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sweets3rial · 2 days

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i wanted it to be you. (II)

ch. 1 // ch. 2

di!leon x fem!reader

summary: when Leon thinks things are too late, he gets a friendly reminder that things are never too late.

tags: angst/comfort, happy endings, fluff, wedding ceremony, marriage, vows, talks about future, small mention of overbearing in-laws, reader having many second thoughts, drunk letters/vows, Chris and Claire Redfield mentioned, runaway bride, panic/anxiety attacks, Leon loves you, time skips, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya' tap it)

warnings: panic and anxiety attacks

word count: 10.3K (yikes srry ya'll)

“my dream house?”

“yeah, tell me.” he urged, bumping your hip with his. you looked up into the sky, pondering his question. it was a good question. you’d never thought of something like that before. you were so used to your two-bedroom and one-half-bathroom apartment.

“well, i want lots of greenery. like plants in every corner and in every room.” you began, using your spoon as a little wand as you spoke. “i also want a lot of warm lights, to give the house a nice welcoming vibe to it,”

he hummed, nodding as you finished each sentence. “i like earthy tones or nude tones, nice soft couches, and a stone fireplace. a big living room and a large dining room- y’know how in those movies where the rich sad family gathers for dinner and it’s very awkward and quiet?”

his eyebrows furrowed, “you want something like that?”

you chuckled, “no, but i want my dining room to look like that just less … sad.”

“i see, it’s like those where the father is at the end and the mother at the other end,”

“exactly,” you smiled wider. you picked a cherry floating atop your frozen yogurt, taking it by the stem and bringing it to his lips. he opened his mouth with an audible sound, wrapping his cold lips around the fruit and plucking it off the stem.

you flicked the stem out of your fingers and onto the street where it’ll be swept away in the wind and trampled on by those who walked by.

“i want a large backyard, with either a poo or just a large field of grass.” you smiled at the thought of walking out onto your porch as an old feeble woman to enjoy a cup of coffee as you stared out into your backyard to watch the sun set or rise. or even watch your future kids play with the family dog.

you never wanted to have kids. just the thought of splitting yourself in half while pushing out new life sent chills up your spine. but sometimes, the idea of holding a child to your chest and watching it grow. the idea of listening to them laugh and play, watching as they discovered new interests and learned new things, and being alive to discover the person they will become, doesn’t sound too bad.

“i want a balcony, one that stretches from one side of the house to the other. that way i can sit outside and i don’t know enjoy a nice cigarette.”

a laugh erupted from his chest at the thought of you only wanting a balcony to smoke a cigarette. but then that image warped into him watching you from the door smoking that cigarette. the wind blowing in your hair, the sun kissing your skin, your clothes flapping against your skin.

he imagined you’d be wearing a baggy shirt, maybe one of his shirts. the wind blowing up from the balcony would cause your shirt to cling to you. to your curves and the dips of your body, the purchase of your hips, and the slim of your waist.

you’d turn to him with your elbows leaned up against the railing behind you, cigarette between the plump skin of your lips as you beckoned him over to join you.

“i had a friend,” you started, interrupting his small daydream.

“her parents had this master bedroom. when you walked in, to your left was a sliding door that led to the balcony overlooking her backyard, and then to the right was a couple’s bathroom,” you sighed at the memory, you envied her.

one, because her parents were happily married and slept in the same bed. two, because she had a big house with a large backyard. and three, because she was happy. she lived luxuriously in her big house, she was spoiled, and her parents doted on her. her life was perfect.

yours, not so much.

“her mom occupied one sink with her makeup and her jewelry, and her dad occupied the other with cologne and little figures,” you gulped down a lump in your throat, looking up at him to see him already looking at you. you could see the sad look on his face. the look of pity and sadness, it left a stab in your heart knowing that you probably ruined his night for him.

“i want that.” your words left your throat with a small croak. you weren’t just talking about a couples bathroom with a jacuzzi bathtub but also to be happy. to live in a large house, to be happy with your future husband and kids, to enjoy luxurious jewelry and clothes.

his heart hurt at the look in your eyes, the yearning and the hope. he could see the pain as you spoke about your friend, even if you were smiling as if it was a good memory. he wanted to say, i can give you that.

he wanted to give you that. not only for you but also for himself, that way when you beckon him over as you smoke your cigarette he can join your side. his daydream began to play again; as he joined your side, you’d put your cigarette out and wrap your arms around his torso with a sigh.

he could smell the shampoo in your damp hair and the lotion you lathered onto your skin — along with a hint of his cologne from the baggy t-shirt that belonged to him. the wind was nice and fresh, a cooling breeze along with the warm morning sun. he’d shut his eyes and hold you to his chest, slowly swaying you back and forth as he enjoyed the warmth from the sun along with the warmth from your body.

“that sounds nice,” he looked down at you, “peaceful,”

you smiled up at him, licking your sticky lips, “yeah, it does,”

your smile slowly faded as you began to doze off, he was very … pretty. the way his dirty blonde hair framed his face so perfectly. golden strands that are soft like silk and fluffy like cotton. his eyes, how they gazed into yours, pulling you in deep like the tide of the ocean and drowning you into his being.

they say the eyes are the window to the soul. when someone furrows a brow, you can tell their soul is confused or troubled. when a tear swells you know their soul is sad. when their pupil dilates you know their soul is in love.

there is a ring around his pupils, a ring of blue — the color of his irises. his plump lips are agape, sucking in breaths and letting them go. his lashes flutter with every blink, his eyes trailing every inch of your face, taking every detail of you into memory.

you did the same. scanning over his dimpled cheeks, his high cheekbones, his strong brow bones, his long lashes, the tips of his cold ears, and the window to his soul. all of it.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words came out almost in a drunken whisper. his brain wasn’t able to process any word that left his mouth until it did.

the blood that pumped into your veins instantly ran to your face. your cheeks heating up as your eyes widened, you looked back down at your melted froyo — hoping that taking a bite would hide away your hot cheeks. “thank you,” you mumbled trying to fight back the smile creeping up onto your sticky lips.

“of course uh- back to your dream house-“

“oh right! um-“

------

a living room with comfortable couches and a coffee table in the middle sitting, in front of a large stone fireplace. a kitchen with off-white cabinets, black tile floors, and an island with black marble counters and a deep sink. a dining room with a large table with seven chairs and a runner underneath.

plants, everywhere. in the front, in the large backyard, hanging from the roof, in every room, and in every corner.

large windows that faced the sunset and sunrise, casting down their warmth and triumph into the house to illuminate every corner without a single flip of a light switch. warm lights, in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the hallways, everywhere.

a patio out front and out back, a balcony that stretched across the back of the house. five rooms, a guest room, three kids’ rooms, and a master bedroom. a master bedroom where when you walked in, to the left were the sliding doors to the balcony, and to the right a couples bathroom and a walk-in closet.

though, it wasn’t a home. there were drapes over the furniture to keep them from collecting dust. there were no plants just empty corners. the windows were shut and no one lived there.

the rooms were empty, with nothing but carpet and walls. it wasn’t a home. it had no life, no family, no giggles and happiness. it was simply just a house.

“sir, i just need you to sign here and then we’ll lease the house.”

he straightened his posture and blinked away the dryness in his eyes. he looked over at the man, he was about his height. he wore a fancy suit, his mustache was nice and jelled up, his hair slicked back and he smelt of expensive cologne.

he took one last look around the house, his heart aching. if he closed his eyes, he could hear you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and listening to your music or your podcasts. he could hear your voice calling him from your bedroom. he could hear a dog maybe the giggles of children. but that was just a figment of his imagination.

he was standing in the middle of a house. your dream house. the one you told him about so many years ago. back then, he would’ve said ‘i can give you that’, but he hesitated. would that have made you stay? if he said he was putting all his money into building this house for you.

buying the furniture and the tiling and marble necessary to make it happen. hiring construction workers to add on a balcony and a back porch. would all his effort … would it have made you stay?

“who’s getting married?” the realtor asked, pointing at his boutonniere with his pen. he blinked, once again brought out of his daze.

“uh my … ex-girlfriend,” he grumbled awkwardly. the realtor jumped back a little, a small strand of his slicked-back hair falling out.

“oh,” was all he could say as he too joined him in looking around the house. the real estate agent could tell that this man wasn’t looking to live here by himself, there were so many rooms, rooms for a family. a couples bathroom and a shared walk-in closet.

the realtor sighed, looking up at the man. his eyes were bloodshot red, most likely from crying or being up all night. the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. he was holding a flask of whiskey and his posture remained slouched.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the realtor clicked his pen and hooked it back onto his suit pocket. he stuffed the paperwork under his arm and puffed out his chest. he was losing business by doing this but he’d rather see a man happy to sell his house rather than sad to sell his house.

“i was young once,” he began, standing next to Leon as he dozed off. “i too had a girlfriend, she was the girl of my dreams,” the man chuckled at the memory.

“we were young and very, very stupid,”

Leon’s head slowly turned towards the man beside him, he found that the realtor was looking out the window with a smile on his face which caused his mustache to turn upwards.

“i was poor and she was wild, i wanted to give her a proper life. so i worked and i worked to the point that i’d tire myself and i barely had time for her.”

Leon let his eyes fall to the ground, this story was sounding a bit too familiar to him. not having time for each other led to miscommunication and arguments all the time. it was not a story that he wished to retell.

“so she left me, one day i came home and she was gone.” the man sniffled a bit, watching a bird fly out of one of the trees that sat on the front lawn. the bird reminded him of her, his songbird, always singing and so loud. though, he loved it when she sang and tweeted like a bird.

her voice was always like music to his ears anyway.

“i crashed her wedding like a fool and she told me that she would’ve been happy getting married without a big ring and a big house. that she would’ve been happy with how things were,” the man let out a sigh, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“so, my word to you is…don’t let it be too late. if you love her and hopefully she still loves you then … make it work.” the man placed a hand on Leon’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. a sign of support for the young man since he too has been in Leon’s position once.

“it is never too late to be what you wanted to be,”

'i wanted it to be you.'

your voice replayed in his head. he could still hear the tears clogged in your throat and he could still see the look in your eye. he could still smell your perfume and feel your lips on his skin. it isn’t too late. he wasn’t too late.

Leon slowly began to nod his head, building up the courage to do something anything. he knew it was time to let you go, that it was over and done.

'do you still love me?'

'goodbye, Leon.'

those were the last words you said to him. he replays the sound in his voice every night and it keeps him awake at night. he tosses and turns, missing the warmth of your body and the feeling of your skin. he feels selfish, yearning for someone who wants nothing to do with him. someone who is getting married in a few hours.

but you aren’t just anyone. dare say, you are the love of his life.

“thank you, Mr. Gudzynski.” Leon smiled at the man, taking one last chug of the whiskey in his flask before making his way out the door. Chris stood there waiting for him, leaning up against his car with a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared down at his phone.

upon hearing Leon’s foot crush the rocks beneath him, he looked up. he stomped out his cigarette as he blew out the last puff of smoke.

“how’d it go?” Chris asked, rolling his shoulders to let the sleeves of his suit adjust.

“did you just put out your cigarette on fresh cement?”

“i guess you sold it then,” Chris chuckled dryly.

Leon took a moment to reply, looking at the porch behind him. it was empty, just plain wooden slabs. he knew how much you wanted a patio, this was your house after all.

completely inspired by you. every corner and every detail of this house you had spoken to Leon years ago. he made your dream a reality, though you'll never know that.

“i couldn’t,”

Chris turned to Leon, his frame tensing up, “uh you what?”

“i couldn’t sell it, i just…” Leon ended his sentence with a shrug and much to his dismay, Chris nodded understandably.

“i knew you wouldn’t be able to,” Chris sighed, opening the door to his car.

“what?” Leon said with a lift of his brow.

“just get in,”

the whole drive to the church, Leon could feel his body growing heavier and heavier. he was nervous. unsure of what he should do or say? will he have the time? he was constantly wiping his hands onto his pants, trying to wipe the nerves and sweat away.

he was staring out the window blankly, bouncing his leg and biting on the inside of his cheeks.

’stop that,’

‘stop what?’

your fingers reached up to tap his cheek, ‘stop biting your cheeks, you’re making me anxious’

he stopped instantly, licking over the skin that he was just biting at. you sighed, standing in front of him as you fixed his tie. you worked with straightening the silk fabric and tightening it around his neck — not too much.

he looked down at you and his nerves instantly eased. your face was relaxed, your breathing slows, your lashes fluttered with every single blink, and god you were glowing. he couldn’t help but smile, he knew he had no reason to be nervous if you were right by his side.

and here you were; fixing his tie and smoothing out his suit.

‘you got this, it’s just a simple speech, we rehearsed it many times,’ you leaned up onto your tippy toes to place a kiss on his chin. ‘and i’ll be right in the audience supporting you,’

his lips curled into a small smile at the memory, he would’ve for sure embarrassed himself if it wasn’t for you being by his side. he remembers it clear as day, standing up on that podium as he received his award, his hands were shaking and his vision was blurry.

he was trying to read off of his speech but he couldn’t. that was until he found you in the room and then suddenly, you two were in the living room of your shared apartment. you were sitting on the couch with takeout in your lap. as he practiced his speech, you’d slurp your noodles or take a bite of your fried rice as you pretended to be a high government official.

once his eyes found yours in the large crowd, you smiled up at him mouthing the words; ‘you got this,’

“we’re here,” Chris sighed aloud. Leon looked up to see many familiar faces walking up the steps into the church, hand in hand and with smiles on their faces. all dressed in black suits and dresses, a simple and traditional color.

you were never a religious woman, you weren’t the type to go to church every Sunday or pray before every meal. but here you were getting married in a church, under the eye of god as if you hadn’t slept with another man just a few months ago.

your eyes were stuck on the cross hanging above you. the hairstylist you hired was busy touching up your hair, your makeup artist was powdering your nose and adding more highlight to your cheekbones consistently saying the same words, ‘make sure you smile that way you can really pop.’

you’d give her a small silent nod, whatever made her happy.

you haven’t smiled once. it was your wedding day. after months of trying on dresses, trying cake flavors, sending out invitations, and picking out bridesmaids. the day was here and you couldn’t smile. you’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, getting your hair and makeup done.

your bridesmaids would come in screaming excitedly while waving around bottles of champagne. you put on a fake smile with fake laughs and giggles but your mind was elsewhere.

you were thinking of a lot. your future after today, losing your last name, kids, and in-laws. but mostly you were thinking about him. it was hard, writing his name down on an envelope and sending it to him through the mail.

your fiancee, soon-husband, didn’t know about you and Leon. he believes you two are coworkers and nothing more. acquaintances or even strangers. he didn’t know the deep love you held for that man.

he was excited to see that you were inviting the other agents. he felt special. as if him being married to a D.S.O agent would make him a better tech or get him a promotion.

it was so hard sending him that invitation. most of the other invitations were given in person unless the guests lived far away. you wondered if he would come, part of you hoped he did and the other part of you hoped he didn’t.

“it’s almost time,” you looked to your side to see your uncle standing in the doorway. you chose him to walk you down the aisle, he’s been here for you more than your father. he was there for your daddy-daughter dances, for your graduation. elementary, middle school, and high school.

you stood up from your chair, smoothing out your dress. your dress was itchy and heavy, the pins in your hair stabbed your scalp with every movement, your makeup felt heavy and cakey, and your heels hurt. everything felt wrong.

“are you ready?” you looked at your uncle, a smile on his face as he looked at you. that was when tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head, suddenly you were a little girl again, crying to him when you didn’t get a toy you wanted.

your uncle’s face contorted with worry as he rushed to your side.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

you sobbed, throwing your head down so your tears wouldn’t ruin your makeup. you grabbed the back of your chair, trying to find your words and your breath but it was hard with the corset constricting your every movement.

“i can’t do it, i can’t go out there-“

“of course you can,” he reached over for a few napkins as his hand rubbed up and down your back, “i know it’s stressing, this is your big day, and your life is going to change after this.”

you shook your head again, pursing your lips together to keep another sob from leaving your lips.

“but this is the day you’ve been waiting for, you’ve stressed yourself out enough. after this, you get to enjoy your honeymoon and your house.”

you looked up at him, blinking away another tear. he smiled at you, taking the napkin to blot away the tears. you couldn’t help but think, only if he knew.

only if he knew where your heart truly lies. who your soul calls to. what you did, more specifically who you did. you couldn’t tell him. it was too late to tell anyone. what were you supposed to say? i slept with another man. quite frankly, the only man i’ve ever loved.

you’d be burned at the stake, by everyone in the church. especially, your mother-in-law.

so you sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight.

“okay,” you croaked, and you held the napkin to your tears. you hoped he wasn’t here, you really did. you knew if you made eye contact with him somewhere in the crowd, you would break.

so you linked arms with your uncle, standing up straight and putting a smile on your face. your uncle smiled back at you, giving your arm a small squeeze. your feet were already beginning to hurt and the minute the piano started your limbs began to shake.

your nerves were on edge, your palms were sweaty and you could barely control your breathing. you walked out of the small room you used to get ready and into the main hall. there were photographers, gasping at the sight of you.

gorgeous dress that made you look like a princess, the fabric along with your veil trailed behind you, leaving a path of your essence. instantly, camera shutters were beginning to go off. you gave the photographers a nervous smile and wave as you stood in front of the two large doors.

you looked up at the roof, naked baby angels danced above you, they were holding harps and chasing each other with smiles on their faces. clouds surrounded them along with doves. hints of gold were seen in the paint.

it was beautiful. architectural and just pure with grace. even if the paint was fading and cracking, it was the most beautiful thing you've seen today.

your uncle knocked at the doors, signaling whoever was inside that you were ready. when the doors opened you were met with gasps and the sound of people rising from their seats. you made eye contact with a few people both from your family and his.

you watched as a few covered their mouths in shock, their facial expressions softening in awe. you smiled at a few, keeping your head forward most of the time. your fiancee stood at the end with a wide smile on his face. his friends were giving him firm pats on the shoulder, demonstrating their support.

you smiled at him, pursing your lips as you let your eyes wander. to your left, in the second row, seated in the very first seat…there he was. he came. your face dropped upon seeing him, your knees suddenly felt weak, and a large pain erupted in your chest.

he stood with his hands folded in front of him. his lips were agape, his jaw hanging loose. his eyebrows were upturned in awe. your steps slowed a bit as you got closer to him. you wanted to see him one last time before it was too late.

in his mind, he was standing there at that altar instead of that bearded man. he was watching you walk down the aisle and you were smiling at him. you looked beautiful. god, that color always suited you. your makeup and hair were done beautifully, he’s never seen you this way — all dolled up.

it put his heart to a complete stop. he couldn’t focus on anything but you. your eyes were stuck on him as you passed by. he watched your smile fade as you both made eye contact and he felt a stab in his chest. for a second, he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t blink. he was just frozen in time.

as you walked past him, your head fell to look at the ground. Leon too looked away, continuing to bite on the inside of his cheeks, this time he could taste blood. he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t watch this happen. he couldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he wanted to, today was special to you but it was the complete opposite to him.

he watched as you stood before your husband, a smile rising to your mouth as you gave him a small ‘hi’. Leon let his head drop to his lap, his leg was bouncing uncontrollably. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t be here.

he was about to look up at Chris to tell him he had to go but he was interrupted when Chris put his hand on Leon's knee. when he looked at Chris, he was looking ahead. a toothpick between his lips and his eyes stuck ahead on you and your future husband.

he knew Chris was trying to convey something, probably 'calm the fuck down,' but also some type of support.

Chris knew today was hard for Leon. with each passing day that the wedding got closer, Leon has been sulking and slacking off during training. his flask was his best friend and so was his bed.

Chris was the only one who knew how deep Leon’s love ran for you. Chris was there during the nights Leon would stumble around drunk and depressed. he gave Leon a hand when he was at his lowest. he helped Leon get rid of his addiction. he got Leon a therapist.

he did a lot for Leon when you two split, same for you. Chris was like the older brother you never had, he was supportive and kind. he was always understanding. you were able to confide in him comfortably. you could sob on his shoulder and use him as a punching bag instead of Leon.

Chris saw both of you at your lowest points and he brought both of you back.

he did so much to bring you two back together but here he is; watching one get married while the other watches with tears in his eyes. Leon kept his head down, unable to face you and watch the scenery before him. the priest prompted you two to begin your vows and he was first.

there was a nervous smile on his face as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. he unfolded the paper, his eyes flickering between you and the speech before him. he cleared his throat, facing the crowd.

“first and foremost, i want to thank everyone for being here; friends and family.” he cleared his throat once again, looking towards you. it made Leon’s stomach twist with jealousy as you smiled at him so lovingly. he also couldn’t stop admiring how beautiful you were. pure innocence and grace, well he knew you were far from innocent.

“and most of all my gorgeous wife-to-be,” your smile dropped into a simple lift of your lips. but slowly, you began to look around the crowd. your eyes landing on your family, your in-laws, and then Leon. from there, you stayed fixated on him.

you haven’t seen him so polished in so long. his suit was nicely tailored, sleek back with a white brooch. though his tie was crooked and he was chewing on the inside of his cheeks. his frantic leg bouncing stopped once he made eye contact with you. his body froze in a way, his breath caught in his throat.

he smiled at you, gently. the look in his eyes spoke for him, ‘you look beautiful,’ he said.

he tried to keep calm, for you. even though he was on the verge of a heart attack. even if he was terribly heart broken, he needed to be happy for you. today is your day.

you smiled back at him even wider, shying away from him with visible heat in your cheeks, ‘thank you,’ you said back, smoothing out the skirt of your dress. your fiancee’s speech fell on deaf ears, you were paying attention to everything else but him at the moment.

Leon sat right in your field of view. at the other side of the aisle, in the second row, towards the very end of the bench.

you sucked in a deep breath, your lips falling agape as you kept eye contact with him longer. suddenly, the feelings you wished to bury. the ones you’ve been trying to bury for years were coming back. it was like slowly drowning. you can see the surface still but as you sink deeper and deeper, it becomes blurry and you are forever trapped in the ocean beneath you.

his kisses, his touch, his love, his passion, his laugh, his smile, his hair, his teeth, his nose, the hair on his arms and legs, the scar on his shoulder, the mole on his neck — it was all coming back. he was coming back.

the happiness you felt when he would wake you up with gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder. the joy you felt walking into the kitchen to see him there making coffee, he hated coffee. he hated the feeling it left on your tongue. the bitter taste and the smell of your breath after taking a sip. he hated coffee but he still made it.

it made him feel like a normal person living in an apartment with his normal girlfriend.

the comfort you’d get when he’d hug you. the excitement you felt when he’d come home. the small things he did that aroused you to the point of insanity. the arguments…you even missed the petty arguments. arguments never lasted long. Leon hated arguing with you.

it would usually end up with him sleeping on the couch that night. then he’d wake up with a heavy weight on top of him. of course, it was you. or it would end up with him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you both in your shared bedroom together.

even if you two argued, you refused to be away from each other.

you were woken from your daydream by the wave of chuckles around the room. you joined in subconsciously, blinking your dry eyes and averting your attention away from Leon. meanwhile, he was gripping the pants of his suit with butterflies in his stomach. he couldn’t shake off this feeling.

the feeling of loss. the feeling that maybe it was too late.

your fiancee had finished his vows, folding up the paper and storing it back in his pocket. you looked up at you, a blush on his cheeks and sweat brimming at his forehead. you could see he was nervous, he was shaking — constantly rocking back and forth and itching at his beard.

you reached into your bra, pulling out your vows. you were so unprepared. you wrote your vows probably a few nights ago, drunk one too many drinks and elbow-deep in a bag of your favorite chips.

the minute you unfolded the paper, you knew you should’ve read it over.

‘To my beloved, Leon…’

you swallowed a lump in your throat, nervously looking between the paper, your fiancee, and Leon sitting in the crowd. you were drunk and wrote vows to the wrong man. no, it was to the right man. Leon was the right man. he always has been.

“um, to my beloved, future husband,” you began, your voice trembling and your throat aching. you read over the first line and you instantly felt tears swell up in your eyes, “i miss you, um,” your eyes flashed over to Leon.

“i miss you even if you’re right next to me. no words can summarize how much i love you, how much i burn and yearn for you every passing minute … every passing day.”

Leon felt his heart break into a million pieces right then and there. your eyes remained on him, only looking away to glance back down at your vows. were you … reading these to him? Leon swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyebrows upturning as he tried to hold himself together.

you were making up things as you went, your words completely different from what was really written down:

“i am glad to have you by my side,” i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

“i am blessed to wake up to you every morning and suck in a deep breath of your essence and your being,” i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

“i was broken when you found me but you pieced me back together, slowly and patiently,” you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

a tear slipped down your cheek, you were beginning to choke up the more and more you read. it was getting hard to make things up and say those instead of reading what you wrote down. a full page confessing your every feeling and thought to the right man … to Leon.

tears continued to fall.

‘i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.’

‘do you still love me?’

his words rang in your head like an alarm. you were looking down at your paper, vision blurry with tears. you could feel the weight of your tears falling onto the sheet as you sat there in silence. a small sob left your lips as audible whispers rang throughout the room.

you folded the paper in half, shaking your head as you looked up at your fiancee.

“i’m sorry,” was all you said as you took a step back. your body moved before you could process anything. you ran down the steps, lifting the skirt of your dress with one hand while the other held your love letter with a vice grip.

you ran down the aisle, towards the large doors. your throat was on fire and as you burst through the wooden doors, you finally let out a singular sob.

everyone in the church stood and watched you run out, looking between you and your fiancee abandoned at the altar. the whispers became louder, and gasped erupted through the room. your fiancee stood at the altar looking at his feet, completely still.

his mother ran up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she threw a million questions towards him. he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground below him. he couldn't believe it and neither could anyone else.

Leon looked back from you running out the door towards Chris standing behind him. his face was painted with worry, his eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched together. Chris nodding his head towards the door, signaling Leon to go after you.

“go, she needs you,” Claire said from behind Chris. Leon nodded silently, a heavy breath leaving his lips as he ran after you.

he was second to burst through those doors after you. he looked right and left, panicking. what happened? what was wrong? he knew he shouldn’t have come. this was his fault. if he didn’t come, you would be running out of this church with your husband on your arm. not like this.

those vows. they weren’t for your husband. he knew that for sure. your eyes were stuck on his, he watched with agony as tears slipped past your pretty eyes and down your cheeks. god, he hated seeing you cry more than anything. he just wished he could scoop you up in his arms and coax them out of you gently.

a sign against the wall that read ‘garden’ caught his attention. the sign pointed to the left and Leon was quick to take after you.

he knew you well. he knew you loved gardens and flowers, always plucking them from the ground or from their bush and sticking them into Leon’s hair. you once mentioned to him how when you’re troubled you tend to turn to nature or your bed. you’d take walks, sit outside in the sun in silence. you’d brush your fingers against the soft petals and leaves.

your bed was nowhere in sight so he ran in the direction of the garden.

he made way down the steps into the garden, loosening the tie around his neck. he shut his mouth, listening to your voice over his beating heart and his heaving breaths. he could faintly hear sobs coming from his right. his head snapped in the direction of your cries, his heart breaking as he spotted your heels on the ground.

they most likely slipped off as you ran away. he sucked in one last deep breath, trudging through the grass of the church garden to pick up your heels. the garden was beautiful, tall bushes acting as walls to a makehsift maze.

white roses were planted everywhere. the grass was healthy and warm, tickling at his ankles. bees buzzed around the bushes, hopping from flower to flower. birds chirped in the trees, singing melancholic tunes on this beautiful afternoon. or pretty drastic afternoon.

as he walked further into the maze, he caught eye of you. your back was turned to him, you had sat down on a bench in the middle of the maze and in front of a marble statue. he stopped in his tracks, gulping down the lump in his throat which somehow made his presence clear to you.

you turned around surprised, eyes wide and a small gasp leaving your lips.

when you caught eye of him standing there, holding your heels with one hand and the other tucked in his pocket. you felt tears welling up again, though you hid it away with a dry laugh.

“how cliche huh? runaway bride.”

he didn’t answer, making his way closer and closer to you. he rounded around the bench, getting down on one knee in front of you. he took your right ankle into his hands, rubbing at your soft skin.

Leon tried to ignore the damp paper in your hands — your vows. he was curious, what did they really say?

he slipped on your heel, continuing to draw circles onto your skin.

you watched him, inhaling deep, trembling breaths and gripping the edge of the bench with all your might. the tension was thick, so thick to the point neither of you could breathe.

“say something,” you sighed out.

“i don’t know what to say,” he croaked out, his voice stuffy and hoarse. he took a hold of your other ankle, slipping on the last heel.

“say that i don’t know, i’m stupid. i’m an idiot. i embarassed myself, i-“ you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, dropping your head into your lap. there was a moment of silence, leaving you two stuck in an oasis of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and buzzing bees.

“look at me-“

“no,”

“please, baby look at me,” he practically begged. butterflies arose in your stomach and you shut your eyes, hoping you could shut him out. hoping the noise in your head would stop, just hoping everything will quiet. “i need you to look at me.”

that was all it took. you slowly looked up from your lap and at him. once you met his gaze, you felt like you were that young girl again. that young girl walking down the street after a dinner date, eating froyo in freezing weather and talking about your dream house.

“you’re not an idiot, you’re not stupid, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect,” he sighed out. “why’d you run?”

you shook your head, “i couldn’t do it, Leon, i-“ you stopped yourself to suck in a deep breath, but it felt so constricted. your head was pounding, everything felt heavy and you were so dizzy. every thing was falling down. you felt like you couldn’t breathe or think, your head was spinning and your knuckles white.

you gripped at your chest, nervously playing with the pendant of your necklace but at the same time trying to tug it off. you felt like you were choking, your vision began to cloud with tears but at the same time you felt like you were losing consciousness.

“hey, hey,” he came to sit next to you, instantly wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulders to bring you into his chest but still giving you room to breathe.

his fingers began to loosen the ribbons to your corset. his movements were stable and calm. “breathe with me ‘kay?" he soothed, "in and out, just how we always did,”

you nodded, gripping onto his suit, “in”

you shut your eyes and took a deep breath in. “good, what’s one thing you can taste?”

“um my lipstick,” you said, as you both exhaled.

“in,” he rubbed your back with one hand while the other held you firmly against him, “what are two things you can smell?”

his voice was getting deeper and quieter. slowly, your body began to relax. you could breathe again. you focused on your surroundings, naming off the first things you could. “the grass and…” you paused to let a deep breath out, “you.”

he wasn’t going to lie, your reply made his heart jump a little bit. he tightened his hold onto you, burying his nose into your hair. “in.”

as he took a deep breath in, he was bombarded with the smell of your shampoo and hairspray, “what are three things you can hear?”

“birds, wind and your heart beat,” you whispered to him as you let out another deep breath.

“in,” another deep breath in, “almost there, what are four things you can touch?” he could feel your body loosen up as you began to feel around him. your eyes were shut and your body began to go slack against him.

“your suit, the bench, and a button,” another deep breath out.

“good, almost there, in.” you were prepared for this one, pulling back from the hug just a bit so you could look around your surroundings. “what are five things you can see?”

you looked up at him, your breath hitching in your throat and your knees going weak. even if you were sitting down, you felt like jelly — as if you would melt right through this bench. you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out but a weak croak.

he whispered out your name, concerned. his eyebrows curling upwards and his eyes searching yours. the longer you stayed like this, looking into his eyes and breathing with him, the quieter it got. there was no more pounding and noise in your head. your dress didn’t feel itchy. the pins in your hair no longer stabbed at your scalp. the soles of your feet didn’t hurt.

it was all so peaceful. everything.

“i do,” you managed to croak out.

“what?”

“to answer your question,”

‘do you still love me?’

“i do, Leon, i do. more than you’ll ever know,”

you couldn’t read the look on his face, all you saw was a flurry of emotions. he searched your face for any hesitation or lie, anything to keep him from taking you away from here for good. something to stop him from being selfish and keeping you all to himself.

“i love you, Leon Scott Kennedy.”

To my beloved, Leon,

i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.

you’re my everything and you’ll continue to be for the rest of my life. i cannot breathe without you, i cannot think, i cannot function. my head is foggy. but when i see you it all becomes so clear. when i go to sleep at night and the thought of you crosses my mind i can’t help but smile.

i wish i still had that picture of you by my bed because it’s never enough to see you smiling in my head as i lay in the dark. the sheets are cold, this house is cold, my heart is cold. i need you Leon.

it’s too late to go back now. i can’t keep doing this to you. i’m sorry. i love you.

a heavy hand was draped over your waist, strong firm muscle pooling you into a brick wall of a chest. you smiled, placing your hand over the one on your stomach. light kisses were pressed to your neck and down to your shoulder. rough stubble tickling your smooth skin only prompting you to smile wider.

“good morning,” a hoarse voice spoke in your ear. you looked up at the clock on your nightstand, it read 12:16. you grumbled, turning over and burying your face into chest and muscle, draping your arms around his frame and intertwining your legs with his.

“it’s so early,” you whined, hiding away from the sun peeking through your balcony doors.

“baby, it’s noon.” more kisses were pressed to your face, slowly waking you up with each one. gentle and wet kisses, you smiled at the feeling, nuzzling your nose between his pectorals with a low groan.

“it’s time to get up,”

the sound of you faking a snore earned you a small chuckle, the chest you lay on bouncing up and down — shaking you awake a bit more. the hand on your back traveled further south, rubbing over the bare skin of your ass.

“i tire you out last night, huh?” he taunted, kissing over the love bites forming on your neck and shoulders. you nodded shamelessly, every single one of your limbs was sore and you could barely move an inch without wincing in pain.

“that’s unfair, you folded me like origami and you expect me not to be tired, let me sleep,”

“i'm sorry baby, but i’m not done,”

a smirk grew on your lips and all of a sudden the pain in your body was gone. you were flipped over onto your back, making you squeal out in surprise. you were met with a pair of blue eyes and a messy head of brown hair.

warm lips met yours in a heated frenzy of a kiss — full of flame and passion. you tangled your fingers into the head of messy brown hair, moaning deeply into the kiss. you lifted your legs and brought them up and around his waist.

you could feel his hard cock press against your inner thigh, a small groan left his lips at the contact and a needy moan left yours. his hand reached between your nude bodies, two fingers slotting in between your folds and a slow and languid pace.

the tips of his fingers found your clit, rubbing small and slow circles around the sore nub. your walls fluttered around nothing, craving his cock that throbbed against your thigh.

you failed to kiss him back as a small whine left your lips.

“so wet already,” he kissed your chin, “were you dreaming about me, baby?”

you couldn’t help but give him a large smile, “maybe,”

you watched a smile grow on his lips as he placed another deep kiss to yours. his fingers left your aching cunt, leaving you pleading for more. his hand glided up your thigh, making sure your legs were securely wrapped around him.

he pulled away from the kiss, kissing your nose and then the corner of your mouth.

“i love you,” he breathed out.

“i love you too…ah,” your voice faded away into a moan as he slowly thrust into you. a weak moan left your lips and your nails dug into the skin of his back. you were never used to the sheer size of him, even if he was given to you just a few hours ago here you are, gasping for air as you clench around him.

“so beautiful, taking me so good,” he praised with a small groan. his tip nudged against your cervix, practically knocking the air left in your lungs straight out. he kept a hand on your leg, keeping you as close to him as possible.

with each deep thrust, he watched your every facial expression, watching as your mouth dropped open into a moan and as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. he watched your lips try and form words, the only words you could moan out was his name:

“Leon,” you whined, dragging your nails down his back. he winced at the pain but he reveled in it, the way you’d claw at his back as he’d pound into you was better than any pain ever conflicted upon him. or when your teeth would sink into his shoulder, muffling your whines and moans.

the image only saturated his need.

you could feel his cock twitch inside of you and his hips began to roll against yours. still plagued by sleep, you buried your head into his shoulder, whimpering with each thrust. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your ankles around his waist to bring him closer.

you loved feeling his weight on top of you, keeping you pressed firmly into the mattress, that way you had nowhere to run. not like you’d ever want to, the pleasure he gives you when he’s on top of you like this is inexplicable.

his arms underneath you, pulling you to his chest as he brought you up with him. both of your jaws dropped open, this new position allowing the tip of his cock to press further into you. you cupped his cheek, breathing in his heavy gasps as you slowly began to roll your hips down into him.

your breasts were pushed up against his, sweaty bodies sticking together and the smell of sex filled the room. soft and gentle moans slipped past your lips, your hands grabbing at anything in reach; his shoulders, his face, his arms, just him.

“you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, gripping the back of your neck and forcing you to look down at him. your lips met him in a frenzy, your cunt squelching the base of his cock as you rocked your hips against his faster — desperately chasing that high.

your stomach was burning with need, and every part of your body from your toes to your neck was on fire. you’ve never burned for someone like you do for him. his hips jolted up to meet yours and you gasped into his mouth which allowed him to slide his tongue against yours.

he was meeting you halfway with his thrusts, a gasp of pleasure leaving your mouth with every single one.

“fuck, it’s too much,” you whined as his lips traveled down your neck, biting down on your shoulder and your collarbones — he wanted to leave a mark.

“you can take it,” he heaved, “can’t you, baby?” he urged, as his teeth scraped against the plump of your breast. a shiver rolled up your spine at both the pain and pleasure, either way you nodded ecstatically.

“yes! i can take it,”

he smirked wider, his hips thrusting up faster. he watched as your tits bounced against his chest, your head rolling back which let your frizzy hair fall over your shoulders. his eyes were glued to the love bites decorating your body. the bruises and the redness growing on his skin.

the image of your body was now forever painted in his mind. your thighs wrapped around him as your hips ground down into his thrusts. your puffy cunt taking him so well, his cock sheathing inside of you and out again. your juices soaking the tuft of hair surrounding the base of his cock. your breasts bouncing and your ribs poking out.

“oh Leon, i’m so close-“ you whined, wrapping your arms around him. one of your hands running up the back of his neck and into his brown hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders with nails digging into his skin.

“let go for me, baby.” he egged you on, teetering close to his high as well. he screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass, helping you meet his thrusts.

you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, muffling your loud moans into his skin. the sound of wet slapping skin only got louder, along with the sound of needy moans and the headboard banging against the wall.

the fog in your mind only got heavier and stars danced in your vision. your legs clamped around his waist as you came undone around his cock. stars danced behind your vision as you called out his name in a chant.

he wasn’t too far behind, biting down on your shoulder as he shot his seed deep inside of you. hot and thick, coating your gummy walls and painting you as his.

he continued pulling your hips down into his, slowly and carefully to help you ride out both of your highs. you slumped against him, completely worn out. all the soreness came back in a flash and your eyes felt heavy. but you smiled, draping your arms around his shoulders and allowing his softening cock to stay inside of you.

you turned your right, met with the bright light of the sun and the most beautiful view ever. the sun high in the sky shining down on a field of green grass. birds flew around in the distance, gliding in the wind and twirling in the air. you watched as they flew up and up until they were out of sight.

you pulled back from leaning on his shoulder, cupping his cheek and guiding him to look at you. his eyes peeled open slowly, his pupils contracting against the bright light he was exposed to before dilating again as he caught sight of you hovering above him.

he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling up at you.

“hi,”

you chuckled, “hi,”

he placed a deep kiss on your lips, sealing in the steamy morning you both shared. as he pulled away, he let his eyes stay shut for a moment, he wanted to mesmerize the feeling of your lips alone. he wanted to remember the feeling of your sticky body pressed to his. he wanted to remember the sound of your voice. he wanted to remember this moment. that way if he died tomorrow, he would be able to lay back and remember you.

“my body hurts,” you groaned, leaning back and taking him with you. as you both hit the mattress with a loud ‘puff’, he couldn’t help but smile.

“let me guess, you’re going to spend the whole time in bed,” he chuckled.

“what? i can’t enjoy my honeymoon? and my new house,” you smiled widely up at him. he cupped your cheek, smiling happily as he brushed your cheek. your smile faded as you nuzzled yourself into his palm, with a small sigh.

“you know, the moment i got home after that date with the froyo,” he began, licking over his dry lips. “i went home and began mapping out how your dream house would look,”

"really?" you smiled as you turned towards him, bunching the duvet up to your chin. he nodded and you gave him a small playful scoff, "and here i thought it was just a question,"

"well, it wasn't,"

your heart ached at the image of a young and blonde Leon sitting at his crowded desk, sketching out a house with the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his lip. you smiled at his confession, letting him plop down beside you as his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him.

“i was determined to make it happen,” he chuckled to himself, “i bought the property, hired construction workers, and interior designers. now that i think about it, i was so mean to them.”

you laughed at that, his story playing out in your head like a movie. you wondered how long it took and how much it all cost. though, he refused to tell you. he refused to tell you anything about the making of this house. you didn’t know about it until just a few weeks ago.

when he carried you out of the car bridal style with a blindfold around your eyes. he placed you onto the ground for a moment and you could hear the jingling of keys and the squeak of a door. when you stepped into the house it smelt stale, like wood and dust.

but when he took that blindfold off you were faced with something much better. you were face to face with your future — your dream. he mapped it out perfectly, just to your desires and nothing could ever be better. it was better than your dreams. so much better.

“the day of your uh other wedding,” he paused stifling a small nervous laugh as you giggled, “i was about to sell it. i was about to throw your dream away,” you frowned, both feeling guilty and saddened at the thought. he reached down under the covers, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“our dream…i was going to throw our dream away,” he laid his head down against the pillow, looking down at your hands as he ran his thumb over your delicate knuckles. “it wasn’t your fault, i just couldn’t stomach the thought of living or owning a house that was meant for you,”

“oh Leon,” you sighed.

“you didn’t know about the house, i never got to tell you and well it was too late to.”

you brought your joined hands to your lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles as you scooched closer to him. you didn’t go back to him because of the house, even if you did know about the house, you knew that you would have gone back to him for the sole purpose of being with him.

you could still be in that dainty old apartment and you’d be happy. you could be living in a studio apartment with him and you’d be happy. you could be living in a cardboard box with him and you’d be happy. as long as you were with him. home was where he was. Leon was home.

“the realtor convinced me not to, he told me a story similar to ours,” his other hand reached up, cupping your cheek and stroking the puffiness underneath your eyes.

“his story didn’t have a happy ending like ours but he told me, ‘it is never too late to be what you wanted to be.’” Leon sighed heavily, looking deep into your eyes. you looked at him attentively, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering up at him. he smiled at you, finding the look on your face adorable, like a kid listening to a bedtime story.

“and well i wanted to be with you,”

your heart swelled with love and your features softened. you gave him a look of pure adoration, and every waking moment and every waking day you found yourself falling more and more deeply in love with him. from the moment you woke, to the moment you slept and into the dreams you inhabit, you loved him dearly.

your heart called for him in your strongest and weakest moments. your soul was tied to him and your every thought revolved around him.

Leon. Leon. Leon. he was all you knew and all you wanted. he was your dream, your prince charming, your fairytale. he was your everything. he held you in the palm of his hands and he didn’t even know it. from the moment you met and to this very moment now, laying in bed with limbs entangled — stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothing, you were his.

you wanted it to be him.

you wanted him to be your partner in crime. you wanted him to be your husband, your partner in life and death, the father to your children, the man you introduced to your parents, the man to give you his last name, the person you woke up to in the morning and fell asleep next to in the night, the sole owner of your heart and soul.

and now he is that. he is your partner in life and death, your husband, to father of your future children, the man you woke up to and fell asleep next to. he is that man.

“i’m glad it was you.”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

tags : @xoxoloveless @luvrgreyy @ynsvnte @satinwithsilk @child-chomper1 @porcelain-sea-shore @stefoooo @spfoah @chesue00 @daervannafia @puppyina @prettyntxhee @leonkennedygvrl @altissia-09 @leqonsluv3r @yuiopiklmn @folksriddle @squazmine @its0214-am @xqlenkdy @belovedcloud @beafart (loved ur lil note btw! it made me laugh) @admirxation @neverg0nnagivey0uup @fancyyme @marymustdie @bloodstainedbandaid @jeonmochi99-blog

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author notes: MY GOD! pt. 2 is done and this shit is LONG! literally i did not need to write this much but i hope you guys enjoyed this one and tysm for filling out the taglist i was so surprised to see so many people wanted to be tagged in my work i thank each and every one of you ToT!!

also, summer is officially here for me so expect me to be active much more :D! - V!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #death island leon #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #resident evil 6 #chris redfield #claire redfield

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mononijikayu · 15 hours

Text

already gone – gojo satoru.

(manga spoilers for chapter 261)

His eyes flicked to yours, a flicker of pain and understanding passing between you. In that moment, you both knew that there would be no going back to the way things were. The choices made here would haunt you, but you also knew that you would face the future together, bound by the shared weight of your decisions and the unspoken promise of support.

GENRE: shinjiku showdown arc (spoilers for chapter 261)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: already gone by sleeping at last

NOTE: im mourning so hard, i haven't stopped crying. but i cried more because i can't imagine how my oc would feel considering genmei views satoru as her lifeline. im not even at that part of the story writing, but genmei would be hit hard. she wouldnt be able to move on. she wouldn't be able to stop crying either. but i needed to write this, to get the emotional brunt off my chest. i hope that this comforts you a little as it did with me. i love you all. hugs for everyone.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

THERE REALLY WAS NO GOING BACK FROM THIS. You and Satoru sat alone amidst the aftermath, the bodies of the higher-ups lying around you, a grim testament to the brutal reality you both faced.

The silence was heavy, a suffocating weight that pressed down on your chest as you stared at the carnage. The acrid scent of blood and death hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang that coated your tongue. Each breath felt like an effort, the gravity of what had transpired settling over you like a dark cloud.

Satoru, usually so carefree and unbothered, looked uncharacteristically solemn. His usually bright, mischievous eyes were shadowed with emotions embroiling into a chaotic harmony.

He sat close to you, his hand resting on the ground beside yours, fingers almost brushing but not quite. The unspoken connection between you had always been palpable. Even when both of you were a bit younger. It was if anything, even when you both lost Suguru, a thin thread of solace in the midst of the horror.

You glanced at Satoru, seeking some form of reassurance, but his gaze was fixed on the bodies, his jaw clenched tight. The weight of the recent events bore down on you both, the decisions made, the lives taken, all swirling in a chaotic maelstrom of regret and necessity.

There was no other choice. Not when there was such little time, when there was no way you would leave this for the kids to wrap up. It was a moment where the true cost of your responsibilities became painfully clear, the price paid in blood and sacrifice. This is all that will secure the future.

Satoru finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "We did what we had to." he said, more to himself than to you, as if trying to convince himself of the necessity of their actions. “Don’t think too much.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the truth of his words. "I know." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But after all this time, I thought it would be easier.”

You did think it was easier. You knew what it was like to kill human beings. The act of taking a life was not foreign to you; it had been part of your existence as a jujutsu sorcerer for as long as you could remember. The initial shock and horror of it had dulled over time, replaced by a grim acceptance of necessity. Each death was a means to an end, a way to protect the innocent, to rid the world of curses, to maintain balance. Yet, today felt different.

The bodies of the higher-ups lay sprawled around you, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. These were not faceless enemies or malevolent curses; these were people you had known, some for years. Their ambitions, their fears, their humanity—it all lay exposed in the finality of their deaths. You and Satoru had made a choice, one born out of desperation and the need for a new order, but the cost of that choice now weighed heavily on your soul.

You have always been able to justify your actions in the past. Each kill had been a step toward a greater good, a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. But this? This felt like a betrayal of the very essence of what you stood for. These were your peers, your allies, albeit flawed and corrupt. The distinction between right and wrong blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity.

Satoru's hand tightened around yours, a silent anchor in the storm of your thoughts. His presence was a reminder that you were not alone in this, that he too bore the weight of what you had done. You glanced at him, searching for some semblance of solace in his expression. His face was a mask of determination, but his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—betrayed a depth of sorrow that mirrored your own.

“Hm, it doesn’t.”

Silence engulfs you both.

Your eyes flared downward.

A sigh passes through your lips.

"It's not in you to have liked to do this." you finally said, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the sorrow churning in layers unknown. “To decide the upper floors had to go.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. "We had no choice," he replied, his voice devoid of its usual lightheartedness. "We have no more time to indulge in the future."

There was so much you wanted to say, so many arguments and pleas that burned on the tip of your tongue. But the words refused to come, trapped in the maelstrom of your conflicted heart. Satoru seemed to sense your turmoil, turning to face you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours.

"Just say it," he urged gently. "Tell me how you hate me for what Yuuta and I agreed to do, should I lose to Sukuna."

You met his gaze, the pain and love in your eyes reflected in his own. "I do hate you," you whispered, the confession tearing at your soul. "Because I love you too much."

Satoru's expression softened, and he stood, walking over to you. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. "The loss of me will pass," he murmured against your hair, his breath warm on your skin. “Hm? You will always move forward. You have to.”

You clung to him, the thought of losing him more than you could bear. "You say it as it is. I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

He laughs a little, echoes of guilt layered among it.. “But you will this time too.”

This is what you think you hated the most about Satoru. How settled he was in his ways, how stubborn he was with his plan. It was a means to an end. As long as it brought down the system, he didn’t care about what happened. As long as his students lived, he didn’t care. And yet you wondered, what he would leave you with.

How much emptiness, how much grief he would let you settle for years and years — because he cared more about the world he wanted to build. In a way, you loved Satoru too much. You loved him so much you went against the world you had always known.

You had a dream of a normal life. Once when Kaiko and Namie were alive. Once with Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. When all you had left was Satoru, you were determined to live for him.

But you never gave up on that dream That you would have that white picket fence life. That you would raise a family. That you would grow old with him. But you should have known. You should have known that he was too far gone for you to reach.

Even with all the love that was between you, you should have known that love would not be enough to bring him back to life. Gojo Satoru had decided that love was a curse. And he lived by it. Geto Suguru had given it to him.

And he had accepted it. And since that day, you knew that he would have never let it go. Yet, what right do you have to judge him for it? You felt the same, when Kaiko died. And you never looked back.

“I loved you too much to let you just be a passerby in my life," you finally said, your voice breaking. "I've lost too much already, Satoru. But…. but to lose you would break me."

He held you tighter, his voice steady and resolute. "You have to be strong, for me and for everyone, y’know that." he said. "They'll need you when I'm gone."

His words cut deep, but you knew he was right. The world would keep turning. The sun would keep moving forward. The march of time, the echo of life would not change. It will go on and on. Even without him. People would need you to be there, to fight for them, to protect them. But the thought of a world without him was a dark, hollow void in your life, in your heart. In your soul. More tears flowed in your eyes.

Memories echoed in your head, as though they were just reels of your life in a picture show. You knew he could see it too, as though his six-eyes could see it as painfully as you could. As clearly as possible. Eleven years of life, motioned into small moments. Small moments that encompassed your whole world. Because he was your world. He was your whole world.

2011

You and Satoru spent a day at the beach, the sun high in the sky and the ocean waves crashing gently against the shore. He chased you along the sand, laughter bubbling up as you tried to escape his playful grasp. When he finally caught you, he lifted you up and spun you around, both of you dizzy with happiness.

You collapsed onto the sand together, breathless and smiling. "I wish we could stay here forever," you said, looking out at the endless horizon.

He squeezed your hand, his voice soft and sincere. "We can always come back. This place will always be here for us. We’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki with us next time too.”

You smile back at him. “I’d like that, Satoru. More than you know.”

2013

One quiet night, you both lay on a blanket under a canopy of stars, the world around you silent and still. Satoru pointed out constellations, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness.

"There's Orion," he said, tracing the outline with his finger. "And over there is Cassiopeia."

You nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Do you think we'll always have moments like this?" you asked softly.

He wrapped an arm around you, his voice filled with certainty. "Always. No matter what happens, we'll always find our way back to each other."

2014

Your New Year's together that year was magical. You stood on a rooftop, watching fireworks light up the night sky. The colors exploded in brilliant patterns, reflecting in Satoru's eyes as he pulled you close.

"Happy New Year," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

"Happy New Year," you replied, feeling a sense of hope and excitement for the future. "Let's make this year unforgettable."

He smiled, his arms wrapped securely around you. "Every year with you will be unforgettable."

“You guys make me sick.” Megumi whispered under his breath, taking a bite out of his cake.

“Megumi, don’t say that! They’re in love.” Tsumiki says, smiling at the sight of you and Satoru.

You both could only laugh.

2017

In the quiet of the night, you and Satoru sat together, your hearts heavy with grief for the loss of Suguru. The weight of his absence hung in the air like a tangible presence, a reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of duty and honor.

Satoru's normally bright eyes were dimmed with sorrow, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the burden he carried. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such profound loss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I had to do it. I had no choice."

You squeezed his hand, offering silent understanding and support. "I know," you replied softly. "It wasn't easy, but you did what had to be done. Suguru understood that."

Tears welled in Satoru's eyes as he leaned into your embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of your presence. In that moment of shared sorrow, you held each other close, finding strength in your love and the knowledge that you would always be there for one another, no matter what trials lay ahead.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful intensity. "Remember all the things we wanted?" he began softly. "Now all our memories, they're haunted."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words resonate deeply within you. "We were always meant to say goodbye." you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Even with our fists held high, it never would have worked out right," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were never meant for do or die, darling."

A sob escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I didn't want us to burn out, Satoru" you said, your voice breaking. "I didn't come here to hurt you now. I don't want to hurt you. But now I.... I can't stop."

Satoru gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter where we take this road. Someone's gotta go."

His words cut through you like a knife, the finality of it all hitting you hard. "It doesn't have to be you."

He smiles shaking his head.

"And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better," he said, his voice full of love and regret. "But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone."

“How do I do it?” You sobbed to him. “Without you?”

“You can.” He presses a kiss against your nose. “And you will.”

“You were meant to grow old with me.” You croaked to him.

"But now you’ll do it for me. For the both of us, hm? Live a long life." Satoru shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. "Keep Gakuganji in check. You know that old geezer can’t be trusted to keep the straight line.”

“Satoru….”

“Keep the jujutsu world at peace on my behalf.”

You shake your head against his chest.

You hit your arms against his figure.

Infinity was always down when it was you.

“Live long so that you have stories to tell me."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. "I hate you!" you repeated, the words laced with anguish. “I really really hate you.”

He laughed sadly, a bittersweet sound that echoed in the empty space around you. "I know, darling." he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I know."

In that moment, you both understood the depth of your bond, the unspoken promises and the inevitable heartache that lay ahead. But for now, you held onto each other, finding solace in the shared pain and the love that had brought you together.

When you let him go that day, you knew.

You would have to wait until you were gray.

You looked at Shoko and you shook your head.

Your eyes were too red to even look one last time..

As far as you were concerned, he was already gone.

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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honeipie · 2 days

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THE MOMENT

izuku x fem!reader

synopsis: izuku is asked the exact moment that he fell in love with his wife, and he knows exactly when

authors note: why do i keep writing about podcasts all of a sudden lmaoooo 😭 also i proofread this when i was tired asf so if it’s bad sorryyyy

“it’s really nice to have you here mr. midoryia! thank you for agreeing to join us on our podcast. we know how busy you are saving the country, so it’s nice to see you in a different light” the man flashed him a smile, which izuku was happy to return.

“yeah of course! i figured i should see why everyone is telling me that this podcast is so great” izuku crossed one of his legs over the other. his pr team thought it’d be a good idea to branch out from the regular news interviews and talk shows, so they had scheduled him a podcast episode on the number one podcast in japan.

“so having the number one hero with us is of course a prime opportunity to pick your brain. all about your hero work, who your role models were throughout the years, and maybe let us look behind the big deku label and just let us get to know midoryia izuku if you allow”

izuku nodded with his picture perfect smile “i’d like that. most people don’t respect that i’m an actual person and not just some figure with no feelings, so i really appreciate that”

the host nodded looking down at his phone “so first we wanted to give you a big congratulations! you are your wife are celebrating your second year of marriage. that must be nice”

“yes we did! thank you from both of us really. i took some time off and we had a really, really nice vacation together. it was nice to be away from all the eyes for a while”

“of course! i know it can probably get hard with all the fans that you have. everybody wanting an autograph, kids lining up to meet you, both women and men alike wanting a chance with you even though you’re clearly married. how do you deal with that in your relationship?”

“a lot of communication, like, a lot” izuku nodded his head slowly just to make his point “we set boundaries to make sure we’re comfortable with everything that happens. like one thing she’s not very comfortable with is fans kissing me on the cheek, and i totally respect that! the first time it happened we did have a bit of falling out but we communicated and got through it”

the host nodded his head listening along “he’s not just good at saving the world folks! he’s also a relationship pro”

this made both of them laugh easing away any underlying tensions that were there before.

“staying on the topic of your relationship we have a question. every week we ask people what questions to ask to our guests when they come onto the show, and the most asked question was this. what was the exact moment that you fell in love with your wife? i mean she must’ve done something to make you look at her the way you do”

“hearty question,” he joked rubbing his hand against his chin “but i’m pretty sure i know when. it was back in UA, third year. it was our last big event before we graduated and i was struggling to get ready”

he could imagine it like it happened yesterday. third year izuku midoryia stood looking at himself in the mirror with an annoyed look on his face. it had been three years and he still hadn’t learned how to tie his damned tie. the lump of a tie sat dead center on his chest staring right back at him, taunting him.

it’s not like he didn’t try to learn. he had kacchan try to teach him. that didn’t end well. he had his mom try too, and he ended up getting his hands tangled. and youtube? forget it.

he silently cursed to himself taking off the tie once more. there were three soft knocked at his door, which at this point, annoyed him further.

“kacchan i said i’d be right out! could you at least wait five minutes before coming back?”

“izuku? it’s me” your voice alone made his shoulders ease. he came over to the door shaking his head.

“i’m sorry y/n. i thought you were kacchan-“ when he finally got a good look at you all of his words caught in his throat. you were wearing a sage green dress that went down to your ankles. he wasn’t complaining though because on the left there was a slit where he got a good view of your legs “but you are definitely not him”

you walked past izuku white heels clicking against the floor “i sure hope not. i don’t think he can pull of this dress like i can” izuku shut the door softly then made a beeline over to you. as soon as you turned around you noticed he was leaning down to kiss you “woah there pretty boy,” you held up a single finger blocking his lips “attitude check first, kisses later. what’s the matter?”

he sighed when you rejected his advances “i don’t have an attitude-“

he stopped when you made your ‘don’t lie to me face’

“fine,” he stood in the mirror and watched as you stood next to him. you looked stunning. the way you wore the dress like it was perfectly crafted for you had him staring long and hard. it made him feel like a doofus beside you with his slightly messy hair and chunky tie.

“i can’t get my tie right”

you snorted turning him towards you “you’re acting like that’s new news” he rolled his eyes at your comment pulling away from your hands “no! baby i’m sorry i didn’t mean it” your hands gently grabbed his wrists pulling him back “i’ll do it for you”

his eyebrows scrunched together as you started slipping off his tie “you know how to tie ties? how? why? when?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his confused state going to wrap the tie around his neck again straightening it out “my grandma taught me. she said that i need to learn if it i ever find that special man in my life. i didn’t really believe her because who the hell would i be tying a tie for?”

he watched carefully as you flipped the tie around with ease. folding it this way, then slipping it through one of the openings. he also watched your face. concentrated on the task at hand. his heart was racing by the time you slide the perfect knot up to his neck. tilting your head you nodded.

“but i’m glad she did y’know,” you grabbed the middle of his tie pulling him in for a kiss. he wrapped one of his arms around your waist and the other hand went securely on your back. when you pulled away there was a stupid grin on your face “cause there’s no one else i would want to do this for”

it was like he was getting hit by a truck of nostalgia. all the feelings he felt in that moment came rushing back to him. the swoop of his stomach when you pulled him into the kiss. the alarms blaring in his head from the new sensation.

he. was. in. love.

the kind of love people look for in movies, books, shows. he found that in you.

he sighed into the kiss going to move you against the wall. you had your hands on his waist trying to steady yourself. when he pulled away your face was flushed from his sudden actions. which he made sure not to mention in the podcast.

“well maybe i should do your ties more often”

“yeah.. you should”

izuku snapped out of the memory finally placing himself back into reality “that’s how i remember it. i don’t know if my wife remembers differently” he shrugged with a smile on his face.

“wow, that is straight out of a romance book. so does she still tie your ties today?”

izuku nodded “oh yeah, i don’t trust anyone else to do it. even on our wedding day i forced her to tie it. she was all worried about me seeing her before the wedding so i covered my eyes”

you stood there in your white dress trying not to laugh at your 6 foot husband covering his face like a child playing hide and seek “you really want me to do this?”

“please honey”

“only since you asked so nicely, but no peeking!” walking over you went to put his tie on like you did every other time. when you finished you gave his chest a pat “there you go champ”

“y/n.. you didn’t give me a kiss”

“what?”

he let out a childlike sigh “every time you do my tie you pull me in for a kiss. that’s how this works”

now you laughed.

“izu we can’t kiss before we have the wedding. it’s not the way it goes”

“i won’t tell anyone!”

after a couple moments of silence he could feel a tug on his tie as you drew him close. it was a quick kiss, but just enough to get him through.

the host nodded along a bit jealous that his love life wasn't as magical.

"if only we could all be like you and your wife deku”

“i get that a lot. my wife’s pretty great”

taglist! @sagejin 🫶🏾

comment if you’d like to be added

#honeipie #anime #bnha x reader #mha #writing #x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #mha midoriya #bnha midoriya #drabble #bnha deku #deku x y/n #mha x reader #deku x reader

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sushirrrry · 3 days

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CELESTIAL | I. LAW OF UNIVERSAL GRAVITATION 6.1k words - on-going story story summary here ** please be nice, this is the first on-going story I'll be posting!!

Tuesday mornings were nothing to brag about, especially when my statistics class started at eight in the morning. I’d gotten in the simple routine—wake up around six, roll out of bed, take a shower, eat some breakfast, and get on my way.

It was weird what our bodies did normally. The idea of routine, the idea of being simple. Creating routine was one of the easier things that I had been able to teach myself. It was scientific; learned behavior became natural to humans. Practice made perfect.

I always got ready that early and found time to myself before the sun fully rose in the sky. I didn't have a problem waking up early, I never had—maybe that’s what made it easier for me, though. I never bothered my mum about school, or never once tried to sleep-in because I didn’t want to go to school. Something about being up early was always comforting to me.

Well, being up early and being in school were both comforting to me in different ways.

Seeing the moon circle around the earth again was kind of freaking cool, if I was honest. My mum never had to worry about me staying up late and hiding under my covers with a book—well, she did have to worry about that a little bit— but mostly, she had to worry about me taking the telescope to the window so early in the morning.

The moment when the sun and the moon pass because the darkness is fading– everyone always talks about the sunrise, but what about the moon falling? I always liked seeing the change. It was when the night met the daylight, and the world turned over.

This morning wasn’t really like that at all, considering it had been chucking it down with rain since the moment I opened my eyes. The sound of rain woke me up early. I sat with the window open next to my bed, listening to the sounds of it pour off the roof of our apartment.

When six rolled around, I was ready to get up. I rubbed over my eyes, yawning. The glasses that sat on my nightstand were thrown on my face as I trekked to my own bathroom—thankfully, I didn’t have to share with my roommate.

I turned on the shower, letting it run for a minute to warm up. I shivered at the thought of the water hitting me instead. The warm water soothed me this early, breathing in the steam to release anything that had built up in the night. I let it run over my neck and face, feeling the warmth of the water wake me up.

The shower routine turned into brushing my teeth, towel drying my hair a bit, and doing my morning skin routine.

Once the shower was done, I chose a plain black sweatshirt with a hood and a pair of jeans, threw on my old pair of black Vans, and made my way out into the kitchen with my backpack.

All the lights were off still; Chase didn’t have class until around ten, so he was never up this early. He strategically chose to make sure that all his classes were later in the morning because he knew he’d never make them. I smiled to myself at the thought.

I threw a Pop-Tart in my bag and started to head out of the apartment, knowing that I’d have a bit of time to just eat on my way to class instead. Campus was only a short walk, but the rain was chucking it this morning and didn’t seem to be letting us even as I had gotten ready. I decided that I’d just hop in my car and head over to the building instead of walking a mile in the rain.

Parking on the street was the only option for our apartment building, so I hopped into my car and headed towards the main mathematics building on campus. As soon as I turned on the radio, I let the sounds of 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins in the speakers as I relax against the seat. I push my hand through my damp hair, annoyed that there were a few rain spots on my glasses.

There are a lot more cars on the road around the flats and campus when the weather was bad. Kids always decided to get rides or drive to class themselves, which meant that parking was like receiving a trophy. There were only a few spots here and there.

But, because I was prompt and on time, I got a spot close to the door that I had to go into. I put the car in park, sitting for a moment before I went to grab the Pop-Tart from my bag. I opened it, taking a bite of one of them as I relaxed in the seat and let the sound of the radio mix with the sound of the rain.

It didn’t bother me that I hadn’t spoken to anyone yet that morning. Life was usually quiet. There were people who I knew needed to have that connection of someone else around them. I never understood that.

Silence and the solace seemed to comfort me in a way that wasn’t too explainable. I knew that people worried about it—people saw it as a sign of something worse than it was—it was odd to people who didn’t know how it felt. But I truly felt more comfort in the way that my routine worked, rather than the fast-paced environment of always needing to be around others.

I didn’t let myself down, usually. I had comfort in knowing I was dependable; I would always be there for me.

I was at my own pace; I had my own comfort in satisfaction rather than needing distraction. I was able to work on my own life and not worry about having to work on anyone else’s. There was certainly a difference between being alone and being lonely.

My mum worried I didn’t interact enough, my sister worried that I wasn’t thriving in the space like anyone else was—she liked to project herself onto me at times.

“When I was college, I was at the bars practically every night. You can afford to go every once in a while, you know.” She’d tell me. In some respects, I understood what she meant. There was validity to her concerns for me. And I was glad that she was able to experience what she wanted, and she was able to look back and feel that it made her a better person.

But that didn’t interest me in the slightest, and I think I had to respect that for myself.

I wouldn’t be able to wake up early if I drank too much; it would throw my routine off, and I wasn’t interested in losing that, either. I didn’t want to not know where I was, or how to do something. I didn’t want to lose control like that. The people that I hung around with to study—none of us were interested in that.

I was interested in receiving my degree, I was interested in the mathematic world—I was interested in everything that was built up around the world. I was interested in learning why everything happened and figuring out scenarios that felt impossible and making them work. I was interested in logic and satellite launches that I had to live stream from the space stations.

In school, I was the captain of the academic team and won gold with the national robotics team two years in a row.

Now, I was finally in the part of life where I had always dreamed of having—studying astrophysics and mathematics at Oxford. I was following in the footsteps of only the greatest mathematicians and physicists of my generation, and eventually my name would be just as notable as his.

Stephen Hawking and Harry Styles. I thought they sounded nice next together if I was honest.

I check my phone, noticing I have about fifteen minutes until class begins. I throw my hood over my head before I grab my backpack from the passenger seat. The rain is coming down when I step out in the parking lot. I quickly make my way to the door, holding it open for another person coming in behind me. The hood hangs from my head as I take my glasses off to wipe the residual rain droplets off them.

The lecture hall that I make my way inside is old. It’s not been updated in so many years, but something about that makes it feel that much more incredible to be walking the same halls of some of the most extraordinary brains to ever exist.

Even if it’s for a general ed statistics course that I need to fill; it’s one of the easiest courses on my schedule this year. I didn’t fill it first year, as I wanted to give myself the most difficult courses I could my first year. I was excited to learn—and statistics wasn’t what I wanted to enjoy when I was in college.

So, I decided to add it in this semester. It’s almost October now—we’re a few weeks into my sophomore year. I’ve loved every minute of being here in this establishment, and I’ve loved everything that it has brought me.

My gravitational pull to this place feels right, and being in this class must have meaning other than the obvious need to graduate. Maybe something will strike—maybe a thought or something that the professor says will undoubtedly make me think about all the other unanswered questions.

I take a seat closer to the back; I think it helps me to be able to set all my papers out in front of me and be able to take notes where I need to. I’m not a huge note person, as I just try to listen. I feel it helps to just keep my mind open. Information goes in, and seemingly, just stays there.

I’m one of the first ones in the hall, but as the time starts to near, there’s around a hundred kids that take up the lecture hall—easily. It’s a gen-ed course, which means that it’s kids from all over the university. The row I’m in is seemingly empty; kids don’t always show up to class, a lot of kids like sitting closer to be able to see what the professor is drawing on the board to try to copy for themselves.

I basically teach myself as I sit with the textbook, trying to follow along with the professor’s words and everything seemingly makes sense.

I pull my water bottle out of my bag to take a sip. The sound of the room in seemingly quiet except for the professor’s words; my brain is focused on the ideas of categorical equations and numeric sequences before an overwhelming presence takes over to the right of me.

“Excuse me,” I hear the voice again, a bit closer to me, “Is this seat taken?” I hear as I stare at the front of the room. I turn my head to the side a bit in a little confusion.

She's standing there with absolutely dripping hair; her jacket is sand-colored but looks like it’s coated in water droplets. She has the most doe-eyed stare I'd ever laid my own on; her eyes are chocolate and amber at the same time and for some reason I don’t know why I can’t answer right away.

I’m not even recognizing that I’m staring until I can't let my eyes leave, and I watch her shift on her toes a bit impatiently before she looks at the students behind us.

“Oh– no, no it's open.” My voice is quiet, as the professor is talking only up ahead. I'm trying to pay attention to both, trying my best to be respectful to the professor and the girl next to me who’s trying to find a seat even though it’s almost halfway through the lecture.

I move my backpack from the seat that she goes to pull out, my hands place the backpack under the desk near my feet instead. My eyes try not to drift, but I can't help but watch as she starts to unpack her belongings. There's a notebook, which is undeniably wet, and a small textbook which we use for the class.

Also, soaking. Dripping, practically.

“Fuck,” She curses, her hands going to run through the dripping pages before she lets her backpack fall to the floor in a huff.

I can tell that her stress level is at a high, all her belongings are soaking wet from what looks to be walking to class in the rain. I’m watching as she fumbles her way around her bag, trying her best to wipe some of the water off, trying to salvage what’s left.

But it’s obvious that most of her belongings have been ruined from the rain.

“Do you need paper?” I ask her, my quiet voice possibly too quiet as she starts to search through her bag without acknowledging me.

She didn’t hear me. I adjust in my seat a little bit, maybe seeing if she would look over from just my movements. She was distracted from trying to piece herself back together, and I could tell that her brain wasn’t in the place to hear anything else.

I clear my throat, turning a bit towards her again so maybe my voice would be heard. “Sorry, do you need some paper?”

Her head jerks towards me, almost a bit in shock like she was surprised I was talking to her at all. I watch as her face goes from an anxious state to a more softened one when she sees that she's also startled me in the process.

“Oh,” She nods a few times. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

I opened my folder up, pulling a few blank pages out to hand to her. I see that her nails are chipped lilac when she goes to grab them.

The paper was gifted to me every year from my grandfather who was the one providing me the opportunity to go to college in the first place. Well, providing the funding for this adventure, at least.

So, in true Styles fashion, the small H.S. imprinted on the top with a simple logo of Saturn sat next to it. It was an official letterhead, and it was the only loose paper I had with me.

For a moment, I thought about forgetting the whole thing because in honesty, this was a bit embarrassing– but my brain and my actions didn't catch up as I handed her a few sheets and watched her eyes trace over it.

I can tell a hint of a smile when she sees the writing up on it at the top, her pen clicking in the process. In our lecture hall, there are over a hundred kids sitting and listening about chi-squares tests and the uses of categorical variables.

And I seemed to miss a bit of the conversations due to lack of concentration, a bit of distraction. That never really happened to me before, but this overwhelming scent of orange blossoms must have been trailing from her. An obvious distraction, but not one that I thought I would be caught up in.

I push my glasses on my face as I go to write down a specific note that was mentioned by the professor about possibly being on the test for tomorrow. I had caught that bit, thankfully.

The girl next to me sighs; the audible noise of annoyance is obvious when I look over at her. Her eyebrows are knit together as she pulls out her agenda, making more noise that just seems to be audible to me as we’re a few of the only ones in our row of seats.

When she notices that the notes of her calendar are also damp, she settles back in her chair for a minute.

“God fucking damnit.” She huffs. She takes a ribbon around her wrist. Pulling her hair back frantically into a taut ponytail, she holds her head in her hands, staring at the dampened notebook. “Could this day get worse? We have an exam tomorrow?”

I hear her words, and I'm not sure that she's talking to me or if she’s just speaking out into the universe. So, I stay quiet for a moment before I look up and feel that her head has turned to me. She was addressing me again, so I turn to see the amber eyes pleading at me as if I was the one who set the test schedules.

“I’m– uh, we really have a exam tomorrow?” She asks again; this time, I see she's looking at me with a worried glare.

“Yeah, uh,” I flip through a few papers to grab the printed-out syllabus to show her. I clear my throat, trying to stay quiet. “It's just going to be on basic inferential and standard deviation, I think. Maybe a bit of categorical stuff, we just learned that on Tuesday, but I'm going to confirm with the professor after class. Not hard stuff, so we should be good.”

I watch as she looks away from me for a moment, “I just…yeah, I don't know. Statistics and I aren't really friends, I guess. I don't understand it at all, and I already feel like I’m behind. It's only the third week– fuck.”

She sounds stressed, and I feel bad. I don't know what to say to her, because I'm still not entirely sure if she's talking to me or if she's taking to herself. I just know that I'm listening and I'm struggling between involving myself and leaving it be.

“Thank you all. Let me know if you have questions, I will see you tomorrow for the exam.”

The professor’s words made everyone start to stand up, grabbing their materials to leave. Her eyes look around the room in the same amount of panic.

“Shit– lecture is already over?” She says, checking her phone time. The way that her shoulders shrug down is so dismissive as she looks around at the kids starting to move up the aisles and towards the door.

“It’s only a fifty-minute lecture,” I tell her softly, trying to not make her any more upset. “Do you—” I take in a breath, wondering if I’m starting to intrude on her life and what she’s needing, but I still feel like I have the obligation to ask, “I mean, do you have some questions about the test tomorrow?”

I see her looking over some of the notes—some of the papers that weren’t completely drenched by the rain that I can tell that she raced through to be here. Her eyes fall down the messiness of the handwriting. I can tell that there were many times she messed up, or times she didn’t completely understand something and wrote in the margins. There’s ink everywhere, I don’t know how she stays organized or knows what she’s looking at.

The scratches over things are plentiful, and I relax in my seat rather than starting to get up like everyone else.

Maybe she doesn’t even know where to begin. It’s our first exam in this class, but I’m not worried about it in the slightest bit. I’ve passed through Calculus and Algebra, and since this is just a required class for graduation, I know that I don’t have to worry.

She starts to shake her head as she looks flustered, throwing her papers back into a folder with finality.

“I’m not trying to hold you up, you probably need to get somewhere—I'll just, um, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, zipping up her backpack quickly.

She’s trying her best to get away, and I can see that she’s possibly a bit embarrassed by how quickly she came in. How she wasn’t just late to class, but she also didn’t seem to have any idea about what was going on in the first place.

It seemed that maybe she had something else on her mind, and I don’t thinks he can be faulted for that.

“No,” I shake my head, standing up with my backpack to mimic her. It hangs from my shoulder on one side, pulling it up a bit as I watch the lecture hall clearing out quite quickly. ��No, I’m not in a hurry. I mean—”

“Just—thanks for the paper. That was nice of you.” The girl gives a soft smile, the softest smile that her face can seem to manage as I notice that she seems to be a bit upset. Her back turns to me and I’m now left standing there with no one else now.

I look around for a moment, thinking about what I was doing before my life was interpreted in a way. My life is always so ruled by the way that I wanted to live it—I was not easily distracted, my mind never really went to places that felt fuzzy or uneven.

But something about that interaction left me a bit speechless. I don’t even know her name, but something about that made my brain feel a little bit blurry.

There’s another person down with Professor Turvel, asking questions about the exam for tomorrow, I was certain. I knew that I needed to go down there—to make myself known and question the best ways to solve the problems, to understand what needed to be studied the most. Most people didn’t take these kinds of classes seriously, but anything that had to do with my education was serious to me.

I always asked questions—every time there was a exam, I made sure I had all the notes to understand concepts and what would exactly be on the exam so I could stay up and ensure that I knew the concepts like the back of my hand. Sometimes, the professors even assured me that I would know all the material, and not to worry so much. That didn’t keep me from asking.

As I watched the girl moving to leave the lecture hall, opening the door herself because someone hadn’t held it open for her. An instinct rose in me that was so foreign that I hadn’t understood it before.

I didn’t know why I decided to follow her instead. But my feet drug me up the steps and towards the door that would lead out into the halls, where kids were now scattered. Her backpack was purple, a dark purple with small white polka-dots. It should have been a bit easier to find, but I just held my stance at the door, turning my head to see if I could find her.

I’d know her if I saw her, she was distinctive, striking, even. Her dark hair and eyes shone against the warm tones of her skin. When she came in, it was a curly mess—dark curls, practical ringlets.

I held onto the shoulder strap of my bag, watching as kids were moving out of the corridors to head out to their next classes and outside. It seemed that she must’ve slipped out, gotten away from me when I had been looking for her.

Letting out a sigh, I lick over my lips softly. My shoulders let go—I try to push the thoughts out of my mind. Instead, it was time for me to start to prepare for my next class of the day. I had a physics class just upstairs, but I would show up prematurely to prepare and write all my calculations on the board for the lab portion of it.

It was best to be early so I could collaborate with fellow students, and it was even encouraged to allow for that time. I pull my backpack fully onto my back, both straps on my shoulders as I start to head towards the stairs to the lecture halls that were situated upstairs. They were smaller, for the specified classes.

I pulled my backpack around my middle for a moment to grab the headphones that I had placed in the small pocket in the front for my short walk. When I go to insert the headphones into my ears, I do a double take because I’m not sure that I believe my eyes as they seem to possibly trick me.

Over by the large doors. Purple with white polka-dots. The phone against her ear is being held up unwillingly; she doesn’t look like she’s invested in the conversation, but mostly upset by it.

I watch as she shakes her head, her mouth stern as she speaks into the receiver. Instantly, she takes the phone away and shakes her head before placing her thumb to end the call.

I couldn’t make out what she’s saying because we’re still too far apart. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m staring, or that I’m listening in at all. My feet guide me towards the general area, as the door to the stairs is just around the corner from where she’s standing.

She’s standing there with her arms crossed, looking out of the door as if she’s waiting for someone. It looks a bit impatient; she’s just as upset as she was back in the lecture hall, and maybe now even more so.

I don’t know what it means, but it seems that she’s a bit off and I just can’t let it go. I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning, but my feet seem to only… pull me closer. I’d have to debate Newton’s laws of gravitational pull, because the Earth’s axis seemed to be tilting just a bit.

Wherever she seemed to be is where gravity was pulling. And nothing about that made sense in the logical world, so my brain was a bit scattered about how that could have even been a possibility.

In an anxious turn of my shoe, I head towards her. I pivot from walking towards the steps and decide that a soft approach towards her is an option that I’m willing to take.

“Um, I’m sorry—I’m not trying to interrupt,” I approached her, softly. As one would a wounded animal, like she might get scared if I spoke loud enough. Her head turns towards me, her fingers move up against her cheek as she tries to look more pulled together, like she was unraveling quickly.

I notice that there’s a tear stain on her cheek, but she did her best to clear it away. Something about that doesn’t sit right with me and I clear my throat as I try to not embarrass her by noticing.

When she doesn’t speak, I just shake my head a little, trying to make sense of what’s come over me.

“I—I mean, are you okay? You,” I push my glasses up on my nose, “Are you waiting for someone?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes in a deep breath. I watch the sleekness of her hair back in the ponytail cross over her shoulder when she stares at the ground.

I’ve always been partial to understanding when people were upset. I didn’t know what it was. My mum always told me I was just sensitive, my sister telling me that I probably watched too much Bambi as a kid.

Something about watching someone suffer endlessly, without another word, hit home. I didn’t want her to feel like she was alone, if she didn’t want to be. That was the difference—I wanted to be alone most of the time, so I didn’t mind. But that didn’t mean that she did. Maybe she wasn’t—maybe I was overstepping. As I overthought it, I shifted on my feet as she stood in a solitude of silence from the corridors of the university filtering out for the next sessions.

But it just felt like my heart was understanding right now.

“I’ve just had a... difficult morning, really,” She starts, shrugging. The problems are brushing off her shoulders when she looks up at me once again. I see that the sadness reigns in her eyes, but it’s being shielded by the layers of needing to show that everything was fine. “I’m okay. Seriously. I know this probably looks insane but trust me. I’m fine.”

There wasn’t anything I could do but trust that she was. I didn’t know her—I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t know anything else about her, and while I could notice that there were still tears welled up in her eyes, the smile had been the greatest mask of it all.

I nod at her, taking the moment to try to understand if that’s the cue to leave. When she starts to turn around just a bit, I settle with the idea that the conversation has ended. It’s ended, and it’s time for me to move back towards the stairs.

My brain recomputes that I have physics in about twenty minutes, and I’m going to go upstairs to dispute Hawking’s radiation theory of black holes. That’s where the gravitational pull is taking me next—it has to be.

As I go to place the earbud back into my ear, making a few steps towards the door that held the stairs, I hear the voice again.

“Hey,” Her voice rings out just a bit, as we’re now the only two in the corridor of the hallways. I turn my head back, our eyes reconnecting. Her eyes blink a few times as she lets out a sigh, which almost makes her look like she could break down at any moment, but I hold my breath. It looks like she had been holding in that breath for a while, so her shoulders drop to meet mine. “Do you—what if I did have questions about the exam tomorrow?”

I don’t know if words come out of my mouth in an answer, so I’m trying to compute what she said. Unfortunately, I think that she notices so she presses on.

“Like, could you help me study?” She asks, pressing on. “You said it was easy—I just, I need some extra help because I—I just have a lot going on.”

I pause in my tracks, not anticipating her questions or flat-out asking for my help.

“Oh.” I swallow dryly, as she stares at me with the slightest bit of eagerness for my answer I hadn’t noticed that in her eyes before, and I’m not sure that I’m used to it. I’m not sure that I’m prepared for how… she looks with hope coating her eyes. “Oh—yeah, I mean, I’ll be in the library tonight around six if you want to, like if you want to come study or something.” I shrug, “I can help you.”

I watch as a hint of a smile starts to turn at the edges of her lips. She holds the crossing on her arms over her chest tightly, as if to feel an odd sense of comfort from it.

“Can I meet you there tonight, then? You won’t mind?” She asks, her voice a bit unsure. It’s like I’d say no, even though I was the one who offered in the first place.

I’m still taken aback by the response of her wanting to meet me there at all. Thursday nights usually meant that the library was the quietest day in the week. Most people went out on Thursday’s around here to start their weekend—it was apparently the best bar deals, but I hadn’t taken advantage of that.

It was the best day to be in the library, just because of that.

“Yes. Yeah, of course, you can—” I pause for a moment, blinking a few times as I stick my hand out to her recognizing how I hadn’t even introduced myself to her yet, “Sorry—I’m Harry.”

Her eyes widen just a bit at my words before she starts to giggle a bit, her hand fitting into mine. My molars bite the inside of my cheek just at the grip, the softness of her hand in my palm has me distracted for a moment.

“Stella.”

Stella.

Stella. Stella. Stella. Stella.

“Star.” I say, a bit under my breath. She tilts her head a little bit at my whisper before I shake my head with a little bit of a laugh. I feel embarrassed that I spoke out loud and she heard, so I just try to explain the thought process with a simple shrug.

“It’s, your name, it’s ‘star’ in Latin,” I pull on the strap of my bag before I’m biting on my lip a little bit, “It’s a nice name.”

I watch as Stella’s face has started to turn into more of an arraigned softness; her features not as harsh, her brow isn’t knit.

“Sorry, I don’t know the origin of Harry.” Her chuckle is playful as she shakes her head.

“It, uh,” I rub the back of my neck as I feel an odd hint of embarrassment play on my cheeks, “Means ‘home’. Or something like that.”

As I watch her face, I study it as best as I can without seemingly staring, I watch her eyes move between mine.

I look away when I notice that she hasn’t—she’s still looking for a moment longer. I clear my throat to try to break up the instant staring game that we’ve started. I check my phone in an awkward angle to get out of the moment that has seemingly turned quiet, when I recognize how long I’ve been standing here.

9:26.

“Shoot,” I say quickly, “I have class in a few minutes. I’ll—”

She cuts me off as I adjust my bag on my shoulder, hoisting it up.

“Oh, fuck—I’m going to be late.” She checks her own phone to confirm the time for herself before the smile catches on her face, “I’ll see you tonight, Harry.” Stella confirms, nodding a few times.

Before I know it, I watch as she walks behind me and towards the other door on the other side of the hallway. I didn’t even get a chance to ask for her phone number—knowing I’d stumble my way through that sentence.

Not really a sentence I’ve ever really asked casually before.

It was odd—that feeling in my brain. The feeling of blurriness, almost like nothing had been in there at all. It was like every thought I’d had was placed into a certain box now, unable to think of anything else except for the way that Stella’s eyes were merely amber and bronze all at the same time.

I shook my head, thinking that the physical movement may take my attention back to what I was supposed to keep my eye on. I put my headphones back in, moving towards the stairs as I climb them quickly.

I wouldn’t have enough time to write all my worked equations on the board. But, for the first time in my entire life, there was a feeling of ease that happened to replace the anxious voices that mirrored in my head. There was confusion; one unexplained.

Having to be smart enough.

Having to be good enough.

Having to be enough.

Logically, this didn’t make sense—this feeling of satisfaction that rested in my chest and head. It was like an overcome sense of relief.

Maybe Hawking had a theory to explain this feeling that had completely dismissed my thoughts and worries— it had complete trampled it, made me unaware of the worry that I may be late to class, or that I may not be prepared. Maybe it had already been explained and logic had nothing to do with it.

I shook my head at the thought, entering the familiarity of the physics lab. The third table to the right was where I placed all my belongings in the same routine that I had made for weeks.

This time, just another atom of a thought processes through my brain and into my cerebrum—allowing the thoughts to muster and to sit as I thought about what I would be doing for the next eight hours.

The library never made me feel lonely, and for once, I wouldn’t be alone.

And today, I was okay with that.

________________

THANK YOU FOR READING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS <3 please please please let me know what you think!!! I'm excited to share this with a new audience, so please be nice!!

#harry styles #hs #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles x original character #harry styles fanfiction #harry wattpad #ask #harry #harry styles story #wattpad story #celestial #law of universal gravitation #harry x stella #chapter 1 #harry styles original story

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yooglefics · 2 days

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The casual type: 01 . The blind date

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader Wordcount: 2,888 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ?????. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. And fuff for cute friends. Summary: Hobi and his girlfriend set you up with a friend of hers to help with whatever happened months back. However no one really expected things to end the way they did.

Warnings ( for this chapter ): Setting things up for plot purposes. Gridding? Mentions of a boner. Making out. Author's note: So, I wanted to write some friends with benefits thing, plus a bunch of art kids… and this came out ┐( • ֊ • )┌ . I should note here I took the creative liberty to play around with their ages so everyone is in college at the same time, and if you haven't, you can check the presentation post and learn a little bit more about them. Now let's start, hope you like it! If you do you can reblog, like, comment, send an ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3

The place is quieter than the last time you were here, you realize, is earlier in the day and the semester just started after all, meaning students are still moving in from their home cities. And although you want to be mad at him, you can't really blame Hoseok's choice of place for a date, instead, you're already thinking of ways to be able to escape the awkwardness of it all.

Of course, he and Mai don't have to worry about that. Is not their first date and considering they're both dance students it actually makes sense for them to be in a club on a friday night. Is their element, unlike yours, who hasn't left their room for the last couple of weeks if it's not to go art-supply shopping and will spend even weekends far away from a place like this.

But you couldn't say no. Not to Hobi. Not after he held you tight that night and didn't pray for an explanation.

He had come up with his own conclusions, though, and that's how you ended here. On a double date with Mai and her friend who you don't even know, so... Yay! Blind date added to the mix of reasons why you already want the night to end.

"You made it!" Mai greats when the both of you get closer to the bar, standing up to hug you first and then her boyfriend. "We ordered something while waiting."

Your friend nods at the explanation, "What do you want?" He asks in your direction and you settle for a fruity cocktail to not look too out of place with everyone else drinking. Mai insists on going with Hobi and he insists you stay, so, a bit awkwardly, you take the stool besides your date.

"Yoongi, by the way." The guy simply introduces himself before taking a sip of his drink.

"Y/n" short, overthinking if bowing is too formal until you decide is too long of a pause and it would only make it more awkward. In the end, a soft smile is your decision.

"They look cute together," you say looking at your friends, trying to break the silence that has fallen between.

"Listen," Yoongi begins, and your head turns to him, "I'm only here because she asked, so if you're expecting something like that, let's just leave."

"Like that?" Brows slightly closer, "a cute relationship?"

"A relationship in general. I don't do those."

"Oh..."

And before you can say anything else, Hobi is placing a glass in front of you, smiling reassuringly. "You'd be okay if I go dance now?"

A pause and then a nod is the answer. Not having any intentions of spoiling their night.

"Don't worry. Yoongi," Mai turns to him, a serious expression on her soft features, "you better take care of her, alright?"

He salutes, earning a smile from the couple and they walk to the dance floor hand in hand. You watch them make some silly moves at first and giggle, but it doesn't take long before they start to follow the beat and match it with their movements.

"I don't want a relationship either," you clarify, tone assertive, still looking at the couple with a smile.

He laughs, "I'm sorry, but that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Look at me and tell me you didn't just imagine yourself with someone on that dance floor."

You turn to him, brown eyes inspecting yours, "Well, yes. But that doesn't mean I want it to happen with someone I'm in a relationship with."

Again, he laughs. Clearly not believing you.

"What? People do casual things all the time," you defend, straightening your back and looking away.

"You do 'casual things'?" His eyebrows raise, "all the time?"

"Shut up, you don't know me."

"That's a no," no need to look at him to know there's a smirk playing on his lips.

"Who are you? Some kind of hook up police or something?" You want to take it back as soon as it leaves your mouth, cringing.

"Are you gonna show me your license?" but he is faster.

"Okay, that was more lame than what I said," you laugh. Maybe he is not as grumpy as he seems. And maybe, just maybe, you would be able to enjoy the night after all.

If he doesn't want a relationship either, then you don't have to deal with rejecting him or being forced to accept a second date just because you're too kind to say no. That's good.

"Yoongi, hey!" A guy calls out and for a split second your date's expression changes to a surprise one before a polite smile takes place on his face. "Oh, hi. Sorry for interrupting, haven't seen him in months."

"Is alright," you play along even when not understanding.

"I guess he has been busy with yo—"

"Jay," Yoongi's tone is serious, like the one he used to say he doesn't do relationships. However, before he can continue or you are able to clarify that you two just meet, Jay is calling someone over.

"Look who I found, love. Yoongi!"

A redhead girl repeats Yoongi's early expression and you wonder two things about Jay. One: if he always has that effect on people. And two: if he is even more clueless than you in this whole situation, since his smile never falls.

"Hi," the redhead says and Yoongi greets back just as plain.

Are you really imagining the awkwardness? Perhaps you were wrong and in the end you should put one of your plans to avoid it into place?

A few seconds of thinking go by, no one says anything and you could swear the tension is filling the air around your new group.

"Oh, that's the song!" Fake excitement in your voice tricks everyone into looking at you. "I promise, remember? If it comes on, we'll dance."

Yoongi looks confused for a second, but it doesn't take him long to finally understand, "right, the song. Sorry guys, been waiting all night."

Jay dismisses him smiling with a pat on the back, saying something about not breaking promises and Yoongi takes your hand.

Looking around, you try to find your friends, hoping to copy Mai's moves and keep up with the plan even when you're a self proclaimed not dancer. But they aren't in sight and even if you can't really prove it since your back is facing them, you feel like Jay's and the girl's eyes are on you.

When Yoongi stops and positions himself in front of you, you get closer, sliding an arm on top of his shoulders pretending you're positioning yourself to dance, copying the random couple beside you.

Ugh. Why did you use this plan?

Why was this something you even thought about?

"I don't know what I'm doing," you confess in a whisper.

"What do you mean?” He looks for your eyes, hair strain coming out of place when his head lowers a little, "you want to go back and sit down?"

"No, then they would know I lied," you're still trying to figure out why in the first place and don't need the embarrassment too, "but I don't know how to dance."

He chuckles, "here, I'll help." And holds your hips softly, moving them to the beat of the song, matching your movements with his own. "Relax. Don't think too much about it."

"If I don't, how do I know how to move?" It doesn't make sense and is a bit frustrating, honestly.

"Is not a dance competition, or the grant ball, princess. Just do what feels right."

He catches you looking at your feet and brings you closer, eliminating the gap between your bodies completely. "Don't do that," one of his hands travels to the small of your back, keeping you in place.

"Sorry," you say against his neck. Not intentionally, but because of your height difference, there's no other option. In an effort to not be so dependent on him, both your arms move around his neck and you try to move your hips in a way that in the end doesn't match his movements completely, causing you to bum into his front. He makes a sound that you assume is a complaint at your skills and another apology rolls through your lips.

"Turn around," Yoongi commands, applying pressure to one side of your hip.

You comply, confused even when you feel his hands on your waist. "Well, I'm going to assume you been fucked before, miss casual all the time," with his chest against your back, you can feel his laugh. "Open your legs a little," one of his feets kicks gently between yours, fixing your stand. "You want to lead or should I?"

"...You." Is the safest, you decide. Your turn to assume he surpasses your experience at that too.

“Some describe dancing like a good fuck," he explains, hands softly making their way a bit lower to your hips, "because you have to learn your partner. Find a rhythm together." His movements start slow, moving your body with his from side to side, with small circles of the hips.

Your hands fall on top of his, not knowing what else to do with them. They're soft, which for some reason is unexpected.

"I have dancer friends and they never described it like that..."

"Not to you, probably," he laughs and when you stop the movements to throw an angry look his way — because you're pretty sure that's some kind of insult,— he chuckles, before continuing the swaying of your hips. "Calm down, princess. I meant, they probably just weren't teaching you this kind of dance."

And that makes sense. You can't imagine dancing with your friends like this. You can barely believe you're doing it with a stranger.

Your shyness must have shown, because his next question is why did you even choose this song.

"I was trying to help and get you away from whatever that was," you lift your head, eyes away from your feet and the color lights projecting on the floor, and sure enough, behind red bangs, the girl is looking in your direction.

Your hips halt.

Yoongi catches up a bit too late, bumping his pelvis into you.

"What ar—"

"She is looking." Cutting him off, you want to hide as if you were the one caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. So, you try to turn around on his arms but his hold is firm.

A new song starts, the rhythm not much different.

"Help me with another song?"

You try again, this time using your hands on top of his to soften the grip. He gives in. And after a look at his face, you nod.

You can decide if it's sadness or anger that you see, not knowing him well enough to tell — or at all, to be honest — but either way, there's a part of you that can relate. One for each emotion.

Throwing your hair back, letting all black strands fall over your back, your arms go back over his shoulders, this time your chest flush against him a little more than last.

Yoongi says thanks and you kiss his cheek as his hands hold you again. His movements are more determined and even his fingers form dents over the fabric of your dress.

Assuming his demeanor changed only for the specific viewer doesn't sound too crazy, and you want to confirm the theory by looking at his face, see if he is looking behind you at her. Your eyes travel against the direction the few sweat drops over his skin go, and when they reach Yoongi's, he is looking back at you.

Your body stops.

"Fuck" he whispers when the front of his pelvis bumps yours. "You really need to stop doing that."

"Sorry. Told you I can't dance."

He chuckles.

Your bottom lip forms a small pout. "Don't be mean. I'm trying to help you, remember?" And you initiate the movements again, starting to get the hang of it. Kind of.

"You're not much help right now if you keep making me dry hump into you," this time he is the one stopping, making it so you bump into his front and you can feel the outline of his growing erection.

"Yoo—"

"Exactly," he says so matter of fact, "you're the mean one."

Lowering your head, you try to not think too much about it. It doesn't make you want to run away or kick him, but you also don't want to make him feel like kicking you away. You keep repeating to yourself that is normal with this type of dance, that there's probably more than one hard on at the club right now and how you're probably not the only one who is getting we—

Damn it. Just stop thinking about it.

Yoongi stops your body from moving, and when you realize he has been calling your name, you're even more embarrassed by your thoughts.

"I'm sorry. That was too much, I shouldn't have. We can go sit now." His eyes are looking straight at you, letting you know he's being sincere.

"I need some air."

Without even bothering to wait for a confirmation that he is following or not, you make your way to the side door of the club. The autumn breeze hits your skin as soon as you step into the alley, instantly calming your hormones down.

Hands cover your face in shame after reclining on the wall. Can you stop acting like it was the first time you felt a penies? Because even if it hasn't happened in a while, it doesn't mean the score goes back to zero.

"Should I bring Hoseok?" Yoongi asks a few steps in front of you and you jump a little, shaking your head after.

"I'm good. You can go back in."

"I'm not leaving you alone here. Do you want him or Mai to kill me?"

A small chuckle leaves your throat and one from him follows it.

"And you think he wouldn't kill you for—" stop. You can't think about it.

"For dancing like that with you? Probably. But he also set this date up, so..." Out of the corner of your eye you can see him shrug, "can't complain unless you hate me now."

"I don't hate you."

"Is okay if you do."

"It… it just surprised me."

"In a bad or good way?"

"A good one." You answer directly in a strain of honesty.

"So you're not really the casual type, uh?" He teases after a couple seconds of silence.

"Maybe I just don't like doing casual in the middle of the club," you defend.

"I don't know, you were the one that kept humping into me."

Your mouth opens and closes, finally looking at him and his stupid lips pull up in a smirk. You want to erase it so bad.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

And you do.

Skipping forward, right hand flying to the back of his neck to pull him in and you're able to touch his lips with yours.

He is quick to react. Kissing you back, his hands on either side of your waist pulling your body into his. But you're trying to prove a point, to defend yourself. So, you pull away slightly, making sure your lips are just about to touch.

He pulls in.

Allowing just a peck, you move.

You kind of regret not using your cherry lip gloss, because you know for sure that knowing you're so close for him to smell it but not taste it, would be the biggest tease.

You let him lean in again, not moving this time and he sighs. You smile against his lips just before his tongue asks for permission to enter your mouth. Again, you regret your simple choice of a simple red lip tint, but remind yourself that this date wasn't supposed to go like this. That Yoongi doesn't seem like the guy he was supposed to be, not what he was advertised by your friends.

Fighting back control, your left arm joins the other around his neck, moving your lips expertly and feeling his chest rise and fall quickly against yours. Is pretty much the position you were in on the dance floor minus the grinding.

Casual in the middle of the club is not your thing. Casual in general is actually not something you have experience with. But kissing? You've mastered it thanks to your past relationships and the avoidance of jumping into someone's bed right from the start.

A moan vibrates through your lips against Yoongi's, and even if it's part of the routine, you must admit is pretty real. A soft groan is his answer and the cue for your heels to touch the floor again. His hold tightens in reaction, making your dress rise up and covering a couple inches less of your thighs. Suddenly you're aware of the wind again as a breeze runs up your legs, towards the center of your panties.

Your breath caughts on your throat and Yoongi swallows any sounds before pulling away.

"Fuck," he breaths heavily, "we've to stop."

"Why? Are you not really the casual type?" You tease, stealing his line.

The left corner of his mouth lifts, before falling again in a millisecond. "Not with you."

Should I’ve added “cliffhanger” to the warnings? haha i swear is gonna be okayyyy ♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @nariee02 , @sexytholland . hope you guys like this one <3

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undercoverpena · 3 hours

Text

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

#javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javi peña smut #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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gatheringbones · 1 day

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[“G: Why did you get pregnant?

M: To prove to myself that I was a woman.

G: And then how did you feel about it?

M: I had been doing a lot of self-destructive things since I was thirteen - I dove into heterosexuality and I did it angrily and was contemptuous of any man I ever fucked. I somehow thought that fucking them would get back at them for everything, and somehow I thought that debasing myself would do something. So I got pregnant, which was very heavy 'cause at the time I thought I wanted to have kids. I really believed that there was a living person in me - my whole body was freaking out. They say you can't feel it, but I felt that energy, and I knew there was something alive in me - even if it was not more than a lump of cells, I thought it was still something alive - it was something that I was going to stop from being alive, but I figured I would rather do that. First of all I knew if I had a boy I'd drown it, and even if it was a girl I knew it had 23 genes I hated - and I didn't know who had made me pregnant. All of my hostility came to the surface - I was blind with fury and it all came out. I couldn't sit in the same room with one without wanting to murder him, literally. I couldn't listen to male music, I couldn't read male poetry. Lots of great male artists who had always been a great comfort to me I just couldn't... no male... I couldn't deal with any male, I hated them. After I calmed down about that it became very clear to me that I loved women, and I always had loved women, and that I had never had good relationships with men. I had always had good relationships with women. I had never been attracted to men, I had always been attracted to women, and I realized that I was just going to have to get used to the fact that I was a lesbian.

G: You had an abortion then?

M: Yes. I had two abortions... that was the first one. I dropped out of school and plunged right into feminism. It was obvious to me even at the time that the main reason I was there was because I wanted to come out. I wanted to come out so bad - I just wanted to do it and get it over with, you know, and just be comfortable in my identity as a lesbian. I had been avoiding the women's movement for years because I didn't want people to think that I was the old dyke who couldn't get a man. I wasn't able to become a feminist until I realized that I didn't give a shit if I was an ugly old dyke who couldn't get a man. I didn't want a man anyway. So I became active in the women's movement, and I met lesbians for the first time in my life. It was scary because even though I knew I was one I had never met a real one.

G: Were you saying you were a lesbian at that time?

M: Oh yeah, I had been saying that I was a lesbian for years before that. I can remember saying to a friend a couple of years before, when I was fucking all these men, "You know, I'll bet I'm a lesbian, because people with case histories like mine always turn out... if I didn't know me and I heard my case history I would be convinced that was a lesbian." And she said, "Oh, don't worry, you're not a lesbian." She tried to reassure me, but I knew. I just didn't want to deal with it; it was scary being a lesbian. Particularly since being a woman was so important in my family. So I became involved in the women's movement full-time. Then I needed money - so I got a job as a waitress. I was working nights and sleeping during the day and I didn't have any time for the women's movement. The only people I was hanging out with were the people I worked with. All of a sudden, since I didn't give a shit about men, I was really attractive to them. I'd never been attractive to them before, but all of a sudden I was fascinating - I guess every man want to fuck a dyke, you know, to prove they're a real man. So they started following me home. I was horny and I didn't have any lesbians knocking at my door, and I knew how to manipulate men, so I figured fuck it, I'll give them one more chance - so I started fucking a couple of guys. I told them, "Look, I hate men. I'm a lesbian, I haven't come out yet, but I promise you I'm a lesbian." So I fucked them. And at that time I had an IUD which I had gotten after my first abortion, which they had promised me would be very effective. I got pregnant again, six months after my first abortion. My second abortion was really nice. I went to a really nice clinic and it was very clear to me, never again, never again. It's over. There was a really nice woman who was my counselor and I was awake for the abortion. She was holding my hand and while the fetus was being taken out of my body I was holding her hand saying to her, "Never again," and she said, "Oh, you're going to come out?" I said, "Oh, yes," and she said, "Far out," and she called across the room to another woman who was a counselor, and said, "Hey, this woman's coming out." It was so nice, so supportive, she's holding my hand, a woman, and I was telling her that I was a lesbian. She was telling me that that was great, and they were taking that goddamn thing out of my uterus. It was almost worth being pregnant, it was such a nice abortion. I was so into her that I didn't feel any pain, it was annoying, but all of a sudden it was over. It was really nice.”]

The New Lesbians, edited by Laurel Galana and Gina Covina, moon books, 1977

#gina covina #Laurel Galana #lesbian literature #terra preta

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falena-kingscholar · 3 days

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Welcome to Sunset Savanna!

The king is a very busy man with lots to attend to, so I'll be taking care of all the administrative stuff so you all can have your fun!

My name is V, you can call me the royal advisor if you really wanted, and I'm here to keep everything running smoothly, keep this blog a safe place, and make sure everyone is having fun. In order to do that, of course, there have to be rules, so let me make this short and sweet as I can for you!

Bigots, terfs, racists, p*dos, you're all on the DNI list. I will block you if you come on my blog with the intention to harm someone else, or openly admit these values.

Being an advisor means I've got plenty on my plate beyond this blog. There is a real person running all this, with my own life to live. Please be patient and understanding.

Have fun!! If I or someone else is making you uncomfortable, feel free to let me know so I can set things right.

Limit your NSFW. I don't mind if you're thirsty to a certain extent, and I'm fine with cursing. Keep in mind that the RP community on Tumblr is diverse both in gender + sexuality, but also in age and I would like to keep this page friendly to everyone.

OCs, MCs and other Canon characters are welcome to interact. Just as a bit of a heads up, I'm not super comfortable shipping Falena with anyone besides his wife - but if you read below you'll see why that's a little rocky too.

This is a HEADCANON version of Falena. Below is a short description of how I interpret him and a few of his relationships. This is to ensure I enjoy the character I'm playing. This does not mean I'm not open to feedback or constructive criticism, just be respectful please.

Get To Know The King

He's fairly jovial and upbeat most of the time

He's really bad about just listening to problems - he likes to solve them

He and his wife are in a bit of weird spot - it's because he's still a closeted gay and it's impacted their marriage. He loves her still, just more platonically than romantically. They agreed to have a kid in hopes of repairing the rift they were both feeling, and it kind of worked, but he still really needs to be honest about his feelings Soon

Cheka is the one person he loves more than ANYONE and often comes across as a bit of an overbearing dad he's totally not just adding on to loving Cheka with all the love he wishes his brother would accept

The age gap between him and Leona? GUESS WHAT, I, THE PERSON BEHIND THE SCREEN HAVE THAT SAME AGE GAP WITH MY SISTERS (twins) (however we are still close and besties so I know. the Opposite of what I did is what I need to do for Falena sldkjfhlskdjf /hj)

That being said, Falena has a strained relationship with Leona that he has only recently come to notice now that Leona isn't around as often. He really wants to make amends, but feels like a complete stranger to his own brother and it shows in his interactions - he still kind of treats Leona like he's 6-13 because that's the Leona he remembers - the one who was still excited to see him when he came home from RSA. It wasn't until Falena was 19 that he noticed a bit of a rift. They started getting closer, then when Falena was 21 he was coronated and got married to his betrothed as his father fell ill.

Thank you for reading all of that! All that's left is to give credit where it's due.

The beautiful portrait done of his Royal Highness used as the face of this page, (with permission), was done by none other than @/lemonwerewolf here.

Dividers were made by @/saradika-graphics, here.

If the way I write seems familiar to you, you might recognize me from @twistedwonderlandshenanigans , my HC's and general writing blog for twst. (I follow from @/symphonicmetal101 though)

Thank you again, the King and I hope you enjoy your stay here,

In Sunset Savanna

#v talks #falena kingscholar #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst hcs #twst headcanons #leona kingscholar #cheka kingscholar #twst rp

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wobblesthecowgirl · 22 hours

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I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Four: Lenny!

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this longer chapter! Sorry it took a little longer to get out! They say drunk words are sober thoughts! But don't get it twisted, they still hate each other...

Chapter One

Y/n had gotten closer with Mary-Beth, seeing that she was the only kind member of the gang. Plus, they both had a thing for reading, so the conversation possibilities were endless.

Today was no different, the two women were sitting on a blanket under the canopy, discussing Mary-Beth's novel ideas, the dark night bringing an odd sort of comfort. An owl was hooting in the back, and small mummers of those around, when Lenny came bounding in on his horse. This was the first time Y/n had seen the boy, but luckily her new friend had gone through everybody here. He went running to Arthur and Dutch who had been previously discussing something important.

“Dutch, Arthur. They got Micah.” He panted, hopping off his horse with a small, panicked stumble. The rest of the camp were watching curiously, as Dutch, Arthur, and Molly walked over to the younger boy.

“What’s going on?” Dutch asked, trying to calm him down. Lenny continued, still not calming down, “They got MIcah. He- He’s been arrested for murder. He was in Strawberry and…”

“It’s ok, son. Breathe.” The gang’s leader soothed him, Lenny took a deep breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees before explaining what was going on.

Mary-Beth leaned over to Y/n and murmured. “I hope he does get hanged.”

“Woah, Mary!” Y/n exclaimed, surprised at the sudden hostile sentence hushed at her new friend's mouth; she definitely wasn’t the type to throw that around with no reason. If you can piss off her, you gotta be a bad person.

“…and there’s talk of hanging him.”

Y/n turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before them. She watched Arthur’s lips turn into a playful smile, “Here’s hoping.”

“Arthur!” Dutch warned him.

“What?” He asked innocently, as if he didn’t just wish a man to be hung. She found herself giggling. Ok, that was actually a bit funny. The two continued to go back and forth as Lenny sat on a nearby table, looking distressed.

“You take that kid into town, Valentine, not Strawberry. Get him drunk.” Dutch paused and looked around until he caught eyes with Y/n. He pointed at her, “And take her with you. This is a great opportunity for what we discussed earlier.”

She quickly stood up, the pain in her leg had gotten better but still not perfect, and turned to Mary-Beth, “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to leave you quickly.” She sped-walked towards the men.

“Mr Van Der Linde,” She began, “I appreciate you being kind enough to let me stay here despite my past. However, please don’t make me hang out with Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah, why have I gotta drag her along? I’m fine with just taking the boy.” Arthur protested; a pleading look in his eye. Yet Dutch wouldn’t hear them out, and instead waved them off.

With a sigh, Arthur turned to Lenny, “Come on, son.” Before calling out to Dutch and made his way to his horse. Y/n awkwardly tailed behind him, unsure how this was going to go down. She was going to get a drink with a man who hates her, and a boy she’s never met. The men got on their horses and he turned to look at her.

“You gonna refuse my help again, princess?” Arthur looked at her, as she huffed in annoyance, grabbing the saddle and pulling herself up with a small grunt.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He said as she finally got on, before they made their way out of camp.

“So, who are you?” Lenny shouted from behind as he followed Arthur. Y/n looked over her shoulder and smiled politely.

“I’m Y/n L/n!”

“She’s an O’Driscoll!” Arthur interrupted her which caused Lenny to grimace.

Still looking at Lenny she corrected, “Don’t listen to him. If I was, do you think Dutch would let me stay?” Lenny nodded but his face told a different story. Great, there goes my chance to fit in.

The two of them continued to talk about what went down in Strawberry as the woman kept to herself, she didn’t really feel welcomed, why Dutch made her go is beyond her. They finally made it to Valentine and Y/n realised this was the first time in weeks where she had seen a proper town. It was dark, but plenty of streetlights to keep it well lit. Some drunk men stumbled around, and shops were closing for the night. The men hitched their horses outside the saloon, Y/n taking extra care when jumping off. She could feel Lenny’s stare at the back of her head while Arthur went inside.

She followed him to the bar and found herself in between them both, most likely in case she tried to do anything funny. The men put some money down and that’s when she realised. She looked down to see her tatty clothes (which thankfully she washed recently, but still had a hole on her thigh), and no satchel.

“What’s wrong?” Lenny inquired as she sighed.

“My bag was taken when I was hostage, and I haven’t asked for it back yet.” She looked at Arthur who could only shake his head and put another coin down for her. She knew she should say thank you, but she was too suborn to say thank you to him.

“Just one or two…right, Arthur?” The younger boy sounded stressed, leaning over the counter a little.

“Course, just a drink, no big drama.” He turned to the bartender, “Can we get three beers please?”

The bartender looked petrified to see him, which only made her curious as to the kind of trouble he has gotten himself into around here.

“I don’t want no trouble.” The bartender put his hands up in defensive as Arthur groaned, “And you’ll get none from me. I was defending myself.”

Y/n chuckled; she highly doubted that was the case. He gave another coin to the bartender for himself to get a drink- which was actually more likely to just shut him up- and Lenny and Arthur continued to talk about Strawberry. Y/n was beginning to feel a little left out, chugging her entire beer to pass the time.

A stranger stumbled over to them, a little too close for comfort and smelling of booze.

“I seen a lot of crazy, crazy stuffy” He mimicked Lenny. Arthur grunted, “Will you shut up?”

They went back and forth for a bit, Arthur increasingly getting angier.

The man faced Y/n, leaning in too close which made her lean away. She felt Lenny put a hand on her shoulder and snapped at the man, “Leave the lady alone.”

“Leave the lady alone.” The man mimicked again, “Ladies have been leaving me alone for the last ten years, I’m bored with being left alone. Come with me, pretty lady.”

“Get any closer to me and I’ll knock your front teeth out.” She hissed, which only made the gross man more determined.

“Don’t be like that missy. I promise I’ll show you a good time.”

Arthur piped up, irritation laced in his voice, and fully turning his body towards him.

“Listen, buddy. You’re a charming fellow. But she’s a taken woman, and me and the kid here, we’re tryin’ to talk business. So, could you possibly leave us alone? No offense intended.” He treaded carefully with his words, as the man took full offence and began to stumble away.

“Ain’t no pleasing some folk. I was just, trying to be friendly.”

The three watched him leave, before sighing.

“I think I need another drink after that.” Y/n mumbled, Arthur nodded before giving her a handful of coins, much to her surprise.

“That’s you allowance. Don’t spend it all in one go.”

She placed a coin down for another beer, “Don’t treat me like a child.” She snapped, before going quieter, “Thanks.” He grumbled in response, getting himself another drink. As the time went on, the two drinks went to three, then four. The men were outdrinking her, and unfortunately, she was doing her best to keep up despite being a lightweight. Lenny had even bought her some, warming up to her. Arthur was becoming louder, cheerier than his usual grumpy exterior.

“You gotta slow down, girlie.” Arthur chuckled as he watched her chug another glass down. Her cheeks had become rosier, and she was definitely becoming more relaxed.

“Ay, you have to stop bossing me around, old man.”

“And you hafta stop calling me old man.” He grumbled, sipping his beer.

She watched him stumble towards the piano man and laugh at his playing, complimenting him. She found the way he was acting funny, giggling as she made her way over to him. She watched as he looked towards her, a drunken smile on his face before it contorts to that of confusion.

“Lenny, where are you?” He suddenly shouts, causing the woman to cover her ears. She looked around for the younger boy, feeling guilty for not realising he had wondered off somewhere. The lights of the saloon seemed a lot brighter than before, and the music a little louder.

“Lets go find him, Mr Morgan.” She said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him gently. They looked around, and she occasionally asked some women who shook their heads apologetically.

“Hey, you seen my friend anywhere?” Arthur asked as a man on the stairs hinted at Lenny being upstairs.

“Hey! I see him!” Y/n shook Arthur’s shoulder and pointed at Lenny who was leaning against the banister. Arthur leaned down to her eye level so that his head was near her shoulder and ear, and peered so he could see what she was seeing. She could smell him: a cheap cologne, tobacco, and a lot of beer. She gently nudged him, “Do you mind? Personal space.” He slurred out a sorry before walking over to Lenny.

“What are you doing, kid?”

Lenny was trying to balance a beer bottle on his head. Y/n stifled out a laugh before complimenting him, “That’s very impressive!”

“Hello Arthur, Y/n. You know what, I don’t know.” His concentration was broken when the bottle fell. All three of them tried to catch it but failed as it smashed on the bottom floor. The older man laughed and patted him on the back. He turned to the woman and snatched the beer bottle out her hand.

“Now you try, Princess!” He was already trying to put it on her head while she attempted to swat his muscular arm away.

“Get your manly arms away from my head, idiot!”

Arthur continued to fight her, Lenny was holding onto his stomach and laughed, “Come on, Y/n! Balance it!”

She held still as Arthur placed it on her head… and it instantly fell off and smashed. The men laughed as she kicked the shards away from her feet. The three of them were way more relaxed now, chatting away and howling with joy. Both men were even making sure she was involved.

“Well, why ain’t the two of you ever married?” Lenny asked them both; she looked to Arthur who pouted like a lost child and moped.

“No one would have me.”

She patted his back, “It’s ok tough guy.” The men looked at her, waiting for a response, which she simply shrugged, “I’m not sure. Too grumpy I guess.”

“That’s very likely!” Arthur cackled which earned a slap on the back from her as he continued, “That pretty face is wasted ‘cos you’re so sour, like a lemon!”

She grumbled some more insults as Lenny began to dance, and held a hand out to her. She took is and boogied with him while in the background, Arthur was jumping up and down. She blacked out for a second and woke up to Arthur shouting.

“Lenny? Lenny! Come on you unhelpful woman.” He rolled his eyes and dragged her back to her feet, causing her to use him as support for a minute. She then realised the position they were in and pushed him away, as he continued to call for their friend; where they found him was on top of the bar. He was swinging at a few men who were trying to grab him while the bartender cowered away.

“Hey” Y/n barked, storming (or stumbling) down the steps with a pointed finger, “You get the hell away from that boy!” They all turned towards her, some smirking and the rest confused.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, bitch?”

She felt a large hand hold her shoulder and pull her back as she saw Arthur come into view, “Nobody. She’s talkin’ to nobody,” One of the other men piped up.

“What did you say?”

“Get lost, buddy!” It was clear that Arthur was incredibly drunk given how badly he was slurring his words. She couldn’t help but laugh at his sorry state, like she was any better.

“What you think you laughing at?” Another man sneered at her.

“Your ugly fucking face!” She laughed harder, before blacking out again.

When she came back to her senses, both men were gone. She called out for Arthur, even getting a few random strangers confused for him. She finally got a lead by one of the women, “Was that the big guy you was with? I think he’s outside, ‘round the back.” She thanked her and wobble walked to the back door and opened it.

“Goddammit woman!” He freaked out and quickly turned his body around. She was confused at first until she saw the stream of piss coming out of him. He had turned around in time so she could only see how his belt was undone and the way he leaned back slightly with his hands holding…it.

“What are you doing! Use a god damn toilet, you animal!”

“There aint none!” He snapped back before finishing, and she realised she was still looking at him, so she too faced away until she heard his jeans being zipped up.

“Come on, lets find that boy.” He muttered as he walked past her and opened the door, herself right behind him. He stumbled around, thinking everyone was Lenny and laughing until the patron’s got annoyed with him. He looked around and saw her before laughing and coming over, grabbing both her shoulders.

“Got cha Lennnnny!”

“Arthur you dumbass. It’s me!”

He stared at her intently before making an o shape with his mouth and letting go off her. She looked over his shoulder and pointed, “There he is!”

Lenny heard her and smiled, shuffling his way to them. He grabbed the older man and asked, “Arthur, Arthur! What are you doing?”

Instead of replying, they had a slap contests, the whole bar cheering. The woman decided to get another drink while they did so, just in case they got her involved, and chugged the whiskey down. Her body heat was causing her to sweat slightly, her hair sticking to her forehead, and her eyes to go droopy and hazy.

She heard Arthur order a drink next to her.

“You gotta be by my side all the time?” She joked as he grinned at her.

“I hafta make sure the lady is behaving now, don’t I?”

“No you don’t. You’re not my boss.

He took a sip of whiskey, “I aint? Pretty sure I am, Lemon.”

“Lemon?”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re sour.”

“Shut up.” She huffed as the man who gave them trouble when they first walked in stumbled over.

“Not you again.” Arthur shook his head but the drunk ignored him and turned his attention to Y/n, standing close to her side. He grabbed her waist and smirked, and she put her hands on his chest and shoved him. He stumbled but regained his composure and went for her thigh.

“Get off me!” She shouted, backing up into Arthur.

“You hear the lady! She don’t want you!”

The drunk groaned, “Oh come on lady. I don’t see your man anywhere. Just come home with me.” He tried to grab her again but her older companion stood in front of her so she could hide behind him.

“Listen here. If you don’t get the hint and leave my woman alone, I’m gonna drown you.” He threatened. Y/n couldn’t deny she was thankful, but a little annoyed that she was depending on him.

“She’s yours? Rent her for the night?” The drunk chortled as Arthur suddenly grabbed his ear and aggressively dragged him outside. Y/n quickly drank the rest of Arthur’s drink for him and stumbled outside. In horror, she found him trying to drown the man like he promised. She grabbed his bicep and tried to pry him off the man, which he did with reluctance. The stranger gasped for air, looking petrified and scampering away.

“Why would you do that, you fool? You trying to get arrested?” She told him off, but he didn’t look remorseful.

“Hada teach him a lesson. Not to mess with my woman!” He joked as she laughed.

“Never in a million years.”

They heard Lenny come outside shouting their names. The alcohol was really getting to them now. The men were rolling around in the mud, and this time she joined in with the rough housing, getting covered in the dirt as well. As they danced in the middle of the street with the younger boy throwing up a lot, they heard shouting. Lenny got tackled by a deputy as another two went for them, “Come here! You drunk fools!”

“Come on, Lemon!” Arthur snatched her wrist and began running behind the saloon. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion and she watched the way his back moved and the tightness of his grip.

“You’ll never take me alive!” He boasted, a unusual cheeriness in his voice which caused her to giggle.

“Turn right, Mister!” She laughed as another man cut them off. Arthur was laughing just as much as she was as he screamed, “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!” They came across a fence so he let go of her wrist and jumped over before turning around and putting his hands under her armpits and picking her up with ease. Like I'm a ragdoll!

He moved her into a bridal hold as he ran; she wrapped her arms around his neck and screamed, though she wasn’t sure what for. The adrenaline, the drunk butterflies, the running, or the fact this man was carrying her like she weighed a couple of feathers. It was sort of comforting, so much so that she blacked out again.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

When she woke up in the morning, her throat was dry, and her eyes couldn’t fully open because of the light. She groaned before realising she was laying on something. He looked to her right and saw she had been sleeping on Arthur’s arm. The man was completely sprawled out on the grass and looked like he was dead.

“Oy. Wake up, you fool!” She slapped his face hard as he jolted awake and groaned in pain. His eyes met hers, and a confused look spread across his face.

“You? Where are we? What happened? Were we sleeping together?”

She tried to stand up but had to hold onto a near tree, scared she was about to vomit but swallowed hard.

“Don’t say it like that. We ran away from the law and passed out.” She looked around and saw they were on the outskirts of Valentine near the barn.

“Looks like we didn’t get that far. Come on, lets go bail Lenny.” She watched as the man threw up and rubbed his eyes.

“Whatever happened yesterday, that doesn’t make us friends.” He pointed a finger at her as she made a slow walk back to the town.

“We never were.” Y/n paused, “But I did have fun last night.”

She saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly.

“Me too.”

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction

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royaltozaki · 2 days

Text

could you love me while i hate myself?

synopsis: y/n, nayeon, momo, and sana are in a polyamorous relationship. momo walks in on y/n self-harming for the first time in 7 months. they all try and talk and work through this together.

warnings: we got depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm (cutting), blood, sexual references, cursing - also this is poly!namosa if ur not into that but i love getting comfort from everyone i love so

w/c: 6.9k

a/n: sooo i wrote this in a day bcs im utilising my #depression as inspiration and lwk we love writing as a coping mechanism - i’m so fine tho i just need my meds to start working again LMAO and they will vvvv soon trust - but in the meantime i can pump out the sad stuff hehe! lwk forgot abt boo and dobby until like halfway thru writing this IM SO SORRY #fakefan and i wasn't bothered to write them back in so they js don't exist here oops!

⸸

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. the thoughts were coming. you wake up hazily, dream forgotten, arms wrapped around nayeon, legs entangled with the three people you loved most in the world. you don't deserve them. shut up!

you shut your eyes, trying to will away the thoughts. they were always there, always in the back of your head, always nagging, telling you that you didn't deserve to live, that you were a worthless piece of flesh born only to cause others suffering, or born with no purpose at all. there's no point to it all. just die. they'd be better off without you. they'd be happier without you.

you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. it was so loud. you needed them to be quiet. to return to the depths of your mind. you curl in closer to nayeon, trying to breathe in the scent of her to distract you, feeling sana's breath on your hand, listening to momo's soft snores, they were the only thing grounding you. they pity you. that's why they've stuck around for so long. they know if they left you you'd break. they don't love you. it's pity. they'd be happier together. just the three of them. they didn't need you. you needed them. you were a burden to them. you need to leave so they can be happy. you want the best for them don't you? SHUT UP.

you couldn't take it anymore, you slowly unwrap yourself from your girlfriends. slipping your arms from around nayeon's waist and pulling your legs away from the mess of limbs. you look back at them, sleeping peacefully, watch their chests rise up and down with each breath, it's bittersweet. you had so much love for them. you turn around again and slip out the door, closing it softly behind you.

you pad softly towards the bathroom, entering it quietly and sighing, looking at yourself in the mirror. dark circles under red eyes, messy hair, disgusting. look at you. how could anyone love you? the thoughts were louder in the bathroom. almost echoing off crisp white walls. your grip on the sink tightens, you tear your gaze away from the mirror, letting your tears fall into the sink silently. why did i have be born like this? born like this? honey you're not different. everyone else is able to cope fine with trauma, with all the shit that happens in the world. you're just weak. weak, crying little bitch who can't deal with a couple sad emotions. don't think you're special. you're not. why can't i feel normal? you're not normal. you never will be. you'll always be that weird kid on the playground that no one wants to play with. grow up and get used to it already. why won't you leave me alone? i can't leave you alone. i am you. you are me. we're stuck together.

your head's splitting, you don't even realise you're crouched in on yourself now. hands gripping your head, nails digging into your scalp, anything to try and stop thinking. you wish you could just go back to sleep. sleep was easy. you didn't have to think when you were asleep.

that's right. sleep. sleep forever. run away from your problems. that's all you'll ever be good at right? running away. you ran away from your parents when they found out you were dating not one, not two, but three girls! whore! you left your brother and sister with them. they probably got the brunt of their anger. or maybe not. maybe they hate you too for being a fucking disappointment. it doesn't matter. they don't care about you. you left them. now leave your girlfriends. it'll be easier. leave. leave. run. do it.

your lip is trapped between your teeth. you're biting down so hard it draws blood. you're rocking yourself on the floor of the bathroom. pathetic. all you do is cry. grow up already. you can't take it. it was too much. you needed- needed-

you're reaching for the loose tile you know is second from the towel rack, opening it and finding your stash of emergency goods. you had meant to throw it away you just kept avoiding it and now... well you needed it now.

you take out a scalpel, go into the old routine of cleaning it down with an alcohol wipe, the motions that are familiar to you helping you drown out the thoughts already. they're still there though. they were always there. you'd be lonely without us wouldn't you? you actually enjoy being mentally ill don't you? take some sort of sick pleasure in it? is it comforting? it's easy to fall back into old habits isn't it?

once it's clean, you can see clearly again. you remove your pants, spreading your legs and look down at the scars that decorate the insides of your thighs. you take a breath, clearing your head as best you can, and bring the tip of the scalpel to start a new line.

the immediate relief when the blade enters your skin and you watch the scarlet liquid pour out of you is incredible. you're like an addict, drinking in the pain and using it to clear your mind. suddenly, the only sound you hear is the quiet of the bathroom and your own shallow breathing. you've never felt more at peace.

but it's only temporary. like everything is only temporary. seriously? this again? is this the best you can do to try and get rid of me? we talked about this you idiot. you're never getting rid of me. because we're the same. you just made yourself even uglier. congrats. good luck getting your girlfriends to ever touch you again after they see those.

fucking hell. you can't help it when your hands move to the start again, just under the new line you've created. you're about to push in again when you hear a gasp.

you look up in alarm, bloody scalpel in your hand, fresh cut on your thigh.

"m-momo."

"y/n- what-"

"it's not what it looks like i swear- fuck- oh my god- mo- please-" you're scrambling, trying to pull up your pants and cover yourself, dropping the scalpel onto the floor with a clang.

she's on you in seconds.

"no no sweetie it's okay i'm not- it's okay it's okay-" she's pulling you into a hug, and you start sobbing.

you're burrowing your head into her neck, sniffling and crying, she wasn't meant to find out. they were never meant to find out. now you've done it. good luck keeping them now. no way they're going to stay with you after this. better breathe her in while you can because she won't be yours in the morning.

you're squeezing her tight, crying and blabbering into her and she lets you. hushing and brushing through your hair, pressing light kisses along your forehead.

when she starts to pull away you panic, shaking your head against her, terrified she's leaving you and this is it.

"no sweetie i'm not going anywhere. i promise. we just gotta clean you up okay?"

she pulls away from you gently, opening the cabinets next to the sink to grab the first aid kit and comes down to sit next to you.

you're sobs have ceded but you can't bear to look at her, staring down at the ugly scars on your legs.

"can i?" momo makes a gesture towards your legs and you shrug, moving closer to her so she can work.

she's quiet when she cleans the wound, focused.

you idiot you stupid fucking idiot. she hates you she thinks you're so gross and-

"do the others know?"

you don't trust your voice to speak so you shake your head.

"is this why you never let us touch you?"

you blush bright red, gripping the bottom of your shirt.

"you know we wouldn't have judged right?"

the tears are coming back, you feel them building up in your neck again, clogging it up, choking you.

"i'm sorry if we made you feel like we would have." momo's voice breaks then, and you look up. momo wasn't one to cry. sana tended to be the more emotional one, nayeon and momo cried too, just less often and definitely more private, momo just took a little longer to come to conclusions sometimes.

"y-you didn't." your voice is croaky when you speak up.

she sniffles a little, finishing cleaning and grabbing the bandages.

"a-are you mad?"

she sighs. "not mad. just... confused."

"i-i- i'm sorry. i'm sorry i didn't tell you guys i didn't- i thought you would think- i thought you might leave or think i'm too much or i don't know i-"

she finishes wrapping the bandage around your thighs, looking up at you then, her eyes shiny. "i could never leave you y/n. i love you. all of you. you, nayeon, and sana are my family."

you're crying again now, hands coming up to wipe at your tears. she gently helps you put your pants back on then pulls you into another hug, breathing shakily as she lets herself cry as well.

you cling onto her shirt, the confirmation that she was still here and she still loved you grounded you.

you both sit on the bathroom floor there, tightly wound around each other. you memorise the way her breathing comes in and out, focusing on the little hiccups, every single movement. it was quiet.

she pulls away from you, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumbs swiping along them. "do you want to talk about it?"

you shake your head.

"do you want to come back to bed then?"

you think a little, "i might sleep in the guest room tonight. i don't really... it's not that i don't want to sleep with you guys, i just-"

"is it okay if i join you in the guest room then?"

you look surprised, "why?"

"it's okay if you don't want me to. i just want to be with you if that's okay. to make sure you're safe for one, but also just because..." she sniffs, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear gently, "i love you and i want to make sure you sleep well."

the tears well up again. "of course. it's not you i just- i don't want sana and nayeon to find out like this."

momo nods, pressing a gentle kiss onto your nose, "i understand. do you want anything before bed? water? a snack?"

you smile tiredly against her, still in a sort of disbelief she was still here. "i'm okay. let's go to bed."

momo nods again, standing up and pulling you with her, but she stops again suddenly, looking down, "does it hurt?"

you wince, "not really. i mean the point is kinda for it to hurt." your eyes widen when momo frowns, "but it doesn't! not anymore i mean. i kinda got used to it." her frown deepens, "i mean no not like that! like- well yes- but-"

"it's okay y/n. i want to know these things. if you're okay with sharing them." she's sincere when she looks at you, and then she's pulling you along towards the guest room. your heart drops a little when you pass by the master bedroom, thinking of nayeon and sana sleeping peacefully inside, wrapped around each other blissfully unaware, but momo squeezes your hand and you look back towards her, following her into the guest room.

she turns on the lamp light and starts removing all the extra pillows and everything that were only really there for decoration. once she's done, she starts ushering you into bed and you laugh a little at her earnestness, "you don't have to treat me any different momo. i'm still the same person."

she frowns, climbing into bed after you, "i just found out about a massive part of your life that you've been hiding from us. you're not the same person to me. not when i've only known half of you."

you still at that, unable to look her in the eye as she fumbles around with the blanket, covering both of you and then sliding an arm over your side.

"i'm sorry." you whisper once she's turned off the light and snuggled in close to you.

she takes a breath, "you don’t have to be sorry. i'm here now. i'm sorry it took me so long. but i'm here now. and i'm not leaving."

"even if i'm not the same person to you anymore?"

she finds your eyes in the darkness, "y/n i didn't mean it like that. i fell in love with half of you. i just found out there's another half that i can also love now. you're the same person, you just have more to you than we knew. and i want to know more about that so i can be a better girlfriend for you."

"you already are a great girlfriend."

she sighs, a hand trailing down your back, drawing random shapes, you curl in closer to her.

"i wanted to throw it all away. i wanted to tell you all. i just-"

she hums, letting you think out your words, continuing to trace patterns into your back, eyes locked on yours.

"it was hard. and i didn't think i'd need to say anything because i was doing good. i hadn't done it in so long. i don't know why today i just- i lost control again."

"y'know nayeon would say just because you haven't done it in so long doesn't mean you were better. it just means you stopped thinking about it but that didn't get rid of the problem. which is why eventually the problem came back."

you smile at her, poking her cheek, "you've been hanging out too much with nayeon."

momo whines, "we're girlfriends! of course i hang out with her!"

"you're right though. i'm sorry. i stopped cutting when we all started dating. i think i got swept up in all the excitement and the love but once the novelty wore off and i grew more comfortable with being in a relationship with all of you, some of the bad thoughts started to come back."

"what sort of bad thoughts?"

"...like that i'm not good enough for you- or that the three of you would be happier without me, or that i don't want to... that i didn’t deserve to live or that it’d be better if i wasn’t- y’know… alive-"

you can see the shine in momo's eyes and feel your own start to well up again while you talk. she lets you speak though, just lays there, stroking your back softly while listening to you.

when you're finished its quiet save for the occasional sniffle from either of you.

"do you still think that? that you're not good enough for us?"

you hum contemplating whether to be honest or to try not to hurt her, you decide you’ve hurt her enough and it was time to be honest, she was still here after all, she wasn’t going to leave you, "...yeah."

she's pressing her lips gently against yours, barely there, almost as if she's asking permission, and you press against her softly back to say yes. you can taste the salt of her tears in the kiss, its short, reassuring. you break away with a tender smile.

"i can't speak for the others. but i don't think we could work if we weren't the four of us. you know that sana and i tried to date when we were younger right? and it didn't work out? because we always felt like there was something missing. but once we all got together, it feels right to love each other like this. i think it'd be the same if you left. i think it'd feel like something was missing and i wouldn't be able to stay either. i'm not saying that to pressure you into staying like a 'if you leave i leave' kinda thing. i'm just saying that you are needed in this relationship and i don't think we would be happier without you, i don't even think we'd work without you, without any one of us."

god you didn't deserve her. you loved her so much.

"and the other stuff... we don't have to talk about that now but... if you're open to it in the future, i want to help you find some outside help if that's okay? you don't have to answer me now, just think about it, because i want to help, but i don't think we can do this alone."

you nod, lips quivering while she smiles at you, noses touching.

"thank you momo."

"of course sweetie. i love you."

"i love you too. so much."

she pecks you again, then places your hand over her chest, and you can feel the calm thumps of her heart.

she closes her eyes, lips only centimetres apart, you follow her lead, focusing on the feeling of her heartbeat rather than the thoughts, letting that fill your head, and slowly, you drift back into sleep.

⸸

you wake up with a dull sting on the inside of your thighs. you curse internally when you realise that it was because you had self-harmed for the first time in months. but then you feel a familiar hand tracing lines down your back, and the smell of soft peaches and you recall that momo had found you cutting yourself. but the way she's tracing your back means she's still here and she hasn't left and that you're still okay.

momo realises you're awake, moving her hand to your hair and brushing the pieces that have fallen over your face. "hi sweetie."

"mm morning. what time is it?"

she giggles a little, "its 5pm actually. i didn't want to wake you. nayeon and sana should be back home soon."

you startle, "what?! 5pm?! where did they go? did they-"

"shh shh no it's okay. i woke up early and made everyone breakfast. when they came in they asked where you were. i told them you slept in the guest bedroom because you weren't feeling well. they wanted to see you but i told them to let you rest. i don't think you should hide this from them for much longer though y/n."

you sigh, relaxing back into her embrace, "i know. i'll tell them when they get back." you can feel the anxiety beginning to chip away at you as soon as the words leave your mouth. you'd thought about it before in the past, about how they'd react. on the worst end of the spectrum, they'd leave you, thankfully momo hasn't done that yet. and realistically you don't think nayeon and sana will either. but there was always that fear in the back of your head. it was more likely that sana would feel hurt and start crying and nayeon would get angry that you didn't trust them with the information. both of which you didn't really want to deal with because you didn't want to cause any of them any negative emotions. but if you didn't tell them, it would mean forcing momo to keep a secret for you and have her constantly go around on tip-toes while worrying over you. it wouldn't be fair and you’d essentially be self-sabotaging your own relationship.

momo breaks you out of your thoughts when she uses her hand to rap lightly against your forehead, "what's going on in there sweetie?"

you shake her off giggling and she smiles, "nothing i'm just thinking about how to tell them is all."

"do you want me to be there?"

you look up at her, her eyes are sincere and caring, you could stare into them for the rest of your life, "yes please, if that's okay with you."

momo squeezes you against her even tighter, planting a kiss on your forehead and murmuring against it, "of course it's okay with me. i'd love to be there."

you smile against her, reminded of your eternal gratefulness and love you have for her, before your stomach starts to growl and you pull away embarrassed while momo starts to laugh that adorable, contagious laugh of hers.

you whine, climbing out of bed as she toddles along behind you, still laughing when you enter the bathroom.

you pick up your toothbrush and start to brush your teeth when you notice that the bathroom's been cleaned up since last night. there's no more blood on the floor and you look briefly over at momo who's standing on that tile looking at you carefully, the hint of a laugh still on her face.

"youscdonthaftawatchmeyknow."

she giggles when some toothpaste dribbles out of your mouth, tilting her head indicating she didn't catch what you said.

you spit out the toothpaste and repeat yourself, "you don't have to watch me y'know."

"i know."

you squeeze some of your facial wash into your hand, staring at her in the mirror when she doesn't move, still looking at your reflection with a gentle smile.

you shrug, closing your eyes and beginning to wash your face. you go through all the motions of your morning routine, and when you finish up and turn around to wipe your hands on the hand towel, she's still standing there watching you.

you clear your throat, leaving the bathroom and moving towards the kitchen. you hear her footsteps padding along behind you.

she overtakes you once you reach the kitchen, going towards the fridge and pulling out a few things. you sit at the kitchen benchtop and watch her reheat a few dishes that she must have made for breakfast and lunch.

"where did nayeon and sana go?"

"to the shops. we were meant to go check out that new bakery together in the city but i figured may as well let you rest, we can go another day."

"oh crap i'm so sorry i forgot! i would've woken up i'm so sorry-"

"it's okay sweetie don't worry. they were both fine to reschedule, they were more concerned about you than missing out on the bakery."

"why didn't you go out shopping with them?"

"i wanted to stay home with you."

"i was asleep."

momo hums, taking the food out of the microwave, "i didn't mind. here." she sets a bowl of sundubu jjigae in front of you and then goes to scoop out a bowl of rice from the rice cooker as well. you spent a lot of the last 24 hours crying but you can't help the tears that well up in you again at the smell. this was one of the first dishes momo made for the four of you when you moved in together.

"do you want me to feed you?" momo's joking as she slides the bowl of rice over, but when you look up at her and she realises you're crying she quickly panics, "i mean i can! if you want!" she's frantically rummaging for a spoon and scooping out some rice and stew and holding it out to you.

you laugh, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, adoring the way she tilts her head like a confused puppy in bewilderment, a small pout appearing on her lips.

you lean up and take the spoonful into your mouth, chewing and swallowing before leaning across to peck her on the lips. "i just love you is all you idiot."

momo blushes and you take the chance to grab the spoon from her and start eating the meal yourself.

she pouts and is about to whine when you both hear the door open, the telltale sign of keys jangling and the happy chattering of your other two favourite people in the world.

"momo! we got that ice cream y/n likes but i still don't think it's a good idea for her to eat it if she's sick!" nayeon's yelling from the door, probably taking off her shoes and you can hear a short squeal and something crash followed by laughter and you know sana has probably knocked something down or fallen over.

you raise your eyebrows at momo who shrugs and grins sheepishly, grabbing nayeon and sana's mugs and filling them with water.

when they come into the kitchen all loud and giggles its a sight for sore eyes. nayeon's kissing momo hello and setting the bags of shopping they have down. sana rounds the corner with more bags and that infectious smile. you loved all of them so much.

nayeon spots you first, frowning and walking over to you immediately, placing the back of her hand on your forehead. "hey baby, sorry to hear you weren't feeling well last night. are you feeling better now?"

you blush, nodding your head, your mouth still full of food.

sana's next to bound over to you once she's kissed momo in greeting as well, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head, "we missed you today. i got you this top i think would be really cute on you though! and momoring we also got you one of those draw-on shirts but we thought we could turn it into a date or something so we have four!" she's rummaging through her bags, producing items of clothing and talking about each one with her endless energy.

you swallow your food and look up at nayeon who has a fond smile on her face while watching sana, when she notices you looking at her she smiles and leans down to brush her lips against yours.

"wait... you're not sick with anything contagious are you...?"

"what if i was?"

she's squealing, running behind the counter before momo laughs and hands her the mug of water she filled and urging her to drink it. she also passes sana her mug who kisses her again in thanks.

you hum in content, happy to be around the people you loved most. its almost as if... they'll leave you. you don't deserve them. this is all temporary. don't get comfortable. you clench your spoon a little tighter, trying to will away the thoughts as you shove another spoonful into your mouth, focusing on the taste and the love behind the person who made it for you.

"-and i almost fell into the fountain and she just stood there and laughed at me!"

look at them enjoying themselves. you’re the odd one out. the one who’s about to break everyone’s happy mood.

you can make out nayeon's cackle, "in my defense! it was pretty funny! you had all your bags and everything and you threw your phone at that little boy!"

"wait sana you did what?"

you should just leave. leave them. look how happy they are without you. all you bring is sadness and anger. you can’t give them anything they’d want. what could you offer them?

"momoringg!! don't join her in this! he pushed me!"

"yeah because you were trying to steal his girlfriend!"

useless. hopeless. there’s nothing you can do. you can’t get anything right. not your job, not your friends, they’ll realise soon enough you know? that they’re better than you. that they’re too good for you. then it’ll be them leaving you. do it first before they realise that and break your heart.

"i was not!"

"that definitely sounds like you actually."

"y/n! you're on my side right?"

you look up in a daze, confused at what the context of the conversation was. "sorry?"

momo's frowning, trying to meet your eyes but you avoid her, looking at sana who's pouting, "were you listening? are you okay y/n?"

"y-yeah sorry i was just- just thinking about something. can you tell me the story again?"

suddenly sana's all in your space, basically climbing into your lap and cupping your cheeks with her hands, squinting at you. "what were you thinking about?"

you blush immediately, "oh y-y'know, just work."

"work's more important than me?"

"no sana i didn't mean it like that i'm sorry. of course work isn’t more important than you. can you tell me the story again? i'll listen this time i promise."

sana hums, nudging her nose against yours gently, "i'll tell you if you tell me the truth."

"what truth?" you feign indifference.

you can tell nayeon is looking at momo, asking for an explanation with her eyes but momo shrugs, turning away and going towards the sink to do the dishes.

"we've been together for 7 months y/n. and i've known you for much longer than that. i can tell when you're lying honey."

you gulp, clutching the spoon tighter with your hands when you feel someone else, nayeon, unwrap your fingers gently and take the spoon away, interlocking your fingers with hers instead.

you stand up quickly, unable to be interrogated at such close distance anymore. sana looks a little hurt when you do, pouting but letting you go. you look at nayeon who's eyeing you with a concerned curiosity. momo still has her back to all of you with the tap on but you can tell her shoulders are tense.

you rub the back of your neck in nervousness, avoiding all of their gazes. "u-um... i actually kinda... have something i needed to talk to you all about..."

you can feel the anxiety ramping up, the adrenaline and urge to run away pumping through you, your palms beginning to sweat.

momo saves you when she turns off the tap and wipes her hands clean, "let's all go to the living room and have some ice cream and we can talk about it yeah?"

you smile at her gratefully and she returns it, grabbing the ice cream nayeon and sana just brought back and a few spoons and bowls.

nayeon and sana exchange looks of confusion but help momo bring the utensils over and eventually you're all sitting on your couch in the living room with the television on for some background noise so it wasn't too awkward.

you fiddle with your hands, not looking at any of them while the random sitcom you have plays in the background. momo notices and grabs a hand, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently, reassuring you that she was there.

you take a breath, clearing your throat and looking up at nayeon and sana.

"so i- um- i don't really know how to say this-"

"it's okay baby take your time. it's just us right?"

"yeah we're not going to judge you honey. we're here for you whatever this is okay?"

you take a shaky breath in, mumbling incoherently to yourself before deciding, "u-um it's probably a bit easier to s-show you." you let go of momo's hand and start to undo the tie at your pants.

"um... y/n if all you wanted was sex i think there were other ways to-" momo slaps nayeon who yelps, rubbing her arm where she was hit mumbling a "what?" but momo shushes her and gestures back to you.

you stand up and drop your pants, immediately feeling the cool breeze against your naked legs, shivering a little and fighting the urge to cover yourself. you stare down at your feet when you hear the little gasps. you decide to start talking, refusing to look up, "i'm sorry i made momo lie to you. i wasn't sick last night. i woke up and started thinking some… not so great things and i needed it to stop so i- um- i went to the bathroom where i hid some of my old stuff and i um- well-“ you awkwardly gesture at your thighs before continuing, “momo woke up and found me after the first cut. i would’ve kept going if she didn’t find me. she helped me clean up and bandage it and then i asked to sleep in the guest room because i didn’t want to um- i wasn’t ready to uh- to tell you guys yet- i’m sorry for keeping this from all of you for so long.“

when you’re done, you risk a glance up, and find the three loves of your life, tears running down their faces.

sana’s the first to move, she gets up and practically jumps over to you, but she stops short right before you touch, “c-can i- c-can i hug you?”

you smile at her, feeling your own tears well up at the sight of your three girlfriends crying. “of course darling. i’m still the same. i still love cuddling with you.”

she doesn’t give you a second thought and buries her head into your neck, wrapping her arms around your waist. you realise you’re still standing in the middle of the living room with your pants down which is a little absurd but you wrap your arms around her, sagging into her a little when she squeezes. you can feel her soft crying and the tears wet your neck.

nayeon stands and comes around as well, a little hesitant but you look at her and offer a wet smile and she breaks, enveloping the both of you in her arms as well with a muted sob. momo joins in as well because of course she does, you look at her gratefully as she sniffles, fiddling a little with her fingers before coming around behind you and moulding herself to your back, hands coming around your waist and holding onto sana’s hands, giving them a squeeze for reassurance as well.

you're surrounded with all the love you wanted. so why do you still want to die? you don't listen to that voice, pushing it down and trying to stay in the moment. eventually, someone breaks away, and you awkwardly shuffle your pants back on, glad to be able to cover up your scars.

nayeon speaks up first, a hand still holding yours, squeezing gently, "how long have you been... y'know-"

"since before i met you. the thoughts started getting really bad when i was still in high school. and all the pressure with doing well and all the extra curriculars i was picking up, it just got too much. the only thing that worked was the pain. it got me through high school, and i started to rely on it. but then... the first time i slept with someone... she was appalled. i had almost forgotten the scars were there until my pants were off. she got scared off and i told myself i wouldn't let anyone else see this side of me."

"baby..."

"it's okay. it got better after i met you guys. and when we all started dating i stopped. i felt happy." you smile up at your girlfriends, tears still streaming down your face, "being with all of you made me forget those things. but they came back. and worse this time because- because i have so much more to lose now. i can't- i can't lose you-" you can't control the sobs when you break down again. pathetic.

the girls are surrounding you instantly, whispering reassurances, brushing through your hair, tracing shapes into your skin, you try and focus on your bodily sensations rather than your internalisations, try and focus on them.

"we'd never leave you honey... we're not complete without you, you believe me right?" sana's tilting your face up to meet hers, her eyes are watery, nose red.

"i'm trying to believe you."

she places her forehead against yours and closes her eyes, sighing slightly, "i'm going to tell you that everyday from now. that i love you and that i'm not going anywhere. until you believe me." she smiles and tries for a joke, "you're going to have to deal with clingy me for the rest of your life."

you let out a broken laugh, kissing her sweetly. "i love when you're clingy anyway."

she laughs as well, wiping at her nose.

you peek at nayeon. you know she has more questions, the frown on her face and the little pout she has breaks your heart. you reach a hand out to her, she takes it after some consideration, and you pull her into your lap.

"you can ask anything. there's nothing off limits. i'll try answer everything i can and i promise i'll be honest with everything. that goes for the both of you as well." you look over at sana who's moved to your side to allow for nayeon to sit on your lap, she's got a hand on the eldest's waist, playing with her shirt, her other hand on your shoulder.

momo moves to your other side, lifting nayeon's legs and placing them on her own, tracing her calves and brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

nayeon's biting her lip, you focus on the small mole under her left eyebrow.

"w-why didn't you tell us?"

you sigh, "i didn't really think i needed to at first. because i hadn't done it in so long. i thought i was better."

"is it because you thought you couldn't trust us?"

"no baby that's not it."

"why did you keep your old stuff hidden then? when we moved in together? a part of you must have thought you weren't entirely better."

you bring a hand up to caress her cheek, she leans into the touch. "you're right. i'm sorry."

"is it still here?"

you look towards momo for an answer and she nods, "i didn't want to throw everything away. i wanted you to make that decision on your own. i thought that if we forcefully got rid of your things you might just try and hide it from us the next time the feelings come up. it's there but i... i don't really like the idea of leaving you alone y/n..."

nayeon's squeezing one of momo's hands, "pretty baby's so smart. i'm thankful you found her momo."

you nod in agreement, "is that why you kept following me around?"

momo nods shyly, her eyes still wet.

"i'm okay with that. i don't- i don't really trust myself right now either. i think it'd be good if someone was with me. if that wasn't... a burden or anything of course..."

sana jumps in, "honey no. you're not a burden. i hope you don't think that about yourself. i love taking care of you. i'd love being able to be there for you while you get better."

you smile at her gratefully.

"what are some of the bad thoughts you have baby?" nayeon's bringing your attention back to her, you can tell she's struggling to formulate these questions. but you're glad that she's asking them.

"a lot of it is about you guys. because you're all the reason i'm still here today."

"what about us? what can we do sweetie?"

you shake your head, looking down at your hands which are quickly taken ahold of by momo and sana. "i guess it comes down to... wondering if you can still love me while i hate myself." your grip tightens around their hands.

"you hate yourself?" nayeon's voice is shaky now, she's trying her best to hold back her emotions, wanting to find out everything she can do for you.

you nod, tears dropping onto her pants.

"there's this song. i think- i think it might be easier to play that for you guys if that's okay? i'm not really- i don't really know how to talk about this..."

they nod and quickly try and find your phone. momo finds it and hands it over to you. you quickly unlock it and search for the song you're looking for. could you love me while i hate myself - zeph.

you press play, clicking into the lyrics and staring at them to avoid looking at your girlfriend's reactions. it's a short song.

could you love me while i hate myself?

could you love me though i don't deserve it?

could you love me like there's no one else

even though you know i can't return it?

could you love me when the water's rough?

or when i leave you in a desert?

could you love me, though i speak with knives?

knowing all to well that you'll get hurt

if you can't answer 'yes' just go

i'm more trouble than i'm worth

could you love me while i hate myself?

because i don't know how this works

i never learned how this works

when it ends, you awkwardly tap out of your app, putting your phone down.

"thank you for sharing that baby."

you hum.

nayeon takes a shaky breath in, then quietly asks, "is it okay if i sing for you?"

you're surprised, looking up at her, her eyes are red. you nod.

she closes her eyes, humming a note to start, taking a breath in again and steadying her voice.

i'll love you while you hate yourself

i'll love you because you deserve it

i'll love you like i love us together

until you're ready to return it

i'll love you when things get rough

no matter where you leave us

i'll love you even when you're

working out all your thoughts

i'll get hurt if it means

some of your pain comes onto me

i'll love you while you hate yourself

and we'll figure out how it works

together we'll learn to get better

when she finishes and opens her eyes, you're sniffling again, tears streaming out of your eyes.

sana's the first to speak up, bringing her hands up to wipe at the tears on nayeon's cheeks, "our little musical genius. of course you came up with a response exactly on pitch after listening to a song once."

nayeon lets out a broken laugh, leaning into sana's touch.

you meet her eyes, a bright smile gracing your face, and you probably look a little silly, wet cheeks and red nosed with tears still dripping out of you, but nayeon laughs again in relief, coming in and kissing you.

you kiss her back gratefully, trying to convey how much you loved her in your action. you can feel sana's hand on your arm and momo's fingers in your hair. you loved them.

the thoughts are still there. you think they’ll always be there. but you don’t have to take them on on your own anymore. it would take time, but the people you loved were going to help you through it. you needed to put some trust in them as well, trust that they wouldn't leave, trust that they loved you just as you loved them, you wanted to get better, for them and for yourself, you believed you could get better with their help, for now, that was enough.

⸸

an extra a/n bcs its important: hi! i recognise that all experiences are unique so i just wanted to say the descriptions here aren’t meant to be generalised and i didn’t intend to write any stereotypes or misconceptions and i apologise if i have - i try to draw upon my own experiences to be able to write - in saying that i hope that anyone who feels they relate to similar themes etc seeks the help they need from professional sources - my dms are open ofc but i am not a professional and it is best to speak to someone who can help you in real time and in physicality. stay safe love y’all practice some self care today if u get the chance! <3

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