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korilakkumauowo · 8 days ago

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𝒜nd there’s no other to blame but . 𝒚ou . ੭

❰❰ batboys yearning for a busy reader ⇆ How their love is like, pre-established 𝑋 ﹔requested, premade AU for everyone, civilian reader ! very soft very cute but also this one are AUs of reader that has a j*b 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 ﹔total is 5.6K and 1K+ each for everyone. 𝑛/𝑎 ﹔hey ... I TRIED to make these headcanons but my hands slipped. you also have a j*b in this one .. also not proofread but i tried ❤️‍🩹 its kind of short but i tried to give dinner im sorry 👩‍💻

richard john “dick” g.

dick g. ⇆ newsie! reader (reader delivers newspapers) (its a fun j*b in this universe) (goated hb gave the idea, I thought it was cute! ><) p.s i had no idea where i was getting at with this one

You bike around the streets of Gotham during early mornings before the heat could go by, the wind blows your hair away to reveal the smile on your face, and he stares at you—he feels privileged from the sight. He sees you handing newspapers, the familiar articles, putting them in certain mails outside of variant shops, to people passing by asking for one—mostly the old people that smile at you the second they yet again encounter you. And it uplifts his deep admiration for you further, because even then, the others could also feel the same radiant ambience you embody, and they too think it is as beautiful.

Though you’re on the bike and riding away, the further you get away from his proximity the further he wants to chase you more, just to atleast get you to notice him. To acknowledge him.

The first very moment he had met you was when you had accidentally slapped him across the face with the newspapers—when he blocked your way by accident.

Not by accident, he just wanted to ask for your number. He didn’t exactly predict for his face to be slapped across by papers

You both meet again; At the corner shop downtown, a cozy coffee house. And he comes up to you, sits on the empty chair infront of you and flashes you a charming smile, and you only nod in greeting. On other occasions, you bump into each other near the streets outside of the W.E coordinators building—he found out the W.E had been offering the newspapers, and it is you to deliver them—you both ended up spending the evening, walking around the park together. It didn’t feel like anything, it just felt like it was supposed to happen.

Since then, seeing each other ever so occasionally (which is starting to get suspicious) didn’t feel like simultaneous occurrences anymore. They just happen to happen.

He had loved you the moment times grew by, fast. Yet steady, when he wants to appreciate and prolong certain moments that playback in his head multiple or few times. Sometimes, he just liked to cherish the time, moment, and place—Maybe even the person who happens to be who he sees when his eyes close and doze off, stepping into a whole new land in his sleep.

He dreams of you.

He sees you but knows you are out of reach, your mind is somewhere else even when his heart is yours. It’s not fair, you get to be somewhere else when all he wants to be is to be somewhere in your head with your heart on his palm—But you never really knew that—and accept all of him that is immediately consumed by you.

The universe wasn’t exactly on his side, a second closer you got the more he realized how distant you actually could be when you had to turn back away. Because you both weren’t exactly something, just yet, but he’s trying.

So all he can do for now is think. Actions, little by little.

He thinks of the color that he noticed had made your eyes perk up a glint with something akin to enthusiasm. All he wants to be, is to be that color if it meant you got to look at him that way. Maybe even stop being an acrobat since he’d been stumbling around and losing balance around you all the time now—it would bring shame to his title.

His life has always been flexible in way, he has had many side jobs before. He decides to catch up with you. You pause and look away from the road, glancing beside you and the surprise is unfathoming. The same man, Richard Grayson Wayne, on his bike—that he had recently just bought at the last minute, that you’ve been encountering more than so much needed—is matching the pace of your bikes together, and it doesn’t make you feel uneasy. Because there are a stack of newspapers on the basket on the front.

He’s joining you.

The love in him ranges in a stretch—it graciously, and smoothly flows out like releasing energy into thin air, it all pours out of him for and to you. He’s not being subtle, the love in him resurfaces in the flexibility of his muscles. He catches you, he holds you close, a hand out for you. He goes through the thick and rough patches so you can go through with your unblemished self. He follows you throughout the streets and keeps an eye closeby, he drops in by your side when he sees you alone at night and there's more than thrill that runs through his adrenaline when conversation goes on—because right now you’re not so occupied, right now, you are with him. Even when he’s presenting himself as somebody you don’t know beneath the mask and suit.

Despite the calm, there can be thrill. His devotion is exuberant. It’s a lavish breeze, a breath of fresh air, but it takes the air out of your lungs when it falls onto you all at once—and it is not bad, it is the rush of excitement that brings to it.

Because suddenly it all happens so fast, the moment a suspicious, lean figure dressed in black had even crossed the same path as you was when Nightwing—somebody who seems very familiar to you the closer you look—scoops you up and within seconds, there is the gush of wind that made you hitch your breath out of instinct and it rushes past you both through the air, you’re all too far gone to even continue the scream in your lungs as you clung onto him for dear life—because you can see the City, the lamp posts, the street, the cars on the road, right below you both as he whips through the air like it’s nothing.

Like you’re not even in his arms. Like your heart isn’t sure whether to be flattered for the save that you didn’t even know you needed, or if your heart should be pondering for a heart attack out of pure panic from the moment.

And you didn’t even notice the abrupt stop the first second, he drops by your apartment all so casually, the logo in his suit is slightly glowing despite the dimness of your balcony. Since when did Nightwing know where you live?

jason peter t.

jason t. ⇆ librarian! reader (... i thought it was cute again (2))

The library is a nice, quiet, and tranquil place to be. It gives him a sense of belonging—and he knows that this is where his peace could be—where no one can bother to poke you through the skin, there are whispers deep in the depth of himself telling him that he longs to be here until he learns to figure out the vulnerable parts of life.

He was right.

The smell of organic, earthy old papers is what fills his lungs once he opens and goes through the halls and the shelves, but the moment his eyes averted to the sight of you behind your counter—all he can see is you—he took it in selfishly. Maybe he’s not just going back here, back and forth every now and then, just to read a bunch of the books he specifically came up to you for (He knows where they all are, he just wants a walk with you through the shelves, and he buried every moment with you deeply).

In a place full of bricks with papers stacked in a shelf atop each other, scholarly or simplistic—you are the long awaited book filled with pages of layers that he wants to go through, and in every word there is in you, he will remember them.

But these are only fleeting and brief moments he gets to have. The universe tells him it’s so close, but so far.

You’re always keeping yourself busy, nose hooked on the book down your hands (though he knows that’s what reading is supposed to look like), and when you’re not—there is another customer of the day having to dwell on your attention.

It makes his face scrunch in disdain and he all but wants to snark at the laughing silhouette of your shadow. He needs assistance too! Look at him, the book in his hand is upside down. You should come over to his table and read it with him. Or even then, you’re by yourself on your counter all the time going through a paper list or checking in the people’s library cards—whether they’re borrowing or returning.

He decides to seethe over the huge block of half wall between you guys; it is an obvious abstract to bring a physical gap between you both, as though being emotionally afar isn’t enough to torment him in his sleepless nights.

He decides he hates having you right over the other side, he needs you by his side, specifically.

Even your quick and lectured ‘’shh!’’s towards his way, when he’s up and all over your work counter in hopes of striking up conversations, are adored. Or the quick glimpses of your soft smile towards him—before you cover the beauty up with a book that you’re holding, or paper, or clipboard, or God forbid your hand that he yearns to hold with his—are things he takes all too seriously. Makes the spirit in him giddy, and he wants to feel and go deep to more.

You don’t realize that everytime you look his way is like a ceasefire in the conflict of his life. The moment he steps in the library, right there and then you’ll feel a pair of eyes already on your back. There is no closure to this, he wants to keep it going. He wants to prolong, cherish the given times fate brings you both upon. Until, you realize—whether or not you wish for him to persist.

You let him, the day he stayed with you when the sun set. When the night called you off your duty, when he stayed the whole day in the library and had tea—together—with you by the counter. Just because.

It’s late at night, the horizon is through the phase of the moon cycle—and it’s the night that happens to end your shift. If anything, this might’ve been your first ever shift where the night awaits you right by the end—you’ve always taken the day-by duty, but the co-worker of yours was out for something personal. You didn’t ask what.

The heavy gnawing of approval from a somebody you look up to didn’t help that she was a very dear and over-the-age close to being a senior citizen and had given you life changing advice since the very first day of work, had you impulsively volunteering the afternoon duties as her substitute.

You were glad to help, genuinely. But when the dark sky falls in, it only has you thinking of circumstances—Gotham isn’t safe enough to be out alone.

Seeing the peering lamplights of the city streets outside the windows had you quite rethinking back of your choices. That old lady must be quite used to this, and you’re hyping yourself up that if she’d been through this all, alone, then you must be too.

But oh, Jason, it’s a coincidence he’s here too! He didn’t even notice the setting of the sky change over the hours.. time flies by so fast, no?

He offers you a ride home. Insisted, for safety measures of course. The breeze, cold air of the night hits your face, the wind is all too suddenly chilly, but he thinks the feel of your arms around him is thrilling.

The scent of you lingers onto him, and he breathes it in and your aroma quickly consumes over his lungs like no other smoke could. He concludes to himself that maybe you’re more worth being addicted to.

In a way that he’s almost grateful—it’s as healthier than the nicotine that tends to crawl his pleura and the familiar feeling of the clouds that gets pass through to mess with his head—because atleast you make words in his throat stuck like no other could—he’s certainly quiet. But speechless? He didn’t think he’d ever been with the way you do to him—atleast you’re the one messing with his head now, and he doesn’t seem to detest it.

It thumps his heart from each beat—your hand is right by his chest—and he’s hoping you don’t feel the little tiny jumps his heart is doing through his ribs. This might have been the peace he was subconsciously longing for. You, will be his peace.

Imperfections turn faultless, and the love is so full that it makes the heart of a vigilante jump like a mirthful puppy learning its first steps. In the end, he’s glad to come across the Library downtown. It is exactly where he found the peace that he longed to find—the missing piece of himself, where fate spoke to him out loud.

timothy “tim” d.

i admit this one was a bit 😣 Reader doesn't have a specific job here, nothing mentioned. Also lowk stalker Tim but in a cute way bcz he didnt mean to be. i started channeling Shakespeare in the end (i dont get what i said)

Now listen. Him already even showcasing his businesses as the Red Robin—it is already a huge deal and step for him, and you didn’t have to do much for it. He hadn’t meant to put you at risk with these sorts of information, but it slipped out. He can never really pay attention to what he’s saying and thinking when you're right and all he wants to do is get lost in your eyes and let time stop itself.

He wishes it would. He wishes you could stay a moment longer. He wishes you wouldn’t have to be so burdened in your responsibility and obligations anymore. You’re still there, but the paranoia in him is already heading into forward into what time will come.

So as a way to keep an eye on you, he has to outright do just that; He syncs patrols with your schedule. Besides, the obstacle that was probably between you both was you choosing your duties over him. Honestly, you yourself was probably a challenge he wouldn’t be able to get past. He admires the dedication, really, but if anything, it only drove him furthermore. He didn’t mind a little bit of challenge, it just thrills him in the head.

Maybe because he has decided you’d be the perfect fit for a puzzle like him. So, he decides to treat the inkling feeling in his heart with strategies. Seeing Red Robin constantly out your balcony isn’t as alarming as the first times anymore. He seems to sync with you every time, the moment you step inside your bedroom—he is waiting from afar and is lunging forward and dropping down to your balcony. He brings stuff with him; a flower he picked up as the starter, the next day was 2 cups of coffee from the nearby café—just so he could hold onto a conversation with you. He missed your voice. He tracks your shift like it’s his own job to do, he memorizes your schedule just to revise his own to spend the evening with you. The wind catches his whispers of ‘be safe, and goodnight’ when you end up asleep before he gets to you on time.

When he’s really got to go for patrol, he leaves sticky notes outside your balcony with cute little reminders for you. He puts a tracker on your phone, and he has it saved on his comms just to monitor you when he’s far too out of reach. He skims—with dedication and making sure to remember everything—through your government documents and files (though with light intentions, he merely wants to know you better). Failed missed calls on your ends means he’s immediately up and checking your location—failed missed calls on his part never happens, he always picks up at the first ring when it’s you. He sulks when he has to be away for just a little longer than he has to be—he’s suddenly rushing throughout the crime-fighting.

Sometimes, you get home late and a little dazed. From whatever may have happened during your duty—you’d snap at him when you’re far too exhausted and fatigued, and your brain just immediately gets so overstimulated. And he gets you; he doesn’t say anything, just a nod and a silent reassurance as he gives you space and waits—but he doesn’t actually leave, he just silently stands there and waits it out patiently.

Few affections there and then, not very subtle much—couldn’t it have been any more obvious for you?

You are constantly unreachable and occupied, wrapping yourself into these chores. He’s a busy man himself, well sometimes, and he knows what it’s like. He’s sleep deprived himself, and he slips in the room of wherever you may be just so he knows that you are truly still capable of being intact together. You don’t notice he’s been watching your shift from across the street every night—but you feel safe when you’re heading home, no doubt.

You ask for his intentions, he has a lot that he’d been wishing to say;

I’m dropping by just to check in on you. You worry me a lot, stop overworking yourself. You’re doing just enough. I care about you a lot. I think I love you.

He didn’t get a chance to declare any of it, when you had already opened up the door of your balcony and his feet dragged itself in with his mouth sealed shut into a soft smile gracing his face when he finally got a look at you. The lights of the city from outside illuminates your features in the dim lights of the room and he thinks he now might just have to be comfortable with sappy moments like these soon if he wants this to last forever.

Because, God, he really does want it to. If forever meant you.

He had always felt the need to function, not of self worth. Sure. He’s smart, calculating, analytical and intellectual—the brains in him, he thinks, have nothing to offer, but to work his heart out with the functionality of his mind, to pour out what the heart feels with his actions.

He inserts himself in your life but stays out of lane. Your seamless self along with his scarcing history of past lovers keeps him away, they are buried deep and it consumes him—along with the perfection of you—and brings his hopes low and it weighs him down.

As much as the love he has for you holds him whole, it feels as though it holds him on a pedestal in your life.

You are the ideal pattern he takes his time observing, that he now sees in everything of life. He watches, and he decides that heaven must have blessed him for having the sight of the eyes. He listens, and he’s all too grateful for the advantages of the ears—Maybe he’s even glad he exists, just to live the same timelines with you if it means he gets to have the privilege to be in your life—suddenly, life isn’t so bad. Suddenly, it is worthy to let the soul in himself continue on.

duke thomas

duke t. ⇆ boy (him) next door (i swear it was a lot more creative in my head) Apartment complex/condo setting. kind of short im sorry guys heh i kinda dont know how to write Duke but it's fun doing so. I also had no idea where i was getting at with this one (2)

He hasn’t seen you in a while. The only light in his life that he couldn’t compare to no other, the only light in his life he couldn’t predict.

There were times when you’d go out and then he’d take the opportunity to slide to your side as you both converse into wherever your words could get you—since then, you’ve been closer than ever, rather than just a peer in the apartment complex. Other times, he’d be looking out through his window and peeking at his door expecting just a little longer to watch you head out of your room and he’d coincidentally walk out just in time, too. He’d wait.It bothers him truly, but he knows you’re not exactly keeping yourself away from him or anyone—you just had a lot of things in your schedule. But the lack of you keeps him tormented, reminding him of just how far of reach you are to him, despite just living next door.

You’ve always been there. Right across his room in the apartment complex building, you are right there and he is right infront of your doorway—and he’s about to knock, when he abruptly gets a hold of himself at the last second. His fist is already an air away from the door, and he stiffly brings it back down to his side as he bombards himself in the head.

Where had all his daring surge of confidence gone? His words aren’t stuck to his throat, but they are too heavy to drag out on his tongue.

He mutters to himself. ‘I haven’t seen you all week.’ Ah, sounds demanding. Maybe.. ‘Mind catching up with me?’ ..eh, sounds corny. Or maybe! ‘You good? You’ve been cooped up inside that room since.. Last—’

The sudden door infront of him suddenly barges open and he freezes completely still, stiff yet his stance slouches in almost embarrassment as he comes face-to-face with you. And the puzzled look on your face makes him want to slide a sly comment in.

“Duke?” He caught on to your voice, immediately snapping out of it.

“Hey.. uh. I was just about to knock.” His lips quirk up into a timid but sincere smile, bringing a hand up the back of his neck—scratching it to keep his hand occupied and to keep his body moving.

“I know, I saw you through the peephole.”

“Oh.”

That had been the first time he was able to step inside the comfort of your space.

Sometimes, he’d like to just crash inside your abode (with permission of course,) step aside to your couch and just. Stay. Finding the solace in your shared presence. And he starts to look into you more, now that he’s able to be closer than ever. He studies your routine, he memorizes your schedules (They are set up in those sticky notes of your dashboard behind the door) He takes a look into your calendar, set up right at the wall beside your personal desk, and counts down the days of chances when he’d be able to have you for himself. On different occasions, he lingers by you, wherever you may be.

He’s .. starting to think he might be spending more time in your apartment than his own. Maybe being out of the Wayne Manor for just a little while wasn’t actually so bad.

When your duties outweighs your already weary self into a mushed pile of strained burden, he is there for it to be all better. He organizes activities in your room; Late night karaoke in the living room and away from your unkempt desk, multiple sessions of Jinga whilst sat together on the living room floor, the game of cards discarded all over and playful arguments ensues, and heartfelt times of vulnerability when he sees you asleep on the desk—and he is able to tuck you in himself and he gets to cherish the privilege of seeing you this vulnerable.

When he finally gets you out of your shell, he takes you to a simple start. A cup of coffee, together. You’re both sitting across each other from the table, the aroma of the sugary pastries make the scenario a little sweeter, and there are baristas preparing your orders as you both await for the delicacy.

Nothing hits just as hard as the sight of the sunrise glow basking in your way, the golden hue of light reflecting across your skin that it might’ve been the sun kissing you ‘good morning’ from across the sky. He imagines cliché occasions—of you both together—similar to that. He would’ve been doing the same. Nothing can really dim you out of his life, even the daylights and the beams of the sun know where to find you.

The purpose of the existence of light would’ve been because he needed to see you in his life. He might have the ability to bend the bright lumiscene, but this certain glow infront of him is something he yet has to fathom and cannot manipulate—because this time he will be genuine, and maybe fate can bend it to something it is meant to be—and this gift from the sun is something he could get familiar with.

And so he stares, and he is enamoured. Enamoured, and he cannot look away. He takes this slow to savor every temptation of fate and coincidences. A label in a relationship wouldn’t be able to define the title you hold over him. If he is Duke, you will be his Duchess–his Queen. And even then, he swears to keep it that way, because he had always known that love would be his stability despite the ruckus that may occur in Gotham’s streets.

He’s kind of glad he skipped Patrol for times like these. Bruce can give lectures later.

damian al ghul w.

university au, summer immersion, MD! Damian, BSN! Reader. Kind of ooc..? But i love me some soft dami idcidcidc. prob also doesn't make logical sense; i know nothing about what happens in university i js asked from my sister about her summer immersions ANYWAYS ... !

Despite also wanting to be independent of your sense of individuality, he always seemed to be..just there. Damian thinks he might be a little bit too intrigued by you, there’s no other way or explanation for his sudden behavior. Have you forgotten your kit again? You can take his. Even if the consequences would give him another extension for the summer immersion. Printer in your house broken? Oh, he already printed another copy of his notes for you! You have nothing to worry about. Oh, you’ve run out of gauges and sterile gloves.. He’s got plenty more anyways.

(The next day, there is a box of supplies handed out to you.)

He likes the look on your eyes when you take a moment to admire the small little pointless sketch—finally glancing away from your textbook, and he sighs in relief yet there is another feeling of anxiety that crawls on his skin when he imagines you looking at him like that, the glint of earnest in your eyes—the whole anatomy of the rib, with the names of each fragment there is to name, mind you. And ever since then, he doesn’t seem to mind it anymore whenever you try to attempt and peek over his shoulder to glance at whatever impression his pencil could be gliding across the paper for.

Ever since then he started giving you his personal notes in each lesson—the detailed, comprehensive, and precise depictions of each anatomy he drew during the lecture hours, the long and well-researched studies in each lesson the professors had yet to instruct. Sometimes, he had even predicted the on-coming examinations and gave you his analysis beforehand.

He had wanted you to feel almost well provided, even through the busy schedules the academics could ever overwhelm you with, let his subtle sentiments engulf you further until you forget about the worries altogether. He had seen how serious and far-reaching you are for your future, and if anything, that—had really meant something for him. It was admirable, it was the commitment you had with yourself, that had him wanting to reach out for a chance—for the same significance to be in your life. Maybe he just wants to feel important, in the consistency of morals, in your eyes.

There were times where you two had barely talked during a period, when the academics were too much to bear, and so you both secluded into the quietness. He didn’t complain, he liked the fact that he had gotten the opportunity to even be in your circle, even when it is silent.

He’s rather quiet, but at times when he wants your attention, he likes to subtly hint at you with his interesting choices—“When an octopus is stressed, it may eat its own arms.” He said out of the blue, glancing over to you, applying your sticky notes on your textbooks. He sees the slight quirk of your lips, and he wants to say so much before, but his eyes avert away before he could stare any longer, he does not want to look like a fool.

He said it with purpose, because he had seen you fussing over your own grades. It is nothing of the ordinary, he is here willing to provide you with so much more than that. And he wants to assure you—He loves your face very much. He could hold your cheeks on his palm and press a gentle kiss to your forehead if it meant for your head to clear up, if he wasn’t so afraid. But even from how much he adores your beauty, he still dislikes the look of distress on your face; anything that discomforts you, he wishes to perish them himself—but he cannot perish you when you do that to yourself.

Even when both of your courses were distinct, the academic pathways were similar, sometimes, your classes tend to overlap with his—because why is there an MD student at the BSN..? Maybe he’s just that good to be able to get inside two of the course lessons.

The classes were over, but extensions and summer immersion were right out by the corner of your schedule. And out of all people, Damian’s schedule is overlapping yours again.

( His line up was a fraud. He interchanged timetables with another student—your supposed peer for the whole immersion, operations and all—and had personally came up to the Counsellors for his way. With that, you’re both paired, just as how it should have been in the first place. )

And, just like that, It’s hell week; Immersion. It didn’t help that the unflattering heat of the summer had been taking a toll for everyone. The hospital, frankly there just for professional practice, had surely been engulfed by air conditioning since the early dawn.

Damian’s merely here for the trial and error—you’re well aware that he can be infuriatingly, exemplary, best of this. You’re here for an actual practice. Seriously, how does he already know what to do with everything? Ever since the starting of semester. You can’t help but be suspicious, maybe even a little bit envious of it. But you have nothing against him—not when he begrudgingly helped you throughout the year. (He just wanted to be nice. Maybe he’s even participating in the Immersion Program just so he could be your mentor all the way throughout.)

Every room in the medical institution has the same aroma—scents of isopropyl alcohol, antiseptic, and disinfectant. You can even smell the baby powder cologne of some employees that pass by close enough. The scent of baby powder seems to be very convenient in places like the sanitarium, so you decide to give it a try yourself.

He notices the moment he steps by your side, like he always does the first thing he gets here. He sees you staring down at your clipboard—eyes probably scrutinizing the tasks you’ve been assigned to on your checklist—and he eyes you down. You feel it.

“You reek.” You turn to him, puzzled and mildly offended. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off. “—of talcum powder.” His eyes stare you down shallowly, but his heart swells at the foreign scent of something chaste on you; it fits you, really.

You nod. “Yes..baby,” you paused, for no reason whatsoever–you just found your voice stuck, probably from the piece of toast you ate just from minutes ago, and his brain short-circuits at what he had just heard. You cleared your throat, “–powder.” You finished it off, before turning away to head towards your designated area.

Oh. He feels himself wanting to shrink into a small ball of utter humiliation. He thought you had just called him—nevermind.

During duty hours, he does end up sticking right by you. Like a pair, and it looks really like convincing for the patients for a Doctor in training with a Nurse in training together side by side—really. He never really seems like he’d walk away any time soon—because, he has the schedule folder of both your designations and updoings, he can plan all things thoroughly, he knows what to do, but for a pair to work; he needs you just as much as you need him, and you basically just outright give his plans a feedback of your own—and he listens. And follow what you tell him to do. He’s already following you around all day at the medical institution like a puppy.

When there is an operation in the room, you are both intended to watch and observe as the professionals handle and perform their function.

Sometimes, you are both at action too. Only from a limit. He practices on a just mildly injured patient, and you give him the scrapes and tools that he asks for when he switches up to a new pursuit at task—your finger brushes along his as you pass him the bandage scissors, and he longs to feel a little more. You don’t notice, first to pull back away and he turns away to brush away the swell of his heart.

Every fleeting moment of brief skin-to-skin makes his skin adust, it burns and leaves an imprint of warmth from you—it doesn’t seem so bad, you’ve already had the right to leave parts of you onto parts of his the very moment the tingling twinge of weakness had hit him. Be it merging or molding yourselves into one, he’d prefer that anyway, he cherishes anything and everything from you.

The pursuit of his dream might’ve been his very first purpose—to heal, to save, and bring back somebody’s life that he felt like he needed to do, what his youth would’ve wanted—to be here, but he’s starting to think that you might’ve been the reason he could be here.

When the job is over and the dismissal of the Counsellors are announced, he stands beside you and hooks his pinky finger with yours, and he feels a little proud—when away from the prying eyes of everyone, he places his adoration into the kiss of the back of your palm, It overflows from your hands like it shouldn’t, and he wants you to hold it all for yourself now that you have his heart.

𝑛/𝑎 ﹔SO.. what do we think about ittt eehqhqhqhaahh hdhahehhe hehheheh ahhshh GUYS ! THIS TOOK A WHILE TO POST i was really booked and busy AND i was slacking off a lotttt BUTBUT i was writing drafts on my overheating half dead laptop with sims 4 in the background (its just overreacting) at the car during vacay, yolo✌️😇 xx