#this made me wilt. i l word him so much
Text
talk ; bruce wayne.
track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!
pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader
synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.
words ; 6.8k
themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au
warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?
main masterlist.
The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.
After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.
He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.
He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.
Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar.
There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns.
You hated roses.
“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”
His shoulders tensed.
Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain.
“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”
He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.
But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing.
The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.
Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.
“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you.
Rust.
Bruce could smell it everywhere.
“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”
You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back.
You’d been living here this entire time?
When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”
The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.
A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”
Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”
You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”
There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.
After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”
Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.”
“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”
You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”
Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”
“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”
Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.
“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”
He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.
“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”
Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage.
“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”
There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most.
He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end.
This time, you were asking for his help.
And how could he say no to that?
Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?”
Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”
There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”
A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”
Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second.
“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.
Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there.
He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip.
“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”
There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.
“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”
Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”
You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.”
Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.
Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general.
“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”
“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”
Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval.
In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well.
He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.
There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.
“These look awful.”
“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage.
Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie.
But this was real.
Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.
You were real.
As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.
“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.
It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure.
Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place.
You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.
“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”
The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death.
It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.
You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.
“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”
Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”
“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”
Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.
God, you were so beautiful.
It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.
“I’m in,” he said.
You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you.
“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”
There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.
He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.
It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets.
There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars.
You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.
The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between.
The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.
Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.
In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows.
It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.
This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—
Oh.
A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was.
Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare.
Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.
Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.
They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this.
Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.
You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating.
The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.
You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?
Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead.
You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach.
With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.
Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards.
Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel.
That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce.
You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall.
A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt.
Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.
You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.
A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.
But you were too late.
Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere.
Children screaming.
Footsteps thundering.
The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.
Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.
The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.
Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—
Bruce… the children…
Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.
Your head throbbed angrily.
“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”
Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body.
As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down.
Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.
An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again.
“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”
A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil.
The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern.
He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen.
The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind.
Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.
“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.
Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt.
You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”
There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”
You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window.
The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building.
Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car.
Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.
He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.
“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”
You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace.
“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”
The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.
Blinding, blinding, blinding.
And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.
All of a sudden—
It all went dark.
It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave.
Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.
Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open.
Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.
They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry.
A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head.
“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”
“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”
If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”
Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds.
“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”
“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.
His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”
Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.
The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache.
Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine.
He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times.
When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds.
“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”
“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”
A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”
“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”
You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.
“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”
A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”
A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you.
“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook.
This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.
Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second.
“Bru, baby, I—”
“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”
Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you.
“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”
For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes.
He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours.
It’d been three long years since you kissed him.
You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you.
He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more.
As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all.
You were back. You came back to him.
“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips.
“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”
You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.
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A Night on the Town
Summary: Steve and (Y/N)’s first date, as told through the eyes of an extremely nervous ninety-seven year old super-soldier and a lovestruck historical-fiction novelist.
Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings/Disclaimers: None
A/N: Hi guys! Today, we'll be getting a little look at Steve and Booksmart's first date after the Battle of Sokovia but before the last chapter of Age of Ultron, and I'll warn you now that there's so much freaking fluff in this one-shot! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!
A Night on the Town
May 2015
The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C.
(Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)
Ever since taking the super-soldier serum in 1943, Steve Rogers had grown accustom to dangerous battles filled with death-defying stunts and adrenaline-inducing action. He almost never experienced pre-battle jitters and now that he was cementing himself in the twenty-first century alongside a team of other similarly super-powered people, he knew that there was no need to be nervous with his fellow Avengers fighting at his side, no matter if they were battling aliens from the opposite end of space or murderous androids controlled by artificial-intelligence. But as he parked his motorcycle on the street in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house, Steve’s heart pounded in his chest and after switching off the engine, he was forced to wipe his clammy hands off on his dark jeans.
“It’s just a date, Rogers…” He reassured himself, getting off the motorcycle and reaching into the back compartment to retrieve the bouquet of pink roses he’d carefully picked out for (Y/N). “A date with a woman who’s completely and utterly out of your league.” When his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, he nudged the compartment closed and withdrew the device to see who was texting him on his day off, only to heave a sigh when he saw that it was Natasha.
Nat: Go get her, super-soldier 😉
Nat: You’d better give me all the tea tomorrow, or else I’ll decorate your shield with stickers.
Nat: Have fun!
“What the hell does ‘the tea’ mean…?” Steve murmured to himself as he shook his head at the spy’s eccentricities and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He took a moment to make sure that the roses hadn’t begun to wilt on the drive over and when he was satisfied with their appearance, he made his way up the driveway by the familiar yellow Volkswagen Bug and stepped onto the porch; nervously swallowing and wincing at how dry his throat had become, Steve ran a hand through his hair before pressing the doorbell and taking a step back, a smile making its way onto his face despite the anxiety fluttering away in his stomach.
Moments later, the door swung open to reveal (Y/N) and the breath was instantly knocked out of his lungs at the stunning sight. The historical-fiction novelist was dressed in an off-the-shoulder green blouse, short black jean skirt, sheer black tights and dark brown ankle boots, and her (Y/H/C) hair was fixed in the same intricate style she’d worn to the party at the Avengers Tower. Silver hoop earrings and a delicate book-shaped pendant accentuated the graceful slope of her neck, and her subtle touches of makeup brought out the sparkle in her (Y/E/C) eyes. While Steve stared in stunned disbelief, the hints of apprehension written across (Y/N)’s face melted away into a sweet, red-hued smile that he couldn’t help but return tenfold. “Hi, Steve.”
“Hi, (Y/N). You…You look so beautiful.” The historical-fiction novelist mumbled a bashful word of thanks and Steve held the bouquet out for her to take. “These are for you. I, um, I remember you saying in one of your emails that pink roses were your favorite.”
(Y/N) beamed as she accepted the bouquet of roses and took in their sweet-smelling scent. “They’re stunning, Steve, thank you! Let me just put these in some water-”
“I’ve got it, Booksmart.” A smirking Sam appeared at the doorway with his roommate’s purse in his hands, swapping her for the bouquet and giving Steve a look of exaggerated sternness. “Good to see you, Cap. So, you two’ve got a fun night planned; you’re gonna have her home at a respectful time, right?”
“Hi, Sam. I-”
“You don’t have to answer him, Steve, he’s just being a smart-ass.” After flashing Steve a smile, (Y/N) shot her best friend a glare and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night than annoy us, Birdbrain?”
Sam dramatically sighed and shook his head. “Sadly, not all of us are lucky enough to snag a date with a super-soldier, but I might meet up with Nat later and go to that new bar that just opened downtown. You two have fun, but not too much fun!”
They stepped down off the porch and made their way down the driveway to Steve’s motorcycle, and (Y/N) waited until the front door closed behind Sam to heave an exasperated sigh. “He’s a real character, isn’t he?”
“He’s certainly one of a kind, that’s for sure.” They both chuckled as he reached into his bike’s back compartment and withdrew the spare helmet. “I haven’t been out to very many restaurants here in D.C., so I was hoping that you’d know of a good one we can eat at tonight. Whatever you’d like, I’m game.”
(Y/N)’s eyes lit up in excitement as she fastened the helmet’s strap under her chin. “In that case, there’s a great food truck downtown that serves, hands-down, the best Mexican food. How does that sound?”
Steve straddled the motorcycle and waited for the historical-fiction novelist to lower herself onto the seat behind him before switching the engine on. “I’ve never had Mexican food, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”
“Trust me, you’re going to love it!” She exclaimed over the engine’s rumbling, and Steve smiled a little to himself when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. “1560 Wilson Boulevard, you can’t miss it!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve shot her a teasing grin over his shoulder and reveled in the feeling of her arms tightening around him as he peeled away from the curb and sped down the street.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seated side-by-side on a brick planter box a little ways away from Pa’ Tortas El Papi’s bustling food truck, (Y/N) and Steve enjoyed their plates of street tacos and ice-cold Coca-Cola’s and fell into easy conversation as Tejano music played in the foreground and string lights twinkled in the tree branches above. (Y/N) was pleased and a little relieved when Steve told her how delicious their dinner was, knowing how different Mexican food was to the super-soldier’s usual cuisine, and there was a proud grin on her face as she watched him eagerly finish his second plate of tacos and regaled him with stories of her many trips to the food truck with Sam. With Steve, (Y/N) felt completely at ease and all of her worries – about the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, about the legalities surrounding her breached studio contract, about Ultron’s defeat – were put out of her mind by the super-soldier’s comforting and near-addictive presence.
“I like this song,” Steve stated after they’d lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them enjoying the last of their sodas while they people-watched from their secluded planter box. “It has a nice melody.”
“‘Amor Prohibido,’ released as a single in 1994 from the album of the same name and sung by the incomparable Selena Quintanilla…or just Selena, if you prefer, sort of like Beyoncé or Cher. It’s about forbidden love and wanting to be with someone despite everyone else’s misgivings about their relationship.” When (Y/N) glanced up from her empty glass bottle and caught sight of the awestruck expression on the super-soldier’s face, she felt her own face begin to warm in embarrassment and she awkwardly cleared her throat before continuing. “Anyway, it’s a very good song…one of my favorites of hers, actually.”
Steve chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “Sometimes I forget just how knowledgeable you are when it comes to music, and then you go and knock me onto my ass with a pitch-perfect summation of a random song’s background and details. It sounds cliché, but I don’t know any other word to call it other than incredible, (Y/N).” His azure eyes were shining as he spoke, and (Y/N) knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant every word he uttered; her lips curved into a smile before she wordlessly pressed a kiss onto the smooth skin of his cheek and scooted closer to lean her head on his shoulder, smiling even more when she felt his large hand gently wrap itself around hers. “My Spanish is a little rusty, but I’ll bet that there’s a music expert around here that could translate some of it for me.”
“‘Aquí solo importa nuestro amor, te quiero…’” (Y/N) quietly sang along to the impassioned tune and gave Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze as she translated. “‘All that matters here is our love, I love you…’”
Although they’d finally confessed their love for one another just two weeks prior, saying those three simple words aloud again sent a warm tingle throughout (Y/N)’s body, and she was reminded of the super-soldier’s breathtaking grin and the feel of his soft lips caressing hers as they stood in the deserted hangar of the old S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier.
Instead of replying, Steve simply closed his eyes and hummed along to the melody of the song as a light blush dusted over his cheeks, and (Y/N) seized the rare opportunity to study her distracted date; his handsome face was fully free of the guarded expression he’d continuously worn when they first met, making him appear younger and resemble the ninety-five pound man he’d always been before his recruitment into Project Rebirth, and her heart warmed in her chest when she realized her role in helping him open up and slowly but surely join a world that he once believed that he would never belong in. Not many people are lucky enough to see the man behind the shield, (Y/N) thought as she rested her head back on Steve’s shoulder and smiled to herself, but right now I feel like I’m the luckiest person alive.
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“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Doc, uh, are you tellin’ me you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”
“The way I see it, if you’re gonna built a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?”
The auditorium echoed with chuckles of amusement at Doc Brown’s reply and while the time traveling car suddenly blazed its way back onto the screen, Steve bit his lip to hide his disbelief from (Y/N), who was engrossed in the ongoing film right beside him. When he picked a 30th Anniversary screening of Back to the Future for his and (Y/N)’s first date, it hadn’t occurred to him that it was a film revolving around time travel, and the irony of being a man out of time taking his incredibly modern girlfriend to see it was definitely not lost on him. It was a fun film that took a more science-fiction route in regard to the time travel aspect – and as someone who’d gone from 1945 to 2012 in the blink of an eye, it was a nice change of pace seeing someone go from present day to being a fish out of water in the past – but Steve started to feel slightly uncomfortable when the high school-aged George McFly was introduced.
Unsurprisingly, Steve was the furthest thing from popular in high school; he was short, skinny and interested in art and the few girls who’d acknowledge his presence were only interested in fishing for a date with Bucky. The only real difference between him and George McFly was that, despite his abysmal success rate, he always fought back against his bullies instead of cowering from confrontation like George. However, it was George’s infatuation with Lorraine that struck Steve; like him, the high-schooler was hopeless with girls and had a difficult time expressing himself around his crush, something that Steve still struggled with over eighty years later. It had taken nothing short of a world-ending threat for Steve to finally confess his love to (Y/N) and when the adrenaline of the Battle of Sokovia finally wore off, so too did his forwardness.
Bucky always made this sort of thing look so damn easy, Steve silently bemoaned and swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the screen as he contemplated whether or not he should wrap his arm around the historical-fiction novelist’s shoulders. He reached into their shared bucket of popcorn and sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers suddenly brushed against (Y/N)’s; when he looked over at her, she was smiling at him and he felt himself smile back as she tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth that was accompanied by a flirtatious wink and returned her attention back to the screen.
It wasn’t until George and Lorraine’s much-anticipated dance in the school’s decorated gymnasium that Steve found the opportune moment to make his move. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he moved his arm up and slowly lowered it to rest around (Y/N)’s shoulders; he was careful to avoid the bare skin of her shoulder and curl his fingers around the silky material covering her upper arm, but the respectful gesture didn’t stop him from feeling the warmth radiating off of her or detecting the subtle uptick of her heartbeat at his careful touch. Steve’s own breath hitched when the historical-fiction novelist not only scooted closer to his side, but also rested her head on his shoulder; he didn’t bother fighting the smile that stretched across his face as his body relaxed and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, feeling nothing but love for the woman sitting beside him while they both watched George and Lorraine finally share a sweet kiss.
“Earth Angel, Earth Angel, please be mine. My darling dear, love you for all time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon was shining high in the darkened sky when Steve finally took (Y/N) back home. After the movie, they’d spontaneously decided to visit a nearby ice cream parlor and enjoy their frozen treats while strolling around the block arm-in-arm, and it wasn’t until they noticed several bars beginning to close for the night that they realized just how late it was; they were having too much fun eating their ice cream and laughing at (Y/N)’s many attempts to teach Steve how Instagram filters worked, but they were mainly just enjoying spending time in one another’s presence. The rumbling of the super-soldier’s motorcycle ceased when he parked in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house and switched off the engine, and silence settled over the street as he gallantly walked alongside her to the porch.
“I had a lot of fun tonight.” Standing on the porch, (Y/N) gave Steve – who was nearly eye-to-eye with her from where he stood at the base of the steps – a teasing grin. “You sure know how to show a lady a good time, Captain Rogers.”
Steve chuckled at that. “Yeah, well, you’d be the first lady to ever think that; most of Bucky and mine’s double dates usually ended with my date forgetting that I existed and both gals trying to make a move on Buck.”
“I suppose it’s their loss and my gain, then.” While Steve’s cheeks turned pink at her compliment, (Y/N) shrugged off the leather jacket he’d insisted on letting her wear when she started to shiver during their stroll, cringing at the cool night air on her flushed skin but handing the jacket over to him; she took a moment to admire the super-soldier’s muscular physique while he slid his jacket back on and was forced to clear her throat before continuing. “Well, I…I should probably head in; Sam’s probably spying on us as we speak and waiting to interrogate me.”
“I’m sure he’d be at the window if he hadn’t fallen asleep while watching reruns of NCIS.” A teasing smile of his own curved his lips upwards when (Y/N) furrowed her brow in confusion. “Good hearing’s just one of the many side effects of being a super-soldier.”
Sometimes, it was easy for (Y/N) to forget that the man standing before her was Captain America, a bonafide superhero who could lift a ton without breaking a sweat and who miraculously survived being frozen in ice for nearly seventy years. To her, he was just Steve Rogers, a handsome man who strived to learn as much as he could, who had a dry but witty sense of humor and who made her feel well and truly loved. “I meant what I said earlier,” (Y/N) quietly admitted and reached out to hold one of Steve’s hands. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in…well, a pretty long time.”
Steve’s azure eyes softened as he nodded in agreement. “Me too. I wish it didn’t have to end.” When she arched a brow at that, his eyes widened in panic and he stammered out, “T-That’s, um, that’s not what I meant, I wasn’t trying to…not that I don’t want to, you know, but…I swear, I’m not implying that you and I should…” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck and let out an embarrassed groan. “Ninety-seven, and I still can’t talk to a beautiful woman without gettin’ tongue-tied.”
(Y/N) giggled. “That’s true…” Smiling, she brought her free hand up card her fingers through his hair before gently cupping his smooth jaw. “But it’s also one of the many things I love about you.”
Steve gave her a breathtaking grin and leaned forward, his impossibly-long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his soft lips met hers; the gentle and passionate way that Steve kissed her made her feel cherished and while his hand moved to rest on the curve of her waist, she couldn’t help but marvel at how the highly-trained super-soldier’s touch was nothing short of reverential when it came to her. His kisses were addictive and as they finally separated for air, she found herself moving forward to press one last lingering kiss onto his swollen lips before pulling away far enough to meet his hooded gaze. “That was…”
“Scandalous? Inappropriate?” (Y/N) jokingly offered. “Something that would’ve ruined both our reputations in the 1940’s?”
“Incredible.” Steve finished, and the tender gleam that filled his azure eyes as he looked at her caused her own cheeks to flush. “You’re incredible, sunshine.”
That was the first time he’d ever called her something other than her given name, and the added emphasis on the term of affection certainly wasn’t lost on her. In the back of her mind, she resolved to ask him about it one day but in that moment, she all but glowed and bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide her bashful grin. “I know how busy you are with the move to the Avengers’ new facility and the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, so I’m not sure when we’ll be able to go out again but I hope it’s soon.” After Steve nodded in agreement, (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss onto his cheek and with a small pang of reluctance, she pulled away from his arms and finally let go of his hand. “G’night, Steve.”
“’Night, (Y/N).”
They shared one final smile before turning away from one another, (Y/N) to unlock the front door and step inside and Steve to walk down to where he’d parked his motorcycle. She gave him a wave once she saw him sitting astride the bike and stepped into the house, but the brief chime of her cell phone forced her to quickly lock up before checking her unread text messages.
Steve: I don’t think that there’s an adequate enough way to thank you for such a wonderful night, sunshine, but I was hoping I could take you out again tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner and another movie?
While her heart practically burst out of her chest with happiness, (Y/N) typed out a brief but enthusiastic reply and tiptoed into the living room to wake her sleeping roommate, but not before giving the vase of pink roses sitting on the kitchen counter an appraising smile and taking note of the fading rumble of a familiar motorcycle outside.
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A/N: And there we have it! What did you think of their first date?? Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!
Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5
Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist
Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist
Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345@crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovyqueer @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss
#stumblin' in#steve rogers x reader#captain america x reader#captain america fic#steve rogers x f!reader#captain america x f!reader#steve rogers#captain america#sam wilson#falcon#natasha romanoff#black widow#ultron#marvel cinematic universe
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Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader
This is a bit of childhood friends to lovers, lots of pining and just Kuroo being a dork and Kenma, a sneaky little shit. Includes some fluff and initial hurt to comfort.
You freeze, teetering between steps when Tetsu—Kuroo accosts you at your door. You are tired, a bone deep exhaustion clinging to your bones, a little aching and caught off guard by his presence. He sniffles, nose pink from the biting cold or from his tears, the quiet ones that he’s crying.
You withhold a sigh, a scream for help because it is Kuroo, the boy who put band aids on your knees and held your hand through the first day of school, because snow clings to his hair, a snowstorm incoming and he is here, at your doorstep with tear tracks on his cheeks and fury in his eyes, earbuds dangling uselessly from the ipod, where you are sure, he was listening to the playlist you made for him, holding up a letter in your writing, long since opened.
Shit, you thought you’d be gone by then.
You poured so much of yourself onto those pages, long muffled secrets and wistful sighs, long harbored feelings, a final concession before trying to forget, leaving for good.
“Hi love,” he says and you are ten again, a bit broken and battered, moving halfway across the world with your grandparents, an outstretched hand of a boy your age, both of you crying as he chased your bullies away, lips wobbling as he tries so hard to be brave.
“Kuroo?” you clear your throat, suppressing an urge to flee, mouth twisting to a sad shape.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” he asks, pleads really.
You are seventeen again, listening to Kuroo laugh, a wonky little thing, a bit like a dying goat but you would bottle it up if you could, but then your eyes land on the girl on Kuroo’s arm and something in your chest aches.
“What do you think it means?” you ask instead, a watery laugh bubbling from your throat.
He smiles, a tiny little thing, reminded of nights like these, when neither of you could sleep, questions were answered with more questions, sneaking into each other’s bedrooms, the pebbles thrown at windows, the chemistry study sessions, the lazy cuddle nights with Kenma, the midnight train rides and the warmth of terrible decisions.
He is fifteen again, realizing that his best friend had gotten pretty. Sixteen, realizing that he wanted to kiss the said best friend, wanting to throw himself off the tallest building he could find. It was as if he’d never had a crush before, Kenma snickering under his breath about how he was so very fucked.
“It’s not my job to say it chibi,” he says and he is twenty two again, eyes looking for you at the party.
“Kuroo!” your yell pierces the air, hands perched on your hips in the most accusatory kind of way as you stare Kuroo down.
“I’ve just been busy chibi, organizer of the party and all that”
“You haven’t looked at me, Kuroo”
Oh, but he has, and you look so beautiful, black gown that hugged all your curves and revealed unknown stretches of skin and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it. You looked like his, but on Iwaizumi’s arm and fuck it all if he didn’t feel like his heart was a desiccated, dying thing performing the actions of something living.
(Met abroad, studied at the same university, blah blah, bleh. Anyone who tells you he’s been giving Iwaizumi the stink eye throughout the party is nothing but a filthy liar)
“Do you want to dance chibi?” he asks, one tiny want seeping out from the aching places inside his chest.
Your head tilts a fraction, eyes teetering between cautious hope and blinding joy. You let yourself take his hand and learn, for the span of a single evening, what holding Kuroo Tetsurou in your arms felt like.
You wilt, what option did you have but honesty?
“I-I-I,” new tears spring from your eyes at your inability to articulate even the barest of words but you plough through. “I love you— I-I d-don’t know since when, o-or for h-how l-l-long. I’ve done a piss poor job of n-not falling for my best friend b-but it’s always been you, me and you, you and me. W-We have always been an ‘us.’ S-Sorry” the confession slips out of your mouth before you can yank it back and shove it down your throat.
“I am so fucking furious, chibi”
He’s breathing heavily, emotion pouring out from him and your throat feels like it might swell shut.
“I’m so sorry but please don’t cry.” You hear the strain in your voice, self control rapidly dwindling as you barely resist the incessant throb behind your ribs, to just reach out and hold him close, wrap him in a blanket burrito, get him some hot chocolate and beat up anyone who dared to make him cry.
“I’d stop if I could,” he snaps, wiping another stray tear, furious at himself for crying.
“You mean to tell me,” he takes in a measured breath, like a man on the verge of starvation, fighting every impulse to reach for a feast in front of him.
“You mean to tell me that all this time the two of us wasted on pining away after each another, we could’ve been making out?” he shouts.
You bluescreen, a blink and a breath.
Once your brain processes the words, you release the deluge, laughter spilling over as your resistance buckles, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth after so many years of fantasizing the same.
When Kenma takes all the money from the bet your friends seem to have made, Kuroo calling him scheming filthy liar, you laugh coasting over Kuroo’s outraged noises about how could Kenma bet against him, how he’d known you would confess first… Kenma winking at you, mouthing fucking finally, as happiness tints your vision golden.
#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#hq kuroo#kuroo tetsuro imagine#kuroo tetsurō#haikyuu#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu drabbles#kuroo tetsuro x you#kuroo drabble#kuroo fluff#hurt/comfort#fluff#hq fluff#mentions of iwa and kenma#friends to lovers#pining#mutual pining
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Final Exit - Part 5 (Stucky x Reader)
Series Summary: Bucky is injured during a mission. It's up to you and Steve to rescue him, but is it too late?
Category: Angst, fluff
Ship: Steve x Reader x Bucky (Stucky x Reader)
Trigger Warnings: Injury, mentions of death, mentions of drugs, surgery, life-support.
Word Count: 2.2 k
A/N: Y'all I am so sorry this took so long to get out, I had the worst writer's block its honestly shameful.
----------
Steve stood over his lover, the piece he thought he’d lost. He looked so peaceful, so angelic. He could almost convince himself the man beneath him was sleeping, not pumped full of drugs as the case was. It almost made the blond cry, new meaning still too fresh in his mind.
He was sure that whenever the once endearing nickname “angel” now slipped from his lips, salty tears would follow. Somehow, he also knew that the name would never again be be shared between his partners as it used to be. Not out of spite, or hatred or favouritism, but fear.
An intense, unshakable and crippling fear.
The exact emotion that people in your line of work were sidelined for experiencing.
Since news of Bucky’s survival, both you and your partner had remained in a constant state of anxiety. Unable to see him for over 30 hours, prohibited by doctors in case of a sudden change in his condition, the separation was killing you.
And just as you were separated from Bucky, the captain was still yet to make his way back to you completely, a wound he knew, well, he hoped, time would have a hand in healing; he wasn’t certain of much anymore.
With both of your emotions still so raw, and no certainty to comfort the instability, every part of him ached for you, longed to be close to you, as he used to be.
But Bucky…
Captain America was no stranger to emotional turmoil but this was Steve’s biggest battle to date.
An observer would have seen Steve Rogers choosing James Barnes over Y/N L/N, as he spent every moment he was allowed by his brunet partner’s side. But you saw the selflessness in his actions.
You saw his eyes lingering on your fingers intertwining with Bucky’s when you visited, you saw him re-filling your water when you left the room. You saw him waiting until he was in the right place to talk to you about your argument.
Steve saw your insecurities, ‘maybe he does love James more than me.’ He observed the way you held yourself, remaining strong for everyone else under the circumstances, himself included. Meanwhile, the symbol of hope of freedom wilted away, petals falling as offerings at the pedestals of you and Bucky.
The scheduled visits you paid to your partner’s hospital room, ensuring you checked on both him and Steve before leaving were a stark contrast to the hero’s own prolonged sittings, practically glued to the soldier’s side.
A man, a soldier, a fighter, a friend, a lover, a partner, had just narrowly escaped the clutches of death to miraculously return to the living. Truth be told, there was still a chance he would not make it, but each passing hour gave everyone another breath of hope.
—
“Ultimately, it’s your choice.”
Helen Cho spoke softly, as though she was afraid her patient would hear your conversation, through both his medically induced coma and the conference room walls. Still, you appreciated that she sounded as though the conversation was as difficult for her professionally as it was personally.
“If I could interject,” Dr. Banner raised his hand slightly, drawing your attention. As someone with a scientific background and in intimate connection to the situation, you needed his objective opinion to guide you when you were too distraught to think clearly. “There really is no risk involved here.”
“No risk?!” Steve questioned from beside you.
Banner shot him a sympathetic glance, his presence was similarly valued amongst all the chaos. “What I mean is, if he doesn’t have the surgery, the infection will continue to weaken and…kill him again, yes?” You shivered internally as your already chilled blood ran even colder still at the doctor’s confirmation of Bruce’s explanation. “The risk was before he, well…before, was that his body would be unable to handle the heavy sedation and rigorous recovery process. Forgive me for being crude, but it seems now that whether or not he has the surgery, the outcome could be the same.”
You turned to look out of the window at the end of the room. Agents that looked like ants from where you were standing, ran drill after drill along the compound grounds below you. A melancholy ghost of a smile crossed your face as you realised that if it were any other day, it would have been Steve, Bucky and Sam running those drills.
Instead, Natasha and a few S.H.I.E.L.D higher ups stood in their places, giving the trainees more hell than your boys likely would have.
Bruce had a point, the situation couldn’t get any worse. You had already lost him once, so you could go into it more prepared if you had to a second time around. You knew you and Steve wouldn’t survive as a couple but it wasn’t like he was really here with you now anyway. His heart belonged to Bucky, it was born with him and a love like that would be buried with him too.
On the other hand, if Shuri promised you she could do something, as she had over her earlier conference call, rarely, if ever, was that promise broken.
You realised you were making this decision without Bucky- for him, you and Steve. Honestly, you were relieved, because you knew what this meant for him, and the guttural anger and hurt that would rise from your brunet soldier when, if, he awoke.
But if there was even a chance of getting him back…tears blurred your vision and the ants turned to mere dots in a sea of green below you.
“Y/N, Steve,” Bruce tried to reassure you both, “Bucky did the impossible, he came back from the dead. If anyone can survive this surgery it’s him.”
“I wouldn’t be advising you to do this unless I had complete faith in the science and medical team behind it. But we are going to need an answer from both of you. We don’t know how much longer his condition will hold,” Dr Cho spoke, professionalism returning to her voice.
You nodded your approval towards Bruce after a moments tense silence. You reminded yourself to thank him once more for his guidance, and to possibly ask him to help get you into witness protection if the Winter Soldier survived and came after you.
“Do it,” you heard your blond partner utter resolutely, alternate persona taking hold.
You turned, hoping to meet Steve’s eyes; a quiet confirmation you were doing the right thing for the man you both loved.
But a glance at where he had stood, led you to nothing but an empty space.
—-
It was three days later when James Buchanan Barnes opened his eyes again, unaware of how much time had passed, and the events that had transpired since he had last closed his eyes.
But those around him had felt the agonising pain of each passing moment. If not pain for the man himself, then for watching his partners, his lovers, come to terms with what their new life would look like.
The only way to save James Barnes fleeting life, you had been told, was to remove the diseased tissue, the source of the infection - Bucky’s only flesh arm, from the shoulder.
You knew once he awoke, he would be temporarily devastated. Mentally, you and Steve would lose him all over again.
However, his pain be somewhat more bearable, you hoped, thanks to Shuri’s magic touch.
It was during this three day period, that your other partner slipped into bed beside you ritualistically, as though he had been there all his life.
You would spent the rest of your life thanking Bruce Banner, you feared. His knowing smile upon seeing the pair of you together once more revealed his hand in the gesture. It felt like your heart was finally starting to piece itself back together again.
That was when you had the idea.
“I want him in here with us, Stevie. If he’s stable, I want him to stay here. I want him home.”
After some convincing and heavy monitoring set-up, Dr. Cho left the soldier where he belonged, in the arms of his partners. After all, he was still in the compound, just a different room.
The first time James re-opened his eyes, he knew he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in heaven, he just couldn’t be. All it took was the familiar scent of your perfume and feel of fresh linen Steve insisted on pressing, for Bucky Barnes to realise he was home.
He had made it to three days post surgery, his chances were looking optimistically good, and both you and Steve wanted your partner where you could still reach out for him at night.
---
The new arm was vibranium, like the first replacement. The super soldier’s body and the serum inhabiting it, was less likely to reject the material that way, Drs Cho and Banner informed him, as he lay in his bed like a fucking vegetable.
They were weening him off of the anaesthetic and codeine cocktail they had been keeping him on, and his body was yet to catch up to his brain it seemed.
Bucky quickly realised that he’d zoned out of about half of the conversation.
“But there have been some improvements compared to the other model.” But that got his attention real fast.
Millions of receptors along the length of the vibranium acted in much the same way as nerves in the skin. He would be able to feel everything.
Since the loss of his left arm, James’ most heartbreaking obstacle with his replacement was the lack of sensitivity.
He had basic sense when it came it touch, but fine material such as rice through the palm or yours or Steve’s soft hair through his fingers, that was something he lacked.
It drove him crazy every now and again, and was usually a contributing factor to the beginning of a spiral regarding of his own life; what he had lost and what he used to be.
But there was a price to pay too. The super soldier would still feel pain in that arm during missions; something you firmly believed he had seen more than enough of for the two, now three lifetimes he had lived.
Shuri assured you that in time, once he became used to the overstimulation from his new limb, she would be able to update the left limb to match right one.
Almost every person that saw him wore a bullshit smile, as though that would somehow fuel his recovery. Bucky saw right through them, and as people talked down to him as though he was a child, all he wanted to do was grab them by the throat and drag them down to his level.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
He barely had the strength to stand up on his own, or tolerance to stay awake, preferring sleeping as an alternative to a limited supply of pain medications that could send his already fragile body into some form of arrest.
So James smiled the same smile back, with the hopes that they got the hint to fuck off.
He heard things during these visits, things he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.
Doctors hushed whispers to Tony about medical clearance and when he would be fit for active duty. Conversations between you and Steve when you thought no one else could hear.
Hushed voices in the darkness.
Bucky heard almost every one of them, his anger sobering into something much more desolate.
“I need him to be okay this time, Steve. Because I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not.”
His girl. All he wanted to do was to hold you, pull you back into his orbit and realign the three of your lives into one. Permanently he hoped.
---
Both you and the your blond counterpart had him wrapped between you that night. He couldn’t even remember how the comment pierced the silence, but it didn’t nonetheless.
“I saw a light,” the brunet started, and felt your holds on him stiffen, “I came back for you, doll. Couldn't leave you two here with all the stupid.”
The captain chuckled tearily and Bucky was aware of a larger hand squeezing his own, he actually felt it.
As the two were temporarily lost the safety of each other’s embrace, you looked at both of your boys, a weight lifted at seeing Steve slowly returning to himself.
You vowed to never let yourself forget how grateful you felt in that moment.
Unbeknownst to you and Steve, Bucky made a vow of his own in that moment. The soldier had often experienced phantom limb syndrome and he was certain he would again now.
But the greatest heartbreak James Barnes had ever felt, was waking from a dream time and time again; his calloused thumb twisting cool metal so delicately against the flesh of his ring finger, only to realise that it was not this reality he was seeing before him.
Bucky would be able to feel his wedding ring on his finger, and slip matching ones onto the hands of the two people who had saved him in every life he had lived, who he loved more than anything.
A confession of his love and unity, his vow to you both.
----------
Okay I swear there's one more part and it will be out quicker than this last update was!
Taglist:
@maryam0831
@royalwolfimports
@pono-pura-vida
@scarlettflame19
#angst#avengers#steve rogers#americas ass#avengers x y/n#actors#celebrities#books & libraries#avengers x reader#avengers imagine#the avengers#avengers fic rec#avengers fic#avengers fanfiction#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x bucky barnes#avengers assemble#captain america#stucky x y/n#stucky x you#stucky x reader#stucky#steve x bucky#bucky barns x you#bucky barns x reader#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x y/n#bucky x you
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Hi, Bright!
Been really stressed after my first night babysitting, [probably gonna cry myself to sleep after submitting this] but may I request either Itward or Forest God AU Wally comforting their stressed fem! S/O who feels really guilty bc she went to go fix the baby's bottle and the baby fell and hit thier head, and even though it's supposedly really common she still feels really guilty and even admits that she feels like she's not cut out to take care of a baby?
I would appreciate the comfort so much, friend. Thank you ♡
A/N: Don’t worry babes I got you and understand how you feel when you first started babysitting my first time was an absolute NIGHTMARE so don’t worry I got your back!
Pairings: Wally X F!Reader
Warnings: None
A sound fo shock escaped your lips as you reached a hand out to grab the child with a vine growing from the ground but to late to see the child falling from their diaper station making you freak out rushing over to the child.
A look of worry spread your face as you shushed the child it was your first time looking after a child and it was difficult since you had no experience. The sound of the ground shaking and tree’s shaking a bit frightened the child more but you let out a small sigh holding the baby close, You planted kisses in the babies face rubbing it’s sore spot growing a flower from your palms tickling the baby’s nose with it while the baby sneezed giggling trying to hold the flower. The ground no longer shook and small plants bloomed around the cabin You lived in.
Later on You left to go to the front porch with a frown and small tears growing even though the child was now asleep you couldn’t help but be guilty about it. You raised a hand to grow some flowers to make a flower crown busy worrying about your small mistake of looking away just for a moment to grab something and the young baby falling.
The sound of a familiar hum made you look up quickly to see your lover “Oh? Are you alright Darling” Wally said with small wide eyes as he walked over to you “No” You sniffed covering your face dropping the flower crown you were currently making falling to the grass wilting along with the grass “Wally” You said your lover tiptoeing to cup your face while you sighed making yourself a tiny bit shorter for the puppet to hold your face in his soft hands “I’m here to listen darling” He whispered sitting down infront of you with the same half lidded eyes and smile.
You looked at him with worry “Are you sure” He nodded a tired smile reaching your face as you hugged him “I went to go fix the baby her bottle for her bedtime, and she fell off the bed face first” Y/n said gripping Wally’s coat “Turns out it's common for babies to do that, but I still felt so guilty because for one I accidentally hurt the baby and wasn't there to watch her and two, she just wouldn't stop crying and it was stressing me out until I made a flower bloom I was worried and I even forgot how to change a baby's diaper- But thank god she's asleep now....l just” Wally rubbed your back while his other hand was holding you the best he could die to the fact you were bigger than him.
Wally smiled at you with closed eyes his hair booping when he nodded “You're just new to job.. You were never taught this was gonna happen and you have to give yourself a chance since you're trying your best as it is. Please don't blame yourself, You're doing fine with the baby, okay. Once again I’m telling you you're still new to the job So don't blame yourself for anything. It wasn't your fault and you were just doing your job even if you weren't right there and you couldn't prevent it since you weren't told before that it could happen but it was by accident you did your best for the first time.” you couldn’t help but tear up at his words “I will help out if you would like” Wally offered while you shook your head “You need to visit Barnaby” “He would understand” a shaky laugh escaped your lips while you pressed a kiss on his forehead “Thank you wally” “No problem my wonderful goddess” You couldn’t help but laugh with a small blush glowing on your cheeks “What it’s true” he said while he smiled at you with a loving gaze.
He gripped your hand “Tomorrow we can go to the forest and have a picnic and you can show me all about the plants you grow and can control” A Sound of joy coming from you made Wally smile while you clapped your hands nodding “I can’t wait to tell you about insects mainly butterflies! Frank and I have been trying to see if Howdy would ever become a butterfly soon” You started before pausing and blushing when noticing your rambling and Wally kissed your hand holding a cat like smile like always.
#fluff#x reader#welcome home#Wally darling#wally darling x y/n#welcome home wally#wassup#babysitting#forest goddess
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hi joonie :) i just decided to randomly drop in your letter box, but take your time to reply to this okay? … let’s see, how do i start this … i’m not too sure yet either but 🙏🏻 bear with me as this is my first time writing something like this 🥹 anyway … when i first ended up meeting you, something told me that you weren’t supposed to be a normal person i’d meet everyday ( that sounds so weird but, i hope you know what i mean?? ) like cmon, you wouldn’t let a random girl be your cat mom, right? but the more we hung out and i saw how happy you were with milo, i just ??? your smile makes me so happy … seeing you happy makes me even more happier than i already was. you’re also the sweetest person :( you treat milo like he’s your son ( … well he is but !! ) and it’s just so cute :( i wanted to tell you i liked you first but well— you beat me to it 🙁 and i guess i was just nervous because i never thought you’d like me back because of well … jamal 😁😁 but … when you told me that you did i smiled really big for the first time in a while, so i thank you a lot for that <3 thank you for letting me love you like this and i’ll love you with my all okay? when i get better from my cold ( this is brutal i swear ??? ) let’s make cookies together and i’ll let you open a few albums i got for you 🤍 — your miso to your kimchi ( … you gotta tell me you know what i mean ), 해찬 ‹3
i L word you too ): it’s … no i get exactly what you mean ( even though your wording was a little weird .. 😭 ) like. do you ever feel like you’re destined to be pushed a certain way even when you don’t see it ? because i do. it’s like … getting to know someone you didn’t see in a certain light because you were to preoccupied with other people, and then learning that you have so much more in common than you did with the others ? it’s so surreal because these feelings came out of nowhere and — i didn’t know how to react around you because i just ,, you just started making me nervous !! and .. well .. i think that’s why i did tell you that i liked you first because i thought it would have been easier if i told you and you could have rejected me if you didn’t feel the same 🥲 because it would been like ‘okay i least i said my piece.’ and i think it would have wilted and it would have hurt, but i would have been okay with it.
i think my feelings towards ‘jamal’ ( 💀 ) were ( and still kind of are ) a bit superficial ? because it was mostly ‘oh my god here’s this really good looking guy and he’s kind of interesting’ and nothing really beyond that. ( that sounds mean but i mean that in the pursuing a romantic relationship way 😭 ) but then when it came to you … it was more ‘this is a friend, and i like seeing him happy, and i like being the cause of his happiness’ and the feelings just … kept growing stronger the more time i spent with milo, and by extension … the more time i spent with you. you were so easy to be around and i think that’s what caught me off guard, you know ? there wasn’t … a barrier, with you. you made it easy from the start.
so you when you thank me .. i have to thank you back because this is only possible with you ^_^ thank you for giving me a chance and for letting me get to know you. i want to know more and i’ll love you with my all too !! ( don’t stress yourself out too much okay :( just focus on getting better ! me and milo will be there to keep you company <3 ) i cant wait to make core memories with you .. signed albums and cookies or not, — your kimchi to your miso, 주니 🤍
#u are the cutest thing inswesrjrueh 😞😞🤏🏻🤏🏻🤏🏻#i almost didn’t answer this bc i wanted to keep it but#u deserve a letter back#!!)3)3!2)33)3!3 <322#◟𖥻 해 ៸៸ ♡̶
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OBEY THE VOICE OF THE LORD -- KJV (King James Version) Bible Verse List
King James Version Bible verse list compiled by Bill Kochman concerning the topic "Obey the Voice of the Lord". Visit my page at https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/ to see all the lists I've compiled to date. Thanks!
"Again, he limiteth a certain day, saying in David, To day, after so long a time; as it is said, To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts."
Hebrews 4:7, KJV
"See that ye refuse not him that speaketh. For if they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away from him that speaketh from heaven: Whose voice then shook the earth: but now he hath promised, saying, Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also heaven. And this word, Yet once more, signifieth the removing of those things that are shaken, as of things that are made, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain. Wherefore we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear: For our God is a consuming fire."
Hebrews 12:25-29, KJV
"And [Moses] said, If thou wilt diligently hearken to the voice of the LORD thy God, and wilt do that which is right in his sight, and wilt give ear to his commandments, and keep all his statutes, I will put none of these diseases upon thee, which I have brought upon the Egyptians: for I am the LORD that healeth thee."
Exodus 15:26, KJV
"And it shall be, if thou do at all forget the LORD thy God, and walk after other gods, and serve them, and worship them, I testify against you this day that ye shall surely perish. As the nations which the LORD destroyeth before your face, so shall ye perish; because ye would not be obedient unto the voice of the LORD your God."
Deuteronomy 8:19-20, KJV
"And Moses and the priests the Levites spake unto all Israel, saying, Take heed, and hearken, O Israel; this day thou art become the people of the LORD thy God. Thou shalt therefore obey the voice of the LORD thy God, and do his commandments and his statutes, which I command thee this day.
Deuteronomy 27:9-10, KJV
"And it shall come to pass, if thou shalt hearken diligently unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to observe and to do all his commandments which I command thee this day, that the LORD thy God will set thee on high above all nations of the earth: And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God . . . But it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to observe to do all his commandments and his statutes which I command thee this day; that all these curses shall come upon thee, and overtake thee: Cursed shalt thou be in the city, and cursed shalt thou be in the field. Cursed shall be thy basket and thy store. Cursed shall be the fruit of thy body, and the fruit of thy land, the increase of thy kine, and the flocks of thy sheep. Cursed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursed shalt thou be when thou goest out. The LORD shall send upon thee cursing, vexation, and rebuke, in all that thou settest thine hand unto for to do, until thou be destroyed, and until thou perish quickly; because of the wickedness of thy doings, whereby thou hast forsaken me . . . Moreover all these curses shall come upon thee, and shall pursue thee, and overtake thee, till thou be destroyed; because thou hearkenedst not unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to keep his commandments and his statutes which he commanded thee: And they shall be upon thee for a sign and for a wonder, and upon thy seed for ever."
Deuteronomy 28:1-2, 15-20, 45-46, KJV
"For the children of Israel walked forty years in the wilderness, till all the people that were men of war, which came out of Egypt, were consumed, because they obeyed not the voice of the LORD: unto whom the LORD sware that he would not shew them the land, which
the LORD sware unto their fathers that he would give us, a land that floweth with milk and honey."
Joshua 5:6, KJV
"If ye will fear the LORD, and serve him, and obey his voice, and not rebel against the commandment of the LORD, then shall both ye and also the king that reigneth over you continue following the LORD your God: But if ye will not obey the voice of the LORD, but rebel against the commandment of the LORD, then shall the hand of the LORD be against you, as it was against your fathers."
1 Samuel 12:14-15, KJV
"And Samuel said, Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams."
1 Samuel 15:22, KJV
"And the king of Assyria did carry away Israel unto Assyria, and put them in Halah and in Habor by the river of Gozan, and in the cities of the Medes: Because they obeyed not the voice of the LORD their God, but transgressed his covenant, and all that Moses the servant of the LORD commanded, and would not hear them, nor do them."
2 Kings 18:11-12, KJV
"But they and our fathers dealt proudly, and hardened their necks, and hearkened not to thy commandments, And refused to obey, neither were mindful of thy wonders that thou didst among them; but hardened their necks, and in their rebellion appointed a captain to return to their bondage: but thou art a God ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and forsookest them not . . . Nevertheless they were disobedient, and rebelled against thee, and cast thy law behind their backs, and slew thy prophets which testified against them to turn them to thee, and they wrought great provocations. Therefore thou deliveredst them into the hand of their enemies, who vexed them: and in the time of their trouble, when they cried unto thee, thou heardest them from heaven; and according to thy manifold mercies thou gavest them saviours, who saved them out of the hand of their enemies. But after they had rest, they did evil again before thee: therefore leftest thou them in the hand of their enemies, so that they had the dominion over them: yet when they returned, and cried unto thee, thou heardest them from heaven; and many times didst thou deliver them according to thy mercies; And testifiedst against them, that thou mightest bring them again unto thy law: yet they dealt proudly, and hearkened not unto thy commandments, but sinned against thy judgments, (which if a man do, he shall live in them;) and withdrew the shoulder, and hardened their neck, and would not hear."
Nehemiah 9:16-17, 26-29, KJV
"Yea, they despised the pleasant land, they believed not his word: But murmured in their tents, and hearkened not unto the voice of the LORD. Therefore he lifted up his hand against them, to overthrow them in the wilderness: To overthrow their seed also among the nations, and to scatter them in the lands."
Psalm 106:24-27, KJV
"We lie down in our shame, and our confusion covereth us: for we have sinned against the LORD our God, we and our fathers, from our youth even unto this day, and have not obeyed the voice of the LORD our God."
Jeremiah 3:25, KJV
"Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Put your burnt offerings unto your sacrifices, and eat flesh. For I spake not unto your fathers, nor commanded them in the day that I brought them out of the land of Egypt, concerning burnt offerings or sacrifices: But this thing commanded I them, saying, Obey my voice, and I will be your God, and ye shall be my people: and walk ye in all the ways that I have commanded you, that it may be well unto you. But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear, but walked in the counsels and in the imagination of their evil heart, and went backward, and not forward. Since the day that your fathers came forth out of the land of Egypt unto this day I have even sent unto you all my servants the prophets, daily rising
up early and sending them: Yet they hearkened not unto me, nor inclined their ear, but hardened their neck: they did worse than their fathers. Therefore thou shalt speak all these words unto them; but they will not hearken to thee: thou shalt also call unto them; but they will not answer thee. But thou shalt say unto them, This is a nation that obeyeth not the voice of the LORD their God, nor receiveth correction: truth is perished, and is cut off from their mouth."
Jeremiah 7:21-28, KJV
"Which I commanded your fathers in the day that I brought them forth out of the land of Egypt, from the iron furnace, saying, Obey my voice, and do them, according to all which I command you: so shall ye be my people, and I will be your God:"
Jeremiah 11:4, KJV
"Then spake Jeremiah unto all the princes and to all the people, saying, The LORD sent me to prophesy against this house and against this city all the words that ye have heard. Therefore now amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the LORD your God; and the LORD will repent him of the evil that he hath pronounced against you."
Jeremiah 26:12-13, KJV
"Then came the word of the LORD unto Jeremiah, saying, Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Go and tell the men of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, Will ye not receive instruction to hearken to my words? saith the LORD. The words of Jonadab the son of Rechab, that he commanded his sons not to drink wine, are performed; for unto this day they drink none, but obey their father’s commandment: notwithstanding I have spoken unto you, rising early and speaking; but ye hearkened not unto me. I have sent also unto you all my servants the prophets, rising up early and sending them, saying, Return ye now every man from his evil way, and amend your doings, and go not after other gods to serve them, and ye shall dwell in the land which I have given to you and to your fathers: but ye have not inclined your ear, nor hearkened unto me. Because the sons of Jonadab the son of Rechab have performed the commandment of their father, which he commanded them; but this people hath not hearkened unto me: Therefore thus saith the LORD God of hosts, the God of Israel; Behold, I will bring upon Judah and upon all the inhabitants of Jerusalem all the evil that I have pronounced against them: because I have spoken unto them, but they have not heard; and I have called unto them, but they have not answered."
Jeremiah 35:12-17, KJV
"The word that came to Jeremiah concerning all the Jews which dwell in the land of Egypt, which dwell at Migdol, and at Tahpanhes, and at Noph, and in the country of Pathros, saying, Thus saith the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel; Ye have seen all the evil that I have brought upon Jerusalem, and upon all the cities of Judah; and, behold, this day they are a desolation, and no man dwelleth therein, Because of their wickedness which they have committed to provoke me to anger, in that they went to burn incense, and to serve other gods, whom they knew not, neither they, ye, nor your fathers. Howbeit I sent unto you all my servants the prophets, rising early and sending them, saying, Oh, do not this abominable thing that I hate. But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear to turn from their wickedness, to burn no incense unto other gods. Wherefore my fury and mine anger was poured forth, and was kindled in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem; and they are wasted and desolate, as at this day . . . Then Jeremiah said unto all the people, to the men, and to the women, and to all the people which had given him that answer, saying, The incense that ye burned in the cities of Judah, and in the streets of Jerusalem, ye, and your fathers, your kings, and your princes, and the people of the land, did not the LORD remember them, and came it not into his mind? So that the LORD could no longer bear, because of the evil of your doings, and because of the abominations which ye
have committed; therefore is your land a desolation, and an astonishment, and a curse, without an inhabitant, as at this day. Because ye have burned incense, and because ye have sinned against the LORD, and have not obeyed the voice of the LORD, nor walked in his law, nor in his statutes, nor in his testimonies; therefore this evil is happened unto you, as at this day."
Jeremiah 44:1-6, 20-23, KJV
"And I prayed unto the LORD my God, and made my confession, and said, O Lord, the great and dreadful God, keeping the covenant and mercy to them that love him, and to them that keep his commandments; We have sinned, and have committed iniquity, and have done wickedly, and have rebelled, even by departing from thy precepts and from thy judgments: Neither have we hearkened unto thy servants the prophets, which spake in thy name to our kings, our princes, and our fathers, and to all the people of the land. O Lord, righteousness belongeth unto thee, but unto us confusion of faces, as at this day; to the men of Judah, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and unto all Israel, that are near, and that are far off, through all the countries whither thou hast driven them, because of their trespass that they have trespassed against thee. O Lord, to us belongeth confusion of face, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee. To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him; Neither have we obeyed the voice of the LORD our God, to walk in his laws, which he set before us by his servants the prophets. Yea, all Israel have transgressed thy law, even by departing, that they might not obey thy voice; therefore the curse is poured upon us, and the oath that is written in the law of Moses the servant of God, because we have sinned against him. And he hath confirmed his words, which he spake against us, and against our judges that judged us, by bringing upon us a great evil: for under the whole heaven hath not been done as hath been done upon Jerusalem. As it is written in the law of Moses, all this evil is come upon us: yet made we not our prayer before the LORD our God, that we might turn from our iniquities, and understand thy truth. Therefore hath the LORD watched upon the evil, and brought it upon us: for the LORD our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth: for we obeyed not his voice."
Daniel 9:4-14, KJV
If you would like more info regarding the origin of these KJV Bible verse lists, go to https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/. Thank-you!
https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/obey-the-voice-of-the-lord-kjv-king-james-version-bible-verse-list/?feed_id=25116&_unique_id=63d188c530b27&OBEY%20THE%20VOICE%20OF%20THE%20LORD%20--%20KJV%20%28King%20James%20Version%29%20Bible%20Verse%20List
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MY GOD I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA I JUST REMEMBERED THE STREAMER AU THING
like i imagine playing a horror game and you're playing at night or while it's dark to get into the Mood easier and josh comes in to bring you your coffee and snacks cuz he knows you'll be staying up for a while and you know you brought yourself into this but ... you're scared so you ask him to stay and he's about to tease you but then he sees that you look genuinely nervous so he agrees to stay 🥺 AND HE HOLDS YOUR HAND THE ENTIRE TIMEEEEEE
and regardless of whether he's in frame or not he has a very comforting presence and he gives off commentary and light teases here and there to brighten up the atmosphere and comfort you ... and when there's smth that scares you he'd gladly let you hold onto him (and when you're too scared to move in the game he's willing to do it for you bc he is Good boyfriend)
- ❄
MELTING..... im melting :(((((((((((((((( and i know josh is basically fearless (did yall see him in the ego gose? he was going full horror protag.) so he would be such a good companion when you play scary games. and he thinks its cute when you try to act tough in front of your audience but you can't help but grab onto him or look his way when you're scared. just little reminders that yes, you Are tough but he's also your rock.
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𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 || 𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐢
fandom || haikyuu
pairings || tsukishima kei x reader
gender || fem!reader
request || anon said: Hi! Do you think I could get a scenario where fem reader has a crush on And is friends with him but doesn’t confess because she feels like she’s too loud and annoying? And then she ends up confessing on accident and tries running away but then gets caught by Tsukki? I love him so much but my extroverted self gets carried away 😭😭 [from fae: that's super cute, sure thing !! i'm a bit of an extrovert too, so dw, we love you !! btw, my friend said tsukki should catch y/n with a fishing rod and you're damn lucky that's not in the final plot lmao]
warnings // disclaimers || swearing, bit of angst, tsukki is a bitch, y/n's a little insecure but aren't we all
word count || 1.2k
taglist || @crystal-lilac , @kenmaslov3r [you can send me an ask or dm to be added !!]
Y/L/N Y/N SWORE SHE DIDN'T mean to be so 'annoying' all the time. It was in her very nature to be enthusiastic, and she showed her affection loudly as a default reaction.
But she always, always, no matter how much she pulled back, ended up annoying the one person she didn't want to.
Tsukishima Kei, though he was easily the smartest person in their whole class, was a quiet introvert with a hell of a scathing tongue when it came to it - quick to deliver insults and just as quick to shut right back up after them. He also happened to have an insanely handsome smirk, and Y/N found it unfairly attractive the way he would push his glasses up his nose with two fingers and then run a hand through his sandy hair whilst making some (probably rude comment).
And, if there was one person was the polar opposite of extroverted, energetic, Y/N, it was Tsukishima.
Somehow, they had become friends against all laws of society, but the girl often found herself noticing just how precarious their relationship was. Filled with her loud jokes and his quickly-made retorts, the things he said were often bordering on mean.
Yet, Y/N still found herself falling for her friend, but the situation was ... complicated.
She wanted desperately to confess and get it out of the way, but she was afraid of how Tsukishima would react: how he would tell her she was too loud, too annoying, to even be worthy of his attention.
His favourite words to her were 'shut up' after all.
Every time she cracked a joke, or made a teasing comment, he would do the same thing: roll his hazel eyes, push his glasses up his nose with his middle and ring fingers, and say "Shut up, Y/L/N," in the most bored tone possible.
Y/N began to wilt at the words.
Our friendship feels like it's crumbling, or poisoning me.
Still, she found herself unable to stifle her infectious bursts of energy, and feared making him grow increasingly annoyed at her until she became just another Hinata to him.
Meanwhile, Tsukishima was beating himself up on the daily for the way he was talking to Y/N. It was his very nature to be blunt, and the poor guy really had no clue on how to speak to anyone, let alone an enthusiastic, pretty girl who was constantly by his side.
Shut up, he said.
Stop talking and kiss me, maybe, he meant.
It was a stupid thought, but one brought on by spending months in her presence - months of seeing her stupid smile and hearing her stupid laugh on the daily, and hating himself for hoping for the impossible.
Tsukishima had never been one to hope.
He instead, infused all his feeling into those two short words, shut up, but they never came out with affection. He instead flashed through immediate guilt as Y/N lowered her head, not making another joke or touching him for the next few minutes.
Goddamnit.
Y/N was beginning to wonder if it was even worth liking Tsukishima at all. There was obviously no hope for requited affection, and didn't even know if they were friends anymore.
"H-hey, Tsukishima," she asked him after class, her mind having been filled with doubtful thoughts all day. "Are we still friends?"
He gave her a look that practically screamed dumbass over his thin glasses. "What makes you think we're not?"
Y/N kept her tone as light and cheerful as it normally was, but a little bit of doubt had been seeping into her voice. "I just- I don't know, sorry. Do you want me to stop talking to you all the time?"
"Well, I just-" Tsukishima gave an evident sigh, pushing his glasses up his nose and pulling back to give a more measured response. "Why do you even hang out with me? We're nothing alike."
A flash of hurt stung Y/N to the core, and she again wondered what she even saw in him. The question provoked her to the point where she lost her filter, and before she could stop herself, she was replying, "I don't know, maybe it's because you're hot."
She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, cursing herself for always being so damn loud and talkative, not even stopping to see the look on Tsukishima's face as she sprinted from the room, her breath coming short in horrified gasps.
Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck ...
Y/N barely made it twenty steps from the classroom, the school's halls empty enough given they'd stayed ten minutes after the end of classes, before a hand latched onto her wrist and forced her to spin around. She already knew who had caught her, and turned with an embarrassed flush, but she didn't expect what came next.
Tsukishima advanced towards her a couple steps, her momentum sending her back colliding painfully with the concrete wall, and, before she had the chance to react, she was caged between his forearms, both resting beside her head as he leaned stupidly close, his back arched just enough to bring their faces level.
"Hmm?"
The sound was a little more than a hum from his lips as he inched forwards just the slightest amount, his smirk never faltering in a way that made her heart race.
"What did you say?"
Somehow, he'd performed a full one-eighty from the boy constantly hushing her, and Y/N's ridiculous extroversion was helpless against that look.
"You're hot," she repeated. "I like you."
Tsukishima gave a huff of a laugh, like he almost couldn't believe it, before narrowing the distance between them so greatly that their noses were brushing in a burning point of contact, Y/N's eyes wide, wide open.
"Hey, Y/L/N?" he smirked, the words a warm, pleasant breath upon her skin. "Shut up."
Finally, finally, their lips met, not that there'd been that much distance between them, and Y/N closed her eyes, pressing forwards to wrap her arms around Tsukishima somewhere, anywhere, just to deepen the joyous flips in her stomach as he showed feeling. For her.
Finally, finally, they separated, the tall boy leaning back and towering above her, his arms back at his sides rather than trapping her against the wall. A sudden spark of damn, I like being annoying, flashed through Y/N, and she took opportunity of the hazy, distracted satisfaction in Tsukishima's eyes to leap forwards, spinning around so that he was suddenly the one caught.
After all, their dynamic had always been just slightly tipped in her favour.
"You're cute," he replied, his cheeks practically burning with red as a little bit of shyness reclaimed him.
"Yeah, sure, that's what you've been saying," she teased, nevertheless leaning in again, on her tiptoes this time.
"Oh, shut up."
࿐ 𝐟𝐚𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 !!
#raspberry sorbet#order for: anon#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu angst to fluff#haikyuu oneshots#tsukishima#tsukishima kei#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima kei x reader#tsukishima fluff#tsukishima kei fluff#karasuno#karasuno x reader#fae's sorbet
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Memento Mei | knj
Memento Mei | Recordatio — Soulmate! AU
— Remembering, to you, meant carrying a great deal of sorrows, but in spite of it all, you will do what you have long sworn to do—never forget.
Word Count: 10,168 (woAH ik)
Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader
Content/s: FLUFF, drAMa, ANGST, romance, pining, slow burn?? joon is one patient man OwO, flower language, NAMJOONING with NAMJOON h i m s e l f, NAMJOON IS A SWEETHEART, mrs (L/N) ships you two on hARD MODE, past lives both cute and tragic lol, historical inaccuracies with the past lives bc i may like history but my braincells were fizzing out, Soulmate AU, Reincarnation AU
[masterlist] | Part of the [Recordatio Series]
A/N: hi hello this is me channeling my grief of not being able to make it to the concert 😭😭😭 (to those of you who did i hope you guys have fun aND GIVE THE BOYS L O T S OF LOVE YALL 💞💕💞💕💗 ) this certainly took longer than expected but AyEeEE I L O V E this oneee bc I, too, am a slut for dramatics, soulmates, and the flower language ;((( This one got A LOT longer than anticipated too like AAAA and I know the implications of the synopsis and moodboard have made this a little predictable but shHHHHH enjoy reaDING THIS!!!
As the morning breeze blew against his wool coat, Namjoon clutched the bouquet tighter in his hold. Occupied by interviews, practices, and deadlines, it had been months since he had managed to have a chance to visit his past incarnation’s grave at the cemetery. The last flowers must be wilting away by now, he thinks to himself, looking at the fresh ones in his hand. Hope these last longer.
The idol then adjusts the mask on his face to further secure himself from being discovered. Many have raised their brows at the news of his self-established practice, and he’s sure the press would have a field day if they were to find him walking around a quaint cemetery.
It was an odd custom to follow, that’s true—a lot wouldn’t really go on to seek out their past lives that much—but it had been one he decided to keep a few years back, especially since the circumstances allowed him to do so. It was for old time’s sake, after all, and with his tendency to not remember the entirety of the myriad lives he had lived, the sentiments couldn’t be helped.
His feet began to lead him naturally to where he had discovered his grave to be—a cobblestone settled somewhere a little further in. In the midst of his walk, Namjoon recalls the words written onto the slab.
Ahn Jungnam
1951 - 1994
Beloved teacher, father & husband
His last life was a bland plaster wall compared to the vibrant graffiti that is his current lifetime. He had been a humble college professor then, who worked hard to provide for a family he dearly loved. The most excitement he would’ve gotten out of the week was having to entertain his son on a free day. His life was simple and peaceful, though he had lost a battle against cancer in his later years.
That very touch of serenity calms him sometimes, makes him feel ordinary for even just a fleeting second.
Soon, however, the tall man’s steps slowed to a halt as he caught sight of a young woman from afar. She was clad in a tan trench coat, kneeling in front of the very grave he frequented. The cogs in his head began turning as he lost sense of reality whilst thinking to himself.
Is she the one who’s been leaving the other bouquets since last month?
It was most likely so, Namjoon decided. Judging by the flowers the young woman has with her now, Namjoon concluded that it’s the same flowers that he came across before. It’s always the same bouquet of red and purple flowers—different from the white roses that he would occasionally see rotting amidst the grass and stone slab.
But who is she then? Is she my past life’s granddaughter?
His brows furrowed, however, when he remembered the birth of his grandchild, just a few months shy from his previous death. No, that can’t be. I had a grandson. She can’t possibly be a distant relative. No one else really visits his grave as diligently as he does.
As Namjoon whips up a storm of questions in his head, his heart starts racing. His palms began sweating. It only got worse as he noticed the woman pack her things and stand up to leave.
All too suddenly, it felt like the world was on a timer, and his mind was reeling at the thought of the consequences he has yet to know but still dreads nonetheless. Something within him was clawing, begging to know who on Earth this woman was.
Namjoon could hardly believe the way he was reacting. This was getting ridiculous. He hasn’t felt these kinds of nerves since—
Letting his instincts take their reign upon him, his heart continued to hammer against the confines of his rib cages. He got closer and closer, letting his feet lead him towards the woman sitting all by herself at the corner of the diner.
He watched as her eyes skimmed over the dishes that the menu offered. She’s beautiful, he thought to himself, but is she who I think she is?
He had to make sure—he had to.
“Excuse me?” he began, “Miss?”
The tone that accompanied his words was pathetic as they left his lips. Instinctively, he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick his peers would often poke fun at. His bread cheeks soon set ablaze at the realization of his current appearance.
Still, as embarrassed as he was, the young woman looked up at him, a soft smile pulling at her soft pink lips. He watched as the recognition sparks in her eyes and the excitement seizes her face.
Air was knocked out of his lungs as she lunged towards him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Butterflies erupt within him as he feels her nuzzle into his neck.
“You remembered.”
Namjoon’s eyes widen at the memory triggered by his anxious constitution, a soft gasp falling from his lips at the indication of who this woman might be.
What if she’s who I think she is? What if she’s my soulmate?
The chances may be slim, but it can’t be fully impossible. After all, his instincts have almost always been exceptionally good.
Alas, it appears that he’s been too occupied with his thoughts. The distance between them grows, Namjoon realizes—albeit a little bit too late. Without thinking twice, he wills his feet to pick up the pace once more, not paying mind to the bouquet of roses in his hands that was slowly falling apart from his recklessly hasty movements.
Though he didn’t want to make a scene, a part of him wanted to scream from the top of his lungs. Damn it. He’s been waiting for this ever since he got his first trigger back in middle school. Come on, Kim Namjoon. Hurry up, and put those long legs to use.
With his inside voice cheering him on, Namjoon manages to catch the woman by the street. Alas, she had already crossed the other side of the road. All too sudden, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. “Excuse me!” he exclaimed, raising an arm to wave over at her. “Miss!”
A few heads turned from his commotion—fortunately, so did hers.
At that moment, the world was put on a pause, as all else seemed to cease to exist. The drumming in his heart was unmistakably familiar. His instincts have yet to fail him once more.
Even with half of his face covered with a black face mask, his heart swelled as he caught sight of the spark in her eyes—one he knew to be recognition. He watched as her eyes blurred with tears, realizing not too long after that his were doing the same.
He knew with her (e/c) eyes that he was home. This is it. It is her.
The smile that seizes his face beneath the mask was a torture for his cheeks, but his dimples remained present—too overjoyed to be bothered. His eyes had turned into crescents that pushed a few tears to slide down the sides of his face.
She breaks their eye contact to look around her, on both sides of the road, and at the streetlights that count a few seconds down. Taking the chance, she raced against the ticking clock, quickly crossing the road back towards him.
All these years, he’s been stuck with memories of lifetimes he can’t return to.
All these years, he’s waited anxiously to cross paths with his soulmate again.
All these years, she’s finally here.
In the corner of his eyes, Namjoon catches sight of a motorcycle in a hurry, speeding through the otherwise barely occupied street. His eyes widened, his body launching forward as he tried to stop her in her tracks.
“Wait!”
Outcries erupted from the crowd around him, as the collision happened before them. The man driving the motorcycle—a mere delivery boy—skids to a stop, panic setting into his eyes at the sight of the person he just hit. “Oh my God…” he gasped in horror, getting off to check on her. “Ma’am, are you okay?!”
Namjoon rushes towards the woman who, just seconds ago, he realized to be his soulmate, pushing past the crowd gathering. She lies on the pavement, unmoving with eyes slowly blinking as if her entire being was still processing what just happened. Blood was pooling beneath her, and he was unsure where it was coming from.
“Hey, hey,” he softly coos as he kneels beside her, careful not to move her body and worsen any injury by accident. Pulling his mask down, he tries to give a smile, but it’s shaky and betrays any strong upfront he was trying to show. “Don’t close your eyes, darling,” he tells her, “please.”
The woman stares at him, taking him in, but she gives no response. Somewhere, he hears someone calling for an ambulance, and it sends some sort of relief through him. “You hear that?” he urges her to hold on. “Help is coming, so stay awake, hm?”
She manages to crack a small smile, her hand inching closer to hold his. “You…” she tries to speak, but it comes out frail. A tear falls down the corner of her eyes.
Namjoon gently intertwines his fingers with hers as he uses his other hand to wipe at his tears. His heart hammers against his chest as he sees her losing grip on her consciousness. “Shh, don’t speak,” Namjoon hushes her, “don’t waste your energy, okay?”
Still, the woman persists, giving his hand a weak squeeze. Her eyes held so much that she wanted to say, but the two of them knew that time and fate’s grace upon them was uncertain. With the last of her strength, her words came to him in soft relief.
“You remembered…”
Namjoon gapes as her (e/c) eyes fall to a close. “No, no, no,” he utters under his breath, trying to look around for a sign of the ambulance. “Please, please!” he pleads, inching to shake her into waking up, but he knew that would do more harm than good. He collapses on the arm that held her hand, praying for a miracle to any god out there who would listen—even when he doesn’t worship one in the first place.
“Please, wake up.”
All these years, and she slips past his fingertips yet again.
Blooms of red and purple were nestled gently on her lap, the same way it cradled his head on one side. “They’re beautiful,” her voice softly declares, smiling down at her lap both at him and the flowers he stole from some garden on his way to meet her.
“Very,” he grins cheekily in a way that showed the dimples she loved to poke at, though he wasn’t necessarily thinking about the flowers and she knew that well enough to playfully roll her eyes at him.
She looked onto the beach before them, the sea breeze blowing her hair back as the amusement park in the distance continued to be idle background music.
“I love you.”
She couldn’t avoid the gasp that left her lips at the moment of his sudden confession. There on her lap, he pressed a kiss against the palm that rested against his cheek. “Forever.”
“I’d hope so,” she giggles, “I’m your soulmate after all.”
He smiles at that, and so does she. Ah yes, what a fortunate life this is for them to have met so easily and early and have more time to grow old together.
Her fingertips traced the slope of his nose, tapping the point of it at the end before she gave him a smile so full of love and affection.
“I love you, too,” she tells him, “forever.”
Eyes fluttering open, you immediately take note of the ringing in your head. It’s the very blank and static state of it that sends your chest heaving. Your vision blurred as your eyes stings, later wetting your cheeks.
You were crying. Why am I crying?
Looking around you, the bland, white walls of the room didn’t make you feel better at all—especially upon realizing you were hooked to a machine. A hospital—you were at a hospital.
“You’re awake.”
A man you hadn’t noticed before was staring at your figure in disbelief. That incredulous look turns into relief in an instant, as a smile spreads across his face and reveals a set of dimples that stirred something in you.
“You’re awake,” he repeats it, more to himself as he inches closer to your bed. He almost laughs at the news of it, as if he had hardly expected this day to come. Immediately, he flags down a nurse by the door and urges a doctor to come quickly.
You could only look at this man, head whirring to try and gauge him. Though his presence was like warmth on a cold winter’s day, the seasons suddenly turned scorching as you were reminded of your initial panic. The ringing in your head, the unfamiliar environment, and the heavy feeling in your chest for something you’re not entirely knowledgeable of.
“Who are you?”
The moment such words left your lips, you saw the fast flurry of emotions flashing across his eyes—emotions you couldn’t quite process well, but the overall falter to his posture was enough to tell you that what you said had gotten rid of any good in the moment.
It takes a while, but the man composes himself, taking a step back as he rubs the back of his neck like it’d relieve him of the awkward tension. “I’m…” he clears his throat before giving you a small smile, “I’m Kim Namjoon.”
It was then that the doctor came in, followed closely by a nurse or two. “Good morning, miss,” the doctor asks, adjusting his glasses as he gives you an amicable smile. “Do you remember your name? Do you know where you are?”
“I’m…” you began, but the cogs in your head were taking their time. The minutes it took you to respond was concerning to say the least. “(Y/N),” you eventually say, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N)… I’m in a… hospital…”
The rest of the questions go by like a blur in your head. In the end, you were told you were unconscious for about three months, and that, judging by your responses, you were likely suffering from retrograde amnesia after the accident. You could recall basic and old memories—your name, your family’s name, where you grew up, where you graduated—but your head was blank at the aspect of recent events.
You still have so many questions you want to ask—not to the doctors, but to the Kim Namjoon who was there the moment you woke up. You have no recollection of him before, so he must be someone you knew just recently.
Finding it difficult to tear your eyes away from his figure, you find yourself in an absent-minded trance. He was tall—really tall. You may just have to strain your neck a little to look up at him if you were to stand.
“(Y/N)? You alright?”
The deep voice that came out of his lips was a gentle rumble that somehow soothed you but sent little shivers down your spine—pleasant shivers, you think. Alas, your reverie ended when you came to a realization that he was talking to you. “Sorry,” you blink slowly, realizing that he was now just a few feet away from your hospital bed. “I… I was just thinking of something.”
Namjoon nods, thoughtfully. “Do you...” he mulls over his words, “do you have any questions for me? I’d be glad to answer them for you.”
You fiddled with the fabric of the blanket on your fingertips. You needed more details, you decided. “Wh—” you stammer, “what happened? Tell me more about what happened.”
A bitter smile, you notice, comes across his face. “You got hit by a delivery boy on your way to cross the street,” he tells you as he moves to a nearby table that was home to miscellaneous things—bags, snacks, and flowers among other things. “I was the one that admitted you to the hospital,” he tells you plainly, handing over a bag to you. “This is yours.”
The leather material shakes in your hands, your strength still not fully back in your system.
“Your mother’s here, by the way,” Namjoon then tells you, catching you by surprise. “I told her about the incident. She flew here to watch over you while I’m away.”
Though glad to hear your mother was here, the last part of his words piqued your interest. If he had your mother flown here so she could take care of you while he was away, then does that mean he’s come by more than once?
“Who are you to me?” you find yourself asking that aloud. Was he a friend? A colleague? A lover?
You fluster at the thought of the last option, but soon see that Namjoon seems to be red as well. “Well…” he purses his lips, thinking of what to say. “I’m your—”
Just then, the door bursts open. A familiar woman frantically comes through, going first to Namjoon. “Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks him, “I heard she’s awake?”
He must’ve been in the way of her seeing you already awake. Before Namjoon could answer, you spoke up, voice still a bit raspy. “Mom?” you meekly call out. “I’m right here.”
Your mother immediately rushes to your side. You feel her urge to pull you in an embrace, but your current state doesn't allow her to recklessly do so. “Oh, thank goodness,” she sighs in relief as she clings onto your hand. “You’re okay.”
Your mother’s concern ends up being a catalyst to the emotions you’ve been bottling up. "I'm sorry," you ended up saying, voice quivering as you held back tears.
Both Namjoon and your mother furrow their eyebrows together. It was your mother, who was nearest to you, that reached forth to caress your cheeks in comfort. "Nonsense, honey," your mother softly chastises. "What on earth do you have to say sorry for?"
She was right. You didn’t intend for any of this to happen at all, but your thoughts have already come to a conclusion about your burdens. "It must've been a bother to hear about the accident," you say, looking at the white sheets on your lap. "The bill, too," you suddenly gasp, "how much is it?"
Your mother shakes her head. "Don't worry about those things, honey," she tells you, "Namjoon's been helping me deal with that."
At the mention of his name, Namjoon, who had been occupied for a moment with something on his phone, looked up in confusion. "Mom said you've been a great help with my hospitalization," you give him a grateful smile, "Thank you."
A slight flush of red stretched across his cheeks and ears as he held back the beginnings of a shy grin at your words. "It's no problem, at all," he gently says, “I’m glad to be of help.”
There was a flutter in your heart that you pushed away, chalking it up to gratitude over the acts of a kind stranger. It was then you noticed the frequent flashing of his phone, something you could tell he deliberately tries to ignore. "Do you have somewhere else to be?" you softly ask, catching him off guard.
It takes Namjoon a while but he nods in embarrassment. “Is it important?” you stare at the device throwing up a tantrum. You wonder what it is that’s demanding his time from you so much. Was it his job? Was it his friends? Was it a significant other?
Somehow, that last part hurts to think of.
He nods again. You didn’t understand why he’s so hesitant to leave when he’s needed somewhere else. Did it have to do with what you two are?
Alas, you didn’t have time to unpack all of that now. “It’s fine,” you assure him, “I’d hate to hold you back.”
The man before you looked so torn that you, yourself, felt a bit downcast. "Alright..." he sighs in defeat, hesitantly taking the baseball cap and mask by the table, and securing it on his head. "I'm so sorry to leave so soon."
"It's alright, Namjoon," your mother smiles. "Take care."
Namjoon gives a polite bow and smiles. Distracted by his dimples, you only offer a meek wave with your hand. "I'll visit as soon as I can," he tells you. "Get well soon."
Numbly, you nod as something in you stirs. Something in you feels at ease with his presence. Something in you feels fuzzy seeing his smile. Something in you hates to see him go—but not knowing what exactly makes you feel these things has forced you to keep your mouth shut.
Not a moment later the door closes, your mysterious knight in shining armor gone.
It was an absolute torture, really, to have be stuck for the next month in the dull walls of your hospital room doing recovery. On the bright side, it was nice to hear from your doctor that you were progressing quite nicely. You were still missing bits and pieces, of course, but it was something you couldn't force your brain to just up and do.
That aside, it was the promise of getting out of the hospital that really pulled you through the gruelling hours you spent there. It was the curiosity, you suppose, of seeing the world you once knew and experiencing it again.
There was also a certain boy that you found yourself looking forward to. Kim Namjoon would visit every week if he could, and he would bring with him food that actually tastes good (don't tell the hospital cafeteria that), some board games, red and purple flowers, or other things that made your stay a little worthwhile. He even came around bringing his friends around—Jimin and Taehyung, if your brain didn't fail to remind you clearly—and it was the most intense game of UNO you've ever had the chance to remember.
If your mom had to take a break or go back to your apartment for something, Namjoon would be more than glad to watch over you. He already spends hours with his visits as is. The two of you would talk about anything, watch any movie on the television, or listen to his music.
It was another thing that caught you off guard actually.
Kim Namjoon is an idol.
You had heard of his vibrant life nearly a week into your waking up. Still in the hospital bed, the two of you were sitting together as you waited for your mother to come back from your apartment. He had been reading a book, whilst you were idly flipping through the television channels.
A music show came on and you swore one of the men looked like him. Styled to the nines and ready for the spotlight, he looked good—really, really good.
“Is that you, Namjoon?” you had instantly asked him, pointing to the television. Never had you seen him so flustered before, but Namjoon managed to explain himself.
It was true. He is an idol—the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, an international KPop sensation, a man so sought after by millions of people around the world.
It was hard to wrap your head around. To think that the man before you, the one who had been so diligently visiting you, was a celebrity. The constant ringing of his phone, the long intervals between his visits, and his fussing over a mask and a cap suddenly made so much sense.
There were things you’ve managed to piece together from the weeks after your discharge from the hospital. It was thanks to your kind landlady and neighbors that you found out you were living in South Korea for about five years now. You had a decent job and a decent apartment. You seemed to have a decent life for yourself too.
There was still something missing though, but you still couldn’t put your finger on it. A large void in your heart that gapes at you, aching to be satiated with whatever it was that was taken from it on that fateful accident.
In spite of that little mishap, however, you fell into a routine quite easily. Even if there were fragments in your memories missing, you still managed to wake up on time, go to work, come home to your mom, and spend time with her after finishing any other possible duties at hand. Those were what your weekdays consisted of, but on weekends? Weekends were for—
Knock, knock, knock.
“Namjoon, good morning,” you hear your mom’s cheerful voice greet him by the door.
“Good morning, ma’am.” You could almost see that dimpley smile on his face.
A smile, too, blossoms on your face before you knew it. As usual, Namjoon was here on time.
You take a frantic lookover of yourself at the mirror on your wall. Your outfit was simple enough—knit sweater over a midi dress and a trusty satchel to keep your things—but you worried somehow that it might not be a good match for whatever it is that was planned for today.
Exiting your room, you look up to see a familiar large man waving at you by the hallway with his other hand poorly hiding something behind his back. “Hello,” you greet him with a smile, “did you eat breakfast yet?”
Namjoon sheepishly shakes his head as he hands you a small bouquet of red and purple flowers. They were a custom at this point, Namjoon having been so used to bringing you such flowers during his hospital visits that he had come to bring you them to every outing as well. "Didn't have enough time to," he then tells you as he slightly trails behind you to the kitchen where you took a big glass and filled it with water for a makeshift vase. The grin on his face persists as he sees you set the vase next to the ones that held the flowers he had brought you two weeks ago.
A hum leaves your lips. "Guess that makes two of us," you say, awkwardly fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater.
“You two can grab a bite on the way then,” your mother suddenly swings into the kitchen, laying down a coat onto your shoulders as she presses a kiss on your cheeks.
Her actions startle you. “But, mo—”
“I’m going to the spa, sweetie,” your mother declares as she excitedly ushers you and Namjoon out the door. “You two have fun!”
As the usual black car that served as your ride together on days like this came to a stop, Namjoon slides the door open for you and you murmur a shy thanks. “Thanks again,” you thank the man on the steering wheel as well, Namjoon grinning along with you as you both earned yourselves a little wave back from the driver.
The driver starts the car again to look for a parking spot, leaving you alone with Namjoon. It was then you prompted the question in your head. “Where are we going this time?” you ask him, head tilting to the side.
Namjoon gestures to a building nearby. It was relatively big and the people walking around were sparse, giving it a more calm and private aura. “A museum,” he simply tells you this with a grin so contagious that your own lips couldn't help but beam back at him.
These were what you easily found yourself looking forward to in the weeks since you had been discharged from the hospital. Today would be Namjoon's third effort on taking you around Seoul—to refresh your memories, he had said, and to hang out together, too. Namjoon took you biking along Han River on the first time, bought the both of you some bungeo-ppang while watching the sun set on your little break. Then, he took you to an aquarium two weeks ago, too, dragging you around to point excitedly and gawk together at any cute sea critter he saw.
Such moments like these were precious, not only because you were spending time with him, or because you were getting more and more familiar with the city, but because you knew for a fact that time for Namjoon was precious and yet he chose to spend it with you.
You couldn’t understand how on Earth you managed to cross paths with a celebrity before your accident, or what exactly made you so special that a celebrity like him would find the time to fit you in his busy, busy schedule, but either way, you understood that your time together was a chance for Namjoon to take a break from his famous persona.
“Your mom was awfully excited for spa day, wasn’t she?” Namjoon chuckles as the two of you walk along the street towards the museum.
This effectively knocks you out from your reverie. “To be fair, she’s always been interested in trying those sorts of things out,” you then shrug with a grin, as you check your phone for the time and the weather. “I think she thinks of you as a babysitter at this point.”
Namjoon, being the gentleman he is, only grins. You could swear you can imagine those dimples under his mask. “It’s alright,” he tells you, “I don’t mind at all.”
All of a sudden, the idol comes to a sharp halt, making you look at him in confusion. He doesn’t answer—he doesn’t even look you in the eyes. Instead, his fingers suddenly weave together with yours.
Naturally, his actions shock you to the point of having a blush spreading across your cheeks. You look onwards, and it suddenly clicks. Before you was a traffic light directing cars through the street that separated you two from the museum itself.
The accident.
Bits of it were still blurry in your head—all you knew, really, was that it hurt. Namjoon, on the other hand, was the one that must’ve seen the accident first hand, and the one that looked out for you in the hospital first in the place of your mother.
You return your gaze to Namjoon, giving his hand a small squeeze in assurance. He finally glances your way, embarrassment written across his eyes, but you both do nothing to take your hands apart as the two of you crossed the road.
His concern warms your heart and envelops you in an air so safe and sound. Kim Namjoon is clearly a blessing in your life—a literal angel from the heavens sent down to grace you with his presence. Whatever fate stitched your paths together, you were grateful for it.
You did notice something, however. No matter how much you can chalk it up to him just being a nice guy, there were signs that resonated from him—signs that told you he may be caring for you just a little bit more than friends do. Fond smiles, lingering touches, constant hanging out, pretty flowers—no one, as far as you could tell, has ever given you this many flowers.
You didn't want to assume, but you didn't want to go on like this either—not when you may or may not be hoping for a little bit of something.
Eventually, you get the courage to ask him some time inside the museum. “Namjoon?” you hushly call out, unsure of whether or not you should keep your distance or take a step closer.
He takes his gaze away from the modern masterpiece on the wall, naturally taking a step closer to give his full attention to you. “Yeah?”
With the way he ended your own inner argument, your mind buffers for a moment at the good ruler-length distance between you both. You tear your gaze away, the damned chicken in you coming out at the last minute. You could feel Namjoon looking down at you in concern, but stood patiently still for your words.
“Who are you to me?” you ask, voice so soft and feeble that the nerves were dreadfully obvious. A part of you mentally gives you a slap and a push to get all of this over with. “You…” you clear your throat, “You never really answered my question.. back then… at the hospital...”
To be honest with yourself, a part of you hoped that those flowers, those visits, those little touches meant something more. There was no shame in liking a man like Namjoon. He's a gentle giant with so much talent, love, and wisdom to give. Who wouldn't crush hard for the likes of him?
Oh wow. It feels weird to come to terms with your feelings—that giddy but antsy feeling in your belly, that rapid heart beating, that frantic buzzing of your head as all it could ever think now is him. It's a resounding conclusion, a childish need to start squealing overtaking your senses.
Him. Him. Him.
I have a crush on him.
Before you, however, Namjoon stiffens. “Oh,” he says.
And that one sound was somehow enough to blow a crack onto your heart. Fuck. Your eyes go wide in panic and distress. Did I complicate things? Did I make him uncomfortable?
“It’s fine!” you rushed to ease his discomfort. “You don’t have to answer me! Forget I said anythi—”
Namjoon’s eyes meet with yours, the indecipherable state of them stealing the words from your mouth and rendering you anticipating his. “You’re...” he began, searching for his choice of words. “You’re someone I really cherish in life.”
You nod softly, both endeared and disappointed to hear such words from his mouth. You wanted something specific—be it the words you wanted to hear or the words that could’ve broken your heart. Whether it was the "I like you" that would've made you the happiest woman alive or the "You're like a friend/sister to me" that would've shattered your daydream and give you a slap back to reality, "You're someone I really cherish in life" was a sentence that tiptoed on a line between two drastic territories.
Namjoon settled for something a little vague.
Does he cherish you as a woman romantically or platonically?
Does he want to start calling these things dates too?
Does he want to keep walking along with your hands intertwined too?
Something—was it the desperate hopeless romantic in you?—told you that he was holding back. With the way his jaw was clenched, you came to think he’s frustrated with something—clearly something he’s not ready to talk about yet, so you do your best to move on. “That’s great,” you say, nonetheless, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “You’re someone I cherish, too.”
Someone I really hold dear to my heart.
It must've been obvious—your disdain—else, Namjoon wouldn't have spoke again to ease the awkward tension in the air.
"We haven't known each other for that long before the incident," he tells you, rubbing at the back of his neck, "but you really have become someone I hold dear to my heart."
Then and there, your heart skips a beat.
Something chaotic arose in you, a little devil that crawled from the very depths of your mind to wreak havoc with the new realized crush you had on the man beside you. There was barely friendship to ruin then if you two hadn't known each other for that long.
Well, aside from the bond you've made together in the months you've been awake.
Still, with this fresh news he told you, he made it sound like you two were too much strangers to have been anything.
"It isn't that hard to like you."
Namjoon's head almost snaps to look at you. Your own hand almost snaps to slap it over your wretched mouth. The two of you could only gawk at each other.
"What did you say?" a flabbergasted Namjoon asks you.
A groan leaves you for a moment, you wanting—begging—the ground to just swallow you whole. Alas, all you could do is suck it up and be a big girl. "What I meant by that is," you cleared your throat, "it's a shame we weren't already well-acquainted before the accident. I think we could've been more than friends."
Namjoon gawks at you still.
You take a deep breath. "I like you, Joon," you confess, the exhale you make seemingly taking the weight off your heart too. "I know it's too sudden, but I think I see you as someone more than just a friend."
The big oaf is still processing. "You… do?"
A laugh manages to escape you, finding amusement in his shock. "Yes," you say earnestly, feeling a bit more confident with your confession. "You're kind, handsome, and just a really awesome person," you tell him, "I meant it when I said you're someone I cherish."
His dimples resurface, and you are yet again helpless. Namjoon's eyes were soft yet twinkling as he gazed into yours. "I meant it to."
Two weeks passed by since that fateful day at the museum, and Namjoon was yet again occupied with his duties. It was fine of course—who were you to demand things from him?—but what didn’t sit right with you was how things were still a bit vague between you two.
He acknowledged your crush. He even seemed to like it, too. Alas, in the midst of your giddy victory over not being outright rejected, you forgot to ask him for a clear answer too.
Did he like you too?
You grow antsy by the minute, thoughts plaguing your overthinking brain to the point of a slight headache.
Fuck it.
You take a leap of faith—not caring if it was recklessly foolish of you—and grab your phone to type out the beginnings of your grand scheme to fully woo Kim Namjoon yourself. The words your fingers bring to life start off casual enough.
Simple and easy enough to get out of, it only took you a few minutes of debating and overthinking to press that send button.
It took three (painful) hours to get a reply, the sound of a notification springing you up from your dilapidated state on your bed.
Your heart almost drops at the subtle rejection, but it doesn't hurt that much. Just a little bit. With a sigh, you type out your response, glad to know he’s somewhat available enough now that you’ve heard from him.
A part of you fussed if what you sent was too cringey or awkwardly put, but his next words made you forget such thoughts in an instant.
You waited a couple more minutes, but nothing followed. Was that it? No worries, I will?
Another text interrupts the awful ache that just started to bubble within you, replacing it instead with confusion.
Ding dong
You hear the faint ring of the doorbell from your room, making you freeze. You glance at the words on your phone, then at the door where you could hear the distant voice of your mother answering the door. Not a moment later...
“(Y/N)!” she called out. “You have a delivery!”
As if they could bulge out, your eyes widened even further as you pocket your phone and slipped off your bed—pajamas, bed head, and all. Your feet took you to the kitchen where you heard your mother go about.
There at the table were familiar flowers in red and purple, and just by looking at it, a sense of giddiness washes over you. You gently take them in your hand as the other fishes for your phone in the pocket of your hoodie.
The smile on your face made your cheeks hurt.
Alas, there can only be so much good things you could have for a day.
“Are those from Namjoon?” your mother peeks from the kitchen, a warm smile stretching across her face as she resorts to leaning against the wall to look over at you.
Instinctively, you take a small whiff of the bouquet in hand as you tuck your phone away. “Yeah,” you absentmindedly reply with a ghost of a smile unknowingly making it to your face, almost forgetting about the fact that you were fretting over him in the first place.
You were oblivious to your mother’s pleased reaction. “What a sweetheart,” she muses, approaching you to take a closer look at the flowers. She rests both of her callous hands on each of your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze of excitement. “I’m so glad he’s your soulmate, sweetie,” she gushes, “he’s quite the keeper.”
At such words, you froze, heart skipping a beat. All this time, you had only thought Namjoon to be a friend you were having an awful crush on—but a soulmate?
Right, the soulmate system. How could you have forgotten to put soulmates into the whole equation of this?
“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly gawked, “did you just say soulmate?”
It seems like the soulmate system still works for the likes of Namjoon, whom Fate has robbed his soulmate of their memories from time long passed.
No words could ever truly define how beyond ecstatic Namjoon is to hear such words from her. (Y/N) (L/N), his soulmate and other half for the rest of eternity and end of time, likes him. Even without remembering him as her soulmate, she likes him. It wasn't love just yet, but Namjoon was in no rush—not when everything was starting to fall back into place.
Still, it begs a question in his head; will it be alright to try now?
Namjoon stares at the unconscious state of his soulmate, insides knotting together in an entangled mess of nerves and fury. He had just gotten off a discussion with the young delivery boy, the poor lad a sniffling mess as he was interrogated by Namjoon, his soulmate’s mother, and a lawyer. Mrs. (L/N) decided not to put up any charges, pitying the poor boy.
“Thank you, Namjoon,” the woman told him, voice soft and hoarse, dripping with fatigue from both the travel and the grief.
Namjoon bows, a bit jittery—he was meeting his potential mother-in-law, after all. “It’s nothing, ma’am,” he shyly says, “I just wanted to make sure (Y/N) gets treated as best as possible.”
This notion causes Mrs. (L/N) to raise a brow. She hasn’t heard of a ‘Namjoon’ from her daughter before.“Does my daughter know you, Namjoon?”
Namjoon froze for a moment, but opted for honesty—not that he would’ve had the chance of being a believable liar when he’s this much of a wreck at the moment. “Uh...” he mulls his words over, “a little, ma’am.”
Seeing confusion, he explains the situation further. “We met just a few minutes before the accident,” he tells her, breath shaking at the memory of the wave, the street, the crash, and the blood. His tears almost flooded his eyes again. “I’m her,” he shakily sighs with a bittersweet smile, “soulmate.”
Mrs. (L/N) was shocked for a moment, but soon enough an understanding flashed before her eyes. She nods softly, staring at her daughter again with a fond smile. (Y/N) had been born with a lot of her past life memories intact, often crying about them.
Knowing that her daughter could've been happy with her soulmate already, but this happened instead, made (M/N) quite teary. Still, she was glad her daughter had a reliable soulmate. “Thank you for taking care of her in that short moment then,” she smiled, truly grateful.
Infamous dimples proudly resurface on Namjoon’s cheeks, in spite of the shy demeanor in his smile. “She’s my soulmate, ma’am,” he said, “I’ll be taking care of her for the rest of my life, if fate allows me to.”
Namjoon's heart hammered against his chest as he recalled that moment at the hospital.
Take care of (Y/N). Such were the words that he had pinned atop his many, many thoughts.
Alas, each day, it was getting harder and harder to keep himself in line—keep the longing and aching part of him locked away somewhere. He worries, thinks, and worries some more.
Even if she liked him, it doesn't necessarily make it clear if he should court her now or wait for her triggers to start setting in. He wouldn't want to make the risk of an explosive trigger higher with a romantic relationship and end up putting her in pain. No. He will never let her get hurt. Never again.
Take care of (Y/N)—he would often remind himself. Worry about her first before your feelings, Namjoon. You can do this.
A familiar ringtone rips through the air, pulling Namjoon from his internal debate. The contact on his phone read out the very name engraved in his head and his heart almost jumped out.
He was just thinking of her.
Not having it in him to distance himself more than he already has, Namjoon slides his finger across his phone. "Hello, (Y/N)?" he says, clearing his throat. A part of him worries that his poor choice of words in their chat earlier may have come across wrong in some way, or if she had som—
"We need to talk."
There was a shake in her voice. It didn’t sound furious—it didn’t sound like anything. It was numb almost, and that alone was enough to stop Namjoon’s world for a moment. “About what? Did something happen?” he immediately asks, a storm of worry brewing within him.
Alas, he looks at his desk before him, littered with papers and work all over as a product of his reckless pursuit to keep his mind off of her. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave right now but if ther—”
A heavy breath puts an end to his words. “Namjoon, please,” you plea, emotions of all sorts drowning two simple words. It hurts to hear his name fall from your lips that way.
Namjoon gets up, easily admitting defeat as he leaves his studio. “Alright. Wait for me.”
There can only be so much good things you could have for a day.
Namjoon is your soulmate.
“Oh dear, I thought he told you already,” was what your mother had said after her little slip up. “With all the little dates you two have been to, I thought you would’ve known by now, sweetie.”
The news shook you to your core and you were elated and distraught all the same. You didn’t have a trigger. You didn’t have any prior memories. You were just left with a statement.
Namjoon is your soulmate.
It was something that felt so right to hear, but with barely anything else to back it up, there was still doubt in your heart.
Is that why he was hesitant?
Why did he tell me in the first place?
Was it bad?
Hell, you didn't even think to add soulmates to your grand scheme of wooing Kim Namjoon. How could the entire soulmate system slip past your mind in the past few months you've been awake?!
Namjoon is your soulmate.
You need to hear it from Namjoon yourself—hear if it’s true that the universe meant for you to be together, hear why he chose to hide that fact from you.
And so, here you were at Han River waiting for him.
“(Y/N)?”
Your heart stops to hear your name from an all too familiar voice. You couldn’t find it in you to turn around just yet, wanting nothing more than to put this all into pause. You weren’t a fan of confrontation—not after your miserable attempt in the museum.
Footsteps approach you, and you know just who it is. You didn’t have to look up either. The feet that set its place before you and the bench you sat in were familiar shoes, yet all they served to be was a backdrop for the flowers presented to you.
“You just sent me flowers an hour ago,” you manage to find your voice in a hushed whisper, a part of you wanting to laugh but your harried thoughts wouldn’t let you. It took a lot to look up at him—at the man who you first met in a hospital, at the man who held your heart, at the man who was apparently your soulmate all along.
Namjoon flusters before you, almost putting the small bunch in his hands away. Knowing his shortcoming, however, he remains with his hand outstretched. “You sounded upset,” he says, pulling his mask down to talk with you properly. “I thought they might make you feel better.”
Managing a small smile, you glance down at the flowers of red and purple he presents to you. As you gently took the bouquet from his hands, you couldn’t ignore the ringing in your head that seemed to be screaming out to you.
“(Y/N)?” you faintly hear Namjoon’s voice call out to you in concern. There was a secure grip that held you up by the arms as you staggered a bit.
You try to come back to reality. You try—but your senses wane.
Alas, in spite of your best efforts, you were plunged into cold waters, unable to hear anything. Your breath hitched as the pinch in your heart began to escalate. In the confines of your own mind, you were frantically clawing your way out of the abyss—desperate to reach the surface and find out the truth.
Come on, (Y/N). Remember.
“Welcome to Purple Blooms, how may I help you?”
A warm smile made it to your face as you entered the premises of your local flower shop. You took notice that the attendant by the desk isn’t the usual blonde that manned the shop, but you greeted her nonetheless. “Hi,” you said with a slight bow, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N). I ordered a bouquet of—”
“Red carnations and statices?” she piped, after your name seemed to ring a bell in her head. When you had replied with a nod, she disappeared to the staff room of the shop to retrieve your order.
Biding your time, you looked around to take in your surroundings, in spite of being so accustomed to the small shop in all of your months here. The scent of flowers in the air was prominent, but what really made you giddy was the amount of meaning these beauties possessed.
You knew quite a handful of the flower language—courtesy of your past lives’ fascination with them. To you, there was always an element of creative passion in the flowers and the message they convey could do wonders.
“Miss?”
Turning back to the attendant, you gave her a grateful smile as you handed her the money in exchange for the bouquet in her hands. “I had fun arranging this one,” she tells you, smiling brightly. “It was one of my first bouquets.”
Your eyebrows shot up in interest as you cradled the bouquet closer to you, taking a whiff of the flowers. “Really?” you mused, “You did a good job then. Thank you.”
“Any time, ma’am,” she beams, “Come again!”
As you exited the quaint shop, you waved the woman goodbye and went on your way to the cemetery—as you usually do with the bouquets. You gazed down on the red and purple hues in your hand, feeling the wistfully warm sensation in your heart.
You knew just what these flowers meant to you and your soulmate.
The utter joy in the air was easily contagious, the sun shining over the field only serving to amplify the vibrant aura of the moment. Before you stood your bestest friend in a raggedy shirt, loose pants, and wild hair askew in all sorts of directions. “For you, my lady,” she declared in a feign manly tone, revealing the flowers from behind him with a wide grin and a silly bow that makes you giggle as you do a similarly exaggerated bow.
“Thank you, good sir,” you beam back, happily taking the small bunch she had likely stolen from Mrs. Hopkins’ garden. The flowers were pretty shades of purple and red—a gesture you didn’t quite understand as a twelve year old girl.
There were a lot of things you didn’t understand as a twelve year old, actually. Why your best friend’s roguish and carefree attitude was so frowned upon, why the boys in town had to be so cruel, why she had to be sent away.
You would, however, in your later years, find the flowers to be a combination of red carnations and statices that, thanks to the book of flower language you came across in a library, respectively meant sincere love and remembrance.
It is through this you saw flashes of the same flowers being given between two people. It is through this you had your very first trigger.
There in that old house of a childhood long passed, tears fell upon the withered petals pressed and preserved in between the pages of your old favorite book. The truth dawned on you, leaving you helpless to do anything now that you had a husband and children to look after.
Your soulmate and your best friend, one in the same. Your soulmate, a woman you haven’t seen in two decades, haven’t heard of since she was forced to board that ship to the new world with her older brother.
You cry—cry for the love you never had the chance to have with your other half in this lifetime, cry for what could’ve been but didn’t.
In the next life, you vow. I’ll remember and love you more.
You remember now.
That was the first lifetime in which neither of you remembered anything. So close yet so far, an almost that plagued that past incarnate of yours till the end of her life.
It was funny, you thought. You were crying just as hard as this when your memories started coming to you when you were around ten. Your parents couldn’t understand the hysterics you were in, and nearly had to rush you to the hospital. This was the bitter and awful side of the soulmate system that the world had to become accustomed to.
It became a catalyst for you maturing at such a young age—to know of customs and moments long gone, to have the knowledge of centuries return to you in days, to become suddenly so aware and so daunted of the fact that you were part of the soulmate system.
You remember where your most recent incarnate had lived with her soulmate—Korea. It had been a quiet life, one you hoped you’d have in this life too. You supposed it was because of this that you were so drawn to go to South Korea too, causing you to study hard in order to convince your parents to go on a holiday trip around there.
You remember being fifteen and wanting to visit their graves for nostalgia’s sake on that very trip, laying down that bouquet of red carnations and statices over the cobblestone with tears and a bittersweet smile.
You remember the pitiful gazes your mom would give you as she could only watch you at a distance, knowing she can’t do much with your past lives other than to support your current self.
You remember deciding to just live in Korea all together as soon as you graduated, applying into multiple companies until you got accepted by your current employer—constantly going through places you’ve been to while making new adventures to tell, too.
You remember that day.
You remember going to the flower shop you frequent, remember smiling at the new employee who handed you the bouquet.
You remember going to the cemetery, giving a short message over the grave and a silent prayer to meet your soulmate soon.
You remember someone calling your name as you left, a man frantically waving at you from the other side of the street.
Him. In an instant, you knew just who he was—knew just who those kind eyes belonged to.
Your soulmate. Your other half.
Kim Namjoon.
The sight of you trembling sent Namjoon’s head in a flurry of emotions. He sat you down, worried with the way your knees were buckling. He waits beside you, rubbing circles onto your back as he watched you stare down at the bouquet in your hands through your tears.
It was after a long, almost torturous moment that he saw the weak turn you made to face him. Namjoon sees the recognition and struggle shining in your eyes as they flow with tears. “You remembered,” he softly gasps, eyes blurring with tears himself as he realizes this. His heavy heart eases for a moment, but it comes to a shortstop.
Another wave of tears hit, a sob breaking past your lips as you nod, leaning close. “Oh, baby...” he sighs, heart clenching at the sight of you. Namjoon easily wraps his arms around you—both as a result of his own emotions and an effort to comfort you.
“I remember,” you breathe, clutching his jacket tighter as you bury your head into his neck further. “I remember...”
Namjoon presses a gentle kiss into your hair. “Yes, you do,” he says as he pulls away and smiles gently at you, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m so happy you do.”
You clumsily rub away at your face in embarrassment of him seeing you like this, hands wet with more tears. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled.
The universe blessed you with a patient gentle giant for a soulmate. Namjoon brushes your hair away from your face, his touch of great effect calming you down from the rollercoaster that your surge of memories gave you. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, jagi,” he hushes you with gentle strokes on the back of your hand. “Cry it out. Deep breaths.”
Doing as he said, you regain your composure—enough to at least form your words more coherently. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, voice a little hoarse and quiet that Namjoon had trouble understanding at first.
“What?”
The windows to your soul came to meet with his and Namjoon sees the pain swimming in them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were my soulmate?” you say, a little more clearly and a little more hurt.
There was a guilty expression on Namjoon’s face and he shamefully looked away for a moment, but he takes a deep breath to man himself up. “I didn’t want to lay it on you so suddenly. You woke up barely knowing anything, after all.” he admitted, looking down at both of your hands. “ I thought, what if I suddenly cause a trigger? Wouldn’t it make things worse for her? I didn’t want that to happen.”
Alright, so he had a point, but— “I would’ve wanted to know that sooner, Joon,” you tell him, still upset having spent weeks pining for him, only to find out he’s been pining after you too but didn’t say anything about it.
“I know,” Namjoon sighs, looking at the sky to keep any more of his tears at bay. “I suppose I got scared of hurting you or seeing you in pain. I saw you get hit by a motorcycle,” he told you, “on the day I first saw you in this lifetime, I saw you get hit.”
The tremble on his voice easily elicits your own tears to come back. Namjoon sees this and gently shakes his head, a silent message for you to not waste any more tears. He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead before resting his own against it.
Your eyes flutter to a close as you revel in his presence. “I’m sorry for hurting you even though I said I didn’t want to,” you hear him murmur, making a breathless chuckle leave your lips.
“It was pretty rude of you to do,” you jokingly muse, and Namjoon drops his head onto your shoulder with a groan, embarrassed of himself.
The idol in your embrace savors the moment he had in your arms. “I know, I know...” he murmured, “I’m a terrible soulmate.”
Pulling away, you squish his face in your hands. “But you’re a great guy,” you coo at him, “and I still really, really like you.”
His dimples make their appearance, making you grin back at him. “Really?” he asks, eyes shining at the implication of your forgiveness.
You nod, cheeks hurt from all the giddy, happy feels. “Really.”
“I really, really like you, too,” he muses, the both of you chuckling. Elated, Namjoon leaned forwards and brought his lips onto your forehead yet again. “You won’t ever be in pain again,” he swore to you, “not if I can help it.”
As a smile blossoms in your lips, you close your eyes and lean forth, melting into his arms. Everything in your heart has fallen into place.
It was alright now.
You remember. Both of you do.
It was now time to officially start anew in this lifetime, make new memories, and then some.
#bts#bangtan sonyeondan#BTS au#bts soulmate au#bts fluff#bts romance#bts angst#bts writing#bts rm#bts kim namjoon#bts kim namjoon x reader#bts imagines#kim namjoon#kim namjoon imagines#kim namjoon fluff#kim namjoon angst#kim namjoon romance#kim namjoon x reader#bts reincarnation au
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— GOJO SATORU || IT WAS NEVER YOUR FAULT
↳ featuring : gojo satoru (ft. itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi) from jujutsu kaisen
↳ warnings : grammar issues
↳ form : imagine
↳ published : 21 february
↳ pronouns : non specified in imagine
↳ word count : 1.4k
↳ synopsis : while talking to itadori about your blindness, gojo starts to feel the guilt that he has been trying to hide overtake him again, only for you to have a few words of your own.
↳ request : Hello hello😊 I may or may not have been peering into your shops windows staring at the coffee. Its cold outside and I want something to warm me up- a fluffy story with, hear me out,A BLIND (fem) Y/n and Gojo. Like a blind jujutsu sorcerer would be pretty interestingPretty please?-flustered anon
↳ barista’s notes : let me admit...i didn’t realise you wanted a fluff rather than what i have written here...so i do deeply apologies for the mistake made on your coffee order ʕ º ᴥ ºʔ but i hope you enjoy your cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and come again anytime soon ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡
“Wait, so you wear an eye cover because you are blind L/N-sensei?” Itadori asked in a surprised tone, causing you to turn your head towards the direction of his voice which led the young sorcerer to be surprised since it generally seemed like you had the sense of sight that was tragically taken away from you.
“Oh yeah, I can’t see at all, so I tend to wear the eye cover so my eyes don’t get sensitive to the light,” you answered with a smile, trying to convey to the young boy that you weren’t offended by the question while using your index finger to point at the mentioned item.
“So how do you know where people are and where to walk since you don’t use a cane?” the first year asked in a questioned tone since he just perplexed at the whole situation as he had just discovered that you were actually blind rather than copying your boyfriend to have that ‘matching couples look’.
“Curse energy is really easy to sense over time, I can tell who is who by the amount of curse energy they have, just like your idiot teacher who is trying to scare me right now,” you explained while pointing behind you, only for Itadori to tilt his body slightly to the side only to find Gojo with a downcasted look on his face.
“Ah~ I can never trick you, can I honey?” Gojo muttered in disappointment before wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a way to greet you that he was here before hooking his chin upon your shoulder, causing you to shiver due to the feeling of his warm breath passing your cheeks lightly.
“Nah, you could never,” you cheekily commented leading to the strongest sorcerer to pout at your comment to which you could sense but was disheartened at the fact you could not see the look he had on his face.
The same look that you loved and still do when you tease him back.
“How do you think I look then?” Itadori asked while ignoring Gojo’s affection towards you since he now was extremely curious about what you thought about him, appearance-wise.
Raising your right hand to hold on to Gojo’s arms that have encaged you, you quietly and slowly began to paint an image in your head of what you thought Gojo’s student looked like. From what you heard from your boyfriend as well as Fushiguro, Itadori was deemed to be a good person in their book and quite energetic and bright which was quite opposite to what Fushiguro was, even though you remembered the stoic sorcerer to be the little child, who would hide behind your legs and follow your around when he was feeling clingy or just lonely.
He was also the only student within the first-year group that you got to see physically.
“When I imagine you Itadori, I think of a boy that has a really bright smile that shines brighter than the sun itself, also Gojo already told me you have pinkish spiky hair and light brown eyes, so there’s that,” you answered with a smile of your own before masterfully placing your left hand on the top of his head as if you could even see that he was right there. “Gojo also told me you were a tiny bit shorter than Megumi, so it’s not hard to pat your head as much,” you commented with a giggle before ruffling his hair leading Itadori to laugh with you, which caused Gojo to look at the scene with a small smile on his face.
However, there was still a hint of guilt that was planted in his heart as the stems were clinging onto his ribs at the fact you’ll never get to see Itadori physically nor will you ever see him and Fushiguro probably again.
He will never forgive himself for being careless and letting a curse have the opportunity to use its cursed energy to hit your eyes leading to the blindness that you now have for the rest of your life as well as the guilt he has to carry for the rest of his - no matter how many times you have told him it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the result, even Ieiri was dispirited at the fact she couldn’t use her curse energy to heal your sight back.
Even though, Fushiguro didn’t mention anything about it nor did he want to be shown as weak, Gojo remembered when the young child Fushiguro cried at the fact that you were never going to ever see him again and even when you consoled the child, he would burst in tear again when he looked into your eyes only to remember you couldn’t see him.
Tightening the hold on your shoulders, you noticed Gojo’s change in cursed energy as it flickered slight causing you to turn your head slightly to the direction of his face before using your right hand (that was not on Itadori’s head) to tighten the hold of Gojo’s arms as a way to comfort him before removing your other hand from the student’s head to hold your boyfriend’s hand that was on your left shoulder.
“You know Itadori when I lost my sight it was quite upsetting but I remember the child I was protecting, from what I remember hearing, he had graduated elementary recently and is going to middle school as of right now,” you stated, causing Itadori to look at you with a concentrated look on his face since it seemed like you were saying something that was going to be important.
“But I want you to remember this, I didn’t become a sorcerer to save people but rather to preserve the balance between humans and curses because in the end, I know, the innocence of some people will go away quicker than others and if I choose the life of saving people as my only objective, my guilt will only manifest more when I don’t save someone,” you explained with a calm but serious tone, it was as if you were not only talking to Itadori.
“I don’t want myself or other people to feel guilty when a fatal or irreversible action has been taken, that’s why no one is at fault for the reason that I am blind,” you confessed leading both Itadori to come to the realisation that you were talking about this goal of ‘giving people a fair death’ and the disadvantages of it, while Gojo was shocked at the fact you were hinting at him during your speech on how guilt is the most powerful thing that leads to the downfall of many sorcerers.
That’s what Gojo felt.
Guilt.
Guilty at the fact he couldn’t save you in time during that mission.
Guilty at the fact you lost your eyesight.
Guilty at the fact at how you were now as a sorcerer even those you were more than capable to carry your duties as a special grade one sorcerer much to everyone’s shock.
But here you were telling him that it wasn’t his fault and it never was in the first place.
No one was at fault for your lost sight.
Suddenly the stems that were tangled around his ribs began to slowly wilt as they were steadily dying as your words refused to feed them the guilt that was giving them the power and nutrients to further grow.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was never his fault.
Steadily, a smile reached his face as he pulled you in further to his chest leading your back to hit against it leaving a few unusual shivers from you due to the feeling of the overpowering warmth and glee you felt from your boyfriend as his cursed energy brightened up with a certain glow you weren’t quite sure of.
“Thank you honey~ for everything,” Gojo muttered in your ear before continuing back to talking to Itadori in his usual cheerful and playful tone as if nothing sentimental happened between the both of you just right now.
Surprised at his sudden change of behaviour, you couldn’t help but smile slightly at his newfound brightness leading you to answer back his gratitude in a soft whisper that both student and teacher didn’t hear.
“It was never your fault, I love you”
© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jjk imagines#jjk imagine#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen satoru gojo#jjk gojo satoru#jjk satoru gojo#gojo satoru imagines#gojo satoru imagine#satoru gojo imagines#satoru gojo imagine#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader
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Tags~: @scifiji @shiny-bun @luv-hqs @gummiebearsmp4 @aquariusmurderer @inarizza @roadkillarr (finally I made the part two AHAHAH)
——————
Kita x reader - warm, warm professions (God I love you so much) (cold cold obvs. Part 2)
Warnings - ahaha angst, crying Kita
Pronouns - male, he/him
you can find part one here!
——————
“Shicchan, your hands are so cold...”
(Y/n) cupped both of Kita’s numb hands in his own. Kita tensed, looking down at both of their hands. He felt his own hands being attacked with (Y/n’s) warm ones, his cold, cold hands already thawing just at the one touch.
“Isn’t it hard to toss the ball when you’re hands are numb? That’s bad!” (Y/n) brought Kita’s hands to cup his face, his hands stinging from how warm his cheeks were.
(Y/n) nuzzled his face into Kita’s left hand. He practically murmured into his palm. “How’d they get so cold in the first place?”
Kita wouldn’t show it, in fact he didn’t think he could if he tried, but the warmth that spread across his chest made him suddenly want to run laps. He settled for slightly gripping and rubbing (Y/n’s) cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t know.” Was all Kita could muster. He was too lost in (Y/n’s) captivating eyes.
God, he loved him so much.
——
Numb.
Numb was the way Kita would describe the feeling in his mouth.
He sat quietly on a foldable chair in the gym, twirling his fingers together instead of watching the practice match going on. He didn’t think he could pay attention if he tried, when he used to be able to have his eyes glued onto the ball even though he was on the sidelines. His fingers felt kind of numb.
He wrapped his fingers up in his shirt to no avail. All it did was make his stomach cold from his fingers bitter touch. It wasn’t even that cold outside. It was a rather nice day in terms of weather. But it didn’t feel like that at all.
“-ita. Kita!”
Kita raised his head. Atsumu loomed above him with his arms crossed.
“...Did you need something, Atsumu-san?”
“Yeah. Why’re ya actin’ all depressed? You’re makin’ everyone feel depressed too, y’know.”
“Atsumu! Shut the fuck up!” Kita heard someone whisper-yell, as well as a grunt of pain from Atsumu. Kita blinked.
“Nothing...much.”
“Nothin’ much?! How bout’ when you started cryin’ yer ass off during practice a week ago? Didn’t seem like nothin’ to me!”
Osamu slapped Atsumu upside the head. Aran sighed.
“I gotta agree with Atsumu-san on this. You don’t look too good these days. Especially since (L/n)-san stopped showin’ up to practice.”
There was hums and nods of agreement. Kita pursed his lips.
“Did...did something happen between y’all?”
Kita couldn’t look Aran in the eyes. He, also, used to have no problem speaking his mind (in fact sometimes it came out automatically) but right now his mouth was glued shut. Now, and probably forever. He didn’t wanna say it. He didn’t wanna think it. He didn’t wanna hear it-
“Kita and (L/n) broke up a week ago.”
Suna pitched in monotonously. Kita flinched subtly. The gym was silent. All eyes were on Kita. His throbbing, cold hands didn’t help, as he tried warming them up discreetly by stuffing them under the backside of his shirt.
“Oh...uh, sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t mind.”
The awkward, sympathetic pats on the back didn’t really help either, but he replied with a curt “s’fine.” nonetheless.
——
(Y/n) kissed the back of Kita’s hand.
“Looks like your hands warmin’ up...” He drew it away from his lips and examined it with half lidded eyes and a reserved smile. Kita watched as tiny specs of sun fluttered around (Y/n’s) warm face, painting his face and hair with light that made him look like an angel sent from heaven.
Kita mindlessly brought his free hand up to the side of (Y/n’s) face, touching and stroking his cheek with the grace of a feather. (Y/n) looked up from his hand, up at Kita’s face.
(Y/n) leaned into his touch. He used his other hand to cup the hand resting peacefully on his cheek, nuzzling his nose further into Kita’s palm.
“Something wrong?”
“No...”
Kita felt a throbbing, hazy feeling in his chest. Like something inside his ribcage was trying to break free, and explode into a million pieces.
“Then, do you just like holding my face?” (Y/n) smiled that smile that made him go weak in the knees. “That’s good...I like it when you hold my face too.”
God, he loved him so much.
——
Kita slumped down, doubled over himself panting and heaving on the sidewalk where Inarizaki was collectively jogging. Ginjima stopped in front of Kita, jogging in place.
“You’re usually in the very front of the pack when we all run.” He said in between huffs.
Kita said nothing, only panting and crouching down to catch his breath.
“You run in the very back of the group now.”
He was met with no response again. Ginjima stopped running in place, and stared down pitifully at Kita’s hunched over body.
“S’everything alright back there?!” Aran called out from a distance. Ginjima yelled out a “Everything’s fine!” While waving his arms around in the air until Aran waved back. Ginjima looked back at Kitas scrunched up form.
“Y’know-maybe you should just...go home for the day. Take a break.”
Kita looked up at him with dry, tired eyes. His throat refused to put out any other sounds than exhales the occasional cough.
“Go freshen up and go home. You won’t die missing a day of practice.” Ginjima crouched down to Kita’s face, his voice noticeably softer and careful. “It’s not like you to push yourself when you know you’re not doing well.”
“I’m not sick, it’s not the same thing-“
“But you’re heartbroken.”
Heartbroken. Kita supposed that was the word to describe his situation right now. Heartbroken, yet it didn’t feel like the correct word to describe how he felt. He felt like he was dying. Drowning. Freezing.
“I’ll walk you back, ‘kay?” Ginjima pushed off his feet, extending a hand over to Kita. He pulled him up, and Kita swayed in the air like a bobblehead. “Go change and go home. We’ll see you tomorrow, don’t worry. I’ll tell the others you went home.”
Ginjima and Kita walked in the opposite direction they were running. Kita downcast his face.
“M’kay.”
——
“Do you love me?”
Kita remembered the way (Y/n’s) face didn’t radiate the warm glow it usually did when he was around him. His eyes looked strained, infuriated even, and he looked like he wanted to say something more. But it was a simple question, ‘do you love me?’. And of course he did. So that’s what he said.
“...Of course I-“
“”of course I do.” That’s what you always say..! Say something else, dammit! Say you love me!”
(Y/n) abruptly rose from his seat, stepping over the bench and grabbing Kita by the collar. He pulled him closer to his face, shaking him by the shirt with knuckles that almost turned white.
“M-Make me believe that you love me!”
He really wish he didn’t remember how much tears flowed freely from (Y/n’s) eyes, and how he was biting and gnawing at his lip to keep from screaming, or the way he shook with despair in general. It played over and over again, the same sorrow-riddled expression that made Kita’s stomach drop.
He really wish he didn’t remember. But he wished he’d said something, anything, even more.
(Y/n’s) face went from angry and sad, to numb and cold in a matter of seconds. He’d much rather prefer the heated look of (Y/n’s) angry face, than the stone cold lifeless look (Y/n) held when he let go of his shirt. Because even with his angry sobs and screams, there was still a hint of warmth. Even if it was angry passion, it was still better than the cold, dead stare he held that Kita couldn’t meet.
“...I think we should break up.”
Kita’s world went silent. He was struck with an immediate shock of dread, panic, stress, and everything in between. He had so many questions. Why? Didn’t he know that he loved him? He loved him so, so much, so why was he saying that he didn’t? Was his love not enough? Didn’t he know how much he needed him?
He had so many questions, yet his face made of cold stone could only say one thing.
“Why?”
(Y/n’s) iron clad grip on Kita’s shirt loosened, he stepped back, face feeling raw after crying. “I don’t want to be with someone who can’t tell me they love me. Once you can tell me you love me, and mean it, I’m all ears.”
Kita watched as (Y/n) turned his back on him for the first and last time. More thoughts raced in his head. He could change. He could do better. He’d love him a thousand times more, fix every little imperfection, hell, do it a thousand times over again if it meant that (Y/n) would turn around with that warm smile again. He wanted see that smile again. That smile that made him feel so warm. Please. One more time. Kita’s arm gravitated outwards, reaching for (Y/n’s) cold back as he turned away. One more time, please smile for me.
But he didn’t. He was met with nothing more than a cold shoulder.
He was left with the sudden drop in temperature, the world once filled with so much warmth being winded away into a cold wasteland. Kita looked down, his eyes numb and wide.
“Please come back...” he remembered saying, though he didn’t think it ever came out audibly.
“I love you, (Y/n)...”
‘God...dear God...’
He loved him so much.
‘Why did you take him away from me?’
‘The gods were always listening, is what my Baa-san would always say. Were the gods not listening to my undying love for you, (L/n)(Y/n)? Was my feelings for you not enough to make you smile for me one last time? God, I loved you so much.’
‘So did I not love you enough?’
——
Kita found himself sitting on the same bench (Y/n) professed his love for him to. Granted, it was the same bench they had broken up on, but Kita didn’t want to think about that.
He twirled a wilted cherry blossom petal in between his fingers. The rigid, dark pink petal cracked and crumbled, turning into dust in Kita’s hand.
As much as he hated this place, this stupid stone bench with a cherry blossom tree, it was a beautiful sight that not much students knew about. It was quiet, but it caused (Y/n’s) cold, cold eyes to bore into his mind all the more he stayed. It was a double edged sword.
He sometimes wondered what (Y/n) was doing with his free time outside of the club. What did he do? Did he take a nap after classes? His sleeping face looked very cute, though he only saw it once when he dozed off studying at his house. Did he spend time with his parents? He always found people respectable to their parents very attractive. Did he find a new club to stay with?
Kita clenched his fists. The thought of (Y/n) playing a different sport, doing something else after school, didn’t sit right with him. Was that what he was doing? Did he realize how cold and uncomfortable he made volleyball for him, and decided to leave? Would he never see him smiling up at him again after school?
Would he never see (L/n) (Y/n’s) warm, warm smile directed at him ever again?
He heard footsteps echo on the grass behind him. The footsteps halted awkwardly, and Kita turned around.
(Y/n) locked eyes with Kita. He should’ve been paying attention to where he was going, huh? Maybe if he was looking where he was walking, he could’ve noticed Kita Shinsuke sitting there, and could’ve found a different spot to sit at after school.
(Y/n) wasted no time spinning on his heel and leaving. He didn’t wanna face Kita after everything that went down.
Kita feet sprang him up and off the bench. He didn’t know what he was doing, but the next thing he knew was that his arms wrapped around (Y/n’s) body, holding him while he was facing away. Kita’s mind raced with thoughts and went absolutely blank at the same time.
(Y/n) pursed his lips. “What do you want?” He said. It came out harsher than he intended, but Kita paid no mind. He wordlessly buried his face into the crook of (Y/n’s) neck, nuzzling it and relishing in the warmth that was not intended for him.
“H-hey! What gives!” (Y/n) half-heartedly tried pushing Kita away. He knew if he gave in now, he’d come crawling back into Kita’s cold, loveless arms, craving that touch and pretending it was indeed, love. “Don’t...don’t touch me, Kita-“
“Shinsuke.”
The arm that was trying to push Kita away went limp. (Y/n’s) hardened exterior cracked as his resolve faltered. Kita buried himself deeper into (Y/n’s) shoulder, firmly wrapping his arms around (Y/n) tightly. He was practically murmuring into (Y/n’s) school uniform.
“Call...call me Shinsuke...it’s what you used to call me...when we first started dating...”
“Well,” (Y/n) downcast his face, his eyes hardened and cold while he balled up his fists. “We aren’t dating. So why does it-“
All of (Y/n’s) resolve, all the time he spent putting up the barrier to his emotions, shattered once he heard the first sniffle from Kita.
After that, Kita fell apart like dominoes.
His grip on (Y/n’s) waist tightened as he shook violently, sobs crescendoed and ripping through his body explosively, unlike the silent tears that he shed that day he left. His whimpers and choked cries were muffled from the cloth of (Y/n’s) uniform. He loved him so much. Why couldn’t he see how much he loved him?
Kita cried and cried on (Y/n’s) shoulder. He couldn’t see the type of face (Y/n) was making, and that made him all the more nervous. He wanted to feel the warmth of (Y/n) at least one last time. After that, he swore he would move on. He swore. He swore, so one last time. Please.
(Y/n) sighed. “Kita...”
Kita didn’t respond. He continued to cry pathetically onto (Y/n’s) shoulder.
“Kita-kun.”
This time, Kita shakily shook his head. (Y/n) sighed, this time more stably, and untangled Kita’s vice grip from his body.
“Shinsuke-kun...”
Kita, confused and sad, finally caught a glimpse of (Y/n’s) face when he turned around. He had a look of empathy, his warm hands brought up to his cheeks, melting his ice cold skin awake. Kita rumbled with another choked sob, closing his eyes and sobbing into (Y/n’s) hands. It was so warm. After the cold winter storm he’d suffered through, the first ray of sunshine that shone through always felt the best.
“Shinsuke-kun,” (Y/n) repeated. Kita hiccuped, trying to stop his tears from falling.
“P-lease come back...” Kita’s voice was hoarse, cracking with every word. “I-I don’t like this...”
(Y/n) said nothing. Kita broke free from (Y/n’s) soft grip on his face, and brought him into a hug. He was never much for physical affection, but right now (Y/n) felt so, so warm.
“You’ve...you’ve treated me so kind...I-I’m sorry...i’ve been so cold...” Kita rambled on, sobbing into (Y/n’s) hair quietly. (Y/n) still didn’t say anything.
“I-I...didn’t mean to...I swear...! I’ll be a better boyfriend...please...I’ll love you correctly...”
(Y/n’s) silence was defecating. Kita felt his ears go numb with the silent treatment he was being put through. Was this his punishment?
“I...say something...! Please...” Kita whispered, tears gathering at his eyes once more. “Please...”
Then, (Y/n) finally wrapped his warm arms around Kita. He mumbled pathetically, “Y’know I don’t like it when people cry, Shinsuke...”
It was Kita’s turn to go quiet. (Y/n) pulled away, much to Kita’s protest. However, the warm smile (Y/n) gave him made his heart throb and his throat close up.
(Y/n) caressed Kita’s face with his thumb. “Stop crying...”
“I love you...” Kita whispered, his voice cracking at the seams. (Y/n’s) face adorned a look of astonishment, a slight blush lighting up his already perfect sunny face.
(Y/n) smiled again. That same smile Kita had been craving for forever.
“T-Tell me that again...please.”
Kita collapsed into (Y/n’s) warm arms. Choked sobs of “I-I love you-!” And “I-I love you so much...” echoed through the air. The emotionless barrier, holding all of Kita’s emotions captive to the world, cracked and shattered, his crying face bearing the weight of a man who loved (L/n) (Y/n) with his entire being.
(Y/n) stroked the back of Kita’s head softly.
“Of course you do...”
God, he loved him so much.
——————
#kita angst#kita shinsuke x reader#kita x you#kita x y/n#kita x male reader#shinsuke kita x reader#kita shinsuke#kita x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu boys#haikyuu angst#haikyuu x male reader#hq x y/n#hq x male reader
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call out my name pt. 2
summary: spencer rushes off to fix things with y/n, but can they really be fixed?
word count: 2,371 reading time aprox: 9 mins
a/n: i just wanted to say thank you for all the support and praise i received on here, especially seeing all of my favorite authors comment and reblog my work is so heartening. thank you all so much for the support, you’re the reason why i have the encouragement to continue doing what i love <3
masterlist
part 1
The rain pattered against the window panes, interlocking with the light that shone through the sheer curtains of my apartment. A cold breeze slipped through the crack of the window, letting it venture through the dim room before it graced my skin. Although the sensation hadn’t registered in my mind as the plain beige wall in front of me consumed my attention.
The hypnotic sound of the rain provided a consistent rhythm that encouraged my introspection. In the entire duration of my break, I’ve let my thoughts filter and organize themselves. I’ve felt powerless against the accusations that my brain has thrown towards me, setting my emotions to the side in a state of suspense.
My knees were curled up against my chest, my unwashed hair scrunched up against my cheeks, and my sweater was littered with unknown stains and dried tears. Along with the descension of my reasonability, my hygiene followed shortly after.
I was brought out of my bubble by the buzz of my phone. I turned it off weeks ago from the constant notifications I got from the team, it was only when I received a text message from my mother that I decided to turn it back on for the day.
I reached over to the side table where my phone laid, feeling my muscles tense up and ache from the lack of movement I’ve done these past weeks. Turning it on, the intense light blinded me, leaving me disoriented. When my eyes finally adjusted to the sudden change of light, I wished that I had been blinded a little longer than I was.
The notification read ‘New Voicemail: JJ <3’
My breath got pushed back in my throat, a wave of discomfort flooding over my entire body as my thumb hesitated over the notification. My lips trembled, swallowing my saliva while a debate ensued between my impulsivity and my timidity. With a numb boost of confidence I hurriedly pressed on the notification, traveling through my phone to hear out her message.
“Hey Y/N” The message began. “I know that you heard...about what I said to Spence-” Her voice was low and full of penance, although any remorse that I tried to comprehend washed away at her use of Spencer’s nickname. “Gosh, I don’t even - I don’t even know how to begin to apologize for what I said - I - you don’t know how much Spence loves you and how much he talks about you” She sighed, her tone picking up as she praised Spencer. “But what I said was completely inappropriate and I’m so sorry for what I said. Telling Spence that I loved him was way out of line, considering that you’re such a dear friend to me, and especially since things are so complicated with me and Will - I just - I’m so sorry that I told him that I love-”
The rest of the message was left to the imagination as I forcefully threw my phone against the beige wall, denting it in the process. A flurry of newfound rage clouded my mind, providing a break from the contradicting thoughts that usually engulfed my head. For once, I had directed the emotion towards another individual rather than myself.
The phone fell with a heavy thud, glass debris flying across the floor, decorating the oak floors with fragments. I could care less about the material expense that I would have to pay; my blind resentment tainting my rationality.
My chest heaved in exasperation as a novel onslaught of tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Although the quantity of tears were sparse because they were wasted on my self reproach the previous week. I furiously wiped them away, detaching myself from the malicious feeling, a habit I came to develop.
I adapted to the stupefaction that infiltrated my heart, at times feeling grateful for the ability. The coldness that surrounded my small living room couldn’t compare to the icy innards of my chest.
Finally collecting my composure, I looked over to a mirror that sat between my bookshelves, taking in my disheveled and ragged appearance.
JJ wouldn’t look like this
My face contorted into a somber expression, letting my insecurities slip through the hard persona I persisted to instill in myself. I surveyed the filthy environment that surrounded me; the floor was painted with old dirt, the furniture had accumulated colonies of dust, and the roses that sat on the kitchen counters had wilted.
JJ would never let herself go like this
Who was I kidding? Who was I, Y/N Y/L/N, to compare to a Georgetown graduate, an astounding profiler, and an icon of beauty?
Well the one thing I had that she didn’t was Spencer
But did I really?
I was startled out of my grim assessment by a frantic knocking against my front door. I groaned internally, not hesitating to stay where I was situated. I couldn’t handle any human interaction at the moment, frankly I didn’t want any human interaction at all. I’ve learned to love the little cocoon I had built around me, finding serendipity in my self-isolation.
“Go away!” I attempted to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse whimper that sent a sharp pain to my esophagus. I flinched as the knocking became more frantic, the volume elevating along with the forceful jabs against the wood.
I felt my ears ring, using my hands to alleviate the pounding that attacked my eardrums. I was about to open my mouth to disclose another warning, but a familiar voice had interrupted me.
“Y/N! Y/N are you in there!” Spencer yelled, slamming his fists against the door between every phrase.
I froze in my spot, a wave of mixed emotions coming over me as my cheeks flushed at hearing his voice for the first time in a long time. The familiar sound sent shockwaves down my spine and dread silenced my tongue. It felt like I was on high alert, like an animal paranoid of its prey.
“Y/N! Just - god please tell me you’re at least okay” He stammered in his fit of hysteria, the bangs on the door slowing in rhythm.
Silence followed his pleas, instilling a sense of relief that I didn’t know I needed. Movement outside stilled, making me think that he had given up his relentless efforts and went elsewhere. I let out a breath that I held in, alleviating the stress that had accumulated inside of me.
Although the moment that I began to relax into my seat, two blaring shots rattled through the apartment complex. The scent of gunpowder meshed with the dewy air as I jumped out of my seat, startled and alarmed. I closed my eyes and covered my ears with my palms, the ringing leaving me blindsided.
“Y/N! Y/N? Are you there?” Spencer rushed in with his gun pointed, his feet clattering against the floor in a haste.
“What the fuck Spencer” I hoarsely whispered, although the meekly volume of my voice hadn’t penetrated this ears.
“Y/N!” He called out once again, slowing his movements as his sneakers squeaked with every step he made.
“I’m here Spencer, I’m here” I repeated, using all my might to push the small phrase off of my tongue. My throat stung at the strain of my voice, a burning feeling eliciting from the back of my throat due to the dryness. This time I had caught his attention.
We locked eyes for a brief moment before I quickly broke our line of sight, insecure about my current appearance; even after a month I still held Spencer’s opinion to the highest magnitude. In the time that I observed him, I noticed that he was drenched in rain water, his hair tangled and strung out from his head while droplets proceeded behind him.
“I-” He breathed, his words caught in his throat. He dropped his revolver beside him in incredulity, drinking in my battered presence. He didn’t look too well either, his stature was still the same but the bags under his eyes were prominent, his cheeks were puffed from exhaustion, and his posture resembled the hunchback of Notre Dame.
“W- what are y- you doing here Spencer?” I croaked, rubbing my hands against my arms in an attempt for any type of coverage.
My senses heightened as I waited for his response. He brought in such a familiar, yet unfamiliar presence with him. It felt like I was home, but so far away from it at the same time.
Maybe it was the way that I longed for the warmth of his embrace, the calming rhythm of his heart beat while I slept on his chest, and the soothing melody of his voice while he read to me. But maybe it was also the way he hadn’t dared to speak when JJ’s voice was full of love, when he assumed that I hadn’t acknowledged the endearments he received from another woman, and when I became a distant thought in the back of his head.
I’ve never doubted Spencer’s eidetic memory, but this time I questioned my place in that brilliant mind of his. Maybe for the first time, I was the one thought that had ceased to exist.
“I - why didn’t you tell me?” He uttered, running his hand over his jaw in grievance. His eyes burned holes into me, the intense glare making me feel small under his scrutiny.
I couldn’t answer
“God Y/N - I don’t even - why didn’t you even tell me?”
“I - uh - I don’t” I stuttered, unable to muster the confidence or cognitive ability to speak; it was like my brain had turned into mush.
“Please talk to me” He pleaded, taking a hesitant step closer to me.
I stumbled back in a haste like he was some sort of repellent. I felt a constant push and pull in my gut, messing with my innate instincts.
“Spencer don’t-” I warned, seeing how he had taken a few determined strides towards me.
“Spence...please don't - p- please” I whimpered, feeling a wet substance slide down the apple of my cheeks. I tasted the crimson blood mix with the salty residue on my lips, unaware of how hard I bit down on the skin.
Pained tears continued to fall incessantly from my eyes, matching the way the rain ran down my window panes previously. I saw Spencer’s figure slump down in defeat, the helplessness in my words permeating his eardrums.
“Y/N just - please let me fix - Y/N just please let me fix us” He solicited, looking to me for permission to advance.
“Spencer there’s no need for fixing anythi-”
“Yes there is Y/N-”
“No there isn’t Spencer!” I persisted, convincing myself that I had everything under control. I shut my eyes in frustration, shaking my head in denial while I reminded myself of all the malicious emotions I refused to feel.
“Y/N please just list-”
“No Spencer. I know what to do and I know how to deal with-”
“No Y/N! No you don’t - god you’re so stubborn sometimes -” He imprudently blurted out, pinching at the bridge of his nose to collect his composure. “Y/N - please just…” He sighed, looking deep into my eyes from a distance. “Please just let me in” He begged, a few tears slipping from the corners of his somber irises. His face wore an anguished and desperate expression, an expression that had the ability to end a war.
My cold exterior shattered instantaneously from the sight of Spencer, feeling my heart being tugged into multiple directions until all that was left was a pained human muscle. As much as I wanted to convince myself of an ardent persona, I knew that Spencer was the only person that could invoke such a visceral reaction from me. Whether I accepted the feeling or not, I knew that Spencer’s effect on me was unmatched to any delusions I made myself to believe.
My lips trembled uncontrollably as a soft sob rolled off my tongue. I looked to Spencer for aid, feeling my entire facade crash and burn. My knees buckled and weakened from reality coming in all at once. When the first cry fell from my mouth, more followed soon after.
I became a drenched mess that sat in the middle of the living room. I felt deceived by myself, developing a sense of self resentment as my mindset came into actualization. I grieved for the fragment of myself that I secluded and killed off because of my inability to process my agony, longing for that piece of me back.
Spencer came to my rescue, engulfing me in his arms and encroaching me with his touch. I leaned into his chest, desperately clutching onto the dress shirt he wore. My tears stained his blazer, leaving puddles along the fabric, but I couldn’t care less.
I breathed in the sedative scent, feeling it flush through my nostrils, reminding me of home. I held onto his arms tightly, afraid that he would disappear the moment I let go of him.
Spencer tried to reach down to grab a hold of my cheek, but I nudged his fingers away, climbing into his lap as I buried my face into the crook of his neck.
He cooed into my hair, stroking my back while he whispered his endearments in my ear. “You’re okay Y/N - we’re going to be okay” He breathed, letting out a staggered exhale as he enunciated his words.
Light rushed into my chest at that moment, letting it conquer and cut through the caution tape I had wired around my feelings. Shutting my eyes, I relaxed into his love, letting it infiltrate and replace my fears.
I didn’t doubt that it was going to take time to heal and repair, but at least it was beginning.
“I love you so so much Y/N - more than you can ever conceive” He declared, pressing a soft kiss on my temple. “And nobody will ever tell me otherwise”
I knew from that moment that I didn’t have to walk on a tightrope no longer because I knew it was my name that Spencer would be calling out.
-
taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @linthebinbag @goldentournesol @andiebeaword @moon-light-jukebox @pizzarollsfordayz @baby-i-am-fireproof @cielo1984 @spncersreid @101donuts @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @parkeroffline
#spencer reid#spencer#Spencerreid#spencer reid icons#spencer reid x oc#spencer reid imagines#spencer x oc#spencer x reader#spencer x you#spencer x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid imagine#Matthew Gray Gubler#matthew gray gubler imagine#matthew gray gubler imagines#matthew gray gubler x reader#matthew gray gubler x y/n#Criminal Minds#criminal minds fic
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wilting of elfhame
[Part Three]
a jurdan fic written by ryhanna
word count: 3020 words
prompt: "Okay this is a fanfic request but can you make a fanfic TWK during Jude's exile. 5 years later Jude is about to be married to a mortal man and a remorseful faerie cardan begs her not to" requested by @fantasyfox10123
part one
part two
Since Jude insisted on staying at Madoc’s Stronghold at Imsmire to keep a low profile, Madoc had ordered Tatterfell to attend to her and had sent plenty of beautiful dresses, no doubt Oriana's. They were beautiful but the small windows meant to show a glimpse of skin on Oriana's slim figure, it would be a whole display on Jude.
Despite her exile, Jude hadn't skipped out on her drills. Waking every morning and staying up late at night just to maintain the fit physique that would be almost effortless at Elfhame where she would constantly be on her sword. It was a curse cloaked under the illusions of a blessing when it hadn't been quite so essential for Jude to maintain her way with a sword in the mortal world. Now although she was fit she was desperately out of practice.
"How exactly do you intend to piece back shards of glass?" The imp asked Jude one morning as she braided Jude's hair into two horns, a style Jude had rather grew fond of. "Especially when you have pieces missing, you are not the same girl you were five years ago. The High King must know that—"
"And yet, he'd be too heartbroken to see clearly, he would see what he wants to!"
"Are you not seeing clearly yourself, child? The High King is not the same boy either, twisted with guilt and even more evidence that he is a boy not made for love. What makes you think you would manage to heal him so? And wouldn't you be just as cruel to use his already shattered heart in your own gain as he had been when he exiled you?"
It was almost comforting to have Tatterfell scolding her as if Jude was a child again. But she was not, and she did not like what Tatterfell said, especially when she made such a valid point.
"He deserves to feel the same pain as I when he viciously had me thrown out of Elfhame, out of my own home."
"For all your slightly worn edges that shows yourself to be a grown woman, you still grumble like a child." Once again, Jude was eerily reminded by herself that faerie can't lie and that Tatterfell can only say what she believes to be the truth. It did not stop Jude from grumbling even more, no matter how childish.
"I must pick the better of my enemies to make allies, mustn't I? Still, it is quite an overwhelming feat to think of someone whom I call an enemy and yet have no desire to kill me." At Tatterfell's pursed lips, a word already poised to slip out, Jude added, "Or someone who I call an enemy but have no desire to kill."
Tatterfell tugs painfully at a strand of hair, before pinning it back to complete the look. "She is your sister after all, the opposite side of the same coin, although you may have wishes to never speak a word to her, Taryn may wish otherwise." It would make sense to ask Taryn for her help, especially since she was married to Locke, the Master of Revels. Jude mentions this to Tatterfell but the imp merely let out a small giggle. "Oh do not depend on your sister for her husband for a corpse could do not much more than rot!"
That alarmed Jude, "Locke is dead?"
"Oh yes! Your sister killed him for reasons I will not disclose. But since we are on the topic of your sister, I find it important to mention that you also have a nephew running around in Faerie. Named Justin, after your father, the boy has walnut eyes and strands of russet hair that makes him look like a rounder version of his father. Cardan and Nicasia are quite fond of him, they were after all Locke's friends. Once they recovered from the news of his death, they visited the child and have doted on him since. Justin calls Cardan uncle, something no one had bothered to encourage or do otherwise. For it is quite accurate." Jude ignored the imp's last comment
"So I have a little nephew! Vivi never mentioned anything to me," Jude murmured sulkily. "But I suppose getting on Taryn's good graces would be beneficial despite Locke's death. She can get me an audience with the High King, bring me to a revel!"
Jude watched as Tatterfell nodded, no doubt glad that Jude had finally decided on making up with her sister, no matter Jude's true intentions.
"Very well, I've strung you some rowan berries, don't forget to turn your socks inside out as well," Tatterfell reminded. Jude listened as the imp continued, her beady black eyes trained on Jude, as if waiting. Jude didn't meet her eyes, she dreaded what was to come next.
It wasn’t just the churning hatred that had stopped Jude from talking to her twin sister, that had faded a long time ago. Jude was simply too prideful to accept Taryn's apology. She had betrayed Jude's trust, time and time again, couldn't she betray Jude just as easily this time? What stopped Taryn from doing it again? Jude didn't want to think about it, especially not as she stepped onto the doorstep of a familiar estate. Madoc had told her Taryn still lived in her husband's home, Jude had prepared herself for it but it was still eerie, despite the long years since the affair.
Before she'd chicken out and forgo her whole intricate plan just because she was too afraid to speak to her own twin sister, Jude knocked on the door, once, then twice. She had expected a servant, surely Taryn wouldn't be the one waiting at the door. Jude would have more time to mentally prepare herself, or so she thought. It was her twin sister that greeted her at the door, a familiar pleasant smile that turned into a look of horrified yet delighted surprise as she registered who was before her.
"Jude? Oh, um, do come in." Taryn opened the door wider, welcoming Jude in. The old house had turned into a lavish home under Taryn's care, decorated with things that were no doubt hand picked by Taryn herself. But there were a few things misplaced, and a trail of mud across the floor. Taryn noticed Jude's staring, "Justin was just out, he likes playing in the gardens, you see."
But Jude did not see, she didn't want to. How was it fair that Taryn got to live a wonderful carefree life at Faerie, unburdened by anything but her little child while Jude failed at even maintaining a healthy relationship with a boy she had been seeing for three years? Jude wanted to scream at her sister wanted to yell and strangle her but the urges were overwhelmed by the suppressed love that Jude had tried so hard to quench.
Jude wrapped her arms around her twin sister, feeling tears slip down her cheek as she tightened her grip. At first Taryn simply stood there, stunned at her actions but then her arms returned the embrace, her grip hesitant at first, then strong as she sobbed. For the first time in so long, Jude felt anchored, as if finally she had found what her soul had been yearning for.
"Mummy, why are you crying?" a voice wondered. Jude dimly registered the small child, tugging at Taryn's dress. Slowly, as if she didn't want to let go, Taryn returned her arms to her side, stepping back as she wiped her tear streaked face. "Dear, have you changed? I wouldn't want you to trail more mud than you already did!"
Taryn used the chiding tone Jude faintly remembered her own mother using. A strict voice with a caring undertone as she commented on something naughty her child had done. Jude's already aching heart ached some more, once again she found herself wondering what the piece of history Madoc mentioned must be.
"I have," Justin told her mother, groaning as if he found Taryn's question annoying. Jude found her own mother’s questions annoying too but that was before. "And Aunt Nicasia is asking about who knocked the door, she's still in the parlour having tea."
Taryn perked up as if she just remembered. "Tell her it's just some lost faerie who needs directions," She said, ushering her child away. Technically, since Justin was part faerie he couldn't lie, but that didn't mean he can't say the untruth. He believed his mother’s words to be true, that was good enough. Taryn turned back at Jude, cast her a frantic glance and lowered her tone as she murmured, "You can join me and Nicasia or I can simply request she go home early so we can talk."
There were many people Jude didn't want to see right now, Nicasia was one of them. She is the daughter of Orlagh, Queen of the Undersea which makes her the Princess of the Undersea. Nicasia is cruel and was apart of Cardan's group of friends. Jude didn't see how the princess could change such drastically over the course of five years in favour of being nicer.
"Tell her to retire home early, what I have to say is urgent." Taryn nodded and headed back to the parlour, Jude watched as she go.
"Curious, some lost faerie who needs directions? Faerie do not get lost, nor did we need directions? Who is it, Taryn?" Jude recognised the familiar haughty voice of Nicasia. The princess walked out the room, her face twisted in annoyance. "Justin, darling, I'll see you tomorrow? Uncle Cardan will tag along next—," Nicasia called. Jude forgot to stay hidden, she had only realised she hadn't until she felt a pair of eyes on her. "Oh it makes sense now," the princess murmured, staring Jude up and down and leaving out the door before Jude could say a thing.
"Jude?" Taryn asked, gesturing for Jude to follow her to the parlour. Justin trailed behind her mother, casting occasional glances at Jude, his mouth opening then closing as if he wanted to ask a question but was too nervous to do so. Perhaps Jude was keeping her features schooled into the one she often wore at court, intimidating and cool. It was possible, especially with how comfortably Jude had eased back to the role of constant scheming.
"Why does she look like you, mummy?" Justin whispered to Taryn, casting another curious at Jude. Taryn picked her son up into his arms, whispering back a reply Jude didn't hear. Taryn gestured for Jude to sit on the cushioned armchair.
"I was there when Cardan announced your pardon, he was most obviously drunk and even more obviously crying, his eyes were glistening with tears. It rained," Taryn murmured, eyeing Jude with a raised eyebrow. "You hate Cardan, then you made him King. After that, you were kidnapped to the Undersea and Cardan exiled you. Excuse me if I am thoroughly confused!" Taryn exclaimed, exasperated.
"He was under my command when I made him king," Jude told her. "And I agreed to release him from that command by..."
"By?" Taryn asked, sipping a cup of tea. Justin sat atop her lap, face hidden in the crook of Taryn's neck. It looked terribly uncomfortable but Jude was too busy preparing herself for what she was about to say.
"I married him, I'm the High Queen of Elfhame," Jude added the last part quietly but Taryn caught it. Jude can tell by her widened eyes and little surprised gasp. She put her tea cup down, ever so graceful.
"How did-" Taryn blinked. "Right, so if you are Queen, why have you come to make amends with your widowed sister? I doubt I'd have much to offer," Taryn said skeptically, her hand reaching for Justin's head, fussing up the russet hair. It was the same shade as Locke's, Jude thought.
"You are close to Cardan. You're not the only one I have to make amends with."
"I'm assuming Madoc put you up to this? What did he promise? Power? A place to belong?" Taryn stared wistfully out the window, at the garden that must've been filled with flowers not quite so long ago. "Cardan visits, I see the longing in his eye that he masks with nothing but a thin veil lame humour. The one time I told a tale of you, how you used to scrape your knees, refusing to give up on your attempt of riding a bike, Cardan had laughed. Then the flowers had bloomed, it was the first flowers I've seen in so long."
Jude refused herself to feel touched. Where was he throughout the five years when Jude was dying inside? Where was he when Jude couldn't even look at Nightfell without wanting to put in through someone. She had considered going back, to hell with the consequences, had considered marching straight into the Palace to slice Cardan's throat. She had turned his words over and over in her head, searching eagerly for a loophole, constantly disbelieving that Cardan would betray her so severely.
"I need to get him under my control again. First, healing the land then..." Jude watched Taryn's dissatisfied expression. "Madoc promised me something really valuable. You can choose to not help me at all if you want but I'd share the prize either way."
"I want no prize, I am content here in this manor with my child. Despite being a disgraced general's Foster daughter, I am accepted."
"He's offering me a piece of information, about our past. He swore it'll be worthy of my part in the grand scheme of things."
"A memory? For playing your lover like the strings of a lyre. You didn't like it when Locke did it to you, now you're doing it to Cardan."
"Do not remind me of Locke! I'm grateful you managed to kill him though, I would've loved to preform the act myself but alas you beat me to it." Jude paused as a servant placed a plate of pastries and faerie fruit. She wat he'd as Taryn murmured her thanks, waiting until the faerie was out of eavesdropping distance. "Get me an audience with the High King, you confirmed my suspicions, he is inexplicably in love with me, his judgement no doubt clouded with heartbreak."
Taryn bit her lip, she had been the one warning Jude against fighting back, against threatening the prince, always afraid of the consequences. Now she was the one defending him, Jude didn't think she could forgive Taryn if she denied Jude her help.
"Very well." Jude was grateful. "There's a revel tonight, some Lady from court will be leaving Elfhame to head for the mortal lands." Taryn spoke mortal lands as if she wasn't a mortal herself, but Jude supposed she wasn't, neither of them were truly human, couldn't leave Elfhame even if they tried their best.
"Madoc brought some of Oriana's dresses but I don't think..." Jude gestured to the blue dress she was wearing, the flowy fabric clinging to her figure. "I suspect we are still the same size?"
Actually, Jude was slightly bigger with her muscles compared to Taryn's delicate limbs but Jude supposed it was the better of the two. She'd ask Madoc for a seamstress but he had told her that her being here was going to be a secret until I make some grand appearance at a revel.
"How grand?" Taryn asked conspicuously, releasing Justin so he could go to play outside. "Set the tone for your arrival, I'll move pieces around it."
They talked for hours, until the sun had rose and Justin had crept back in, placing his head on Taryn's lap and falling soundly asleep. They talked as if they were little children, planning their fantasy wedding to a prince of a faraway kingdom. Flower petals that turned to butterflies, a scandalous dress, a flirtatious dance with a faerie just to make Cardan jealous.
But in the end they settled on a yellow dress with skirts like petals of a sunflower. The sleeves draped across Jude's shoulders, the bodice a dark brown. Beads were sewn in to replicate the seeds. Jude would've preferred something blue but Taryn had nothing of that colour that quite caught Jude’s eye like the sunflower dress did.
"Also, I sent a messenger to the palace, a discreet one. Cardan would be wearing a golden doublet, I think the both of you would suit each other quite well."
Jude knew it was what she asked for but she couldn’t helped but feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she didn't want the revenge, it simply felt wrong to touch something so sacred. But there was no time to change her mind for they were already mere steps from the field where faeries were dancing in the fading sunlight. Jude was tempted to turn around anyways but some faeries had already caught sight of her, unabshedly pointing and loudly whispering, not even bothering to be subtle.
But Jude kept her eyes on a figure waltzing with a leafy-haired faerie, never missing a step though his eyes met Jude's gaze. Jude refused to look away, letting her fury burn, letting the determination show. The trees around the field turned green, blossoms starting to bloom. Distantly, Jude heard the crowd gasp, the music pause but she didn’t look at them, she needed to see Cardan's reaction when she took her next move.
"I am the High Queen of Elfhame," Jude announced, not even wavering. More flowers bloomed as the crowd grew louder, shouting for Cardan to address me. His dancing partner froze and stepped away, further displeasing the High King. Jude knew that scowl all too well.
Cardan walked towards Jude, his scowl turning into a broken smile as he walked closer. The music had continued, the folk of the air returning to their dancing. Only Jude caught the tears Cardan blinked away.
She refused to let herself feel anything but the building anger. The anger that she forced herself to swallow as she put on her brightest smile. "I've returned."
#books#booklover#booklr#tfota spoilers#tfota#the folk of the air#cardan and jude#jurdan#jude duarte#jurdan fanfic#cardan greenbriar#taryn duarte#ry writes
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meadow | l.h.
The only things stopping Luke from running away with the princess are the armor on his back and the vow he made to the kingdom.
1.2k words
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Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).
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Luke was mesmerized. Sunlight glistened against silk. The rose pink dress the princess wore shimmered with her every movement. He saw her everyday, under sunlight and moonbeams, in the grandest rooms of the castle and engulfed by the perfectly tended flowers in the royal garden. But the sight of her trailing aimlessly through their secret meadow never failed to instill awe in him. She was one with the world when they made their getaway. Lost to the wildflowers and overgrowth of grass. Ease always captured her in the meadow; fully able to let worries of kingdoms and wars slip away. She felt safe there. She felt protected by Luke’s presence.
His cape flew in the wind as he followed her, the sign of his knighthood a sharp reminder against his skin. He was sworn to protect the crown. Vowed to his sword and the castle and nothing more. But secrets lived on his lips and in his heart. They were born of tilted crowns and shy smiles, flowers in hair and running through shadows and from responsibilities.
“We could keep going,” she said as she spun to face Luke. Her eyes sparkled under the light, were relentless as they peered at him and waited for his response. Perfectly stained lips pursed as Luke sighed. “We don’t have to go back.”
He reached for her hand, her skin was soft under his gentle touch.
“Where would we go?” Luke asked, only to amuse her and her wanderlust.
“Anywhere,” she answered softly and swept her gaze around their meadow. “Or we could stay here. Make a cabin in the woods.”
“Princess,” Luke whispered, words that ached sitting heavily on his heart in the momentary silence they lapsed into. Her eyes were filled with hope. “You know we can’t. We have to go back.”
The reasons for their return danced in the air between them, swayed with the wild lilies in the breeze and wilted their dreams. The reasons were sharp, broken vows meeting blades. A life of sworn commitment coming to an end. The princess nodded but turned away from Luke, hands gently gliding over petals as she kept walking.
“Then I will run away. As my sworn sword you will have to follow, to protect me,” she said as she looked back, lip quivering at the thought. Lies sounded sweet from her sugary lips. “You’ll follow me. Won’t you?”
Luke nodded, knowing there was no other way he could answer. He would follow her to the ends of the earth. Until death.
She sighed once more. This time the sound was resigned. Defeat captured her, slumped her shoulders and slowed her walk. Luke yearned to reach out for her again but the contact was forbidden. He knew he could. The meadow was theirs and no watching eyes would see. He could take her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings like many times before. Instead, he merely followed as his fingers curled into his palm. He was adamant to keep his promise to the princess his sword and heart were sworn to.
“Your father will be waiting,” Luke reminded. He hated the words, regret filling him as soon as they rolled off his tongue. Any mention of the king brought her down from the clouds, away from the privacy of the meadow and into a shadowed world of hallowed halls and sharp orders.
“Let him wait,” she insisted as she turned back to him and came to a full stop. “His throne is comfortable enough. The arrangement will be made whether I’m present or not.”
Luke swallowed down a lump in his throat. Once stained glass worries became transparent. He could see the refusal in her eyes. The indignant set of her jaw. She would not be swayed to leave. Luke worried, she would also not be swayed to stop. Even more so he worried that she would. That all of her talk and her late night dreams would be all for naught. So many nights they snuck out to the gardens, the meadow out of reach but the privacy of the night and the familiarity of flowers offering them comfort. She’d whisper words of longing to Luke, make plans he had to convince himself not to act on in those very moments. Each night it got harder and harder to resist.
“I don’t want you to go,” Luke finally said, the words scorching him from the inside out as the sun began to dip below the tree line. Too much time had been spent hidden away from the rest of the world. “But you must.”
The princess faltered, her knight in dented armor doing little to save her from her fate. She frowned and shook her head, perfectly done hair falling in her face with the motion. Luke kept his hands to himself though he wished to push soft tendrils behind her ear, maybe even let his fingertips linger on her jaw for a just a moment longer than necessary.
“They’re going to send me away,” she responded and furrowed her eyebrows. Suddenly, glimmering eyes turned dark, shimmers turned to tears and palid expressions became her. “They’re arranging a marriage to some lord of a holdfast. I might never see my home again. I might never see you again.”
Luke lost his breath at her admission. The details of royal arrangements always kept from him until the moment they were signed and sealed. He went where he was told. He protected when danger arose. He knew little of what the world was outside of the castle and the commands of a king. Outside of the forbidden love he bore for a princess he was not ready to lose.
“I’m your sworn sword. Where you go, I follow,” Luke reminded but the princess solemnly shook her head and Luke faltered.
“Not this time,” she answered and turned sharply, heading back to the entrance of the clearing and to a fate she did not want to be destined for.
Luke hurried after her, met her at the treeline where their lone horse waited. His hands found hers again and the realization it may be the last time he could feel the softness of her skin, smell the sweetness that lingered around her, he shattered. Pieces of himself falling to the dirt; ragged and sharp enough to sever ties and vows.
“It’s five miles back to the castle,” Luke said flippiantly, eyes searching anywhere but the trail they must take to bring her home. He helped her into the saddle and joined, her arms wound around him in a way that promised she did not want to let go. He let out a breath, ran his thumb over the back of her hand and took a chance. “It’s ten to the docks. Fifty leagues to the next kingdom.”
A demure smile curved her lips as she took in Luke’s words. She peered out to the other side of the meadow, tilted her head to the side and gazed up at Luke.
“Wherever I go…” she said and trailed off.
“I’ll follow,” Luke promised.
***
Part 2??
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[06:22] IWAIZUMI HAJIME
warnings: angst, memory loss, selfish y/n(?)
wc: 973
[a/n]: uhhh this is my first drabble/fic so of course it sucks... based off of gg strive's "let me carve your way"
I once had some sweet memories
Its worth remains all the same
Your heart drops to the floor to hear the news.
'It could be worse,' you try to reason. 'He could've been...' You shake your head at this.
Gulping down whatever apprehensions your heart tugged at you, you enter the room.
Olive green eyes follow you as you walk up to him cautiously.
"Oh...hey." he says dumbly, fiddling with the hem of his clothes and then looking down at his hands again.
"Hey," you echo weakly.
There's an awkward silence between you two, but before he can ask you something cliche like "Do I know you?", you introduce yourself.
"I'm y/n l/n, your s/o."
His eyes widen at your words. "s/o..." he repeats.
Your throat feels dry with the words in your mouth. "We'll be living together from now on. ...Is that okay?"
How can I remember those moments, sweetheart?
You've been patient, you tried to be. You made sure to expose him to familiar places, have him talk to his family and friends whenever they were free, spend countless hours with him when you had them.
With each day that had past, you were determined that you'd help him retrieve what life had robbed him bit by bit.
Years have passed and yet no true progress has been made. He was as clueless as he was in the hospital. But you refused to believe it, firmly insisting that another day would cure it all.
It isn't until you ask him again for the hundredth - no, thousandth - time - something you'd do at the end of every month.
He's so tired. Tired of trying to search for unknown memories to put you at ease, tired of sleepless nights wondering who he is, tired of having you pour so much devotion into the shell of who he used to be when all it does is cause you more pain.
You're tired too, but your resolve to somehow bring back your other half powers through your fatigue.
He sighs and shakes his head for the umpteenth time.
This time, you're too tired to keep being in denial. The horrible possibility that's been festering in the back of your mind had come to light.
Iwaizumi Hajime was gone.
Tell me
Tell me
"Please," you had desperately begged. Gripping onto his shirt you clung to him, hoping your grip was tight enough to keep any part of his past self with you. "Tell me you remember something - anything."
It wasn't a fair request - you knew this.
'But life isn't fair,' you bitterly think.
Iwaizumi Hajime is an honest man.
And with the double-edged sword that was his honesty, he sliced your heartstrings with one fell swoop. "I can't."
If there's a man who can make anything
Give me the tools to live in the past
You desperately yearned for a reprieve of this hell without him. You wished you two were back in high school, poking fun at Oikawa, or sneaking to the back of the school to sneak little kisses. You wished the two of you were just starting to become adults, vowing to still stay together even with the hardships that followed.
The two of you were expecting something like taxes, long distance relationships, petty or otherwise serious arguments, the usual couple struggles.
You wished to go back to a time where the two of you didn't know any better.
It's all gone down so deep, I can't see anymore.
If that's not the way to go
Your mind spirals downward and suddenly everything around you goes dull. The places he had taken you to have lost their glow, your house seems darker no matter how many times you change the lights, your favorite dishes lose their flavor.
You'd feel both tired and sleepless at the same time, wondering if there really was any hope for the two of you to start over from scratch when he really didn't know who you were.
Soon your thoughts wanders to dark waters. 'Would it be better to let him go live another life?'
You realize you've been caging this life-sized, breathing memento in your home to painfully remind you of what you once had. Would it be better for him - and ultimately, for you to let him go?
Let me,
Let me,
Let me carve your way
He wants to hate you for making him guilty for what he wasn't. He wants to think you're being unfair for expecting so much of him when he doesn't even know what to think of himself.
Instead he finds himself wishing that he could do or say something to make you feel better, anything to make him less of a stranger to you. He never worked up the courage, though, thinking that whatever he'd try would never be as good as his past self would've done. Surely any sentiment he would try to give would be like him spitting on the grave of his past self.
You've spoken of him like he was the Messiah or something. Your eyes would glow with adoration even as you looked down and your small smile told him how much he meant to you.
And it wasn't fair. How could he be that perfect guy for you?
I'm a shadow, always with you
All that's left of your Iwaizumi Hajime are photos collecting dust, tiny little knick knacks around your house, cluttered shoes at the entrance, and wilting flowers.
Clammy hands grip a pillow as you uncontrollably sob into your pillow, wishing it was him embracing you and rumbling words that would calm the raging ache in your heart.
But he's there, peeking through the small crack of the door in the dark. His heart is heavy, knowing he couldn't ever give you back whatever his past self promised you.
#haikyuu#haikyuu angst#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#iwaizumi#hajime iwaizumi#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi angst#iwaizumi x reader
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