#They promise that they will be by each others sides from here on out. That they will trust each other. But. Well. You know the story

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 11 masterlist

-

The ship is big enough to get lost in, just like your mind.

You open your eyes and you’re back in your room. The lights are off. You feel around the wall for the light switch and when it comes on, it temporarily blinds you; you wince against the burning light. The faint remnants of a dream on the verge of slipping away lingers on the edges of your conscious mind. 

A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.

You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.

Shaking. When you look down at yourself, you realize you’re shaking, your pinkie trembling independently of the rest of your hand though the tremor soon spreads to your other fingers. 

How did I get here? You want to ask but there’s no one around to receive the question. The door to your room is sealed shut. Looking around the room reveals nothing amiss or out of place. Even your clothes are neatly folded on your desk, and you’re clad in your pajamas as if you’d already gone through your whole nighttime routine. 

The sheets are rumpled and warm from your body, meaning that you’ve been in bed for some time. The problem is that you don’t remember returning to your room or tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you remember is Gaz taking your face in hand and promising you—

Your brows knit together as you rack your brain.

—promising you something. 

You rack your brain harder, searching for a memory that slips further and further away with each passing second. You remember Farah and doubles and your ship hurtling through empty space, and then a sickle slices through your memories and lops it off. 

Your lips tingle when you press your fingers to them. Something here too, but it slips from you when you try to fit your hands around it. 

Sleep knocks at the door of your mind though, putting off anymore thoughts of what you’re forgetting. Maybe in the morning it’ll come back to you.

In your dreams, he appears again, hovering over you this time, thick thighs on either side of your hips. Skin darker under the cloak of darkness. His plush lips part when you touch your fingers to them and he kisses each pad delicately, reverently. 

Your body feels warm and weightless; sticky between your legs. A pulsing pleasure like nothing you’ve ever experienced, desperate for him to tuck his hands under your back and draw you up into his chest. 

I’ve been waiting a very long time for something like you, he whispers against your fingertips. 

And you want to whisper back, what will you do now that you’ve found me? But when you open your mouth, all that comes out is ash and dust.

By the following morning, Hadir is sick.

You find out in the middle of brushing your teeth when Graves summons you to the medbay over the intercom, giving you only the briefest of explanations before his voice cuts out with a crackle. A line of toothpaste and drool drips down your chin as you stare up at the speaker in the corner of your room, dread pooling in your belly. Even from the outset, you know this can’t be any good. 

That feeling follows you all the way to the medical unit, shoving your arms into your lab coat sleeves while speed walking down the hall and wondering what you’ll find waiting for you. That’s where you find the three of them—Farah and Graves flanking the examination table where Hadir is laid out, the flush and sweat on his face visible from across the room. 

“What happened?” you ask, hurrying over to his side. You drag the computer over with you, the arm it’s attached to gliding over to the exam table. 

“He’s been like this all morning,” Farah explains in a terse voice, not meeting your eyes. “I went to check on him when he didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“Hadir?” Speaking directly to him now, you soften your voice, trying to gauge his mental state. Pupils of uneven size lazily roam around until they land on you. “Hadir, how’re you feeling?”  

His lips are dry when he parts them, and though he stares at you uncomprehendingly for long enough to worry you, he eventually responds with a raspy, “…Bad.”

That gets a shallow laugh out of you. “Yeah, I figured.”

The fever is obvious. What’s less obvious is the cause of his fever. You run through your usual preliminary tests, but nothing seems to stick. There’s a waxy sheen to his skin and boils under his arms that make you think bacterial infection, but coupled with his other symptoms—the fever and nausea—you err on the side of caution and take a few blood samples, plugging in the command for a CT scan. 

“I can page you when his results are in if you’d like” you let Farah and Graves know, looking at them from over your shoulder, the two of them still standing by Hadir’s bedside and watching you intently. “You don’t have to stay for this. It’ll be a little while until I know what’s going on.”

“Farah will stay,” Graves states. The look he sends her feels pointed and you don’t know if you like it. 

Something unsaid passes between their eyes. Excluded from their exchange, all you can do is focus on your work to quell the anxiety brewing in you. 

“Alright,” you assent, practically mumbling the word under your breath. 

Graves leans over Hadir’s prone form to whisper something into his ear before straightening and leaving without another word, not issuing you so much as a glance.

A tense silence fills the room. You try not to let it get to you at first, concentrating more on putting the blood samples into the centrifuge and setting up the scanner. After yesterday though, your tolerance for bullshit is low, almost nonexistent. You can only take Farah’s gaze boring into your back for so long before you snap. 

“What?” you finally ask, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Farah doesn’t answer for a moment, considering whether or not to broach the subject.

“You ran away yesterday,” she finally says. A statement rather than a question.  

You’d been bracing yourself for this exact moment, but when it arrives, you flounder a bit. Tongue heavy and nerves electric. Rooting around in your brain for an answer that doesn’t make you come off as paranoid and crazy when you’ve already revealed your hand to her. 

“I wasn’t feeling well.” You keep it simple. Tell her nothing that she doesn’t already know. 

“You went back to your room then?”

“Yeah. I just needed to rest.”

She lets the silence hang in the air, long enough for you to worry that you’ve miscalculated in lying to her. There’s no sense in telling her the truth though. Even now, you can’t be sure of who you’re speaking to. 

That thought sits like a stone in your belly. 

“We still need to have that conversation.”

She dislocates himself from your peripheral vision when she takes a step away, forcing you to turn your head to find her. “There’s more to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“You’re going around saying Gaz isn’t human and that we had conversations that I don’t remember ever having with you, and now my brother’s sick. I’d say there’s more to talk about.” 

“I made a mistake,” you lie, hoping that you can put on a convincing enough face. “The other day, I mean, when I said that to Hadir about Gaz. Obviously Gaz is a human. Maybe I was getting sick too.”

“That would be awfully convenient,” she responds blandly. 

“Convenient?” you repeat, frowning.

A sudden antagonistic turn to the conversation. Real or not, it’s been in the air for weeks now, maybe months. Your blood goes hot beneath your collar. Not once has she given you any semblance of grace or leeway. Like you can only do wrong; like she expects treachery or disappointment or worse from you. 

Then someone breaks the tension by coughing. 

“Can…you two…stop arguing?” Hadir rasps, dragging your attention back down to him on the exam table. 

“Sorry,” Farah murmurs to her brother. She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze.

You apologize under your breath to him as well, shedding the last of your annoyance. There’ll be a time for that later. Now, you have a patient to tend to. 

The day does not improve from that point on. 

Though you spend hours pouring over Hadir’s blood samples and the cross-sectional images from his CT scan, you can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, all of his results coming back ostensibly normal even though his condition continues to visibly deteriorate. By mid afternoon, his skin is abnormally hot and you sponge his skin with lukewarm water to try and keep him cool while running more tests. His fever holds steady.

You order an MRI on top of his other tests, waiting impatiently for his results only for those images to come back normal as well. Test after test comes back with the same answer. Though Hadir’s white blood cell count is higher than normal, his body doesn’t appear to be fighting anything in particular. 

He becomes less responsive around lunchtime, which doesn’t worry you until it gets harder and harder to get him to open his eyes and grumble out more than a couple words at a time. 

You can feel Farah’s frustration and worry rise as the hours pass. For a time, she’s called away by Nikolai to help work on something else, but she comes back as soon as her work is done, the soft whoosh of the door behind you alerting you to her presence. 

“How’s he doing?” she asks quietly on her return. 

You breathe out heavily, your mask making your breath blow down over your chin. “He’s still running a fever. I have him on an IV to make sure he’s still getting fluids in his system in the meantime.”

Farah idles closer to Hadir’s bedside, gazing down at him almost tenderly. You can almost see the effort it takes her to keep her face neutral. “Is he…in any pain?”

That question is hard to answer. Though all of Hadir’s tests have come back fairly positive—no sign of infection or internal bleeding or anything that could account for his outward symptoms—you haven’t been able to elicit a response from him in hours, not since he was first admitted into your care. Every so often, he grumbles out a couple words, but that’s hardly enough to alleviate your worry. The only comfort you can offer her is that you haven’t been able to detect anything that would be causing him any pain. 

You’re not sure if that comes as much of a relief to Farah when Hadir’s brow quivers and sweat beads on his upper lip.

The situation bleeds from one day into the next. You sleep on a cot in the medical unit instead of returning to your room, setting multiple alarms in order to check on Hadir periodically throughout the night. You try to convince Farah to go back to her room to get some sleep, but when she doesn’t make any indication of leaving, you relent and pull out a cot for her as well. 

Hadir is no better in the early hours of dawn when you check his temperature and vitals again, but he’s not any worse either. Stable doesn’t mean good though. 

It’s only when Graves joins the two of you around midafternoon that the situation turns dire. 

“Well, doc?” he asks after returning from speaking quietly with Farah outside the medbay. “What’s wrong with him?”

His and Farah’s continued presence shouldn’t bother you as much as it is. You know it’s only natural considering this is the first time anyone on board has been sick since you departed Earth. It’s cause for some concern. 

“No prognosis yet,” you sigh. “I’ve done every single test I could possibly think of but there doesn’t seem to be anything actually causing his fever.”

Graves looks unimpressed with your answer. “How long’s Hadir been here—ten hours? And you still don’t have a single clue what might be wrong with him?”

You should’ve assumed his question wouldn’t be in good faith from the way he initially ignored you to call Farah into the hall for a chat. You bristle at his words though, stomach roiling. 

“It may not be a simple answer,” you say through grit teeth. “I’ll keep looking until I can figure out what’s causing this, but in the meantime, he’s getting fluids and rest and I’m making sure he stays stable.”

“Where are all of his test results anyway? Any x-rays I can look at?” Graves asks, meandering over to the counter running along the wall. 

There’s a stack of papers on the counter nearest him that he flips through. You bite your tongue to keep from asking him if he even knows what he’s looking at, choosing instead to just silently hand him Hadir’s scans. He inspects each scan for barely a few seconds before shuffling it to the back of the pile. 

He shuffles through the pile twice before slapping them back down on the counter. “Okay, maybe this’ll be easier if you just explain it to us.”

You’d laugh but it’s hard to find humour in the situation with the two of them staring at you with such obvious disaffection. Instead, you walk them through the tests you’ve ordered and all of Hadir’s results, taking the time to ensure that they understand the purpose of each test and your thought process behind it. 

Graves’ face says he still doesn’t get it. “Well, if Hadir’s fine, why isn’t he getting better? Not to point out the obvious, doctor, but he looks like shit.”

“…I’d tell you if I knew, but as you can see from his scans—”

“Which I’m still waiting for you to explain.”

“—as you can see from his scans, I haven’t been able to find anything actually wrong with him. Apart from his white blood cell count, which is a bit high—which could mean an infection somewhere, but I haven’t been able to find anything yet.”

“You know,” Graves starts, drawing out each word. “Back on Earth, they really sold me on your skills when I was picking through resumes for our staff media, but I gotta say, doc…I’m not seeing much to be impressed with now.”

You balk at his words, struggling at first to form a coherent response. “I’m…sorry to hear that, sir. I’m doing my best.”

“And none of this has anything to do with the other day?”

Your blood goes cold. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if something might be impacting your judgment.”

“Like what?”

Your raised voices must be audible from the hall because Alex enters a few minutes later, followed by Nikolai and Gaz, the latter of which you studiously avoid making eye contact with. 

Ever the blunt one, Nikolai is the first to speak. “Why all the yelling? We heard you from practically down the hall. Hadir is not dying, no?”

It’s so much worse to do this in front of a crowd; it’s like something out of your worst nightmare, all of them gathered on one side of the room and you on the other, divided even physically. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if there’s something the doctor isn’t sharing with us,” Graves says, eyes still locked on you. 

Your jaw hangs loose at the implication. “You’re not serious. Are you implying that I did something to Hadir? I didn’t make him sick,” you say, emphasizing the absurdity of the claim being levied against you.

“But you’re also not helping him get better. And that’s what we’re concerned about.”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and fix someone! It takes time—”

“You’ve had over twenty-four hours—”

Gaz takes a step forward, placing a hand on Graves’ shoulder to calm him down. “Commander, I know tensions are high but…you know she wouldn’t do something like that.”

You have a momentary lapse of gratitude in being defended before the anger rushes back up at the thought that Graves would hold Gaz’s words with more weight than your own. That Gaz would need to defend you in the first place when you half suspect that Graves’ distrust is by his own design. 

Graves’ nostrils flare as he exhales, no longer hurtling accusations at you but still deeply suspicious. 

“Can all of you just leave?” you blurt out, at the end of your rope. “I can’t keep arguing with you while I’m trying to take care of my patient. And it might seem like Hadir can’t hear us, but he’s still very much conscious and all of this is just going to put undue stress on him.”

The five of them stare at you with varying degrees of uncertainty, only Gaz’s expression remaining neutral. 

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Farah states, her distrust unambiguous. It stings. 

“You either have to trust me enough to let me do my job or lock me up if you’re going to keep second guessing me,” you snap. Probably unwise to plant that seed, but anger keeps your common sense at bay. 

“It’s probably not good for you to be here. It won’t make you feel any better,” Alex murmurs. Though it’s mostly hidden from view, you can almost make out the way his hand flutters over her low back.

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Even speaking softly, Farah’s voice reaches your ears from across the room. 

 Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Indignation like you’ve never felt before bubbles up, anger at being treated like the threat in the room. Your eyes cut to Gaz, whose stare hasn’t wavered since he arrived. Waiting for him to say something, to indict you like the rest of them. 

His brows bend in sympathy, but he doesn’t open his mouth. 

It’s Graves who eventually breaks the standoff. “Gaz, I want you to stay here until the doctor’s able to give us a better answer on Hadir’s condition.”

“Commander, I don’t know if that’s necessary—” Gaz interjects, but your fury drowns out his voice.

“You’re leaving me with a guard?” you ask in disbelief. “You can’t seriously think I’m keeping Hadir sick? That’s fucking insane, Graves—I’m a doctor. And moreover, Gaz isn’t even part of the crew—”

“First of all,” Graves cuts you off, a hair from shouting his words. “I won’t have anyone questioning my decisions on this ship. I’m the one who’s in charge around here. Second, Gaz has earned his place on this ship just as much as you have. Maybe more so because at least he’s actually done his fucking job!” 

His outburst stuns you into silence. Stock-still. Your bones creak when you rock back on your heels

Maybe because all this time, they’ve never said it in so many words, though you’ve felt the sentiment creep through the pipes and vents, the metal clanging with the sound of it hidden just behind a wall, just out of reach from you. 

For a second, you can see yourself the way they see you. A feckless, ineffectual crew member who hasn’t been able to pull her own weight. An extra bit of cargo for them to carry to Jupiter. Someone who, for some time now, they haven’t seen as equal to the rest of them.

The edges of goodness curl away from you. You’ve felt isolation before but never to this extent.

And not one of them comes to your defence. You stand there under the scour of their judgment and wait for someone to speak up and say that this has all been blown out of proportion, only for silence to reign supreme. 

“I’ll stay,” Gaz finally says, taking a step towards you and turning to face Graves. Physically putting himself on your side, though his words still align him with the commander. You try not to look as pulverized as you feel—you shouldn’t feel that way anywhere. You know he’s never been on anyone’s side but his own. 

The urge to say or do something you’ll regret is strong. Almost overwhelming. All you can imagine is grabbing a scalpel from the drawer near your hip and driving it right through your commander’s throat, revelling in the soft gurgles and flesh giving under the steel blade. The thought turns over your head until it’s nearly unbearable to keep your hand from trembling. Even the room seems to darken with your thoughts. 

Hadir breathes out shallowly from the exam table behind you. You blink and bite the inside of your cheek. This isn't right; this isn't you. Violence won't do anything out in space.

You know no answer will satisfy them, so you don’t even try, turning your back to Graves and his crew and focusing on your patient instead.

“Let me know if anything comes up,” Graves says, speaking to Gaz instead of you. Humiliation burns like bile at the back of your throat.

You hear Alex whisper c’mon to Farah before the whoosh of the door signals their departure. One by one they leave until only you and Gaz remain, and Hadir, still unconscious on the exam table. 

And all around you, the ship hums as it hurtles farther away from Earth.

[lovhrin]

𓇻   ॱ˖  FROM ME TO YOU park sunghoon mini smau

──ॱ˖ ❀ If there was one person yn would always remember, it would be park sunghoon, the only boy who was kind to her on her first day of school. to her, that small act of kindness meant everything. to him, it was probably just another ordinary day. or at least, that’s what she thought.

in which the most popular boy in school is tired of hiding his interest in the least popular girl in school.

❀ pairing : popular!sunghoon x quiet!femreader

❀ genre : school!au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smau, loosely based on kimi ni todoke

❀ taglist : closed! @tasnemluvs @honestlyatomicpanda @hhyvsstuff @skepvids @who-tf-soddhi @beigerin @tinyteezer @sasfransisco @giraffeass @velv3ts @seiamor @steddie-steddie @blvengene @starry-eyed-bimbo @ilovbeshotaro @river-demon-slayer @thinkinboutbin @starsunoo @nishimurarikisfinestan @i03jae @greentulip @naevis-hung-up @itsactuallylina @academiq @rikidaze @en-dream @rkivesfilm @kittyyy003 @haechology @univershoon @riribelle @jiiyen @elegancefr @daniellesyellowhands @sunooqvrlsx @justsvstuff @xeee334 @jungcatwonie @starbyeol1512 @right-person-wrong-time @kirakun @rairaiblog @miukidoll @unstableqi @wonuziex @yurisblooming @yyawnjun @pluggtalkk @mydearyeseo @yurisblooming @juyeoz

00. no boys allowed

soft, soothing music drifted through the café, wrapping the space in a sense of peace as the girls enjoyed their meal. the atmosphere was nothing short of serene just as expected. yn always had a way of finding the perfect spots, places that felt like a hidden sanctuary away from the world.

"yn, maybe try eating the food instead of just taking pictures of it," yizhuo teased, laughing at the way yn's face instantly turned red.

"sorry, they're just too cute," she said, finally taking a bite of her totoro cream puff and letting out a satisfied hum. "i need a good collage of photos before school starts, my photography teacher wants us to document our spring break and school starts tomorrow.”

"well, that shouldn't have been hard," yunah said, mouth full, completely ignoring yizhuo's scolding look before taking a sip from yn's drink. "you document everything, you probably haven't even realized how many photos you've taken over the brea—oh!" she suddenly cut herself off, a teasing glint in her eyes as she placed a hand over yn's. "speaking of school, have you thought about joining me for sports day?"

yn awkwardly glanced to the side, avoiding yunah's expectant gaze.

"oh, come on! i even got yiz to join my team," yunah pouted, giving yn her best pleading look.

"which is never happening again," yizhuo chimed in, taking a sip of her kiki themed latte. "i'm only going because you promised to buy me ramen for a month."

"come on, yn! i want both of my girls on my team," yunah whined, taking another sip from yn's drink, despite having her own.

"this is really good," she mused, making yn nod in agreement.

"i know, right?"

"but that's beside the point!" yunah quickly refocused, leaning in with wide, pleading eyes. "please?"

yn looked at her friend and sighed. she was never the sports type, she got tired too easily. she was more of an artsy girl, someone who kept to herself. plus, she had only transferred at the start of the year and still didn’t feel completely comfortable. but she couldn't ignore the fact that yunah and yizhuo had been nothing but kind to her since she moved. she felt like she owed them at least a little consideration.

"i'll think about it," she said at last, meeting yunah's hopeful gaze. "for real this time."

“promise?”

“promise.”

a comfortable silence settled between them, the only sounds being the occasional clink of utensils and the soft hum of café chatter. the girls stayed lost in their own worlds, scrolling through their phones and picking at their food, perfectly at ease in each other's company.

that was until yunah looked up, her eyes widening as she stared past yn and yizhuo toward the entrance.

"what the hell are they doing here?" she muttered.

yn and yizhuo turned to look over their shoulders. yizhuo immediately groaned.

"i thought this place was girls only?" she joked, rolling her eyes.

but yn barely heard her. her focus was locked on the boy who walked in last, trailing behind the others.

sunghoon.

last . masterlist . next

──ॱ˖ ❀ finally starting!!

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.669 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I'm sorry for introducing a side character so extensively, but I promise y'all, I swear to God it will all make sense in the future. I've been having a blast reading your comments and seeing what you think of the story. Thank you so so so much, from the bottom of my heart. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading!

Morning has a way of making everything seem lighter in retrospect.

Sleep was always a safe place for you. When you were in pain, when you were ruined, when you wished for death, you fell asleep. And when you woke up, with the sun hitting your face as reality sunk in, you weren’t so hopeless anymore.

But you startle awake that morning, nearly falling off the bed with JJ still half on top of you, having barely even slept, and you feel no metaphorical light strike you.

No clarity.

No introspection.

You feel worse.

All night long, you fell asleep and startled awake — You dreamt of stumbling up to the front door of the Cameron house to realize you were wearing nothing but the blue skirt, and woke up. You dreamt of running down the beach with JJ chasing you, persecuting you, and woke up. You dreamt of standing frozen in the kitchen at the Wreck while Kie tore your clothes off of you as everyone laughed and woke up.

It was 3:54 when you took a sleeping pill.

It was 4:09 when you woke up again.

Since then you'd drifted back and forth between a dreamless sleep riddled by the feeling of suddenly falling, and waking up, groggy and unable to move on the stifling heat of your bedroom.

You don’t feel much better when you finally open your eyes at 6:40. The sun seems to be in the room with you, scalding you, as it bleeds in through the window screen that shakes even as no wind comes through it. JJ’s skin is glued to yours, his hair sticking to your chest, his hands still gripping you as you try to move away.

He mumbles slightly, eyes peeking open in the overwhelming brightness. – Mornin’. – His fingers drift up your spine, around your waist, up to your chest. A kiss landing on the crook of your neck as he sits up next to you. – I don’t think I’ve ever slept this good in my life.

You try not to scoff at the irony as you rub the sleep you didn’t even have off your eyes. – Yeah. – He smiles against your skin, soft, warm, overbearing. – God, why is it so hot in here?

– Dunno, something to do with your presence, maybe.

A laugh falls from your lips, sharper than it should be. – Cute, JJ. Thanks a lot.

You’d be glad for the breath he lets out against your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much to help the heat, especially when he’s holding you so close, so tight, it's like being glued to a sentient heater.

The imprint of his hands seeps through the sweat on your skin. — Rough, calloused. Like sandpaper on silk, your skin seems to fray at his touch.

The wooden floorboards are hot beneath your feet as you try to stand, but JJ pulls you back, tugging at your arm until you're an inch short of falling over. – Where you going, baby? Let's sleep a little more.

– I wanna get ready.

– For what? It’s not like you’re working today. – The words linger around you, not cruel, but still sharp. – C’mon, baby. Relax.

– I’m starving. D’you want anything?

– You?

– Bye, JJ.

His laughter bounces off the walls as you walk down the hall, picking up the string of clothes he’s left behind.

You look over your shoulder on instinct. John’s door is still wide open, empty of him. If Sarah’s sleeping patterns are to be taken into account, and he truly did sleep there, neither of them are gonna wake up before midday.

So why do you feel like you’re being watched?

Worse than watched, judged.

The walls hover close, ceiling lower than you remember. The air is heavy around you, an overwhelming silence swallowing you whole even as you hear the creaks and cracks of the Chateau make themselves heard. You hesitate before stepping into the living room, eyes immediately falling over the armchair on the corner, where your dad used to sit.

Deep burgundy suede, copper buttons on the arms, probably the most expensive thing in this house. His bag still sits next to it, a worn honey-leather crossbody purse he’s had for longer than you've been alive. A gift from John's mother. You have to lift it everytime you clean the place, and it gets heavier every time, as if the piece of both of them that still lingers inside is growing.

Your breathing hitches.

You don’t know when your heartbeat picked up, why it did. But you avert your eyes like the sight had burned you, and rush to the kitchen quicker than dignity should allow.

You reach for the fridge door, thankful for the cold air that blows against you as you throw on JJ’s shirt to cover yourself. But that quick gladness doesn’t last: The fridge is almost empty, a half-done jar of peanut butter and some wonder bread you definitely didn’t buy the only things that don’t look spoiled, or just straight up empty. Your groceries never lasted long, no matter how much you try to stretch them.

The job interview still doesn’t seem appealing as Rafe’s weird words echo in your mind, but you don’t have the luxury to throw yourself on a job search you know won’t be fruitful, not now when half your bills are still to be paid.

You reach in, taking the bread, and open the little drawer, hoping for some cheese, tomatoes, anything. But your hope for semi-fresh produce vanishes as you feel JJ against you, his arms suddenly snaking around your waist. The bread falls from your hands. – Ooh, jumpy! – He giggles, leaning over you, his chin resting at the crook of your neck.

– Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?!

– You can’t bend over with an ass like yours and expect me not to do that. – His hands trail up your sides, under the shirt, his shirt, humming as he presses his hips against yours. – You look so hot like that, wearing my shirt.

A disgruntled chuckle falls from your lips as you look behind you, over your shoulder and his. – And you’d look really hot if you were wearing one.

– No need to lie to yourself, I know you like to see me naked. – He pulls you back, closing the fridge door with a kick as he leans down to kiss you. His hands find yours, pulling them to his chest. He trails them down his abs, until the strings of his shorts brush against your fingers. – D’you wanna take it off of me, baby?

– JJ, what are you doing?

– You. – He laughs, hands drifting down to your thighs. He takes a handful of flesh wherever he can squeeze, hissing under his breath as he presses on closer. – C’mon, beautiful. Aren’t you gonna give me a good morning?

– I’d have a better morning if you guys ever left anything for me to eat in this house.

– What? You hungry? I’ve got something you can put in your mouth.

– I think I’ll pass. – You turn around, but JJ grabs your waist before you can even step to the door. He’s close, much closer than what he should be, breath clinging heavy to your skin, blue eyes raking over your chest as he pushes you against the counter. – JJ, stop it.

– I don’t want to. – He growls, stepping closer, pulling at you, until his hips are against yours, thrusting so lightly you think he must not realize it. – You’re walking around like that, with nothing but my shirt— He groans, movements growing faster, more intentional. – driving me insane. And I can’t even do anything about it?

You push at his chest, trying to wriggle out from under him, but JJ’s grip is unwavering. – I’m not playing around, JJ, I’m not—

– Just a little, baby, please. Just— He’s pulling down his shorts, breath stuttering, head falling back as soon as skin touches skin. – Fuck. Fuck, that feels so good.

– JJ—

– Please, baby. Please. I promise I’ll make it quick. – You feel him pushing into you, hands holding your hips in a vice grip as he sinks in, head falling to the crook of your neck. – You feel so fucking good around me. Fuck—

You’re frozen in place, watching him use you, have at you like a toy, as if your words didn’t mean anything. He’s fucking himself into you, babbling, stuttering, rolling his eyes, almost as if he’s possessed. – How’d you do this to me? – The words fall from his lips as if he’s speaking to himself, his eyes closed, mouth pressed against your skin. – I can’t—fuck, I can’t stop.

His pace has grown faster, sloppier, dick sliding in and out so fast you can barely brace against him, nails digging into his shoulders, still unmoving.

You hear something in the distance, the familiar rumble of an engine, a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

John.

You wake up from your daze in a heartbeat, already pushing JJ away. – The car. John’s coming JJ, get off of me!

He doesn’t listen, your protests falling on deaf ears as he moans into your shoulder, still moving like a bitch in heat. – Jus— Just a little more, please. Please it feels so– Fuck! Fuck, right there! – His hips move wildly, and even as you shove him with all your strength, it's to no avail. You can hear the car getting closer, wheels moving on the soft lakebank mud, but JJ doesn’t stop. He gets louder. More restless, begging and pleading, his pace stuttering as his stomach contracts. – Don’t stop, fuck don’t stop I’m almost there! I— Fuck, fuck! Right there, baby! FUCK–

You shut him up just as he cums, shuddering and shaking over you as you push your hands onto his mouth, dick still twitching as you finally manage to get him away. You hear his back knocking against the opposite counter just as the car door slams closed, and you’re running to the bathroom, JJ pulling up his shorts behind you, still frozen in place.

You’ve never locked a door so fast, shame burning beneath your skin as you hear your brother’s steps on the porch, the squeak of the front door banging closed against the frame as he shuts it behind him.

JJ greets him with a stutter. – Hi—hey bro, what are you doing here this early? I thought you were gonna stay at Sarah’s.

– Rafe Cameron.

– What?

– Sarah and I were sleeping and then this psycho walks into the room. – You don’t know if JJ’s too stunned to respond, or if he’s not actually listening, but even you do a double take. – We weren’t even doing anything. And he just bursts through the door like the kool-aid man and starts laughing.

– Laughing?

– Yeah! Laughing! Fucking cackling. He laughed so hard, her dad came to check what was going on. – You hear impact. John probably threw something, you can hear the frustration in his sigh. – I had to sneak out the window so he wouldn’t catch me there. And you know what’s worse?

– There's worse?

– Yeah! Rafe told me to check on my sister. – Your breath is caught. – He actually fucking talked about her! Said her name! Like they’re friends or whatever. Can you fucking believe that?!

You dig your nails into your hands.

Please don’t say anything stupid. Please don’t say anything stupid. – Rafe’s a fucking junkie, bro. He was probably out of his mind. – Thank you. – But he acts really weird about her, if you ask me.

Your nails dig deeper.

Nobody asked you anything, JJ. – What do you mean?

You're not listening anymore.

There's no way in hell you're about to let JJ fucking Maybank buy you three more months of confinement. Your brother and you have it bad enough as it is without him throwing wood into that fire.

You throw the shirt off of you, burying it deep into the laundry basket, and wrap yourself with your towel.

– I don’t know man, but don’t you think it's kinda weird that he would—

– John? You home? – The conversation dies right then as you step in, and your brother jumps to his feet, looking over to the hall at you, like you're a specter. – That’s early.

He barely looks at you at first, still caught up in his own frustration. You tighten the towel around your body, tucking in the corner like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your hands shake slightly as they drop back to your side. – I thought you slept at Sarah's.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. – Yeah. I did. – Something burns in his eyes. – And then your buddy Rafe laughed me off the building.

– Rafe? – You hum. – What'd you mean ‘laughed you off the building'?

John scoffs. – He was high as shit. Talking in circles. Then— He pauses, his jaw flexing. – Then he brought you up.

Your stomach clenches, but you don’t let it show. You barely blink. – Me?

John's looking at you now. Really looking. – Yeah. Said your name. Told me to check on you.

The air shifts. JJ’s foot scuffs against the floor, he's looking at you too, something else in his gaze you can't quite catch from the corner of your eyes.

You feign confusion. – That's weird.

John doesn’t respond right away. He’s watching you too closely, like he’s trying to catch something in the way your face moves, in the way your fingers curl around the edge of your towel.

– When the fuck did Rafe start talking about you?

He says it slow, almost careful. But you know that tone. It’s the one he gets when he already suspects the answer.

You force a shrug, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. – I don’t know, John. Doesn’t he hate you? Was probably trynna get into your head or something.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for something to crack.

He thinks you're made of glass, he always did. But he doesn't treat you like you’re fragile, he treats you like you’re all shards and sharp edges. Like he’ll cut himself on you if he gets too close.

– Why are you getting ready so early? – That tone again. Casual enough, just shy of friendly. But his eyes are like knives, and you just happen to be the one he's holding at knifepoint. – You were fired.

You can feel your expression darken. JJ's already looking at you as your eyes drift between him and your brother. – Kie told you, huh?

– Yeah, she did. – He sways on his feet as he stands. Drunk off his own self-righteousness. – And she's right to. We all know damn right you wouldn't tell me. Because it's not like I'm your brother! It's not like I worry about you!

– It happened YESTERDAY. I just got fired, and you just walked in! Was I supposed to bring it up now? Over what? The breakfast we don't have?! The pile of bills that we still have to pay?!

He's looking at you, his heart probably racing just as much as yours. – Do you think this shit is easy?! – You continue. – It's hard enough to lose the job I've had for three fucking years, John! But telling you?! Having to disappoint you like this when we don't even know if we're gonna eat tomorrow?

He’s silent now.

You are too. —All the things you have to say flutter away as your mind sends you spinning— He whispers your name under his breath, reaching. Grasping. But you don’t want him to. You recoil before he can get to you, like a scared cat curling up in the corner.

And his hand drops.

As if the rejection had sent a shock through him, one as painful as what you’re feeling now. – Don't do this to me right now. – He’s pleading, but it doesn't sound like it. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, all you see is ache. It pains you to see him like this. But it doesn’t last long. Just as soon as that worry washed over him, anger swallowed it whole. – You always do this shit. You always do that. You fuck up and you shut down and you blame it on me!

– I'm not!

– Yes you are! You are! And you always do! It's not my fault you lost your job!

– I’m not saying it is, John! I’m just trying to—

– To what?! Huh? What is it?!

You let go of your breath, of your hope for this conversation, of any possibility of mending whatever it is that's wrong with you and John right now. The heels of your palms burn against the hollow of your eyes as you press your hands into them. – Forget it. – Your stomach turns, your throat is burning, you want it to end. – Forget it, John.

Your feet move before your mind does, you barely see the house moving around you as you scurry away. The door of your room falls shut behind you, but your thoughts remain in that kitchen, like your conscience couldn't bear to leave this the way it was.

Deal with it. You tell yourself. If they don't want to listen you shouldn’t even talk. But there is so much to say.

It wasn't you who got fired, you think as you take your clothes from the dresser and rush into the bathroom, it was Kie who did it to you.

The cold water jars you, like a glacier on your burning skin, but you continue the argument in your head as you scrub your skin raw trying to get JJ's hands off of you, thinking of everything you should have said.

The towel is still damp from your last shower as you pat yourself dry, but you can't get over the way your brother still looked at you like a criminal, as if the one time you got yourself into trouble was enough to outweigh every other stupid mistake he made.

The mirror seems like an alternative reality. You look into it and you see someone who’s alive. Bags under the eyes, reddened lips, messy hair. — If you look deep enough you can see breath in those lungs, shoulders that move up and down steadily, a chest that heaves. — But you feel like death, warmed over. An animal carcass that someone threw in the microwave, just to bring the color back to the corpse.

You reach under the sink for your makeup bag, and rifle through the little items you’ve managed to swipe from drugstores along the years.

Your mother would’ve been very disappointed in you. She was all about beauty, it's the only thing you remember about the woman: her, bent over the sink, touching up a cherry-red lipstick with the precision of a pre-raphaelite painter.

She never liked to kiss you. Took too much work to get her lips like that. Too bad for you, she wouldn’t be caught dead without it.

You wonder if she was wearing it right now. If she woke up, if she still refuses to kiss, even though that’s the basis on which her entire life was built upon.

Maybe she’s dead.

Maybe that's why you never heard from her.

If they did bury her, you at least hope they got her makeup right.

You fish a tube from the deepest corner of your bag, your only one. It's not as pretty as hers was, but you put it on just like she did, thinking of her, laying on a coroner’s table, being painted up like a doll.

Concealer. Foundation. You look like a doll. Painted plastic, a fake glimmer in your eye.

The blush comes later, closer to your undereyes, just where she put it. Then the lashes. She'd bat them to anyone who'd have her. A born flirt, your father would say.

The only thing he would say about her.

A stone weighs down on your chest.

Resentment.

Solid, calcified, heavy. If you move too fast you might feel it rattling inside your ribcage. But you look prettier than you did in a while.

You almost feel like her.

You take one last look in the mirror before stepping out, and she's looking back at you, raised brow, unimpressed, the way she always looked at you—it’s the version of you that can handle this, the one who won’t crumble at the first sign of trouble. It’s armor. A little cracked, maybe, but it’ll hold.

She would hold. You never could.

The house is quiet now, holding its breath with you when you step outside. John’s still in the kitchen, seething, you don’t hear him, but you feel him there, the weight of his anger pressing against the walls.

JJ is still there. He’s outside, sitting on the steps. He’s not looking at you, not at first. Just staring out at the river, his jaw clenched tight.

He only turns when you step out.

His eyes drop, flicking over you like he’s trying to figure out what’s different. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t.

– That was cruel. – He says, and his voice is rougher than before, like he’s been thinking too hard, breathing too shallow. – What you said to him. You shouldn't— He feels guilty.

You nod, barely.

He looks away again, back to the water. – Figures.

It’s not fair. You know that. You also know that staying here, standing in front of him, means letting him say whatever it is he’s trying not to say. And you don’t have the stomach for it.

So you step off the porch. The weight in your chest shifts, sharp and insistent.

JJ doesn’t stop you.

But he does call after you, just before you reach the end.

– Don’t do that. – he says, lower, slower. Suddenly, it's like he’s talking to a child. – We were getting along so well. Don't ignore me now.

You pause.

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. – I'm late, – His eyes widen. – For an interview, JJ. I have to be there at 10. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.

– Don't.

– Why? Is he gonna do it? – JJ sucks his teeth, looking down, it's all the answer you need. – Don't you wanna eat something other than bread and beer? Actual food? I know I do.

– Baby,

– Don't call me that. – You nod to the door behind you. – We were already poor enough when I was working. I don’t wanna think of how it could be otherwise.

JJ is quiet. You can almost hear him thinking. – Do you want me to drive you?

There’s nothing you want less. – I’m fine. I’ll see you later.

– Wait, wait. Wait a minute. – He looks over his shoulder, and pulls at your hand, standing closer. – Give me a kiss.

– JJ, stop it.

– He won't see. – His hand lands on the small of your back, heat bleeding through your shirt as he pulls you in, tighter and tighter until you can’t avoid his lips.

His mouth is warm, familiar. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess the way he fits against you, like he already knows exactly how you’ll respond.

But you don’t.

You stay still, lips barely parting under his. The pressure of his hand at your back keeps you anchored, locked in place, and when he deepens the kiss—his lips moving slow, deliberate—you don’t fight it. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

JJ doesn’t notice.

You feel it when he exhales through his nose, when his fingers press just a little harder into your spine, like he’s chasing something he isn’t getting. But he doesn’t pull back, not until he’s ready, until he's had his fill, and when he finally does, he sighs against your lips, almost satisfied, but not quite.

He lingers, his nose still brushing yours, but then he shifts back slightly, studying your face.

– That’s all I get? – His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to decide whether to be hurt. – Don’t leave me wanting like that, baby.

– I gotta go.

He says nothing. Just glances over his shoulder and swallows. His hand stays on you for another second, two. And he moves as if he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t.

– JJ.

Your voice is steady, but the weight in your chest hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s worse now, heavier.

JJ watches you, expression unreadable, before tipping his head back with a soft chuckle.

– Damn. – He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. – You make a guy work for it, huh?

You don’t respond. Take a step back, hands still on his shoulders.

– Come back soon, okay? – He whispers, you nod, and he goes on. – I'll see you later, right?

It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, like he already knows the answer.

And maybe he does.

You don’t give him a reply. You just keep walking, the weight in your chest sinking deeper, spreading through your ribs.

You never thought you’d be afraid of the Cameron house.

Rafe wasn’t really wrong when he joked about your house being haunted, but there’s something about his that is actually frightening. Maybe it’s the sheer size of it, the too-perfect symmetry of the windows staring down at you from over the white balconies like a set of watchful eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that you know what happens inside. Either way, you stand there for a moment, frozen on the pavement, your phone open to Rafe’s messages, and curse the day your broke-ass parents decided to have a kid.

You spent the last of your money printing out a copy of your resume—hastily written on Google Docs during the bus ride. You’d embellished as much as your conscience allowed, but you had no illusions; landing a job at the Camerons’ was out of the question unless you managed to impress the head chef: Kareem Nawaz.

You were surprised to realize you sort of knew him. Kareem had run a bar at Figure Eight just around the time you were hired at the Wreck. Everybody on the island seemed to turn to it in awe, the single taste of something even tangentially cosmopolitan to ever grace the Outer Banks—fancy drinks, fancy music, fancy food. But the bar didn’t last long. As you’d heard from Anthony, Kareem and the other owner had come to blows over finances. Eventually, the lawsuit got so expensive they had to shut the place down.

You think of driving past the still-empty structure as you step around the perfect lawn, heading toward the staff entrance in the back. You knock once, then a second time, a little softer.

Your clothes are less than perfect. You think of what Rafe said, a shiver running up your spine. Your mother would’ve told you to wear that skirt. Maybe you should have.

Maybe that was the only thing that could work you this miracle.

You barely have time to steady yourself before the door swings open.

– Oh, uhm, hey. I’m here for the private chef position. – The man standing in the doorway eyes you down—not obviously, but just long enough that you notice. A brief flicker of appraisal, the kind that would go unnoticed if you weren’t already on edge. He leans against the frame, the sleeves of his coat pushed up just enough to show off the dark ink decorating his forearms. – I talked to someone on the phone.

– Yeah, I know. That was me. I'm Kareem. Kareem Nawaz, the head chef.

He extends a hand. Big, manicured, intricately tattooed, and you meet him halfway, a firm handshake in which his hand lingers for a minute.

– I'm…

– I remember your name. – He cuts in, but his tone is warm, friendly. You don’t even mind. He steps aside, holding the door open wider, inviting you in. – I looked you up. Routledge, right? You worked at the Wreck?

– Yes, sir. I was a roast chef for three years.

You extend the resume to him, watching his gaze shift between the paper and you. He doesn’t rush.

You don’t know what to make of him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and a man bun. The millennial chef stereotype. And yet, something about him doesn’t quite fit the label. He’s too put-together, too composed.

Kareem is not the struggling type. You can tell he has money, significant money, in the way he talks and moves so comfortably, as if he's so deeply aware that the world is his that he doesn't even think about it.

You wait for resentment to bloom in your chest, a distaste, a mistrust, but nothing comes. You look at him, and it’s like you've known each other for years. He smiles—broad, easy, sweet—and yet you still can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

– So I hear. – You freeze. – I gave your last boss a call. Regretted it, too. He did everything he could to convince me not to hire you.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you force yourself to stay still, to keep your gaze fixed.

– Mr. Carrera never had a high opinion of me.

– And yet he kept you on for three years. Why do you think that is?

– Cheap labor? A fondness for torturing people? – Kareem laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the marble counter, watching you with something like amusement. – He’s a famous sadist.

– Oh, I know that. – His smile falters, just for a second, twisting at the edges. It’s quick—blink and you’d miss it—but it’s enough. The first hint of something other than friendliness. – Mr. Cameron is fond of him, don’t ask me why. The bastard makes a point to come into my kitchen and tell me how to do my job every time he’s here.

You put on your sympathetic voice. – How rude.

He chuckles, flashing straight white teeth.

– You don’t need to kiss ass, Ms. Routledge. If Michael Carrera doesn’t like you, then I’m sure we can be great friends.

You tilt your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a little girl.

– I do enjoy friendship…

– …But what you need is a job?

– I'm not rejecting the offer, but… yeah.

He smiles and glances down at your resume again.

– Here’s the deal. Three years at a professional kitchen, in the single kinda decent restaurant in this place—that’s a lot. You've worked at diners, mom&pop businesses, bakeries… You got a lot of color in your resume. That's great. But you’re what, nineteen?

– Something like that.

– You never even went to culinary school.

– No, sir.

– That’s kind of a problem.

You take a slow breath. His expression is neutral, but his eyes linger—just a beat longer than they should.

– Well, I know. I know without an education, I’m not anyone's ideal choice. But maybe, in the absence of a diploma to tell you that I’m able, you might accept another sort of proof?

He raises his brows, his mouth parting just slightly.

– Another sort..?

– Yeah.

Something in the air shifts.

His posture changes— he straightens, brushing a hand over the tattoos on his forearm, like he’s suddenly aware of them. His eyes hold yours for a moment, long enough that you feel it in your stomach, that same feeling you get when you’ve stepped a little too close to the edge of a ledge.

His voice is low when he speaks, taking a step closer. – Alright, I'll bite. – He says, voice even, unreadable. – What kind of proof?

– Well, you tell me. I can do it all.

– All?

The way he says it feels careful. You can tell he’s watching you, weighing the moment, as if waiting for you to clarify. But you don’t—not right away. That’s the gift your mother left you: suggestion. You let the silence stretch for just long enough to see the way his fingers tighten slightly over his forearm, a flicker of something in his eyes before he blinks it away.

You shrug. – Yeah. – You hum. – It really depends on what you need help with. I've been a roast chef, I can help with lunch. Or maybe the desert is the problem, that's where the bakery gig comes in handy. Pick a dish. If I wanna work here with you, I gotta learn how to follow your lead, right?

He hums, smile growing. You feel yourself mirror it without even realizing. – You wanna cook for me?

– Well, yeah. – He exhales a soft chuckle, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he tilts his head. – I'm a proactive kind of girl. That's my greatest trait.

– I bet it is. – Kareem lets out a breath through his nose, his lips pressing together in something like amusement, though there’s a slowness to it. – You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

– I try.

You’re aware of his gaze still on you as he finally shifts, setting your resume down on the counter and turning toward the stainless steel fridge.

– Alright, chef. Lunch for today is beef tenderloin with a red wine reduction sauce. Truffle mash potatoes, cornbread with honey butter, some roasted vegetables with herbs and panna cotta for dessert.

– Did you get started with cornbread?

He looks at his watch with a smile. – Not yet.

– Well, in that case. I can do the cornbread and, at the same time, something simple but tasty for us to lunch on. And later, if you’re convinced, I will do the rest.

A hearty laugh escapes him, you feel it buzz against your skin. – You weren’t playing about the proactive thing, were you?

– No sir. I'm a woman of my word.

– Hardly a woman. – He teases.

– I will ignore that comment. And what are you anyways? 27? Not exactly my idea of an old man.

– I am thirty one years old!

– In what? Dog years?

– Really funny. – His tone drips with sarcasm, but he can’t shake off the smile as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread.

– That's another thing you might look forward to. If you decide to hire me, of course.

– Hate to say it, but your fate's really hanging on how good that us-lunch is gonna be. – He pauses, smiling again. – Actually, I don’t hate to say it at all. What are you making?

– That's a surprise. Shouldn't you be getting started on that panna cotta?

– Bossy. – He bumps your shoulder, still grinning. It's starting to unnerve you.

You nod, stepping forward to scan the kitchen, already mapping out what you need.

But before you can open the fridge, Kareem moves in front. He reaches for the sink, fills a glass with water, and sets it down beside you.

– You’re shaking, y'know?

You freeze for half a second.

– I’m not.

– Sure you aren’t.

His tone is casual, almost teasing, but there’s something in the way he leans just slightly into your space as he says it. Close enough that, when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

It’s brief. A flicker of a moment. But there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers drum once against the counter before he pulls away, giving you back your space.

– Clock’s ticking, chef.

You take a deep breath, fingers brushing against the countertop as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread. There’s a slight tremor in your hands, but you ignore it. You can’t afford to let nerves get the best of you—not now. The kitchen is big, the appliances gleaming, and Kareem’s presence fills the space in a way you’re not entirely sure how to handle.

But you can cook. You know that much.

It’s easy enough to find your way around the ingredients. Head chefs are all about the methodical nature of storing, and you can see his pattern as you go from the fridge, to the pantry, and back to the counter

You begin with the dry ingredients—cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder. There’s something almost meditative about it, the repetition of pouring and measuring, the steady rhythm that lulls you into focus. You’re already thinking ahead, the steps laid out in your mind as you mix. You add the salt, the baking powder, the sugar. The cornbread is a good start. It’s simple, but comforting—a dish that feels like a hug with every bite.

That tells you enough about him. Obviously, Kareem’s the one picking out the meals. A man like Ward Cameron is exactly the person to just hand off that responsibility entirely while he focuses on the “important things”. Beef tenderloin is posh enough to fit the Cameron’s style, especially with a wine reduction. But cornbread? That’s a chef’s nostalgia speaking.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t milk that for all it's got.

There’s a hum in the air, the soft buzz of your thoughts, as you pour the buttermilk into the bowl, watching the swirl of white in the yellow mix. Your mind drifts back to Kareem, trying to figure out his preferences.

He’s not a city boy, despite the desperate attempt to seem like one. Whenever he laughs or gets too distracted you can hear the subtle drawl on a country accent in his voice. His build hardly hints at someone unfamiliar with manual labour. You’re not a betting woman, but if you were, you’d bet he was raised on a farm. — So fancy food isn’t the right choice. He’s earnest, wholesome, and though he hides it well enough under the truffle oil and the herbs and the wine thing that are clearly not what he would prefer, his menu tells you he enjoys simplicity, but that he often has to dress it up.

What he wants is a homey fare.

Something that’s comforting, without being heavy, Something hearty. Tasty. The sort of thing that makes you drool as it cooks and fills every expectation when it's in your mouth: Chicken, mash, a salad that isn’t quite a salad just to put some color on the plate. Something a mother would make. A good mother— That’s easy enough.

You add the egg, the melted butter, and fold everything together with quick, practiced movements. No hesitation. It's easier now that you know what you’re gonna do next. You pour the batter into a cast-iron skillet, sizzling as it hits the hot surface enough to make you pause, your heart catching in your chest. The cornbread will bake up crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, just like it should. That’s the easy part. The hard part’s still to come.

As the cornbread begins to bake, you move onto your chicken. You need to get the oil hot—just the right temperature so that the chicken fries up golden brown, the skin crispy and seasoned perfectly. You take a moment to mix in the seasonings: paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne. Press it into the flour mixture, making sure it coats evenly. You feel the nervousness creep in again as you set the pieces into the hot oil. It crackles, the sound sharp and satisfying.

You glance over your shoulder, but Kareem is still a little too far away to read his expression.

Focus.

The chicken fries, sizzling as it turns a golden brown. You turn the pieces carefully, making sure they cook evenly, the skin getting crisp and crackly. There’s a slight smell of garlic and paprika in the air—rich and savory—and for a moment, the tension that’s been building in your chest starts to lift, if only a little. You move in a kind of rhythm now, your hands steady, your mind occupied with each step.

You turn to the potatoes. You throw them into a pot, fill it with water, and set it to boil. You don’t need to watch it. It’ll take care of itself for now, just like the cornbread. You wash spinach, the leaves fresh and bright, and start on the sauté. A quick toss in hot olive oil with garlic—simple, but good. The spinach wilts quickly, its deep green turning darker as it cooks. You squeeze a little lemon juice over it, just enough to add a pop of brightness.

You’re acutely aware of Kareem’s presence behind you. You can feel his eyes on you, even when you don’t turn to look. His movements are almost too quiet, too calculated as he focuses on the panna cotta, but then, you hear a soft chuckle. You glance over and catch him looking at you—just a split second before he turns back to his work. He’s not hiding it. He’s watching you.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard. Every so often, you catch him peeking over the top of the counter, eyes twinkling with something that could be amusement—or maybe just curiosity. He watches you handle the chicken, his gaze never straying too far, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. His voice breaks the silence between you when he speaks, low and teasing.

– You sure you know what you’re doing?

You keep your hands steady as you flip a piece of chicken, not looking up. – What, you think I can’t handle some fried chicken?

– No, no. I’m just curious, – he says, his voice carrying a hint of a grin. You feel it in the air as he stays close enough to catch the scent of garlic and paprika. – The real question is: are you really going to make this whole meal from scratch?

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth twitch. – Didn’t I tell you I was a proactive type of person?

His laugh is soft, almost like he’s enjoying the game of it all. – I’m starting to think I might have underestimated you, chef.

You focus on the chicken, trying to ignore the way his presence feels just a little too heavy in the kitchen. When you set the pieces on the paper towels, you catch his eyes again, this time his grin widening as he leans against the counter. He seems unbothered by the quiet, the way you’re keeping your space while working. The kitchen is like a stage, and right now, you’re not sure whether you’re the performer or the director.

As the chicken finishes up, you check the potatoes. They’re soft and ready to mash, so you turn off the heat and start mashing them, adding butter, cream, and salt to get them to the right consistency. The spinach is done now, wilted and coated with a light sheen of oil and lemon juice. You set the chicken, the spinach, and the potatoes together, and glance over at Kareem again. He’s watching you now, his eyes following every move you make. There’s something amused in the way his lips curl as he turns back to the panna cotta.

– Well, – you say, trying to sound casual, like your whole life doesn’t depend on this. – lunch is almost ready.

He takes a step forward, his gaze moving over your work. – Smells damn good, – he says with a nod, his approval heavy in the air. You feel the cold whiff of realization Pandora must have felt after the box was finally open —Surrounded by the darkness you harvested, the only thing left for you is hope, the cruelest of all feelings.

You finally pull the cornbread from the oven, the golden crust hot and ready. You cut a piece, drizzling honey butter over the top. You glance at Kareem, who’s standing just a little too close, his grin still there, like he’s enjoying the whole scene.

– You didn’t think I’d pull it off, did you? – you ask, keeping your voice light, but you know he’s been watching, testing you.

– I might’ve had my doubts, – he admits, glancing at the food, – but I’m starting to think you might just be what this kitchen needs.

You set the plate in front of him, your heart racing a little. You’ve survived. For now.

You watch as Kareem picks up his fork, inspecting the plate like he’s about to face some kind of culinary battle. The corners of his mouth twitch in a playful smirk as he takes a bite of the chicken, his eyes immediately lighting up. He chews slowly, savoring each mouthful, before his gaze shifts to the potatoes. He dips his fork in, taking a scoop with as much care as a connoisseur tasting fine wine.

– Damn, – he says, half to himself, almost in disbelief. – You really did know what you were doing, huh?

You feel a smile tug at your lips, but you don’t let it show too much. – Told you.

His eyes lock with yours as he takes another bite, clearly relishing the moment. – I thought I was just gonna get something...good, but this? – He shakes his head, clearly impressed. – This is something else.

Your chest coils at the praise, heavy, even through the gladness. Yturn to grab the panna cotta, trying to keep your composure. – It’s just food.

– Oh, don’t play humble now, – he teases, voice laced with admiration. – This is art.

You’re not sure if it’s the joke or the way his tone softens just a little, but there’s a small flush creeping up your neck. You focus on serving the dessert, trying to keep your cool. When you turn back, he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

– You know, if this was a competition, – he says with a grin, – I’d say you’ve got a pretty solid shot at winning.

You set the panna cotta down, feeling your hands fail you. – You're saying this isn’t a competition?

He takes another bite, face lighting up once again. – Well, I don’t really feel like doing any more interviews.

You wait for the punchline, but instead he just takes another bite, his eyes never leaving yours, a hint of something more behind the humor. The kitchen feels different now, charged, like the food isn’t the only thing that’s being tested.

You chuckle, trying to play it cool, even as you feel yourself trembling. – I do have a shot, then?

Kareem shrugs, but there’s a gleam in his eye as he leans back against the counter, holding the plate as if it was made of solid gold. – I think, you have a job.

You blink, heart skipping a beat. His words hang in the air, playful yet serious, like they’ve both been wrapped in a layer of something unspoken. For a second, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, trying to process whether he’s joking or actually offering something more.

And then the rush of emotions hits you like a wave.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically leap towards him, your arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous hug. It’s a mix of excitement, relief, and something else that you can’t quite put a name to.

– Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much! – you practically squeal, hugging him tighter than you probably should.

Kareem lets out a startled laugh, but there’s no resistance in his body as he gently pats your back. – You’re welcome, you’re welcome.

You pull back, your face flushing in embarrassment. – Uh, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what came over me. That was… uh, I mean… you know, too much.

Kareem grins, a mischievous spark in his eyes. – Don’t apologize. You’ve got energy. I like it.

You wince, still a little flustered but feeling slightly better at his easy-going response. – Well, I’m glad you’re not my old boss. He would’ve fired me on the spot.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your awkwardness. – You can hug me whenever you want if you keep cooking like this. That’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.

You stare at him, your heart still racing a little from the interaction, but there's something else beneath it, something lighter.

– Alright, well, next time I’ll just hand you a plate of burnt toast and see if you still want to hug me then.

Kareem laughs loudly, shaking his head. – I’m not that picky.

Your chest tightens, but it’s not out of nervousness. It’s excitement, maybe even anticipation. You force yourself to focus, taking a deep breath. – Well, I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve. So, if you’re lucky…

– Oh, I’m lucky alright, – he says, his tone low and serious. His gaze flicks to your lips for just a moment, then back up to your eyes, his smile still lingering. – I think I’ve hit the jackpot.

Your breath catches, and for a second its like the whole kitchen quiets, the buzz of the conversation fading as your mind tries to catch up with what just happened. But just as quickly, Kareem’s grin widens, and he’s back to normal, as if nothing happened.

You're not sure it did, now.

– Seriously, though. You’re definitely the kind of person I want in this kitchen. You’ve got a future in this.

The weight of his words is still heavy, but you let out a laugh, easing the tension a little. – Guess we’ll see, won’t we?

– Oh, we will. – Kareem raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. – Well sit down and eat already, did you put poison on the food or something?

– Who knows, maybe mr. Carrera sent me down here to kill you.

Kareem raises an eyebrow. – Sounds like something he would do.

You laugh, shaking your head. – No poison, I promise. But hey, if it were, I’d say I’d be going down with you. Can’t let you go alone.

He chuckles, taking another bite of his food. – And who's gonna finish the pana cotta when I'm dead?

– Well, when you're out of the way I'm probably be busy basking in all that glory. – You take a sip of the water he poured you, but when you look up, Kareem takes a deep breath, his face suddenly worried. – Oh God. Did I overdo it with the joke, that was a little...

– No, no. That’s not what that is. It's just this thing you should know. – Your face falls. – It’s not that horrible…

– So it is.

– I can’t hire you without telling you. I mean, you're already hired. But I should tell you. – He plays around with the food for a moment. – The job is good. The pay is good, better than what you’re gonna get slaving away at some place like the Wreck.

– So, what's the catch?

He looks over his shoulder, and after assessing if you truly were alone or not, he finally says – The employers. – It seems to weigh on him. The way he says it is almost grievous. – There's not a month that goes by without someone being fired for something stupid.

– Jesus Christ.

– Yeah. I mean, Ward is a hard-ass. He complains a lot, he talks big game, but he's fair most of the time. Sarah and Louisa, his daughters, they're fine too, sometimes they whine, but they're mostly okay. It's his wife and his son you gotta worry about.

You mull on that for a moment, staring at your plate. – Why is that?

Kareem huffs. – Rafe and Rose, they'll find issues with the slightest things if they're pissed, sometimes, even when they're not. I've heard them screaming at staff for no reason, making people cry. Just— He looks deeper at you, almost pensive. – just don't get in their way.

– Is that what happened to the last person in the job? They got "in the way"?

The question slips out before you can stop it, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you notice a subtle shift in Kareem’s demeanor. His wavers just slightly, pausing mid-bite. For a split second, his eyes flicker over to the door again.

Before you can backpedal, Kareem clears his throat and leans back slightly in his chair, a more measured tone entering his voice. – The last guy, I don’t even know. Randomly fired, like out of nowhere. He’d been working here for a while, but one day, bam. Gone.

He glances over his shoulder, looking like he's weighing whether to continue. There's a brief hesitation, and you notice his jaw tighten just slightly. – Don’t really know the full story, but I heard it was… – He stops himself just as he’s about to finish the sentence.

You feel the sudden weight of the moment, but just as you’re about to press him further, the door swings open, and you both look up in surprise.

Rafe walks in, his presence filling the room immediately. There’s something unmistakable about the way he carries himself—like he’s constantly aware of the effect he has on people. His eyes scan the room quickly, lingering just a little too long on Kareem, before drifting over to you.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic

[finelinevogue]

talk to me

summary - aaron is vulnerable after his family is taken from him, only you are brave enough to confront him

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau-gf!reader

word count - ~1k [very angsty…not my usual happy writing]

“Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

The same question ran through your head over and over again, like it was some godforsaken lyric you couldn’t stop repeating.

Only it wasn’t a lyric.

It was something Hotch had said on a case today.

Granted it was about the unsub you were catching, but you couldn’t stop going over and over the double meaning to his words. You couldn’t stop wondering if that was Hotch’s cry for help.

You were currently driving to his apartment.

It was rough for you and Aaron right now.

Aaron getting stabbed was traumatic enough for you, but for Aaron to go through that as well as losing his family and all control? It was devastating.

You and Aaron had been together for over a year, making it work with being in a relationship whilst balancing his role as a dad. Aaron was doing the extreme best he could and you were so proud of him.

But you could see the emotional toll it had taken on him these last few weeks since the incident.

It was so clear that Aaron believed he was a terrible father and he was punishing himself for it.

You were really worried about him. You cared for Aaron a lot and it was heartbreaking to think that he was keeping such self deprecating thoughts to himself. He should know better.

You pulled up outside his apartment and quickly went into his apartment.

It didn’t take long to climb the stairs and reach his door.

You hesitated.

What if you were overthinking? What if he was actually alright and by you confronting him would just plant doubting seeds?

Swearing to yourself, you knocked.

A minute later and Aaron undid the latch and opened up.

“Hey?” He clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hey.”

“You coming in?” He opened the door wider.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest accusatorially.

“Do I need to question why my girlfriend is visiting?” He furrowed his brows.

“You normally would,” You answered, “But you already know why I’m here.”

You pushed past him and walked into his apartment. This conversation was not meant for the listening ears of everyone on Aaron’s apartment floor.

He closed the door with a sigh and clicked the latch again.

Aaron came and stood near you, hands on his hips as he awaited your next move. You could tell by his body language that the direction this conversation was moving in was making him really uncomfortable.

Well that was fine with you.

“So…”

“So what?” Aaron looked down at his shoes before looking back at you.

“We promised never to profile each other.” You said.

“And yet here you are.” He challenged you.

Aaron was getting defensive and you hadn’t even started the conversation yet.

You knew that getting through to him would be hard but you sometimes forget how many solid walls and foundations this man has built around himself. One chisel at a time might not be enough.

“Don’t do this, Aaron.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Push me away!” You shouted, flailing your arms up.

“I’m not…” Aaron looked off to the side.

“Aaron. I know you better than you think I do. Don’t push me away when I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.” Aaron said bitterly, still not raising his voice. Sometimes his cold shoulder was worse than his angry tone. You’d seen strong-willed men crumble at their knees under Aaron’s glare.

“Stop being so stubborn.” You groaned.

“Well stop profiling me.” Aaron bit back.

“I’m not profiling you, Aaron. I’m simply being a good friend. I’ve noticed that my boyfriend is constantly sad and says things that make me… nervous - that’s not profiling.”

“Stay out of my head.” Aaron warned.

There was no going back from this.

If he broke up with you then so be it, but you weren’t taking any chances. Not when Aaron’s mental or emotional stability was on the line.

“What did you mean today when you said, ‘Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?’ Hmm?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Aaron shook his head, “I said stay out of my head.”

“Were you asking it about the unsub…”

“Don’t.” Aaron shook his head.

“Or were you asking about yourself?” You questioned the one thing that had been constantly on your mind ever since he’d said it.

“No.” Aaron shook his head, eyes tearing up slightly.

“Aaron, honey, it’s okay to be sad –.”

“I’m not sad, I’m devastated!” He shouted. It took every fibre of it being not to flinch and send the wrong message.

“Honey…”

“No. You want to truth? I’ve questioned what the point is anymore, of course I have. My son has been taken from me in the most cruel way possible and I can’t do a goddamn thing, so I’m sorry if I seem a little more sad than usual.” His words dripped with venom.

His breath was uneven and heavy after he’d finished, almost like he was holding himself back from letting out more.

“Is that it?” You said bravely.

Aaron’s gaze pierced yours. His honey eyes so focused that they had lost their spark.

“What?”

“You want to shout at someone? Then shout at me. You want to make someone cry? Then make it me. You want to punch a wall? I’ll stitch your hand up after. You want to cry? I’ll be here with the tissues.”

Aaron’s body physically deflated as you spoke.

You weren’t done yet though.

“You think that this is a burden you carry alone, Aaron. Well it’s not. Yes it’s your family that Foyet is targeting but you are not the reason that Foyet turned out to be the way he is. You are not solely responsible for his escape or any of his devious plans. So if you want to be devastated, then fine. In fact, I’d welcome you to show your heart on your sleeve for once. But don’t for one second think of doing something stupid. Not when I’m right here.”

Aaron dropped to his knees then head hanging low as his body shook from his tears.

You had hoped it would come to this. Not that you enjoyed seeing Aaron upset, but you appreciated seeing him be vulnerable with you.

It meant that he still felt safe with you.

“I’m sorry.” He kept repeating through his sobs.

You moved quickly to kneel on the ground in front of him, pulling his body into yours so you could hold him tight.

Aaron’s love language was physical touch, so physical touch you would give him. If he thought he was anything less than loved by you then you had failed as a partner.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

You kept reassuring him, keeping your hold tight on him whilst rubbing his back comfortingly.

<.><.>

[bonus]

You stayed on the floor with Aaron for over an hour.

He needed the time to cry and let everything out, whilst knowing he had someone next to him to keep him safe.

You had eventually both made it to bed.

Even though you didn’t have any of your work clothes here and your car was definitely violating parking rights outside, you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave Aaron. You didn’t want to leave him.

He was currently resting his head on your chest as he slept, his body breathing on heavily. You were sat up in his bed, stroking a comforting hand through his hair. His arms were wrapped tightly around you so you couldn’t be taken from him.

It had been a tough day, but you had reminded Aaron that there’s always a reason to keep going at the end of it.

[meinii]

“stay?”

summary: Caleb has a nightmare, thankfully you’re right there for him(⺣◡⺣)♡

content: fluff, mentions of nightmares

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

the room is dark except for the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. the world outside is quiet, but inside, Caleb is stirring. his breath is uneven, his brows furrowed in distress. then, with a sharp gasp, he jolts awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fights for air.

you wake up the second you hear him, your body instinctively moving closer. “Caleb?” your voice is hushed, laced with sleep but full of concern

he doesn’t answer right away, just presses the heels of his palms into his eyes like he’s trying to erase whatever just played out behind them. you reach for him, fingers ghosting over his arm, and he flinches at first before melting into your touch

“another nightmare?” you whisper

he nods, swallowing hard “yeah” his voice is rough, thick with something unspoken. his fingers clench in the fabric of the sheets. “it was about you” he admits, almost too quietly, like saying it aloud makes it real

your heart clenches “what happened?”

he shakes his head, exhales shakily “I lost you. I don’t know how, I just—one second, you were there, and then you weren’t. and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find you” his voice wavers, his hands trembling slightly “it felt so real”

you don’t hesitate to pull him into your arms. he doesn’t resist, burying his face against your shoulder, his body tense at first before slowly relaxing into you. you run your fingers through his messy hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head

“I’m right here, Caleb,” you murmur against his skin “I’m not going anywhere.”

his arms tighten around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. his breathing evens out, syncing with yours as you hold him close

you stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other in the dim glow of the night. the air is filled with the quiet hum of the city outside, the occasional car passing by, the rustling of the trees. it’s calming, grounding.

“do you want to talk about it more?” you ask softly

he shakes his head “no. I just… I just want to stay like this”

you smile, pressing another kiss to his temple “okay”

a comfortable silence settles between you, your hands tracing gentle patterns on his back, his fingers absentmindedly brushing against your side. it’s intimate in a way that words can’t quite capture

after a while, he speaks again, voice quieter, steadier

“you know I love you, right?”

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the low light. his expression is open, vulnerable, his usual guarded demeanor stripped away in the safety of your presence

“I know,” you whisper “and I love you too”

his lips quirk into a small, tired smile. he reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to rest against your jaw, his touch warm and reassuring “Good”

you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment

“nothing’s gonna hurt you, Caleb,” you promise softly “not while I’m here”

he exhales, like a weight has been lifted off his chest. then, with a quiet hum of contentment, he shifts, pulling you down with him until you’re tangled up in each other beneath the blankets

“stay?” he murmurs, though he already knows the answer.

“always.”

and with that, he finally lets himself close his eyes again, safe in the warmth of your arms, knowing that no nightmare can take you away from him—not while you’re here, holding him close.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The emperors of rome

Commodus/Geta/Caracalla x fem!reader warning : just golden fluff and sweetness for the three Summary : On the third day, the splendour of Rome shines brighter than ever before. Three emperors from different reigns, all of them have put on the laurel wreath to give you the greatest gift they have - their love info : With Caracalla's comeback, my love for Geta and Commodus, the emperors have been given a day and I wish you only the best dear reader masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Commodus

His dream of Rome was already there, as soon as he looked at you, everything about the empire was perfect and no doubts could ever reach him. Whenever he saw his love, his empress and the most precious thing he had, he knew that on the day of love in honour of the gods he would also pay homage to their love.

Which began with a public appearance together, his hand holding hers as they gazed at the celebrating people from the palace and greeted, ,,They are all here only for our glorious love...and your beauty" he murmured to her and she felt the kiss on her temple.

The imperial couple travelled to the temple of Eros in a carriage, Commodus' gaze never leaving his wife as he saw her joy at the many flowers he had arranged. ,,A beauty" she said, her fingers touching the many roses and savouring the sweet smell as they walked up the stairs.

But no beauty or sweetness of the temples and gods could have surpassed his love for her, she was his, his greatest possession, ,,A beauty only you can surpass" he whispered to her before engaging her in a kiss before the god. If the gods were watching from Olympus, his love for her would surpass all others and the day of the festival would now be held in her honour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geta

The moment he had taken Rome with his brother, his dream seemed to have been realised, but with the marriage of his empress, the promise of marriage and their togetherness, the blond had found a new love.

A love that the older of the two emperors wanted to live out, especially on the feast day, no gems were too expensive and no gold too little, everything had to be perfect, ,,The gods will see this feast through the light" he promised her as he took her hand and the couple walked into the temple section of the palace.

Normally it would have been the ‘family prayer’ but they formed a family of their own. Though small and just the two of them, he seemed to see the wonder in her gaze, ,,You will sing about it" she agreed, and that she would see the sunlight streaming through the slits and hitting the gemstones.

It seemed as if the imperial couple were surrounded by rainbows as they stood together at the sacrificial altar, ,,And about your beauty in the presence of our union" he whispered to her, running his hand up hers to pull her close and give her a kiss. The gods, blinded by gold, would never know that they were celebrating each other instead of the deities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caracalla

The younger of the two emperors, although less fit, took one thing seriously since he lost his heart. His devotion to his beloved wife, however, was something that hardly anyone would have suspected had they not seen it with their own eyes.

Recognised in public for his eccentric and excited manner, Emperor Caracalla did not seem to leave his wife's side, ,,The gods should worship you!" he suggested on this feast day as he took her hand and held it up in jubilation for all to see.

His smile was rarely so broad and cheerful, he was so excited and affectionate as he was chosen by his brother for the public procession, ,,They should honour us darling" she replied, also making an inviting gesture towards the younger emperor, and the people cheered as the carriage moved on.

The journey to the temple took a few more minutes but they didn't need a temple, Caracalla didn't need gods he would simply worship his wife and make all of Rome worship her, ,,I will always worship you today, forever" he said and gave her a hasty kiss before he couldn't hold back his giggles. He had fallen for her with all his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@thatsthewrongwallcraig , @bruhlpng , @bel0ved-heretic , @tori111777 , @cottoncandiescupcakes

[lady-of-endless]

"Glimpse of us" (Seong Gi-hun x player!reader - season 2)

Summary: There you were, in the middle of the chaos, giving him a glimpse of what you two share.

Author's Note: I know that I promised a part two for the In-ho fic, but Gi-hun has priority. The Mingle game does wonders for fanfic ideas.

(Squid Game masterlist here)

So many people were trapped there willingly or not, so many lives that could be lost and not lived to their fullest. Is money really worth it? He found himself staring each person in the face, wanting nothing more than to shout at them in the moment they all stared in awe at the suspended piggy bank.

You swore that you saw a different man when looking at Gi-hun during the games. There was nothing but pure determination and worry in his eyes when scanning the arena but only you knew him and how broken, tired, but paradoxically insomniac he was in reality. Gi-hun's eyes traveled to you like they always did when everything was too much to bear, and his gaze softened.

He cursed himself countless times for letting you come with him. He wished you'd be helping from the outside, safely, but no matter how far his convincing went you still didn't listen. You faced the horror of the games with him, guilt slowly poisoning Gi-hun day by day, game by game.

How could he let you join? Gi-hun frowned and looked away, fixing his gaze on something else. He knew this would be both complicated and motivating at the same time. Still, for your safety, he kept his distance and told you to do the same. You both decided to keep it all a secret during the games, even from his old friend Jung-Bae. You could vividly remember the last embrace you shared before coming here and it felt like ages ago.

The possible regret of choosing to follow him in these games was unknown to you. Not even now, when you almost felt nauseous just from the mere, slow, spinning of the platform.

They all recognized the game, the Mingle game. The instructions were clear and yet, you could feel your heart slamming against your ribcage bolder than before.

You needed to look at him to keep your ground. Your eyes met again while no one paid attention. Sensing something was wrong, Gi-hun studied your face the way he wanted to and didn't allow himself to. As you touched your chest to feel your heartbeat, his jaw clenched and the tension in his shoulders was immediately visible to you underneath the turquoise tracksuit, all because of his worry. The back of his hand touched your free hand at your side, subtly, hiding it by stepping closer next to you. The fleeting worry of exposure shadowed your anxiety about the game for a moment but he was quick to talk.

"Be careful." He whispered to you while still looking around. "It's the only thing I'm asking for."

You closed your eyes and nodded once. That's what he said to you the last time he held you in his arms before joining this hell. As the song and the platform went on, you let yourself look at Gi-hun and recall the days before. You remembered how he was losing sleep, how desperate he was to hold you, how he tried to convince you to give up coming with him, and how he confessed again and again out of fear of whatever might happen. All of those thoughts paused with the platform's abrupt stop.

Five.

It was the first number announced in the speakers and which unleashed the chaos around you.

You were all six in Gi-hun's team. Gi-hun immediately decided to search for others to pair up with so that the rest of the team could stick together and be safe. He gave a slight nod to everyone, holding your gaze for a moment longer, a subtle signal that he would return safely. With that, he headed off into the crowd, leaving the group temporarily fractured. You shook your head to snap out of it and rushed the team to a room, taking Gi-hun's role in leading them to safety.

You could feel the adrenaline in your blood get out of control with each round completed with or without Gi-hun around. It was too much. The team reunited between rounds in a rush, but the joy of seeing them all alive was always interrupted by the speakers announcing the next number. And the next number was the last one.

Two.

Everyone froze. You looked at Gi-hun but he was already staring back. Without hesitation, he stepped forward.

"I'll go with you," He said firmly, determination etched in every deep line of his face. After making sure that the rest of the team split into pairs too, fast, he grabbed your arm and rushed you to the room before it was too late for both.

He got you in the room first and then him. You immediately leaned against the door, breathing heavily. The adrenaline, your heartbeat, it got worse. Gi-hun's hand reached the door next to your head, to steady himself in front of you, panting too.

"You okay?" Gi-hun asked, his voice quiet yet filled with concern, his eyes studying your face for any reaction. The door locked with a short and distinctive click.

"I'm okay, I'm good." You lied to yourself, nodding, agitated

"Just breathe," he murmured, his voice gentle.

Gi-hun watched as you struggled to regulate your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest rapid, your face flushed. He placed a hand on your chest, feeling the frantic beating of your heart against his palm.

"Slow... Slow, deep breaths," he coached gently, his own voice a little vulnerable because of the proximity between you that was slowly more evident.

As you began to slow your breathing, following his steadying guidance, Gi-hun could feel your heart rate slow, the erratic beats becoming more regular under his touch.

"That's it," he murmured, his hand still resting on your chest, fingers splayed against the fabric of your tracksuit jacket. "Were here together, remember," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "We have to keep going." The words were supposed to sound firm and determined, but it all came out hesitantly, weakly.

Gi-hun's mind was a storm of thoughts and feelings. It was too long since you two were close since he touched you since he could feel you. Being so close but so out of reach because of his plan was harder than he expected. He cleared his throat, trying again. "We need to..."

Gi-hun's train of thought was interrupted by the sight of your face. He missed looking at you from this close, feeling your breath on his skin. His eyes were searching for something, anything that could break that tension. All the abstinence, all the longing, and the hiding were making both of you tense and distracted. He could feel it peak now, in the worst moment possible.

"We need to focus," he repeated, but the words felt hollow, the meaning behind them shifting, taking a different turn, a more intimate one. His forehead touched yours.

His eyes suddenly darted to the timer from the wall to the surveillance camera from the corner of the room to the small window from the door that was blocked by your head. There was still time to be spent in that room alone with you. Outside, there was chaos, and he needed a taste of distraction from it all to keep going. The room, the game, the danger, he wanted to forget it all for just a few seconds that were left.

Your face got framed by both of his hands, his fingers lacing through your hair. Before it was too late, his lips found yours in a kiss he missed so much. His touch was gentle yet tense, not knowing what to do first, how much time he had left, wanting to touch you the way he always did before the games. The kiss was a fragile, fleeting thing; the seconds were still ticking, but for him, it all faded in a blur. Gi-hun guided your arms around his neck and sighed into the kiss. Your lips took him back to how much he cares for you and how grateful he is for you. He knew it earlier, from the days spent with you in that motel. You'd always help him with his plans and heart. Gi-hun knew how he was the shell of the simple man he used to be years ago before winning the games, but his heart was still capable of loving with zeal.

His fingers ran down your spine, pushing you against him while his other hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwining. He could lose everything and not care, but not if he were to lose you, the only good thing in his life. The temporary bliss was interrupted by your gasp as the ticking stopped and the door unlocked with a click. You both stepped back hesitantly, both wanting and needing more but the harsh reality of the game and your mission was slipping back into your consciousness. Gi-hun pulled away from you; his breath was uneven, his eyes holding a storm of emotions, and his body felt the absence of your touch.

"The game is over," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. "We survived another one."

You nodded, catching your breath. His presence calmed you down. You felt a rush of hope when looking into his eyes but you sighed, knowing that it was time to face the other remaining players and hide any form of attachment again. Gi-hun pulled you against him one last time, kissing you again, deeply for a moment before everything. Both of you exchanged one last glance before stepping back in the arena, shielding you.

Searching around for survivors and for his team with a hard expression, Gi-hun's fingertips found his lips in a subtle touch, the heat of your kiss still lingered, giving him another rush of determination to get the whole system of the game down, end it all and leave with you.

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Xavier takes you shopping and comes to a realization. Zayne has a nightmare. And Rafayel gets a treat.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 5: Shopping

Saturday finally comes, to your palpable relief. You’ve never been so excited to go grocery shopping– or at least, you were. Until you see a neatly hand-written note left for you on the kitchen counter.

Y/N,

I apologize but one of my patients needed emergency surgery early this morning. I won’t be able to accompany you shopping. Please allow Xavier to chaperone. I will see you for supper. 

Zayne

You sigh and fold the note, putting both it and the credit card with it into your pocket. Zayne’s penmanship is hasty but legible, and so distinctly him. Especially when doctors have that bad rep for having illegible handwriting. 

You’re not sure what the game plan is. Should you look for Xavier? Or should you take some initiative and go to the store by yourself? Zayne texted you a list the day after you started here and you’ve added a few things in the short time you’ve been working. It’s funny to see the favorite for each of them listed, and you spent one of your breaks trying to guess which one of them ordered what. 

You assumed the tea and peppermint candy is from Zayne. The spicy chips and ‘ Chilean Sea Bass (NOT FROZEN)’ and the three other types and very specific fish are Rafayel. Xavier and Sylus are harder to guess for, but you assumed the protein powder was for Xavier (he’s a hunter after all. Needs the protein). And the chunky peanut butter must be for Sylus. 

It’s just guesses, but it makes you feel a little closer to these new roommates– employers? What are they to you exactly? Certainly not friends, though Rafayel likes to play hot and cold enough that maybe he’s an enemy. 

You put on your coat, the borrowed gloves and scarf, and tap away on your phone in search of the nearest store. 

Unluckily for you, it’s over a twenty minute one-way walk, and that’s to a convenience store. Not even a proper grocery. You scowl, remembering the frigid temperatures and that your bike is still parked on the other side of the city. Not that you could do a good grocery haul on a motorbike anyway. It’s not too far of a walk for nicer weather, but you worry about the state of your toes and lugging all the food in the snow. 

Luckily, for you, Xavier appears. Tucking a coat over his shoulders and adjusting the collar. He wears a deep grey-blue coat that’s cut just below the waist with shiny gold buttons.His gloves are white, along with his scarf, and you ponder– who is styling these men?

“Are you prepared?” He asks like you're heading into battle. 

“Where do you normally shop? I found a convenience store but it’s over twenty minutes walking.” 

 “I can drive us.” He answers as he pressed the elevator button. “There’s one store that the others insist on. It’s called…” He pulls out a piece of paper from his coat and reads it, “...Harrison’s Grocery.”

“Did Zayne leave you a note too?” You chuckle as the two of you descend to the garage. 

“He wanted to make sure I took you to the right place.” Xavier lets you exit the elevator first and you turn to wait for him. His expression is passive, neither seeming irritated nor pleased to be assigned your babysitter for the day.

“I appreciate your help. I promise when the weather is nicer I can go myself.” You assure, waiting for him to show you which car is his. 

“It’s fine.” He replied, sliding up to a sleek chrome number, the most modern of the collection. A sleek silhouette with little breaking up the single line from bumper to bumper. 

Xavier barely beats you to the door handle, opening it for you. You’re a little startled by the chivalry but smile gratefully as you climb in— he even hovers his hand near your head to make sure you don’t hit it. Such a subtle action, but it makes your stomach flip. 

When Xavier starts to drive, you're grateful to see the snow has finally stopped. The car is eerily quiet, and the soft whirring when he accelerates tells you it’s entirely electric. A stealthy vehicle for a peculiar hunter. 

While the days of petrol and diesel engines are gone, a fully electric vehicle is almost vintage. Hyper-efficient hydrogen engines are the norm now, or vehicles that run on protocore synthesized fuel. 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to get to the grocery, and you take note of the turns he takes so you can take them too. And when you arrive, you open your GPS on your phone and tag it. It’s a family-owned store. The reviews that pop up under the GPS listing rave about the friendly atmosphere and its owner. 

Xavier opens your door too and you thank him. The store is larger than you’d thought it’d be for a family-owned grocer, but it’s nice. When you enter and see the diverse selection of produce and the huge meat and seafood section, it makes sense. 

You open the list, grab a cart, and get started. Mumbling along as you grab things with Xavier hovering over your shoulder. He doesn’t comment much as you walk through the store, adding something here and there that isn’t on the list. You only grin at him– perks of being the babysitter, you get treats. 

You’re in the meat section, browsing the cuts in the display while you wait for the butcher. The greying man behind the counter approaches, and you read off from the list the half dozen cuts that are there. 

Xavier steps close to you, suddenly in your space and looking at you with a serious glint in his eyes, “Can you cook steak?”

Your brow creases, “Yeah? I mean, I guess? What kind?”

“Yes.” Xavier replies, and turns back to the butcher, “Three more sirloins, and a pound of skirt steak, please.”

“You like meat, I take it?” You ask as the butcher gets started on your oversized order. Xavier places his hands on his hips and nods, the soft feathery ash-blond hair bouncing. 

You collect the paper wrapped order and place it into the cart, having saved this for last before you check out. It takes a few minutes to get through everything, and you're hoping next week won’t be such a big haul. Stocking up on the longer term storage necessities they were lacking. 

“I saw a recipe for marinated skirt steak in an article not too long ago.” You say to make conversation while you check out, “How does that sound?”

“How long does it take?” Xavier asks, handing you a loaf of bread and then a box of pasta. 

“Usually overnight, but it can only be a few hours if you’re really hungry.”

Xavier opens his mouth to answer you, but a shift in the air pulls his attention. His brow’s knit together, and his expression turns stony as he looks out the open windows just beside the checkout. 

You turn to, halting in place as you wait for whatever it is that caught his attention. There was no sound. No rumble. But now that you paused, you could feel it. The tiniest shimmer in the air, like static electricity. 

A Wanderer? You have just enough time to think before the sudden rush of energy shudders through the parking lot and rattles the windows. The patrons in the store shout and startle, jumping back as a pair of rocky knaves and a glowing violet obscurum terror through the lot, crawling over cars and crushing them. 

Reflexively your hand goes to your hip, expecting the familiar weight of your firearm but finding nothing. An empty pocket and a reminder that you're not a hunter right now. 

“Stay here.” Xavier’s low command hums in your ear, as he slides past you, rushing out of the store to face the sudden threat. His gloved hand slides across your back. A physical touch to reinforce his order. 

Tossing the bread back into the cart, you decide to immediately disobey. Instincts you had thought dormant come rushing back, and you search for a weapon. An aisle with kitchen utensils is the best bet, and you find a pair of long, steel knives. Breaking open the packaging you grimace at the poor excuse for a weapon– especially against a Wanderer– but beggars can’t be choosers. And you’ll pay for the knives later.

Outside the store, Xavier– though you don’t know where he was hiding it– has a long narrow blade only pausing for a single moment before he lunges forward. The three Wanderers roar at him, howling as Xavier’s sword finds its mark. He’s nothing but a streak of light– a careening asteroid causing precise destruction. 

Wielding your pair of kitchen knives, you jump into action, heart pounding and head rushing in that delicious elixir of adrenaline and endorphins. The thrill of danger and of purpose. 

Xavier elegantly slashes at one of the knaves as the round obscurum attempts to lunge at him from behind. You leap forward, crashing into the beast with your shoulder and rolling to slice at its hardened hide with your knives. 

Xavier looks over his shoulder as the knave disappears into the stardust, and gapes at you and your little knives. You realize you must look insane. Neither dressed nor armed for battle, but brandishing some kitchenware like a straight-to-streaming slasher flick. 

“I can’t finish them with these!” You bark as you flip them in your hands, pointing the blades back to give you better leverage to shove the blades downwards onto the remaining knave's head. 

If Xavier replies, you don’t hear him. Only the song of his blade as it finds the obscurums weak point and banishes it back to the ether. 

In an effort to be helpful, you keep the knave busy. Preoccupying it with your ineffectual weapons. When the steel of your knives skid off the armor of the Wanderer for the third time however you toss them aside, dropping low and side stepping as it slashes at you. You manage to get around it, and you jump onto its back. It’s the more humanoid looking Wanderer’s but it’s big. Big enough to make climbing its back a challenge, but not so big you can’t get your legs around its middle and get into a makeshift headlock. 

A high pitch screech leaves, more enraged than hurt. With all the strength you can muster, you force the hollow head of the knave backwards, exposing the crystalline orb in its chest to Xavier’s front lunge. The tip of his sword cracks through the violet orb and the Wanderer releases an earsplitting howl and you feel the solidity of it begin to crumble. 

It dissolves into nothing but specks of light, scattering in the wind like forgotten dust. You jump back and onto your feet, brushing yourself off as you pant wildly. 

“Are you alright?” Xavier asks as he tucks away his sword and approaches you. Unlike you, he’s not breathing heavily in the slightest. 

You look up and can’t help the manic grin on your face, “That was some great teamwork!” You cheer, “Remind me to bring a gun next time though!”

Xavier just stares at you. His eyes are slightly wide and his breath is still. He looks frozen, and you tilt your head with a sheepish grin. You take his hand and shake it, though his grip is loose. 

“Good work, partner.” You say as you begin to walk back to the store, hoping to finish the trip you’d started, “Let’s finish up and head home.”

It takes him a minute to follow you, and he’s quiet the rest of the trip. Silent as you check out, wordless as he helps you put the groceries in the car, and the ride back is spent with nothing but the soft whirring of the car and the low volume of the radio. 

Anxiety gnaws at you, a corrosive pit in your stomach. Had you upset him? His hands are tense on the steering wheel– aggressively so, but he doesn’t say anything. Is he mad you defied him? Angry you stepped in? You thought you’d been helpful, given the circumstances, but maybe he didn’t see it that way?

It made the ride back a thousand times longer, and unloading the car painfully awkward. Xavier was silent as he set the last of the bags on the countertop, and he was walking away before you could even open your mouth to awkwardly thank him. You watched his back as he escaped down the corridor, and before he left your sight completely you noticed something. 

Were his hands shaking?

You tried to not let your mind speculate as you put away the groceries, making a mental list of everything and a meal plan for the upcoming week instead. The reactions from these men were so peculiar. Did they like you? Or not? 

The only one you felt even halfway certain about as Zayne, and that relationship was becoming harder to define the longer you lived here. 

As you put the last of the pantry goods away and sighed for the umpteenth time, you heard footsteps entering the kitchen. 

Xavier had returned. Dressed in a soft knit ivory sweater and jeans. In the soft midday light he looked almost ethereal. All soft edges and sugar coating. But his face was deadly. A look sharper than his blade that stared you down as he strode forward. Pressing into your space and pressing his hands to the sides of your face. 

He moved your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. He wasn’t bulky so the strength behind his gesture was surprising, because when you tried to pull away you didn’t manage to gain an inch of distance. 

“Look at me.” His voice was low, hushed growl. The warning of a wild beast that you hear before you can see it. 

Unlike his last command, this one you obeyed. Meeting his celestial eyes and the ravaging storm in them. His light colored brows were furrowed, barely tempering a rage swelling behind them. You blinked owlishly under this unexpected attention, unable to even wonder what he was doing, or why.

So, you just stood there. Hands out at your sides, unsure of where to put them as Xavier kept you pinned with his hands at your cheeks. He was searching for something. Scoring your face and your eyes like a message in disappearing ink may reappear if he focused hard enough. 

Once the initial shock of it had passed, you decided to wait. Maybe this was some kind of punishment? Some hazing to reinforce the pecking order because you’d jumped into a fight that should have been his?

“Is this because of–?” Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally find your voice, but he presses his thumbs into your cheeks firmly and shakes you ever so slightly. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, some of the sharpness leaving his expression. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t done, and he seemed keen to keep you there until he was satisfied. 

“Don’t tell me to hush.” You hiss back, irked. 

“I’m looking for something.” He explained, like that was get-out-jail-free. 

“Is it personal space?” You quip, tilting your chin down to sneer at him, “Or manners?”

Xavier blinked once, and the interrogation swimming in his eyes melted away. He’d found it. Whatever it was. Without the crease in his brow and his mouth pressed in a firm line, he looked so young. Boyish almost with those soft baby blue eyes and youthful blonde hair. His hands didn’t let go at first, and it felt like he was suddenly seeing you for the first time. 

“Is this because of the Wanderers?” You asked, continuing your earlier interrupted thought. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know I wasn’t much help but–”

“Where are your weapons?” Xavier asked as he finally released your face. You expected him to take a step back but he didn’t, remaining inside your personal bubble like he belonged there. 

“My firearm is upstairs, locked up.” You explain, “The others are in storage. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring them all here– since it’s not my home.”

Xavier looked pensive, eyes drifting away from you in thought before he nodded and right back to you they went, “We’ll go get them in a few days. I’ll take you.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, twisting in something similar to nervousness but also fluttery, “Why?”

“A Hunter should always be ready and armed.” Xavier explains, parroting a sentiment given to trainees in school, “I’d feel better knowing you followed that statue, especially if you’re so prone to jumping into battle so recklessly.”

“I was armed.” You argue, but realize it’s a poor one. “I even paid for the knives afterwards.”

“How are you here?” Xavier almost laughed, and sounded almost wistful. Like he was asking you how you’re here as in “how are you real?”.

You take a step back and cross your arms, “I needed some help, Zayne needed a housekeeper. I thought he explained that to you.”

It still stung, remembering the circumstances of how you got here. The pit of nothingness you’d fallen into that had led to your suspension and ultimate eviction. It wasn’t anyone’s business besides yours and Zayne’s, and it was too embarrassing to just blurt out to these strangers.

Xavier scoffed in a soft laugh and smiled lightly, “Right. Right he did. Well, you shouldn’t go too long without training. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt like you might get whiplash. “Seriously?”

“You’re not planning on staying a housekeeper forever, right?” Xavier probed, tilting his head slightly, “You need to keep your skills sharp.”

You turned away from him and opened the fridge, fiddling with the organization of the fruit so you didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it. I haven’t….I haven’t trained in a while.”

You hadn’t done anything but the bare minimum for months. No extra training or exercises. No picking up extra shifts or patrols. Clock in. Shoot at Wanderers. Clock out. Rinse and Repeat. Until slowly but surely uo hadn’t held your gun for over a month, and hadn’t seen a protofield for two. 

“We can train together.” Xavier’s voice was feathery soft, full of something warm and syrupy that it hadn’t had before. “How about Monday morning? Before I go on patrol?”

You closed the fridge, the cool air cutting off and leaving you under the warm gaze of this beckoning friendship. 

That tired part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to train. To fight. To keep moving forward with pep and a smile. All that part of you wanted to do was sleep. But you were tired of indulging that venomous part of your mind. That tar pit of despair that had been slowly but surely consuming you. 

“Sure.” You forced yourself to say, despite the pit in your stomach. “Do you train here?”

Xavier nodded, “If you haven’t trained in a while, we’ll just do some basic workouts. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” You say, a little relieved. The idea of running through the training that academy had put you through sounded like torture. The battle simulations and evol training until you felt worse than a threadbare wrung out rag. 

Baby steps, you told yourself. Get back into training. Get another hunter to vouch for you and you’d be back to work in no time. Xavier had offered you asn express ticket back to your old life. 

Although, why did it feel so horrible to accept it? It felt like going back to a home with no one there. To a place that was now nothing but rubble and ash. Where you were greeted with memorial portraits instead of smiling faces. 

Baby steps. You repeated in your head again. Baby steps. 

Xavier spent the rest of the day lingering in the living room. The TV was on, and some quiet-spoken cooking show was playing, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to you. He’d resolved to not follow you around the house like his mind had initially wanted, and settled for glimpses of you as you bustled about. 

He could hear you hum as you dusted the stairwell, and watched you from the corner of his eyes and you swept the hallway and mopped it. It felt wrong to watch you do menial work like this while he just watched, but something told him you’d shoo him away if he tried to help. 

Xavier couldn’t decide what to do now. What do you do when you realize something that shouldn’t exist not only does exist, but is dropped onto you like Newton’s apple. This was an impossibility. The four of them had agreed it was impossible, and they’d made their peace with it.

Resigned to a reality without you in it. Sentenced to exist with each other but without that which tied them together– an archway missing the keystone. A painting missing the centerpiece. An unfinished puzzle with the remaining pieces stolen from them. 

Things weren’t adding up. The puzzle had always been askew, and they’d made assumptions based on the information that they had. But now? Now they needed to start from scratch. Rethink everything they thought they knew. 

Only there was a problem. It’d been over a year since they’d spoken openly about their predicament. It wasn’t ideal– their living arrangements, but it was better than the alternative. Better than isolation. Better than falling into whatever pre-woven fate had been made for them. 

Getting them to convene again would be tricky, especially without proof. Speculation was a honey-trap of hope that would be undue punishment for those who were still hurting. Each of them had suffered in this reality. In this new life. All they had was each other, or that’s what they’d thought.

Sylus and Rafayel were animals. Wounded beasts licking at their wounds and wasting time with different exploits. 

Zayne was…Zayne. 

The sound of you in the kitchen pulled Xavier from his thoughts and he realized he’d dozed off. Lifting his head, he turned to see you pulling food from the fridge to start cooking. 

It was painfully, gut-wrenchingly domestic. An image he hoped he could burn into the back of his eyelid so that when he slept it was you that he saw. 

It's been so long. He didn’t even know how many years it had been. This life…this reality. It had taken so much time to find his way here that his mind was too full and his heart too old. It forgot what it felt like to be near you. So when it happened again, the sensation was so foreign he didn’t recognize it. 

But when you’d turned to him, sweat on your brow and the thrill of a battle won humming in your evol, he’d known. He recognized you like one recognizes their own reflection– changed, different, but unmistakably his. 

Xavier rose and decided to help you, even if it was just holding vegetables or stirring a pot. The distance between here and there was too much, and he wondered if his heart kept up this rapid pace if it might actually give out. 

Talking to the others could wait. They were likely to come to their own conclusions soon enough– his talk with Sylus had made that clear. 

For now, Xavier would relish in this realization and pretend that nothing else existed. No past life and sacrifice. No alternate reality. No separation. No death. No Astra. 

Rafayel was wandering around the darkened house in the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the house had been asleep for hours, even Sylus was back– probably crashed onto his bed still covered in gunpowder and rubble like when he’d walked in an hour ago. 

The house seemed….warmer somehow. And he didn’t need to ponder much on the reason why. Rafayel knew the reason the minute he’d walked into the living area to see you and Xavier scrambling over a smoking pan like a pair of startled wrasse. 

Xavier knew. Rafayel saw it in the way the blue-eyed man moved , orbiting around you like a lost satellite. A long-forgotten star he was finally able to see again. It would be cute if it wasn’t almost pathetic. 

Rafayel was bitter. Something in him shriveled up. Seeing your face didn’t spark the awe or rush of sentimentality he thought it would. It just…hurt. 

Ached like a wound that would never truly heal. Nerve damage and corroded bone making sure he’d feel that pain with every step. With every breath.

Pathetic. That’s what he’d thought when he’d seen Xavier all starry-eyed and gooey, but was he any different? Rafayel scoffed at himself and his own unfortunate circumstance. He was just as pathetic. Just as lost. A little boat lost at sea unable to stop itself from following the current of the ocean, drifting towards you without a paddle to even fight back from. 

He could pretend his heart was closed, and that he was just playing. Nothing real. It wasn’t real, he’d tell himself, but that was a lie. It was as real as the insignia burned into his chest. As real as the ever shifting tide, he was the ocean and you were the moon. Waters chasing after you in a perpetual, impossible dance. 

A crash from down below broke him from his swimming thoughts, and Rafayel’s brow furrowed. An intruder? Not possible. 

Another sound and Rafayel decided to check it out, for curiosity’s sake of course. 

He passed by your bedroom, slowing to see if you’d woken, but found it was silent within. Satisfied you were still asleep, Rafayel descended the stairs and went to find the source. 

The hall was dark, only a low light in the kitchen giving off any sort of illumination. Another low thud sounded and Rafayel entered the living room. 

Zayne was near the windows, hands pressed flat against the glass with his head hung low. He was panting, ragged frightened breaths that sounded painful and rough. 

Rafayel paused, waiting. 

Zayne, noticing the new presence turned, eyes blazing as they landed on the dormant sea-god. 

“Y-you…” Zayne rasped, voice strangled and hoarse. “Raf–yel.”

Rafayel relaxed slightly. Good, it was one of the versions of Zayne that remembered him. Which one though? 

“What’s going on?” Sylus was there, having come up the back staircase and waiting at the edge of the room just as Rafayel was.

“It’s another nightmare.” Rafayel explained, “He remembers me, so that’s good.”

Sylus looked over to Zayne with a stern expression, “Not Dawnbreaker then. That makes this easier.”

“Still sore from that?” Rafayel prodded with a chuckle, but Sylus didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. Recalling the last nightmare Zayne had had and the vengeful and dangerous Dawnbreaker demanding answers they didn’t have and lashing out at whatever moved. Funnily enough, of all of them, the only one Dawnbreaker remembered was you.

“Zayne,” Sylus said, voice almost a coo, “It’s alright. Calm down.”

The silver haired man approached the man in distress. Zayne clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting something unseen in his mind.  He groaned and slumped further down the window, looking out through them like he might recognize the clearly foreign scenery. 

“Where am I?” Zayne was ragged, confused and frightened. He stood up taller and gripped the side of his head, “Where…where is she?”

Sylus kept a safe distance, but approached like one approaches a rabid dog– anticipating the inevitable bite. “She’s safe. She’s asleep. She’s here.”

A moment of clarity crossed Zayne’s face, and he turned to Sylus in disbelief. “Here? She’s alive? She’s here?”

Sylus nodded, reaching out, “This isn’t the world you know. It’s different. Your plan? It worked. We escaped.”

Another wave of pain nearly sent Zayne to his knees, and Rafayel stepped forward just a step behind Sylus– ready to help.

When Zayne looked back up, his flickering eyes shifted from Rafayel and then over to Sylus, “Sta–Stary–”

Sylus took Zayne’s offered hand and pulled him into him. The dark haired man all but collapsed against him. “It’s me. I’m here. We’re all here. You can rest. It worked. It worked.” 

Zayne shuddered in an exhale and gripped at Sylus’ shirt. “It worked,” Zayne chanted breathlessly.

“They won’t find us,” Rafayel said as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Zayne’s shoulder and squeezing. “Rest, Foreseer. Let us carry on now.”

Zayne sighed and relaxed, the fight of his warring spirits finally easing, and Sylus only had a single moment to catch him before he collapsed.

“Get his feet,” Sylus said as he lifted Zayne’s shoulders as gently as he could, “Let’s get him back to bed as quickly as we can.”

A soft rumbling overhead made them both freeze. Footsteps in the bedroom above. You were awake. 

“Dammit.” Sylus cursed.

“She can’t see him like this.” Rafayel hissed. “Carry him back, I’ll put her back to bed.”

Sylus’ eyes narrowed a bit but then he nodded, crouching down to unceremoniously toss Zayne’s limp body over his shoulder. Gentle and easy would have to wait. You couldn’t see them like this– too many questions. Not enough answers. 

Rafayel rushed back upstairs, making it to the hallway just as he saw your door begin to open. Scrounging his mind for a plan, he found himself freezing, words rushing in mind but none finding his lips. 

“Rafayel?” Your sleepy voice was slightly hoarse and you were even rubbing at your eye when you spied him. 

“Hey cutie…” Rafayel whispered, “I can’t sleep. You too?”

You were half-asleep. Eyes barely open and one of the straps from your sleep shirt had fallen down your shoulder. The curving line of your neck from your jaw down to your clavicle and over to your shoulder is a serpentine temptation. 

“I thought I heard something. Got worried.” You hummed, eyes practically drifting shut. “What’s wrong? Nightmare?”

Rafayel could eat you up. A sleepy little morsel he could swallow whole before you even had the awareness to know you were between his teeth. You were gluttonous supper before a starving supplicant, divine and not to be touched. 

And what a perfect, innocent opportunity you had presented to him. A test of his morals and willpower. Placing sugar candy upon your fingertips and expecting him to not lick it clean?

“Yeah, a nightmare.” Rafayel’s voice was rougher now, thicker with the rumble of a predator. “Can I lay with you for a while?”

Perfect, innocent sacrifice. Perfect devout follower. You rubbed at your face and looked at him with pity before nodding and turning to let him in. “For a little while.”

Rafayel slid past you and into your room, a wolf slipping through the cracks of the fence into the pasture. His little lamb climbed into her bed and nestled beneath the blankets unsuspecting and warm. 

With all the willpower he could muster, Rafayel did not pull back the blankets and invite himself inside. Your hazy mind would likely barely remember this interaction in the morning, and he wouldn’t take advantage…well, more than he already had. 

“What did you dream about?” You're asked, partially muffled by your pillow as Rafayel lay down next to you. 

Rafayel felt his heart pounding like the thunder of a war drum. Boom Boom Boom. It charged like a horse into battle, but his body remained still. Your eyes were closed and your form relaxed, sinking into the mattress and over abundance of plush cushion. 

He stopped himself from reaching out and touching you. Like a valuable work of art only to be admired and not sullied. Fingertips left marks, and he couldn’t…he wouldn’t. 

Not yet. 

Rafayel took a deep steadying breath. This was not how he thought this night would go, but what a fun turn of events. Zayne and his…affliction. You and your endless temptation. 

He considered your question for a moment, and answered even though he knew you were already asleep. “Drowning.”

[punkspicecakes]

like the back of my hand

fluffy established Atsumu x reader

warnings/tags: fluff, a little suggestive, just some v sweet kisses, established relationship, freckles, simply knowing and loving each other

a/n: this is my first time posting anything i've written so be nice to me or i'll cry

“Atsumu am I dying?”

You’re standing on the plush bathroom rug, skin still damp from the shower. Halfway through putting on your pajamas, you’d noticed a little freckle that sits almost perfectly centered above your belly button. You swear you’ve never seen this spot before. Surely you would have noticed it? What if it’s skin cancer? 

He peeks around the corner, shirt halfway over his head as he undresses for bed. He looks you over, trying to figure out what you mean. “Hah? Dyin’? Why are ya dyin’?” 

“Has this always been here?” You point to the suspicious mark.

He steps fully into the room, t-shirt landing in the hamper. His brows furrow, “That’s always been there, baby. It’s one of my favorites actually.” He smirks up at you as he drops down onto his knees, now eye level with your hips. “ He places a gentle kiss on the freckle, “These ones are like a little constellation.” 

Lightly, he traces his finger from the spot above your belly button and down to the tiny pair of moles at your left hip. You hum at the soft touch. “Really? How have I never noticed it before then?” He huffs a laugh, “I know ya like the back of my hand, sweetheart. I promise ya it’s always been there.” 

“Ya got these ones too,” He pushes you back with a hand on your hip until you’re leaning against the sink, then nudges your legs apart “right between yer thighs.” He thumbs over the spots, leaning forward to place a kiss there before standing up.

Butterflies flit around your stomach and you squint at the mischievous glint in his brown eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. He pats your side before turning away with a wink, “Finish gettin’ ready for bed.” You smile at his retreating form, he still gives you butterflies after all this time together.

Now fully dry, moisturized, and ready for bed you flip off the bathroom light. Your attached bedroom is dimly lit by a small lamp on the nightstand. Atsumu is lying on his back, snuggled up in the comforter with a book. You pad over to your side of the bed, crawling beneath the covers and immediately seeking out his body heat. He adjusts his arm so it’s now looped behind you to hold the book and places a kiss on your damp hair. The two of you lie there awhile, your hand rubbing circles on his chest, leg thrown overtop of his. 

He apparently gets to a stopping point and places a bookmark between the pages “If I don’t stop now I’m gonna be up all night.” You laugh and look up at him from your spot on his chest, chin resting on your hands. “Tired?” he asks. 

You blink up at him, eyelids getting heavy “Mmhmm.” A soft smile graces his lips and he places his hands on your cheeks, pulling your lips towards his own, “M’kay.” Getting comfortable, you run a hand through the short hair of his undercut, lips lazily slotting together. One of his hands makes its way from your cheek to the back of your neck, thumb stroking over your hair. The other moves down to rub circles on your back. You stay like that a while longer, softly pressing your mouths together. Occasionally your tongue skirts across his bottom lip, drawing out a contented sigh before he returns the action.   

Eventually he pulls away, lips a little swollen, cheeks rosy. “I love ya.” he says softly. You’re sure your own face mirrors his, the love in his gaze is obvious. You reach over to turn the lamp off, leaving only the moonlight coming in the window to illuminate the planes of his face. Placing a kiss on his nose, you tuck your head under his chin, murmuring into his chest “Goodnight, baby. Love you too.”

[orangeandclover]

OC KISS WEEK '25

was inspired by my friends to try to do a oc kiss week challenge & am doing multiple of my rooks with theirs ✨

first up out of order bc I wanna post this now is:

phaedra/jesse for caught or more-so interrupted @classicleechaos

Phaedra wakes to silence and for a brief moment wonders if they are dead, they reach their hand down to their side feeling slightly damp bandages. They move to sit up hoping to assess the damage now they are awake and out of danger when a strong hand pushing them back down by their shoulder. 

“Look like you already pulled some stitches in you sleep, if you pull anymore I will be very cross with you.” Phaedra meets Jesses eyes, happy to see they made it out of that ambush alive. 

“How are the others?”

“They’re fine, a lot better than you are,” Jesse quickly removes the old bandages assessing the damage to the stitches, “Don’t even try using your magic on this,” after they have assessed the damage they pour some alcohol onto the wound and clean up their stitches. Jesse when satisfied wraps the wound in fresh bandages before turning to leave. 

“Thank you, Jesse.” Reaching out Phaedra wraps their hand around their’s giving it a weak squeeze. 

“It was nothing, you’d do the same for me” Jesse softly smiles, eyes holding hers, as they bring their joined hands up to press a soft kiss to back of Phaedra’s hand, “Just try not to do it again.”

Phaedra still holding their hangs gives a tug -weak given their current state- that Jesse (probably more to humor them) obliges in leaning down close enough they can feel each other’s breath ghost over each other. Phaedra places a kiss on the corner of their mouth feeling the hint of their lips lightly chapped from the wind. 

“I promise.” 

Jesse smiles down at her before taking hers face in their free hand -their calluses rough against their skin- before bringing their lips together it is soft and affirming conveying their feeling of relief of joy; they made it though. Phaedra tries to lean up into the kiss needing to be closer, only for Jesse to pull back and level her with an unimpressed look. 

“Don’t get too excited,” pressing a quick chaste kiss against Phaedra’s pout, “I’m not risking you pulling another stitch” 

“Just one more, so-“

“So you?”

“Know it’s real, that we both made it out.” Jesse smiles and leans down but before their lips meet, the door slams open. 

“Jesse you in here? We could use some help-” Davrin takes one look at them before a teasing smile adorns his face, “never mind it seems like you’ve got your hands full here.”

[aspenmissing]

Hello my dear! I need to get another idea out of my head. And I know, that it'll be here in good hands ^-^

Wdisappearance (and also Mylo's and Claggor's) death and Vi's disappearance, Powder was her last everything.

So, even though Silco was one of the main reasons all of this happened, she decided to work for him, to be as close to Powder as possible. Even though she knew, that working for him would change her (negatively) as a person.

Years passed and all of the sudden Vi stood in front of Reader, asking for her sister. Both of them started a big, emotional argument. Trying to understand each others side. What happened, what changed - How they changed as a person.

So it's like Sister Reader x Jinx but also kinda Vi x Sister Reader?

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ

ᴊɪɴx x ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠɪ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) || ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 4193 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʙᴀᴋᴀɪ!! ꜱᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!! < 3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴠɪ

Y/N stood in the shadows of the undercity, the faint glow of neon lights from the depths of Zaun painting the air around her in harsh hues of blue and red. She had been here for weeks now, lost in the haze of her own grief and guilt. The streets of Zaun had changed since the explosion at the factory, since that fateful night when Powder, the girl she had once shared a bond with, became something else. A bomb, a betrayal, and a fire that consumed everything—Vi, Mylo, Vander, and Claggor were gone, leaving only ashes and broken pieces of what used to be.

Powder was the last thing Y/N had left. Her name was etched into her heart like a scar, a reminder of the innocent girl she had tried to protect, the girl she had failed. But now, Powder was no longer the same. The girl who had once looked at Y/N with wide, hopeful eyes had turned into something dangerous, someone willing to destroy anything in her path for the sake of vengeance.

And Silco… Silco had been the one to take advantage of that. The undercity was his to control, and he knew exactly how to manipulate Powder’s anger and grief. He was the one who kept her close, fed her rage, and used her as a weapon. Y/N knew Silco was one of the architects of their destruction, but there was no going back now. In a way, she had chosen this path. She had chosen to be here, in the heart of the chaos, where the promise of reconnecting with Powder lingered like a fragile thread.

"You're late," a cold voice broke her reverie.

Y/N turned to face him. Silco, sitting in his high-backed chair, eyes glinting with calculated malice, didn’t seem surprised. He never did. He watched her, his posture relaxed but the air around him charged with an authority that commanded respect. He had been patient with her, understanding of her pain, and she hated herself for the way she responded to that understanding.

"I’m not here to talk," Y/N replied, her voice steady but hollow. She had long since stopped fighting the darkness that Silco offered. "I’m here because I need to see her."

His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "You’ll see her when I allow it. You know how this works, little one. Loyalty has a price."

Y/N didn’t flinch. "I know."

But it was a lie. She didn’t know what she was getting into. She was too lost in her need to find Powder, to make things right, even if it meant becoming something she never wanted to be. Silco knew it, too. He had seen the cracks in her, the way the girl who had once been full of hope and ideals now teetered on the edge of despair.

"I want to help you, Y/N," Silco continued, leaning forward. "But you need to understand that to be close to her, you have to do more than just exist in the shadows. You need to prove your loyalty."

"How?" Y/N asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if she had already made the decision, even before hearing the answer.

Silco’s eyes gleamed as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping on the armrest. "There’s someone in Piltover who’s been a thorn in my side. A scientist. You’ll take care of them."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first time Silco had made such a request. She had already done his bidding—small things, easy things, things that didn’t matter much. But now, it was different. Piltover wasn’t just some distant city. It was a place she had once dreamed of. The city where everything had seemed so full of promise before everything fell apart. Before Powder’s descent into chaos, before the factory explosion that took everything from her—her family, her sense of self, her place in the world.

But all of that was gone. She couldn’t afford to think about the past now, about the people she used to care about. She needed to focus on finding Powder. She needed to prove to herself, to Silco, that she was worthy of being in the same room as her again.

"Consider it done," Y/N said, her voice hollow, void of any real emotion. She had made her choice. She would do whatever it took.

Silco smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile. "Good. You’ll find your way back to her, Y/N. But remember, nothing comes without a cost."

The mission was simple, but the weight of it crushed her. As she made her way into Piltover, Y/N couldn't help but remember the dreams she once had of the city—the idealistic visions of what it could be, what it should have been. The buildings, so grand and beautiful, now seemed like a mocking reminder of everything she had lost. The city had always been a distant world to her, a place that existed beyond her reach, beyond the walls of Zaun.

Now, it was a battleground. Her battleground. The faces of Piltover’s elite—people she had once admired, people she had once believed were different from the corruption she had seen in Zaun—walked the halls without a clue of what she had become. No one knew the things she had done to survive, to stay close to Powder. No one knew what she had sacrificed, the person she had become.

Y/N found her target, but when she saw the figure before her, something stirred inside her. She hesitated, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand. The mission was so clear, so simple—one more kill, one more task for Silco. But in that moment, her grip faltered. She remembered who she had been, long ago, before everything had gone wrong. She remembered a time when she hadn’t been consumed by darkness, when she had hoped to change things, to find a balance between Piltover and Zaun.

That person was gone. She had died the moment Powder’s bomb had detonated, when everything had shattered into pieces.

With a swift motion, she silenced her conscience and completed the mission. Her hands were stained with blood, but it didn't matter. The weight of her actions no longer weighed on her. She had buried those feelings long ago.

As she stepped back into the shadows of Zaun, the finality of her choice settled in. She wasn’t Y/N anymore. She was something else. She was a shadow, a weapon, a tool. And in that darkness, she would remain until she found her way back to Powder.

Because Powder—her last hope—was waiting for her.

Y/N’s steps were heavy as she walked through the labyrinth of alleys and shadows, the weight of her mission pressing down on her. The blood on her hands felt as if it had seeped into her very soul, leaving an indelible mark that she could never scrub away. The streets of Zaun passed by in a blur, the neon lights flickering like distant stars in a dying sky, the air thick with the smell of oil, sweat, and decay.

By the time she reached Silco’s office, her hands were still trembling, but her mind was set. The moment she stepped through the door of The Last Drop, the world outside fell away. Everything was muted, dim, as if the bar itself was a place of refuge for the broken, the lost, and the damned.

Silco was sitting at his desk, the same cold, calculating figure she had come to know. His expression flickered with mild amusement when he saw the blood on her clothes, but his eyes gleamed with approval.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled. He didn’t need to ask about the mission. He knew.

Y/N didn’t speak. Her eyes were fixed on him for a long moment before she turned, as if the weight of his gaze was too much. Silco gestured to a door behind him, his posture relaxed but commanding.

“Go ahead,” he said, his tone almost mocking in its calmness. “She’s waiting for you.”

=

Her heart hammered in her chest as she crossed the threshold. The door creaked as it swung open, and there, in the middle of a dimly lit room, stood her.

Powder—or rather, Jinx—the girl she had once known. The girl who had been full of hope, and now, seemed so far removed from the innocence she had once clung to. Her hair was wild and streaked with colors, her eyes a burning mix of madness and grief, the spark of chaos that now defined her.

Jinx’s gaze locked onto Y/N’s, and for a heartbeat, the world outside disappeared. She stared at Y/N as if trying to place her, as if the face in front of her felt like a memory she couldn’t quite grasp.

Then, in an instant, Jinx cried out, her voice wild and broken. Before Y/N could even react, she was pulled into a tight embrace, the younger girl’s arms wrapping around her like a lifeline. The force of it nearly knocked the breath from Y/N’s lungs, but she instinctively wrapped her arms around Jinx, holding her just as tightly.

Everything else fell away. The blood, the guilt, the distance between them—none of it mattered anymore. In this moment, the world was just the two of them, two broken souls that had lost everything, but somehow still had each other.

Jinx’s sobs were muffled against Y/N’s chest, her small body trembling violently, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Y/N could feel the tremors coursing through her, the weight of the chaos Jinx had carried alone. The explosion, the betrayal, the destruction—it was all still fresh in her mind.

"I thought I lost you," Jinx whispered, her voice a desperate mix of relief and confusion, her hands clutching Y/N’s shirt like she was afraid to let go.

Y/N’s throat tightened as she held her tighter. She didn’t know what to say. There were no words that could make this better. But she didn’t need to say anything.

“I’m here,” Y/N finally whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’ll always be here, Powder. I’m not leaving you.”

Jinx pulled back just enough to look into Y/N’s eyes, searching for something, some sign that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of fate. She found it—found the truth in Y/N’s gaze. Slowly, her lips curled into a small, shaky smile.

"Together?" Jinx asked, her voice almost playful, as if testing the weight of the word.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She smiled back, her heart aching but full in the same breath.

"Together," she whispered.

And in that moment, time seemed to stop. The blood on her hands, the terrible price she had paid, the path that led them here—it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because they were together again. The last two pieces of a broken family.

Years passed, each one blurring into the next, as the weight of Silco’s demands continued to shape and redefine Y/N. The girl who had once dreamed of balance and hope, the girl who had once fought for a better future, was no more. In her place stood a shadow, a weapon forged from the fires of betrayal and chaos, with every mission, every task, stripping away the remnants of her humanity.

Under Silco’s watchful eye, Y/N became an extension of his will—a blade sharpened to cut through anyone who stood in his way. She no longer hesitated when the order was given. The blood on her hands had long since dried, and the voices of the past—Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Vi —faded into distant memories, replaced by the cold, ever-present weight of the choices she had made. Every night, she drifted into a restless sleep, her thoughts haunted by the ghosts of those she had loved and lost, yet the nightmares no longer carried the same weight. She had become numb to it all.

She was good at what she did. Silco had made sure of it.

Her name, once a source of meaning, was little more than a faint echo now. She had become a tool, a force of nature working in silence, her hands doing his bidding without question. Whether it was eliminating rivals, infiltrating Piltover’s defences, or securing the loyalty of Zaun’s most dangerous criminals, Y/N was always there, always moving in the shadows, her presence felt but rarely seen. She was a ghost in Silco’s world, and that was exactly how he wanted her.

=

It had been three years since that fateful day when she had reunited with Jinx, and in all that time, Y/N had watched the girl she had once known slowly slip further away from the person she had been. Jinx had changed, and Y/N knew it was because of Silco. He had moulded her into something new, something untouchable, just as he had done with Y/N.

Powder was still there—still the spark of chaos, still the wild and unpredictable force of nature—but now, there was something else in her eyes. A coldness, a hardness, as if she too had lost everything in the pursuit of a dream that could never be realized. Y/N had come to accept that the girl she had once fought to protect no longer needed protection. Jinx was her own force now, carving her path with reckless abandon, and while that terrified Y/N in some quiet corner of her mind, she didn’t have the energy to fight against it anymore.

Tonight was no different. Silco’s voice echoed in her mind as she stood outside a run-down warehouse, the chill of Zaun’s night air cutting through her like a blade. She was to make an example of someone—someone who had dared to cross him. Y/N hadn’t asked for the details. She didn’t need to anymore. She was simply the weapon, not the strategist.

The door creaked open, the faint sound swallowed by the hum of Zaun’s industrial heartbeat. Inside, the dim glow of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows across the floor. Y/N moved silently, her boots barely making a sound as she approached the target—a man whose life was now worth less than the contract Silco had signed for him. He was cowering in the corner, a pitiful mess of desperation. His fear was palpable, but to Y/N, it was just another job.

She didn’t hesitate.

The man was silent before she moved, his terror evident as she closed the distance between them. The faint tremor in his breath was the only sound she heard as she pulled the weapon from her belt. It was quick, and it was clean. No emotion, no thought. Just action. Just Silco’s will made flesh.

As she stepped away, the blood splattered across the floor, a dull reminder of what she had become. Another body. Another life taken for Silco’s empire.

=

Y/N returned to the Last Drop in silence, her hands still slick with blood, her heart still cold. She entered Silco’s office without a word, her face an unreadable mask, her eyes distant and void of any emotion. Silco didn’t look up from his desk, but he knew she had completed her task.

“Good,” he said, the word almost dismissive. “You’re becoming more efficient. I’m pleased.”

Y/N nodded but said nothing. She had long stopped feeling anything about Silco’s praise or scorn. It was all the same to her now. A small part of her—the part that still remembered who she used to be—hoped that one day it would be different. But that part was a whisper now, drowned out by the ever-present noise of her duty.

A sound at the door caught her attention. Jinx stepped into the room, her eyes wild and alive, her smile erratic but real. She was a storm contained in a fragile vessel, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the familiar pang of longing for the girl she had once known.

“Y/N!” Jinx shouted, her voice high and full of excitement. “Guess what I did! Guess! I blew up a whole damn warehouse, just for fun!” She laughed manically, the sound unsettling in the silence of the room.

Y/N’s gaze softened for a moment, just for a moment. “I’m glad you had fun,” she said quietly, but the words were hollow. She wasn’t sure if she was lying to Jinx or to herself.

Jinx, oblivious to the distance that had grown between them, rushed over to Y/N, her arms flailing as she tried to grab her attention. “You should’ve seen it! The look on their faces, the way everything just went boom!”

Y/N nodded, her eyes distant as she watched Jinx in her wild, uncontained joy. She had always been the unpredictable one, the one who thrived on chaos. But for a brief, fleeting moment, Y/N could almost see the younger girl she had once tried to protect, the girl who had held her so tightly and whispered promises of a future together.

But that was before the blood, before Silco had fully taken hold of them both.

Now, they were just two sides of the same coin—both molded by the same hands, both irrevocably lost in the world Silco had crafted for them.

Y/N looked at Jinx, her heart aching, but she said nothing. The weight of the years, of the choices she had made, crushed the words in her chest.

She was his weapon. She would always be his weapon.

And she would never leave Jinx. But they were both beyond saving now.

The air on the rooftop was thick with tension, charged with the anger and pain that had been simmering for years. The sounds of the city below seemed to fade into the background as Y/N and Vi stood across from each other, fists clenched, breaths heavy.

Vi moved first, lunging toward Y/N with a fierce cry, her fist aimed directly at her face. Y/N barely dodged it, but the force of the punch made her stumble back. She retaliated quickly, throwing a punch of her own, her knuckles connecting with Vi’s jaw with a satisfying thud. The impact sent Vi staggering but she quickly regained her footing.

“You think you can just show up and everything will be fine?” Y/N spat, eyes blazing with emotion. “Where the hell were you, Vi? Where were you when she needed you?” She threw another punch, her anger only intensifying as Vi blocked it and retaliated.

“I was trying to save you both!” Vi shouted back, her voice breaking as she swung her fist at Y/N. “I never wanted to leave you! But after the explosion, I was thrown in prison! Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted to be stuck in there while you—while you stayed with Silco?” She punched Y/N hard in the stomach, making her double over, gasping for air.

Y/N straightened herself, barely fazed, though her heart was pounding in her chest. “I didn’t have a choice, Vi! I stayed because I had to stay close to her,” she snarled, gritting her teeth. “I had to stay with Powder to keep her safe! I stayed for her, and look at what she’s become now. Do you think I wanted to become this? A tool for Silco?”

Vi hesitated for a moment, her face contorting with a mixture of confusion and anger. “You think I don’t know how hard it was?” she retorted, her voice shaking. “I was stuck in that godforsaken prison, trying to figure out how to get back to you. And when I finally got out, all I found was the wreckage. All I found was you—changed. And I couldn’t find Powder. I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fix any of it.”

Y/N stepped back, her chest heaving as she processed Vi’s words. “You left us, Vi,” she said, her voice quieter now, but still laced with bitterness. “You were supposed to protect her, too. You were supposed to help us when everything fell apart. And you weren’t there. You were gone, and I was the one left to pick up the pieces.” Her hands balled into fists again, her emotions rising once more. “Do you know what I had to do to stay close to her? Do you know what it cost me?”

Vi’s eyes widened, and for the first time, she seemed to falter. “What do you mean? What did you have to do, Y/N?” Her voice was low, almost desperate, as she stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to the ground for a moment, the memories rushing back. “I had to bury everything I was. I had to do things I never thought I would be capable of. I did it because I needed to stay with Powder. I stayed with Silco, took on his orders—became part of his world—because it was the only way I could be close to her. To keep her from falling deeper into whatever nightmare she was becoming. I had to.”

The words came out in a rush, like a dam finally breaking, and Y/N’s fists trembled at her sides. “I had to make a choice, Vi. And I chose her. I chose to stay with the monster in order to keep her safe. And all this time, I kept pretending I wasn’t losing myself in the process. But I didn’t have a choice.”

Vi stood still, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her mind racing to process what Y/N had just revealed. She didn’t know how to respond. She had spent years imagining what had happened to Y/N, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to lose myself, too?” Y/N said bitterly, her eyes locked onto Vi’s, her chest rising and falling with the weight of everything they had never said. “I became a weapon, a tool for Silco’s empire, because that was the only way I could stay in the same damn city as Powder. And I stayed for her. But look at me now. Look at what I’ve become.”

Vi shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened to us, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But I’m not going to let you keep falling. I’m not going to leave you again. You are still my sister.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the words, but she shook her head, a pained laugh escaping her lips. “You think you can save me now, Vi?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of despair and anger. “It’s too late for me. I’m already too far gone.”

But Vi didn’t give up. She stepped forward again, this time slower, more cautiously, her fists lowering at her sides. “Then we’ll fix this together,” she said softly, her eyes searching Y/N’s for something—anything—that could prove her wrong.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, her eyes locked on Vi’s, but her thoughts racing a mile a minute. The fire in Vi’s eyes was strong, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to believe it—not fully. The girl she once was, the one who fought for a better world, was long gone. The person standing before Vi now was a stranger, shaped by the darkness of Silco’s empire, molded by years of violence and manipulation.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vi,” Y/N said finally, her voice almost inaudible. She shook her head, her expression softening for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve already lost myself. Who I was—she’s gone. I don’t even know how to be that person anymore. What Silco made me... that's all I know now.” Her words were barely a whisper, but they felt like a weight on her chest.

Vi’s face dropped, her hope beginning to flicker as she saw the depth of Y/N’s pain. She took a step closer, but Y/N took a step back, her resolve hardening again, a wall going up between them.

“I’m sorry, Vi,” Y/N whispered, her voice rough with the bitter truth. “But I’m not that person anymore. And I never will be.”

Before Vi could say anything, Y/N’s hand moved instinctively to her belt. She pulled out one of Jinx’s smoke bombs, her fingers trembling slightly as she held it up, feeling the weight of it in her palm. It felt familiar—too familiar. It was the only thing that had kept her alive through the chaos, the one thing she could still rely on.

With a swift motion, she tossed the smoke bomb to the ground, and in an instant, a thick cloud of purple smoke enveloped them both, clouding their vision and choking the air. Coughing, Vi tried to push through the smoke, but by the time she cleared her lungs and eyes, Y/N was already gone.

The rooftop was silent once more, the echoes of their battle still lingering in the thick fog. And Vi stood there, alone, the weight of everything they had said, and everything they hadn’t, hanging heavily in the air.

[linoxpudding]

Morning Cuddles - Hwang Hyunjin

*gif credit goes to owner*

summary: breakfast in bed and some morning cuddles with your lover- the perfect recipe for a sweet start of the day

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 900 words

a/n: just imagine him making orange juice for you like the gif above 😭

andd here's the final installment of this series, thank you guys for showing so much love for this series! ♡

-

morning cuddles series:

Chan Lee Know Changbin Jisung Felix Seungmin I.N

Masterlist

~°~

The sweet aroma of pancakes drifted through the air, rousing you from your slumber. You stretched lazily, your body sinking deeper into the warmth of the blankets. Turning over, you instinctively reached for Hyunjin, only to be met with the cold emptiness of his side of the bed.

Your lips formed a pout as you dramatically called out, "BABYYY!"

Within seconds, soft footsteps padded toward the room, and there he was—Hyunjin, standing in the doorway, hair slightly messy, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants and a loose tee. A fond smile played on his lips as he walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're so dramatic in the mornings," he chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair from your face.

You huffed, tugging on his wrist. "Come back to bed."

"In a minute, my muse," he promised, his voice filled with adoration.

With a small whine, you let go, watching as he disappeared again. Moments later, he returned, carrying a tray adorned with a stack of golden pancakes, fresh fruits cut in cubes, a plate of scrambled eggs, a glass of orange juice and two cups of coffee.

Your eyes lit up instantly. "You made breakfast?"

"For my queen? Always," he said with a wink, setting the tray down.

You quickly scurried out of bed. "Two seconds, I need to brush my teeth first!" you called over your shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom.

Hyunjin laughed softly, shaking his head as he settled into the bed, waiting for you. True to your word, you returned in record time, snuggling up beside him.

With the tray placed safely on the bedside table, you took turns feeding each other, laughter and little pecks exchanged between bites. Eventually, the plates sat empty, and you curled into his chest, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his arm.

"I love mornings like this," you murmured, pressing your face against his skin.

Hyunjin tightened his hold around you, his lips brushing against your temple. "Me too. I wish we could stay like this forever."

You nestled deeper into Hyunjin’s chest, your fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns on his arm. The soft rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, the warmth of his embrace making you feel completely at peace. His long fingers gently ran through your hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses against the crown of your head. His scent—fresh linen mixed with a hint of vanilla—wrapped around her like a cocoon.

As you snuggled closer, he shifted slightly, adjusting your position so you were perfectly tucked against him. His arms tightened around your waist, his chin resting atop your head as he let out a slow, contented sigh.

But then, his hold on you tightened just a little, his breath hitching slightly.

You looked up at him, eyes full of sleepy curiosity. "Hyunnie?"

He sighed, his gaze soft yet laced with something deeper—guilt. "I’m sorry," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Your brows furrowed. "For what?"

He swallowed, his fingers brushing against your cheek with such tenderness it made your heart ache. "For being so busy lately. For barely being home. For missing out on moments like this." He exhaled shakily, his lips pressing against your forehead. "I hate that I haven’t been able to give you all the time you deserve."

Your heart squeezed at the raw emotion in his voice. You instinctively nuzzled closer, your arms looping around his torso to hold him together. "Hyunjin…"

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "I love you so much, you know that, right?" His voice cracked slightly, and before you could respond, he kissed you—soft and lingering, as if trying to pour all his emotions into it.

You kissed him back just as deeply, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding him. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your hand caressing the nape of his neck. "I know, baby. And I love you just as much. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters."

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and you wiped it away with your thumb before pressing soft kisses where it had fallen. You traced his jawline with your fingertips, then pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a lingering kiss against his skin. "You're making up for it already. Just being here, holding me like this, it's enough."

Hyunjin pulled you even closer, his nose brushing against your before he peppered kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips again. His hands ran up and down your back in soothing strokes, his warmth completely engulfing you.

"I'm gonna make the most of this little break, okay? Every second, every moment—I want it to be with you." His voice was soft, full of quiet devotion.

You smiled, melting into his touch. "Then stay right here and cuddle me forever."

He chuckled, a genuine, lighthearted sound this time, before shifting slightly so you were practically draped over him. His hands never stopped moving—skimming up your spine, tracing idle shapes against your shoulder, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"Forever sounds perfect," he murmured, pressing one last lingering kiss to your temple.

And with that, you both sank deeper into each other’s embrace, wrapped in warmth, love, and the promise of making every moment count.

[demigodsanswer]

A little tattoo au smut for your Sunday. Basically, I meant to write the percabeth first date per someone's request, but I ended up just jumping right into their night together. I just really wanted Annabeth to sit on his face idk.

~

Annabeth sipped the last of her wine and found her courage as Percy signed the check. 

“I had a great time tonight,” she told him, racing across the table for his hand. 

“Me too,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“Should we get out of here?” She suggested, trying to remember how she used to flirt. 

Percy smiled and looked away from her, a bit pink in the cheeks. Annabeth held her ground and waited. 

“I’d invite you to my place,” he started, “but truth be told, I’m staying with my parents at the moment, while I look for my own apartment.” 

Annabeth smiled. “Well, that’s alright,” she promised, “Sophia is with Luke tonight. As long as you don’t judge how dirty my place is --” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Percy assured her. 

~

Annabeth poured them each a glass of wine when they got upstairs. They made it though about four sips each before they were on each other. Annabeth couldn’t remember who kissed first, and it really didn’t matter. All she knew now was that Percy’s hand was under her shirt as her hands unbuttoned his. 

“I should tell you, I haven't had sex since Sophia was conceived,” Annabeth said. 

“Don’t worry, they haven’t changed it much,” Percy promised. Annabeth laughed and kissed him again. “Honestly, I haven’t been with anyone in two years, between the research and job market …” 

That was actually quite comforting. 

“The bedroom is that way,” Annabeth said, pointing to the small hallway. 

Percy pulled her off the couch and started to lead her there. Annabeth would have to thank Thalia for her forward thinking with the condoms that morning. Turns out, they were going to see some use. 

~

For going two years without sex, Percy certainly didn’t seem out of practice. His fingers, tongue, and cock knew all kinds of ways to please her. It was a miracle really. She’d always enjoyed sex for the intimacy of it, the comfort of another person there, the feeling of them reaching places in her so few ever had. But with Percy … Well, it turned out sex could also feel really, really good too. 

The sheets under them were damp from her pair of messy orgasms, one as he fingered her during foreplay, and one while he was inside her.

Inside her. He’d felt so nice, hot and hard, moving at such a perfect pace for her. She’d started on top, riding him until she came, and then he’d flipped them over. He’d started at a pace she’d describe as “making love” before really taking her hard, whispering all kinds of filthy things, and showering her with compliments. He’d cum inside her (well, in the condom, really), and the pulse of it was comforting and familiar. 

Afterwards, they just laid there, breathing and sweaty, ignoring the dampness on the sheets and the smell of sex in the air. Annabeth rested in the crook between his arm and his side, her head on his shoulder as traced some of her tattoos with his finger. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she said back.

“I’m serious. That first moment I saw you last week, I mean, I was done for,” he told her. It didn’t sound like a line. Anyway, what would be the point of a line now anyway? He already had her in bed. 

“Oh really?” She asked, nudging him on. 

“I knew I had to ask you out from the first second I saw you,” Percy said. “At the very least, I needed to find all your tattoos.” 

She leaned back a little bit. “Feel free to have a look around,” she said, laying on her back, her body outstretched so he could look her over. 

Percy kissed his way slowly down her arm, then across her chest, stopping periodically to ask if there was a story behind a specific tattoo. Sometimes there was: a favorite moment from a book, a symbol she held dear. Sometimes, she just liked the idea. 

She had a few tattoos on her hips that had been stretched out and cut into during pregnancy. Percy ran a delicate finger over the scar tissue that ran across her bikini line. 

“C-Section?” He asked her, his green eyes curious and sympathetic. 

Annabeth nodded. “She didn’t want to come out,” she told him. “I was in labor for … oh, fifty-five hours I think? In the hospital for forty-something.” 

“Jesus,” he sighed, “you’re a hero.” 

Annabeth laughed and ran her fingers through his already messed-up hair. Percy seemed to lean into her touch, and she was confident that if humans could purr, he would have. 

“I sat at home with Luke watching Lord of the Rings extended editions, just waiting for the contractions to get closer together. By the time Return of the King was over, it was probably still too early to go to the hospital, but I didn’t want to watch the Hobbit movies, so I demanded we leave,” Annabeth said with a laugh. “Then it was forty hours of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.” 

“I mean, a classic,” Percy agreed. 

“Grade A TV, for sure. Anyway, she was supposed to go this way,” she held out her hands straight, resting them in between her thighs to mimic the birth canal, “but she went like this,” she turned her hands slightly to the right. “Her little head was just bumping up against my uterus and they couldn’t get her to move. She was trying to come out neck first. If it was even a hundred years ago, we both probably would have died. After a while, she was in distress, and within minutes I was being cut open.” 

Percy kissed the top of her hand, before crawling back up to kiss her face. 

“I’m sorry. I’m glad she made it here okay,” he said. 

Annabeth smiled. “Yeah, me too.” 

They kissed again, lazy and tender. He stayed on top of her, but his weight off of her, so all she felt of him was what warmth radiated off his body. She let her hands explore him a bit more. 

She had discovered another tattoo on his side. She’d panicked at the sight of a woman’s name, but she’d simply laughed and explained: “My mother.” 

“Oh,” she breathed out, relieved. His single mom. Who he was living with. And then she wondered if she was simply fulfilling some naughty role-play for him. Don’t be an asshole, she chided herself. 

Now her hands roamed past the tattoo to the fat of his waist and hips, and then to his ass. She’d caught him flexing plenty, and knew some of it was taut muscle when he felt like showing it off. But she preferred him squishy. 

“Can you roll over?” He asked between kisses. 

She pulled back as much as she could with her head still on the pillow. 

“Oh?” She asked, eyes wide, smile intrigued. 

He laughed a little. “Sorry, I just meant. I want to see your other tattoos. I assume you’ve got more on the other side?” 

“Oh, right,” she said with a laugh, “sure.” 

She rolled over and let him inspect her. There was a rose on her shoulder. That had been one of her first tattoos, when she was more into color. It was pink with a long stem. She’d only been nineteen when she got it. People said it looked like the rose from Beauty and the Beast, and they were right, but that hadn’t been intentional at the time. 

When she was confident enough in Frank’s work as he graduated from Thalia’s apprentice, she lent him her mostly-blank back to do a traditional serpent tattoo. It was actually cool as hell. But it didn’t have any real meaning, besides Frank getting to actually do it. It had healed pretty well too, although he had since touched it up for her twice. 

The only other thing of note was the smiley face on her right ass cheek. Percy’s attention caught that one right away. He poked it. 

“You’ve got a happy butt,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. 

“That was my first tattoo,” she lamented. 

“Why a smiley butt?” He asked. 

“I lost a bet,” she told him, before burying her face in her pillow. “I was so sure I wasn’t going to lose.” 

“Dare I ask what it was over?” He asked. 

“That I could lose my anal virginity by the end of Freshman year,” she said, embarrassed more than she maybe ever had been in her life.

There was a brief pause, before: “Wait, not a single man at Harvard wanted to do you in the ass?” He sounded shocked, angry, and outraged for her. 

“Right?!” She said, rolling over a bit. She’d tried to lie to her roommate about it, claiming that it had happened, but the holes (ha) in her story started to emerge too quickly. Eventually, she had to confess. “I think I intimidated all of them,” Annabeth said. 

“Probably,” Percy agreed. “Thankfully, I’m not intimidated,” he said, kissing her smiley face. 

Annabeth hummed, curious. “Oh?” She asked, innocent. “I don’t usually let men do me in the ass on the first date,” she told him. 

He kissed her other cheek. “No, but it would have saved you about fifty-five hours of labor if you did,” he teased. 

Annabeth gasped with faux-indignation, rolling over and pushing him onto his back to straddle him. They were close to the other edge now. She’d almost rolled them off completely. 

Percy was just laughing though as she held him to the mattress, her hands pinning his shoulders. 

“You’re impertinent,” she said. 

He just kept smiling. “Oh, I sure am,” he promised.   

~

She didn’t let him fuck her in the ass, at least not yet. She hadn’t done that in ten years, and she wanted to actually impress him tonight. Because if Percy Jackson never called her again, she’d have Thalia hunt her cousin down for her. Annabeth was absolutely determined to have a second, third, and fourth date with him at least. 

Percy wasn’t ready for another round. He looked a bit sheepish when she touched his still-soft cock, as if it was abnormal for him to not be hard again ten minutes after orgasm. Annabeth just kissed him gently, as if to assure him it was okay. 

Percy’s hands gripped her thighs and tried to coax her up towards his face. 

“Are you sure?” Annabeth asked, hovering over him. 

“So sure,” Percy said, trying to pull her down. She still hovered a bit, close enough that he could lick her clit. But after a few teasing flicks of his tongue, Percy pulled on her a bit harder. “Sit down,” he said, his tone commanding and confident. It thrilled her from her chest down into her lower belly and compelled her to listen. She sat down then, careful not to put all of her weight on his neck. Birth had left her with a bit of a Pixar-mom body, not the slender, narrow hips and thighs she’d been used to in her early twenties. But Percy didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to worship her thighs and the cunt between them. 

Annabeth hadn’t sat on someone's face in years. Truth be told, she hadn’t had sex with someone since Luke. She’d had a few dates, but the men she’d gone out with hadn’t interested her, and the one woman had been asexual. (Annabeth had introduced her to Thalia, and they went out for three years, so it worked out for someone). Luke hadn’t been into eating her out. He never seemed particularly that sexually interested in her at all. Even now, his rare kiss was more of a desperate search for love and family than sexual gratification. It was almost funny that the two of them had conceived. 

But Percy … 

“Oh, god,” Annabeth moaned, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. Percy knew what he was doing. He’d discovered what she liked during the foreplay -- a gentle pattern of circles until the pressure built, then a little suck, and then a little more. 

Percy fingers gripped the fat of her ass tight as she rode his tongue. The pressure was building low in her pelvis. She’d already cum twice tonight. A third time sounded lovely. So nice. So needed. Percy sucked on her clit a little more, and Annabeth rolled her hips against him. 

“More,” she pleaded. Percy curiously sucked on her clit again. “Yeah, yeah,” she confirmed. Percy did what he was told, and Annabeth closed her eyes to focus purely on the feeling. “Oh,” she yelped, closer, closer -- 

Annabeth gripped Percy’s hair as her thighs clenched around his head as she came. She didn’t expect to squirt again; she usually needed something inside her, not just on her clit, but oh, his tongue had been so perfect on her, her body didn’t give her any choice or any warning. Maybe it did, and she was simply too satisfied to notice. Her orgasm soaked her thighs, the pillow under her, and Percy.  

Oh fuck -- 

“Jesus,” she said, climbing off of him quickly, “I’ve waterboarded you.” Percy was just laughing as he wiped at his face. Annabeth’s own face felt scalding hot; she was sure she’d gone red from her forehead to her chest. “I’ll get you a --” 

Percy just grabbed her hand and tugged her down towards him. He pulled her into a kiss, deep, filthy, his tongue slipping into her mouth still tasting like her. Annabeth braced herself on the ruined pillow as he let her taste herself on him. 

“How are people not lining up around the block to date you?” Percy asked her, before pulling her in again, this time just pecking her lips. “You’re fucking magnificent.” 

Annabeth just moaned a little, not exactly sure what to say. So, she chose to just watch Percy move his hand from her face to his cock, hard again, pink tip straining up towards the ceiling. He stroked himself slowly. 

Annabeth pressed kisses into his neck, before sucking gently on a sensitive spot she’d found. 

“Do you want me to do something about that?” She asked, nodding back towards his cock. 

Percy nodded. “If you’re up for a little more …” 

Annabeth tied her hair back. “I am,” she promised. 

(When he warned her he was about to cum, she pulled back and let him finish on her face. It was only fair).

[grimesve1l]

When a quick run turns into something more

Summary: A close call makes Rick and Y/n come clean about how they feel about each other

Warnings: Normal twd stuff, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, a heated make out sesh, and swearing

Y/n and Rick were gearing up for a run to pick up some essentials for the group. Originally Glen and Maggie were supposed to come to but they got caught with other duties. This would be the first time Rick and Y/n would be going on a run with just the two of them. Neither of them were worried though they both trusted each other although it hadn't always been like that.

Y/n had joined the group with Michonne and Rick had been against the idea of either of them sticking around. Regardless the two proved themselves and Rick allowed them to stay. Y/n took any chance to earn her keep in the prison. She wanted to make sure Rick never doubted his decision but that doesn't mean she doesn't mess around on occasion.

"Y/n you coming?" Rick called out as he finished checking the car they were going to use. "Yeah! One sec!" she called back as she handed Judith to Beth and told them goodbye. "I'm here." she says approaching the car. "You got the map? We're gonna need it with how far we're going." Rick asks. They planned to go to a store farther out since all the ones nearby had been cleaned out.

"It's right here" she replies while pulling it out of her bag. "Alright we're set then" Ricks says as he starts driving out of the prison. The drive to the store was about an hour. Neither Rick nor Y/n said much aside from directions when needed. Once they pulled up the store seemed fairly intact with only a couple walkers in the parking lot.

"Remember to use your knife. Gunshots will only draw more over here." Rick reminds Y/n. "I know Rick. It's not my first time on a run." Y/n responds laughing lightly. "I'm just saying." Rick laughs. "Come on the toothpaste won't get itself." Y/n jokes as she gets out of the car. Her and Rick make quick work of the walkers outside and head for the entrance of the store.

Once inside they don't see anymore walkers but assume there's some farther back in the store. "Alright you take that side and i'll take this one." Rick says while pointing. "Okay" Y/n responds. "Remember use your knife and holler if you need me. Okay? I'll come running." "Yes sir." Y/n jokes pretending to salute Rick. "I'm serious Y/n I don't want you getting hurt." Rick replies. "I'll be fine I promise." she says going towards her direction of the store.

Y/n starts grabbing things the group needs. Toothpaste for herself, hair ties for Maggie, and shampoo for Carol. Finally she made her way to the feminine hygiene section. How is it that practically every women in the prison had their period at the same time? As she turned the corner into the aisle she heard something hit the ground. "Rick is that you?" she whispers out but gets no response.

She walks further into the aisle and sees a walker knocking things over. She pulls out her knife and sinks the blade into its skull before continuing with her scavenging. She reaches for a box of pads when she suddenly feels two pairs of hands grabbing her from behind. She turns around with her knife in hand but looses her grip on it when she's pushed against the shelves behind her.

She manages to keep them from biting her but she begins to struggle. "Rick! Help, i'm cornered!" she yells out desperately. Rick was on the other side of the store when he heard her scream. He instantly dropped the can he was holding and pulled out his gun as he ran to where her voice was coming from. "Y/n?" he calls out trying to locate her.

"I'm over here! Shit!" she responds still struggling to keep the walkers from biting. Rick rounds the corner and fires two shots into the walkers heads. They drop with a thud as Y/n stands still in shock. Rick runs to Y/n to examine her. "Did they get you?" he asks grabbing her arms and searching for any marks. "I'm fine." she responds taking arms from his grasp.

She picks up her bag and starts going back to getting supplies. "Hey, it's okay if you're not alright" Rick says looking in her eyes with his hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine Rick. Let's just grab what we need and go." Y/n says brushing his arm off.

They eventually make their way back to the car and start heading back to the prison. Rick attempts to talk about what happened "Look Y/n about what happened in the store-." "I don't wanna talk about it Rick." Y/n cuts him off. Rick, having had enough of Y/n deflecting his attempts at talking to her, pulls the car to the side of the road. "What are you doing?" she asks. "I'm sick of you blowing me off. We're going to talk about what happened back there." Rick replies.

"It's nothing let's just go." Y/n says hoping Rick will give up. "Clearly it's something Y/n just tell me." he responds. Y/n let's out a deep breath before saying "The thing at the store made me seem weak and i don't want you to think of me like that." she pauses "I don't want you to think i'm not a good member of the group."

"Do you really think that's how I see you now?" Rick's asks genuinely. "That's how I see myself now. I don't know how I let the thing at the store happen. "Y/n replied turning away from Rick. He reached out to put his hand on her cheek to make her look at him. "I don't see you like that at all. I think you're strong and a vital part of our group." He hesitated before continuing "In fact I think no I know that I need you Y/n."

"You make me -" he pauses "You make me feel a way that I haven't in a while. I like you in the group and when I see you with Judith or Carl it makes me so happy." "When I saw those two walkers on you in the store all I could think about was how I had to save you because I can't lose you."

"I had no idea you felt that way about me but I feel the same way." Y/n says looking into his eyes. "I never thought I'd ever actually tell you but you beat me to it anyways," she laughs. They sit in silence for a moment. "So what now?" she asks. "I was thinking something like this" Rick says as he leans in to close the gap between them. The kiss is gentle and full of reassurance that Rick truly does feel how he does.

Y/n pulls away first and looks down as she mutters "that works." The two laugh as they look towards each other again. For once Y/n looks at Rick and really sees him. She sees his piercing blue eyes, slightly untamed scruff and his soft pink lips she just has to feel again.

This time Y/n leans in and presses her lips against his. This kiss is different than the first it's much more desperate and takes Rick by suprise. He moves his hands down to her waist as he deepens the kiss. Y/n takes this as a sign to crawl over the armrest and into his lap. Her hands move to the nape of his neck as she begins to pull at his hair making him let out a groan.

She pulls away and rests her forehead against his while attempting to catch her breath. "I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't that." Rick jokes. Y/n let's out a giggle before jokingly asking "Did I take your breath away?" "I think you did." he replies.

Eventually Y/n climbs back into her seat and Rick starts to drive back to the prison. They continue talking and laughing while Rick keeps a hand on Y/n's thigh. Once they get back nobody misses how the two of them seem to be more cheerful than when they left.

"Have you guys noticed how laidback and happy Rick has been since him and Y/n came back from their run?" Glen asks the others. "Did you see his hair? It looked somebody tried to pull it all out." Maggie replies "Reminds me of how y'all are when you two come back from keeping watch in the guard tower." Daryl adds Carol and Michonne laugh as Glen and Maggie look as if they've seen a ghost. "Jesus." Maggie mutters before walking back to her and Glen's cell.

A/n: omg i actually really like how this turned out still kinda unsure about the car scene but oh well. it's only my second time writing and my first time for Rick so I apologize if it's not great but i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[sysig]

You could stay forever, if you wanted (Patreon)

[izzy-b-hands]

If ur waiting on a reply from me (and i know a couple of folks are rn) thank u for ur patience in waiting. I'm working on typing things up but today is just. idk how to put it but i keep winding up grumpy and my replies i feel are suffering for it. Pls know i do wanna chat and exchange ideas, I'm just trying to make sure the Grumpasaurus Rex side of my brain that's v loud today isn't mucking them up before i send them 🫂🫂❤️❤️