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kaybreezy3000 · 8 hours ago

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The Reason ~A Five Hargreeves/Female Reader Insert request (Complete)

Rated Mature for Explicit Sexual Content (20k word one-shot with 10 fast paced chapters)

Anonymous asked:

Please just give me the smuttiest enemies to friends to lovers, with some breeding kink PLEASEEE 🧍‍♀️🙏🏻

KayBreezy's reply: Okay. 😂 Done. See Below to read this wild adventure.

~Tags and Warnings: feral Five, soft Five angst, family fluff, flirting, humor, rough sex, story with plenty of smutty smut but it needs to build to get there so be patient and it will pay off, Five being wonderful and awful, smart female reader insert, Diego is a bomb ass bro, canon compliant plus extra addressing of shit they didn't bother to and I wish they would have, breeding kink, enemies-to friends-to lovers, some tags left off to keep you on your toes, season 5 TUA

~Very Important Note: DUE TO SPOILERS, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED S4 This story starts where season 4 ends and reads like a season 5 start. It is canon compliant, letting you take what we were left with on the show, DISREGARDING the controversial sexual relationship that happened, or not. That's the big thing with this one. This is written so the reader can interpret that stuff as they want to. There are only two mentions in this that even come remotely close into that territory and those parts can also be looked at as Five simply feeling awful and not because that even happened. He has plenty of other reason for his sadness, why they felt the need to give him more and end them all, I will never know. 😭 I personally have always seen a special bond with Five and Lila, only not at all the way it played out in the show, and we will see some of my version of their admiration of each other in this one, and I did it to honor both these characters I love. It is also important to say, this is in no way written in a way that is triggering for those who hated what happened on the show. This is written to give them all something better. That was my point, and to try to do this request some justice. ❤️I hope you enjoy. Sending peace and love to all the beautiful TUA/FIVE fans.

THE REASON

Chapter one: The Beginning of the End

Slipping away, there was no reason to fight anymore.

Sensations Five couldn’t put into words overwhelming him, the glowing pulsation of The Cleanse began to cover them, first trapping their feet, then building up around their legs with terrifying speed.

As the pressure pushed at his layers of clothing, naturally, panic set in.

His mind screamed, DO SOMETHING!!!

He would have laughed at the irony along with his family if it wasn’t all so awful. Here they were cracking jokes when they were about to die, and there he was, the massive lump of guilt in his throat trying to kill him quicker than the looming mass of elemental alien goo.

Five’s entire life, he’d thought he was the strong one, that he could save them, but boy had he been wrong.

Even before this shit storm splattered the fan, he knew he should have been starting over, but he’d done very little in the way of living, or being there for any of them.

He pretended he was fine, but he wasn’t.

He was alone, like he always was, but he was too stubborn to admit how empty his life was.

Instead, he blocked all that out by playing CIA agent, foolishly not noticing that the people who’d hired him were in on all this.

Then, when it all went from bad to worse, Five ran from it. Once with Lila as they traveled the train to insanity together, and then again after that, when they’d finally made it back and he realized they couldn’t beat the horrible death blob Ben and Jennifer had become.

It took a lifetime to learn it, but there was no running from this, or the unforgivable things he’d done only to end up with nothing.

Heart sinking to unfathomable depths of despair, unable to look at their faces, or the thing consuming them, Five looked to the ceiling instead. Through the highest windows of what in another time had been their childhood home, the world outside was righting itself, the fire of rebirth was hard at work, correcting things the right way this time.

There was no reason for his suffering.

No reason for any of this.

His breath catching in his throat, the mass of destruction that was swallowing them crept up Five’s neck, seeping under his sweat drenched collar.

Shutting his eyes to block out the horror of what was happening, he forced himself to think about why this was the only way out.

“What shattered the timeline?” he’d asked the Five that greeted him at the interdimensional deli filled with different versions of him.

“Not what. Who,” his cocky doppelgänger replied while pushing a stray piece of hair out of his face.

They were 145,142 times trying to stop the apocalypse, doomed to save or destroy the world, over and over… ad infinitum.

This would go on forever. Those crazy bastards weren’t willing to rise above their own wants and needs, but he was.

Eliminate the Marigold by ending all of them, and you get no more cycle of apocalyptic destruction. Simple as that.

Despite Five’s steadfast acceptance of this fact, a rush of air crawled out of his gaped mouth, the sound of it gut-wrenchingly pathetic even to his own ears. His lower lip trembled as The Cleanse reached his chin. He jerked his head higher to get away from it, but it was no good.

He felt Lila squeeze his hand. He squeezed back, a tear slipping down his cheek, immediately eaten away by the sludgy mass burying them.

I’m sorry.

He was, for everything, but he couldn’t say it, not anymore. He couldn’t even breathe.

The taste of death covered his lips, filling his nostrils. A familiar crackle of static energy zipped up and down his spine even though he hadn’t summoned it, like his powers had life of their own, begging him to stop this.

Five opened his eyes one last time, a spike of adrenaline needlessly alerting him to the fact that he was about to suffocate from the disgusting booger-like substance pushing into his mouth.

Silently crying out, The Cleanse choked off his airway.

His body, insistent on his need to breathe, helplessly drew in the otherworldly gunk.

He was drowning.

He began to thrash.

Above, ash began to fall from the ceiling. Five felt the same desperation he had a lifetime ago while standing outside the burning gates of his home.

Like then, all he could think about was finding a way back to save them.

Just before the wave of glimmering slime slipped over Five’s head, a shadowed figure moved into his view on the second-floor balcony. The person propped their elbows on the railing. Extending their left hand, they began dangling a pocket watch, slowly swinging it back and forth on its silver chain.

As if dying wasn’t already shaking Five to the core, the ornately engraved disk they had looked exactly like a pocket watch he kept in a basket of broken timepieces back in his boyhood bedroom at the original Umbrella Academy.

He collected those discarded pieces of junk, trying to make their fragile parts work again because he saw something of himself in their busted balance springs and wheels, beaten and used, pushed aside, never able to prove to a dad that didn’t love him that he was good enough.

Reginald was right, he wasn’t.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” the young stranger said, as if reading Five’s thoughts. He angled his face into the light, the pouted line of his lips pulling to the side, mimicking one of Five's smiles almost perfectly. “For all this to work out, you had to get here.”

A faint swirl of blue energy lit up the boy’s hands as the floor rumbled under their feet. Chunks of the roof fell, but their pale green eyes wrinkled at the corners even more, not a hint of fear in them.

“I’d do this one for you, but I can’t,” he furthered. “As you always told me, when it comes to time travel, you don’t mess with the loops, and this is one hell of a temporal causality loop you set up.”

The dimple in the boy’s cheek deepened.

“No, you. No, me,” he calmly explained. “And that would mean this conversation wouldn’t be happening, resulting in you letting this end and game over for us.”

Pulling the old pocket watch back up, the boy popped it open, checking the time before he looked back down at Five through the mess of sun-kissed hair falling over his eyes.

“You know what to do. It’s time, Dad.”

He dropped the watch, the glint of metal sailing down into the abyss.

Lack of oxygen about to make him lose consciousness, The Cleanse covered Five’s shock filled eyes.

Getting crushed, he no longer felt the hands that had been holding his.

They were all gone.

As true terror set in, the last of the boy’s words echoed in his mind.

It’s time, Dad…

Chapter Two: Walk in the Park

Not even aware he was doing it at first, Five pulled at that undefinable feeling inside him that let him open doors no one else could. Within a second, the strings of time gave in to his demand, illuminating the darkness.

An explosion of violent light burst outwards, the force of it ripping his skin inside out, or it felt that way. At that point, Five wasn’t sure if he was still intact, or not. All he knew was, he’d given everything he had left, opening one final portal, not even accounting for the destination.

Flung into a tornado of time and space knitting itself back together into the one true timeline, Five landed in the only place he could.

Coming down fast, blindly flailing, he slammed down on top of a picnic table, sending the food airborne that Lila’s parents had just laid out for lunch.

Face smashed into what he was pretty sure had been a cake, Five let out a whimpered groan.

Fresh air ruffled his frosting coated hair, the white sugar standing out in stark contrast to his chocolate-colored strands.

Untwisting his legs, his dress shoe accidentally knocked into Claire’s can of orange soda, tipping it over. The fizzy mess started pouring out all over Lila’s feet as she glared at him.

Five rapidly blinked his eyes, still not sure if what he was seeing was real.

Everything was so bright, a canopy of green and blue.

Orange and yellow marigolds filled the landscaped gardens.

Upbeat music played somewhere in the distance.

“What do you know, the flying fart squirrel decided to join us after all,” Lila dryly noted as she wiped a piece of potato salad off her forehead, flicking it at Diego.

Unfazed by Five’s fumbled landing, Diego picked the mayo covered slop off his shirt, sticking it in his mouth as he rolled his eyes at her. “Come, on babe. Fivvv nev-lets us dow. I nn-ew-he-be-here,” he mumbled while reaching out to lend him a helping hand.

Once on his feet, Five swayed, but Diego held on, keeping him steady as he took in the full extent of his shell-shocked appearance. “Rough day, old man?” he asked, a look of worry bending his silly dad-stash into a frown.

“You could say that,” Five croaked.

He reached up, his trembling fingers brushing the ghost of stubble darkening his jaw.

“Thank God I’m not twelve years old again,” he breathed.

Diego and Lila looked at each other, eyes wide.

“Five…?” Diego questioned. “Since you still can’t calculate your decades long jumps worth a shit, why don’t you just use one of your briefcases to commute.”

“Uncle Five is here!” Grace shouted, abandoning the game of frisbee she was playing with Luther and Sloane. Bolting over, her arms flung around Five’s waist. “Did you bring me anything?” she asked, beaming up at him.

Five was speechless.

Her twin siblings screeched as they rolled around on a fuzzy blanket filled with toys. Behind them, camped out on the grass, or horsing around not far away, Five saw his entire family, and all the people from their past that they had loved and lost.

A few yards away, Dave was sitting with his back against a tree, Klaus lying next to him with his head in his lap.

Eudora, Sissy, little Harlan, Elliot, Ray, Ben and Jennifer…

Five kept counting.

To his left, Agnes and Hazel walked by, bird watcher guide in hand.

Even the Sparrows' faces dotted the crowded scene, the one Five didn’t recognize with blue hair oddly reminiscent of a non-cube version of Christopher.

“Holy shit,” he gasped.

With the buzz of the older kids laughing at their funny Uncle Five and his ruined suit, and the rest of his family looking at him like he needed to be locked up, the fear that everyone close to him was about to be wiped off the face of the Earth hadn’t even come close to wearing off. And that feeling only got worse when he spotted The Handler sitting on a nearby park bench.

Starting to walk towards her, he reached into his inside jacket pocket to pull out his CIA issued handgun, but it wasn’t there.

Getting nothing but a handful of Jello, Five ran right into Herb. In a domino effect, the smaller statured man started teetering backwards.

“Youch!” you cried as his heel dug into your opened toed dress shoe.

Everything you were holding slipped out of your hands as they flung out to break your fall.

Before hitting the dirt, your skirt flew up, giving everyone a show.

Looking about as thrown as you, Five looked down at the Temps Commission insignia on the journal you dropped, then the pocket watch that had fallen next to it.

He cursed.

Clenching his hands so hard it looked like he might hurt himself, he started shaking his head side to side. “Where is he?” he growled.

“Who?” you fired back at him, trying to get up.

“That kid!”

“What kid?”

Before Herb could say anything to add to your confused reply or find his handy-dandy Commission issued time stopper, Five took off again.

Scrambling to your feet, you reached out to catch his arm. He swung around with a snarl and shoved you to the ground again, then he blinked away, reappearing right behind The Handler, ready to choke her with his bare hands, the only thing stopping him being the lady coming past, pushing a baby stroller.

Seeing the real Grace’s smiling face, so much like that of his robot mother, Five looked even more manic.

“Stop!” Herb frantically cried out, realizing that something was off more than Five lacking any spatial awareness.

Five didn’t stop, and neither did you, clumsily coming after him, your dress shoes slipping on the grass, you yelled, “If you do this, you’re going to regret it!”

To your relief. Five lowered his hands.

You came to a stop in front of the Handler, your hands coming to your knees as you tried to catch your breath. She looked from you, to the crazed young man behind her.

She lowered her cell phone. “Can I help you?”

“No. Sorry,” you huffed, quickly storming around the park bench to take Five by the back of his food covered suit jacket.

“She doesn’t know who you are!” you whisper yelled at him as you towed him away from her. “What in the world are you thinking?”

Five angrily narrowed his eyes at you.

“This was your plan!” you barked, to which he equally angrily jerked his shoulder away from your hand.

Apparently, he wasn’t going to let you corral him back towards Herb, but he wasn’t opposed to stomping over there himself, which was fine by you, so long as he did, and started to calm his cake-covered ass down.

“Glad to have you back,” Herb nervously chuckled once Five was in earshot. “Sorry about that.” He glanced at The Handler who was happily chatting away on her cell phone again. “I’m sure some of this is still hard for you, but everyone affected by this needed to be in close proximity to perform all the alternations you wanted. This picnic took some time for us to set up, but we got it done. As far as they know, you all have been back here for weeks and we had nothing to do with this party.”

Five’s cold gaze didn’t falter.

After picking up the items he made you drop, you handed him his journal, the one that said to give it to him as soon as he arrived.

“I don’t want that,” he spat, refusing to take it from you.

“Maybe it would be better if we took this conversation back to The Commission,” Herb offered.

“Like hell it would,” Five snapped, “There is no way I am going back to that shitshow of manipulative sadists.”

“You are the leader of our shitshow of manipulative sadists,” you retorted.

Ignoring that and your offended expression, he came at you, a flash of light blinding you as he snatched the watch out of your hand. Reappearing a few yards away, he hissed, “Who are you and who gave you this!”

Now you were the one narrowing your eyes.

Introducing yourself, minus the usual extended hand in case he tried to bite it off, you said, “I serve as your Co-Chair, and the watch was left with your files that were given to me when I was hired. And… it is not broken anymore because I fixed it for you. You’re welcome.”

“Why would I hire you?”

“Because you clearly needed my help,” you replied, your tone as acidic as his.

“Yeah, right,” he barked, his wild eyes suddenly fixating on you in a very ungentlemanly way.

Realizing that when he’d flung you the second time, your shirt had come undone by a few more buttons than you’d normally allow, you crossed your arms over your chest, using his journal like a shield to protect your boobs from his glare. “Look,” you sniped back. “I get that for you, some of this might be a little confusing because you’ve only been back for more than a few minutes real time, but for Herb and I, our day at the park had been much longer than that, stopping time over and over to correctly wipe and reset each of your family members you brought back. So… can we just get this thing moving?”

“You better not touch my family,” Five warned.

“With Optogenetics, cation-selective channel rhodopsin are used to excite neurons and inhibit neuronal activity, so touching isn’t exactly how we’d say memory alteration works, but you already know that. You are the one that left the notes that led to me inventing the pain free process to do it. Why are you being so difficult?” you questioned.

“Because…” he childishly seethed.

“Because?”

“That’s right,” he continued, his face contorting as his jaw muscles repeatedly tensed. “You throwing out big words means nothing. I’ve been fed a lot of lines of bullshit over the years, and I have no reason to trust a bimbo who’s wearing tiny pink underwear that would make a stripper blush! Or Herb! Or anyone that works at the place that ruined my life and millions of others!”

You smiled, and it wasn't the nice kind of smile. “Name calling? Really?”

“This has set up written all over it!” he yelled.

A lump of frosting fell off his head, landing on one of his expensive dress shoes. Fingers twitching at his sides, he was about to go ballistic.

In his notes spelling it out how this was going to go down, the Five of the future that hired you had written nothing about the possibility that the him now would have no clue what was going on, but it was clear he didn’t. Fortunately, there were protocols to handle situations like this-his protocols.

“We didn’t ruin anyone’s lives. That is the opposite of what we are about, but if you aren’t willing to come back and talk about that, I guess we are done here,” you said, raising an unimpressed brow.

“Sweetheart, I was done so long ago, you have no fucking idea.”

After condescendingly insulting you again, Five turned to check on his family.

None of them were concerned, and you knew they wouldn’t be. The moment he walked away, their attention was back on entertaining the kids.

“Do you want to do it, or me,” you quietly asked Herb, who looked over at you, looking about as tired as you’d ever seen him.

“I’ll lug this thing,” he sheepishly offered, picking up the huge Commission briefcase you used to get there.

You reached in your pocket, calling out to Diego. “Hey, guys! Something came up. Five is needed back at the office.”

Five started to turn back, readying for a fight.

Sticking him in the neck with a fast-acting sedative before he could fully swing, his legs buckled at the knees.

“You didn’t jus-st-ffffah-kkkk," he slurred, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Chapter Three: The Founder

A line of drool running out of his mouth, Five flopped over the side of the settee he was passed out on. Groggily looking around from his new position on the hard marble floor, he saw the lights were dimmed and there was only the slightest bit of daylight on the horizon outside the heavily draped windows.

He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he knew where he was.

This was 1955 and these were the crown molded walls of AJ Carmichael’s office, then The Handler’s, but evidently this office wasn’t either of theirs anymore because the polished plaque sitting on top of the old mahogany desk read otherwise.

“Five Hargreeves, Director… Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed.

Getting to his feet, head spinning, he swallowed, his throat thick.

On the small side table next to him, he noticed the pocket watch he’d stolen back from you and a glass of water next to it with a pink post-it note stuck to it that read, Drink Me.

“Yeah, right. I’ll probably shrink like Alice in Wonderland,” he grumbled, remembering how you stuck him in the neck with a syringe, at this point equating you to an evil version of the white rabbit, forcefully leading him back into a nightmare.

Running a hand through his hair, seeing no one there to ambush him, Five spotted his neatly polished shoes placed under the edge of the couch. There was also a fresh suit, with the addition of a pair socks and black briefs laying on one of the adjacent chairs.

Five looked down at the slumped blanket around his ankles, then his hands.

He still had on his undershirt and underwear, a pair exactly like the ones on the chair, but that was it. He’d been cleaned up, no more frosting anywhere.

Kicking free of the slumped blanket at his feet, he stomped over to his desk, eyes on the journal laying there and the slightly smashed piece of cake that had another post-it note next to it that said, ‘Once you’ve had your nap time, and snack time is over, put your big-boy pants back on and read this over for me, please.’

Looking at the door, his expression soured even more.

Picking up the leather-bound book, he recalled that you said it was his, but he didn’t remember it. Then again, this wasn’t the first time he’d left something for himself to find later.

Shoving memories of the subway station out of his mind, Five opened it, his finger running along the date and time noted at the top of the first page. There was no denying he’d written it.

Slowly sitting down, his eyes moved along, reading the detailed directions explaining all the things you were supposed to do before he got there. Things like making sure certain people from his past only remembered what they needed to remember, and that meant for some, like his ex-supervisor, some remembered nothing.

For his family, their memories were more complicated because they were a part of things that needed to be remembered, but in clipping bits of time from their minds, he stated it would allow them the easiest transition.

Further diving into this new reality, Five read that many of the superpowered Hargreeves, including some of the Sparrows, worked for him and were involved in a new initiative of non-kill orders for all time corrective actions.

They’d been wiped. Just like you said. The device used to do it, one he told you to make, and it sounded a lot like the one Reginald used to erase the memories of how the original Ben died.

That happened. It all did. Five remembered it and his notes said the others would too- for the most part.

The past still happened because it had to, but that didn’t mean everyone needed to be burdened with the heavier traumas of it. That idea was a core value stated in The Temps Commission’s original doctrine, also written by him, conveniently there on the desk for him to go over.

All of it confirmed what you said. He was the Founder of The Commission; the same place that let him waste away in the apocalypse for forty years and then go through the rest of this crap. Apparently, that cruel joke didn’t just come to fruition in the Sparrow timeline spin off.

It was madness.

Somehow, his family survived, powers intact. He got them out of there at the last second, with none of them aware that anything odd was happening when you’d come up to them at the park, waving your specially calibrated brain wave eraser in front of their smiling faces.

You were an invited guest to their event and so was Herb. They knew you and trusted you, just like he supposedly did, only he didn’t.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, Five tensed.

“Come in.”

Herb timidly stepped inside, leaving the door ajar to the empty hallway. He lowered his chin and shook his head as if he already knew that what he was going to say was something Five wouldn’t want to hear. “That was a bumpy start,” he began. “We didn’t see that coming and we are so sorry about that. If we-”

“How long have you known about this,” Five sharply cut in.

“As you’ve read, that’s complicated,” he carefully replied.

“Herb,” Five sighed, his hand rubbing the worry line between his eyes. “All I have ever wanted was for this to end, but I don’t-"

Herb held up his hand stopping him. “I know you don’t want this. We all know what you’ve given to this place already, but we need you. With what you are capable of, your unique skill set makes you a perfect choice to run this organization.”

Herb paused, hoping Five understood that but he looked as unconvinced as before.

“This doesn’t have to be forever,” he tried. “The board just wants reassurance, and with you at the helm, it’s clear that people here will feel more comfortable about this transition. We no longer focus on preventing complications from the other timelines breaking off because there is only one timeline now. You took care of that by allowing The Cleanse to happen. Now we are here to ensure someone is present in case anything like this threatens us again. This is a big change for everyone,” he clarified, as if Five didn’t already grasp how big this was.

“And Reginald?” he quietly questioned, his troubled eyes pulling downward.

“Gone with the Cleanse,” you answered, coming into his office, “but as far as anyone else knows, he died years ago. You were there to spread his ashes. Many things are the same as before, but with the addition of the things that changed during the last five years you were gone, only you do not work for the CIA, even if that’s the cover we are using.”

You strolled over, sitting down next to Herb.

“The element your father’s wife inadvertently created as a byproduct of producing the thing they called ‘marigold’ is also gone. The marigold is still in all of you,” you furthered.

“That alien was not my dad,” Five tartly retorted, “and your presence here is not needed.”

When you didn’t move, he pointed to the door.

You crossed your legs, eyeing Five wearily. Putting a hand on your friend’s shoulder, you said, “You can head home, Herb. You haven’t slept in days.”

He smiled. “Neither have you.” He looked to Five, tiredly getting up. “Please listen. She’s smart. That is why you hired her.”

Five’s brows furrowed as he took in the weight of what Herb said. He looked down at his lap, but the second the older looking man left the room, he looked back up, eyeing you with the same contempt. “No syringe?” he coldly dangled.

“No pants?” you countered.

He cocked his chin. “Why bother? You already violated me while I was unconscious. I figured this way if you came at me again; there’d be less in the way if you really wanted to go hard stomping on my dick.”

“You are the only one here being combative, but if you want me to stomp on your dick, keep it up, I will, but I’d much rather finish this debriefing, filling you in on anything else you might not recall, which sounds like everything you did to get here from this point on.”

“Time loops are a bitch, and you are…” He didn’t finish, instead he picked up his fork, putting his focus on stabbing his piece of cake into even more of a disaster.

“You don’t like me. Got it loud and clear,” you said, “but after meeting you, I must admit, I don’t like you either. Before this, I admired you, but you are nothing like the person I thought you were based on all the great things I read in your files.”

“Well… Most things look better on paper,” he sneered.

“Look… How about I just do what I am here to do, and you do the same?” you offered. “Cut the lines of bullshit you hate so much? Because that’s what this pissing match is. Waste of time bullshit.”

“Fine.”

“As I was about to say,” you started again, laying out your sheets of chemical equations for him to follow as you explained. “For Reginald’s dearly departed wife, in making the one element that also gave a fast track to your births, and then the other not so nice one Jennifer got stuck with, she essentially shot a machine gun at a needle in a haystack, but the bullet and needle didn’t fuse together completely, and you just witnessed the ricochetted result of that when they did finally fuse with Ben and Jennifer getting together, the bad part of that synthetic reaction vanishing forever in a timeline that is no more. Story done.”

“So, you are saying we weren’t the cause of all this?” he asked, still not believing it.

“No,” you said. “Abigail’s bad science was and that really wasn’t that hard to figure out. It only took me a few days once I was given the top-secret files you left behind for Herb to find in your Paradox Proof bunker.”

“That’s impossible. I’m the only one that can get in there,” Five argued.

“Not exactly,” you calmly disagreed. “After Dallas, when Herb was holding the temporary position of Chairmen of the Board, he gained access to many interesting things you hide around here, including a glass eye you had made that was a replica of yours.”

“The retinal scan,” Five murmured under his breath.

“Yes. You were very busy at some point in the future, and lucky us, everything you did paid off.”

Saying nothing, Five didn’t look like he felt lucky, but when he didn’t question you more about the bunker, you moved on.

“Another thing you probably don’t remember figuring out, is that when it comes to thinking you were all only born because of the release of the Marigold on our planet, that isn’t true. You all would have been born regardless. All your mothers were already pregnant, only days along and none knew it yet. You all had fathers and mothers, just like the rest of us, only with you, the second that alien dusting of orange entered our atmosphere, it needed to find a host and you were it, the perfect jump off point for a miracle.”

“The Umbrella Academy?” he asked, dismissing your explanation about his parents, like it didn’t matter that he wasn’t just alive because of aliens playing God.

“It happened. You were all acquired by Reginald, same as before,” you continued. “The world knows about most of you like they always did, and they are aware you’re back, the details of your disappearance understood to be a complication due to your ability to spatially jump. The running story is you were frozen between jumps, not that you’d jumped to the future. We don’t want the entire world knowing about time travel and your ability to do it, or ours.”

“So, there you have it,” Five scoffed.

“Dumbed down, yes, but I thought since you’ve had a hard day, you’d appreciate that.”

“Are you one of us?” he asked as he studied you, for the first time his eyes not darting away from yours when you determinedly refused to look away.

“No,” you half laughed, half scoffed. “As you can see,” you waved a hand in front of yourself, “I am not the same age as your siblings, but I suppose when it comes to you, that means little, so fair question. Unlike you, I am the age I appear to be, which I’m guessing is not much off from you physically at this point. I was plucked out of college to come here, and since then, I devoted my life to being here to help you in any way I can, and I assure I am qualified to do it otherwise—”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have hired you,” he finished for you. Hand at his mouth, anxiously edging his teeth across his thumbnail, Five’s eyes grew distant again.

Silence filled the room.

“We have a meeting with the board in the morning. I will drop off the agenda early enough for you to go over it beforehand,” you said, pushing your chair out to get up.

You waited a moment for him to look up, but he didn’t, so you headed to the door, turning just before you left.

“This is over,” you said, the anger in your voice completely gone. “At least you can take solace in that.”

You shut the door behind you.

Still seeing the delicate features of your face overlapping those of the mysterious boy on the balcony who’d looked like him, only not, Five mentally kicked himself.

“This isn’t over,” he breathed.

Chapter Four: I’m the Daddy Here

By the next day, when Five’s brothers dropped into his office, he had shadows under his eyes and his young bones were aching like his body really was 70 years old.

Sitting in front of him, next to Klaus, Diego stretched his arms up over his head, as he said, “Dude, you still have your shitty apartment from your CIA days to crash at, so why does it look like you’ve been pacing your secret lair all night?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know Diego,” Five threw back. “Maybe I forgot I had a place to call my own and I did pace in here all night? Unlike you, I have bigger things on my mind than which Hawaiian shirt I’m going to wear to work.”

“You look so Miami Vice,” Klaus said, giving Diego a high five, before he moved his attention to Five. “What are you whining about, man? We are riding on a gravy train with biscuit wheels.” He threw his arms around like they should look around him. “We won!”

Five lips pursed tighter.

Klaus’s jaw dropped as he looked over at Diego. “What… We didn’t win? We’re all in the void?”

Diego laughed. “For a someone with the powers of divine entity you sure are—"

“We won,” Five interrupted, bringing them back to the point. “Or I should say, we will, but not unless I finish this.”

“You did finish this. We are here and life is good,” Diego pointed out, moving on to what he felt the real problem was. “Are you happy, Five? And what does that even mean to you outside of making sure we all keep breathing? Maybe the answer to that is why you’re still struggling. Apocalypse addiction is a-“

“Fuck you, Diego. I don’t need one of your psych ward therapy sessions you and Lila get off on. I need to have a kid! If I don’t, we will all cease to exist and there will be no do over this time and that is very bad!”

“How do you know that?” he questioned, his amused smile still proving that he thought they were just having one of their usual lectures with Five about him needing to get out more.

“Shit. Is it hot in here?” Five complained, yanking at his collar.

“Earth to Five,” Diego rammed him, “I asked you a question.”

Having loosened his tie enough to feel like the walls weren’t closing in on him, Five testily said, “I know this, Diego, because a kid that looked a lot like me was there just before The Cleanse finished its job, and he called me dad. If he hadn’t been there and said what he did, verbally slapping me into doing something, we wouldn’t be here.”

“What?!” Klaus bellowed. “No way! You’re a dad!”

“No,” Five sighed. “I will be a dad in the future-maybe.”

“Maybe!? Why didn’t you tell us this!” Diego yelled, nearly falling out of his chair.

“I am telling you,” Five replied.

“Yeah, sure,” Diego huffed. “Now you are. And why does your kid have powers and mine and Allison’s don’t?”

“Wow. It’s just like Marty McFly in Back to the Future.” Klaus lifted his hand, checking to see if it was disappearing yet.

Five tiredly smiled at him. “It’s not at all like that. Time loops don’t work that way. If we evaporate, it will be instantaneous, and at this point, I have no idea how long I have to prevent it. There will be no warning.”

“Time loops shhh-mime loops,” Diego said, running his fingers over his mustache. “You know we don’t understand any of that shit. But hey, this doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Your nuts are full of superpowered swimmers. You should be excited.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Excitement is not exactly what I’d call what I am feeling. If I don’t produce a magical progeny, none of the things I have done will matter. We all die anyway. Case in point, this is a bad thing.”

“Shoot,” Klaus whistled. “If you’d known this years ago you could have spent way less time privately polishing your palm and instead been out trying to impregnate the world with your superpowered sperm.”

Five groaned. “That wouldn’t have worked, because it needs to happen now. After The Cleanse and the time situation was fixed.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Klaus insisted. “You’re a stud. Get out there and have some fun.”

“And if it’s having kids you are worried about, they are both the best and worst thing that can happen to you,” Diego added. “I would know. Having three of them putting their sticky little fingers on all our shit all the time isn’t awesome, but creating them was fun.” He nudged Klaus. “This one time when Lila and I were in the back of Wanda we—"

“Not another word!” Five yelled.

“Whatever, man,” Diego chuckled. “You just need to see the bright side. Your kid was trying to help you and did.” He cleared his throat. “When it comes to Dolores, you can beat the meat with her all day but you’ll never beat the real th-“

“Please stop,” Five groaned again, burying his head in his hands.

Nodding his head in agreement, Klaus grinned hopefully. “I think what Diego is trying to say is having a breathing lady has its benef—"

“We’re done!” Five snapped, as he sprung forward. “If you don’t zip it, I’m going to blink you downstairs to the incinerator and lock you in there.” Slamming his index finger down on his desk, pointing at his gigantic desk pad calendar, he grinned maniacally. “And what do you know, it’s garbage day! You won’t be swimming in last week’s rotting tuna salad for long.”

“You’d never do that to us.”

“Really, Diego? You want to test that?”

Five’s brothers glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, like testing that wasn’t such a bad way to spend their afternoon.

“Five—"

“No, Klaus! Like I told Luther. I’M THE DADDY HERE! I am done entertaining you idiots. Get out!”

“Settled down,” Diego laughed. “We’re just trying to help you see that this isn’t so bad. And with the kid thing, I love mine and you do too. Speaking of which, it would be nice if their favorite uncle babysat them more often. Lila and I haven’t had a night out in a while.”

“I babysit,” Five defended.

“Not enough,” Diego shot back, pointing Five’s ballpoint pen at him.

Reaching forward, Five swiped it away. “Deigo, if I came over more often so you dipshits could go out and do disgusting things in your van, then you’d be dealing with more than three sticky-fingered monsters.”

Diego glanced at Klaus, then back at Five, smirking. “Say what you will, but I know you love being an uncle. The mountain of stuffed animals each of the girls has is proof of that.”

Tipping his weight back in his chair, Five folded his hands over his lap, wearily eyeing his brother. “I am not wrong,” he said, ignoring the point about his nieces and how much he enjoyed spoiling them. “You still have no idea how this baby making thing works and it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be complaining about baby number four on the way and how you already have no room in your house for all the people living there.”

Diego scowled. “Hey… I understand how it works just fine. I already told you guys the last two weren’t my fault. Lila told me she couldn’t get pregnant while breastfeeding.”

“And you should believe everything your wacko wife says?”

“Yes.” No longer able to contain it, Diego burst out laughing. “Five. This about you, not me, and as much as you want to act like you know it all. When it comes to enjoying the good parts of life, you are still about as fresh out the gate as you can get. Just flirt with a girl. Get to fucking her on the regular, and ta-da, circle of destiny complete. No more death knocking on our doors.”

Five let out heavy sigh. “It isn’t as easy as that.”

Raising his hands in an open palm gesture, Klaus said, “Maybe it is.”

Five narrowed his eyes. “You have no idea what you are talking about, or what I have been through. Or the complications I am dealing with.”

“We get your hangups, we really do but,” Diego chimed in.

“No, you don’t!”

“Then tell us.”

“It’s her!” Five angrily pointed to the door. “The woman I hired who loathes me for reasons I can’t really blame her for, not when I’ve been such a colossal asshole to her. She’s the one! It has to be the right person for this kid to be the exact same kid I saw, and it’s her. She's the mom!”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, Diego!”

When neither Klaus nor Diego stopped staring at him, Five started counting on his hands.

“I know because…

One: The boy had my pocket watch that she also had on her when I got here. He threw it and she dropped it, all within seconds of our timelines merging.

Two: She has his eyes! They were my color green but the shape of hers!”

Five shook his head, his hands shaking he was so upset.

“The way they both look when they smile…” he breathed, “the curve of her lips is the same as his. Him being there with that watch wasn’t a coincidence. For him to be there at all, that means he jumped between timelines. I sure as hell couldn't do that, but if I could have, I know that everything you take with you on that kind of impossible journey would make it that much harder. He brought that watch with him because he was trying to point me in the right direction with her and I didn’t see it until it was too late, and now the only deal I’ll be sealing with his mother if I try to hit on her is going to be a kick in my magical nuts.”

Like a deflating balloon, Five sunk his face into his arms where he had them folded on top of his desk.

“It’s not too late. You guys seem to get along,” Klaus soothed.

Five shook his head no, not bothering to look up.

“Just be nice to her,” Diego unhelpfully added.

“I think it’s a little past that,” Five mumbled.

Chapter Five: Entente

“Say nothing,” Five warned. “I don’t need everyone up my ass. You two knowing is bad enough.”

Tapping your knuckles on the door, Klaus called out extra high pitched, telling you to come in.

“Who’s daddy here?” you said, your smile getting bigger as you asked about the outburst you just overheard from your office next door.

“Five is,” Klaus happily exclaimed.

“Incinerator!” Five barked, wildly motioning at him like he was going to slice his head off with his index finger.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Diego said, his hand mimicking the action of a mouth as he squawked it at Five. “We need to get this show on the road. I’m gonna tell—”

“Diego, so help me,” he hissed, cutting him off.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” you said, your eyebrows drawing together, “but some of us have a meeting in two minutes.”

Five quickly picked up his notes and pushed out of his chair. “Shall we?” he said, directing you to lead the way with an assertive wave of his hand.

You walked in silence to the boardroom, but reaching the door, Five unexpectedly placed his hand on your upper arm, holding you back.

Coming past, Diego smacked his ass. “Don’t look so spooked, kid.”

“I will kill you,” Five replied, his voice as sugary sweet as his fake smile.

Still laughing, Diego joined the others

“What’s so funny?” Lila asked, before shoving him down in his chair, opposite yours, next to the head of the table.

“Five,” he answered.

“When isn’t he? I mean look at him,” she said, eyeing you both up with a curious look before looking back at her husband, giving him an even more devilish smirk than she’d given you. “Why don’t you spank me like that?”

“Oh, I’ll give you a spanking, babe, especially if you keep looking at me like you want to go for a ride on my sweet mustache.”

“LA-LA-LA-LA!” Ben bellowed. “We do not need to hear this, you ASSHOLES!”

“I’m sorry,” Five quietly breathed, directing your attention away from the Hargreeves family daily bickering forum. “What you have done here for me, and for them, I don’t have the words to express how thankful I am.”

He paused, the sincerity in his eyes startling you.

Without hesitation, you reached out, your fingers slowly sliding up the length of black silk leading to his neck. “There,” you said, fixing his knot. “You didn’t seem to be aware you were all twisted.”

Looking humorously befuddled, Five’s Adam’s apple bobbed up then down. “I am not aware of a lot of things going on,” he quietly replied.

“No? You?” you teased.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“You’re welcome. Now, shall we?” you asked, as you gave him the same heavy-handed gesture he’d given you in his office.

~~~

For the next hour and half, Five sat at the head of the table in a board room full of people all appointed by him. Even Elliot was sitting in as the new director of analytics since Diego and Herb and Lila were now acting as supervisors over all operations that either he or you weren’t.

He’d read your notes, telling him what to expect, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lost. Still, each time a question was directed at him that he couldn’t readily answer, you seamlessly stepped in, replying for him. No one was the wiser that he was floundering, but by the end of the day, your smooth handling of him was only adding to how uncomfortable he felt.

Shutting the door to his office, briefcase in hand, Five was about to open a portal to travel forward in time, back to his musty old apartment, but then he heard something.

Turning, he saw your office door was open. He came that way, moving into the light streaming into the hall.

“What is all this?” he questioned, watching you trying to ram a stack of boxes in the corner, your sock covered feet repeatedly slipping across the slick flooring because the tower of cardboard cubes weighed more than you.

“These are all my worldly possessions,” you replied, glancing his way before giving your things one final shove. Bending straight, you placed a hand to your sore lower back, massaging it. “Since the sale of all employee housing and other unused buildings started, and then prepping for you all coming back, I have been a tad bit busy. I haven’t had time to find a new place. So this is it for me right now.”

Taking in your short cotton sleep shorts and well worn t-shirt, when you busted him staring at how your shirt had fallen off your shoulder, Five diverted his gaze to your small meeting table covered with disassembled briefcase parts. “You’ve been sleeping in here? Where?” he asked, sounding very concerned.

“Most of the time, I sleep with my head on my desk, waking up with a tattoo of whatever I was working on the night prior inked on the side of my face,” you said, laughing a little. “This morning, that was the user manual for the new watches that will replace those huge briefcases. The roll out should be ready next week. I just need to get the mockup version down to research and development and they can take it from there.”

Five frowned even more, which made you smile even more. “You figured out how to recalibrate the energy field alternators so they’d fit in something that small?”

“I did, but it was you who invented the briefcases to begin with. I just used your original notes and changed a few things. We have a pretty bracelet version too if you’d rather that over the watch?”

“Huh…” Five looked impressed, and at a loss of words.

When he didn’t move from the threshold of your door, you took pity on him. “Would you like to have a look?” You gestured to the scattering of tubes and sapphire-colored vials of glowing liquid energy that he at some point down the road created to mimic what he naturally produced when he time traveled.

Coming in, Five set his briefcase down and started to look over your work.

“I think the watch version will be just fine,” he said. “Thank you for fixing this one for me. Seems you are very good at fixing things I can’t figure out.” As you looked down at the silver chain hooked to his vest, he smirked.

“Watch it is,” you said, getting more and more flushed as he rocked back on his heels, his hands fiddling in his pants pockets as if daring you to look just a little lower.

“Can we talk?” he asked, breaking the awkward tension, but also worrying you with the way his cocky smile instantly evaporated.

“Ah… Sure.” Heading to your desk, you removed the garment bags hanging over one of the two chairs co-workers usually sat in. Sitting down in the chair across from him as he lowered himself in the spot you cleared, you said, “What’s on your mind?”

“What would you say if I told you, that when it comes to me needing your help, the complexity of things I asked you to do so far only touched the tip of the iceberg when compared to what I’m about to ask next?”

“I’d say we need a drink,” you laughed.

“I’d say yes to that,” he said, the tiniest pull at his lips again making his eyes gleam and your cheeks feel warm.

Thankful for a reason to look away, you opened your desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.

“That’s a good one,” he noted.

You cracked the seal, pouring a few fingers worth for each of you. “I’m sure it is,” you replied. “I heard the boss enjoyed this brand and I was going to give it to him as a welcoming back gift, but he turned out to be a dick, so I kept it.”

You pushed his glass across your desk.

“To bad bosses and putting them in their place,” he suggested, raising his glass.

You fluttered your eyelashes at him overly cutely, clinking his glass with yours. “To telling you off.”

Taking a sip, Five nodded his approval, his grin deepening.

“Speaking of workplace relationships,” he said. “That brings me back to what I need to talk to you about.”

“Go on.” You took another drink.

“I would rather gargle a pinecone than have to say this, but I have no choice. This isn’t just about me and if I live to see another day or not. It’s about my family too.”

You set your glass down, your eyes glued to his. “What do you mean if you get to see another day or not?”

“What I mean is, the only reason my family and I, or any like us, are here is because of something my future kid said to me right before I dropped out of the sky landing in a cake. If he hadn’t paid me a visit, telling me to move my ass and not let The Cleanse eat us, we’d be dead and never been born at all as far as you’d be concerned. Now, if I don’t succeed in producing him, this entire causality loop will disintegrate, my family along with it.”

“The kid you asked about?” you breathed, remembering Five yelling at you in the park about a kid, right before he knocked you on your ass a second time.

“Yeah. That kid. Our kid,” he said.

You started rubbing your temples. “Our kid, you say?”

He nodded.

“And you know I’m a part of this how?”

“There were clues,” he said, rolling his eyes, but not at you. “I stupidly didn’t put any of them together until after I repeatedly insulted your intelligence and unleashed my wounded ego on you.”

“What kind of clues?”

“Big ones, like every part of him I saw was half you, down to the way you are looking at me right now with those pouty lips.”

“I am not pouting.”

“Neither was he.” Five titled his head down, looking at his drink he hadn’t touched since the first taste.

“What are you asking?”

He looked up and laughed weakly. “I think you know.”

“You want me to have a kid with you, so this future person can exist to complete a loophole in time or all of you will be gone-just poof?”

“Yes. But it’s more of a causality loop than a loophole,” he corrected, the hint of his smirk playing up the corner of his mouth.

“That’s it?”

Five leaned forward, setting his glass down a few inches from yours. Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his hands at his chin, his face becoming even more forlorn. “We can do this no-strings attached,” he offered. “I will raise our son alone if that’s your wish, or we can do it together, but you owe me nothing. I will support you either way. It’s all strictly business with this deal.”

“This is not at all what I thought we were going to be talking about,” you said, staring at him, still looking for sign he was fucking with you.

“This is a matter of life and death, and I would never put this on you if it was just me I was worried about,” he said, his guilt evident in the tortured look filling his eyes. “It’s my family and their kids—”

“No, I get it. You mentioned the family thing,” you quickly cut in, holding your hand up as you shut your eyes. The lines in your forehead deepened when you looked back again. “How long do we have… I mean, can I think on it?”

“I don’t know how long. I could have days or even years to get you pregnant.What I do know is, if I don’t do it fast enough and suddenly I’m gone, there will be no going back with a briefcase for a do over. That said… of course you can think on it.”

You said nothing, your eyes darting around your messy desktop.

Five started to get up. “I’m sorry.” The sound of his voice was about as self-deprecating as it could get. “I am not the type to say those two dirty words very often, but with you,” He smiled sadly again, then picked up his briefcase, “it’s something I might as well start every sentence with.”

When you said nothing, Five finally turned his gaze downward, swallowing hard before he opened his mouth again.

“I’m sure I’m the last person you want to procreate with, and there are other less touchy ways of getting this done, but with time of the essence, and with how high the stakes are, I’d prefer if you agree to do this, we do it the old-fashioned way. The odds of it working are higher that way and there is no need to involve anyone else.”

“Makes sense,” you quietly replied, your cheeks flushing as much as his suddenly were.

“You are welcome to sleep on the couch in my office,” he offered, looking around your office again. “The blanket you left me is still in there, and it’s not my place to say it, but I did put you in this situation and I’d feel much better knowing you were in there, not in here, waking up with lines from a boring user manual printed to your pretty face.”

He cocked his head to the side and smiled.

You silently nodded, then Five activated his briefcase, leaving you alone, shaken beyond words.

Chapter Six: Only Fools Rush In

Knocking over your unfinished third glass of Scotch when you accidently threw your hand into it while readjusting your face on the stack of books you’d taken out to reference, you gave in, going to Five’s office to sleep on his couch.

He’d only laid on it once, but when you were doing the same thing, you felt his presence as if he were right there. Everything in your life revolved around Five Hargreeves, and now even your blanket smelled like him, and so did the end pillow you had your head on.

It wasn’t a bad smell. Even passed out and covered in cake, Five smelled good, like a minty warm scent mixed with something earthy and wild. When you cleaned him up, you couldn’t help but notice his prominent jaw that could cut glass, or his shiny dark hair that was as soft as it looked.

Despite a decent place to sleep, all you could do was think about what he wanted you to do with him.

Way before he came in for the day, you were up and out of there. Showering down in the now mostly unused field agent locker rooms, you dressed in your usual modern day pencil skirt and blouse paired with heels, taking a little more time than normal at the mirror.

“Calm down,” you lectured your reflection.

Coming past Five’s open office door a while later, seeing him working alongside Herb at a chalkboard one of them had wheeled in, just breathing normally became a task you’d rather not add to your many others.

Five looked immaculate. He was wearing a new suit-three piece, like his others, but this one was tailored in a way that accentuated everything about him you were trying not to think about.

The figure he cut was full of promise and unimaginable power if he only thought of wielding it. Yet, he was noticeably relaxed in all his movements, everything he did deliberate, down to the way he looked your way for just a second, politely smiling, then went right back to scratching his numbers on the green slate as if you weren't still there staring.

At any second he could disappear, his family, and the young boy he told you about too, and thinking about that devastated you in ways you didn’t even have words or emotions to convey.

Sitting down in The Commission cafeteria hours later, you anxiously watched as Five moved through the line, loading his tray while in conversation with Viktor and Luther.

Nervously tapping your index finger against your milk carton, you waited. The moment he noticed you looking, he came your way.

“Can I join you?” he asked, approaching your empty table.

“Let’s do it,” you blurted.

Five slowly dropped down on the bench across from you. “Yeah?”

“It’s the only option,” you less embarrassingly replied. “I may not have my head wrapped around all of this, but I don’t know what I’d do if all of you suddenly weren’t here anymore. Explaining that to the kids and just… No. It can’t happen. I won’t let it.”

He nodded, letting go of his tray as he sat back.

“When?” he asked, his soft smile and twinkly green eyes filled with relief.

“Now. If you are ready? The sooner we do it, the sooner we know you are all safe, right?”

“Right,” he said, his increasing eagerness showing in the hyperfocus of his cunning eyes as they quickly moved from yours, to the door of the lunch hall, then back again. “Come on.” Getting up, leaving his untouched food where it sat, Five took off.

He dashed down the busy hall past the lobby area, heading for the stairs.

“Where?” he called out.

“I don’t know?” you breathed back, still trying to catch up.

Heading down the hall towards your offices, seeing the busy flow of people working down at that end of the building, Five stopped in his tracks.

He glanced over at the bathroom door a few doors back in the direction you just came.

Restless looking as before, taking you by the hand, he spun you around like he was leading you in a dance, pulling your back against his chest.

You had no time to recognize that the heat you were feeling wasn’t just from his body suddenly pressed to yours. Static energy sizzled, the light from it so bright your eyes automatically flew shut as he blinked you away with him.

Appearing with your feet back on solid floor, your breath whooshing out of your pounding chest, the harsh smell of cleaners filled your nose.

You opened your eyes to the sight of a toilet and a wall in front of you.

Once sure you weren’t going to topple over, Five stepped back, the sound of the bathroom stall door behind him bumping into his back before it creaked closed.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice so low behind your ear that only you could hear it over the sound of the person washing their hands at the sinks.

“Yes,” you whispered.

There was a soft turning of the metal as Five latched the door.

Hinges squealed and two seconds later, the heavy wooden door to the hallway banged close.

~~~

Approaching you from behind, Five’s cock twitched. Just looking at you like this was enough to make it happen. He palmed himself through the fabric of his pants, an unexpected thrust of his hips threatening to topple him forward.

His entire body was so alert it was vibrating, the desire in his loins building to a fever pitch.

His trembling hand brushed against your hair, brushing it aside so he could see the side of your face, the other working to get his zipper down.

You let out a surprised gasp when he suddenly forced one leg between your thighs, parting them easily.

Having freed himself from his pants, feeling your whole-body tense as he pressed up against you, his head swimming with lust, he launched at your throat. Biting at your soft skin hard enough to sting, you reactively cried out.

“Quiet,” he growled, then thrust himself against you again, his fingers dragging the fabric of your skirt up your legs.

Sliding his palm down your stomach, Five pushed your panties down with the motion of his fingers clumsily running between your folds, a quick smile spreading across the back of your neck when he felt how wet you were.

His hand at your back, pushing you forward until your feet fell out of your slingback heels, you were forced up on your tippy toes with your hands falling into the wall behind the toilet. In one forward thrust, he buried himself, his body crushing against your back.

Feeling himself throbbing inside you, Five began to move, his fingers pulling away from your clit so he could put them on your hip, opposite his other hand. Rapidly thwapping his pelvis against the erotic feeling of your squishy butt cheeks, he bit at your shoulder again.

Fingers digging in, he yanked you towards him with each thrust. Then, going harder, his heels coming off the floor, he bottomed out.

You cried out, his hand just as fast flying off your hip, covering your mouth.

Pulling your head back to his shoulder, Five’s thrusts became rougher, more insistent. Groaning into your ear, his ragged gasps signaled his rapidly approaching climax.

In one fluid thrust he withdrew almost all the way out, then sunk back in as he came, finishing with a few shuttering jerks of his hips.

His hands slowly slipped from your mouth to rest at your throat as he fought to catch his breath.

You didn't move until he backed away, letting your skirt drop back into place.

Hot come started trailing hot down your inner thigh.

Sounds from the hall filled the tiled room with voices, then the door closed again. Footsteps moved across the bathroom, the metal partition surrounding you rattling as one of The Commission’s staff enclosed themselves in the stall one away from yours.

Burning from the force of Five’s entry, your entire body shaking, you started to turn around. Refusing to meet your eye, or even acknowledge you were there, as soon as Five had his pants fastened, he blinked away.

~~~

When you reached Five’s office a few minutes later, he was standing inside, looking over his mail.

Marching over, you said, “When I said let’s do this, I didn’t mean I wanted it like this!”

“What did you mean like this?” he hotly shot back, throwing down his letter opener.

“I have feelings! I am not a fuck doll!” you fired back at him. “Why did you just leave me like that?” Five bristled, his nostrils flaring. “I fucked you. That’s what we agreed we are doing, remember? I can’t help that you wanted it right then and there. Your pussy was clenching on my dick so hard, there’s no way you didn’t get off. What more do you want from me? I did my part.”

You slapped him.

Holding his cheek, Five let out a shallow breath, a clear sense of confusion in his stunned eyes.

“You don’t just fuck someone like that and disappear!”

“What’d you expect me to do?” he yelled back just as Elliot walked in, quickly pivoting back out the door the second he heard the still very intimidating man he once thought was a scary little alien boy going off on you.

“I don’t know what I expected, but I… I just thought…” Feeling your eyes prickle, you looked away. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t care.” “Do you want me to care?” “You are such a prick,” you muttered.

By the time Five’s thoughts had merged together to form a defense, you were gone, slamming the door behind you.

Chapter 7: Public Displays

“I didn't ask for this!” Five growled, about to come after you as he swung his door open to find his brother standing outside, his hand raised to knock.

“What,” Diego asked, “having a nice conversation with a real woman?”

“No!” he barked, stomping past, heading to your office, but right away, he saw Dot at your desk, not you. Coming back out, he raked a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

“Did you tell her?” Diego pushed.

“Yes, I told her.”

“Did she say yes to jumping your little bones?”

Five breathed in, his teeth clenching as his shoulders bounced.

Diego grinned. “You banged her already, didn't you?” “Why don't you irritate Lila and leave me alone.”

“Oh! You did!” Diego started pumping his fist. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about… I knew you wouldn’t let us down, and with the rest, I’m just messing with you, man. Lighten up. That’s part of your problem.”

Five clapped his hands together brandishing a fake smile. “Nobody said I had a problem but you, and whatever this is, is over. I am in no mood to fight with you.”

“This was not a fight. And if it was, I’d win.” Diego threw his arm around Five’s shoulder, pulling him back inside his office. Letting him go once inside, he said, “And sure, nobody said you had a problem, but that girl’s teary face did when she just passed me.”

“She was crying?”

“She was doing that thing women do when they are trying not to.”

“Shit.”

“Five,” Diego said, in a very big brotherly tone, “for so long you’ve had to evaluate everything under the brutal terms of survival, all things either being irrelevant or not, but with this one, maybe that’s not the way to go. Kill the emotionally stunted old man shit. I know you have the hots for her. She’s perfect for you, which I’m betting is why you hired her, that, and she’s way smarter than you, which again goes back to why I know you are being a dick.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I don’t? So, you didn’t just do something stupid?”

“It’s so much more than that,” Five said, his eyes turning even more tormented looking as he looked away, then back again, doing his best to keep it together.

Diego smiled. “You are a good person, man. You can fix this.”

Sad and angry, Five said nothing, and he continued to say nothing to Diego about it, or you for the rest of the day, and then the next, and then the next. You kept doing your job, of course, communicating with him when necessary, but that was it, and it was killing him.

Diego was right. He had to do something. It was his fault-again.

~~~

Day four, Five couldn’t take it anymore.

Lightly tapping on your door frame, you looked up from your desk. He raised one of the two coffee cups he was holding. Offering a smile. “Two sugars, one cream?”

Your pen slowed to a stop. “Why would you know that?”

He came in. “I know that because, over the last few days I’ve been asking the girls around here all sorts of things about you, and because of my persistent inquiries with them and pretty much everyone else around here, I’m fairly certain the entire building knows their boss is falling hard for you.”

Taking the coffee from his outstretched hand, your mouth opened but nothing came out.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered. “That is the last thing I wanted to do.”

Slowly standing, you asked, “Can we go for a walk?”

“I would love that,” Five quietly replied.

Once outside, strolling across the open green area between The Commission's main buildings, taking sips of his coffee to fill the silence between you, Five waited, watching you for signs of what to do.

“I suppose we can’t go far,” you finally said. “If we ventured too off campus we’d probably start a flurry of chatter with the good citizens of this quaint little town.”

Five smiled, “True. But if you wanted to change into your poodle skirt, and I could dig up some of my frumpy old man trousers somewhere, then maybe we could snag a milkshake down at the drugstore. I’d even give you some nickels for the jukebox since you’re my favorite girl.”

“I like you in your old man trousers, and I’m not your favorite girl. But nice try,” you laughed.

“I get to decide who my favorite girl is, not you and I’d like you in anything,” he retorted. “And hey…” He frowned. “When did you see me looking like the crazy old bastard I really am?”

“In your files and footage on the Infinite Switch board. I did my research. I take my job very seriously, as you know.” You gave him an even more teasing looking grin, then added, “I can’t wait to see you with that cute mustache again.”

“You can’t?”

Taking Five’s hand in yours, you pulled him over to a shady bench under the fluttering leaves of a towering oak tree.

Once you had him sitting, you let go, watching his fingers fidgeting with unease as they came around his cup with the others, gripping it way too tight.

“Five…”

He looked up, meeting your gaze.

“I was hurt about what happened in the bathroom because you are right,” you started. “What you did, the way you did it… Everything about you and that was hot. With just that moment of amazing sex, you left me ruined and it really scared me.”

“It scared me too,” he admitted, his soft eyes searching yours. “That’s why I left.”

“All I wanted was for you to hold me,” you said. “Anything but leave.”

“The last thing I wanted was to leave but I thought you’d only agreed to do this because you felt like there was no other choice. I asked you to have a child with me, but that didn’t mean you had to be with me more than that..”

“Five…” you said, setting down your cup so you could take his hand in yours again. “The moment I was hired, everything I learned about you further proved what an amazing person I already thought you were. I was fighting an embarrassing schoolgirl level crush on you even before you got here, and since, it's only gotten worse despite you being a jerk most of the time. That’s how much you mean to me.”

“It’s not just me feeling this way?”

“No. It’s not just you,” you said, as he lovingly caressed the underside of your wrist with the tips of his fingers.

“Can we start over?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his emerald eyes about as worried looking as you’d ever seen them.

“We already are,” you said, his nervousness distracting you from your nerves.

Moving your entwined hands into Five’s lap, his breath hitched, his air intake stopping entirely when your warm palm slowly moved over his crotch.

With only a peck at first, your lips meeting his, Five whimpered against your mouth, his cock growing heavy and warm under your hand.

After only allowing yourself to feel the desperation of his kiss for just a moment longer, you pulled back, smiling at him. “You are ready to go just like that, aren’t you?”

“It’s my secret superpower,” he said, already trying to kiss you again, his tongue dipping inside your mouth, exploring.

“Just the smell of your body is enough to get me hard,” he groaned, having to break away to breathe, as you massaged your hand harder over the bulge in his pants.

Loving this, you leaned into Five more, placing extra soft brushes of your lips just below his ear.

“We need to either stop or we need to go somewhere, now!” he warned, the pitch of his strained voice so funny, you laughed, the heat of your breath against his throat enough to make him whimper like a puppy all over again.

“Get us out of here, and I won’t stop,” you said, in between kisses along his jawline.

Your discarded coffees spilling from the force of air filling the vacuum of space you’d just been sitting in, in less than a second, you were clumsily standing between buildings, only partially hidden from any onlookers by a bush full of spring flowers.

Falling into Five as he leaned his back against the brick wall behind him, you raised your eyebrows in question.

“When the blood flow to my brain is in short supply, like it is right now, it’s best I don’t try to blink somewhere I can’t already see,” he frantically explained before smashing his lips against yours again.

Working his pants down as fast as you could, you reached inside his pants, gripping his naked cock in your hand.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his hips helplessly thrusting.

His eyes becoming even more heavy-lidded, you started to move the outer skin of his shaft over the harder core.

Your other hand lowering, you cupped Five’s balls through the bunched material draping off his tensed thighs. His heartbeat already pounding in his ears, when you gave him a little squeeze, his scrotum pulsed to the same rhythm, his mind becoming even more clouded.

“Yes, do that,” he groaned.

“At night, do you think about us doing things like this?” you questioned as you smirked. “Because I do, writhing on your couch with my fingers between my legs?”

“Ffffuck yes, I think about this!” he croaked as you slid your hand up his cock, swirling your finger round and round over the glistening pleasure seeping out of him.

“How exactly do you think about me, Five?” you pushed.

He shook his head, back and forth, overwhelmed with your touch as he was by the things you were saying.

“Please tell me,” you encouraged, feeling more empowered by the second.

“I think about you underneath me,” he gasped. “I see your hands gripping my sheets, and I hear you moaning my name as my cock fills your sweet little pussy full of load after load of my come.”

“Tell me more…” you said, your smile broadening.

“I fuck my hand, pretending I’m inside of you, every fucking single morning and night. The way you smile at me, I want to bite your lips so fucking bad, and the way your body looks in your tight skirts! I want to devour you!”

Five’s breaths were coming as quick gasps and there was no point in asking him if what you were doing was right. His face pressed against your shoulder as your hand moved faster, his soft shuddering not letting up the whole time.

The sound of voices passed by, but there was no indication that whoever else was out enjoying the sunny afternoon looked your way.

Your hand slicked, moving easily over Five with the silkiness of his bountiful pre-cum, even more hot wetness began to coat your hand. At your neck Five desperately kissed you as he sucked in gulps of air.

His whole-body trembling, you ran your fingernails through the back of his hair as you slowly stroked him through the final tremors of his release.

“Holy fuck I loved everything about that, but it was not at all conducive to us achieving our goal,” he finally said, smiling as he sheepishly peered at you from under the dark curtain of hair falling over his sleepy eyes.

“No, it was not, but that was the point. This is not just about that. This was about us starting over, which I think we just did. I want you and you want me and together we are going to do our best to make a superpowered little family,” you said.

Five laughed. “You really are smarter than me, and along with this being more proof of that, I think most of my remaining dignity just went down the drain with that crazy shit I just said to you, and the rest was just obliterated after that when I jizzed all over your skirt. A gentleman might have fought you off harder, and not done that,” he said as you burrowed into his warmth, with your head resting on his shoulder.

“He might,” you agreed, “but I think we both know that you are no gentleman.”

The softness of Five’s expression as you peeked up at him only made you want to see the kind of pleasure you just drew out of him all over again. All the harshness you knew he was capable of had washed away, leaving his eyelids heavy and his wetted lips parted in silence as he held you like he never wanted to let go.

Knowing you couldn’t stay there forever, a few minutes later, watching you clean you hand off, seeing that not only when he blew his load, some of it got on your shirt too, a little of the worry had found its way back into Five’s contented expression, but you were quick to address it, wiping the milky white off with your finger before sticking it in your mouth.

“There,” you said, pulling your cleaned finger out for him to see. “All better. Now be a good boy the rest of the day and pay my next dry-cleaning bill, and I might let you take me to dinner tonight.”

Chapter 8: Taking Care of Business

Finishing your workday, you changed into a new sundress, one that you never had the chance to wear until now. On pins and needles, springing around your office, you tried to pick up your hopeless mess, every minute Five took to get there making your heart race faster.

As you promised, if he was good the rest of the day, which he was, shortly after you saw several of his family members come out of his office, Five strolled in, a single flower in his hand, only it wasn’t a rose or anything traditional like that. It was a bloom that looked just like the ones on the bush he’d blinked behind so you could man-handle him.

Coming your way, he extended the fluffy white blossom. Taking it from him, holding it to your nose, the summery perfume enchanted your senses as much as his sweet smile.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, yes.

Giving you a look that made your panties instantly wet, after a few buttons pushed on his new watch, you were off.

~~~

Like any first date, yours was filled with nervous jokes to hide insecurities, but it was exactly what you both needed to circle back to where you should have started to begin with.

As you already knew, Five was complicated. He had been through unimaginable things, some you knew about, some you didn’t. No matter where the conversation took you, when it came to his past, he was forthright, and everything new you learned only made you respect him and hurt for him more.

Five took his time asking you questions, listening patiently as you told him about your life, from the start to now. In those parts of the night, his smile never seemed to fade.

“Have you considered a day off might be in order if you are ever going to move out of your office?” he teased when you got to the part about the last few weeks.

“Yes,” you said, after swallowing another delicious drink of the Bordeaux he ordered to go with the herb-crusted roasted lamb on your plates. “But my boss would be lost without me for even a minute, so it looks like I’ll be stuck sleeping on the couch in his office indefinitely.”

“I’d rather you slept in my bed,” he silkily replied, his smile reddened even more seductively by the rich sip of wine he just licked off his lips.

You rubbed your foot along his lower pant leg, tickling your toes up and down like you’d been doing most of your dinner.

Eyes darkening, Five reached across the table, pulling your hand into his. Like every time he blinked with you so far, you had almost no warning it was coming.

Bouncing down on his mattress, propelling himself on top of you, Five’s fingers dug into your ribs, tickling with no mercy.

“Five! Stop!” you cried, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

“No! You’ve been fucking with me all night!”

“I have not!”

“What do you call that move you did with your foot nudging my dick while I was ordering?” he growled, kissing your neck in-between his breathy love bites.

“My shoes! Our bill!” you complained, realizing your heels were still laying under the table at the restaurant.

“I’ll get you new ones and I already paid the bill. Now hold still so I can dominate you,” Five gleefully demanded, as you squirmed.

When he finally let up, so you could catch your breath, you got a better look around his bedroom. It was small. There was the queen bed you were on, a side table next to it with a lamp on top, and piles of books on the floor everywhere. Other than a bathroom door to your right and what appeared to be an equally small living room, just outside the door, with a kitchen area attached, that was Five’s home.

You loved all of it, from his boyishly blue plaid comforter, to the worn but cozy look of his single sad recliner.

You put your hand in the middle of his chest, lifting yourself on your elbow to gaze at him. Turning his fingers around yours, Five drew you closer with his arm, sitting you up with him.

In a much quieter game, he let his fingers play up your spine, each little bump like a run on a ladder he was climbing up your back.

Enchanted by the way he is looking as you were by his featherlight touch; your breath quickened all over again.

With a smile, licking his lips, Five slipped his hand down the back of your dress, loosening your bra until it fell out of his way. His dark hair brushing your chin, his mouth came down, gently covering your nipple through your thin cotton bodice. Hot and wet, he kissed you there, soiling the fabric as he sucked, then kissed again.

After a moment, he turned his attention to your other breast, the innocence of his expression as he enjoyed you that way so sweet you could cry.

On your knees already, raising your arms at his insistence, Five took your dress up over your hips, then over your head, tossing it aside.

Kissing you full on the mouth, your bare body trembled under his hands as he tugged at the thin straps at your hips, pulling your underwear down until he couldn’t.

Breaking away to kick out of them, he said, “I love these tiny pink panites. I hope the stripper you stole them from doesn’t ask for them back.”

Laughing and fully exposed, there was little shame left in you, but there was still shyness. You lowered your gaze, and Five took care of that by giving you hundreds of kisses until you became completely unaware of anything but how you felt about him.

You held the back of his neck as you kissed, the longer ends of his hair tickling the back of your hand. In turn, Five brought one hand back to your breasts. He held the weight of them in his palm as he squeezed and rubbed you and made small, short sounds of enjoyment into your mouth as he did so.

His smile was on the darker side of playful as he caught you by the shoulders and brought you down on his bed. There was no demand in how he positioned himself next to you. His hair a chaos of brown from you messing with it, he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing your cheek. “I'll be sorry for treating you the way I have been until the day I die.”

“You are forgiven,” you whispered as you pressed your face into his left palm. You pulled at his sleeves, pulling the warmth of his body over your chilled skin.

Five hissed between his teeth when you took your adoring kisses sideways, to his jaw, then his throat. When the tip of your tongue came out, tasting him, his hands tightened on your arms, and a soft sound of surprise crept out of his throat.

His fiery gaze looked almost apologetic when he pulled back. You gently touched his face and Five closed his eyes as though he couldn't bear to look at you while you explored his lips with your thumb. “Your affection is more than I would have ever asked for,” he breathed, before kissing the tip of your finger.

Opening his eyes, there was that reflection of sadness, something that ran so deeply and painfully in him that it only made you more determined to change that.

As your hands moved down the sides of his vest, his drifted to your thighs, rubbing slowly.

“I’m wearing way too many clothes,” he cutely laughed when you tried to get your hands under his shirt but were hardly able to move them once you did due to the tight fit of his vest.

“Yes, you are,” you giggled. “We need to do something about that.”

In a burst of light, Five vanished and reappeared just as fast, his naked body flawlessly pale as he pushed his groin against yours, his hard cock glistening as it bobbed against your lower belly.

“How’d you do that!” you gasped.

He smirked. “If I explain it, then I have zero surprises left.”

Reaching down, taking himself in hand, this time when Five slipped inside you, the feel of him slowly filling you was enough to make your eyes water.

Grabbing for his shoulders, you hooked your ankles around his waist, your body simultaneously clenching around him as it tried to resist his entry.

Five stopped, his face full of worry.

“Keep going,” you urged, digging your feet into his lower back.

Pulling himself out, undulating his swollen tip at your entrance a few times, Five slipped his cock back in just as slowly, both of your eyes crushing closed the sensation of it felt so good. Doing it again, he accidentally slipped out all the way. Fumbling between you, grasping at his swaying cock, he lowered himself over you even more, letting out a guttural curse of pleasure as he entered you again.

Pushing his hands under your butt, he hoisted you up, rocking his hips against yours in earnest as he tried to kiss you, his lips grazing yours with each downward thrust.

Head getting pushed back further and further into his pillows, you began to match his urgent movements. Working together, his sharp thrusts ignited something inside both of you. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders, you started to see stars, everything inside you suddenly exploding when you felt the heat of his release.

Crying out this name, every exhalation streaming from your lips matched the throbbing of your orgasm that was not letting up as Five kept thrusting, the sound of him fucking you as sinful as it was wet.

When Five did pull out, your back arched on the bed, the emptiness of losing him and the sight of his rigid cock still ready to go shocking you as much as the darkness in his eyes.

Without a word, he flipped you on your stomach.

As Five came down over you from behind, his spent cock easily slid back in, and just as fast, he started to rut, rough and needful, punishing your quivering walls all over again.

You squirmed, the feeling of it too much, but Five pressed his hand against your upper back, pressing you against his bed, forcing you to arch into him as he kept at it, fucking you at an unrelenting pace.

A minute in, he wasn’t slowing, his thrusts sliding into you so deeply the force of it kept causing his headboard to bang into the wall

“Five!” you cried as you pulled at his bedding.

“I’m not stopping until I fill this fluttering cunt!” he growled.

Not even close to being over your first shivered round of aftershocks, he did just that, emptying himself in erratic spurts and uncoordinated thrusts.

Prying his hands from your hips, Five rolled you on your back. Blanketing you with his body, he started placing delicate touches of his lips on your cheeks, his long eyelashes brushing along your skin with the softness of an angel, while his fingers worked between your legs, gathering his leaking come so he could carefully and repeatedly push it back inside you until you surrendered to him all over again.

Helplessly quivering, you buried your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair as he took his kisses to your neck, then added a few final nibbles to your ear. Five seemed incapable of moving further than that, the tenderness of how he was nuzzling you, echoed in the throbbing fullness you felt.

When he finally sat back, it was only to reposition himself alongside you. He rested his cheek against the top of your head, squeezing his arms around you tightly.

Feeling his warmth mingle with yours as you snuggled into him, you heard him yawn.

“Tired of me already? Was that a sign you want me to go?” you teased.

“This business we just did is hardly what I would call tiresome, and you aren’t going anywhere. I am not done with you yet,” he joked, but his hold not letting up meant he wasn’t actually kidding.

As you touched his hair, searching through it with your fingers. His limbs relaxed the longer you kept at it, his hand placed over your belly circling slower and slower. Your feet wrapped around his shins locking him to you even more surely, and with it, his breathing slowed along with his hand coming to a stop.

“Are you falling asleep, Five?” you softly asked.

His chest moved up and down against your side along with his quiet laugh. “Sleep is for the blameless, and I am not that. If you can wait a few minutes, I’m happy to give you round two with a fresh lesson on what you're dealing with since it seems you forgot already?”

“I think you already made your point that you are the cutest fiend to ever walk the Earth,” you laughed. “It sounds fun, but I doubt either of us has enough steam for that lesson right now no matter what you claim.”

“Honey, I am like a jackrabbit,” Five chuckled. “For all you know, I can bring you to unmanageable heights of ecstasy with this next one.”

You gave a playful tug of his hair.

Five nudged the top of your head with his face. It wasn't a kiss. But it didn't need to be. The way he was holding you, you knew that everything had changed.

“We can go back to taking care of business in the morning,” you assured.

“There's always the morning,” he agreed, slurring slightly.

Soon, listening to this heartbeat step into a cadence of sleep, feeling the warmth of Five’s body next to yours, you drifted off in peace along with him, and you did the same thing together every night after that.

Chapter 9: Tiresome Work

“Are you free to chat for a few minutes?” you asked, gently clicking the large door closed behind you as you entered Five’s office.

“I’m always free for you,” he said, looking up from his desk.

Coming around next to him, you propped your bottom up on his mess of papers.

“How’s your day?” you asked, your eyes traveling from his soft pink lips, down to his neck, then to the relaxed motion of him spreading his legs as he leaned back in his chair.

“It’s getting better now that you’re here,” he replied, followed by a mischievous grin.

Doing your best to remember why you’d come in, the reason for it in your hand, you extended him your notebook. “Would you be willing to look this over? I think the numbers look good, but I’d appreciate a second brain on this one just in case I missed something.”

“I’ll look at it, but I doubt you missed anything. You never do,” he replied, his eyes smoldering. He patted his knee. “Why don’t you sit here and let me entertain you. You need a break.”

Your cheeks instantly flushed, and the more Five gave you that predatory look the worse it got.

You didn’t move so he raised a brow.

“Come here,” he hotly demanded.

Hopping up, Five quickly snatched your waist, pulling you to him faster than you were already coming.

“We are supposed to be working,” you scolded, as he trapped you between his legs with his hand tickling up your back.

“We covered this already. This is us working,” he said, following your every movement with wolfish fixation.

Trying to rattle him as much as he was flustering you, you broke away, half-heartedly attempting to organize the millions of items on his desk.

“That sign you are playing with says I’m the boss! Now get over here!” he angrily insisted, but not without laughing.

Giving you the sexiest smile you’d seen on him yet, one that was all dimple and shiny white teeth, Five patted his knee again.

Feeling silly, you perched your bottom on his knee.

With hardly anything between you and his finely woven pants, the bones of Five's knee purposefully pressed into you.

“Now then, isn’t that better?” he taunted as he leaned forward, his lips grazing the side of your neck.

“Five Hargreeves, you are a bad man.”

“And you like it,” he coolly replied with his hand coming up to fondle your breasts.

The room felt like it was on fire already, but everything got warmer when his fingers parted, slicing across the peaks in your blouse, softly catching on your nipples before his warm palms slid over them again.

Feeling like a drunken sailor, you swayed in his lap. Trying to steady yourself, you extended the tip of your shoe to the floor, but Five nudged his knee into you with a little lift of his foot, his hands locking you in your seat to prevent your escape.

Plucking at you until your nipples were visible through the delicate fabric covering them, your small whines and the wetness spreading between your legs were met with his cocky grunt of approval.

“Five, there are dozens of people outside that door,” you said, shutting your eyes tight when he gave you a pinch.

“So,” he deadpanned.

The second you tried to get up again, he let out a growl, simultaneously biting into the crest of your shoulder, the feel of it all making your head roll back on your shoulders as your next broken moan filled his entire office.

“Never mind. Please don’t stop,” you breathed, as his magical lips pressed against the edge of your jaw.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shushed. “This is the most important thing I have left to do here, I say fuck these numbers you brought me. You’re the one who should’ve always been checking my math. My sole purpose now that I have you to do the brain work is fucking you.”

“Five,” you moaned as you shifted your weight on his thigh, desperate to relieve the pressure.

“Mmmm?” he replied.

“You are driving me crazy.”

“I know, but I need to get this baby inside you and seal this deal,” he insisted, kissing you with even more vigor, his mouth sucking at your skin as he moved his hand down between your legs, massaging your swollen folds through your underwear.

“Yes. I understand that but…but we maybe already did seal that deal,” you stuttered. “And if that really is what you are trying to do right now again anyway, it can’t be in here.”

With another quick nip at your throat, Five said, “This is my office, and I intend to use it in any way I please. I earned it, damn it!”

“You did earn it,” you said with a breathy laugh, shifting your weight again, trying to turn towards him and put your feet on the floor. “But we should at least lock the door.”

“Stay put!” he barked, but it had no bite to it because he was trying to paint a silky line with his tongue along the shell of your ear.

Biting your lower lip next to distract you, flipping his hand out from under your skirt, Five pinched your firm nubs of flesh again, not with pain, but with shocking effect. You gasped as a burning jolt of electricity detonated between your thighs.

“Please hurry,” you weakly begged him, the pressure of his knee under you both good and bad at that point.

His fingers gripped under your jaw, moving your face towards his. “There’s no hurry, honey. Daddy is the boss here and everyone knows about us anyway,” he whispered, velvety soft.

You opened your mouth to what, at this point, and with that daddy comment, you didn’t even know anymore, but Five was quick to cover your mouth, his index finger pushing your lips open.

“Suck it like you want to suck me,” he directed as his other hand moved up, slowly opening the buttons on your shirt, stopping when he had enough of them undone to get his hand inside.

“Just like that,” he softly hummed as he watched you caressing the length of his finger with your lips and tongue. Breathing in, his nose brushed along your hairline. “Such a good girl.”

Pulling his finger from your mouth, he reached under your skirt, his wet finger trailing up your thigh, nudging under your panties.

“God, I needed this,” Five adorable whimpered, his thumb pressing down on your pubic bone as his finger slipped inside you, slowly pumping in and out.

“Oh, oh-fuu-ah-kkkkk! Faster!” you helplessly yelped as you ground down your weight against his leg, your hips frantically jutting into his hand.

His finger pumped faster. “Come on, baby. Come for me,” he encouraged,

Your ability to formulate thoughts going all to hell, nothing but gibberish spilled from your mouth. “Mmmm-ahhh-fff, yyyy-e-sssss.”

Adjusting himself, spreading his legs wider to accommodate the tent his erection was making in his pants, he said, “More?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

The rhythm of his hand changed, and a second finger added to his thrusting while his thumb kept fondling your clit with enough pressure to make your head spin.

Gripping the front of Five’s vest in a lame attempt to ground yourself, he began placing a path of kisses along the side of your neck. “My heart beats for you,” he said, his voice deep with longing that matched the look in his worshipful eyes.

Your legs spread embarrassingly wide, the backs of your heels knocking against his shin, you rocked on his knee, your building climax pulsing to a roaring scream. Five kept going at it, not letting up the pace or intensity of his finger repeatedly hooking inside you, drawing out moan after moan.

Your eyes droopy, he grinned at you like this was the best thing he’d ever done while at work, which was ridiculous considering his desk was littered with all the plans he was putting in place to fend off any future apocalyptic events that could threaten the existence of humanity.

Blowing your mind and making you come so hard you couldn’t see straight was hardly important compared to all that, but he didn't seem to think so. He was so beautiful, you could have sat there all day, dreamy admiring the shape of his eyes and their soft lines of happiness, but when he withdrew his fingers, it shot you back into reality.

At the sound of Diego walking by, talking loudly, and Lila smart talking back at him, you instantly started to get up.

Smirking, Five got up too while sucking his newly freed digits in his mouth, licking them clean.

Weak with orgasmic afterglow, you pressed your face against his collar, contentedly breathing in his warmth. “Let’s go somewhere where I can take care of you,” you said, nuzzling him.

“I need you to take care of me right here, love. I have a good feeling about this spot,” he whispered.

You were crushed speechless all over again by the way Five called you love, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway if you found a way to argue because his mouth molded to yours, opening it with the force of his kiss, so he could use his tongue to tangle and tease you into submission.

When Five did relinquish ownership of your mouth, it was only to spin you around, so your backside was facing him again. From there, he released you and started fumbling with his clothing, the sound of his zipper coming down just before the metal of his belt clanked to the floor.

You reached for the desk in anticipation, thinking he was going to lay you out, chest down over his mess of papers so he could fuck you from behind, but instead, his hand latched onto your waist as he pulled you back with him, towards his desk chair.

“Show me you love me the way I love you,” Five breathed, the back of his legs bumping his seat as his cock prodded between the legs.

You hesitated, not sure what you were supposed to do, so Five plopped himself down in his chair, clarifying when he said, “Sit down.”

The pointed toe of his dress shoe rubbed against the inside of your ankle, further making his intent known. His hands brushed along your thighs, lifting your skirt, then he pushed your panties down.

Reaching back, you put your hands on his armrests. Lowering your body, he stopped you short, hovering over him.

The heat of his length ran along, gathering the wetness he’d already drawn from you. His swollen tip moving back and forth had you holding your breath and the tightening coil of desire inside you clenching with renewed need.

After several more passes, Five lined himself up. “This time, I’m going to fuck you so deep, there’s no way my boys won’t be able to stick their landing.”

“Oh, my God, Five,” you laughed.

“Please, honey, sit down!” he frantically laughed back.

Smiling like a fool, you began to lower yourself over him again, but almost right away as he entered you, it felt like you were being impaled by the girth of his rock-hard shaft, and you had to stop. “Fi-fff -vvvv- ” you sputtered. “It’s too much like this I—”

“I know, just go slow, I’ve got you,” he said, sure to keep his hands under your bottom to support some of your weight.

Giving you all the time you needed, Five shifted back, his chair creaking from his weight. His hiss of satisfaction when your body took in more of his cock was met by your teeth stabbing into your bottom lip.

“Fuuuuuck…” Five groaned, echoing your silent sentiment exactly.

Forcing yourself to take it, adjusting your body down on him until you were sitting all the way down in his lap like he requested, you were shaking like a leaf.

His lips pressed under your ear. “I am hopelessly in love with you,” he whispered.

“Oh, Five,” your voice trembled as he buried his face against your neck.

“Fuck me,” he ordered in a maddingly cocky tone.

Knowing full well he was smiling, you started rocking your hips. Almost right away, to your delight, Five placed his hands over yours on his arm rests, his knuckles going white.

His breaths started to rush out of his mouth, moist against your throat. When you started bringing your body up and down, sliding his cock in and out, deep then shallow, he fell back, breathing a quiet chorus of profanities.

“You like that?” you cheekily asked, bouncing on his cock in a way that felt so good for you, you never wanted the feeling to end.

“Fuck yes I like it!” he groaned. “Why the fuck did I wait until today to make you sit on my dick like this. We should have been doing it this way, every day, three times a day!”

Working your bottom up and down, taking him in and out, faster and faster, his head flopped back against his leather chair.

Smiling, just thinking about the fucked-out face Five was probably making, you said, “Five, I loved you even before I met you. There’s no one else in this world I love as much as you.”

“I can think of someone,” he groaned, “but I’m okay with that since that little charmer is going to be the son I am going to give you right now.” Kissing your shoulder, he grabbed you by the curve of your waist, pressing his fingers to your stomach, increasing the pressure inside you.

Jolted with each thrust of his hips meeting your ass, his hand at your waist lifted you up and down, allowing his cock to slide into you as deep as it would go.

“You’re mine now!” he growled.

His teeth sank into the crest of your shoulder blade.

“Oh, fuuuuuckkkk,” you cried, as he hummed his reverberated delight, his teeth marking you as if you weren’t already his.

Before the pain of his love bite became too much Five let go, his breaths coming fast as his sharp grunts. “Are you getting close? Because I can go at any time,” he huffed, ruthlessly railing you, his heels digging down on the floor as he thrust his hips up and down.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, unable to say more as you struggled to stay over him and not melt into a puddle of mushy bones in his lap.

Your body shuddered, your breaths not enough. Your body reactively clamped down on his cock, repeatedly spasming. The second Five felt it, he filled you, his own body jerking and twitching as he erratically slowed to a stop and sank back in his seat.

His grip loosened as he let you down in his lap. His cock throbbing inside you, the final pulses of his release and the burning of your thighs overwhelming both your senses.

You were on fire, and the sweat on his brow proved that he’d just pushed himself to the point of glorious ruin too.

“I wasn’t expecting that when I came in here,” you quietly laughed, laying against him, your chest heaving with his as you reached back to run your fingers through his hair.

Just then, the door burst open. You jolted upright, but Five’s arm instantly flexed, refusing to let you off his lap.

“Hey, Five?” Luther said, stepping in the door, still looking behind him as he took the package one of the mail room staffers handed him as they whisked by. “Oh! Hey, guys,” he corrected, looking up, seeing you and nothing but the upper half of your bodies.

Coming closer, thinking Five was just showering you with affection like he almost always was, Luther said, “Sloane wanted me to invite you to—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locked on the sight of his brother’s lap as it came into full view.

Your skirt was hiding the worst of it, but with Five’s pants tangled around his ankles, there was no way Luther couldn’t tell that he was imposing himself on you from behind.

“What is going on!?” he yelled, covering his face with the cardboard box that had Five’s name on it. “Guys! We are at work! I mean… Wow this is not appropriate!”

“What is going on is, I’m working,” Five calmly informed him. “It’s a well-known fact that when doors are shut, it’s for a reason, so this one is on you. And sure. We would love to join you and Sloane for dinner. Thank you.”

Five’s chin came to rest on your shoulder as he cooly stared at his brother.

When Luther just stood there, too shocked to move, Five gave him a much clearer dismissal.

“Get the fuck out, jackass,” he said as sternly as he could make it sound, which wasn’t even remotely threatening because he was laughing as he said it.

Luther huffed a few more words of confusion, then, fumbling around blindly, he eventually made his way back to the door.

When you were alone again, Five grinned. “Would you like to go for another ride, my love?”

Chapter 10: Ad Infinitum

Less than a month later, Five moved in, taking center stage from Herb.

“It’s been said several times tonight by others,” he began as the lights shone down on him, all people who worked for him anxiously waiting to hear what he had to say, “but I am going to say it again because you deserve it from me.”

Five glanced your way, looking so handsome.

Sitting in the row behind him filled with other board members, your ankles were crossed, and your heads were neatly placed in your lap. You were doing your best impression of a dignified businesswoman who hadn’t just spent her afternoon with your back on his desk and your heels resting on his shoulders, but the second his eyes met yours, your flush gave you away.

Having lit you on fire with nothing but a happy quirk of his lip, Five turned back to the crowd. “I personally want to thank all of you for your hard work prior to me coming on as your Director and especially after. Without all of you, this place never would have happened,” he explained, drawing a small applause of agreement from the crowd. “The last few months have been hard, but I know that what we have accomplished is worth it and it will make a world of difference.”

Five laughed softly, almost too quiet to hear, but it was very him, and with it, it was impossible not to fall for his charms.

“I mean that quite literally,” he chuckled. “The changes we have made will end up saving the world, probably many times over.”

It was no secret what you all did at The Commission and averting the end of days was sort of your thing, so that got quite a few laughs from his audience and Five nodded knowingly before moving on.

“Whether you wanted to or not,” he continued, “by now, everyone here knows me in some way or another, and I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t make knowing me easy. I am an asshole and always have been, so sorry about that.”

Five made the motion of physically shrugging that off and that got more laughter filling the large auditorium.

His warm smile grew a little more.

“I’m an asshole, and I am working on it, just ask the very patient woman I hired to keep me in-line. I’m a work in progress, and probably always will be,” he joked.

He pressed the palms of both his hands on the slanted surface of the podium, a prominent line forming between his dark eyebrows.

“Long ago, I made a horrible mistake, and I continued to make many more mistakes after that, and I paid for it, and my family paid too, over and over. The last thing I wanted to happen were the things that did.”

Five paused, his pained gaze directing downward as a loose lock of his hair fell, concealing the sadness in his eyes.

“But,” he said, forcing his voice to sound brighter again as he looked up, “It’s time to move on and look to our future.”

His lips pulled to the side.

“As we all know, I’m wrong a lot.” He sniggered at himself. “I couldn’t fix all of this on my own and I never should have tried.”

He turned and winked at you and your face instantly lit up and your heart skipped a beat.

“Everyone here is a family,” he said, still looking at you. “We are a team, and we will never stop fighting as one, but The Temps Aeternalis was never meant to be an organization that only preserved life,” he insisted, looking back towards the lights. “We are here to live it to its fullest with the people we love. That’s what makes us human. That’s the real reason we are here. To support that idea.”

Five looked over to his right at the rest of the board members, his eyes landing on Lila and Diego.

Seeing that Five was ready for them, Lila pushed herself up, giving him one of her overdone eye rolls and a hand at her mouth, intentionally drawing attention to her big, bored yawn as she approached. Behind them, Diego stood up too and began nervously shuffling his papers with his back turned to the audience.

At Five’s side, Lila smiled. “That was one hell of a speech. Sure took long enough, you old sap,” she complained, but Five merely smiled back at her equally affectionately, not taking the bait to verbally spar with her.

Knowing that it would drive her nuts, he swept in, pulling Lila in for a big hug, smooshing her to his chest. Lila’s arm quickly found its way around his back, holding him just as tight.

“I still think that you are a little piss-pot, you know that, right?” she whispered, while trying to hide that she was getting choked up by rubbing her runny nose all over on the arm of his suit jacket.

“I know how much you love me, and stop wiping your boogers on me,” Five said, scowling at her but it was so fake even the people in the back row knew it.

He pulled away, but not before giving her his pocket square. Then he leaned into the mic moving along to an epic finish.

“I am truly honored that you all entrusted me to make this organization into something in the end that we can all be proud to be a part of, and going forward I look forward to working with you all in a much less hands-on capacity.”

As murmurs from those who didn’t see this coming filled the room, his brother stepped up behind him and Five dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

Diego looked nervous but Five knew he was ready for this. Like so many things they were taught to think by Reginald that were wrong, Diego was never a second to anyone.

He was a leader and always had been, and his well-timed words of advice when it came to seeing things clearly with you would always mean the world Five.

When the votes came in, he was not at all surprised to see that Diego came in at the top to replace him. Diego was a perfect choice to shake things up around there and Five looked forward to stepping back in from time to time to watch his brother in action.

Hearing Diego take a long breath while he enthusiastically shook himself like he was about to spring into a scuffle, fists swinging like a boxer in the ring, Five’s proud, and somewhat exasperated smile got even bigger.

He looked back out over the podium.

“I am officially stepping down, and so is our Co-chair. Thanks to her, I’m going to be a daddy, and I can’t live another day with taking a little time away to enjoy that miracle with her,” he declared, giving everyone the good news.

The entire crowd stood and started giving their departing Director and you a standing ovation filled with excited whistles.

“It’s about time for that vacation,” Klaus yelled through his cupped hands with Viktor next to him, much less boisterous but equally thrilled in his enthusiastic clapping.

Motioning for the room to quiet but getting little back other than more clapping and shouts of encouragement, Five proudly said, “It is my honor to give you, Diego Hargreeves, our new Director, and his second in command, or first, however you want to look at it, your Co-Chair, Lila Hargreeves.”

Stepping aside, with a wave of his hand, motioning for Diego to take the mic, the echo of clapping didn’t stop and neither did the calls of well wishes for both the amazing man walking away, and the one trying and failing to get them to calm down.

Coming back to his empty seat next to yours, Five took your waiting hand into his, holding it tight as he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mouthed back, smiling so hard it hurt.

As you stood together, cheering for Diego, it finally sunk in for Five.

This was it. The reason for it all.

Finally, he could start living life as he wished, and he couldn’t wait to do it with you by his side and his new baby boy in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️

Thanks for reading.

For all my super fans that read this and my entire first Five Centric series over on A03, if you noticed a similarity in the end of this one and that one, you are not crazy. I love my boy and I am a sucker for giving him endings he deserved. 😂😘 Long live TUA and FIVE!!

Link to see all my Tumblr story and art posts

Link to my Master list

Link to visit me on A03

Thank you to all who interacted on my teaser post from 15 days ago, who either commented they wanted to be tagged or showed interest by hitting like. If I missed anyone, I am sorry. I appreciate your patience in getting this one done. 😘 @noodleprinter35 @starlitflora @clownstillwritesfanfic @ifellinto-fantasy @groovydazephantom @redros3y @em1989ts @fckyeahlames @sweetxserenity @honeybunchesoftoenails @9katherinestar @jedaweda @blazingcroutons @sinpforfictionalcharacters @in-love-daily @danlynnie @kalerah02 @ilydiego @3xclus1vel0v3r @yoko-haitani @lianaqui @clappincheeksmeatyflaps @bvbblejayyyy @lanabelle @sweetbabythrills @strawberieee @mimy2004 @fireheart13x @sublimeangelcollection @otralouie11 @idolkerry @tenshiseto @nooneenoticed @moniquem31 @nataliemonicaferlewich @appleypi @little-forest-goblin @i-love-gvf @ursovaine @hargreeves05 @jana0509 @marydbl @temptedtreasuretrove @noodleisodd @mugtrees003 @moonkitty59 @fivehargreevesnumber1fan @badkitty3000 @tuanputri-magui

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arisewanekosuki · 1 day ago

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Request by @mitsumina12345 of Sethos, Heizou, Gorou and Kazuha reaction when you think they like Lumine.

Sethos is easy going guy, he is not troubled by the competition over your heart at all. But it's not like he is not doing anything ether. Taking you for strolls in Sumeru, talking with you whenever he can. If he stayed at Teapot he always joins to help you do commissions or just go with you to travel for a bit. Just whenever you two meet you can be sure he would love to spend time with you and he thought you can at least see his interest in you. And yet. Now, with curiosity, he listens to you talking what he should do to charm Lumine. He already knew you're oblivious but never expected that you will think of him (or any other guys) being into Traveler. Your mind works in interesting ways, he has to admit. After you finished giving suggestions how he can win Lumine's heart, he smiled and thanked. Then he said that Traveler is not the one his heart yearns for. You were silent for moment, surprised by this. -"Then who is it?!" you asked. Sethos with mischievous smile said -"How about I will help you find it?" You were pouting that he doesn't want to tell you immediately but thanks to that you both are going to spend even more time together trying to 'find' the one he loves dearly.

Heizou in his free time loves to read detective novels and flirts with you. He is already aware you're obvious, many times you wouldn't react to his words or touches of affection. Once in awhile you would show some reaction to his romantic advances, but it always ends up with you pouting and saying "Don't joke like that...". He can't help but find even this reaction very cute. But he wasn't ready to learn to what lenghts your obliviousness reaches. He was traveling with your group, when you all make a camp you asked him to follow you. You wanted to have private conversation with him. He knew it won't be any confession or anything like that but he still hoped for one (maybe it will be his chance to confess?). When you were far away from Lumine and Paimon, you turned towards him and sighed. -"Heizou... there is something I want to tell you..." His heart started to beat faster... hoping for those three words. You placed both hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. -"You don't have to worry... I will help you win Lumine's heart!!" Hm? He asked if you can repeated and you did, with big smile and wink. He was lost at words, from everything he could expect he never could think that you will say this. The urge to just kiss you right then and there to make you realize you're the one he wants was too much to bear, but he resisted it. Instead, he grabbed your hands and smiled. An evil idea sparked in his mind. -"Ah, my dear partner, but Lumine already has somebody else... I promised I won't tell anyone who it is, but still I had to give up my feelings for her. Please let me have this moment with you" You were surprised but he was quick and didn't allow you to pry further into the matter, instead he carefully chose his words to make you pity him. You spent the rest of the break hugging and comforting him.

Gorou is a veteran warrior, he can fight with Shougn's army anytime, but when it comes to dates and flirting he just wants to retreat to his house. He is already grateful to Sangonomiya for giving him some ideas for dates with you, but in the end most of them looked like two friends just hanging out. One time he managed to invite you to eat some desserts. But what he didn't expected was for this Kitsune to arrive while the two of you enjoyed cake. -"Oh my, our general finally took the little one for a date?~ How cute!" She smirked. Gorou already started to growl in anger and embarrassment at her. -"Oh Miko, don't tease him please! And we are not on a date anyway…" this made the boy look at you with sadness in his eyes. His ears and tail drooped down. However, you continued looking at him with a proud smile -"Because he is into Lumine!" There was a silence. Then Yae Miko tried to hold her laugh. When she claimed a bit she said. -"Is that so? Fufufu~ Oh general... it seems you have to come up with a better strategy to win in this love war~." After that she bid you two farewell. You looked at Gorou with confusion. But he was too shocked to say anything. You came closer to him. -"Do you want me help you win Lumine's heart?" You said with a smile. And the worst thing is that he can't say 'no' when you smile like this, so he replied with 'yes'. Later he really regretted this.

Kazuha is already happy that he can be by your side, whether you're aware of his feelings or not. This is why he was confused when you insisted for him to spend more time with Lumine. In the end he will always bring you two so the three of you spend time together (or four if Paimon is not busy eating or sleeping). He noticed how Lumine feels a bit awkward, after all she is too aware of his feelings towards you. But whenever she will try to give you two space you would bring her again and then you try to run away from them. One time when he managed to spend some time alone with you, you started talking about the blonde traveler. -"Lumi is so brave and fearless but it seems she is too shy when it comes to love." You chuckled. "But it's good! This means she reciprocates your feelings!!" Kazuha was surprised. Him and Lumine? And he is sure Lumine doesn't feel in such way towards him. He gently took your hand and told you that he treats Lumine as a friend and nothing more. That was a good opportunity to confess but there still was hesitation on how you will react to this. Before he could say anything you gasped. -"Oh no! So this was a misunderstanding?! I... I told Lumi that for sure you love her back! Oh no! She is going to get heart broken because of me! I have to fix this!" you got up and started to run looking for Traveler. Kazuha was surprised by this but then he smiled and placed his face on his hand looking lovestruck at the way you went after your friend. You're truly adorable.

#Traveler's little helper #Genshin Impact x Reader #My stuff #Traveler's little helper What If #Sethos x Reader #Heizou x Reader #Gorou x Reader #Kazuha x Reader #Request

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cinnamon-stixs · 9 hours ago

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I really like @sm-baby's 'The Headspace' so I made a version for my own soup brain

Very heavily inspired by her lineup of course :)

Some info because I like yapping

Overview:

While mushy's headspace is an office building, mine is more of an apartment complex. These guys are the sort of 'main friendgroup', but there are tons of silly little guys in there.

The judge: She's just a silly little gal. She seems kinda scary but she's a little overly-trusting. Her ass did NOT make it into law school

Understanding: Absolute crybaby. Sees a person mildly sad in like a coka cola ad or something and feels bad for them.

Logic and love: Twin siblings renting a unit together. Love actually has an... uncertain amount of kids who live on other floors in the building. These are the emotions

Leaving and Longing: I was torn between calling them this and "Fondness and Forgetting". Longing is very nostalgic, she looks back on the past, trying to recall every little detail. Leaving prefers not to think about anything in the past.

Self: While they look extremely 'scattered', they are actually very sure of themself. They're made up of all the little bits and pieces of friends and family passed and embody that mix.

Autism: Doesn't talk much. Doesn't leave their room much, they hate being perceived. The apartment staff often try to hide that he's there, but the signs of her always linger.

Depression: The ghost haunting the complex. Her active days are far over, as the staff have learned how to manage them. But they're always there, lurking in the hallways and occasionally scaring the residents.

#the headspace #lgbtqia #queer artist #artwork #queer artwork #oc #sm baby

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puppppppppy · 11 months ago

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Atla live action 😐

#thats my honest reaction 😐#to be fair ive only seen 20 minutes of the s1 finale bc my parents are watching it but. mmmmm kinda mid #like. the casting is definitely an improvement since the last time they tried a live action but it feels like the writing falls flat #or maybe im being harsh bc ive only heard negative criticism on it beforehand. but fr anytime u bring up the original its already #good and not just because its the original. so much fucking detail went into it to the point of someone noticing azula wielding mai's knive #to how well thought out irohs character is used as a way of uniting the cast especially as zukos foil #i heard that sokkas sexism was toned down and i have to agree that feels like a cheap move. like i get WHY they think it would be better #but its not about how that reflects on real world its about how it affects the story. sokka starts out as a misogynistic asshole because #it makes it that much more impactful when he changes. toning that down makes it flatter and makes his character development weak #and someone pointed out they didnt even make him wear the kyoshi warrior uniform and i know it feels like such a small detail but #come on man. they did that in the original because not only does it help him really walk in their shoes - wearing 'feminine' clothing and #makeup and having suki explain its significance but it also ties in with the shows theme of harmony and intersectionality #i was also disappointed when they had the fire sages explain how the water tribe draws power from the moon because in the original it was #IROH who explained it to aang and everyone else BECAUSE we as the audience is under the impression hes with the 'bad guys'#and it builds up to how he learned from the other nations which reconciles his past as a war general and his character overall #AND its an excellent starting point for the cast and audience to understand how the nations arent as closed off as you would think #plus you would think its only fire nation doing propaganda but they expanded on that with earth kingdom censorship and it WORKS #a lot of things in the live action also feel arbitrary like. they gave momo a near death experience for 5 minutes for no reason #im firmly on the stance of bringing back filler moments instead of putting major events right after each other so that u give your #audience a sense of time passing and to really absorb the story. but i think thats more like shock value than filler and yeah its a small #thing to gripe about but those things build up and its really annoying. the thing abt avatar filler moments is that however small #its at least meaningful. hell even the beach episode emphasizes how isolated zuko and his friends are as child soldiers #i also swore to never watch the first live action since it was that bad but i really liked the stylized tattoos they used for aang #anyway. those arejust my thoughts. im not gonna watch the rest because im a ride or die for the original aftr growing up and #rewatching it at least 20 times as a kid. but theres definitely room for improvement and i wish ppl wouldnt take it as 'better' just cuz #netflix is adapting it. i wouldve killed for them to just reanimate the entire avatar series and touch NOTHING ELSE no redub #no changes to the story. just reanimate the thing and leave the rest alone and youd make easy money just the same #ALSO its very jarring not hearing jack desena and dante basco voicing sokka and zuko cause their voices were the most recognizable to me #i get that its because its live action but im allowed to feel a little sad abt that. and uncle irohs accent was really soothing #yapping

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britneyshakespeare · 4 months ago

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I feel like certain people on Tumblr have really been fighting for backwards progress when it comes to how we talk about mental illness and abuse. I see posts at least several times a week on my dash that seem to have the purpose of implying people with insert-mental-illness and/or insert-symptom are not abusive when they do insert-action-that-makes-people-uncomfortable, often times meaning to promote a more positive image of people with particularly stigmatized conditions, like personality disorders, mood disorders, psychosis, addiction, or neurodivergence. And I really really hate it because these posts almost always have the ultimate purpose of telling people not just "This thing is not inherently abusive," but often it comes across as "You were not abused."

I just find that to be really unhelpful and unintentionally hurtful, and for what? I believe that destigmatizing various mental conditions is a worthy cause, but at the same time this type of rhetoric seems to be so protective of people in whichever stigmatized group they're trying to advocate for, that it comes back around to a sort of respectability politics. Anybody can be an abuser. And someone's means and methods of abusing can very much be influenced by a condition they have. Why wouldn't it be? Their conditions will affect every aspect of their life and their interpersonal relationships. Especially if these issues are going untreated or being insufficiently managed. I don't understand why anyone would want to make it appear as if abusers are mostly neurotypical and mentally well people, or that if they aren't, then their conditions have nothing to do with it and the overlap is merely incidental. What? It makes it so hard for anyone who is a victim to come to terms and identify the dynamics of what they've gone through.

Addicts and mentally ill people don't have to be unproblematic in order to be humanized and accepted. And nobody profits from writing hard and fast rules about how abuse apparently works, drawing clear lines between which behaviors can, and cannot, ever be abuse.

#tales from diana #making unrebloggable bc i can't handle the discourse on this topic #my own experience with being abused and taken advantage of by someone who almost CERTAINLY had npd... just kinda breaks me #when i see this and it's like making it out to be 'everyone who says they suffered from narcissistic abuse is lying #or misunderstanding what narcissism is because ppl w npd would NEVER do this'#i can see that it's a highly stigmatized term and i don't want to act like an expert on what ppl w the condition go through #but i can tell you i felt deep sympathy for this man for a long time. i felt pity for all he'd gone through. but he'd just lay on the guilt #for every little thing i did that ever displeased him for any reason. he just degraded and disrespected me. and USED me #he used me for money for attention for CONSTANT attention oh my god #he wouldn't even let me go to sleep sometimes before 3 am. and he stole so much money from me #he put me in physical danger. he gossiped about me to all my friends when i was starting to distance myself #before i even came to terms with just how toxic he was to me.#and every time i just wanted to go somewhere wo him or even just stay at home by myself #it was about HIM. it was about how HE felt about it. he had ZERO sympathy for me and i handled all his emotional labor #this man couldn't even think for himself. he brought all his problems to me for me to sort through bc he was so inept and shallow #he was lazy he was careless he didn't listen to ppl he was casually rude #i didn't allow myself to accept these parts of him bc of all he suffered through i felt like he was just a sad little boy #who never learned manners or etiquette or. just. respect #basic respect. as much as i outlined what i wasn't ok w and what hurt me. it didn't matter to him #and NONE of these things are inherently the things that make me think he has npd #his actual suffering and the things i felt bad for him about were very real and severe #but i know what happened between us and i know he was abusive to me. the ppl writing these posts do not.#to say that someone has been abusive in an interpersonal relationship should be something we should be able to respect #and give ppl the benefit of the doubt. and victims may OFTEN not be well-informed about their own abusers' issues #but ppl can just know whether or not they were abused. regardless of if they fully grasp the why and how #if victims say something problematic or paint w a broad brush talking abt ppl who have something in common w their abuser #we should still correct that gently and kindly and not dismiss their experience outright #like i can't believe i have to say that. but i've seen some seriously upsetting posts on here recently.

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ourladyoftheflytrap · 5 months ago

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Thinking about the gay Mormon kid I met in middle school and how all the other Mormons were convinced he was gay-faking and actually straight

#mormon children are so funny they be like ''if someone hears me say fuck i could be disowned and excommunicated. i support u being gay tho #i'll always support you the way you are'' <- actual unironic convos i had with my mormon friend in 5th grade #like days apart first she was like i can never swear and then when i came out to my class as bi #she was the Nicest straight person about it like of course the other girls who were questioning or already knew were supportive #straight kids had a more diverse opinion on it lol but this mormon girl got me she was so good #definitely part of my gay awakening bc i spent months being like ''i cant be bi bc if i was i would have a crush on Her. but i dont''#''i only feel this way bc she has beautiful red hair and freckles which i adore and she is super sweet to me. thats not gay''#and this went on for 3 months and then i had a wet dream about a different girl and i was like OH. well the evidence is growing #wow these tags have nothing to do with this gay mormon kid lololol nothing much to say about him #i didnt know him very well tbh like we spoke a little bit and he did come out to me but most of what i learned about him was rumors #and def i feel like he got the typical gay kid treatment of being ostracized lied about and picked on #idk why you would choose to subject urself to that if u arent ssa like it is not easy to be out in this area #its maybe not Dangerous bc more people are coming out every year but its certainly still viewed as a severe sin #its not seen as a neutral thing by mosr churches although several churches have sprung up that specifically welcome and accept lgbt people #thats a super interesting divide to me bc i Still meet christians who cant even hear about gay people without talking #about how sad gayness is and how gay souls are in danger and the last time i ever visited a church the sermon was homophobic #yet the city decorates for pride every year and even certain churches will decorate for it #the culture is certainly changing lolol but as long as there are ''gay love is sodomy'' christians around here #then its always going to be a struggle for lgb youth bc they are straight up hostile

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shencomix · 9 months ago

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Recently I decided to go to my local fighting game tournament.

Here's how it went.

I had been getting pretty good at Guilty Gear over the past few weeks, to the point where I was getting the input correctly for the Potemkin Buster 1 out of every 4 or 5 times I tried it. So I thought "I might not be the best yet, but, surely good enough for my local" -- and I decided to go.

It took place at a the comic & games store in the town center. The venue was full of people 10-15 years younger than me and even more drastically cooler. They all turned to glare at me as I walked through the door, but as I stood completely motionless like a gazelle hoping to blend into the grassland, their gazes slowly returned to each other and they continued to banter friendlily.

I sat down next to me first opponent, and reached out to shake their hand. They looked down at my hand, and then up at my eyes slowly.

"You're supposed to do that at the end of the match."

"Oh, s-sorry"

I got perfected twice and lost the match. At the end, I reached out again to shake their hand, but they just stood up and walked away.

Because I lost, I got moved down to the loser's bracket, which was literally below the main tournament because it took place in the basement of the comic shop. I could hear footsteps, cheering, and happy conversation in the floor above. Here in the loser's bracket though, the mood was a lot more somber.

My next opponent reminded me a little bit of me. They were equally nervous and disheveled looking. They said "Um, h-hello" and reached out their hand for a handshake as they saw me approaching. I said "you're s-supposed to do that at the end of the match." But as a look of deep sadness came over their face and they slowly put down their hand, I pulled them in for a hug.

I'm not sure why I did that.

I think that some part of me knew that, in this dark, dank, alien place, illuminated only by a single failing ceiling light and the neon glow of a few arcade machines, I had at last found a friend -- someone I understood, and who might understand me too.

They hugged back.

I lost that match by a very narrow margin, and as they jumped up and began dancing around and cheering ecstatically, I began to hate them. This was no friend of mine. A friend would not do this to me. After they were done dancing, they reached out to shake my hand. After a few seconds of pause, I stuck out my hand too, but didn't look at them and refused to close it around theirs as they grasped it. They shook my karate chop.

I thought that at that point, since I had lost and then lost in loser's bracket, I was free to go home. But one of the tournament organizers approached me and informed me that I was going down to sub-loser's bracket in the sub-basement of the store, and pointed me towards a descending staircase.

The people there were fewer, and it was darker. I could faintly hear sobbing in one of the corners, but as I went to investigate, another participant put his hand on my shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a look of pain and shook his head slowly.

"You can't do anything for them."

In sub-loser's bracket I went up against a man in a suit whose face was cloaked in shadow. He spammed May's dolphin move. I lost.

As I went to go back upstairs, one of the tournament organizers held out her palm to stop me, and pointed towards a staircase leading further down instead.

Going down through the levels, I lost to many interesting participants. One player played exclusively by bashing the controller against his face. One player was a mushroom with a few circuit cables clipped onto it, that I later learned was able to play because its bioelectrical signals got sent to a machine that interpreted them as fighting game inputs. One player didn't touch their controller at all, but instead just told me their life story, which was so tragic that I picked up their controller and won for them.

Finally, at the very bottom floor, where construction standards were long abandoned and the stairs and walls were just messily carved out of the earth's stone, I faced my final player. It was a small bit of metal framework, with a controller nestled in it. On it was a tiny piston that just pressed the jab button exactly once every second. I lost.

I hung my head for a moment, then said "close game" and stuck my hand out for a handshake, before remembering that I had played against a metal framework cube with a piston in it and retracting my hand slowly. Then I heard a slow clapping from the darkness.

"No neutral. No footsies."

Out of the darkness slowly walked a woman about my age, clad in a decorative poofy dress that looked more expensive than my entire life savings. She smiled at me warmly, continuing to clap slowly, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"No meter management. No mixups. No spacing. No learning. No strategy…

…You're perfect."

"Wh-what?"

"You're perfect. I absolutely must have you."

"Have me for…um…for what…"

(Her eyes went wide as her smile grew more manic.)

"WHY, MY MORON FAILSON HAREM OF COURSE."

"Um, I-I"

"Tell me, what do you do for a living? Let me guess, you work at a fast food restaurant? Or, retail?"

"No, I'm a--I'm a comic artist."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my god, you are PERFECT. What will it take to get you."

"To-to ge--"

"You would be well taken care of, of course. 3 Michelin star dining for every meal. Only the finest, softest sweatpants and sweatshirts, pre-stained with whatever flavor of Takis your little heart desires. You would have access to the entire mansion except for the main foyer when I'm in business calls, and you could make all the comics and play all the fighting games you want."

"I'm uh--"

I knew that I had to think fast here.

"I'm already i-in a moron failson harem."

"Oh, DARN IT!! TELL ME, WHO IS IT??? WHO GOT YOU??"

"I-I think I'm not allowed to s-sa--"

She stomped her foot petulantly, her shoe clacking against the stone floor.

"WAS IT SHUXUAN?? IT'S ALWAYS SHUXUAN HOGGING ALL OF THE GOOD ONES."

"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, shuffling along the wall to make a wide radius around her and then running up the staircase.

As I got home and began making my standard dinner of Trader Joe's microwave falafel, I thought about her offer. Maybe I should have taken her up on it after all. A 3 Michelin star meal right now wouldn't be so bad.

Then I hopped on Guilty Gear and lost 22 matches in a row.

#shen comix

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idiopathicsmile · 7 months ago

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School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

#what's the word for the opposite of nostalgia?

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syoddeye · 24 days ago

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sliding scale

You're in need of a handyman. He has needs of his own. cw: discussion of kids/pregnancy, john price inserting himself into your life, heavily implied breeding kink, unsettling and smutless (my brand)

You win the jackpot. Okay. Not the jackpot, but you're hit by a respectable windfall. It's like a cheesy movie you'd watch around the holidays: A distant relative dies, you receive a very serious letter, and suddenly, your account isn't as sad as it once was.

So, you do the impossible. The unthinkable. You buy a house.

An old, well-loved house from an elderly couple.

The day you close, they tell you about raising their kids in the house and mention the names etched on the door frame. When you arrive home that evening, the empty house feels grand and hollow, but there they are, just where they said. Names climbing upward in uneven increments, faded with time, but legible. You trace your finger along the marks, imagining small hands and the measuring tape, the years slipping by. It makes you smile, despite yourself.

You've never wanted kids, not really, but the thought of this, people leaving bits of themselves behind—it makes you mushy. You figure, once the dust settles, you'll let rooms to friends, maybe friends of friends. Start a fun little commune of sorts, a collective of people coming and going.

The first night, you drink nonalcoholic wine straight from the bottle and lie on your mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There's no furniture yet, just your overnight bag and the smell of fresh paint from a patch you tested on the living room wall. You fall asleep smiling. The house needs a lot of work, but you're not worried. Some TLC and elbow grease can go a long way.

Over the next few weeks, you move in and start working. Anything is possible with the power of YouTube tutorials and the local tool library.

You start in the primary bedroom and bathroom, learning to tile, install flooring, and connect plumbing for the perfect vanity and sink you found at a thrift store. It feels good to learn how things fit together and see the fruits of your labor. At night, you sleep in one of the old kid's rooms. The wallpaper is covered in rockets and planets. A couple of glow-in-the-dark stars cling to the ceiling.

The bathroom comes together wonderfully, and you feel invincible.

But then you get to the kitchen.

After an outlet zaps you, you decide you may be in over your head. That there really is a limit to what one person can do on their own. You start looking up local contractors, but everything is out of your budget. You've been doing all the work yourself for a reason. Then, after digging for ages, you find a promising lead: John Price - Handyman - Sliding Scale.

On the phone, John seems normal. Charming. Funny. He tells you he's impressed you bought a house on your own. (You've heard that a lot lately, and while it feels patronizing, you let it go. You did jump up a band upon inheriting your chunk of Great Uncle Leroy's money.) He agrees to come by and see what he can do.

You have to admit he makes a good impression when he shows up. He's punctual, polite, and looks the part. Broad chest, thick arms, big hands resting on his hips as he surveys the kitchen. After only a few minutes, he says he'll take the job. No hesitation.

You explain your tight budget and that you'll work alongside him when you're not at your day job. You show him the money you've set aside, expecting him to back out, but he just shakes his head and nudges the folder back across the table.

"Said I'd do it. Don't you fret, darl."

You vet him afterward, just to be sure. His references check out. The reviews are solid. He appears to know a little about everything. You text him to confirm, formally offering the job, and he accepts.

On the first day, you let him in and immediately have to avert your eyes. You didn't realize a toolbelt could look like that on someone. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and the way he moves—confident, purposeful—makes you grateful you're heading out to work. You tell him when you'll be back and leave quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual thinking about the hunk of man in your house.

When you return, the kitchen looks different, unfinished, but vastly improved. John's already fixed things you didn't think could be fixed. Over lunch, he even scoped out other problems around the house: a crack in the basement wall, a loose board on the stairs, and spots where the flooring must be replaced. He gushes about the house, praising its character, the way it's held up over time.

John's face grows serious, and stares down his nose when he finally asks, "You're not gonna ask me to paint over the wood or rip out the built-in hutch, are ya?"

His relief over your answer is palpable: No. That's why you bought the house in the first place. You describe what you love about it: the glass doorknobs, the dining room archway, and transom windows above the doors. He nods. He knows exactly what you mean.

Before he leaves for the day, he stops at the doorframe and points to the tallest name etched into the wood. You explain it belonged to the previous owners, a family with seven kids.

"Seven," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Right? Can you believe that? Seven!" You laugh. Frankly, anything more than two sounds insane.

But John doesn't laugh. He stares at the names for a moment, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Difficult to imagine."

After he leaves, you scold yourself. You don't really know John. You've known him for all of a day. What if he came from a big family? Or what if he doesn't speak to his family anymore, if things are complicated with his parents? You feel awful, and the guilt channels itself into stress-baking.

The next morning, when he shows up, there's a platter of breakfast pasties waiting on the counter. He hesitates, looks almost bashful, until you insist. He takes a bite, then another, and looks at you with genuine astonishment. He says if you leave food like this every morning, he'll knock his rate down even further.

It makes sense, financially speaking, so you agree. You start making breakfast for two, and in return, he keeps the repairs affordable. The ritual becomes routine: John shows up every weekday morning, you eat together, he gets to work, and you leave. You look forward to seeing him. Hearing his voice rumble out good mornings and goodnights.

For two weeks, you come home to find steady progress on the kitchen. You help him out for an hour or two in the evenings, and by the time it's nearly finished, you've started discussing other parts of the house.

You mention the two smallest children's rooms aren't really usable for tenants. You show him your plans to knock down the wall between them and create a library or office space.

But this time, John doesn't agree.

"First I'm hearing of this," He leans back in his chair at your table. His arms cross over his chest, legs spreading wide. Even sitting, you see what he's doing. Trying to take a posture that carries authority, to cow you. "Tenants? What about a family?"

You try to steer the conversation back to your plans, to the picture you've sketched. "I'm not planning on having one. So, like I was saying—"

"Why buy a house this big, then? Why spend all this time fixin' it up if you're not planning to honor its legacy?"

The tone of his voice shifts completely, with no trace of the easy, flirty banter that's been your norm for weeks. His words drip with disdain. His brow knits together. Nostrils flaring. He looks genuinely upset. Mystified that you're not going to fill the house with your…your brood.

It's as if your refusal to have children is an affront to him personally.

It sends a chill down your spine. Instantly, your image of him—this dependable, good-humored man—cracks apart. You glance past him, searching for the right words, and focus on the kitchen instead. The cabinets, the fixtures, the paint. All of it bears his mark now, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. You can't keep working with him. Not if your plans for the house, your house, are going to be a problem.

You tell him as much, as gently as possible.

His anger bleeds out of him quickly, melting into embarrassment and shame. His shoulders drop, and he folds into himself in a way that seems almost impossible for someone his size. "Don't know what came over me, darl."

He packs up his tools while apologizing again, both for his outburst and for the unfinished work, and gives you the spare key you lent to him for emergencies. Before he leaves, he asks you not to write a review, not even a positive one, and you agree. Things had been good until now. You don't want to ruin him over this. People have bad days.

With the kitchen functional and nothing too big left on your plate, you cut your losses and decide to finish the work alone.

Progress is slow on your own, of course. One pair of hands, only so many hours after work to chip away at the list after work. Still, time moves faster than you expect. You push through exhaustion, head often swimming, and work late into the evenings. One night, you finish patching the floor and tackle the basement's cracked wall. Only when you get down there, it's already done. Smoothed over perfectly.

You tell yourself John must've fixed it before everything went south. But then you notice other things. Several odd jobs from your list are already complete.

Squeaky door hinges turn silent. The dings and nail holes in the walls, spackled over. The second toilet that kept running starts working correctly. It's partly a relief, like the house is taking care of itself, but also deeply unsettling. You don't remember doing it, you've never sleepwalked or slept-repair in your life, even in your overtired state, and you're still too sore over your falling out to text John and ask if he did it all.

Instead, you decide to take a break. A few days off work, a proper rest. Let the house settle, let yourself breathe. Nothing happens. No floating tools. No ghosts. It's like the house is waiting for you to look away.

Paranoia sets in. You order cameras—indoor and outdoor, enough to cover every angle.

The day they arrive, you barely make it through the door before tearing open the box. But something stops you. Your eyes catch on a strange wooden box sitting on the dining table. It's a shadowbox.

Inside the box is the slat from the front doorframe, the one with the heights and names of the seven kids who grew up here. It's been cut out, perfectly, and framed like an artifact.

Your stomach drops. You scramble to the doorframe and run your hands over it, frantic. The patchwork is seamless, so clean it's like the names never existed.

Then you notice the boots. Tucked in and lined up next to your own pairs. The extra jacket hanging on the hooks.

A shadow falls over you.

You freeze, heart in your throat, and slowly turn with eyes the size of dinner plates. Towering above you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fists planted on his hips, is John. Grinning.

"Work alright today?" He bends down and pulls you to your feet by your wrist, wrapping you up in an embrace and welcoming you home. He sways slightly with you, like you're dancing, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks at you with a clear fondness and affection, but there's something off, like a splintering foundation. Stable until you look too close.

You try to push yourself away, palms flat against his chest, but he doesn't let go. "What are—What are you doing here? What are—Why did you do that?" You glance again toward where the measurements used to be.

He chuckles, soft and unbothered, a wistfulness threaded in his words. "Well, we're gonna need the room for our little ones, yeah? Oh, we'll have seven or more, dependin' on what takes. Sliding scale and all that."

At your stunned, horrified silence, he slots a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He gives your cheek a little squeeze and starts steering you toward the kitchen. The one he built for you.

"C'mon. Lemme tell you all about my plans for us."

#price x reader #john price x reader #sy writes

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

#writeblr #i actually didn't want a girlfriend before nat #and my dad recently said to me - raquel. i don't approve of the promiscuity #1. i am 30.#2. i had casually dated about 4 people over 18 months.#3. i do believe he was just mad that i get more girls than he ever did #i had to look this 60 yr old deacon in the eye and say. okay so i have a girlfriend first of all im just not tellin yall about her #and secondly.#OKAY???? OLD MAN I DONT EVEN LIVE HERE WHAT ARE U GONNA DO ABOUT IT #briefly considered asking nat if i could pretend we were a one night stand kind of a thing

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seanait · 2 years ago

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I have to love how you can say by my rapid reblogs which series I'm into rn and which ones are a constant interest ,D

#tzago's ramblings #i totally did (not) binge read jigokuraku in 2 days and 1 night #and was a little sad to learn that my friend did not like it very much #but it's okay since I can entertain myself with headcanons and imagining different scenes huhu

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niningtori · 7 months ago

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mastermind | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you should be used to your relationships failing by now, but after finding out your boyfriend, yeonjun, cheated on you, you're devastated yet again. and beomgyu, your best friend, is there to pick up the pieces, just like always. but isn't it a little odd that things just never seem to work out?

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI), yandere

warnings: YANDERE!GYU, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT (MDNI!) creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, degradation, if i missed anything pls lmk!

word count: 5.1k

notes: ... hi. i'm reposting this with major edits but i hope you all still like it!

｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡

do you love your boyfriend? of course. do you trust him? of course. so are you surprised to see a photo of him very clearly making out with another woman? well, of course.

your friends, your family, and even passersby would simply tell you you shouldn’t be, though. yeonjun used to be very well known for his sexual escapades, so when you announced he was your boyfriend, nobody was particularly happy for you. especially not your best friend in the whole world, beomgyu.

“he’s just gonna hurt you, just like the last one!”

you remember flinching at this. you remember how hurt and indignant you felt at the time. you also remember the silent treatment you gave him, and the cold war that began shortly thereafter. he apologized afterwards, of course, but you had asked him what was so bad about you that he couldn’t just believe that yeonjun had changed for you. he was silent at this, which only made you even angrier. it was all pointless in the end, you suppose.

as you sit on beomgyu’s couch, your phone rings again. you have a special ringtone for yeonjun, so you don’t even bother to check the caller id before you silence it. he’s been calling you incessantly since you texted him that you saw the picture and were done with him. your face is downcast and if you weren't so consumed by your sadness, you'd notice the faint look of delight in beomgyu’s eyes.

“i think you should just block him,” he says as nonchalantly as he can muster. maybe in another state of mind, you'd register the satisfaction in his tone, but right now? all you can sense is his urgency, which can easily be explained away by selfless and sincere concern. just how he likes it.

“you’re right,” you sigh. “i guess i just don’t understand. things were going so well, and then he goes and does this to me. i don’t know what i did wrong,” you say while burying your face in your hands. he almost can’t control the way his lips want to curl up at this, but he’s become nothing if not a master of containing his true emotions. he’s kept them from your prying eyes for years, after all.

“aww, baby. it’s not you, it’s him. he’s just not the right guy for you,” he coos, but for some reason, you can’t help but be annoyed at his kindness.

“i know you want to say i told you so, so say it,” you snap, pulling your face from your hands and scowling at him.

“i don’t want —”

“if you wanted me to learn my lesson, i’ve learned it, alright? i don't need to be taught again,” you say with a huff. you know you’re being unreasonable. you know you’re being a bitch, but you just can’t help it. who told beomgyu to be right about your potential partners all the damn time? fuck his crazy-accurate intuition.

he looks genuinely hurt by your harsh words, though, so you can’t help but feel a wave of regret wash over you. you’re drowning in it, even, as you watch his puppy eyes gloss over.

“beomie, baby, i’m so sorry,” you say, gently grabbing his face with one hand and pushing his long hair behind his ear with the other. “i know i’m being awful to you when you’re just trying to help.”

“it’s okay,” he says solemnly, looking like a kicked puppy. “as long as you’re sorry.” somehow, his easy acceptance of your apology makes you feel even worse. you pull him in for a hug and he buries his face in your neck to a) soak up your scent and b) hide his growing smirk. but you’re too caught up in your feelings to notice.

“it’s really okay,” he assures once you part.

“no, it isn’t. i’m being a shitty friend. how about you stay over tonight? we can watch a movie and i’ll order something for us to eat,” you suggest. he graciously accepts your peace offering and the night is spent with giggles and an overt amount of cuddling.

as you’re drifting off to sleep, you feel beomgyu plant a kiss on your forehead. to anyone else, this might come across as oddly intimate, but you know better. people have said that you two would make a good couple, but you two do nothing but laugh it off every time. they just don’t understand your dynamic. he’s a man like any other, you guess, but seeing him as anything other than a friend is simply laughable. you know he feels the same exact way about you, too, which is why you are unfazed by his next words.

“i love you. it’s just — i just love you so much, you know?” he whispers.

“aww, beomie. you know i love you, too. you’re my best friend in the whole world,” you murmur as sleep finally overcomes you.

if the lights were on, you’d see how his face falls and contorts into something like a grimace.

yeonjun has been spamming you like crazy, so you listen to beomgyu and block his number as well as his social media accounts. you think this whole chapter of your life is over, but, as always, you are wrong.

a week or so after your messy breakup, a sudden knock at your door pulls your attention away from mindless scrolling on your phone. you don't think much of it — it’s probably just beomgyu with some takeout, or something. however, when you look through the peephole, you realize that yeonjun is not finished bothering you just yet.

“baby, please. i know you’re there. please, just open up. i’ll explain everything!” he pleads. you’re not particularly known for your callousness of heart, so it doesn’t take much more begging for you to feel guilty and let him in. you open your door with a sigh.

“thank you!” yeonjun says with a look of pure relief as he hurriedly enters your apartment. he takes a seat on your couch (unprompted, you might add) and takes a shaky breath. you cautiously seat yourself on the other end of the couch and prepare to listen to whatever bullshit he has conjured up for your viewing pleasure before you decide that it’s best just to cut to the chase. ripping the band-aid off, and all that.

“look, i don’t care that you’re sorry. there’s nothing you can say to make me change my —”

“it was beomgyu!” he exclaims before you can get another word out.

“... what?” you ask confusedly. where the hell is he going with this?

“the girl, the picture, fucking everything was all his fucking fault. he did it,” he rants. oh. he must think you’re fucking stupid.

“yeonjun, please don’t waste my time,” you sigh. “i think you should leave,” you add, getting up from your seat.

“wait!” he pleads, reaching for your hand and gently pulling you back down. “remember how i always told you that i had a weird feeling about him? like how something always felt… off?” oh well. if he wants to continue putting on a show, then so be it. besides, it’ll be a funny story to tell beomgyu later on.

you nod.

“well, he always looked at me weirdly. like, whenever i’d walk into the room, there was always this… this tension and i never knew why, but i understood it as soon as we made things official. it’s because he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment and yeonjun actually thinks he’s getting through to you before you burst into near-maniacal laughter. his face falls.

“beomgyu? beomgyu likes me?” you say between giggles. beomgyu loves you like a sister. no way in hell does he harbor a shred of romantic love for you.

“you’re not listening,” he grunts, slightly tugging at his own hair in frustration. “he’s always been weird, and the other night at the bar, he introduced me to that girl you saw me ‘kissing’. they kept giving me drinks until i could barely fucking see straight. then she kept coming onto me, but i said no. i finally told her to kick rocks, but the next thing i knew was that she was kissing me. i know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.” you want to dismiss everything he’s saying, but his utter sincerity seems to strike a chord within you. you can’t say you believe him, but he continues before you can properly digest his words.

“think about it. why the hell would i cheat in such a public place where all of our friends hang out? don't you think i would be smarter than that? and even if i wasn't, you know me. you know i would never cheat on you.” he seems desperate now, but it’s still hard to believe that beomgyu orchestrated this entire thing instead of the very real possibility that yeonjun just got drunk and acted recklessly.

“alright, this isn’t funny anymore. you need to stop,” you warn, not liking how much he’s making sense.

“think,” he repeats with conviction.

so you do. you think back to all of the tumultuous relationships you’ve had until now. they've all ended in different ways, yes, but they all had one common denominator: beomgyu. oh, beomgyu saw your boyfriend getting cozy with his ex. you’re having an argument with your boyfriend? beomgyu thinks he’s a piece of shit because of how he treats you, you obviously deserve better! wait, your boyfriend keeps taking too long to text you back? he’s just losing interest! it’s clearly better to break it off now rather than getting too invested when you’re inevitably going to break up, anyway. and all the other greatest hits. your face twists from focused to horrified as the realization sinks into your bones. it's beomgyu. it’s always been beomgyu.

you look to yeonjun with pure shock in your eyes and he meets your gaze with a look of sympathy. you finally get it.

“junie, i’m so sorry,” you say, tears springing into your eyes. “i’m so sorry i doubted you.”

“it’s okay,” he replies with a melancholy smile. “he manipulated you.”

“does… does that mean we’re back together now?” you ask, voice tinged with hope. his smile falters at your question, and you feel a sense of dread.

“i need some time,” he says after a pause, dropping his hand from yours. “you really hurt me. i understand that beomgyu manipulated you, but it really hurts that you didn't trust me, you know?”

“i understand,” you quietly reply. you’d be hurt if the tables were turned — it’s only natural. you just hope to god above that you haven’t let beomgyu ruin another good thing for you.

beomgyu is confused as to why you’ve been ignoring him for the better part of a week. you don’t respond when he texts or calls, and his intuition is telling him that it has something to do with yeonjun. maybe you’re just shutting down because of the breakup? it was particularly brutal this time around, after all. he’s lucky that yeonjun has such a lascivious sexual history, or else you might not have bought his little charade, even with the proof presented directly in front of you. that’s how much you love(d) yeonjun. the thought causes jealousy to rear its ugly head in his stomach, but whatever. there’s no way you’re going back to him after the way the scandal has made its way through your social life. even if you do want to get back together with him, there's no way your pride will let you. your pride has been a particularly nasty sort of obstacle in beomgyu’s pursuit of you, but it’s absolutely delicious to be able to use it against you like this. serves you fucking right.

still, it’s his job as your dutiful best friend to cheer you up. with this in mind, he picks up your favorite takeout and heads to your place. he smiles when he imagines the way you’ll gratefully embrace him once you realize that he’s here for you. maybe this time you’ll understand that he’s always been the one who’s there for you when someone hurts you. maybe this time will be his big break, finally freeing him from the purgatory he has been in for god knows how long.

he knocks on your door with a hopeful smile on his face. surprisingly, you’re swinging the door open mere seconds later with your eyes similarly lit up with hope.

“yeon— oh. it’s you,” you say, deflating immediately. there’s a certain sense of resentment in your tone that he catches onto, but he chalks it up to disappointment. his face falls. goddamn it. damn it all to hell.

“i brought you some food to cheer you up,” he says while shaking the plastic takeout bag, completely ignoring the slip of another man’s name.

he invites himself in, slipping off his shoes and sitting down on the couch as he usually does.

he waits for you to join him, but when he looks up at you, all he sees is you staring at him, arms crossed and face contorted in anger. surely you can’t be that upset that he’s not yeonjun, right? now that he thinks about it, why would you be expecting yeonjun, anyway? hadn’t you effectively cut him off? did you talk to him and take him back after all that (you think) he’s done? that can’t be right. unless… unless you actually let him talk to you. oh god, please tell him that’s not what happened.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, face devoid of anything deeper than curiosity and worry.

you’re silent for a moment before you carefully choose your next words.

“i talked to yeonjun,” you reply, and his heart sinks to his stomach. “he told me some… interesting things.”

beomgyu hopes you don’t notice how hard he gulps. you do not.

“what did he say?” he asks, face tense but still showing no clear signs of guilt.

“he told me what happened that night. he told me how you got him drunk and basically forced that girl onto him. he also said that you’re the reason none of my relationships work out,” you declare, opting to stop beating around the bush and just get some answers. you study his face for a crack of some sort, but there is none.

“and what do you think?” he asks quietly.

“i think… i think he might be telling the truth,” is what you say, but you’re sounding increasingly unsure with every word because beomgyu looks more hurt than you’ve ever seen him.

“you believe him over me?” he asks, voice cracking and lips trembling with his brown eyes glossed over in what you can only describe as devastation. god, either beomgyu’s a really good actor, yeonjun’s a really good actor, or you’re just fucking stupid.

“i… i don’t know what to think, beomgyu,” you whisper after a pause. all he does is nod before his next words pierce your heart.

“is that why you’ve been ignoring me?”

jesus christ. you were so sure that yeonjun was telling the truth when he told you about beomgyu, so ignoring him only seemed natural under the circumstances, but he looks every bit like the victim in light of your accusations. his trembling lips and wounded gaze make you want to strangle yourself for ever doubting him. as you feel yourself being consumed with remorse, though, you remember the sincerity and desperation in yeonjun’s words. maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding? maybe they’re both convinced that they’re right?

“y-yes. i’m sorry. i was just confused. maybe he just misunderstood?” you babble. he likes your hesitancy, but it’s still wearing on his patience. as much as he wants to say he can’t believe that you’d question him because of some guy you dated, he can believe it when it comes to you. you always, always, always hurt him like this, and he’s had just about enough.

“and what if it’s true?” he asks, pathetic facade wiped clean off of his face while something more somber replaces it entirely. your eyes lock with his and you’re stunned silly.

“what?” is all you can manage to reply with.

“what if i pushed that girl onto yeonjun? what if i ruined all of your relationships? what would you do?”

“so it’s true?!” is all you can say, guilt flaring into sheer rage and hurt.

“so what if it is?” he asks, as if he doesn’t comprehend how twisted this is.

“so… so how could you do that to me?!”

“i was only doing what’s best for you,” he impatiently replies. “they were only gonna hurt you, can’t you see that? even before i did anything, there were still all those men who cheated on you, lied to you, used you. what’s wrong with wanting to protect you from people like them? i just couldn’t stand to see you living like that!” he argues, clearly believing he’s completely justified in all of this.

sure, you’ve been hurt before even without his intervention, but that doesn’t mean he can just play puppeteer in your love life to “protect” you from anything similar happening ever again. you trusted him and he manipulated you. he acted like a knight in shining armor this entire time while knowingly sabotaging any potentially good thing that could come your way. and he did it all because he wants to protect you? bullshit.

“you know, i thought that even if everyone other man in the world could hurt me, you never would,” you say shakily, either from sadness or anger. maybe both. “i guess i was wrong.”

“hurt you?! hurt is watching the person you love fuck other people over and over and over again! hurt is watching you laugh me off and never even fucking considering me as an option, goddamn it!” he yells while slamming his hand on your coffee table.

“so your solution was to fuck up every relationship i have just to have me to yourself?! do you not realize how fucked up that is?!” you yell back, trying to appear unfazed by his increasingly enraged behavior. he seems to falter at this, genuinely at a loss for words at your unforgiving pinpointing of his erratic actions. the desperate, eager-to-please beomgyu you know all too well is finally back and you feel your confidence surge because of it.

“i only did that because —”

“why? because you love me? or think you do?” you mock with a hollow laugh. “you don’t purposely ruin the life of someone you love.” he looks genuinely wounded by your words.

“but i —”

“i don’t care. get out,” you say mercilessly. you’re absolutely through with listening to his fucked up ideations about love and what his twisted moral compass deems as justified because of it. you’re so preoccupied with preaching on your soapbox, you don’t even realize his attitude has once again shifted from the compliant beomgyu to the one you don’t recognize at all.

“... no,” he says flatly.

“did you not fucking hear me? i said get out,” you repeat through clenched teeth. normally, your raised hackles would be enough to scare him off, so you figure he’ll tuck his tail and leave right about now. oh, how wrong you are.

“are you deaf?” he asks with a sneer. “i said no.”

“what do you mean, no?” you ask. somewhere in the depths of your mind, alarm bells begin ringing, but it’s far too late to heed them. plus, you’re still under the impression that he’ll bend to your will.

“oh, so you’re not deaf. just stupid,” he snorts. your jaw is agape at his audacity. beomgyu has caught an attitude and gotten fresh with you before, sure, but nothing like this. to say you’re dumbstruck would be to put things in the mildest of terms. you can barely get out your next sentence.

“w-what do you mean?”

“i’m not leaving this apartment,” he says firmly, and before you can even ask him to explain, he’s dragging you away with a painful grip.

“ow! beomgyu, you’re hurting m—”

“shut up. i told you what real hurt is, but you're not fucking listening. i don't want to hear another word come out of your mouth,” he says in a monotone voice. if the alarm bells were ringing in the depths of your mind before, they’re absolutely blaring at the forefront of your brain right now.

“what are y-you —”

“i thought i told you to shut up,” he snaps before roughly grabbing your face and planting his lips on yours. the kiss is crude. it’s absolutely vulgar with the way it’s all tongue and teeth and saliva, but after a few seconds of uncertainty, you find yourself melting into it. this is wrong. you two are the best of friends, almost like brother and sister. and more than that, you love yeonjun, right? you’re supposed to be working on getting back together with him, aren’t you? but your reason starts to be sucked away as you feel his hands caress your body, leaving nothing but fire in their wake.

you don’t know how you got here, almost completely naked as you lay on your back while beomgyu continues attacking your lips. it’s blazing hot and you can’t help but feel your underwear becoming wet with every moan that escapes his mouth and consequently reverberates onto your tongue. as if he already knows the intricacies of your internal battle, one of his hands finds its way to your now soaking wet pussy and he uses his index and middle fingers to spread the slickness around. he swirls his fingers around your hole and just barely pushes one of them into the entrance. you gasp at the shallow intrusion and you can feel his notorious shit-eating grin pressed across your lips as he feels how tight you are. you’re ridiculously turned on and he knows it. he pauses his actions only to unzip his pants and yank them down to his knees. your eyes widen at what you can only describe as his huge appendage, all reddened and already leaking. you feel your cunt throbbing with even more need at the sight, but your last shred of reason still makes you hesitate.

“beomgyu, we can't… we're friends, and yeonjun is —”

“can’t you just let me make you feel good? god, you’re making this so difficult, but what the fuck else is new,” he growls.

he's right. you are making things difficult. there's no way of salvaging your friendship after this, so what's the point in holding back now? you realize that while he may be absolutely unhinged, his feelings for you are real. do you reciprocate them? you don’t know yet, but the thought of him doting on another person the same way he dotes on you makes you feel uneasy. as for yeonjun? well, he deserves better than the cesspool of turbulent emotions that you currently find yourself in.

“you still sure you don’t want me?” he asks cockily. you, with all of your pride, can only muster up a feeble shake of your head. he knew the answer before you gave it to him, but his condescending gaze shows you that your words have scratched a certain itch of his.

he rubs his hardened length against your folds and it’s all you can do to resist locking your ankles around his waist and pulling him into you, but something stops you. protection. you don’t even have to say it, because he knows you too well for your own good.

“let me fuck you raw,” he says breathily, just barely poking his length into your tight hole. “i know you need it, baby. just let me take care of you.” you’re silent for a moment before pinching out your next words.

“p-pull out?” he won’t because he knows you’ll be begging him for his cum when he’s done with you, and you already know he won’t, even when he nods and promises he will. you don't know why you even asked.

the ache you feel to have him buried inside you is quickly replaced by the ache you feel once he begins to stretch you out. it’s a stinging, burning sort of pain, but that’s nothing in comparison to the pure pleasure you feel as his flared tip drags along your walls. he begins with thrusting shallowly, fucking you open like you’re a virgin, and you’re so tight while he’s so big, you might as well be.

painfully slowly, he pushes each and every inch of himself into your gummy hole. he reaches places you didn’t even know existed and stretches you open so good all you have the brainpower to call the sensation is fullness. overwhelming fullness. when he finally sheathes himself in you completely, a strangled cry leaves both of your throats as you feel him throbbing inside of you and he, in turn, feels you pulsating around him.

after you adjust, you expect him to start drilling into you with reckless abandon, but he does nothing of the sort. just watches you with a strange look on his face.

“b-beomie? what are you doing?” you ask pathetically, head raising up from its place on the pillows to meet his wanton gaze.

“beg me for it.”

“beg for w—” your question is interrupted by a sharp smack on your sensitive pussy.

“beg me for it. beg me to fuck you like a whore. i won’t tell you again,” he says menacingly. your bleary eyes are so confused, so stupid, and so, so cute, but he’s determined to use the last of his self-control to get you to feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s felt for years. well, even if you don’t, he’ll spend the whole night fucking you dumb until you do. but you’re so hungry for his dick, you don’t even realize that he’s bluffing.

finally, you understand what he’s asking of you, and you waste no time to comply.

“n-need your cock, beomie. need you to make me f-feel good,” you say, trying to retain even a semblance of your dignity. this brings a mean smirk to his face, but he’s not done with you, yet.

“surely you can do better than that?” he taunts, rocking his hips ever so slightly so you can feel every inch of his length and girth teasingly hitting your cervix, but providing no relief. fuck your dignity. you need him.

“please! please, i need you! need your cock to fill me up!” you whine.

“mhmm, and?”

“need you to fuck me! need you to fill me up with your cum!” well, there goes your resolve to have him pull out. this seems to satisfy his sadistic desires.

“oh, my love. all you had to do was ask,” he says with a grin. and that’s when he starts.

his hips meet yours in the most punishing way, and that’s what this is: a punishment for the way you’ve treated him all these years. you can feel it in the way that his fingernails dig into your skin and in the way that he mercilessly presses down on your tummy until all you can feel is pressure building up to something unknown.

“who else can fuck you like this? who else can split you open like this?” he asks as lewd squelches reverberate throughout the room.

“n-nobody! only you, beomie!” you cry.

“that’s my good girl, such a good girl. baby just needs me to use her like a fucktoy, right?” and all you can do is whine and clench in carnal need as the poor springs of your bed squeak with every unforgiving thrust.

“oh, you like that, don’t you?” he snickers. “you like being my little whore. you’re just a toy for me, alright? free to use whenever i feel like it.” you nod in agreement and he lets out a chuckle as he pounds into you at an unimaginable speed, balls slapping your ass with every fiery thrust. each time he pumps into you, your pussy’s clamping down on him and sucking him in like that’s where he’s meant to be. and maybe it is.

“god, i’m close,” he groans after pumping into you for what feels like hours, and you whimper like a bitch in heat. “honey, don’t worry,” he tuts. “i’ll fuck you every day, i’ll fill you with my cum so you can’t leave. not that you’ll want to after this. you’re made for me, made to be my cumdump whenever i want.”

“y-yes!” you shriek, somehow liking the idea of being full of his cum forever and ever.

“that’s my girl. baby just wants me to fuck her good. that’s all you needed, right? that’s why you’ve been such a brat. you just needed me to show you what it’s like to be fucked right,” he says, rolling your clit for good measure, which is enough to make you reach your high as it comes crashing down around you. beomgyu wasn’t lying when he said he was close, so when he feels you clenching around his big cock as if you’re milking him for all that he’s worth, you feel it twitching before hot bursts of cum paint your inner walls until you’re leaking white and seeing stars. he continues with slow, lazy pumps until he softens. you stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time, breathing raggedly while your bodies are overcome with thrums of delight.

when he finally pulls out and lays down beside you, bodies slick with sheens of sweat, he pushes your hair back behind your ear and plants a kiss on your temple. shakily, he takes his hand and rubs it along your distended tummy, full of his cum. he lovingly strokes it with an awed smile on his face.

“such a good girl for me,” he repeats. “i can’t wait until you’re pregnant. you’ll have as many babies as i can give you, right?” and all you can do is nod deliriously. he smiles in satisfaction as you eagerly agree to his every nasty, perverted thought. “god, i love you so much. and you love me too, right? say it. say you love me.”

“i love you.” and you realize that you do. this man is deranged, but he’s yours, and for better or for worse, you're his. especially now that you might very well be carrying his children. and even if you aren’t, you know he’ll make good on his promises to keep fucking you until you are. should you be glad that he effectively ruined every potential relationship for you? you were unsure before, but you realize that nobody has or ever will love you as much as he does, even if he has a demented way of showing it. well, it is what it is. there’s no way out after this.

notes pt. 2: i hope this goes over better after the editing!

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simpjaes · 4 months ago

Note

insane thought but…. (random too)

imagine you’re saying goodbye to everyone after a party/meetup or anything of that sort with jake and he’s DRUNKKK like you can smell the alcohol from miles away, and he’s kinda leaning into you for support, and he’s so drunk to the point he’s voicing his thoughts about getting back home.. IFYKWIM🙂‍↕️

(sigh i love my brain sometimes)

-💌

content: you're best friend's with jake and learn how bad he's wanted between those thighs all these years. also, this has fluff, drunken confessions, desperate pining. uh...mentions of him jerking off next to you when you're sleeping.

not proof read.

It's tomorrow, and everyone seems so excited for you. Jake can't help but feel a little broken inside either, with the way your eyes light up at each person smooching your face with a wet and messy "goodbye."

It's not fair that you're just going to leave him like this. Not before he got his chance anyway...

It's his own fault, sure. Maybe he should've taken his chance last summer when you very much looked like you were about to kiss him. Why did he turn his head solely because he was nervous about it?

Or maybe, he should have taken the chance when your last ex broke up with you. The way you leaned on him, clinging to his sweater with hot tears in your eyes. You looked so pretty despite being so hurt, he wanted nothing more than to kiss away all those bad feelings and show you that the guy was nothing but a practice run for a real relationship. He was just a guy to help you raise your standards, even.

Or, maybe he should have taken his chance last night when he was sleeping in your bedroom one last time. In your bed like always, you had cuddled up to him as you fell asleep, pillow talk turning far more intimate than he thought it ever would. "You should come with me." You had mumbled. "I'll feel empty without you." You trailed off after that.

He chose to believe you were just sleep talking. Despite knowing you well enough to understand that you've never fucking sleep talked.

So, that leaves him here. Understanding that he missed every single fucking chance intentionally. And now, he's not even sober enough to approach you in a way that would even matter.

Except it does matter.

A lot.You were leaning against a window with your friends, relishing in the vibes of your "goodbye" party one last time when you glance to your best friend.

Never before have you seen the look on his face. He looks...determined? Angry? sad? You're not sure. You make note in your sobering mind to give him a longer, more loving goodbye than anyone else. He deserve it after all.

And after you do those goodbyes, knowing that the party will likely continue long after you're gone, you make your way to Jake.

He's far more drunk than you've ever seen him too. Cheeks dusted with reds and pinks, ears burning hot, even his hair is sticking to his forehead as he looks at you. He can barely even stand when you reach him.

You're quick to place your hands on his arms, helping him stand up straight when you go to speak, but you're cut off immediately.

"You can't go," He says, stumbling into you and holding you tightly against him. His alcohol breath is strong and hot against your cheek, but you're not sure how to respond. "You can't. I haven't even-"

You pause, trying to pry yourself from his grip and trying to ignore all the eyes on you, but he doesn't let you do either.

"I don't care who knows, I only cared if you knew." He slurs, holding you tighter. "I don't understand how you don't."

You successfully push away from him this time, looking at him both in pity and out of confusion.

"What don't I know?"

"I want you so bad right now.." Jake breathes. "Come home with me."

You feel your breath catch in your throat at those words. Truly, you stop breathing for a moment as you look at him. He stares back, blinking out of sync but still hopeful, looking at you in a way you've never noticed before now.

"Huh?" You retort, thinking you must have heard him wrong.

"Feel." He says, grapping your hand and pressing it between his legs, allowing not only you, but anyone who is watching to witness the proof of his words. "I need you."

You yank your hand back, mostly out of embarrassment, feeling a bit vulnerable in this situation.

"Come home with me." Jake mumbles again, now starting to hiccup.

Right, he's just drunk.

"Come on, I'll get you home." You finally say, sighing.

Did you get your hopes up a little bit?

Maybe. But he's clearly out of his fucking mind right now, and it really is probably for the best that you take him home and make sure he's all tucked in with water and a pain reliever.

And you do try. Letting him wobble his legs and balance against you as you walk him out. Whispering to you the whole way. He goes from being cheeky to almost...sad. Pleading, even.

"Need you so bad,"

"I can't keep pretending like I don't"

"You want me too, right?"

"Right? You've thought about it? About me?"

And when you continue to avoid his questions, he falls silent for a moment. Now outside, being put into your car.

You hear him briefly before you close the door.

"I'd make it feel so good, i promise."

Goddamn him for being so fucking drunk. Some people say that when you're drunk, your words are sober but you find that incredibly hard to believe right now. After all, you've tried to lay down hints for Jake. You moved on, not wanting to keep feeling rejected. And now...this?

By the time you place yourself in the driver's seat, that short moment of silence away from him did little to help.

"Please, tell me you've imagined it.""It's not just me, right?"And he keeps going. A loop of the same questions before...

"Yes! Jake! I've thought about it! A lot, actually. Now can you please stop talking? You're too drunk right now and it's starting to fuck with my head."And for a moment, you thought he'd listen to you. Just a moment, really. He throws out another question now, letting it linger in the air, forcing you to slam on your breaks in the middle of an empty street just to stare at him.

"Did you touch yourself?"You narrow your eyes at him, unable to see too much in the light of the moon but you can tell that same hopeful look is welling up in his eyes.

"Did you?" You breath out, questioning him back.

"Fuck," Jake breathes a half moan at your face alone right now, awestruck by how the night shades your face so beautifully. "All the time..." He sighs now, smiling as if he's remembering each session he's fucked his fist to you as a fond memory.

You eye his figure down for a moment before you manage to start driving again, thinking hard about if he's being truthful, or just horny.

"For how long?" You ask.

"How long what?"You roll your eyes at his hiccups, rewording your question for him.

"How long have you, you know, masturbated to me?"

"Years." He says it like a period on a sentence. As if he's answered the question millions of times and to be honest? It's making your brain spin with emotion.

"When was the last time?" You pry now, rubbing your legs together.

"This morning."

Pause, you hold back a small groan knowing Jake was in your bed with you all morning. Honestly, he didn't even move.

He notes your silence, but also notes your lack of discomfort too.

"You were asleep, I've learned how to be quiet over the years..." He mumbles, only now realizing how weird it actually is.

"Jake..." You carefully whisper. "Why are you doing this to me, knowing I'm moving away?"

His voice rings once more.

"Because maybe you won't, if you let me try."

#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake smut #enhypen hard hours #hardthots

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celestie0 · 1 year ago

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?"

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though.

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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star-girl69 · 1 year ago

Text

Let Me Love You Like A Woman

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

synopsis: you and clarisse broke up two months ago, and when you’re selected to go on a mission together, clarisse just wants you to let her love you.

a/n: i feel feelings about this one….. anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

Let Me Love You Like A Woman - Lana Del Rey

******i want to make this clear: there is absolutely NO smut in this fic. terms like “fuck buddies” and “friends with benefits” are used but only bc i cant think of anything else lmao. all they do is makeout and it is suggestive at times but there is NO SMUT

warnings: this is so bad tbh, what is clarisse doing, she’s so confused my little ladybug, y/n my other ladybug is confused too, OH MY GOD THERES ONLY ONE BED, swearing, hate make out sessions but the hate is one sided, kissing obvi!, deep talks about our feelings which is hard for clarisse, angst, mentions of death blood and monsters, lovesick!! slightly desperate!!! clarisse my cutesy little ladybug, exes/enemies w benefits so like mentions of sex and such, very suggestive lol, as an actual server the restaurant scene hurt me to write lol, but for the plot, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The Big House is the one place in camp you’re really unfamiliar with. It’s not like you haven’t been there before, it’s just you don’t go there that often.

And unknown places scare you.

There’s hiding places you don’t know about, blind spots you aren’t aware of- corners and small secrets and rules that you haven’t learned yet.

You make your way up the steps and through the porch, the familiar part- you pass by the infirmary and the random office no one uses- until you make it to the connected gondola Chiron and Mr. D. spend most of their time at.

You’re about to turn and enter when a familiar figure appears in front of you.

It hurts to think about how you’ll always know it’s her.

She seems just as shocked to see you but covers it up quickly.

“Y/N,” she smirks, looking you up and down.

You stop, go to turn around and march off in the other direction when you remember you can’t.

Clarisse La Rue doesn’t deserve the dirt under your feet, even though she would probably eat it if you asked- charmspeak used or not.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, and she frowns. You never really called her by her name when you dated, and you know it bothers her now to hear you say it.

That’s exactly why you do it, of course, but the part of you that knows everything about her and will always love her squeezes at the sight of her poorly-hidden sad face.

She’s been slipping up lately. It warms your heart to know that’s because of you.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, genuinely curious.

As a cabin leader, it’s not unusual for Clarisse to be here. But she knows you’re scared of the unknown, and she knows it’s just not in your routine to come here.

“Dunno,” you shrug. “Got called here.”

Her eyes light up. “How funny, so did I.”

You roll your eyes, fighting against the parts of your body that want to run towards her and the parts that want to run away. Instead, you listen to your brain and feel her staring at you as you turn the corner into the gondola.

“Y/N, Clarisse,” Chiron greets with a pleasant smile, setting down a hand of cards face-down. You almost laugh at Mr. D’s disappointed look- Chiron isn’t the trainer of demigods for no reason.

“Yeah, yeah, welcome,” Mr D says, seeming entirely uninterested. You both stand there slightly awkwardly.

Chiron is known to be blunt, so he of course jumps right in.

“We have a mission for the two of you.”

“The two of us? Like, just the two of us?”

The words come out before you can stop them, fingers twisting together and mouth slamming shut. You’re fine, you try to tell yourself, even though your mind and body agree on one thing- being too close to Clarisse will just lead you right back to her.

Clarisse tries to hide her hopeful smile, but you see through it. You loved her for so long, of course you see through it.

“Uh… yes,” Chiron says. You clench your fists.

Mr D seems interested now, especially after your outburst.

“Oh,” he laughs. “I see.” He gestures between the two of you, “there’s bad blood.”

Chiron presses his lips together.

“Nothing that doesn’t make us capable of going on this mission,” Clarisse says, taking a step forward. She smiles at you, but doesn’t make a move to touch you. At least she knows some limits, even if they don’t matter now.

“Well,” Chiron continues, seeming to regret his decision but deciding it’s too late. “Y/N. Your charmspeak, I feel, will be extremely important to this mission. And, Clarisse, daughter of Ares- your skills in battle are nothing to scoff at. There is an item I require the retrieval of. A friend left it in a P.o. box in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The journey is not particularly perilous, but being a demigod carries an affinity for danger.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I trust the two of you will be able to put aside your… ‘bad blood’ and complete your mission?”

Maybe this mission will be good for you. It certainly nowhere near the kleos of a quest, but more so gives you bonus points with Chiron. That could be helpful.

Clarisse looks at you.

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry.”

—-

“Y/N.”

You walk away from Clarisse pointedly, hoping she’ll take the hint.

You’ve decided you’ll do this quest. If you ever did want to be a cabin leader in the future- you either had to be well liked or the best. As a daughter of Aphrodite, you were already well liked- conversation and flattery came as easy to you as breathing.

Even before you learned how to use your charmspeak, you could sweet talk almost anyone into doing whatever you wanted. You really needed an A on that test? A few tears and some master manipulation- suddenly that A was yours.

But, Chiron needed to like you too.

You do this quest for him- which he choose you for- and then you earn even more of his respect.

It was such a simple exchange. It could be such a simple exchange, except if the girl hot on your heels wasn’t your partner.

She finally manages to grab your wrist and whip you back around so you’re facing her.

She smiles.

“I’ll always catch you, you know. No use in running, really.”

“At least I’ll go down fighting,” you say, looking anywhere but her eyes like portals that suck you in. She’s so close to you.

If this was the before you would wrap your arms around her neck and hers would go to your waist. Even if you were mad at her, she would press her body close to yours and kiss the corner of your lips- Clarisse made it her life’s mission to know every inch of you, and she succeeded. She would know the exact way to calm you down and get you to look at her and hear her out.

And most of the time you were being dramatic, or simply joking, and then she would kiss you and it would all be fine again.

Except it’s not the before. It’s the after, and your heart hurts being so close to her.

“What do you want, Clarisse?” you sigh.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

Your chest blazes. “Go talk to literally anyone else.”

Her face hardens.

“How many times do I have to tell you before you understand that you are the only person I care about?”

You rip your hand away from her grip.

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning and walking away.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at the gates,” you can feel her smile. “And then I’ll see you all on our mission, huh?”

“You’re crazy!”

—-

You walk into the Hermes cabin and fall face first onto your best friend Marley’s bed.

She looks up from her book and laughs.

“Oh, babe, what happened?” she asks, scratching the back of your scalp as you pull yourself up into your elbows and place your head in her lap.

“Mission,” you groan.

She stops. “A mission? For Chiron? Gods, Y/N that’s amazing-”

“With Clarisse.”

She takes her hand away from your scalp and moves to your chin, lifting you up.

As much as Clarisse hurt you and you hate her, Marley had always had a special sort of hatred for her. Even when you were happy and dating- you would tease her that maybe she’s actually a daughter of Ares, seeing how angry she was.

She was always overprotective, she insisted she just had a bad feeling about her- but eventually she stopped and you thought you could have it all.

“I’m sorry,” Marley laughs. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

You put your lips right up to her ear.

“MISSION WITH CLARISSE-”

“Y/N!” she yells and pushes you away, groaning as she holds her ear. “My ears are bleeding now, oh my Gods-”

“You’ll be fine,” you groan, settling back into her lap. “I’m the one who actually has to go with her.”

“Actually?” she whispers after a tense moment. “You actually have to go with her?”

“It’s fine,” you mumble.

“It’s not. Maybe I-I can talk to Chiron, or maybe I could come with you, huh?”

“No, thanks, Marls. It’s alright, really.”

She stares down at you, head tilted slightly to the side. Marley has always been exceptionally good at hiding her emotions. But you can tell she’s angry. She’s scared.

She’s your best friend and you will always love her in the most special way.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers.

The Hermes cabin is always a bustle of activity. But when you’re just here with Marley, it’s the two of you. It’s perfect. It’s what you’ve always wanted- selfishly- to feel special. You feel special with her eyes on you, your head in her lap. She’s your best friend.

You put your hand on her face.

“As much as I hate it, we both know Clarisse won’t let anything happen to me. I’ll be safe.”

“Yeah, but what if she does something to you?”

What if she does absolutely nothing and you fall in love with her all over again?

You always thought that all that stuff about feeling your heart physically break couldn’t be true- but you know it is. You felt it break and every time you look at Clarisse and it can’t be like it was before your heart breaks a little more.

Clarisse acted like you were some big secret that was a chore to hide, and then when you were in her arms she would call you the prettiest girl. It was like whiplash, feeling her touch so tenderly and then not even being allowed to look at her in public. And you wanted so badly to tell everyone that she was yours and you were hers- but she just couldn’t.

And you don’t care about the reason behind that, not after that one night, not after she told you she could never love you.

She doesn’t really want you. She acts like she does, but she only misses you on the surface. Sure, you miss her body, but you miss your late night talks and the way she was always there to protect you, the way she made you feel. You like the person you are with her.

She wants an idea of you, she wants you under her, she wants power and control.

You think maybe a part of her really does regret losing you that night. But, she laid it all out that night. What she feels doesn’t make up for what she said. She doesn’t love you because she’s insecure, because she’s self-serving and power hungry.

She makes you feel stupid waiting for her, but why would you wait for someone else when you could wait for her to come back? You don’t like the unknown, and Clarisse is the one thing you really know.

You look into Marley’s eyes now.

“It will be good for me,” you whisper. “I’ll earn Chiron’s respect.”

Marley kisses your cheek.

“I know. I just don’t want you to go, and I know that makes me selfish but- still.”

“I know, Marls. I know,” you whisper. But this will be good for you, and it’s already been done. You already accepted it.

Marley helps you pack and you watch her anger. You watch her roughness, you watch the fire in her eyes- and Gods, does it make you feel special to have a friend like her.

You only wish you could make Clarisse feel like that too.

—-

The bus ride is boring.

Clarisse, for some merciful reason, decides not to torture you and instead throw her dagger up and down.

But you’re bored.

You’ve been reading a book Marley lended you, something boring and wonderfully distracting about the history of the four wind gods- you think about the wind and not about the way Clarisse’s thigh is pressed up next to yours.

It’s only been two months.

As much as you hate it, you won’t even admit it to Marley, but you’ll admit it to yourself in the quietness of the back of the bus.

You close the book and stuff it into your backpack.

You miss her.

“I’m bored,” you announce before you can second guess yourself.

“Okay,” Clarisse hums, picking at a speck of hardened dirt on her dagger. “I know a lot of things we could do to remedy that.”

Your cheeks flush, but you hold your ground. “I’m not going to kiss you. One, it smells like shit back here and two, we’re not dating anymore.”

“True, but doesn’t that just make it more fun?”

“What?”

Her hand moves to your thigh and you let yourself sink into the before.

“We aren’t supposed to- your best-fuckin’-friend would skin me alive. But we both know you want to.”

“I don’t want my lips anywhere near you.”

She just smiles at you, and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring into her eyes this entire time.

She takes her hand off of you and turns away, and this part of you aches so badly for the before- but it’s after. But she doesn’t love you and she just wants you.

But you want her too. You want her so bad, and maybe if you just let yourself sink into her one more time then you can move on. One good goodbye and you’ll be fine.

“Take a nap, then,” she suggests. “We still have another hour before the next rest stop, I’ll wake you up.”

“Okay,” you mumble, a part of you loathing listening to her, but a nap sounds good.

—-

You sleep the best you ever have since you broke up.

Clarisse was always sneaking into your bed, or you into hers, and she was always so warm and made you feel so safe. You always slept with her. And while you could still fall asleep fine without her- it just wasn’t the same.

You wake up to the sound of the bus doors opening and people talking around you.

“Y/N,” Clarisse whispers. “Wake up.”

You realize your head is on her shoulder.

You push her away from you, she just laughs and stands up.

“So stubborn,” she mumbles, leaning down to dig into her bag for the money Chiron gave you.

You resist the urge to say something snarky back, instead choosing to squeeze past her and out into the aisle.

She’s following behind you in a second, her bag zipping up and getting thrown back under the seat.

She’s right up in your ear.

“I know you hate me,” she whispers. “But you can’t just go running off. What if there was a monster right outside the doors?”

The two of you step off of the bus, the bright sunshine making your squint.

You pull up your shirt and pat your hip where your dagger rests.

“I’d kill it.”

You both know you probably couldn’t.

She laughs. “Is that the dagger I gave you?”

Your face freezes but you keep walking into the rest stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff.

She sticks her fingers through the loop of your jeans and pulls you into an aisle filled with chips. You suddenly find a bag of Cheetos very interesting.

She looks at your face, into your eyes, and traces her fingers over the dagger’s handle.

“Hm, mine.”

You miss her so bad. You never knew it was possible to miss someone this much. You miss her body and her mind and her voice. You miss her hands and her lips and the way she made you feel.

You don’t pull away. How can you pull away?

It was easy to ignore her when she wasn’t right in front of you, but there’s this part of you that loves her and wants to believe her. Then there’s another part that wants to see her suffer like she did to you.

You push her off of you. “Don’t touch me.”

Again, she just smiles, and that’s really starting to piss you off.

—-

You’re somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania at a bus stop, waiting to cross the lonesome highway to the other side of the street where a train station awaits you.

“Are you okay?” Clarisse asks, and you realize she’s already stepped out onto the road and you’ve been staring off into nothing. You quickly follow her, half running across the road until you get to the sweet, sweet air conditioned station.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

In reality, you have to keep yourself distracted so you don’t fall back into her. You’ve decided it not about whether or not you love or want to hear her out- it’s about the way she kisses you and the way her skin feels against yours.

You can want her, here, where no one will know.

You’ll swear her to secrecy, and she’ll shut up just for the chance of more. And you don’t know if you’ll give it to her.

The station is oddly busy.

You have this horribly uneasy feeling.

You make your way into the line anyways, snatching the tickets from where they’re scrunched up in her hand, trying your best to flatten them again.

She laughs. You refuse to feel the way it makes your heart ache. You think about the other reasons she makes your heart ache.

You see something, shiny and black out of the corner of your eye. When you look over, the indented entrance to a janitor’s closet is marked in shadows.

But you trust yourself.

“I think I just saw something,” you whisper.

She still makes you feel safe. She’s one of the most talented warriors at camp and she loves you- even Marley admitted she won’t let anything happen to you.

She follows your gaze. And she doesn’t see anything.

“Okay,” she murmurs. She trusts you too. Her eyes flick between the shortening line and the shadows. “Maybe one more minute then we’re on the train.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slipping your hand into hers. You can hear her inhale sharply. She’s not phased by a potential monster, but you holding her hand makes her face flush.

Why is she so fucking confusing?

As far as you can tell, she just wants to be fuck buddies- so why is she blushing as you hold her hand?

She squeezes your hand, and Clarisse is right, you make it to the front of the line. The man checks your tickets and hole punches them, welcoming you back into the outdoors.

You look over your shoulder, and something shiny reflects in the sunlight, still in the shadows of the building.

“Clarisse.”

She seems to see it too.

“I can’t tell what it is,” you say.

She tugs you along. “I don’t want to find out.”

When you finally step foot onto the train you take your hand from Clarisse’s and look down at the tickets. Cabin 4A. It’s near the front, so you find it fairly quick- just a simple one room cabin.

You quickly barricade yourself inside, drawing the curtains and setting your stuff on the floor.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That was tense,” you mutter. Clarisse holds her wrist. She nods, staring down at your feet before sighing.

Somehow, it’s six o’clock. You dig into your snacks, neither of you feeling like leaving the safety of the cabin to go to the dining cart.

The train car has two benches facing each other, overhead storage and a large window. There’s practically no room in between the two benches- the car is maybe 5 feet wide.

You miss Marley. You could always talk to her from across the pavilion during a meal- entire conversations with just your eyes. You miss your siblings, their conversation filling up the silence. Here, there’s nothing.

It’s so silent, and yet it’s that comfortable silence with Clarisse. It makes you miss the before.

That’s all you’ve been doing- missing things and wishing they were different.

The train starts and you stare out the window, the rolling hills and the trees and the small creek. You can feel Clarisse looking at you. You try your best to ignore the way her gaze makes you feel- but you’re alone in this cabin. There’s no one else here. There’s no one else to know if you give in one time.

Something slams against the door.

You breathe in and Clarisse grabs her spear.

“Should I open it?” you whisper, standing up. She sticks out her spear to stop you from moving forward.

The two of you listen, but nothing else happens.

It wasn’t a knock. It sounded sort of like a ball being kicked into the door.

“I’m opening it,” you decide, curiosity killing you, pushing Clarisse’s spear aside.

“Y/N,” she warns, but you’ve already slid open the door.

Absolutely nothing is there. You look out the adjacent windows, down the hallways lined with red carpet.

You shrug. “Nothing’s here-”

It’s cold and scaly when it lands on you.

The same black shiny thing you saw, it’s slithering around your neck, cutting off your air supply immediately. You can’t even scream you’re too scared, hands clawing at your neck but it squeezes and one of its heads rears up to attack your chest-

Clarisse’s spear sails right through its raised head.

It drops, you fall back, gasping, watching as she pins it under her boot and lifts the spear out of it. It’s wriggling and trying to break free- but she stabs it through its other head.

It’s an amphisbaena. A horrible, scaly black snake-sort of thing with a head on each end.

You rub your chest, swallowing a lump in your throat as Clarisse casually picks up the now dead monster and opens the adjacent emergency exit window in the hallway- throwing it out into the middle of nowhere.

She turns back around, frowning at the blood coating the ends of her spear-

You slam into her. You’re breathing so heavily, you still feel like it’s around your neck, but Clarisse carefully wraps her arms around your waist, letting you lean against her as your shaky hands massage your neck.

No one would know.

Her spear falls to the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s dead,” she whispers, kicking the cabin door closed with her foot.

No one would know.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “Oh, Gods, thank you, Clarisse.”

“No problem,” she says.

No one would know.

“Clar,” you mumble. She stiffens at the nickname. She tenderly brings one hand up to your face, and she wants you just as much as you want her- that’s all this is about. An exchange. You’ll kiss her for the last time and you’ll finally get over her.

“I know,” she mumbles, she feels the burning in her stomach too. You’re connected by that in this one moment, your mutual desire and need. Except she has a need for a new beginning, and you have a need for an end.

It’s so simple.

You both can get what you want from this trip.

“I know,” she says again, her nose touching yours. Your breaths mix in the air. “I know, I miss you so much… so bad, Y/N, you don’t…”

“Show me,” you whisper against her lips, and she does.

You can feel it all, the regret you don’t care about, and the desire and want and need you do care about.

You need to feel more of that. You need to feel special, so when your back hits the the door and her hands are all over you, you tilt your head back and look up at the ceiling, mouth twisted into a moan.

You need her to make you feel special. You don’t feel special without her, without her rough hands and her soft lips. It’s the one trait from your mother that you somewhat despise- the innate need to be the center, to be the focus, to feel special. She’s the only one who has ever made you feel like this.

No one else will ever come close.

“I hate you,” you breathe. You can’t think, all your walls are down. “I hate you so much and I still…. I still…”

She kisses you again so you don’t have to say it.

—-

The bed is scratchy and uncomfortable, but there’s only one- and it’s so tiny you’re pressed right up against Clarisse. She doesn’t wrap her arm around you, even though you wish she would, if only because you’re cold.

Not because you’re still irrecoverably in love with her and you know she won’t. And even if she does, it won’t be in the way you want it.

How can she kiss you like she loves you yet claim she never will? How can one kiss make you so weak in the knees that you’re genuinely considering doing this for any scrap of her you can get?

You stare up the ceiling for a long time, until you come to that weird space where you’re so tired you can’t move and your eyes are closed, but you’re still awake.

She wraps her arm around your waist and kisses your temple.

—-

The next time she kisses you you’ve gotten used to this whole making out with no strings thing.

You’re about to get off the train, so you tidy your stuff and head to the dining cart for pretty pastries and bagels and some fruit. On your way back, maybe 15 minutes left in your ride, someone in a uniform sees two teenage girls heading alone into a room.

When he asks where your parents are, can he see your tickets, you panic and charmspeak him to forget he ever saw this and walk away.

“Close,” you laugh, and Clarisse mumbles some sort of noncommittal agreement before smashing her lips onto yours.

You gasp but kiss her back, just reveling in having her hands on you. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging back so she has better access to your neck- the side of it already sporting a hickey from last night.

“Did I ever tell you how fucking hot you are when you use your charmspeak?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because you can’t think of anything when her lips are on your neck.

—-

The station is luckily only 20 minutes away from the P.o. box, so the walk is quick through the streets of Myrtle Beach. It’s so loud here. There’s cars constantly whizzing past you, people yelling and honking, sirens in the distance. It’s confusing. It’s so different from Camp.

“I fucking hate this place,” you mumble, fidgeting with a loose string on your backpack.

“I do too,” Clarisse answers, but not for the same reasons. Her eyes whip around, searching for anything hiding in the shadows- but the sky is so blue and the sun makes your skin so warm- it seems unfathomable that any monsters would be here.

Of course, they’re here. They just haven’t come out yet.

Clarisse has been angry at the world for as long as you can remember, but you always thought her roughness balanced out with your softness. Ares and Aphrodite, love and war, peace and violence.

You always thought you could bring out that little bit of softness in her.

“On your left!”

Clarisse drags you out of the way just for a man on a bike to speed past you- your eyes flick to the perfectly usable bike lane on the street.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“Asshole!” Clarisse shouts after him at the same time. He flips you off and continues shouting at more people to move.

Her hand is digging into your arm. She lets go after she huffs, muttering a few more choice words.

She keeps glaring at every honking car and random pedestrian. You roll your eyes when she yells at some random car to go die, laughing.

“Always fuckin’ honking,” she mutters. You know if she ever got behind the wheel, she would do the exact same thing.

“You’re not any better,” you tell her, nudging her hand that’s currently balled up into a fist.

“Yeah, well, I have a reason to be mad.”

Clarisse is angry at the world, but you know she has reasons. She’s not just angry for the sake of being angry, although she finds comfort in the familiar just like you, she is angry at the world that has done nothing but wrong her time and time again.

Sometimes you wish you could have as much fire in you as her. And two months ago, you thought she had enough fire in her for the both of us.

“Why don’t we grab the box and then go to lunch?” you suggest, getting the feeling that Clarisse is about to explode. She looks at you. “We have a few hours until our train back, hm?”

“Yeah, okay.”

—-

Chiron said this mission wasn’t going to be that dangerous, but you are surprised when it really is that easy. You take the key out from the envelope Chiron gave you, opening the blue box and coming out with a small box. It almost looks like some sort of fancy necklace- a long black box with a silver bow on the outside.

“This feels too easy,” Clarisse says as you lean down to carefully place it in your bag.

You shrug. “You’re always so paranoid, just let it all come naturally. Some things are easy, Clar.”

She stares at you for a moment.

“I guess,” she says, sticking out her hand to help you up before you both make your way back out onto the streets.

Her spear is hidden by the mist, strapped to her back, and you’re sure she has a bunch of little daggers strapped all over her. You scan the busy street.

Clarisse snorts at a restaurant called “Mother Earth Green Food” and her eyes light up at the sight of a 80’s style diner- “Mr. Steve’s Burgers and Bacon”.

“We’re going there,” she declares, and you roll your eyes but follow her across the street. It’s not that busy, seeing as it’s still early, so you’re seated quickly. It feels so good and so wrong to be here across from her like this.

It feels like before. Except some sort of alternate reality, where you actually left camp and got to be like this. You still want her and your trip’s not over yet, so you sink into it.

“Hey guys, I’m Miley and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you for drinks?”

She’s got long dirty blonde hair, tied up in two very neat and impressive space buns. Her skin is tan, but you suppose if she lives near the beach then everyone’s skin is tan, really.

“I really like your hair,” you tell her, pointing to the side of her head. She smiles and bounces one of them in her hand.

“Took me forever,” she chuckles. “I love yours, such a pretty color.” You cheeks blush as you thank her.

She smiles at you and goes off to get them, so you turn back to your menu. Clarisse’s foot taps against the floor.

“What are you thinking of getting?”

She sets her menu down and points to some sort of monstrous burger called “The Bomb.”

You laugh. “The Bomb,” you mock. “Will it explode in your stomach, or something?”

She mumbles something under her breath, staring off towards the counter, and you can tell by the look on her face it’s not anything nice.

“What was that?”

She presses her lips together. “Nothing,” she hums.

You shoot her an odd look but she pointedly looks away, and as much as you want to, you decide not to push.

Miley comes back with your drinks, and you thank her as she sets them down. Clarisse mumbles a thank you too after you kick her foot.

“Okay, and what can I get you guys to eat today?”

You have to kick Clarisse again to remind her to say please.

You smile apologetically up at Miley for Clarisse’s sour mood, but she seems not to care, smiling back at you and saying something about how she’ll make sure it’s out quick for you.

“‘I’ll make sure it comes out quick for you,’” Clarisse mocks, her voice a pitch higher.

“Yeah. Isn’t she so nice? And yet here you are treating her like shit.”

“She’s sucking up for a good tip.”

“Or maybe she’s just nice, Clarisse. There are nice people in the world, you know. Not everyone is all dark and brooding or bitchy.”

The silences stretches for a second too long. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You hum, sitting on your hands and staring out the window. It’s times like this your miss your mortal childhood, having access to electronics meant you were never bored. You debate taking out the book Marley loaned you, but you don’t get the chance to.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Clarisse announces. “Come with me.” She’s already walking away.

“Who’s gonna watch our stuff?”

“Tell fuckin’ Miley to do it, I don’t care.”

You look around. There’s not many people in the restaurant, and you’re curious and bored- so you follow her. The door swings closed behind her, and it takes you a second to follow her in.

You think she’s disappeared, the bathroom empty with two open stalls. The door is kicked closed behind you. You turn around and Clarisse pushes you into the nearest bathroom, her hands on your waist- you moan in surprise, letting her flip the two of you around and press you against the door, her hand leaving your waist to make quick work of the lock.

“Clarisse,” you breathe. “What’s going on?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

You don’t answer and she kisses you deeper.

—-

“Clarisse.”

She’s been smiling at your neck a little too obviously, and when she finally lets you out from under her lips and hands, you immediately turn around and head for the mirror.

“Clarisse,” you repeat.

She’s looking at you in the mirror and smiling. Actually fucking smiling.

“What is wrong with you?!” you yell, turning on the cold water and frantically bringing it to the red hickies on your neck. “Are you a vampire? Oh, my Gods, Clarisse, this is so fucking embarrassing!”

“It’s not,” she huffs. “You’ll be fine.”

“Cl-” but she’s already left. She really has to stop doing that.

—-

Lunch is fine, you leave Miley a nice tip, even though Clarisse scoffs and mumbles that she wasn’t that good- but you feel so bad that she had to watch you wiggle in your seat, desperately trying to hide your neck as Clarisse ran her foot up and down the side of your leg.

You ignore her the entire walk to the station, she barely hides the smug look on her face. Is she just intent on making you seem stupid and weak? Does she want to embarrass you? She knows. She knows you’re still in love with her and she’s playing you like a fiddle.

You thought Clarisse to be a lot of things, and you know she’s cruel and ruthless- but you never thought she could be this way towards you.

You make it onto the train with no problems, and you’re desperate to just get out of this place and back to camp where you can ignore her. You had one last final hurrah, and now you need to forget her.

You stare pointedly out the window. You ate dinner in the dining cart in silence, Clarisse didn’t try to touch you again, but she seems bored of letting you sulk now that there’s nothing else to entertain her.

It’s only about 7:00 pm- you still have an entire night with her, and a bus ride the next day. Why are the Gods torturing you like this?

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You’re sitting across from each other. Her foot kicks at yours. “C’mere,” she pats the space next to her on the bench.

You snort. “You’re crazy. I’m not sitting near you.”

She shrugs and stands up, sitting next to you while you gasp in exasperation.

“Bitch,” you mumble, clenching your fists at you stand. She plants her hand on the window, trapping you in with her arm.

“Don’t be mean.”

You fold your arms and stare out the window. She’s right at your shoulder, whispering in your ear even though your alone- it makes you feel so special your head gets all dizzy.

“I want you, Y/N.” Not the way you want her.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

She laughs. You can see her reflection in the mirror, she’s laughing and smiling fondly- staring at you.

You whip around and point your finger at her.

“I won’t let you treat me like a rag doll anymore.”

Her smile falls.

“I used to be something you could just swing around, but I’m not anymore. I won’t ever be a toy for you, Clarisse. These past two days were fun, but they were goodbye. When we get back to Camp I’m getting over you, because I’ve spent too much time waiting for you.”

Her hand falls from the window, and she backs away from you.

—-

When you realize that this train also features another small, single bed, you resist the urge to stomp your feet like a child. Instead, you pretend like it’s all fine, a part of you pretends it’s that alternate before- Clarisse turning around while you change and you leave to brush your teeth and then you come back to her in bed.

You lay down, body unwillingly pressed up against hers. She doesn’t touch you, at least, and it’s tense and silent until she breaks it. Her hand finds yours through the sheets and blankets.

“Y/N.”

You try to shake her hand off of you, mumbling that she’s using your tiredness to manipulate you.

“Do you really think that’s all you were to me?”

You’re frozen, she’s right up against your back, breath tickling your shoulder and voice in your ear again.

Your hand still fits perfectly in hers.

“A toy?”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

She utters the two words you never thought you would hear her say.

“I’m sorry.”

Your breathe hitches.

“I-I know I’ve been stupid, I’m not totally dumb. I just, I had it in my head that I could make you fall in love with me all over again. And then I could do it right, I could fix it, and you could teach me how to love you and I would do it right, Y/N. And then I… I got jealous. Because that fucking server was flirting with you, she was, and I got fucking jealous and I fucked it all up.”

She’s breathing heavily at your shoulder.

“I was scared, Y/N. And that… I didn’t know how to deal with that. I was scared because I love you so much I know I would do anything you asked me too. So, I said those stupid things that night, I just lied because I was scared, and I’ll never forgive myself for the way I made you feel. I don’t deserve another chance, but I want to show you that I can do it right. I can do it however you want me too, as long as you teach me.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“I want you to let me love you.”

She lets go of your hand.

“You don’t have to say anything, I guess,” she swallows. “I mean, if I was you I would have killed me-”

“Really?” you voice comes out like a broken whisper, sitting up so you can look into her eyes. You try to tell if she’s lying, but you can’t. It hurts and it aches so good and she’s not lying.

“Y-yeah, I would have killed me.”

You smile. “No, dumbass, do you really love me?”

“Oh,” she blinks, sitting up too. “Y/N, I love you so much that I’ll never be the same person again.”

You don’t want to kiss her. All you’ve been doing is kissing her, sinking into that hard and rough side of your relationship that’s just hot desire.

But there’s a soft part to Clarisse that you bring out. And you bring it out now, winding your arms around her neck, breathing heavily as you rest your head on her shoulder. She hugs you, her arms are so strong, she always gives the best hugs- and kisses your temple like she did when she thought you were sleeping.

She loved you even when she didn’t know you would feel it.

Your fingers dig into her back.

“I love you,” she says again, softly, like she’s caressing the words with such a reverence that they were bathed in golden ichor. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you say back, you let her love you, and it’s the most true thing you’ve ever known.

—-

“Ah, young warriors!” Chiron says, holding his hands out.

Of course, on the tail end of your trip you had encountered tons of little monsters- more amphisbaena, even a juvenile drakon that could barely spit acid. Clarisse had made a dazzling show of killing all of them, and unlike the first amphisbaena- none of them got close enough to touch you.

You had to charmspeak the train conductor, the police officer at the station, and the bus driver. You wonder faintly if your mother had been looking out for you, helping you love Clarisse again.

Of course, all of those instances ended in Clarisse pulling you into the nearest corner.

It’s different, now that you know that you live each other. She still kisses you with that rough deepness, like she’s starved, like she’s trying to breathe you in, but her hands are so soft around you. She holds your waist close to you, not like she just wants to feel you body, but like she just wants to be close to you.

You swing your backpack off of your shoulder, you can feel your mascara smeared down your face from the heat, digging into your bag for the black box.

Chiron smiles and holds his hands out for you to place them in. “You have my thanks,” he says, laying the box into his hand.

You’re surprised when all he does is take out a simple pen. It looks like a nice pen, sure, but still just a pen.

He uncaps it, letting it fall to the concrete, when it suddenly transforms into a sword. You yelp and jump back, Clarisse puts her arm in front of you, and Chiron laughs triumphantly.

“Beautiful!” he says, admiring the carefully crafted sword.

Mr. D dissolves into a fit of laughter. “No more bad blood, huh?”

Clarisse drops her hand from where it reaches for her spear, and her other arm from across your body. Her hands drop to her sides, her face turns back into a mask of indifference and she shrugs.

Mr. D seems to find that even more funny, and Chiron dismisses you with a wave of his hand, staring in awe at the silver sword.

Clarisse presses her lips together into a tight line until you smack a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you,” you sing, and her face breaks out into a wide smile. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and it’s the only thing you ever want to know. All you need to know is her and her love.

—-

marley when she finds out clarisse and y/n are dating again: if you EVER and i mean EVER hurt her again i will torture you in ways not even imagined yet.

clarisse: ok yes i promise 😟😟

—-

clarisse when she realized she was in love with y/n: NO NO NO NO NEW FEELINGS NO I REJECT THIS AND I MUST RUN AWAY IN FACT THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

also clarisse when she realized she just broke up with y/n: OH GODS NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO WHAT HAVE I DONE NO NO NO NO PLEASE NO NO NO

—-

honorable mention to y/n fuck em’ and hate em’ l/n

another honorable mention to clarisse “none of them got close enough to hurt you” la rue

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

@sincerely-silk @lacytalks

—-

pls ignore it’s for the acc aesthetics thank you!!

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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