#love this week so much because my birthday almost always lands inside of it and woohoo i get to celebrate my aro self baby | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks.

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers.

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel.

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying.

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging.

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob.

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door.

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him.

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap.

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer.

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad.

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls.

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death.

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour.

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out.

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.”

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple.

Colour theory.

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

He sits on the bench on campus.

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen.

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t.

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease.

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional.

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

[Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol

remember how i can teleport

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago.

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals.

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.”

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters.

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first.

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications.

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be.

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit.

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.”

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only.

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.”

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is.

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again.

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete.

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble.

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask.

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can.

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest.

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs.

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut.

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky.

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him.

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.”

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.”

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist.

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off.

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance.

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know.

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.”

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off.

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway.

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow.

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron.

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom.

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly.

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more.

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

You get worse and worse with every visit.

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room.

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest.

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out.

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?”

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him.

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest.

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.”

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare.

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you.

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to.

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after.

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless.

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.”

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?”

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.”

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it?

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be.

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…”

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt?

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again?

Because if so, Satoru understands.

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone.

He glances at the clock.

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away.

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around.

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.”

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you.

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin.

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you.

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer.

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth.

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself.

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.”

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters.

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying.

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.”

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them.

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing.

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.”

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another.

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach.

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.”

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break.

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more.

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out.

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid.

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat.

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him.

Click. Hiss.

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed.

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.”

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again.

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory.

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face.

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient.

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours.

He knows you’re exhausted.

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator.

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years.

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand.

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds.

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him.

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here.

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare.

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do.

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead.

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head.

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend.

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest.

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free.

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps.

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass.

So he did.

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can.

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too.

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time.

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.”

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you.

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall.

Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls.

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

“They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use.

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival.

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant.

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up.

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm.

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink.

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world.

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world.

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless.

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping.

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page.

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday.

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this?

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die?

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay?

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love.

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough.

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either.

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more.

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same.

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.”

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.”

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away.

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love.

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

1K notes · View notes

everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

; good enough

lee bodecker x fem!reader.

summary. your father invited you to his birthday party and things ended badly.

words. about 2.3k.

warnings, tags. nsfw, +18!!! drunk state, language, unprotected sex, daddy!kink, very brief degradation, mention of bodily fluids, very brief mention of violence. and i think that's all.

a / n. first time writing for this man that has me obsessed, so i hope y'all like it! none of my writings contains reader's body descriptions to be inclusive. if you find something out of place, please send me a message and i'll change it.

You didn't want to be there, but it was your father's birthday and you couldn't miss it. More than thirty minutes had passed since the last time you saw your husband standing in a corner of the large living room, sipping from his glass of whisky and judging every guest around in silence. Lee hated your parents, your family, their friends. And you didn't blame him. Your family never accepted him, always repeating that he wasn't good enough for you, nor your interests. Except for your mom. She wasn't the only one who didn't treat him like dirt.

Once that you escaped from your father's arms, showing you as a trophy and trying to set you up on a date with one of his best friend's sons, you stepped out of the house to the back garden. It was cold outside, having to close your jacket around your chest as you closed both arms over it. Following the footprints on the grass, you reached the improvised parking where different cars were stationed. The smoke coming from nowhere called your attention, glimpsing Lee sitting on the hood of his black Ford. Cigarette in his left hand and bottle of whisky in his right.

You doubted for a second to interrupt his moment of peace for the first time in two weeks. Two long weeks where you barely had spent time together. He started holding over his shifts because, apparently, there was too much paperwork to attend. You couldn't help but think that he was raving mad about you, or about something you did unconsciously. But the real problem was that your husband never used to talk about his feelings or what was going in his mind.

“I think you've drunk enough”. You uttered watching him raise the bottle to his lips.

Lee chuckled ironically, shaking his head. “Lucky me I don' care”.

Frowning and with your mouth pressed closed, you walked towards his position to face him. He had never talked to you like that, but he was being honest, shrugging his shoulders to point it out a little more.

“I do. I do care”.

“Don' worry, darlin'. I ain't gonna shame you in front of your family”. He scoffed bitterly, finally sipping from his drink. “Watya' doin' here anyway? Party's indoors”.

“You're here tho”.

“And who fuckin' cares, uh? You were having so much fun inside with that… pretty boy who works in Wall Street”. Your husband mocked taking a drag from his cigarette. “We should divorce, don' you think? So you coulda go with him to the big city, and don' be stuck in… How d'your father call it? Knockemshit. Stuck with a… fat sheriff of a shitty town”.

Lee didn't notice the tears blurring your gaze till he raised his face. The bitter smile curving his lips suddenly disappeared, putting his pale blue eyes away from you because it was too painful for him to watch you cry. Your husband gulped hardly, kissing his teeth as he threw the cigar somewhere on the ground. You couldn't believe he really wanted to divorce you, wrapping your heart with a suffocating sorrow that barely let you breathe. He was your life and, after three years together, he seemed to not give a shit about it sometimes.

“I ain' like them”. You whispered sniffing.

“Tha' doesn' change the fact that you don' deserve a man like me. Your father is right. 'M a fucking loser compared to anyone inside his damn house”.

You loved Lee with all your heart, soul, mind, body. He was everything you want in your existence —your life. So damn obsessed with his touch, his kisses, his smell of wind and leather, his smile, that beautiful pair of pale blue eyes. You refused to believe he was talking seriously.

“You should be there. I— Imma go home, tell your mo—”.

Before your husband could finish his goodbye, you interrupted him by slapping his face. He didn't see that coming and you'd never imagine yourself hitting him. But you needed it, seeming the only way to stop him from abandoning you there. He kept his face away from you, trying to comprehend what had just happened. His drunkenness suddenly disappeared, pressing his inner cheek with the tip of his tongue whilst rubbing his hand over the reddened skin. You were so mad right now that you could set on fire the whole world.

And you were about to do it a second time when Lee caught your wrist in the air, painfully gripping his fingers around it to push you closer —chest against chest. Then, he raised his index finger. “Don' you fuckin' dare to try it again, y'hear me?”

You were furiously breathing, but not filling your lungs with air in reality, keeping your eyes on the blue ones that used to steal your heart every single day. It was like a contest of dominance you knew he always won. Any time.

Your husband didn't give you the chance to say sorry, slamming his lips on yours. A moan died in his tongue when it invaded your cavity while releasing your arm to fly his rough big hands to your ass, almost grabbing it all with his long fingers. Your digits went to the lapels of his leather jacket, not lasting too much there till finishing on the back of his head.

Lee was hungry for you, just like you were for him after two long weeks barely touching each other. Your husband devoured, sucked, and bit your lips, urging you to turn around enough to push you on top of the hood of his car. His hands pulled up the skirt of your dress, wanting to reach the waistband of your panties, receiving the great surprise that you weren't wearing any.

“You little dirty girl… Don' wantin' your Sheriff to lose time, uh?” He grunted with such an animal and eager tone, as he took care of the belt and the zip of his pants.

“I need you”. You sobbed against his lips, feeling his hands maneuvering between your legs.

At least, you were fast enough to cover your mouth with a hand when Lee rammed his rock dick into your soaked cunt, drowning in your palm a loud cry of pure satisfaction for being filled by your husband. Back and forth, he hit your body once and once, impaling you against the Ford still being furious by the way your father and friends treated him as if it was your fault. Lee was mad, really mad, digging his fingers in your hips to pin you on place and don't move, continuing fucking you harder and harder —challenging you to not be able to be quiet and make everybody heard how good he used to made you feel.

“Goddammit… you're so damn ti— tight, baby doll… So tight fo— for your daddy, ain' ya?”

“Yes… Yes, daddy”. You cried hiding your face into the crook of his neck.

His strong scent filling your lungs caused you to roll your eyes white, letting your soul leave your body while his cock attacked fiercely your pussy with no mercy. Your vocals were in sync with the screeching noise the car produced in every thrust straight to your guts. The pace was insane, intense than never before, and more pleasurable than you could imagine in your life.

Lee was aware how much you loved him, that you felt devotion for him. But sometimes —sometimes like those— he couldn't help but think he could lose you as soon as you realized who he was in reality. You didn't care. You weren't blind. You knew about his dirty laundry, his past, his sister (...). And you still wanted him with all your heart and body.

“Fu— Fuck, gonna put a… baby inside you”. He growled, wrapping his right around your throat to urge you to face him. “Y'want it, uh? D'you want dad— daddy to put a baby in that… beautiful belly?”

“Yes… please, Lee”. You whined with teary eyes, being too much pleasure for your body to handle. “Please, daddy… I wa— want you to… get me pre— pregnant with your child”.

Your husband's lips curved up in a petty smirk, pulling out from your dripping cunt, causing you to sob in disappointment. Lee managed to put you down on your shaky feet to turn you and force you to bend over the hood of his car. Ass upped, legs spread. He only took a second to stare at your glistening and abused folds in your arousal, prior to impaling you again. With a hand on your lower back and the other tangled in your head, your husband obligated you to arch your back as he continued banging your anatomy once and again.

At this point, you had forgotten your name, where you are, and if someone could hear how you cried pleased any time he crashed against your g-spot. It was a mix of pleasure and pain as Lee wasn't having any kind of compassion with your cunt, clenching unconsciously around his hard length. He knew then how close you were to cumming for him —because of him—, increasing the pace while you tried to find a place to put your hands on and find some balance to stay in place. As soon as the hand tangled in your hair landed back to your throat, you gripped five fingers around his wrist, enjoying the brief lack of air because of it.

“C'mon, my swe— sweet whore… Y'wanna cum for daddy, don't ya?”

His raspy and wrecked voice fell into your ear like an angelic melody, not being able to hold your moans anymore within your mouth. The knot inside your lower belly was bigger and bigger and suffocating, feeling how it could explode at any time. Lee shoved his cock non-stopping producing a sloppy obscene sound when his pelvis crashed against your ass, along the chink of his belt against the back of your thigh.

“Daddy… Daddy…” You called him while the tears started to fall again through your cheeks, this time, of absolute satisfaction.

You couldn't help but bite your lip strongly till the metallic taste of blood covered your tongue, letting yourself go as the knot bursted within your belly. The orgasm threw you above the edge with your husband's palm covering your mouth to not be heard or it would be really awkward to be caught by all the guests, even if he didn't care. He wouldn't mind showing that pretty boy from New York that nobody could fuck his little dirty girl better than himself. Oh, how funny it would be to see his face while your husband was ramming his cock into your abused pussy, cumming inside your tight walls, digging his teeth in your neck to mark his territory.

Lee came with a sensual and passionate hoarse gasp causing you goosebumps bristling your skin, burying himself balls deep to hold it inside the mix of your juices filling up your center. It felt like being in Heaven, although you weren't sure if you could walk after such an intense quickly, feeling your walls burning as his dick still twitching and stretching your cunt.

Your husband wasn't a man of kisses after sex, that's why he surprised you when tilted your face to his and pressed his lips on yours, panting, not caring about the lack of breath. It wasn't a lustful kiss either, more than a tender and fondly one, tasting your mouth, playing with your tongue.

Pulling out his semi-erection, Lee helped you to clean yourself with a tissue before using it to clean your arousal on him and toss it to the ground. As he put on his pants, you fixed your dress and your hair, turning around.

“You meant it?” You dared to ask, still having sorrow covering your voice. “Gettin' divorced… You mean it?”

“What?” He inquired, squinting confusedly until he realized what you were talking about. He chuckled holding your chin with two fingers. “You married me, darlin'. There's no other way you're gonna spend your life but with me. Willingly or not, you hear me?”

Lee raised both eyebrows very sure of his word before you nodded your head with a fleeting smile crossing your lips.

“Can we go home now…?”

“'S that what you want?”

You nodded your head a second time, while your husband placed his arms around you with hidden possessiveness to guide you back to your childhood's house. And of course, your father was enraged when you told him that you were leaving with your husband. He yelled at you and nobody tried to stop him till the moment he had the brilliant idea of pretending to lay a hand on you.

Lee punched him. Lee broke his nose. Lee made your father fall to the floor between the pretty boy's arms. And Lee never felt better in his whole damn life.

“Don't you ever come back to this house, if you leave now with this… bastard”.

“She doesn' need you”. Your husband cooed wrapping your neck with an arm, leaning slightly to borrow your purse. “Ma'am, my pleasure a see ya' again. The beef was delicious. G'night”.

You were yet processing what just happened, ashamed of the desire for your husband himself awakened inside you after watching him hitting your father. Lee could be a total asshole sometimes but one thing was undeniable: he loved you with all his heart and soul, he was obsessed with you since the very first time his oceanic eyes contemplated you walking down the street, smelling a bucket of roses you bought for yourself.

Never again you knew anything about your family. Not even when your son, called after your husband, was born. But you weren't sad. As Lee said, you didn't need them. You had your own family to take care of.

feedback is appreciated. if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment so i can know your opinion. reblogs are needed.

permanent tag list. @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame124 @regalbanshee @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker smut #sheriff lee bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction

787 notes · View notes

sinner-as-saint · 3 years

Text

Slow Hands

Steve Rogers x Reader AU

Run-through: Tony Stark found you while on a mission one day, since then he raised you as his own daughter. Most of the Avengers knew nothing about you, because Tony was so protective over you that he kept you sheltered and cut off from most of the outside world almost all the time. The few people who knew about you were Nat and Steve. And they adored you, even though you were a whiny baby most of the time despite being a young adult. However, somewhere in his all righteous, super soldier heart, hidden in a shadowy chamber beneath all the courage, loyalty and bravery - Steve Rogers nurtured his immoral, sinful desires for you. He was a composed man, and he thought he could keep it all hidden, in complete secrecy and perhaps never let his improper feelings show. But that was until he no longer could…

Themes: fluff, smut, age gap

“Steve!” you shouted in excitement, almost running to the front door to greet your favorite super soldier.

His laughter filled the entire house as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your arms around him and gave him the tightest hug you could. “Hey doll! Happy Birthday!” He wished you, returning the same excitement you showed him.

You pulled away from the hug, smiling as big as you could. His deep, ocean blue eyes looked down at you in awe.

“Well I’m not jealous at all. Not even one bit.” A voice spoke from behind Steve.

Steve moved to the side and your face lit up again at the sight of Natasha standing there with the biggest teddy bear you had ever seen under her arm. She gave you her signature smirk and you went in for a tight hug.

“Nat! I missed you!” You whispered against her hair. She chuckled and kissed the side of your head.

She pulled away smiling, “Don’t lie, we all know you only ever miss Steve.” She teased and walked past you and Steve and further into your home.

Once she was gone, you immediately grabbed Steve’s hands and led him inside the lavish living room.

“You just turned twenty one, doll. Are you excited?” Steve asked, letting his attentive gaze roam all over you. Something about you always made his body tingle with excitement.

You looked adorable, he thought, as always. The blue dress looked perfect on you, and as much as he tried to fight the urge to look down at your chest, he couldn’t. He felt something stir inside him the more he looked at you. So he looked away.

“I don’t know. Being a grown up is scary.” You answered, mindlessly playing with Steve’s fingers as you walked into the spacious living room.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, turning his body towards you. He carefully cupped your face to make sure he has your undivided attention, “You don’t have to worry about anything. We’re all here for you.” He meant that with all his heart. “I’m here for you, I’ll keep you safe.”

You smiled up at him and went in for another bone crushing hug. “Thank you Steve.” You mumbled against his chest.

Steve kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you. He could feel your body heat pressing up against him - and his mind went straight to filth. He couldn’t help it, he tried. He always tried to suppress what he felt for you and hide it beneath many, many layers but he could never truly get over you.

Steve met you for the first time just a few weeks after you turned 18. Because that’s when him and Nat finally figured out what secret Tony had been hiding for so many years. It was you; you were the perfectly hidden secret that Tony kept away from the rest of the world. The adopted, darling daughter of Tony Stark.

Tony was very much protective of you. You only ever left the house when accompanied by someone. You were very much sheltered too. Too innocent for your own good. Shortly after Steve met you he realized that you were void of all the sinful things which filled the heads of most young adults your age. You were a perfect, pure little princess who was needy and playful but also more beautiful and feminin than any woman Steve had ever met.

He was whipped, gone. You had him wrapped around your little finger and he wasn’t even complaining. He caught feelings pretty quickly for you, thinking it was nothing Steve thought he would get over it soon. But here he was now, years later and still feeling the same way.

He knew he couldn’t be with you, Tony would kill him. But at the same time, the thought of you with someone else enraged him. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching you like he couldn’t. Something in him flipped like a switch when it came to you; he no longer wanted to be just or brave or be the hero or the knight which saved everyone.

With you, he felt something much stronger, darker. The need to protect, the need to be territorial. To be selfish, and keep you all to himself. All his righteousness faded into sin around you. Secretly, he liked how everyone knew that he was your favorite. He liked how whenever you were being difficult, Tony would always call him for help to deal with you. He liked how even with other people around, you chose to stick to his side like his shadow.

He loved it, loved you.

“Okay honey, make a wish.” Tony spoke as soon as he finished lighting up all the candles. Twenty one of them.

You were so excited, on your tiptoes as you closed your eyes and thought of a wish and right as you bent to blow your candles, the sound of the AI alerting something urgent was heard. You looked at Steve, a little nervous, and he was by your side in less than a second.

“It’s okay, princess. It’s okay, it’s probably nothing.” He whispered, wrapping a protective arm around you while Tony and Nat were looking into what information they had just received.

And judging by the look on your dad’s face, you could tell something bad had happened somewhere in the world, and they needed him to fix it. Which meant that you would have to spend the rest of your birthday evening all alone in this big, empty house.

“You have to go to work?” You asked Tony, tears already forming at your waterline. You sounded hurt and heartbroken.

Tony walked over to you and pulled you into his arms. Steve had to hide how he hated having to let go of you, as he took a few steps back to let Tony hug you. “I’m sorry, honey. But people need help right now.” He whispered into your hair. “I have to go.”

Steve noticed that Nat was already gone, probably getting the Jet or calling the rest of the team for backup. Part of him knew that duty came first and he hated how he’d have to leave you.

You pulled away from Tony’s hug, “You’re all gonna leave me alone on my birthday?” You asked, looking so broken that Tony felt his world breaking apart. He looked past you and his eyes landed on Steve.

“No,” Tony answered, “Steve will be here keeping you company and keeping you safe until I return. Okay?” Tony knew that you loved spending time with Steve more than anything, and he knew that your mood would get a little better upon hearing that. “Right Steve?”

Steve was surprised. It’s not that the team wouldn’t be able to manage without him, but he truly wasn’t expecting this.

“Yeah. Of course,” he spoke as you turned to face him with tears in your eyes. He reached out and gently wiped a tear away. “Don’t cry princess, I’ll be here with you. Let Tony go, he’ll be back before you even know it.”

You sniffled, weighing it out. Hmm, spending time with Steve was your favorite thing to do. But that would mean having to let your dad go. You hated it when Tony went away on missions. But you also knew that this was important. This was his job as Earth’s best defender after all.

“Fine,” you mumbled, a little grumpy.

Tony gave you a kiss on the forehead and apologized and promised to make it up to you when he came back, and left.

Within the next half an hour, Tony and Nat were gone. You watched the Jet take off from your bedroom’s balcony, tears streaming down your face. You hoped and prayed that they came back home safe but you were also hurt and angry that they left you on your birthday.

You stared at the night sky until the Jet could no longer be seen, then you walked back into your room and angrily started undressing, murmuring under your breath, “Stupid, stupid, stupid! Stupid dress! Stupid cake! Stupid birthday!” you got stuck in your dress because of the zipper and that’s when you started sobbing.

Steve heard you crying and hurried his way upstairs and into your room. He found you knelt on the ground, on your soft rug, crying. Your dress was almost off but not quite, stuck around your hips, exposing your entire upper body. He pretended not to see the black, lace bodysuit you were left in. Your hair was a slight mess and the teddy bear that Nat gave you was thrown carelessly on the ground. Steve approached you with caution.

“Hey princess,” he spoke softly. Your hands covered your face but he could tell you were silently crying. “What’s wrong? Don’t you wanna go downstairs? We can have a movie night, and there’s so much cake-,”

You cut him off with a calm, yet bitter tone. “I don’t want that stupid fucking cake. I don’t want a stupid fucking party. I want my dad, and Nat.” You sniffled. “But where are they? Right, out saving the fucking world because people need them. Well I need them too.” You sniffled again. “Throw that stupid fucking cake away!” You raised your voice by the end.

“Hey!” Steve grabbed both your hands and pulled them away from your face. His heart broke at the sight of your teary eyes. “I know you’re upset, but watch your language.”

You lowered your eyes in shame. “Sorry.” You mumbled.

Steve settled down on your rug, leaning against your bed as he gently pulled you onto his lap. You happily settled on his thighs, like you had many times before. And he noticed that you didn’t seem to mind your semi nudity.

Steve placed his hands on your thighs, rubbing them gently. He reached behind your back and unzipped the dress fully so you could take it off. You tossed the dress aside and Steve watched how you purposely threw it and made sure that it landed on the teddy; Nat’s gift to you.

“That wasn’t nice.” Steve pulled your closer, praying to God that you don’t notice his erected cock pressing against you.

“I hate it.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and huffing in anger.

“No you don’t.” Steve fought back a chuckle. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.” The correct word would be ‘smoking hot’ but he knew he couldn’t say that out loud. But fuck did you look hot.

You glared at him through your lashes and he could no longer hold back the chuckle.

“Oh come on. There’s so much we can do.” He tried to get you in a better mood. And there was one thing which worked each time, “You want ice-cream?”

The minute he said that, your face lit up in excitement. “Yes please!” You bounced with excitement right on his lap and Steve had to fight back the urge to lean in and kiss the living hell out of you.

“Alright then,” he tried to ignore the way his body was begging for you. “Wait right here, I’ll go get you some.”

Steve walked out and was back in less than five minutes. He wondered if you had gotten dressed in the meantime but when he walked back into your room; you were just as he left you. Half naked on the floor, waiting patiently, sat on your fluffy rug.

“There you go,” as he handed you your tub of ice-cream and sat down next to you he also noticed that the teddy that Nat had given you was no longer on the floor but perfectly placed on your bed. He was right after all, you didn’t hate it. “Wanna watch a movie?” he turned to look at you and found you with a mouth full of rich, chocolate ice-cream.

You nodded.

Steve couldn’t sit still. The sounds of your moans of delight after each spoonful of ice-cream was driving him insane. And you weren’t doing it on purpose either. But he was falling apart, he could no longer maintain his calm and composure.

He had to do something to get you to stop before he loses it. “Okay now, that’s enough. You’re gonna get sick.” He took the spoon and the half-empty tub from you and you groaned.

“But-,”

“No,” he set it aside, looking at the mess you made with ice-cream all over yourself; somehow all over your lips and chin. “You’re a mess, princess.” He said, looking at you lovingly.

You felt the sudden need to get on his lap again, so you did, probably high off all the sugar. You straddled his thighs and scooted closer to him. “Clean it.” You demanded, playfully.

You caught Steve by surprise. His arms wrapped around you instinctively but he was still a little surprised by your behavior. “Okay,” he reached out and wiped the sides of your mouth with his thumb and then he got lost in your eyes and before he knew it, he began leaning in.

Your lips met his halfway, and while he was still surprised he kissed you gently; testing the waters. You kissed him back, slowly. Steve smirked through the kiss and deepened it while he gently laid you down on the fluffy rug, on your back. He hovered above you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He nibbled on your lip, tugging on it before slipping his tongue past your lips. You moaned, letting him do what he wanted.

Steve’s heart raced in his chest as he pulled away to look down into your eyes. He then saw the wild look in your eyes. Had you always looked at him with that look in your eyes?

“Hey,” he said softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “What’s that look for?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Your face felt really hot for a moment, then you answered, shyly, “I… I’ve always wanted to kiss you.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he chuckled, “Is that so?”

You nodded quickly. And Steve leaned in for another kiss; he kissed you with all he had. He had dreamt of kissing you so, so many times. But not once had he ever thought that it would be on your bedroom floor, on your pink rug.

You could feel his hunger through his kiss. Your hands gently cupped his face to pull him closer when he tried to pull away. Steve smiled and kissed you with more passion and he didn’t stop until you pulled away to take a breath.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked, looking down at you and wondering if this was truly happening. You got shy and tried to hide your face but he wouldn’t let you. “No no, answer me princess.”

You told him the truth. “I was… scared that you didn’t… that you wouldn’t- I was scared that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I feel.”

It was true. Ever since you met Steve, you have had a secret crush on him which morphed into something so much more over time. No one knew, it was your little secret. Although, not so much anymore.

Steve fought the need to smirk. “And how do you feel?”

You released the lip you had in between your teeth. “Right now, tingly.”

Steve smirked. “Show me where, princess.”

You grabbed his hand, the one which gently touched your face and you guided it down till in between your legs. “Here.” You were almost breathless.

He immediately cupped your core, applying just the right amount of pressure against your throbbing clit. He chuckled before leaning in to kiss along your jaw, whispering sinfully, “Mind if I touch you?”

You let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

Steve kissed down along your neck as he gently moved your underwear aside and gently slid his fingers up and down your wet folds. You gasped the moment he slowly circled your clit. You moaned when he dragged his finger down and pushed it past your entrance. “You okay, princess?”

You nodded. “More...please,” you whined.

Steve placed his mouth back onto yours and then added another finger and started gently pumping them in and out of you.

He placed his thumb on your throbbing clit and rubbing it gently while he finger-fucked you; your wetness dripping and smearing all over his hand. You threw your head back and moaned when his fingers touched you in all the right places. Your body squirmed, your back arching off the floor as he made you feel good.

“Have you ever thought of me? While touching yourself? Hmm?” He asked and your face burned again and you whispered out your answer.

“Yes…”

He chuckled against your lips. “You dirty, dirty little girl.”

You moaned again when he sped up; his fingers stroking your walls perfectly and increasing the sweet pressure forming in between your hips.

“Are you gonna cum for me, princess?”

You nodded at his question and caught yourself grinding your hips against his hand; moaning and whimpering.

“It’s okay, princess. Let go, cum for me…”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said. You came all over his fingers, moaning out loud in pleasure. Coming undone all over his hand as he kept pumping them in and out, getting everything he could out of you.

Steve pressed his lips to yours and kissed you like there’s no tomorrow; there was nothing gentle or innocent about the kiss anymore, just hunger and passion and pure craving. He moaned through the kiss when you slid your hands into his hair and tugged on it gently.

He couldn’t take it any longer, he had to feel you. So before you could process what was happening, Steve tore your body suit off of you like it was nothing. You gasped in surprise but before you could say anything, he diverted your attention elsewhere by kissing down your body.

“Do you know,” he kissed along your chest, “how long I’ve wanted this for?” He took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his teeth before releasing it and giving the other the same attention. “Been waiting to kiss you,” he kissed further down your body, “to touch you,” he settled in between your legs and spread them further apart, “to taste you…” you felt his warm breath and then you felt his warm tongue, parting your folds gently.

Your back arched off the rug as his tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit and licked down again, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You whined and whimpered; with your legs wrapped around his head, your body squirming in pleasure and your moans incessant. Your hand flew to his hair instinctively and you tugged on it as he flicked his tongue and teased your clit over and over again.

You felt your legs shaking as he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud in pleasure.

“Steve…” you whined.

You heard him chuckle as he kissed along your inner thighs for a moment. “You’re gonna cum for me again, princess?”

You nodded, and let out a moan when he got back to eating you out. You had touched yourself before, but none of that compared to what his mouth felt like.

“Go on, cum for me again…”

You did. You came all over his mouth, shaking and moaning in pleasure under him. He looked down at you in pure adoration. “You did so good, baby.” He leaned in to kiss your lips briefly, “So good,” he mumbled against your lips.

Next thing you knew, Steve tossed his shirt off and started unbuckling his pants to free his erected cock. He couldn’t wait to just be inside of you but before he could, you got on your knees and gave him a look he couldn’t quite understand.

“What is it, baby?” he gently touched your cheek.

Your lips were swollen, and he couldn’t take your eyes off them. “I want to make you feel good too.” You mumbled, quietly, avoiding his eyes.

Steve smirked and leaned forward to kiss the side of your mouth. “You want to use that pretty little mouth and make me cum, is that it?” he sounded cocky, and his sinful words sent shivers down your body.

You nodded, shy despite your request. Steve stood up immediately; towering you with his tall and large frame as you remained on your knees in front of him. You realized that you liked it when he looked down at you.

“Go ahead princess, make me feel good.”

You inched closer to him and went ahead and unbuckled his pants and lowered it just enough to free his erected cock. You bit your lip as you looked up at him, “But I… I don’t know how…” you finished in a whisper and a nervous look in your eyes.

Steve traced your mouth with his thumb, urging you to part your lips. “Know what you do to those big lollipops you love so much?”

You nodded at his question.

“Just like that, princess. Go on,” he inched forward, pressing his tip to your lips.

You parted your lips, sticking your tongue out and licked his tip.

Judging by the way he hissed in pleasure you assumed you were doing something right and it only made you want to hear him moan even more. He inched his hips slightly forward, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth.

“Come on, you can take it princess…”

You did. You let him into your mouth and then pulled him out, then let him in again. You watched how his face morphed into a frown as he gently slid his fingers into your hair. Steve looked down at you and smiled, you got the hang of it pretty quickly.

In no time you were bobbing your head around him. You took him in inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck…” he swore under his breath again as you took him deeper into your mouth. “Your mouth feels so good, princess.”

His praise gave you a rush. You wanted more. You wanted to be good for him; good to him. You wanted to be his good little princess. So you gave him your all. You took most of his cock into your mouth and repeated your actions again and again, letting his raw taste fill your senses.

He bucked his hips forward very gently into your mouth, and loved the sight of your spit coating his cock. He moaned and growled and tugged on your hair occasionally as you pleasured him. His taste was all you could focus on; his raw taste, the occasional saltiness of his cum and the feeling of his smooth skin against your cheeks and the top of your mouth. You felt the veins of his firm cock against your tongue.

You closed your eyes to keep the newly formed tears from escaping, and you sucked his cock until he came undone all over your tongue; groaning and hissing in pleasure. You swallowed all that he gave you, licking his tip gently even after he came; wanting to get every last drop of him.

He smiled down at you, “That’s enough baby, stand up.”

Steve leaned in to kiss your face once you stood up again; along your cheek, your lips, your chin, whispering, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you, princess.”

You stood there, a faint smile on your swollen lips as you let him shower you with compliments. Steve wrapped his arms around you as he walked the two of you back until you felt the end of your bed. He pushed you down on it gently.

“I need you… bad,” he mumbled, looking down at your naked body lying there in front of him. “Will you be my good girl, baby? You’re gonna let me make you feel good?”

You nodded, lips parting as your heart raced. “Yes…” You were a bit too eager.

Steve discarded the rest of his clothes and he was on top of you in no time. He parted your legs and settled in between them. “You ready, princess? It might hurt a little bit, but it’s gonna be okay. I’m here, okay?”

You nodded quickly.

“Good girl,” he mumbled under his breath and lifted his hips to align his erected cock to your entrance. You instinctively spread your legs apart to give him more room.

You squirmed and moaned as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your wet folds, parting them as he circled your clit gently. You shuddered under him; whining in need. Your body was on fire, you wanted him. Bad.

With a slow, steady push, he inserted his length into you. You shuddered as you felt all of him. A strange pressure building up in between your legs as your body accommodated him inside.

“You okay, baby?” He asked, stopping halfway.

You forced your eyes open as you looked up at him, nodding, “Yeah…” You gasped as he pushed his cock further into you, your eyes closing once he was seated deep inside you. It took you sometime to get over the foreign, yet pleasurable feeling.

“Look at me.” He almost moaned, and the sound forced you to open your eyes again. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you,” he whispered a little breathlessly, looking intensely into your eyes.

Your eyes were fixed on his as he gently pulled out and pushed back into you again. You whimpered, but his kisses and soft words calmed you down. He sped up just a little, rocking his hips against yours. He stared into your eyes, speeding up into you again as he repeated his actions.

“Does that feel good? Do you like having me inside of you? Huh?” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your open mouth, shamelessly shoving his tongue past your parted lips and stroking the inside of your mouth as you nodded, or tried to.

His lips left your mouth and kissed down your face. You moaned again as he bit and licked the skin beneath your jaw, all while fucking you like his life depended on it. Passionately and gradually speeding up.

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them around his waist. The tip of his cock touched your most sensitive spots and your back arched off your bed.

“You feel so good, baby…”his voice cracked as he whimpered in your ear. You could feel your walls clench around him, and tighten around his thick member; making him swear out loud.

“Steve…” you whimpered as fucked deeper into you.

He groaned, and swore and bit down on your skin as he felt his orgasm building up nicely. “Are you close, baby? Are you gonna be my good little princess and cum all over my cock, huh?” He cooed. “Come on baby, cum for me…”

He didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, he kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out his name as you came. “Steve….”

Your body trembled under him as you came. He caught his breath, then leaned in to kiss you, repeatedly. Whispering something you couldn’t make sense of at the moment. Your mind was clouded, with lust mainly.

You weren’t sure how long it took you to calm your heartbeats and your breathing, but when you got back to your senses you were cuddling Steve, holding onto his chest. Your ear was right above his heart and his steady heartbeats calmed you down.

“You did so well, baby.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You were quiet for some time, and Steve thought you had fallen asleep but then you replied, “Thank you, Steve.”

“What for?”

You smiled, turning your head to kiss his damp chest. His cologne was fading but it was still there, and you loved it. “For always making me feel safe.”

Steve smiled.

“This is gonna be our little secret though. Okay, princess?” He asked, playing with your hair and running his hand down your back.

You giggled. “I know, I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve caught the mischief in your tone. “God, you’re gonna use this against me to get all the ice-cream you want in the world, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #captain america #avengers au #marvel

1K notes · View notes

goldengoddess · 3 years

Note

Okay idk if you've already done this but like, domestic headcanons with the crows, them just like, living as the big found family they are and just doing cute family friendsy stuff with the reader yknow? also can we pls make sure matthias is very much alive in these?

living with the crows hcs ♡

this is so so bad i have tried to add stuff to this for a couple of weeks but it’s pretty shit and just feels like a crack fic but i hope u like my stupid hcs anyways :)

matthias is always alive idk what ur talking about

the slat is always alive

always buzzing

no matter the hour of day

there’s always something to see, something to do, someone to annoy

so living there is almost never boring

especially when surrounded by the always pleasant crows

they never let life get boring

all of you had little traditions and routines you’d established through the years

for example, your legendary monopoly monday nights

which usually end in bickering, colorful pieces thrown over the floor, and jesper giving everyone the silent treatment

& kaz trying to push down a smirk at his big win

because of course kaz wins every time

the slat, from the outside, seems like a not so personal space

but in reality it was a home on the inside

wylan likes to tape up his drawings on the walls

his sketches for different heists or buildings

sometimes sketches of jesper because he loves his boyfriend so much

he likes to have your input on his plans, things he might have missed, notes that could help the case in regards to the building

so added on to his drawings are a bunch of notes in bright red pen and highlighter

wylan likes using you as a sounding board for his ideas and plans

weirdly enough, matthias is the designated baker/cook of the house

after being in ketterdam for a while he longed for his home land and his childhood meals

so he started making his own food, the kitchen turning into his own art studio type

then he started branching out and making food for all of you

sunday morning became sunday mornings with pancakes

fridays are make your own pizza nights

except matthias ends up making all the pizzas because jesper eats all the toppings

sometimes you and nina sit on the counter as he cooks

you two talk about whatever and every now and then you giggle as nina throws a teasing remark at her lover

“aw look! he’s wearing the apron i got him for his birthday”

the apron says kiss the cook

jesper let’s you name his guns

so now the two of you will be making casual conversation and just name drop

leaving wylan like “who the fuck is stacy?!”

movie nights omg

all of y’all watching disney movies

inej choosing each one and making the best popcorn just the way everyone likes

she’s super obsessed

and the two of you sing the songs together

okay i just have a feeling that all the crows learn to braid ?

so you braid their hair and they learn to braid yours

and sometimes all of you get into like a little braid train ??? without even deciding it just kinda happens

and all of you experiment with new styles

it’s sort of funny

little notes are littered around the house

small sticky notes and reminders

it’s the most efficient form of communication

nina’s notes are look like “have a good day my favorite losers”

but kaz’s are a bit more uh kaz like

“jesper for saints sake take out the trash” or “matthias and nina please stop making out in the kitchen this is a public space”

you leave little notes reminding them of plans, meetings, shopping lists

you’ve taken charge and made a chore wheel

every sunday all of you meet up and spin the wheel for what you have to do for the week

“cleaning the bloody towels ?? really?!”

it’s really the highlight of your week

stickers everywhere ? yes stickers

you put them on the worst places ever

like the closest where jesper keeps all his guns? stickers ALL over just because you feel like it

people really like it but it does throw kaz off to see a little hello kitty stickers on his desk

you happen to bring a lot of sunshine into the slat <333

taglist;

@vintagebitc @obiwansjedi @thegirlwiththeimpala @hybrid-in-progress @mrs-brekker15 @mrsbrekkers @simplyluvzuko @ode-to-joy @gallysonegoodlung

@sixofshadowandbone @castielcouldbeasecretdentist

@meiitanoia @caaarstairs @the-jess-life @xsamsharons

@heavenlymidnights @tinyfwoggie @the-abyss-gazed-back

@subjecta13-thefangirl @ughgclden

#shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #six of crows imagine #grisha #nina zenik #kaz brekker x reader #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #inej ghafa #shadow and bone imagine #leigh bardugo

360 notes · View notes

angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Tom Hiddleston - Stripped Sunday

A/N & WC - I came up with this concept ages ago and only just got around to writing it, though it’s slightly short. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to. 2k.

Warnings - Swearing (that's now just a given), definitely suggestive and nsfw but nowhere near explicit, just mentions of sex, nudity too. And unknowing exhibitionism I guess? 16+

Summary - Sunday's are always the best, especially when you and Tom walk around the house nude, but it's been a while. Too long a while. So, obliviously, you take matters into your own hands...

THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON IS A SIMPLE MAN, believe it or not. He likes meals he can cook in fifteen minutes, he likes his tea with only a splash of milk, he likes the simple pleasures of nature. He likes morning runs and evening walks, re-watching movies he’s seen a dozen times, cuddles on a cold night. But most of all, he likes it when you walk around nude.

It might just be the one singular thing in the great mystery of life that is inexplicable to him, the one thing he enjoys so bloody much he daren’t speak of it, lest he risk losing it. Just the sight of your beautiful body keeps him up night after night after night when he’s working away, plotting and planning ways to ensure he never forgets it for the second he returns home. He can’t even begin to explain the things it does to him.

So, he set up a Stripped Sunday, with the basic premise that you both have to walk around in your birthday suits all day. It’s essentially his unique, perverse, inventive way of seeing you naked all day once a week. Not every Sunday, naturally, but just on occasion, when he’s not working, he’ll jot it down on the calendar. Nothing too glaring, in case someone catches a glimpse of his calendar, but just scribbling down a winky face in a Sunday space, and you know what you’re in for.

In all honesty, you love it just as much as he does. It’s hard not to. Seeing him walking around the house with not a scrap of clothing on all day does things to you you’ve never been able to put your finger on—or his. If you were to get pregnant, Stripped Sundays would be the culprit with the amount that the two of you shag in a single day. And he always seems to have another round in the bank to wake you the morning after, hungover on dripping lust.

However, it’s been far too long without one of these days, you think to yourself. And you know that there are no plans for the day, seeing as there’s nothing in the diary or the calendar, where—upon Tom’s own decree—all arrangements have to be written down. Seeing as you and Tom have a somewhat secret relationship, one certainly sheltered from the press, and no one knows you’re together, let alone live together, keeping all plans written down is imperative. His work meetings are always good reasons for you to get out of the house for a few hours.

Today, however, Tom seems to have made a mistake. Today’s meeting utterly slipped his mind, and he completely forgot to tell you, let alone jot it down, that he was having a casual meeting with a few co-stars to discuss future production of some sort—of what, he was entirely unsure, since this was texted about weeks ago, now. Nothing too major, though.

Logically, Tom thought that, with how late you were currently sleeping, and how much you enjoy your lie-ins, he’d be wrapped before you woke up, and even if that wasn’t to be the case and you wake up, that you’d have the sense to dress, or even call for him at the very least, before going downstairs.

You aren’t so lucky.

—

Waking up to an empty bed is never much fun. Usually if Tom wakes up before you, he’ll only slip out to put the kettle on, or fetch a new book to read from the library while he waits for you to stir naturally… that is if he isn’t waking you up in other, more pleasurable ways. At most, if he does have plans and doesn’t want to wake you after a late night, he’ll leave you a lovely note, a voicemail, and a thermal mug of tea.

Today, however, you can smell the coffee machine on—no wonder after the late, and rather energetic night you had—and hear the machine whirring, signalling that Tom likely hasn’t long been awake. That’s when the gears begin to turn and your plan begins to formulate, a completely devious idea that creeps into your mind and quirks your lips into a smirk. No matter how enticing the idea to nuzzle back into the pillows is, your need for Tom is overpowering your clawing need for sleep, especially with your primal instincts telling you he’s within grabbing distance, his aftershave still on the sheets you’re wrapped in. So, you strip his shirt, now perpetually appropriated by you, off and get out of bed, stretching as you go, beginning to make your way downstairs.

“What’s that?” Tom hears someone ask.

Not hearing your footsteps on the squeaky stairs over the whirring of the coffee machine and the layered discussions, including his own laughter, he simply replies, “Probably the dog.”

You, however, aren’t lucky enough to hear this brief conversation before your bare feet land on the cold hardwood floor, sending chills throughout you that don’t seem to even mildly combat the overwhelming heat building all throughout you. With just a few more steps, keeping your footing light and avoiding Bobby’s various chewies and toys littered all over the floor, you’re entering the kitchen in nought but your birthday suit. Utterly, completely in the buff.

“Morning baby,” you call out, yawning, your eyes fluttering shut, your jaw wide.

Except, instead of the warm embrace and slatherings of kisses that you expect to receive, or even a simple “Good morning, Princess,” you’re welcomed with a deadly silence, a stillness you can’t quite comprehend.

Your eyes fly open in shock, opening to see three people, mildly familiar faces, with mouths agape and eyes wide, sitting around the breakfast bar with mugs between their hands. Tom looks as stunned as you’ve ever seen him, over by the coffee machine, his hands trembling. With a fixed gaze of his baby blue eyes, so piercingly alarmed, he looks you up and down, his eyes blazing over your nude form, his kissable mouth practically watering at the mere sight of you.

That’s before it clicks with him, the dire situation, and alarm bells begin to blare inside his head, causing him to jump into action. Almost instantly, he’s pulling his shirt off his strong arms and muscular torso with lithe fingers, and is tugging it over your head, covering your naked torso.

You can already feel the blush on your cheeks, your skin burning from the bruised base of your throat to the pierced tips of your ears, the blood in your veins rushing around so violently that it drowns out any other comments or noise within the room, within the situation, but you’re brought back to reality when Tom’s strong, callused hands fall to your arms, clasping the flesh before he’s all but lifting you off the tiled floor and steering you back out of the room. It snicks shut behind you, but all you can focus on is the kiss he gives you, slanting his thin lips over yours so intoxicatingly that you’re able to forget your humongous disaster, if only for a second. There’s an emptiness the second he stops kissing you, and you’re able to hear the previously shut out gossip from inside.

“Sweetheart, what the hell was that?” he commands, his tone soft.

Despite the austere authority he so naturally demands in a room, he doesn’t sound angry whatsoever. If anything he’s just a little exposed, his private home life revealed to people when he wasn’t in the least bit prepared for once in his lifetime, with a definite undertone of irritation, mostly that he can’t have his way with you instantly. His blood is roaring, his stomach an explosion of swarms of butterflies, his core pulsating. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, even now you’re covered, your hardened nipples poking through the fabric.

“I— I saw the calendar was empty, I wanted to impress you, have a nice Sunday because it’s been so long,” you confess, shuffling your feet on the floor, unable to meet his blue gaze boring into you, “I’ve felt… distant from you recently, you’ve been working so much. I don’t know,” you shift anxiously, tugging on his shirt wrapped around you, “I love you, I didn’t wanna lose you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Baby,” he says, “I love you and this so so much. Of course I like it!”

You let out a feeble cry against his chest, his arms knotting around you and tugging you into his chest in one swift movement. His hugs, the way he holds you and cradles you, always make you feel better, no matter what your troubles may be.

You sniffle a little, “Really?”

Any trace of hardness in his face just dissipates and is replaced with sympathy, empathy, love.

“I truly wish I could take you right now, Darling, and if they weren’t here, I’d be fucking you on that breakfast bar and you know it.” He sighs deeply. “But, I didn’t put down a special Sunday for a reason, love.” Leaning down, he kisses away your wry tears, and then the tip of your nose. “You are so thoughtful. It’s all my fault though, I must’ve just forgotten to write this down.”

How can you be mad at him when he’s being so thoughtful and heartfelt, confessing his mistake even when it was your rash thinking that’s gotten you into this mess?

Once you calm your breathing down, though, you realise that you’re actually not particularly phased by this at all. You don’t mind this; it was the sheer shock that passed over Tom’s face, the flash of terror he must’ve felt with his work colleagues in the room with him that scared you so. You know well enough that it’ll be a huge knock—monumental, even—for him, if this gets out. Your worry for your treasured boyfriend takes power over any of your own misgivings.

“I’m really sorry, Tom.”

“Don’t be,” he says hastily, “can you please pop up and get dressed, though, darling? Just some shorts, I don’t want you to feel exposed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding, stepping away from him to make your way upstairs. Before you’ve taken so much as a step, though, he tugs you back by the bottom of his shirt, and ravels you into a searing kiss, everything he wants to say passes from his lips to yours.

—

You return a couple of minutes later, dressed simply, comfortably, his shirt in your hands, you find him waiting for you, standing outside the door with his hands clasped at his front. He greets you with open arms, prompting you to take his hands as he leads you back into the kitchen, your eyes connecting in a secret agreement before stepping inside.

The air is rife with anxiety, three panicked faces staring back at you, but thankfully, you’re able to recognise these people as ones he’s worked with for a while, people he knows really well; confidantes and friends more than co-stars or colleagues. However, by the inquisitive glint in their eyes and their parted mouths, you imagine they’ll still have a lot of questions, and this’ll still be a hit for Tom.

He wraps his spare arm around you, his head bowed as he meets the dead faces staring at him. That’s when you begin to wonder if something else has happened.

“Baby, everything okay?” you ask, cupping his jaw, caressing your thumb over the scruff of a beard shadowing his bone structure.

That’s seemingly when it hits him, his face paling, blanching, his grip around you loosening.

“It’s a good job you never got over the threshold, darling,” he says breathlessly, “or I’d be in much more trouble.”

You look to him, eyes searching his face imploringly as he viciously gulps. “We were live on Instagram.”

“SHIT!”

Well, it looks like Tom’s girlfriend is public knowledge. You can’t mind, though not as he dips his head and kisses you hotly, heartily. With this passion, the second these people leave, Stripped Sunday might just happen after all.

553 notes · View notes

thatkpophoelife · 3 years

Text

Jealousy

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem. Reader (ft. Taehyung and NCT Jaehyung)

RATING: Mature 18+

GENRE: NonIdol Au. Highschool Au. Smut. Fluff

WC: 8K

SUMMARY: You and Jungkook have been best friends since the beginning of time. You spent every waking moment together until one night your at a party and the feelings you have been trying to keep inside decide they want to erupt and make your life harder than you ever could have expected.

WARNINGS: Swearing. under aged drinking. Big dick Jungkook. Oral (Fem. Rec.) Nipple Play. Fingering (Fem. Rec.) Multiple Orgasms. Cream Pie. Unprotected Sex. Slight Daddy Kink. Slight degradation (hardly mentioned). Thigh Ridding.

A/N: I’m so happy I’m finally done with it. I am so happy with the result. I have been working hard for the last few days getting this ready to post so sorry if anything is spelt wrong or doesn’t make sense. ENJOY!

You and Jungkook have been best friends since the first grade. It all started when you fell off the monkey bars during recess. Your palms and knees were bloody and scraped. The cement was rough against your skin and you could see those small little rocks in the small cuts on your hands. As a little kid they seemed way worse than they really were. You were scared you would need to go to the doctors for stiches and then they would need to give you a shot. You were like 7, things like that terrified you.

When you looked up through your watery eyes, you could see a little boy with cute cheeks, deep brown eyes, and bangs. You looked back down at the ground and wiped off your cheeks and nose. When you looked back up you saw the same boy but with his hand out for you to grab. You reached out to grab it and he pulled you up with a huge grin and a huff.

“I’m Jungkook but my friends call me Kookie.”

“I'm Y/N. Thanks for helping me up Jungkook.” You though it had a nice ring to it.

“No problem. I have a band aid in my pocket, you can have it”

“Really? Thanks.” When he handed you the band aid you couldn’t help but notice it had a small picture of Woody from Toy Story on it.

In the days that went by, you two hung out nonstop. He told you almost everything that you could learn about a 7-year-old. You learned his birthday was September 1st, he has an older brother named SeokJin that everyone calls Jin, he likes pizza, and loves soccer. You knew other things of course, but those were just some of the basics.

You became best friends extremely fast and spent most of your summer together. You went to the beach more than once a week. Your parents became friends with his parents and there was no going back on this friendship now. You did develop a teensy tiny basically non-existent crush on Jin but it quickly went away when Jungkook called you out on it and asked you to never see his brother in that light again. You agreed because even though you were only now 8, you still had your priorities and Jungkook was in the top 3.

By the time second grade came around he asked you, aka forced you, into joining his soccer team so you could “spend more time together.” You whined for the entire first practice. Since your mom was excited to finally see you doing a sport, she put your hair up in pigtails and bought you neon pink knee socks with a just as neon yellow visor. You were not happy. When you got to the field you felt out of place and like everyone was laughing at you. Those worries effected how you played. Just because you never played the sport before doesn’t mean you weren’t somewhat decent at it.

You knew how to dribble kind of well and you had decent aim when trying to make the ball in the net. But your real strong suit was goalie. You were never afraid of the ball or of getting hurt. If you needed to you would gladly dive for the ball if that’s what your team needed to win a game. You were never a girly girl so getting dirt on your knees never bothered you.

Despite all of this you still didn’t want to try out. Your mom was loud and never stopped cheering your name, no matter where you were. You had no other siblings so it’s not like she had anywhere else to be. She had her own small company that way she could create her own schedule and get to go to anything you wanted her to and as far as she knew that was everything. All of your class field trips, sport games, school plays, everything. You were too nervous to tell her otherwise because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings. You know that she only went overboard because she loves you so much but sometimes you wished she loved you a little less. And your dad was always busy with his 9-5 job so he never went to any of your things.

You never stopped playing though. You ended up enjoying the sport more than you could have expected. It was even more enjoyable since you were actually good at it, you always got to be goalie in all of your games. You and Jungkook were actually the star players on your co-ed team. And whenever Jungkook would ask you about why you still played even though you “didn’t like it that much” you always said you liked it enough to continue playing and that you had nothing better to do. You knew deep down that he knew you enjoyed the sport just as much as him, but you also knew he would never call you out on it.

You won almost all of your games, and you and Jungkook always fought over who deserved the trophy’s. Your argument was that the goalie was a key role to stop the other team from scoring. Jungkook’s was that he made most of the goals to keep your teams score up too high for the other team to ever catch up. It always came to a vote among your teammates, Jungkook always won and you knew it was because most of the girls had a crush on him and wanted him to like them back.

Besides that, nothing exciting happend in your friendship for a while. You spent a lot of time playing soccor in parks and when it was soccor season. You spent all of your summers together and both you’re your guys’ parent let you two get a golden retriever to take care of named Olive the summer before 6th grade. She was staying at Jungkook’s though because it was his idea in the first place. It didn’t mean you never go to see her there. You spent half of your summer there so you saw her a lot.

In your summer of 7th grade Olive got hit by a truck. You were both devasted and Jungkook spent a week at your house. All because Jin forgot to let Olive in at night so she decided to run. Jungkook didn’t talk to Jin for almost a month.

Then in 8th grade a boy named Park Jimin decided to throw a “End of the Summer Almost Freshmen in High-School” party. In reality it was more like ten people that were all in some way shape or form a part of his friend circle. You were invited because they needed another girl to come and Jungkook talked you up so much Jimin had no choice.

The night was all fun and games until his parents went to bed. He quickly grabbed an empty 16-liter Coca-Cola bottle and sat it in the middle of the floor and had everyone gather around in a circle. You were beyond nervous considering you hardly knew any of the boys that were playing and you have never had you first kiss.

A few rounds went by and nothing particularly interesting happened. Jimin kissed some girl named Emily that you didn’t like that much anyways. Then it was Jungkook’s turn. He spun it and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. It felt as if the bottle was spinning non-stop. Past Emily, past Nichole, past Maddison, past Jimin, past everyone else. Then it stopped, and pointed at you.

You felt your heart speed up. You couldn’t kiss your best friend. It was wrong in so many ways. But the chanting of your names in the background couldn’t go unnoticed. You had no choice but to kiss him. Well, you kind of did but you were hoping that by doing something like this people will start to like you more and not look at you as Jungkook’s best friend. You both sat up and looked each other in the eyes.

Slowly the rest of the world started to silently drift away. You don’t know if it was because everyone around you stopped talking to watch the kiss or because you were to focused on Jungkook and nothing else. His right hand slowly went to up to your caress your cheek while his left hand was on the floor keeping him balanced. You couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in his eyes. The way they traveled from your pupils, to the tip of your nose, and finally landing on your lips. The way his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your cheek leaving a burning sensation wherever it touched. The way he locked eyes with you one last time to make sure he had your permission first.

You noticed that the second you nodded your head giving him permission; he didn’t waste a second to kiss you. The kiss was soft but urgent. Like you both have been waiting for this very moment for so long. Once he broke the kiss, he looked you in the eyes and gave you a look you would never forget. He smirked.

You couldn’t help but shake your head in absolute confusion and utter disbelief. Did he want that kiss to happen? Did he do that because the guys were watching? You didn’t know. The only thing you knew, was that you’ve had a huge crush on your best friend since the very beginning.

Ever since that day he helped you up from the dirty ground when your hands and knees you scraped and bloody. Ever since he told you it was a good idea to co-own a puppy. Ever since the last day of middle school when you took a selfie jumping with glee. These feelings had been hiding ever since the beginning, and Jungkook’s lips was the only thing to break down the barriers and release those feelings.

You didn’t bother to sit back down in the circle. You wanted to go home, needed to go home. You didn’t want to wake up your parents and ask them to pick you up. You also didn’t want to walk through the door and have them ask why you came home. You knew exactly what to do.

Call Jin.

He answered on about the fourth ring. “Hello?” said the course and tired voice from the other line. You felt bad the second you heard him speak because you knew you woke him up.

“Hey Jin. Umm I was wondering if you could pick me up from the party?” You were prepared to literally beg him to come pick you up.

“Whatever. It’s the same house Kookie’s at, right?” You couldn’t believe you didn’t even need to ask twice.

“That is very correct. I will be ready and waiting outside for you to pull up.”

“Loser. I will be there in 10, don’t make me wait.” You couldn’t help but smile widely while you were getting you stuff together and putting your shoes on.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” You have got to be kidding.

“Hey Jungkook, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here. I was invited” You can see it written all over his cute little bunny face that he was so confused.

“I- I'm just not feeling too well, I'm going home” You couldn’t help the painfully obvious stutter as you lied to your best friend’s face.

“How, it’s a sleep over? Your mom won’t be thrilled if you called her at 1 o’clock in the morning.”

“I already called someone, and they should be here any minute now so you can go back and enjoy kissing those other girls.” What did you just say? You couldn’t stop the words before they came out. Would that be how he found out you liked him? Is that the sentence that would ruin your friendship? Sometimes you felt so very stupid.

“Okay I will.” With that he walked back to continue the game of spin the bottle with a huge smirk on his face. You couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide and mouth agape. You couldn’t help but wonder if that kiss meant nothing to him. As far as you knew that was his first kiss, and it was most defiantly yours.

As you were lost in your dark cloud of thoughts, your phone dinged making you jump a little. It was Jin texting you that he was already there to pick you up. If you were honest, you weren’t expecting him to be here this fast.

You quickly picked your bag off of the ground, slipped on your black and white checkered Vans, and made your way out the door. When you got to Jin’s car, you quickly threw your stuff in the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Where to Y/N?” You could still hear the sleep in his voice and see it in his eyes. He was wearing a simple grey Champion hoodie with black Nike joggers. His hair was all messy from sleeping and the moon perfectly aligned his features. You couldn’t lie, Jin was one of the most attractive men you have ever seen, but you prefer guys closer to your age. Plus, you like the younger brother anyway. Hey snap out of it you need to not like your best friend.

“Um, Y/N? Where do you want me to take you because if you don’t speak up, I will take you straight home.”

“Oh, sorry. Can I just crash at your guys’ place? I know Kookie’s not there but I don’t want my parents asking questions and to yell at me for waking you up.” Yes, you were playing the, ‘please don’t rat me out’ card. But you weren’t lying to him so what’s the problem?

“Sure, just sleep in Kook’s bed. You tend to snore sometimes.” He reached over to ruffle your hair with a huge grin on his face

“Hey! I do not snore!” You felt like a 5-year-old throwing a fit with the way you pouted out your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your chest, and sank into the seat.

“Whatever dork. Why do you want to leave early anyways? Did something happen?” You could tell he was genuinely concerned, and he was crazy good at keeping secrets so what was the harm in telling him about your mild crush on his little brother.

“At the party after Jimin’s parents went to sleep we all played spin the bottle and when it was Kookie’s turn I suddenly was really really nervous it would land on one of the other girls and I didn’t know why but then it landed on me and we kissed and now I think I have a moderately huge crush on him that I never realized I had before and I'm kind of freaking out. Don’t tell anybody though please,” You finally took a breath after your long and wordy run on sentence.

“You’re just now realizing?” Jin had a huge smile on his face and was laughing but you had no idea why.

“What do you mean ‘you’re just now realizing?’” You had no idea what he was talking about.

“Y/N you and Jungkook obviously have had huge crushes on each other for like ever. He admitted his to me a while ago.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing and you knew you would ask Jungkook about it the next time you saw him.

“Can you just take me to your place. It’s late and I'm tired,” After your friendly reminder Jin drove off to his house so you could sleep. He didn’t poke and prod at it any more and you were grateful. Jin was the older brother you never had and you were the little sister he always wanted.

When you woke up Jungkook was already there. You told him about how Jungkook told him that he had a crush on you. Jungkook shot you down almost immediately saying it was just a way to attempt to humiliate him. You felt hurt. Your best friend of years and your huge crush basically said it would be humiliating to have a crush on you. Lucky for you, you left very shortly after and spent your weekend preparing for your first year of high school and getting over your crush on Jungkook. Mostly.

****

Your freshman year was chaotic. You and Jungkook had only a few classes together so you almost drifted apart. It didn’t help that ever since the party Jungkook seemed to be hiding something from you. Something big. The only thing that kept you close was soccor and Jin. But after first semester Jungkook started hanging out with seniors and going to parties. You asked to go once, thinking that he would stay by your side and not let you be taken away by some guy you didn’t know. That wasn’t the case.

Once you entered through the doors Jungkook quickly left your side and got drunk. You caught him in a corner making out with a girl you had never seen before. Then you watched as he pulled her away to a room. Your curiosity got the best of you and you followed close behind. After a minute of them being alone in a room you began hearing moans. You were destroyed.

You quickly made your way to the door so you could go back home, when you ran into a very beautiful man. He couldn’t have been much older than you. He had beautiful chestnut hair and two beautiful dimples. You didn’t even bother asking for his name once you saw the mischievous glint in his eye. You let him lead you to a room, know what was going to happen.

That was how you lost your virginity. It wasn’t special liked you hoped it was going to be. You later learned his name was Jaehyun. It didn’t matter because you didn’t plan on talking to him again. Neither of you wanted anything more than sex that night.

You and Jungkook got into a fight one night. You don’t know what happened to start the fight. All you remember is that it ended with both of you in tears and him hugging you like he never wanted to let go. You made up and everything that happened before that was forgotten. Mostly.

You spent the rest of your school years studying hard and getting through all of your actual difficult classes so the only non-elective class you were taking senior year was your English class. Which you had with Jungkook, of course. You spent your summers with him and you both made it into varsity soccor. He knew the truth about your love for soccor when he heard you talking to your mom about it.

You still hadn’t had a boyfriend yet in your sophomore year. You were just too busy with school to actually try to get a dude’s attention, and you said your junior year was going to be different. You would meet a guy, get Jungkook’s approval, fall in love, have the ‘break up talk’ when you sign up for college, and most likely do just that, break up. The only key problem is that whenever you were walking in the halls and saw a cute guy Jungkook would always say he was a dick and that he doesn’t know how to treat a woman. You tended not to ask questions.

But now you were standing in front of your full-length body mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles in your outfit and occasionally touching up your make up or hair. Your first day of senior year outfit was simple but was sure to turn heads. You opted for a tight-fitted white crop top that showed your cleavage, skinny ripped jeans that hugged your ass perfectly that also had a rip under your left ass cheek, and your black heeled Timberland’s. Your hair was perfectly curled and your makeup looked flawless. You asked Jungkook to bring one of his black leather jackets for you to wear over everything. Damn you looked good.

Just as you were shaking out any last nervous jitters you heard a honk, indicating that your best friend was here to pick you up. You quickly grabbed your bag, ran down stairs, and grabbed two slices of toast for breakfast. Saying by to your parents you turned the nob of the door handle and ran out towards Jungkook’s car. As you opened the door to his red convertible, he looked at you and his jaw dropped. You missed the way his eyes scanned your figure and he darted out his tongue to wet his lips. He was eating you up in his mind, hoping you didn’t notice.

“Hey Kookie, do you have the jacket I asked for?” You handed him a piece of toast as your put on your seatbelt, shaking him out of his trance as he gave you said jacket.

“Ready for our first day? You’re going to be turning heads in that outfit,” You missed the way his eyes snuck a glance at your cleavage before driving off.

“I know right. I’ve been single all of high school so far and this year I want that to change.” You had a huge smile plastered across your face as you spoke. “I like your outfit by the way, it’s nice.” He was wearing black skinny jeans, black doc martins, a black tee, and a black faux leather jacket. And because of Jungkook’s new found passion of working out his thighs looked incredible.

“Thanks. Are we still going out to lunch so we don’t need to eat cafeteria food?”

“Duh, what else, and chew with your mouth closed you look like a 7-year-old.” You rolled your eyes and Jungkook did not miss the small and simple gesture.

“Hey! You’re the one who became friends with this 7-year-old.”

“That’s not fair you were an angel sent from heaven, my savior. Now you’re just a jack-ass.

“I know you love me.”

“Jungkook what would you know. At first you thought that 7x7 was 64.”

“Oh my god woman will you just drop that I was in 3rd grade.” You both just laughed at each other’s silly antics from when you were younger until you pulled into the school’s parking lot. The second you stood up and walked over to walk in with your best friend, every one stopped and stared. It felt like one of those dramatic movie scenes where the wind is blowing and everything turns into slow motion while you hear the main characters internal monolog.

“Why is everyone staring at us, is something in my teeth? Did my makeup smudge?” You pulled at the side of his jacket making him lean down so you could whisper in his ear. Just because you were walking in 4-inch heels did not make you as tall as him.

“No dummy. We look like the ultimate power couple right now. The hottest girl and guy in school, of course they’re staring.” You were so busy nodding your head and looking at other people that you didn’t catch the way his eyes fell to the curve of your ass.

You walked into school going to your respectable homerooms, then meeting up in the hall to go to your shared English class. You noticed that the popular girls kept trying to befriend you. You knew it was because you were now a threat and they did not want you to be prom queen. Last year you weren’t but guess who was, Emily. You still didn’t like each other. You don’t know why you didn’t get along but it’s not like you wanted to be her friend or something.

You and Jungkook sat down next to each other talking about how weird the day had been. People were still staring but who could blame them, you both had huge summer glow ups.

When you looked up at the clock hanging above the door, you notice a boy you’ve never seen before. He was incredibly attractive and had a beautiful symmetric face. You felt like you were drooling while you stared at him. Then he looked over at you and smiled. How the hell does a man’s smile look like that. You finally met the man that would actually rival Jungkook’s own good looks.

“Hey can I sit here?” You jumped when he asked the question, not expecting his voice to also sound hot.

“Yeah, Y/N by the way.” You held out your hand for him to take, but instead of shaking it he placed an opened mouth kissed on your knuckles. Wow he was hot. It made your thighs clench. Jungkook just rolled his eyes.

“Taehyung, it’s nice to meet you Y/N.” You were so entranced by this new boy’s handsome good looks you didn’t see the terrifying daggers Jungkook was sending his way. He read him like a book. He would lead a girl on, take her innocence, and then leave her out to dry.

Jungkook didn’t just guess this either, he had Taehyung’s snapchat and snapped him one summer after he saw him at a party. Taehyung had told Jungkook his tactics, and Jungkook even went to his house where he witnessed him use those very tactics.

“There’s a party at my house Saturday night around 10 pm, if you give me your number, I can text you the details and you can come.” You turned to Jungkook giving him hopeful eyes until he sighed and nodded. After all you don’t go to a party without your best friend.

“As long as Jungkook, my best friend since 1st grade might I add, can come with.” You weren’t going without him and that was that. Taehyung agreed without hesitation and you gave him your number. You quickly regretted it though because once he opened his mouth you lost interest extremely quickly.

All he could seem to talk about was all of the girls he’s hooked up with and how he could get any girl he wanted. You knew what he was trying to get at and became bored very fast. You were actually extremely grateful when the class started.

You and Jungkook passed notes the entire time, all about the egotistical boy next to you. And even though you didn’t like him, you would go to his party because you wanted to actually live a little your senior year. But sadly, one potential future boyfriend was out the door and you were back at square one.

The rest of the week passed by fast and because you had mostly easy elective classes you had no homework over the weekend for the first time in years. Which meant you had all sorts of time to party. You texted Jungkook to pick you up at around 9 so you would have time to get ready but still be at the party in time.

****

You woke up around noon on Saturday from your alarm. You didn't wake up because you wanted to but because you didn’t want to ruin the sleep schedule you didn’t even have. Why did you wake up again? Anyways once you woke up from you slumber you texted Jungkook to clear up some last-minute details.

Y/N

are you up yet? I just woke up. why dont I wake up like disney princesses?? I look like a monster :(

Kookie

Disney princesses are pretty thats why you don’t look like them in the morning or ever for that matter

Y/N

stfu your no prince charming either

Kookie

Really? Then why would almost every girl in our school blow me???

Y/N

If thats the case then why don’t you get some so you can stop complaining to me about how horny you always are??

Kookie

Because I have my right eye some one

Y/N

WHO?!?! and why havent I heard about this until now?? and why just your right eye??

Kookie

Because not EVERYTHING is your business smartypants and dont talk about my left eye

Y/N

whatever I will find out about this mystery girl though… MARK MY WORDS!! YOULL BE JUNGSHOOK

Kookie

Whatever you say smartypants whyd you text me anyways?

Y/N

Right! your still picking me up, RIGHT?!

Kookie

Its you’re, but yes I'm still picking you up

Y/N

Good, I will be ready in 3-4 hours :)

Kookie

You do know the party is at like 10 right

Y/N

THEN JUST PICK ME UP AT 10 GOD DAMNIT

Kookie

Not how you spell dammit but alright

Y/N

Stfu english nerd and good bye until 10

With that your conversation with Jungkook ended and you started to binge watch Haikyu!! until around 6. Then you rolled out of bed and started getting ready. You got into the shower, shaving everything. You didn’t know what was going to happen tonight so you figured you would be extra prepared. You even used your exfoliator, if you anyone got to touch you, they would be lucky.

Then you did your hair. You curled it perfectly and then put it in a high pony tail. Perfect party hair in your opinion. Then you did your makeup making sure to keep it simple yet amazing. You opted for a winged liner, perfectly done brows, and dark red lipstick. Lastly was your outfit. Your room was a complete mess after you threw half of your closet onto the floor but your pretty sure you found a great outfit.

You put on your matching set of black lacy lingerie that made your ass look good and your boobs even better. You than grabbed a different white crop top with a dangerously low cut making your black lace peak out from the sides and small booty shorts that barely covered your ass. Then you grabbed the same leather jacket you wore on your first day of school and put on a pair of sneakers. You went to that party with Jungkook once so you knew how crazy and disgusting the ground could be.

By the time you were completely done it was already 8:47. You didn’t think it would take quite that long to get ready but at the same time you did. You were touching up your makeup when Jungkook texted you he was waiting. You didn’t tell your parents about the fact that you were going to a party and they knew that if they saw you dressed the way you were, they would flip. So like any other teen, you made plans to sneak out.

The only person you to actually worry about catching you was your dad because you knew if your mom caught you, she would laugh at you and tell you to have fun. Your dad on the other hand not so much.

Jungkook parked a block down from your house and turned off his car headlights so he wouldn’t be as noticeable. You opened your window as quietly was possible and began to scale your wall. Thankful that your bedroom window was the one closest to the gutter and that you chose sneakers as your shoes. Once you hit the ground safely, you bolted for Jungkook’s car and got in as fast as you could.

“Hey cutie,” Jungkook said wiggling his eyebrows. Luckily for him, his car lights were off so you didn’t catch him gaping at your breasts.

“Sup, you ready to party?” You asked as he turned on the car and started to drive where the GPS told him.

“Yes, now remember no sleeping with some random dude and no drugs”

“Same to you mister”

“Ok so if you want to stay out late text your mom and ask if you can spend the night at my house because my parents are out of town and Jin is going to this food thing with his friends for like three days.” Jungkook said as he merged into traffic.

“Good idea,” You pulled out your phone and texted your mom knowing she would understand much better than your father. “She said that’s fine”.

“Good so if you get hung over you don’t need to try and explain it to your mom,” Damn was Jungkook always this smart, and did he always look this good.

After driving the rest of the way, you pulled into Taehyung’s house and you were awestruck. It was huge and surrounded by hedges. You couldn’t see another house within a mile which was good because that means the cops won’t be called because of noise complaints.

You stepped out of Jungkook’s car and walked into Taehyung’s house immediately being greeted with the smell of alcohol and weed. You quickly got separated from Jungkook and made your way to the kitchen to fill a red solo cup half full with some beer you found and apple juice. You slammed it down, wincing as it made its way down your throat. It wasn’t the best tasting but it was better than the beer by itself.

Once you were done making yourself the same drink again, you made your way outside and found a huge pool with a jacuzzi right by it. You scanned the area, seeing a couple making out in the pool and three boys you didn’t quite recognize playing around in the pool. As you continued looking around taking another sip of your drink you noticed something strange. Standing next to the pool was Jungkook and Emily.

She was twirling her hair in her fingers and giggling while Jungkook looked her up and down smirking the entire time.

You know you’ve been telling Jungkook to get a girlfriend for years now, but you thought he knew you were just joking. For some odd reason you were upset. You didn’t know why at first. Maybe because you didn’t like Emily, maybe because you didn’t want Emily to steal him away from you. You were Jealous. You hated when it hit you like a pile of bricks. But you definitely intended on doing something about it.

You quickly downed the rest of your drink in your red solo cup hoping it would give you more courage, and made your way over to them.

“Hey Jungkook I need to talk to y-,” You were walking towards him and before you knew it you were falling into the pool. Your first thought was that you tripped but when you resurfaced from the water you saw Emily looking at you with a sly grin. All you could do was glare.

“Oops,” Emily snickered as she grabbed out her phone and took several pictures of you. Great now your hot ass makeup and hair was completely ruined. Shit you’re wearing a WHITE shirt and BLACK bra that are now wet. You looked down to confirm it and sure enough your shirt was more than see-through. AND Jungkook’s leather jacket was ruined. At least you wore sneakers.

“What the fuck Emily,” You were startled from your stare down with the girl when you heard Jungkook’s low voice. It was loud and honestly kind of turned you on. Wait you shouldn’t be thinking about your best friend like that. You shook the thought out of your head and looked up at Jungkook. His fists were balled up at his sides and his jaw was clenched. He looked fine as hell.

As you slowly made your way to the side of the pool, he took off his leather jacket and knelt down. Once you got to the side he reached down with both arms, inserted his hands under your armpits, and hoisted you out of the water. He then helped you take off his ruined leather jacket and threw it at Emily. “Happy now?” He then took his perfectly fine leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders instructing you to hold it closed. “Come on let’s go get you cleaned up.” He bent down and whispered it into your ear causing shivers to go down your spin. You could only nod in response.

As he led you towards the doors of the house, he yanked his jacket from Emily’s hand and gave her one of the scariest looks you’ve ever seen. All you did was smirk and stick your tongue out at her like a 5-year-old. You were very satisfied.

He led you through the crowd of people dancing and grinding on each other like they weren’t in a public setting. He then led you to what you assumed was going to be a bathroom but ended up being a bedroom. You couldn’t help but wonder how he knew his way around so well.

When you entered the room, you realized it was huge with a bathroom connected to it. “Why did you take me here instead of a normal bathroom?” You asked.

“Because most likely they are occupied by other people and I don’t really want to walk in on some other couple having sex. Especially when I'm with you.” What was that supposed to mean? “And before you ask how I know my way around, I used to be sort of friends with Tae. I only came here once when he tried hooking me up with some random chick and I guessed I just remembered my way around.” He was so honest so easily.

“Did you do anything with the chick?” You felt stupid the moment you asked.

“What?” You don’t know if he didn’t hear you or what but you still asked again.

“Did you do anything with her, the girl he tried hooking you up with?” You felt pathetic.

“I told you have my right eye on someone else.” He said leading you into the bathroom.

“Who is this lucky girl anyways?” You asked sitting on the sink countertop while you took off Jungkook’s jacket.

He paused, “Let’s just say, I played a game of spin the bottle at Jimin’s house before freshman year started. I kissed her. She was the only person I kissed that night. I realized that I had a massive crush on her but she left and felt hella crushed. I stopped playing and couldn’t help but feel like I was losing her forever. But I still spend all of my spare time with her and I couldn’t ask for a better best friend. Deep down I’m afraid that she will never like me back because of the girls I slept with freshman year but I want her to know that I only did that to try and convince myself that it I wasn’t in love with her. After I found out she slept with some random guy one night at a party that I took her to I came to my senses and let myself love her. I still regret the night I took her to that party because I wish I was the one to get to take her innocence away.”

You looked at him, you mouth agape, “oh” You knew he was talking about you.

You watched his eyes dart down to your lips as his tongue poked out lick his. His hands drifted down and grabbed your waist softly, just in case you wanted to stop him. He slowly leaned down, brushing your hair behind your ear and whispering in a deep raspy tone that made your panties wet, “You can stop me at any time”.

Within moments his soft, plush lips were on yours. Your hands made their way up his back and intertwined into his black curly locks, tugging harshly. Jungkook let out a low groan that made your body hot. One of his hands crept up and lightly brushed against your nipple making you gasp into the kiss. Jungkook didn’t waste any time and immediately his tongue was exploring your mouth.

Once you broke the kiss, gasping for air, Jungkook placed his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, causing goosebumps to emit across your body. He carried you out of the bathroom, throwing you on the bed. You watched as he took off his shirt and crawled over you. You’ve seen him shirtless many times but this time it was different. You happy felt up his chest and you didn’t have to worry about him questioning you because he was kneeling over you, devouring you with his eyes.

Before you knew it, he was trying to take your shirt off. You gladly assisted him, pulling off your bra along with it. Once it was off and you looked up at him, you felt shy. Jungkook was just staring at your chest and wasn’t saying anything.

“Do you need to make it obvious that you don’t like my boobs?” Your hands went up to cover yourself. You were always insecure about them.

“Your right Y/N I don’t like your boobs; I fucking love them,” He quickly moved your hands away and leaned down. His mouth connected with your nipple, his tongue making your back arch into him. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second. His teeth gently grazed your nipple and you let out a loud whimper. You really hoped your great-grandma wasn’t watching you right now.

He left of your nipple with a pop and kissed his way to your other, leaving small hickeys marking his path. He did the same things to this one. You couldn’t wait anymore and moved your hand down to your core. You needed some sort of friction, but Jungkook’s hand stopped you.

“Ungrateful slut. I’m giving you all of this pleasure and you can’t wait. I want you to ride my thigh and maybe if I like what I see I’ll let you finish more than once tonight,” You looked at him in awe. When the fuck did he learn to talk like that. It was hot as hell but still.

He went and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at you. You werent sure what to do, so he pulled you onto his thigh. You froze up right away. You were straddling his thigh too afraid to do anything. He looked you dead in the eyes as his hands went down to your waist, forcing you to move. Relief flooded you. You were so happy that he finally let you have some sort of friction.

Your hands went to rest on his shoulders so it was easier to hold yourself up. You quickly started doing all of the work. Moving yourself at a fast pace on Jungkook’s thigh. You could feel his hard through his pants and it only made you more needy. He continuously clenched his thigh making you come undone even faster.

“Oh my god Jungkook. I think I'm gonna- I'm gonna cu-,” You let out shaky breath feeling that familiar knot build up in your stomach. Right as you were about to snap Jungkook stopped your hips from moving.

“Did you really think I was going to let you cum already? Go lay down.” You obeyed him quickly, watching as he kneeled down at the end of the bed. He grabbed your pants and with one swift motion slid them off, throwing them somewhere else in the room.

“Fuck Y/N. You’re so wet. I can’t wait to taste you. This good little pussy” He ripped your panties off of you, eliciting a loud groan. You were becoming impatient, squirming in front of him. He used his hand to hold your hips in place, while his other went to rub delicate circles on your clit. You watched as his face dove into you. Licking a stripe up your folds, collecting all of your juices.

“Fuck Y/N. You taste so good.” He groaned out, quickly diving back in. His eyes were blown out in hunger. He moved his hand away from your clit and replaced it with his tongue. Sliding one finger in you, moving at a slow pace and curling it, reaching your g-spot. A loud moan escaped you as you started trying to rock your hips against his face. Interlacing your fingers in his locks.

He pulled away to take a breath, “Do you think you can handle to fingers? Gotta prepare my baby for later. Yeah? I'm gonna stretch you out so good. Gonna destroy this pussy.” With that he inserted a second finger into you, reattacking your clit with his tongue. His pace kept intensifying. You could feel the familiar knot in your stomach build.

“Fuck Jungkook. I'm gonna-,” your words turned into a drawn-out moan when he hummed against your clit.

“Cum for me baby.” At that, the knot it your stomach snapped and relief washed over your body. You tried closing your legs but Jungkook held them open.

Once he was done lapping up all of your juices, he moved up and kissed you, hard. You could taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands made their way down to undo Jungkook’s pants. He broke away from the kiss and stood up, pulling his pants and underwear off in one swift motion.

You stared at his member for a second in awe. You knew he was big, but no that big. The tip was an angry red and you could see the veins. You were growing wetter just thinking about the delicious stretch.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said “I'm gonna have to go in raw.”

You smiled up at him, bucking your hips up towards his hard to get some sort of friction. “I'm on birth control.” That was all you needed to say before he slowly started entering you. The stretch being uncomfortable.

“You okay?” He asked worry on his face. You shook your head, “It’s just, new.”

He smiled, “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

After a moment you shook your head, giving him the okay to start moving again. He slowly pulled out all the way before pushing in again, hitting your g-spot as he did. You could feel the veins on his cock, and your legs wrapped around his small waist as your hands wrapped around his neck.

He slowly started to pick up the pace, pulling out all of the way before pushing back in. It wasn’t long before the pain morphed into pleasure. Moans spilling from your lips. The louder you moaned the faster he went.

“Ha-harder, da-daddy,” you didn’t mean to say it, but when you did his head snapped up.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.” He starting snapping his hips into yours. You could hear the head board hitting the wall with each thrust but you didn’t mind at all. All you felt was bliss.

“Da-addy I-I'm gonna c-cum.” Your walls started clenching around him.

“Fuck baby, cum. Cum for daddy” With that you did. Your release hit you hard. Your legs shaking as you dug your nails into his back piercing a few layers of his skin. Moaning out his name.

Even after you came, he kept pounding into you, chasing his own high. Beautiful moans escaping his lips as he did. Your moans making him close. His body was coated in a layer of sweat.

“Cum in me daddy. Please. Fill me up.” You choked out as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“Fuck, I'm going to cum.” You tightened around him one last time, feeling as his seed shot into you. You both laid there for a moment. Neither one wanting to leave. You could feel your mixed juicing seeping out of your whole as he began to soften inside you.

He slowly pulled out of you, “You need to go to the bathroom.” He picked you up bridal style from the bed and walked you over to the bathroom. Setting you down on the toilet so you could pee. When you were done, he picked you up and set you on the counter, taking a warm rag and cleaning you off making you sigh at the pleasant feeling. He carried you back to the bed and laid you down, getting into his boxers.

He laid down next to you and covered you both with the blanket, before wrapping his arm around tightly around your waist. His chin on your head as he cuddled you. It wasn’t long before you both drifted off to sleep

****

When you woke up and saw your best friend next to you, sleeping peacefully, you were relieved. Relieved that it wasn’t a dream and relieved that he didn’t up and leave in the middle of the night to leave because he regretted it. You leaned over and draped your arm over his torso and snuggled up to him, resting you head on his arm. He groaned, making you halt your actions.

“Good morning beautiful.” He said with a smile, kissing you on the top of your head.

You smiled happy it was him you woke up next to, “Morning.”

****

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. :) Send any ideas you have for anything. P.S The gif wouldn’t load :( so sorry about that.

485 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Second Nature

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Reader share some realizations after one of them has been kidnapped. Category: FLUFF + ADDITIONAL SMUT ENDING (18+) Warnings: Language, brief mentions of kidnapping and injury, bruising, sex (penetrative sex, protected sex, dirty talk, lowkey hand kink—i’m not sorry) Word Count: 6.1k

Full Request: “...Congratulations on your 1k! I have request for your celebration, if possible. Spencer/Fem Reader. Post prison Spencer, instead of him being taken by the cult, the reader is, making hi realize that she’s Love of life and they get together. Smut,preferred, if possible. Thank you.” — @dreatine

NOTE: I had a little conversation with @ssa-m-187 about a post which discussed that trope where Person A caresses Person B’s cheek, and then Person A leans into their touch and holds their arm to keep them there for comfort.. I mentioned that I might add it into one of my requests, and this is where it ended up! 😂❤

I also decided to add an alternate/additional smut ending in case anyone wanted only the fluff. It will be clearly marked when the smut starts if you choose not to read it!

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

***

Nothing bad ever happened to her. Spencer wished that was an exaggeration but it wasn't. In all the years he'd known Y/N, she was never kidnapped, no one she loved ever got kidnapped, and she never even got sick. Her moods were always visibly happy, no one had ever seen her with so much as a sprained ankle, and even bad hair days always seemed to escape her grasp.

So naturally, when she got taken by Ben's Believers, it came as no shock that Spencer was losing his mind.

Everyone kept telling him that they'd get her back, and that they all knew what to do, but it didn't stop the sinking feeling that weighed his heart down, far away from the surface where she was safe and waiting for him.

Guess it's safe to say, this whole situation stirred up some feelings he hadn't even known existed.

The first thing that came to his mind, aside from the initial shock of her being gone, was the first moment they met.

Y/N and Ashley Seaver had both been added to the team around the same time, and after losing Emily, the three of them had practically become inseparable. But that first meeting, the very second he laid eyes on her, it was something purely magical.

She was trying to open a jar of pickles in the break room, breathy and aggravated curses spilling from her mouth as if she were a sailor.

"Do you need any help?" Spencer asked, not intending to scare her.

But alas, she jumped, dropping the jar of pickles and causing it to shatter everywhere. "Shit!"

He offered to help clean it up, and she accepted, sighing about how everything she had was going to smell like pickles for at least a week. And once everything was picked up, she grabbed a pickle that had landed on the counter and took a bite, promptly saying, "Well, at least I got it open," with a mouth-full of pickle. "Thanks for scaring me, bud."

It was amusing to say the least.

And every time they'd gone out for food since then, Spencer made sure to order something with a pickle every time, just so he could offer it to her and hear her laugh about that day. Every time, she mirrored that moment, taking a bite and saying, "Thanks, bud."

Of course, back then he hadn't realized he did it because he liked her. He just thought it was nice to see her smile, to hear her laugh. That's what friends did, right? Made each other laugh?

That's what kept him going as they searched high and low for answers to get her back. Her laugh. It was there, replaying on a loop in his brain as if he could ever forget it.

And when he got her back, he vowed to make sure he made her laugh for the rest of time.

When they knew where to find Y/N, Spencer made it his mission to be the one who got her out of there. He wanted to be the one she saw when she was being rescued. He wanted to be the one who made sure she was finally safe again and out of harm's way.

And most importantly he wanted to tell her that he loved her. And he didn't want to spend another day without being next to her.

But first he had to get her out of there.

The second he saw her, it was like everything moved in slow motion. She was strapped to some type of mechanism that kept her hands at her sides and her head facing forward. And despite the fact that she'd never been held hostage, she looked very calm. She looked like exactly what the cult wanted her to be: a sacrifice.

It made Spencer's stomach churn. And it felt even worse when they moved in. Because everyone was getting down, and the cult leader jumped for Y/N, striking to kill.

The gunshot stunned him. He stopped in his tracks, hoping and praying that she wouldn't be hurt, and for one final time before he actually moved, he replayed her laugh in his mind. He briefly held on to the image of Y/N smiling at him without a care in the world before he inevitably saw her face to face for the first time in days, most likely without said smile.

But of course, the second it was safe and he ran to her side, she looked up at him and smiled anyway.

As Emily got the final restraints off of her, Spencer took a huge sigh of relief and welcomed Y/N into his embrace.

"Hey, bud," she breathed into his neck, letting him squeeze her tightly. He could practically feel her smile burning into his skin, tattooing itself there for all the world to see, and he squeezed her tighter, thinking of how he wouldn't have it any other way.

They clung to one another the whole plane ride home, curled up into each other and falling asleep after all the stress they'd been under. And it was no surprise to anyone that they even held hands while they did.

Y/N dreamt of him the entire time.

Specifically, she was remembering the day she almost quit. It would have surprised anyone to know she'd felt that way considering she never let her bad days show. But in those particular few months, she had really missed her family—and Ashley,—the cases were getting more and more stressful, and it all seemed to really take a toll on her emotionally.

But that one fateful day, she walked into the round table room, expecting to find no one since she always showed up early, and instead she found Spencer with a large wicker basket.

"What are you doing here so early?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled shyly. "Oh, um... I know your birthday was last week, and I feel bad I missed it since I was visiting my mom, so... I wanted to celebrate with you when we had a little bit of time."

He handed her the basket, and she marveled at all its contents, ranging from a few of her favorite books in different copies she hadn't owned, an array of her favorite candies, and most exciting, a jar of pickles.

"Oh, before you break the jar, I have something else for you," he said with a small laugh, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. "I've read that these are good for helping you open jars, and I even got myself one because we all know you're way stronger than me, so if you can't open a jar of pickles, I probably couldn't either..."

She would never know this, but in that moment he was kicking himself for being so awkward, even though the two of them had been friends for years. And he'd never know, but she hadn't even recognized it as awkward. She was incredibly thankful and endeared by his thinking of her, and it was the one thing that made her realize she could never quit her job.

She loved him too much too leave.

So she didn't. That morning she'd been planning on telling everyone her plans to find another job somewhere else, maybe closer to her family, and that night she walked out of the office feeling loved and thankful for her friends, and one friend in particular.

Currently, said friend was sitting quietly in the parking lot of her apartment while she dug up the courage to ask him inside for the night. Her plans consisted of sleeping in for as long as she needed thanks to a well-deserved few days off of work, and though Spencer would most likely return earlier, she desperately hoped she could convince him to stay.

It was quiet for a while and the lights in the car had long since turned off, leaving them in darkness as well as silence. Despite that fact, it wasn't eerie in the slightest... It was comfortable.

Even more so when Y/N reached over and grabbed his hand.

And then she spoke.

"Can... Can you stay? I'm fine, I promise, I just... I could really use some company, you know?"

"Of course," he answered almost too quickly. It made her laugh, and though it was small, he felt a weight lift off his chest at the sound.

The two of them walked up to her apartment in more of that comfortable, dark silence. The only light source to be found was within the dim lights of the hallway, though they'd made the walk so many times it was like second nature.

That familiarity followed them through her doorway, Y/N taking off her jacket and instinctively handing it over with her to-go bag, where Spencer's arms were already outstretched. He took them and removed his shoes, then transported their belongings to the chair in the corner of her living room, maybe five or six steps ahead from the entryway.

Y/N took a large breath and smiled as she flipped on the lights.

Spencer noticed, turning to her with a smile of his own. "Good to be home?"

"Mhm," she responded with a nod. "But you know what would make it even better?"

The knowing smile they shared brought warmth to her chest as he made his way to the kitchen, saying, "Peppermint hot chocolate, coming right up."

As her best friend made noise in the kitchen, Y/N padded over to her couch, flipping on the table lamp next to it and sitting down with an over-exaggerated humph. Her legs curled off to the side as she leaned against the armrest, taking a deep breath and breathing in the warm comfort of home, only amplified a little while later by the aroma of soft peppermint.

She could hear Spencer humming quietly to himself in the kitchen, the sound bringing a smile to her face. He always absentmindedly hummed her favorite song when he was making them food or something to drink, or even when they were just hanging out together in comfortable silence. She wondered often if he ever sang it to himself when he was alone.

And she was going to ask, but before she got the chance, he came up behind her with two mugs of hot chocolate. She took hers gladly with a smile that perfectly matched the warmth of the mug. And while she took the first sip as he walked around the couch and took his regular spot on the cushion next to hers, that warmth spread to her chest. She sunk into the couch as her eyes fluttered closed.

Beside her she could hear Spencer laugh. "That good, huh?"

"You're an expert hot chocolate maker, don't let anyone tell you any different."

Another laugh came from him, and the sound bought warmth to other places.

They sipped their hot chocolate together, once again basked in silence that was only disrupted by the distinct ticking of Y/N's cuckoo clock, a Christmas gift from Spencer one year after she'd mentioned how much she was oddly fascinated by them. It sat on the wall across from them, next to the TV and right above a DVD rack with her favorite movies. She stared at the clock fondly as she drank her way through the hot chocolate, and Spencer did the same.

Eventually they were out, and once their mugs were placed on either side table, they found themselves turning to each other with more of that second nature pulling them together like the moon pulling the ocean. Once their knees touched it was like the ocean dragged them under, only rather than suffocating, they found themselves breathing easier, like they were finally at peace.

The clock rung out, and only after it finished echoing did Spencer initiate conversation. He examined the bruise right under her eye, and once again the gravitational pull was too much, his hand reaching out to touch it with curiosity as well as concern. "Are you feeling alright? Do you need some ice or anything?" he asked softly.

Y/N felt her heart stutter at the featherlight touch of his fingertips, and despite herself, she blushed. "No, I'm okay. Better now that I'm home. With you."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers at her words, and the softness and genuine relief he found in them made him melt.

He moved to take his hand away, but Y/N reached up and gently grabbed his wrist, bringing it back to her face pacing his palm firmly against the whole surface of her cheek. He watched lovingly as she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand further, bringing her hand to wrap around his forearm and hold him there. And in that moment, he had to wonder if she could hear the loud, intense beating of his heart as it drowned out the clock's ticking.

"I... I was so scared," Y/N whispered, keeping her eyes closed. "I mean... In the back of my mind I knew you guys would come for me, but... That was... my first time ever being in a hostage situation by myself, let alone at all, and I..." She paused, stumbling on her words before exhaling a breathy laugh. "Those people were creepy."

Spencer laughed with her, his hand still resting on her face. When she finally did open her eyes again, she looked up at him through her eyelashes, and in that moment she looked so soft and vulnerable that he couldn't help but finally tell the truth.

In a whisper so soft she almost didn't hear it, he confessed, "I was so afraid that I lost you..."

"Yeah, but... You found me," she returned with a smile as she nuzzled into his hand further. "You always do."

Something in the way she said it made him bolder, and he realized then that that's what she always did.

She strengthened him, made him more bold and determined... And she gave him something to hold onto when he was lost. When things felt impossible, Y/N always said the one thing that put him back together and made him feel whole again, whether it was a few sentences, or in this case three little words: "You always do."

Completing him was her second nature, something he wasn't even sure she was aware of.

But now that he knew, he had to tell her.

"Y/n..." Spencer traced his thumb along the underside of her bottom lip, and he could have swore he felt her sigh out. He stayed paused, reveling in the way he seemed to have an effect on her, his thumb longing to slide further and trace her entire mouth.

Nevertheless, he continued. "You are... Everything to me. And I don't tell you very often how much your friendship means to me, but I... I can't keep going forward without you knowing just how much I care about you. Really, it..." He huffed a laugh, hoping he wasn't making an utter fool of himself and that she wouldn't push him away at this confession that was dying to escape. "It's embarrassing how much I love you."

He couldn't tell if it was exhaustion taking hold of him, or the relief he felt at finally getting that off his chest, but he held his breath as he studied her eyes, which were glassy like she was on the verge of tears. Her grip around his forearm tightened and she turned, kissing the inside of his palm and keeping her lips pressed there for what felt like forever, until he started to feel his skin go numb. Realistically he knew it was only a trick on the brain, how such a simple affectionate gesture like that had the most heart-swelling and mind-numbing effects on him because of how much he loved her.

But damn it, he didn't care.

She murmured his name into his palm, and her eyes flicked up to meet his again. That's when he noticed a tear fall from her eye and down her cheek, right into the side of his thumb.

Finally, she responded, "I love you, too, Spencer. I... I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to tell you, but... After what just happened, I don't know if I could ever spend another day without loving you."

His heart absolutely burst at the seams, warmer than before, and most certainly not from the hot chocolate. That warmth only spread, turning into a raging wildfire when she let go of his hand and moved forward, practically tackling him and wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him and pressing her face to the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her back, hugging her close as she straddled him and continued to nuzzle into his skin, his presence...

They held each other like that for a good minute before Y/N finally gained the courage to pull back and look into his eyes. They were just as glassy as hers, just as filled with love and comfort and home as she could ever have dreamed. Her hands slid down to rest on his shoulders for a moment before one of them cradled his face.

And then she kissed him.

She knew he loved her, he told her as much, but in case this was already going too far, Y/N kept it light and hesitant, desperately hoping it wouldn't make things weird.

But of course, there was nothing to worry about. And Spencer showed her that as his lips pressed deeper into hers, his hands on her back pushing her closer to him and seeking as much contact as possible.

She brought both of her hands to gently run through his hair, and at the sigh he let out against her mouth, Y/N tugged harder, pulling herself up so she could get into a better, more comfortable position on his lap.

They shared peppermint hot chocolate kisses until the clock rung out again, both of them pulling away with a little surprise.

"Has it really been an hour since it last went off?" Y/N mused in a whisper, taking in the swollen state of Spencer's mouth. The sight sent a course of butterflies through her stomach.

"I guess it has... It's um... It's late, maybe we should get some sleep."

"Only if you come with me," Y/N offered, running her fingers through his hair once more.

Spencer nodded with a small smile, his thumb tracing the bottom of her chin. "Of course."

They pulled themselves off the couch and, hand-in-hand, navigated their way to her bedroom. And even though they'd never actually done it before, sleeping in her bedroom together, the whole journey was so familiar it was like they'd done it a million times over.

SMUT ENDING BELOW

Y/N didn't know what time it was, only that the sun was brightly peeking through her sheer curtains, basking her bedroom in a warm glow that made it almost impossible to be comfortable under the covers. When she moved to take them off of her, she felt a hand snake around her waist, pressing firmly against her lower stomach and holding her in place.

"Are you awake?" she asked aloud to the air, softly in case Spencer was, in fact, still asleep.

"Mhm," he mumbled behind her, his breath softly fanning out across her shoulder. "Have been for about an hour."

"You could have woke me up," she said, turning around to face him. His hand lifted and then settled on her shoulder when she was in position.

"You deserved the rest," is all he offered in explanation as his hand gently brushed the hair from her shoulder. It tickled as it fell behind her, dropping off her body and across the back of her neck. Spencer trailed his fingers lightly up her neck until they reached her ear, and then he trailed them back down and over the curve of her shoulder, and then down her arm. He continued this and smiled as he took notice of the goosebumps that formed all over her skin. The thin tank top she'd changed into before bed left most of her exposed, each little freckle and hair that adorned her skin on display in the warm sunlight.

Meanwhile she smiled, heat slowly rising to her cheeks as she recalled their kisses on the couch. Needless to say, her dreams that night were rather scandalous, something she wasn't unfamiliar with, though given these new circumstances she was more than a little hot right now.

Spencer noticed, his hand halting its movement on her skin and resting itself on her waist over the blanket. "You're thinking about it, too? Last night?"

Y/N looked him in the eye and swore she saw them dilate when she responded. "Yeah. Among other things..."

"What... kind of other things?"

She would have told him, but since it was obvious they were both feeling the heat she bit her lip instead, a teasing look in her eye. "You're a smart man. You tell me."

"What if I... show you instead?" he whispered, his voice broken and obviously a little shocked that this was finally going to happen.

"Take it away, Doc."

His first kiss was sweet, reminiscent of the first one they shared on the couch, and his second was a little deeper. Y/N gave her stamp of approval by sighing, bringing a hand up to play with his hair again, and it was the trigger that shot him forward, his lips working hers with more passionate, methodical precision. Meanwhile his hand dipped under the covers and pressed firmly at her back, slipping under her shirt and bringing her closer.

She wrapped her leg over his waist, pulling herself forward to get as much contact as she could while he swiped over her bottom lip with his tongue. The small whimper she let out at his kisses made his hips buck forward involuntarily, to which Y/N clenched her leg tighter around his waist and tugged a little harder at his hair.

He tipped them over then, rolling so that he was hovering over her while their kisses only grew needier. His hand slipped under her shirt, feeling the expanse of her stomach and her sides. The low hum that came from her throat at his touches drove him half wild, so he boldened them, slowly sliding up and up until he reached her bare breasts. Her legs came out immediately and hooked themselves around the back of his thighs as she whined at his touch.

With curious kneads of her chest and even more exploratory kisses that were reciprocated with an equal hunger and passion, it didn't take long for Spencer to feel his insides churn with a desire that could possibly never be satiated. Even if Y/N was the one who kept him whole, he also knew she would be the one to completely wreck him to pieces. He'd rarely ever felt this type of desire before, especially not towards someone who took up every crack and crevice of his mind at any given moment. And now that he had it, he never wanted to let it go. She was going to utterly ruin him, and he'd never been more welcoming to that type of damnation—the type that was also his salvation.

Because she was everything all at once, devastatingly beautiful in every imaginable way.

Her hands tugged at his tee shirt, punctuating her urgency with a needy little whine into his mouth. He pulled back then, tugging off his shirt at the expense of taking his hands away from her. But from his higher position now, he took her in in all her wild glory, lips swollen and a little red, hair splayed out across the pillows, and her breathing visibly heavy. Even with the bruise under her eyes, she was the most breathtaking person he'd ever seen. She marveled up at him, willing her gaze to trail down his chest and stomach, her bottom lip tucking itself gently between her teeth as she stared at where his sweatpants hung low on his hips.

Y/N reached out and grazed her middle finger across the waistband of his pants, gently feeling the fabric and his skin at the same time. He was still, continuing to watch her explore his body the way he'd done hers, always amazed at the curious look in her eye— the one that was now swimming in a pool of lust. Her hand trailed upwards, feeling the soft planes of his torso until she couldn't reach any higher.

"Having fun?" Spencer mused with a smile as she rested both her hands on either side of his waist.

She sat up then, pressing a kiss to his neck while her hands travelled south, under the waistband of his pants. He sucked in a breath as she palmed him through his underwear, gently nipping his shoulder before she answered. "Oh, I'm having so much fun."

He was going to say something, but words escaped him as she sat up on her knees and continued tracing the outline of his dick through his underwear. He was painfully hard in an instant, a fact at which Y/N gave a low, amused laugh. Once she found the underside of his tip, she gently rubbed it through the fabric with her thumb, and the broken whine that he let out delighted her in every way. Her tongue traced his collarbone and the contours of his shoulders and neck until she reached his jawline. She licked him there too, humming as her thumb worked faster at his dick.

"Mmm, I've wanted this for so long," she told him softly, bringing her lips up to his ear. "Do you know how many times I've thought about us? Dreamed about us?"

"Not as many as me, probably," he choked out with a small laugh, audibly trying to keep it together as his stomach burned with every languid stroke of her thumb over his most sensitive point.

Y/N returned his laugh and sensually kissed his jaw before saying, "I doubt that." Then she dragged her mouth up to his lips and brought her hand out of his pants so she could thread all her fingers through his hair. Though they were kneeling, he was still taller than her, so his hard erection pressed firmly against her stomach as he brought her closer, gripping her hips and melting into her.

When his right hand slipped into her sleep shorts, she whined out and pressed herself harder against him, reveling in the way the heat from his hand practically burned into her ass. He kneaded her there as well, groaning into her mouth when she tugged on his hair and turned her head to deepen their kiss.

It was obvious that she was trying to feel some type of friction— her knees were willing her to get up higher, to feel him hard against her, but alas she wasn't able to reach. She showed her frustration by whining into his mouth and trying to pull herself up, the pressure of her arms around his neck getting stronger with every passing second.

"Spencer pulled away laughing a little, removing his hand from her shorts and bringing it to the front, dragging along the inside of her thigh. "Is there something you want from me, pretty girl?"

The nickname sent a fire through her veins that set off every smoke detector in her brain, the alarm coming out in the form of a whimper. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered, nuzzling her nose to his and reaching down to guide his hand farther up. When his middle finger breached the fabric of her shorts, she whimpered again, willing herself closer to him. "Please, Spencer."

He hummed lowly, drawing circles into her skin. "Are you prepared? Like, do you... have condoms or anything, do we need one?"

"I have some in my top drawer if you want me to get it," she said quickly with a nod.

He laughed a little, amused at her eagerness, before pulling away from her and helping her off the bed. Once she was feet-first on the ground, she strode over to the dresser where she opened a small drawer on the top left and rummaged through it. Meanwhile Spencer followed her and came up behind her, pressing his front to her backside and making her tense. He brushed her hair aside and brought his lips to her neck, his hands resting at her waist.

She slowly rolled her hips against him, sighing out when his hands gripped her tighter. One of them slipped down into her shorts again, this time coming around front and resting over her clothed pussy. His fingers explored her like hers had explored him, teasing her in the same way that made her want to burst into flames.

"So wet already, pretty girl..." he mused, sighing and attacking her neck with more kisses. "I bet I'll be able to just slide right in..."

She outwardly moaned this time, clutching a condom in her hand and then slamming the drawer shut. "Alright then, Mr. PhD, why don't you put that theory to the test?"

He loved how eager she was, and a little impatient. Something told him that if he teased her enough, she might have just begged him for anything. But he didn't want to do that right now. No, right now he was planning on showing the love of his life just how much she meant to him. He was going to give her everything he had, and then some.

So he turned her around and kissed her, walking them backwards until his legs hit the foot of the bed. He almost went down, but before he could, he turned them around again. Y/N's body hit the bed, her legs immediately opening for him to stand between them. Rather than leaning down to kiss her again though, Spencer ran his hands tugged lightly at her shorts, to which Y/N gladly lifted her hips and allowed him to pull them off. Her underwear weren't too far behind, and then she lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it aside and leaning back on her elbows.

Seeing her fully bare like this was enough to drive him mad, but he held on, spreading her knees apart and sliding his hands along the insides of her thighs. "Y/N, you're perfect..." As he marveled at her and showered her with love and praise, he slid his hands further and further up her body until they reached her arms.

She helped him remove his pants and underwear, and once they were off, Y/N tore open the condom and handed it to him. He rolled it on and then leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. Then her temple, then her cheek... Then he pressed the softest kiss to her lips and looked her in the eyes. "You really want to?"

She smiled at him and nodded, bringing one of his hands to her entrance and pressing his fingers to the wetness that pooled there. "You feel how bad I want it?"

He groaned and kissed her then, circling his middle finger over her clit and making her cry out against him. After a few more seconds of this, Spencer positioned them at the head of the bed and angled his hips forward, the head of his dick coming in contact with her pussy.

He slid in slowly, reveling in every pure, blissful second that went by as he gradually became completely enveloped in her. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N threw her head back and bit her lip, her hands reaching out to play with his hair again. He ground himself into her for a few seconds before pulling back and then starting a slow, steady rhythm.

"God, Y/N, you feel so good... So... perfect for me."

"Funny, I was just going to say the same thing about you," she breathed. Her eyes trained themselves on his, and though there was a lot of love there, she saw something else that she recognized, something hesitant. It was close to the same look he gave her last night, after she'd explained to him that she was fine after he examined her injury.

He was going easy on her. But she wanted more.

Y/N reached up to tug his hair gently, biting her lip and batting her eyes. "I'm not made of glass you know... You can fuck me harder if you want to."

Everything from the look on her face to the way she said it to the way she clenched around him as she did made him half feral. He smirked at her without thinking, a natural reaction to her challenge. "Oh, you like it a little rough, huh?"

She smirked back at him and nodded, tugging his hair harder. "Uh huh."

Though he started fucking into her harder, his pace remained slow, accentuating each rough thrust with a huff through his nose. Y/N's mouth opened involuntarily, the power of his movements rendering her almost speechless. Eventually though, she let out one large moan as her fingers even further tightened their grip in Spencer's hair.

Taking note of her reactions, he felt pleased with himself. "You like that, don't you, pretty girl? You like it hard and deep..."

Her hands dropped from his head and rested at the sheets, gripping them instead as he worked his hips a little faster. "Y—yes, baby, I fucking love how hard you fuck me."

The words tumbled out of their mouths so easily, each syllable spoken with the right amount of lust and truth, it was like their conversation was a dance. Their bodies and their words melded together in a perfect number that brought them further towards the climax.

But, as every dance does, their needed a little flourish.

Spencer reached out and caressed her cheek again, his thumb going straight to her lips. Y/N opened her mouth and sucked it in, swirling her tongue around it and groaning at the way he bit his lip when she did so.

"Fuck, pretty girl, you're gonna ruin me if you keep that up."

She smiled at his words, which allowed him to press his thumb flat down onto her tongue. Her mouth remained open as he held it there, her pants and moans coming out clear as day. And as if that wasn't hot enough, she batted her eyelashes up at him, and he fucked her even faster, both of them starting to feel the signs of impending orgasm.

He could have kept his thumb in her mouth forever, but to aid her in pleasure, he removed it, dragging it down her chin before bringing it to her clit and rubbing in tight circles.

"Fuck, Spence, that's it," Y/N moaned, looking down between their bodies and almost losing it at the sight that beheld her. "Don't stop, don't fucking stop!"

He leaned forward to kiss her then, the new angle finally bringing her over the edge. She cried out into his mouth as it explored her own, soaking up all the sounds she made and using them to fuel his own release.

They came together, and it felt like years of tension and anticipation and love finally culminated into one giant explosion that enveloped them whole. It felt like, for a moment, nothing else in the world existed, only Spencer, Y/N, and their palpable connection that felt very much like a home in and of itself.

Even as they came down, their breathing slowing down and their touches becoming gentler, that explosion quieted right alongside them, an echo of love and warmth lingering in its wake.

Spencer pulled out and laid beside her, reaching out and gently touching the bruise under her eye. "You okay?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "Yes. I'm more than okay... I'm perfect."

He smiled at her, pure, true comfort settling in his bones. It was a rare feeling, but he was glad that it came with her presence. "Me, too. And I... I meant what I said last night, Y/N, I... I love you. More than words could accurately describe."

Her heart swelled at his words. "I love you, too, bud. More than anything in the world."

He contemplated for a minute, a smile forming as he said his next words. "More than pickles?"

Y/N threw her head back in a boisterous laugh that made Spencer's heart beat a little faster, before playfully hitting his harm and snuggling up next to him. "Yes, definitely more than pickles."

"Good. That would have been embarrassing."

"I don't love you more than peppermint hot chocolate, though. Or that cuckoo clock."

Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Yeah, but I got you those things, so technically that means you have to love me at least as much as them..."

"Okay. That's fair, I'll give you that one."

With an over-exaggerated, "Phew," Spencer smiled and pulled her closer, the warm sunlight from the windows giving him the most clear view of their legs tangled together over her lavender-colored comforter. It was so domestic, so perfect and loving and real that he never wanted to forget it.

He was thankful that he never would.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @s1utformgg @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666

TAGS NOT WORKING: @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith

If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment, and I’ll add you!

#mercy 1k celebration #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

437 notes · View notes

wastelandcth · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder - afi

summary: A brighter day is coming my way.

author’s notes: I’m going to be really honest, this was @in-superbloom birthday present last week and I wanted to share it with her first before everyone else got to read it too. Inspired by this song!

warnings: angst, ashton is sad and that’s okay.

masterlist || request

Ashton watched as the black clouds passed overhead, swirling into themselves before being spit back out. They were heavy with rain and at a moment's notice, prepared to flood the Earth with their torrential tears. If he was truly worried about the rain, he would've moved inside, found comfort in the warmth of the home he'd made for himself. He probably would've wrapped himself up in the fuzzy robe that was currently on the floor of his bathroom and laid around the house listening to the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the roof and the windows. He would've sipped on a warm coffee and watched as the mountains he lived in disappeared behind the fog of rain and thunder, listening to the music that nature provided for him. If he was really worried about the rain, Ashton would've been more careful to no be in his pool, floating through the water as he tried to clear his mind the only noise around him was the muffled sound of thunder beneath the surface of the water.

But Ashton did not have a care in the world. Well actually, that was a lie. He had a lot of cares in the world and it was sinking him down further and further, weighing on him like a stack of brick placed on his shoulders ready to pull him deeper under the water, until the first raindrop landed against his forehead.

The past couple of days had been a whirlwind for him. His body and mind were completely apart and Ashton had, on multiple occasions, found himself doing things he'd never even remember starting. There was the day where Ashton looked up only to find himself in the studio with Calum, something he hadn't remembered planning or even getting up to do. Then there was the date night he'd gone to, where his eyes were focused on the screen for far too long before he realized that he'd been at a movie theatre. It seemed like his life was going on without him and Ashton wasn't too sure how to stop it. The raindrop, a heavy and cold presence on his skin, left him gasping as the world paused for just a moment, everything hanging in a suspended silence before the sky opened up and curtains of rain fell down on Ashton.

"What are you doing?" a voice called out, over the splashing of rain and thunder, bringing Ashton's eyes from the sky and over to the sliding glass door that had opened up much like the skies had a few seconds ago, "You're an absolute madman!"

Ashton watched her, her own wide eyes watching the scene in front of her, as she rushed over to the edge of the pool with a towel in her hands and her eyes squinting as the raindrops crashed against her skin. He was out of the pool before he could even register his body moving, his hands taking the towel and wrapping it around his shoulders, not that it made much of a difference. The dry towel soon became another weight on his shoulders, soaked with rainwater and the pool water that Ashton had dragged out with him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked confused, his hands on her arms as he watched the soft strands of her hair stick to her forehead, "I thought you were out of town this week?"

"My meetings got canceled," she called out, her body jumping over the loud crack of thunder that shook the ground beneath them, "I called but you didn't answer."

Ashton frowned, his eyes searching for any sense of regret in her eyes, another loud crack of thunder finally spurring him into motion as his feet led both of them back through the glass doors. The whoosh of the doors sliding close, blocking out the rain storm from their shivering bodies, made Ashton's ears ring and with the silence that it left behind. His eyes watched his backyard, only hours before sunny and bright now covered in fog and clouds that felt more like his brain, the wind picking up and slamming down onto the ground. The trees around his house shook and swayed, dancing in the wind as the world shook around the storm.

"Ashton," her voice whispered, the warmth on her hand finding the cold skin of Ashton's back, the feeling sending goosebumps through his body as his eyes closed, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ashton mumbled, "I guess it's just been a bad day," he shrugged, his eyes finally opening to look over at her, a frown finding its way on his face as he saw her, "We need to get you into a warm shower, you're going to get sick."

Before she could answer, before she could throw a snarky reply back at him, Ashton took her hand and led her through the quiet of his house. Their footsteps echoed through the halls, the silence cut sharply when the shower was turned on. He knew he was being stubborn, that she was just trying her best to help him vent and open up with what was on his mind, but Ashton could barely put into words what exactly was wrong. The bathroom was soon steaming, the warm fog enveloping Ashton and her in the safety of the shower, melting down Ashton's stress and fog in his own brain.

"I missed you," Ashton whispered, his forehead leaning against hers as he breathed in the steam, letting it clear his lungs and his mind, "I missed you a lot."

"I missed you too," she whispered, her hands coming up to tangle in the curls Ashton knew she loved so much, "And you know that I'm always here for you. That the cloudy days are going to clear up."

Laying in bed, under the bedsheets with the warmth of her body next to his, Ashton looked out the tall windows that his bedroom had. He remembered when he'd first toured the place, the large windows almost made him skip the tour, he had never liked the idea of big windows because it meant that he'd have to buy large curtains and he wasn't even sure where to start looking for them. But he eventually looked past the troubles that came with large windows and as he laid there in bed, listening to the soft breaths that left her as she laid her head on his chest, he realized that those giant windows were a blessing. The storm outside had slowly passed, the harsh wind reduce to a soft breeze and the black clouds now replaced with thin white clouds floating through the sky.

"I love you," Ashton whispered, knowing that the words would fall on sleeping ears and that he would eventually find the courage to scream them out when she was awake, "Brighter days are coming our way."

Because Ashton knew that the dark days had taken over and that they felt impossible to get away from, that the wind and the thunder in his brain would soon end and eventually, the sun would shine. He knew that the cold he felt in his bones would be replaced with warmth one day, much like the warmth he felt there next to her in bed, and that eventually the stars would align and Ashton knew that tomorrow would be kinder.

join my taglist: @hoodhoran @moonlightcriess @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lowkeyflop @conversecake @hemmo1996-5sosvevo @ashtonsunflower @2fangirl4u @multistann @wiiildflowerrr @himbohood @in-superbloom @suchalonelysunflower @killmywildflower @sebsbrokentoe @nicebasscalum @itwouldburnupintheatmosphere @mikelitorisdotcom @letmereadpls @hardcandyhemmo @xxxlaura @whywontyoulovemecami

#ashton irwin fics #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin blurbs #ashton irwin imagines #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin x you #ashton irwin #5sos fics #5sos fanfic #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos x reader #5sos x you #5sos #5 seconds of summer #gemma writes

115 notes · View notes

wasabito · 3 years

Text

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

#bokuaka x reader #bokuto x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut

788 notes · View notes

xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

bands | five

[ series masterlist ]

summary: jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you.

pairing: stripper!reader x idol!jjk

genre: (18+) strip club/nightlife au, post grad au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.2k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, implied nudity/nudity (at the nightclub), teasing, sprinkle of breast touching, alcohol consumption, pole dancing, straddling/lap dances, slight degradation/implied degradation, rough handling, flashback scene

note: took a stab at this jungkook one shot + wips are updated!

tags: @brightcolorsoffendme @min-nicoleee @eggbutnotyolk @ra-mun-e @miinoongi@ephemeralkookie @ppeachyttae @thebeebi @bluesharksandfish @kooafraid @liriaus @thisartemisnevermisses @ggukkieland @preciouschimine @sunniejinnie (please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

'Do better' is exactly what Jungkook does, because he wants you, and he wants you bad. He thought he had you wrapped around his finger, when in fact, you had him wrapped around yours and he was crumbling by the minute. It's a little entertaining to you, seeing his name pop on your phone throughout the day with texts like:

[jungkook]: have a good day today, pretty lady.

[jungkook]: :)

[jungkook]: can't stop thinking about you and how good you looked last night.

[jungkook]: hope you aren't overworking yourself.

[jungkook]: can i call you tonight?

You would chuckle every single time, seeing him weak for you. You weren't gonna lie - you were fucking weak for him too, cause lord, who wouldn't be with Jungkook? The only difference is that you were just the stronger one between the both of you.

Ha, ain't shit but a hairflip. You for sure got this from your mama.

"To the club for Yoongi hyung's birthday!" Taehyung yells after they finish rehearsals for the next set of performances scheduled to happen in the next week and filming some content for Youtube.

"To the club-club!" Namjoon responds, throwing his hat back on.

"Excited to see some pretty girls shaking their ass and titties in my face." Yoongi lets out a cocky laugh.

"No private show?"

"No, hell no. I want 'em all." Yoongi smirks. "Jungkookie is the only one who loves his private shows."

"Yeah, yeah." Jungkook brushes it off with a chuckle.

"Are we finally gonna figure out who she is tonight?"

"Nope. She's not working tonight. Good try." He feels relieved saying that because to be honest, he's feeling completely and utterly selfish with you. He didn't wanna share, not with the guys. Hell no.

Except he's gonna have to tonight and he has yet to learn that.

» FLASHBACK

Jimin had just solidified the plans with Yoongi a couple of hours ago, learning that he wanted to head to the strip club for his birthday. And yeah, everyone has their own favorites. Everyone has their own agenda coming to the club. But, Yoongi says he wants to shut down the club for the evening so all 7 of them can enjoy the general floor together.

So, Jimin makes it a goal to grant Yoongi's wishes, but he also has another thing on his mind.

He had been picking up on Jungkook's little habits lately, even though he was notorious for always being on his phone and for barely paying attention to the environment around him. Jimin just knew he had it bad for you, miss new girl, simply by how his mood would change whenever he looked at his phone. How he was always at the club. How he always got shy and beat around the bush whenever you were brought up.

He just knew.

And to be honest, he was concerned. Moreso for Jungkook and his safety. Jungkook and his feelings. Things didn't sit right for him, and he worried that you were only out for his money. For his fame. For the attention. For all the wrong things. And he didn't like that shit one bit. He wasn't gonna let anyone take advantage of his little brother like that, he wouldn't give anybody the chance.

He wants to figure out who exactly you were. He wants to find out what you're all about. He wants to finally meet you face to face.

"Mr. Park Jimin!" Mr. Bigs says with a loud laugh. Jimin gives him a small smile as he tugs the brim of his hat down and approaches him. "How can I help you?"

"Yoongi's birthday is coming up at the end of the week, is it possible to shut the club down so the rest of the guys can enjoy the general stage together?" He pulls out an envelope and hands it to Mr.Bigs, his smile getting bigger the more he counts all the dollar bills inside.

"Whatever works for my boys." He laughs.

"Thanks." Jimin chuckles. "Uh, one more thing - if it's not too much of a bother, could I request a specific dancer to be out on the floor that night?"

"Yeah, of course you can. Who's the lady we're thinking of?"

"Whoever Jungkook's lady is." Mr. Bigs laughs so more and nods.

"Ah, I'm assuming he wants her there, huh? He really loves watching that young lady, but hey, whatever works and makes ya'll happy right?"

"Yeah, I suppose he does. I'd like to keep the request between us though." Jimin lies.

"Don't you worry about it. I'll make sure Phoenix is there that night. I'll have all of this covered so Mr. Min Yoongi has a fantastic birthday." He winks.

"Thanks, sir. We'll see you then." Jimin nods his head before heading out. Mr. Bigs waits until Jimin is out the door before pulling out his phone to give you a call.

"Hello?"

"You need to be here Friday, special request."

"From who? Can't I just take the—"

"Stop questioning me little girl, you hear me? Your ass better be here on Friday or else I'm taking a chunk out of your fucking tips and check." He abruptly ends the call.

» END FLASHBACK

And so the infamous Bangtan Sonyeondan boys are dressed, whipping out their cleanest, black attires from their closets. They take a couple of shots back to back before they're loading into their cars to be driven to the strip club. The club is empty, except for a few body guards, bar staff and the dancers.

"Oh shit, we get our own private show? Like actually?" Yoongi says, stepping into the empty club that was more than ready for the boys' arrival. There were topless dancers waiting alongside the stage with trays filled with different drinks and shots.

"Happy birthday, hyung." Jimin says, playfully massaging his shoulder.

"God, this is such a good way to end the day." Namjoon takes a shot from one of the beautiful ladies near the general stage. He smirks at her as he eyes her up and down, licking his lips when he realizes how fucking skimpy the bikini bottom she has on actually is. "Sheesh."

"Boys!" Mr. Bigs' deep voice comes from the other end of the club as he approaches them. "Please, enjoy and help yourself to whatever you like. Happy Birthday, Mr. Min Yoongi." He winks.

"Thank you, sir!" Yoongi yells as he grabs another shot from the tray. The rest of the boys follow suit, taking more drinks and eyeing the ladies around them, but Jungkook helps himself to a seat in the front of the general stage.

"Someone misses his private lady." Hobi jokes, causing him to shake his head.

"Whatever, as long as I don't have to share her with you guys." He spits out. "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine." Jungkook finishes jokingly with his infamous line. It seems like a full house of dancers tonight, either on the sidelines or now entering the general stage. Jungkook rests his foot on his knee, ready to get the night started so he can enjoy, but also hurry on home afterwards to try and hear your voice.

But you were in the back room of the club.

No one really knew what was going on outside unless you had been outside already. Mr. Bigs gave you all a pep talk saying each and every single one of you needed to be on your best behavior, especially out on the floor. Bigs and his men refused to name the special guests just so none of you would psych yourselves out and mess up. You didn't know you were soon going to be catering to the BTS boys together, and Jungkook didn't know you were going to be one of the main dancers on stage either. His eyes were glazing over the rest of the girls on stage because they weren't you, to be honest. I mean, hell. It's always nice to be around topless, beautiful women. But he had gotten so used to seeing you. Your face. Your body. Touching you. Smelling your strawberry scent.

Jimin situates himself next to Jungkook, the rest of the group aligning themselves along the seats in front of the stage. He eyes Jungkook, taking note of how uninterested and bored he was - so bored that he even caught him trying to hide his yawn. Maybe he was just tired, as with everyone else, but that just meant his special lady friend wasn't out yet.

"You three, up. Now." Bigs says, coming into the backroom from the floor, pointing his finger towards the curtains. "Phoenix, remember. Don't throw no stupid ass attitude out there, playing hard to get like you're some kind of queen." He scoffs in disgust before dismissing the three of you. You roll your eyes, already highly irritated being there since it was originally your day off and no one wanted to give you answers as to why you needed to be there. Mr. Bigs had almost all the dancers out here to tonight, why the fuck would he need you?

The lights are off for a quick second before they dimly shine onto the stage, the music playing loudly in the background. You step onto the stage, your eyes instantly landing on the man front and center.

Jungkook.

You swallow the lump in your throat seeing the rest of the boy band around him, already smirking and licking their lips at the sight of you and the two other dancers on the stage. Jungkook adjusts himself in his seat, fixing his jacket as he sits upright to lean forward onto his knees. His eyes are glued onto you, almost like he's confused as to why you're here right now.

Why you're giving him and his boys a show.

Jimin catches Jungkook's slight uneasiness, his gaze following Jungkook's onto the stage. His eyes were set on you, the pretty lady swirling her body around the silver pole in the middle of the stage.

"She's fucking beautiful." Yoongi says, immediately getting up and reaching into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out some bills. He stands in the front, almost blocking Jungkook's view of you. He catches Yoongi placing a couple of hundreds under the bottom portion of your fishnet bodysuit. The bodysuit that captured your curves so perfectly - thighs thick and full, ass cheeks popping out of the thong portion, your titties and pussy very visible through the fishnet material. God, you were a fucking beauty. Jungkook watches as you squat in front of Yoongi, bouncing up and down before you get up scandalously and shake your ass in front of his eyes. "Ohhhh shit." Yoongi bites onto his bottom lip as he laughs and tucks more bills near your thigh.

"It's his birthday!" Hobi yells, causing you to smirk at Yoongi and grab his hand to let him feel up on your breast. Jungkook shifts in his seat, a little envious of how Yoongi was able to touch you in that way before he was able to. Like fuck? Could it be my birthday too? Could it be my birthday everyday? He was never gonna let this one go. He continues to watch as you push Yoongi back onto his chair and give him a birthday lapdance.

"Happy birthday." You say softly in his ear before getting back up on the stage to do some tricks on the pole.

One, two: Turn upside down.

Three, four: Wrap them legs around.

Five, six: Treat the pole like a slip and slide.

Seven, eight: Flip back up and slide back down.

"Damn, it's my birthday over here too." Jin says tapping his lap and tossing a roll of bills near you before looking over at Taehyung. He's also throwing bills onto the stage, but he's focused on the other main lady off to the side. Still doesn't mean he isn't throwing bills your way either, cause he is every chance he gets to look over at you.

"Like what you see?" Jimin jokes with Jungkook.

"Yeah." Is all he says as he's approaching you. He gives you this look, which you don't understand what it means, but you didn't have the time to decipher it right at this moment. You watch Jungkook closely, his mouth pressed tightly together as his eyes are still scanning your entire body before he brings them back up to meet your eyes. You crawl towards him seductively, your fingers lightly brushing down his neck before you gently tug on his jacket. He doesn't say anything as he tucks bills near your titties, giving you one last look before sitting back down in his seat.

The main show comes to an end pretty quickly afterwards, other dancers making their way to the poles if they wanted or kept serving the boys whatever they needed. You hop off the stage, collecting your bills and folding them tightly together, tucking it deep on the side of your breast to keep it hidden. You head outside to get some air because what the fuck just even happened? You weren't expecting that whatsoever, even though you knew better than that. You should have always thought there would be a chance you'd have to do what you just did. You should have always been prepared.

"Lil mama, you looked good dancing up there in that tiny ass suit you got on." One of the men in Bigs' crew said as they lingered outside the backroom door, smoking cigarettes. "What do you say? Wanna come home with me so I can help get that off?" He smirks, approaching you.

"I'm only out here to get some air, please don't come up to me with all that bullshit." You spit out, causing the guy to furrow his brows at you.

"This one's got a little fire in her." He laughs, coming closer to you. "Whatchu gonna do if I don't take no for an answer, miss thang?" He grips your wrist tightly. You try to break free, but after tonight, you were too fucking tired to even deal with his stupid shit. "Oh, she's weak now?" He grips tighter, making you wince as you try to pry him off. He brings you closer, his face inches away from yours - so close you can smell the smoke and alcohol mixed together, coming off of his breath. Suddenly, you hear someone clear their throat behind them, their attention going from you to the individual. "Oh shit, it's Jeon Jungkook." You watch as the man lets you go, Jungkook standing there with his hands in his pockets and jaw clenched. He doesn't say anything besides nod to acknowledge them. "Big fan, dude."

"The fuck? I had my private show scheduled with Phoenix almost 10 minutes ago. You guys have been holding her up?" Jungkook is obviously throwing on an angry act because you didn't have any private shows booked tonight.

"Shit, my bad. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know cause you were too busy being a jackass?"

"Mr. Jeon, no disrespect here. I'm sorry I took time away from your show. Please, take whatever time you need with her - on me." He says, his friends silently standing by as they throw their cigarettes and go back inside.

"Yeah, it should be on you for fucking wasting my time." Jungkook doesn't say anything else, but he does glare at him until he's almost tripping over himself making his way back inside the club. "You okay?" Jungkook asks, coming closer.

"Yeah. Thanks." You rub your hand up and down your arm, the cold air nipping at your skin.

"I thought you said you weren't working tonight."

"I wasn't supposed to. Bigs just told me I was requested to be here tonight." You raise your eyebrow. "Wait, how did you not know? I thought it was—"

"You thought it was me that requested for you?" He chuckles. "Funny that you think I'd share you with the guys."

"Sooo?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe he just wanted his best dancers to be here."

"Hm." You slightly smirk at the compliment. "Best dancers, huh?" He rolls his eyes and playfully sighs.

"Yeah, don't milk it." A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You gonna be here all night?"

"Possibly since it's Yoongi's birthday." You nod. He stays silent as he looks at you for a bit, his head slightly cocked to the side.

"So does he get a pass for tonight?" Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head.

"Only cause it's his birthday."

"Mm, not even because he's your senior or anything of the sort?"

"Nah." He smiles a bit. "Not at all. I hope you know I'll never forget it."

"Please, I didn't know Jeon Jungkook was a drama actor, too. What can't he do?" You sarcastically say.

"Okay, say whatever you want." He kicks the dust below his shoes as he lightly chuckles with you. It's silent again, but it's a calming silence. There's no awkward vibes or anything of that matter. You begin to rub your arms again, the cold nipping at your skin harshly. "You should get back inside, it's freezing." He watches you shiver in front of him. He isn't sure if he should hand you his jacket, even if he does want to help you out in the slightest bit, but he figures he shouldn't since you still needed to finish your shift.

"Okay." Your expression softens. "See you in there?" He silently nods, watching your hips sway back and forth until you're deeper in the club. The night doesn't end for everyone until a little bit past 2, close to 3am. You're hauling your tired ass back home, Kai struggling and barely making it alive as soon as you walk through your front door.

"Jesus fuck, thank god." He shuts the TV off and covers his entire body with the blankets.

"Kai, I told you that you didn't have to wait."

"Well until you're out of the club, this is my life now." Why was everyone so dramatic tonight? You chuckle to yourself.

"Okay, if you say so. Night bubba."

"Night." He yawns. In about 2 seconds, he's back to snoring loudly, causing you to laugh to yourself as you get ready for bed.

[jungkook] 3:14am: home?

[y/n] 3:17am: yes. you?

Maybe Kai didn't have to stay up for you after all.

[jungkook] 3:23am: yeah.

[jungkook] 3:24am: i'm assuming you had a really long day today so sleep well, Y/N. can i call you tomorow?

[y/n] 3:20am: you can, i don't know if i'll answer though. :) goodnight jungkook.

And so Jungkook smiles to himself before grabbing a water and heading back to his dorm room. He was slowly getting used to your sarcasm and attitude, being that he has never had to deal with someone being this way towards him. It was fun, and new.

"So was your lady actually there tonight?" Taehyung asks with Jimin sitting next to him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jungkook scrunches his nose before turning on his heel to walk away.

"Wow, Jungkookie is being selfish. Namjoon hyung go scold him." Namjoon laughs.

"Jungkookie don't be selfish." Joon says nonchalantly just to keep Taehyung happy.

"Yeah, yeah." He shuts himself in his room to get ready for bed. Jimin silently sits next to Taehyung as they relive the night's events before going to bed. He had seen you and Jungkook talking outside, which only solidifies his assumption.

And he was onto you.

youtube

i'm good on that pussy shit; i don't want what i can get, i want someone with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows

track six: gangsta - kehlani

466 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

for you and i

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: honestly just pure fluff, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, implied smut (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.2k Summary: A small collection of moments throughout reader’s and Spencer’s evolving relationship that features their song. A/N: this symbol ~~ signifies a time jump.

A/N: i finished my rewatch of bones last night (im hella emotional), and one of my favourite “running gags” from the show is hot blooded being booths and brennans song, and how the writers reminded us of that from season to season. it definitely definitely inspired me to write this. also i did this instead of working on my assignment as a birthday gift from me to me lmao ENJOY

The plane trip back home was completely silent.

Morgan and JJ were catching up on much needed sleep. Emily, lost in thought, observed the night sky through the small window. Rossi was reading, as Hotch worked his way through some case files.

Spencer sat next to you at the far end of the jet. You were listening to music while his nose was buried in a book. Although you could tell he couldn't really concentrate on the words as the page remained unturned for the last fifteen minutes.

“Why don’t you let your eyes rest for a minute?” You suggested, carefully taking out one earphone. “A short nap could be good for you. It doesn’t look like you’re retaining any information anyway.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with you. He shut the novel in his lap and tilted his head to look at you, his lips pursed into a thin shy smile. “You should get some sleep too Y/N.”

“I’m okay.” You replied. “Plus someone has to keep watch in case the jet gets abducted by aliens or something.” A sly grin appeared on your face as Spencer chuckled softly. He rested his head against the chair and gradually closed his eyes.

You watched him for a moment. Examining his perfect features. Your innocent crush growing by the second - something you would never admit out loud in fear it would ruin your friendship.

When you were about to place the earpiece back in your ear, his eyes shot back open. He sighed heavily.

"I actually don’t think I can.” Spencer said quietly and once again turned his attention to you. His gaze briefly landed on the phone in your hands before travelling up to your face. “Did you know that in addition to aiding relaxation and helping with falling asleep quicker as well as improving sleep quality, playing music before bed can improve sleep efficiency? Which means more time you are in bed is actually spent sleeping.” You raised a curious brow waiting for him to continue, but he just asked: “Can I ask what you are listening to?”.

Instead of answering his question, you wiped the dangling earphone against your blouse and handed it to him. He took it, a little hesitantly, and placed it in his ear - the two of you unconsciously shifting closer to one another.

You could tell by the expression on his face that he didn't know the song currently playing, nor did he particularly like it, but he didn't protest or ask you to skip it. In his eyes, you were kind enough to share your source of entertainment therefore he would never push to change what you were clearly enjoying.

The song ended, another began, and another, and another. Eventually Spencer closed his eyes again. The two of you continued to silently listen to the various songs on your playlist - a wild mix of different artists and genres, definitely showcasing your weird music taste.

Touch Me by The Doors began to play.

“I like this one.” Spencer muttered, eyes still closed. “I didn't peg you to be a rock fan.” You stated curiously. Spencer chuckled softly. “I wouldn't call myself a fan per se, this is just a very good song.” “This is actually my favourite song of theirs.” You proclaimed.

Sinking deeper in your seat, you quietly sang along. “What was that promise that you made?” To your pleasant surprise, the young doctor joined in. “Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?”

Lost in the pure bliss of the moment, you gently rested your head against Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at you and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

“Watch it!!!” You shouted and rudely gestured after the vehicle that overtook you out of nowhere, almost sliding right into your car. Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair before placing them on the wheel again. A deep sigh escaping your lips in the process.

Spencer chuckled next to you. “Maybe next time I’ll drive.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, tone of your voice changing completely for a moment. “People are just so fucking stupid.” The groan was full of annoyance, and it only made the young doctor snicker louder.

“How about we turn on the radio?” Spencer suggested. “Cool you down a little since we have another hour drive ahead of us, and I would preferably like to get there in one piece.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but didn’t protest.

Taking your silence as a yes, Spencer fumbled with the car radio.

‘Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe’

Voice of Jim Morrison blared through the speakers. Instantly, your whole body loosened up. No longer feeling annoyed or angry. Driver’s rage dissipated. The frown circling your features was replaced by a happy smile.

‘Can't you see that I am not afraid?’

Stopping at a red light, you looked at Spencer who was lightly bopping his head to the beat of the music. His gentle curls bouncing with his every move.

“You know, the universe is telling us that this is our song now.” You noted. The young doctor met your gaze, and the grin present on his face made your heart skip a beat. A faint hit of nerves cascaded through your body as you anxiously waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a good song. The universe could have wished us a lot worse.”

As the light ahead turned green, and you were driving once again, the two of you burst into the chorus as loud as you possibly could: “Now, I'm going to love you! Till the heavens stop the rain!”.

The bar was filled to the brim with people wanting to unwind after a long week of work. That included the BAU team.

“One more for the road!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. He motioned to Hotch for assistance and the two of them briskly walked off in the direction of the bar. “While they’re gone, I’m gonna hop to the loo.” Penelope chimed. “I’ll join you.” JJ spoke up and they hurried off.

Spencer sat beside you, shoulder pressed lightly to yours. He was sipping on the remainder of his drink and you were about to open your mouth to say something, engage him in conversation, when you heard it. The song. Your song.

Your head instantly snapped up at him and a mischievous grin spread on your face. By the time Spencer realised what was going on, you were up on your feet grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him onto the self-made dance floor.

You began to sway along to the music. The alcohol currently flowing through your veins definitely made you that much braver. It also gave Spencer the confidence boost he needed to join you with no objections.

Despite the questionable looks you were undoubtedly receiving, the two of you jumped around like kids. Singing the song out loud to one another. It was as if the world around you disappeared. Like you and Spencer were the only people left in the bar.

‘Till the stars fall from the sky’

And when the night concluded, when everyone said their goodbyes, Spencer continued to hum the melody of your song as he waited with you for the taxi. It was then you chose to make the first move - colliding your lips with his in a carefree kiss.

They were softer than you ever imagined.

All at once, the attraction between you two and the tension that built up over the years burst. You grabbed onto his jacket pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the cold night air didn’t feel so cold anymore. It was hot, burning like a flame. Your body was on fire and so was his.

Spencer’s long arms wrapped around you, trapping you in the fire. One of his hands moved lower down your back, while the other tightly gripped your hair. The sensation that he felt was unimaginable. He always imagined what you would taste like, although he never expected anything would happen. He imagined how your body would feel against his. How your lips taste. But this, this exceeded all expectations.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He said in a smoky voice after pulling away, his hands now holding your face. “That’s what I was going to say.” You managed to whisper before his lips landed on yours again. Your heart pounding hard inside your chest, it felt as if it was about to explode.

Spencer huffed as he placed a heavy cardboard box down on the ground. He straightened himself, flattened down his crinkly t-shirt, and turned to you with a smile. “That’s the last of it.” He stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips.

“My hero.” You ambled towards him and pecked his lips. “Thank you.” His arms made their way around your waist, pulling you in close. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead before glancing around the room.

“I can’t believe we’re officially moved in together.”

“It’s been a longtime coming.”

“That it definitely has.” Spencer smiled kissing you. He let his arms fall and shuffled around to start unpacking.

Having planned ahead, you removed a speaker from your handbag. You quickly set it up, connecting it to your phone, and pressed play to ease the process that would carry on into the night.

Starting with the kitchen, and the more fragile items, the two of you made your way through the new apartment.

Hours passed. It was getting quite late as tiny yawns continuously escaped your lips. However, the hard work was paying off because space started to feel more and more like home.

You decided to finish up for the night - tomorrow was another day. Yawning, you leaned into the arms of your boyfriend. Spencer kissed the top of your head and began to sway you slowly from side to side.

Right on queue, the guitar intro you both recognised well began to play through the speakers. You smiled into his chest before breaking free from his embrace.

‘Yeah! Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Can't you see that I am not afraid’

Sharing a knowing look, you both started to dance. Not wanting to disrupt any neighbours you both chose not to sing along like you usually did. Instead, you mouthed the words in sync as if you were competing in a lip-sync battle.

‘What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?’

The two of you circled happily around one another. It wasn't long before the air guitars came into play.

And as the song concluded, Spencer cupped your cheeks. “I love you.” He muttered, gazing deep into your eyes. “I love you too.” You replied smiling.

Without another word, Spencer’s lips crashed against yours. Both your heads tilting hungrily from side to side to vary pressure. Hearts hammering loudly. Your hands made their way up his muscled back as his hands traveled down your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He suggested, his face still only inches away from yours. You lifted your hand, and brushed some of his light curls away behind his ear. “I do believe I read somewhere that it is considered bad luck not to christen the bed on the first night of living together.” You stated giggling.

Spencer raised an interested brow. “What else does the article say?”

“How about I just show you.” And like that, your lips were on his once again as he blindly led you to the bed.

“And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Dr. & Mrs. Reid, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”

Spencer turned to you, that warm kindhearted smile you loved so much circling his lips. He offered you his hand. “Mrs. Reid.” You took it gladly. “Dr. Reid.”

He led you to the middle of the dance floor and swiftly wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close, while the other hand intertwined itself with yours. Music started to play and the two of you swayed elegantly from side to side.

“I have a surprise for you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before briefly pulling apart and twirling you around.

Suddenly the music stopped. Sounds of disappointment echoed through the watching crowd as you shot your husband a quizzical look.

A melody you knew all too well filled the space.

Your mouth parted slightly in shock as Spencer let his arm fall from your waist. He spun you around once again and began rhythmically banging his head to the beat of the song. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight before joining in.

Excited screams echoed through the crowd as they cheered on. Even though you heard them, you knew people were watching and documenting this moment, you felt as if there was no-one else around - déjà vu.

Spencer pressed his forehead lightly to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His lips twirled into a smile. A big smile that you reciprocated. Feeling as if you were on cloud nine, you looked deep into each others eyes and whole heartedly sang along with the song. Your song.

‘I'm going to love you Till the heavens stop the rain I'm going to love you Till the stars fall from the sky For you and I’

masterlist

520 notes · View notes

americasmarauders · 3 years

Note

What about ....

“i’m not worthy of anybody’s love.” “that’s not true, you’re worthy of mine.” followed by the lover breaking eye-contact… + a love confession

Followed with tentative kisses in the dark

With Jason Todd x reader ❤❤❤❤❤

Lots of love xoxo

did this get completly out of hand? yes, yes it did. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but suddenly I had 12 pages of angst ready to make their way into the world.

I’m so sorry it took so long, elle, life got in my way, but now you have like, 6k+ words to make up for it. I really hope you like it.

warnings: completly unedited, sorry for the typos :))

words: 6,856

masterlist #

Aged 14, sometime in September.

Mason Anderson was the biggest dick she had ever met. He was petty and jealous and he picked on her just because. She just wanted peace, quietly resolving the homework she had spent an entire week working on. The library was empty, safe for a couple of other students when he barged in and robbed her of her papers.

He claimed he needed it more than her, he was the one almost flunking out of the class. She demanded her homework back, but he ran towards the boy’s bathroom with her work. It wasn’t the first time that sullen feeling of despair had been planted on her by Mason Anderson, it still didn’t make it any easier.

She sat in front of the boys bathroom, hugging her knees in an attempt to find comfort. She kept thinking that she could do it again, she had done it once, theoretically it would be faster to do it a second time. Light footsteps echoed through the hall, her eyes found their way to the source of the noise.

Jason Todd was a tiny kid with a big brain and an even bigger heart. He had helped her with English more times than she cared to admit. Sometimes she would see him walking towards the alley near the Academy, holding an extra package of chips to the little kid that stayed there sometimes. She liked Jason Todd, considering him the only alley she had inside the cold walls of the Gotham Academy.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, delicately, sitting beside her. “I thought you were gonna finish Statam’s paper today.”

“Mason Anderson stole it,” her eyes were cast downwards, looking at the seams of the floor with an almost inhuman interest. “He wanted to copy it, and I wouldn’t let him so he decided to flush down the toilet instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her, sitting next to her on the floor.

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, stretching her legs in front of her. “I just,” she sighed, trying to find the words, “I spent one week working on that, and I really needed the grade, you know? But he just didn’t care, he just thought of himself.”

Jason looked at her, softly. His eyes held a certain fire behind them, something she could never really describe what it was. It was entrancing, it calmed the pace of her heart. He didn’t say anything before getting up and marching towards the boys bathroom.

She didn’t hear anything going on inside, her mind imagining all sorts of scenarios where Jason would emerge from the bathroom beaten and defeated, Mason walking out completely victorious, with a shiny top grade Literature paper in hand. Her blood boiled at the image, more so than it did before. She got up from the ground, determined to help Jason win the fight, even if her papers were already down the plumbing.

But the door flung open, her friend walking out calmly, clutching her homework delicately. He offered her a smile, and as the door closed behind Jason she could see Mason on the ground gripping his nose in pain.

“Here,” the papers were completely dry to the touch, her confusion deepening. “He was copyin’ it.”

“I can’t believe you got this back,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought… I thought I'd have to redo it.”

“Nah,” he smiled shyly, “I would’ve helped ya.”

“I can’t really depend on you for everything, Jason,” she replied politely. “It’s not fair.”

“I got your back,” he affirmed, “ya don’t need to worry.”

And it meant the world to her that he did.

Aged 16, October 12th.

Jason Todd and her became friends after the Mason Anderson incident. She didn’t know what Jason had said to him, what had he done, all she knew was that Mason never bothered her again after that.

It was the night of her 16th birthday. It was late, probably past 3 in the morning when Jason carefully landed on the fire escape that led to her bedroom. He carefully carried a small box, wrapped neatly with a blue bow. He had chosen the gift lovingly, his heart warm with her. Jason hadn’t expected her to be such an integral part of his life, but just as quietly as she arrived, she placed herself in his heart permanently. She was his friend, true friend, she didn’t expect anything other than his company and support, something he was glad to provide.

His knuckles lightly grazed her window, making the softest noise. Her shades were partially open, he could see her body lying comfortably on her bed. She moved slightly, her body turning towards the window. Her hands rubbed her eyes delicately, seeing Jason smile awkwardly at her. She got up and dragged her feet towards him, opening her window to him.

“What’re you doing here?” her voice was slurred, intoxicated with sleep.

“You know, you should really lock your windows,” he commented, “Gotham’s a dangerous city.”

“Jay,” she warned, “what’re you doing here? It’s…”she searched for her clock, “fuck, 3 in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” he responded clearly, as if it was the most obvious reason why he was on her fire escape, on a cold October night only wearing a light jacket.

She blinked at his blunt response, confused on what to say to him. “You’ll see me tomorrow, Jay, I don’t understand why’d you come all this way just to see me.”

“Because it’s you,” he shrugged, stepping into her bedroom silently. “You really thought I wouldn’t see you on your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. A soft breeze came in through the window sending shivers down her spine. Jason closed the window for her and she sent a silent thank you towards his way. “I thought you wouldn’t bother.”

“Well,” he extended the little box to her. Her fingers brushed on his softly, a shock sent on his skin at the touch, “I couldn’t not see you.”

Her hands hugged the box carefully, hesitant on what to do with what was given to her. “Open it,” he urged her.

She eyed him suspiciously, undoing carefully the blue bow that decorated the gift. Opening the box, a tiny robin pendant next to two tiny stones pendants, an opal and an onyx: her birthstone and his. “Wow,” she breathed out, her heart racing inside her chest. Suddenly, she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Jason, this is… You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had,” he stated, his eyes soft and loving, lingering on her more than they should. “You mean a lot to me, darling.”

Her eyes glinted underneath the pale moonlight streaming through the half closed curtains of her room. Jason’s breath hitched quietly at the sight of her, disheveled and sleepy and yet the most perfect person to grace his life. She was at a loss for words for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth, not knowing how to react. Her eyes trailed frenetically over the pendants, trying to find meaning in those.

“Why a robin?” the inquiry startled Jason. He wasn’t expecting to explain himself, much less explain why he had given her a robin pendant. She had no clue what he did when the night fell, who Bruce actually was and he intended to keep her in the dark about that aspect of his life. She didn’t need to know anyway, and telling her would only put her in danger. That was what Bruce made her believe.

“It reminded me of you,” he answered, simply, his eyes fixated on her angelic face.

It wasn’t untrue. Robins were friendly and protected over, birds that should never be harmed. Jason made sure of that, he had her back, always, and he knew she had his. But mostly, he wanted her to have a piece of him everywhere she went. If something were to happen, he wanted to guarantee he wouldn’t be a footnote in her life. What a magnificent life that would be, he knew.

Her eyes ran on his face, looking for a hint that he wasn’t sincere, that he was just messing with her. The thought was more heartbreaking than she anticipated. She found nothing malicious in his face, in his eyes, and smiled back at him. “Thank you, Jay,” she kissed his cheek delicately, her lips barely brushing his skin. It was enough to send both of them into a frenzy of feelings, a thousand thoughts running through their heads.

“Here,” he extended his hands, his eyes clear and full of emotion for her, “I’ll put it on for you.”

She handed him the box, turning around so he could clasp the hook of the necklace. Jason was considerably smaller than her - she guessed it was because of the years of malnutrition he endured when he lived on the streets - so she sat on her bed to meet his height. His fingers brushed slightly at the back of her neck, sending goosebumps on her body.

It was when she turned to look at him again that she realized that maybe Jason wasn’t just a friend to her. Maybe the interest she had in Jason, or how her heart raced when she saw him for the first time in the day weren’t because he was her friend. Maybe it was because she had decided to love him with all her soul.

Aged 16, April 28th.

It was ironic how sunny it was in Gotham that day. It was like nothing had happened, the world hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to be gloomy and sad outside, to match the pain she felt inside.

On the deep green grass of Gotham cemetery, stood her and Jason’s family, listening to a priest preach something meaningless to her. Nothing mattered to her anymore, her friend, best friend, was buried deep into the earth, 6 feet under. She would never get to see him again, hear his laugh, take in his smile. She would never have another birthday with him, give him his favorite books, tell him she loved him. Her eyes were fixed on the fresh dirt lain over his shiny coffin, her hand fidgeting on the robin pendant Jason had gifted mer months before. It wasn’t an open casket, she couldn’t even see him for the last time.

The call was the most confusing moment she had ever gone through. He didn't even tell her he was going after his mom. He didn’t even get to explain that to her. Jason just burst through her window late at night, saying he was leaving Gotham for a few weeks, anger seeping through his pores and contaminating the room. His knuckles were badly bruised, as her fingertips lightly brushed he hissed. She didn’t question him, it didn’t even go through her head. He had said he wanted to find a part of him, and she nodded, wishing him luck.

Looking back, she wished she had begged him to stay, to find that part of him in Gotham, with her away from the perils of foreign bombs. Tears sprouted in her eyes as the thought passed through her head. It wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t predict a tragedy would have happened. It had become a mantra to her, and sometimes repeating it to herself didn’t help at all.

Bruce Wayne stood next to her, stoic, his face stony. It almost didn’t look like he had lost a son. But she saw how his jaw tensed, how it was similar to when Jason was upset and didn’t want to tell her about it. She could see how broken he was inside, how angry and desperate. She felt that too.

The priest stopped talking and the four people standing on that lawn let out a stuck breath of relief. Jason’s brother approached his Father, walking away from her. She stared at the stone, cold like Jason’s body, with the engrave ‘Jason Todd, beloved son and friend’. It didn’t make justice to what Jason actually was, he was much more than just a son and a friend, but it was what they used to describe him. If Jason had decided what his epitaph would be, surely would be a dramatic quote from Shakespeare.

Her name was called out in a posh british accent and she turned toward the person. What she saw was an older gentleman, holding a black umbrella to protect his baldness from the sun. A thin mustache hung over his upper lip, molded into a sad frown. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. Master Jason talked a lot about you,” he commented with his left hand behind his back.

“All good things, I hope?” she joked quietly, her eyes trailed to her black shoes, wet grass glued to the sides of it.

“The best things, I assure,” his voice was firm and calm, his accent oozed her security, something she was eager to cling on. He reached for the inner pocket of his blazer, pulling a crisp white card. She furrowed her eyebrows, accepting the card. On it, it had Alfred’s name, his profession underneath and a phone number. “If you ever find yourself needing anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

She nodded, her thumb lightly brushing the expensive paper on her hand. “Thank you Mister Pennyworth,” her eyes found the old man, the wrinkles around it making his stern stance seem gentler. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come over for some tea?” he offered. “I’m sure Master Bruce wouldn’t mind having his son’s friend over.”

She wanted to, a force inside her compelled her to accept his offer. But her heart was broken, and she didn’t know if she was ready to enter what used to be Jason’s home so fast after he was buried. At the same time, maybe she didn’t have the nerve to say no to such a kind person. “I--,” she hesitated, “okay, I’ll have some tea.”

Aged 18, mid-August.

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” her hands fiddling with the necklace Jason had given her long ago. “It feels like I’m at a crossroads and every sign points to the direction my heart doesn’t want to go.”

The old butler poured her mint tea - her favorite, as he had learned over the weekly visits she paid him - calmly and firmly as she ranted. “What is holding you back?”

She looked at Alfred, her eyes confused at the question. She hadn’t lingered on the fact of why she didn’t want to accept the scholarship on Metropolis. Her brain told her it was only logical, she would miss her parents, her weekly meeting with Alfred, her hometown. But Alfred was always one step ahead, he had a sixth sense as she had come to learn. “You know,” she replied softly, her eyes lingering on the beautiful teacup in front of her.

He said her name, getting her attention. “Master Jason isn’t here anymore,” he stated simply, laying cookies on her plate, “you don’t have to stay behind for him.”

“I know,” she picked up the spoon and twirled it between her fingers. “But,” she hesitated, not knowing how to phrase her feelings, “Alfred, I can’t even think of it. I can’t wrap my brain around leaving him.”

“You are not leaving him,” his voice was calm and gentle, softening her panic. “You are moving on.”

She shook her head, her eyes shut close tightly. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered, “I feel like I’m meant to be here, Alfred. I can’t really explain it.”

“Well, if you do decide to stay in Gotham, I hope we can continue our weekly teas,” Alfred said, a tone of hope in his voice.

She smiled at him, her eyes filled with kindness. “If I do decide to stay, I’d love to keep our weekly teas,” her smile stayed as she uttered the words. “I appreciate our time together, Alfred.”

“I’m honored,” he said to her, bringing the teacup to his lips.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and she turned around to see who it was. Turning around, her hand bringing the teacup to her lips, she saw a disheveled Bruce Wayne walking towards her. His eyes were barely opened, prominent bags under his eyes cast a shadow on his features. His tie hung untied on his neck, his shirt over his pants, the sleeves folded up to his elbows. It was a stark contrast from the Bruce Wayne she had seen at Jason's funeral, two years back, the one she saw frequently splattered on the news front pages.

“Oh,” he stopped on his tracks, his hands falling limply to his sides. His jaw tensed and, suddenly, a mask fell on his face, the vulnerability he displayed a few seconds before gone. He wasn’t anymore Bruce, a guy who had just woken up and wanted something from the kitchen of his oversized home, he was the Bruce Wayne, now. The velocity of the transformation haunted her. “I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

She rested the teacup pack on the counter, and got up from the stool. “I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne,” she muttered, extending her hand, introducing herself. “I am, was, Jason’s friend.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “I remember you.”

Alfred looked pointenly at Bruce as pulled a mug from a cabinet. He poured coffee for himself, and leaned against the counter next to Alfred. She stood there next to her stool, paralyzed in his presence. Everytime she was present in Wayne Manor, Bruce was either too busy to ever grace them with his presence, or away on some business trip she never bothered to ask what for. “We have weekly teas, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his tone laced with something deeper than announcing their weekly traditions.

Bruce’s jaw tightened somehow and his blue eyes rested on her. Her eyes drifted to her teacup, her tea getting cold. She was itching to grab it and drink it, but she felt uncomfortable even moving a inch from her place, much less feeling the liberty to resume her previous behavior. “Really?” his eyebrows shot up, his head tilting slightly. “Please, seat, pretend I’m not here.”

She hesitated before sitting back down. Her hands hugged her teacup, the warmth of it seeping through her skin. It was hard to pretend he was not there next to her, looking at her with judging eyes. She wondered if he remembered her from the funeral, if he had thought of her when he was thinking of Jason’s legacy, what his son had left behind. Her eyes looked up at Bruce before quickly darting back down to her tea, “Yeah, I don’t really wanna go to Metropolis,” she whispered, resuming her previous conversation with Alfred. The air in the kitchen was tense and awkward, she couldn’t look any of them men in the room in the eyes.

“I’m certain Gotham U will admit you,” Alfred reassured her, “You’re a brilliant person, they’d be fools to let you go.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her eyes were focused on the tea, like it was the most important thing in that kitchen. “They usually don’t take this long to send the letters, it’s making me nervous.”

“Gotham U, huh?” Bruce chipped in. “What’s your major?”

She looked expantly at Alfred, trying to see if he knew any of Bruce’s intentions. But she often forgot how impassive Alfred was, how in control of his emotions he was, something she lacked. He didn’t show her anything, she assumed he knew of something, like usually. “Applied physics,” she responded, quietly.

“Wow,” Bruce breathed out, “impressive.”

She offered him an awkward smile in return. It was hard to find a response to the reaction of others when they became aware of her major. It was highly uncommon, and usually those who followed that path were men. When people discovered what she wanted to do with her life, they almost always reacted like they had found an unicorn.

“Well, when you do graduate, look for me, I can help you get a job,” Bruce politely offered, his tone kind. She looked up at him for the first time, his expression almost fatherly.

“Thank you Mr. Wayne, that’s very kind of you,” she bored her head, looking down at her tea once again.

His phone rang, and he picked it up from his pocket. Her eyes trailed over to his expression, his jaw once again tense. “You’re welcome,” he replied, feigning happiness and comfort. “If you’ll excuse me,” he left the kitchen in broad steps, his shoulders tense and determined.

That was the first time she came to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was a strange man.

Aged 22, end of May.

College was an excruciating experience, but finally she had left it all behind. With her diploma in hands, she finally felt a small semblance of freedom, something she had longed when isinde the four walls of her old dorm in Gotham U.

She stepped into the ground floor of Wayne towers, her shoes clicking nervously on the floor. She had made sure to dress properly to meet Bruce Wayne, unsure of what he’d think if she showed up dressed like a broke college student, something that she very much was. It was the mentality of fake it till you make it, aim a bit higher and maybe you’ll get there. She desperately wished she’d get there.

One of the receptionists let her in, indicating the floor in which she should go to. Her hands sweat gripping the folder with her recommendations and her resume, she gulped looking at the elevator intently. Her free hand found its way to the tiny robin gently resting on her neck. She wished Jason was there to help her, give her tips on what to say to his Father to make him glad, and what to avoid doing so that he’d hire her. She could imagine him if she closed her eyes, next to her, barely taller than her, smiling at her wishing her good luck. The elevator dinged, bringing her back to reality. Jason wasn’t next to her, and she didn’t have anyone to give her tips on what to say to her potential boss. She was alone, just like she had been for six long years.

In spite of the hundred floors of the building - quite literally - the elevator ride was fast. When the doors opened, it revealed a small greeting room, with a couple of couches and a tall window illuminating it. She eyed directly in front of her, the double doors with a tiny plaque with the name Bruce Wayne engraved on it. Her eyes lingered on it for a couple of moments, as she walked towards the lonesome couch next to the big window. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating heart. She wondered if Bruce was already inside the room, if he remembered what he had offered to her all those years ago, or if he had just been polite and did not plan on following with it at all.

After that strange meeting with him four years back, she had barely seen him again. A couple of times she had seen a shadow passing through the corridors while she was heading out of the Manor, someone she assumed for the sake of her mental health it was Bruce Wayne and not a ghost. The notion that he was a strange man only intensified, adding the perception that he was hiding something. She knew he was a good actor, but she could see tiny cracks and slips, an ability gained from years of loneliness. It was hard to say what it was that he was keeping a secret from everyone, but there was something there.

Her name was called and she saw Bruce Wayne standing underneath the frame of the double doors that lead to his office. She got up promptly and walked towards him, her grip on her folder tight. His hand was extended and she shook it professionally, pretending like she wasn’t panicking inside.

“I have someone I’d like for you to meet,” he stated, guiding her inside his office. The office was probably four times bigger than the small room she had stayed previously, the large windows providing a beautiful view from Gotham. You could almost pretend it was a normal city looking out from that window. “This,” he motioned to the man sitting on a cozy nook in the back of the room, “is Lucius Fox.”

The man was big and well built, his round glasses standing on the tip of his nose. He smiled at her, crinkles forming beside his eyes. His hand found his glasses, taking them off and putting them in his pocket. “Nice to meet you, Miss. mr. Wayne has talked a lot about you,” he stated, his hand extended for her to take it.

She looked back at Bruce, confused. After all, he remembered her and he remembered his offer. She turned back to Lucius and shook his hand, a determined expression on her face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

“Lucius Fox is the head of our R&D department, and has agreed to take you as his personal apprentice,” Bruce explained.

Shock overcame her, her eyes wide. She looked between Lucius’ kind smile and Bruce’s stoic stance, unable to believe the opportunity was real. “Really?” she uttered incredulously.

“I have some personal projects and I’d very much need the help,” Lucius explained, calmly. “Mr. Wayne has talked highly of you, I’m eager to see what you’re capable of doing.”

“I--,” she shook her head, trying to get rid of the hesitation, “thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce responded, a small smile gracing his lips. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Aged 24, April 26th.

The humid air of the cave made sweat drip down her face as she tinkered away with a broken gadget she had designed for Bruce’s night time activities, as she had so dearly called it.

It was a new development, the cave and the capes and the vigilantism. The two years she invested working with Lucius all served a greater purpose to Bruce. She was to be the next Lucius Fox, help provide Batman, or rather Bruce - in her head it was still confusing to assume that the guy who had given her a job was the ‘Dark Knight’ - with gadgets capable of doing everything that his physical capabilities couldn’t. Lucius was old and reaching retirement, and even if he loved his job, he was reaching his limit. She was beyond grateful for his guidance, she had learned so much. But he had left her a fucking weird job. There was no other way to describe it.

The cave was quiet, Bruce had left sometime before, she could only hear Alfred quietly talking to Bruce through the comms and the drip-drip of water falling from the ceiling and hitting the small lake underneath her. She had settled in a little abandoned nook, her tools all scattered on top of her table. She rested the screw driver she was working with on the table, lifting the magnifying lens. She rubbed her face, tired of looking towards the tiny malfunctioning screen.

Her hands remained on her face, concealing her emotions. The robin pendant always felt especially heavy on the 26th of April. It had been 8 years since she had seen Jason, and as pathetic as it sounded, she never really got over the loss of him. They always felt particularly lost, she couldn’t focus on anything other than him, running circles around any problem presented to her. Looking at the gadget, it felt nearly impossible to find a solution to it, her mind foggy with sadness and grief that she could never really shake off, even with years between her and the day he had died.

The knowledge that Bruce kept everything as Jason had left, and even made a little homage to his Robin days in a secret corner of the cave, hidden from view, was heavy in her heart. She struggled to keep her eyes trailed to her task and not at the memory of Jason. She took a sharp breath, trying desperately to sew herself together. It was truly pathetic how much it still affected her, how open the wound still was.

A sharp motor sound echoed through the walls of the cave, disturbing the few bats that hung from the ceiling. A guy built like a fucking brick wall parked his bike on the platform, taking long strides towards where Alfred stood. He adorned a cracked red helmet that glistened in the white lights that illuminated the pathway. His heavy footsteps echoed through, her eyes unable to escape from him. She approached silently, praying that that loose panel near the little stairs that lead to the main computer wouldn’t scratch underneath her weight.

“Where the fuck is Bruce?” he growled, his hands balled into fists next to him. His leather jacket was worn and old, its sleeves bunched up near his elbow, exposing his veiny forearms. The cracked part of the helmet revealed his blue eyes, sparkling in a familiar way. It tugged her heartstrings, her hand instinctively went to her robin. It couldn’t be, Jason was dead.

“He’s on patrol, Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly, his eyes trailed to the screens in front of him. Alfred acted like this man’s fits of anger were completely normal.

Her brain repeated that it wasn’t Jason, it was a mere coincidence that this man’s name was the same as her dead best friend’s. Jason was a tiny and scrawny kid, he wasn’t tall and thick like this man. Jason wasn’t bitter and prone to anger fits, even if he was angry most of the time. He was silent and kind and sweet, this man looked to be the opposite of it.

“He promised, Alfred, where is he?” he growled, his fist slamming on the table. “He fucking promised.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon, if you’d like to wait,” Alfred motioned to the medical bay, the gurney sitting there on its lonesome. The man huffed, marching to the gurney, otherwise ignoring her presence a few feet away.

She approached Alfred quietly. “Who was that?” her voice laced with curiosity and fear.

Alfred looked at her serenely, knowing something she didn’t. He smiled at her, teh crinkles around his eyes appearing generously. “Why don’t you find out?,” he responded to her camly.

She took it as an order, and made her way towards the small infirmary area. Her footsteps were light and determined, her hand clutching the robbing resting on her chest tightly. Her brain ran over scenarios on how likely it was that this person had almost every physical attribute to her best friend Jason, if he had taken steroids for the past 8 years. It wasn’t likely, but in light of her new knowledge, of how close the supernatural was to her, it was very much possible.

“Do you want me to take a look?” she asked quietly, shifting the weight from her heels to the tips of her toes. She felt so small in his presence, something she didn’t feel with Bruce, oddly. Maybe it was because Bruce didn’t give off such menacing vibes when he was near her, or maybe it was because her brain was unconsciously comparing this man to her Jason, who had always been smaller than her. “At the helmet, I mean.”

He eyed her surgically, analyzing everything about her. His eyes rested on her pendants, widening slightly in recognition. It took almost everything in her to control her beating heart, to control her brain trying to say that in fact that man before her was her Jason, and it wasn’t her brain playing tricks on her.

He gently took his helmet off, revealing his crisp black hair cooly laying on his forehead. His eyes focused on the helmet, his arms extended to give it to her gently. Her eyes would leave his face, a face she had longed to see for eight excruciatingly long years. His eyes had remained the same, after all: kind and sweet. His face, however, told a story of hardships and pain, hardened by whatever he had been through all these years. She didn’t know how to feel, if she should feel betrayed he hadn't trusted her enough to say that he was alive, that he was six feet under anymore, or if she should feel elated that Jason was alive and she could finally tell him all the things she wanted to.

Her fingers brushed him slightly, as she picked up the broken helmet from his hands. His hands still felt the same, her heart noticed, picking up a beat. She looked at the crack that exposed half of his face, the electrical parts fizzling dangerously. Her eyes focused on Jason once again, her lips shut painfully. The tears that came to her eyes were inevitable, trembling fingers reaching at her robin pendant, clutching it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” he shook his head gently, “it’s not your fault.”

She could see he wanted to touch her, but something held him back. She wouldn’t find out what until much later.

Aged 24, August 16th.

Jason had promised her he would show up, and he never broke his promises. That was what she repeated to herself, late at night. She had prepared everything for his birthday, bought a present for him and baked a cake. She had said that he was supposed to appear at seven. It was well past midnight, the cake had found its way back to the fridge, the present was back in her closet, and he hadn’t showed up yet.

A part of her kept telling her to give up, her best friend had stood her up: Jason changed fundamentally, he wasn’t the same boy he was when she met him and it was foolish to hang on to that notion; it was perfectly plausible that he had the habit of breaking promises now. But she was well aware of that, she saw it in the tiny things how much Jason was transformed, it still didn’t change the fact that she knew he valued loyalty above all else, and that included loyalty to his words. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

She changed out of the cute dress she was wearing, feeling foolish and sad that she was about to give up most of the hope that he would show up. Her pyjamas welcomed her comfortably, a safe space to let the heartbreak settle on her. He won’t break his promise, she repeated mentally, he won’t. The mantra did little to soothe the growing dread inside her, the notion that maybe she didn’t know him as well as she did. That he didn’t tell her everything that day, that he didn’t trust her anymore. It hurt more than she anticipated.

Sleep was almost consuming her when she heard a loud clang outside her bedroom. She shook awake, throwing the covers off her instinctively. Her hand grabbed the baseball bat that rested beside her bed, bringing it up and close to her. With slow steps, she approached the window. Her fear settled when she saw the familiar red helmet staring back at her, begging to let him in. She dropped the bat on the floor, opening the window.

He got in her room awkwardly, struggling to pass his huge frame through a tiny space. She reached to help him, offering her hands. He took them, butterflies running amok on her tummy. “You’re late,” she commented, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.

“I know,” he said, taking off his helmet and dropping it on top of her bed. “I’m sorry.”

She hummed looking at him underneath the moonlight seeping through her window. She hadn’t gotten used to how big he became, and how smaller she felt in his presence. She was by no means a small woman, but his entire being could encapsulate her with a simple hug, and not the other way around like it used to be. “Why are you late?” she moved to sit on the bed, the helmet rolling off the bed delicately.

He looked at her, sitting down next to her gently. “I don’t know,” he answered, rubbing his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“Why do I feel like you’re not being honest with me?” her head tilted, looking at his beautiful profile. There was a scar connecting his right temple to the corner of his upper lip, and it made him even more beautiful than he already was. He fascinated her to no end, his brain, his looks, his entire being was what made her keep going, the light on the end of her tunnel.

His eyes trailed over her face, looking for something she guessed he wouldn’t find. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

“What do you mean, Jason,” she breathed out, confused at the inquiry. “I’m your friend, I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

“No, you’re not,” he shook his head, his hands balled into fists and his eyes closed. “You’re not supposed to be kind to me,” he got up, his back towards her.

“Stop it, Jason, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, her voice shaking a bit.

“You’re supposed to be angry at me. I abandoned you, left you alone, and when I came back I didn’t tell you, I didn’t look for you,” he continued, trying to manipulate her emotions.

“Why are you saying these things, Jason, they’re not true,” she got up, her voice no longer shaking, determined and focused.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he turned to her, his eyes tortured and sad. “I don’t deserve your kindness and friendship. I’m not worthy of it.”

“Jay, I--” she started, but Jason interrupted her.

“Don’t, please. I’m not worthy of anyone’s love,” his voice was heavy with emotion. She discovered that Jason was often ruled by two main emotions: sadness and anger. In that moment, she could only see those in him and a part of her broke.

“That’s not true, you’re worthy of mine,” her voice was so honest and raw, it caught Jason by surprise. She didn’t know what he expected out of her at that moment, maybe to give in to his spiral of bad thoughts and self flagellation, but she refused to let him believe those awful things. “Jason, you really don't know?”

He remained in silence, his eyes wide and shocked, focused on the ground. His jaw was tense and his hands balled into fists tightly. She took a hesitant step towards him, reaching for his hands. They relaxed under her touch and she threaded her fingers through his. It wasn’t hard to notice how perfectly they fit with each other, like to halves of a whole. “I’ve loved you ever since I was 14 and you marched into the boys bathroom to get my lit homework back from Mason Anderson,” she whispered, her eyes focused on his face, while his were focused on their hands together. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it, Jay. But I can’t let you believe all those horrible things you said. Not when I love you more than anything in this world.”

He stayed silent for a couple of moments, her heart beating erratically inside her chest, fearing she had screwed up their friendship for good. In a way, it was worst to know he was out there and didn't want to speak to her because she dared to tell him about her love for him. “Please say something,” she begged him quietly.

His eyes finally found hers, his hands breaking the link they formed. He rested his hands on her cheeks gently, and she dared say, lovingly. Her heart started beating excitedly, the fear slowly dissipating as his gaze got more intense.

His lips brushed against hers, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. He kissed her gently, a love delicate and fragile, just acknowledged between them both. His grip on her was firm, his thumb grazing delicately on her cheekbones. Her hands thread through his soft hair, still slightly humid from the sweat caused by the helmet. The air was charged with want, tentative kiss toeing the line between what it was and something more.

She wished to stay like that forever. She prayed to whatever was out there in the Universe, to allow her that happiness. To stay kissing her love tentatively in the dark for as long as she could, as long as he’d let her.

Jason broke the kiss, his forehead resting on hers. His fingers found their way to the back of her head, cupping it softly. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing with hers. She reached for his lips once again, like a magnet finding its match. “I love you so much,” he reassured.

They kissed once again, not intending to break apart any time soon.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine

237 notes · View notes