#instead of writing chap 4 lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheesybadgers · 1 year

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 19)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 7,943

Summary: Javier and Horacio deal with the aftermath of a fraught morning and try to make the most of life in Madrid. Meanwhile, Señora Romero and Chucho have some words of wisdom (as usual) for them.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut (including ass play, spanking and aftercare), brief discussions of PTSD symptoms and healing, grief and parental loss, discussions of sexuality/coming out, allusions to period-typical and historical prejudices, smoking, swearing.

Notes: So, here's the second part of their Madrid adventures at last! But where to next? 👀 I'm currently working on chapter 20, which is taking a while because life, and also I swear the closer to the end I get, the harder it is to write lol.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who has recently jumped on board this emotional rollercoaster. I'm blown away by the comments I've received over the last couple of years and I still love hearing from people, so please feel free to drop me a line if you'd like to ❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 19: In The Same Boat

After breakfast and back at their apartment, Horacio took a shower, relieved to finally be rid of his running clothes now that the sweat had long since dried.

Javier soon joined him, capturing his waist from behind as eager lips met salty wet skin.

Horacio didn’t question why Javier was on his second cleansing of the day, instead nudging against the ridge of his shoulder, letting the steam envelop them and the hot jets wash away the stress of an eventful morning.

They wanted answers about what happened in their absences, but for now, their bodies did the talking. They gave into unspoken needs and an insistent craving to be as close as possible now further hurdles had been overcome, even if they weren’t sure which ones yet.

If Javier was hungrier and more demanding with what he took, Horacio indubitably noticed but didn’t object. How could he mind Javier’s nails scraping and scoring, marking Horacio like conquered territory?

Or the way he crouched between Horacio’s spread legs, parting generous handfuls of firm flesh, mouthing and biting with fervour along each buttock towards their inner seams, the bristle of facial hair scratching in all the right places.

Javier was guided by the moans above him as his nose pressed forwards, licking a trail north and south, alternating between flattening his tongue and outlining meandering patterns, skirting down to Horacio’s perineum and back up. Because anything less wouldn’t have been enough.

All Horacio could do was steady himself against the wall with one hand, the other rolling over supple skin and the taut ridges of his pectoral and abdominal muscles, ebbing and flowing like the Sierra de Guadarrama, a bittersweet reminder of his Andean homeland on their doorstep.

He engulfed and tweaked his nipples, journeying below the soft slope of his stomach and groin, fondling his balls, his fingers briefly making contact with Javier’s mouth and grounding them instantly.

A desperate growl rumbled through Horacio’s chest as he clenched his fist around the shaft of his cock and tugged in time with Javier lapping at the tight ring of muscle until he broached it. Shallow thrusts to begin with, increasing the depth and pace the fiercer Horacio shook and shuddered.

Javier never grew tired of being the one to reduce Horacio to a lascivious wreck, knowing it was an honour exclusively bestowed upon him, made even sweeter now they were no longer looking over their shoulders, waiting for a cruel twist of fate to intervene.

With that thought fresh in Javier’s mind, he didn’t hold back, devouring with ravenous greed, the ache in his knees insignificant compared to the sounds he was drawing from Horacio, who was all wounded grunts and choked back sobs, and it was music to Javier’s ears.

It didn’t take much for Horacio to fall apart on the fire of Javier’s tongue and the ice of his own iron grip, his eyes screwed shut and his spare hand thumping against the porcelain tiles as he came with a silent cry, teeth clamped down on his bottom lip for the benefit of their neighbours.

Once Horacio had recuperated, Javier peeled himself off the floor and manoeuvred them under the faucet, their mouths fusing together as they rinsed off. There was no let-up, the rough collision of limbs building momentum until Javier’s breathless invocations echoed as loudly around the room as the sweet percussion of a palm against his ass, a slow burn blush blooming with each prayer answered.

“Are you sure?” had been Horacio’s first question, always compelled to check in whenever Javier displayed vulnerability like this.

But Javier was certain. He needed it in the way his lungs sucked on air. Needed Horacio to hold the reins now, to clear his mind so he could focus on the present. On every sensation, word of encouragement and exhalation. To leave physical evidence on Javier’s body, an undeniable reminder that Horacio was here, safe, and trusted to take care of him precisely how he desired.

So, who was Horacio to refuse? Not when Javier’s supplicating gaze scorched his own, kindling an inscrutable and mortifying urge to sink to his knees and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

But instead, he positioned Javier facing the tiles, smoothing his hand back and forth, massaging each pert cheek to stimulate the blood flow, letting the anticipation build because he knew that was part of the thrill for Javier, not knowing when he would strike.

Seconds of stillness followed; the steady stream of water the only sound to be heard until Horacio permeated the silence with the flat of his palm.

He started off with little more than a mild tap, gauging where Javier was at, easing into it and letting him dictate how far this went.

A series of progressively bracing swats came next, alternating from side to side, caressing the areas he targeted as a balm to the prickling heat. “You’re doing so good for me, Javier,” he praised, his free hand stroking up and down Javier’s back in reassurance. “Tell me what you need.”

Javier’s forehead rested on his hand against the wall, his teeth wedged into his fist whenever Horacio let loose. “I need more,” he stated after taking a deep breath, knowing Horacio would waver in granting his request without such succinct clarity.

Several more vigorous slaps ensued, causing something between a huff and a groan to release from Javier’s throat as his body jerked and his cock twitched. “Harder,” came his response no sooner had the vibrations reached the seat of his ass.

Horacio took his time despite Javier’s demand, subduing with delicate circles as though polishing fine glass, allowing the cascading water to counteract the sting.

There was an agonising pause, rendering it impossible for Javier to second guess when it would end until it was too late.

A crystal clear thwack crackled through the air, followed by another and another, sending Javier into a wave of spasms that left bite marks on the back of his hand and tears welling in his eyes.

He was sure there must be pain buried beneath the pleasure that he would feel later, but for now, he was floating, delirious, gone. Fuck any drug the cartels had to offer because no way in hell could it ever be as good as this.

But he was determined not to take himself in hand or grind against the tiles; that was too easy. This required complete concentration and discipline, reducing Javier’s existence to nothing but Horacio’s touch and his response.

“Horacio, please.” He panted out his final beg for mercy, knowing it wouldn’t take much more to bring him home.

Horacio couldn’t be sure if it was the light glinting in the trickling water droplets, illuminating the imprint of his hand that had him fraying at the edges, or how his palm tingled, triggering a chain reaction all the way down to his groin again. But before he could stop himself, he covered Javier’s back with his body, his left hand meeting Javier’s on the wall.

The scent of Javier’s shampoo was potent, intoxicating, and lethal as Horacio buried his face in a mass of thick, damp hair, almost knocking the wind out of them simultaneously. They kept still, both trying to deepen their tremoring breaths, Horacio counting to 10 in his head and Javier closing his eyes in preparation.

Horacio retreated, leaving his left hand connected with Javier’s whilst his right resumed its position, gently cupping and kneading, teasing his knuckles between Javier’s cheeks.

There was a lull in movement, the tide receding as a prelude to the incoming tsunami, their pulses deafening in their ears as time froze and suspended them in a torturous self-imposed vacuum.

But then a seismic release set them free, plunging Javier’s weight against the tiles, no amount of chewing on his fist able to suppress the whimpered cry or control his quivering form as he came with Horacio’s name somewhere on the tip of his tongue but lost amidst the onslaught of concentrated bliss.

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to, merely trying to breathe whilst Horacio removed the shower hose from its cradle, letting the restorative warmth of the water soothe the tenderness, the temperature gradually reducing to lukewarm then cooler once Javier was accustomed to it, extinguishing the flames.

Horacio dried them off, dabbing the towel meticulously over Javier until he replaced it with chaste kisses then sweet almond oil, mapping a path across his ass, covering every inch, and taking extra time with the rawest patches of skin. He needed this part of the ritual as much as Javier did. Needed to be the caregiver at both ends of the spectrum and to still be touching Javier because that was what he needed in return.

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

They delayed dressing in favour of entangling themselves beneath the bedsheets after rehydrating and sharing a bowl of fresh strawberries bought from their favourite food market the previous day. It wasn’t as though they had anywhere to be, after all.

A solitary cigarette passed between them, the only nicotine-fuelled vice of the day worth having anymore. It was customary for either man to trace patterns through chest hair as he took a drag, their fingers and lips meeting somewhere in the middle, transferring cigarette and smoke in one smooth motion.

Their cigarette was now stubbed out in the ashtray by the bed, swapped for playing with each other’s hands whilst Javier lay tucked into Horacio’s side.

His fingers skimmed over the coarse edges of Horacio’s, sliding to the softness at the centre of his palm, then down to his wrist. Javier lingered until he got what he came for, the slow, steady beat keeping his own rhythm in check after a fraught start to the morning.

From there, Horacio dusted kisses across Javier's knuckles until Javier unfurled his fingers, offering them up for the same treatment, and Horacio gladly obliged.

It could have been minutes or hours they lay like this, lost in touch, neither wanting to break the spell.

But as Horacio’s hand snaked up Javier’s torso, pausing to play with the warmed silver chain, he folded first. “I’m sorry I was late.”

“You don’t need to apologise for being cornered. These things happen.”

“It wasn’t just that, though.” Horacio stroked his thumb over the surface of the cross. For comfort or courage, or both, he wasn’t sure. He explained everything about Álvaro, even down to the disconcerting parallels he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. “He could’ve been me, Javier. He was me. And if it hadn’t been for you – for us – I think he still would be. Either that, or I’d be dead.”

“But he’s not you. You’re not that man anymore. Look how far you’ve come, Horacio. You got out. And you found your inner cowboy.”

Horacio gave Javier a withering look, ignoring the devilish spark in his eyes. “I’m not a fucking cowboy.”

“But that’s what you want, though, right? To be a rancher?”

Horacio had thought long and hard about this, especially when confronted with the ghosts of his old life. Any worries about being lured back in were swiftly abated. If anything, it confirmed what he, deep down, already suspected. “Yeah, I think I do. But only if you still want to move back to Texas.”

“I thought I’d never move back. But after I left Colombia, you seemed so at home. And for once, so did I.” Javier didn’t say the rest out loud because he didn’t need to. His book dedication had done it for him.

“I was,” was all Horacio managed to get out before he kissed Javier, unhurried and thorough.

“It’s not like I’ve got any career plans lined up elsewhere anyway,” Javier added once they pulled apart.

“There’s still time to figure it out.”

A knowing smile passed over Javier’s lips. “That’s what Señora Romero said this morning. After I fucking lost it because you were a few minutes late.” His smile morphed into a self-deprecating scoff, traces of embarrassment still left over despite the kindness he had been shown.

“What?”

Now it was Javier’s turn to open up; for the second time that day. He reclined against Horacio’s chest, the fingers stroking through his hair relaxing his mind and muscles as he talked.

“Fuck, Javier, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, no. It’s not your fault. And it’s not your responsibility to fucking babysit me. I was fine after a drink and a pep talk.”

Horacio strained his neck to meet Javier’s eye with an incredulous look.

“Okay, well, after that, then.”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?”

“No. It was perfect,” Javier replied without hesitation, meeting Horacio’s gaze head-on and with ease. A simmering afterglow had overtaken the initial sensitivity, but he was confident he would feel it for the rest of the day, maybe even tomorrow if he was lucky. “Was, er, was it good for you too?”

The luscious whip of his palm was still vivid in Horacio’s mind, along with Javier’s pleas for more and the spiral of his tongue as he fucked and feasted. Not to mention how the tension they had been carrying throughout the morning visibly dissipated in the aftermath.

“I think perfect just about covers it,” he replied, hunting down Javier’s mouth again before they collapsed into each other’s arms.

“Señora Romero’s been through a lot too,” Javier said after a soporific silence almost tempted them towards slumber.

“I know. She never talked about it much. But after the bombing, she mentioned Spain was always carrying old wounds.”

“I guess we all are. So, there are bound to be bad days sometimes.”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s forehead. “I should’ve been there with you, though.”

“You’re here now.”

Another string of kisses followed, the next more charged than the last. Because now wasn’t just tomorrow, the next day, week, month, or even year. Now was the rest of their lives.

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

They could easily have whiled away the rest of the day in bed. But the sun’s heat had broken through the haze of early morning fog by lunchtime, and it was the ideal afternoon for a walk around El Retiro Park.

The park was rarely quiet, but it was vast enough to disperse the crowds into all corners. They started with the gardens and fountains, one, in particular, stopping them in their tracks.

“Well, that’s…striking,” Javier said, cocking his head and taking off his aviators to get a better look at the imposing statue in front of them.

“La Fuente del Ángel Caído. The Fountain of the Fallen Angel. It’s the moment Lucifer was cast out of heaven.”

Javier turned to Horacio with a raised brow. “So, are you an expert in all artistic impressions of the devil, or just this one?”

Horacio feigned an irked glare. “I used to run this way sometimes with it being so close to the Consulate.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief.”

It was the truth, but at that time of Horacio’s life, there was a strange and dark affinity to be found with the story of a fallen angel in exile. Occasionally, he would stop to study the fountain in all its horrifying glory, a visceral reminder of why he was here.

They quickly moved on to the Palacio de Cristal, the weather optimal for the impressive architecture above them. Sunbeams descended a halo down from the glass roof, a hush spreading through the crowd as they craned their necks in awe. It gave the building the peaceful atmosphere of a church, but it was a world away from the harsh wooden pew Horacio had prayed in every week.

Without meaning to, his hand brushed against Javier’s as they stood side-by-side, barely a hair’s breadth between them, and too subtle to be noticed by anyone around them.

Javier didn’t flinch, didn’t even look in Horacio’s direction, yet for the briefest of moments, their fingers connected in a way that could have been passed off as accidental if necessary. But of course, they knew there was nothing accidental about them whatsoever.

They came to the lake next, sitting on steps that led up to a grand monument by the water. On the base of it lay a statue of King Alfonso XII with three smaller ones beneath representing peace, freedom and progress, a stark contrast to the Fallen Angel.

“I never found the time to come down here before, but it’s a beautiful spot,” Horacio said, wishing he was wearing his Stetson now he was having to squint in the sun.

“Yeah, it is.”

Somewhere between arriving at the lake and finding a free spot, Javier exchanged conversation for staring out across the water.

Whilst watching the hire boats glide backwards and forwards, out of nowhere, he was reminded of the river back home. The traffickers made it look as easy as a leisure pastime. Like they never got the memo about the turbulent currents that required navigating life as the Rio Grande did, flowing in limbo and helplessly watching the gulf between each side widen like a splitting wound.

Javier vaguely remembered hearing stories from his Abuelas and Abuelos about their journeys across the border. But it wasn’t a subject he and Chucho talked about much. Officially, that was due to Chucho being so young at the time, but unofficially, Javier wasn’t stupid. He knew of the bleak dangers and challenges involved with moving to el otro lado, as he often heard the other side called, more so now than back then, and he always suspected there were stories his Pops would rather keep to himself.

“Hey, you still in there?”

Horacio’s voice brought Javier back down to earth. “Yeah. Sorry.”

It was typical of him to be sitting here ignoring Horacio and the scenery in favour of daydreaming about the very place they came here to take a break from. Their late morning interlude had apparently taken it out of him, and he was already reverting to losing himself in thought rather than focusing on the present.

But as Javier went through the day’s events, his attention still on the lake, an idea came to him. He could sense he was being watched as a playful smirk took hold. “Fancy a ride?”

It didn’t take long for Horacio’s mind to wander, despite the fact he could plainly see what Javier was referring to. Always the tease, which he’d no doubt pay for later. “Only if you take it in turns with the rowing.”

“Deal.”

Soon after, they set off from the jetty in a pale blue and white rowing boat. Horacio took the oar first, the reason already paying dividends as he watched Javier trying but failing not to fixate on Horacio’s arms.

“Nice view out here,” Horacio deadpanned.

Javier cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, triggering a welcomed reminder from a matter of hours ago and handing victory straight to Horacio. “You could say that.”

That was all Horacio had wanted in the way of revenge because two could play at that game.

They rowed in comfortable silence, taking in their picturesque surroundings and the fact it was easy to be around others yet still be alone here. From a quick glance at other boating parties, there was a diverse mix of groups and couples, and no one appeared remotely interested in them for a change. It was an antidote to the heavy conversations and emotions from earlier, even if that had been a necessary step for them to take.

“Do you think this still counts as a bad day?” Javier asked now that Horacio had taken a break from rowing, letting them slowly drift in the deserted end of the lake.

“A bad start, maybe. But I think we might’ve just about salvaged it.”

“Me too.”

Their eyes met across the boat, the afternoon light casting them in a golden hue. Their feet were the only part of them touching, both a frustration and a catalyst. But they knew that would be rectified once in the privacy of their apartment.

“We better be getting back,” Horacio said with reluctance. “Especially as it’s your turn to row.”

That earned him a “Fuck you” and a splash of water in his general direction.

But Javier accepted the oar, and set a course back to the jetty, Señora Romero’s words still echoing in his ears.

Because she was right; they couldn’t always be in the same boat. It was unrealistic to expect otherwise. But they could work hard to be as much as possible. They could take turns to bear the load, be the other’s anchor and cherish the times they succeeded. And today was proof of that.

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

In the week before Easter, there were celebrations across the city for La Semana Santa. Whilst Javier and Horacio preferred peace and quiet to the processions through the streets, they couldn’t say no to Señora Romero’s invitation to a festive meal.

As it turned out, they were also roped into helping with food preparations in exchange for an extra pitcher of lemonade and leftovers to fill their freezer up to the brim.

Señora Romero’s family were to visit the next day, so they made multiple batches, and it was all hands on deck. They prepared an array of dishes, including espinacas con garbanzos, empanadas, croquetas de bacalao, bartolillos madrileños, buñuelos de viento, flores fritas, and torrijas, passing along their contributions like a conveyer belt, Señora Romero issuing instructions without even looking up from her work.

“My Mamá would’ve evicted us from the kitchen by now,” Javier said after his first attempts at frying flores fritas resulted in a sea of uneven misshapes floating in the pan of hot oil.

“No such luck today, Javier. Try holding the mould for longer in the oil after each one. The batter won’t stick to it if it’s not hot enough.”

Javier did as he was directed. And lo and behold, Horacio soon was sprinkling sugar and cinnamon over light, crisp, fully-defined flowers.

“And give yourselves some credit,” Señora Romero continued, finishing cutting up her empanada dough and spooning filling into the segments. “Your tamales are delicious. My lot will be lucky if there are any left by tomorrow. You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

Repeating their success from Laredo had been a challenge in their apartment kitchen as it wasn't as well-equipped or organised as Chucho’s. There must have been something about the simple domesticity of the situation that appealed to them – or perhaps memories from the guesthouse – as they found a pleasing way to pass the time whilst their tamale fillings cooked, involving Javier sitting on top of the kitchen unit, legs wrapped around Horacio and their hips grinding together. They didn’t undress, the friction of their jeans enough to have the desired effect.

“Oh, just plenty of practice over the years.” Javier's tone was guileless, although the roguish expression he fixed Horacio with told another story.

The heat rising in Horacio’s cheeks rivalled the pot of oil simmering on the stove, and it was time to rescue the conversation fast. “Erm, yeah, the pork ones are my Abuela Margarita’s recipe. Alejandra and I made them every Christmas. My Papá would watch us like a hawk. He said it was so we didn't burn the house down, but I think he wanted to be first in line for the tamales.”

It seemed stupid in hindsight, but Horacio looked forward to his Papá checking up on them like that because it at least meant he was home and spending time with them rather than with his work. It meant he was proud of Horacio, even if it was in the most trivial of ways.

“My Mamá made them when I was a kid. Pop insisted on the beef being from our best cattle, though, because he always wanted the best for us." The mischief in Javier's eye had been replaced with something more earnest. That had been the one role his Mamá allowed his Pops to undertake when it came to the tamales, and it was a role taken seriously.

“So many of my family’s traditions started in the kitchen. Recipes I use in the café were handed down to me through the generations, ones I’ve made with care and love; over and over again. What better way to remember those no longer around?" Señora Romero broke off to place her tray of egg-washed empanadas into the oven. "And that would certainly explain it too.”

“Explain what?” Horacio asked.

“Your secret,” she replied with a simple smile, as though it was the most obvious statement anyone could ever have made.

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

The morning passed in the blink of an eye as they filled the apartment with a tempting blend of aromas, and it was late afternoon when they sat down to enjoy the fruits of their labour.

Plates, bowls, and dishes filled the table, and they tucked into a feast that rivalled one of Chucho’s. Not that Javier dared to ever tell his Pops that.

Once they had eaten as much as their stomachs allowed and chatted over coffee long past sunset, Javier bid Señora Romero goodnight, taking two large Tupperware boxes of leftovers back to their apartment, a haul that would stave off hunger for at least a month or two.

Horacio stayed behind to help Señora Romero clear up the kitchen. He was the designated washer whilst she dried, on account of knowing where to put each item back in its rightful place.

Once all the cutlery, cups, and plates were washed, Horacio refilled the sink, a comfortable lull in conversation settling over them.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Señora Romero asked after she delivered a second load of dishes to be washed. “When I asked if there was someone back home.”

Horacio switched the tap off now the sink was full, concentrating intently on swirling soap suds and a cloth around the serving bowl he had plunged under water. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You didn’t owe me an explanation then, and you don’t owe me one now. I understand when the newspapers have been no better than the days of Franco. And mark my words; those were dark, dark days.”

A righteous anger erupted from the surface in Señora Romero’s tone. It was one that Horacio had rarely heard but recognised and understood instantly.

“Spain’s old wounds,” he stated rather than asked.

“On good days, I like to think of it more as scar tissue.”

“Makes sense.”

“We used to hide people whenever there were raids. Sometimes you’d know why they were hiding. Other times, you didn’t ask; you just did it. Anything to keep them from harm. So, please know that you and Javier will always be safe here.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“How was it living in Texas?”

“There was gossip, a few looks and comments, as you can imagine. But Chucho, Javier’s father, was like – he treated me like family.”

“Sounds like we’d get along. And what about your family?”

“I, er, haven’t told them. Alejandra knows I’m here but not why or who I’m with. I never told her or my Mamá about Laredo either. So, I know I owe them the truth.”

“It’s your truth, and you decide if or when you share it with anyone else, Horacio. I can’t pretend to know your family, but if my child or brother had been through everything you have, I’d count my blessings he was alive and well. And happy.”

A palm landed on Horacio’s soapy hand resting at the edge of the sink, the last few dishes now cleared. He had no words to offer beyond thank you, even if that felt wholly inadequate.

He wished her goodnight, returning home to join Javier in bed, both wiped out after a busy day of good company and far too much food.

Horacio slotted himself in front of Javier, back to chest. Slow, deep exhales and groggy mumbles passed between them as Javier instinctively scooped Horacio closer to him, an acknowledgement of each other’s presence without the expectation of conversation.

Javier soon fell back to sleep, leaving Horacio caught somewhere in the middle as snapshots that could have been dreams or memories – or both – played like an old slideshow in his head.

In one, he and Alejandra were kids again, flicking water from the kitchen sink and squealing with delight. He couldn’t see them, but he knew their parents were in the next room as faint traces of their voices travelled through the house.

In another, Horacio was his current age, standing at the sink in what he remembered of Alejandra’s kitchen in Manizales. Every surface was piled high with dishes waiting to be washed and dried. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye revealed his Papá walking briskly across the room, his police uniform a vivid green even though the outline of his form was incorporeal.

Horacio followed and called after him as they made their way through the house, but there was no response. He looped back to where he started, his father now gone as he stood by the sink with hands submerged in hot, soapy water. He noticed the dishes stacked on the drainer were somehow clean, so pulled the plug, water whirlpooling down the drain until all that was left was suds…and a glint of gold. He reached through the bubbles until he was grasping his father’s necklace.

That was enough to pull him fully awake, the spasm in his limbs causing a chain reaction as Javier roused too.

“You okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, I think I was dreaming. I’m fine, though.” Horacio shuffled them around the other way, placing a reassuring kiss at the nape of Javier’s neck. “Go back to sleep.”

It was likely an exchange neither would remember in the morning. But as they settled down again, and Javier placed their hands over the crucifix at his sternum, Horacio swore he could feel an invisible weight around his own neck.

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

The transition between spring and summer in Madrid was abrupt if you weren’t used to it. But one advantage to August was most Madrileños escaped to the coast or mountains for respite from the heat. It left the city emptier than usual, which was more than fine by Javier and Horacio.

It was a strange contradiction for them to seek refuge in a city as lively as Madrid when they preferred the tranquillity of ranch life these days, but city living brought anonymity. Las Posadas was like being under the microscope, whereas no one bothered them here.

Prime shaded spots in the park or the outdoor seating at cafés and restaurants were plentiful. And there were no problems hiring a boat at El Retiro Park before the hottest part of the day kicked in. Then they would hide out in their apartment during siesta hours.

It was doubtful if many people actually slept during siesta these days. But it did mean some shops closed for a few hours, and a general hush would fall over the city.

Sometimes, they would watch T.V. and old films or listen to the radio. Occasionally, Horacio would read aloud to Javier like last Christmas, the significance of Lorca’s words being spoken in their shared apartment, in this country not lost on them. On reflective days, it was rare but not unheard of for hands to connect, their cross clasped between their palms and their minds quiet.

There were also regular phone calls to Laredo, Miami and Medellín. It was funny; in the months they had been in Madrid, Javier had spoken more with his Pop than his entire time in Colombia. His Mamá was often a topic of conversation, Javier making sure to tell his Pops he’d been reading her book here as instructed.

“She always had her head in a book. And she always dreamed of travelling. She was like you when she was younger; she had her heart set on leaving Laredo. Even though your grandparents did everything they could to keep them here. But maybe that was why she wanted to spread her wings; I don’t know.”

“What changed her mind?”

“She met me.”

“Oh, well, good to know ruining lives is a Peña family trait.”

“Think of it as a gift, Mijo. I can’t take all the credit, though. She built herself a good community here. And then, she got involved with the farmers’ unions before she was ill. I think she was just getting started.”

They moved on to how Abuelito Mauricio never intended to settle permanently in Texas. He had left Abuelita Imelda and their brood – Chucho being the eldest – back in a rural town in Guanajuato, and he would send his wages home to them each month. Once the then-small plot of land he scrimped and saved to purchase grew, and made a profit, the rest of the family followed.

“What did Abuela Rosa and Abuelo Guillermo do again?”

“Your Abuelo ran a grocery store downtown, and your Abuela was a seamstress. She did more than that, though, especially in the ‘30s, when they nearly lost the store. Some of their extended family were repatriated back to Michoacán. And many of their customers left for Mexico too. So, they had no staff, and takings were down. Your Abuela managed every cent and dollar of their finances. She’d mend clothes for a small fee or in exchange for food to make sure they never went without.”

“Sounds hard.”

“It was. The ranch struggled too. There weren’t many workers left, and most people couldn’t afford a lot of meat. But we were luckier than most. Some never came back, and even those who did were strangers on one side of the border and a threat on the other. Things got ugly for a while.”

“What happened to the ones who came back?”

“They had to start from scratch again. Local charities were set up to help with travel costs, finding somewhere to live, reuniting separated families, that sort of thing. Your grandparents did what they could to help. It was your Abuelita’s idea to build the guesthouses. Your Abuelito took on labourers struggling to find work for the construction. Then they hosted a few families until they got back on their feet. I think that's why your mother wanted to keep them over the years – because someone always needs them.”

It wasn’t the first time Javier had been told about his family history, but it might have been the first time he asked. And it was strange how differently the same pieces of information could be interpreted depending on the stage of life in which they were shared. In his youth, it was hard to see the drawbacks of leaving Laredo. Because anywhere else had to be better.

But now, all he could think was how much of a throw of the dice it was. Too many families weren’t as lucky as his parents; they never got the option of crossing back over the bridge or pursuing the illusive American Dream. And if fate had decided otherwise, Javier could have grown up on the bank of the Río Bravo rather than the Rio Grande.

Chucho would also discuss ranch business with Horacio, updating him on staff changes, how the newborn calves were thriving, and the latest local gossip.

“Ciro’s thinking of selling up,” he informed Horacio one afternoon.

“Hasn’t he threatened that before?”

“Oh, plenty of times when his back plays up. Or when the weather’s on the turn. But Malena’s health isn’t so good now. And like me, Ciro’s not getting any younger. He was talking about moving closer to their daughter in San Antonio.”

Ciro and Malena Ortega owned the corn farm next door and had been there long since before Javier was born. They had always shared a close professional and personal relationship with the Peñas by selling them feed grain for the livestock and helping in any way possible during and after Mariana’s illness.

“Have they found a buyer? Or are we going to need a new supplier?”

“Not sure yet, to be honest, Mijo. I’ll keep you posted.”

They rounded off their catch-up with the latest on Luna’s, Sol’s and Leo’s adventures. But when Horacio discovered that Luna still waited outside the guesthouse door from time to time, he almost booked himself on the next flight to Laredo.

He had also managed to catch up with Trujillo a couple of times. But it was hard pinning down a busy Major tasked with clearing up whatever dregs were left of the Medellín cartel. After Steve opened his big mouth about Trujillo’s girlfriend, Horacio had half a suspicion he was being avoided deliberately.

In Miami, Connie was back in the E.R. part-time now Olivia was old enough for day-care. A promotion and countless commendations had been thrown Steve’s way since the New Year. If anyone suspected he was the source of the Cali intel – and both Javier and Steve knew someone would – they didn’t let on, apparently too busy getting off on the reflected glory of the Escobar circus.

“There’s a rumour we’re gonna be offered a fuckin’ book deal,” Steve said with a bemused snigger during one of their phone calls.

“A rumour from who?”

“My boss. My boss’ boss. Probably my boss’ boss’ boss. How about it, Javi? Fancy being an author now you’re unemployed? We could make a fortune.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” was Javier’s only response to that suggestion.

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

Regardless of what they did during siesta hours, one thing often led to another. They were hot and sweaty anyway, might as well fully commit or continue in the shower if the heat got too much.

Even though they didn’t have jobs to get back to, it was an indulgence to set aside time in the middle of the day for sex. It couldn’t have been further from their previous lives. But here, they could drag it out as long as they liked, teasing and edging each other, keeping their bodies still for as long as possible. It was as relaxing as it was arousing, intimate as much as it was erotic, and an apt way to spend downtime gifted to them by the city that once kept them apart.

This time, they had been reading on the bed before becoming distracted by lying mouth to cock in exquisite symmetry across the mattress. It was all bobbing heads and bucking hips swallowed down with muffled purrs of pleasure until they were satiated.

Fresh out of the shower, Horacio lay back on his pillow with a towel around his waist. From this angle, the mirrored wardrobe door reflected the image of Javier in the same attire as he shaved over the bathroom sink. There was still something sacred about witnessing the day-to-day rituals like this, and it was impossible to take them for granted.

“Did you always know?” Horacio asked once Javier re-joined him.

A vague question on the face of it, but Javier had already seen his copy of Giovanni’s Room on Horacio’s nightstand with a bookmark slotted in the centre of it.

“Not always. But there was this new ranch hand when I was about 10 or 11. He must’ve been 23, 24. I never spoke to him, just watched him work. I thought I wanted to be like him – I think everyone thought I’d follow in Pops’ footsteps back then. But, er, one summer, I walked in on him changing his shirt in the stables and,” Javier broke off with a boyish grin, “that was that.”

“So, that’s why you have a thing for cowboys.”

“Just the one cowboy these days, actually.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, fingers dipping beneath his towel seam until he squirmed. “Nothing ever happened with him; I was just a kid. I tried to ignore it, went to church, chased girls. And obviously, I couldn’t tell anyone. But it was always there in the background. Like some sort of...fucking unscratched itch. Then at high school, I met Antonio.”

Javier hadn’t said his name out loud in decades, but it stung more than expected. Antonio was Javier’s first…not quite everything, but it felt like it at the time. For almost two years, they were inseparable. They shared similar heritage and backgrounds, although Antonio’s family were crop farmers rather than ranchers. Not that it mattered when they had twice as much land to explore in the holidays or when Javier needed to escape the deafening quiet of the farmhouse now that it was just him and Pops. Or when they hid in the cab of one of Antonio’s father’s harvesters, passing a bottle of Chucho’s whiskey between them until they were drunk enough to take the plunge.

The following months were a whirlwind of exhilaration, fear, discovery and shame. Like the door had been unlocked on something that had never been a possibility until it was. However, they knew it couldn’t last. It had been a close enough call on the afternoon that Chucho came home earlier than expected. But the beginning of the end came when, without warning, Antonio’s family sold their farm and moved back to Mexico. Javier never did find out why, but once the place was up for sale, Antonio was no longer allowed to visit the ranch. And the only time they saw each other, and the only place they could say goodbye, was at school.

It was clear to Horacio that Javier wasn’t going to elaborate further. And if he wasn’t telling, Horacio certainly wasn’t asking. “I was in my first year at the Academy.”

“You about to make me jealous with stories of all the men in uniform you had your way with?”

“If you must know, there was just one…Andrés.”

Horacio hadn’t thought about him in a long time, a ghost from the past he preferred to keep there. He and Andrés were assigned to the same training barracks when they were cadets. There were supposed to be another two trainees sharing their bunkroom, but one withdrew his place at the Academy at the last minute; the other was a no-show at the first induction meeting and was automatically excluded.

Without the camaraderie of other cadets in their sleeping quarters, they had no choice but to rely on the other for company, which was no easy feat at the beginning when neither was particularly talkative. Bit by bit, they bonded over their work, discovering they both had fathers further up the ranks. It was often a bone of contention for other cadets, but that was never a problem between them.

There were subtle signs, lingering looks, and shared smokes even before they started gravitating towards each other in the shower blocks. Whilst there was an unspoken eyes-down rule that wasn’t worth a man’s life to break, when they were the last ones left under the spray, gradually, glance by glance, it was broken until their eyes locked, breathing hard, fists clenched by their sides. Nothing happened there and then, but it was a different story later that night behind the safety of a closed door and beneath starched sheets.

They never talked about it, couldn’t even if they’d wanted to, which they didn’t because there was nothing to acknowledge in the first place. Yet it happened again and a few more times after that, always under the cover of darkness, apart from one reckless time in the shower block when they didn’t have the discipline to wait, the thrill of it heightened and tempered by the possibility of being caught in the act.

But then, one morning, Horacio woke to find Andrés’ bed made and his belongings gone. He had requested and been granted a transfer to his father’s regiment without telling anyone. A perk of being a General’s son, Horacio supposed. He never heard from Andrés again.

“Even after him, I brushed it off as…circumstantial. An occupational hazard.” Disbelief caught in Horacio’s throat at the blatant denial in that sentiment, but it wasn’t like he knew better. Not when dread and nausea washed away any unnameable fleeting feelings that may have surfaced in his pre-Academy days. “Women were the only option, so I buried myself in work and tried to forget.”

“Before ‘81, right?”

“Yeah. So, maybe a blessing in disguise.”

“No maybe about it.” Javier’s sight line suddenly landed on the ceiling, even though he was the one who went there first.

This wasn’t a subject they liked to talk about, but there was no escaping the way the last decade and more had played out, even when they were neck-deep in the world of cartels and cocaine. Maybe now the dust had settled, and their minds weren’t so full of work, they were finally able to come to terms with all of it. Maybe now they could see so much of their pasts had been born out of fear.

“I still got tested when I was with Juliana, though. And with you.”

“I was the same after Lorraine. And definitely when I was in Colombia.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh, even though it wasn’t funny to think of those days anymore. Not because he was ashamed of sex, but he couldn’t deny it had been a sticking plaster at times. In his defence, despite the stance of the Catholic Church, he used condoms. Until Horacio, that was. “I never would’ve let you…if I hadn’t been sure.”

“Me neither.”

Horacio rolled on his side until they were face-to-face, his hand cupping Javier’s cheek, gently coaxing his gaze back to him.

Their lips met, both fully aware they had survived two war zones when the odds were stacked against them. When too many men like them hadn’t been so lucky. They had seen the headlines, the ostracization, the mishandling, and those in power looking the other way. But they were still here, alive and well. Surer of themselves and each other than ever before.

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

Javier sat down at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed and reaching straight for the pot of coffee left waiting for him, the rich scent alone beginning to stir him awake. As much as he preferred staying in bed wrapped around Horacio, that wasn’t the most comfortable option at this time of year. At least there was still shade to be found outside at this hour, and Horacio was to bring back a breakfast of hot, fresh churros from Café Romero on the route home from his run. So, Javier could hardly complain.

He was several sips into his coffee when a key turned in the lock.

Horacio came through to the kitchen carrying the churros and what appeared to be a newspaper with a small envelope perched on top of it.

“Perfect timing, I’m starving,” Javier declared as he grabbed the bag and divided the churros across two plates.

Horacio murmured a vague “Me too” in reply. But his attention was focused on the envelope, which was addressed to him in familiar handwriting.

He tore the edge of it carefully and pulled out a card, a proud smile spreading across his lips after just a couple of seconds.

“What’s that?” Javier asked as he dusted excess sugar off his fingers.

Horacio handed the card over without elaborating.

Javier read it and soon had a smile to match Horacio’s. “I take it we’re going, then?”

“Of course we are.” He joined Javier at the table, his stomach swooping like he had missed a step on the stairs. “But I think I need to make a phone call first.”

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

49 notes · View notes

bottombatch · 2 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @optiwashere !

First off, putting this post together had the unintended side effect of forcing me to edit the sections I wanted to share so that they would be their best. Kind of rude of you! /s

Secondly, most of these WIPs are a good bit away from being ready, or have been sitting in a WIPs pile forever. Unfortunately I write at a snail's pace because my brain craves instant dopamine...

Unfortunately most everyone I would tag here got tagged by opti, so I'm reaching a little outside my usual circle of mutuals for these tags. Feel free to ignore if you just don't feel like it!

@capriclonus, @shallitickleyournerdbutton, and @collegeoflore

Anyway, without further ado... here are 4 snippets of 4 WIPs!

Act 1 Rewrite

Laz has changed SO much from when I first started writing them, I felt a rewrite of Nothing Special was in order... then that snowballed into a multi-chap outline. It'll probably take a while before this ever gets finished enough for me to post, its a project I'm chipping away at slowly.

Anyway; here's a snippet of Laz, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel stumbling upon the chapel with a little bit of inner conflict for flavor.

“You can’t seriously be considering this.” Shadowheart whispered, confusion furrowing her brow. “I agree with the elf.” Lae’zel muttered. “We will be transformed within the hour. We must leave with haste.” For a moment, Laz considered it. But the thought settled a chill over Laz, the ever present flame inside of them flickering down to candlelight. A tenet of their oath stretched tenous and thin at the forefront of their mind; You will conquer those beneath you and not tolerate dissent. How quick they were to forget their own oath... they could practically hear the illharess clicking her tongue in their ear. Laz’s lip curled distastefully, a biting retort to put the two in their place on their lips. But they stilled as they realized that, in the middle of their own argument, the chapel behind them had gone silent. Laz held a single finger up to their lips, eyes narrowing. Lae’zel and Shadowheart both went silent as they caught on. A stray brick was crunched underfoot and Lae’zel’s eyes darted behind Laz’s shoulder. Quickly, Laz shoved Shadowheart to the ground, draping themself over her just as the arrow aimed at her instead pinged off of the shield on Laz’s back. It ricocheted into the dirt several feet away.

Lae'Zel Minthara Coffee Thing??

This has been a WIP for so, so long. I was planning to have it ready for valentines day (LOL), but I didn't like it at that point. It's a thinly veiled excuse to write these two fucking in a coffee au; think porn with a porn-level plot. It was inspired by a post about Lae'zel being the best barista in the store despite not making your drink correctly, though I don't have that post readily on hand.

My opinion on whether this is the best or worst smut I've ever written changes hourly, so eventually I'll just post it so it at least isn't clogging my WIPs anymore... but here's a snippet of the setup.

Lae’zel glanced at the next cup order, scowling as she began to make it. Minthara watched, half interested at best, until Lae’zel pumped something into it. It didn’t really matter to her what it was; it clearly wasn’t what she ordered. Minthara inwardly groaned to herself, dragging a hand down her face. She truly didn’t have enough energy to scold every incompetent employee she came across. Her therapist had been telling her to practice empathy. She could… try that. She tried to imagine her therapist’s infuriatingly calm, rational voice. It could have been a mistake, she would have reasoned. A pretty stupid, infuriating mistake, Minthara would correct. But a mistake all the same, her therapist would say, smiling behind her spectacles. Minthara would just ask her to remake it. It was not a big deal. She wasn’t even here for the coffee, after all. Then Lae’zel pumped something else into the cup, and then another. That was when all rational and empathic thoughts evaporated in a cold fury. Before Lae’zel could even read out the name on the cup, Minthara was storming towards the counter and snatching it out of her hand. “Are you hard of hearing or just daft? This is not my order.” Minthara spoke vehemently. She turned the label to read it aloud, “Venti, drip, dark roast. Is that a difficult order for you? It is baffling how you managed to botch such simple directions—” “Are you lactose intolerant?” Lae’zel said, raising an eyebrow imperiously. Minthara stared back, suddenly caught flat footed. “No?” “Then I see no issue.”

That Band AU I Probably Won't Finish

I've posted wips from this au before; in fact I might have already shared this snippet in the past. But some of the writing in this AU feels too good not to share! Hopefully one day I return to this and flesh it out more because there are some really good moments in this.

"Oh my god, you're adorable." Karlach said with a laugh, setting the glass down. "You sew these patches yourself?" Mattis looked down at his denim jacket. It had various patches and fabrics stitched on messily. "Some are my mom but the newer ones are all me." He admitted. "And it's cool! Not cute." "Right, right. Cool. Super hardcore." Karlach nodded, giving him some finger guns. If it was anyone else, it would've come off sarcastically, but Karlach managed to make it seem genuine. "Anyway," Mattis interrupted, coiffing his hair. "You single?" Karlach's grin only grew as she fought to suppress another laugh, coughing into her fist instead. "Well she's definitely single, my friend." Astarion said, looking at Karlach with mirth. "Frankly, she desperately needs to get laid alr-" Karlach reached over, grabbing Astarion by his collar and yanked him backwards off his stool. He tumbling backwards, landing with a thud, followed by a wheezing gasp. "I appreciate it, kid, but I'm too old for you." Karlach said gently, pointedly ignoring Astarion's previous comment. "Don't worry, I wasn't asking for me." Mattis said, wiggling his eyebrows. He practically skipped away, jumping carefully over the writhing elf on the ground. Karlach, curious, looked where Mattis was headed. Shadowheart, mortified, could only wearily make eye contact, watching Karlach dragging her eyes up and down. Shadowheart burned up under the gaze. Then Karlach gave a soft, easy smile and a wink before turning back to the bar. "Yeah, she's single." Mattis said innocently when he reached Shadowheart. She shoved him into the wall for his efforts.

Warrior's Hearth

This is another one I desperately hope I come back to and polish off because I absolutely adore this ship and there is not enough fics for it. I got deep into my feels when I was thinking about how Minthara and Lae'zel might settle down after the war.

After this and how I wrote old Karlach, I think I have a thing for writing these battle hardened characters soften and become invested in the mundane.

Really wanted to capture how they might adapt to living a calmer life, specifically through raising the gith egg. And, perhaps, that would get Minthara thinking about expanding her legacy... which would then lead to smut, because I am who I am :P.

Regardless, here's the opening few paragraphs because I think it really sets the mood for this idea.

Minthara's work was already gently fading to the background of her mind as she turned the corner to see Lae’zel. Schemes, plans, and manipulations filed themselves away before the gith. Lae’zel’s hair was slightly damp from a bath, skin still flush with the heat of it. She had not lost any of her beauty and strength, despite what would have been devastating injuries for anyone else. If anything, Minthara found herself staring in admiration at the pale scar down and across Lae’zel’s right eye, framing the magical stone embedded there. Minthara had spent many quiet moments tracing over the nicks on cuts in Lae’zel’s ears, admiring how her left one ended abruptly at it’s widest junction. Even the prosthetic joined at her knee had a beauty to it, the craftsmanship unique and unparalleled on this plane or any other. In Minthara’s mind, it was all proof that Lae’zel remained undefeated, whether on the battle or in life. Even busy with raising their child, she trained as if still amidst a war. She grew stronger by the day, recovering at an unreal pace. It was, perhaps, what Minthara found so enrapturing about the gith. Her utter refusal to settle for anything in life. She was an ever flowing fount of power and will. Just being near her filled Minthara with it as well. Lae’zel glanced at the doorway as Minthara entered. She was in the middle of slicing strips off of a hunk of seasoned meat, knife in one hand. At her hip, the plump shape of their recently hatched baby gnawed ferociously at a piece of it. A warmth was in Lae’zel’s eyes as they met Minthara’s, a subtle uptick of her mouth settling on her features. That softness was happening more often. Just a year ago, Minthara would have seen it as a sign of weakness. She knew better now.

#bg3 #wip wednesday #fic things #my writing

10 notes · View notes

psychewritesbs · 3 months

Note

Ooh boy this chap is something else.

1. Sukuna vs Yuta fight is about to solidify which belief is stronger. The literal antithesis to Sukuna's rejection of love, Yuta freaking Okkotsu. Sadly, I think Yuta's about to experience his first (and probably last) loss. But I wonder whether he'd be able to impress or shake Sukuna's resolve before that happens (lol not me dickriding Sukuna so much).

2. Sukuna finally admitting that Yuji might be the one person whose soul he could never break or conquer. And yet, in true Sukuna fashion, he will not stop until he does (and he might actually succeed in the end but who knows 😅).

3. Gojo's body getting teleported to Shoko? Now I'm kinda seeing a vision of his return. Don't know how he'll get revived (my money's on a binding vow) or if he ever will but this does raise the possibility of his return. Although I'm curious if Principal Yaga's cursed corpse thing will tie up with this considering they even retrieved Higuruma's dead body.

4. And OF COURSE, my boy FUSHIGURO MEGUMI mentioned 😭. Ooh boy Gege is surely cooking something with Megumi. I remember @ShamanHoly on X saying that Megumi might not have a big role to play in the final fight against the merger (although I personally think the final boss is gonna be Sukuna) cause he barely has any plot connection with Kenjaku but this?! This changes everything! Gege has expertly maneuvered Megumi into the merger plotline, even putting him in the 'eye of the storm' against his will. I'm starting to think you're right when you said Gege is writing Megumi kaisen. At this rate I might just risk getting heartbroken (cause Gege could just kill him off if he felt like it) but my gut tells me Megumi's conclusion will influence the end for Jujutsu Kaisen.

YO!

Unequivocal love vs. No regard for others! This is indeed, the battle of battles. I love what Gege is doing here and I love that, thanks to Gojo's efforts, Sukuna is weakened, giving Unequivocal Love side an opening. I do wonder what's going to happen to Yuta but I don't see him dying. Not sure what everyone else thinks.

2. OK SO to me, this marks the beginning of the end for Sukuna. I see identity crisis happening, and I see him not assimilating the experience he's having and instead denying it. Let's see what happens. I'm sure it'll be grand 🤩.

3. The way the cursed cat has us all wondering when and how our faves are coming back. Evil. EVIL!

4. And may or may not be onto something? The thing with how Gege executes is that he's either very predictable, or completely unpredictable. I feel like as of ch 151, it's predictable that Megumi could be the one to start the merger out of despair or something like that and that Sukuna would battle him, idk. Which means that, because it's a likely outcome, Gege might choose to go on a different direction. People call them asspulls but Gege's unlikely writing choices always make sense to me in retrospect. So I guess we're about to find out!

Also, your gut feeling about Megumi. YES! idk. Everything that is happening feels very cathartic right now. I get this "healing needs to happen" vibe and I agree that that's going to influence things in a larger scale, such as the three clans and jujutsu society as a whole (aka the end of jjk).

Also número dos, DICK RIDE SUKUNA ALL YOU WANT ANON!!!! It will be a little tight and a bit awkward since we'd be up on each other's faces, but I (as well as many others) would happily join you. After all, everyone knows he has two dicks.

#ask the mental gymnastics anime girl

6 notes · View notes

wildgeese-badideas · 8 months

Text

Masterlist

Completed

One-Shots

Bad Hair Day Summary: Rapunzel AU with Creek!

Gold Rush (Slice of Life) Summary: 5 times Tweek sneakily made it clear he and Craig were together, and 1 time Craig knew.

The Pet Theory (Slice of Life) Summary: 5 times Craig didn't understand Tweek's obsession with frogs, and 1 time he did.

Define Dancing (Slice of Life) Summary: Craig and Tweek watch Wall-E and argue about which one they would be.

Multi-Chap

Series

In Progress

One-Shots

Multi-Chap

Tweek: Become Human (Detroit: Become Human AU) Summary: Craig works at a space station fixing other engineer's problems. He likes his job, but he likes doing it alone. Tweek is a droid with a mysterious history, brought in to be used at the station after being declared a failed prototype by the CyberLife company that made him. Maybe they can help each other. Last Updated: June 5, 2023 *Will also be adding chapters between 2+3 so there's more content of them crushing on each other during Tweek's droid state cuz I kinda rushed through it

Series

Under Construction

One-Shots

Multi-Chap

Petals of My Love (Hanahaki AU) Summary: Craig, Tweek, Hanahaki disease, and a whole lot of misunderstanding walk into a bar. Construction Notes: Adding more angst (and a previously abandoned Twenny chapter)

Series

Orange Juice + Strawberry Wine Summary: The aftermath of addiction forces Craig and Tweek apart... But when they find each other again, it's not as easy as just picking up where they left off. Construction Notes: Combining with another drabble + massive rewrites because I hate it so much lol + more of their dynamic back together instead of just ending at their reunion

Enchanted + Untouchable Royalty AU (Prince!Craig x Vigilante!Tweek) Summary: Prince Craig is bored out of his mind entertaining guests at a ball thrown for the sole purpose of finding him a potential courtship. A sneaky vigilante might just make this night a little more... enchanting. Construction Notes: Extra scene at the end of Ch. 3 + massive rewrite for the Untouchable sequel. I didn't like how it was turning out when I forced it into a happy ending... Not saying it won't have a happy ending now, but it won't be so deus ex machina

Taste the Rainbow Summary: Tweek and Craig make their way through the rainbow. Construction Notes: Originally a multi-chap one-shot collection, but it was supposed to be a whole collection with other pairings that I abandoned cuz I didn't think I could finish in time for June. I'll just be rewriting Purple and adding three separate songfics for Style/Bendy/Bunny.

No Longer With Us (Fly High)

I understand having comfort fics and how much it sucks when they get deleted, no matter how bad/cringe they were, so if you really miss something here, feel free to dm me and I'll send you a copy!

Homemade Mess Summary: Tweek brings Craig a Valentine's Day gift. But the nice gesture gets twisted into a bit of a mess when his mishaps at home with a certain blonde are revealed. Cause of Death: Cringe. (No offense to people who liked it, I'm just cringing at myself, you know?)

When Infinite Isn't Enough Summary: Craig and Tweek almost make it, but then they don't. Cause of Death: Merged into Orange Juice so that they do make it after all :)

Crossed Wires Summary: Tweek's been fake dating Craig for years, but now he has very real feelings and he thinks it's going to ruin everything. Craig thought they were already in a real relationship. Cause of Death: 1st chapter was poorly written and also not necessary to the Orange Juice story anymore. The surprise in the 2nd chapter will still be merged in the new version :)

Buttons Summary: 4 times Craig helped Tweek with buttons, and 1 time he didn't. Cause of Death: Bad writing. Will forever be mortified I had the nerve to gift it aaaaa it hurts make it stop

#temporary masterlist

3 notes · View notes

sparrowsarus · 2 years

Note

Elaborate a bit more on the SGA ones in "Ideas Assorted" 💜 Pretty please? 🍒🍹🍋🍭

lol, they are all SGA; we've got

Hold Me Tonight: Evan Lorne/Rodney Mckay. University/Rock band AU

Evan doesn’t play guitar much. He likes it, and he likes to sing, but its just a hobby.

But then keyboardist and all around genius Rodney mckay crashes into his life, along with drummer Daniel Jackson.

It’s fun, and Rodney’s something special with his keyboard—thinks they can be something special, because Rodney’s a dreamer like that, and Rodney has a lot of faith in people, even while he pretends he doesn’t. And Daniel can write the same way he breathes.

They’re good, is the thing. Better than good. Every gig they play is packed, and Danny-boy takes their theses and their papers and turns them into magic.

But they’ve all got bigger dreams than rockstardom, and this was never meant to be more than a way to spend a weekend.

But as Rodney and Evan grown closer, Evan starts to wonder if the USAF is worth losing what he has.

2. Assorted Cat Cafe ideas; some written, some not 3. Untitled: Rodney/OMC

Rodney gets stranded on an alien planet, populated by people who look an awful lot like orcs. He starts working for one, a blacksmith, who has two children.

Over time, Rodney and this orc chap fall in love–over forges, over metal, over creating something with your hands, something necessary, practical, useful.

They get married on a spring day. As is the way of the Orken people, they exchange warhammers; Rodney’s is smaller, almost meant for a Orken child, because while the Orken are not much taller than the tau'ri, they are much stronger. The marriage hammers from the blacksmith’s first wedding have long been handed down to their children as a name-day gift, for no child should be given an unblooded hammer for battle. Rodney misses his people, his team, Atlantis…but he carries his hammer on his back, is taught to use it the best his aging, battered body can. A full-grown Ork can crush a man with a well-made hammer–Rodney can do damage, but his strength has never been in battle, at least not like this. But he can get by.

And the children call Rodney Hearth-Father, while the blacksmith is Blood-Father, at least formally. Rodney learns the rituals, the blessings, the name-day rites.

And then the funeral rites, as the blacksmith succumbs to illness one deep winter. He is burned, the ashes mixed into iron, cast into tools meant for his children, as is good and right. A blacksmith should never be remembered in earth–it is not their rightful place.

Then SGA-1 comes a'knockin, looking for alliances and rumours of a man they lost. 4. Atlantis is actually in Northern Canada rather than Pegasus (but the Athosians and Satedans are instead in the Milky Way) 5. Heist Heist Baby (Faberge Egg heist AU/teylabeth)

6. No place That Far (in conjunction with @ragingpancake & @gingerpolyglot)

Rodney goes to a parallel universe and returns with Melena and the little girl Ronon wanted to save; Atlantis collectively adopts her and Melena becomes an Atlantic doctor.

Sample:

And even if it had imploded horribly Rodney still wouldn't have left them there, like that, lost and scared, because he is better than he lets himself be and Melena had been kind to him when he was so far from his home he thought he'd never get back

And then Melena gets pregnant and Ronon has two children, two, when he thought he'd never have any

And Rana has a baby brother and it's super cool, the whole pack of them end up at Jeannie's for Christmas and Kaleb is just....cool. so, uh, you like books there Ronon? I got books.

Maddie is thrilled cause it's just like having cousins

And everyone is just baffled by the change in Ronon! He smiles and talks and laughs!

21 notes · View notes

solarishashernoseinabook · 2 years

Text

Sooo @the-lavender-creator has tagged me in an ask game and asked me to answer all of it. And I will! Here's a link to the ask game if you want to reblog it so you don't have to go digging through my blog.

And with that, here we go! :3

deep fic writer asks

1. what’s the fic youre most proud of? Ah...I think The Ward Ghost, it's taken a lot of plotting and I've had to think hard about how the characters would be after the major changes to canon I've made, but people say they love how the characters turned out so I feel like all the hard work has been worth it :D

2. what’s a fic that took you to an emotional/dark/hard place? Honestly? The Royal Ranger has done that a couple of times, because I have to do a lot of hard thinking about my autism, how dismissive people can get about it, and once I had to really try and get across what sensory overload is like for me and ended up actually going into sensory overload D:

For all that it's been really great writing it because I get to play with my writing style a bit and get to give myself some validation lol

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to? Most of them tbh. But The Royal Ranger has made me the most friends, so that's got a special place in my heart :D

4. what fic of your own do you read for comfort? The Prince of Clonmel or The Flower in Her Hair most often :D But mostly I go back and read bits of my multi-chaps, like some of the more emotional chapters of The Ward Ghost

5. what fic of your own won’t you read?

Pretty much any of my FFN ones, because gosh what was I thinking. From my ao3 era, I don't really reread Coming Home very much. I'm just not very satisfied with how it turned out

6. what’s the hardest part of the writing process for you? The beginning. oh my god the beginning. trying to start anything just feels very awkward D:

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you? When a fic or a chapter gets no interaction, I wonder if it was actually all that good. But even just one comment makes me feel like all the writing was worth it :3

8. does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone? My mom knows! ...and wants to read The Ward Ghost :"D My friend also knows and I talk to her a bit about the writing process

9. what’s your writing process like? It's really not special lol. I'll just type away, or handwrite some scenes and transcribe them later. I occasionally write things out of order - if I'm super stuck on something, I'll write a later scene until I can talk it over with my beta readers - but I try to stick to writing mainly in order and I try not to skip ahead more than a scene at a time

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood? Writing is generally pretty calming for me, because both typing and handwriting are stims for me, but writing The Royal Ranger in particular has led to me becoming a lot more comfortable being openly autistic, despite what i said about it higher up :"D Its just been extremely validating

11. Has a fic you’ve written ever caused issues/controversy? The Royal Ranger caused controversy before it even came out! I initially wasn't going to do very much with it, because I thought it would just be a simple love story and wasn't sure what I could do with it, but I brought up in the Ranger's Apprentice discord server that I headcanoned Halt as autistic and someone lost their shit over it lmao. After getting push back from everyone else involved in the conversation, the person insulted us and left the server

Jokes on them tho cuz that was what inspired me to actually write it instead of just thinking about it lmao

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write? Anywhere with a pen, a notebook, a warm drink and my cat <3

13. Do you take pride in your writing, or does it embarrass you? Why? I mostly feel proud! Based on the responses I get from my writing, I'm consistently achieving my goals with it (people enjoy the things I want to be romantic, feel emotional over the things I want to be emotional, hate the people I want them to hate, etc.) so I consider myself capable :3

14. Do you compare yourself to other writers? In a positive or negative way? Only if I read anything by Terry Pratchett, at which case I start to wonder if I could ever write anything that good XD But usually I don't compare myself to anyone, because I consider writing styles to be very personal things that heavily depend on what you want to do with a story

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time? I think I've gotten a lot better at characterisation! Especially with Halt, because he's fairly sarcastic in canon but I wasn't confident in my ability to make him all that sarcastic in my writing until recently

16. Do you re-read old fics? Is there a time in your writing you won’t go back to? I reread them a lot! But only my ao3 ones. I can't get through a few sentences of any of my FFN stories because my writing was just not very good back then lshglsgh

17. What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work? This review, which kicked off my friendship with @rangerangel! When I saw it I spent a solid forty-five minutes just happy stimming and couldn't respond at all because every time I tried typing anything I got overtaken with happy stims again :'D <3

Genuinely just cannot stop rotting about how The Royal Ranger fic by @solarishashernoseinabook has the most accurate and well thought through depiction of autism I’ve ever encountered in media to this day. As an autistic person myself it genuinely made me cry at certain points because of how nonjudgmentally and gently it depicted Halt’s autism. I just think about it every day and it feels like a big warm hug.

18. Do you only write when you’re inspired, or do you try and sit down at specific times and write no matter what? I try and write whenever! I've figured out enough tricks by now that I don't get bogged down by writer's block as much. Plus with multi-chaps I don't have the luxury of waiting till I'm inspired to write. Currently I'm trying to write at least a few sentences per day

19. If you could write an ideal fic, what would it include? Um. That's hard to say! Because I want different things out of different fics. Sometimes I want something with plot, or romance, or angst. So there's no one-size-fits-all "perfect fic" that could include anything specific XD

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing? My friendship/marriage with @rangerangel :3 <3

#asks #ask games #this is a long one lol #sorry for the tags angel <3

7 notes · View notes

onetimetwotimesthreetimess · 2 years

Note

do you have any spicy bts lrhwy deets youre willing to share?

(from the completed chaps obvi)

okay let me see. Idk about spicy details but I’ll mention some bts stuff.

-Magnus/Imasu’s engagement was never part of the initial outline. It was added like halfway through the story because I felt like fucking y’all up.

-LRHWY was supposed to be only 4 chapters long lmao. But when I started writing, I realised it’s gonna be a long ass ride with this one.

-I wanted to write scenes from Alec’s POV when he was deployed and wrote a couple of scenes but they would never fit the flow of the story. So I posted one as a deleted scene.

-The Magnus/Izzy/Jace fight was supposed to be a very loud, ugly ass affair in the initial outline but I realised that that one thing Magnus said could cause equal impact with minimal drama lol.

-Alec was supposed to be presumed 100% dead instead of just missing.

-The accident scene in chapter 5, the panic attack scene in Ch 6 and the fight between Magnus and his friends after the drinking driving scene were the hardest scenes to write.

-LRHWY Malec never intends to have kids. (For reasons that will be revealed soon.)

-a lot of hoe content (like the belly/body chains) was added after beinf inspired from all the hoe-y shit I got in my inbox. Atleast a good 80% was inspired because of @pocketoffeels @carelessflower

-I have a very very very lose outline for all the chapters. And a few prominent scenes that I want to add. Otherwise, a good 60% comes up to me when I’m writing the chapters only.

-instead of the fire scene, Alec was going to jump in front of Imasu to save him from a bullet in the previous chapter. But shooting was too heavy of a topic so I changed it to a building fire.

-malec made the list of the best dressed couple when they attended AMA’s. They haven’t attended a Grammy’s together yet. And might never do that too because Magnus is going to have a drastic career change.

-Arrow’s a little shit and inspired by my own dog, Milo.

-I put so much foreshadowing about shit that’s about to go down in the initial chapters. Like the accident, Magnus walking out on the Grammy’s.

#ooff there are a lot of other things I want to share #but I’ll do it soon lol #LRHWY

8 notes · View notes

good-realtor-bad-realtor-dynamic · 1 year

Text

I'd planned to liveblog the Always Sunny Podcast live show and afterparty but I got too caught up in it. I do have some notes I scrawled on a sheet of paper here and some shitty phone recordings because screenrecording was making my ancient laptop lag like crazy, but I'm quite drunk and very sleepy, so I'll write them up later. If I can be bothered later. Probably not lbr.

I believe the videos are gonna be up for the next 7 days to rewatch as many times as we'd like? (Hey future self go figure that out.)

For now, quick thoughts before my brain shuts down:

Outfits: 9/10. Docking a point for Glenn buttoning up his shirt in the afterparty. Rude. Should've popped that shirt off.

Music, harmonizing and jamming: 100/10 VIBES. Shout-out to Charlie and Glenn singing Christmas tunes together and Charlie's musical improvisations on the piano with Glenn on guitar.

British royalty talk: -3/10. Rob, I do like you, but given my background, I personally do not care to hear about how the king is cool or whatever. Idc if you talk about meeting them, but sucking up to them is dumb and you need friends who aren't posh types like Humphrey (no offence to him, I'm sure he's nice).

Glenn as the grinch, being grumpy as shit, munching on cheese and crackers furiously after drinking a Rob manhattan and just giving 0 fucks about Christmas happiness: 11/10 MOOD!

Best host contest: blasphemy/10. Picking Meg is cheating and I adore Charlie, but no. Why was little Glenn on #3? Poor chap.

Gifts: 10/10 thoughtful <3

Lingerie talk: 8/10. Not long enough. Could be gayer.

RCG improv scenes: A++/10. They just got better as they did more. The stupid key chain sounds had me dying.

Serious conversations in the afterparty about S16 writing, Megan's happy experiences at Sunny vs other shows, doing RCG rewrites and the creative process disagreements between Rob and Charlie while Glenn is mostly quiet and tired or sometimes mediating: 17*/10 friendship. Also, Charlie is right that 4:3 and Standard Definition is The Sunny Look.

Chat, voting website and audience interactions: flop disaster/10. Why didn't they try to set up a normal poll instead of a page on a website that was definitely going to crash?! Anyone under 28 could've told them the chat was going to be impossible to read and full of spam without a proper moderator, but even our Meg is old and doesn't really know this stuff lol.

*arguably 19 because they started working on the home movies in 2003 with the first ones shot in November.

It was a slow start and they were clearly tired from being in the writer's room all day, but after the first half an hour, the boys slowly came back to life and stayed on for an extra 45 minutes, which I appreciated, having paid all that money to watch them.

It was like a 3x duration unedited edition of the podcast with some extra segments and I did have fun, but tbh it didn't have to be a livestream except for the few moments they actually interacted with the chat. The whole point of a livestream is the audience participation and even they seemed disappointed they couldn't hear us or really be able to read the chat?

I don't think the Moment interface is that great either. They could've just gone live on youtube or twitch and hidden the stream after a few days for the same effect and given away the leftover money from superchats and donations. They'd probably raise less money that way, but it would actually take advantage of the format. Fingers crossed their next livestream goes a lot smoother. And hire moderators please!

1 note · View note

estelle-lee · 9 months

Text

realization. - 11th August, 2023

uaeuehhhhhh good morning?

lmao it's 11:41 am. i woke up at 9:43 am sharp. spent one hour freshing up, cleaning and organizing and finally breakfast.

then i sat down to study and i just finished physics chap 2 mcqs, it took me 54 mins. it would take me WAY less time if i didn't have to do calculations in every fucking mcq lol.

anyways, it's still a reasonable amount of time even though i got distracted once in a while. i'll try more to not get distracted. i think my attention span is increasing more and more even with adhd, that's like a GREAT progress ^-^

tbh what was distracting me was bangchan's part in the super bowl mv lol. the first part so funny but addicting. reminds me of gordon ramsey's idiot sandwich meme 💀

i'll start physics chapter 3 mcqs now and then move on to general math.

---

bruh… again it took me 50 minutes to complete this chapter's mcqs cuz this one also had calculations in every fucking mcq… but i took less time this time, so it's a win-win hehe

finally i can start general math cqs lol, gotta finish it today at any cost!

---

i have a plan rn, i'm tired of doing physics' math for the past 2 hours, maybe i should switch up a bit rn and do the designs of my work today and write the blog post.

now that's a 2 in one benefit cuz if i do the this part of the work now then it would be a break for me AND it will take me EVEN LESS TIME to finish my work later.

lol i'm so smart that einstein feels embarrassed in front of me (～￣▽￣)～

leggo ヾ(≧▽≦*)/

---

eek! i did all work instead lol, now i'll just collect links after 7 pm, easy~

i'll fresh up now, have lunch, take a small nap (ok fr i'll take an actual small nap this time without that turning into 4 hours) and then start general, got a lot of time in my hand now hehe

---

fuck… we have over 000 pictures in google photos, now i have to transfer ALL OF THEM to a new account ugh… i've been doing this for the past hour, it's almost done… phew

maybe i can take a small nap after this…

FINALLY ಥ_ಥ

FINALLY i have backed up all photos into a new account, also did mine.

DAMN it was a fucking hard work. i deserve a nap now bro…

---

i didn't sleep but i took a break and relaxed, uplifted my mood and finished my work.

ngl i had the best laugh today in the past five years. this one video was so funny i saved in my google keep. i laughed loudly for 10 minutes non-stop. my belly is still hurting even after like one and half an hour lol.

i'm now listening some calming songs to wind down everything and start studying.

i feel so calm right now. i feel like everything happened till now happened for a reason.

like i had such a hard time finding work and earning money… knocking clients, working day and night, getting betrayed, faced a lot of scams, lost so much money and time… lost my grades too…

now look at me chilling with a job that only requires 2 hours a day and earning a solid income for my age. while my cousins who are like 15 years older than me are still studying… i'm here acing at my work…

i was so dirty minded and exploited back in class 9… i still feel disgusted recalling all the things i did back then… my grades went down… my mentality was low… my standards were low… the teachers hated me…ngl some of them still do.

but others have seen the good side of me, so they love me for my personality and talent… they unleash the best side of me, i love those teachers. i have been failing my classes since 9th grade after all that.

but now- now i will shine. i will shine brighter than the sun.

i am now prettier, stronger, better. and i will be smarter too. i'm studying hard to make an insane comeback. they will see the "me" that they have never seen before.

the people only knew me after covid because of how i had a glow up… only physically. they loved me for my physical beauty and chaotic exploited me back then…

i loved it too… i loved the attention i was getting for all the things i did… i felt like i was a "rebelious" girl… ew. i hate the past me. i hate what had gotten into me. i hate everything i did last year and i regret every.single.moment. of it.

but now i love myself. i have understood what self love is. i don't want attention anymore for things that aren't good, that aren't right.

i want to be the best version of me. classy, elegant, smart, pretty and beautiful. but i don't want to lose the chaos in me. i just want it combined with all the other good qualities :)

and i think i am getting closer and closer to my goal. i can do it. i'm gonna hit the goals like people hit the gym.e

everything really does happen for a reason.

if all the bad things didn't happen to me, i don't think i would be like this now…

i wouldn't try to improve, i wouldn't try to study, i wouldn't try to get the best grades, i wouldn't try to earn money and support my family. i wouldn't try to anything and live the most basic life possible.

but now i'm doing all of it. see? see me trying?

i'm gonna show all of you what a real glow up is. and i'll show you all how it looks like to be the best version of yourself. the version that everyone loves, the version I, MYSELF, love.

i'm going to show everyone…

i had to write all of this to lighten up my mind and to get the burden off cuz i don't have anyone other than myself to say all of these things to… i feel very light now.

i can finally focus on my studies again. i'll go study now <3

---

fuck it… 2 hours and 20 minutes to finish the general math chapter 6 cqs. geometry is fucking big and hard. but for some reason it was very understandable for me today. i got things quickly and easily. i also solved a few on my own. i guess i AM smart, i just didn't try in the past 2 years lol. i used to be THE topper before, i guess obviously for this reason. lemme have dinner and continue with the other two chapters. i HAVE to finish this today.

---

lmao i just realized i only had to finish general math chapter 6 😃

nvm it's nice, that means i have finished all the cqs of general math and i can continue with higher math <3

---

ugh ok i'm fucking sleepy rn, i did 3 higher math cq and i'm tired… total of 40 minutes… which means i studied a total of 5 hours today… i expected more but this is not bad either… i must finish higher math all chapter cqs tomorrow.

also i had a lot of fun while having dinner and blasting music and singing and dancing along. that was a good break. now i need to sleep.

good night <3 best of luck for tomorrow!!!

#dear diary #regret #realization

0 notes

kazesuke · 1 year

Text

I posted 130 times in 2022

That's 30 more posts than 2021!

10 posts created (8%)

120 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dilfosaur

@dear-mrs-otome

@aaviav

@kashimalin

I tagged 109 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#obey me - 15 posts

#hnnnnng - 15 posts

#obey me lucifer - 13 posts

#ikevamp - 10 posts

#ace attorney - 7 posts

#ikemen vampire - 6 posts

#loki - 6 posts

#jujutsu kaisen - 6 posts

#ikevamp leonardo - 6 posts

#obey me levi - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 80 characters

#reblogging again cos i did get an ask for this but i totally mised it until now!

My Top Posts in 2022:

Nonnie who asked for evil!trio/MC would you like to throw another kink my way?

Both were taken but we all know I need no excuse to write three/moresomes so I’m gonna write it anyway weeeeee

3 notes - Posted October 5, 2022

'Desperate', or any variation! For the ask game!

I did have desperate in some smut but here's some G rated desperate hahah And screw only a sentence, have some context lol

This is from the fic I started of Ema(MC)/Everyone and the how it happened! This section is with Arthur and Vic~

~~~~~~

“Well, Watson~ I believe we’ll find the dastardly author in the kitchen, don’t you~?” She laughed softly to herself and found her way down to the kitchen. “It looks like we were right, Vic!”

Arthur turned, full coffee cup in hand and toffee between his fingers. “Oh? Desperately searching for me, dear Ema?”

She shook her head. “You wish. Vic came to greet me when I came back with Napoleon and well it’s odd for him to leave your side.”

“True,” Arthur stepped closer, turning a stern gaze on Vic. “Now Vic, we both know Ema is rather lovely but it’s just not meant to be, old chap. You’re a dog.” He popped the toffee into his mouth and took Vic out of her arms.

“Arthur!” She huffed, cheeks flushing as she rolled her eyes. “You say that to everyone, I’m sure.”

“I- Vic!” Whatever Arthur had been about to say got lost in Vic wiggling out of his hold and leaping to the floor. Vic seemed to almost give a huff before he disappeared off. “Guess I upset him, see you later, luv.” Arthur cradled his coffee close and disappeared in a whirlwind.

3 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

Ask Meme for Kinktober

A little late for the beginning of October but I don’t really have plans for Kinktober this year as I failed so miserably the last two years :( But instead I’ll take the first 31 requests I get in my inbox using the kinks below!

I will only take one of each but I’ll list more than 31 kinks so feel free to include a backup kink in case something is taken!

So please include:

a ship (can be canon/canon or canon/reader) or character (if you’d like something solo)

+ kink (and backup kink if you like)

in an ask! I’ll create a post to list the requests when they start arriving!

Fandoms: Ikevamp Obey Me SLBP Bleach MCU Any other fandoms on my AO3

KINKS BELOW

THIS IS NOW FINISHED!!

Combination of any of the above, or free day

Masturbation

Breathplay

Daddy Kink

Fucking Machine

Fisting

Double penetration in one hole

Sex Toys

Spanking

Gags

Pegging

Deepthroating

Facesitting

Praise Kink

Oviposition

Orgasm Denial

Humiliation

Frottage

Sensory Deprivation

Intercrural Sex

See the full post

21 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

For: @chaosangel767

Pairing; Comte/MC, mutual pining Leonardo/MC and Comte/Leonardo

Rating: E

Content: Vaginal sex, mutual pining, angst

Author’s Notes: I hope you enjoy your gift!

Their clothes fell away, some fluttering to the ground and some flying who knows where. Each revealing themselves to the other or allowing themselves to be seen made nerves rattle through her.

Warm, large hands, the same ones that would often tossle her hair affectionately, slid over her body. Exploring and tweaking once hidden places, warm breath fanning out across her skin before his mouth set to work.

She groaned at the warmth surrounding her nipple as he sucked and teased, his hand making sure not to leave the other neglected. She held him close, a moqn ripping from her throat as he nipped and soothed.

A gentle bite had his mouth leaving her cold as his hands traced every line and edge of her to meet the wet, slickness between her legs.

"Leonardo, please," Impatience had taken over as she rocked desperately into the teasing stroke of her clit, wanting so desperately to be filled.

His fingers tightened their grip on her trembling hips with a gentle smile up at her. “It’s ok, cara mia, I’ve got you.” His lips were soft, the sweet fragrance of his cigarillo filling her senses until she felt almost dizzy.

Her hands settled on his shoulders, squeezing and sliding over the strong muscles usually hidden behind soft clothes and layers or mystery. One slid down the broad back she’d admired for so long as the other tangled in his hair, giving a soft tug that had him groaning.

Her body slid onto him, twin groans meeting in the space they’d abandoned for breath as warmth and satisfaction swept through them. Leonardo guided her with warm, calloused hands, brows meeting as they breathed each other in and let the slow movements draw their pleasure higher. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me, cara mia, I,” She kissed the words away from him, not wanting to dwell on the past. The longing and dismissal before they’d been drawn together once more.

Leonardo chuckled against her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.” He pushed her down, taking control as he buried into her neck, his hips snapping forward and meeting her body faster and harder. They were both close, she could feel it as they moved so perfectly. Just a little more and-

A loud noise jolted her awake and she blinked wildly at the wall opposite. She leant back only to hit her head on something solid.

“Be careful, cara mia, we don’t need you to get a concussion.” Leonardo’s sleepy voice came from beside her and she yelped in surprise, shuffling away before she was left blinking at him too.

“Um… What happened?” It wasn’t unusual for Leonardo to be sleeping… well anywhere but that didn’t explain why she was sat on the plush carpet too

“You don’t remember?” He laughed softly. “Well I found you asleep and I didn’t want you to get in trouble with Sebastian so I came and sat next to you. Make it look like I dragged you down in my sleep. I must’ve nodded off myself.” Leonardo gave her one of those warm smiles that made her heartbeat faster. Why did he have to be so damn kind?

“Thank you, Leonardo, I didn’t sleep very well last night so I must’ve sat down to do something and just…” She smiled sheepishly and he got to his feet, offering her a hand up.

“Well, I best not keep you off duty much longer~” He teased with a wink, voice a little too loud for the conversation to be entirely normal. “I’ll see you at dinner, cara mia.”

He squeezed her hand before he let go and headed past her down the corridor.

When he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, she sighed and let her head drop onto the cool surface.

“Ma chérie?” Comte’s voice drifted softly to her before a warm, careful hand rested on her shoulder. He tugged a little and she fell willingly into the hug he provided, sighing happily at the hand in her hair. “Did something happen?”

“Not particularly. I was tired and fell asleep. It seems like Leonardo joined me in case I would get into trouble with Sebastian.”

“I see.” His words were simple and calm but she knew he understood the deeper conflict as she buried into his chest. The man in her arms she loved so deeply, had loved in some way since they had met on that fateful day. Yet Leonardo had been the first one she tried to ask.

The refusal still echoed in her mind. He would live forever and she only fleetingly, longer someday Comte had promised her but not enough. Never enough. “I’ve spoken on both our behalves many times but he refuses to believe me.”

He chuckled helplessly and kissed the top of her head. At least she wasn’t alone in pining for the head-strong painter.

31 notes - Posted March 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

MC’s been trapped in the crane machine since Saturday but I freed a Lucifer one today!

They’ll be joining all the Lucifers on my shelf 💖

31 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

0 notes

cr4yolaas · 2 years

Text

— melody of the moon . viktor x pianist ! reader

synopsis . "not all art forms are as pretty as the media portrays them." in which the sweetness you once shared with viktor throughout your childhood starts to disappear, and with that comes your downfall.

genre . hurt/comfort, fluff every now and then but more towards the end

warnings . lowk mean vik (but not intentionally), self deprecation (reader) , hints towards [self] harmful habits (reader - these are not romanticized), sensory meltdown (pretty vividly described. would not recommend reading if that upsets you), minor ooc viktor, czech viktor (pet names, plz lmk if i incorrectly used any and ill fix it) a few spots are completely unedited. if theres any more i should add lmk

words . 12.4k

note . tbh this was v self indulgent (as most of my works are) considering i play a wide selection of instruments and do many other hobbies lol. it started from a cute "omg imagine vik and a pianist rdr and he listens to them play in the academy" to this, where i wanted to capture and show how art forms like music and painting and writing isnt as pretty or beautiful for the creators as the world makes it seem. behind the pretty things we make there is suffering, in the way that you are collapsing in on yourself and what you enjoy seems more like a job or a chore than a hobby. ive read this fic over like 4 times and have never been satisfied with it but id rather post it now lol. anyways im talking too long here read the fic :)

the undercity was not a forgiving place. it would not cradle you in its arms of manmade steel or kiss you with chemical lips, no, it would pierce any delicate little heart with green-tinted skies – if you let it. this was common knowledge, to little ones and grown ups alike.

you did not let the polluted city deconstruct you. it was seen in the amounts of sheet music you had collected from bars and streets, and the gentle sound of your playing in the night when the streets were finally silent. whether it be on broken wood or untuned keys, you found a way to indulge in such a hobby, until it became all you knew. you were not popular, but there were at least a small number of people (which you could count on your fingers) that knew of your music in the night.

of these people was a boy on the taller side. he was not a stranger to sitting in on your midnight performances, and occasionally, he would slip a compliment about a certain piece you played before disappearing into the night, his accent thick on his tongue. although those were the only words he would ever exchange to you, you were grateful for his presence. he made your young heart flutter in a way that you could not describe in any language, his company and his admiration being something you sought each and every night.

conversations between you and the boy were not shared by mouth, but instead, by notes. some nights you would pound on the dirt-ridden keys until your fingertips burned, and it was those nights where he’d run away and come rushing back with a first-aid kit in his hands, a dorky smile on his face despite his concern. some other nights he would sit against the wooden legs of the piano as opposed to sitting atop a bumpy rock a handful of steps away, and some other other nights you would play so quietly, as if replicating raindrops. he seemed to enjoy it all the same.

there was a special day, however, one you keep close to your heart, that you will eternally treasure, where the quiet boy completely spoke to you. he nearly rushed to your little spot, an ivory-colored envelope in hand, a grin wider than the sun’s rays on his pale cheeks. his words gushed out of chapped lips, eyes lit with such excitement that even you could not express in a melody, and it was not until he pulled out a second letter, sealed with the same piltover symbol, that you too were overwhelmingly excited. and it was that day that he spoke to you, so close, that you could feel his minty breath on your nose, the joy dripping from the corners of his mouth falling onto your skin and lighting you up completely. the clank of his cane echoed against the surrounding stone as he gripped your hands tight, crumpling the paper of the envelopes evidently though not intentionally, before saying with an accent that would engrave itself into your life, “my name is viktor, and we will be successful together.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the golden streets of piltover were not familiar to either of you. it was a stark contrast to the littered concrete pathways of the undercity that were uneven and contaminated with cracks that bore dirt and plants alike. but eventually, you told yourself, these golden streets will become my home.

in truth, you were still unaware as to specifically why you and viktor had been invited to piltover’s beloved academy. you hadn’t taken the time to read over your letters, but you trusted this man enough to believe you were there for good reason.

supposedly, your talents that were once hidden in the streets of the undercity were recognized by the academy, and they saw it fit to give you both an opportunity at growth. that same day, you learned viktor was a great engineer and scientist, and you felt a bit guilty for not witnessing his work when all you knew was him witnessing yours. he did not notice such a thing, and for that, you were grateful.

the citizens of piltover looked at you in either disgust or intrigue (although, not the flattering type of intrigue) as you traversed the gardens and the halls of the academy. you would return such looks, while viktor would merely ignore them, grabbing your hand to pull you over to something he found interesting. you couldn’t blame him, of course. this was new territory, a new setting full of possibilities that you would both have to get accustomed to – which required curiosity.

and of course, you were curious. there was no room or hallway or balcony left unviewed, no seat left unsat, no elevator left unridden. you were determined to make this a place of comfort for you, for this was the place where you would finally excel.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

a handful of years passed. you watched viktor become heimerdinger’s assistant, and you congratulated him as he progressed with his work. your admiration for him never faltered, although sometimes, you would consider it a hindrance in fear of it becoming an obstacle for both of you.

on your end, you entered competitions and performed at events, and the music room quickly became your home. it was difficult to become familiar with the piano at first – the keys were not in the same awkward tuning as before, and the sound was much louder – but you had learned to play with the unfamiliarities.

growth came swift for both of you. however, in this rapid advancement, you had failed to realize the drift between you and viktor, caused by the dedication you both had for your own separate subjects.

you only came to such a realization when he quietly entered your dorm room one night as you were playing, the light from the hall peeking in through the crack of the door. he dragged himself in, nearly collapsing beside you as you heard the sound of his head hitting the wood of the stool. “continue,” he urged in a raspy, hushed voice, a voice much older than the voice that belonged to the boy of the undercity. it was not only his voice, though. aging was normal, but it scared you sometimes, for you wondered if one day, you would receive news of his doom simply because of his overexertion. in short, you worried for him. the fear of losing him and being left alone was not one you could easily shake off.

at his request, you played, played until the tender blisters on your fingertips stung, until your arms arched, until you could not hear anything but the notes and the soft breathing coming from beside you. the moonlight caressed his hollowed out cheekbones, melded into gentle tufts of hazelnut, and flooded onto his lap. it was as if the youth of the night melted away the blemishes of his face, albeit only temporarily, starting with the heavy bags beneath his eyes and the weight upon his blackened shoulders. you relished in it.

the piece came to an end, viktor’s gaze falling upon the floor. there was a silence, until he leaned his head against your thigh, looking up at you as if you had crafted the world with your bare hands. the action alone made you crumble. “that was wonderful,” he complimented, a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips. he cleared his throat a bit before continuing, cheeks smeared with a smidge of red — he prayed the darkness of the night concealed it. “i apologize for… not being as present. we’ve, ehm, grown apart a bit. something i feared for quite a while.” he spoke in soft tones, as if he was scared that if he spoke too loud he would shatter you and the walls that kept you safe. even so, his accent remained prominent. “truthfully, i have always been admiring you-” he coughed for a moment. “you and your work, from afar. you’ve improved a lot.”

“as have you,” you responded, smiling down at him. you closed the piano, careful not to let the cover slam down. “and, as much as i’d like to continue this conversation, it’s rather la-”

“no.” viktor reached for your hand, and held it as tightly as he did that day in the undercity. his grasp, so warm and yet so rough, tugged at the strings of your heart you so desperately wanted to tie away. “please. let me stay a bit more. i fear i may not have more time tomorrow, or the day after that, or even after that. so please, let us converse here.” you could not help but chuckle as you gave into such a plea.

you made space on the piano stool, urging him to sit beside you. “let us catch up.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

soon enough, viktor had fallen asleep beside you while you were rambling on about your own studies. his head lay in his crossed arms against the wood of the piano, eyelids closed as if they hadn’t been closed in days, or perhaps even weeks. you let him rest there, afraid to move him in fear that he would wake up from what seemed like a nice slumber, and you retreated to your bed.

however, you could not sleep. it had reached a point where you stared at viktor’s slouched form in envy, because no matter how late in the night it was, you had not been granted rest. it frightened you, since this only made way for your thoughts, both peaceful and daunting ones, and rushed ideas would brush through your head, statements without a full stop or parenthese to close them off. you could not keep track of them. and of course, most of them were about the man sleeping right in front of you.

soon, the charcoal hues of the night were painted over by soft shades of morning clementine. your eyes ached, burning with a desire to simply sleep. unfortunately, you had to cast such complaints away, as the morning was nearing and there was, in fact, still a person sleeping in your room.

you tried your best to silently tiptoe through the piles and stacks of clothes and books and papers strewn across the floor to reach the kitchen, where you made a simple egg and toast. it did not take a genius to sense that viktor’s eating habits were lacking. you figured you would treat him, just this once.

eventually, he awoke, smiling at you with sleepy eyes and a yawn. he approached the table, trudging along with his cane, his cold hands just barely ghosting over yours as he leaned in to examine the meal. “it looks delicious.” his words came out sleep-worn and low, the lopsided smile on his lips almost reaching his cheeks. he gave you a small thanks before digging into his plate, content written on his face, the reaction making your stomach fuzzy.

you could get used to this. a little sparkle in your chest hoped that maybe, he could too.

but that was the last you saw of him. he left as if he were never in your dorm at all.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the scientist was right about not being available for the next handful of days. you heard no word of his status, and when passing through the halls, his co-workers muttered something about him being contained in his room for longer than he should’ve been.

unfortunately, there was no time for you to be fussing over his personal life. as much as you wanted to worry, you had to practice for an upcoming event. supposedly, you were playing at a ball hosted by piltover’s council, a way to form connections between the various nations of valoran. this didn’t exactly excite you – surely, there’d be rumors of your past in the undercity, and you’d have to sit through the entire event and mingle with rich people, and so on. the pay was nice, however, so you took the spot.

as usual, you would play into the afternoon, then continue into the late night, praying to no god in particular that somehow he would hear you through the gold-framed walls of the academy (or, maybe you just craved validation). breaks were rare, which gave you more time to perfect your pieces. strings of moonlit dust slowly fell into the room, seeping through the linen curtains and casting themselves onto the grand piano set in the middle of the music room. you could’ve sworn there were dents in the keys from how much you pressed on them, the same notes repeating on your fingertips like a mantra. dizziness plagued your mind as you stared blankly at the keys you swore you had memorized, the room around you seeming to fall and sway, an effect of your tunnel vision. with perfection came distress, you supposed.

you allowed for your head to fall into your calloused hands as you groaned, the weariness of your work finally hitting you. perhaps, this is how viktor felt when he overworked himself with his experiments. you vaguely recalled him ranting last night about the exhaustion that washed over him whenever he simply sat down to think for once, his description of it rather weird to you before, but far too understandable now.

…

him again.

it was always viktor this, viktor that, swimming around in your pretty little head, even if he wasn’t around. honestly, you felt a fool, a fool who could not set their own thoughts and doubts straight. he haunted you without even knowing it.

you weren’t sure what you were to him. after all, you didn’t know much about him, vice versa. his birthday, his last name, something as trivial as his favorite color — all of them were a blur in the unknown to you. you were simply the pianist he had encountered in the undercity, it was simply a coincidence he heard your melodies in the night, and it was simply a coincidence that you had both been accepted into piltover’s academy, just as simple as that. to obsess and fall for him like this made you feel guilty, almost. the repercussions of love would strike back, said the little voice in your throat. to succumb to infatuation would only hinder you both.

you banged your head on the keys, paying no mind to the possibility that some student was passing outside and heard the noise. please be over soon, you pleaded to no one, for you could not bear the ache in your heart.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the ball came and went. you absolutely dreaded the entire event, your fingers still sore from the long night. thankfully, you didn’t have to participate in many conversations with those who were far above you in terms of status – you would have embarrassed yourself, truly.

afterwards, you had fallen back into your routine of morning classes and afternoon practices, occasionally stopping by the school’s library and café late in the night before bed. then came the loop of massaging your hands every couple minutes and closing the piano lid in raw frustration only to open it again soon after, staring at sheet music until the notes blurred together and the rhythms were no longer countable.

it was a routine of destruction, but it resulted in beauty regardless.

however, today, someone else occupied the practice room that you often sat in. in your spot sat a boy, perhaps a little younger than you, thumping away at the keys you learned to love.

you were not envious of his skill or his youth or his passion, but instead, envious of his simplicity. sure, simplicity could be found in you and viktor, but now that you were by yourself, there was nothing but raw and disgusting self-desolation. there was a palpable difference between you both, for he lacked furrowed brows or burning red fingertips, and you lacked his pure calmness, the ethreality in which he sat with and conveyed in his tunes. he was smiling, even, the soft upturn of peach lips barely noticeable behind his cheeks, evidently proud of his work. of course, you were not going to say it was bad or sounded terrible or was void of emotion, because that was all it wasn’t, and that was what you longed for. the underwater reservoir of your heart rumbled, the pretty concrete pillars that you built for years upon years from the ground up finally cracking just a bit.

it was not until he ended the piece that he noticed you standing in the doorway, jaw hung just a bit loose in sugar coated awe. he struck up a conversation to greet you and the interaction passed by, your words barely engraved in your memory. he left with a simple goodbye, leaving the piano you once recognized as yours up for grabs.

simple, simple, simple. his easiness had you lost, and yet, you wanted so badly to replicate it, to wear that same soft smile and pass through practice as if it were quick work, not a chore or a wall or an enemy. you did not know his name, couldn’t even remember his face, but you wanted to be him so bad, so then people would look at you the way you looked at him.

so you sat. you felt the warmth on the chair that was once his pass onto you, the feeling uncomfortable while you tried to adjust.

you were hesitant. the desire to conjure up the beauty in which the boy had encapsulated right in front of you was so violent and unrestrained it burned you, burned your lungs and your dry lips as you struggled to cast away the envy and the longing to be him, to have that grace and overwhelming simplicity. jealousy was not an uncommon experience in art. but that did not mean it didn’t hurt you any less.

the sheet music sat in front of you, a new piece you had recently been assigned to learn. it wasn’t like you couldn’t read it, no, you could — you could piece together the rhythms and the chords and every sound almost perfectly in your head, but you could not convey it with your hands. perhaps it was the fear that you would not be as great as him. you were more experienced, you knew that, but you were flawed. marred hands and tear-stained cheeks were no stranger to you. you never wanted to rid yourself of them so bad.

you breathed deeply once, as if to blow away the unquellable sea of thoughts raging in your head, and you played. it sounded just as you had heard it in your mind, albeit a little awkward at the beginning, but it was going smoothly.

until it wasn’t.

the elegance that the piece should’ve been morphed into tornadoes of notes, your hands pressing harshly against the keys in not anger, but misery. you were reminded of the boy and his disgustingly excellent simplicity, his easygoing smile and perfect posture, the way he held himself up as if he were a god. you knew, you knew that you were not bad, that you weren’t exactly worse, but he brought a beauty to the art form that you have not once experienced. it was crushing you from the inside.

you slammed down an awkward chord midway through the piece to take a moment to breathe. you inhaled and exhaled as if you had been granted the privilege to do so, your mind blank and your eyes numb as you sat still.

this was bad. it was bad, terrible, revolting. you could stop it, maybe, if you wanted.

but you did not.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

it was as if the world was against you (it most likely was). viktor had returned from a week of non-stop experimentation, and had snuck his way back into your life all while you were in the midst of falling apart. it began with small talk, which was eased into ten minute passing periods. he would speak of building and formulas that you couldn’t wrap your brain around even if you tried, because you were a musician, not a genius. eventually, it would grow into full blown conversations, where he’d catch you studying in the library or in the gardens and greet you before diving into random topics, like the weather or your own hobbies or sometimes the most absurd concepts, like the sleep schedule of a snail. of course, you cherished these moments, you did, but somehow, someway, you managed to deceive yourself, your heart screaming that they were just tidbits of entertainment for him. there was no real emotion or meaning. just small syllables spoken back and forth to pass time, and you hated it.

you loved him, you really did, but he acted like he never sunk into the depths of his lab for hours on end without break, like he didn’t smile at you under the moonlight, like he didn’t drift away from you the moment you both had a chance at success.

it bugged you. but you did not speak on it, for you clung onto the little hope of restoration left inside of you in fear of being left alone.

you played along. slipped into his lab when you had the time and spoke about meaningless things. you talked about groceries and the funny thing your professor said in class the other day and the ladybug that flew through your window. this continued for days, to weeks, and you were content, because you were not lonely, and you were reminded of his presence often enough. maybe it was selfish. you would be a liar if you told yourself you were only doing this for the comfort of him being there. eventually, it also became a scapegoat, a way to cover up the stress bubbling up like bile in your throat.

viktor seemed to enjoy the company, but you figured it was only for the humor of it, because why else would he return with seemingly no care for his disappearance? it did not matter to you. you were finally piecing back together what once was — at least, to you, you were. if this is what it would take to fill in the viktor-shaped hole in your chest, you would do it. the longing was too strong to ignore.

such extenuated bliss would not last long. throughout the mini conversations and the giggles shared through lunch breaks, the envy that sprouted from your own field of study resurfaced (it was funny to you, almost, because all your time was spent admiring his subject and straying away from yours), at first gradually, then like a breaking dam.

you found yourself sitting in awe at your peers once more. not in the way that a child looks up at their favorite superhero, but instead in pure jealousy. of course, it was normal to be proud of your classmates, but for it to gnaw at your ribcage and tear apart your soul in this way was not. their progress only reminded you of your lack thereof. you were at a stopping point, you believed, where it all fell flat and everything became repetition without reason. because what were you supposed to do when you were reminded of your place in the academy? you hadn’t fought to get this spot, nor had you begged for it. it was granted to you, a luxury that those of your kind weren’t often given. that didn’t mean you’d be babied or treated specially — it just meant you had to prove yourself more.

you would do anything to be the star and not just the muse, because to you, it felt like you were locked in a stasis of watching those around you move forward flawlessly while you grasped at air for any bit of evidence that you were worthy of doing just that. you wanted to tear apart your sheet music, send your piano crashing down a flight of stairs, erase all contact you had with music, since it brought you nothing but anguish.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

although it looked like the exact opposite, viktor had been taking note of your downfall of sorts, through the rambles and fleeting conversations. he noticed you would not return til deep into the early morning, a great contrast to when you would often greet him with a goodnight in the early evening. the sight of your calloused hands and red-rimmed eyes plagued the man’s science-filled mind. he saw the callouses in your fingertips and the creases in your forehead and the unevenness of the hair in your brows, he noticed, he knew it all. he began doing comparisons of the past and present to get a grasp on just what was going on — because he cared. he just did not know how to express it properly, his body and mind and soul too consumed by work to understand how.

but it seemed as if this caring went unnoticed by you, and instead, only made matters worse.

viktor had finally released the breath he had been holding for centuries and approached you carefully, his voice nearly a breath, a whisper in the wind. it had been a long while since he spoke to you like that. he sat on the side of your bed as you flipped through thick paperback books that wore dust and stains alike (you told him someone else was occupying “your” music room — playing in the tightness of your dorm wasn’t as great, though) and treaded the waters lightly, bringing up the work you’d been putting yourself through and the energy you’d been exerting, all while staring at your back because you did not once make an effort to turn around to face him (you figured this was more small talk). and eventually, it led to him being straightforward, because his patience was thinning the more he tried to drag it on.

“you’ve looked quite tired recently, and it’s concerning me. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to… take a break for a bit? you don’t have to constantly work yourself to the bone,” he spoke, his accent hanging thick in the air and his worry evident.

there was a silence that followed after, the soft background noise of random notes coming to a halt as you breathed once more. the boiling water was, at last, tipping over.

“take a break? oh my god, viktor, look at yourself!” you quipped back, gesturing towards his frame with your hands. “i don’t think i’m delusionsal but i could’ve sworn you were trapping yourself in that stupid lab for days. and you want me to take a break? bullshit.”

the reaction was unexpected, for both you and him. you appreciated his concern, it made you feel whole, like you were not a ghost in the wind, but you couldn't help but scoff at the audacity.

had he truly waited this long? a bitterness welled up in your guts as you thought it over. there was no way he did not just now notice. you bit your lip, the maybes and what if’s passing by viciously. maybe he didn’t care enough. maybe he didn’t know how to say it. maybe he was just too scared.

you wanted to be genuinely angry at him, to throw the lamp on your table at him in pure and utter irritation and disappointment, to scream at his stupidity. but you could not. not when his eyes, despite being shaken with shock, held a grip around your heart.

viktor was desperate to calm you down, swallowing down the sourness in his mouth before spilling out, “well- i know, but i just don’t want it to happen to you too-”

“you cant be serious! it’s always been progress with you, always- always moving forward and getting better and accomplishments and all that shit. you don’t understand how bad i want this, how bad i need to work! i need to prove i deserve this spot, because everyone and everything right now seems to be telling me that i don't and i know i do, but- i just- i have no proof for it.” your breaths were speeding up at this point, your chest heaving with the need for air. not only that, but the air was becoming louder. you could feel the breaths of the wind on your skin and it was so cold, like a stab. you felt too mad. this reaction was not necessary at all. but you needed to continue, to empty out the contents of your piled up stress and weariness, even if none of it made sense. “you wouldn’t get it, vik, because you’re always doing so fucking good that you never have to stop and doubt yourself for even a moment. you conceal yourself in your little workroom and do all that shit and move on as if it was nothing, as if you didn’t lose hours upon hours upon hours of sleep and you didn’t lose at least a bit of your sanity.” viktor could only bite the inside of his cheek as he watched you and your walls break down before him, unleashing an ocean of melancholy and despair that had been contained for too long. “maybe you should consider that i want that! i don’t want what everyone has, i want to be them! i can’t just sit down and breathe for a moment like you can, i need to put in my heart and body and soul into this no matter how much it hurts because i need to show that i am not a lost cause and that- that i’m worthy of something.”

everything seemed to be slowing down and speeding up all at once. your face was numb, as if it were being pulled apart and stretched to inconceivable lengths. you could hear the twitch of your fingers as you yelled, your throat dry and sharp all at once. a tremble erupted for what felt like eternity through your leg, a subconscious attempt to distract yourself from the doom crawling on your spine. everything was happening all at once. the walls were crumbling, your blood was audibly pulsing and you could feel your veins move and pump in your arms, your teeth were scraping against each other, and the flesh of your cheeks was fucking rotting.

it was like you were watching yourself collapse. it was stupid.

“i cannot stop.” you could not process the dying down of your voice, or viktor coming up to you to root you back to earth, or the lightheadedness that pounded and chipped away at your head. your words came out muffled and tiny and broken. “if i do, i am nothing.”

there was a shared silence. you felt like you had sobered up in a second, but there was an echoing buzz in every limb, every corner of flesh, and it scared you. had you said too much?

viktor stood in front of you, his expression apprehensive as he approached you. he almost looked terrified, his hand hovering above yours for a moment before dropping down to his sides — it made you want to cry.

“let’s go for a walk. in the garden, at the back.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

“...and the crystal just sort of… exploded. i mean, it wasn’t bad, but it was definitely shocking. it was a tiny burst — could only hurt, say, an insect.” you hummed as you listened to viktor’s rambles, his words just barely reaching your ears. “but, i guess that just means i have more to explore. in order to make progress, you must explore even the darkest corners sometimes.”

“wow. i didn’t know you were one for inspirational quotes, viktor,” you giggled, a teasing lilt to your voice. he returned the laughter, smiling as he jested, “it’s my new side hobby. science gets rather boring sometimes.” viktor had managed to immerse you so well into his mindless babbles that you didn’t notice the small dents in your thigh, formed by the rhythmic drumming of your fingertips, the same ones worn by time and practice. you also failed to see your other hand fidgeting with the hem of viktor’s sleeve — but that was only because he did nothing to stop you.

“you’d be pretty good at that. well- you’re good at almost anything.” the last part was almost muttered. you were going too fast again, letting your unfinished thoughts spill out from the cracks between your teeth haphazardly. “it’s amazing, really. you always seem to be capable of rewriting the world — it makes me a bit jealous.” a bit was an understatement. “so many possibilities at your fingertips. the only possibilities for me are… winning more competitions and performing at the same balls and the like,” you chuckled, albeit a little awkwardly.

your footsteps matched each other, the clack of soles against the concrete humming in the air as you walked loops around the flower-filled bushes. wisps of wind danced around, kissing your once burning skin oh so tenderly.

it was peaceful.

oh.

you ran the thought back in your head. it was peaceful. it was quiet and soft and there were no loud noises banging around in your skull. instead, there was only the voice of an overthinker and the soft sigh that elicited from viktor’s throat. “i think the opposite. in fact, i think you have a handful of opportunities lined up for you that you are more than worthy for. and it’s more than that, you are excellent outside of your music. so do not say otherwise.” you bit your lip at the response.

“well, yes, but look at you,” you spoke with a smile, one that could not be distinguishable as genuine or forced. “you’re so ahead of me, ahead of everyone. ...sometimes i tell myself to hate you for it — of course, i don’t, but fuck, vik,” you breathed in heavily before looking at him. “it’s a miracle no one has torn you apart just for an ounce of your skill. because honestly, i might be the first one to.” the joke slipped out so easily, but the man wasn’t really having any of it.

“first off, please do not come after me like that. i do not want to have to prepare myself for such an attack.” the comment was half a joke, and half serious. “second… i did not know you felt that way. i’m sorry,” he spoke quietly. an apology was the first thing on his mind, and the last thing on yours. he did not care whether or not you asked why, but the answer would be simple either way. he was sorry for not reaching out sooner, for not trying to help at the start, for not being there when you needed him most. the list ran through his hand repeatedly, as if it were bound to haunt him forever.

at this point, you both had stopped at a stone bench placed underneath a tree, strings of sunlight hitting both of your faces, however, neither of you took the initiative to sit down. instead, viktor looked at your arms and hands as if to ask permission to touch you. you caved in.

viktor’s embrace was awkward and rough, but warm. he held you with one arm, his other stiff at your side for him to lean against. the touch was not covered in flowers and butterflies and it did not make you feel like you were in the clouds, but it made you feel at home. like you were safe, despite the way the fabric of his shirt clung a bit to the rashes left by the stressed scratching and rubbing of your skin, and despite the way his arm squeezed yours, so tight, like if he were to hold you a little looser you would slip. “your insecurities do not define you and they should not obstruct you. you, as a whole, are wonderful. it would not harm you to take even a moment to rest — not only do you deserve it, but it pains me to see you stress yourself with something that should be a talent you love and flourish,” he murmured into you, his words spoken from the bottom of his heart. “you are perfect as you. there is no reason to compare yourself to me, or anyone else. after all, look at me. you are the epitome of elegance and i… well, i cannot say much.” he chuckled softly.

you’d be lying if you said you did not want this to last forever. but forever was never really a good thing for you.

he let go of you, awkwardly placing his hands at his sides, switching his gaze from your stained cheeks to the flowers, back and forth. you sighed heavily as you fell into the seat behind your knees, leaning back against the polished stone and ignoring the way it uncomfortably poked and prodded at your back. “thank you, viktor.” his face lit up at the way you spoke his name, the little lovestruck gears in his stomach turning around. fortunately, you did not notice. instead, you exhaled deeply, staring up at the gaps between the branches and leaves above you.

“we’d go days without meaningful conversation — it scared me,” you muttered mindlessly, both to him and yourself, voice raspy with remnants of tears. “it felt as if i lost everything. but it never felt like you lost anything. like it was only you and your work against the world. so i suppose… everything, the jealousy and the emptiness just sort of clashed together. i never blamed you, though. the pursuit of excellence takes time, as you’d say.” you could not bring yourself to look at him completely just yet.

“i felt meaningless, vik. i know you didn’t mean to, but when you came back and disappeared and came back over and over again, and then now i find that you do care… it all threw me off.” there was much more to say, but you held your tongue in fear of your voice becoming wobbly again.

you caught a glimpse of golden eyes in your peripheral, his pupils full blown at your declaration. his lips cracked open, ready to spill with another apology or line of comfort, but instead came silence. the words would not organize in his head. he wanted to tell you everything he noticed, the change he witnessed in you both physically and mentally, he wanted to ramble on about how he saw the burning pink in the corners and saline coating your eyes and the cracks in your lips and the rips in your hands. no coherent strings of thoughts roamed his mind, but he tried — for you.

“můj miláčku,” he began in his mother tongue, then returned to your mutual language. “there has not been a second where i have not worried for you. i have always cared, and i have always noticed. i apologize for making it ever seem like i didn’t. i witnessed you go through hell and back once. i will not let it happen again.”

you wanted to sob.

“i’m well aware my… work obsession can appear distant. i can assure you i don’t intend to make it look like that.” he held your fingers delicately, before whispering, “you are the sun and the moon and every celestial body in between, i would never intentionally look away or cast you off.” here he was walking in unexplored land. this talk was unfamiliar to both of you, and quite forward. but it was a good leap. “should you ever feel… unworthy, insecure, anything of the sort, please do not hesitate to come to me. i would be more than happy to listen.”

you placed your head on viktor’s shoulder, muttering into his clothes a quiet “thank you.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

any chance of a break had been robbed from your hands. a few days after, a noxian-sealed envelope lay at your doormat, the letter being an invitation to an event in which you would play alongside other pianists. it was supposed to be a non-competitive gathering, a show of skills to hopefully get sponsored by some rich person from who knows where — but of course, one could only hope and pray for such a thing when you paired together several musicians from different nations, who all wanted fame and glory just as much as everyone else.

it excited you, at first. not only was it a free trip to noxus (this was rare, considering all of your performances were held in piltover), but it was a chance at proving yourself. proving that you were capable of everything your peers were, despite your upbringings from the infamous undercity. however, foolish guilt bit away at your bones for being so accepting of the offer when you should’ve been taking a break from the music scene, as viktor wished. at the time, unfortunately, you pushed away such apprehension. you were desperate to prove yourself just as deserving as the others, and this was your chance.

this confidence was only torn apart, crumbled, and crushed into pieces by the hands of your “competitors,” who had done nothing but perform. they did no wrong. but you loathed them all the same, for they unintentionally deconstructed your poppy-filled lungs and lit your cheeks aflame as you played beside them. the end results only deepened this false hatred — you watched as many other performers were offered opportunities and donations through the night, your little corner staying barely touched by the feet of the rich who came to watch and give. the few others who shared your discomfort soothed you only a bit.

your return to piltover was embarrassing, to say the least. you had come back empty handed, no award or recognition or honor to show off.

upon your shameful trudge back to the academy, viktor greeted you warmly, congratulating you despite your lack of accomplishment. he noticed you made no effort to get out of your performance outfit, the cloth hugging every inch of your skin so perfectly that he wanted to hold you then and there. but he did not. no, he had to restrain himself, because you came first in his mind. “you did great, either way. i could care less if you did better or worse than the others,” were his exact words. his words were beyond genuine, and instead of dwelling on the subject more, he offered to make you dinner so you could rest for the night. to him you were eternally grateful. an anchor that you had not requested, but one that came to you regardless. it made you giddy inside, little rays of sunshine peeking through the spaces in your ribs with every drop of attention and care he gave you.

the change was startling, at first. before you would’ve cursed yourself and the heavens for ever fawning over the man, but now, you reveled in the comfort, drank every bit of it you were gifted. you were a fool beyond words, your ability to fall to his feet so easily making you just a bit nervous.

viktor made a nice plate for you, urging you to dig in and relax for once. he played a record to “set the mood,” the sultry voice of the singer bouncing around the room and into your ears, and he congratulated you on your efforts once more. a smile, tiny but not unnoticeable, tugged at his lips, his face warm as he drank in the way you did your hair and the fancy shoes you put on just for this performance. he did not care if you were ashamed of your performance or not. you looked the part. with a mere glance, if he were one of those rich fools, he would’ve offered every bit of money he had to you. truly sublime, he noted to himself.

afterwards, he walked you back to your room, rambling about a new coffee flavor he’d recently found interesting, before sending you off with a goodnight. it was in these little acts that you remembered your roots with him. the little boy on the polluted streets who cared enough to sit through your tunes every night was now treating you to a meal. you smiled fondly at the thought, the once steady rhythm of your heart speeding up just a little bit. you could get used to this. maybe he could too.

but in the euphoria of the night, you failed to prepare for the morning and its blows.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the sun was just barely creeping over the horizon as heimerdinger called you into his room to discuss his plans for your future at the academy specifically. you were weary with sleep, but tried your best to listen to every word he had to say.

“now, i have reconsidered this decision many times. there have been moments where i have thought about letting it slide, but those thoughts were… proven useless, as i was shown time and time again that i must treat all my students equally — that stretches onto, well, punishments.” you played around with your fingers, a way to calm yourself down just a little bit before the brick fell onto your head. the yordle continued on with his speech of sorts. “your participation has been lacking, to sum it up. we’ve talked about this before,” he breathed heavily, as if preparing himself to drop the bomb. you most likely have talked about this risk before, it just never sat in your head, for you were too deep in your desperate practices and fits of bitterness to ever comprehend it. the consequences were hitting now, you supposed. “there’s been a steep decrease in participation and performance — at least, that’s what’s on the report that was sent in.” the little man folded his hands beneath his chin, his elbows digging into the table before him. “...and, your event the other day only… strengthens my point, i suppose.”

you did not respond. if you did, the saline pricking at your eyes would’ve spilled over.

“i have always believed you deserved a chance at success — i feel exactly the same for your friend.” the reference to viktor threw you off-guard. this only rubbed salt in the wound, a disgusting reminder of how truly inferior you were compared to the talented scientist. you wanted the best for him, however, and you’d be damned if you let yourself be a factor towards viktor’s failure. he sighed, looking down at the tabletop as if he were guilty. “however, my disappointment has not wavered much over the course of the past couple of months. it is with a heavy heart that i send you off. not with anger, but with care. i… believe this can also be a moment to step back and breathe. you may need it. i recommend packing your bags before the sun completely rises, to avoid drama and whatnot. you know how the students gossip in the halls,” he chuckled emptily at his lackluster attempt to brighten the mood. “we at the academy will miss you dearly.”

and that was that.

you exited with a nod, your throat dry with silence. that was that. you were done, and any status or any sort of acknowledgment you had tied to the academy was cut. you did not plan on informing viktor or anyone else for that matter. it was too much at the moment.

the fact that your pitiful spiral into an anger and harmful passion so red, so detrimental to yourself (and maybe those around you) was so obvious sent a pang through your chest. this was the fruit that grew from your time spent wallowing in self-pity, from the irritation at yourself for being so stupidly consumed in jealousy of others’ progress that you could not notice your lack thereof. at the same time, however, it felt like no matter how much strenuous effort you poured into the music, you would never move forward.

perhaps the professor was right.

your dorm room sat still, despite the clutter invading nearly every corner — there were countless books stacked along the walls (you were too lazy to invest in a bookshelf, but it was always a passing thought) sticky notes and random papers were tacked up, dust and spiderwebs left unattended for months collected, but you did not care, for you knew once all of your belongings had vanished from this room, someone would come clean it all up.

you began with the smaller things, like binders of sheet music or potted plants you had been gifted over the years. then it grew into things like your clothes and blankets, then you were left with a bed and a piano. it made you giggle, almost, how those two things were the only pieces of furniture you really maintained. your bed sheets were made and the lid of the piano was free of dust and closed. a small photo perched atop the instrument, one of you and viktor on your first day at the academy, stayed in its spot, for you did not have the heart to pack it away just yet.

truth be told, the heaviness you felt in heimerdinger’s office didn’t linger as you cleared your room. it was therapeutic, almost. like you were tearing apart the pieces of your life that reminded you of things you did not want to be reminded of.

on the topic of things you did not want to be reminded of, viktor burst through the door, hair disheveled and cheeks red as if he hobbled without break (which he most likely did).

you watched as his eyes, constructed of mined amber and stardust, widened dramatically at the emptiness of your room. “what is the meaning of this?” he questioned almost accusingly. his gaze pierced through every bit of you, making holes through your skin and muscles and bones and everything in between. “do not move one bit. i need an explanation first.” you could not tell if he was furious or concerned.

“well- i was talking about this with heimerdinger for a while, and i guess he… figured now was the right time.”

the man shook his head roughly, brows furrowed in utter confusion. “that makes no sense. heimerdinger isn’t stupid enough to do something like that? to just… kick you out?” you picked at the skin on your lip as you realized viktor was firm in his belief.

“that’s so easy for you to say, vik.” your voice cracked. you did not want to give such a speech once again, but you could not help it. “you have never experienced the downfall of your sanity so harsh that it consumes you whole, because you are always progressing. i’m proud of you for that. but it is because of that, that you are also blinded. you don’t see yourself crumbling into little tiny pieces that you cannot pick up yourself. you’re just so… easily successful.” a sigh slipped from your lips as you messed with the hem of your shirt. blood was rushing to your cheeks, not in the warm and fluffy way, but in the way that you were so dizzy with brimming annoyance. you loved viktor more than ever, you would tell yourself that time and time again, but you could not help but feel irritated at his failure to understand that not everyone could simply move forward like he did. “heimerdinger is right in his decision. i’ve reached a hole too deep to salvage myself out of. you are… a fool to think otherwise.”

viktor’s face contorted into one of genuine worry. “surely, there must be something we- i can do? i could- i don’t know- ehm, talk to the professor about this? we could convince him, or-”

you grabbed his sleeve before he could turn around even a bit and whispered pleadingly, “don’t. i don’t want to drag you down with this. this is the result of my own mistakes.” it hurt to send him off, because all you wanted right now was his utter support and comfort and for him to hold you again, tight and lovingly and warmly, and for him to rush into heimerdinger’s office and speak whatever came to that pretty little mind of his first. but you could not wish for such things when everything you spoke to him now was true. this was your fall, so you would take the blow alone.

viktor looked at you as if you were mad in the head.

“drag me down? are you crazy? so you’re just going to let them kick you out? just like that?” you cast your head to the side, somewhat embarrassed to confirm his worries. you dragged your gaze up, watching as his face softened just a bit as he realized you were going to let it happen, his scowl fading before he looked back at you. “...alright. i cannot force you.” he slipped out of your grasp, dropping his arm to his side and staring you down, not with malice, but with betrayal. he was the one that promised you success in piltover, and yet here you were denying any chance of it. he did not loathe you for your decision — once again, god forbid he did — but that did not stop the pang in his heart. however, he did not want to hurt you once more. if that is what you truly wanted, he would give it to you in a heartbeat, because he believed you deserved everything you ever wanted. he stepped out of the room, giving you space and giving himself time to think.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

and think he did.

within a week, you were back. you had absolutely no idea why, but you were standing back in the same dorm, the corners uncomfortably clean, while a few others helped you move your stuff back in.

everything had been placed back where it was before you left. this was not the plan. this was not your idea of self-reflection. your piano beneath the window, books stacked beside the legs, and a rack of bags and hats on your wall next to your door. it was oddly neat, in comparison to the way you had strewn your clothes and mess along the floor with no care to clean any of it up. but now you could see a walkable path, even with all your belongings.

it was disgustingly unfamiliar. you did not like it one bit. you were back, and it was suffocating you.

during your return, there was no word of your scientist friend anywhere — not even his name was muttered. you supposed it was what you deserved, considering you hadn’t kept in touch with him in your absence. an eye for an eye.

your classes picked back up as usual. you didn’t make any promise to yourself to work harder or put more effort in class, because if you did, falling back into that hole you did before would only feel much worse. you did well regardless, catching back up to the class and regaining the love for your talent without fail.

you were doing so good at making this a routine. you could’ve sworn you were making actual progress for once, remaining on a straight path and finding joy in what you saw jealousy in before. of course, until viktor placed himself back into your routine once more, this time, less cautiously.

he’d been standing outside of the door to your class, his foot tapping against the ground impatiently. he wanted to speed up time or anything of the sort, just to get to you faster.

when you finally stepped out, his heart stopped.

you didn't go through any drastic change, obviously but it was like he was charmed by you for the first time, his breath hitching completely.

your eyes widened at the sight of him, his hair noticeably ruffled and a few tufts misplaced, and his suit a bit wrinkled. “viktor?” you muttered, astonished to see him before you as if he weren’t real. your books slipped an inch from the sweat on your palms, the man reaching out a hand beneath them with his free hand with an awkward chuckle.

“you’re back,” he breathed out, grinning from cheek to cheek, a sight you were not familiar with. maybe a little upturn of his lips, a smirk, but not a smile so big that you could see the pure joy spilling between his pearly whites, his gums stained with a new innocence you had not seen since your days in the undercity.

his excitement had you taken aback. “i… yes. i guess i am.” an awkward chuckle slipped its way out from your throat, as you were still confused. “i mean, i’m not really sure why i- wait.” you paused, looking viktor dead in the eye, his smile not wavering. as if he wanted you to figure it out. “you did this?”

“of course i did. why else would you be here right now?” he urged you to follow him down the hallway. hesitantly, you trailed behind him, recognizing the path as a way to the observatory.

you rarely went to said room, considering you had no interest nor business with it whatsoever. however, it looked polished, something you were not expecting. you thought that, maybe, there would be dust here and there and there’d be a few cracks in the floorboards or the walls, considering how old the academy was. perhaps, this was another one of viktor’s plans. you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

the man ascended the stairway, his dress shoes clinking against the granite steps, motioning for you to follow suit. you were so close that you could feel the fabric of his sleeves on yours and his fingertips, strawberry kissed and blister-burnt, against your hand as he walked. he did not seem to notice, however, as he spoke in warm tones, his other hand fiddling with the fabric of his pants. “ehm… while you were away, i made something in my spare time,” he began, fumbling with the leather.

“spare time? i didn’t know that was in your dictionary, vik,” you giggled, the nickname making his heart flutter more than it should have.

“well- i mean, in the time that i was waiting for professor heimerdinger to accept my… request.” he thought about the way to place the words, rearranging them in his head because he could not help but let your plea for him to stay out of the situation loop around. he stood beneath the center of the glass dome roof while you took your spot beside him. “um, anyways. i figured, while i was waiting, i should make something for you.” he stepped forward before stopping to say, “ah, cover your eyes,” while his smile grew, little creases in his cheeks forming. at his request, you closed your eyes and covered them with your hands, resisting the urge to peek through your fingers.

the clank of metal against metal was the first thing you heard. your excitement increased as he told you to remove your hands, your gaze meeting his then the object he now stood next to.

the last remnants of the sun reflected off the glass of the telescope that viktor set up. it was no regular telescope, though, for it bore designs that you figured he made himself. engravings of planets and galaxies alike were littered over the metal, along with a little sticky note on the side that was written in a different language. “pro mou hvězdu,” it read, the handwriting recognizable as none other than viktor’s. you walked up to it, brushing your fingers against every part carefully in admiration. “you made this?”

“yes. for you, so you could see all that you are worth.” the words made your chest erupt with roses and lilacs that constricted your lungs and every muscle in your body, the walls of your throat tightening as all the yearning you collected over the years drowned you at full force. your lips parted then closed, the river of words rushing through your head refusing to come out. viktor took in your reaction and chuckled, making his way over to you and holding your hands in his, like always. “you deserve it. go on, take a look.”

you did just that, walking up to the relatively large telescope and peering up into the glass. by now, the sun had disappeared into the horizon, the sky a dark canvas lit by constellations. you see the stars, big and small, all floating around and burning bright. viktor pointed out certain objects for you, turning your gaze towards venus, which was noticeably larger than the other pinpricks of light around it. you played around with it a bit, eventually seeing the moon in all its nighttime glory.

“it’s beautiful,” you muttered, your jaw hanging slack as you soaked in the sight of the sky so close, so close that you could hold it all in your hands and caress it and pull it to your chest so tenderly. viktor sat right beside you, admiring the way you held onto the body of the telescope carefully and how you let a tiny smile grow on your lips, his heart trembling with the sudden urge to fall in love with you all over again. but he could not let it out. not yet.

you turned your head towards his, the curve of your lips growing once your eyes met. “thank you, so much.”

“anything for you, světlo hvězd.”

you huffed playfully, “what is with the nicknames that i can’t understand?” viktor laughed at your comment but refused to give a proper answer, claiming that you “didn’t need to know yet.”

“i would say i’m sorry for going against your wishes, but,” he paused, his head tilting up as he looked away. “i would be lying. you deserve all the chances. you may have felt as if you were unworthy of anything, but you deserve everything. i will say that a million times if i need to.”

you laughed, the sound hitting viktor’s ears beautifully. “why are you like this?”

“i am only like this for you. heimerdinger’s decision was completely and utterly stupid. so, i did whatever i could to bring you back.”

you wanted to kiss him then and there.

“enough. i think it’s time our virtuoso get some rest — i’ve kept you up a bit late,” he interrupted your thoughts, nodding his head towards the exit expectant for you to follow.

and with that, you let him walk you back to your dorm, his stare lingering on the instrument against your wall a little too long before he left with a soft goodnight.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

viktor laid in his bed far from peacefully, his mattress practically digging into his spine and shoulder blades and carving nighttime sorrows into his skin. he could not contain the instant rush of thoughts he was greeted with upon waking up. he was always thinking recently, a little too much for his liking. thinking about work. thinking about class. thinking about you.

you. viktor dragged his hands over his face, groaning into his palm miserably. it was stupid how much of his mind you had taken. this was not the plan. he had promised you success and fortune up in piltover, not his lovesick tragedies and playful little pet names in his mother tongue. did you even know of his feelings? if you did, did you return them at all? was he too bold, bold enough, or not bold at all?

love was stupid, viktor decided. but saying something that strong would mean calling you stupid. he tossed the thought out of his head immediately, throwing himself out of bed and into his bathroom.

truthfully, he felt guilty for it. he figured he did not deserve to worship you, to long for you this much when all he brought you was memories of your own misery. he had wedged himself back into your life, and with that, you had spiraled down into a hole that he could not describe himself. to admit his affection for you would be selfish, he felt. but he was too far deep. he feared that if he stopped here, he would leave you hanging all over again.

for once in a long time, he felt completely stupid.

on the other hand, you were absolutely lovestruck. you did not care for guilt or selfishness or any of those bitter feelings that would ever stop you. but at the same time, you were terrified. terrified of growth, of finally moving forward even though that was what you craved the most.

you waved the nonsense out — or at least, tried to — considering you were throwing yourself back into the hobby you kept at just for him.

personally, you believed that viktor had given you so much and you had given… what? there was no memory of you offering anything to him that amounted to the amount of gifts and time and care he gave you. it was unfair.

this was unfair. all of it, the envy, the pining, the stress. unfortunately, there was no going back. you had flung yourself full force into not only viktor himself but also into your studies. and with this newfound dedication, there was no time to sit down and think.

you breathed heavily after finishing the warm-up assigned by your teacher, his gaze not judging but calculative, as if he were sizing you up. “good,” he spoke firmly, jotting down notes of god knows what on his papers. maybe this was expected, considering your sudden leave and return — it was sure to have left a stain on your cachet. “now, onto your assigned piece. i’d like to go over measure 32, til the coda.” you did as told, your fingers stretching along the keys and pouring out memorized melodies in hopes of satisfaction. this wasn’t unfamiliar to you, rather, it was awkward. you had been in countless classrooms and apartments studying with various instructors, all of which pushed you to do your best. but this time, it was uncomfortable, what with the sharp stare given by your teacher and the tension in the air.

regardless, the session went by smoothly, save for the anxiety racking your bones. a break was needed, you figured. where, you weren’t sure yet.

eventually, you found yourself at the door to viktor’s lab with two cups of tea in your hands. with no hesitation or warning, you waltzed in, placing one of the cups that you ordered on viktor’s desk. this startled him, his head whipping around to see you standing right next to him.

“what are you doing here? hold on, go get- go get some goggles, a coat, whatever… equipment is available,” he rambled on, clearly still invested in whatever experiment he had going on, his hands moving even while he spoke to you. you only shrugged, heading over to the coffee-stained couch put beneath a window.

“no need. i trust you enough not to blow me up. or melt me. or disintegrate me.”

viktor’s face scrunched up at your comment, shaking his head lightly in disapproval. “seriously? you surely cannot put that much trust in me. i am a scientist, and an engineer. both roles tend to be very destructive.”

“yes, but you are viktor, too. so i think i’m right to put my trust in you.” the ghost of a smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

you watched his back as he returned his full attention to his work, lithe hands returning to mixing colored liquids with one another before his stopped in his movements, turning his head to you. “ehm, remind me — why are you here again? last time i checked, it’s rather unprofessional for someone to be a highly dangerous lab without… you know, proper equipment and protection.”

“oh, right! i wanted to ask you if you could come with me tomorrow, somewhere special. i promise it’s not a trap or anything like that. but it’s a secret.”

he raised a brow questioningly at the odd request. “i suppose. just don’t kill me. i’m still watching my back, considering your comment about ‘tearing me apart for my skill.’” the joke flew over your head for a moment before it clicked, a loud giggle leaving your lips.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

you stood at the start of a wide bridge — specifically, the one that connected the undercity and piltover. viktor looked at you skeptically, as if he were unsure of stepping across, despite being from the polluted nation himself. “and we are here… why?”

“just- wait for it and follow me.” regardless of his worries, he did as told, trailing behind you into the depths of the city, the mask on his mouth sitting uncomfortably. as you walked further, he finally recognized the pathway, and the rocks, and the small opening in a more isolated part of the streets. there sat a lone piano, dirt collecting on the already rotten wood. you grinned happily while approaching the stool, adjusting it to fit your height and pressing down on the keys eagerly. the sound that came out wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it caught you both off guard regardless.

viktor took his usual spot on the rocks, settling his cane between his legs and on his shoulder. he would be a liar if he said he was not excited. the rush of nostalgia was soaking him whole, his eyes set on your face as you thought of a piece to play.

the notes came out awkward, at first. it sounded improper, like a mish-mash of random chords combined in hopes of making a valid sound. soon enough, it morphed into something far more beautiful, the discombobulated scales you performed turning into a melody that he instantly remembered as one you would play more often as a child. it was a tune that you would play on days when comfort was needed, when the poison-drenched city was more cruel than usual and particularly unkind to both of you. viktor relished in the grin you bore on your face, the same one that he remembered from your younger years, filled with a euphoric youth that he would cherish forever.

you played, played until your arms got sore and sweat beaded down your forehead and kissed your chin. viktor was sitting next to you by now, his back against the legs of the stool and his head against the top of his cane. “heavenly,” he whispered under his breath as you closed off the piece.

“i’m glad you think so.”

he brought himself up, motioning for you to move aside so he could sit next to you. paper hands made their way to yours, grabbing blemished fingertips with peeling skin with a care so strong it melted you. he always seemed to be holding your hands, although you never noticed the contrast. his were pale, ridden with lavender tints and bones peeking through skin while yours were time-worn and stained with bruises and blisters alike. you watched as he flipped over your hands to face your palms, tracing the lines in your skin gently, an amber-infused gaze locked onto you and you only, as if you were a masterpiece, a creation by the gods themselves sent to him. “...viktor?”

he did not move his attention from your hands, continuing to carefully draw mindless shapes and brush against the galaxy stains left behind by hard work on your flesh. “what do you see in these?” he spoke with intent. if any time was more perfect, it was now. he would pour whatever yearning was bubbling up in his heart of clay onto you now because he could not handle it any longer, not when you had brought him back here, to remind him of how long it’d been since it started filling up his chest to begin with. if any time was more perfect it was now.

“what?” he looked at you for a second, wanting you to answer the question. “well… i see scars. lots of them. they’re not pretty. i would call them battle scars, but… it doesn’t suit me.”

viktor lifted one up, awfully close to his lips, the other resting on his thigh. you could feel his breath so, so close, traces of cinnamon and mint fresh against your skin. “do you want to know what i see?” you merely nodded, too scared of your voice breaking apart if you dare spoke another word.

“i see flaws, but gorgeous ones. ones that are the result of your genuine effort and work and dedication.” his lips pressed against your knuckles, and he muttered, “i could hold these hands for centuries, til my dying breath, for they are the very hands that hold my heart.”

you could not hold the tears that spilled down your face, dropping against your collarbones and soaking your cheeks. he wiped each and every one of them with the pads of his thumbs, his calloused skin rough, but you did not care. cold hands held your face with the love and tenderness of an angel, his lips now ghosting yours, silently asking for permission to kiss away whatever baggage you held and wipe it off with his affection. you accepted.

such lands were untraversed by either of you. but it was as if you slipped right into place, his fingertips finding your jaw and your own finding his waist. to say viktor was happy would be an immense understatement. he was euphoric. the jar of collected ardor he kept stored away in the cabinets of his heart came spilling out all at once, bubbling and sizzling against your skin as he burnt you with his love, a love that he would give you over and over and over again. any selfishness he felt initially for simply wanting to carve pathways for you and place the stars in your hands and pick away the thorns on the prettiest roses so you could hold them was long gone. if you were the sun, then he was icarus.

“i would split the universe for you, moje slunce.” it was at this point that he realized everything he spoke and did was simply instinctual. the tips of his ears lit aflame as he put his forehead against yours, whispering an apology under his breath for his rashness. you did not care, not one bit. “i’m sorry. i do not… i was always asking myself for more time. as a result, i waited for years. on what, i do not know. perhaps it was us looping back here,” he gestured towards the rocks and the distraught piano. “that triggered it. maybe, i realized i was waiting too long.”

you cracked a smile towards him. “yes, you were waiting far too long.”

viktor would wait no longer.

296 notes · View notes

worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Sweets (Soft Yandere! Jungkook)

You keep being visited by the most peculiar thief…

➵ in which jungkook steals your lip balm and perfume instead of talking to you, you leave a post-it note with your number on it for the strange thief who only seems to take the most inexplicable items and has a strange sense of responsibility for your wellbeing, and the cute boy in your photography class with the fluffy hair and the oversized sweater keeps getting more and more endearing…

➵ Warnings: Soft Yandere Jungkook, Breaking & Entering but without the Breaking, Reader is a bit of a ditz (lol sorry guys)

➵ Word Count: 4.2K

➵ Masterlist

“Hello, uh, I’d like to… report a crime?”

Your statement, which had always sounded suitably firm and assertive when you practised it in front of the bathroom mirror, ended with an unplanned upturn, making it sound more like a question than you would like.

“Please state your name and address, ma’am.”

You did so, listening anxiously to the tap of a keyboard as your information was filed away. The undoubtedly over-worked police officer on the other end of the line sounded like he was two seconds from falling asleep, and you questioned yourself for the millionth time over whether you really needed to report this or not.

“What is the nature of the crime you are reporting, ma’am?”

“Um… well…”

You twisted your hand into the fabric of your shirt self-consciously, trying to decide the best way to explain the strange little occurrences that had been surrounding your apartment over the last few months. You had not yet found a way to put it without sounding ridiculous, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

“I, uh, I think someone’s breaking into my apartment and stealing things.”

“You have an intruder?”

“Uh huh,”

“…Are they currently in your residence?”

“No, I think… they come and take things when I’m not here and then they’re gone by the time I get back.”

“What items have been stolen?”

You bit your lip.

“I know it sounds silly, but…”

“No crime is too small to report, ma’am. We are committed to making the lives of everyday citizens safer.”

“Well… they’ve stolen my lip balm like… several times. I keep buying new ones and they keep being stolen after a week or so. And my perfume. And my hairbrush one time, and-”

“Ma’am,” The officer cut you off with the impatience you had been both anticipating and dreading ever since you decided to call the police, “Listen, we don’t have the capacity to deal with prank callers-”

“It’s not a prank call!” You blurted, a momentary burst of desperation overtaking you, “I- um, sorry for interrupting, officer, but this isn’t a prank call. Things have been going missing. I can’t afford to keep replacing my lip balm.”

A sigh crackled across the line, and you pictured the officer maybe taking off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose like those people in movies always seemed to do when they got frustrated. Personally, you had never found that it helped.

“Are you sure you aren’t just… misplacing them?”

You gasped, offended that even a stranger could think you so stupid. “No! I remember exactly where I leave things and then they just vanish! I swear!”

“Has anything of value ever been taken from your apartment?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, excited to be able to prove the officer wrong, “My bunny plushy! Mr Snuggles is extremely valuable to me!”

“…Monetary value, I meant. Has anything expensive ever been taken from your apartment?”

There was an embarrassing silence. The officer sighed again, with a little more exasperation colouring his tone.

“If anything significant is stolen, call us back. For now, just… be a bit more careful with your possessions.”

He hung up. You pressed your forehead against the wall and wished your strange thief had taken your phone in one of his little visits. Maybe then you would’ve avoided making that agonising call.

The next morning as you were leaving to go to class, you noticed a pile of discarded post-it notes on your desk — the remnants of a redbull-fuelled late night study session. Your newly purchased lip balm lay next to it. Impulsively, you grabbed a pen and scrawled a message on one of the post-its, sticking it horizontally to the curved surface of the lip balm tube.

it reads:

pls don’t take this i just bought it and this brand is actually v expensive and i am only a struggling college student with loans and chapped lips (。•́︿•̀。)

It might have been a little too polite considering it’s intended recipient was someone who had stolen multiple items from your apartment, but you figured there was no point in being rude. They probably wouldn’t even read it anyway.

You strolled out of your apartment, planning to pick up a smoothie on the way to your lecture, and promptly forgot all about it.

When you returned home to find a pile of newly bought lip balms on your desk — all embossed with the logo of your favourite brand — you were slightly puzzled. But, once you remembered the note you had left- well, the confusion didn’t exactly vanish, but at least you were given some context.

The note had disappeared, along with the lip balm you had used a scant few times. But, you didn’t understand what the thief’s aim was. Why on earth would they steal small things like lip balm and perfume? And why would they buy you new copies of the product? Wasn’t that counterproductive?

you’re very bad at your job

Your next note read, stuck to your fridge as you left to grab coffee with your study group. It remained there for a few days, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart sank a little each time you saw it hadn’t been taken.

After six days, when it finally vanished, you felt an odd sense of happiness bubble up within you. Yes, there was someone routinely breaking into your apartment, but at least now you had an open channel of communication with them. They had left a brand new bottle of your preferred perfume — which had been stolen at least twice before you stopped bothering to buy it because perfume is pricy — resting on your kitchen counter, beside a box of your favourite chocolates.

As you dug into the box later, snuggled in a blanket and having a Studio Ghibli film marathon, you didn��t even consider the fact that the sweets might be tampered with. If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve killed me already, you reasoned to yourself, sucking the icing sugar off your fingers. Nor did you question how they knew your favourite chocolate. If they broke into your apartment as much as you assumed they did, they probably knew you better than your own parents by now.

You were the very definition of a broke college student. As far as you were concerned, if this random stranger wanted to buy you things and sometimes clean up your apartment — you had definitely come back to a home tidier than you had left it more than once — then you certainly weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it was a little naïve of you, but… you had already called the police, and they hadn’t cared.

thank you for the perfume and chocolate <3

You wrote next morning, hesitating slightly before putting the heart. Before you could convince yourself not to, you scribbled another line underneath.

i wish you’d write back someday…

As you walked to class, you scolded yourself for the butterflies swooping in your stomach. They’re literally a criminal, you told yourself, Stop getting crushes on anyone who shows you the slightest bit of attention. You don’t even know their name.

Despite the small amount of common sense that you did have mocking you all day, you sat in classes and daydreamed about your mystery home intruder. Would they read the note? Would they be happy about your appreciation? Would they — you bit your lip — would they write back?

You felt like a dumb schoolgirl, excited by the prospect of a badly written love note shoved in her locker. And, like a school girl, you trudged back home with your arms weighed down by class work, a billion essays and quizzes that had to be completed overnight. Did your professors not realise you had a life outside of college? Not that you did, of course, but like… in principle.

You were so preoccupied with the coursework that you didn’t even notice the note stuck to your bedroom door. After an hour of studying, you rose wearily to start fixing yourself something to eat, and your eyes snagged on a flash of yellow.

You squeaked, almost falling over yourself in your rush to get to the door and read the note.

i’m glad you liked them. i’m sorry i took your things, that was mean of me. i tried to only take things you wouldn’t miss, but i guess that backfired… i just wanted to feel close to you. and these notes… are the closest i’ve ever been. i know that must sound weird, but… well. i’m a weird guy, i guess. i just liked hearing from you. that’s all.

~ koo <3

You didn’t stop freaking out for a full five minutes. After that, you poured over every detail of the letter, eager to extricate any fragment of knowledge possible. You ended up with a list which you scribbled down in your diary, above which you pasted the note.

The list went as follows:

They want to feel close to you

They have not talked to you before, since the notes are the closest they’ve ever been, but they must have seen you in person at least once

They are a he

(you adamantly did not get flustered about that)

and

4. He calls himself Koo

When you left your apartment the next morning, you placed your note on the exact same spot he had left his. An indirect touch.

hi koo !!!!!!!!

i was so excited to see you had written something!! you know, if you want to talk to me more often, there is an easier way…

Underneath you had scrawled your phone number, hastily and not allowing for regret before you flounced out of the apartment. The reason why you were in such a rush was because you were about to go to your favourite class: Photography 101.

You had taken it as an extra credit, something that interested you but not enough that you wanted to pursue it as a career. You had expected it to be fun, something artistic to break up the monotony of classes. What you had not expected was the dreamy boy who sat in the first row and had full possession of your heart.

You didn’t even know his name, but you were pretty sure you were half in love with him. With fluffy brown hair that fell over his forehead whenever he leaned over to scribble down notes, and cute bunny teeth that stuck out in a flustered smile whenever the professor praised his work in class, he was perhaps the cutest boy you had ever seen.

Though you were sure he had many girls sighing after him, he seemed to be really shy, only ever speaking in class when called on, and even then it was in a quiet, soft voice. He was kind of like you in that respect. But that was where your similarities ended.

Yes, you thought, sighing as you watched him pay avid attention to the professor’s lecture on the composition of frames, his cute doe eyes wide and twinkling like stars were embedded in the pupils, He is way out of my league.

It took three days for you to lose hope. You hadn’t received a text, nor had you found any notes left for you. You tried not to be disappointed, even as your traitorous sub-conscience mocked you for being able to scare away the one person who arguably paid you the most attention.

You didn’t really have many friends, and the ones you did have preferred each other over you, and often left you out of activities because of your shy nature. You guessed this whole thing had just been a way to feel like you actually mattered to someone, like, for once, someone cared about you, but-

You were pulled out of your musings as your phone chimed.

From: Unknown Number

[6:48 PM]

this is koo

The two of you texted every day, and soon enough you were hiding your phone underneath your desk in order to chat to him, keeping your phone on your person at all times in case koo wanted to talk. Of course, the only class you didn’t do this in was Photography, so you could spend a blissful forty-five minutes staring at the boy who played the role of your husband in all of your favourite daydreams.

Koo still broke into your house occasionally, and he still left you sweet, considerate gifts. Often, you would receive texts like this:

From: koo ✨

[3:24 PM]

sweets i’ve been checking your groceries and your vegetables are not being eaten as often as they should be

i know you have a sweet tooth and that’s cute but please try to stay healthy

To: koo ✨

[3:25 PM]

but i can’t cook all i know how to make is microwaveable mac n cheese :///////

You came back home that day to discover a bunch of Tupperwares full of pre-made healthy meals and a note stuck to the top of them.

try microwaving these :)

To: koo ✨

[3:01 AM]

koo are you awake?

From: koo ✨

[3:01 AM]

i am now

what’s wrong?

To: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

i can’t sleep :////////

From: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

sweets you need to go to bed

you have an early morning class

To: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

i knowwwwww

i just… i can’t sleep without mr snuggles :((

From: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

Mr Snuggles??

???

To: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

my cuddly bunny :((((

i think you took him a while ago

could i maybe have him back…?

From: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

Shit

i didn’t know you couldn’t sleep without him

[3:04 AM]

sweets im so sorry

To: koo ✨

[3:04 AM]

its okay koo

From: koo ✨

[3:04 AM]

no it isn’t

you’re loosing sleep because of me

fuck

i could… bring him to you?

To: koo ✨

[3:05 AM]

you’d do that?

…i could see you?

From: koo ✨

[3:05 AM]

no i’d leave him outside

you’d have to promise not to come out until i text you saying i’ve left

To: koo ✨

[3:06 AM]

but kooooo :(((((

From: koo ✨

[3:07 AM]

sweets

To: koo ✨

[3:07 AM]

okay :((((((((((

but i expect you to leave a big box of chocolates on my pillow for me to come home to tomorrow evening!!

From: koo ✨

[3:08 AM]

of course sweets <3

im gonna get going now

don’t look outside your apartment

To: koo ✨

[3:08 AM]

okay

From: koo ✨

[3:34 AM]

im gone and mr snuggles is waiting outside for you

he might have a little gift with him

You trudged outside your apartment, rubbing your eyes blearily, and looked down to see your beloved plushie clutching a single rose in its paws. You gasped, leaning down to pick up the flower gently, and you noticed all the thorns had been taken off. Koo must’ve removed them so that you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself.

You felt warmth flood you, drowning the butterflies in your stomach and replacing them with something much less fleeting, much less shallow.

It sunk into your bones, into your heart, into your breath as you sighed, squeezing your long-lost Mr Snuggles close to your face. He carried the familiar scent of nostalgia, but also something different, something sharper. You realised with a jolt that you were smelling Koo’s cologne.

You went back to bed, nuzzled your face into the plushy’s furry belly, and dreamed of fluffy brown hair and bunny smiles.

Though with Mr Snuggles’ help you were able to sleep wonderfully, you were only able to do so for four hours before your alarm jolted you back into early reality. Honestly, you were sorely tempted to just ditch class, but it was Photography, and if you missed your regular dose of the cute boy in the front row then you thought you might just crumble into dust.

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on your softest oversized hoodie — a gift from Koo which, now that you thought about it, smelled like the same cologne that Mr Snuggles did. You flushed at the thought of him giving you one of his hoodies to wear, though you couldn’t say exactly why that image charmed you.

You stumbled into the lecture, arms full of textbooks because you knew you wouldn’t have the energy to return back to your apartment to retrieve the relevant materials for your next class later in the day. Your excellent plan was to crash in the library directly after this, have a two hour power-nap, and then make yourself get up in time for Calculus.

You barely had the energy to listen to the professor droning on and on about… the perfect lense, or whatever. You allowed yourself the indulgence of tuning out, resting your chin on your palm and gazing dreamily at the boy in the front row. He was taking notes, as per usual. What a good student! You praised him in your head. I bet he has the best handwriting.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep within ten minutes. You were woken as the class concluded by the clamour of students grabbing their materials and the scrape of chairs as your classmates stood up, leaving you behind — the only one half-splayed across the desk in front of you.

You jerked upright, grabbing your stuff in one hand as you tried to tug on your bag, eventually succeeding with much struggle, only to drop it all again as soon as you stood up. You whimpered, watching helplessly as your textbooks fanned across the floor. You saw one of them split along the spine as it landed on an open page.

That cost me two hundred dollars, you thought absently, and I just chucked it down like a bouncy ball.

Suddenly, you glimpsed someone crouching down and gathering them all up into a sturdy pile. As he stood up, your vision was full of fluffy brown hair, errant strands falling into star-filled doe eyes.

Oh. Oh no.

“H-Here you are,” He murmured, passing you the pile gently, making sure you were able to take the weight before leaving them in your arms. When he leaned close to you, you breathed in a scent that was oddly familiar, and yet new at the same time. As his hands receded, his skin brushed against yours for a second and you swear your vision blanked out.

“Thanks,” You whispered, your gaze so firmly focused on the floor that you didn’t notice his flushed cheeks.

As soon as you got to the library, you whipped out your phone, all tiredness banished from your system by that momentous experience. You had talked to him.

To: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

koo i think im in love

From: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

what

with who

To: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

this boy in my photography class

he’s just so-

[8:48 AM]

i can’t even explain it

i dropped my textbooks and he picked them up for me and i stg i almost cried

From: koo ✨

[8:48 AM]

wait

seriously??

To: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

yeah i cry at like the drop of a hat

From: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

no-

cute

but i mean

that’s who you’re in love with?

To: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

yeah?

From: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

gray sweater

[8:50 AM]

big eyes

tall-ish

that’s him???

To: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

OMG YOU’RE IN MY PHOTOGRAPHY CLASS AREN’T YOU

From: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

WHAT

IM NOT

To: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

OMGGGGGGG

YOU SAW HIM HELP ME SO YOU MUST BE IN MY CLASSSS

[8:51]

okay!

are you the frat guy who always comes in hungover???

no judgement

From: koo ✨

[8:51 AM]

To: koo ✨

[8:52 AM]

are you the guy who only ever wears knitwear???

From: koo ✨

[8:52 AM]

To: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

…are you the professor?

From: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

NO!!!!!

oh my god lets just meet up or something before i explode

To: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

WAIT

ARE YOU SERIOUS????

From: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

…you’re that excited to meet me?

To: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

OF COURSE I AM

OH MY GODDDD

WHEN?

From: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

now?

i can meet you at the campus coffee shop in like five minutes?

To: koo ✨

[8:55 AM]

five minutes???

that’s not enough time koo i have to go home and pick out something pretty to wear !!

From: koo ✨

[8:55 AM]

it doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re always beautiful to me

To: koo ✨

[8:56 AM]

you

you think im

b-beautiful

: ’ ))))))))))

From: koo ✨

[8:57 AM]

…

haha see you there!!

To: koo ✨

[8:57 AM]

GET BACK HERE WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS-

You sat on an empty table, fiddling with the tea bag tag which hung over the side of your mug. You had bought Green Tea as an effort to calm yourself down so you weren’t too anxious to meet Koo, but it hadn’t worked because you were impatient and sipped it too soon so now you were sat there nursing a burnt tongue like an idiot.

You knew it was irrational to be self-conscious. He already knew who you were, and seemed to like you, it was just you that was in the dark. You went over the possible people Koo could be, mentally cycling through the boys in your photography class. It was an annoyingly large class, which meant he would be anyone from the guy who smelled like Funyuns to-

Fluffy-haired boy strolled into the coffee shop and you let out an involuntary sigh. He seemed to be cheerful, a smile exposing his bunny teeth and making his cheeks bunch up adorably, with like, five different sets of dimples poked into them. You had never agreed more with the saying that dimples were caused by an angel’s kiss.

Well, at least I’ll have something nice to look at while I wait, you thought, just before all your thoughts suddenly tipped out of your head when you realised he was walking towards your table.

“Is this seat taken?” He grinned, before sliding into the seat across from you.

You whimpered, and his smile grew devastatingly wider.

“Hi,” He breathed, before his gaze flickered down to your mug of tea, clutched so tightly in your hands that you worried the ceramic might shatter. “You didn’t get hot chocolate? I thought you had a sweet tooth?”

“Uhm-” You choked, before forcing yourself to get a grip. How would Koo feel if he walked in here and saw you sitting with another guy? “I’m actually- I’m waiting for someone. Sorry.”

If it was possible — and it certainly seemed to be — the boy’s grin broadened even more, his eyes crinkling into adorable half-moons.

“Is that so? Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” You blurted, before flushing profusely. The boy across from you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the display. “I mean- uhm, I don’t know. Maybe? This is our- this is our first actual meeting.”

“Oh?” The boy tilted his head, “Really? How exciting.”

You hummed in agreement, eyes fixed on your slowly cooling beverage. You raised it to your mouth to take a hesitant sip and- nope, still too hot. You whined quietly, rubbing your sore tongue against the inside of your cheek to try and soothe it.

“Oh, sweets,” The boy murmured across from you, and you were too distracted to notice the nickname. He plucked the mug out of your hands and placed it on the other side of the table, as if he was trying to make sure it couldn’t hurt you anymore. “Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the campus infirmary?”

“Wha- no, it’s okay,” You mumbled, lisping slightly on your burnt tongue and blushing when he cooed over you, “It’s- I’m waiting here for someone, and- I mean, I don’t even know your name-”

“It’s Jungkook,” He interrupted cheekily, deliberately ignoring the rest of your statement, “Some people call me Kookie, and really special people call me… Koo.”

Oh. Oh.

Fuck.

“Really special people?” You asked, your voice small, and not because of the burn.

“Well, people…” Jungkook- Koo paraphrased, tilting his head slightly, “I guess it would be more accurate to say… one really special person.”

“Really?” You breathed, and Jungkook leaned over the table, close enough that you could smell his cologne, the same scent embedded in the fabric of your hoodie- his hoodie.

“The most special person.” He murmured, the fervent emotion packed in each word speaking louder than any increase of volume could.

You had never been anyone’s most special person before, but, as you looked into Jungkook’s chocolate eyes, you started to believe you could almost taste it, sticky sweet on your lips. And when Jungkook eventually, finally coaxed your lips in a gentle kiss, you let him in, and found out that happiness tastes reassuringly honey-sweet.

#bts fanfiction #Yandere bts #soft yandere bts #yandere jungkook #soft yandere jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts scenarios #yandere kpop #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts jungkook imagines #bts Jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook

2K notes · View notes