#but should allow you to move throughout life with kindness and touch everything with gracefulness as one with hold a flower

[hazelmagix]

how bag 😘

#the world we find ourselves in we often think of it to be a cruel place #not to say that it is cruel from the get go #but that often ordinary people are made to do cruel things #through matter of circumstance or perhaps simply for amusement #this is the way the world turns and this is the way it shall forever turn #though this notion should not deter oneself #but should allow you to move throughout life with kindness and touch everything with gracefulness as one with hold a flower #or perhaps listening to a babys laughter #*movie camera pans over an old english brick wall and a meadow of flowers* #.... #anonymous #on ur dash 24/7

[kimjihyun-archive]

hey.... 35 with jihyun??

i love you, i love you, i love you

pairing: jihyun “v” kim x reader

wc: 1.3k

warnings: just a little hurt comfort!! they kiss :)

note: me? with a v fic? yes yes i am back!! i have so many requests to get through but i’ve missed this man more than life itself so !!

Jihyun awakens early that morning, even for him.

It’s barely dawn as he rolls over, the sun just breaking through the horizon, adorning the room in faded oranges and vibrant blues. He’s not quite sure why he’s awake as he palms at his eyes, but when his gaze meets her frame—draped in sky-soaked sheets, hair pooling at the ridges of her shoulders—he decides it doesn’t matter all that much.

She’s more than he ever could’ve wished her to be. Her presence is constant, unwavering, a dig in the back of his mind that feels like diving into cold water. It’s torn him to pieces—splaying out fragments in front of her—and yet she’s gentle with each one, a puzzle between delicate fingertips.

He’s always claimed to be an artist, but the idea of such a thing makes him laugh now. The way she’s assembled a mosaic from his skin, the way her fingertips paint at every scar, every blemish, every piece of him that he’d cursed for being there—

She’s much more of such than he could ever wish to be.

Yet, she stirs beside him and he holds his breath, hoping not to wake her so early. Her face is still soft with the lure of unconsciousness, but her hands twitch and her fingers stumble as they reach across the mattress—as they reach for him. He’s quick to oblige, allowing her to wrap her arms around his torso and bury her nose into his collar.

Part of him wishes to kiss her then—to drop his head low and press his lips to the flash of sunlight across her cheeks, or the skin just behind her ear. Part of him wishes to hum soft words into her skin—to tell her I love you, I love you, I love you until he’s memorized the way his voice reverberates against her flesh.

But he lingers there, silent and still, eyes flicking over her skin. He can feel her breath along the side of his neck and the way her fingers tangle into the hem of his shirt—a reminder that yes she is here, and yes she is his. She, in all of her grace, in all of her kindness, and humility, and wonder—is here with him, swallowed by the hum of dawn.

His fingers dance at the top of her hipbone, pressing into soft skin as goosebumps follow his touch. He’s careful—as if there’s porcelain beneath his hands—but warmth splays under him and he’s melted by the feeling, just as he always is.

And as the sheets begin to pool at her waist, something terribly needy begins to grip him. His head hangs low, the smell of her shampoo (a lavender one she’s always used religiously) heavy in his nose. He presses his lips to her forehead and gentle hesitation sprouts throughout his body, but he continues along the side of her face, kisses falling down to her jaw.

She moves then: an arch in her back with a sudden intake of breath, and he curses himself for the way he’s drawn to her. Her eyes are slow to flutter open, but he still freezes at the sight of them, fixed on the way they sparkle in morning blues.

A gentle sound falls from her lips as she reaches up, soft fingers brushing against his jaw.

“Oh, I’ve awoken you, haven’t I?” He leans into her touch, his skin humming against the warmth of hers. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, a drowsy smile soft upon her cheeks.

“Don’t apologize. Now I get to see you.” He laughs at the statement—warm and breathy and drawn low in the air of the morning.

“What?” She murmurs, her face falling back into the crook of his neck. “I’m completely serious.” He can hear the pout in her voice, but a snort is quick to follow suit.

And yet there’s an ache in this—a soft, tender thing that twists in his bones and soaks through his flesh and sings to parts of him that he nearly forgets are there. It’s in the way her voice falls around him, in the way the sunlight, just barely bright enough to tear through the curtains, spills swirling patterns across her skin, in the way this feels so terribly sweet and kind and real.

When did he begin to deserve this? How could he ever deserve this? It’s a whisper that lingers, a thought that licks at the back of his skull. He wishes to love her, to adorn her in everything she could ever desire, but the voice in the back of his head will forever ask him why he should have the honor of doing such; why should he get to feel the warmth of her patience and the buzzing of her touch; why should he—

“You’re thinking, aren’t you?” She hasn’t moved from her spot, the tip of her nose tickling at the skin just below his jaw. It doesn’t take so much as a glance for her to reach through the pieces of him that have fallen across their sheets; it never does.

“I…” He knows better than to lie to her, but as he opens his mouth to speak, something dies in his throat.

“The usual?” She asks, her shoulders arching back with a stretch as she turns to look up at him.

“The usual,” he replies.

She sighs, a soft breath spilling across the room, the heat laying over his skin. Her shoulders twist with a stretch and she looks up at him, meeting his gaze through the darkness.

“Oh, Jihyun.” Her voice is nothing more than a hum, a whisper in the morning. “Do you ever let yourself rest?”

No.

“Of course. Aren’t I resting right now, my love?” He regrets the attempt at humor as soon as the words fall from his lips and her mouth winds lightly into a frown.

“You know what I mean,” she scorns. He sighs, falling back into the pillows, his skin twisting with the silk of his sheets. She’s quick to follow him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as her lips meet his cheek, his temple, the corner of his mouth.

“I do.” His voice, in the light of the morning, as the sun crawls its way into the sky, is barely his voice at all. It creaks with a sound so terribly weak that he can’t help but clear his throat after his breath hits the air.

“I love you,” she hums into his skin and he can feel the way her voice reverberates throughout his flesh. “Now—” Her mouth meets his with a kiss soft enough to melt him into the mattress below them. “And forever.” The words buzz so strongly against his face that he twitches at the sound, his fingers reaching for the sides of her hips.

“And you deserve that.” Another—this time barely the ghost of her lips against his, but it’s enough to shake him to his core. “You will always deserve that.”

He has no words to say, no awful form of self-deprecation to speak. His mind is quiet, his mouth unmoving. His fingertips lace endless shapes into her skin, each one lingering in the air between them.

He wishes to hum soft words into her skin, to tell her of the endless ways he loves her, to be her strength and her will and the humility he so adores. But this morning, in the gentle blues of their bedroom, she will give that to him. She will dull the ache that crawls so deeply through his bones and he, ignoring all that seems righteous to him, will accept each word that leaves her mouth. She will be his strength, and his will, and his humility.

And though he hates to admit it—hates to hear that he should have anything more than the absolute minimum—he will hear that she loves him, over and over, just as he deserves.

taglist: @zenicksnina @bloodpacks @dis-gorl @decayz

#jihyun kim x reader #jihyun kim x mc #v x reader #v x mc #mystic messenger #mysme #jihyun kim #v mystic messenger #v mysme #i forget how to tag #oh god i almost forgot my taglist hi guys enjoy

[sunlightheidi]

Jihyun Kim "V" x Reader/MC

AU Fantasy, written for the Mystic Dance Event, hosted by the lovely @little-butterfly-writes. Roles provided, "Princess x Court Painter".

"I'll meet you in the forest, let's let this wild thing grow."

- Forest, Fancy Hagood

Jihyun was chosen from a neighboring kingdom to paint the royal family.

It was an honor, to be selected as the court artist; for his art to hang on the palace walls alongside portraits of previous kings and queens.

There are countless tales told throughout the kingdoms; stories of the ruthless king who commanded the armies, of the regal queen who could turn men into stone with a simple look.

And of the stoic crowned princess, who possessed the ethereal beauty of the fae, and the same coldness too.

He’s painted that captivating beauty on canvas more than once; has traced the dip of your collarbone, the fullness of your lips, the almond shape of your eyes with his paintbrush so many times he can do it from memory alone.

You are always seated on that golden throne when he does, decorated in sapphires and dressed in layers of silk and lace – always watching him with a sort of fascination as he paints, a sparkling wonder in your gaze.

You sit on that throne now, your head held high, waves of black hair falling down your back, and a crown of rowan berries on your brow. Your dress is golden, accentuating the sun-touched colors of your skin and the darkness of your eyes as they roam over the ballroom to the people dancing and celebrating the return of autumn.

There is a sort of hypnotic magic about you and he sees it perfectly then, how you truly could have been fairy in a past life; sparkling wings on your back, adorned in colors of orange and red and yellow as you sat on a throne of marigolds and ruled over the autumn court.

Perhaps you may have even allowed yourself to dance amongst your folk, lost in the addicting taste of pomegranates as you moved freely to the wild music.

But that is not who you are now. Not who are you expected to be.

You do not partake in the autumn celebration with your people, you are not allowed to laugh and dance in the way he knows you desire to. In the way you have so freely danced and laughed by his side in hidden corridors.

Your only purpose is to serve your kingdom, and outside of your clandestine meetings with him, you play your role flawlessly. No one would dare suggest otherwise.

If only they knew the restlessness that lingers in your heart. The same kind and wild heart you have given to him– a secret belonging to you both alone.

The music ends and you clap gently in your lap, almost unconsciously, as most of your mannerisms are – but your eyes are dazed, he knows your thoughts are elsewhere.

He has been hounded by daydreams of you as well, wishes he could stand in front of that throne and take your hand as an equal; to lead you to the ballroom floor and hold you in his arms as you sway together, just as you have done many times before in the dark.

The orchestra begins to play a new piece, something slow and soft that echoes through the ballroom; the chandeliers shimmer from the high ceiling as partners retake their place and begin a new dance.

Carefully, as to not draw attention to yourself, you stand, hands gripping the skirts of your dress as you curtsey to the king and queen, who briefly nod in your direction in permission to take your leave. He follows you with his eyes as you walk down the steps of the podium and to the large entryway, but something catches his attention – a golden satin ribbon, left behind on the seat of your throne.

You have played this game before, he knows what the token means; and when he looks up, in a single moment that freezes time, you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He nods in understanding, and there’s a sparkle in your eye as you close the doors behind you.

He wants to run after you, to spin you around in his arms and declare his fidelity to you in front of the world. But you are a princess…and he is only the court painter – the consequences should anyone discover you two together, of the things you have done under secrecy, would end in tragedy.

So he waits, and when the kingsmen turn to assist their majesties to the ballroom floor, Jihyun slips through the entryway and weaves down dark corridors and forgotten doors.

He is lost in a haze to get to you, has waited eagerly for weeks to spend time with you, and not the person you pretend to be for everyone else. He wants your silly laughter and teasing smiles, your fondness for flowers and furry forest creatures.

In an unlit corner of an unused passageway, there is a door that blends into the stone of the walls, it is not easily seen in the dark, but Jihyun knows exactly where it is and how to twist the lock to the room that has become his haven.

He steps through the low archway and closes the door behind him, feels a sort of relief when he turns to find you watching him.

It is indescribable, how painfully beautiful you are illuminated by the candlelight – woven in golden and waiting for him.

He bows, deeply. “Princess.”

And then, the respectable haze you have found yourselves in for weeks vanishes.

In an instant, you wrench yourself forward into him, tackling him into something fierce. He grasps you, cradling you safely in his arms as you wiggle in your happiness.

“Jihyun,” you whisper against his chest, nose buried in the hilt of his tailcoat. “I was afraid you would not come.”

He pushes you back, enough to look into your eyes and trace the outline of your cheekbone with his thumb. “Of course I came. I cannot deny you a single thing, nor do I wish to.”

“I did not think I would have the time to slip by their attention tonight, I am eternally grateful their minds are elsewhere.”

“Do you need to get back?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist; already dreading having to part.

“Not yet, not so soon.” You reach for him, stand on the tip of your toes and brush your lips against his in the softest of kisses. “I have missed you terribly.”

“As have I, darling,” he whispers against your mouth. “I have to stop myself constantly from reaching for you in the hallways.”

An impish smile graces your lips, sly and conniving. He imagines this must be how the fae tempt humans into their world.

“You are certainly free to touch me now, in whatever way you desire.”

He catches up quickly, as he tightens the hold on your waist and brings his lips to yours – warm breath and honey taste – soft and slow, memorizing every part of this moment.

He rubs small circles on your back just above your waist, feeling the silky material of your dress as you put your arms around his neck, bringing him in as close as you possibly can. And when you pull back to catch your breath, you smile at him slyly, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, bottom lip between your teeth.

“Pray tell, you wicked thing. What enchantment have you placed on me?”

A soft laugh, no more than an exhale, ghosts across the side of his neck, raising goosebumps across his skin. You stand so close he can smell the sweetness of the roses pressed onto your skin, the floral scent instantly hauling him back to an afternoon in the court gardens, where you hid behind large rose bushes and he pressed you against the grass and kissed you until sundown.

“It was the pomegranate seeds I fed to you in the garden” you whisper, playfully. “It was faerie food, meant to entrap you to my side for the rest of your days.”

“You could have simply asked me,” he replies. “My answer would have been yes.”

Your eyes go soft, but sparkle suddenly in the way they do when you decide to be cheeky. “But that would be a waste of a perfectly ripe pomegranate, do you not agree?”

He bites at the pout of your lip in reprimand, feeling satisfied with the redness there when he pulls back. “Do you truly have a response for everything?”

“I thought you liked my mouth,” you say, just a fraction shy and very much teasing as your hands wonder down his chest.

“I do, it’s perfectly sweet.” His hand firmly cradles your chin and he leans in until your breath is upon his lips. “Do not divert, my dove. Will you share with me what has been on your mind tonight? You have been on a cloud all evening.”

Your eyes open in surprise, but smile softly at him as he holds your face between his hands. His thumb traces your berry lips and your eyes flutter shut in resignation.

“I have tried, for a very long time, to find dignity in my role.” He notes the softness of your voice, mixed in with the bitter resentment he’s only caught glimpses of before. When your eyes flutter open, there is sadness. “I have found nothing, and I am tired of it all. I do not know who I am beyond what I’m told to be, and I do not care for it any longer. I wish to please only you.”

Your eyes are suddenly and incredibly soft as they hold onto his, your fingertips tracing his hipbones, moving up his abdomen. He brushes a gentle stroke of his lip against yours, flashing loving eyes as if to say what neither of you has found the courage to admit yet.

“You have shone light upon my dreams, Jihyun. But there is no room for you in my life, and you deserve to be with someone that will not be a threat to your own.”

He is hardly ever angry; he finds he does not care much for such emotions. But in this moment, he feels an inexplicable sadness and fear that you will disappear before he has the chance to tell you how truly his life belongs to you.

“Should you wish to end things with me, I will retreat immediately without a word and pretend nothing has happened. But do not make decisions for me. I wish to be with you, in whatever manner possible. If these meetings are all that I will ever have, then I will have this over nothing.”

Light laughter erupts from your throat and you quickly slip one hand from his chest to muffle the unexpected sound. Tears spring from your eyes at last, a blend of humor and grief.

“I wish I could kiss you and make you king.”

He gently takes hold of your soft hands, engulfing them in his calloused ones. He notices the pleasant shiver that runs up your spine at the intimate gesture.

“I do not want to be king, I just want to be with you,” he admits.

You are quiet for a long time, contemplative. He brushes tendrils of your hair off your shoulder, feels your collarbones beneath his fingertips.

“We are in love, aren’t we?” You whisper, and there’s a sort of hesitancy there, as if you have only just realized what this could mean for both of you – the inevitable heartbreak that is destined.

From the very moment your worlds collided – he knew he would fall in love with you. And as he has come to know you – eyes alive like wildflowers and smiles that carry sunshine – he dreams of nothing more than to meet his fate by your side.

“I love you, with everything that I possess.”

“Then run away with me,” you plead, putting yourself nose to nose with him, his blue wisps of hair against your forehead. “Let’s go to another land. Somewhere far away where we can be close to an ocean and have a garden of roses.”

“Your father will send kingsmen after us,” he warns quietly, stoic beneath your hands, hesitant to reciprocate. “He will not be merciful.”

You shake your head fiercely, speak one last offer of clarity. “My father cares not for what may happen to me, he never has. He has two more children he can crown.”

“If you are sure about this, I believe King Han may grant us sanctuary should we reach his borders. I have known him since we were children, and Jumin can be ruthless, but he is fair. Though I must warn you, once we reach his castle, your title will be stripped.”

“I do not want to be a princess, I just want you,” you whisper and lean into him, press a breeze of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, another against his jawline. “Promise you will meet me at midnight, out in the forest.”

The sweetness of you has long burned away his fear, and in its place a mellow kind of anticipation has taken hold. He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips.

“As you wish,” he mumbles against your palm and you giggle joyfully before you throw your arms around his neck.

And for everything he believes in, your face is as precious as all the jewels and gemstones of any kingdom; it is the smile you grace him with upon his yes, shining with the power of a thousand suns, that confirm he has found the world’s greatest fortune.

#I was so hesitant to post this #but fuck it #here it is #enjoy #jihyun kim #jihyun kim x reader #mystic messenger #v mysme #v route #v mysme fanfic #v mysme x reader #v mystic messenger #Jihyun Kim fanfic #Jihyun Kim mysme #Jihyun Kim mystic messenger #period/fantasy au #the mystic dance #mint palace ball

[theyrejustboys]

Written for @tma-valentines-exchange

For @voiceless-terror, who requested fluff and pre-canon JonTim. I hope you enjoy it!

Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Content Warnings: drinking, alcohol

Summary: Tim half expects Jon to be embarrassed, but he just blinks up at him, still apparently in the dazed, barely conscious state of waking. Then he stretches, arms reaching over his head and back arching slightly. He makes an honest to goodness squeak as he does. Exactly like a little cat. Tim wants to kiss him.

Oh. Tim wants to kiss him.

So it hadn’t just been the alcohol last night, then.

The first thing that Tim becomes aware of as he’s pulled unwillingly from slumber is the gentle weight pressing down on his legs. The second is the cold hand resting lightly on the strip of bare skin where his t-shirt has risen up in the night. He stirs reluctantly. When he finally opens his eyes, his bedroom is blurry, and he has to blink a few times to clear his vision and his head as the world forms in pieces around him. There’s a low thrumming in his skull that bears the potential of a fully fledged headache if not dealt with swiftly. Perhaps that’s why it takes him another few moments for the implications of the small body snuggled against him to set in.

He can’t see the face of the person in bed with him, not without turning and risking waking them up, but his memories from last night are pouring in too quickly to leave him with any doubt.

---

“Shame Sasha couldn’t make it,” Tim said, sliding into the booth across from Jon.

Jon nodded as he shrugged out of his corduroy jacket. “She’ll be missed,” he said, and if Tim hadn’t spent so long studying his facial expressions across his desk, he might not have noticed the slight upward quirk of his mouth.

“The first round shall be in her honor,” Tim said with only half Jon’s solemnity, lifting a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

Jon let him order for the both of them, seemingly content to sit back and glance around the pub while Tim spoke. It was a quiet, if kitschy, little place, and Tim had chosen it strategically for that reason. He might not mind the atmosphere in some of London’s more crowded bars, but it had only taken one outing with Jon to realize how desperately uncomfortable that sort of chaos made him. He seemed appreciative of the location tonight, even gracing Tim with a reserved smile once the waiter had disappeared. Tim wanted to take that smile and store it in a treasure chest with all the other beautiful things Jon had offered him throughout their slow-blooming friendship. He smiled back.

“So, that case you were working on this week. Did you ever get past the hurdle with the widow?”

Jon leaned forward eagerly to explain his findings. Tim settled in to listen.

---

It’s Jon. Jon had come home with him. They’d both been too drunk to deal with the hassle of bundling Jon into a taxi, especially when Tim lived only two blocks behind the warm little pub they’d spent their Friday night in. It was convenient.

And now Tim is in bed with Jonathan Sims. Not just in bed, either - Jon is practically on top of him, with one leg slung over both of his own and the hand not resting against Tim’s hip nestled beneath the pillow Tim is lying on. If Tim is very still, he can feel the soft puff of Jon’s breath against his neck.

He resists the urge to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’d suspected before last night that Jon was more tactile than he let on, but he hadn’t imagined he’d be this clingy.

He understands, of course, that Jon doesn’t feel safe often, that others have not allowed him the time to be cautious with his affection. It’s no secret in the research office that his snippiness and chronically furrowed brows have won him few friends. It’s taken Tim months of steady, gentle friendliness to break through Jon’s carefully prickly exterior into the softness he’d seen hiding beneath. It feels, in a way, like reaching a new level of a video game - once he’d gotten past the grouchiness, the wariness, and then the bashfulness, he’d unlocked the awkward but horribly endearing kindness. And cuddles, apparently.

It’s worth being patient for, worth earning. Tim’s chest feels tight with the weight of his fondness. He wants to pull Jon into his arms and hold him close like he had in the pub last night.

Before Tim can move, however, there's a mumble near his ear as he feels Jon shift. The leg draped over his own slides down. He hears a soft yawn, and then, before he can process that, Jon is rubbing his face into the back of Tim's shirt like a sleepy little cat. Tim grins and faces him.

"Good morning," he says.

Tim half expects Jon to be embarrassed, but he just blinks up at him, still apparently in the dazed, barely conscious state of waking. Then he stretches, arms reaching over his head and back arching slightly. He makes an honest to goodness squeak as he does. Exactly like a little cat.

Tim wants to kiss him.

Oh. Tim wants to kiss him.

So it hadn’t just been the alcohol last night, then.

Jon peers at him, apparently roused to alertness by whatever expression has taken over Tim’s face. "What?"

"Rest well?" Tim says in lieu of a response, because if he dwells on this development any longer he might do something foolish, like brush a hand through the wild mess of dark curls spread across both the pillow he had offered Jon last night and Tim’s own pillow.

"Yes," Jon says.

Ah, there's a touch of the primness Tim loves. “Glad to hear it,” he says, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll take the bathroom first, if you don’t mind.”

He thinks Jon burrows deeper into the blankets as he leaves the room.

Across the hallway, Tim stares at his reflection in the vanity mirror. His heart is beating a little too quickly. "Keep it cool, Timothy," he warns himself. Then he splashes some water on his face and knocks back a couple of ibuprofen tablets before he brushes his teeth. "All yours," he calls into the bedroom when he finishes. Jon makes an unintelligible noise in response, and Tim huffs out a soft, breathless laugh as he crosses the flat toward his kitchen.

---

“... but my landlord is utterly heartless,” Jon concluded, looking rather dejected as he finished off his third pint. “He wouldn’t budge on the no pets rule, even for the Captain.”

Tim made a quiet, sympathetic noise, handing back Jon’s mobile after having admired the extraordinarily fluffy cat on the shelter’s front page for an appropriate length of time. “I would have,” he vowed. “For the Captain. Anything for him.”

Jon’s eyes shone briefly, and Tim wondered if he was going to cry. He just sniffed with marginally less dignity than usual and accepted the mobile. “Yes, well,” he said after taking a beat to gather himself. “You’re nice. Of course you would.”

“You think I’m nice?” Tim grinned, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

“Yes,” Jon said simply.

“Careful, Jon, if you keep up this sweetness I’ll have no choice but to hug you.” Tim was only half-joking.

Jon ducked his head and mumbled, “Well. You could.”

“What?” For a moment, Tim thought he’d misunderstood.

“I said you could.” Jon didn’t look up at him. “If you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.”

Tim could feel his cheeks begin to ache from the force of his smile. He stood quickly and slid into the opposite side of the booth. Jon didn’t pull away as he moved closer, only sat looking at him expectantly from the corner of his eye. “Bring it in, then,” Tim said, and he draped one arm around Jon’s narrow shoulders.

Jon sat stiff and awkward at first contact, but then he melted against him. He rested his head in the crook beneath Tim’s collarbone, sighing so softly Tim could barely hear it over the quiet clatter of the pub. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Tim asked. His voice came out a bit strangled from the sudden warm pressure in his chest.

“For being a nice person,” Jon said with a trace of his familiar exasperation but none of the spikiness. As if it were obvious, as if Tim could see it if only he paid attention.

Tim had been paying attention for a while now. He thought he understood what Jon meant. “Of course,” he said. He didn’t pull away. Neither did Jon.

---

He’s measuring out flour into a glass bowl when he hears Jon pad into the kitchen, and for one exhilarating second Tim wonders if he’s going to hug him from behind. He doesn’t. Tim lingers over the bowl for a few breaths more, then turns to face him. “I’m making muffins,” he announces.

Jon looks surprised. “You bake?”

Tim is momentarily distracted by the way Jon’s hair is piled on top of his head, wrangled into what might generously be called a bun. There are strands hanging around his cheekbones that Tim desperately wants to tuck behind his ears. He clears his throat and tosses a grin over his shoulder as he faces his mixing bowl again. “Why Jon, did you not notice the stupendous cakes I’ve brought to every office party this year? Of course I bake.”

“Oh,” Jon says. “I don’t usually stick around those long enough to eat anything.”

“You will once you’ve had a taste of my baking skills,” Tim promises. “These are going to be the best muffins you’ve tasted in your life.”

“My expectations are high,” Jon says in his dry voice. Months ago, Tim might have thought he was mocking him, but now he recognizes it for the friendly teasing it is. It makes something warm and lofty expand in his chest. Then, a moment later Jon asks, “Can I help?”

Tim opens his mouth to say no, that he’s a guest and should sit down and relax while Tim takes care of everything. He glances over again as Jon steps closer, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s too long, dangling a few centimeters past his fingertips.

It’s Tim’s hoodie, he realizes with a start. His mouth shuts with a click. He wants to stare at Jon. He wants to turn his face away in case his adoration is too obvious. He still wants to kiss him.

Jon just watches him, picking restlessly at the fabric. He almost looks hopeful. Oh.

Tim gestures with his head toward the fruit basket on the countertop. “Dice an apple for me?”

“Sure.” Tim can hear the smile in his voice.

They work quietly for a few minutes, the only noise coming from the soft click of Jon’s knife against the cutting board and the muted sound of Tim’s whisk in the bowl. Once the fruit is mixed in with the batter, Jon watches as Tim carefully measures equal portions into his muffin tin and slides them into his oven. Tim has a sudden urge to turn on some music, to see if Jon might let him wrap his arms around him and spin him beneath the dim kitchen light.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Jon asks before he can.

Tim leans against the countertop. “Everything,” he says. Then he hesitates. “I think,” he adds nervously. “We weren’t that drunk, were we? Why do you ask?” He would have remembered if he’d -

Jon crosses the floor to the little table in Tim’s entryway. He has a habit of dropping his things there when he walks inside each evening, keys, wallet, and whatever else has accumulated in his pockets throughout the day. Jon rummages in the clutter before waving a short, shiny strip of paper triumphantly.

“Oh,” Tim says. No, he hadn’t forgotten that at all. “Right.”

---

Jon was the one who had pointed out the photo booth. Tim knew it was there - he’d spent a couple of tipsy evenings in it before. The last time had been with Danny. Maybe that memory was the reason he hadn’t brought it up to Jon. Maybe it was just that he didn’t think Jon was the sort to relax enough to enjoy something as trivial and objectively silly as a photo booth.

But Jon herded him away from their table and into the little box at the back of the pub with the same determination he directed toward his work, drawing the black curtain closed as Tim fiddled with the buttons. It smelled vaguely of wine inside. Jon didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jon confessed. He’d had enough drinks by now that there was an airy quality to his voice. He suppressed a yawn. “But I’ve always wanted to.”

“Really?”

Jon nodded. “Never had anyone to do it with,” he said, sounding almost ashamed.

Tim decided not to point out that wasn’t the part he’d been surprised about. “You have me,” he said, settling back as the countdown began for the first photo.

Jon stared at the camera, head tilted slightly as he arranged a smile on his face. “Yes,” he said, then jumped at the flash. The countdown began again. Jon moved closer to Tim, brushing their arms together. “I do have you. I’m glad for that.”

Tim faltered, turning from the camera to look at Jon. Jon glanced up at him, and the careful smile on his face faded to something softer, gentler. Tim’s breath hitched. He’d like to kiss Jon like this, he realized, when he’s open and vulnerable and trusting. He leaned down slightly, suddenly breathless as he lifted a hand to cup Jon’s cheek. “Jon -”

The second camera flash made them both flinch hard, and Jon let out a startled noise that was almost a laugh, hiding his face in the collar of Tim’s shirt as if embarrassed. Tim laughed too, though he could barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. He let his hand slide around the back of Jon’s head, cradling him, as if that was what he’d meant to do all along. He wondered if Jon could feel his heart thudding against his chest.

Before the last flash lit up the booth, Tim closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Jon’s hair.

---

“I told you, you’re adorable,” Tim crows.

Jon splutters again, looking down at the photos in his hand in disbelief. “I’m an adult,” he says petulantly. “I can’t be adorable.”

Tim gasps, affronted. “Jonathan Sims! Are you putting an age limit on adorableness ? Please tell me you aren’t suggesting that I can’t be adorable.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jon grumbles.

“Good. I didn’t want to fight for my honor before breakfast.” Tim smirks at him and hopes the teasing is enough to distract from the painfully obvious yearning in his eyes on the strip of photo paper. His hand itches to take it from Jon, to cover up what feels practically like a confession, but he forces himself to be reasonable.

His oven timer beeps, drawing him from his nervous thoughts, and he busies himself tending to the muffins. Mercifully, Jon sets the photo strip aside to rummage in Tim’s cabinets for a pair of plates.

They migrate to the couch and eat quietly. Jon admits that Tim’s baking skills are rather spectacular, and Tim preens a normal amount. He wants to hug Jon again, but he resists. Whatever ease with which Jon had touched Tim the night before seems to have faded. His posture seems a bit stiffer, and he keeps his hands tucked closely in his lap, though Tim does catch him casting contemplative glances his way when he thinks he isn’t looking. He wonders how long it’s been since Jon has received affection.

Jon should receive affection always, Tim thinks, and should be held gently at each opportunity. He hopes he’s given another opportunity to hold Jon soon. He doesn’t push for it, though, doesn’t want to make Jon uncomfortable. He’s waited months to earn the trust he’s been allowed so far; he can be patient again.

“Tim,” Jon says after they’ve sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Yes?” Tim gives him an encouraging smile.

“I’ve - I’ve had a lovely time.” Jon doesn’t meet his eyes.

“That’s the Stoker guarantee,” Tim says with a smirk, though his chest twinges uncomfortably. There’s a but in there.

Jon takes a deep breath. “Yes. Well. Thank you. And - that is, I wanted to say…” He pauses. Opens his mouth and shuts it again.

That feeling in Tim’s chest is sinking lower. He waits.

Jon shifts abruptly, turning to fully face him on the couch. “Tim,” he says.

“Jon,” Tim answers quietly.

And then Jon surges forward and presses a chaste kiss into Tim’s jaw.

"Oh," Tim says. His hand flies up to touch his face.

Jon scrambles backward, blushing deeply. “Yes. Well,” he says again. “That’s all. Sorry, I should have -”

“Jon,” Tim says, “can I hug you?”

Jon makes another one of his soft little squeaks and nods wordlessly before tumbling forward into Tim’s arms. After a moment, he curls himself up smaller, wiggling onto Tim’s lap so as to better cling to him. Tim, very carefully, does not move except to tighten his hold on him.

“If you’re amenable,” Jon finally says, voice muffled in Tim’s shirt, “I would like to do this again sometime.”

Tim stifles a laugh. “And by this, you mean…?”

Jon sits up slightly, though he pouts a bit as he does. “Drinks? Dinner? And then cuddles. And I would like you to hug me again as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have to stop hugging you,” Tim points out. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay right here -” He pats his lap for emphasis. “For as long as you like.”

“You don’t mind?” Jon asks, peering up at him.

“Do I need to convince you how much I like hugging you?”

Jon considers. “No. But you could demonstrate anyway.”

Tim does.

#tma valentine's exchange #jontim #tmafic #geo writes

[justapoet]

mary all those prompts are 👀👀👀 can i get 33 + tarlos please?

I'm so glad you like them, Jamie! Of course you can, and I truly hope you like it! ♥

33. "It hurts to breathe..."

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tell me your secrets (and ask me your questions)

TK had always been a curious person.

Since he was a child, he would ask questions about every single thing he saw around him. From why a window is called "window" to where we go after we're no longer beating, and it never changed throughout the years. His curiosity only grew as the answers didn't exist, and TK would always find himself making questions he would chase after answers that didn't exist.

TK would wonder why the stars shine, or why the sky is blue ― and who named it "sky" anyway? How are the same thing called in different languages, and none of them is wrong? Why does the fire burn, and how do we feel the heat? Who chose the name of the sea, and who was the first person to ever decide that fishes were edible?

His parents would say that, as a baby, he would touch everything he could and be mesmerized by anything new that would come to his sight. They would say they knew he'd be trouble once he started walking, for his hands wouldn't fear touching a single thing, and TK would only laugh at how right they were about that.

As a kid, he would ask too much until his mother ran out of patience, and Enzo had to come to the rescue, taking him to the nearest bookstore or library so he could have a source of both questions and answers. As a pre-teenager, he would ask his teachers, and some of them would be thrilled to be challenged with their knowledge, while others would just say they weren't an encyclopedia.

As a teenager, his doubts and curiosity would lead him to periodic obsessions that would keep him awake at night, or it was just something he used as an excuse to stay awake. Anyhow, it was an escape from his twisted mind and fucked up head ― so, for what's worth, his curiosity had kept him alive when the bare facts didn't want to do so.

When he became an adult, his curiosity was never left behind. His questions changed, though, and he essentially wanted to know how it felt not to feel as down as he did and how it would be if someone ever loved him the way he had always read about in books and fiction. TK would wonder why the world wasn't as bright as he used to see it and how he could just disappear, even if for a little while.

Wondering why it was something TK was better in than anyone he knew.

He never wondered why it was like that, though.

With his curiosity, TK also learned he had to be patient and observe the world around him, which led him to know people from a different angle. He would notice their movements, word choices, and how their eyes moved in each situation ― he would read into people as he would read into books, and it was pretty nice to know how to do that.

He wished he had done that better, though, when it came to Alex. But he read into himself around that time, and he knew that he was desperate for any type of love and affection ― TK wanted the love his younger self always questioned if his older self would get and didn't think twice before jumping into the change he'd have that.

It was entirely his fault; TK knew it.

And he was determined not to make the same misjudgment twice in his life ― because he feared he wouldn't have a life to get right if it happened again.

When he got to Austin, TK was still mad at the world and at himself for being so stupid and losing everything he had achieved through the years. His anger took the best of him for most times, and so did his sadness ― but it opened his eyes for a few new lenses, and he found out it was pretty cool to have more than one set of eyes to read people and situations.

Judd, under his red vision and bitter analysis, was just someone too mad at life to realize other people had feelings, too. He was hostile, had anger problems, and was a pain in the ass ― not that it was entirely wrong ―, and TK would never ever be friends with someone like that.

Under his blue vision and heartbroken analysis, though, Judd was just someone who needed some space and time to find the way back from the place he had gotten lost. He was sad, and melancholic, and seriously in need of help.

And, under the vision that didn't require lenses, Judd was a big-hearted man with a few pieces falling from his soul. He was kind, had horrible jokes, and was profoundly in love with the woman he had gotten married to ― and it was the kind of person TK desperately needed as a brother in his life.

Marjan was a badass firefighter with strong opinions and more feelings she'd let slip out of her sleeve, not to mention how sweet she could be towards those who'd allow a mask to fall without any judgment. She was strong, fearless, and should be a bit less acid to those who were only trying to help ― but she was a best friend TK had missed in his life.

Paul was a riddle, and TK suspected that was what he wanted people to think about him. He was observant ― a little too much ―, alarmed and always had good advice on the tip of his tongue, even if he'd rarely follow someone's help that didn't come from Grace or Carlos. Paul was attentive, patient, and wise ― and TK was a little scared of it but wouldn't trade a best friend like that for the world.

Mateo and Nancy seemed to get along well, for both of them had unending jokes for every situation and never won from Marjan on any of their video games. TK had no clue about how it happened, but suddenly Mateo just revealed he was a Broadway fan, and Nancy let it slip that she had watched every single Marvel movie and series so far ― and it was the end of the peace around the firehouse.

TK wouldn't trade them for anybody else, to be honest. But he would, for sure, lock Nancy in the ambulance in revenge for eating his piece of the pie Grace had baked.

And then, there was Carlos.

In the first moment, TK didn't want to read into him enough to regret his choice of not wanting something serious. It was notorious, almost like a fact known to all humanity, that Carlos had kindness hanging out from each one of his words and movements. His words were nothing but sweet, and every single one of his actions seemed to be careful and calculated.

It was surprising, really, when Carlos had invited him to dance on that first night after a shift at the Honky Tonk. He didn't touch TK at any moment, only doing it when he approached first ― and Carlos seemed to always give him a second to think and rethink if he really wanted to go all the way.

Even if it was the bare minimum of respect, it was rare to find it around.

From the beginning, TK also noticed how patient Carlos could be and how he would never pressure anyone into doing anything. He was dedicated to his friends ― since they've met, TK lost count of how many times he would stop by the firehouse to give Michelle something she mentioned he wanted to eat or offer her a ride ―, and to his job, being a damn good cop.

He was good with kids, and any call with one would get him a bit sad afterward. Even so, TK had seen him countless times sitting with them in the ambulance, telling them a story or a joke to distract them from the needles and exams. It was heartwarming for whoever would see it.

From the beginning, too, Carlos would be a mystery TK didn't really know how to begin to solve. Unlike everything TK could've predicted or expected, Carlos didn't seem to want him just for his body or pretty face ― he seemed to want to get to know him, and that was something TK really couldn't wrap his mind around.

Not only that, but he was a mystery, too, to everyone in the firehouse. Judd had known him already from a distance, his friendship with Michelle bringing him around for years, but nothing more than cordialities and the usual kindness that evaporated from the man. Grace had known him from calls, as well, and only knew that he was a good cop, a good man, and really cared about those he was trying to help.

Other than that, no one knew much. Paul could tell Carlos was someone who really respected his privacy and didn't talk much when he didn't seem comfortable or didn't have to, being quiet even when going out. He didn't drink much and was absolutely punctual, and Paul somehow knew that Carlos loved giving small gifts to people.

Marjan said that he would always listen and give full attention to what anyone was saying, and Mateo couldn't get over the fact Carlos had a Mjölnir autographed by Chris Hemsworth ― and he would never tell how he got that.

Being curious about Carlos, then, was inevitable.

Getting to read and decipher him, though, was a choice. And a choice that TK would never regret taking.

He wasn't fluent just yet, but TK would spend as much time as necessary to learn every single word Carlos had to say, imply, or erase. It was a book, a whole universe, that TK was willing to find out more about.

Turns out Carlos never touches anybody without their complete consent, but he loves to be hugged and held whenever he can. He never complains, and on hard days, he almost purrs to any skin-to-skin contact.

TK loved to know that because he loves contact just as much.

TK also found out that Carlos is quiet most of the time, not only in public, and only gets to speak a lot when he's incredibly excited over something new. He found out through some night hours when, after TK had arrived back from his shift, he had started to talk excitedly about Einstein's Theory of Relativity and everything that involves the whole thing.

He was sure he fell in love again as each minute passed.

Carlos was punctual, but finding out he got ready for every appointment about an hour earlier was surreal for TK. And Carlos loved giving gifts to people just to make their day better ― TK had cried when, after a shift from hell, Carlos offered him a single dandelion, telling him to close his eyes and make a wish.

TK had kissed him deeply before blowing the dandelion.

And out of all the details TK could've learned about Carlos, one that would always be in red letters on the back of his mind is that Carlos could be quiet not only for his comfort but for the comfort of others. And, although it had been transparent with all of the mess and pain in Carlos' eyes when they talked after the meeting on the Farmer's Market, TK had noticed it on small moments through the days.

Carlos wouldn't speak up about his feelings or open up to anybody. He would be in pain, miserable, and silent, not wanting to bother or worry anyone around him.

He had gotten so used to it through the years that TK wasn't surprised when Carlos seemed shocked that he had noticed something was up.

The thing is that TK paid attention. To Carlos more than anyone, indeed, he had learned a few details that he knew Carlos himself didn't know, like how the cop would talk to himself when he thought no one was looking. Or how his lips would tramble a little every time he was going out, or how he would bite his tongue when the concentration was taking over his worries.

There was also that permanent wrinkle on the top of his nose that would deepen whenever he was confused and even more when he was worried. His eyebrows would follow the movement when he was emotional, and he would press his lips together when he got speechless ― and TK loved to kiss it away and watch as his face melted under his touch.

TK was lucky enough to say that he knew Carlos behind all the quietness and politeness ― he knew the lows, the fears, and the clever jokes.

That's why he knew something was wrong when they were driving back home from Judd and Grace's house on a Saturday afternoon, the sun already setting on the horizon.

Carlos hadn't drunk, not a sip, and seemed to be enjoying the company, the talk even if he was quieter than usual, and the kids ― the Vega twins really had fallen in love with him after the sandstorm. Yet, the man had given TK the car keys as they were leaving the house and didn't say much before walking around the car and taking the passager's seat.

Carlos loved to drive, and TK usually only took the wheel when his boyfriend chose to drink on their night out. He didn't do questions, though, and got in the car, taking Carlos' hand in his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

The cop smiled at him, almost thankfully, and then looked out his window.

It was a thirty-minute drive, which had never been a problem for the both of them for some reason, loved to take car rides whenever they could. Ten minutes in the vehicle, though, TK noticed that Carlos was moving quite too much, his hands gripping his pants and his leg bouncing against the floor. His brown eyes wouldn't focus, either, and he would swallow dryly more times in a minute than anyone should.

He wanted to ask if everything was okay, but Carlos beat him to it.

"Stop the car," he asked, his voice seeming to be stuck on his throat. TK frowned worriedly at him but did as he was asked, turning the wheel and parking the car on the curb and watching his boyfriend as his mind seemed to race, and he didn't know what to do.

TK didn't have to wait a second until Carlos was opening the door and walking away from the car, crossing the flower field they'd stopped beside and not looking back at TK, looking too scared to do that. His legs seemed to work automatically, and TK quickly snapped out of his worried state to realize what the hell was going on when Carlos walked towards the empty gazebo further on the field.

Carlos kept walking, his palms feeling sweaty and his feet seeming to work mechanically. He didn't stare at anything around him, his eyes were unfocused, his mouth seemed to have dried up, and he couldn't even hear anything but the thin, high-pitched whistle inside his ears.

The cop found himself walking towards a little empty gazebo, groping the air unconsciously to find the small gate and then opening it and not even bothering to close it before he placed himself against the wall, leaning almost vainly on it. He took a few deep breaths, the warm spring air entering his lungs and seeming to hurt, but he didn't really care.

Carlos closed his eyes, feeling the world and his head spin a few times. His brain could only say "too many people, too many people, too long," but Carlos couldn't utter a single word or move.

Not even when he noticed a movement next to him and could assume that someone was stooping down. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't be sure at that moment. He didn't want to think about it or anything else in the world.

It was when the person sat down next to him, also leaning their head against the wall, that he could connect the dots to the smell of perfume his boyfriend always wore. The other man didn't say anything, just bent his knees and put one of his arms over his legs, and looked straight ahead.

TK knew him well enough to figure that he hated to be seen in such a vulnerable situation.

"I..." Carlos muttered, swallowing hard and looking breathless. "A lot of people, I..." he interrupted himself, feeling the tears that hadn't been falling fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

His lips trembled, and he felt frustrated then. Carlos threw his head back, knowing that it would hit the wall. It was then that TK finally faced him and placed one of his hands on his boyfriend's hand that was still on the floor while the other seemed to pull at his hair.

"It hurts to breathe..." Carlos said, then sobbing. TK's grip on his hand got more solid, and Carlos wouldn't stop crying even if he wanted to ― he felt pathetic, overwhelmed, and he hated to be facing that fact about him in front of someone else.

TK inhaled deeply before saying anything.

"You're on a gazebo," the man began, his voice sweet. "There's nothing here but the two of us and a plant I don't know the name of, but you should," he said, and Carlos could hear a small smile in his voice. His hand let go of his hair, and he began to breathe slowly. "There are only the two of us here. And the stars."

Carlos took a deep breath. Once, twice, three times― just him and TK. Just him and TK. It was all right. Everything was fine.

He held his boyfriend's hand weakly, and TK made sure to squeeze it a little. He was there, just him, and everything was fine. He could breathe, there was air, and there was nobody else but him and the man he loved right beside him.

TK didn't say a word, his thumb caressing the back of Carlos' hand and his eyes analyzing each one of his breaths as he breathed just as slowly. His heart was pounding on his chest, and he had a few questions, but it was alright ― everything was fine, and they had time to talk about it.

The minutes went on like this, quietly, until Carlos, a little calmer but still with a knot in his throat, opened his eyes, swallowing hard and analyzing his surroundings warily. His brown eyes seemed alarmed, rimmed, and his breathing was still shaken.

"Allamanda," he said, then, his voice weak and hoarse. His breathing was smooth now, and TK smiled as he noticed it, even though he hadn't understood what Carlos had said until he gestured toward the flowers with his head.

TK chuckled quietly, amused that his boyfriend actually knew what the flowers were, and leaned his head against the wall again. They stood there for some time ― Carlos couldn't tell how long ― until his breathing returned to normal, and his ears were whistled low enough that he could hear around him.

"Sorry," he said, and TK turned his head, still leaning against the wall. "For this. I had no reason and― and I just..."

"Carlos," the paramedic called in a low voice, interrupting him before he could blame himself or try to explain what he wasn't ready to. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize or justify anything. It happened, that's fine," TK said, confident. Carlos swallowed hard. "It's okay, babe. I promise."

Carlos nodded but didn't seem too confident in agreeing with TK's words. TK looked at some spot in front of him again, and Carlos let his head fall until he was staring at his lap, his hand over his stretched legs and his mind racing with wild thoughts. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and threw his head back, leaning on the wall.

"I've never told anybody," Carlos said, then, all of a sudden. TK turned his head in his boyfriend's direction, bending it a bit with the piece of given information. "About this. The disorder or the crisis," he explained, and TK frowned with worry. "Not even Michelle."

TK waited, not wanting Carlos to shut down with any questions. After a minute or two, he spoke up again.

"I feel pathetic," Carlos said, a humorless chuckle leaving his closed lips. "I know I shouldn't because it's perfectly normal and everything, but..." Carlos swallowed dryly, his lips twisting in some shade of sadness. "I'm an adult. I should've left this in my teenage years, shouldn't I?"

TK didn't answer but thanked God it was a rhetorical question. He didn't quite know what to say.

He couldn't help but ask, though.

"How long you've been hiding these crises?" he asked, and Carlos chuckled humorlessly again. It caused TK's stomach to wrap.

"Since they began," he replied, and TK closed his eyes as if it was a painful truth to face. He squeezed Carlos' hand, and the other man just shrugged. "I was going to tell my father, even before I came out to them, but I heard a conversation over some documentary about mental disorders," Carlos said, and TK didn't like his tone. "I should really stop listening to what he and mom talk about. It would save me mental health," he joked, and TK bit his tongue.

Carlos wanted to cry, but he didn't think he could.

"I don't think they realized, you know? I mean, everyone makes jokes about it," Carlos said, then. "They didn't mean harm, I think. But they were laughing," he told TK, turning his head and not really looking around. "It was― eating me alive, and..." he chuckled again. "They were laughing."

TK squeezed his hand.

"So you figured that would be their reaction," TK supposed.

"Theirs and anybody's," Carlos said. "The only ones who take mental health seriously are the ones to whom it's lacking."

And TK didn't have an answer for that because there wasn't one. He could see what Carlos meant when he said that his parents meant no harm ― mental disorders were only a thing if you knew well enough to understand that sick people didn't want attention or were being dramatic; they just wanted peace.

And it was only genuine when someone that mattered hurt themselves over it, and TK knew that. He had experienced it himself, his mother being usually too skeptical to believe that someone wouldn't have control over their feelings.

Until TK had lost control over himself and his heart had lost the strength to beat for the first time.

Carlos had skepticism surrounding him when it came to taboos such as mental disorders ― and having one wasn't quite the solution to deal with it. His family didn't think it was something more than some drama or lack of control over emotions, and even the best-intended comments could hurt when they were only meant to be seen as a joke.

And TK couldn't see how it must have been to Carlos to feel like it for over a decade ― like a joke. Like who he was and the problems he had were too much, inconvenient, uncomfortable for someone he loved to deal with.

From cover to cover, Carlos had felt like a burden to his family. And although it wasn't their intention to make it like it, the fact they didn't seem to be open enough for Carlos to come to them still twisted something inside TK's soul.

"Hey?" Carlos called beside him, and TK lifted his eyes to find his boyfriend's sad face and closed eyes. "Does anybody else need to know about it?"

TK caressed his thumb over Carlos' skin.

"Not if you don't want them to," he replied. Carlos sighed.

"But?" he asked, and TK's heart swollen with how much he knew how to read him.

"It would be nice if you talked to Mitchell," TK said. "So she can have your back at work, you know?" Carlos sighed. "I know you've dealt with it all your life, babe, but someone has to have your back. Especially in our field," TK explained, and Carlos knew he was right. It didn't make things easier. "You know no one would laugh, don't you? And no one would ignore it, either," the paramedic continued, and Carlos weighted his head forward again.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Carlos said, then. "I've been prepared for the laughing and the ignoring my whole life; what do I do when it doesn't come?" he asked, and TK felt his heart clench inside his chest. "Besides, letting people know just..."

"Makes you feel a weird thing you can't really name?" TK guessed. "Something between guilt, regret, and stupidity and not the relief they've promised you?"

Carlos chucked again, and TK followed him. The cop nodded, and his lips trembled a bit.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Something like that."

A beat of silence, and then TK asked.

"Do you regret that I know it?" he said, and Carlos only closed his eyes again. There was no judgment or expectation in his boyfriend's voice, which is much more comfortable to answer.

"Honestly?" TK nodded. Carlos sighed. "Yes," he said, and TK pressed his lips together in a sad smile. "But I, uh...―" Carlos babbled. "I'm glad I can ask you for a hug now," he said, and TK widely smiled when he noticed the words. Carlos turned his head up to him, smiling expectantly, and the paramedic didn't lose a second before hugging him close to his chest.

Although Carlos was taller, TK knew he loved to be held close to someone and be involved in their arms as if he fit in them. Which, when it came to the two of them, the affirmative was nothing but correct ― Carlos fit in TK's arms seamlessly.

They stayed there for a while more, with Carlos breathing slowly against TK's neck and feeling his heartbeats and TK caressing his fingers through Carlos' curls and nape.

When they got back to the car, Carlos was almost sleeping on the passenger's seat with his head pressed to the window, and TK smiled at the cuteness of the scene and the peace on Carlos' face. He didn't say much, not to say anything, all the way back, sniffing a bit and taking some deep breaths.

TK could relate if being honest. Sharing such a personal thing, that something that should lift the weight out of your shoulders isn't as pretty as people make it seem. It's excruciating, tiring, and it feels like all the power you once had over your lack of control vanishes for a while.

It isn't exactly about being vulnerable, but about how much you can pretend something isn't real if no one else knows about it. And, when someone else does know, it feels a bunch more genuine than it was before ― even if the pain was already breathtaking.

As soon as TK parked in front of their house, he took Carlos' hand in his, squeezing it lightly to wake him from his superficial sleep. The cop opened his eyes a bit confused, breathing in deeply before looking out the window and then turning to his boyfriend, who smiled sweetly at him.

Wordlessly, the pair got out of the car and made their way to the front door, Carlos always a step behind him as they went up the stairs. TK couldn't point out if it was Carlos' habitual protectiveness towards those who he cared about or some kind of embarrassment over the things he wished he didn't mind about, but TK decided it wasn't something he shouldn't ask. Not then, at least.

They walked around their house silently, taking their shoes off before walking to the living room, where TK put his cellphone and wallet over the coffee table. Carlos seemed scared, hiding in the shadows around the corners, almost unsure of what he was doing there ― and, damn, it hurt TK to see that. Even if the paramedic knew it had nothing to do with him or the two of them, seeing the man he loved so out of place in their own house was a dagger to the heart.

TK wanted to suggest something, but Carlos seemed so stuck in his head that he wasn't sure he would be heard. So, he went to the bathroom downstairs silently, taking more time than necessary to wash his hands just so he could see if Carlos would move. When he went back to the living room, his boyfriend wasn't there anymore.

Knowing that he probably needed some space to deal with what happened and with the fact that TK knew about it all, the paramedic found a few things to do downstairs. Putting more water in a bottle to put in the fridge, wash the pair of plates and coffee mugs they've left there in the morning, answer a few texts on their group chat and some others from Grace asking if they've made a safe ride home.

He also checked all locks and windows before taking his phone and slowly climb up the stairs, turning off the lights as he went to their room. There, Carlos was still in the bathroom, and TK plugged his charger before taking off his shirt and pair of jeans.

As he laid down, he could hear the shower on and smiled a bit that Carlos had enough disposition to let himself relax around warm steam. TK sighed, sinking under the covers and closing his eyes for a second to let his thoughts settle around his head.

A second might have been longer, though, when he opened his eyes to the turned-off bedroom lights and the only light source being the semi-open bathroom door from where he could see Carlos' reflection moving a bit. His heavy eyelids wouldn't let him sit up or even move too much, but he used all the strength he had to stay awake and stare as his boyfriend left the bathroom and turned that light off, too.

His head was down as he walked to their bed, and he seemed to hesitate for a second before swallowing hard and turning his body a bit, his direction changing from his to TK's side of the bed. The paramedic waited, just to see how carefully Carlos took the blankets off his body and then moved to crawl up the bed.

The mattress deepened, and TK inhaled sharply ― which made Carlos realize he was awake but didn't stop him from doing whatever it was. TK tried to see something in the dark, but Carlos' warm hand over his naked waist caused every nerve to relax, and his eyelids fell heavy once again. He was a little more alert, though, his worried side speaking loudly.

Carlos put himself between TK's legs, his body half over his, and wrapped his arms around the paramedic's waist, sighing heavily and placing his head in the middle of TK's abdomen. Instinctively, TK's hand was in Carlos' curls, and the cop felt like he could cry just with that touch again.

"Am I hurting you?" Carlos whispered in the dark. "Do you want me to move?"

"Nah," TK grumbled. "You okay?" he asked, and Carlos just stood quiet. TK didn't pressure him into saying anything, perfectly comfortable with whatever Carlos wanted to talk about.

The cop closed his eyes for a second and then exhaled wearily against TK's stomach. He moved his legs to tangle it with TK's and the blankets, the coldness of one bringing relief to his racing nerves.

"Not quite," he said. "I'll be."

TK hugged him the best he could manage to in their position, caressing Carlos' bare skin in comfort.

"Don't rush yourself into it," TK murmured. Carlos closed his eyes, ignoring a bit of a headache on the side of his temple.

"Won't," Carlos said, and TK knew he was telling the truth.

Because Carlos was kind, sweet, loving, and the easiest person to love. He's the kind of person the paramedic tried to avoid because TK simply knew that he would fall in love with him ― it was Carlos, after all, and TK knew better than trying to fool himself with the premise he could only do casual.

TK searched for questions without answers, and Carlos had all the answers TK wanted to find the questions to. He was pretty sure he could discover why the sky is blue in the brown of Carlos' eyes. He could find out why the languages change just by kissing his lips. The reason fire would burn would be written over Carlos' skin, and the sea could be explained but never compared to how deeply Carlos felt things.

TK was curious, indeed, but he didn't mind waiting for the answers if it meant he would discover Carlos page by page, breath after breath.

Carlos, deep down, couldn't wait to be deciphered, too. And he knew things would be better and would be good if he tried to see himself through somebody else's lenses. It would take time, effort, and much more talking than he liked to think about ― but it would be alright.

Because they didn't have to wonder if they'd be alone while trying to be better.

Because they didn't have to wonder what it would be like to share some of the weight.

Because the answers weren't written, and they could always wonder what they were.

Because, for now, it didn't hurt to breathe.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star fic #911 lone star #my fic #my writing #prompt list #prompt fic #carlos reyes x tk strand #tk strand x carlos reyes #ask #fic prompts

[plenaurum]

What Love Is: Pt 2/2

Might be an epilogue after this. I just wanted to get this out. Sorry it’s so long. Antoine Dawson. Word count: 3k. Part 1 here. Enjoy! Feedback appreciated but not required.

It has been over a week since she cut him loose. Throughout the week, she has had to dodge phone calls, FaceTime requests, text messages, direct messages, even comments under her Instagram posts from Antoine.

Funny how he gives a damn now.

Refusing to entertain him any longer, she avoided reading any of his messages, cutting her eyes away from words like “Y/N, I’m so—”, “I love—“, “Please can we ta—“, before she could get too far and let him pull her in too deep. Again.

So she blocked him. On everything. She unmatched him on Lovelink, blocked his phone number, his e-mail, all of his socials, even going as far as to private her social media accounts. She didn’t want to give him any wiggle room to slide back into her life.

And she refused to let the pain of having to let him go, of not being able to talk to him again, to see his face again, to hear his voice affectionately call her name in a way only he can, get in the way of her anger. Because she is angry. And heartbroken.

She would weather any internal storm if it meant not having to go through heartbreak like that again.

So she persisted.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be ok?” Jake asks.

They have just finished up a movie night with their friends Grace and Jasmin. They insisted that they have one because “you can’t spend your life wallowing over a fucker that couldn’t appreciate a bad bitch when he had one,” Jasmin said.

They’ve been pretty damn upset with Antoine, and make their disdain known whenever his name is brought up. Jasmin especially.

“This too shall pass,” Grace said ominously, curled up on the floor with a cup of toffee ice-cream.

“Is that Shakespear?” Jasmin looked over at her curiously, licking the remnants of the popcorn from her fingertips.

“It’s from the Bible!” Jake exclaimed. He was sitting on the floor next to Y/N’s legs, head leaning against her lap like a cat. Y/N let out a chuckle, a grin pulling at her lips as appreciation for her friends welled up in her chest.

It’s been about 20 minutes since Grace and Jasmin took off, Grace having to work on her thesis and Jasmin having a meeting with her model agency in the morning. They each departed with a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. Jake stayed behind, however.

“I’ll be fine, Jake.” Shaking off the memory, Y/N gathers the rest of the dishes into the sink. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

Jake leans against the counter next to her, a friendly warmth radiating from him. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your friend, Y/N.” He begins to help her with the dishes, their arms occasionally brushing against each other as they move in-sync. Y/N felt a rush of affection at him for being so kind.

Jake. Always such a softy.

“Besides, I don’t have my date for another hour, so I don’t have to leave just yet.” Jake turns his head and quirks a smile at her, eyebrows dancing playfully. “I could always kick your ass in another round of Uno.”

Y/N can’t help but laugh. “You know damn well it’ll be the other way around, Romeo.” Jake shrugs, a triumphant grin still on his face. He doesn’t really care about winning so much as he does about making that sad look on her face go away.

“Besides, shouldn’t you be preparing for your Juliet?” She says teasingly.

Putting away the last dish, Jake avoids her eyes, a blush dancing on his cheeks. “They’re not Juliet. They’re just helping me film.” He mutters.

Another giggle bursts out of her chest. “You mean they’re not Juliet yet.” He rolls his eyes, a bashful grin breaking through.

“How is it going with them by the way?” She asks.

He perks up adoringly, jumps to sit on top of the counter, eyes shining. “It’s going so well!” He says excitedly. He goes on to talk about the person he met from Lovelink, ironically the same site that she met Antoine on. She listens to him talk, feeling the heaviness from her chest lighten up a little at how happy he is, how utterly smitten he is.

At least one of them can have their happy ending. She smiles softly, a little sad. “I’m really happy for you Jake.” She says sincerely. “You deserve this.”

He stops talking and just looks at her, a soft look on his face at her tone. “You deserve it too, you know.” She just smiles at him, a faraway look in her eyes.

“I’ll get there eventually.” She affirms. He slides off the counter and pulls her into his arms. She didn’t know how much she needed a hug until now. Burying her face into his neck, she sighs, the heaviness in her chest lifts significantly.

“I know you will,” He whispers.

They stay like that for a few moments until they hear a knock at the door. They pull away from each other, looking at it quizzically. “Are you expecting anyone?” He asks.

“No. It was just you guys.” Besides, it’s almost 9pm. There’s another knock at the door, this one more persistent. Jake furrows his brow. “Are you gonna get it or should I?”

“No, I got it.”

Letting go of his hand, she goes for the door, and opens it without even looking through the keyhole, curiosity getting the better of her. “What can I do fo--” Her eyes lock with Antoine’s icy blues.

An icy feeling shoots it’s way through her body. She’s frozen, staring at him, heart beating out of her chest. She can’t breathe.

Then she feels a presence at her back and Jake’s hand on her shoulder. She lets the warmth of his hand spread through her body, soothing her. He knows who it is, if the pictures are anything to go by.

She watches Antoine’s eyes shoot to where Jake is touching her.

Everybody’s frozen, waiting for someone to make the first move. Then Antoine clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “Um,” he stammers, face reddening. “Is this a bad time?”

Jake stiffens, face hardening a bit. He shoots a look at Y/N, who turns around to look at him. They seem to have a silent conversation, his eyes saying are you sure about this? To which she replies I’ll be fine. I got this. He nods.

“No. I’ll see you later Y/N,” She hears him say, still staring at Antoine. He meets her eyes, his own unreadable. She nods at Jake, turning to give him a weak smile. He returns it, then parts with a quick peck on her cheek. He shoots a sly look at Antoine, and says, “See ya.” Then, brushing past Antoine’s tense body, he’s off.

Taking a deep calming breath, she pulls herself together enough to say “Do you wanna come in?” He gives her a smile and nods. Stepping aside, she lets him in, making sure to press herself against the open door to prevent any contact between them.

Closing the door, she turns to look at him to see that his eyes have been on her the entire time, seemingly drinking her in. Ignoring the tingles that spread through her body, she crosses her arms and fixes him with a hard look.

“What are you doing here, Antoine?” She thought he was in Nepal. Probably chasing some baby animal and getting himself stuck in a cave, she thinks bitterly.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies. Giving her another once over, he smiles softly at her. “How are you? How have you been?”

“Fine. Good.” She says sharply, ignoring his flinch. “What do you need?” She repeats.

Hands shoved into his pockets, biting his lip, he looks toward his feet, obviously unsure. “I deserve that,” he mutters to himself.

Deciding to cut him some slack and be a good host to an otherwise unwelcome guest, she clenches her jaw and bites out “Do you want a drink?”

His shoulders fall away from his ears, hope all over his face. “Please.”

She says nothing else and instead, giving him a wide berth, walks to the kitchen. It must be obvious that she wants her space, because Antoine keeps a careful distance between them, following her lead. He doesn’t want to set her off and kick him out when he misses her so much.

Yanking out two glasses, she pours a glass of one for each of them, ignoring his watchful eyes, filling her own cup to the brim. She passes the other to Antoine, his fingers brushing against hers when he takes it, almost as if he can’t help himself. She yanks her hand back and takes a long sip.

She decides to take a seat. No use being uncomfortable in your own damn house. She fixes him with another hard look and says: “Sit down.” He obeys, taking the seat across from her at the counter. He hasn’t taken a sip of his drink yet.

A few moments pass in tense silence. She has a lot of questions for him that she refuses to ask out loud, like Why did you insist on keeping me around if you were just gonna keep running from me? Was I not enough for you? Why would you say one thing and then do the complete opposite? Why? Why? Why? But she won’t ask. She’s done looking weak, being weak for him.

She feels him staring at her. Looking toward the ceiling to keep the tears at bay, she takes another long sip of her wine, reveling in the warmth settling in her belly.

“Why are you here, Antoine?” She asks again quietly, looking down at her drink.

“Who was that?” He blurts out instead of answering the question. He looks almost guilty, like he knows he should’ve kept to himself.

“Who was who?” She says cooly.

“That—that guy. Is he—? Are you—?” He’s stammering, tongue not cooperating with him.

She looks at him incredulously. Is he serious?

She’s silent for a moment, wanting to be petty and reply with what’s it to you? We’re not together anymore! I’m not even sure if we were together at all! But instead, allowing herself a moment of weakness and not being able to bear the pain of him thinking that she’s moved on so fast, she just says: “That’s Jake. Remember?” She’s told him about her friends at the beginning stages of their relationship, making it clear that while she and Jake are really close, they’ve never thought about one another that way. Besides, they’re both in love with other people.

The relief he feels is painfully obvious. “Oh.” He says dumbly. “Oh.” He repeats to himself. He lets out a breath, as if he’s been holding it in anticipation of her answer.

She doesn’t say anything back.

He tries to catch her eye again. “Listen, I want to tell you something.” She cuts her eyes back to him. “And I know I’m not in a position to be making any demands right now, but I just need about five minutes, okay? Then I’ll go, no problem.” His eyes are wide, almost pleading for her to listen.

She grinds her teeth, wanting to be difficult, but also wanting all of this to be over already even more. She nods once. He sighs again, nodding to himself.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly. She tries not to scoff, head shaking tiredly. He stays strong, however.

He sets his glass down and leans closer, all of his focus on her as if she’ll disappear at any moment. “I’ve been stupid. And selfish. And an asshole.” He sounds angry with himself. Well, no shit. Good on you for realizing. I guess. She takes another gulp of her wine in response.

“Y/N, I turned it down.” She almost chokes. He shoots up and would have ran to her side if she didn’t put a hand up to let him know that she’s ok.

He sits back down gingerly, still gazing at her worriedly. “And I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t turn it down just to get you back. I mean—it’s part of it. But it’s not the only reason.”

“I love my job. I love what I do. I love being able to see all of these new places, to have all of these new experiences. I do.” Unshed tears well up in his eyes. “But I realized—none of it matters if I don’t have you.” Screwing up her face, she shakes her head in disbelief, trying to stop the tears from falling.

“No. No—”

He shoots up and speeds around the counter to kneel down next to her, looking up at her and taking her hand.

“Please listen.” He goes on further. “When you left me, I was angry at first. Frustrated. But it was with myself for—for hurting you so much. For being so selfish and not seeing what I was doing.”

“I’ve been running from my problems, Y/N. I felt like if I didn’t keep moving, that I’d—I’d spiral. What happened with my grandpa in Alaska really shook me to my core. And I noticed that whenever problems arise, I run away. I avoid them.”

“But at the same time, I met you, and I knew that I wanted you in my life. That you’d be it for me. You are it for me.” His voice shakes, but he runs a thumb over her knuckles, eyes roaming her face reverently. “I want a life with you. I do. More than anything, I want you.”

Her heart slams against her chest.

He sighs. “And I didn’t want to admit it but, that scared the shit outta me.” He sniffs, tightening his hand around hers. “I knew that one look at you and it was over. That I wouldn’t be able to run anymore.”

“Is that why you were so adamant about leaving?” She asks weakly.

He shuts his eyes, squeezing them tight. “Yeah. I—I didn’t know how to deal, Y/N. I wanted to run as far as possible, to keep going and to keep focusing on my career so that I didn’t have to.” He opens his eyes again, tears falling down his cheeks. “That’s why it was so hard for me to fly you out to see me in Columbia.”

“I thought you just didn’t want to see me.” She utters.

He shakes his head frantically, squeezing her hand so tightly it almost hurts. “No. I wanted to see you. More than anything.”

She tries to pull her hand away. “You’re confusing me, Antoine. That was the problem—”

“—Wait! Wait! Please!” He goes for her hand again, and she lets him, though she keeps her grip loose.

“I wanted to see you. But I was genuinely concerned for your safety. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He grimaces, letting out a hollow laugh. “Hell of a job I did at keeping that from happening, huh?”

“And I didn’t want you to leave again. Because I knew I’d try to follow you. And I almost did. You don’t understand the pull you have on me—I wanted to be with you more than anything, more than I wanted to run. So I pushed back against it. Tried to ignore it. Threw myself into my work so I didn’t have to face it. Because facing you, in my mind, meant facing what I’ve been through.” He tentatively reaches a hand out, gently cups the side of her face, wiping away a tear. She has to keep herself from nuzzling into his hand.

“I can’t run from you. Yet I kept trying. And I was a fucking idiot for it.” He grits his teeth, the anger at himself glaringly clear.

“Because throughout all of this, I never communicated what I was feeling with you. I didn’t try to get over my fears for you. I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted. And you...” He slides his hand under her chin, leaving a trail of fire burning on her skin.

“...You tried to keep me happy. You followed me on my whims, you let me take the lead while I made decisions about us without ever consulting you. And I hate that I made you feel like you had to do that.” She feels her face burn, more tears spilling onto her face. His breath catches at that.

“Baby, can I hold you? Please? I can’t—”

She throws herself into his arms, full on sobbing now. He catches her, tucking her face into his neck, making shushing noises despite him having a few tears of his own, as he holds her tight, stroking her back. She feels him bury his face onto the top of her head. He continues. “I’m so sorry. It took that conversation and being without you for me to realize what an ass I’ve been. I’d love to keep you with me but more than anything I want to keep you happy.”

“I’ve scheduled my first therapy appointment.” He admits. “I’m not just doing it for you but it’s also for me. It’s for us.”

She pulls away, and at first he tightens his hold around her like it pains him to let go, but he eventually lets up. “If we get back together, you better be doing all of this for yourself. I can’t be your—“ she swallows, “—your emotional crutch. Not anymore.”

His eyes are understanding, earnest. “I know that. I don’t want you to be. I’m doing this because honestly…I need it, after what went down. And I want to make you proud. I wanna support you, too. To be here for you.”

She feels her heart swell in her chest despite herself. The last of her walls crumble away, and she’s left looking at him with an admiring, but stern, smile. “I’m not going through that shit again, Dawson.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I don’t hurt you again,” he promises, holding her hand over the strong, steady beat of his heart. She knows he’s telling the truth.

“Y/N—” She cuts him off with a kiss. He starts, but soon returns it, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap, hands gripping her waist. It’s painful, longing, loving--everything that they feel for one another poured into that kiss. She pulls away, but not too far, leaning her head against his. He shifts so his lips are a whisper away from hers, sneaking in a few more kisses.

“Y/N. I love you.” And she finally believes it. “And I’m done running. Will you be with me? Please?”

Her heart flutters. “I love you too.” She feels his heart speed up where it’s pressed against her chest. He hugs her even closer. She smiles against his lips. “You have me.”

#Antoine lovelink #Antoine dawson #noah lovelink #noah cruz #lovelink #lovelink fanfic #lovelink imagine #Antoine Dawson x reader #Noah cruz x reader

[uwua3]

white day confession.

❄️🍶 yukishiro azuma

summary: azuma receives many gifts of admiration on valentine’s day, but he’s only returning one on white day

dedication: ruri — my divorcee of all time, internet bff, and much more, i love you! happy birthday!! 🎁🎊🎉

warnings: distance, feelings, slight angst

author’s note: this is for my best friend, ruri! i love her endlessly and so does azuma! happy birthday to the angel born on white day; azuma loves you and so do all your friends! (･ω<)☆

word count: 1,518

music: say yes – loco, punch

it was as if azuma wielded cupid’s bow, unintentionally shooting everyone within sight to fall hopelessly in love with him

after all, how could you not? he appeared like a demigod, with the grace of something heavenly and the touch of a human. azuma captured the hearts of anyone who gave him a second glance

it was only natural for him to receive confession after confession on valentine’s day, with the typical box of chocolates he disliked and traditional store-bought cards presented to him. it didn’t matter who it was; azuma would always politely reject them with a sympathetic smile before leaving behind a trail of broken hearts

it wasn’t exactly a reputation he sought after, but the title “king of broken hearts” began to follow azuma every valentine’s day

many thought they could change his mind, that they could chain him down and get him to sign a contract to commitment. azuma was blessed with ero’s wings, he could fly away from any trap possible. no one could keep azuma on the ground

except, you

azuma expected a letter from anyone but you. you were always one of his closest friends, where the line between friendship and romance blurred. it was a no strings attached kind of relationship, where you two could do anything you want but still be with each other at the end of the night

so when you carefully gave him a folded letter, azuma repressed a sigh at the foreshadowing of another failed casual relationship. he didn’t open it, nor did he say a word and neither did you. it was like a silent agreement—nothing would change if the feelings weren’t said aloud

there was this non-verbal deal to not read the letter, so azuma didn’t. but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. all he had to do was rip it up and destroy any chance of being curious

but, it was like pandora’s box. azuma would lay in bed, knowing the letter was in his bedside and all he had to do was pull open the drawers. azuma would wake up, wondering what you possibly were afraid to say, and azuma would fall asleep, dreaming of what contents were penned in your handwriting

it was like you put a love spell over him. ever since azuma received your love letter, he couldn’t think of anything else but you

unfortunately, it wasn’t a drunk decision to open your letter once and for all. azuma smoothed the wrinkles upon his forehead for the nth time, finally giving in when homare (who quickly ran away for his own good) commented about the condition of azuma’s skin

the world was quiet for once as the moonlit letter was read. the ink seemed like a fountain pen, with a lavender wax seal discarded to the side. as azuma took in your words, he unintentionally began reciting them whenever his eyes closed for a moment too long

My dearest, Yukishiro Azuma

Good day. This will be my first letter to you which I believe is long overdue. Now where do I start? Should I mention how I first fell for you? It was love at first sight. The moment you appeared in my eyes, I was struck by your beauty and I was affected even more when I heard your alluring voice which promptly sent shivers down my spine.

azuma reminisced on the past, where you two were much more naive and younger than you were now. had he truly missed the way your eyes looked towards him? how had you seen him? were you infatuated as well? for all these years? azuma was flattered to be the subject of your affections, but how was he so unaware?

How could this be? How could this possibly be? Just your first appearance already made my heart aflutter. My feelings for you grew tremendously once I started to get to know you better. I smiled when you smiled. I laughed when you laughed. I cried when you cried.

it was true you two shared a bond unlike any other. it was as if you two were truly connected; soulmates, if you will

when you smiled, he had no choice but to smile along. when you laughed, azuma found the world to be a much better place than he originally thought. when you cried, azuma did everything in his power to hold you close. you two shared something indescribable and unexplainable, that much was true

When your first leading role came, I did my hardest to support you. I gave my everything for you. Of course, this was only natural. For my heart, body, and soul belongs to you.

azuma faintly relived what it felt like when you ran into his arms, throwing your arms around his neck with a bouquet of the prettiest cecilias. it was closing night and you were the first to stand up during the standing ovation. azuma watched you like you were the star of the show that night

I can't believe that such a fine man like you exists. Oh how blessed I am! Can you see it? Can you feel it? How I wish to caress the side of your face? How I wish my lips could touch yours? How I wish to be embraced in your arms throughout the night? My darling Azuma, allow me to be by your side forever and always.

I love you, my darling.

with your signature gracing the bottom of the parchment, azuma’s heart warmed from the thought and consideration you had put into the letter. at first, the feeling was a pleasant warm sensation but quickly faded into a bitter cold

this was the first time azuma had felt truly moved by a letter before. what did this mean? did this mean... no, it couldn’t be

azuma closed the letter, his hands faintly shaking and a blush that couldn’t go away across his face. you love him, azuma repeated this in his head until he fell asleep, your words pressed against his chest

a month passes before azuma writes his own letter. a month of fleeting glances, touches that trailed for too long, and unspoken words that could change everything. although both of you tried your best to make sure nothing changed, something did

conversations that once flowed so smoothly froze over like a winter waterfall. energy that only you two knew the meaning of faded into a spark of what it once was. you two slowly grew distant no matter what either of you did. you both knew what was inside the letter now, there was no turning back

so, azuma sits down, takes out his own fountain pen, and watches the lilac wax melt above the aromatic candle. all the words he couldn’t speak were forming at the tip of his fingers, all he had to was write

if azuma shared his feelings, he’d lose what he worked so hard to maintain: his independence, his freedom, his privacy. but, after a month-long contemplation, azuma knew he’d rather lose those things than lose you

To my beloved,

Perhaps this may come as a surprise to you, but my letter is long overdue as well. Words that I cannot bring myself to share are now dutifully written upon this page; I promise you, they are as truthful as they come. I have laid out my soul bare for you to choose whether or not to accept. Please be gentle with me as I attempt to express how I feel about you.

When we had first met, you had come into my life because the heavens had blessed me with humanity’s greatest gift. What did I, an unfortunate mortal, do to deserve such a person? Overcome by my blinding adoration for you, I continued worshipping you as the gods intended. For the past years have been nothing but bliss, you are the only person who could make me feel such a way.

I could see your angel wings when you had hugged me that closing night after Winter’s first show. I should’ve told you then, but I didn’t know. I am only human, how could I know what these emotions were when I had never experienced them?

To this day, I do not know if I’ve always felt this way about you. But, I do know now. Please forgive me for taking so much time to admit the truth.

I love you, too, my angel.

Love, Yukishiro Azuma

white day had arrived. you weren’t the type to receive an influx of gifts on either days, since you only had ever given one letter to a special someone in all your life

azuma was the type to be showered in sweets, chocolates, and letters every day of the year. his charm and charisma could make anyone fall head over heels, including you. but, he had never given a white day gift before

when you turned around, you noticed a letter being held out between the hold of azuma

could it be? did azuma love you, too?

“happy white day. i love you, my angel.”

#yukishiro azuma #azuma yukishiro #a3! act! addict! actors! #a3! #act! addict! actors! #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #a3! actor training game #mankai a3! #mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #azuma x reader #a3! azuma #a3 azuma

[marshmallowprotection]

Serendipity

Pairing: Kang Jaehee/Main Character 

Bio: It's been nice to get into the groove of working in the café with Jaehee, but the two of you keep butting heads over the little things. How will you settle it?

For the Mystic Messenger Reverse Big Bang Project. @mysme-rbb

[Read on AO3]

[Check out my Partner here.]

It wasn’t as easy as you thought to get a business up and running. Well, you certainly didn’t think it was a cakewalk, but it was a lot more involved than you assumed.

But, you supposed that was how anyone felt about their business. Jaehee knew the in’s and out’s well after spending so much time working with Jumin, however, there were still so many factors to consider that she had to take note of as you two were working hard on the business model for the café.

She had taken care of so much without even batting an eyelash. From making sure that things with the renovation were going properly, to ensuring that all the little touchings for the interior were to your liking as you had decided upon after making countless sketches, and that wasn’t at all to disregard how she’d been working on brewing the menu of drinks.

Jaehee was astounding, frankly.

Every single day you were able to learn something that you hadn’t known about her and it just drew you to want to be closer to Jaehee. She was passionate and it showed in how much thought she put into the smallest things. It could be as simple as trying to make sure that the napkins had the right color and energy.

Or, it could be as big as picking which tables and machinery to use. As long as she was there, you knew that you had nothing to worry about in terms of getting things to stay on track. You had a bit harder time trying to schedule things and make sure that they were following the path that they needed, so having Jaehee there made things possible without any messes!

To clarify, you thought, messes that involved construction and order were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with.

If it was in regards to a teeny mess in the kitchen?

That was kind of another thing entirely to talk about with your partner. There was plenty of work to be done and you were busy most of the time working to make sure that you had everything you needed for the day to clean up right as you worked.

Which, often led to Jaehee clicking her tongue and sighing at your work ethic. You just beamed whenever she came around and found just a bit of flour or other ingredients resting against the chopping block or the sink. You would get to things just as soon as you rotated through your fast cycle. It was how you functioned and how your brain layered your tasks.

While she thrived on order and structure to get things done, you had moments of relishing the freedom of the moment and letting your creativity wander. Some people would say that it was a partnership that had stormy seas ahead; but, honestly? Having someone willing to work outside of the box with someone who danced closer to the lines meant you had perfect harmony.

You didn’t have to always see eye to eye to be close to someone, nor did you have to agree to get things done.

Opposing views, as you had experienced, had allowed you and Jaehee to be able to find a lot of middle ground that would benefit more people than just yourselves. It opened the shop to more than just one crowd of people that wanted to drop by.

You both wanted this café to flourish with which meant putting your heads together to make progress!

Though, while your differing views had blended just fine thus far, the one thing that the two of you were having trouble with had to do with the menu of the café. She had carefully crafted the brews from the roast to the cup. However, where you two had a problem was trying to find that staple item on the menu.

It was that one thing that people would always drop by to try or were buzzing about when they talked about the place. After all, just focusing on drinks wouldn’t quite attract just anyone to see the place for themselves. You had a few ideas yourself and so did Jaehee, but you just couldn’t agree at all on what you should go with.

Your mind told you to go for gold by something big and flashy and Jaehee was focused on something simple, but not too plain.

It was seemingly the only thing that you couldn’t agree on. There were far too many pastries and cakes to pick from to settle on just one thing to be the centerpiece. Which, is what led the two of you to come to the conclusion that you had reached today.

In the kitchen of the café with loads of sweets on the counter for no reason other than the fact that:

“Well, if we simply cannot settle this by looking at our notes, then we should make everything that we believe to be a strong contender, [Y/N].”

“A good ol’ fashioned bake-off, then, huh?”

“I think those terms are agreeable.”

“Bring it on.”

Of course, neither you nor Jaehee set a limit on how many things you had in mind, which meant that the kitchen had way more snacks than you could eat by yourselves in just a day or two. That would certainly wind up going to the rest of the RFA when you were done if they were fool-hardy enough to walk into the café today.

You wouldn’t deny that it was fun, though.

To be in the kitchen together while the low hum of the radio echoed throughout the room, your eyes lingering on Jaehee when she thought that you were caught up in reading your notes and pausing to stir something with careful ease. These were the moments when you got to see a side of Jaehee that nobody else ever got the chance to view.

That side of Jaehee warmed your heart and brought warmth to your face. She was always so cute when she worked like this. She pursed her lips just so and would tap the tip of the pen against her lips whenever she made notes and correlations to her plans as she sampled and changed her final goal.

She didn’t know how adorable it was.

Not that you let a day go by without reminding her how much you appreciated having her in your personal space. She would always blush and cough to compose herself, looking away before she slid her hand into your own before you headed home for the evening after closing up the shop for the day.

One of these days she would be able to face you and tease you back without hesitation, but you were okay waiting for that day. These moments where she challenged you and kept you on your toes were just as fun and interesting to you to have and to hold. Though, this time, you wanted to be able to show her that you were capable of being able to prove that your choice was right.

“How’s it going over here?” you asked, continuing to stir the bowl in your hands as you made eye contact with Jaehee. “Ready to admit defeat, Jaehee?”

She chuckled. You knew that sound. She was always ready to stand her ground. You knew that whatever she had planned might’ve upstaged whatever you were thinking. So, you knew when she smiled, it was time to test the waters to see, “I assure you that I won’t be giving up so easily.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a battle if you didn’t give it your all,” you countered. You took a few steps into her side of the kitchen just to get a little glimpse at her plans. You just needed to give her a little push to get on her good side. Setting down your work next to hers, you caught her hand in your own with a wink.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

You brought her hand to your lips and brushed them against the palm of her palm. “Oh, nothing, I just wanted to make sure that these things were in working order,” you said and watched as the heat rose from her neck to her cheeks in a matter of seconds. “Don’t you think you should take a little break?”

“And let you get ahead of me?” her narrowed brow told you that she knew what you were trying to do but she wasn’t going to stop you. “We both know where that game goes at the end of the day, [Y/N.] So, what are you playing at?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to get you to take a break. I love this song, I thought you earned a dance for your hard work. We can’t take things so seriously that we forget to have a little downtime in the meantime, you know?”

“...No funny business, got it?”

“No promises.”

Jaehee allowed you to pull her close into a slow and swaying dance. She was light on her feet and kept her eyes on you the entire time. You knew that you could count on her to be watching your every move. She was always acutely aware of every detail.

So, you were more than happy to twist and turn around that kitchen without a second thought.

The heart-strung melody of a familiar song was the only thing that you needed. That, and having Jaehee close to you. She made you feel at home and alive. You hoped that she felt the same way as it was often difficult for her to express those thoughts aloud. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like you did, she was just…

Still getting used to sharing her emotions with others without feeling like she needed to ball them up and away. Her home life had taught her to keep herself withdrawn and learning how to let go of that was like learning how to ride a bike. It wasn’t impossible but it was tedious and one of those things that took time and patience to work out.

You dipped her back and she sputtered but trusted you not to drop her on her butt. You never would… unless there was a cushion there to brace her fall from grace, anyway. The look in her brown eyes never got old and you craved to see it every time that she shared it with you so tenderly.

As you helped Jaehee back onto two legs, she could feel you moving her back and back until her hip bumped against the counter. She glanced between you and the ground before you caught her face in your open palm, leaning over to brush your lips against her cheek.

She instantly reacted to your affection by moving back a smidge, her hand knocking into both of your bowls, mixing the two.

“Oh, no!”

“[Y/N], you got carried away again!”

“I didn’t mean to!” You laughed it off as best you could. Though, you couldn’t help but think the pink shade of the batter you had created was turning a deep blush thanks to Jaehee’s handiwork of her own creation. She huffed and puffed as you tried to make sense of the mess and see if it could be mended.  

Curious, you dipped a hand into the batter to give it a taste. It reminded you of something sweet and fruity, but you couldn’t quite discern what was in it.

It tasted really good, though.

“Jaehee, wait, come and try this,” you nudged her to come back to your side, bumping a spoon next to her lips to let her try. She tried only due to your insistence on the matter, pausing as she took in the flavor and nodded. “I think we’ve figured out what we’re going to have. Instead of red velvet, we can have a pink velvet!”

“We should’ve done this to start with,” she said, with a little laugh. Her warm cheeks were still reddened with embarrassment. “I guess it’s not always wrong to put things together to see if they work out.”

“Of course not, that’s why we work so well together.”

“Pffft, hahaha. I think this is going to turn out great.”

“Us, or the cakes?”

“Both.”

#jaehee kang #kang jaehee #mm #mysme #mysticmessenger #mystic messenger #mystic messenger jaehee #mysme jaehee #mm jaehee #jaehee mm #jaehee mystic messenger #jaehee x mc #jaehee x reader #mysmerbb #mod kait #long post

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Years Gone By

(Not my gif)(Requested by @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ )

(I felt this kind of format was better for the request.)

Michael Corleone x reader

D- Y/n is a family friend of the Corleone’s who’s been in love with Michael for as long as she could remember. Though the older boy had no interest in her growing up, old feelings come back and new ones develop after they stumble across each other in Sicily. 

Growing up with the Corleone’s was... interesting, to say the least. You laughed with, hugged and kissed them, but a part of you was always aware of how dangerous they were. You knew the hands which held yours so fondly had also done horrible, violent things.

But you accepted that, understanding that there was a space between right and wrong in which the Corleone’s fell. A space which allowed them to protect you, your family, and so many others. Your own father had done things no one in your family was proud of, but his actions had allowed you to fall in with the Godfather and earn you a place in his heart and home. 

You spent countless hours with the family; growing up alongside the boys and Connie. You could still remember all the giggle filled sleepovers you’d had with girl who was just a year younger than you were. All the family dinners, the days spent in the pool, the holiday and birthday parties. Oh the parties. How you’d blush as the older men and women would ask which brother caught your fancy, a question which made Connie’s nose wrinkle in disgust. She adored the idea of having you as a sister but the thought of you liking one of her brothers; at least when she as younger, grossed her out. 

Growing up, most of the boys had little interest in you besides their occasional teasing and need for a substitute listener when their other brothers had no interest. Sonny had a habit of chasing neighborhood boys away from you, though his actions were spurred on by little more than a brotherly instinct to protect you. His blunt way of acting amused you but there was a brother whom you’d pined over for nearly your entire life....

Michael was a softer soul; quieter, kinder, calmer. His face the embodiment of Italian beauty: dark features and tanned skin. He was six years older than you were, practically a man while you were still a young girl. You didn’t expect him to return your affections, you only hoped and prayed. 

You were twelve years old when he went off to college. He’d given you a hug, kiss on the cheek and pat on the head, promising you and his sister that he’d be home for the holidays. You were crestfallen. It took you an entire week to stop feeling miserable. Then at sixteen, you and your family went to live with some relatives in Sicily... so no more Michael, even at Christmas. 

The Corleone’s kept tabs on you through the mail. You’d get at least one letter every two weeks, usually from Connie, which kept you updated on everything that had happened. Over time you put your affections for Michael on the back burner; you couldn’t live the rest of your life hoping he’d notice you, right? You had a few short lived Sicilian romances which were merely puppy love or convenience centered. No matter what you did, you had no luck with relationships. You’d practically given up on them; throwing yourself into your hobbies and chores. It was during one of those chores that you crossed paths with your past once more. 

It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, wildflowers blooming all around you. You’d been sent into town by your mother who’d entrusted you with buying a short list groceries. It didn’t take you long to accomplish the task around town, gathering all that you needed in just under an hour before starting your trek home. 

You pulled your hair out of your face, adjusting one of the bags around your shoulder as you walked through the grassy clearing which led you to your families estate. That was when you saw him, flanked by two armed men and bearing an angry bruise on one of his beautiful cheeks. You stopped in your tracks and his eyes flitted to you, locking onto your face as his own morphed into one of subdued shock. 

“Michael?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, pitifully quiet as you felt the world around you freeze. He stood still for a long moment, in fact, neither of you moved until you heard the men who accompanied him tease him about being hit by a thunderbolt. You felt your cheeks flush. 

“Y/n.” His voice was soft but you could still hear it, the surprised tone which it held was not lost on you. 

He took a slow step forward before he finally approached you, standing in front of you tentatively, completely unsure of himself for one of the first times in his life. You made the first move, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself flush against him. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you in closer. A part of you feared him feeling your beating heart, knowing that it would give away your feelings for him and yet a part of you knew that things were different now. What was between you had changed, morphed from childlike fondness to strong attraction which coursed through every part of you. 

So many questions threatened to spill from your tongue and yet, not one of them could leave it. The only thing your mouth was capable of saying was “how”, a bewildered inquiry which made him chuckle, a handsome laugh that you felt deep in your stomach. He assured you that it was a long story, offering that he could perhaps tell it to you another time. 

Another time. The promise of seeing him again after today sent a flurry of joy through you. You were unsure of what to say, even after you matured and experienced the world, you still felt so juvenile compared to him. No, that wasn’t it, you didn’t feel as though you were younger than him, it was just that his mere presence turned you back into that shy little girl which snuck glances at him at the dinner table. 

“My parents, they’d love to see you again. Why don’t you join us for dinner?” The invitation brought a smile to his face, a breathtakingly, heart stopping smile which had butterflies fluttering inside you. 

“I’d love to. If it isn’t any trouble.” He answered.

“None at all.” You replied and nodded your head towards the beaten path in front of you. 

The two of you began walking, attempting to speak as old friends should though the flustered feelings which possessed you did not leave, instead it grew, along with a desire that settled deep within you. The desire to touch him, hold him, kiss him. He was right beside you, walking beside you in a meadow like a dream you’d had as a little girl. You wished that you were alone and that you could stay that way for longer than the short journey back to your home. 

The instant you returned, your mother burst through the front door, a bright smile plastered on her face as she embraced the young man. Her jovial greeting allowing you the chance to slip away and compose yourself; checking the mirror, straightening out your hair and dress. When your mother entered the house she was ushering in the smiling man who was trying his best to answer her rapid fire questions and accept her praise. You gave him a small smile, an apologetic look gracing your features. He merely smiled in return, eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than they should. 

Your mother kept him busy until dinner, fluttering around the kitchen while talking about this and that. You sat on a chair next to the door of the kitchen, sneaking glances at him whenever you deemed it safe. Your father joined the three of you just before your meal was finished cooking, asking the same questions that your mother had as he led him to sit at the dining room table. More of your relatives joined them as more time passed; their voices and laughter carrying throughout the house. 

It was only a few moments later that you entered the room, carrying a few bowls into the room and setting them on the table before you sat down. Your mother entered shortly after you with the rest of the food, making everyone's plates before she herself sat. You stayed relatively quiet as your parents made conversation with him, feeling as shy as ever in his presence. It was halfway through dinner that your mother had asked the question. You were honestly surprised that it had taken so long to be brought up, you half expected her to ask it within the same breath as her greeting. 

“So Michael, have you found yourself a nice girl?” She’d asked, her hands folded under her chin, a curious inviting smile on her lips. He’d closed his eyes with a smile of his own, it was the first time you’d ever seen him slightly flustered. 

“No, no, I haven’t. But that does bring me to what I would like to ask,” He paused, taking a sip of his wine and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I would like to court your daughter if you; and she, will allow me to.” 

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat as you wondered whether your ears had betrayed you. He looked over to you, his eyes searching yours as he smiled at you. Your shocked face changed into a thousand-watt smile as your head whipped between your parents; who seemed just as shocked as you’d been. In an instant the room erupted into joyous cheers. Kisses, handshakes and hugs were exchanged, relatives insisted that “they just knew it would happen” and throughout all the chaos his eyes would meet yours, adoration shining in their darkness.

Many people say that time flies when you’re in love and only now could you understand what they meant. You and Michael began the courting process: taking long walks together, eating dinners with your family, spending entire evenings at each others sides. An hour felt like minutes when you were with him. No amount of time was ever enough.

You’d admitted your childhood crush to him, sitting beside each other, shaded by a tree down a trail by your home. Embarrassment painted your features but the confession brought him more joy than you could ever imagine. The thought of you loving him for so long was akin to a dream. 

He told you how he felt the first time he saw you in return, describing your beauty, your smile, the way you felt in his arms. His words stoked a fire in your soul, a feverish desire took hold of you once more. You were suddenly aware of how close he was to you in that moment and then you were aware of his slow moments closer, the leaning of his head, the heat of his breath. 

He pressed his lips to yours, soft at first before it grew hungry. His hands moving to your face, sliding down the back of your head, thumbs resting on your collar before finding your waist. Your arms encircled his neck, fingers finding his hair as heat coursed through you. The two of you refused to stop until your lungs screamed for air, only then did he part from you, his forehead pressing itself to yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. It was then that he said the magic words, breathed them into the warmth between you as your heart beat frantically. 

“Marry me.” His voice nothing more than a whisper. Tears filled your eyes as you accepted as quickly as you could, allowing him to pull you into another feverish kiss. 

A flurry of arrangements happened around you. Flowers, music, food, dresses, invitations, decorations; it was enough to make your head spin and yet it was the happiest you’d ever been. 

The wedding was beautiful; traditional and everything you could have ever hoped for. The look on his face when he saw you in your dress for the first time was enough to bring a tear to your eye. Never in your life had you seen a man so enamored with someone, let alone you. He spent the entire day calling you beautiful, even apologizing for saying it so much as the two of you danced. You assured him that you didn’t mind, a smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him. 

The entire event was captured in dozens of photos, photos which you wanted both for yourself and for his family; though undoubtedly they would wish to have their own get-together for the joyous occasion. A second wedding just for them. You both planned on returning to America in a month, you’d spend the rest of your time in Sicily at the home his family had gotten for him. 

It was in that house that the two of you consummated your marriage, your bodies wrapped around each other and your hands caressing whatever they could find. Everything was perfect and you felt as though it always would be just as long as you stayed in his arms. 

True to your plans, after a month of marriage, the two of you packed your things and began your journey to his families home. You exchanged tight hugs and joyful kisses with his family; all of them ecstatic over how things had turned out. His mother repeating what you’d already heard so many times before: “I knew you’d end up together. I always thought you’d make such a beautiful couple. And the babies! Oh the babies!”. 

Like you thought, the family hosted their own huge event in their gorgeous backyard. A whole new set of photographs were taken, a whole new cake cut, and presents collected. You’d never seen any of the Corleone’s so happy. 

By the end of the day you were exhausted yet smiling, tiredly swaying back and forth with Michael to the bands slow music. He pressed soft kisses to the side of your face, nuzzling into you for a moment before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. 

“Welcome to the family.” He whispered. His lips met yours in a slow kiss, sending your heart into a fit of frantic beats as though it were the first time his lips had touched your own. 

#70s movie headcanons #70s movie imagines #70s movie headcanon #70s movie imagine #the godfather imagine #the godfather headcanons #the godfather headcanon #the godfather imagines #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone headcanons #michael corleone fic #michael corleone headcanon

[gallickingun]

who i am today will love {whoever you are tomorrow} || s.k.

SUMMARY: Sugawara Koushi has managed to get you to fall in love with him once. He will not let a simple case of transient global amnesia keep him from sweeping you off of your feet time and time again, until he has you enraptured once more.

PAIRING: Sugawara Koushi x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: angst. literally just all angst. a little fluff here and there. but mostly angst. some language, a little bit of relationship struggle, but nothing too intense! WORD COUNT: 6k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not very happy with this, but this is my post for the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW collab centered around the prompt Amnesia! Please check out all of the other rad fics HERE! I haven’t written a full length fic for Sugawara yet, but apparently my first one is going to be Angst City. I hope you all enjoy 💔

Sugawara knew from the moment he saw you that you were going to be the puzzle he was trying to put together for the rest of his days.

He would spend moment after moment trying to piece together the parts of you that created this wonderful masterpiece, the prettiest picture he could never have even imagined would grace his life. He is careful with your sharp edges, the pieces of you that have been forged by years of difficult situations you have had to claw yourself out of.

There were pieces of you that fit into place easily, of course. The softest sides of you which you bared to him from the day you met him. Your smile, the color of your eyes, the way your cheeks lift when you grin. He knows these parts by heart, has run his fingertips over them countless times, until he has memorized the exact curve of them, until he can put them into place without looking.

You are like hieroglyphs from a long-lost language, something incomprehensible if only because you are so cryptically enticing, hiding pieces of yourself for him to discover throughout the years that you develop your friendship and eventual love.

There are days where Sugawara could spend every waking moment between the blinks of his pale lashes purely studying you, irises narrowed as he watches the way your body moves, the way your hands tense at your sides. He notices the quirk of your lips and the curl of your toes when you get anxious, how you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, and how your forehead wrinkles. At times, he breaks himself away from his study long enough to press a warm, gentle kiss to the crinkled skin of your forehead, coaxing you from the prison of your mind, begging you to relax under his ministration. You will reach out, fisting the fabric of his shirt as timidly as you can within your knuckles, and he feels your skin go lax.

When he pulls away to gaze down into the beautiful shade of your irises, Sugawara feels safe, like there is a nestled home tucked away in your pupils that he can retreat to when life becomes too much, too overwhelming. His heart patters within his chest and he knows that if you were to peel his shirt away, you’d find a bruise in the shape of the organ outlined in bright purple and blue on his porcelain skin, like a small galaxy of pain that represents the intensity of his love for you.

Koushi’s hands reach for you in the dead of night, his head resting on your shoulder so he can breathe in your familiarity, and the closeness of you settles in on him as a weighted blanket would. Your presence alone calms him, and the feel of your skin beneath the pads of his fingers only adds to the reverie. His fingerprints dance underneath the thin fabric of his tee shirt that is clad on your body, your body second nature to his touch, and he can map out your ribs and hips with ease. He kisses your shoulder and his eyelashes flutter shut, the awareness of your proximity making him feel safe.

Every day is a new day to find a new piece of your beautiful puzzle, Sugawara thinks as he drifts off into the realm of unconsciousness. And he cannot wait to wake up to discover the next, most unique piece in the morning.

Only, when his eyes peel back as the sun rises the next morning, his perfect puzzle has been ruined, torn apart and left for scraps, and now there is a piece missing.

“Wh-Who are you?” Your voice is a stutter, eyes bright and wild, feral in the worst way. You cower away from him, holding yourself together as though you might shatter if you breath a moment longer, “Why are you in my bed?”

Sugawara laughs at first, if only because he cannot believe that this is something more than a prank at best. He reaches for you, fingertips barely grazing the hem of your shirt sleeve as you skitter away from him. Your body falters as you fall from the bed, and the last thing he sees before you plummet to the floor is the way your irises are engulfed by your pupils until your orbs look inked out with darkness, a void quality to them that makes his heart wrench within his chest.

“Love, c’mon,” Sugawara crawls across the mattress so he can get a look at you, still clinging desperately to the idea that this is a sick joke that you are playing on him – where are the hidden cameras? What will Daichi and Asahi think of this when you send them the video?

Your jawline is trembling, your teeth clenched together so tightly that the muscles are quivering, and you shake your head, “I-I don’t know you, wh-who are you?”

Koushi clambers from the bed to stand near you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down where you are still a mess of limbs on the floor, a blanket you found discarded beside the bed wrapped around your partially bare body. He shakes his head, his chin wobbling as reality sets in, “Sweetheart, this isn’t funny. Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

When you shout, voice in a frenzy because you do not recognize the man loitering over you like a thundercloud, Sugawara feels lightning strike his heart and shatter it into a thousand pieces. Shards of emotion lodge into his chest as you speak next, “Please d-don’t hurt me!”

He was unaware to the tears building up behind his lids until he feels the wetness of a saltine droplet drip down his cheek, collecting on his jaw before dripping onto the floor. Sugawara’s hands shudder and he reaches down for you, “I think we need to take you to the hospital.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere with you,” you are biting in your tone, a resonance to the fiery personality you have shown him all your natural born life.

You have known him since you were a child, infatuated with him since you were teenagers, encapsulated in love with him once you turned twenty-two, and now you have been married for three wonderful years.

And yet, the frightened look in your eyes, the tears that make your irises glassy, tells him that there may be no coming back from this, that he cannot rely on the years before this very moment to build back what seems to have broken. Sugawara’s hands shake and you can tell, but that does not keep your breath from shuddering in your lungs, busting open your teeth as you release the pent-up oxygen.

“Please, love,” Sugawara’s voice is broken, each syllable grating against his esophagus as he forces them through his throat, but you cannot notice past your own panic, “let’s just get in the car, okay?”

Your body warms at the sound of the pet name, but you cannot place the fondness he has for you with the devoid space in your heart, although there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind telling you that he cares for you, and you for him. Even still, you have been birthed into this place as a confused creature, someone who does not know their purpose or intentions, and the only thing on your one-track mind is to find some answers to the intimidating list of questions percolating in your subconscious.

You know that he will not rest until you listen, and so the fight or flight response in your mind begins to flare until you tame it, stoking the fire down to embers as you rise to your feet. You grit your teeth and shake your head, signaling your defiance, but stumble towards the car nonetheless. You are not sure just how you knew where to go, like a blueprint has been embedded within your mind, but somehow you find your way despite the confusion clouding your thoughts like a raging storm.

Usually, Sugawara would reach across the console and buckle you into the front seat. Only now, as you shy away from his hand that reaches for your elbow, flinching when he gets too close, he realizes that so many of his second-nature tasks will have to be stubbed to a halt until you remember that you are a piece of his heart. He recoils from you, drawing his wrist back against his ribs, as if capturing himself, “It’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

You should hear the sincerity in his voice, but everything is a lie to you, even his kindness. Your body trembles as you pull the belt across your body, securing it into the latch with a gentle sound. Sugawara watches you closely, trying urgently not to seem like he is hovering over you, but the mission to keep you safe is still rooted firmly in his spine and he will not waver from it, even as you sit before him unknowing to all of the times he has done this very simple action for you.

There is this insatiable desire that sits in Sugawara’s gut, bubbling beneath the surface like a grotesque acid, tumultuous enough that he is steadily reminded of it’s presence, of it’s hungering need to keep you safe and happy, to keep you reliant on him. In the smallest of ways, such as holding your hand as you climb into the car, or buckling your belt for you, it makes him feel important, necessary. He has spent too much of his life feeling like he has been sidelined to warrant other’s have their moment to shine, and you allow him to stand center stage every day, even if the platform is only your heart.

It makes you feel special and it makes him feel strong, like a protective alpha animal. Your generous reliance on him allows his pride to swell, to balloon until his chest is held high and his chin is tilted upward. It may seem silly from the outside, but the way his torso sinks into a concave position as you shy away from him creates a void cavity in his chest that Sugawara is sure nothing else will ever fill.

He has never seen you resemble a frightened animal before, like you were too afraid he would throw you into a cage given your pensive stare and shaking limbs. Sugawara could not hunt you even if he wanted to, and the idea that you believe this is his intent makes a fresh wave of tears well up behind his lids, the heat of it all giving his face a dark flush, easy to see against his pale skin.

As you close your door, Sugawara thinks of how Daichi would handle this. He stalks from one side of the car to the other, the gears of his mind turning so loudly that he startles. A thick gulp rakes against his throat, making his neck bob as he imagines the advice Sawamura might give him in a time like this.

Daichi would not falter, would not crumble. No, the captain would not have tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, rather he would bolster his shoulders and steady his feet, holding his chin high as he did whatever needed to be done to ensure that you were taken care of. And so, Sugawara tightens the chains around his heart that have your name engraved upon them, guaranteeing the organ will not float away or sink down until there is a hole in the floor of the car.

Your newfound independence mocks him, even as you take charge in the hospital and tell the front desk nurse exactly how you are feeling. How can you be so articulate when you are so far gone from the woman he knew just the night prior? Have you truly turned into someone else? Will you ever love him the same as before?

Doubt digs into the base of his shoulders and rips his dark crows wings free. The appendages stand slaughtered at the ground, his eyes unable to waver as the doctor takes a pacing step back and forth at your bedside while he reads your charts. The part of Koushi that longs to keep you safe mocks him as his wings lay crumpled beneath his amber irises, pupils dilating to try and focus on the metaphor that has manifested in front of him in his delirious state.

He reaches out and his fingertips scrape linoleum where he expects to find wings, and he realizes that he truly is a clipped little thing, fallen to the ground with nowhere to go, no way to fly.

“It is a rare form of amnesia,” the doctor’s words reverberate in his mind relentlessly once they are spoken aloud for the first time, “she has forgotten everything prior to approximately fourteen hours ago.”

And oh, Sugawara has never wished more to be able to fly.

You are surprised as ever when he looks up at you, broken irises seeking you for answers, “Would you like to go home with me? Or I can always drop you off at your mother’s.”

The room goes quiet, and Sugawara swears he could hear a feather drift to the floor.

Your voice is trembling when you answer, “I want to go home…with you.”

It would seem the glittering diamond on your left hand, in tandem with the records the hospital has found regarding you and Sugawara Koushi, has given you some semblance of relief. At least enough to be willing to ride in the car with him again, to find solace in the home you two have built.

You toy with the ring as Sugawara looks at you with his jaw unhinged slightly, just enough for you to see the pink muscle of his tongue twitching on the bed of his mouth. You giggle, the first time he’s heard you laugh since this whole escapade began, and your eyes crinkle at the sides just how he remembered, “Well, the house is half mine, is it not?”

Sugawara cracks a smile and stands to his feet, shoulders creaking as he feels his barely-there wings begin to molt into something new. Not the same, no he will never be the same, not after this, but possibly still a semblance of the old thing, a reminder that maybe life can return to what it once was.

And so, he walks you to the car, hand hovering at the base of your spine, but not touching; he does not want to push away the small amount of progress that has been made in such a short amount of time. He treats you like a glass box, opening the door and shadowing you as you climb into the front seat. You feel the ghost of his fingertips, a heat along your spine, and you do not flinch, not this time.

“I’ll order dinner,” he says when the door has shut behind the both of you. “Do you want from that dumpling place you li-”

The words reverberate in the small space of your living room, a recollection of what once was casual between the two of you that is now something far-off and forgotten. You swallow thickly, your throat bobbing as you look away from him so you don’t have to face the fallen expression on his face when he realizes that he will have to rework his entire existence around your new condition.

Your heart freezes, clogging up your lungs and making it harder to breathe. Sugawara shrugs off his jacket and slips on his house shoes, forcing himself to move toward you, “There is this dumpling place I think you’ll like. Want to try it for dinner? I doubt either of us feel like cooking.”

Licking your lips, you turn to find him quite close to you, his hands hovering by his side. You wonder if he aches to touch you, if his fingers burn with the desire to reach forward and brush your hair away from your face. You take a short breath, collecting yourself before glancing up into his amber irises, warmth seeping from them directly into your bones through what feels like osmosis.

“Y-Yeah,” your voice catches in your throat once you take him all in. “That sounds, um, that sounds nice.”

Your body screams at you to either run away or hold him closer, and you’re not sure which part to listen to. You grit your teeth to bring yourself some clarity in the form of pain, but it only serves to make your head dizzier.

Sugawara Koushi is handsome, borderline pretty, and you are enraptured by the sight of him. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and the irrational side of your brain wants to succumb to the heat, to be engulfed by the flames. Instead, you tuck your arms around your midsection and pray for patience, “I’m going to go take a shower, Sugawara. If that’s okay?”

He winces at the sound of his formal name coming through your teeth, turning his head so he doesn’t show you the dismay that tugs on his features. He chuckles, but the sound is forced, “Of course, the bathroom is, uh, just through the bedroom and on the right. Towels are in the closet on the left.”

“Th-Thank you,” you nod your head, stepping past him to walk toward the bedroom. Out of what must be pure instinct, you reach forward and rest your hands on his hips to guide him away from your path.

Simultaneously, you both breathe in sharply, the oxygen piercing your lungs like a dagger.

Your eyes meet amber and for a half-second, you are overwhelmed at his closeness. You breathe in the scent of his cologne and shampoo and it brings you back to some place that was previously tucked far away in your mind. You wrap your fingers around his shirt, if only to push him away.

Before Sugawara can ask you what is going on, you have blown past him towards the bedroom, the door closed and locked behind you.

You press your back into the door, relishing in the coolness of the surface, praying that it will help to bring your mind back down to this realm from where it is floating somewhere between this universe and the next. You cannot make sense of any one stream of consciousness, begging every thread of yourself to return to the nucleus so you might take a moment to collect all of your thoughts and press them back into your head.

Clambering forward on your knees, you start the bath water, flipping the level to turn on the shower. Your body is so disconnected from your brain that you almost step into the tub fully clothed, but seeing your sock clad foot makes you pause before you soak your clothes. You swallow your inhibitions, trying to keep the tears locked behind your lids, and step out of your undergarments.

You have barely stepped underneath the steaming water before you break down into sobs and tears. You crumble to the bottom of the tub, your arms around your knees, your head tucked beneath your biceps, and you release every pent-up moment from the day in the form of salty tears dripping down your cheeks to mix with the streams of clean water from the showerhead above.

“Is this my life now?” you whimper to no one in particular, your voice muffled by your forearm. You sniffle and rub at your face, although it doesn’t much matter, given the water running down it in rivulets to hide your tears. You look at your palms, stretching your fingers in front of your face, curious if you’ve always looked like this, or if there was something different from when you woke up this morning.

The knowledge that you have no knowledge of who you were before this morning makes a fresh wave of nausea and tears roll through your body, making your spine shudder as you cry into your own cocoon of a body. A sob tears through your shoulders, and you feel like your eyes might fall out of your skull, they’re throbbing so intensely. You press the heels of your hands into your sockets until you see a full galaxy of inky planets and stars behind your lids. The pain was what you were hoping would bring you back to the present, merely multiplies the devastating hole in your chest.

This is not the first time you find yourself curled up in the bottom of the shower, your head leant against the tile wall as the water runs from searing to freezing while you contemplate your entire life existence.

Of course, Sugawara has been nothing but accommodating during this strange period of time. He has moved his items to the spare bedroom, even though most nights he favors the couch, given he finds it tough to fall asleep on his own. You have woken in the middle of the night to terrible dreams only to find the television playing a show that is trying to sell a rare set of jewelry or a stellar non-stick frying pan.

There is one night, a few months after your first visit to the hospital, when you gather enough confidence to carefully step into the living room and turn off the television. Sugawara stirs at the sudden change in light, his eyes barely cracking open, irises hardly peeking from behind his lids, but he is still able to spot you from where you are stood in front of him. He sits up as best he can, forcing his stiff body to straighten when he makes limited eye contact with you.

“H-Hey,” his voice is gruff, as if it were stuck in his throat, and you can’t help the flush of embarrassment that makes your cheeks burn at the sound. “What are you doing awake?”

You run your palm along the back of your neck, rubbing at your vertebrae anxiously, unable to keep your gaze narrowed in on him when he’s making you feel this way. Your toes curl in on one another and your socks find friction against the carpet, “Just another nightmare.”

Sugawara is at full attention now, the warmth in his irises tripling at your small voice and nervous posture. He sits so he is facing you, his palms on his knees, fingertips itching at the hem of his shorts to keep himself from reaching out to take you by the hands. He licks his lips and looks upward to try and make eye contact with you to no avail, your pretty orbs still hidden from him as you look away, “You’ve been having a lot of those lately, haven’t you?”

There is a beat of silence that passes between you before he adds, “I’ve been hearing your screams.”

This is all that it takes to crumble what little resolve is left cementing your heart together. You crumble to your knees, your hands covering your face so you do not bare your pitiful, glassy eyes to him. Sugawara is quick to react, catching you before your knees can find the carpet, pulling you close to cushion your fall. You do not care that you cannot remember what his hold felt like before you lost your memories, all that matters is how safe you feel now.

He is like an anchor to your flighty soul, keeping you bound tightly to this earthly plane instead of allowing you to float away to whatever universe your subconscious has been visiting since the day your whole world was rearranged. You cling to his shirt, your fists bunching up the fabric of his tee when you lean in closer until your temple is pressed to his neck.

“It’s okay, honey,” Sugawara’s voice is warm, like honey, and you wonder if it might seep into the cracks of your broken soul and seal you back together, “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

For a moment, you pretend that this is what you are used to. You allow your mind to believe that this is your normal, that this has how things have always been. And, in some sadistic, twisted way, you might be right. Maybe before you forgot what he smelled like and how he kissed, this was how he held you – firm and secure, sturdy as a rock and kind as a beam of sunshine. Your heart hammers in your ribs and you can’t stop the tears from flowing, from the feel of both of your hearts breaking in the small space between your bodies.

You wonder if his chest feels as tight as yours, as if your ribs are the only thing keeping your hearts from bursting directly out of your skin. The beating is loud, thunderous in your ears as you cry into his shoulder, staining his shirt dark with your tears. You sob and snot and cough, but never once does he judge you or push you away. All you hear is the gentle hush of his voice in your ear, reminding you that he is here, reminding you that everything will eventually be okay.

And for a split second, you believe him.

And without inhibition, you allow your heart to speak, your throat but a conduit for the emotions bubbling within your belly like lava.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you admit, your chest splitting open as the lava sprays through your teeth, burning your mouth to ash, but somehow you still speak, “please, Koushi, I-I think- I think I need you.”

When you look up at him, the absolute adoration reflected back to you in shades of tawny brown, dark and light swirling within his irises until it is overwhelming you like a storm cloud. You suck in a deep breath and dive back in, tucking your head underneath his chin and wrapping your arms around his shoulders until you are conjoined, unsure of where he ends and you begin as you become a mess of limbs on the sofa.

“I’m right here,” he repeats in a whisper against the crown of your head, holding you around the waist and beneath the thighs as he stands with you still in his arms. You latch onto him tighter, curled around him like a frightened animal, and your place against his neck makes it so you cannot see the way his lips stretch into a smile.

This has been what he has craved for the past few months – a genuine closeness that you chose; you choosing him. Sugawara cradles your body as tightly as he can without hurting you, walking towards your bedroom with careful steps. Your toes curl as he settles back against the mattress, slowly guiding your body down with him so you are both laid out horizontally on the bed, your knees dug tightly into his sides and your fingertips still clutching his shoulders relentlessly.

Sugawara runs his fingers through your hair, ruffling your tresses in a soothing manner as his chest begins to rumble with a melody. Your whole body buzzes as his lips maneuver in the tendrils of your hair surrounding your face, mouth pressing warm kisses to your scalp as the humming grows louder, more confident. Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks, staining your skin and his shirt, but neither of you seem to care, rather paying attention to the way you soak one another in like you have been a person starved for water and this is your first sip after days without drink.

It takes you a few minutes, but his humming in tandem with the ministrations of his hands soothes your mind into a dreamlike state. You release your grip on his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric, if only to give yourself something else to pay attention to other than his searching eyes. Sugawara allows you a moment of exploration before his index finger is crooked underneath your chin, tilting your jaw upward so he can look you directly in the eyes.

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” he murmurs, voice kind despite the circumstances, “you’re still learning, adjusting. It won’t happen overnight.”

“And if it never happens?” Your tone is curt, words biting. You grit your teeth together and the creaking of your molars makes your bones shudder. A wobbling chin gives way to another bout of tears, but you do not falter this time, rather looking him in the eyes than succumbing to the exhausting heave of another sob, “What if I’m never the same? What if I can’t- what if you don’t love this person?”

Sugawara’s hand drifts from your chin to your cheek, his thumb brushing along the apple of your face, swooping downward to trace your jaw. A gentle smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and you want to scold him for laughing at your pain, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests that he is thinking of another time, possibly one much more simple in nature where you were sitting on his lap just like this, but there was a stream of knowledge, of combined thought, that flowed between the two of you. You knew one another, backwards and forwards and inside out, but now there is a barrier built, one that has kept him from teaching you who you are and from you allowing him to take the chance to do such a thing.

He is kind, something you suspect he has always been, when his mouth unhinges to let his words out of their cage, “Better or worse, angel. And if this is the worst life has to throw at us, then so be it.”

There is a hesitancy in his gaze, but he leans forward to brush a kiss against your cheek despite it, “I would rather go through this with you than be in a picture-perfect situation with anyone else.”

The sight of him in tandem with the brutal, raw honesty of his beautiful words overwhelms you, like a wave crashing along the shore, suffocating the sand. You want to be the beach, to be greeted with his kissing crest each time he chooses to seek you out despite the call to the sea, and it is that thought alone that ignites your need to seek purchase with your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sugawara’s eyes go wide, if only because he does not want you to do this out of desperation or obligation, but out of choice and choice alone.

You can tell that he wants to say something, but before you lose your nerve and before he says something that will make the both of you overanalyze, you have crashed your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

His fingers are hesitant to clutch at your sides, but once he realizes that you are not going to pull away, a familiar desperation sinks into his movements and he has you caught by the waist to anchor you to him. Your thumbs press into the pulse points on either side of his neck, like you were checking to make sure his heart is still beating. Sugawara’s breath stutters and he tilts his head so your chins bump to tear you apart, “Honey, I-”

“Kou,” your voice is quiet, seeking out solace in his silence.

Your tone is exploratory, and the sound of his given name shortened in the way you have said it a dozen times makes his head spin, but you sound awkward when you say it, as if you were taking it for a test drive and it’s not the car you were comfortable driving. You swallow and try again, “K-Kou, I want you to stay here tonight, with me.”

The edges of his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and for the first time since he pushed his lids back earlier to take you in, he realizes that you’re clad in one of his old college tees. It was one of your favorites, a staple in your sleeping collection, a comforting item you sought out when you were distressed beyond measure. He wonders if your subconscious held on to this thought, and brought you this tattered, worn piece of clothing to give you some semblance of healing in your despondent time of need.

“As you wish,” Sugawara whispers against the bow of your lips, your mouths brushing with every syllable. He smiles, a gentle pecking kiss nestled on the corner of your cheek before he speaks again, “Now, we both need to rest.”

His words are accented by his body curling around you, turned to the side so he can wrap you up in the quilt that has been strewn across the bed in your haste of sleep. Your body is encased in warmth, a mixture of his natural body heat and the cocoon the blanket creates. The two of you tuck into one another as if you were built to be together, your pieces perfectly slotting into the spaces his body creates.

Silence stretches for what feels like hours, nothing but the sound of your beating hearts and quiet breaths to fill the air. You run your thumb along the stretch of his collarbone, gnawing on your lower lip as you work up the courage to speak.

“Go ahead,” his voice is gravelly with the desire to succumb to sleep, muffled from his position of being tucked into you, lips in your hair. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper in fear, unable to recognize even your own voice. You swallow, the heat of tears welling up behind your lids already overwhelming enough without the stumble of your words to accent your anxiety, “And I’m scared I can’t be who you want me to be.”

Sugawara surprises you with a chuckle breathed into your hair, a light, lilting sound making his throat hum, “Oh, angel. You’re my everything, how could you ever be a burden to me?”

“I-I dunno,” you can feel yourself starting to panic, the darkness closing in on you until it’s choking you from the inside out, “Wh-What if I don’t laugh the way I used to? O-Or what if, uh, what if I don’t like the same foods? What if-”

You are hushed by the warmth of his mouth on yours, stealing your frightened, nonsensical words straight from your throat as you gasp against his teeth. A firm palm tilts your head upward, fingertips grazing the curve of your jaw and neck, soothing you with a simple touch. He massages his digits into your shoulder as he pulls away, watching carefully as you chase after him for another display of affection, as if you were searching for even more reassurance.

“Hush now, love,” he settles back into you, circling you in his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin. Your knee presses between his thighs and you find your hands nudging underneath his shirt, seeking out the skin-on-skin contact. Sugawara litters kisses in your hair, almost like he were planting a garden of affection, begging it to grow as he encourages it with kiss after kiss.

You are on the precipice of sleep, your body worn down from your anxious efforts of before, when you hear his next words mumbled into the skin of your neck, barely audible even in the utter silence of your bedroom. The few syllables make your heart press stiffly against your ribcage, begging to be let free, like a caged dove sitting pretty within the confines of your chest.

“And to think,” he whispers, “I get to fall in love with you all over again, every time. How exciting, right?”

You want to laugh, to indulge him in his monologue, but your body is heavy, weighed down from the tears and the pressure of all the time before this that you can remember. Finally, you feel like you are floating, the only thing keeping you tethered to this dimension is the cuff of his arms around your waist, circling you and holding you tight, piecing back together every broken part of your soul.

Sugawara’s breath tickles your ear, and you swear you hear him snore. And you might be making up the last few words that he breathes before he is overwhelmed by unconsciousness-

“I can’t wait to fall in love with whoever you are tomorrow.”

But you pray to whoever is listening that it’s the truth.

-

a/n: wow i wrote most of this while delirious and drinking yoohoo so please don’t come for me if it doesn’t make sense. 

my original plot idea was to have reader have continuous amnesia where she forgets her memories every few years, and sugawara always manages to get her to fall in love with him every single time, but that fic would have been upwards of 20k and i didn’t allot myself enough time to write it, which i’m upset about. maybe i’ll do an extension of this fic sometime, but i just feel like it won’t be as impactful. u g h. alas, here we are. i hope that you enjoyed it! i plan to write more sugawara in the future. and thanks again to the hqhq for putting on this collab! the nsfw one is next -- i have daddy daichi for that one! 💕

#sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #morgan writes hq #my writing #haikyuucreations

[ceoofuwu]

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄... 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 ;; 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰 𝘹𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: Happy (belated) Birthday Shoto!!! as you can probably tell, this is a special scenario for this soft boi's bday (heck how could I not) so... please, enjoy!

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: obviously, you couldn't just sit and watch your precious boyfriend's birthday go by, just like every typical, boring day... he might not mind much but, with the help of a close companion, you manage to steal one or two smiles from his eternally unbending lips...

𝐓.𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none

«You think this would be enough?»

«Definitely. Knowing him, it would be way more than enough».

«Right. Thanks Natsuo, I’m eternally grateful…!»

«No worries. I’m always here for you, little one».

His last words sent a sweet smile on your lips as you heard the characteristic beeping sound of the phone hanging up.

You snatched your jacket from the coat rack beside you and hurried outside, heading to the Todoroki Abode. Your home wasn’t particularly far from there so… it wouldn’t be such a drag to go on foot.

Besides, you’d have time to muse over the details for today’s surprise.

Shoto was generally indifferent to every day, no matter how special it was. He liked to keep things neutral and routine above all, which meant that he wasn’t particularly touched by any occasion that belonged out of the ordinary. However, his birthday was what you’d call… an exception to the rule.

Okay, no exaggerations, there wasn’t any radical change in his attitude but, he seemed a little more… upbeat? That day, it was easier to steal soft chuckles or short-lived laughs off his lips, more common to witness him cracking a cutely awkward smile, to have his heart warm up, engulfed by your welcoming presence.

That is the very reason why you had decided to consult your so-called aniki – which was none other than Shoto’s own big brother – about any potential ideas to make this unique day even more amazing.

God, you felt so blessed to have such a kind-hearted boy to watch over and help you.

Like so, you had arranged to pick up Shoto from his house and then head out for a supposed walk. Oh, how you were looking forward to seeing his reaction upon meeting with the real surprise…

You were probably too lost in your thoughts as the image of an all too familiar traditional house flushed before your eyes, sending your heart race inside your chest. Anticipation shaking your body, your feet suddenly picked up the pace, breaths coming and going irregularly, everything around you turning into a blur.

In a matter of mere seconds, you were standing in the doorstep your boyfriend’s home, the door opening before you even had the time to ring the bell.

«You’re a little late».

Cerulean and pewter glowed before you, a thin layer of empathy lacing them, the phenomenal mix making you feel giddy, filling your mind with fuzzy clouds.

«I know, I’m sorry… I came on foot…» you explained, your head ducked just slightly but sufficiently enough for you to avoid his intense, curiosity-filled stare.

«But we were supposed to walk together…?»

You giggled, getting a hold of his hand and dragging him outside, «…I guess I needed a warm-up…»

A smirk played about his lips, as his arm slithered around your waist, «We’d better get going then…» his eyes snapped to yours again, with a hint of mischief this time, «…before you get cold».

He made sure to close the door and then you set off, without him having the tiniest clue about the upshot of your relaxing stroll…

«Haven’t we got too far?» Shoto asked, head continuously turning from the right to the left in alert.

«Well… that’s the point…» you said with a playful smirk, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along, your once relaxing walk, now being turned into an impetuous dash.

Naturally, the poor boy didn’t know what to expect. Were you planning to run away with him? Maybe do something more… satanic? In all honesty, he had every right to feel clueless towards your intentions.

Until you finally ground to a halt.

«An ice… rink?» he questioned, making sure he was not hallucinating.

«Hey, not just any ice rink! This opened…» you held your chin, then your index rose and your eyes sparkled as if in a light bulb moment, «…like a couple of days go…!»

«I don’t remember it being here before, indeed…»

«So… wanna go inside? Have a go?»

«Is that what our “walk” was about?» he asked, feeling that he had finally collect the missing pieces of the puzzle.

«Well… I wanted to surprise you… for your birthday… and Natsuo told me that ice skating would be fun…» you confessed, gaze down, cheeks slightly dusted with a light shade of red.

Shoto chuckled.

«I don’t see why we shouldn’t enter…» he said, acting rather indifferent, while he was practically performing a whole choreography inside his head at the joy that he was overridden with.

«What are we waiting for, then?» you nearly shouted, roughly dragging him along, and inside the ice rink.

Shoto looked natural, as if he was meant to be on ice. Both him and his skates moved fluidly. There was not one jerky movement. For what it’s worth, he had flatly refused to wear skates in the beginning, claiming he was better off without them, as the use of his quirk while in a battle would have him ice skate basically barefoot. You could understand what he meant by witnessing just a scope of his abilities. He balanced himself so easily; like he truly was an expert. He held his arms out at just below shoulder level. His head was forward, his knees were bent slightly. He continued to have his body loose throughout the entire time.

You on the other hand, had decided to stay outside and watch… at least for the moment. There were times he held out his hand, urging you to join him and resembling a graceful swan, moving naturally. Soon after, he would continue to glide across the ice cold rink with ease. To you, he was a winner in his own game; and watching him was enough.

«Hey, you brought us here, no fair staying out of it» he pointed out having just come in the rail without you noticing, lost in your trance as you were.

«… I suck at ice skating, Shoto…»

«I’ll be by your side. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall…» he assured, motioning with his head to the rink, «…I got you».

«You promise?»

«I promise».

His stern, mesmerizing look was enough for you to be convinced and go fetch some ice skates. There wasn’t another person in the entire world you could trust as much as him.

When you were done putting them on, you slowly entered the rink, clutching your boyfriend’s hand the entire time.

«The trick is to feel comfortable in your skates. Don’t think too much about falling unless you wish to end up doing so, okay?»

«Got it» you breathed, holding the rail beside you as if it was your life line. Little by little, you walked around the edge of the rink while holding onto the wall and struggling to keep your legs as steady as possible, trying to get used to the friction of the ice.

«You’re doing great, Y/n…»

A smile made its way to your full lips, «… it’s not as hard as I thought…» you realized, feeling your legs stabilizing more by the second.

When you first step foot in the ice rink you felt frightened. But now, with Shoto, who was practically beaming at your progress, you were beginning to feel more dynamic and… confident in your abilities.

Then, you worked up some courage and in one fell swoop had abandoned the safety of the wall. After pushing from your anchor, you felt free as a bird, holding your arms out and smiling.

To both your surprise, you were balancing almost perfectly on the icy floor. Shoto took a “step” back from you carefully, wanting to test how far you could go.

Your arms were flapping around like an airplane propeller, eliciting several chuckles from your “instructor”.

Taking a deep breath, you started moving and glided forward for a short distance. You lengthened your left and right leg, alternating your strides. Subsequently, you took longer and long strokes, one foot after the other. Gradually, you were balancing on either foot, making the sport look easy.

«I can’t believe it!» you shouted, excitement rushing in your veins.

«I can…» two strong arms were suddenly wrapped around your waist, cautiously bringing you closer to half-cold, half-hot body. Without allowing you to contemplate any more on what should be your next move, Shoto twirled you, bringing your façade against his, his dazed orbs hypnotizing you as you harmonically glided across the rink.

«Did I mention how awesome this surprise was?»

«Happy Birthday, Shoto» you said, folding your arms around his stiff neck savoring the conviviality of his presence and the elation of the moment.

It was worth it after all... aniki*...

*in case you're not aware/are new here: aniki means big brother in Japanese hehehe 💕

#shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha shoto x reader #bnha todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shoto todoroki imagine #shoto todoroki scenario #shoto todoroki oneshot #bnha imagines #bnha oneshots #bnha scenarios #mha oneshots #mha imagines #mha scenarios #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #reader insert #shoto from UA

[kabira]

01 | first period biology

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

word count — 3k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — violence, mentions of school tests

summary — vernon doesn’t entertain bad guys on monday mornings, but the villain of the day apparently didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

note — first chapter woohoo! in celebration of comeback day, i present to you: my first actual tumblr multi-part series. send me an ask or dm if you want to be in the taglist! masterlist coming soon <3

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

I do not have time for this.

Vernon swung through the air, landing nimbly on the road just a few feet behind the newest menace that had decided to grace his neighborhood with its presence. The self-proclaimed Rhino—basically a guy in a rhinoceros suit, as the name suggested—was tearing down 108th street at breakneck speed, which was almost as fast as Vernon mid-swing. Almost.

“Hey, slow down!” he called as he launched himself towards the suited man, and a little kid with a lollipop gaped as Spider-Man swung right towards the Rhino, legs stretched straight before him. “Tsk, how are we supposed to tango if I can’t even keep up?”

Rhino roared when Vernon dropkicked him right in the middle of his back, but the kick didn’t put him out of commission like Vernon had hoped it would. The villain (and Vernon used the term loosely) swung his fist towards him, but he flipped backwards, landing on top of a car, which dented under the force.

“Why is it always Queens?” Vernon asked, annoyed, as Rhino charged towards him. He pushed off the car to avoid Rhino, who crashed headfirst into the vehicle, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Right next to it, a yellow Kia’s alarm went off. Vernon, now hanging from the building behind it, huffed. “And why is it always right before school?”

And a Monday, too. Vernon usually allowed for supervillains busting down his metaphorical door on mornings, but Mondays were usually off-limits. Honestly, what kind of villain gets up at seven a.m. on a Monday?

Vernon scaled the brick wall of the building, looking for a high vantage point he could drop down from, but even the little effort seemed to tire him out more than usual. Having studied until late night the day before, right after stopping a third try at a robbery on seventy-third (honestly, do these people never learn?), he had only managed to catch about three hours of sleep. It was normal by Spidey standards, but not by Vernon standards. Especially when he was supposed to have a test in first period biology.

“Spider-Man!” Rhino bellowed from three storeys below, snapping Vernon back to the present. He sighed as man demolished another car, no doubt to show off his might or strength or whatever it was villains loved to show off these days. “Face me!”

Vernon looked down. In the morning, everything was awash with sunlight, including Rhino. The suit was a dark gray but didn’t seem to be made of metal, looking about three to four inches thick like some kind of hide-like body armor, and light glinted off the visor that only half-showed his adversary’s face. If he hadn’t been about to be pummeled to death by the guy in rhinoceros suit, he would have appreciated the beautiful workmanship more. The horn was a nice touch.

“If you just wanted to see me, an email would have been fine!” Vernon called, letting go of the wall and righting himself in free-fall as he hurtled towards the Rhino. “No need to put on a show for little ol’ me—”

Okay. Maybe he had miscalculated the distance or maybe Rhino was less distracted than he thought, because instead of him dropping in on the villain like a ton of bricks, Rhino swung his suited arm, catching Vernon in the chest with bone-shattering force, and sent him flying.

Vernon hit the sidewalk with enough force for his body to skid a few feet before coming to a rest. His backpack (which had somehow not been torn to shreds) absorbed most of the blow, but the impact had knocked the wind out of him, and he lay there for a few seconds, wondering if he should just stay down. His head was already pounding, and a sleepy spider was a grumpy spider.

He changed his mind at the last moment as Rhino’s fist swung towards his face, and he flipped onto his back, jumping out of the way just as the fist came down where he had been lying milliseconds ago. Beneath the mask, Vernon’s eyes widened as he saw the blow break the asphalt.

I really do not have time for this.

“What the heck is that suit even made of?” he muttered as he dodged another blow, trying to work out a way to subdue Rhino as fast as possible. The suit was big and heavy, which usually made for slower reactions, and a good old webbing-down would have been the perfect way to wrap up the show, but if the suit was strong enough, even his web fluid wouldn’t hold. Vernon had to knock him out somehow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rhino made a throaty, hacking sound like could have been laughter. “Unfortunately, you will be dead before you can even get close enough.”

“You know, it doesn’t have to be this way,” Vernon said, dodging yet another attack, resulting in Rhino’s head getting stuck in the cracked windshield of a car for a moment. God, that guy was like a battering ram. He couldn’t keep this up forever. “We can always sit down and talk about this.”

“Spider-Man, I’ll kill you!”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Vernon raised his wrists, aiming at the car. Thwip-thwip, went the fluid from his web shooters, trapping the Rhino against the side of the vehicle. “Shame,” he said, as the man thrashed against his web restraints. “I know a really good taco place around here.”

The Rhino yelled, lifting the entire car bodily. Vernon watched as he raised the car over his head, the webbing breaking from the strain of the suit against them, and threw it directly at him.

Ah, crap.

Vernon would like to think he would have managed to get away from there in time even if someone hadn’t snatched him up into the air, but he doubted it. There was something majestic about watching a villain he’d underestimated lift a whole car up to throw at him.

The person caught him under the arms and lifted him into the air, away from the enraged roar of the Rhino that resounded throughout the street. Vernon’s first reaction to being picked cleanly off the road would be fear, but his spider sense hadn’t gone off yet. He tried to look up at his captor/savior, but the back of his head collided with something hard. “Ow,” he mumbled. “Who the hell are you?”

“The guy who just saved your ass, webhead,” the boy replied derisively. Or at least it sounded like a boy, very much like those guys in the cafeteria who used to drop snide remarks behind Vernon’s back pre-spider bite. The guy dropped him on the roof of a shorter building, and Vernon rolled out of the way, getting to his feet. The boy was dressed in a metallic-looking dark blue-and-gold suit, a bucket-like helmet over his head. The lower of his face was uncovered, exposing lips twisted into a scowl. “I’m not even getting a thank-you?”

“…thanks,” Vernon muttered after scrutinizing the guy for a moment. “Uh, who are you actually?”

“I’m Nova, creep.”

“Nova Creep.” He considered this. “Interesting.”

“Just Nova!” the boy snapped, sounding even more displeased than before. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my team and save the frickin’ neighborhood.”

Saying this, he turned and took off again, no doubt heading for wherever the action was. Vernon watched him go, choosing to take a breather instead of following him back down.

New superheroes in town? It wasn’t unheard of, and Vernon had had his fair share of newbies and oldies both to deal with in his year-long career as Queens’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

He looked down over the edge of the roof. Sure enough, there were three of them—a girl in a white suit, moving around the wreckage like an acrobat and slashing at the Rhino’s suit, Nova Creep shooting fist lasers (Flight powers and fist lasers? Unfair.) at him, and—was that Iceman?

Vernon hesitated. He could join the fight and help finish it more quickly, but if Iceman was here, the X-Men couldn’t be farther away. He could leave the three to it and get to school in time to catch forty winks before class, no harm done. Was he even needed?

Unfortunately, he knew he was only giving himself the illusion of choice. Spider-Man never walked away from a fight, even if someone more capable was dealing with it.

He shot webs at the metal post hanging out from the opposing building and swung back down, joining the fight just as Rhino caught the girl around the middle like he had Vernon, sending her flying back into an already wrecked car. Vernon cushioned her landing with webs, managing to protect her body from the broken metal chassis, and she was back on her feet in seconds, joining his side.

“Thanks,” she said, which surprised him. Most superheroes didn’t take the time out to thank him, but that was usually unnecessary, since they evened out the score by saving his life. “You know this guy?”

“Nah, he’s new in town,” he replied, watching Nova and Iceman fight the Rhino. Iceman froze him from the legs to his waist, but it didn’t hold for long before Rhino broke through the ice. “Strong, though, I’ll give him that.”

“It’s the suit,” the girl told him. Now that they were up close, Vernon could see that her costume somewhat resembled a white tiger, with the pointed ears and yellow eyes. He wondered if she’d been bitten by a radioactive white tiger. “It’s made of some kind of polymer.”

“Polymer?” he echoed, even more surprised. He’d assumed metal.

“Self-regenerating,” she affirmed. “It’s not indestructible—I slashed through the hide with my claws, but—”

“Your claws?”

She raised her hand. Under the white glove, her nails extended into wicked, claw-like tips. “Cool,” he said, voice cracking halfway through the word. He cleared his throat. “Very Woverine-ish.”

“He’s a mutant,” she said dismissively. What was he supposed to call her? Tigerwoman? Tigergirl? “Rhino’s suit regenerates. We have to knock him out.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Vernon muttered.

“A little help here?!” Nova yelled, zipping through the air in a zigzag manner to avoid the Rhino’s hits. “Or are you two going to stand around and chat all day?”

Vernon’s lips twitched into an unintentional smile. “I’ll web him up,” he told tiger lady. “You think Nova can pull him up?”

Tiger inclined her head. “Not on his own, but with a little frosty boost…”

“Great.” He sprinted towards the group, shooting webs at the Rhino’s head to get his attention and distract him from the others. “Hey, Hippo! Over here!”

The Rhino ripped off the webbing from his visor, not wasting a moment before charging him. Vernon lunged, wrapping the Rhino suit up in webs as he scaled the wall, trapping him in the web fluid. It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew—but he only needed a few seconds. And some blind faith.

The excessive webbing wrapped around Rhino like a net trap, and Vernon pulled, lifting him into the air with as much strength as he could muster. Below him, Iceman froze a column of ice under the Rhino’s butt, giving him a little extra height. Ten feet…twenty feet…

“Tiger!” Vernon yelled.

She lunged, pushing off the hood of a dented car to give her extra height, and ripped through the thin web holding him up with her claws. Rhino plummeted to the ground, crashing into a car and through it, the fall only broken by the ground, the asphalt cracking beneath the force.

Vernon watched him anxiously. The suit should have been heavy enough to render the man inside unconscious, unless he had a really good cushioning system in place.

He counted to ten in his head. Rhino didn’t move.

Thank god for bad cushioning, Vernon thought, swinging back down to the ground. “You guys think you could carry him?” he asked the three. Iceman didn’t even look over, broodily watching the unconscious villain’s body. Oh well. “He’s a heavy hitter.”

“We could make it back to S.H.I.E.L.D. with him,” Tiger said. Then she glanced at him, cocking her head in a perplexed manner. “Wait, why do you—”

“I gotta run.” He shrugged sheepishly, adjusting the straps of his bag, which had only undergone minimal damage. The wonders never ceased. “You see, I’m late to first period biology.”

Vernon crashed through the doors of his school so fast he almost ploughed down Joshua, who had been standing just before the entrance, probably waiting for him.

The journey hadn’t taken more than a few minutes—he tried not to change clothes in suspicious-smelling service alleys as much as possible, but some situations left him no choice—but he only had a few minutes to get to class, and detention was something he couldn’t afford to get. He hated disappointing Aunt May more than he hated getting his ass beat by some B-list villain.

“Hey, hey, hey, relax,” Joshua said, righting him. The hallways were almost empty, but not quite, indicating that he wasn’t too late to the not-party. The boy fixed his glasses, giving Vernon a look. “Did you get into a fight?”

Vernon blinked at him. “What? No. This guy called Rhino—”

“Shh.” Joshua dragged him to one side, away from earshot of the general populace of Midtown High, and gave him a concerned look. “Dude, your face is bleeding.”

Joshua was one of the only few individuals in the world who knew about Vernon’s identity as Spider-Man, which was just as well, because if it hadn’t been for his blue-haired best friend he would have walked into a test with his nose gushing like a bloody geyser. “Thanks,” he mumbled, when Joshua handed him a clean-looking handkerchief. He raised it to his face. “Did you wipe your nose on this?”

Joshua made a face. “Not that I remember.”

“Good enough.” He cleaned off the blood as well as he could, which was hard, because he was feeling jittery and apparently his hands agreed. “Do I look fine?”

“You never look fine, my friend,” his friend said sagely. “But you look like you always do, so I guess, yes.”

Vernon shot him a grim smile, and started down the corridor towards 12-B, which was where he was supposed to be in ten minutes. He wasn’t even late, actually, but Mr. Malkin didn’t need a big excuse to give someone a C+ for a tardy warning. Joshua followed close behind. “So, which guy beat you up this time?”

“I didn’t get beat up.” Vernon rolled his eyes. “Well, not entirely—”

“Vernon Parker, report to room 10-A.” Both the boys’ heads whipped up towards the source of the sound, which came as an announcement from the speakers. “Vernon Parker, room 10-A, please.”

“What?” Vernon whirled on Joshua, panicked. The blue-haired boy’s eyes were wide behind his glasses, but he only shrugged in response. “But the test!”

He tried to think back to anything wrong he might have done in the past few weeks to get called aside like this, but he couldn’t think of anything. Plus, he hadn’t been summoned to the principal’s office, which confused him even more. Why room 10-A?

“Now you’ve had it, Parker,” Flash Thompson said as he passed them, grinning.

Vernon scowled at his retreating back, his grip tightening around the bag strap. “Whatever,” he muttered, then threw Joshua his bag. “Take it to the class, won’t you? I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”

Without waiting for affirmation, he jogged off to find room 10-A, wanting to get whatever it was over with so he would get back on time. When he got there, the room was empty except for a lady in a pencil skirt and jacket, holding a clipboard in her hand. Upon his entry, she smiled at him in a friendly way, which only served to tick him off further.

“Whatever this is, couldn’t I do it some other time?” he pleaded. He hadn’t seen this staff member before, but he didn’t seem to be in trouble, and his grades had enough pull to get him out of some random appointment before classes. “I have a test in like, five minutes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already talked to your teacher about this,” the woman said, continuing to smile. She gestured to one of the seats. “Take a seat.”

Reluctantly, he obliged, not really having an excuse not to now. “What is this, exactly?” he asked. Now that panic had taken a backseat, doubt was beginning to creep in. Why only him? And how had he never seen this woman before?

“In light of recent events, the school has decided to start counselling sessions for all of the students to help them cope,” she said. She had a really nice smile, her skin tan and unblemished, cheeks dimpled. “I’m Melia Fox,” she said. “I just need to ask you a few questions, and you can be on your way.”

He stared back at her, miffed. A year of incidents, and they suddenly decided to have counselling sessions now? “Why just me?” he asked slowly. “I’m sorry, but isn’t there some kind of rule or protocol for—”

“There is,” said a new voice. Vernon whipped around, and there at the end of the classroom, where moments ago had been nothing but air, stood a tall black man with an eyepatch. “And Agent Fox is following it.”

Vernon gaped. “I—what?”

“Spider-Man,” Nicky Fury said, with a note of muted resolution in his voice, “we need to have a little chat.”

#kwritersworldnet #caratwritersclub #svtcreations #seventeen #svt #vernon #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #svt x reader #spiderman #marvel #spiderman x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #vernon fluff #vernon angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #vernon fanfic #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #seventeen x you #reposting bc the tags broke :'(

[re1d]

closure to those who need it | spencer reid

→ summary: after a tough case, all spencer needs is you. → warnings: mentions of murder, nothing too graphic, mentions of nudity, oh and cavity inducing fluff → word count: 2.3k → a/n: based on no.60 from the prompt list ; “you’re so warm.” “you’re so cold.” “mmh. that’s why i like your warmth.” // bro this fr one of my favorite things i’ve written omgg

Spencer is desperate for this case to end. He’s been looking at pictures of the same four crime scenes for far too long, and all he wants to do now is see your face. JJ watches him as he ponders a million things at once whilst staring out of the Georgia precinct’s windows. Walking over to him, she places an affectionate hand on his shoulder, coaxing him into looking at her. She offers her best friend a small smile, and he returns it with a tired one. “Have you talked to [Y/N], lately, Spence?” His silence is the only answer she needs, and her voice is gentle as she continues, “Maybe it’s time to?”

Nodding, he reaches into his pocket and makes his way to your contact easily. JJ’s eyes are still on him as she cautiously returns back to the rest of the team. It’s obvious he’s operating on autopilot, not completely conscious of his body’s movements. The phone rings. Once, twice, three times. A pang of worry cracks open the previously unresponsive doctor, and intrusive thoughts fly through his mind. What if something happened? What if you were hurt and no one was there to—?

“Spence? What’s up? Are you on your way home?” Your voice is a calm rain. It floods him with relief while bringing him back to life. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding falls from his lips. He can hear the confusion over the phone, and he thinks that he should probably say something, but he can’t bring himself to. The line is silent as the two of you merely soak in the presence of each other, not necessarily needing words at the moment. Eventually, Spencer breaks the silence with a simple request.

“Can you just talk to me, [Y/N]? About anything, I don’t mind—I just need to hear more of your voice.” 

The question takes you by surprise. Your boyfriend sounds exhausted, but not just physically exhausted—mentally, too. Deciding against asking about the case, you begin to talk. Moving from topic to topic aimlessly, wandering alongside Spencer in a muddled mess of everything that had happened in the week he’d been gone. “ ... I didn’t feel it, but apparently there was an earthquake not to far from the apartment. Can you believe that, Spence? I know I couldn’t. I was actually out with Izzy when it happened. Oh! While we were out, we went to this shelter and, God, I saw the cutest kitten ever to grace the face of the Earth. Like, this little thing could fit in your hand, it was that small. She was a tiny tortoiseshell, and for some reason—she made me think of you. I don’t really know, she just had this pensive look in her eyes. Just like you, you know?” 

A reluctant grin plays on his lips, and Spencer finds himself so captivated by you that he neglects the feeling of the fond stares of his teammates. Their gazes rest on him as they pack their bags and briefcases. Seeing him happy after a tough case makes their hearts swell, even if they’ll never admit it. “You’re comparing me to a cat?” His chuckle is deep as it resonates in your ear, “I don’t know how to feel about that, [Y/N].”

“Well, it was extremely adorable, so I’d encourage you to feel honored, Spencer Reid.” Your remark makes him laugh even more, and the certain warmth you feel when you’re with Spencer spreads throughout your body. However, all fun has to come to an end, and you become ten times more serious. And somehow, Spencer can feel it. “Spence ...” You trail off, unsure if his answer will be what you want to hear, “When will you be home? Do you want me to put some tea on for when you get here?” 

“We’re packing up now, love. The plane is supposedly already on the tarmac—I’ll be home in about two hours,” he pauses, the thought of seeing you again causing him to choke up, “And yes, tea sounds great. Thank you.”

Smiling at your screen, you hum happily, getting up and moving to the kitchen to start boiling the water. “Call me when you get on the road, okay? I love you, Spence.” The tone of the phrase is calm, but each time it left your mouth, you wanted to scream it from the top of Mount Everest. Putting the water on, you don’t expect a response. It had been over a year and Spencer still couldn’t bring himself to say the three words, but it didn’t bother you that much. He didn’t need to say them for you to know.

“I’ll see you when I get home, [Y/N].” He’s forever grateful that you never pressure him into saying anything he doesn’t feel ready for. But this time, when he presses the end call button, an emptiness forms in the pit of his stomach. As he’s perusing various scenarios that could play out once he got home, three soft raps against the door of the interrogation room he’s in startle him from his thoughts.

JJ’s face glows with a special endearment saved only for Spencer, and she waves him over. “Plane’s waiting, Spence. It’s time to go home.” Those five words almost send him into a fit of body-racking sobs. He’s so unbelievably thrilled to get out of Georgia that he just about forgets his sweater. JJ slings her arm over his shoulder and squeezes him into her side. Accepting the hug with a thankful glance, Spencer walks with her out to the vans and spends the entire car ride staring out the window. He wonders if he would remind you of the kitten in that moment as well.

The plane ride passes as fast as a fly stuck in molasses. Spencer tries to sleep, to forget the recent happenings, but he can’t seem to get the bodies out of his head. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees only blood and agony—everything is red. So, he decides not to close his eyes anymore.

However, as soon as the wheels touch the ground—time seems to flash before his eyes. He says his goodbyes and within minutes, it seems as if he’s at his apartment door, fumbling in his messenger bag for his keys. You beat him to it, though, opening the door to him still searching. “Don’t tell me you were in such a hurry that you left your keys in Georgia,” you laugh, leaning on the door frame. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and instantaneously, they brim with tears. Your eyebrows rise and you grunt as he practically crashes into you.

Spencer buries his head into your shoulder, and before his arms circle around your waist, he slams the door shut—no doubt earning you both a noise complaint. He weeps into the crook of your neck, trying to pull you closer with each breath he takes in. Your hands rest on both his neck and the back of his head. Whilst rubbing gentle patterns into his scalp, you whisper sweet nothings into his ears. Eventually, you pull away to keep him at arms’ length, and a look of bewilderment crosses his features.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Cupping his cheeks, you brush away his tears with your thumbs. His swollen eyes bore into yours as he nods, heading towards your bedroom. 

Faintly, you hear him getting undressed and you rush to pour two cups of tea. Giggling to yourself, you heap sugar into one cup and pour a ton of milk in the other. Careful not to spill the drinks, you race into your room and see Spencer completely naked. Tonight, it’s not sexual—it’s loving, tender, kind. You head to the master bathroom and place the glasses on the counter top while reaching over to run water. Slipping out of your day clothes, you step back over the threshold and meet Spencer’s eyes with an encouraging smile. The atmosphere in the room is neither heavy nor light; you feel at home. It’s the perfect amount of pressure that moves you to hold out your hands for him to take. He follows you wordlessly to the tub and climbs in. Spencer has the urge to ball up and cry again, but once you sit down behind him, it virtually dissipates.

He allows his eyes to flutter closed when he feels you scrubbing shampoo into his hair. “[Y/N]. There’s something I need to tell you,” he attempts to control the tremor in his voice, but you notice it nonetheless. You wait patiently for what he has to say, moving your hands down to his shoulders and massaging soap into them. He can tell you’re trying to wash away the horrors he’s been put through, and although both of your know that it won’t work—it certainly helps. He inhales deeply, preparing himself mentally for what he’s about to say. Turning his body to face you, he pushes a piece of your hair from your face with wet fingers and smiles.

“[Y/N], I-I—I love you.”

All of the sudden, there’s no breath in your lungs. Spencer has stolen it for himself, along with your heart. Your mind is filled to the brim with thoughts of him—his smile, his laugh, the way that he sacrifices himself for people he doesn’t know. “Spencer ...” you break, your head plummeting into his bare chest. His hands fly to the back of your head as he cranes his neck to place a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you. I love you so much.” It’s as if once the confession finally wormed its way from his mouth, he couldn’t stop. Spencer repeats it, and long after ten times, it’s clear he’s saying it to remind himself that you’re there, in his arms—and you don’t plan on going anywhere else. He registers your lips, kissing up his body. They’re warm as they move up from his collarbones, to the column of his neck, and slower that he would’ve liked, you move to place a chaste kiss on his lips. It’s not enough, Spencer doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough, but right now—he merely wants to lie in wait for the drooling jaws of sleep.

You coax him from the now cold water, pausing for a few seconds to admire the natural beauty he radiates. His gaze is soft as it rakes over your figure with nothing but fatigued adoration. Pulling on pajamas simultaneously, the two of you finish your night routine without another hitch. You stand side by side, brushing your teeth, washing your faces. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror, it’s almost like he can’t bring himself to—but you conclude that it’s a discussion to be had another day. Once Spencer is clad in flannel sweatpants and a loose t-shirt and you in one of his old CalTech sweaters and shorts, you stumble into bed as a tangled mess of limbs.

A sigh escapes him as he stares into your concerned eyes. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your small form into his larger one. His fingers play at the hem of the sweatshirt you’re wearing before making the plunge. The tips of his fingers dance across the expanse of your back, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re so warm.” Spencer can feel your shoulders bounce as silent giggles courses through your body.

“You’re so cold.”

Perching his forehead on your shoulder, he laughs freely for the first time tonight, “Mmh. That’s why I like you’re warmth.” Relaxation overloads his senses as you card your hands through his drying curls. He slips further into the seemingly innocent embrace of slumber, but something urges him to stay awake. Fear stirs in a deep part of himself, and he can feel tension building in his body once more. “[Y/N]?” He continues only after hearing you’re tired hum, “What time is it?”

“Almost three, why?”

“I’m scared that when I close my eyes, I’ll see them.” Immediately, you know who he’s talking about. The thoughts of the bodies he sees daily slither into your brain, ready to sink their fangs into your good night’s sleep. “I couldn’t sleep on the plane, you know? No matter how hard I try not to, I keep seeing their eyes. Cold, dead. I can’t forget.” 

Pulling his head away from your neck, you force him to look at you. “Spencer Walter Reid, you remember everything, right?” You wait for him to nod, “Tell me the names of the people you’ve brought closure to.”

“Baxter and Freida Givens, Yolanda Olsen, Kendra, Oscar, and Will Kofee, and Victor Trembly. Those are the families of the victims from this case.” He stops, his voice giving out on him momentarily, “Quinn Givens, Heidi Olsen, P-Piercen Kofee, and ... and Kara Trembly.” He doesn’t identify them, but you can tell from his tone that those are the victims. There’s no need to push him anymore, so you place his head back on your shoulder and press kisses to the side of his face you can reach.

“Spence, you just listed twelve names. That’s twelve people who have both answers and justice. Don’t think of them as bodies—think of them with their familes, happy and okay. I��m sure, although gone, they’re still here, you know? Their families will keep them from truly dying, Spence, and so will you. Their memory is ingrained in you, so remember them as they once were—not as they are now, yeah?” After a few seconds of silence, his snores echo in the quietude of your bedroom. Doing your best not to wake him, you shift to turn off the light. The darkness envelopes your oneness as well as the occurances of yesterday.

His breathing comes in steady intervals, and you find yourself slowly slipping away. Trying to navigate his features in the inky night, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your thoughts to be consumed by the one you love. Your last concious hope before you descend into blackness is that Spencer’s dreaming good dreams.

And, he is. 

He’s dreaming of you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #jennifer jareau

[calumrose]

Leah... hurt me.. “I really love holding you, darling.” with Luke 😌♥️

Lauren, you asked for me to hurt you and I don’t know if I’ve succeeded. If my messages blow up then I know I’ve done something right <3 I hope you enjoy it! 

Prompt:  “I really love holding you, darling.”

The sound of the clock ticking was like an eerie echo, each singular flick of the clock-hand matching with the heartbeat that Luke felt in his chest. He didn’t know why he was awake, his eyes resting open at the late hour, the warmth of the white cotton sheets against his skin protecting him from the gentle breeze that slipped through the crack of the open window on the left side of the room. 

You had requested to keep it open, complaining of the overbearing heat that the room seemed to accumulate throughout the night. To which, Luke automatically left the window open ajar when he went to bed that night, just enough to allow for the cooling air to slip into the room and battle against the growing heat. 

He turned his head, left cheek resting against the soft pillow as his eyes fell onto you as you slept next to him. Luke watched with a kind smile, the overcast of the moonlight that slipped through the open curtains provided a beautiful blue tone to the shared room, the shadows casting over you in the silence of the night. He felt blessed, he felt lucky to have someone like you there, to have someone like you to share his life with. He had everything he could have ever wanted; a partner he adored, a family he treasured, he had a home.

Luke remembered the day you met, the day you got engaged, the day you got married, the day you welcomed Elle into the world, and he knew he would remember the day when you would welcome your next child in a few months’ time. Each date was significant to Luke, each date was a memory he came to treasure. They brought a smile to his face; they caused a vivid rerun to play in his mind every time they came around each year. 

Photographs littered the walls that graced the hallway, elegant coloured frames hung on the pale coloured walls, each frame striking a soft contrast, standing out from the space. Each photograph represented a memory, represented a time of pure emotion that was deemed life changing. And every time Luke caught a glimpse at a stilled memory, he relieved that love he had for that day all over again.

But as of late, the walls had become bare. With every day that passed over recent weeks, a photo was removed, and a memory was erased from the home, although never erased from Luke’s mind. 

He wasn’t sure how he found himself wandering through the house at the late hour, barely remembering the bend of his arms as he pushed himself out of bed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he entered the hallway and made his way through the house. 

It was quiet, the almost static silence filled Luke’s ears as his bare feet carried him across the wooden floors. Boxes stood proud at the bottom of the hall, the last few remaining pieces of cardboard and plastic piled up only to be packed away and moved across the city when the morning came around. 

With a soft hand, Luke pushed open the familiar white door, a sleepy yet loving smile spread upon his face as he was welcomed with the gentle ambience of the nightlight that flowed softly beneath the window. Blue eyes fell to the slow rise and fall of the baby pink duvet that was thrown haphazardly over the small bed. Luke has to stop himself from allowing for a chuckle to slip past his lips, eyes spotting the small leg that was sticking out from the duvet, bare foot hanging over the edge of the bed as the owner slept soundly in her bed. 

She looked so comfortable, little fists balling the duvet in her hands as she tucked it beneath her chin, little tufts of air leaving her pouty lips with every breath. Luke found himself leaning against the door, heart beating with love as he watched Elle, admiring how her curls were untamed against the pillow, her lashes flush against her cheeks, and how she subtly snuggled against her soft sheets, her chin digging into the fabric as she found comfort in the soothing fabric. 

“My sweet girl,” Luke murmured more to himself, eyes never drifting from the restful expression of the sleeping child. Her room was bare around him, the photos and toys being packed away, ready for the following morning, all that was left being her bed, her nightlight, and the girl herself. He wondered how she would settle when the two of you would show her the new house, wondering if it would be as easy as you hoped. 

He knew not to disturb her, to leave her to dream of happy things for him to hear about the following morning. Tomorrow was a big day for all of you, for her more than anyone. She was leaving the only home she had known and was gaining a new one, it was going to be an adjustment. 

Luke leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, ankles locked with one behind the other as he watched the peaceful sight. It filled him with a restful warmth, a feeling he lost himself in every time he saw her sweet face. 

He lost himself in the feeling with such ease, the warmth enveloping him and almost numbing him pleasantly that he didn’t hear you behind him. He didn’t hear your bedroom door open, nor did he hear the soft patter of your feet against the floor as you spotted his silhouette in the opening of Elle’s bedroom door. 

“What’re you doing up?” His voice was soft as he felt your arms slip around his waist, your cheek resting against the skin of his back as you held yourself against him. He was warm, like always, his skin matching the warmth that his heart radiated, the gentle heat being something you craved in the cold of the night, something that you found yourself missing when it was gone even for the shortest amount of time. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Luke could hear the sleep in your voice as you responded, feeling the soft nuzzle of your cheek against his back, your lips pressing a soft kiss to his skin. He smiled at your words, arm lifting as it reached around to go behind you, palm finding the small of your back as he shifted his position, so you were standing just in front of him instead of behind his frame. “She’s been kicking like crazy, so I’m guessing she’s as nervous about the move as I am.”

Luke chuckled at your words, keeping his amusement quiet as to not risk waking Elle who still slept soundly. It had only been a few months but, boy, time was going by fast. Everything seemed to be happening at once; a new house, a new baby, it was all happening. But Luke didn’t mind — he welcomed it in fact. 

“She’s just excited, I think,” Luke pressed a kiss to the top of your hand, warm hands slipping around your waist as they came to rest on the growing bump that kept itself snugly tucked away beneath the fabric of your nightshirt. You let your head fall against his broad shoulder, your eyes closing momentarily as you felt his fingers draw gentle circles through the grey fabric of the shirt, a soft smile curling at your lips at the silent action of comfort he brought to the baby. 

“And just like that, you soothe her as quickly as you do with Elle, you need to teach me your ways, babe,” You smirked, your hands finding his on your stomach, palms resting on the back of his large hands as your fingers slipped between his own. “We should take this opportunity while we can, let’s go back to bed before she wakes up again,” You let out a gentle scoff of a laugh, leaning back against Luke before slowly turning in his arms so you faced him head on. 

You could see the bags under his eyes, the skin evidence of how tired he had grown to become over recent weeks. He had been busy — packing, sorting, writing, parenting… Life had taken over for Luke, consuming his time, and he loved it. 

“Just stay here for a minute,” Luke whispered, hands sliding around from your stomach to meet at your back again, a smile on his face as he felt you take a small step closer, your stomach lightly pressing against him as you leaned into his touch. “I really love holding you, darling, so just let me for a second,” 

“You hold me all of the time.” You couldn’t help but point out, rolling your eyes playfully as you looked up at him, pressing a soft chaste to his chin from where you stood beneath him. 

“I don’t see you complaining.” Luke spoke into your hair, pressing his lips against your hairline, keeping his arms wrapped gently around you, not wanting to let you go, enjoying the feeling of having you right there. 

You were always right there. 

“That’s because I love it just as much as you do,” Your voice was almost hushed, remembering you were still in the doorway of your daughter’s bedroom, arms wrapped around one another as you held one another close. “But we need to go back to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow,” 

You were right. Tomorrow was when you would say goodbye to the walls that had been your home for the past few years, where you say goodbye to the walls that held your memories only for you to take them with you and make new ones in your new home. 

Luke’s cheek rested against your head, the soft scent of your shampoo still lingering and filling his nostrils as he held you against his chest. His eyes glancing down the hallway, blue irises settling once again on the packed boxes that sat proudly next to the front door. It was finally happening. After so long, after so many discussions you were starting fresh. 

Tomorrow was a new beginning. 

And Luke couldn’t wait to start it with you.

---

Send me a soft/blush prompt & I’ll write a blurb for it :)

#eeeeee i hope you enjoy it lauren! #you know how much i love writing dad!sos #thank you for the request <3 #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos one shot #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #luke hemmings #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings imagines #requested #loveroflrh

[amachja-moved]

dossier   —   sasha braus.

FULL  NAME.     sasha braus. MEANING.     sasha   (  slavic, short for alexandra: defender, helper of mankind.  )      braus (  german :    derived from the expression “in Sauß und Brauss leben”, meaning “to live off the fat of the land”. ) NICKNAME.     potato girl, sash’. GENDER.     cis woman. ETHNICITY.    eldian. HEIGHT.     168cm in 850, 171cm in 854. AGE.     16 in 850, 20 in 854, post-timeskip. ZODIAC.     leo   (  creative, passionate, generous, warm-hearted, cheerful, humorous  ;  arrogant, stubborn, self-centered, lazy, inflexible ) SPOKEN  LANGUAGES.     eldian, paradisian dialect. a few words of south-marleyan dialect inherited from before the exode to the island, though before 850, no one has any awareness of their actual provenance.

physical  characteristics !

HAIR  COLOR.     brown/auburn. EYE  COLOR.     light brown. SKIN  TONE.     tan. BODY  TYPE.     slender, very athletic, mobile and quick. built for movement and agility. very fast metabolism. ACCENT.     distinctive south marleyan accent. VOICE.     chipper, energetic, melodious, expressive. higher pitched and quieter when concealing her accent, controlled but hesitant; lower, fuller, more confident, and much more expressive when speaking in her own accent.  DOMINANT  HAND.     right-handed. only ambidextrous when wielding the blades of her ODM gear or thunderspears. POSTURE.     alert, mobile, lively. possesses the flexibility, quickness, grace and vivacity of a fox. struggles with the rigidity of martial postures and gestures, always seems out of place and to overdo it when trying to perform either. always shifting, moving. adopts a more static stance when uncomfortable, as though ready to bolt. more open and relaxed around people she trusts.  SCARS.     old scars on her legs, knees, and hands due to her upbringing in the forest (animal scratching/biting, falls, vegetation). after the battle to retake shiganshina, large scar stretching on the left side of her chest and wrapping around her shoulder, caused by house debris. TATTOOS.     none. MOST  NOTICEABLE  FEATURE(S).     high ponytail, accent. remarkable agility.

childhood !

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.     dauper village, wall rose. HOMETOWN.     dauper village, wall rose. MANNER  OF  BIRTH.     natural. FIRST  WORDS.  pa’to. (she meant ‘potato’ and has expressly forbidden her parents to tell anyone, especially connie and jean) SIBLINGS.     Kaya, adopted into the Braus family in 850. (verse-dependent: one older brother; one twin) PARENTS.     mother :    lisa braus, herborist.     father : artur braus, hunter. later gave up hunting to run stables and raise horses for the military, mainly the survey corps. PARENT  INVOLVEMENT.     very close to her parents, especially her father (role model). close-knit family, grew up living by the traditions of her village and her ancestors. parents as main points of reference for socialisation throughout her childhood and early teenage years, very little socialisation with other children or people in general. looks up to them for guidance and everything she needs to know about the world. both lisa and artur are kind, nurturing parents, doing their best to teach her about their way of life, but also about the value of living in harmony with others. sasha’s intolerance and fear of strangers put a dent in their relationship, and drove her out of her parents’ nest, but she eventually came to understand the values of altruism and generosity they tried to teach her, and reconciled with her family.

adult  life !

OCCUPATION.    cadet in the survey corps, attached to the new squad levi after the capture of the female titan. during the timeskip, specialised in long-range shooting as a sniper in squad levi/jean (alternate verse: squad mike). CURRENT RESIDENCE.     survey corps barracks/HQ. CLOSE  FRIENDS.     connie springer, jean kirstein, mikasa ackerman, historia reiss. other members of the 104th cadet corps.  RELATIONSHIP  STATUS.     ship dependent. in “default” verse for non-ship interactions, in a relationship with niccolo during timeskip. FINANCIAL  STATUS.     modest, a soldier’s wages. DRIVER’S  LICENSE.     n/a. CRIMINAL  RECORD.     light theft, murder. VICES.    food, especially meat.

sex  &  romance !

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION.    pansexual. ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION.     panromantic.  PREFERRED  EMOTIONAL  ROLE.     supporting, encouraging, validating. more dominant once comfortable enough. PREFERRED  SEXUAL  ROLE.     switch. LOVE  LANGUAGE.     quality time, acts of service;  physical touch once she gets a grasp of her partner’s boundaries. LIBIDO.     average, increases when a partner makes her feel wanted/desired.  RELATIONSHIP  TENDENCIES.     thrives in relationships where positivity, unconditional acceptance and support are the foundations. being loved for what she is indiscriminately, and being able to give her partner the same stability, and sense of safety and harmony, is what she strives for. growing and becoming better people together is what a relationship should be all about. 

miscellaneous !

THEME  SONG.     One Summer’s Day - Joe Hisaishi. HOBBIES  TO  PASS  TIME.     hunting, quilting, snacking. MENTAL  ILLNESSES.     social anxiety, compulsive eating.  PHYSICAL  ILLNESSES.     none. LEFT  OR  RIGHT  BRAINED.     right. sasha gets paralysed when forced into analytical situations, and thrives whenever allowed to unleash her intuitions and creative thinking. PHOBIAS.     strangers, food deprivation, abandonment, change.

SELF  CONFIDENCE  LEVEL.     as confident in her skills as a hunter as she is insecure about her social and human skills. VULNERABILITIES.     other people’s judgement; sentimental; extremely attached to the past.

TAGGED BY: taken from my eld blog.

TAGGING :    all of you!

#ic;; unlucky the land that needs heroes (headcanons) #long story short sasha is like a wild fox or a dingo trying to fit into a canine police unit

[jokerownsmysoul]

lovely shades of you

Summary: Arthur x Shy S/O Headcanon

Content: soft, fluff

Warnings: nothing sksk

Word count: 2624

Request: I don't know if this has been done or if it may be hard to write i apologize and um u don't have to do it but maybe an extremely shy female s/o with Arthur?

Request: Hi there! Can you do an hc where the reader is a shy person towards strangers but she's really fun to talk to and she has a great sense of humour once she gets close to people?

A/N: I received these two requests and being very similar I decided to combine them, I hope you don’t mind <3 I’m sorry I took so long, I hope it was worth the wait. Also I’m still very shaky with Hc lmao I truly hope you enjoy it <33

Tag list: @arthurflecksgirl, @octopus-plasma, @weebkyun

A/N: english is not my first language so I apologize for any typos, I’m still learning.

Your relationship was very challenging at the beginning.

You were – are – a very shy person, especially with those you have no confidence with, and Arthur, though he wasn’t as shy as you, still was a man totally inexperienced in love and this led him to be more clumsy than he already was.

Actually you both are still wondering how your lives got mixed up with one another and how you managed to date each other, so shy were you.

Your paths met at Pogo’s one spring evening.

You still remembered the long work day you had to go through and how exhausted you were; the typical tiredness that, you were sure, a pleasant evening at Pogo’s would surely have waned your tiredness even if in the slightest, hoping to wash away the remains of a day you didn’t want to remember.

You noticed Arthur’s presence when the stand-up comedian started performing and Arthur started laughing by following different times and rhythms than the rest of the audience; for some reasons, which you still can’t explain to yourself, this behavior intrigued you, pushing you to turn around and look at the man who this laugh belonged to; a laugh that, you were sure, didn’t bring with it even a little bit of happiness, but only pain.

He was writing in a book completely alone, sitting at a table close enough to the stage, and you kept watching him all night, in secret, as if your presence didn’t need to be revealed.

You were so impressed by this lonely man who seemed hidden by the world, who sat at the first tables but at the same time seemed to have been noticed by no one despite he laughed unevenly compared to other and who seemed to appreciate the same sense of humor you had, that you started going to Pogo’s every night hoping to see him again.

Arthur, for his part, knew quite well this place, the people he met and the familiar faces that came across his way; it was inevitable he’d noticed your presence which day by day became more and more tangible in there.

He noticed a figure who was always on the sidelines, as if your presence in this place was a secret that no one should find out.

You always chose the farther tables from the stage and closest to the exit door, as if you wanted to be sure that you could have left in any moment without too much effort and to pull yourself away from others, hoping that no one would notice your presence there.

Not Arthur, no. He had noticed it.

He had noticed you, and just like you, even though he spend already plenty of time at this place, he started going to Pogo’s in the hope that you would have been there.

Although both of you tried not to be noticed by the other while you were staring each other, it took little time for your eyes to cross.

As much as it took only a second for both of you to recognize in the other a similar light that shone in the same way as your own; you recognized in the other something that had always been in both of your soul as if you were two lights that if mixed together could have been only stronger.

You looked at each other from afar for days as if you both were an unreachable dream of the other. You both felt the weight of the other’s eyes on your bodies and the silent communication that was taking place between you, which day after day became more and more tactile.

Yet none of you dared to make the first move.

The fact that both of you were so clumsy at first created an unspoken game between the two of you for which you both hoped that the other would draw near to you, ending that play of looks which you were both aware of.

You craved one another, yet both of you were afraid of rejection and shy enough to choose to remain in this unchangeable situation rather than approach to the other for real.

When Arthur finally found the courage to approach you, nothing had changed.

He approached you at a slow pace to allow you to go away if you had wanted to, with the fear hidden in his eyes of being rejected and recognizing to himself that his paranoia was true and that the fact that you, of all people, had looked at him in all this time, was another illusion he’d been feeding on for days, a daydream he didn’t want to wake up from.

You couldn’t have said which of the two of you was more blushing every time you looked at each other’s eyes.

You were already dating when one afternoon you were walking together in the streets of a Gotham that this night looked less gloomy than usual.

Arthur was looking at you with the corner of his eye. You kept your head down to look at your feet or up to look at the sky so you would never meet the eyes of every passers-by who crossed your way. With your hair you tried to hide your face as much as possible, your hands kept hidden by the long sleeves of your clothes and the presence of Arthur so close to you made you blushed, provoking in your cheeks a bright red blushing as if next to you there was a hidden ghost who constantly complimented you.

You moved in the shadows as if you wanted the world not to notice your presence, but enough on the surface hoping that Arthur would read in your red cheeks the need to feel his touch.

You wanted to avoid any kind of interaction with others and left unseen, protected in your world.

Unseen, except from him.

Gotham was a chaotic and noisy city, people were bold and cruel, but not you.

In you he had recognized a confidential nature and a kindness that he had never seen in any other person encountered in his life.

He had noticed your gentle attitude and your way of walking in the world by tiptoeing and the only thing he could think about at that moment was the desperate urge he had to kiss you and the fear he felt pressing on his bones and on the pit of his stomach that you would have sent him away.

The desire you both felt for each other at that moment resonated around you and emerged from your souls as an ultrasound that only you could hear. 

Both of you were aware that no matter how stuck in your fears you were that was a wish you couldn’t resist any longer, when Arthur made an endless sigh and in a graceful movement held your hand in his.

You turned to him when you felt his warm skin on yours, caught by a pleasant and sudden tremor throughout your body. The same blush that you had on your cheeks at that moment now also was covering his own as he stopped on the street, held back by a desire he could no longer carried within himself and leading you to stop, his hand still in yours in a soft grasp. 

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”. He looked at you intensely and swore to himself that your red cheeks were his favorite color. “Y/N. I…”

He shrugged in his shoulders as he rubbed his face with his other hand. He could feel your confused and worried look on him as he hoped to absorb all the courage he had never had in his life to take a step forward with you. “There is… there is something I want to do. I... "

Arthur’s eyes were making a graceful movement from your eyes to your mouth and from your mouth to your eyes, then he stared at the asphalt rubbing his hair with a nervous and hasty gesture.

He didn’t know how to get closer, he didn’t know if you would have accepted his touch, he was afraid it was too soon or he would have scared you.

You caught in the movements of his eyes the unspoken desire that his body language had failed to hid and at that moment was unintentionally suggesting to you what he was craving for.

You smiled knowing as you placed your free hand on his arm to hold him in place, hoping to give him some comfort in a reassuring gesture and trying not to let through this gesture all the tension you were feeling up to your bones. "It's okay, Arthur. You can... You can do it."

Arthur lifted up his face to look at you and bent his forehead in an astonished expression. "Did you-. May I?"

"Yeah, I- I mean, if you want..."

Now you were the one looking at the asphalt, hoping to be able to hide the fire you felt on your cheeks and hide yourself from his emerald green eyes that took your breath away as much as they made you breathe at the same time.

You were still staring at the asphalt when Arthur approached you kindly, as if he was waiting for the last remnants of a fear that had not yet completely passed away within him to go away while he was erasing the distance between you two.

He brought his trembling hand on your face and with his forefinger lifted your chin as he approached you slowly, on his fingers he felt your skin trembling with the same rhythm as his. You were both carried by a dance of clumsiness and uncertainty that from the tremor of your skin reached your red cheeks.

He then, finally, laid his lips on yours lightly, touched you gently as if he was afraid of violating the world you were protecting yourself from.

Actually, Arthur was the only person whose presence you loved to have beside you and he was the only person who loved everything about you, even, and especially, all your shyness that made you who you are and that also recognized within himself.

He pulled himself away from you shortly after to study your expression and try to analyze your thoughts. Would you have rejected him? Did he do something wrong? Did his kiss made you change your mind about him?

Your body had been electrified by his lips and to his surprise you started to chuckle one, two, three times, while the bewilderment of Arthur took place on his eyes.

"You’re stealing my role!" You said between one chuckle and another as you carried your hand over his cheek, caressing it gently with your thumb. "I'm usually the only one who blushes that much." You said with your eyes focused on Arthur’s burning cheek; he released a soft laugh from his lips through which even his previous fear had vanished. "Yeah... and usually I'm the only one who makes these kind of jokes."

One was the extension of the other, and you both found in the other something that you recognized to be in you in all this time.

Your gestures always carried with them a carelessness and an irony you both knew well, that you had to learn and to discover at the beginning of your relationship, of which you couldn’t have lived without.

Especially in the early days, when you were still getting used to the presence of the other, when the desire you both felt was stronger than your shyness and expanded through you by laughing together.

In fact it was a beautiful disaster the mutual shyness that was between you because it had made your relationship even more sparkling.

Arthur was the only person who let you slowly approach him by taking your time and loved your shyness with all of himself.

There was nothing about you he didn’t love, actually.

He loved when you were too shy to tell him I love you so you wrote it on the back of his hands using the fingertips of your hands and getting a red smile from him, who each time he couldn’t help but answer you with an I love you too in the same way, or even better by writing it on your lips with his.

He loved when you made him find love letters scattered around the apartment with words you could never say by looking him in the eyes, letters that you have not stopped hiding under his pillow or under the plate where he eats even now, now that you are comfortable with him; you could never breath without seeing the stars in his eyes shining as he read the words of your love dedicated to him, and to him only.

He loved your clumsy and silent caresses which sought him softly and which he could always listen.

He has always been able to listen to the language of your shyness, and you were always grateful for it.

He loved more than anything to notice how day by day your shyness had begun to melt and the ways in which you had turned to him became increasingly intimate and spontaneous, revealing a part of yourself that had always been hidden by that veil of shyness that with him, only with him, carried by his love and his daily presence, got shorter and shorter until it had disappeared.

And he loved that behind this veil of shyness hid a thunderous and ringing laughter that created a sweet and magnetic contrast with your quiet and calm attitude, a laughter that you, day by day, allowed him to hear completely.

He loved the thunderous laughter you only gave to the few people you felt comfortable with and he loved the fact that he was one of them.

To him every moment you spend together was the right moment to tell you a joke and the evenings spent watching Live With Murray Franklin by mixing your synchronized laughters at the sound of the same jokes, he started to love them more to hear you laugh and let you yourself tell him a joke rather than to watch the show itself.

Thanks to you Arthur had learned what it meant to laugh with someone and what it meant to have someone around who knows how to laugh at the world the same way of his.

It became part of your daily life as a couple to read Arthur’s jokes out loud and compete one another in who was better and who invented the funniest jokes. In his opinion you were always the winner and Arthur loved that.

Through your relationship you were both rediscovering yourselves and growing together.

Despite that, there were things neither of you could live without.

You kept writing I love you with your fingers on his skin and to sow love letters in the apartment making him find them as if they were a treasure hunt. When you walked holding hands you continued to avoid the eyes of passers-by but this time, instead of hiding your face with your hair or looking at the sky or the asphalt, you always looked at the only person you could ever love. Arthur.

Your shyness would never have gone away, and it still remains rooted in you by painting your red cheeks every day, but it had become less and less present as you stood beside him, loved him. And Arthur, for his part, through your shyness had learned to smooth the edges of his insecurities.

The one had taught the other to feel comfortable with each other’s presence without losing what made you both fall in love and that lead you both to recognize one another among a thousand.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur x y/n #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck #arthur fleck headcanon #Arthur fleck hc #joker x you #joker x y/n #joker x reader #Joker imagine #phoenix!joker #joker headcanon #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix x y/n #joaquin phoenix x you #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix headcanon #arthur flec fluff #joker fluff #arthur fleck soft #joker soft #joker fan fiction #jokerownsmysoul fic