countered.

Nesta didn’t deny it. “Obviously.”

Nesta pretended to think about it the entire time they sat at that table. Every time Cassian asked what she was thinking, she gave him the same answer he had always given her - it’s a surprise.

“You’ll have to tell me eventually,” he laughed. “I’m driving.”

Nesta had finished her plate of pasta as she said, “Are you?”

Cassian stilled, eyes narrowed, before taking his last bite. “Oh, I’m sure as hell not letting you drive my bike.”

“Think I can’t do it?” she asked.

Cassian hesitated.

It was a trick question, he swore.

“Let me drive,” she said, cocking her head to the side.

“Hmm,” Cassian grunted. “No.”

“Come on.”

“You don’t know how.”

“Then teach me.”

They stared at one another, neither of them budging.

Cassian let out a long, slow breath. “Fine, but if you wreck it, I will make you watch so many shitty old movies-”

“I’ll be careful,” she interrupted, chuckling.

“Better be,” he muttered, before asking for the check.

Far before he was ready, they were back on his bike, Cassian sitting behind Nesta.

“Alright,” he said, firing up the engine and starting to back them up. His arms were around her, his hands on the handlebars. “Put your hands under mine.”

She did so. Cassian’s hands tightened around hers. Yeah, he wasn’t sure about this one bit.

“Alright,” he said, again, guiding her hands as they approached the edge of the parking lot, ready to merge onto the road.

Cassian had never let anyone else drive any of the bikes he brought home. She would be disappointed if she thought he was going to stop guiding her hands.

Not happening.

He revved the engine and Nesta’s body shook against him with laughter.

“Here we go,” he muttered, heart beating wildly as she motioned for them to turn right.

Right they went.

They drove down the main street, through the city, until they were heading down a familiar backroad. Cassian let his hands loosen, just a little bit, once it seemed Nesta was getting the hang of it. She was going slower than he would’ve, which he was grateful for.

Eventually, Nesta was pulling off of the road, to a familiar place he’d brought her a couple months before.

She stopped the bike, and Cassian put his legs out to catch them, finally fully releasing her hands.

After turning off the engine, he took off his helmet.

“Come on,” she said, not waiting for him as she found the trail in the woods.

With a fond smile, he followed her into the trees and down the pathway, toward the waterfalls.

“This is my favorite place you’ve taken me,” she said, although she didn’t turn around as she did. She climbed down the path until she was on that large, flat rock, where she slipped off her socks and shoes. After rolling up her jeans, she hung her legs over the rock, into the water.

Cassian did the same, sitting next to her.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said.

“You told me you liked me that day,” she said, looking out at the falls. “It was a good day.”

Cassian looked at her through his side eye before reaching over to gently take her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed.

When she looked at him, she froze. “You’re giving me that look.”

“What look?” Cassian crooned.

“The look that says you’re about to do something that’s going to piss me the fuck off.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cassian said, innocently.

Just as Nesta opened her mouth to reply, Cassian was wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and pulling her down into the frigid waters of the Sidra.

When they came up out of the water, Nesta was screaming. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

She splashed Cassian in the face, who simply laughed, treading in place.

He splashed her back.

With a scowl, she swam to where Cassian was staying afloat and pushed him back under the water by his shoulders. He came up, laughing, right in front of her face.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

His arms wrapped around her waist.

He admired how she looked, clothes and hair soaked, droplets of water falling down her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her blue-gray eyes wide as she looked into his.

“You look nice,” he whispered, the sound of the waterfalls nearly drowning out his words.

“You look pretty nice, too,” she said, brushing his wet hair back off his forehead.

He could feel her breath, warm against his mouth.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pulled her up, closer toward him.

She could never be close enough.

Closing the short distance between them, Cassian softly pressed his lips to hers.

~~~~~

“You WHAT?” Feyre yelled.

Mila had let the beans spill about Amarantha’s goodbye. Azriel had shown up mere seconds later to pick her up and, after giving them a quick rundown of Elain’s appointment, they were gone.

Leaving Rhysand and Feyre alone in their apartment.

“She kissed me,” Rhysand said, “not the other way around, calm down.”

“She put her dirty mouth on my husband’s!” Feyre said, throwing her hands in the air. “Bitch. And don’t fucking tell me to calm down. Never tell a woman to calm down.”

Rhysand didn’t correct her. Instead, he started picking up the dirty plates, silverware, and dishes off the table, bringing them to the sink. They’d had chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese - Mila’s choice.

Feyre shuddered. “That pisses me the fuck off. Just when you think she could do all the damage she could do, she pulls shit like that.”

“That’s not all she pulled,” Rhysand said, rinsing off the dishes as he put them into the dishwasher.

Feyre came up behind them and pulled herself up on the counter. “Care to elaborate?”

Rhysand turned off the sink and ran his hand through his hair. “She decided she doesn’t like that Elain is pregnant. She plans to use Azriel’s baby as a tool for manipulation.”

A minute passed when Feyre said nothing, and when Rhysand turned around to face her, leaning against the counter behind him, she finally said, “I don’t understand.”

“She told Mila’s dad that Azriel has her. And, apparently, told him to take her away from Az.”

Feyre blinked, letting the words sink in. “Wait- Mila’s dad? As in...she’s actually acknowledging who the bastard is?”

Rhysand nodded. “So she says. She wanted me to tell Azriel, but...I don’t know. He was so happy, just now, I couldn’t.”

Feyre’s eyes softened. “It’s not your fault, Rhys. But fuck Amarantha. She’s been a shitty parent all these years. Azriel has been that little girl’s only constant, and if this jackass takes her away….” She shook her head. “Did she say who it was?”

“No,” Rhysand breathed. “But, I have a really bad feeling about it, Feyre. Amarantha kept him away all these years, and, as you said, she’s been a shitty parent. If Mila’s dad is someone Amarantha wanted nothing to do with…”

“Why would she want him now, then?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand shrugged, turning back to the sink to finish the dishes. “Because she’s bored, and she’s bitter, and she likes to watch Azriel suffer, as she always has.”

Feyre said nothing else. She stayed sitting on the counter, quietly.

There was nothing else to say.

Nothing that would change the hell that Azriel was about to find himself in, anyway.

~~~~~

Azriel had driven Mila home and put her in bed before he joined Mor on the couch with a glass of wine.

“No Elain tonight?” she asked.

“Apparently it’s sister night. Nesta’s on her way home. They plan to watch a movie and paint each other’s nails or something like that.”

Mor laughed. “Sounds fun. We should do that, too. You’re good at painting my nails.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I was in high school. My skills may have faded through the years.”

“Doubtful,” she said, grinning. “Well, I may be being selfish, but I’m glad to have you for a night to myself. Daddy.”

“Do not call me that,” he muttered, sipping from his glass.

Mor’s grin widened. “Why not, daddy?”

“Stop.”

“I like it when you use that tone with me,” she said, winking, then added, “Daddy.”

Azriel flicked her nose, and Mor’s laughter filled the air.

It was cut short when a loud knock came to the front door.

“Who the hell is that?” Azriel mumbled. “It’s late.”

Concern consumed him, suddenly thinking it was Elain, suddenly thinking something was wrong. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he padded toward the door to make sure he hadn’t missed any messages.

He hadn’t.

Shoving it back into his pocket, he threw open the door and froze.

Eris Vanserra stood outside, grinning. “Azriel. I hear you have my daughter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @starkovsnesta @redisriding @photofeesh

@mariamuses @tswaney17 @amaranthas-whore @awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr @rachaels14 @faequeenaelin @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn

@hashtolanashoba @poisonous00 @chemicha @samotita

@mynewdreamwasyou @humming-asong

@candid-confetti @awkward-avocado-s @sensitiveillyrian

@my-fan-side @queen-of-glass @stars-falling

@ifangirlninja @sleeping-and-books @burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls @kindofawalkingpoem

@sannelovesreading @empressnesrynfaliq

@halstudies @sleeping-and-books @alwayss-reading

@amren-courtofdreams @b00kworm

@wifeofchrishemsworth @booksstorm

@goldr0ses @blackjacks-donuts

@humanexile @over300books

@booksbooksbooksworld @starrynightsbooks

@girl-who-reads-the-books @mockingjayusa

@mis-lil-red @mini-monster-amren

@shhhimreading03 @brittneym15

@emilyrose111294 @queen-of-glass

@negativenesta

@argentumstella

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae

@feyrethedarklady

@starryandbooks

@gingerglides @candid-confetti

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @iliketoasterstrudels

@6255igntm @moondancer-204

@littlehoneyybee @acourtofbookworms

@the-regal-warrior

@awkward-avocado-s @nightcourtcinnamonroll

@aelin-rowan-whitehorn @bamchickawowow

@julemmaes @itsme-malin

@regular-nessian-trash @made-of-stardust-and-wanderlust

@ugh-avila @awkward-avocado-s

@superspiritfestival @the-dark-swan @girlgotattitude448 @eversincebeirut

@midnightrose-reader @lord-douglas-the-third @thestarguidingyouhome

@empress-ofbloodshed @starkovsnesta @nickjgoodsell

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #tacmc AITA #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm #nessian #feysand #elriel #modern au

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worldcakecakecake · 3 years

Text

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64 I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68 I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75 I Chapter 76 I Chapter 77 I Chapter 78

Chapter 79

“Now!” Arthur shouted.

Renata quickly ceased the glow in her hand, gone like the flicker of a candle.

“Now somebody go get-” Louis was interrupted by a sudden blast, white and rampaging across the room. They quickly thought it an attack from Destro that had managed straight at their location, but they didn’t hurt…the light became one of warmth, of familiarity. They actually heard Augustino laughing. The light was gone swiftly, everyone began to stand from their fall, just in time to see Feliciano arise, taking a large deep breath, to then cough as he held to the stairs of the pool. The first one to come to his side was Kiku, one hand to help him stand on the dry stone of the room, the other comforting on his back. They all rushed to circle him, but Kiku held a hand to give Feliciano some decency of space, to breathe back in actual living oxygen into his physical body…alive again after a month.

In all honesty…Feliciano looked horrible. He was hunched as he leaned to breathe again, wet, dripping water to the ground, his clothes haggard and his body was only slowly recovering back its color. He still leaned on Kiku, who still offered to give him support.

This was not how they expected him to return. If he was like this…it only meant… “You…couldn’t get it…couldn’t you?” Roderich guessed, deflated, all joining in this accept of what was soon to be a world ending failure. They believed it more so when Feliciano hanged his head lower, refusing to look at them.

They sighed, some began to tear and whimper, given up, kneeling to the floor ready to have everything destroyed before them. But whatever wallowing that wanted to continue, was broken with a sudden red glow, cracking and even drawing upon Feliciano’s fallen hand. Feliciano chuckled, beginning to stand, carefully moving Kiku to the side. All water on him left, dried, looking pristine even if he was bare footed and still wore a simple blouse and pants. His hair and skin shone brighter, with deeper colors and from him came this stronghold of magic, decorating the room in a sense that alighted them, shone them forward to be coated in this new air.

“I got more than just the alignment,” he assured as he opened and showed them his eyes covered completely in magic, bright, powerful, but yet still they held the childish wonder of Feliciano, assuring them it was deeply him. “Much…much more.” He opened his hands to let his arms begin to get decorated in shines of gold and red, letting the room tremble and grow with a garden of magic, of sparks and lights that fascinated all to a stupor. He let it all stop with a simple sway of his hands lowering, his eyes closing to then alight again with his usual amber. Before all could word and celebrate, smiling and shinning deeply with hope, another crash came into the room from a messenger, tired, huffing and ready to fall to the ground.

“Destro is in the midst of the city! He’s approaching the castle and we are not enough to hold him! You must come and help us!”

“Perfect! We have Feliciano with us and he holds the alignment,” Yao announced, as all brandished their weapons and magic again. Only but Feliciano startled and questioned as his gaze was frantic.

“We’ll help him however necessary. We will attack this instant and make sure Destro is dead by the-"

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Feliciano interrupted his father, standing before all as a blockade.

“Feliciano, we have to act now!” Lovino shouted.

“I know, I know! Just please…don’t kill him…”

They all widened and stood perplexed, for not just the words but the feel in his tone.

“What do you mean not kill him? He has helped destroy a large part of Clubs and is the culprit for having the entire southern Hearts kingdom obliterated. If he comes any closer he’ll have us all killed instead!” Aldrich shouted.

Even if all the energy currently rested inside him, Feliciano hurt, holding back tears as he shook and tried to control them to stay inside. “Let me deal with this! You can help me all you want when we have to defeat Khaos…but leave Destro to me.” With the words he managed his calm and straightening, a stronghold that actually got the rest to fall and stand back, lessening the hold of their weapons and even the energy of their magic.

Feliciano sighed, calm…then potence as he turned to the messenger still trying to calm his breaths. “Tell everyone to fall back…and to come straight to the castle. One brigade is commanded to keep a Titanium shine spell so Destro can attack until everyone is safely secured inside. Once done, I myself will place a protective shield to keep the castle safe. I assure you all no harm will come.”

“And then you’re going to face Destro alone?” Lili was dreading.

Another shook that caused pieces to fall in the room, a roar that made them all shutter.

“Yes. I will.” Decreed strongly in his voice, one everyone knew they could not go against, having to nod and accept, if even shaking with worry. “I will only put up the shield once everyone is in…and you have to promise you will stay inside.” He turned with strength in his foots, one that made all bow to in reverence and accept. “Only then will I head out and face him.”

“Your majesty…what are you doing now?” Elizabeta dared herself to ask.

“I will watch and make sure that my commands are fulfilled…and I have to look for my harp.” And with a surprising calm he took to the halls to head to its storage.

The call was done quickly. Feliciano saw from his heights as messengers spread and began to lead way back to the castle. Some rushed alone, others needed assistance because of their wounds, depending on the help of other soldiers to make way, but they made haste. Whoever was left in the city made approach to the castle, all behind a line of wizards that kept the Titanium Shine as the Queen had told. The spell was but a hallucination, a tall pillar of strong grey magic that feigned the energy of a living person, a perfect distraction for Destro, who attacked it as viciously as he had done everything, the ricochets deadly to the city, tearing and coating in smoke of destruction. Entire streets were there no longer, others blackened, Destro’s mere presence calling poison to reign even in the skies, tempting to rain with burn.

This was the first time Feliciano’s eyes fell on Destro, the expanse of darkness, raging and swinging with its own arms and face, with runes of red and white, shaped with strengths that were actually wider than Khaos. He had yet to see Khaos in his alignment, but already Destro proved much more evil than the depictions he had seen long ago in the cave of artifacts.

He gulped, he gripped harder the column of the harp he had now…trying to contain his fear…to see…

The ground shook, awaking Feliciano from his thoughts, to realizing that the wizards and the last of the soldiers were entering the front gardens of the castle. It was his time to leave…to face…to begin and end this all. He actually…believed. He had confidence, one that made him stand prideful, with a deep breath that was only for the beginning of a melody.

“I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom,

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall,

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet,

If you accept to be mine, my Queen.”

He sung it underneath his breath, tranquil and peaceful despite this disarray.

In the eternal reserve, there was indeed much more than just the alignment, more than just power and magic. There was information, knowledge and instructions about everything, even notes of power left behind. One of those messages was the ability to actually change the harp. No…he would not dare change the design, structure and color Augusta had placed, for it was sufficiently beautiful. All he needed was to change its size, something small he could carry in his palm, to easily begin his descend down the castle, like a singular entity that existed out of everything, merely trying to make a passing.

“No heat, no cold, will stop me of my search,

No sun, no rain to go against my strength,

Just promise me your hand,

And love me in our eternity.”

This music he tried to make his own sound, away from the shouts, the hurry of everyone trying to make their place in the castle for the shield.

“My sun, my moon, my land, my love,

I know it’s a journey you will overcome,

But I don’t need you to go so far,

I want you here to kiss me.”

He entered the place of action, of all running and creating a panic that Feliciano felt suspended in as he made his way across. He paid no mind to them, he left them to their disorder. No one really came into silence until they noticed him…easy, like he was just strolling through the castle trying to find a pleasant breeze.

“Would you want all the gold I will find for you?

Would you like the songs I will bring from afar for you?

Would you accept me as your shield?

And would you want me always by your side?”

He sang on, making that image more the one that all thought Feliciano was really going through. They all stood as they witnessed him, letting a rare peace fall on these halls.

“What is he doing?” One soldier asked.

“Isn’t he supposed to be facing Destro?”

“They said he was going to do it alone!”

“But he’s just singing!”

The whispers continued.

“I don’t want any of the riches you will bring,

I don’t care for any of the songs,

I only want you to hold,

I only want your arms around me.”

The voices would always fall, beginning to just accept…and trust whatever it was that the Heartian Queen will do.

It was his own silent parade down the rest of the halls, down every stair he needed to take, reaching ground, the main door of the castle now appearing before him. The commotion was the strongest here, filled, with people in shouted pain and tears, healers coming to act quick, screams and hurry to head in from the royals at the front.

“Bring me your love, your kisses, your loyalty,

Your passion, your hope, your defeat,

Your promise, your weakness, your strength,

I will keep it all in my heart.”

“The casters are almost here!” Kandake shouted, shock panic in her expression.

“And where in the hell is Feliciano?” Vash shouted, just as he was met with a surprising silence, noticing how all gazed back to the very figure he questioned, making his way singularly down the hall.

“Let the doors open wider…let the last of them come in,” Lili reminded, strong and pushing so all could fulfill despite this rare glow Feliciano shone in, distracting and even beautiful.

“I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom,

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall,

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet,

If you accept to be mine, my King.”

Nobody dared question the song…they just gave the necessary space for Feliciano to take, in that moment handing everything to him. He now had their lives and future, hanging in his hands and power.

The last of the soldiers made entrance to the castle, the casters were now right before them, still holding to the spell, turning to the royals awaiting the next command.

“Stop the enchantment. Head inside. I’ll deal with him.”

They nodded, albeit fearful still as they turned their hands to release the hold. They rushed inside, leaving the pillar as it was, able to withstand a couple of more whiplashes from the remaining energy.

There was still some time.

While all shook at the image of Destro so near the castle, Feliciano stood stable, unaffected and with a calm some were envious the Queen could keep. The royals kept a guard around him, watching and waiting for any action. Only Pookie broke this as he took landing on Feliciano’s shoulder as usual, cuddling and comforting no matter the turmoil. It was almost like the monster before them wasn’t there at all.

“If you are waiting for me to change my mind, I am not.”

“To be honest, do whatever you want…just get rid of that thing,” Arthur admitted, his fear shown in the slight shake in his tone, as well as the fierceness he gave that made this a command.

Vincenzo glared, but it eased as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’ll be here, ready to serve you for anything. Defeat this menace…but stay safe.”

Feliciano smiled, the enchanting one that spread and made them all shine on this eve of darkness. “As I’ve said before…stay in the castle. Leave everything to me.” And with that he took a step out of the threshold, beginning his way, the others not daring to close the door, for it was their watch to the spectacle they knew would mark them all forever. Many others took watch from any of the windows, frozen and expecting.

In that chest of power, not only had Feliciano found information, but he found the forgotten lyrics to a song Augusta had long ago created, a hymn to the misery of losing her beloved.

“My sun, my moon, my land, my love…” he had begun to sing again. It was louder this time, echoing to the point that all in the castle could hear it…they even wondered if it spread to the whole city, since Destro suddenly stopped, a widened expression in his eyes that was eerily human.

“The sky has all fallen…” he continued, but he didn’t go on without a sudden deep breath, alighting in beautiful marks, ruby red. Once all that energy he needed was gathered, as he released his breath, large red lights began to grow from different corners of the city. He didn’t have to twirl his hand or utter some incantation…he walked on down the main courtyard, a simple thought in charge of letting these lights glow the streets they were located on, rushing forward until they reached the center of the castle. From the base it created at its edges, a net like structure began to grow, beginning a covering sphere of the castle, slow as Feliciano was still kept at its circulated area.

“The kingdom weeps their king’s farewell…” he managed to sing on as he found himself ever reaching the official gates, only a matter of steps now.

“And a queen breaks at her lover’s parting again…”

To his surprise…Destro remained awfully still…as if he was enjoying from the song…perhaps trying to find its location…or trying to find his target.

“But in your defend, all will join and fight for our future…”

The shield continued its upward current, to the amazement of all who stayed inside the castle, distracted in its form enough that they didn’t see as Feliciano finally placed a foot outside of the perimeters. With his exit, the shield met at the top and finished. The castle was now well protected…nothing would be capable of destroying it…and even at the worst it will still stand. Feliciano could now keep his focus on only Destro.

“…so the heavens will bless in your rest our perfect peace,” he finished the song, elongating an indeed rare silence in the city. To the surprise of those back in the castle, Destro didn’t lunge forward and Feliciano didn’t attack…they were easy in this stillness. They both continue to breathe out, nervous, like two strangers worried over their first meeting.

Somehow…even for this, Feliciano had a song, new and his…with thoughts for Ludwig and a willingness to do anything…absolutely anything for him.

“My sun, my moon, my land, my love…” he then began a slow reach, a walk forward, brave and with a shining happiness from his expression to his steps, eager, each new approach lighting the more, extinguishing more the fear.

“My king who shines above all,” he smiled, such joy that already teared at his eyes.

Destro continued this stillness, awed and wondered, frozen yet in his spot.

“Darkened, lost and taken…” and Feliciano finally took that weakness to use, beginning a spell that lighted up the entire city, glowing in gold as he used it for an intense heat, one that surely burnt and brought Destro back to screeching and sending swings, destroying streets and buildings…and yet Feliciano stood in their fault, smiling and unaware.

“I know your heart is stronger.”

Now the song was an add to this poison. Destro wanted rid of it, so he trampled forward meaning to fulfill his kill as intended.

Raging, monstrous, Feliciano still looking so diminutive in his shadow, and yet the Queen continued to smile and only move forward, in a want to meet him.

Many in the castle had to shield their eyes, some began to weep and others shook as if Destro’s was above them ready for taking. It could very well happen if he just swallowed Feliciano…which seemed would be very likely the case.

“Your light is brighter…” And Feliciano dared halt, much to the anguish of the castle, slowly, painfully slow, raising a hand…not the one that had the harp. From there, he gathered light…warming and loving…comfortable and even…happy. Despite how diminutive it was, right in the middle of this darkening blaze, looking like it could easily drown between all…Destro stood just as Feliciano, both not daring any harm to the other.

“You are ruler, you are king…” and they saw then that the song was dedication…dedication to Destro. The gaze their eyes shared was of childhood friends…turned to lovers…to then the King and Queen of Hearts. Destro let himself sit, the viciousness of his killing hands, turning gentle, forming fingers…familiar fingers that reached only for a simple touch. There was no fire, no magic, when Feliciano reached for its touch, he didn’t hurt, in fact, his smile was only larger, letting his hand caress the large hand of darkness like any regular skin. He embraced it, he even cradled it, letting himself lay on it, already feeling him entirely. He gazed up, with hint of tears from the peak of this happiness, to those large eyes that now more than ever reflected his beloved.

“I know it’s you…Ludwig…” he couldn’t keep the last words in the tune of the song, for it was more important that he knew he was there, more important that they had this reunion, a reminder that at the worst…they would triumph.

Destro…Ludwig…accepted this welcome, letting himself lean in blissful rest and comfort, careful as he lay right over the tiny figure of his husband. How he could, Feliciano raised his arms and embraced him, even as his face was formed this monstrous, loyal in giving him his ever devoting love, caressing and mending and how he wished he could kiss him. It was difficult, but…he tried, his lips reaching to any corner of a mouth he could reach, and with it, he began the full intent of his spell, one that went on its own course as he instead focus on feeling the powerful emotion of having his husband's lips again.

“Is he…is he kissing that thing?” Vash couldn’t help but mention. The rest were too dumbfounded to response, only watching as the city began to glow more in the scene of this kiss.

Despite how it was all gold, it seemed like color was brought back to the city, enveloping everything, slowly tearing apart every inch of darkness from this evil vessel. No more storms, no more poison, instead there was healing, coating everything in flowers, in new jewels to the buildings, in a brightening that made the damaged parts of the city new again. Destro turned smaller, smaller, every part of him slashed to nothing, disintegrating instead in shine and stars that made this grey day shinning with the colors of a beautiful morning. Piece by piece this vicious monster began to be chipped away until only this body remained…a human body. The golden light it was developed in was too much to really notice any features, but there was no hesitation in the way Feliciano desperately held to it, letting it rest on him, coming to kneel down until it could lay on his lap comfortably.

Knowing it was safe, the shield on the castle fell, in a blink, and in that instant the castle doors slammed open with the insistence of the royals. Feliciano didn’t care for this commotion, he simply let his hands trail on the figure’s hair, their blond strands coming back, their silk and softness, the hardened head, the strong jaw, nose and cheeks. His skin turned its rightful pale, his body as perfectly as Feliciano always considered it, left with only tattered remains of surely the last armor he had fought with. The brightness began to dwindle, leaving a wondrous heat in the city that made them swear a melody continued to sing. With the last twinkling of gold gone, there was a sudden grasp of air, of steady breathing…along with a heartbeat.

Ludwig remained in this rest, letting his body slowly get used to skin, to breathing in and out his control, testing with sudden grips and shakes that indeed…he was his own again. He baptized that aware with a fluttering of his eyes, that beautiful blue that the very sky seemed to have granted him. He saw a shining day, he felt the warmth of great summers and then he saw…his own angel, his sun, his love and queen and already he smiled. It caused a slight pang…but it didn’t matter…it was just the right reminder he was back…this was real…Feliciano was there.

“Ludwig?” Feliciano still questioned it, still wondering if this was the plethora of all dreams and he was still stuck in one of the realms.

Ludwig groaned and still found it hard to move for now…but it would pass, he would heal…and he will live. This time he could show a grin that reflected the light of this new sun on him, making it more real for Feliciano, who began to tighten the hold he kept on his body, whose eyes began to water, but even so his own grin wanted to keep expanding.

“Feliciano…” he managed to speak, rusted and sore, “…do you…remember that spell I used to do as a kid after my power activation…the one I had to do-” “-two for each afternoon hour,” they repeated together in a perfect sync that made them chuckle.

“And do you remember…how it was you that always convinced me to do it when I complained about it…and you always…tried to heal or calm whenever I got burnt afterwards…”

“Yes…yes, yes I remember that dearly.” Tears fell, but even with this shake, Feliciano went on smiling.

“I feel like…something just like that happened now…I couldn’t…control my power…I couldn’t…I couldn’t….” Ludwig found it hard to speak when he was shaking with the same tears that took him, the emotion piling. “-do anything…I left myself turn into a monster and destroy everything I hold dear, but you …you brought me back…you stopped this…you saved me…”

“Oh, but Ludwig, despite all this darkness, you managed to see me between and let the spell heal…you let yourself be freed. It wasn’t me alone. Oh, how I missed you and how I love you, I love you dearly and I just…I just had to save you. These last few weeks…without you were awful. I was so lost…everything was darker and hopeless…I was so ready to give up and join you wherever you were but…there’s a world looking up to us, there are tons of other millions we have to save and…” he raised his arms to the jewels were their children lay. Ludwig managed slight reaches to be able to caress them, smiling, the joy letting him raise from his lay a slight more. “…we have our own kids to show the very world we live in.” The jewels had gotten brighter, new red vines began to grow around Feliciano’s wrists and Ludwig was sure to touch every line, proving to his children that he was there…that he will be there. Their gazes met and they knew for sure all was real, their touch was theirs, their breath running and every fiber of magic in them was glowing now for their return. It exploded as they reached forward for their kiss, deepening and passionate, letting themselves in that fuel, letting whatever tears come down and fall for once in comfort and trust in the new flourished land below them. They settled between on one another in whimpers, in a hold all around them that was tight and placed, nothing, nothing…not even the approach of all, shouting, crying and celebrating was enough to depart them.

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There’s so much that went wrong while writing this. To me, this chapter should have meant more, but in the end…I don’t know…it doesn’t feel like I wanted it to. I tried what I could of fixing it but after noticing I haven’t gotten any comments or words for this story in months…yes including the last amount of chapters…I should just…no care about this as most people do. So many times the last few weeks I’ve thought about stopping…but, NEWS, there’s only about three chapters left to finish the story, and after five years with this…I think I should give it the chance to at least let it be done. I told myself many times, I created this adventure for myself and anyone else who reads is just welcomed to come along on the ride. I really don’t like coming here all guilt trippy like this, but just…been through a lot the last few weeks, thinking a lot about usage of time…and sometimes I wondered why continue with a story that I only care about, wasting time? But then, exactly, I care about it, I adore it, I don’t need the lack of interest of strangers. It is great, I love it, and it is taking swell time. For those who have stuck and the very few who are the pushes that keep me going with this hideous mammoth. Thank you, and thus, I bring you a chapter in what I could of messy holiday shenanigans.

As I said, savor it…only three more to go.

Also, was this part really like the one in Moana? Yes, I know. I had this idea long before the movie came out, but sadly I was slower. The movie did give me the idea to add a song though~

#fatkoh #f&tkoh #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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playing with a heart

title: playing with a heart pairing: lee jooheon/reader genre: office!au/friends with benefits!au/unrequited love!au summary: whenever any of them goes through a heartbreak, the other is there to make them feel better—physically, emotionally, in the verge of desire. as time passes, heartbreak becomes more bearable, romance is more understood and the two office coworkers grow apart. jooheon may never become a memory, she believes, pondering if she wants to go back to his arms simply because he would never break her heart or because she wants to give it to him after all those years. type: angst/fluff/suggestive/romance/humor word count: 17,178 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The folders are not uneven. Not when the colors are matched. Purple, indicators of the creative processes of the newest infomercial, goes with purple. The blue ones include casting for the next image of their product, sufficiently prominent in their own stack, edges lined with edges, dust moved by pats of her palm against the surface. The brown ones, however, boring beyond repairment, are the ones with the most information—needed for the camera-people, the crew of editors, the investors, sponsors…all of which should be studied by her.

Though, organization does make it easier. There is this prickly feeling in the back of her eyelids, accompanied by the frenzy of hand movements when she sees mismatched colors or disorganized matters. Her desk, pristine and clean, is a place that is often used by her and still, not a single speckle of dust dares to rest on the surface. Everything has to be perfect, like the timeline of an infomercial. If it develops its idea too soon, people will feel lost. If the idea takes too long to approach the watcher, someone will get bored.

Being the head of a department in an infomercial company is its own responsibility. Being so while also being way under forty is the tight feeling of pressure that she never dares voice out. But what does she voice out? If anything, her words are always glued to the back of her tongue, thinking that actions speak louder than words…and practically eating down her worries when her boss had insisted on having another head on the department. They want to expand, way beyond what they had already constructed, and while her ideas have been significantly developmental for the growth of their company—her boss’ words, not hers—, there needs to be something else.

Someone who doesn’t mind about the colors of the folders, or organizing the coffees for the meetings that the team take part of every Friday.

A person whose innovation was creative, more than logical.

The drink he ordered from the coffee girl should give her a glimpse of who he is. The swirling of the ice cubes inside the cup drop water on its surface, sweating down until it rests on the ebony colored long table, perfect for meetings. Her fingers ache to press a cloth down under that surface, to wipe and wipe the reminder of someone being in her line of job, sharing her office, making her the second in charge—uncontrolled, in a way. Before she could do so, the weight of the clear glassed door of the meeting room is pushed open, the air conditioner from outside freezing the place and doing wonders for that iced coffee, droplets becoming less rapid on their downfall.

The first person to get inside is not a worker of her team. None of the editors, none of the planners, no one that she could recognize—that doesn’t make him any less fitting. Some people can fit somewhere even when they are clearly not part of such a spot, and he’s the sponsor for such a concept.

It only takes some thinking for her to guess who he is. If he’s not from her team, he must go by the name her boss had uttered into the quickened air of the morning yesterday. Lee Jooheon. Whose black hair is perfectly styled back, as if the world bent at his will, sharp and complicated eyes not quite matching the dimples that appear on his features once he lets the door close under its own movements, catching sight of her.

“Oh, I didn’t know someone would be here.” He says, moving. “Good morning.”

Jooheon is a rampant tornado from the moment he meets her. From his casual style when he tugs at his perfectly snug tie, leaving it dangling just a little bit. From the way he takes a seat in front of another person’s iced coffee, instead of sitting in front of his seat. From the way his legs part for a second before crossing over each other and reaching towards the sets of folders. He inspects one, leaves it there, crooked.

Had it been anyone else, she’d be annoyed. Her blood would boil, rise in the way of a volcano before realizing the gates of her mouth will never open, will never utter a single word. She doesn’t, however. Something about him exudes beauty, knowledge, in the way he can be so chaotic yet so sweetly so at the same time. Unknowing, he is, much more when she exchanges the iced coffees before he can set his lips around the straw.

“This is yours.” She breathes out, voice too unused, coming in a whisper that is not expected of the head of a team. Jooheon lifts his gaze at that, raising his eyebrows slightly before wrapping his fingers around the cup of iced coffee. “Uh, I organize everything before the meetings. This is not your seat, but if you’d prefer to be here, I could re-arrange everything.”

“Where is my seat?” He asks, inspecting her features as if he’s surprised at such…professionalism. Coming invited, he still was too forward, and she had no issue with it. The depths of his dark eyes speak of ignorance; maybe, that’s what Jooheon is—crooking things without knowledge, all because he thinks the world works just like his mind does.

Her fingers extend, pointing at the two seats at the edge of the table. “The one on the left, right beside mine.”

Jooheon stands up, though not quite taking his gaze away from her as he speaks. “So, that would make you the head of the department.” A curt nod, she gives, earning a narrowed-eyed glance from him before his lips finally take the first sip of the iced coffee. “You’re pretty soft-spoken for being one of the bosses here.”

“I guess,” She says, now taking a good glimpse at him when he is a bit farther away. His eyes, those that she had seen from up close, are bathed in shadows when he is away. Lips that look too chapped, body that seems fragile with each breath he takes and a pulsating mannerism on the side of his cheek, tightening and tightening, as if about to explode.

She may not be good with words, keeping them dead on her mind, but Jooheon is the contrary and whatever he is caging in—troubles that he, obviously, wouldn’t tell a person that he has known for five minutes—, he can’t seem to stand.

“That’s why you’re here.” She adds. “…My boss would like for me to be like you.”

The newest transfer of the department—and at a good position, at that—finds comedy in her voice. So much so that his rounded cheeks show the depths of heaven in his dimples, slowly but surely growing in the tiniest of grins when he says: “Ah, come on, no one should want to be like me.” And the weight of those words does not go unnoticed by her, heard and felt when she realizes that Jooheon’s day must have creaked under his own weight, compilations of memories marking him as useless. “But…whatever. Ah, nice to meet you.” His smile becomes brighter, eyes twinkling, a mask for him. Beautiful, yet not…how he’s feeling. “Care to explain to me what today’s meeting is about? I was not informed further about the information.”

Taking a seat beside Jooheon, the expanse of his body heating her side, should have felt like him protecting her, but for that one time…this strange feeling that looked to have him belonging, instead of simply fitting in, overtook her. Glazed her over to the point that the chaotic nature of his existence, of him, would be an invitation for her. For, there needs to be disorder for her to organize. There needs to be chaos for the world to rearrange itself.

###

The first time he got his heart broken in front of everyone, it didn’t even show.

Every morning of the past month has consisted of watching Jooheon crumble to himself. The smile is there, but it’s too bright to be real. The crispiness of his button down shows the wrinkles of tossing the fabrics aside and picking them up for the next day. Talking to him comes in spurts of knowledge, in random conversations while he is seated by the mess that is his desk and she is in her own world of immaculateness. She’d watch him, how his fingers work on the keyboard and sometimes, he ignores calls as long as they come from one number. One number that may be the cause of Jooheon’s somber expression. A set of numbers that she wishes she could erase, all for the sake of not watching him hunch to himself, as if broken.

Her observational skills make her oversensitive—she knows this. Guessing and putting pieces together works for puzzles, but it doesn’t work for people. Jooheon, still, goes out with his new coworkers. He’s on time for meetings and for the dinners that follow after, and maybe the conversations that mostly consist of listening to him may be the cause of her romanticism towards him. Of seeing him as an attractive person, sharing a tight space with her, and yet knowing little to nothing about him and hence, not letting him get to know her, no matter how hard he tries.

His hair falls on top of his forehead, the ashy strands glistening with his usual gel when he leans over her shoulder, trying to look at what she’s typing on her laptop. “Is that the one terrible script that we denied last week?”

The thought of such an atrocity being aired on TV is enough to have her sighing, leaning back on her chair, almost a little bit on him, if her shoulder caressing the expanse of his broad chest is enough leverage. Jooheon doesn’t move, comfortable in his position, his knee pressing to the back of her seat. “Yes,” She initiates, going over the first few paragraphs again. “I’ve been fixing it for the past hour but the idea is just so bad. Condom commercials are already difficult, even worse when they make them corny like this.”

When she turns to look at him, his eyes are already on her. Glistening, reddened lips wrapping into a smile when he juts his chin forward. “Leave that for tomorrow. The team have already left for dinner and they’re asking if we’re going to join them.”

The document blinks back at her, calling her to stay. To rearrange the letters, make sure the punctuation is perfect, or scratch it entirely and ask her team of writers to start anew. How can one say no to the shape of his lips, the mole on his eyelid, the briefly lasting happiness of him that she wants to embrace and get to know? The answer remains unknown for her, but she knows what she would usually do had she been asked for anyone else.

“I don’t know…I think I should stay behind.” After all, talkative is not one of her traits and sitting down while having dinner with everyone not uttering a single word is awkward for her. No amount of pushing could ever make her be part of that group, even someone as Jooheon had fit in entirely.

His fingers hook around the edge of her seat, moving her entirely until he is hovering over her. Smiling. Jooheon smiles but he never does it with the heart, and it takes all in her to avoid the attraction that tells her that, maybe, in her silent pleas she can get to sneak a grin away from him. Genuine. “You shouldn’t. Firstly, because I’d pay for you if you went.” Jooheon begins with a good reckoning. “And secondly…because it’s not fun if you’re not there.”

“How so?”

“You’re the only person that makes me feel at ease here.” He comments, pushing his hand against her wrist before wrapping his fingers idly around it, bringing her up to stand face to face with him.

“I rarely speak, Jooheon.” She conquers, her free hand reaching for her laptop and saving the last few bits of the document before turning it off. Who is she to say no to the storm that promises to sweep her away?

Laughter rises on his tired features, unspoken threads of problems snatched away from his head at the sight of her. “That’s the fun part. I’ll have to take the words out of you. I’ll make myself so interesting, you will never stop talking to me.”

This determination of his will only be the cause of their doom—their imminent closeness that could either end badly or perfectly fine. This could strengthen their job together, just like how it could become their weakest link. Yet, with the warmth of him and that enigma that wraps around his every being, she plays with her fingers, wrist still held in between his own when she smiles at him. “…I guess you got lucky with the fact that you’re already interesting.”

A quirk of his eyebrow should be enough, a reaction that does not match the drag of his feet when he gets to the office early in the morning. “Oh, is that so?” He asks, fingers moving downwards, playing with the bracelet that dangles from her skin. A smile, that’s all she can give him when the tips of her ears turn red and she has to pull away. For her sanity, or perhaps because nothing good ever comes from playing with fire. “I guess I’ll have to find out what it is that makes me so interesting.”

While he trails right behind her as they get out of the office, continuing with the conversation easily, her mind wanders on the possibilities of nearing fire so much that she burns herself, but aches are still existing beings. Maybe, this danger that she sees raking from him is just part of her imagination. Sixth senses don’t have to be right all the time.

###

The sour taste of the coffee rests heavily on her throat. Silent, like she normally is—how she was bound to be the moment her opinions were pushed in disbelief when she was younger. Not a word could be heard from her as she inspects the office; not a lot of people were there, to start with, some of the security guards, a few of the cleaning team and some assistants. Someone lacks in there, the importance of his seat captured by the faux lights in the room, ones that she should turn off to replace for the natural lights that passes through the curtains, but the neither-nor morning leaves her paralyzed, almost too lazy to move.

On the back of her eyelids, she can make out the figure of him. That daydream in the form of a coworker, the culprit of her wildest dreams, the taste of sweetness that she longs to feel after a long sip of caffeine. Jooheon is an energizer—the more he heals, the more he beams, but coloring a picture will never be enough to cover the small glimpse of color that passed the lines, or crossed it rather. No matter how much she speaks to Jooheon, he still doesn’t know her and hence, she doesn’t know him. Acquaintances, they are, but that doesn’t take away his power.

The strength he has of making her feel as if her clothes are constricting against the soft breaths or sighs, he takes out of her with his dreamy presence.

But some matters will remain silent. Some flirtations cannot be anything more than. The thought passes her head when she looks at her reflection when opening the curtains, the polished windows showing the expanse of her. Mug of heated coffee on hand, gray skirt matched with dark tights, white shirt with an unkempt collar. She’s controlled, which is why her fingers feel the fabric of the collar until the center is perfectly aligned with her axis. The fall-out is simply not her style.

Happiness floods the otherwise silent office when Jooheon comes barging in with someone from her designing team. Tsubasa. The shorter male is holding a cat in between his fingers, its green eyes widened in surprise at the amount of attention. Jooheon, instead, stands in front of it with a smile, weaving index finger caressing the cat’s neck, soon after calling out her name,

“…We found this cat on the way to the office.” He calls out, though her body is already folding over itself softly, trying to run away from the smaller animal—still, in a way, terrifying for her. Perhaps, it’d be the fine beige hairs it’d leave on her clothing if she got too close, or it’s the fact that animals had never been too pleased when around her. “Are you scared of cats?” He asks, only to have Tsubasa scoffing.

“Boss, lighten up. This baby could be the office’s pet.” The worker brings the animal up to his face, gentle paws pushing his glasses down until the material falls on the floor. That is enough to have Jooheon laughing, and the woman reaching forward when Jooheon nears her.

The warmth of his arm wrapped around her shoulder is comforting, much more when he continues speaking: “See? That’s a good guy. He even hates Tsubasa as much as everyone else.”

“Hey!”

“What?” Jooheon tilts his head to the side, beaming down at her while her eyes inspect his features. When will he resolve every question inside her head? As to why her hands only seem to find leverage when he is around and how she wouldn’t mind messing her life up for once as long as he’s there to support her through it. “So…maybe, I could help you pet it.”

“I’d love to. Animals hate me.” His fingers slot in between hers, hand reaching forward when moving along with his. His body is pressed to her side, speaking softly—a habit he may have learned with her.

“No one could hate you.” Tsubasa holds the cat out for her to pet its fur around the neck, only lasting a few seconds before the cat closes its bright eyes to relax. “See? He’s nice. Animals are nice.”

“You prefer dogs, though.” She comments, one of the many things they have shared on their conversations together, only to hear Jooheon chuckling.

“Don’t say that in front of the kitten.”

“Ah, he doesn’t understand.” Tutting him, she takes the kitten’s paw in between her fingers, rolling the fur softly in between her fingers and sharing one smile with Tsubasa before the moment switches immediately.

Rugged claws cling to her thighs, passing the material that covers them and ripping them in the process of running away. Perhaps, a little bit overwhelmed or still not used to the people around him, the cat attacked her quickly, in the blink of an eye, only capturing her attention when a hiss leaves her lips, hand letting go of Jooheon’s to reach for her thighs. The tights are broken, ripped apart to show glimpses of her skin with blotches of red, scratches showing the tiniest bit of blood.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Tsubasa voices out her thoughts, because she shall not speak her worries out, but the pain and embarrassment is enough to have blood flooding her head. Tsubasa is the first one to act, already looking for the cat around the office. “I’m going to get it out of this office. I think he really doesn’t like the boss.”

Jooheon’s eyes are concentrated on something else, on inspecting her features for any source of pain when even as she is kneeling down to look at the scratches on her legs, Jooheon’s face appears underneath her eyesight. “Damn it, how am I even going to be able to go around the office looking like I got ran over?”

“You won’t, take your tights off and—” Her coworker rushes to open the door for her, taking off his blazer in the process of covering the front of her thighs. “I don’t know, if you want me to buy you a pair of pants or another pair of tights, I can do it. We just need to clean those scratches up, just in case.”

The quick movement of his steps in front of her shelter her as they move away from the main office, their pathway leading to the closest bathroom. “I think I can deal without a pair of tights. But fuck, these scratches really hurt.”

The door is opened in front of her, Jooheon’s hands delicately leading her inside while he stands outside. “I’ll clean them up for you,” He says, eyes trailing over her features before he licks his bottom lip into his mouth. “But be quick, I don’t want them to get infected.”

The position she finds herself in only ten minutes later is a loud picture. Jooheon, kneeling in front of her, while at their office. Door locked, curtains drawn closed, a cotton pad dabbing onto the newly freed skin that has her tossing her head back and closing her eyes tightly. Animals still hate her, but life may not. The concentration on his features is unlike anything she has seen; eyebrows drawn together in a front, lips pressed together and letting his dimples be seen for reasons other than being utterly happy, only parting from time to time to blow on the healing skin.

His phone rings from the other edge of the room, blinking in that natural way it does, but Jooheon doesn’t seem to move at all. He never does.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

His index and thumb roll the cotton pad onto itself, dusting it on the deeper scratches by her knees. For a cat so small, it surely did some damage. “Let it ring. I don’t want to pick up.”

For the first time, her throat aches to ask, her mind desires to know and she has the bravery, when looking at the top of Jooheon’s head, to say something to the man that has worked its way into her deepest questions. Unanswered. “You never get it whenever that ringtone goes off. I know it’s someone that’s bothering you, but…” Her whisper trails off, caught off guard when Jooheon looks at her, before returning to the task at hand. “If you want to talk about it, we can.”

His mouth remains shut for a few seconds, leaving her at the edge of her seat the more the silence drags on. “It’s…it’s a girl I was seeing a few months back. No matter how many times I tell her it’s over, she keeps bothering me.” Jooheon replies and while the words may have seemed harsh, something in his tone wavers.

“How does she bother you?”

Jooheon trashes the cotton pad then, blowing on the skin of her thigh with a shuddering breath. The tingle that goes down her spine should have not been electrified by his actions; hands spread on top of his own legs. “We hooked up; she had a boyfriend. I got beaten up by said boyfriend and she keeps calling me.” He retorts, her lips parting after wetting them, releasing a soft sigh once he does so much as try to stand up. Her fingers hook on his wrist, however, like how he normally does when he tries to tag her along.

“…Wait, why did you get beaten up?”

“Ah, I was all talk.” Jooheon cusses himself, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. Not anymore, a few strands let loose at that and even then, she can’t bring herself to care. “I thought that fighting for it was the right decision. She said she loved me, after all, it didn’t matter if she suddenly had a boyfriend because—huh, I really thought love was enough.”

The image of him fighting, fists bawled to protect his utmost desires, is almost something she can’t imagine. “Don’t worry, it happens.” She replies, standing up just in time to look into his eyes. “I knew something was bothering you from the moment I met you.”

“Why?”

“When you’re not smiling, your sulkiness shows immensely. It’s not a bad thing, but you should…let those feelings flow.” She replies, hands going up towards his forearms, speaking to him in a delicate manner. “I’m here for anything. I know it’s difficult to get over someone—”

“I’ll get over her.” Jooheon speaks over her, looking around her features before his eyelids become heavier, fluttering closed for a second before he opens them again, looking down at her lips. “I’m on the way there.”

She smiles at that, almost ironically. “How so?”

“With you.” The bravery of his voice comes from the chase. Jooheon is the kind of man that loves going straight for the brightest diamond, not to taint it but to cherish it. His smile widens at that, looking into her eyes once again. “You may not notice it, but talking to you has been the only way I can seem to feel less stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Her voice touches his skin softly, breath ghosting over his lips from the proximity in between the two. “Being brave is an act not a lot of people can recognize, but I do. You were brave, not stupid.”

Her coworker hovers one hand on her shoulder, as if afraid to touch her, but with all the intention in the world to ask for permission in one simple glance. “I’m sure you’re the only one that sees it that way.”

She quirks an eyebrow at that, eyes roaming over his features and those pair of lips that are just calling her to heal him. To see that smile in its biggest expansion. “And I may be the only one to help you forget.”

The sky swirls in all kind of colors when Jooheon takes up on her promise, body reaching forward until his hands are splayed on the back of her neck, lips meeting in a less-than-brief reunion. There is something tragic in the way his lips seemed to be perfectly made to kiss hers, as if the slope of his nose and the cupid’s bow on his lips was meant to caress every fiber of her skin. He’s dangerous in the way he moves, abdomen leaning forward, hands relaxing until they are resting on her waist and for the first time, she can’t find control in her. No longer can her voice get caught in her throat, not when her back is pressed to the dark wood of her desk, when Jooheon whispers all his secrets in one kiss, a few swipes of his tongue against hers, in the way he lets go of her skin to say.

“And I’ll help you forget, if you need me, too.”

###

The world intertwines in feelings, in connections past the oceans and the lands, crossing the bonds of a million people in between to unite two. Two souls, who even from afar, could love each other so strongly that the gates will be opening, slowly, until a hug will remain engraved in their brains—the reunion, she’d call it.

But that is not her situation. The gates towards her love, if anything, close tighter the most she tries to talk to him. Her boyfriend of eight months, the one man after Jooheon that had been powerful enough to sweep her off her feet, to have her forgetting the existence of heartbreak and simply let go to the simple caress of the fleeting kisses he left before he had to depart. The plane going suffocated her, but she kept going—against all odds, she is a believer. A believer that seriousness in a relationship will always end in a happy ending, that what she pours in her texts will be able to reach Jaehwan, the man whom she promised her utmost love to before he left.

It was her fault. A meeting with her old friends had been enough to unite them; that one man that she had not seen since high school, the one person that she had never even looked at twice but had suddenly grown into handsome features. Wide nose, rounded lips, and a swipe of his hair that almost made him look comical. Jaehwan, whose translator ways had interested her, is flying away with the passing of time. Less texts than at the initiation of their relationship, hence less calls. If someone asked her now, she would not be able to describe the timbre of his voice.

Someone she does recognize is the man that enters the office with utmost glee, weight off his shoulder, whistling a song under his breath. Jooheon is recognizable; from top to bottom, from the finest hair on his face to the sole of his feet, a man that she had gotten to know in more ways than one before her relationship with Jaehwan started. She needed a companion, to think irrationally for once, and Jooheon needed to forget—to feel like love was meaningless if not physical, to feel like himself again.

Not a single word had been uttered by him when she started this relationship, other than the fact that Jaehwan, to him, is as flavorful as a speckle of salt on boiling water, there to create pasta. Meaning, lacking spice, or lacking whatever it is that would make him interesting. The moment they met, by some kind of occasion in which Jaehwan had picked her up, Jooheon’s smile had been so tight and fake that she almost thought he’d pass out from the pressure on his cheeks, but…the matter became less meaningful when more people in her life claimed that whatever she saw in Jaehwan, no one else sees.

Her fingers hover over her lock-screen, touching it slightly to keep the image there. The last picture Jaehwan and herself took before he departed, his smile bright when her lips press down on his cheek. Immaculate, unlike Jooheon, the man dresses so preppily he could very much come out from a movie of the 90’s.

“Jooheon,” She calls out, well aware that she has spent a little bit more than she should looking at her phone screen. The man doesn’t stop his motions, pouring two cups of coffee to start the day nicely for the two of them. “Why do men cheat?”

“Ask someone who has cheated,” Jooheon replies, taking the mugs in between his fingers before moving towards her. Confident and relaxed strides and the dimples that never leave his face whenever he sees her, that’s what she looks at when Jooheon takes a seat across from her, the chair dragging obnoxiously against the floor. “And not all men. Don’t generalize.”

“Ah, I’m speaking about majorities.” She swats her hand, taking a sip of her coffee before letting out a raged sigh. Jooheon may have been a sexual escapade, some kind of romantic relief, but beyond that…he’s a friend. He may know what to say in this situation. “I have another question.”

“You always have questions.”

“I’m a curious lady.”

Jooheon quirks an eyebrow at that, bags forming under his eyes when he sneakily adds: “Oh, I know.” He conquers, her eyes searching around the room in case anyone has heard them, for the tone of his voice must have crossed any kind of boundaries with a taken woman. “But ask me, since I already know where this is going…”

Of course, he’d know. Intelligence is not something people expect from Jooheon, but it is very much a term that belongs to him. “Okay, do you think…Jaehwan would cheat on me?”

Honest, he is, when he says, “There is no way for me to judge that.” He breathes into the dense air, making her groan lightly while she throws her head back. “Like, that’s a complicated question. There are people like Tsubasa—assholes of assholes—that never cheat. There are angels that cheat all the time. It’s a matter of values, and how much they respect the person they’re with.”

That doesn’t help her, because she needs a vision into Jaehwan’s brain. She craves for the feeling of being wanted, or perhaps some words from him that could secure his return—for her to feel like she is not in the sidelines of his life. “I guess…” She lets her voice trail, only to have Jooheon sighing.

“You want to talk about it?”

In any other occasion, she would. Jooheon is the type of man to keep secrets treasured, but the more she thinks about it, the less she wants to voice it out. Perhaps, if she lets the air know about the intentions inside her head, something would switch—something would change. Instead, she shakes her head, watching as Jooheon stands up from his seat and moves towards the door, perhaps to start on one of his informercial projects.

His fingers rest against the doorknob before he opens it, looking at her from afar. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you, okay?” He says, though the words are not meant to be as weight as her head make it out to seem. “…Not just in the way we used to be before, but as a friend.”

“I know.” She says, though there is nothing more than she’d want that for Jaehwan to kiss her like Jooheon did. Like he wanted to exchange his soul with hers and let the two coexist.

Though, once the door closes and she looks at her phone, she can think of someone who is not always there. Suffocated, she feels, when she tosses her phone on her purse and prays for something to happen to the two of them. A happy ending, she wishes for, but at this point…do those even exist?

###

This bench she is seated on is the worst place to be at. Not because it is miniscule, or because it is so crooked and torn that it may as well fall under her own weight, but because this is the place in which the smokers of the building rest when on their lunch break. The aches of cigarettes cling to her clothing, dusting it, falling on top of the black fabric and creating patterns around it. The wind in this part, right behind the building, is brash, moving her hair out and about with its strength. This can only push into her nostrils the stench of the trashcan nearby, but with her knees pushed to her chest and her lips trembling at the ache of her heart, eyes already dropping silent tears, she can’t bring herself to care.

Because for the past eight months, she has been nothing but trash. Jaehwan had seen her as some badge of pride, another woman to have under his belt, and suddenly forgot about her. The pictures in her screen scalded her fingertips the moment she had to get in a friend’s account to see what her boyfriend had posted, for he had blocked her, only to be met by pictures she had never seen. With another woman, at that, far longer than she had ever been him with. Months that transcended into years, a love that happened before she even existed, before she even got the title of a girlfriend.

More like a fucking mistress.

And someone as organized as her, that shook out of exasperation whenever she saw something out of place, had suddenly been torn into pieces, rearranged, a puzzle that may never fit, because her heart is broken way beyond relief. Sometimes, she’d catch herself looking forward—imagining all the kisses she had given him, all the hugs she had shared, all the promises that he whispered into her skin before fleeting away. Jaehwan may not have been the best of lovers, but when has love been about that? It’s a feeling that pries itself into her life, condescends her, treats her as if she’s worthless and makes her the cause of it all. For trusting. For loving.

Who even loves anymore?

The weighty metal door that leads to the back of the building creaks so loudly that it takes her out of her trance, but she only presses her face harder into her knees to stop anyone from seeing her face. The scrap of someone’s feet against the pavement floor is loud, and said person does so much as take the small seat on the uncomfortable bench by her side. This person clearly doesn’t care about their office attire getting fucked over, smelling like cigarettes, bathed in ashes, pointlessly existing.

A hand settles on her back, and she works her way around taking her blazer’s sides and using them as a curtain for her features, but her name is called—so softly, tutting, that it almost feels like she is back into being the person that she used to be. Before eight months ago, when she had given herself to the hands of the devil, sporting a sense of comfort.

This is the kind of person that has heard her, even through her silence. Jooheon is the one man that had touched her skin and while not trying to reach for her soul, had done so. Softly, in that matter of his that screams danger but translates into dulcetness. Once she lifts her gaze, still keeping most of her face covered by her blazer, Jooheon is, indeed, there, but not in the way that she expected him to be: lips pursed in a soft smile, eyes gleaming under the light of the sun with worry.

“What is that?”

A rap of his knuckles against the material of the helmet, he answers: “A motorcycle helmet. I took it from Tsubasa in case you wanted to let your anger out and threw something at me.”

Shoulders shaking thanks to her sniffles and her hands rubbing at her face to stop the tears, she scoffs at his words. “Jooheon, I’m not going to throw anything at you. I’m angry at someone, just not you.”

What she doesn’t expect is for his hand to reach forward, patting her skin away from its dampness when the helmet muffles his voice. “Let’s talk about it. You need to tell me what is going on.”

A deep sigh leaves her lips, though a brief smile is given to him. “Only if you take off that helmet. You look hideous.”

Jooheon does indeed wrap his hands around the helmet, putting it down on the floor. “Thank God, I was starting to feel like that one racer—Lee Hoseok.”

The wind blows on his dusted pink cheeks, eyes inspecting her face like they always do, as if he wants to search her purpose in just her gaze or know her like the palm of his hand. Memorize her, he has done a couple of times, in which she’d hide her face in his neck and try to take the attention away from her features. On times in which Jooheon would be a close looker, as if hunting for that glimpse of her heart—her intentions, even.

Her fingertips reach for his, not a hold of lovers but one of leverage, his thumb rubbing against the back of her palm when she says: “Jaehwan cheated on me. Or more like, he cheated on someone with me and I didn’t even know about it.” Before Jooheon could reply, however, she surprises herself by speaking more. “What is it about me, Jooheon?” She asks. “Am I that undesirable? Am I not enough to change someone’s life? I have done nothing but love him, respect him for the past eight months…and he didn’t even feel guilty. He cut me off in the blink of an eye.”

“From my point of view, and I am sure there are other people that think like this, you’re not undesirable.” Jooheon speaks, patting her hair to make sure it doesn’t look as untamed as it is, thanks to the breeze. “And Jaehwan is just an ass. Since he couldn’t get anyone to suck his dick when he was younger, now he’s out here trying to play the cards of a womanizer because he’s got some good looks, if you squint.” That is enough to bring a smile to her face, chuckling at his words. Jooheon is way better at voicing out his thoughts than she is. “I really don’t know what you saw in him.”

Brought together by this bound that exists around them, as if one of them is oxygen and th other one needs to breathe, she rests her head against his shoulder. “A future.” She answers, voice vacant the more she thinks about it. “You did look like you couldn’t stand him when I introduced him to you.”

Jooheon chuckles, his eyes half-closing from the harsh light of the sun. When she looks at him, his dimples are present and unlike the last time they were this close, she is the one heartbroken and he simply exudes peace. Gotten over it, he seems to have done. “I just couldn’t understand why you would go for someone like him.”

“What does that even mean? Jooheon, he was not bad looking—”

“I know,” He answers. “But something didn’t click. I don’t know the dude, but now I realize I must’ve realized something, deep down.”

“That’s right.” Though, betrayal still clings to her, making her feel dirty. The hands of a man whose heart was devoted to another woman had caressed her skin, and it felt oddly fitting for her. Jooheon had gotten over someone with her help, Jaehwan had used her for the pleasure of feeling more like a man and now…she’s left wondering what that makes her. Perhaps, not worthy of a fulfilling relationship. “Jooheon?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think I’ll ever find someone who loves me?”

Jooheon’s smile widens at that, looking down for a millisecond before resting his hand on the skin of her thigh, pulling down her skirt to cover up more of her. “I’m sure of it,” He replies, looking at her before giving a nice pat to her leg. “…And until then, I’m here for you to remind you the kind of woman that you are.”

“Too quiet to ever have someone interested in me?” Her insecurity pops out, pulling away slightly just before she hears Jooheon correct her.

“Too thoughtful to not have someone wanting to know the depth of that brain of yours.” Jooheon presses his finger against her temple, face hovering over hers before he sighs. “Stop being insecure. He doesn’t deserve to have you thinking about yourself in this light.”

She shudders at the reality of it all, at the reception of such a situation that always brings her to his arms—because, with him, her heart seems to be protected, body worshipped, mind caressed with the gentles of memories. Jooheon, though just a friend with benefits, had promised to be there for her through every heartbreak, every moment in which she’d feel down, in the shape of a friend or a lover. In this case, however, now freed from the restraints of a relationship and seeking for revenge, to prove to herself that someone else could definitely desire her, she speaks.

“Thank you, Jooheon, for being here with me.”

“I did say I’d help you get through your heartbreaks, just like you did with mine.” Jooheon replies, lips pressing down on her cheek before the dangerous treat trails down to her ear. “I’ll do anything you want.”

She chuckles at his words, hand connecting to his shoulder to push him away softly. “Then, let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“That sounds great.”

It takes less than she would have imagined to get up from such a bench and dust off the remaining pieces of her broken heart along with the aches on her skirt.

Jooheon will always be there to help her forget.

###

“Are those groceries?”

“I don’t know, Jooheon, do these look like anything but groceries to you?”

Anyone would think that their relationship is weird. Well, lack of one thereof. Their friendship indeed does fall into a sense of normality that would, otherwise, be seen as romance. As she unloads the recently bought groceries, the eerily calm Sunday morning playing in the background along with the faint sound of the early news speaking into the soft air, Jooheon lays his body against the doorframe of her kitchen. One glance at him is enough to confirm that his shirt is still tossed somewhere on the flooring of her bedroom, taking mental notes to pick up on the way there, but that is much too bothersome when she gets to see the glory of Jooheon early in the morning.

You see, it always falls back into this. The two of them, together, calling it simply sex—relief, in a way—before spending more and more time together. His name always touches the tip of her tongue when she meets her high school friends and she surprises herself talking about him from time to time, only hoping that he does, too. Jooheon, even when he could leave once the skin of his neck becomes painted in the shade of her lipstick and his body is sedated by absolute bliss, decides to stay. Especially when it’s a Sunday morning.

His pants are on, thankfully, his long torso coming into view when he goes to stand by her side, helping her unload the vegetables that she had bought—in her attempt of having more salads and less instant food, she had make it a necessity in her household. That, along with fruits, one that Jooheon takes out to smack her head with.

“Who would have thought you had an attitude to you?” Jooheon questions, face void of that professionalism he has around the office, hair done a mess and all thanks to her. She, the most organized person in this world, can become carefree when around him.

Opening the doors of her refrigerator, leaning her weight against the ceramic decorations on the wall, she starts to stack the device up with some of Jooheon’s help. “You’ve known me for over a year. You should know I aim to surprise.”

The joking manner is there, much more when Jooheon wraps his arms around her waist, body leaning forward when the warmth of him almost burns her, skin clinging to the uncovered parts of her forearms. “Aim to surprise me with some breakfast, then, because I’m hungry.”

She gasps at his words, though the smile on her face screams that she knows he doesn’t mean it. Jooheon does have some bite to him, back to his teasing self, a little bit out there. “Make some for yourself!” The whine in her tone is present, feeling his wide cupid’s bow trail down her cheeks until he captures her lips in a short kiss. “Help me out put the groceries inside the fridge instead of talking nonsense.”

Listening, Jooheon moves towards the grocery bags, taking some out and giving them to her. “I just think that it’s funny when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” She replies, looking up from the refrigerator’s door to see Jooheon running his fingertips through his hair. His face breaks into a smile, cheeks becoming prominent under the weight of his happiness.

“I’m halfway there, just give me time.” Jooheon answers, her lips bursting into giggles when he comes over to her with the last few bits of the groceries, looking at her with interest.

“You’re not going to get me mad.”

“Oh, word? You think I won’t?” The challenge is there, some dramatic tone in his voice the more he teases, and she nods her head, snatching two apples away from her batch before tossing one at Jooheon.

“I know you won’t.” Because, there is no way that she can truly get mad at Jooheon. The man has inspected every crevice of her soul, studied every bit of her body and made it his, made every man poor in comparison to what he could do to her. Not only when his hands are pushing her clothing away, but even when they’re merely talking—when he’s the first person she sees almost every morning, or how he never forgets to share one or two meals outside of the work with her. Definitely not when his fingers trail on the edge of the high neck of her top, rubbing the fabric with the tip of his index finger.

“Ooh, this fabric is thick. What are you hiding under there?” Jooheon pretended to peak, only to have his hand taken in between her fingers, staring at his eyes with a weak smile on her features.

“Nothing.”

“You never wear that turtleneck. First, the sleeves are too short. Secondly, you don’t like it.” Truthfully, Jooheon is equally as observational as her. Without counting, of course, that she had never been one used to the attention. Only someone like him would know what type of clothing she likes, one of their many conversations, some useless, some not. Only Jooheon would realize that the weather is too hot for a turtleneck, but there is still something to hide.

“You’re talking as if you don’t know.”

“Oh, I know,” Jooheon says, leaning forward until he is mere centimeters away. “Isn’t it annoying? That I know but I still ask.”

“No,” She utters, voice sending a kiss his way with the tremors behind it. “You’re talking to someone who dealt with Tsubasa after his break up, day and night. I think I can deal with you being annoying for once.”

His fingers, splayed on top of her arms, bring her closer until she stumbles forward, arms grasping at his waist. “Well, looks like I lost.”

“And what do I win?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow before Jooheon leans forward, pecking her lips.

“A kiss.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

Somewhere, she had once read that when something is meant to be—it will be felt at the depth of her heart. This moment, in which she is trying to snatch a kiss away from the man that puts his face away, feels like it is fitted for forever. Only, that it just isn’t the case. Jooheon will fall in love once again in the future, or so will she, and when something goes wrong, they’ll get back into each other’s arms. Perhaps, a duller feeling, like a bad day or the need to get off. All matters that connected them, and it’s best to keep it that way, but the domestic look on his features spoke about more, just when he hangs out with her, making her feel like someone is willing to stay.

For her.

Until one of them decides that they need to move on, that is. Only friends that help each other feel less lonely, less heartbroken, always thirsting for the attention of a lover.

He stays because he’s lonely, and so is she. Is there anything else to it? She wants to think there isn’t, that the warmth on her chest comes from the familiarity of his touch.

###

To this day, an anniversary, it makes two years and seven months since the last time she kissed Jooheon. Two years and five months since he started his relationship and three years since she realized that, if he broke up with his girlfriend, she’d probably be back in his arms in the blink of an eye.

Is it Jooheon’s anniversary, or her anniversary of longing for him—lonely, not sedated for this amount of missing him? Not as a friend, but as a lover instead.

The thought first came to her imagination when Jooheon first called it quits on their rendezvouses. His voice had been so lifted, so beautiful, prompting about a date that had gone so well—his rant had been everything any person would like to hear. From the shape of this woman’s smile, to how conjoined he felt to her career as an odontologist, to how he couldn’t simply get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. At the time, she shrugged it off; it was not the first time Jooheon ended their beneficial relationship for something somewhat serious, but the more time passed, the less she saw of him. Even as a friend. As a coworker. All that left Jooheon’s lips is that one name, the dreaded name of the too-perfect woman.

Sora.

Sora, whose smile is too bright, too beautiful. Whose talkative persona matched Jooheon’s better than hers could ever, and the few times she has seen her in the dinner getaways with the team at her office, she knows Sora is even more affective than she has ever been with Jooheon. Just, better, that’s what Jooheon seemed to be aiming for. Hair pushed back, the swirl on her short hair reaching her earlobe at its lowest point. Small lips that welcome a bright smile, her job is not one to disappoint.

Her spot is too cramped, elbows trying not to bump into anyone as she fetches another piece of the stirred vegetables on her plate. The restaurant is far more filled with people—children of some of the workers, the boyfriends, girlfriends, fiancés, mothers, fathers, all in the name of a pre-Christmas celebration. Alone, as she always is, always meant to be, she sits by the middle, having no one to talk to but the perfect view from the tray of sauces she’d snatch away, if her hand was not too far away and if she could actually voice her concerns out, for once.

Or maybe, she’s mortified. Jealous, for some reason, clinging to her in the obnoxiously boring attire that clads her. Gray skirt, white button down, and the same hairstyle ever since she got out of college. Mundane, monotone, the type of woman no one would stick around for too much because…there is nothing special about her. Sora, on the other hand, is a laughing track on feet—or even the show itself. Watching an episode of FRIENDS would definitely include less laughter than the one she receives for merely opening her mouth.

It doesn’t help that Jooheon and Sora are right across from her, his eyes beaming at the mere sight of her. He’s in love, and yet, the little demon at the depths of her heart screams for her to do something. To take him back.

But she couldn’t, that’s not the type of woman she is.

And that is, also, not the type of man Jooheon is.

He doesn’t even look at her. Over two years of not seeing her in that light takes away any hopes—extremely bad ones, at that—that he would ever go back to his arms. So, for the umpteenth time in her life, she shuts her mouth and stands up, reaching forward for the stacks of sauces before connecting her gaze with Sora. The woman sends her a small wave, and she can simply nod her head with a faux smile. The least she could do is get along well with her, and the few times they have talked, Sora was nice. A bit over the top with her jokes, but some people thought they were comedians.

Sliding the utensils in between her fingers and dipping some of her vegetables on the sauce that she had poured on her plate, the moment is cut short when Jooheon’s chair is pulled away from the table, talking in between his girlfriend and himself before the moment deems itself too dense. If the oxygen was lacking before, it seems to disappear the moment she realizes the position he is in—smiling, because he is on one knee, dropped to Sora’s side who is holding her mouth in both hands, the table now quiet when he asks:

“Sora, will you marry me?”

And of course, this is meant to happen. The day in which Jooheon, as innocently as possible, stomps on every possibility of them ever being something more than. More than what? She doesn’t know, perhaps more than sex toys for each other, or partner replacements for when things get too tough. His eyes shine with uncertainty, people whooping at the mere sight of him. Jooheon, in there, proclaiming his love for the one person that had seemed to capture him.

…It’s not her.

Sora tucks a strand of her extremely short hair away from her face, taking Jooheon’s wrist as she speaks to him softly. Though, anyone could make out the words she said. “Jooheon, stand up.”

His smile falters, and even though she has always wanted him for herself, this is clearly not what she wanted. His heart practically rips through his shirt, wanting to reach for the woman who hisses at the sound of his: “What?”

“I—I need some time to think about my decision. I think I’m not ready.” Sora mumbles, having Jooheon smiling uncomfortably, the velvet black box on his hand closed when he takes a seat once again.

“That’s okay,” He turns to the group of people, smiling when he moves his hand. “We’ll have to wait, then. There’s no rush.”

But that ring seems to be thought out, in Sora’s favorite shade—gold—and from the little glimpses she had gotten of it, it was definitely expensive. Sora’s chair is pulled away from the table, excusing herself after saying. “I don’t think I can do this.”

But Jooheon follows, a fighter over everything and anything. Seated on her spot, she waits for them to come back, plays with the cabbage on her plate until it could become part of the ceramic, but after some time, she stands up from her seat, not even giving much of an excuse as she moves through the open restaurant. People don’t look at her, invisible, much less interesting than the couple that had practically fallen in front of everyone’s eyes, but she doesn’t care, much less when she pushes the door open and she sees him.

His back is hunched, fingers holding onto that one box that is in between his fingers, and if she could hear his thoughts, she would know if he’s pondering on throwing it in the middle of the avenue for some car to step over it or keep it to himself. Sora is gone, like her purse by the table, like the smile on Jooheon’s face. When her hand rests on top of his back, his muscles stiffen and just when his eyes connect with hers, he sighs.

“It’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” She asks, and maybe his face showed clear signs of wanting it to be Sora, but she tried to push it away. Instead, there are more important questions to answer. “What happened?”

“She said we needed some time off,” He explains briefly, the wind caressing his features, the much more casual clothing on his body in shades of blue and black. “…Apparently, she needs to be free for a while before actually settling down. She said she needed time, and if she wanted to come back, she would.”

And she wants to scoff, but it is not her position to do so. After all, no one had surprised her with a proposal. “So, it’s a break?”

“A break-up.” Jooheon corrects, pushing the box away in his pocket before bitterly laughing at himself. “Because the one day I decided to take someone seriously, I get fucked over.”

“Jooheon—”

“No, it’s okay.” The man shakes his head, letting out a ragged sigh before crossing his arms over his torso. “Could’ve been worse.”

“You need to let yourself feel, Jooheon.” She tells him, taking his forearms in between her fingers before breathing his name softly. “Look at me.” He doesn’t, and she calls again. “Look at me, please.”

He finally does, speaking in a delicate tone. “What?” There’s a pout on his features, deep and rooted sadness in his eyes. Crushed hope.

“If she loves you, she’ll come back.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

The black night eats her alive, perhaps in sin, in lusting over someone who is clearly in love with someone. The two of them had made it clear that nothing would ever cross their lines of coworkers, friends, and benefits. There is no seriousness to think about, no depth, no backstory, no heart to play at his mercy. Nothing.

But what she feels is not nothing, and this may be the devil speaking within her, or perhaps that one sense of security that looks for him—desires to have him feeling just as protected.

“…You’ll forget eventually, if she doesn’t.” The weight of those words even has Jooheon sighing, knowing fully well what forgetting has always meant for them. Running away, never facing the consequences of love in solitude, leaning on the other to feel…loved. “But she’ll come back, you’ll see.”

Those words may bite her in the future, and the bullet of life, betrayal, loyalty and purity is stuck in between her lips when Jooheon says: “How do you know?”

“I don’t,” She answers. “But if she sees what I see in you, she won’t be able to let go.”

He laughs, not sincerely at all, because he thinks of it as what a friend would say. What he doesn’t realize, however, is that letting go of him will always be difficult. Who’d let go of the curtain that shields them from the Sun every morning? Who, in their right mind, would let go of the hand that has kept them from falling into the depths of the ocean?

Who could stop wanting to have him when getting all of him, but none at the same time?

“Want to go back?”

“I’d like to go back home.”

“Text me, then.”

Jooheon smiles at that, sneaking his hands inside his pockets to get his keys out. “I will. Good night.”

“Go home safely!”

This is the best behavior that could come from whatever turmoil goes inside her heart, wanting to trash everything away, disorganized, so unlike herself. Maybe, a part of her wished to be who she is when around him, or she simply feels the most honest to herself with Jooheon.

The night might be the only one to know this deeply rooted secret of hers.

###

One night. What can happen in one night?

Lips spread on top of her neck. Danger. That can happen. Just like the sense of comfort that comes from feeling his breathing by her side, deep and tranquil at some points, rapid and seeking for release in the other. Stupidity can come as well, with the constant reminder of how much of a second option she is. When he took a taste of her lips that night, it felt as though she was taken a bite of a prohibited fruit—as if, for some sense of glory, she got to feel him, coexist in the same wavelength as him, but never have him. Because, even now, when Jooheon is once again free and trying to liberate himself in the way that he used to before his relationship with Sora, that one night had been enough for him to prove that it was either her, or no one at all. Her, being that one odontologist he can’t get out of his brain.

One night, three months ago, is enough to have her dizzy to this day, and the blame falls on the jet-black night they shared together, in the comfort of his home, breathing each other’s names in hopes of engraving it in their souls. It never happened, but right now, the memory comes in full force with each trip to the bathroom, each twist of her gut, the sweat that pools at the roots of her hair and the excuse that she comes up with to leave the office early. One night is enough to have her in the hospital, hands wrenched together, heart going to fast it could lead her into cardiac arrest at some point—guilt, fear, all of the like settling on her stomach, making the nausea even worse.

This has been going on for days. Four, to be exact. Woken up by the sense of needing to throw up and doing so, as well. One look in the mirror may be deceiving, there seems to be nothing different, but everything seems to be out of place at the same time. One night can do so many things, just like it can bring someone new into the picture. The image of the possibility is a punch to her chest when she is reminded of where she is. In a hospital, lying to her own boss, in front of a gynecologist’s consulting room, waiting for her turn with other women around her. Some alone, some accompanied.

Most of them definitely not worrying about being pregnant with the child of a man who doesn’t love her at all. Desires her? Possibly, as far as physical connection can go. Appreciates her as a friend? Certainly, but could that be the case if she calls Jooheon?

The metal chair is too cold when she leans back, looking at that contact that starts to blur under her gaze. Small eyes, wide smile, rooted dimples and a glint in his eyes that is mischievous. Jooheon is gentle, in a way, in the depth of his soul, and had it been Sora, he may have rushed in there…but what about her?

A coworker.

The head of the department along with her.

A friend who helps him forget he feels.

Her fingers wrap around the device, not caring about nothing more than the possibility of a little human being growing inside of her, with his eyes or his nose, her sentimentalism or his strength. None of the latter mattered when her phone is brought up to her ear, taking a few rings until he calls her name and she speaks softly.

“Jooheon, I’m at the hospital…and I’d like for you to come here. Can I send you the address?”

The chatter in the background stops, the sound of footsteps following his next statement. He must have moved somewhere quiet. “W—What happened? What? Are you alright?”

Alright? Alright, she would have been, if years ago she had not gotten oversensitive about Jooheon’s smile not being entirely pronounced, or if she had just gotten over her own heartbreak with Jaehwan by not tangling herself up with Jooheon. Or, rather, if she had given him time to grieve the rejection of a possible marriage. Instead, she finds herself to be the antonym of alright. “…No,” She answers. “I’m scared.”

“Did something happen to you?”

She can imagine his next reaction when she says: “I think I may be pregnant. I’m about to get checked, but I feel so scared in here. Can you come over?”

Jooheon could have easily hung up on her. He could have screamed at her, telling her why the fuck her pills did not work, and for how long she has felt like this. He could have told her that, no matter the results, that child will never be his. Hell, he could even say it could have been anyone’s, but a shuddering breath is what Jooheon gives her. “…Are you sure?” A hum is all she can muster, before Jooheon clears his throat. “Sure, send me the address, I’ll be there.”

Her eyes close tightly, aware that people may look at her pathetic worried figure when she breathes out a tiny: “Thank you.”

The image of him when he pushes the doors just fifteen minutes later, rushing through the hallways until he is in front of her, will forever be engrained in her brain. His hair, always pushed back, is now messed up on top of his head, fingers hooking around his tie to loosen it when he sees her. His smile is tiny, panic settling in his eyes the more she inspects him.

Once he takes a seat beside her, his hand hooks around her, tightening it softly—reassurance. In that point, she really starts to see something else. If they were to have a child…who would they look like the most? Would they grow up wondering why their parents are not together? Would they not care? Would they be held tight by Jooheon, as if they meant the world, or would they live with a bitter father that never wanted them to begin with? The questions clouded her brain—always a curious woman with too little answers—but the moment is cut short when another woman enters the consulting room and there are about two people before she has to go inside.

“H—How did you know?” Jooheon asks, voice uncertain, looking at her for the briefest second.

She connects gazes with him, tightening her hold around his fingers to feel safer. How could she end up having a child when her life feels so…perfectly put together that it doesn’t exist? “I—I didn’t get my period this month. Not yet, at least. And…I’ve been throwing up too much these past four days, I can’t even get in my car without getting sick.” She whispers, moving her hair to one side of her face, cradling it softly. “Jooheon, trust me when I tell you that I don’t want to ruin your life with this. I don’t want you to hate our child, if they even exist inside of me, because of our wrongdoings. It’s all my fault for sleeping with you when you’re so caught up with Sora—”

“It takes two to tango. Don’t blame yourself entirely.” Jooheon tries to play around, but a smile can’t even phantom to even appear on her face. “I’ll tell you the truth: if we have a child, I’m taking care of them.”

“But…” She trails her voice, leaning back on her seat and resting her hand against her forehead. “Jooheon, you don’t love me.”

“I love you as a friend. I owe whoever may be growing inside of you that much.” As always, he takes responsibility, making her close her eyes tightly, tears wielding up at the corner of her eyes, unnoticed by the nurses that pass by her, the people that go from one corner of the hospital to the other, equally as mortified as her—some even happy with the outcomes. “Don’t cry.” He tells her, knowing what her silence means, the sleeve of his blazer already coming up to rub at her eyes.

“What…what if there is a baby growing there? What will the people at our job say?” She asks, breathing deeply when her lungs feel too inflated, like she can’t even let an ounce of oxygen in. “They’ll think I’m some slut, and I may be at this point. What if I am not a great mother? Some people are not built for this, it has never been in my plans to get pregnant, much less like this—”

“Hey, no rushing.” Jooheon brings her hand up to his mouth, plump lips settling on the harsh skin of her knuckles, not minding the sturdiness of the bone. “From what we know, it could be something else. You’re constant with your pills—”

“What if it isn’t?” Uncertain, she questions. Never had she worried about such a thing, always running on luck, or maybe just being mindful—like she is with anyone, but Jooheon. The ignition to her loss of control.

“Then, we’ll have to start thinking…” Jooheon prompts, letting out a soft breath when he sits with his back straight, one leg crossed over the other. “Do you think they’d have your eyes?”

This baby, that possibly doesn’t even exist, is in Jooheon’s imagination. If they do exist, he wants to know about them—to raise them and love them, something unexpected from him, and while she may be equally as lost…she finds herself opening her eyes and sighing. “I hope that, if they do exist, they have your eyes.”

“Why?”

“They’re prettier.”

Jooheon, for the first time since being there, actually laughs. “They’re not, come on—”

“You’ve never seen yourself when you smile, clearly.”

And this is the part where it downs on her, that daydreaming about a child with Jooheon, out of all people, is exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. She can already imagine it—the people at her job speaking, talking about how she snatched Jooheon away the moment he separated from his possible fiancé. Her job, for instance, could be taken away from her or put in a lower position from her lack of professionalism, to sleep with her coworker—and her closest one, at that—just as absentmindedly is so unlike her. That, along with the cries that woke her up late at night, that awkward moment that may come when this child asks how their parents met. Not only that, the changes on her body—on her soul, on the life she lives, on the days she gets for herself, on this rooted insecurity she feels for even speaking out whatever bothers her.

…She hasn’t even voiced out what she feels for Jooheon, much less is she able to lead a household to bring a child into this world.

By the time she is inside the consulting room, examined but so far from it, looking up at the ceiling and hoping that the dents in the ceiling can be counted by her pupils, she feels even more scared. The place is too cold, just like the substance spread on her lower abdomen, and the contrast is immense when Jooheon holds her hand. When, in the eyes of this doctor, they are just a scared couple. A couple, not two friends who happened to have sex a few times and then, ran off to someone else. This is no way to bring someone into this world—

How can she welcome a baby when she had not loved herself enough to not fall into Jooheon’s arms again, no matter how nice they were as people when alone?

The doctor, Mr. Hong, wipes off the gooey liquid from her abdomen when he speaks softly, levelled. “You’re not pregnant.”

It doesn’t make her happy, just like how it doesn’t make her feel sad. If anything, her muscles loosen, her lungs can feel liberated again and she lets go of Jooheon’s hand, sighing in relief when she throws her head back. Whatever imagine they had thought out in the waiting room—his eyes, her lips, that mole on his eyelid, all vanished away behind her eyes, into the depths of the memories she doesn’t need to come back to for a while.

“What do you think her stomachaches and vomiting are, though?” Jooheon asks, helping her up the bed when the doctor clicks his pen and places it inside the pocket of his lab coat.

“I’m going to ask for some examinations. It could be food poisoning just like how it could be bacteria of some sort. There’s no knowing if we don’t check.” The doctor answers, already slipping a piece of paper in between her digits, signed by him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, too. Keep trying.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Always at your service. Have a nice day.”

Once out the door with Jooheon, the look of relief in his face is enough to match the smile on her face, but one good look at his features lets her know that, even when he would have taken care of his image as a father, he may have preferred this outcome with someone else. Sora. To hold her hand through it all, to kiss her knuckles instead, to pout at the reminder that they are not going to have a baby. Sora and Jooheon. Jooheon and Sora. In love. Or maybe possibly wanting to build a future together, one in which someone like her would be forgotten, because if she had once served him as a source of forgetfulness, she is now entirely erased from his brain at the presence of Sora.

This is the moment in which she realizes that her future with Jooheon is not written, but oh, how badly is her desire to have him. Not carnally, but as someone that loves her. The one man that would help her out in the mornings after their meetings, the same guy that knows her like the palm of her hand, the one that understands her silences, her hums, makes them into music and connects them as thoughts. But…

What is she to him?

Curiousness killed the cat, but who is she to him?

He said it earlier—

I love you as friends.

I love you.

As friends.

Friends that love each other—no.

Because enough is shown mere weeks later, when laughter comes from Jooheon’s mouth as he nears the office, talking to Sora—and she hears the nicknames that spill from his lips, the way he seems to be entranced on her speech about her day. He may understand her silences, but he doesn’t understand the longest one, the one that screams for him to love her instead, just like how she loves him. Instead, her pregnancy scare had been a push, something to remind him to stop trying to forget with some other woman, but go back to his normal life instead.

A life in which she will always be in the sidelines, that one silent watcher, radio silence in a way. Jooheon will always go back to someone else—be it Sora, be it anyone who captures him, but never her. Had she been too easy, too organized, too…mundane? Had she been too quiet, too reserved, too unreachable? But he loved to chase—

And she liked to be chased by him, until the road was empty, dust falling on her eyelids until she swears she can see the image of him.

But he fleets away.

###

The screen plays the same video over and over again. An infomercial that she can’t quite wrap her fingers around. The background, too dull. The actor, too overexcited. The concept, broken. This perfectionism of hers has only heighted with the passage of years and has only pushed her for more opportunities. Over a year ago, the fear of losing her job to an unplanned pregnancy had been enough to take into consideration her future—think that, for once, she needed to have her voice be heard, to make a name for herself over everything and anything. Hence, the hardest work ever put into her projects comes from her.

Her pen clicks once she halters the video, the screen perfectly displaying the ending of the video. With the pointy tip of the pen, she points towards the video. “I don’t like the hues in the back. It looks cheap. That color of purple is not appealing to the eyes. If anything, it’ll hurt the viewer’s eyesight.” She comments to her partner in the office, the one person that has accompanied her for the past few years—once a transfer, now a necessity. “I know we can’t keep spending money on remakes, but someone in the designing team is giving us information that is not being portrayed on the screen. We were never told they’d use such a background, and I don’t remember hiring this guy as an actor.”

The man’s tongue peaks on the side of his cheek, nodding his head at her words. “We may have to ask about it, because…” His fingers trail over the organized piles of folders, opening one before showing it to her. “Someone told us they’d be using a house as a background, not a green screen, and the actor had not yet been decided upon because the company said they’d look for someone else.”

She writes down on her notes, sighing at the utter irrationality of it all. “The newbies must have done it,” She says. “They don’t have enough patience to wait on a project. I don’t know what is going on with them at this point.”

“We should have a talk with them. I think it’s already enough that we give them several chances when—” Jooheon adds, though his voice is cut short when he tries to speak again. His eyes lift up at that, looking to her side to see the man seated beside her, Jooheon’s hair shorter than it was in the past, eyebrows drawn together before an amused smile appears on his lips, fingers pointing towards her collarbone. “That is new, when did you get that?”

Such notice comes to her with heat up her face when her chin folds slightly to look at her collarbone, catching a glimpse of her new tattoo appearing from underneath the small slit of the opened buttons of her shirt. The rose is delicate, thin, small and yet so painful, a reminder of a nice time just a month ago. “It’s a tattoo.”

“Oh yes, Sherlock. Of course, it’s a tattoo!” Jooheon points out, leaning forward until he is squinting at it and she hooks her fingers around the fabric of her shirt, pulling it to the side the slightest bit to let him see. “That wasn’t there before.”

“I got it a month ago.”

The black haired man looks up at her, taking the pen from her fingertips and pointing it at her accusingly, though the smile on his features speaks wonders. “…So, the rumors are true.”

Confused, she asks: “What rumors?”

“That you’re out and about with the tattoo artist that participated in that one commercial we did.” Her shamefulness can’t hide on her face, cheeks puffed out even when she tries to hollow them to push the grin down. Taeoh, she knows who the person Jooheon talking about is—the one man that had actually waited for her long enough, that took it upon patience and clear charisma to take up on her heart after her last relationship. Without counting Jooheon, Jaehwan had been her latest boyfriend…and that ended up well. Now, with a new title to take care of, she decided to keep it a secret. What is hidden can’t be hurt. “What was his name? Taeoh, right?” She hums, taking her pen from his fingertips just when Jooheon smiles. “Oh, Taeoh. Are you dating him?”

May as well move on, from Jooheon, from the heartbreaks caused in the past and how he tried to heal them, and stay with someone who tried. For her, for a future, to love her through and through. She pulls her shirt straight, buttoning it up while she speaks. “What is it with you? Why are you so curious?” She tuts, only to have Jooheon clasping his hands together. The ring on his finger beams, Sora’s and Jooheon’s marriage still not taking place…but definitely closer than it had ever been.

“Because, after Jaehwan, you were not willing to be with anyone.”

Anyone but you, she wants to correct.

The day in which everything blossomed into something else may have come in the exact time in which she didn’t have them. In those years spent in Sora’s arms, when her solitude mixed with envy and jealousy. Jooheon was the only man clouding her thoughts, and it’d eat her alive until the day she died, but…moving on was important. It was the only thing that could help her grow into her skin, to a better person.

“…Jaehwan was over four years ago, Jooheon.”

The man gasps at that, eyes widening, lips parted. “For real?”

She chuckles, leaning back on her seat and nodding her head. “For real.” She answers, because Jaehwan may have been a timeline in her life, but her ambition with Jooheon had lasted for years. At some point, letting go of him came as second nature—as necessary, for her health, for her vision in the future. “…It was so long ago, I’m over Jaehwan. Besides, Taeoh had proved to be a great guy.”

Jooheon’s face softens. “By giving you a tattoo?”

“Ah, I wanted a tattoo either way.” She swats her hand, looking ahead before thinking of all the reasons as to why there is a flutter in her chest of hope, a glimmer that tells her that people may have used her—Jooheon, himself, without noticing—, and she may have used them back, but there is always a point of changing. Growing up, some call them. “…He just eased into conversation. Made me feel more at ease…welcomed me into his life. He’s…the type of man that never pushes you, never lets go you either…he holds you, cradles you in his hands and—” Understands the mess that she had always been, helping her rearrange the pieces of her by herself, with some help of his own. “He’s…amazing.”

For a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of fire in Jooheon’s eyes—lips puckered up, Jooheon gives her a smile. “I’d like to get to know him.”

Looking at the commercial one again, now with the volume lower, she shakes her head. “Jooheon, you know what happened when you met Jaehwan. You couldn’t even look at the guy without getting angry.”

“And he ended up cheating on you.”

“Cheating on someone with me without my knowledge, actually.”

“…Cheating on you and his other girl. Point of the story.”

“Do you really want to get to know him?”

The plea in his eyes answers an unspoken question in between the two, one that she had never been loud enough to voice out—did you even love me as more than a friend? The thought crosses her head from time to time, when she learns and studies the complexity of their case. Not trying, or perhaps, never giving themselves a chance to try, because she’s too quiet and Jooheon was always reaching for something else. Now that he is an impossibility, too close yet too far away, too…reckless to reach out for, she wonders more. The question ponders on her head…what had been about her that never convinced him to try for something more?

This bites her as guilt, freezes her bones like a taste of ice-cream while diving in with teeth. She has a boyfriend—Taeoh, who has done nothing but try to get her to learn herself as much as he does, but her mind still comes back to Jooheon. Whose hands had seemed to be carved for her, whose dangerous ways in the sheets may have coincidentally engraved themselves as the best she’s had.

But this is not about sex.

It had…never been about sex.

It had been about her curiousness, the type that had her finding herself at his door—questioning herself why she is there if not for him, as a soul, as a body, as an existing being at the same time as her. This warmth he radiates when he smiles at her and nods his head excitedly at the idea of meeting Taeoh breaks her heart the slightest bit, because this means that there was no past.

Whatever she had to discover went back and choked her, got the words away from her mouth when she almost confessed her feelings to him, and now it comes back in waves. In soft reminders that kiss her skin, a tingle that leaves her buzzing, that imagines her with him in a time in which he’d open his heart. A time that never happened.

“I can make it happen, then.” She answers, because this may have not been how it should have ended, but it’s more about how it should have begun. Him and her, being distant yet close in the shape of friendship, accepting each other’s hardships, not leaving the taste of their lips on the other’s skin.

“I’d love for Sora and Taeoh to meet.” He says, and of course there needs to be one for each. One for him. One for her. Another story for both, one that did not connect with their past friend with benefit’s. After all this time…it was never about them.

It was Jooheon and her. Perhaps, there needed to be a comma there—a separation, a double-spacing spot for them to just exist at the same time, but never unite. His breaths could no longer be felt against her back while he slept by her side, much less would she get to kiss those lips again…and it haunts her, it really does, in a way that has her frowning at her own thoughts, though briefly.

She’s falling in love with someone else, and yet, she is reminiscent of all that could have been. Stories that never completed themselves, ones that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

“I’d love for him to meet you.”

Taeoh meeting Jooheon, worlds colliding, perhaps a vision for her to see how much better she had it now. Destiny knows what it is doing, but greed needs more—

Or perhaps, rejection had burned her far stronger than she ever imagined.

###

Why is it different now, if she has lived like this before?

It is not the same time she wakes up to an arm wrapped around her waist, where all the little hairs on the person’s body could poke through the shirt and bring a sense of warmth. If anything, it’s a bit sticky—or stuffy, is more of the word, whereas it would be different if she was alone, but the warmth in her chest tells her that she would not mind staying a few minutes in that position. Cutting through the windows is the light, seeking for a reaction out of her, wishing to wash away the remaining bits of the red wine that simmered in the back of her throat the more she conversed with Jooheon the previous night. Laughter growing louder, conversation growing fonder.

And maybe, this is why it was never pure and entire physical attraction with Jooheon, because there is too much to talk about—music tastes, shows, embarrassing stories, so on and so forth, pushing her closer, but still holding onto that one delicate hand that rests on her knee. Taeoh was present, so was the woman with the glistening engagement ring that matches Jooheon’s, and the wine became more necessary from them on. Sleepy, she wanted to feel, like it’d take a flutter of her lips to go off dreamland and make shapes of the man she loves: Taeoh, to not live this reality that always asks her for more.

Her perfectionism must have gotten the best of her, shaped her to be hurt when she was not the type of person Jooheon would have settled down with, but that is far away from her brain when she feels a pair of lips pressed to her nape. Different from Jooheon’s—thinner, making her open her eyes to watch the organized room. Had the former man been there, there would be clothes scattered somewhere or his phone blinking from the bedside table, but silence fills the cold room, her freezing nose resting against the covers, smelling the scent of Taeoh, like that one orange-based soap he uses during his showers before every night of sleep.

When she was younger, much younger than today, a first choice was never what she had considered herself to be. Experimentation had been there, in shapes of people who kissed her and told, or simply dismissed her as someone monotone. At the time, she promised herself she’d work her hardest to earn the heart of the person she loved—that even silently, she’d always reach for them and have them as hers.

The thing is…love shouldn’t be about fighting. Love is based in promises, in sweet nature, in feeling content even through every hardship, to want the other to belong and improve, to simply coexist—even sometimes, silently.

Deep in her soul, she probably wants to reach for what is most known: to be someone’s second option, to never be good enough. Her eyes suddenly feel weightier when her fingers graze the skin of Taeoh’s tattooed arm, wrapped around her with such tenderness, bringing her closer until he can fully feel the expanse of her. This man is an exception, like he truly loves her, enough to put his art on her body but also to make art out of her, her heart liberated from that sense of insecurity that always has littered beneath her.

Never good enough.

Never the first choice.

But she’s on the way to believing that she may be Taeoh’s.

The man breathes deeply, grasping at the side of her body when he says: “When were you going to tell me you had something with Jooheon?”

Her body stiffens, eyes staring at the city outside the curtains, this same position once held with another man—and she’d never be able to forget the man that clouded her brain with so much irresponsibility that she felt free. Though, nothing was more freeing than finding peace with the pieces of her that linger in her thoughts. All feelings are valid, whether they are saddening or angering. “I—I—Uh, I—”

“He looks at you certain way, you know?” Taeoh asks, turning around until his arm slips away from her, extending his own behind his head to support the weight of it. “Like, I don’t know how to explain it. It reminds me a bit of when I go back to my hometown.”

She turns around at that, not knowing what to say, instead tracing the outlines of his face when his eyes flutter close. “Taeoh, I—”

His brown eyes settle upon her, the slit on top of his eyebrow touched by her fingertips, finally looking back at her. “Whenever I go back…I know I’ll leave again,” He says. “But I try to cling onto it as much as I can. I try to make myself believe that there will always be somewhere better, but there is no place like home. I feel like…I’ll fall back there one day, probably in the far future, because you can never be too far away from home.”

Could she ever be too far away from Jooheon? Love may not last, but it also may not exist. Proven by Taeoh, though, there seems to be something—something that she has never gotten to know in her life, and she plans to discover it. “We didn’t have anything special,” She tries to convince herself, reminiscent of the times her heart felt as if it did not belong to her when around him. Isn’t that love? “Well, it was more of an agreement.” She breathes out, resting her cold nose against his neck, trying to hide her face and press a fleeting kiss to the skin. “If I got my heart broken, I’d try to find comfort in having sex with him. If his did, it’d be the same thing. We were ignorant…” She replies, pulling away until she grasps Taeoh’s face in between her hands, looking into his eyes. “And no matter what happened then, I can tell you one thing.”

“What happened? You said you didn’t have anything special.” Taeoh no longer keeps a comfortable distance, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, eyes pleading for her to love him.

She could be content with loneliness.

She could be content with Jooheon, if he was hers.

She could have had a million stories to tell, but none that felt as fitting as Taeoh—none that could be as loving as him.

Flowers may come with thorns, specially roses, but this is the last time she fears prickling herself. Honesty may lead him closer to her, all roads steps into their forever. Or perhaps, a love that could last as long as it needs to. “I…felt connected to him, I don’t think he did. I’d say it was infatuation, it all came crashing down on him when we had a pregnancy scare.” She confesses, voice soft to let out that one secret that had been captured in between Jooheon and herself. “…I’m not perfect, I can tell you that much, but I am certain that whoever was part of my past cannot compare to you.” She mumbles, pulling away to look into his eyes, watching the uncertainty in them. “P—Please, trust me…”

Taeoh takes her by the neck at that point, kissing her with the fervor that he lacks—almost powerless, he mumbles: “I want to trust you.”

“You want to or you will?” She ponders, lips captured into another kiss when, once again, she is proven just how much he cares about her.

“I will.”

###

The letters blink back at her, gray background and black ink fastening the headlines of the newspaper into her brain. Just like all those times before, the smell of coffee lingers in the air, the door to Jooheon’s and hers shared office right in front of her eyes. Many years of memories—some alone, some accompanied, all blend into nostalgia.

People cling to nostalgia for some damned reason. It is as though in fear of living the future, we cling to the past. We look for excuses, for a push, for that one grain of insecurity that keeps us tied to the floor. For some reason, the paper in between her other hand is sufficient proof of the out-and-out fear that beholds her body. It owns her, it always has, because settling for this company—though, excellent at the beginning, now simply falling into normality—had seemed like what she needed to do. Being chosen, for once, had always been the brightest moment of her life.

For some time now, a month even, she has built the possibilities of the past—crafted the memories back to realize that, in her own way, part of her personality had been shaped in fear. Of being judged. Of speaking up. Of being anything but a hundred percent invisible. Reason as to why she has kept the same job for years. Another reason as to why desiring Jooheon was an impossibility for her—until, he was truly an unreachable person and it broke her. The hopes she had were crushed by her fear of rejection, of being loud and confident.

This is not the part in which she changes herself, but it is the part in which she improves.

The newspaper almost slips out from her fingertips when she enters the office, Jooheon’s back resting against his seat, legs propped up on top of his desk, inspecting the folders that she had left for him to revise the previous day. The coffee is ready and by his side, there is a single cup for her to drink from. He knows she’ll always be there on time, but he doesn’t know her change of mind, much less does he expect to look up at her and see her in a different attire after years.

His smile widens, and it would be a lie for her to say that, after all those years, Jooheon does not do wonders to her soul. That, in a way, she’ll always be fond of the depth of his grin and that look that he throws her way that shows appreciation. Maybe, she should have known the difference between that and love.

This time around, her tattoo is on full display—small, tiny, but she doesn’t cover it. Doesn’t cover herself up anymore. Her blazer is long forgotten, the elegant and posh thin strapped shirt serving her as coverage for today, paired with loose and straight pants, perfect for her last day at the job.

“Morning,” Jooheon says, eyes scanning her body before the twinkle with happiness. “First time I see you wearing something different for the office.”

“Mhm,” She hums, shrugging her shoulders as she slides the piece of paper in between her hands on top of Jooheon’s desk. “I thought I had to leave this place and close this period of my life with something different.”

Almost in a rush, Jooheon sits up, the folders falling on the floor obnoxiously, papers messily scrambled when he takes her resignation letter in between shaky fingers. His beam disappears, eyes scanning the printed words before speaking out: “W—Why? No, you can’t leave.”

And he looks at her as if he’s pleading, begging, as if for one last time he wants to take her heart in between his hands and play with it to his will, like an instrument that plays beauty for him, but rakes in sadness for her. A tune that they will never get to match to. “Taeoh and I have been thinking about moving to his hometown to live together for the past month and so…” After the realization of importance entered her brain as knowledge. Who is important for her? Herself—and Taeoh, too, the only man that had heard her speak; had loved her silence, but had loved her voice even more. “I got accepted. Here’s my resignation letter.”

Jooheon blinks softly, thinks for a moment before throwing his head back. His gaze is blank, looking up at the ceiling as if there is a land far-away in there. His train of thought is loud, even when in silence. “You’re leaving?” He asks, a whine to his tone when she nods her head.

“Yes.”

“What about all those years together?”

As coworkers, he should clarify, but when he looks at her once again, she thinks he may be talking about something else. “I—I’ll cherish them.”

“And what about me?”

“I’ll remember you.”

But if she had to choose, she’d turn back time. If she had a choice, she’d be louder about her words—try to get him and clear her head of any lingering questions with the enigma that is Jooheon. Had she fixed his broken heart for him to love someone else? Probably, and he must have done the same for her, this is further shown when Jooheon stands up from his seat rather quickly, letting the resignation letter rest on the desk when he opens his arms widely.

“Give me one last hug to remember, too, then.”

Her movements are quick when she finds herself in his arms again, hands sprawled around his waist, arms tugging him harsher against her body, as if to breathe at the same tempo as him and turn back time to the first time she held him. She’d want to tell her past self to never get to know him, to never cross that line of professionalism, and maybe this wouldn’t have been the ending for the wildest ride of her life. Instead, however, she gets to feel his breath fanning on top of her shoulder, that one that has the tattoo made by Taeoh.

The person she is today may not be perfect, but it learned something from the mistakes she made with Jooheon. If he hurt her, he did it at the hands of life, destiny knowing what it is doing.

But she’ll leave him with one last heartbreak, one last memory of who they are today—two lines that never connected, two worlds that collided and created a explosion instead.

Two hearts that had played a game together, and didn’t win.

#jooheon scenarios #monsta x scenarios #jooheon #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #jooheon au #jooheon angst #jooheon fluff #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #the anti-love club #office worker!au #unrequited love!au

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winter-soldier-vibes · 4 years

Text

You just have to keep trying (Sebastian Stan x reader)

You just have to keep trying

Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: eating disorder(various behaviors and ‘mantras’), negative self talk/worthlessness, panic attacks/anxiety

Word count: 4268

Summary: Sebastian and Reader are dating, and while Sebastian is away filming, some comments get to you. You start developing eating disorder behaviors, and a concerned friend reaches out to Sebastianw.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, it was really hard for me to write and I had to take a few days for myself before I could finish it. This one is really personal for me to write, and I don’t mean to be insensitive towards anyone. This is just written based on my personal experience and what I think would help me. If any of you are struggling with anything mentioned here and you need someone to talk to, relate to, or rant to, I’m all ears. This isn’t something to go through alone. Also I know this may seem like an unrealistic solution and it’s not always this easy, but this is fanfiction and I used some phrases that helped me. It’s often never as easy as reassurance, but it does help. Again, I’m sorry if this is triggering or insensitive to anyone out there, I just really enjoyed writing it and imagining someone caring as much as I wrote here. Stay safe.

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

It wasn’t easy dating an actor.

There was media attention, often unwanted, in every corner of your life. Interpretations of everything you did, said, and posted. Comments of your relationship, what you say, what you wear, what you also don’t say. Assumptions were made about your entire life and you just wanted to scream at them to shut up. They didn’t really know you, and they’d do anything for a headline.

But it was all worth it to you. You loved Sebastian very much, and wouldn’t trade what the two of you had for the world. He was everything you wanted. But the goddamn media were ruthless.

He told you to ignore it. And you tried and were successful for a while. But eventually hearing the same shit over and over again just ate away at you. Now it was easier to believe them than it was to believe yourself.

Somethings were less bothersome than others. You knew your love for Sebastian was real, and no headline ever made you doubt that. It was the critiques on you, and everything you did and said, that really got to you. Specifically when it was targeting your appearances.

You never had a problem with your confidence. It never really occurred to you that your appearances mattered or would matter, so you didn’t really focus on it. But it was different now. Suddenly everyone cares and is saying that you should look different, that you don’t deserve him, that you weren’t good enough. And on top of that there were the comments of everyone reading these articles and posts.

Currently you were scrolling through Instagram. Sebastian was God knows where shooting for a new movie. He had been gone for a few weeks and you weren’t sure when he was coming back. You were scrolling through a bunch of old photos of the two of you together. You loved all of these when they were taken and posted, but now was a completely different story.

More than half of the comments were negative, and 75% of those were directed towards you. You didn’t think it would bother you like it was, and you intended to only read a few before moving on. But it was a wormhole - as much as you wanted to stop reading you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

There were tears in your eyes but you didn’t really care. You wanted the honest truth of what people thought about you. Sebastian told you their opinions didn’t mean anything, but after a while you thought he was just being nice.

What does he even see in her?

What makes her so special?

God she’s disgusting

He could have anyone, why her?

Anyone else hate this chick as much as I do?

The last one had over 300 likes.

You finally put your phone down and got up, making your way into the bathroom. You studied yourself in the mirror, looking for every possible flaw that was there. And you found a lot of them. It hurt, but you needed to do this if things were going to get any better.

Your hips were too wide, waist not pulled taut enough, a bit of flab here, too thin there… everything seemed out of proportion to you. Your skin was a mess, your hair was flat and dull, it just seemed like everything was wrong. No wonder people were tearing you apart and saying you weren’t good enough. They were right.

This was the start of something very new for you. You decided to take things into your own hands, make yourself better. You had heard how celebrities went on crazy diets to lose weight for a role, and you wound up pulling inspiration from them. It started fairly small and almost harmless. You were counting calories and doing more cardio. It was fine.

But then it wasn’t.

It became much too addicting, much too fast. It started slowly. There was one day where you had an extremely busy schedule and you ended up forgetting to eat and before you knew it, it was 9 pm. You really did intend to eat something, but then it occurred to you that you could just...go to bed.

You started skipping meals, loving the way that hunger made you feel. You felt more focused, more alert, just overall stronger. You kept telling yourself that hunger makes you stronger, and that eating was for the weak. And you wanted to prove everyone wrong, and if denying some hunger was the way to do that then so be it.

Sometimes you would indulge in your body’s cries for help, eating anything you could. But as soon as you realized what you were doing, panic would overtake you. The first time you frantically tried to find an option, which eventually led you to the bathroom hunched over the toilet. After that you threw up anything you ended up eating, no matter how small.

You took weight loss inspiration quotes to a dangerous level. Anytime you would walk to the fridge you would tell yourself that ‘fat lasts longer than flavor,’ or ‘minutes on the lips forever on the hips’. After that it wasn’t that hard to walk away.

You were working out a lot more too, and found that addicting. You pushed yourself until you basically fell over from exhaustion. Then you would give yourself a break. But absolutely no rest days. You didn’t deserve them. Not yet, at least.

You stopped going out with your friends. They would invite you to a bar or dinner but you would always decline. It was easier that way. You were losing weight of course, and rapidly at that. You didn’t see it, you saw things that still needed work. But your hair was beginning to fall out, you were always tired, and just generally felt like shit. You were never overweight in the first place, so your ribs were beginning to just out, and you could see your hip bones for the first time in your life. But this only egged you on. It should have scared you, but you liked it. You thought it was progress.

You hadn’t seen anyone in weeks, and you had been doing this to yourself for months. You would still talk to Sebastian on the phone most days, and text on the days you didn’t. You didn’t dare tell him about any of this for fear he would try to stop you. You weren’t good enough yet. That was all that you really wanted. You would give everything you had just to feel like you were good enough.

Eventually, your friends started getting really concerned. Denying a girl’s night here and there was nothing to worry about, but weeks of near radio silence prompted them to come and check on you. One day they knocked on your door, and you padded over to it, still in your workout gear.

They nearly passed out when they saw you.

You were gaunt, dark circles under your eyes, pale, and just...smaller than you were. You weren’t hiding behind your usual baggy clothes that kept you warm, exposing how much weight you had lost. You thought everything was normal, but they were absolutely freaking out. This wasn’t you.

“Are you okay?” y/b/f/n asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

You shrugged. “Yeah. why wouldn’t I be?”

They swallowed. “Y/n, you look...sick.”

You rolled your eyes, frustrated. “Gee, thanks.” That did absolutely nothing for your self esteem. “Look, I’m fine and I have work to do. So thank you, but please just leave.” You shut the door on them.

They stood there stunned for a few minutes outside the door, worried as hell about you. Eventually they decided to leave, but they couldn’t stop thinking about you. They sat in their car, trying to think of what to do. But then they remembered something.

A few years ago when the two of you were getting serious, Sebastian had given them his phone number in case something happened to you while he was away. They had never had to use it before, but now seemed like an appropriate time. They scrolled through their contacts until they found him, and started typing.

‘Hey this is y/b/f/n. Something’s wrong with y/n.’

Within a couple of minutes, he called back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry filling his voice.

They sighed. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard or seen her in a few weeks and I went to check on her today and she’s just…” they shook their head. “She’s lost a lot of weight. She looks sick, Sebastian. I don’t know what’s going on but I barely recognized her when she opened that door.”

On the other side of the line, Sebastian was freaking out. He was in between takes on set, but he walked off to a more private place to have this conversation. “Did you try to talk to her?”

“She said she was fine and shut the door.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. Sighing, he said “Alright. I’ll tell the director something came up. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you, y/b/f/n.”

“Thank you.”

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

The day continued normally for you. You worked out some more, busied yourself with different things around the house, avoided eating like it was poison. Your usual routine. You hated what you were doing to yourself. You wanted to stop but you just didn’t think that was an option yet. You thought you had to get to a certain image, a certain weight, or just reach some kind of destination before you tried to change. But you weren’t there yet.

You tried to sleep, couldn’t sleep, tried again, and then eventually gave up and settled for the 1 hour you were able to get. You got ready for your day as normal: workout gear and to the gym. When you came home, you showered and went to lie down again. You were so exhausted but you didn’t feel like there was anything you could do.

You don’t know how long you were there, but the sound of a door closing brought you back into awareness. You sat up, confused as to who was here. Sebastian always told you when he was coming home.

“Y/n?”

You perked up, knowing it was Sebastian’s voice. You practically ran into the main room to hug him. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, immediately stiffening. “Oh my God,” he whispered. Underneath your sweater he could feel your bones jutting out and you were smaller than he remembered. He had only been gone for about 2 months, what the hell had happened?

He pulled back a lot sooner than you would have liked. But when you looked at his face, you were surprised to see him looking at you extremely concerned. “What’s wrong Seb?”

He looked you up and down and shook his head a little “What happened to you?”

You smiled a little, oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“You - you’ve lost so much weight. You look sick, yn, just - what the hell happened?”

You looked away for a second, stepping back and crossing your arms. You didn't know what to say. Sebastian stepped forward and grabbed both your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. Gently but firmly, he asked again “Y/n, tell me what happened.”

You shifted your gaze away from him. “I just wanted to be better.”

Sebastian felt his body go cold. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, not knowing what to tell him. You didn’t even know the answer yourself. He sighed. “This isn’t because of some stupid reporter, is it?”

Your lack of words and the tensing of your body was enough of an answer for him. “You know that they are trained to rip people apart? They don’t know what it’s making you feel. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you! You could literally have anyone you wanted, I just don’t understand why you chose me! I don’t understand why you’d want me, just….” you shook your head. “I’m not good enough.”

He stayed silent for a few moments, not knowing what you meant. He had no idea you felt this down on yourself. “What do you mean?”

You looked away from him again. “Sometimes I just don’t understand. You’re absolutely perfect in every single way and then I'm just here. I don’t get why or how you could love me.”

He closed the space between the two of you and hugged you again, firmly but not as tightly as usual. He was afraid he would hurt you. He felt tears pricking his eyes as well. His girl, his y/n, was wasting away because she didn’t feel good enough for him, when usually he thought it was the opposite. It broke his heart knowing that you had done this to yourself for him or some ignorant reporter. You were crying because you thought this would be the end of it. You didn’t think it was possible for him to love you after something like this.

“Babe, listen to me. I need you to hear me out here. I love you so much. I love you for who you are, who you were, and everything you could be. And nothing would ever change that. You are absolutely perfect to me no matter what. And because of that it breaks my heart to know what you’ve been doing to yourself. You don’t have to change, especially not for me. Hurting yourself like this cannot be an option, okay?”

Tears had begun to fall from his eyes and you were shaking in his embrace. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. You felt him shake his head before he said “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Your heart was melting. “Why are you so nice to me?” you asked quietly.

He let out a shaky breath, trying his best to hold it together for you. “Because I love you more than anything. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

You buried your face further into his chest, letting out another sob. He tightened his grip on you and kissed the top off your head, scared you would disappear at any second. He swallowed back his own tears, knowing he needed to be the strong one here.

“Please, y/n, let me help you.”

You nodded into his chest, feeling a sickening sense of relief and terror. To be honest you were mostly petrified as to what was to come. You had spent months telling yourself you deserve to starve, and you still believed most of it. You knew deep down it was a problem and you wanted to let Sebastian help you, but you were so scared of disappointing him or yourself.

By this point, it was early afternoon. The two of you spent a few hours on the couch, you curled up to him and his arms protectively around you. He kept telling you how much he loved you and how you were beautiful, and you would do your best to believe him and ignore the voice in your head telling you it was all a lie. In all honesty you got more distracted as time went on. You knew he would want to make you dinner and you couldn’t ignore the anxiety growing more as the time went on.

You weren’t going to bring it up, and you were just waiting for him to. He was nervous to bring it up too. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or trigger you, but there was no way that he could let you skip another meal. You had already gone far too long without eating anything. He shifted in his seat and tensed a little, and you sighed, knowing what was coming.

“So...uh..”

“I don’t know,” you finished for him. You looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure what I’d want or even could eat. It’s so stupid trying to explain it to someone else…” you shook your head and closed your eyes. “It makes sense in my head but it doesn’t when I say it out loud.”

He sighed a little, brushing your hair with one of his hands. “It can be something small,” he said gently. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

You felt tears in your eyes again as you brought your hand to your stomach, running it down your ribcage, feeling the divots. It was a nervous habit you had developed whenever you thought about eating, and you cursed yourself for doing it now. “It’s embarrassing Seb.” you said quietly.

Sebastian didn’t stop his movements, looking down at you. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked, feeling so helpless in this situation. He wanted to take all of your pain away but there isn’t a quick way to heal the mind. He had learned that himself a long time ago. You shrugged, not knowing the answer yourself.

You took a deep breath. “Nothing’s going to be easy Seb. I think it’d just be easier if you chose something and then just sit with me or something. I don’t know… God I feel like an idiot right now -”

“Hey,” Sebastian stopped you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever you need babe.” He gave you a smile before he stood up, and you curled into the corner of the couch, bringing your knees to your chest. Your heart was pounding and your mind was racing. You had no idea how you were going to be able to do this, you could barely eat on your own out of shame, how were you expecting to eat in front of the man you loved?

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to think of something that would be easiest for you to eat while still providing sustenance. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but he also didn’t want to enable you.

Eventually he came back out with two plates of food, one holding less than the other. (Insert whatever you want here for the meal). He gave the smaller portion to you with a small smile and you were trying your best to hide the trembling of your hand as you took it from him. You ended up counting the calories with the blink of an eye before you could stop yourself, and cursed your mind because you didn’t think that there was a way that you could eat that much. Even if you knew logically you burned more calories in your workout that morning.

You begna bouncing your leg up and down, tears building once again. You didn’t want to disappoint him, but you couldn't stop the anxiety building inside you. “I’m sorry,” you said shaking your head and covering your mouth. Your breathing was becoming uneven, and your heart rate was increasing as well. Which only made you more anxious.

Sebastian moved both plates out of the way before wrapping his arms around you again. You were so embarrassed, having an anxiety attack around something as stupid as food. You felt so weak and stupid. Your leg was moving uncontrollably at this point, and you barely had any control over your breathing anymore. Your hands balled into fists and you buried your head into his chest out of shame.

You kept trying to spit out apologies but you couldn’t catch your breath long enough to do so. He just tightened his arms around you, hushing you whenever you tried to speak. “Y/n I need you to try to breathe with me, can you try that? Just try to match mine.” He started taking deep breaths, chest rising and falling slowly and you tried your best to match his. It took a few minutes but eventually your breathing evened out. Once the panic had washed away you started crying harder, more out of shame and embarrassment than anything else.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s so stupid -”

“It’s not stupid y/n.” he said gently but firmly. “It’s okay to be anxious.”

You shook your head against his chest. “Not when it’s about something as silly as food.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. Thoughts don’t make sense all the time, but that doesn’t make them fact. You’re just having a rough time right now, but beating yourself up over it is only going to make it harder.”

God, you love this man.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, him rubbing a hand through your hair gently like before. He knew you had always liked that. You closed your eyes, wanting this moment to go on forever, but knowing you would have to eat something at some point.

“Do you think you could try to eat something? Please?”

You took a deep breath before nodding again, pulling away from him. You grabbed your plate and played around with it for a minute or so before you began eating. You wanted to make Sebastian happy, but you were terrified as well. You didn’t exactly know why, logically speaking. You had thoughts running through your mind of weight gain, but you also knew logically that one meal wouldn’t cause it, and that you were too skinny anyways.

You knew that logically. But your mind wasn’t exactly a logical place to be right now.

You weren’t able to eat everything, but you ate more than you thought you would be able. To. you apologized for the nth time that night, and Sebastian stopped you before you could finish. “Don’t be. I’m proud of you.” he said with a smile as he brought the plates to the kitchen. He was nervous to say the least. You hadn’t eaten much, but again, it was a start. Everyone needs to start somewhere.

He hadn’t told you that he had come home in the middle of shooting to check on you. He didn’t tell you that he had initially said he’d be gone for a week before pushing it back even further, realizing you needed him at the moment. You were more important to him, and he honestly didn’t care if he got fired. He’d find another job at some point.

He stayed with you for the next few weeks, helping you in every aspect. He made sure you deleted all social media apps on your phone, so you weren’t inclined to look at toxic comments. He helped you tone down your time in the gym and take rest days. He made sure you ate something at each meal. It started out small, and gradually he helped you to eat more. He sat with you through all the panic attacks and tears, and the times you would lash out at him. He never took it personally.

There were slip ups. Times where you snuck out at night to go for a run, or when you would find yourself throwing up after the anxiety got to be too much. He wouldn’t get angry with you, just offer you a sad smile and hug you. You would apologize and he would assure you it wasn’t your fault. “It’s not going to be perfect, you just have to keep trying.”

He would never stop telling you that you were beautiful and how much he loved you. You couldn’t help but feel like a burden to him at first, but as time went on you began to believe him more and more.

Months later and it was still a daily struggle. You had bad days, slip ups, and days where you just wanted to quit. But Sebastian never left your side through all of it, and eventually you were able to pull yourself out of your own darkness. You were able to catch yourself in your negative thoughts before you descended too far down the wormhole. You were starting to feel happy again, more like who you had been.

The two of you were watching a movie, laughing over some funny line that had been said. There was popcorn in between the two of you and you just felt happy. After a few moments, you looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

He smiled back down at you. “For what?”

“Helping me believe in myself again.”

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