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aperrywilliams · 6 days ago

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Satellite Call. Part III: Now I'll Keep My Secret (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 4.5k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part III summary: You try to navigate between helping your husband to get out of jail and grasping the idea of having a baby. You don´t want to tell him yet, but every day gets harder and harder.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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It's been a whole month, and still, there has been little progress in getting Spencer out of jail. It doesn't help that the team needs to keep working on other cases. Serial killers don’t stop because one of the BAU members is falsely accused of murder.

Emily has been doing her best to balance the workload without putting Spencer’s case aside, and you are grateful she is managing to keep things rolling and preventing the team from crushing. Honestly, this past month has been hard for everyone, especially you. And after discovering you were pregnant, it only got harder. There were days of thinking about how to process the news and then what you wanted to do. Finally, you decide you want to have the baby, although you won’t tell Spencer yet. You don’t want him to worry about another thing that isn’t to get out of jail.

“What does Fiona say about a new hearing?” You ask your husband in your regular weekly visit.

“She doesn't think it can be arranged if there is no new evidence to justify a change in my status,” Spencer explains, a tired look on his face.

“But we can prove there was someone else in that room. There is a reasonable doubt about you committing the murder, right?” You try to reason.

“They will say it's my accomplice. I don't know; Fiona doesn't seem convinced,” Spencer adds and immediately tries to change the focus, seeing your disappointment. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out what else can be done. But now I want to know about you. Last week, you said you got a stomach bug. Are you feeling better?”

Indeed, on the day of your last visit, you had pretty bad morning sickness, and Spencer noticed your pale face. So you lied, saying it was a stomach bug.

“Yeah. Much better, actually.”

“You sure? It seemed serious. Maybe a doctor’s check would be a good idea.”

“Spence, I’m fine. Really. Nothing to worry about.”

You hate to lie this way to him, but seeing how worried he is because of a stomach bug, you don’t fathom how it would be for him knowing a baby is growing inside of you.

You leave him with the promise to get checked so your health doesn’t get worse. And it’s not a complete lie because you indeed have a doctor's appointment, but it’s for your first sonogram.

Although you have been feeling okay, you don’t think you can do this alone, so you ask Emily to go with you.

When Emily arrives at your apartment to pick you up and drive you to the hospital, she asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Weird.”

It is not as eloquent as you want it to be, but it is a good summary. Emily raises an eyebrow, seizing your response.

“A good weird or a bad weird?”

You purse your lips in thinking for a moment.

“A weird-weird,” you shrug, sitting at the barstool where you are drinking a mug of tea. “I mean, I know I’m growing a human being inside my body, but I can’t fully understand it yet. It doesn't feel real.”

Emily understands better than you think she does, but she won’t tell you that.

“So I should infer you’re not ready for today,” she assumes. And you nod in acknowledgment.

It’s not the ideal scenario. You haven’t told Spencer yet, and you don’t want to tell anyone else, so you ask Emily to keep the secret for a while.

The drive to the hospital is mostly silent. Emily doesn’t want to overwhelm you talking about Spencer’s case or anything stressful, so she lets the music fill the space.

In the waiting room, you can’t stop bouncing your leg. A treat you got from Spencer in all these years knowing each other.

Emily notices. “It’s going to be okay,” she assures you, with a comforting hand on your knee. You look at her and sigh.

“I hope so.”

A doctor peeks at the waiting room and spots you.

“Mrs. Reid? We are ready for you,” he announces with a warm smile.

Both you and Emily nod and follow him to the procedure room.

After all the protocol questions, he asks you to lie down on the gurney.

“We’ll do a check on the baby now,” the doctor explains as he applies the cold gel to your lower belly.

Emily can feel your nervousness even if you are good at masking it. Gently, she squeezes your hand in reassurance. You take a deep breath and brace for what’s coming next.

The monitor turns to life with the image of your womb. There is a tiny bubble beating there.

“There you go. Your baby is there. Let’s see. Shape and size as they have to be. Now let’s hear the heartbeats.” After switching some buttons, the room fills with fast tumps—your baby’s heartbeat. If there is any doubt about the reality of all of this, now it’s undeniable. Your eyes fill with tears, and you can’t stop them from falling.

“Emily-” you manage to say between sobs, and she clutches your hand harder to ground you.

“I know. It's beautiful.”

Spencer should be here, you think. Surely, he would have said a lot of facts about your baby's size and development at this point of pregnancy. And there is no doubt he would have cried as you are doing now.

“Everything looks fine. You need to keep taking your vitamins, try to avoid stressful situations, and eat properly. The baby needs all the nutrients you can provide. Book your next appointment for the next month,” the doctor instructs as he hands you copies of your sonogram and report.

The indications are very clear, but how do you explain to him that your world is anything but not stressful right now?

“Thank you. We’ll do that.” Emily answers for you, presumably knowing you want to argue about your current situation.

On the trip back to your apartment, as Emily drives, you can’t stop looking at the sonogram images. That tiny bubble is your little one. The heartbeat you heard at the doctor’s office is yours and Spencer's baby's.

“Will you tell him now?” Emily asks, already knowing what you are thinking about.

“I - I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.” You see how Emily’s brows furrow. “I will. Of course, I will. I just don’t think it's the time. Not when we don't have any progress to get him out.”

Emily doesn't agree with your decision, but she respects it. She also respects your wishes not to tell the team.

“You understand you can’t hide it forever, don’t you?” Emily points to your belly.

“Yes. I know.”

Besides keeping the news between you both, you agree with Emily on some adjustments to your routine. You are traveling with the team in some cases. Still, you don’t go to the field so often, staying in the precincts working on the geographical profile, something it doesn't pick too much attention knowing Spencer is who usually does that, and he can’t at the moment.

You visit Spencer whenever you have the chance, sometimes two times a week. There are days rougher than others. The lack of evidence to tie Scratch to Spencer’s case is frustrating, but you try to keep your spirit up for your husband’s sake and yours.

There is a very shitty one when you see Spencer’s face bruised. He tells you everything is fine, but how can you believe that when your husband has been beaten in jail and you couldn’t do anything to help him? Those days are the worst when, plus the impotence you feel, you wonder about whether it's a good idea to tell him about your pregnancy. But you don’t. Each time, you relent and leave with a heavy secret literally growing inside of you.

When Spencer is denied bail for the second time, you want to punch someone, anyone. Two months in jail, and it seems like an eternity.

That night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself cry to loosen some of the frustration. But when you feel a buzz in your belly, it is like a switch is pulled up, and you can’t help but stop sobbing. The foreign feeling has you with your hands on your lower stomach, wondering what the hell was that.

Maybe it’s your imagination. Your doctor said quickening happens around 16 to 20 weeks in pregnancy, but with first babies, it can be later. The math says it can be a possibility - you're in your 18th week - and the thought of that happening is enough to ground you in the present to focus. Your baby needs you the same as they need their father.

“Okay, let’s see. You tracked the bullet found for Matamoros’ police in the truck Spencer was driving, and it's tied to murders on the border?” Emily asks Penelope after she gathers the whole team in the conference room to debrief the latest findings in Spencer’s case.

“Wait. The police never mentioned fired guns being involved. Why are we knowing this now?” You ask Garcia for clarification.

“Because that was the only thing they didn’t include on their first report,” Garcia explains. “They updated it after we got Spencer transferred to American soil, and they didn't notify us. I found it because of a report from San Juan police linking Matamoros’ discovery with a new case of theirs,” she points to the screen when the comparison between bullets is shown.

“Then the gun is active. So is Scratch’s partner,” Rossi infers.

“When Garcia?” you rush to ask.

“This morning. I did the digging and called you immediately.” You look to Emily to make the decision you know is the obvious. Emily shakes her head.

“No, we’re not going to the border. We need more.”

“Emily, it’s our chance to get Scratch’s partner!” you argue. Luke backs you up.

“We don’t have anything else by now. We should go.”

Rossi speaks up. “It could be nothing. Emily is right. We need more to go after him.”

“What if we can’t get more than this?!” you stand from your seat. “It’s been two months, and it’s the first time we have something more than conjectures.”

“And if we don’t have anything else, we can screw this up and lose any chance to get him. You know that,” Emily tries to reason with you, but you only scoff in response.

“All of us want to get Spencer out of jail, but we need to be cautious.” This time, it is JJ who tries to de-escalate, but you’re already exasperated.

“Sure, since it's not your husband who is locked up in a dirty cell for a crime he didn't commit! You don’t know anything! You don't know how frustrating it is not to be able to help him and to fear every day that his life is in danger!” You’re yelling at this point.

JJ doesn’t know what to say, and the team only looks at your outburst in silence. But Emily's firm voice calls out your name, and before she can lecture you, you huff and walk out of the room.

The bathroom is the only place you can come up to hide. Closing the door behind you, you start to pace, trying to think of a way to get out of your frustration.

You want to cry. You want to scream.

You know the team has good intentions, and they’re right about being cautious. You’d say the same in other circumstances. But now? Without much thought and motivated by rage, you punch the wall with your fist.

The sharp feeling running from your fist to your hand and then your arm is enough to stop the rush in your head. A pained grunt escapes your lips. And then nothing, just the throb in your knuckles that brings you to reality.

“Fuck!”

Panting, you grab your injured hand with the other, and it's when you notice the bleeding. Your knuckles are bleeding. You don't know if it's the pain of the broken skin or the sadness of your heart, but with your back against the wall, you slide to the floor. Sitting with your arms around your knees, crying your eyes out.

At that moment, Emily gets in the bathroom and sees you on the floor. All the alarms start blaring in her head.

“Hey, hey. What happened?” she crouches and notices your hand. “Honey, you are injured. What did you do?”

“What can I do? Emily, what can I do?” you sob, and Emily engulfs you in a tight embrace.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t - I don't -” you babble as Emily sways you gently in her arms. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, but from all the people I have known in my life, there is no one that can do this but you. It’s okay. I promise it will be okay,” she whispers, trying to soothe your sobs. It works at some point. Your breathing is still shaken, but the tears subside. “Come on, we need to check your hand,” Emily says, helping you to get up.

She helps you clean off the blood and takes you to her office, not before calling an EMT to check your hand. There is no broken bone, just some torn skin and a nasty bruise. Emily asks for a check on your blood pressure and other vitals. You are pregnant, and she is worried. The EMT concludes that everything looks fine.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble after you are both left alone in Emily’s office.

“Don’t apologize. We understand.”

And although you know they do, you are still sorry about losing your temper in the conference room.

“Even though it’s true stress and hormones are feasting at my expense, that doesn't justify my behavior.”

Emily scoffs. “You go too hard on yourself sometimes.”

Possibly, she’s right. But have you the luxury of not to?

Emily instructs Garcia to keep track of the San Juan case and compare any other piece of evidence besides the bullets' match. A new case arrives, and this time, Rossi will be in charge, flying to Tulsa with Tara, JJ, Luke, Matt, and Stephen.

“Why are you not going?” you ask Emily when everyone but her gets their go-bags and disappears on the elevator. You know why you won’t go, but Emily?

“I have more pressuring matters here,” she solemnly states. The frown on your face says you don’t understand what she refers to.

“About Spencer?” you guess, but Emily shakes her head.

“About another friend, who happens to be Spencer’s wife.” Before you ask what she means, Emily continues. “A very good friend of mine is having a hard time, and I’m sure we need to talk about it. Really talk about it.”

True to her word, Emily takes you to your apartment and stays with you all afternoon. You cook, eat, and talk.

It's comforting to have a friend like Emily Prentiss. Sometimes you forget it because she is your boss too, but you can’t have asked for a better friend than her.

“Why didn't you tell me all these things before?” she asks after you recount some details of your emotional rollercoaster in the past weeks.

“What’s the point? I mean, you already have a lot on your plate trying to be my boss,” you joke to lighten the mood.

“Really? Is that your excuse?” Emily scoffs, knowing you’re deflecting. You shrug in resignation.

“The part of you having a lot on your plate is true, though.”

“Never is a lot when we are talking about our friends,” she reminds you. “Maybe I don’t always have the answers for everything, but at least I’m a good listener. You know that.”

Emily is right. She has been there for you since the beginning. When you joined the team a year later than her, Emily quickly became your best friend. She was the one who encouraged you to make a move on Spencer after you admitted having feelings for him. You’ll be grateful for it for the rest of your life.

Spending the afternoon talking to your friend and verbalizing what's bothering you makes you feel lighter at the end of the day and gives you a sense of normality amidst the chaos.

When you go to bed that night, you grab the picture of your last sonogram and contemplate it for a while. You’ll get another one next week. Rubbing your belly, you smile to yourself.

“Are you ready for another photo session? We are collecting all your pictures for when Daddy comes home. Will you pose for him in the next one?” You feel a buzz in your lower stomach, like the one you felt some days before. You are sure it's your baby this time.

“Okay, then. I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, chuckling as your mind wanders to a particular moment.

You were at Rossi’s celebrating JJ’s second pregnancy announcement. You and Spencer were freshly married at the moment. At some point, Spencer approached you, seeing you were alone in a corner, nursing a beer. “Hey,” he said, kissing your cheek. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all by herself?” You chuckled at his attempt to flirt. “Spencer Reid, you already married me. You don't need to try to impress me, you know?” Spencer’s grin almost left you breathless. God, you were so madly in love. “I’ll never stop telling you how pretty and amazing you are. If you don’t like it, sue me." With his arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you in for a kiss. A burst of laughter drew you out of your moment. You turned to see the team joking around with the expecting parents. Spencer kept his arms around you, allowing your head to rest on his chest. "Do you think we’ll be like that someday?" you asked Spencer, watching Will and JJ with Henry, feeling their joy about another baby on the way. Spencer rested his chin on your shoulder. "I do. We’ll get there someday.”

Penelope’s intel pays off in some way. The bullet they are tracking could be tied to an older BAU case. The name Lindsey Vaughn rings louder as they can identify the gun she’s been using to kill men in the past months.

It's still too early to know where she is and how she’s connected to Scratch, though. But having a name is better than nothing.

With the current caseload and the leads for Spencer’s case, you don't have the heart to ask Emily to join you for your new sonogram appointment, so you decide to go alone.

When Dr. Alberts sees you coming in, he greets you with a smile.

“Mrs. Reid. It's good to see you. Please, take a seat on the gurney, please.”

New questions follow the routine ones: ‘Have you felt it kicking?’ ‘Have you had new cravings?’ ‘Have you considered having a C-section?’’

Of all the things he could have said, the one that leaves you reeling is, "Did you notice you're starting to show by now?"

Damn. It’s still subtle, but it's clearly there. With everything happening around you, it wasn't a pressing concern. But now, it means you'll have to either find a way to hide it or tell everyone—including Spencer—that you're expecting a baby.

The second big news is the baby’s gender. Dr. Alberts asks you if you want to know, and despite your nervousness, you say yes.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” he murmurs as he moves the wand over your belly, concentrating on the monitor. “Yes, I can see it now—or rather, I can’t see it.” He turns to face you with a smile. “Congratulations, Mrs. Reid! You’re having a girl.”

A girl. You’re having a girl.

The first thought in your mind is how a daddy’s girl your baby will be. Knowing Spencer, she’ll have him wrapped around her little finger in no time.

You leave the doctor’s office with a warm feeling in your chest. Maybe it's time to let the world know. But first, Spencer. So you’ll wait for your visit at the end of the week.

That day, Milburn greets you the same way it has since your first visit, with grey walls and fluorescents tilting in the hall's ceilings. As always, you wait in the same booth while the inmates enter the room and take a seat in front of their respective visitors.

You wait for your husband, fiddling with your wedding ring, a thing you do when you are nervous. Just a couple of minutes later, Spencer walks in. When he spots you, a subtle smile appears on his face.

“Hi,” you murmur, returning him a curve up of your lips.

“Hi, love,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear him.

“How are you?” You don’t expect things to be great in a place like this, but given the circumstances, you ask in the hope that nothing worse has happened.

“As good as it can be,” Spencer shrugs, and you can feel he’s holding back. “This week, there are no bruises, so it's good, right?” He gives you a tight-lip smile.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer,” you scold him because of his dark humor. You can’t blame him, though. You do the same all the time.

“I’m sorry. It wasn't my intention to upset you,” he apologizes. You shake your head.

”It’s okay. I know. It's just - God. If I could - I don’t know - kidnap you from here and keep you locked in a room until everything gets fixed, I would.”

Spencer’s eyes soften. He knows you are talking out of frustration and in an attempt to regain some control in a situation over which you have no control whatsoever.

“Too much time working with the BAU, honey,” Spencer scoffs jokingly. A chuckle escapes your lips at his remark.

“You should really be worried. The moment you get out of here, I’m going to confine you to the apartment permanently,” you warn. Spencer’s eyebrows furrow in fake confusion. “What? You are not the only one allowed to use witty remarks in this relationship, okay?”

Spencer can’t help but notice you look kind of different today. Actually, you have looked different in the past weeks. There is something in your skin, the way you talk, the glint in your eyes. Despite everything, you look beautiful and glowing. Spencer has always thought you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, but not being able to be with you in the past months has enhanced every detail he misses about you.

You raise an eyebrow when there is no response from Spencer. You notice him looking at you, lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, calling his attention back to you.

“I miss you,” he blurts out. And your heart aches at the confession. A mutual feeling that only gets worse at night in the loneliness of your shared apartment, only bearable in the past months because you know there is a part of him growing inside of you.

“I miss you, too. More than you can even imagine.”

You feel your heart pounding in your chest. It's time to tell him everything. But how can you even start?

“I promise. Things will be different. Once this ends, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Sure. You already know things will be different, but not in the way Spencer is probably thinking.

“Spence,” you start, “there is something we need to talk about.” Spencer looks at you, trying to read your expression. It is serious, almost solemn. It must be something important.

“Okay,” he says, more like a question than a statement. He knows you need time to collect your thoughts and choose your words, but the silence is killing him. And the anxiety betrays him. “If it's about the delay of my trial, Fiona already told me. It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

Every word rehearsed in your mind is long forgotten when you register what Spencer has said.

“What?”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your question. “It isn’t what you are talking about?”

“Why are they delaying it? For how long?” That’s when Spencer realizes you were referring to another thing and that you didn’t even know what he was talking about at all.

“I—uh. They decided to add a new charge.” He notices how your expression changes from confusion to horror. “Fiona says it's not uncommon in cases like this,” Spencer tries to explain, but you shake your head.

“Why didn't you tell me? When did this happen?”

“I’m sorry. I thought Emily had already told you. I got a notification two days ago.”

You definitely need to have a word with Emily about this. Why didn’t she tell you?

“But, baby. It's okay. We can see it as a way to buy time, you know? To get more evidence to exonerate me. Now that I can remember Lindsey in the room, we can go faster to link Scratch to all of this.”

To buy time? You can’t see it like it is. If anything, it means the baby will be here before even your husband's trial. It's stressful enough to think about the uncertainty of the circumstantial case Fiona is building, but now? With a new charge?

“Are you listening to me?” Spencer’s worried voice brings you back from your thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah. It's just- I wasn't expecting something like that,” you tell him honestly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you did know. But you wanted to talk about something. What is it?”

It's pointless to tell him now. It will put more pressure on him, and you are not ready either after this news.

Just then, the vibration of your smartwatch on your wrist distracts you from what you should or should not say to Spencer. You glance at the device. A text from Garcia reads: ‘We have a location.’

It's not time to discuss the subject right now. If Garcia has a location, maybe you can speed up everything to end this ordeal once and for all.

“I’m sorry. I need to go,” you tell Spencer, giving him an apologetic look.

Spencer’s eyes widen at your words.

“But - but you were - what happened?”

“I need to be at the BAU. There is an urgent case,” you lie, standing up from your seat. Spencer is confused, but he doesn’t pry. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Take care, okay?”

“I will,” you smile at him to ease his worry. You know Spencer is utterly confused right now, but you can’t tell him what’s going on. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You barely hear his words before quickly leaving the room. It's incredible how, in one minute, you went into alert mode. You are not happy about leaving Spencer still in the dark, but maybe, if you are lucky, you will put an end to this limbo today.

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Series Taglist: @strawb3heart @lunaryoongie @bwlol7

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #satellite call #aperrywilliams

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builtbybrokenbells · 9 months ago

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Rotten Apple | JTK

Karmic relationships indicate feeling or expressing a passionate response very early on in a relationship. Oftentimes, instant chemistry is mutually felt. Sometimes, the drain of that connection or addiction to a partner is described as exhausting rather than feeling calmly settled in a grounded partnership. (Elizabeth Keohan, LCSW-C, LICSW, LCSW)

Listen while reading: (the entire fic is based off this song so I highly suggest at least reading the lyrics before reading 😁)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AS THIS STORY COULD BE POTENTIALLY HARMFUL/UPSETTING TO SOME READERS//SMUT 18+, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), sir kink, choking, touch of orgasm denial, dom/sub, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, name calling, praise, rough sex, toxic themes/relationships, heavy implications/explanations of cheating/infidelity, actual cheating/infidelity, chronic cheaters, gaslighting/manipulative phrases, fighting, arguing, crying, insulting, mentions of bad relationships/relationship trauma, mistresses/home wrecking, self hatred/self sabotage, remorse/regret, depression, anxiety, (lots) angst, (some) fluff, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

and im back 😙 please tread carefully with this one if any of the aforementioned warnings are personal to you. this definitely isn’t some people’s cup of tea! aside from that, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 (so sorry, very lightly edited. just wanted to get this posted so i can keep going with more stuff 😁) (also another side note, I do not condone cheating at all. was just an idea that sparked some creativity is all)

Innocence is over

Hey ah na na, over

Ignorance is spoken

Hey ah na na, spoken

Confidence is broken

Hey ah na na broken

Sustenance is stolen

Hey ah na na, stolen

Arrogance is potent

Hey ah na na, potent, yeah

“Y/N!” Your name screamed over the busy chatter of the crowd around you, catching your attention and turning your head.

House parties had always been so overrated, and since high school, it seemed the scene hadn’t changed a bit. Even in your late twenties, the spill of alcohol on the floor made your soles sticky and the haze in the air choked you as you breathed. The home you were in was familiar, but certainly not comfortable, and the memories that lived inside the walls were haunting as they flashed before your eyes. The crowd of people around you only made it harder to escape the stalemate remembering had put you in. Still, you pushed a smile on to your face, holding the hand in yours a little tighter as you marched forward toward the greeting.

So many questions flooded your mind as you closed in on the perpetrator of your punishment. You knew they would all be here; they invited you, after all. The text message exuding formalities and lacking substance was the whole reason you stepped foot in the door in the first place, and you knew without a doubt that they would be waiting to greet you soon as you showed.

Well, three of them, anyway.

You swallowed your pride, leading your company through the swarm of bodies. The weaving was tiresome, and you had only just begun navigating your way through an exhausting journey. It was too early to be tired, too soon to be so cynical, yet it was all you could do. Something about the story was too repetitive for you to believe the night would end any differently than you imagined when you received the invitation.

The questions continued to beat against your skull, twisting around the guitar riffs and raspy voices flowing through the speakers in the living room. It made for a violent pair, and your eyes began aching from the pressure behind them. Your body was telling you it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t listen. You had faith that the night would be different, that you would be different, stronger than you were before.

You could turn around, submit to your already guilty conscience and run out the door. You could pretend you never heard your name at all, and more importantly, pretend you never read the message in the first place. You responded too fast to a person who should have been long deleted from your contact list, but if you played the game well enough, you could climb out of the hole you already dug yourself in. You could come out on top of this, you could conquer the world that previously held you back from succeeding. All it took was turning around, leaving, walking away from him.

For some reason, your feet continued forward, neglecting every warning your psyche could give. They carried you far enough that you landed before the person you knew you should walk away from.

No, not the person.

Just the closest one to him.

“Hey, Josh.” His name felt like poison on your tongue, already seeping through the gaps of your teeth and searing holes into the flesh. You could feel the pain deep into your jaw, running down the back of your throat and circling around your neck. The sensation was lethal, but it was addicting. Something about the brothers made you a sucker for the pain. You hated the names now, but you hated yourself more for never having the willpower not to speak them.

“I’m glad you came! I didn’t really think you would message me back.” He confessed, leaping forward and extending his arms outward.

He wanted a hug, innocent and warm, a sure way to greet you with all of the love he still had for you.

To you, it was none of those things. Instead, it served as a reminder of your catastrophic failures and the life you once lived. A life that was painful, ugly and cruel, but still seemed shiny, like a dream you craved to see in your deepest sleep. The person that used to hug Josh Kiszka was not someone you wanted to be, but it was someone you could not escape, someone who only showed herself when she was around him. You could not be around Josh without being near him, too, and for that reason alone you had pinned Josh with his brothers crimes, too.

Still, your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer and torturing yourself with the scent of his cologne. As his arms closed in around you, the anguish of the familiar touch nearly sent you to your knees.

It wasn’t the same, but it was the closest thing to what you truly wanted.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I figured I’d stop by and say hi at least.” You replied, your head still swimming with uncertainty over the interaction. “I should probably be on my way soon, anyway. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh come on, stay a while! Don’t leave yet, you just got here!”

What game was he playing?

He knew the consequences of your presence in their lives, and he was lighting a match that would fuel an unstoppable fire.

“Maybe just for a little while.” You gave a soft smile, hiding your longing for the connection you had so long ago. His words were kind, more generous than they should be, but the weight of your past mistakes were heavy between you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Subconsciously, you were stuck in some repetitive cycle of trying to right wrongs you were not fully responsible for.

“Who is this, anyway?” Josh turned to the man standing next to you, eyeing him carefully as he took in the sight before him. His gaze traveled from his face down to his arm, piecing it together once he saw your fingers still interlocked with his.

“This is Cole…” you said, slowly while Josh’s eyes moved back to meet your own. “My boyfriend.” You didn’t need to say the word. The implication was already painfully obvious, and all you did was rub salt in your open wounds.

Why did you bring him with you?

Why did you come at all?

“I see,” Josh grinned, but it was just as fake as your own cheeriness. You were both thinking the same thing, without a doubt for the future when the night came to an end. “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Josh.” He extended his hand for your new boyfriend to shake, the formality only slightly off putting as Josh’s eyes remained locked with yours.

‘Not tonight, Josh. Not this time.’ You tried to plead with him, silently telling him that tonight would be different than all the ones that came before. ‘It’s different now. You have to believe me.’

He did not, and you could not blame him. You did not even believe yourself.

By the end of the night, your relationship with the boy beside you would be no more. Jake Kiszka would see to that, and your undying desire for him would solidify it. It was a matter of time before you crossed his path, and not long after that would the incessant cycle resume exactly where it left off.

“Nice to meet you man.” Your boyfriend's voice was cheerful, and unlike yours, genuine. If only he knew the hurt he would endure, he would have left long before he ever experienced love at your hands.

No matter how hard you tried, it always ended the same way. No matter who it was, they were never able to compare to the boy who forever stole your heart.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cole asked, looking down at you now. You bit the tip of your tongue, standing stoic for a moment as you tried to come up with a quick lie. Without being too obvious, you tried to silently warn Josh to keep his mouth shut. You should have known better.

You have always known better.

“She’s never told you about Jake?” Josh laughed, finding the notion incredulous. He was too drunk to lie, but it wasn’t like he could ever do it sober. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes pointed towards the floor, feeling your heart jump to your throat and your head begin to ache. The poison of Jake’s name melted your tongue entirely, leaving you wordless and unable to defend yourself.

“Jake?” Your boyfriend asked, wearily speaking the name aloud as if it were a curse he was desperate to avoid. “Your uh… your ex?” He wanted clarification, or assurance that he was wrong, but it was something you could not give to him because he was right.

“Y-yeah.” You choked out, feeling your throat begin to close and air become scarce. “This is his brother.”

Innocence is over

Cole formed a tight-lipped smile, but did not let go of your hand. In an instant, he understood that attending the house party was not a mindless effort at a drunken date. He was not meeting your old friends, and he was not out to have a good time. Instead, the intent ran much deeper, and he was being used in a pissing contest for bragging rights to the ex he had always felt inferior to.

You wanted to assure him it wasn’t like that, but it was, and speaking would get you no further ahead of the game.

Why would Josh tell him? Why would he say it like that, as if Jake was the reason why you were there?

You closed your eyes, silencing your brain for a moment as you digested the truth.

Jake was the reason why you were there, and he was trying to spare Cole the heartbreak.

“He was barely an ex, Cole. You know that.” You spoke, bargaining with the distaste already forming in his heart.

Out of all of the dishonesty you had already dealt, that was the truth. An ex was not what you would classify Jake as, because you barely dated him. In fact, you hadn’t really dated him at all. You spent weeks secluded behind the walls of the very house you stood in now, nights wrapped up in him, tainting his sheets with the smell of your shampoo, but you were never his girlfriend.

You wanted to believe that if you had stayed just a little while longer, gave him a little bit more, maybe you would have been, but holding on to that belief was painful more than it ever served a comfort.

“Right,” he whispered, his hand still in yours. It felt wrong, just like it had the first time he ever held it. Cole never should have been in the middle of this, because he never should have been yours at all. You had no idea why you ever said yes to the title of girlfriend, because you never wanted it, and you had no idea why you invited him here tonight, especially knowing how it would end.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see Jake, I came to see you.” You said, pointing the finger at Josh to get yourself out of the spotlight. “You asked me, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to celebrate your new album?” You forced another smile, begging them both to believe that’s why you really showed up. Cole seemed to relax slightly at the sound of your words, but his chest still ached at the idea of being in Jake Kiszka’s house.

Was Josh encouraging you to fall back into old habits? Was Josh playing martyr for a cause that would only hurt everyone in the crossfire?

You could not believe he wanted to see you, because if he missed you so much, he would have shown up at your door. You would have went for coffee or shared dinner like you did so many times before, but instead he invited you to a party hosted by the one man you needed to stay away from.

“The worst.” He joked, playing along with your poor excuses. An awkward silence hung heavy between the the three of you. Nobody knew what to say, because no words could ever turn the conversation to a positive tone.

“Did you want a drink, baby?” Cole asked, looking over his shoulder to the liquor bottles on the kitchen table. You followed his gaze, eager for him to leave you alone so you could pry into Josh’s head.

“Yes, please.” You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He said, clearly looking for a way out of the tense situation.

“I’ll be right here.” You promised. He seemed reluctant to leave you, but after a shared glance and silent reassurance, he retreated to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Josh again, desperate for an answer.

“Why did you invite me, Josh?” You asked, your tone turning grievous in an instant. The sweetness you held seconds before disappeared without a trace.

“He wanted me to.” Josh admitted, giving a shrug of his shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d bring a date.” He continued, his words more accusatory than you liked.

“Is it a crime?”

“When you know the consequences, yeah.” He answered, truthful with his response. “Listen, I’m happy to see you, Y/N. Whatever the fuck happens between you and Jake is none of my business. You’re my friend, and I’m glad you came, but I do think that you should be mindful of him before anything happens.”

“I’m not here to see Jake, Josh. I came because you invited me, because we’re friends. Remember, before all of this shit happened?”

“How could I forget?” He chuckled, thinking back fondly on the memories. Josh had been your friend first, the whole reason you knew Jake at all, but after all of the pain, your friendship with him seemed to get lost in the mess. “As much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, we both know it’s not true.” He paused, thinking carefully before he spoke again. “And as much as I don’t want your new guy to get hurt, it would be nice to see you and Jake catch up, especially after it ended the way it did.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him, Josh.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating the cleavage in your already skimpy dress. You had picked it with Jake in mind, even if you would never admit it.

“You have lots to say, mama. We all know that.”

With that, a body presented itself beside you again and a drink was being offered to you. You sent Josh a pointed stare, letting the action finish the conversation for good. Josh nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Cole noticed, and you couldn’t blame him for his questioning gaze, but it did irritate you beyond belief. He was treading in waters too dangerous to survive.

Instead of asking, he opted to keep quiet in fear of the answer he would receive.

Ignorance is spoken

“It’s really nice of you to support Josh like that, even after Jake fucked you over.” Cole said, sending a small smile your way. You took a moment to admire him, his beauty, and his bare-faced stupidity.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” You shrugged, brushing off his sweet sentiments.

Cole knew you were not there to support Josh, but he was forcing himself to believe it. It was easier for him to digest, thinking that your intentions were friendly and honest. When he focused on the alternative for too long, he thought he would be sick.

Before you could respond, you were pulled into a whirlwind of emotion as your eyes fixated on something within the crowd. In the distance, you saw a flash of familiar brown hair. The sight made your stomach turn and your palms turn clammy.

He wanted you to come.

Josh’s words repeated in your head, making it hard to think of anything else. Jake wanted you there. He asked for you. He knew you would never answer if he asked you himself, because you had never been keen on giving him what he wanted.

That was yours and Jake's biggest problem; you wanted too much from each other, and neither of you had ever been very generous. He wanted more than you could give, and you wanted what he could not provide.

Despite knowing that about yourselves, there was this incessant temptation in both of your minds, forcing you to believe that you were the best the other could ever get, even if it never worked out, and even if all it ever caused was pain.

The familiar head was not pointed in your direction, but you were certain it would be soon. The two of you had an awful attachment to one another, the bond extending into the realm of spirituality and likely even far beyond it. If you walked in a room, he knew, no matter how far away or how invested he was in something else. If you left, your absence hung heavy in the air and haunted him, even if he did not witness you leave. He was completely in tune with you, knowing your next move without you saying a word.

Even if you tried to ignore it, you knew you felt it just the same when it came to his presence and absence.

He was a habit you couldn’t kick, a guilty pleasure and an addiction far more lethal than one to substance. You would search for him in every room, cry out for him and him alone in the darkest nights, and long for his company after he disappeared from sight. His voice was like venom, seeping under your skin and tainting the blood supply the minute it reached your ears. His eyes, easy to get lost in and your definite demise.

He was not good for you, and he never would be, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him. He was the most karmic relationship you’d ever engaged in, punishing you for wrongs you’d committed long before you met him. At the same time, he was making you engage in far more at his hand than you ever believed possible. You didn’t want to want him, but it was impossible to deny. The thought of not needing him was obsolete, because you never knew a moment of peace after he walked into your life.

You could not be with him, and you knew even in the future it would never be in your cards, either. For some reason, even while knowing he was actively ruining your life, you jumped at the chance to love him one more time. You destroyed every opportunity given to you in favor of his twisted agenda, and you did it without regret or second thought. New relationships blossomed after he walked away from you, and failed when he decided to walk your way again. You needed to stay away, to put a boundary in place, but you loved his sin too much to refute it.

You had slowly come to terms with the fact Jake Kiszka would be your kryptonite until you took your dying breath. He was inescapable, and even if you would never truly be his, he would always have a part of you.

No, he would always have all of you, but he would never be yours to keep.

And just like the world ensured it a million times before, the head turned, and the familiar brown eyes seemed to be staring into your soul once more.

You couldn’t run, because he would always find you. You couldn’t run to him, because the boy by your side would know the truth behind the situation you had been trying so hard to keep a handle on. You were stuck, glued to the floor and locked in position until he decided to walk your way.

He was in control, and always had been. Since the moment you met him, you were happy to leave your fate in his hands, blindly trusting a man who only ever did what he could to fuck you over.

You couldn’t see all of his face, but you knew how beautiful he looked despite the crowd standing in his way. You could picture it crystal clear, the pout of his lips and the heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. You knew the wrinkled furrow of his brow better than anything else in the world, and the softness of his skin and how good it felt under your touch.

As he stared, only his eyes visible to you, you knew he was envisioning all the same things.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Cole asked, his voice concerned. His hand on your back was excruciating, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness growing by the second.

You wanted to tell him, to send him away before he met the same fate as everyone who came before him, yet you couldn’t bear the thought of confessing all of your secrets to him. Some small part of you even believed you could avoid it this time, even whilst you felt the gravitational pull all the way across the room and through the crowd. You wanted to be the good guy and spare him, and you wanted to be the best person and end the cycle, but you knew neither would happen.

There were two reasons why you could not do those things; one being that Jake Kiszka made you into the worst version of yourself, and two, he was walking towards you now with no intent to slow.

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to assure him, but your voice was shaky and your words were weak. It did not take a genius to understand why, and as his eyes moved to look in the same direction of yours, his stomach was sick with fear. He did not know Jake by looks, but he knew you, and he knew that your pompous reaction would not be caused by anything other than him.

“Y/N, let’s go.” Cole said, trying to get you out of the situation before it began, but you were already in his sight, and there was no shying away. The hunter settled on prey, and you could only hope that Jake had enough kindness left in his heart to spare you from the suffering he so often inflicted upon you.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head, noticing his grip move to your arm. He was trying to force you away, almost as if he knew his fate before it began to unfold.

“The fuck you can’t.” He scoffed, nudging you in the opposite direction of the man approaching you. “Let’s go.” He said again, harsher than the last.

You should listen.

You should leave.

It was too late, anyway. Your choosing of Jake over anyone else was a disaster, but it was something no outward intervention could have possibly changed. It was your own personal law, and when it came to a competition between Jake and anyone else, the contender always lost.

He was in front of you again. Months of static silence and breaking hearts, months of longing and yearning for something you could not have, finally came to a bitter end. It had been so long since you were face to face with Jake that you almost managed to forget how intoxicating his aura was. Almost, being the key word, because deep down you knew you would never forget a thing about him.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” His voice was like liquid gold, washing down over you and curing any ailment that plagued you. The pout of his lip had only become more irresistible, and his chocolate coloured irises locked you in for eternity. Even if you wanted to leave, you knew it to be impossible.

“Could have kept it that way.” You replied, your lips turning down into a slight frown. Your eyes, though, told a much different story that he was quite privy to. You were good at keeping the feelings between the two of you a secret to anyone looking in, but inside, you were dying for him to touch you. Just once, just for a second so you could ascend to heaven again. It was a feeling only he could give, and you had been deprived of it for a long time, constantly in search of the high since his absence began.

“Right,” he chuckled, remembering your snarky tone all too well. “That’s why you came to my house? To bitch at me for saying hi?” His words were evil, and so was his tone, but you nearly went weak in the knees hearing the domineering voice once again. His eyes held emotion different from the venom of his words, and you could feel how thrilled he was to see you again.

“It wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t bitching at you for something, Jacob.” You reminded, keeping your expression stony so he could not use anything to his advantage.

“Of course, angel. It’s what I love most about you.” He smirked, nodding in agreement. You noticed his eyes flicker to the man beside you, the one holding your arm so tightly in hopes he could pull you away. Jake bit back a bigger smile, knowing there was nothing strong enough in the world to pull you away from him.

His black dress shirt was held together by the bottom three buttons. A fitted suit jacket was settled neatly atop it, but it was not screaming anything overly fancy. The cheap necklaces around his neck dumbed down the expensive clothing, but you cursed how remarkably well it worked together. His dress pants hugged his hips, and the tanned skin of his chest held your attention. It was not the clothes that sent you mad, but the fact you had before studied the beautiful intricacies that lie beneath.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Little was a term he used only to assert his dominance. Cole stood heads taller, and his shoulders were much wider, but in the moment, Jake appeared much bigger than the man beside you. His ego was so large that it left no space in the room for anyone else, and his confidence made Cole pale in comparison to him.

“Boyfriend.” Cole corrected, his jaw clenched and his grip on you growing tighter by the minute. At that, Jake laughed out loud, unable to hold his feelings on the matter. Cole swallowed back the bitter taste it left in his mouth, but opted not to respond.

“Okay.” Jake nodded, looking back to you for clarification. “Your boyfriend.” He reworded his question, putting emphasis on the term and making it painfully apparent he had no interest in talking to Cole at all.

“This is Cole.” Was all you said, your nostrils flaring slightly at Jake’s egotistical expression. As much as you craved for him to touch you, you weren’t blind to his abhorrent tendency towards cockiness.

“You move on quick, sweetheart.” He noted, glancing back at the other man for a moment. You scowled at his willingness to shame you for dating another when he was the one who drove you to it in the first place. Before you could comment on his misplaced belief, a blonde haired woman appeared beside him, making the situation all the more tense. You forced a smile on your lips, watching closely as she clumsily grabbed his arm, claiming her territory without a trace of humility.

“Seems like you do, too.” You shot back, biting down on the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled your senses, but the pain did nothing to deter the rise of anger in your chest.

She did not say a word, but she did not have to. She was the same to Jake as Cole was to you: a placeholder.

As much as you were a victim to Jake, he was just the same to you.

You moved on, found another to replace the hole he left in you when he walked away. He found her, hoping she would feel as good in his arms as you did, but she could never give him the same thing. She could try until the end of time, but both of you knew she could never come close.

“Was nice seeing you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” His words were equal to a dismissal of the conversation, but his eyes spoke something completely different. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. He approached you with intent to start anew, and he would see through to it no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

He slung a lazy arm around her waist, giving you a subtle wink before pulling her off in the same direction they came.

You thought you were going to be sick, your entire body aching with the knowledge he was touching someone other than you. You wondered if you loving someone else plagued him with the same illness, or if he viewed it as a game. You constantly feared that he did not feel for you what you felt for him, but you’d always been too afraid to ask.

“What a fucking douchebag.” Cole muttered, only loosening his grip on you after Jake was out of sight. As he let go, you raised your opposite hand to the same spot, rubbing the sore skin where his fingers rested moments before.

“He’s not that bad, Cole.” The defense slipped out without a second thought, and his misplaced confidence was shattered entirely. You looked up at his face, wide eyed and regretful of your words, but the damage was done and a fight was unavoidable.

Confidence is broken

“Not that bad?” He echoed, practically scoffing the words out.

“Yeah, Cole. Not that bad.” You repeated, rolling your eyes. “He’s full of himself, yeah, but when you get to know him, he’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

“Good enough heart to fuck someone else in your bed?” He questioned, remembering the tearful stories you had told after too much wine. Your expression dropped, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you were forced into a memory you were committed to forgetting. “Did you actually come here to see him?”

“Yeah, he’s an alright person, but a shitty fucking boyfriend.” You nodded, swallowing back the lump forming in your throat. “Which is why I’m dating you, and not him.” You clarified, averting your gaze to the ground. “No, I didn’t come here to fucking see him, Cole.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, realizing his harsh words were not needed.

At the same time, they were. You were playing the victim to avoid being the bad guy. You hated being the bad guy, and when it came to Jake, you couldn’t seem to escape the title.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You forced the words through your teeth, feeling the whirlwind of memories wash over you like acid rain. Your skin burned as they continued to flow, and you knew that you would die before you could ever outrun them.

“Babe, come on.” He pleaded, reaching out for your shoulder to hold you in place. You shook him off as soon as his fingers connected with your body, stepping away without a second thought.

Without any regret, you left him amidst the swarm of people in the house of your ex whom you knew you’d end up in bed with by the end of the night.

Even though the thought normally settled your upset stomach, not even the promise of sex with Jake could cure the sickness that washed over you. Remembering was the biggest curse of your entire relationship, and unfortunately for you, most of your relationship was remembering. You went without him more often than you were with him, and even the sweetest of memories were tainted with sins and sourness.

You navigated your way to the bathroom blind, your sight ridden with pictures of Jake shirtless in your bed, and worst of all, shirtless in bed with someone else.

If not for you knowing the house so well, you would have gotten lost in the endless sea of flashbacks.

From the very beginning, yours and Jake’s relationship was bound to fail. It began from lies and deceit, and it would carry on the same way until the next bitter end.

“And this is my twin brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“You can call me Suz,” she flashed you a breathtaking smile, extending her arm towards you.

You barely registered her hand in your face, nor her friendly introduction, because you were too busy gawking at the blinding beauty of the long haired man beside her. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard and blinking twice to bring yourself back to reality. Even as you reached to shake her hand, you were unable to focus on her. As disrespectful as it was, even if it was her boyfriend, he was someone who was meant to be admired.

Plus, his wandering eyes and lustful gaze made it all the more easy to completely discredit the woman offering you her kindness.

Of course, it started that night. It started the minute his eyes locked with your own, like an unavoidable omen of the horror you would soon endure. The connection was instantaneous, and the desire followed not far behind. Although you didn’t sleep with Jake the first night you met him, you were no better than a mistress without ever taking your clothes off.

It started with lustful glances, then came the flirting in secrecy. Within days, he was going out of his way to catch you in the hallway or alone in a room to profess his affection for you. Weeks after that, the touching began, slowly but surely. It started with a lingering hand on your back, or hugs that never should have been initiated at all. Then, his hands drifted closer to your hips, and even worse, your ass. The hugs lasted far too long, and his lips treaded dangerously close to your skin.

You hated thinking about what you did to that poor woman, the tearful eyes as she berated the two of you as one. She was kind, she was beautiful, and she deserved better, but Jake Kiszka had always been too much to resist. Now, he was a habit you could not kick.

Over the years, the women became countless, and then men from your relationships, too. Everyone else saw that you could never keep a relationship, but it ran far deeper than that. You did exceptionally well at hiding your affections, and even better at hiding your betrayals. Jake and you never felt the desire to commit to one another, so instead you ruined other people while you committed to your relationship in every way other than officially. You did not intend to hurt so many people, and you never planned to betray others on behalf of each other, but it always seemed to happen no matter how hard you tried to stay away.

And then one day, the two of you had enough. You had lost too much humanity on your endless quest to be with each other, sacrificing too many people in the process. You decided to try, to be with each other in an honest and sincere way, just to make the world a little bit better for each other. You wanted to love each other openly, without anything or anyone standing in the way.

But, you didn’t want to be in a relationship.

Exclusivity was agreed upon, but labels were tossed in the garbage. The two of you convinced yourselves you were happy with the arrangement, and for a while, you truly were. At first, you kept it very quiet. You went on dates and stayed the night at each others houses, but only rarely. Most of the time, it was quick hookups whenever you had the opportunity to do so.

Then, things changed, and in his opinion, for the worst.

Both of you fell in love, completely and utterly, without question or care. Your apartment was forgotten after weeks of you staying in his bed. You shared meals together, sat outside on the porch and watched sunsets and sunrises, and said I love you in every action, but never aloud. Jake was indefinitely intertwined in your life in every way possible, and you were happy with it, until he said the dreaded ‘L’ word aloud.

It slipped out, carefully and quietly while you laid in his lap on the couch, watching reruns of your favourite shows. At first, you thought you misheard him, but the silence that hung in the air told you the truth about his words.

You loved him too, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say it back. You thought that it was too much too soon, despite living with love surrounding you constantly. It scared you, and you reacted with fear, even with your heart screaming at you to stop.

You didn’t say it back, because you neglected labels and thought it was not possible to be in love because of that. And, true, genuine love scared the absolute shit out of you.

It scared him too, but he seemed to harness more courage in that moment than you had in your entire life. Instead of applauding him for it, you effectively slapped him in the face.

For a few days, things carried on like normal, but you could notice the tension in the air. Every day, you could tell he waited to hear it, that he needed you to say it back, but it never came. After a while, he began to pull away, showing the old Jake that made you fall in lust with him in the first place. There were no more shared meals, and definitely no more sunset gazing. The television was off more often than it was on, and the blankets on the couch remained neatly folded on the back. The bed felt empty, even when both of you lied in it, because the distance between you two grew larger by the day.

But the sex?

It was better than it had ever been.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him too, but you were so paralyzed with fear that the word got stuck in your throat every time you tried to speak. Instead, you let him distance himself, knowing you’d already pushed him too far away. You continued to fall more in love with him, and he forced himself to fall out of love.

Then, you came home to him in bed, but he was not waiting for you. Instead of anticipating your arrival, so you could live as roommates rather than lovers, you found him wrapped up in another woman who gave him more than you could in the moment.

It was tearful, angry, and loud. Things were thrown, shattered on the floor, and your throat was raw from belittling the man you had only ever wanted to love.

You had finally gotten the karma you had rightfully deserved, and you finally understood the horrible pain you had inflicted on so many others.

The story finally ended the same way it started, but the two of you never recovered.

You moved out, but you were never able to rid yourself of Jake Kiszka. Intermittently, drunken and sad, you’d show up at each others doorstep and give in to your needs once more. He hated himself for hurting you, and you hated yourself for letting it get to that point. Blame was abundant, and regret plentiful, but one thing never changed; the fact that you two never fully fell out of love.

Too fearful of hurting each other the same way again, you fell back into old habits. You and Jake could never commit to each other, but could never stop loving one another enough to put an end to your toxic ways and commit to someone else. The second time around, it was much more difficult, and a lot messier. Your secret-keeping abilities had greatly decreased, and worst of all, everybody knew how you felt about each other.

When he left for his last tour, ready to release a new album and move forward in his career, you took it upon yourself to try and end the curse indefinitely. You blocked his number, removed him from your life in the most brutal ways possible, and you never spoke to him again. You vowed to start over, to be better, to love someone properly without the memory of Jake Kiszka tainting it before it could begin, and you did well.

For a while, at least. Until Josh sent you the damned message that landed you at his house that night.

With a boyfriend who you’d been with for long enough to take a bigger step, you crawled back to Jake like a dog who’d been lost without him. All it took was a single glance, and you knew Cole would meet the same fate of so many others, and you would meet the same fate that would inevitably ruin your life.

Your hands gripped the countertop of the bathroom tightly, holding yourself upright as the grief did all it could to break your bones. Your chest was heavy, your heart aching and your mind overrun with thoughts of a man you could never fully comprehend. He hurt you, and you hurt him, but never enough to put a stop to it for good. There was something deeper, something so incomprehensibly strong tying your souls together, even if you wanted to sever the bond. You could run to the ends of the earth, away from him and all of the mistrust and deceit the two of you had created, but you knew you would run so far that you would end up behind him, whispering in his ear as you pleaded to start anew.

You looked up at the mirror, trying to understand the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a shell of the woman who existed before meeting Jake. She was barren, cold, and tired. She wanted to love, but could not love anyone other than him, no matter how hard she tried. The bathroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, the glow of the hallway light illuminating your tired features, only worsening the sorrow you had for your former self.

As if on cue, the door creaked open by the push of a hand. The yellow glow of the lightbulbs were blocked by a body, casting a shadow over the already dim room. You did not need to look to know who it was; you could feel his presence without ever seeing his face, and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.

No matter how much you hated yourself for the relentless cruelty you inflicted and endured, it could never amount to the love you held for him in your heart.

“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” The words were sickly sweet, settling in your spine and relieving you of all the tension that gathered over the course of the night. Without even looking at his face, you felt yourself stepping towards him, gravitating to the one thing that continually held you to the earth.

Jake closed the bathroom door behind him, locking the two of you inside together, looking at your sad expression with the utmost regret in his heart.

If only he could do it right, to take back all of the wrongs that got you to where you were, he would do it in a heartbeat, for you.

But you had always been better off as a dirty little secret, and he made a much better whore than he did a lover.

“Waiting for you to come and find me.” You quipped back, covering the sadness in your eyes with a soft smile. He stepped towards you, meeting you in the middle. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed down over your face.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He rasped, his voice quiet but not hateful. His eyes raked over your body, taking in your low cut dress revealing more of you than he’d seen in a long time. His hand dropped from your face entirely, instead reaching forward and anchoring itself on your hip.

You leaned closer, your painted lips barely hovering over his own. The warmth of his breath on your skin was enough to make you forget about your sadness, and any remorse for your actions fled the minute he touched you.

“You don’t like it?” You asked, pushing your bottom lip into a pout. It grazed his own, sending a rush of emotion straight through the both of you. In an instant, you were one again, two bodies combined into a single entity after being forced apart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly at your dramatics. “You know better than that.” His other hand rose, settling on the back of your neck. The pressure of his hand on the base of your skull caused your head to tilt upwards towards his just a little more, just enough for him to see your eyes. “I love it.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” You asked, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him alone. His cologne was suffocating, but it was so delicious that it helped you forget about the dying itself.

“Do I have to answer that?” He smirked, his body nearly completely pressed into your own. The space between you was non-existent, blatantly showcasing your lack of growth during your time apart.

Sustenance is stolen

“No, because I know you did.” Before the words even left your tongue, his lips were on yours in a heated reunion.

The sensation was euphoric, something you’d been searching for without ever realizing it. The whine that rattled your chest sent a shiver down his spine, only encouraging his bad behavior further. He drank in the sound like a man dying of thirst, desperate for a drop of anything you could give him. You were the only woman in the world who could do such things to him, and despite pledging to stay away, the two of you would always end up in each other's arms. Whether it be morally right, or morally wrong, his arms were where you were always meant to be.

In an instant, you were no longer the woman who came to the party with a boyfriend who treated her well. That title was ripped from you, stolen from his grasp in exchange for a single moment alone with the man who forever plagued your mind. Just like every man before, he stole you from him like a thief in the night, never satisfied unless he could make you his own again. He knew the love you gave was addicting, and anyone who received it was dependent upon it. He did not commit such thievery for any reason unjust, but because he remembered the effect of your affections so well. Without you, he thought he would die, and because of that, he was willing to sacrifice any other man’s life so he could survive off your love alone.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, making the moment all the more enticing. His touch was burning, but only ever pleasantly. Right and wrong did not exist; only he did, and you submitted to the knowledge that you lived solely to be his. You were not cut out to be a wife for a man who had his life together, and you were not meant to mother a child or start a family with a man who earned his keep honestly and loved sincerely. You were a mortal being who’s soul had been blackened with lust for an entity with more power than you could comprehend. You were born to play Jake’s twisted game, and over time, you had grown happy to be a part of it.

You were a whore, but only he knew how to pry that out of you. His words were laced with poison, his tongue made of opiate, his touch of ecstasy, and every action completed with intention to kill. You would not commit the crimes for another, because there was nobody else worth the effort.

“Taste just as sweet as I remember, Angel.” He withdrew a long breath, parting from you for just long enough to utter the praise.

“So good you couldn’t stay away.” You whispered, wishing he would kiss you again. It had been so long since you experienced such pleasure that you thought you might die without it.

“I can never stay away from you, sweetness.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and in his defense, it was.

He backed you up against the countertop, locking you in place with his hips. As he leaned his top half towards you, you leaned backwards to allow him easier access. His lips landed on the side of your neck, his kiss gentle and nowhere near what you remembered of him.

For a second, you let yourself believe there was some kind of sentiment behind his action, like he still cared and wanted to appreciate having you again.

Then, you pushed the thought from your head. The worst thing you could do to yourself was imagine that Jake cared about you, even if it was true.

His mouth traveled downward, drifting over the column of your neck and brushing over your collarbone. His tongue trailed over the soft skin, reminding himself of all he missed out on while he was gone. He was a man gone mad, driven to insanity just from the taste of you on his tongue. As tempted as he was to leave a mark behind, to claim territory that had always rightfully been his, he knew he couldn’t. He did not want to make the fallout any worse than it needed to be.

Instead of showing his true feelings, he spoke it into existence as an insult, inadvertently begging for you to validate his feelings on the matter.

“What would your little boyfriend think of you now?” He muttered, his face buried in your chest as his mouth ghosted over every available inch of skin. The hum of his voice against your body made you weak in the knees, but his words plagued you with guilt. You were not the person to get off on infidelity; in fact, before you met Jake, you despised it. You were not sleeping with him for any twisted desires or hidden kinks, but because you loved him too desperately to walk away. You would take him any way you could have him, even if it was despicable.

“The same as your girlfriend would think about you.” You reminded him, assuring he knew you were not the only one at fault. Your tone was breathy, your heart thudding against your ribs as his hands scoured your thighs. His fingertips settling just below the hem of the skirt, begging to go further but waiting for your permission.

“As if I’d ask her to be my girlfriend.” He scoffed, revolted just at the thought of it. His hands trailed higher, in search of the seam of your underwear. He seemed to freeze in place, his fingers inspecting your hips underneath the cool fabric of your dress. Slowly, his head raised from your chest, looking up at your face with a wondrous twinkle in his eye. He could not find what he was looking for, because they did not exist. His hands felt only the softness of your skin, without barrier as he smirked up at your rosy cheeks. “For me, sweetheart?”

“It’s always for you, Jake.” You averted your eyes, an unfamiliar feeling burning in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so sheepish of the fact; both of you knew it all too well.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He commended your efforts to please him only because they worked so well. He bunched the skirt of your dress in his hands, pushing it up past your hips to reveal your lack of underwear. The sight of you exposed in front of him was nearly too much for him to bear, but he persevered through the abundance of lust he felt for you in hopes of drawing the reunion out a little longer.

His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing them apart so he could continue his tyranny without interruption. You watched him closely, inspecting every move as if you needed it to survive. In some sick way, you did. You felt as though if you were deprived of his touch for too long, you would succumb to death and waste away to nothingness. His touch hovered above your heat, but he was unwilling to give you what you wanted so easily.

How foolish of you to believe that Jake would be kind, even after such a long absence.

“Please touch me, Jake. Waited so fucking long.” You whined, looking down at his hand between your thighs, taunting you with the power you knew he possessed.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” He shook his head, chucking at your neediness. “You don’t get to call the shots.” He said, his eyes flickering up to meet your own. “You left, remember? You blocked my number and went off and found someone else to take my place. You don’t get to complain about it after you finally decided to come back.”

Arrogance is potent

Oh, so he was mad. Good thing for him, you could play that game, too.

“Quit it with the fucking pity party, Jacob. We both know you’re not innocent, either.” From sweet to sour in a second, your entire demeanor changed in response to his ridiculous claims.

“You should see yourself.” He smirked, moving his hand a little closer to your aching cunt, but not close enough to touch you, yet. “Just as desperate as you were the last time I saw you, still so eager to be fucked while your boyfriend waits for you downstairs.” He spit the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, easily telling you that the old game of cat and mouse had changed. He was going to fuck you, but he was angry that you had tried to move on despite him doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You seethed, feeling the rise of anger begin to take over your body, too.

Clearly, leaving silently had deprived you of the release you so desperately needed. There were too many loose ends, too much emotion hanging heavy on the both of you. You had waited nearly a year to get it all out, a year of suffering before you could even begin to release some of the pain you locked up so securely in your heart.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, Jacob.” You raised an eyebrow, condemning him for feeling any kind of sorrow over your new relationship.

“Over you? As if.” He sneered, the momentary sweetness from earlier fleeing him completely. Touching you again was euphoric, telling of all he still felt of you, and he didn’t mind letting you know he missed you. Unfortunately, it brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions that were far less appealing.

“Still doing whatever you can to convince yourself you don’t care about me, hmm?” You snipped, taking the opportunity to slide your dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. “We both know why you’re upset, Jake, and it’s not because you don’t care.”

His hands shot to your hips, lifting you on the counter and setting you down on the cool surface. Now that you were locked in, his own body ensuring you could not run, his hand was between your legs again and finally connected with your cunt.

“What is it then, if you think you fucking know everything?” His fingers sliding through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips and circling around your clit made it hard to respond. The feeling was so grand, even if the action was small. It was something you’d been waiting for since he got on the plane that flew him away from you, severing the twisted ties that held you two together.

The most harrowing revelation came when you understood that it was even better than you remembered it to be.

“You’re j-jealous, Jacob. Just fucking say it.” You spat between waves of pleasure, looking down at his face with a distasteful look in your eye. He was silent for a moment, opting to watch his hand working at your cunt instead of responding to your accusations. Eventually, after an unusually long bout of silence from him, his eyes flickered back to your face.

Without him saying a word, you knew you hit the nail straight on the head.

“You think it was nice to see that you found someone to take my place after I was gone?” He whispered, his tone dangerously low. “That he’s been taking up space in your bed where I used to sleep?” He growled, the curl of his lip resembling him as more of a wild animal than a man who had been hurting on your behalf. He raised his other hand to your neck, the back of his fingers gently caressing the side of it as he let his words sink in. “Do you think I liked the way he was touching you, like he was protecting his territory? Like you haven’t always been mine?” The possessive claim caused you to clench around nothing, desperate for anything more than he was giving you.

His fingers closed around your neck, the grip loose but foreshadowing of all that was to come. His face was close to yours, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against your burning cheeks and his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Answer me.” He whispered, letting his middle finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his way through the arousal he was responsible for.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, almost finding yourself sympathetic for the pain he was masking with his cruel words.

“So why did you bring him here, sweetheart? To rub it in my face? To piss me off?” He asked, slipping his finger inside you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. He began a steady pace, clearly getting himself worked up as he made a point to berate you for your decisions. “Did you want me to get jealous so I would start a fight with him and show everyone how much I fucking care about you?”

“N-no, sir.” You whimpered, feeling the flutter of an orgasm begin to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The curl of his fingers was addicting, and with every pump of his hand he was hitting the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” He said, his fingers tightening around your neck a little further. He wasn’t ready to take it all the way, because he wanted to hear the truth before anything else. “You’re a little attention whore, and you wanted me to tell everyone out there that you’re mine. That’s all you ever fucking wanted, right? To be mine, and for everyone to know it?” The conversation was taking a dark turn, but you were too needy to complain about it. You thought if you kept talking, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give you what you needed.

You were too stupid to realize you were only digging yourself a deeper hole, and the one you were already in was much too steep to climb out of.

“Yes, Jake. I did. That’s all I wanted.” You nodded, hoping he could feel your sincerity. You were not lying, because it was all you ever wanted. To be his and his alone was what you craved, with no one standing between you and no more secrets.

“So instead of telling me that, what did you do?” He snarled, moving his fingers a little faster. The change in pace caused your whole body to quiver. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and your mind was consumed with him entirely. He wanted you to confess, to tell him you understood the mistakes you made and atone for your sins. He needed it more than he ever needed anything else in his entire life.

“I-I left,” you choked out, feeling his fingers tighten on your pulse-point. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears, so powerful it was pulsing behind your eyes. “I was scared. I was too scared to say it, Jake.” You wheezed out, feeling your head begin to swirl from the pleasure and the lack of blood flow.

“Yeah, you fucking left. You were too scared to say it, so you left me to feel like an idiot for saying it first.” You were no longer speaking of the significant others you had left downstairs, nor your absence in the months prior. He was talking about that same dreaded instance that replayed in your mind every single day.

He was talking about it.

Aloud, he spoke the words, for the first time since the war began.

“M’so sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, feeling so strung out that the apology seemed misplaced. Recounting your mistakes did not seem fitting with his fingers inside of you and an orgasm threatening you. “I felt it too. I should have said it.”

“But you didn’t. You never fucking did, because you only ever cared about yourself.” Your eyes shot open, suddenly being pulled from the euphoria taking over your entire body. Your nostrils flared, your pupils blazing with a fire that only he knew how to ignite. He knew he struck a nerve, but it was exactly what he was intending to do.

“You fucked someone else in our bed.” You seethed, your words weak from his palm pressing against your trachea. Even in your rage, your hips moved down on his hand in search for more.

Just like always, sex was the most important thing to both of you.

“Instead of talking to me, you fucked someone else and tried to play the victim!” Your words were stronger now, fighting against his power with ease.

You were the only person in the world who ever had enough courage to challenge him.

“I guess we finally got what was coming to us, then.” He muttered, scowling at the thought of the pain you two caused each other, scowling at pain you’d caused so many others. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, because you’re back here begging for more, doing the same thing to him.”

“You don’t get to chastise me when you’re doing the same thing.” You spat, enraged at his self-righteous response.

“I never said I was any fucking better, sweetheart.” He reminded you, a small, sick smile toying at the corners of his lips. As angry as you were, and as much as your chest ached, you still knew you couldn’t walk away from him. You were destined to want Jake in the most despicable and destructive ways until the very end. The only comfort was that you knew he was destined for the same fate.

Without removing his hand from your throat, he moved forward and captured you in a kiss, sealing the evil you spewed within you forever. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, your need for him animalistic and unnatural even after his cruel treatment. The only reason it did not bother you was because you knew you deserved it.

As he kissed you, his hand continued working at your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm with great ease. You let out a moan into his mouth, giving him a taste of the pleasure he was granting you. He drew in a sharp breath, the sound settling deep somewhere in his soul and making home there for eternity.

He parted from you, but not because he wanted to. He would kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs collapsed, happy to die at your hands. He broke away because of need, and one that much much stronger than his urge to kiss you. His grip loosened around your neck and his hand dropped to your hip. He withdrew his fingers from you, causing you to let out a hiss of displeasure at the sudden loss of the orgasm he was so close to giving you.

Before you could get a complaint out, he dropped to his knees before you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He guided one leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh as an apology for his sudden change in pace. At the knowledge of his next move, you were all but upset with his decision.

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned, your head falling backwards as his tongue connected with your clit. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue ran through your folds.

The sweetness of your arousal was something he’d missed so dearly, something he could never find from another. It was more addicting than any substance and it was the very reason he could get himself out of bed in the morning. Being with you in such an intimate manner was the only reason his heart continued to beat, and the only thing he continued living for. His tongue circled your clit, continuing his torment in a whole new way.

With just a single swirl of his tongue, you felt like screaming his name, just to tell the whole world how good he could make you feel. It was almost comical, how you searched far and wide for someone who could make you feel a shred of what he could, and nobody could even come close to him. Your whole body had been begging for him since you stepped foot into the familiar home, and now that you had him, it still wasn’t enough. You needed everything all at once, things he could not give to you and things you could never ask for. You needed Jake far beyond any other person, and far beyond what was possible from him.

You needed him to be more than a dirty secret, a betrayal of trust in a bathroom at a house party. You needed him to be yours, but you knew he would never be.

Your desperation was immeasurable, and your entire body was aching for the orgasm he previously denied you of. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that your life was completely in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with it, you would go along happily so long as it pleased him. It was a terrible thing to know you would never truly belong to yourself, even if Jake was long gone from the world.

He was living for your shallow breathing, surviving off of your choked moans. Pleasing you was his favorite thing to do, even if he hated you in the moment. There was something so gratifying about his name on your tongue, and something so beautiful about how easy it was to make you feel good. He tried his best to ignore the incessant thoughts in his head about another man touching you the same way, about someone else believing that you were theirs.

Both of you knew you were Jake’s, and he was undeniably yours. The facade you put on and the games you played with others were just that; the only thing either one of you knew to be real was the way you felt for each other. It was painful, harmful and frustrating for the two of you to constantly avoid the way your hearts felt for each other, but it was all you knew. It made more sense for the two of you to deny and lie about your feelings than it ever did to fess up.

He pulled away from you, catching his breath as he looked up at your face from between your legs. “Come on, angel. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” He hummed, moving his thumb over your clit so he did not lose the momentum.

“You want to hear it, baby?” You breathed, looking down at him through your lashes. “Did you miss it?”

“Dreamt of it every goddamn night.” He said as a matter of fact. You let out a whine at the sound of his words, pushed even closer to the edge at the knowledge he thought of you just as much as you thought of him.

You were in no position to deny him anything, because he was giving you the entire world. As he leaned forward, his mouth connecting with your core once again, you let a long slur of curses fall from your lips. The moan that followed could only be classified as pornographic, carrying through the door and echoing into the hallway for everyone to hear.

He was doing exactly as you wanted; he was making it so the entire house could hear how much you meant to him, even if it was not in the way you so badly wanted from him. Still, it was enough to keep you on his hook, and that was the very thing he wanted to ensure.

“God, feels so fucking good, Jake.” You gasped, feeling your abdomen tense with a particularly strong wave of pleasure. He hummed against you, speaking encouragement for the show you were putting on for him.

You knew if he continued on like such, it would not be long until you descended into an orgasm. He was waiting, just as desperate as you were to feel you let the pleasure take hold. He brought his fingers to your entrance, slipping his middle and index finger inside of you to add to the sensation. You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the curl of his fingers hit the same spot he found so easily just moments before.

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as the knot in your belly threatened to snap. At the familiar sound, he took it upon himself to suction his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding more pressure to the already otherworldly feeling. Your grip tightened in his hair and your entire body was rigid as it prepared to be pushed over the edge. “Oh god,” you cried, your throat raw from the primal sound that tore through you.

Had his mouth not been so intently focused on you, you knew how sweetly he would have talked you through it. No matter how vicious or volatile he spoke to you, he never missed out on the opportunity to coddle you as you came. It was his favorite thing in the entire world, an excuse to show you the softness his heart had for you when he usually felt like he needed to keep it hidden. He continued pumping his fingers and moving his tongue, guiding you through the high with expert precision. As he noticed you relax against him, he tapered off his movements before pulling away completely.

He rose to his feet, already tossing his belt on the floor before he was even upright. Your mind was still swirling with the lingering euphoria, your skin electrified and your heart pounding in your chest. You watched him, wordless as he unbuttoned his pants after he threw his shirt to the ground alongside his belt. He freed himself from his boxers, the sight of him nearly too much for you to handle. You missed him so dearly and needed him so badly.

He stepped forward, landing between your legs as he gazed down at you. His lust-blown pupils turned his eyes near black, and he was aching for relief just like you had been minutes before. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Say what?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gave you a soft smile, void of any malice for a moment. He wanted to admire you beneath him, so desperate to have him. He wanted to enjoy the beauty of your heart being his despite being promised to someone else.

“You were just as jealous as I was, angel.” He said, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. You put all your trust in him, knowing that if he faltered, you might fall to the floor.

“So what?” You huffed, your cheeks turning red at his accusations. He smiled down at you, moving his hips forward ever so slightly. The tip of his cock rested against your entrance, already wet with your arousal.

“Do you really think I’d give her half of what I give you? That she means nearly as much to me as you do?” He questioned, his grip loosening slightly now that he had you in the position he wanted.

“No, baby.” You shook your head, wondering if tonight would be the night that things would change. “I know that.”

“You know she has nothing on you, beautiful.” His hand trailed up your side, the light touch tickling your skin as his fingers drifted over your stomach. “Nobody does.”

With that, his sweet sentiments had come to an end. He slammed his hips forward, the size of him coming as a surprise and filling you completely. A gasp left your lips as your tried to recover from the shock and adjust to him again, realizing that in the time spent away from him, nobody felt as fulfilling as he did.

To him, no one could compare, either.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” He muttered, clearly strung out from the pleasure too. In just a moment, he was back where he was all of those months ago, in love with you and desperate to hear you say it back. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise was exhilarating, and his love was blissful. As he began a slow pace with his hips, the grief was almost overwhelming the pleasure. You wondered why it couldn’t feel this good with him all of the time, and you dreaded him walking away after the night came to an end.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a moment, likely mourning the same fate that the two of you so often fell into. Loving you was all he wanted to do, but he was so afraid of falling again that he convinced himself he wasn’t already long past in love.

His tongue danced over yours, the taste of his sin too much to bear as your chest began to ache. You wanted to remain strong, to carry on with the one thing that the two of you were good at, but it felt so different than it did all the times that came before. The emotion you had neglected to acknowledge was finally pushing to the surface, angry about being ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, but you feared the right time may never come. You had to stop being afraid, to find the courage he once had and utilize it.

You could feel it too, even in his cruel words and his harsh insults. The love was there, lingering in every touch and screamed in every kiss. You could not allow yourself to remain in the same incessant cycle of pain, but you could not will yourself away from him. There was only one way to change your ways, but it was the hardest thing you had ever done. Loving someone so completely, no matter the circumstance, was terrifying. Saying it aloud only made it all the more real.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss and in turn, breaking you from your internal brooding. He looked down over your face, his hips still rocking against yours. The pleasure in the pit of your stomach had nothing on the yearning of your heart, and he could see it in your eyes. He had to look away, to hide his heart from you so you could not break it again. He feared the longer he stared, the closer he was to confessing the same thing all over again.

In a moment of desperation, he withdrew from you entirely, letting his hands settle back on your hips. Before you could complain, he pulled you from the countertop entirely, landing you on your feet in front of him. He had to change the pace, to harness that same carnal desire and rank it more important than how he felt for you emotionally.

Without a word, he spun you around, forcing your top half down towards the counter. The cold surface was a shock to your system, especially after growing comfortable with the warmth of his body against you. He pulled your hips back towards him, positioning himself at your entrance again.

“I think I’m being far too nice to you, sweetheart.” He muttered, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “If I remember correctly, you only like to be fucked like a whore.”

This time, when the insult slipped past his lips, it did not feel good nor did it prompt any wave of arousal. It hurt, and it hurt achingly bad.

Still, knowing you were not strong enough to utter the proclamation of love, you went along with it despite the ache in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You hummed. Despite the sadness of the change of position, you were still excited at the idea of fucking him. If you could not love him, you knew it was the next best thing.

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, knotting your hair around his fist as he pulled your head off the counter. He leaned down, his lips hovering just over your ear as he continued at the agonizingly slow pace.

“Just like this, sweetheart?” He asked, making sure that when his hips connected with yours he added a little extra force. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so good, baby.” You whined, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot on your neck, his voice barely above a whisper but loud and clear to you. As you answered, he let his teeth sink into your earlobe, the light pressure prompting a flutter in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and locking him there indefinitely.

Despite the pace being slow, the power behind his hips was what mattered, and with every re-entry, he added just a little more force than the last. As his cock brushed against cervix, your knees went weak and your stomach twisted into a knot. You had no idea how he could make you feel so good, but you knew you never wanted him to stop.

“He can’t fuck you like this, sweetheart.” He whispered, his lips still hovering above your ear. “He can’t make you feel this good.” He continued, his hand on your hip tightening with every word. He was mindful, careful not to leave any bruises despite his desire to. “Can he, angel?”

“F-fuck no, Jake.” You shook your head, feeling him press a kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Right, baby.” He hummed his approval, his words muffled due to his lips on your skin. “Nobody can make you feel as good as I do because you’re mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“God, yes.” You nodded against his hold, desperate to agree with him on that fact. No matter what, you were undeniably his.

“Did you think of me when he was fucking you, angel?” He asked, his tone growing stronger by the second. He was pissing himself off the longer he thought about it, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to chastise you for your decisions. “Did you wonder when I would come home, when I’d come back to take care of you?

“I did, baby.” You whimpered, feeling the effects of his presence finally begin to take hold. You were strung out on pleasure, at your end already despite him being far from done with you. You were tired, but your body would not accept the fact. You thought if he stopped, you might die from the withdrawal from him. “I thought about it every fucking day.” You confessed. “I needed you, because nobody else knows how to do it right.”

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He hummed an agreement, happy to hear it from you. “You knew I’d never leave you behind. You knew I couldn’t fucking stay away.” Even if he wanted to, he never could. The confession was heavy, despite the fact already being known to you both. “God, what do you do to me?” He growled, the slam of his hips rocking your thighs forward into the countertop. Another groan tore through your chest, vibrating your entire body as he continued to fuck into you.

“Jake,” you warned, feeling your legs begin to wobble and your mind start to haze.

“I know, baby.” He crooned, placing another sloppy kiss to the exposed portion of your neck. “Being such a good girl for me. Just hold on a little longer.” At that, you let out another whine, loud and impatient, clearly unhappy about his plea to wait. In response, he roughly pulled your head to the side by your hair, craning it upwards a little further so he could press his lips to yours.

The kiss was enough to satiate your undying need for him, but the taste of his lips made the sensation in your stomach grow tenfold. The only difference was, now you could not warn him about the climax creeping up on you.

Luckily for you, he did not need to be warned about anything. He knew you better than anyone or anything, and he could feel how close you were just from your body alone.

“Oh, angel, you make it so fucking hard to say no to you.” He let out a long sigh, breaking the kiss as he let his hips rest against the curve of your ass. He had to slow down or he feared he might let go, too.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You gave him a weak smile, your eyes heavy as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“With you? Always good, even if it should be bad.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightened up again.

His hand remained in your hair as he took a deep breath, calming himself down before beginning again. The feeling of him moving inside you again after the short break was intense, amplified by a million. Although he believed stopping might allow the two of you more time, as soon as his hips reached the same speed as before, you were both just as close to the end. He couldn’t deny you the orgasm again, and he could not hold himself back. After so long without you, he needed it more than he needed food to survive.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” He asked, pushing your head down into the counter. Your cheek was squished against the surface, and his hips were moving with such strength that it made your head spin. There was no question that you could reach the climax, because you had been doing nothing but trying to hold back.

Instead of responding, your eyes closed and the burning in your stomach reached a whole new level. You had never gone so long without him, and now you had no tolerance for the pleasure that came with his company. A choked moan filled the air, letting him know that you were doing exactly what he asked of you.

His hand on your hip tightened as he pushed you further down on the counter. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, looking down at your face as you descended into pleasure. Your legs trembled and your lungs burned, but you were on top of the world. You felt better than you ever had, and likely better than you ever would. It had nothing to do with the sex, nor the stimulation of him inside you, but rather just the thought of being his.

You managed to sing his name through the mess of moans and curses, the sound heavenly to his ears. He waited so long to hear you say it like that again, and it sent him over the edge just the same as you. As you reached the high together, the world felt right again, like coming home after an inexplicably long and tiresome day. He spilled his release inside of you, feeling you relax against him as he slowed his thrusts. He leaned down, pulling your head to the side with much more caution than last time, and kissed you with all the love he could muster in his whole body.

You stayed like that for an abnormal amount of time, neither of you keen on the idea of parting from one another. Eventually, he broke the kiss, looking down over your face with adoration in his eyes. He did his best to snap himself out of it, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling such things about you, but unable to stop. He straightened up again, making sure to admire the entire scene of you below him, too fucked out to form a single thought. Then, his eyes traveled to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your position from a whole new perspective. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensed as he let out a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to let him take you home tonight after seeing you like this, sweetness?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When he realized your head was pushed too close to the countertop for you to see too, he used his grip on your hair to pull you upwards.

Staring back at you was a mess of the woman you walked into the bathroom as. Your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your skin red and blotchy and your hair a mess. Beside your reflection, you could see him watching you, studying you. His eyes were fixated on your face, taking in every detail you were noticing. To him, you were not a mess; you were the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. The mess just made it all the better, especially knowing he was the one who caused it.

‘I don’t want to go home with him, Jake. I want to stay here with you.’ You thought it, but did not dare say it aloud. The flash of sadness in your eye was apparent to him, for he had the same one in his.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

If you did not speak now, you never would. Could you remain the same forever, or did you need to change to survive? You did not know what to do, or how to feel. If you said it, would it even mean anything, or would it be a waste of breath? He did not want to hear the words a year later; he needed it way back when the two of you were curled up together on the couch, when he used every last ounce of courage to say it first. He didn’t need to hear it now. He didn’t need you fucking up his life again. He didn’t need you.

But if he did not need you, why did he abandon his date in search of you, in search of what you used to be?

There was no more anger between you. Your eyes locked together in the mirror, housing a silent battle of uncertainty as you watched each other's every move. If you spoke the truth, the world would change indefinitely, but you did not know if it would be for better or for worse.

Oh, what did it fucking matter anymore?

You had to say it, to know that you exhausted every option to keep the man your heart sang hymns about. You could deal with the consequences later, because right now, you both needed to hear it.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, knowing there was some kind of war being waged in your head. He was afraid, not of what you wanted to tell him, but because he thought you wanted to end the constant debacle between you.

You could deal with the aftermath later, but you were done being sad. He waited so long, just the same as you, and you had to say it.

I repent tomorrow

Hey ah na na tomorrow

I suspend my sorrow

“I don’t want to go home with him, Jake.” Your voice was strong despite your worry the words would not make it past your lips.

“Then don’t.” He could not help the spark of hope that ignited in his chest. He rested inside of you, terrified to move as he awaited what you would say next.

“You mean it?” Say it, or forever hold your peace, coward.

“You know there’s always a place for you in my bed.” He was unsure if he was taking your confession in the way you meant it, but by god he hoped that was what you meant. Your eyes caught his again, holding him captive with your stare. There was not enough courage in the world for you to say it, but you could not hide it any longer.

“I love you too, Jake.” You said, your tone strong and your intent true. Nearly a year later, you finally said it.

The world was still. The commotion outside of the doorway stopped, and your relentless thoughts wasted away to nothing. For a moment, you even believed your heart ceased to beat.

“I love you, Jake. I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying it now, and it has to count for something.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, statue-like as he stood behind you. For a moment, you thought you might die from the pure grief that encased your heart. You waited too long. It was too late. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

Neither of you moved, and neither of you knew what to do next.

You got what you thought he could never give, and he heard what he feared you might never say.

Was it over? Was that it? Did you end the curse that had plagued you since the very beginning? Had you repented enough for the rottenness of your actions?

Could you really have him with no secrets and no more lies? Could you love him without restraint, without any pain?

“Let me love you, Y/N. Let me do it right this time.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face. “Please, Jake. The world hasn’t felt right since that night, until now. I want to try again, and I don’t want to be a terrible person anymore.”

Carefully, he withdrew from you, trying to limit the mess as he helped you up off the counter. He turned you to face him, bringing his hand to your cheek to swipe away a tear that escaped your eye.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to hear you say that, sweetheart. I would be a fucking idiot if I gave it up twice.” You lifted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I was so stupid.” You said, reaching out and wrapping your arms around him.

The hug was simple, but to the two of you, it was everything.

“I was stupid, Y/N.” he said, burying his head in your hair. He took a deep breath, finally feeling the tension in his body fade away into nothing. The smell of your shampoo, and more specifically, the way his pillows used to smell when he was sleeping next to you, was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I just want you.”

“I was always yours, Jake.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you rested your cheek on his bare chest. “From the minute I met you, until my very last day on earth.” He did not need to reply for you to know he was yours, too.

Finally, after writing your own wretched tale, you had grown enough to rewrite it and atone for all of the mistakes you made before.

Finally, you could love him without having to worry about anything else, without pain, and without suffering.

Finally, he was yours, and only yours, like it always should have been from the very beginning.

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borahaerhy · 1 year ago

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Regime - one || myg

Summary: Everything is dull. Your job, your hobbies, your downtime: everything is just dull. That is, until your workplace is raided by the anti-capitalist organization run by the notorious Agust D.

Pairing: Ringleader!Yoongi x NewRecruit!Fem!Reader

Genre: Anti-Capitalist Gang au, Found Family, Smut, Angst

Series Warnings: anti-capitalism! mental illness, some gang violence, unaliving, smut, hella angst, drug/alcohol usage, very fowl language

Warnings: y/n uses all the self-defense, quite literally bites a chunk out of someone's hand, everyone has a gun, there are a few hostages, Yoongi kicks someone in the face, y/n very casually holds a gun to someone's head, references to y/n's childhood being... interesting (relatives' drug usage briefly mentioned), Yoongi's tries to manipulate y/n for like 2 seconds, y/n definitely has depression, someone gets murdered, Yoongi almost exclusively goes by Agust, References to Nick being hella shitty, what the fuck is going on with Kevin?

Wordcount: 3.2k

Previous | Next

It was odd.

The parking lot of your job being completely empty had only happened on one other occasion that you could recall; that was because it was Easter, and everyone had gone home early.

But today was different. It wasn’t a holiday, and there should have been plenty of work to get done; yet there was no one. Not a single car in the parking lot. As you drove past, you turned your attention to the side of the building, where security parked. You pulled into the space beside the empty car of one of your coworkers, Nick.

But it’s ten minutes until shift change; first shift should still be here. Did Nick let them leave early for some reason? Aside from yours and Nick's, there was only one other car in the entire lot. A black SUV parked haphazardly beside Nick's car; and it was still running.

While all of this might scream “danger” to others that would have seen it, to you, while it was weird, that's all it was: weird. It’s a relatively small company; one where there were so few employees that they were all friends. Everyone knew everyone and they often all liked to fuck with one another, maybe this was just some kind of prank.

While the company was small, it was also one that had no problem fucking over its employees when it comes to their paychecks; even whenever the company execs wanted to come in and check the place out, they certainly never would’ve listened to any complaints about pay.

You cautiously walked up to the door and punched in the pin before you opened the door and stepped in. As you closed the door behind you, you realized that you walked into something you definitely wished you hadn’t.

Tied up in the middle of the floor was the owner of the building, and the one who ran this branch of the company, Kevin, along with the guy supposed to work your shift with you, Nick. They were completely surrounded by men in black, all of them with guns pointed at the two men's heads. Kevin looked like he just got into a fight and lost; blood covering him, his nose crooked while Nick had a swollen lip. In front of them, there was just one man, but as soon as your eyes had adjusted to the dark building, all of them were looking at you.

Seconds after you walked in, your arms were pinned behind your back and a hand covered your mouth. “Just make sure she doesn’t go anywhere for a second, I have to deal with this asshole before I talk to her,”

While as a security officer, you hadn’t been formally trained in any kind of combat, you did grow up with uncles. A lot of them, and they would all get varying levels of high and various substances and decide that you needed to know how to defend yourself.

So while the man that spoke, the one standing in front of Nick and Kevin kicks Nick in the chin - no doubt knocking out a few of his teeth - you stamped down on the foot of the man behind you and bit a chunk of flesh from his hand clean off. He screamed, letting go of you so you could turn around and knee him in the groin as one of your hands took the gun out of his side holster and held it to his head.

You stood beside him, facing the group of people with one hand holding the gun to his head while the other was up, level with your head to show you weren't armed more than what they could see. You spit out the chunk of flesh that you still had in your mouth, mostly for dramatic effect, and slowly moved your free hand down to wipe the blood from your lips.

Everyone was staring at you, even the boss was staring at you with a kind of intensity that would’ve been hard for anyone to withstand. “You can finish whatever you were doing, I’m not going anywhere, I just don’t really like people touching me,” Your hand was back up next to your head, but no one moved. All the men just looked back and forth between their boss and you, and Kevin and Nick both looked like they’d just been saved.

The one that just kicked your coworker, the one you presumed to be the boss, started walking toward you. He moved slowly and carefully as he pulled each of the weapons he had on him, showed them to you carefully, before he threw them down on the ground. He pulled one last weapon from the inside of his boot, a small pocket knife, and threw it to the ground, too, as he stopped a few feet in front of you.

“I’m unarmed, and so is he. I would appreciate it if you put the gun down,” He spoke calmly, eyebrows raised and hands up. While it was hard to think of where he’d be hiding a seventeenth weapon, you also wouldn’t put it past the man that just pulled sixteen weapons off his person to have a secret compartment in the bottom of his shoe.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, his face covered with a ski-mask like the rest of them, only his eyes visible to you; dark brown pools of honey that bore into you, but they weren’t as harsh or intimidating as you would’ve thought someone like him to be. They were soft, almost gentle as they moved back and forth between yours.

“You might not be, but they are,” You looked over at the men that surrounded your coworker and boss, his gaze following yours.

“They’re not going to do anything, you’re not the target here; they are. Just put the gun down and we can talk,” You looked carefully at him, then at the people behind him, before you slowly raised the hand with a gun in it, before crouching down slightly and slid it across the ground, making sure it was well out of reach of anyone before you stood again.

“Kay, come get Mars and clean him up for me, everyone else, don’t let them move a muscle,” He was facing his men as he spoke, but turned back to you once he’d finished. “You probably know this place better than I do, so I’ll let you lead the way,” You looked over to the door to one of the conference rooms briefly, before you looked back over to him, Kay already collection Mars from off the ground beside you.

“That room there would work fine, I’ll meet you in there but I need to get my water out of my bag,” He looked you up and down skeptically, about to say something before you cut him off again. “It’s just to rinse your friends hand out of my mouth, I’ll leave the bottle out here,” He paused slightly, then nodded once, stepping toward the door you’d just referenced to. You moved slowly as you got your water from your bag, rinsing out your mouth thoroughly before you took one last gulp and swallowed it. You put the bottle back down and headed into the room.

“You can have the chair, I’ll stand,” He gestured to the only chair in the room as he leaned against the table across from you. You crossed your arms and leaned against the door.

“I’m good with standing,” He nodded briefly before he took his mask off, revealing his admittedly handsome face to you.

“My name is Agust, I’m the leader of the group of people out there with your coworkers. We’re here because Kevin, the owner of this branch has been stealing from his employees to pad his own pockets-”

“And why’s Nick out there?” You asked, trying not to let your anger show too much, but your not sure how successful you were judging by the look on his face.

“Nick’s here because when he pulled in, I had my guy out in the parking lot run his tags and we found him to be… a really shitty person, to put it mildly,” You swallowed thickly, feeling almost a sense of relief that your suspicions were right, and you weren’t just overthinking about him.

“Yeah, that checks out,” You nodded, looking down at your feet as you let your arms fall, sliding them into your pockets. “So why are you here? Kevin likes to fuck over his employee’s, sure, that’s shitty, but what’s in it for you?” He looked you up and down again, as if trying to gauge whether or not you were worthy of knowing this information or not.

“I’ll tell you, eventually, but I have a few questions of my own first,” He crossed his arms as he stood straighter.

“Like?”

“Your name, for starters,” You laughed slightly, extra air flying out of your nostrils as you smirked lightly and cocked your head to the side.

“Ah, so I’m supposed to believe that you had someone run Nick’s plates but not mine?” It was his turn to smirk, his head falling slightly as he nodded.

“Alright, Y/n. Let’s get really into it, then,” His demeanor changed, the once kind eyes now seemed to drop their facade, his face bore a cocky smirk and his overall presence was that of a leader. Someone calm and collected, even when his initial plan was swept off it’s feet; he still knew exactly what his next step would be. “Why are you pretending you don’t care about Kevin fucking over his employees?”

Your own attitude changes slightly as he forces you out of your facade the same way you did his. Your shoulders dropped slightly as you felt all the color drain from your face. You cleared your throat a stood up a little straighter, trying to mimic his own attitude. “Because I’d like to know a little more about you and your organization; I already knew Kevin was a piece of shit, I don’t need you, or anyone else to tell me that,”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked you up and down again. There was something about the way he was looking at you, as if he was trying to see into your mind, see what you were thinking. “Why would it matter who I am if I want to bring someone like him to justice?” You sighed as you changed your stance slightly as you tried to think of a way to explain.

“It matters because all you’d have to do to get me on your side is tell me what Kevin’s done, how long he’s been doing it, and what you plan to do about it; and I’d probably agree with you based purely off my emotions rather than if I actually agree with you or not. But if I know who you are, what you and your group are capable of, and what you plan on doing in the future, I can judge you based on logic; wether you’re inherently shitty or not.” A knowling smile seeps across his features, an almost proud look as he listened to you speak.

“And why would I want you to agree with me, princess?” You scoffed, although you were far from offended; knowing the game he was playing.

“I’ve seen your face and I know that you’re the leader; not to mention the chunk of DNA that belongs to your friend still wedged between my teeth, and how it got there. Either you have to find a way to get rid of me, or recruit me,” He looks impressed as he steps down from the table and takes a small step toward you.

“Let me re-introduce myself. My name is Yoongi, and I’m the leader of an anticapitalist organization. We steal from the rich, especially the ones that make a game out of fucking their employees out of the money they worked hard for. I don’t want to get rid of you, as you put it, because that’d be a waste; but I don’t want to recruit you just because you took a chunk out of one of my best man’s hands - or because you took his gun from him like it was nothing, or because I know you have plenty reason to want to fuck over the same people that have fucked you and your family,” He paused, taking another small step toward you, now standing less than a foot away from you.

“I want to recruit you because you’re scared shitless right now,” His voice was much lower, a serious tone filling the space between you as the smirk was gone from his face. “You still don’t know if I have a weapon on me, or if I’m going to let you out of here alive, or if we’ve hurt any of your friends or coworkers. But here you stand, speaking to me as confidently as someone that knows they’re more powerful than me,” His eyes bore into yours as if he could see your entire life laid out on a platter with just one glance.

“So, Y/n,” He took a step back, arms crossed over his chest confidently as he looked at you almost sweetly. “You’re not who we were after, and I don’t find you to be a threat to us. So, you’re free to go, if you want. You don’t have to worry about us following you or keeping tabs on you; you can just go home, go on with your life and forget this ever happened.” He paused, looking you up and down. "Or,” He leaned back against the table, one leg crossed over the other.

“You can come with us,” You stood silently for a moment, eyes only leaving Yoongi when he finished speaking. You pushed yourself from the door and took a few steps over to the window and looked out of it, taking in the world as you had been seeing it for the past several months, before you closed your eyes, drinking in the inky black that the cover that your eyelids provide.

You’d noticed that everything looks different throughout different phases of my life; as if there are filters over your eyes that change the colors and shadows in accordance to how you’re feeling. Some memories are all cool-toned, some warm. Some memories look yellowed, like they’d been tea-stained while others seemed more vibrant and vivid than anything else you’d ever seen.

For the past couple of months, everything’s been dull. The world’s almost been in grey-scale as you try to find a purpose; try to find something to do with yourself. Nothing looks or feels like it used to; but for the first time in months, you are scared. You’re terrified. You smile as you relish in the feeling, the first true, raw emotion you’d felt in months.

When you open your eyes, there’s color in the world again. The trees dance in the wind with various shades of red and orange and brown; the sky beyond them littered with soft purple hues as the sun was already beginning to set into the autumn sky.

“What happens if I decide to go with you?” You turn to look at him as you finish speaking, a light smirk on his lips before he turns to face you.

“You come back to our base with us, we show you around, show you the ropes, and figure out how you’d best assist us. Then, if you decide you want to leave, you can. If you still want to have your job here and go back to your home and just help us out on the weekends, you can. You can also live with us and work with us full-time; but no matter what, I’d be sending you home tonight. This is something you need to think over.” You nodded again, still trying to take everything in.

“And as far as Kevin goes, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” You shook your head and raised your hands, stopping him from saying anything further.

“I don’t want to know anything about what he did,” Yoongi nodded as he looked at you almost empathetically. “But, I’ll uhm, I’ll go with you,” His facial expression softened lightly as he smiled at you.

Your relief very quickly changed when he reached behind his back and pulled out yet another gun and out the barrel right next to your head and pulled the trigger, shooting through the wall behind you. The sound was deafening but you didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving his as his smirk grew wider yet.

“Wait here, Princess. I’ll come back to get you in a few minutes,” He pulled the mask back down over his face before he opened the door and stepped out, all eyes suddenly on him. “She had a real fucking mouth on her, didn’t she?” Yoongi sauntered back over to where his captives were tied up, gun casually swinging in his grasp as he walks.

“Kept talking about her mom; something about her still being alive if only she’d gotten her benefits like she was supposed to,” He kneeled down in front of Kevin, using the barrel of the gun to point at him. “That sound familiar to you, Kev?” Kevin was shaking, eyes wide as they bounced back and forth between the gun and Agust, who was only smirking at the terrified face of his captive.

“Cat got your tongue? Nick?” At his lack of response, Agust moved the gun from Kevin to Nick, the barrel now only inches from his head. “Do you know anything about that?” Nick shook his head wildly, eyes clenched shut as tears spilled out of them.

It pissed him off how scared they acted. He had a gun to their heads and they just bawled like babies; as if they hadn’t done the same thing time and time again to others. Kevin took money away from people that needed it. Money that he definitely didn’t need; and in doing so, he took away not only financial stability, but the lives of the people that depended on that money.

And while Nick didn’t steal from the poor like Kevin did, that didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. He’d been accused of many crimes in his life; including attempted manslaughter, statutory rape, and several different domestic violence charges, but he’d never been convicted of any of them. There was never even a trial, just complaints dropped the day after they were filed, along with several very large transactions coming out of his obscenely rich father’s bank account.

So watching them sit here and sob when their lives were threatened, knowing fully that they’ve put others in this very situation with their greed and ignorance enraged him. August pressed the gun to Nick’s temple and pulled the trigger, blood spraying all over Kevin's face in the process.

Kevin screamed, loud sobs filling the warehouse that only pissed him off more. “Shut up, would you?” The gun was back under Kevin’s chin, his sobs silencing almost instantly as the gun forced him to look up. “I’m not going to kill you,” He took his time pulling the gun away from Kevin, eventually putting it into the waistband of his jeans before he carefully stood, his gaze already on the door you were behind as his men pulled Kevin up and dragged him out to their car. “Not yet, anyway.”

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @bangtan4everr @angrydonutzonkpickle @secfir @useryoonmin @idkjustlovingbts

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weirdsht · 5 months ago

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Disillusioned 16 . Heterogeneity

a/n: 80 pages, 20k+ words and these mfers still haven't realised their feelings... even I'm getting frustrated lol

double update this week as my sorry for being late huhu

tags: war, injuries, blood, self-doubt, anxiety, depression, atp just name every negative feeling there is, reader is rosalyn's walking headache, feelings in progress

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Battles pile up and they win every single one. It should make _____ proud. Should make them happy. They should be celebrating and not feeling insecure.

If others are asked, they’ll say how great of a support _____ has been. Not only did they heal and support the core players of the war, but they were also in charge of differentiating the enemies. Especially during Operation Ghost.

In a way, they were like a vice commander but were more focused on locating and knowing the enemy.

However, _____ did not see it that way. Could not appreciate the efforts they had been pouring in during this war.

They are towing a line towards a dangerous mindset and they could see nothing wrong with it.

It doesn’t help that _____ grew up repressing and hiding their emotions.

Because now that they really want to, no one could tell just how hurt the healer is. Not when Cale is too busy running around everywhere and Rosalyn is not with them. _____ made sure that no one could tell just how injured they were. Just how many layers of bandages they have wrapped around their body from absorbing too many wounds.How some of those wounds have reopened so many times because they kept pushing themself.

How deep inside they were a mess.

Not just physically, but also mentally. They tried really hard but there’s still turmoil left from the news of their family being human traffickers. Guilt still eats away their conscience every waking day.

Frustrations about their ability are still growing bigger and bigger.

_____ hid all of that.

If ever asked why they would argue that it was needed. This time is a time of war. Cale can’t even eat properly, so what gave them the luxury to expatiate on these useless feelings and injuries?

In addition to that, aside from the wounds that reopened here and there, they were feeling fine. The healer had taken this chance to slowly experiment reverse healing. It’s hard, in fact, 99% of the time it’s the reason why their wounds reopen. Harming people is more difficult than healing them.

It’s hard but not impossible.

But it’s still not enough to make _____ feel better. They must get stronger. Must control it better. They have to help everyone fight off the enemy.

But then…

Pop!

Like a bubble, that pressure _____ had been piling on themself burst.

It’s a very natural thing to happen. _____ is only human after all, humans are bound to explode when there’s too much pressure tightly sealed.

For _____ that pressure burst in the form of acting rashly.

No one knew what their last straw was as there were so many variables that could have added to it.

It could have been because of how the church of the Sun God spewed nonsense in front of Mary.

Could have been when Raon and Cale heard them ponder whether they could transfer dead mana to themself using their ability. (This made Cale stick the healer closer to him and Choi Han.)

Maybe it was because of those priests who acted all high and mighty but couldn’t do anything in the end.

Perhaps it was how the empire’s forces had been strutting around, acting all good when in fact they were dirty bastards.

No one can accurately pinpoint which one it is. All they knew was that _____’s bubble suddenly burst and the unfortunate victim was the dragon half-blood.

_____ who was doing their best to support and heal Choi Han while physically supporting Cale saw Raon's light attacking the Dragon half-blood. While it looked powerful, the healer knew it would not be enough, they knew that the Dragon half-blood would be able to escape.

That’s why _____ thought that if that bastard was going to escape, might as well double his suffering.

"I thought that hooded person was just your baggage but what is this..."

If Cale didn't pay attention to that half-blood's comment about the Dragon blood, he certainly paid attention to that last comment. How could he not when the half-blood suddenly had a wound near his heart that was neither from Choi Han nor Raon?

No one had stabbed him or anything. The wound literally just manifested out of nowhere. Cale has no idea where it could have come from.

Wait, manifest out of nowhere? That's almost like…

At that moment Cale noticed that _____ was not supporting his body anymore. Before he could turn around to check on them, he heard Raon's panicked voice ringing in his head.

“B-blood..! Human, kind _____ is bleeding!”

When Cale turned around he saw nothing at first. This was because _____ made sure to not get blood on their clothes, well at least the outer layer that everyone could see. However, Cale soon saw the blood on the black bone wyvern as well as the bloody dagger on their hand.

"Just what-"

"It's fine Commander, I'm fine. Please reassure the people first, I can manage. But it would have been better if I managed to snag some of that half-dragon’s vitality…”

There’s no way anyone would believe the healer was fine. Not with the copious amount of blood dripping down on the wyvern’s bones.

“Raon please hide my dagger in your dimensional pocket for a while. I don't want anyone to see it."

_____'s voice was extremely weak as they spoke. Cale who became even more frustrated after hearing this seriously thought about ditching everyone on the ground then and there.

"You- haaaa. Choi Han make sure to support _____ when we get down."

While Choi Han was supporting _____, he made sure to pour the highest-grade potions on the healer. It might not be able to heal all their wounds as their condition is too severe, but it will help stabilize them for the time being.

Soon, Choi Han saw an opportunity to bandage _____'s wounds while Cale was talking to Cage. He would've asked for the knight healer and the mage but he knows _____ is only comfortable with their family and the Henituse servants assessing their body.

Till this point, he didn't know the full extent of their wounds yet. He just thought the injuries they had were from healing.

However, Choi Han did not recall anyone having a stab wound so close to the heart.

At least not anyone from their forces.

"_____ just what-"

"So you see, I discovered this really funny thing I can do. I'll tell you later."

The healer weakly chuckled as if they found the situation funny. Choi Han could now understand Cale's frustration. _____'s bandages and inner layer of clothes are soaked with blood. The black robe they were currently wearing was also starting to get soaked.

"Choi Han-nim get bandaged up already, I'm fine. I didn't work hard to heal you out there just for you to not get full treatment. I would finish the job but as you can see…"

Choi Han held back a sigh. Instead, he looked at _____ with a gaze that seemed to be asking if they were fine. The now bandaged-up healer just shooed him with their hands. The swordmaster was still reluctant to leave them alone, luckily Mary arrived.

"Mary please look after _____ for a while."

Mary agreed and only then was Choi Han able to walk away with peace of mind.

At first _____ thought that they would not get proper treatment until they went back to the Super Rock Villa. That was why they opted to sleep on the couch in Cale's room. Luckily, Eruhaben arrived along with Pendrick. Before Cale could even get a word out about _____'s condition the Ancient Dragon was already asking the Healer Elf to heal them.

The heavily injured _____ slept through all of that.

Evening had passed and the sun was out the next time they woke up. The healer didn’t know what to expect when they woke up, but it certainly wasn’t a barrage of embarrassment.

First thing they noticed was how they had been moved from the couch to Cale’s bed. Second thing was how there’s a communication device open on the bedside table.

“Glad to see my dongsaeng is awake. There’s a lot of things we must catch up on, yes?”

_____ didn’t know whether to be embarrassed that they kept Rosalyn waiting, or be scared at the way she’s smiling…

“If you’re looking for everyone they all have several agendas to attend to. Some of them are healing soldiers while some are talking to officials.”

The previously embarrassed _____ composed themself and properly sat up on the bed.

“...I’m sorry.”

Both of them already know what the apology is for.

“I know what I did was rash. I had acted recklessly and illogical and it may have hindered some of our plans.”

The mage on the other side of the communication orb only sighed.

“Haaa, that’s not the problem. My main issue is how you got injured. Everyone cares for you and is upset about how you don’t seem to hold yourself in the same regard. We’re worried about you.”

Rosalyn could feel the headache coming when she saw the confused expression on _____’s face.

“But unnie[1], doesn’t Cale do the same thing? Like him, I’m also fine. I heal faster than average and it’s not like these wounds will leave scars.”

Forget a headache, this is a migraine.

“Dongsaeng, you do know how we feel whenever Cale coughs blood or faints right?”

“Huh? Yeah, everyone gets worried and becomes scary… oh…”

Oh indeed

“Exactly, we worry about Cale. We worry about you too. I heard Eruhaben had been sighing the whole night. That's why you better tell this unnie of yours why you did such a thing.”

“Well…”

_____ trailed off as they drank a glass of water that had been conveniently left for them.

“I don’t know honestly… But these past few days I felt as though I wasn’t doing enough. Cale is on the front lines of the war and I’m at the back and can barely do anything. It was frustrating to see the Empire try to play us around like that. Then I also feel irritated that Cale can’t even eat properly because everyone is putting pressure on him. Mary-nim being targeted by the church when she’s risking her life to help defend the kingdom is also not helping. I also think Cale's bleeding during the Henituse battle also riled me up… Unnie I’m not sure what’s happening to me… I think my emotions are getting the best of me.”

Rosalyn can see a growing pattern here…

“Did you know that you seem to mention the young master-nim every other sentence?”

As the big sister, it’s Rosalyn’s job to guide her sweet, but unaware dongsaeng.

“Huh did I? Hans told me once that we seem to be close. That must be why.”

“Is that so? Tell this unnie more about how you feel, that might help us figure out what’s happening to you.”

Rosalyn’s scary smile is gone and has been replaced with the warm smile _____ is used to.

“There were a few times when there was something warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest. It also feels odd when I’m not with Cale. Uhm like when you guys went to the Paerun Kingdom. I feel frustrated and sad whenever Cale doesn’t take care of himself but I think that’s normal… Unnie, honestly I’ve never felt this way. Is this how it feels to have friends? You know I’ve never had one before you guys.”

Laughter echoed throughout the room at the question. Rosalyn couldn’t help herself but started to feel bad when she saw the confusion on the healer’s face.

“_____, do you feel the same way towards us?”

That made _____ think for a few seconds.

“Well I also worry and love everyone else in our group but I guess not to the extent I feel towards Cale? I also don’t get that warm and fuzzy feeling from anyone else. Oh no unnie, is this how playing favourites start? I don’t want to play favourites.”

“Ahahaha! No, no don’t worry, you aren’t playing favourites. But I can’t say that what you feel for the young master is friendship.”

The confused _____ became even more confused.

“Not friendship? What could it be then?”

“That, my dongsaeng, is something you must answer yourself. But I’ll give you a clue since you’re smart. You and young master Cale read books together right?”

_____ started reminiscing all the novels they’ve read with Cale.

“We read different genres. There’s action, mystery, comedy, fantasy, drama, romance…”

_____ isn’t sure if they like where this is going.

“I knew my dongsaeng was smart!”

The mage clasped her hands to show how proud she was. Not that the healer can appreciate it since they’re currently in turmoil.

_____ started thinking about the narratives they have read in romance books. Started comparing them to how they felt about Cale.

And holy shit it fits.

It fits like a goddamn missing puzzle.

The healer doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“_____, my dongsaeng _____. It’s perfectly normal to feel that way. You’re in that perfect age where you should experience romance in your life.”

Rosalyn comforted the currently distraught _____.

“What you do with your feelings is up to you. You can act on it, you can let it pass, you can try to get over it. It’s up to you. Whatever you do, I'll support you.”

“Unnie… Thank you… Not only for this but for everything else as well.”

“Anything for my dongsaeng.”

Rosalyn smiled one last time and with that, their conversation ended.

_____ got up from the bed as soon as the communication device turned off. They then started freshening up themself by doing their usual morning routine.

A few minutes later, _____ is ready to go help Pendrick heal the soldiers. They’re even wearing their usual priest robe because they know that Cale must want to scam- uhm “spread” the word of the Sun God Church.

However not even 10 steps outside the room, Cale is there with Choi Han and Eruhaben forcing the still-injured healer back inside the bedroom.

[1] chose unnie because it sounds cuter in my opinion lol. again why can't there be a gender-neutral honorific

#trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #tcf #lcf #cale henituse #lotcf #totcf #tcf x reader #lotcf x reader #lcf x reader #totcf x reader #manhwa x reader #cale x reader #cale henituse x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x reader #disillusioned . tcf

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xoxovanillq · 7 months ago

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Honey

Pairing- Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings- Miscarriages, depression, Steve being a bad boyfriend, guilt, self doubt.

A/N- um, i don’t know what compelled me to write this. i wasn’t even gonna post it but i have a bunch of reqs i’m working on so i figured i’d post this.

You wandered silently around your small apartment, picking up and cleaning. Your hand rested on your no-longer-swollen belly, sighing and closing your eyes when your hand slid down, nothing for it to perch on. You decide your attempt at distraction was failing, instead opting to sit down on the couch, grabbing the remote and giving into your depressive state.

Right as the TV clicked on, a knock came at the door. You got up, looking through the peephole just to be met with Steve’s face, the last thing you wanted to see at the moment. As you turned to walk away, the knocking started to become louder.

“C’mon Y/N, I know you’re in there, Robin told me what happened, just open the door.” He pleads, you can hear both frustration and desperation in his voice.

“Why would I let you in?” You call back, hoping he didn’t notice how your voice cracked

“I just wanna talk!” He shouts, you can hear his head thunk against the door. With a sigh, you get back up from the couch, swinging the door open and glaring down at him.

“Talk, I’ll decide if I want to let you in after.” You say simply, masking the sadness you felt with anger.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have left, and that was awful of me to do. I- I just panicked, I mean, everything was going so well and then- then you were pregnant and I was freaking out.” His voice begins to speed up as he rambles, and when he finishes, he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones you could never say no to.

“Just come inside, I don’t want the whole apartment complex hearing this.” You relent with a sigh, moving aside to let him in.

As he settles on the couch, you flick the light on, pulling the room out of the dark, depressing state it had been residing in.

“Listen, I know that was scary, believe me, I almost threw up when I saw the test, but that doesn’t justify the fact that you left. I woke up every morning and reached for you, just for you not be there.” You respond softly, settling in a small chair across from the couch, scoffing slightly as you say the last big.

“I- I know, but, can I just ask something?” He says nervously, running a hand through his hair.

“Sure.” You reply in a calm tone, hoping it would make the situation feel less stressful.

“Why- why did you keep it? The baby- I mean.” He asks cautiously, as if worried to offend you.

“I don’t know- I- I just felt like maybe you’d come back, and love me again if I kept it. I thought it would make things better, and even if it couldn’t, I’d have a little bit of you with me, if that makes any sense.” As you speak, your hands smooth over your stomach, letting out a small breath when you remember that there was no swollen belly to touch anymore.

“I- I get it, and if it makes you feel better, I didn’t stop loving you.” He speaks softly, eyes darting down to the ground, not able to look at you and admit it.

“Maybe you shouldn’t love me, I mean, you could have so much better than a girl with a broken body who sits and cried over losing a baby she couldn’t even keep in the first place.” Your voice cracks as you speak, and Steve can’t help but want to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that you were perfect.

“You aren’t broken, and your feelings are valid, even if you couldn’t keep it, miscarriages are still awful.” He watches your face as he talks, pausing for a moment as he sees tears starting to form on your waterline.

“I’m sorry I’m crying, I-.” You start before the tears start to fall. Steve rises from the couch to crouch beside the chair you were sitting in, tentatively reaching out towards you, slowly rubbing your back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, what can I do to help?” He asks, and you could hear that he still cared, but didn’t know quite how to respond. Rather than pressing further, he got up from crouching and began to speak. “Look at me honey, I’m gonna go get you some tea and some water and get you in bed, okay? I’m gonna be in the kitchen for a couple minutes, but I’ll be back, are you gonna be okay?” He looks you in the eye, searching for something in them. You nod, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. “I need words baby.” He says softly, wiping away a tear.

“I’ll be okay.” You sniff out, your voice breaking as you speak. You watched as he walked into the kitchen, feeling like an awful burden as he mills about, doing things all for you.

He returned to you about 5 minutes later, placing one hand on your back and holding your hand with the other.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He says softly, but it almost sounds like he’s underwater, his touch barely registering. You were stuck in a haze, negative thoughts overtaking you. Steve slowly walked you to your bedroom in the small apartment, helping you lay in bed. “Do you want me to stay with you?” He asks as he sets the mug of tea and glass of water on your cluttered bedside table. You nod softly, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him into bed with you. He chuckles and lays beside you, tugging the covers over you. “I’m not gonna stay for long, okay?” He speaks softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Just stay until I fall asleep, please.” You plead, glossy eyes staring up into his. He nods, smoothing your hair down and pulling you close.

You awoke a couple hours later to the sound of cups clinking together. You rose from your bed, walking into the kitchen to see Steve placing washed dishes into your cabinets.

“Hey honey, you’re awake, I’ve just been trying to tidy up.” He smiles, and your heart drops, he had done all this for you, and you hated it.

“Steve, you’d shouldn’t have done this, you didn’t need to do this.” You say firmly, anxiety rising in your tone.

“What do you mean? It’s not a big deal.” He responds casually, shrugging his shoulders.

“I- I can’t repay you for this, you don’t need to be doing this.” You speak quickly, grabbing the cup he was holding from his hand and put it away.

“Honey, stop it, you don’t need to repay me. Look at me, I wanna do this for you.” He grabs both your hands, making you look at him. “Just give me a chance, you don’t have to date me or be my friend or anything, just let me take care of you.” He says quietly, and you fling yourself into his arms.

“Please, please, need you back Stevie.” You almost cry out, clinging to him for dear life.

“I’ve got you honey, I’ve got you.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst

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thepinkdreamganjaqueen · 4 months ago

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Subway Obsessions Arthur’s POV ch2

Arthur Fleck POV x Fem!Reader

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: Chapter 2 of the Subway Obsessions series from Arthurs POV. Arthur can’t stop thinking about Y/N since the night he was first able to talk to her. He endlessly retraces his steps, hoping to run into her once more, to see the woman he fantasizes about night and day, to make those fantasies a reality.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, oral (m and f receiving), piv, unprotected sex, breeding, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, praise, begging, mentions of violence, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of mental disorders, mentions of self-harm (past), stalking, swearing, obsession, D/S implications, self-doubt, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff, aftercare

A/N: It's a long one guys! I couldn't help myself!!! I love the stories from Arthur’s POV! Finally, some good stuff here!! I would also like to say that the duality of these stories when read from either POV, complement each other so well. It’s crazy to see the dynamics in how they see one another. Both carry self-doubt but see the other as a powerful and confident creature. Seeing the best in each other and the worst in themselves. I hope they find solace in each other to see their own true potential and know they are both loved and worthy of loving! And as always, I welcome tips, ideas, comments, and criticisms, but please be nice. Cheeers!!

Word Count: 10.7k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions

CHAPTER 2: For Him

Today had been long and depressing as it so quite often is. Arthur found it difficult not to allow the weight of everything to break him down. He often relapsed back to those restless nights where he would play out scenarios of happiness and content within his mind, diluting the day and its stressors. He had let his life and everyone in it beat him down mercilessly, inhumanely. Today was like every other, people looking down on him. He knew he could be off putting in stressful situations. No one understood or cared to understand why he laughed in those times of stress or heightened emotions. No one cared. The problem with this city. Lack of funds, lack of resources, beat the next person below you even further. A stranger treating him no better than the dirt under their shoe. He found solace and respite in one fantasy. One he played out over and over in his mind until he thought it reality. One he had tried to make a reality for days gone by now.

Things have changed during this time. A confidence growing within him as realizations came to fruition. Although he remained timid, he was no longer so afraid. The city was rife with unrest, he wasn’t the only one anymore. Not the only one shunned by this terrible place, pushed aside, forgotten, and laughed at. Protestors grew in numbers by the day, unwilling to stand by while injustice took place. It emboldened him to take action. At least now, he had protection. A weapon he was given by a colleague at work. The fantasy woman he so often wished to see had almost suggested it herself. He replayed her words in his mind however few they had exchanged. “I had to buy mace and stuff to protect myself” he thought he would end a life without question to protect her. The past few days, a blur in his mind when thinking about her. How her hair cascaded over her shoulders, how her chest rose and fell as lights streamed across her face while the subway made its crawl through the city’s endless tunnels. Her skin looked soft; in his mind, he could feel her. He imagined tracing his fingers over her stomach, tickling her, and kissing her deeply. His thoughts were mostly innocent, but she stirred emotions in him he had never felt. Not like this, this was real. She was real. He hoped. “Y/N” he mused. Her name lingering vibrantly in his mind since the day he finally got to speak to her, rolling off his tongue with ease. Salivating at the taste of it as he spoke it into being like a mantra, hoping she would appear.

Day after day, he wandered the stations platform, where she would board and depart without catching a glimpse. He had feared he had once again created something so perfect that wasn’t tangible. He choked up at the thought, pushing it away. But it had to be, right? She was kind, beautiful, not scared of him, not annoyed, not hateful, understanding, peaceful. She was perfect. Everything this monster of a place was not. She was like an escape from reality, a light at the end of the tunnel. It absolutely seemed too good to be true. Yet, without fail, he continued on, always and forever, searching for her face in a crowd. She was a bright, colorful flower in a dull and grey city he felt so alone in. If he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could still smell her on him. Had he imagined that, too? He was always so unsure of his own thoughts, not ever fully willing to trust them. His heart ached for so many reasons, but this new fascination he had with the woman with the pink coat had him practically comatose. He spent endless nights after wandering the subway at home sitting on the couch smoking cigarettes back-to-back, contemplating what he would even do if he were to see her again. Even though he did every time he closed his eyes. He wanted her there with him physically. To hold him, to touch him tenderly and lovingly. He imagined her caress. Her small hands, soft, and supple. Lingering on his skin. The mere thought made him shiver, goosebumps crawled up his arms, and hairs stood on end.

Tonight, he would once again try to find her. He would search endlessly, every train car, every seat. As he did nightly, hoping to find a trace of her existence. Wanting so badly for his fantasies to play out in reality, but he would settle just to bask in her energy. She fueled him daily. The thought of her, making him want to wake up in the morning. He never wanted to live to old age, but he thought with her, it might not be so bad. His body longed for her, and his heart yearned for her love and attention. A deep sense of emptiness held him as he thought of her, wishing, hoping to have her, to be with her. Before bed, he would pleasure himself to the image of her smile, of her peeking at him through her hair and blushing. She had a hold on him, a power he would happily relinquish if she were to ever ask. He would drop at her feet and beg to look in her direction. She made him feel small, and he feared her rejection. A fear that nearly debilitated him as he walked toward the doors of the subway train car.

A gust of wind hit him in the face, a cold slap that immediately brought him back to reality. His heart raced as he stepped through the doors. Upon entry to the train car, he immediately noticed some not so friendly characters, so he carried on, careful not to draw their attention to him. He’d almost forgotten he had his clown makeup on. He straightened his suit, opened the cabin door, and headed to the next train car, searching for that friendly face he couldn’t stop dreaming of. The day he saw her, something in him changed. He had vowed to protect her, a promise he would keep no matter what. Even if her affections weren’t returned. She was the only person besides Gary he could think that has ever shown him any sort of kindness. A stranger who was willing to sit with him on the train, share space, and speak politely and openly. A gesture he did not take lightly. He only wished more people could be like her, but feared for her in a place like Gotham. Her soft features and calm, loving voice that enveloped him in a warmth akin to a hug. He felt the need for her swell within him. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to slow his breathing.

All six train cars were empty. Not empty of people, but empty of the one person he had hoped or cared to see. He counted the bench seats that lined the aisle right before the last section of the train. He had remembered where she sat last time, methodically mapping the seats out in his mind then transferring it to his journal later that evening after watching her figure shrink in the distance as the train sped away when she got off. He often thought of that moment, thinking she had turned around to come back to him. That she had changed her mind or had a second thought, something to say left unsaid. The need to know what those words may have possibly been weighed on his mind heavily. Often imagining conversations that led to her leaning in and kissing him, asking him to go to his place or to hers. He created entire storylines in his mind as he sat in the same seat in the same car he did every night. The train was dark as it traveled the tunnels only dimly lit by the amber fluorescents that buzzed above, an occasional tunnel marker light or platform stop illuminating within the cabin. Shadows stretched across the floor, outlining the windows, seats, and poles closest to the lights. Stop after stop, and the last of humanity exited to the platforms. Soon, the subway platforms and train cars were near vacant. By the time the train car reached platform 17, it was empty except for Arthur. Two more stops. His mind warbled. He inhaled sharply, patiently awaiting the arrival of platform 19.

The breaks could be heard squealing to a halt as the loud speaker bleated above. A ‘ding’ rang out, then an electric voice chimed ‘platform 19 almost inaudibly, but Arthur knew the platform at this point. The doors opened with a hiss as the pressure exchange caused wind to billow into the car and blow past his face. He couldn’t see anyone as the train stopped. Maybe a couple of people huddled in the far corner, not wanting to be seen. As all the doors opened, he steadied himself, sitting up straight and trying to peak his head around the rows of poles and seats. A gasp caught in his throat like a lump, and he found himself sweltering and out of breath. It was her! He watched as she carefully scanned the seats. Just like last time, he thought. I can’t believe she’s real! He wanted to rush to her before she even saw him and grab her, spin her around, dip her, and plant a passionate kiss. She instilled a feeling of lust within him so powerful that just the thought of her looking in his direction and smiling was enough to make his manhood weep for her.

Crossing aisle after the aisle, she locked eyes with him. A smile brimmed on her lips. Instead of running to her, he flashed a friendly smile and waved her over, offering a seat as he had done before. He watched as she made her way towards him. Observing everything about her, taking in her beauty. He saw how her hair swayed down to her waist, blowing in her face as the wind blew around her. She was a fever dream, her beauty unfathomable, and he felt himself melting, his mind, in hysterics. She was…So. Beautiful. Almost otherworldly he thought, too beautiful for this world, too kind.

She wore shiny black knee-high boots. A light-colored sweater that looked fuzzy and warm. It exposed her midriff just enough to see a peek of skin above a black skirt that would rise and fall above her knees as she walked. The doors of the train clicked shut around her as she approached. A strong breeze blew past her knees, blowing her skirt forward where he sat. He watched as the wind blew up her skirt, exposing her legs and barely getting a peek at her panties. White, he thought they must be, but he only got a quick look. He couldn’t help how his body reacted at the sight. He bit his lip to keep his thoughts from being so overtly exposed on his face. Fuck, she saw me look, he thought. But how could he not? His face flushed and he felt heat in his cheeks but played coyly. She walked so gracefully, never missing a step. The train doors had closed, enclosing them in together. The subway had started its decent into the tunnels as it did that first fateful night. How might it turn out tonight? Arthur pondered which of his fantasies he liked the most. But his favorite of all ended with him cradled in her chest. Her holding him, accepting everything he was and was not, and loving him despite that.

He was surprised that she seemed happy to see him. After he hadn’t seen her for days, he thought she might be avoiding him, that her being nice was just who she was, but that she didn’t care to see him again or worse. He had only hoped she would show up today. He felt an electricity between them last time. A connection previously thought unattainable, especially with someone who looks like her and talks like her. She was kind, comforting, sweet, and unmistakably gorgeous. Interrupting the thought process of ruminating, he stood grabbing a rail and extended his hand out to her, being the gentleman his mother raised him to be. He offered to help her sit down, hopefully next to him. To his surprise, she obliged, happily taking his hand in hers. He immediately helped her to the inner seat to protect her if need be. Anyone would have to go through him first. A hand on her lower back to help guide her wasn’t too forward, was it? He thought. He wanted so badly to touch her, to feel her warmth.

She’s here, she’s really here. His mind was spinning, and she’s next to me. She touched my hand. They were as soft as he had imagined, small, dainty, and warm. Her fingers brushed his palm as she let go to sit. Tickling him, making him sweat under his collar. His suit felt tight all of a sudden. Her mere presence next to him put him at ease. She was peace. His muscles relaxed, his face un-tensed. Shoulders dropping, jaw unclenching. She was the embodiment of tranquility. A drop of cold water on his tongue in the desert sun, and he was so, so thirsty.

When he sat next to her, he could feel his body slide against hers, brushing her shoulders hips and thighs. The rest of the train car was cold, but being next to her created warmth. He relished in the feeling of being next to her, subtly touching her with his body every time the train car swayed the right way, making him wish for a bumpy ride if only to bump into her. He sighed with content, breathing deeply, smelling her perfume, making him dizzy and intoxicated. How he would like to just devour her if she would let him. Consume her entire essence, letting her wash over him. Bathing in her existence if only for a short time.

She turned to face him as he did her. Their legs, meeting somewhere in the middle of the seat. Her face was so light, unburdened by the nature of evil plaguing the city. He envied her in a way he could only express with want. He wanted her. Arthur became aware once more that he was in full clown makeup. He felt silly, no clown pun intended. She didn’t know, so he thought if he didn’t explain himself, she would be put off, turned off, scared, or worse, wouldn’t like him. He found the courage to address the metaphorical ‘elephant in the room’. “I’m a clown” he chuckled sheepishly and broke eye contact with her, looking down. “I work as a clown for a talent agency," pointing to the makeup that covered his face. He continued on. “But my dream is to become a comedian. I want to bring laughter and joy to the world” he stated this confidently but was unsure how she would feel about it. It was his truth, what he had been told from such a young age, something positive in this never-ending barrage of torment. He punched down on himself, thinking, why would I say that? That was so stupid. He examined her face, hoping for a positive reaction. Needing the affirmation that this was ok, that she was ok with him like this. That she accepted it. She had already been smiling, but her lips curled up further, eyes closing slightly, creating lines on each side. “Arthur!” She belted out cheerfully, shoving his shoulder playfully. A welcome sound. It's so bright and enchanting, like a song. Her voice was pure poetry. The feeling of her hand on his suit, the gentle push, he wanted to reach his shoulder and touch the same spot, to relive the feeling. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a comedian! I love that! And I love the makeup!” Her hand lightly grabbed his leg in a playful motion. Her touch sending shivers up his leg, he stammered, needing to catch his breath. She loved it? Amazing, he thought. How can someone be this perfect? How could she exist here? The urge to keep her close grew ever stronger. Not anticipating her surprise and cheerfulness to his declaration, he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. He thought, ah, it's nothing, really. She’s just being nice, but what a feeling to be heard and to be validated in that moment. It meant everything to him. “Yeah, I uh, have a book I write jokes in and everything! It’s got a lot of personal stuff and stuff from my own life, I think that’s what makes the best jokes” He felt himself immediately opening up to her, exposing his soul. Being in her presence made him feel alive. He felt he could be vulnerable with her, and she wouldn’t hurt him like everyone else has. He really hoped it was true. As much as he wanted her to see him as he wanted her to see him, he really wanted her to see who him for who he really was and despite all of that, take him into her heart. For her to be just as vulnerable with him as he was with her.

She and him started genuinely talking. She asked him questions about his life. She seemed to want to really know him on a deep and personal level. He could feel the emotion in her voice. When he spoke, she watched so attentively, pausing to let him speak and fully engaging, never breaking eye contact. She was so intimidating, he thought. She sounded so smart when she spoke, and the things she said were so kind and caring. She listened to him, hanging on his every word. He spoke to her about his diagnosis, and she met it with empathy and support. He spoke about how he was adopted and didn’t grow up with a father. In turn, she spoke about her parent’s abusing drugs and getting taken away for neglect. He couldn’t believe some of the things she confessed to him, baring her soul, unafraid he might abandon her or reject her, a fear he had. She seemed healed, and he admired that of her. To be able to move on from such trauma was hard work, something Arthur had still been trying to manage himself. He thought her a good influence. Her voice soothed the innermost parts of his affection starved mind, re-quenching him as if she were a monsoon and he were a draught. Perfection incarnate, an impossible being. In his eyes, she was a goddess! This woman who accepted him, who felt like home, felt safe, like he could trust her. How could he be so lucky? He thought to himself. To find someone like him, an extension of his own soul. It’s as if they’d always known each other. The conversations were effortless and easy. He could listen to her talk all day about anything.

Their conversation continued on for what only seemed like a short time. He was enamored with her, and time stopped ticking in her presence. Their conversations flowed. He genuinely had so much in common with her, he could feel himself constantly smiling through the less serious parts of their conversation. They connected through stories and experiences, goals and ambitions, and their favorite foods and movies. One subject led into the next and so on and so forth. He watched as she spoke so vivaciously, how her chest would rise when taking breaths between sentences and how her necklace lay upon her chest. He imagined her in nothing but the necklace. He watched as the lights would speed outside the subway windows, streaming across her face, lighting up her features, and creating a shadow of her onto himself. Her face, so soft. Her nose, small and cute. He watched how her lips moved across her teeth. She was effervescent. Something just so beautiful and ethereal. She was glowing. Every time she looked in his eyes, he could see light from within, how she sparkled. He watched as she would flip her hair and twirl a single lock between her fingers so sweetly. Her perfume, filling the air every time she moved, it was intoxicating. He found himself inhaling deeply each time it wafted his direction. He would forever associate this smell with her. She would be nostalgia on a bad day for him.

Her laugh stirred within him, swimming in his head and vibrating on his skin. He couldn’t believe she laughed at his jokes. He would watch as her eyes closed and her nose crinkled as a raucous laugh roared from her lungs. She was amazing. And she laughed at his jokes! He tried to make her laugh as much as possible because every time she did, she would grab his leg. Sometimes, he did it without trying. That was the best. He could see that she was really a sweet girl, marred by life but full of hope nonetheless. She was angelic, sexy, pure of heart, smart, and touching his leg again. He could hardly think when she did that. He just knew he wanted it more. For her to move her hand up higher, everywhere. All of her, for himself. He wouldn’t let the world get to her anymore. His obsession and lust, now so much more complex, he loved her truly. He wasn't sure if he could express that when he wanted her so badly. His mind started wandering. He felt an ache deep within his groin.

She crossed a leg, catching his knee in a long brush. Her upper thigh was warm and inviting. She was gazing into his eyes, wide and innocent, with a coy smile as she spoke. He wanted to touch her back, to feel the warmth of her thigh again for himself. To touch her leg and squeeze, to see her reaction. Could he make her blush? The loud speaker went off, somewhere in the recess of his mind did it register. He was caught in her gaze when she broke eye contact, shooting up in her seat onto her knees next to him. He turned to look and see what she was looking at; it wasn't her stop he could tell that much, but he didn’t think either of them had been paying attention this whole time either. They had been so enthralled in one another, conversating and having such a wonderful time getting to know each other, he thought. She turned in her seat, no doubt checking the marquee board behind them.

Arthur went to turn back, but when he did, she had spun right into his face. The feeling of her soft fuzzy sweater swept across his skin, tickling his nose and lips. She smelled so good up close, he thought. Her breasts pressed into either side of his face, and he could feel himself swell. His manhood now throbbing, pressing hard against the seam on his pants. So hard it hurt. He ached for her. He reached up to grab her, afraid the train movements may make her fall, so he held her there. Inhaling deeply and burying his face in her chest, feeling both breasts on his cheeks as he buried himself further into her cleavage, pulling her closer. He wanted to nuzzle himself there forever. She was a safe space for him. He felt closeness in this moment. The heat that came off her body enough to make him perspetrate, perhaps it was the blood rushing through his veins. She made him quite literally hot under the collar. He cherished this moment, not knowing if he’d ever get another. His hand was at the small of her back slowly creeping up. Lacing his fingers under the sweaters fabric and touching her back. He remarked to himself how soft she was, just how incredibly soft she was. He wanted to touch every inch of her body and run his fingers over every curve. She was tantalizing, a taste on the tongue, pure honey. Mmm, and so sweet. Just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, only mere seconds. He loosened his grip, and she slid back down onto her knees in front of him. Scared of what she would say, what she would do. Would she be upset? He definitely took advantage of that moment, but would she know? And would it offend her. He hoped not, regretting his actions. But in the moment, it felt so right. It was everything he needed.

Arthur couldn’t deny the visions that plagued his mind whenever he would day dream, especially with her here now. Looking at her as she kneeled before him admiring her natural beauty, he could feel her breath. She was so close. He couldn’t help but also see her how he thought about her when he was alone. How he had imagined her naked and on her knees. When he fantasized about her, he always started off innocent, kissing, heavy petting, and sweet pillow talk. But as he went on, as his cock got stiffer and he approached his end, the thoughts would change. They became more sexual, more deviant. He would Imagine her in the throes of passion tits bouncing as she took advantage of him, grinding him while she screamed his name. But truly, if he could ever even get the chance to touch her intimately, he would treat her like a princess, as he thought she should be. He would make sure to meet her every need and more before he met his own if he could help it.

Her face was flush red. she stammered, breaking eye contact and began apologizing to him profusely. Something he thought so odd, there was nothing she could ever apologize for. She frantically spoke, unease and uncertainty crossed her face. He felt the sudden urge to quell her unease, to show her it was ok. Surely, he did not mind at all. He had surmised her reasoning and accepted it. In fact, he only wished the moment could last forever. “Sorry, sor-sorry, I didn’t mean to. I mean, I-I completely forgot, I wasn’t paying atte-.” Without thought or hesitation, Arthur reached his hands to her. Gently holding her face in his palms and directing her gaze back to his. He wanted to show her it was ok, to stop apologizing. The only way he could think how was to touch her. His mind hadn’t gone past that point, only knowing it wanted to put her at ease, to show her kindness like she had for him. She moved with him so easily, he thought, following his lead and every move.

A pout’ look came over her face. Her lips parted; eyebrows raised as she gave him a pleading look. He slowly pulled her closer, tilting her head up, looking into her eyes. She looked back with enlarged pupils. Shallow breaths escaping her lips with labored breathing. Her lips, looking so soft and shiny, a muted blushy pink. He used his thumbs to feel her lips, brushing over them tenderly, wanting to know how soft and plushy they were. In that moment something came over him and he said fuck it. He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her in closer. She closed her eyes as he neared. Pure joy, he thought. Butterflies rushed within his core, his heart leaping into his throat as he began kissing her. Pressing his lips to hers, inhaling through his nose, unsure of how to proceed but his body naturally took over. He felt every strand of hair that ran through his fingers like silk threads. He wrapped his fingers in it, fully immersing himself in the kiss. She was kissing him back. A thought that quickly surfaced and disappeared, a mere confirmation, his mind reassuring him. But she was kissing him back, and passionately. She tasted so refreshing. He could feel her body relax under his grasp. He felt her warmth as she pressed herself to him, breathing heavily through breathy kisses. He kissed her slowly, passionately, tracing every tooth in her mouth, rubbing every inch of her tongue with his. He was pleasantly surprised when she took the initiative and really got into it. Beginning to remind him of those racier fantasies he had about her as he so needily pleasured himself. He could feel his length twitch within his slacks. She was exploring him with her hands, he felt every touch, every caress across his arms, chest, neck, and head. The feeling lingered, leaving his skin buzzing, electrified under her touch. The power she had over him was remarkable, from the first day he watched her on the subway to this very moment. He was enthralled.

She was panting heavily and moaning between kisses, pressing herself into him with each kiss. He was overwhelmed by her fierceness but happily welcomed it nonetheless. It was literally what he would dream about. Everything he had hoped and wished for about her was coming to fruition. The thoughts, the fantasies. He felt emotional and immediately attached. Of course, he had already decided he would protect her, but that meant something more now. He thought he would die for her, he loved her, and he only felt that love grow with her whether she was in his presence or not. Her teeth clanked against his, and she let out a giggle. The cutest sound he thought. He wanted to explore her as well. Not breaking contact with his lips to hers, he began softly roaming her body. He felt the softness of her sweater as he ran his hand down the front, catching a finger on either side on each breast as he went. He subtly began creeping his fingers just underneath the front of her sweater, feeling how soft her skin was, how hot to the touch. He wanted so badly just to paw helplessly at her breasts. She probably wouldn’t have minded, but he still second guessed himself. Even with her right in front of you kissing you, moaning, touching you, you’re still scared! He thought. He was. Truth be told, he had never gone this far with a woman, any woman, ever. No one gave him the time of day, let alone would have considered it. Often, the reason he would resort to creating these loving and fulfilling scenarios in his mind. Always wishing, always hoping, but never knowing it for himself. He only prayed he could be enough. What if she didn’t accept him, didn’t like his body? All things he was self-conscious of. But he wanted to focus on the now, focus on her, and put those thoughts to rest. Deep down, he knew he would be safe in her presence, accepted, loved. He could feel it. She had so much love to give, just like him.

His hands continued to explore; despite his apprehension, he made his way to her breasts. So squishy, he thought, so bouncy and squeezable. He began to sweat, feeling her nipples harden underneath his touch through the fabric of her bra. His hand, running from the back of her head to her lower back, pulling her into him. He lightly danced his fingers over her skin beneath her sweater, hearing her gasp at his touch. She playfully twirled her fingers in his green locks, tugging ever so gently. He felt her pulling at his collar and sliding her hands over his shoulder under his overcoat. He quickly went to shrug it off, reaching in front with one arm to pull off the other. Hastily tossing it aside. He wanted to leave no inch of her body untouched. He was pawing at her furiously, tugging, groping, mirroring her energy and veracity of the moment. Agents of desire and longing. Slaves to their own lust.

She moved in her seat, putting her knee between his legs as she continued her passionate assault, sending a shiver shooting through his core to his groin. She slowly and carefully nudged her knee right next to his throbbing manhood. He could feel her press against it every time she shifted to kiss, or the train changed its direction. He squeezed his legs together, pressing his swollen length to her leg, holding it there. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs as she straddled his leg. Rocking ever so slightly back and forth on him. She sucked his tongue, pulling it into her mouth, sealing the kiss with a bite to his lip. It hurt, but only a little, not being inside her hurt more, he thought. His mind was fuzzy. All he could do was pull away and look at her, beg her to help him. His cock throbbing so hard now she must feel it, any more movement and he might burst. He looked at her face, level with his, and smeared with red and white paint. A bit on her nose, a bit on her cheeks, but a large blurred smear covered her lips and chin. She smiled with doe eyes as he let out a gasp that came out like a whisper. She looked longingly into his eyes, a hand caressed his face, tracing the outlined smile from the paint. She fit so perfectly against him, his body, morphed right into hers. Her hand, cradling his face felt like the purest form of love and compassion.

In the intensity of passion, Arthur slid his hands toward her back side as she continued kissing him and straddling him, rocking her hips as she did. He knew she wanted him; her body gave her away. He slowly and lovingly caressed her, moving his hands underneath her skirt and grabbing a hold of each cheek. He squeezed the flesh through his fingers, holding tightly and encouraging her to rock back and forth harder, gently pulling her forward and moving her back. His fingers closed in on her middle, feeling the fabric of her panties. He was unaware he was humming, a low moan building in his throat and falling from his lips. Her arms were wrapped around his neck when she threw her head back in a soft gasp, exposing her neck and collar bones. He began kissing her, not wanting to leave any spot untouched, unloved. Starting from behind her ear and working his way ever so lovingly down her neck, to her shoulders and collar bones back up her neck to her mouth. He saw how she reacted when he would kiss her on the neck and behind her ear, she would shiver, her moans got louder, breathier. He could feel her breasts heave against him with every inhale and exhale.

Not able to take it anymore, he pulled her away with a hand in a fistful of curls. He needed her not just romantically but intimately. The urge he felt well up within him skirted all doubt and worry. Animalistic instincts taking over. “Come on” he said through a whisper, firm yet encouraging. He wanted to move her to an area where he could have full access to her, all of her. If anything, just to give her more space to straddle him, although he hoped for so much more. He had played this out in his mind so many times in so many different ways. This was just one of them. One where he brings her to the bench seats, lays her down, and makes her cry out his name, however that came to be. Her face was so beautifully distorted by the smearing of his paint. She was a vision, something no artist could re-create.

She followed his lead. Once again, so willingly, so easily, as if she waited for his direction. Even in this moment, after all they had done, it still surprised him. He politely laid his suit coat down on the seats for her. The subway wasn't the most ideal place, pretty dirty surroundings. This was the best way to protect her in this moment. He hoped it was chivalrous. Ideally, he would want her at home in a bed, but anywhere with her was bliss, and he would accept whatever he was given. It was so hard for him to hold back. At this point, he couldn’t anymore. He wanted to consume her, infiltrate her soul, absorb her energy. He hungered for her in that moment as she sat upon his jacket looking at him so innocently. The lust he had for her brimming to the surface, unable to contain it.

He stepped forward, pushing himself between her legs, forcing them apart with his as she looked up at him. He stood over her, watching her and admiring her. He reached down, caressing her face and bringing her chin up with the lift of a finger. “You’re so beautiful” he leered at her, a sly smile crossing his lips. “So pretty. And such a good girl!” He meant it. No double meaning there, he loved her, loved that she was canonically good through and through. He chuckled unironically. Her voice broke, a light and soft sound, so comforting. “For you.” She said through a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear. A good girl for me. For me, he pondered. Two simple words, noting special about them on their own. But spoken together like this, and to him, he felt the weight of those words heavy on his mind. It sent him into an internal craze. All the validation, reassurance, and closeness he had sought, found in a two-word sentence. He thought about the word ‘belonging’ and what it had meant to most. Something he never truly had the pleasure of experiencing. The thought solidified an instant bond within him, dredging up emotions he didn’t know he had. For him. She was giving herself to him, fully and willingly… to him! Realization set in; he had no choice but to give himself to her as well. Not that he would ever choose otherwise. She was unequivocally his, as he was hers, and he would hold on for as long as humanly possible. “For me” He parroted back to her with purpose.

He felt her tugging on his pants, toying with the seam and running her fingers along the waistband, her fingers inside, just barely. Her arm brushed his bulge, and he felt it twitch once more. Creating a tent in his pants. She saw. He watched her glance down at him, then back up almost as if she was asking for him to reveal himself. He needed to hear her say it. He needed that confirmation from her. To hear her lips speak the words he had only imagined. “Tell me what you want Y/N” He spoke calmly and lovingly. He watched as she begged “Please”. He needed her to say it. Say it! She squirmed in her seat. Hastily pulling at his belt, she spoke once more. “Please, I want to taste you.” He never pictured her saying that. It was more than he could bare, almost bursting at the thought but wanting it just the same. He stepped forward, her face right at his beltline, watching as her eyes darted from his pants and back to his eyes pleadingly. “Be a good girl for me then”.

No sooner than the words left his lips was she stripping off his clothes, pulling them down. Moving steadily to undo the buttons on his pants and sliding down his underwear. He groaned as she slid the fabric over his tip. He had been so close for so long that he didn’t know how he would be able to hold back. His lust for her leaking from his body, staining his underwear with a wet spot. She did this in such a kind and loving way, so gentle. Her hands were so small wrapped around his cock, barely fitting her fingers around the girth. He watched as her eyes lit up upon first seeing his member. Hoping she would approve. One hand held him firm while the other playfully swirled around his tip playing with the mess he had made for her. Teasing his tip and rubbing his precum everywhere. She began licking him, up and down the side of his length, swirling her tongue around the tip. Her hands tight around his length, he could feel himself throbbing in her grip. He hissed through gritted teeth at the feeling. She seemed to revel in his reactions to her touch.

Her eyes peeked over a smile he could barely see as she opened her mouth and placed it upon him, taking him into her throat, forcing him into her. Her mouth was so small, she could barely fit his head in. Her throat, so small and tight, he could feel her slightly gag as he entered. Her esophagus, squeezing him, he didn’t know how much more he could take. She got into a rhythm, and he couldn’t help but rock his hips to meet her mouth. Gripping the back of her head with one hand guiding her in a forceful motion and lovingly massaging her neck and shoulder with the other. Shoving him as far into her throat as she could handle. Every time he reached the base, he let out a soft grunt. Her teeth would scrap ever so lightly against his bulbous head, every time hitting his most sensitive areas. It made him shiver and convulse. The sounds they made filled the cabin. Sucking, slurping , and his quiet hushed moans. She felt so good, her mouth so wet and warm and accommodating, he mused. Her eyes watched him as she gulped him down with ease. She narrowed her eyes in a smile that looked devious. He pushed in even harder, letting out a long sigh. Her hands rubbed his abdomen, chest, thighs, and buttocks as she pulled him into her. For him. He could feel the suction in her throat. Every time her mouth left his tip, it did so with a pop! She slurped him up, slobbering furiously and cleaning up her mess. Licking up and down his shaft as she looked him in his eyes. Lightly, she would rub and gently squeeze his balls. So many sensations running through his body he had never felt. She was so confident; he found himself lost in her.

He grabs her face once more, interrupting her, not wanting it to happen so quickly, but he felt close. It was his turn to taste her. He couldn’t wait, salivating at the thought. He stood her up with one finger under her chin. Such a doll, going along with his every motion without question or hesitation. He again kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her lips. Groaning, his manhood throbbing, jutting into her abdomen. He wanted to see her, not just touch her, and taste her. He slid his hands under her sweater and lifts it off of her, placing it carefully on the bench next to her, making sure to be respectful of her things. He then returns to the kiss, pressing his lips to hers hard, breathing in through his nose hastily.

“Lay down”. He says while gesturing his hand towards his overcoat that lay crinkled on the bench seats behind her. She carefully laid on the seat, legs outstretched in front of her, propped up on her elbows. He felt her hungry gaze on him as he moved to the edge on the seat where her feet dangled freely. He stood between them reaching for her to pull her closer, he grabbed her legs and pulled her to the edge. He noted how she slid with ease on the velvet lining of his overcoat she sat upon. She was irresistible, laid out in front of him like that. He felt weak in the knees at the sight of her near naked torso, how the subway lights danced across her body, how her ample breasts shook with every jerk of the train, and how she looked at him. A burning hunger in her eyes, a desire for him. He didn’t want this moment to end, any of it. But he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He didn’t want to. He smoothly moved his hands under her skirt, gripping her panties. She eagerly lifted her legs for him, helping him slide them off her smooth skin. Knowing how badly she wanted him too, seeing it in her actions only made him love her more. Her panties were silky and white with lace trim. A small pink bow adorned the lace in the middle. They were damp. He wanted to put them to his nose and breathe in deeply, to smell her, how wet he had made her. But he held back and placed them next to her.

He just wanted to be close to her, have her body and her face pressed against his. He leaned down between her knees to meet her with another kiss. He treated her so tenderly, he needed to. The fact she was exposing her whole self so intimately to him, how ready she was to give herself to him. He felt he not only needed, but wanted her to feel comfortable. When he got down to it, he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to satisfy her immensely. Nothing would bring him more joy. So, on he went, kissing her so softly and tenderly, slowly rolling his tongue in her mouth, savoring every second of the kiss. She moaned under him as he used his hand to slide down under her skirt. Feeling the heat rise from her groin. He could feel his fingers slide between her lips so smoothly, leading him right to her entrance where he stopped. Her body, trying to meet his hand, her hips trying to grind into him. The feeling of her wetness on his fingers, sticky, warm, divine. He felt the heat rise in his body, his heart racing, blood rushing, and mind spinning. He needed air and started loosening his collar, unbuttoning buttons, and removing his vest, carelessly tossing it on the seat behind her head before returning to the kiss.

Her hands were under his shirt rubbing his chest, softly stroking his skin. With his hand sliding up and down her wet slit, he slowly pushes his middle finger in, watching her reaction. Just glorious. Her face contorting in the most beautiful way. Moaning in his ear so delicately. He loved to watch how she moved around his finger, almost begging for more. Her whole body slowly grinded as if by nature. He moved his finger gently in and out, gathering her juices, then slid another one in, his ring finger. Slowly, he pushed them in and out, hearing her moan in ecstasy. He took his other hand and pulled her bra down to expose her breasts; he wanted to watch them bounce as he fucked her with his hand. He wanted to see them fully, her nipples peeked over the tops of the cups and he leaned in to tease them, to feel them in his mouth. How hard they were yet pliable enough to suck. His hand went faster, using his thumb to tickle her clit while he worked. He watched how her moans would change if he did something different. The louder and more out of breath she was, he knew she liked what he was doing. He studied her, not wanting to disappoint. Learning her bodies every twist and turn. What she liked, what she didn’t care for. He focused on her pure gratification. Seeing her lose herself in the pleasure he provided, gave him pleasure of his own. It was rewarding for him. A prize to make her so breathless and sweaty. She was so beautiful like this.

He descended from her breasts, fingers still inside her. Rubbing her legs as he went, tenderly caressing and kissing every scar, every fold. She was perfect. He got down on his knees, making sure to steady himself against the seats and gripped her things in front of his face. Everything, right before his eyes, he lustfully watched as his fingers slid in and out of her. How her wetness glistened on his fingers. He took them out, putting them in his mouth and licked off the fluid, cleaning every last drop off his fingers before disappearing underneath her skirt. She tasted so sweet, like biting into a ripe juicy peach. He licked his lips, savoring her essence like a drug. He worked his fingers inside her once more. He could feel her squeeze him from within. Writhing against his force. He could smell her essence, sweet and mouthwatering. He went in to taste. Licking his tongue slowly up from where his fingers penetrated her, taking his time. He sucked her lips and licked her clit, sucking on it softly. Moans and gasps erupted from her mouth. He could feel her arch her back pushing her pelvis into his face. Suddenly he felt her hands in his hair, gripping and pulling him in closer. It made him want to do it harder, better! For her, to make her feel good. He only wished he could make her feel as good as she made him feel. It seemed an impossible feat. But he was fully dedicated to her pleasure, not thinking about anyone or anything else in this moment. Not where they are, not where they're going. Nothing but bringing her happiness. He continued playfully sucking her clit, flicking it with his tongue. It made her grip his hair tighter, pull him closer. “Fuuuck” she moaned pulling him in harder. His face buried in her core, he couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, no consolation at all. His nose was buried in her mound and his mouth was sucking her clit while his hands continued their job.

The bell chimes and doors opening hadn’t stopped them for a while now, neither seeming to care. But Arthurs attention was quickly returned to reality when he heard the distant chatter of loud voices. He suddenly ceased his actions, standing up and holding her down. He hadn’t considered what would, or could happen if they were caught. This was not good. Arthur held still, not drawing attention and watching as they neared. Approaching their train car, his stomach dropped, and time stood still for a moment. A voice rang in his ears “No, please” she begged in a broken moan underneath him, trying to pull him back down to her. He whispered to her with a single finger in front of his lips "shhh", looking in her eyes, hoping neither of them pulled attention to themselves with the way he was making her moan so loudly just moments ago. Her body seized movement underneath him, realizing the weight of the situation, and held steadfast. He watched as her eyes followed the sounds as they passed. A group of drunk guys who walked past the subway windows without ever looking over. They passed in a hurry, leaving the platform before the doors closed and the train moved once more.

His attention was immediately back to her. The way she held herself for him, quietly anticipating his direction. How undeniably taken with her he was. Once the train began its descent once more, Arthurs hands began sliding up her abdomen, settling on her ample breasts. The warmth in his hands as he continued massaging and lightly caressing made him spasm. He leaned in, enveloping her in another kiss. She deserved it. She deserved everything. She leaned up, meeting his lips with the pressure of her own, pulling him in. Their tongues rolling over one another, tasting each other deeply. He so lovingly cupped her face within his giving hands, feeling her jaw move under his grip as they connected kissing.

He pulled her close to the edge once more underneath him, parting her knees while kissing her lovingly. He felt her hand travel down and grip him. His manhood, dripping with anticipation but awaiting readiness. He felt ready, about to burst at every touch she shared with him. As long as she wanted it, he'd give it to her. Just then, as if reading his mind, she gripped him tighter, stroking him slowly. He could feel her fingers rub along the length of his shaft, stopping just before the tip. He started breathing sparsely and in huffs, the anticipation of the moment building inside of him as she pulled him to her most vulnerable area.

He pulled back, having to examine her face. She really wanted this? With him? Of course, things have led them this far, but this. This was different, with a deeper level of intimacy, fully sharing your body with someone, leading to this ultimate act. He was scared in a way, still so ready, still so full of lust and want. Yet, it made him emotional on some level. For her to allow him to connect with her like this. To be so open, so vulnerable with him. He wanted reassurance that this was ok, that she wanted it too. Her cute little voice beckoned to him. “Please” her face curled into a look he could only compare to puppy dog eyes. Lips pouting, eyes seeking. Hearing her ask, of course he wanted reassurance, but hearing her ask? It was almost too much. He wished he could only read her mind; she would never have to ask anything of him. He nodded, sliding his length up and down her slit before he pushed forward, helping her guide him in. Her body, so warm, wet, and soft, it's all he could think about.

He pulled her as close to the edge against him as he could, sliding so easily on his coat. He then steadied himself, putting one hand on her abdomen as he slowly pushed himself into her opening. He felt her walls close around him as he slowly pushed further in. She cried out as he filled her. Her warmness surrounded his length and tightened around him. She would clench and let go as he entered, causing little grunts to spill from his lips as he adjusted to her, filling her completely. Being inside her was unlike anything he could imagine. It was like being given a bear hug. Being squeezed tightly in a warm hug but so much more satisfying in the way it made him feel. The weight of the world left his shoulders for a brief time while he was inside her. It was as if she could protect him in this way. When he was inside her, he felt comfort and ease. His mind, no longer plagued by doubt or heavy thoughts. An amazing thing, he wondered how that could be. But he focused more on the feeling, how good she felt squirming underneath him, how tight she was as he entered her, how her moans filled the air, moans he created.

He began thrusting in and out, slowly and gently, as she pulled him to her, face to face. He was sensitive, and every movement she made nearly took him to his end. He wanted so badly to please her. He pressed in further, pushing in until he no longer could, a low moan brewing in his throat, sounding like a growl building. He couldn’t help how his body reacted, only followed along with what felt good and continued, watching for what he could tell she liked as well. Tuning himself into her. She eagerly began bucking her hips into him. Meeting his every thrust with her own in unison, staring greedily into his eyes. As much as he wanted to meet her energy, he didn’t want to hurt her. He could feel her grip him from within, how tight she was, how she would close up around him as he moved in and out of her. He was careful not to abuse her delicate flower she had so trustingly gifted him with. Every thrust of his was met with a gasp or moan from her. She would scream out his name yelling “yes, fuck, yes”, “Arthur please fuck me! please”, “please don’t stop, fuck” and “harder Arthur!” She was so demanding of him, so fucking sexy he thought. Truly enjoying herself around his cock. Throwing her head back, arching her hips.

He straightened, grabbing her legs and laying them on either shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck and burying himself even deeper into her cunt as he leaned into her. He reached his hand around the front of her legs, sliding his fingers through them and resting them on her clit. He playfully rubbed her bud. Slowly moving in circles around it. She liked this, the way her eyes rolled back and her body shook, he could feel she was close too. He felt himself groaning with every thrust. Light, almost inaudible gasps, emboldened by her. She was so freely moaning, so loudly, not a care. Just fully enveloping herself in him. The louder she moaned, the harder he thrusted with muted moans of his own. He wanted to hear more; how loud could he make her? Her body rocking and shaking under his. He watched her face as she moaned and panted for him. An Image he wanted cemented in his mind. He would hold onto it forever. He continued fucking her, each time with a harder thrust, each time a little bit faster.

He watched as her face looked on hazily. How she looked him in his eyes as he filled her to his base. He could feel her wetness build up around him, sliding in and out of her made easy. His own orgasm building up, every push into her becoming more sensitive, a feeling, expanding inside him. “Ar-Arth” she stammered in a hushed, breathy manner. “Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” She exasperatingly cried out breathing heavily. She pawed at him, dropping her legs and wrapping them around his waist. He felt wanted and loved in this moment as she wanted him closer, he was inside her and still she pulled him in, wanting more. He did too.

He wanted to kiss her again. Her face aglow from the subway lights and perspiration. A few strands of hair sticking to her glistening forehead. She was panting heavily; he smiled as he watched her face contort while she approached the precipice of her climax. A look of bliss in her complexion. It looked freeing. Her eyebrows raised, meeting in the middle, she arched her back and gritted her teeth. Once again, looking at him as she rode the high of her climax. Meeting him with a half kiss, a valiant attempt but she was fuck drunk and completely at the will of her orgasm.

He felt a confident and prideful smile cross his lips. He had done this; she was like this for him, because of him. Somehow, he was able to elicit this reaction out of this angel of a being. He was proud. He could feel her walls clench tightly around his length with every wave that surged through her body. Every contraction met with involuntary convulsions. He felt himself getting closer. Her vaginal spasms gripping him within, causing him to swell and throb. Watching her completely let go, feeling her fully succumb to him, he was ready. Making her the first priority worked, he thought. He didn’t cum first, something he had worried about the entire time they were intimate, and even before.

Her hands still touching him as he slowly moved back and forth within her, not sure what to do next. “Don’t stop” she touched his face softly with a sleepy smile on her lips. He felt so close himself, unsure how much longer he could last with her clenching around him still. He began thrusting harder and faster once more, doing what felt good to him. Sliding his length almost all the way out each time and meeting her with a hard thrust. His hips bucked almost on their own, taken over by pure instinct. He felt so close. A feeling building inside him like a balloon being blown bigger and bigger until it popped. He focused on his movements, focused on the feeling as she cried out, encouraging him. Every moan that escaped her lips only made him fuck her more ferociously, unable to keep pace or rythm. Her eyes looking at him as he slammed into her, so innocently just staring at him. Catching her gaze and holding it. Grunting as he slammed into her.

A low guttural groan filled the cabin. He felt himself tip over the edge and explode within her. His cock spasmed and pulsated with every squirt of his essence he poured into her, his body shaking with every wave of pleasure. She held him tightly to her as he came. Legs wrapped around him, holding him there. He felt his hot seed fill her as his pace slowed, still fucking her as his seed leaked out. His sensitivity grew and he became unable to move, rendered helpless. The train car took on a hazy glow and his ears rang as rapture filled his every sense, this was heaven, or the closest to it he had ever been. A feeling of none other than complete satisfaction and contentment filled his psyche.

He breathed a deep sigh as he continued twitching inside of her, the feeling slowly subsiding. He gently fell into her, cradling his face in the crook of her neck, smelling her perfume and sweat, invigorating his senses. He remained there for as long as possible, not letting the outside world in, just basking in the connection he had found. Reveling in the romantic and intimate act they had both shared. He replayed those moments in his mind, giddy at the thought. He smiled against her and breathed with content. A sigh of gratitude. She held him tightly, caressing his curls atop his head, twirling a lock in her fingers playfully with an adoring smile. She stroked his back and shoulders ever so lightly, a charge of electricity trailing each fingertip. He lay on top of her, his cock still warm inside her, a place he never wanted to leave. A bell chimed in the distance and he looked at her with longing eyes, knowing they would have to get dressed soon, as the last stop approached. He remained there, soaking up every last bit of time he could spend with her. She was the one in his soul, reflecting his inner light. His serenity. The sun on a dark day. How lucky am I to have someone like her? He thought. For him… the words echoed in his mind. He smiled, buried in her still, savoring every moment.

#arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfiction #smut #romantic smut #fluff #arthur fleck x reader #joker 2019 #pink dream ganja queen #ao3 #joker folie a deux #joker 2 #joker smut #joaquin phoenix joker #arthur fleck x fem!reader

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angellayercake · 5 months ago

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Oh well @sakuraspoke if you insist on me rambling about Terzo who am I to refuse? ☺️

We know from some interview snippets about him that by the time he becomes papa he is bitter and he hates himself and he is somewhat of a recluse which is clearly a massive contradiction to the caring, entertaining, silly, sexy charmer we see on stage. That man seems a lot more in keeping with the description we see from Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis who describes Terzo during his time as a Cardinal. As being a visionary who cares for his flock and revels in sin.

So how did he get here and how does that relate to this song?

I think we can all agree that his hopes for what he would achieve during his reign as Papa were squashed very quickly. He clearly put up a fight and was starting to gain momentum by the end where perhaps he thought it might be possible (hence why he was dragged off stage, humiliated and murdered) but we can see that nothing really went to plan and this is what probably sent him down the spiral of depression and self hatred.

But to bring it all back to 'We'll never have sex'. He created a very specific persona that was very likable and charming and I have no doubt that those are aspects of his personality and he had no lack of partners within the Ministry and without. But they ONLY wanted the Charming Papa™ and when his darker side would reveal itself, his self loathing and dissatisfaction they would run for the hills, if they even stayed long enough to see it. Because he is Papa right? Sex god leader of the Satanic Church, champion of the female orgasm, he is above wanting to be loved or cared for.

He is lonely, depressed, hopeless and desperate for some connection. So he keeps up the facade, keeps accepting the one night stands and casual propositions just to stave off the loneliness for a night or two until he just can't anymore. He closes himself off and comes to terms with the fact that no one will ever want just him.

This is all my standard headcanon for him in general and most of my fics unless otherwise stated but this also leads specifically into banchetto so I will put that under a read more in case anyone doesn't care about that bit 😁

This is basically where he is emotionally at the beginning of Banchetto underneath the hurt about his removal from his position and his brothers interference etc.

So why does he do what he does to poor reader? Well I think personally he has forgotten how to relate to people romantically other than sex. He hasn't had a traditional 'relationship' for many many years probably since he was a very young man and first learned about falling in love and heartbreak.

When he realises that reader is attracted to him he also finds her a distraction from wallowing in his depression and even though he had grown to hate no strings sex he falls back on that easy seduction to give him that taste of connection he craves. That is until he realises how much he hurt her by playing with her and that's when he realises

1. He may have found someone who really does care for HIM not what they can get from Papa. She has seen him at his worst. Complete rock bottom and still she cares?

2. He is beginning to care for her too. He looks forward to seeing her everyday and the light she brings into his life. He wakes up earlier so he can be up as soon as she arrives and he wracks his brains for question after question so he can justify following her around as she works. It's only when she disappears for that week after he cornered her that he realises this though.

And this is why they are taking it so slowly (aside from the fact she really does have a job to do which he tends to forget and at this point has completely forgotten). She has picked up on the fact that this is unfamiliar territory for him and really there is no need to rush right? What could possibly bring their happy little domestic bubble to be popped??? 😈

On that note I will leave it there. If you have got this far I love you 😚😚

#terzo #headcanon #the band ghost #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #banchetto #a little bit #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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A Guiding Hand 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: My dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your shoulder hurts. Your ribs too. You keep your arm across your middle as you drag your feet down the pavement. The impact of the bed frame continues to throb tenderly in your flesh.

The embarrassment is worse than the pain. You barely hold back the hot tears behind your eyes. You can still hear Professor Smith’s voice. He was mortified, just as much as you. How can you ever face him again?

You’re not going to. You give up. Lee is right. You’re too stupid. You’re useless. You’re destined to end up just like your mom. Not quite. You doubt there will ever be a man who would waste his time.

You dab away the moisture along the brims of your eyes before you enter the convenience store. You nod at the cashier and duck down the middle aisle. You find a canister of your usual brand and linger before the shelf. You don’t want to go back yet, but you know the longer you take, the more reason there is for Lee to complain.

You pay and head back out into the street. The sky is grey and clouds dampen the air. There’s a rainstorm coming. It’s a perfect setting for today.

The apartment rises before you and you sigh in resignation. This is it. The rest of your life. Well...

One day your mother will cast you out. It might be sooner than later with how Lee hangs around, how he commands her. He doesn’t see a place for you there. You don’t see one for you anywhere. What will you do then?

As it is, all you have to your name is your laptop, your ratty clothes, and the debt you won’t be able to pay back when you fail this course and drop out. You’re defeated by the time you get to the top of the stairs. You keep your head down as you enter the apartment and slide the chain into place.

You’re met with thick grunts and the slap of flesh. Your mom’s whimpers are muffled but Lee’s carnal noises are untethered. Your breath traps in your chest and your skin razes hotly. You try to ignore it as you enter the kitchen and set the canister on the counter, leaving the change on the lid.

As you back up, there’s a glimmer of movement from your left. The bathroom door opens, revealing the back of Lee’s rutting body. You cover your eyes in horror as he huffs and puffs, your mother’s strangled cries trickling out as she’s hidden behind the door, between him and the sink.

“Put a pot on,” he demands as he grips the door and bites his lip, putting more into his thrust, “we’re almost done.”

He smirks and winks before he snaps the door shut. Your stomach stirs with nausea and you quickly spin away. You shake as you near the counter. You have no other choice. You know if you ignore him, he’ll make sure it all gets worse for you. He’s already ruined so much.

You put the change aside and uncap the canister. You peel back the freshness seal, your bandaged hand making it all the more tedious. The coffee grounds catch on the gauze. You fill the tank of the machine and set the pot in place. You measure out the coffee and flip the lid down, hitting the red button before you walk away.

You can still hear them. Even as you shut your bedroom door. You face your room and turn on the light. It’s worse than when you left.

Your bed is half off the frame, your bookshelf’s been cleared onto the floor, your laundry basket is overturned, and your laptop... It’s under the chair. You cross the room and bend to pick it up. You examine it; loose hinges and the frame is peeling away from the monitor. Your heart plummets and you drop into the chair.

You have to prop the screen up against the wall to keep it open. Awkwardly, you reach across the desk to reach the keyboard and hit the power button. To your surprise, it boots and the screen lights up. The colours are all off; the dark is now light and the reverse. The mouse pad doesn’t work, or half the keys.

It takes you twenty minutes to sign in. Aside from your burnt hand, the state of the laptop is more than enough to deter you. You watch the desktop load helplessly and several notifications pop up along the right side of the screen. You don’t read any of them as you see the name; Dr. Raymond Smith.

You know what they are. Just like before. He's repulsed by you. By the way you live. He saw the truth and you can't hide it any longer. It's not worth it to deny it any longer.

It was all a stupid idea. As stupid as you. It's easier to just give up. You don't know why you tried in the first place.

You'll put in a request to drop the course. If you can. You can't do much given the state of your laptop. You can't do much at all in life. That's the way it will always be.

📓

The last... however many days you've been awake. Waiting. Dreading. Expecting Lee to burst in and humiliate you again.

Every time you try to close your eyes, you swear you hear the door knob. You put the chair under the knob. You're so tired. Exhausted to the bone. You need sleep badly.

You lay down, head swimming with agony, and your eyes close without another thought. You can't resist the heavy blanket of fatigue that drapes over you. There is nothing. A void of sheer desolation that wraps around your body, submerging you like dark water.

You wake with a start. The vision of blue eyes fade in an instant. Eyes you know. Not the vivid irises of the sinister man in your mother's room, no a pair of almost crystalline orbs, soft and diligent. You shake of the thought and rub the stitch from your forehead.

You smell. You've been wearing the same clothes since that day. How long ago was that? You can't count. You haven't showered, the room is the same mess he made of it, your life too.

You don't move. You don't want to. Not until the gentle tap comes at the door. You groan as the handle turns but the chair keeps the door lodged in place.

"Sweetie," your mom calls through, "will you let me in?"

You stare at the door. Your limbs refuse to move. You can't lift even a finger. You close your eyes and listen to her beg. You hate that. You hear it constantly, the way she begs him to stop, to listen, or just to be kind.

Go away.

When you open your eyes next, there's a banging on the door. The chair lurches and the legs scrape on the floor, but the door stays shut. You hide again, pulling a pillow over your head.

Time flows into vague droning and shades of grey. Your head is foggy and thick. Suddenly, you're awake and staring up at an angry face. You're torn out of the bed and dragged to sit at the edge. Only Lee's unbreakable grip keeps you from flopping onto your back.

You stare up at him dumbly then your eyes search past him. The chair is broken on the floor. You look back to him, head lolling. You blink as he snarls.

"What're ya doin'? You're drivin' your ma batty! And I gotta listen to it so you get your ass up."

You try to swat him away and whimper as your hand pulses and fire course through your skin. You force your spine rigid and try to shrug him off. You shake your head and cradle your hand in your lap, the bandage stained and smelly with puss.

"Get on you fucking feet," he lifts you as if you weigh nothing. You as good as dangle from his grasp, "cupboards are empty."

"Sweetie," your mom's birdish cheep comes from the doorway, "we got the credits. I wrote a list for you."

"Laying in the dark all day, what else you got?" Lee scoffs and lets you go. You waver on your feet and look dully over at your mothers shadow. "Fucking stinks in here."

You shuffle past him silently. You don't know what to do, you just know you need to be away from him. You feel sick. You're dizzy and drained.

You put out your uninjured hand to take the list from your mom. Your stench ripples off the hoodie. She smiles through a curled lip.

"Sweetie, you should get changed first," she slurs and give a doelike flutter of lashes. Drunk, as always. Maybe you should start. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel so much.

You nod and go to the closet. Lee prowls around your desk but you're too hazy to care. You pull out a new hoodie then go to the dresser to find some loose sweats.

You stop and stare at the man standing by your bed. The thick silence strangles you as he growls under his breath. Your mom trills with nervous laughter.

"Lee, come on, she gotta put new clothes on. Honey, can you make sure you grab an extra chop for him?"

You shrug and you hug the rumpled clothing with one arm and stare at the floor. He can have yours. Your stomach is so empty, the very idea of food makes you want to wretch.

"Mmm, stop dragging your ass," he snarls as he stomps to the door, "fucking starving."

You wait until he slams it. You expect that. You don’t even react. You lay the clothing on the desk and peel off the dingy layers. You pull on the sweats and swoop the sweater over your head. If you keep the hood up, you won’t have to worry about your hair or face.

You take the list and stuff it in your pocket. Each step is a stagger. Your body is stiff and sore. You go out into the hall and brace yourself for another attack. You only hear your mother murmuring in the kitchen. You edge away and sit on the floor as you put your shoes on.

You stand and fumble with the locks on the door. You can barely get your fingers to co-operate and your burnt hand is in flames. The bandages barely cling to the flesh. You shut the door behind you without using the key and head down the hallway.

Down the stairs, you can see the yellow sunlight seeping in through the front doors. You emerge, squinting into the shine, and raise your hand as you try to see through it. Your head pounds at the intensity of daylight.

You trod between the freshly mowed plot of grass before the building and stop by the sidewalk. You sway and try to shake the cobwebs out. You look one way then the other. The heat gathers under your sweater and you hunch down even more. It’s an unusually warm day.

Your name startles you before you can find your bearings and set off for the store. You must be delirious. Maybe you should’ve found some stale bread to chew on. Rings of colour form in your vision as you turn around to face the echo of your name.

The figure moves decisively towards you. You have to be hallucinating. It can’t be him. It’s probably that guy who always asks for a light between puffing smoke towards the doors.

“I’ve been emailing,” Professor Smith says. You lean back on your heel and grimace. He isn’t real. “You... are you well?”

You stare at him. You try to see through the delusion but can’t. You look down at your trembling hand then turn to peer down the street.

“I have to go,” you croak over your dry tongue.

You turn away, feet tangling, and stagger on. You can hear him following. His steps are fleet and light. In a moment, he’s at your side.

“Please, you look ill, slow down,” he touches your arm and you rip away from him.

“Leave--” you stumble and throw your arms out to balance yourself, stopping short as you nearly keel over. “I’m okay.”

“You clearly aren’t. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. After our last meeting, I’m certain you can understand my concern--”

You face him and scrunch up your nose, “Professor,” you stammer out, “you don’t have to worry about me. No one does.”

You quickly veer past him and fall into a clumsy sprint across the street. You barely dodge a car on your way to the other side and you’re out of breath as you meet the curb. You keep your head down as you hurry away, hoping he’s not persistent. He’ll go away. He’s not real, so you just have to stop thinking.

#a guiding hand #dark fic #fic #raymond smith #dark!fic #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #series #au

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cherrytimemachine · 6 months ago

Note

Character Breakdown; Rodimus

Ayeee, it's Prime time!

How I feel about this character: I love him I love him I love him. He's such a depressed mood in G1, and I love the contrast of Hot Rod being his daredevil kid who doesn't take things seriously enough and then him becoming Rodimus Prime and he no longer smiles, he's depressed, his humor is now more sarcastic and dry, and he can't take the crushing weight of the primacy. He doesn't want to be in charge, but he has to, and all he wants is to live up to what Optimus built, but Optimus is such a towering figure compared to him that no matter what he does, he can't match the same feeling people get when they think about Optimus as a leader. He knows he can't be like Optimus, he can't inspire people like Optimus could, so he doesn't try. He gives up before he starts, which is why he doesn't try to be more poised and controlled like Magnus tells him to be. Optimus is so beloved that there's no point in trying to be great because he will never be as great as Optimus, and the meta of kids in the 80s hating Rodimus because he replaced Optimus is a real life example of the narrative around Rodimus Prime.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Magnus. Magnus is my biggie. I don't mind seeing him shipped with Megs in MTMTE, but my favorite will always be G1 Rodimags. They are each other's steady presence. Both of them have doubts about their own capabilities, but the other is always there to reassure and help them along their way when they're struggling. Magnus often chastises Rodimus for his lack of tact in serious situations, but it isn't mean, he simply wants Rodimus to think more before he acts. Magnus himself is a disciplined figure who is a contrast to Rodimus's jump-into-action type thinking, and it's good for both of them to function as the other's opposite to get a well rounded thought process. Anyway this has been a Rodimags propaganda post.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Arcee and Springer in G1 definitely, and Optimus as his big brother/father figure that he looks up to but struggles to live up to his legacy. His Hot Rod dynamics are silly and sweet, and his Rodimus Prime dynamics are more stunted because he's trying to be the leader they need.

My unpopular opinion about this character: He was really unlikable in the first half of MTMTE. While I found him funny and entertaining at times, he was very self centered and often insulted others or outright ignored their concerns. He gets better when Megatron shows up because they both are forced to accommodate the other's presence when neither of them want to be around each other. Rodimus becomes less impulsive in his decisions and actively apologizes for his previous mistreatment of Drift. Still can't get over just how mean he was to Red Alert in the written portion after volume 4, which I made a whole post about.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish that the G1 cartoon took more time to actually wrap up Rodimus's character development in a satisfying way. G1 often has good ideas for a plot narrative, but because the show is supposed to be nothing more than a glorified toy commercial, they often don't treat their ideas with the care and thought that would make them actually matter to the story in the long run. The end of Rodimus's ark is that he just sucks it up and eventually he gladly hands the Matrix back to Optimus, and instead of his pre established depression and self doubt mattering more to his character in later episodes, it gets brushed off for the sake of newer characters being introduced. I did like the Hate Plague episodes, but how it ended really overshadowed all that Rodimus was stacking up to be. His development is rendered null and void by Optimus returning and taking over again. It's like nothing ever happened for Rodimus. He's back to being Hot Rod, and we don't see much of a change in how he behaves due to his experiences. Aside from that, more continuities should incorporate that idea into their versions of Rodimus. It would be great if we could see his ark done well and explore what it means to take on a position when your predecessor is so highly regarded that it's impossible to live up to his image.

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liillyliilly · 7 months ago

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His Diary

akaashi keiji x reader words; 10082 synopsis; For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

She decided that this was her new favorite book. It had all the right amounts of everything in it, drama, romance, depression, self-loathing. The journal she found was likely never written to be read. The journal he lost, the journal that Akaashi Keiji misplaced on a train going home from his editing job, he never expected to become a crux in his journey to love.

In all honesty, she didn’t even know it was a journal. It just seemed to be an episodic novel with a unique font, something along the vein of The Perks of Being A Wallflower. She only ever knew the leather-bound pages as a novel with no name. The author used a first-person perspective when writing and told the story of a young volleyball player who wanted desperately to find a passion, so he surrounded himself with others who had passion. What he seemed to enjoy more than playing the sport was writing though.

The author of the untitled book loved to read because the way he wrote made everything else she had read pale in comparison to the inky brilliance. He had captured teenager-dom with such sleight of hand that she believed his writing was made of magic and fairy dust. The story made her cry, made her groan, and made her feel second-hand embarrassment to an extreme she thought wasn’t possible.

When she read the first chapter, she realized she ought to pace her reading, because there were only so many entries. And she had no way of contacting or looking up the author, there was no information of who the author was on the back of the book. There was a Fukurodani Sticker, a school she remembers from her own time at a high school nearby, they were known for their volleyball skills and prowess, so she assumed maybe the author had some lived experience when it came to volleyball. Maybe that was a hobby aside from being a writer of such compelling stories.

She carried it everywhere from the day she picked it up on the floor of the train, it was always in her backpack, purse, and suitcase. She never left it alone, it had become a part of her. She felt like somehow this author reached into her heart and left fingerprints of his making into permanent fixtures of her anatomical structure. DATE: XX-XX-2013 TITLE: Alethiology; The Study of Truth

Today I realized that maybe I am all that I will be. My capacity has limits in comparison to others. A friend of a friend told me that their volleyball captain made a speech once, not to the whole team, just talking with buddies. His speech, or at least the parts I remember from it, was devastating. He said something like guys like Atsumu and all those geniuses, do things on a scale of 1-20, whereas normal guys like me do things on a scale of 1-10. Or maybe they have a denser more compact 1-10. And if 1-20 doesn’t work out, they try things from A to Z.

I’ve never thought of things like that. There’s always been a straightforward path for me, whereas, in comparison to Bokuto, he seems to have a much longer and more complex route ahead of him. Am I all that I will be? Is there a way for the normal guy to switch from 1-10 and try 1-20?

We have another game soon, maybe I can control more than I expect. Is flight into this world of geniuses possible? I can only control myself and my thoughts, but maybe there are external factors that contribute to my role on this team. My role in life as well.

Bokuto is asking for me, I need to go. Hope I can write again soon, but with all the games we’ll be playing I’m doubtful I can write with actual thoughts and not just tallies and plays from the games.

- A.K.

“I mean, who thinks of things like that Miwa?” She sits in the styling chair, getting a refresher on her hair. Miwa snips away lightly, inspecting each strand with duty and consideration for the entire look.

“Your author crush does.” Miwa brushes away some hair from Y/N’s shoulders, tidying up the apron wrapped around her.

She just rolls her eyes at Miwa’s comment. Flipping to the page in the book, tracing a finger over the deep black gel pen markings. Numbers and dashes and names of high schools against Fukurodani tell the story of the adventure at Tokyo’s national volleyball tournament from way back in 2013. She had barely started her second year of middle school in 2013, ripely being 14 years old.

Miwa and her sip some freshly made smoothies of Miwa’s creation, sitting at a table in the window of the entrance to the salon. Miwa bounces her foot that’s crossed over her leg and she pours over the entry once again. It was becoming addicting to choose one entry to re-read until she ingrained the stylistic choices into a deep long-term memory.

At that same moment, Bokuto Koutarou and his best friend Akaashi Keiji walk past Miwa’s Salon, attempting to plan a group hangout to celebrate Bokuto joining the MSBY Black Jackals team.

“I’ll need to make sure Konoha comes, and that he brings that cute friend of his for you,” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows repeatedly, and Akaashi shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Konoha is dating that cute girl he brings around.” Akaashi clarifies. Bokuto looks stunned, but then he remembers them making out on his couch during movie night that one time.

Akaashi looks around the street for a moment, peeking into the windows and observing the various occupants. When he sees his journal, the one that’s been missing for a little over a year, he just has to get it back.

When Akaashi pulls Bokuto into the hair salon, and barely below a scream says, “You stole my journal!” pointing at the girl who was indeed holding his journal from high school, Bokuto feels like his head was put through a blender. There were three very distinct things occurring at that moment. A pretty girl was shoving a book into her bag looking very defensive, Akaashi was trying to take the aforementioned girl’s bag from her, and a girl who he assumed was the pretty girl’s friend had a pair of scissors pointing at Bokuto by the throat.

Akaashi was still trying to pull the bag away, the pretty girl was looking extremely scared, and the scissors girl had opened and closed them one too many times for Bokuto’s comfort.

“Listen, I think we should all just take a moment to pause.” Bokuto held his hands up, shuffling to outturn his pockets in a show of lack of violent intentions. The black-haired girl puts the scissors back into her half apron that’s around her waist and then folds her arms.

Bokuto then pries Akaashi away from the pretty girl who was now clutching her bag against her chest and sniffling a little. Akaashi did feel bad that he made such a bad first impression, but he swore she had his journal. His embarrassing high school journal, the same journal that had cataloged many things he wished he never had recorded down on paper.

Bokuto pushes Akaashi’s head down, forcing him into a deep bow. Bokuto follows suit and also bows.

“I’m sorry for, uh, trying to steal your bag. But I think you may have a book, that isn’t a book at all, but rather my journal.” Akaashi is now sitting at the table in the window, Bokuto, the black-haired girl, and the pretty girl also sitting with him.

Outside the evening had quickly set in, with the orange and pink colors racing to get to the skyline. The blue began to fade into a deep dark navy color. And the lights on the streets began to flicker on. The lights on the outside of the salon began to twinkle from the setting they had been placed on, fairy lights luring those with a need for a haircut into the salon.

Bokuto had his head on his hand, staring intensely at the girl who had taken Akaashi’s journal, sighing slightly at the way her lips pouted and shined from her lip gloss. The girl with the scissors had brought out two more glasses of thick smoothie.

She pulled out the journal from her Doughnut Macaroon-style crossbody bag and slid it over to Akaashi. Akaashi flipped through the pages, immediately recognizing it as his. His face goes red and he readjusts his glasses, and she realizes that this must be his journal. He even goes straight to the back cover and smiles at the sticker she had grown to love to trace with her pinkie when reading.

“I’m not done with it yet, so, I really do hate to say this, but you can’t have it back until I finish it.” She takes the book back and tucks it into her bag again. Akaashi looks dumbfounded, eyebrows raised and lips pursed into a line.

“You’re just going to keep private property? Even though you know it’s mine?” What a dauntless woman she was, to show what Akaashi considered to be audacity with the whole journal situation.

Bokuto chimes in at this point, “Akaashi, I think we should just let the pretty girl keep your little diary.” Bokuto then starts nodding his head up and down to try and get agreement from Akaashi. Akaashi scoffs.

“Okay, so it’s settled, my cutie of a best friend will keep the journal until she finishes it, we’ll get your numbers and she can contact y’all when she finishes the journal, and I get to cut both of y’all’s hair because honestly, it’s atrocious.” Leave it to Miwa to consolidate a plan in a matter of moments.

Miwa touched the spiky salt and pepper hair that Bokuto had, and Miwa’s expression turned sour when she felt the amount of gel on top of his head, then Miwa pulled out a photo of Yuki Ishikawa in a two-block cut and explained what color of black dye Miwa will use for Bokuto. For Akaashi, Miwa just did a trim and tidied up his sides to bring them slightly tighter into his face.

While annoyed, Akaashi does give her his number, along with his name, and Bokuto does the same with much more enthusiasm. After the haircuts are finished, Akaashi tries to pull Bokuto away from the salon, but Bokuto keeps doing the ‘call me later’ signal with his hand and blowing a kiss to her wistfully. She just waves to the both of them while Miwa giggles behind her dye-stained glove. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Meraki; Putting A Piece of Yourself Into Your Passion

I am the protagonist of the world. We lost but I am still alive, we lost but I loved the game. I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter if you are the best character, the most complex, or the most ‘genius’ of them all. It doesn’t matter because I am the protagonist. I can be the hero of my own story without ever having won first place in a big-name tournament.

Bokuto is graduating, and I’ll still be here, which is disappointing. He’s my best friend I think. Even if he’s the most annoying ass I’ve ever met, he’s still my best friend and I would never trade him for any other person in the entire world. Together we are the protagonists of the world.

Second place is just as accoladed as first place. If I wasn’t who I am, then maybe I would’ve gotten mad. The first-place winner is a rich school, they’ve been a powerhouse for decades at this point, and this win is just another notch on the belt. If I wasn’t who I am, especially after this tournament, maybe I would’ve gotten frustrated at myself for not doing enough. For not being a setter like Kageyama. Or a setter like Oikawa. That doesn’t matter though, I am a setter. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. But a human mind will always wonder why. And sometimes it's just because you’re unlucky.

Kenma told me about his loss to Karasuno, his sweaty hands made the ball slip in the final point. He laughed about it, he said that that was the best game of volleyball he’s ever played. When Kenma told Kuroo thanks for teaching him volleyball, I cried, but not as much as Kuroo did. They remind me of why I went to Fukurodani. I saw Bokuto’s passion for the sport. His passion encouraged mine, and look where we got to. We because the victors at the end of the war.

Mom made katsu chicken for dinner, I did some homework, and I had to put away my volleyball uniform for next year. I practiced in my backyard, alternating between overhead and underhand passes, seeing how long I could go without dropping the ball. Dad called me into the house for ice cream after thirty minutes elapsed.

I called Bokuto tonight before I went to bed. Told him that he’s my best friend and that I love volleyball. Bokuto agreed.

- A.K.

She was crying, and so she held the book out in front of her, resting it on her blanket. She finally had some faces to match with the words she was reading, and it all felt much too real. Bokuto did seem like the type of person to adopt and bring a person like Akaashi into his fold. But the way that Akaashi genuinely admired and appreciated his best friend was unparalleled and she felt like he would understand the exact way she felt about her best friend, Miwa.

Miwa and her met when she was fresh out of college. She hadn’t an idea of what to do in her life, while Miwa seemed to have her passion set out in front of her with her hair and makeup salon. When she got a haircut from Miwa and started ranting about her life, Miwa just told her to slow everything down. Take a gap year from life and just be a human. So, she picked up shifts at Miwa’s salon and moved in with her.

The best friends slowly became business partners as well, and an expansion to the salon was added, a small specialty bookshop that she ran, while Miwa continued to do hairstyling. Their customers were dedicated and loved to support their business. Branding remained solely under Miwa’s name, but she became everything else to the brand as well, the little addition that made the salon extra special.

When she started to cough a little from the way her heart was beating erratically from crying about Akaashi’s diary, she had to get out of bed and get a glass of water. Akaashi’s number was resting on her kitchen table. Miwa was watching some rom-com in the living room of their shared apartment. She brushed pasted the kitchen and sat next to Miwa.

“A good chapter?” Miwa threw a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“He’s devastating. Who writes like they feel every emotion entirely?” She started crying again and Miwa laughed a little before rubbing her best friend’s back.

“You could always call him and tell him he’s a good writer if you need to talk about it. Sure it’s unconventional, but maybe he has more insights that you can cry to.” She grabbed a pillow and started hitting Miwa with it.

She did take Akaashi’s number into her room on her way back to bed though. Leaving the series of digits on her bedside table, she re-read the passage and cried again. She thinks she knows him better than most, but they aren’t even friends.

Since realizing he’s a person, and that Akaashi lived this story in the book. The story of his life recorded in his journal, she starts to wonder about what happened to him after he stopped writing in the diary. But she hasn’t finished the story yet, so she’ll have to see what happens next. Again, trying to pace herself, she puts the book away until tomorrow when she can read a little more.

Akaashi sits in his office, he’s still there and it’s much later than the clock would like to admit. The clock wondered if Akaashi would ever go home. But there he was, reviewing the different styles of manga serializations Udai Tenma wanted to try out for his next series. His haircut makes him feel a little colder because now the air can hit right behind his ear instead of being covered with his hair. He puts on a beanie to fight the chill.

When it gets too late at night, his mind tends to wander slightly. Just barely drifting out of his control, like the way a lily pad will drift to the center of a pond when the stem at the base of the connection is severed. He can’t dive into the pond to bring his thoughts back into his hands.

He thinks about her. The girl with his journal. The journal was a cheap 2,500 yen book, but he liked the paper, it was a cold press thicker GSM than most other paper forms. Gel inks went on smoothly to the paper, letting him get more words across by the second than if he was writing with a ballpoint. He remembers that from when he used to write in the journal in high school.

Throwing himself into the back of his seat, he rubs his face, his glasses almost falling off from how he runs his hands up from his chin to his forehead. Setting the glasses on his desk, he spins his chair a little. The clock screams at him, he takes the message from his dedicated clock and grabs his messenger bag.

On the train, he thinks about her again. Instead of getting irritated at how Bokuto essentially gave his journal away to a stranger again, he wonders what her thoughts are. Was his writing any good to warrant such a committed reader? Did she like his journal only because it was funny to read what his dramatic high school self wrote about?

He cringes thinking about all the potential things he wrote down. There’s no direct recollection of what he wrote down exactly, but he knows vaguely what was on his mind when he was writing. His ego, his insecurities, his favorite things. Lots about volleyball, Bokuto, and books. Once he wrote about his thoughts on sex, which is embarrassing for him that a grown woman is reading his teenage idealizations of intimacy.

It could be considered something unique to read. Akaashi settled into the belief that she was merely reading his journal because it was something different than typical books that were being published. Although, why she was reading his journal instead of a Haruki Murakami book was beyond him. Nothing beats his favorite literary giant.

Setting his bag on the coat hanger stand, and shrugging out of his long pea coat. He heats some stovetop ramen while listening to Bokuto talk over the phone, he was ranting about the same girl that Akaashi had had on his mind.

“Oh and those eyes of hers. Did you see them?” Of course, Akaashi saw them, they were big, bright, and astute. Akaashi hums in response, and Bokuto continues barreling through his late-night thoughts.

“I think we should invite her to my party. You know, the one to celebrate my big accomplishment.” In a different apartment, Bokuto spins a volleyball on his finger, but he keeps dropping it so he ends up just repeatedly tossing it into the air so he can satiate the desire to feel his fingers on the ball.

“Yeah, how about no.”

Bokuto asks why not, almost in a whining tone.

“Did you forget she has my journal still?” Akaashi put his bowl in the sink, putting on rubber gloves as he started to wash out the dish and then put it on the drying rack. He decided to finish all his dishes right now anyway since he still had the gloves on.

“Your diary can’t be that juicy, you didn’t do anything too dramatic in high school. Plus I know you wanna see her again too. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a piqued interest. Also, did I use piqued right?”

“You used it right, yes.”

He eventually agreed to let Bokuto invite her to the small get-together. Akaashi didn’t know why Bokuto kept referring to it as a party.

A week later, Akaashi realized that maybe Bokuto kept calling it a party because it had shifted from a friends-only gathering to a huge party at the park. Some other Fukurodani alumni helped to set up decorations in the central gazebo and make banners to hang all over the pavilion. Akaashi was mixing the punch at a table, while Konoha asked what he had been up to lately.

Kuroo and Kenma brought huge gifts for Bokuto, a PlayStation from Kenma, and a packet of potential sponsorship deals from Kuroo.

When she finally made her way to the pavilion with a small brown package, Akaashi couldn't care less about the party. She was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt with a tiered white and gold skirt, and her shoes were a pair of sneakers, but the whole outfit made Akaashi concede to Bokuto’s claim of her being “drool-worthy”. He had to remember that this was the same woman who had his diary. The whole conflict between physical attraction and mental frustration made for an entirely convoluted reaction to her presence.

She bows politely to Bokuto when he goes over to her, offering the gift with both hands, only then did Akaashi wonder how old she must have been. Bokuto had been talking to her more than him, and Bokuto had mentioned that she was a second-year middle schooler when Bokuto was in his third year. Akaashi did some mental math and realized that he, himself, must have been around three to four years older than her.

Akaashi forced himself to ignore the idea of a cute younger girlfriend that started to pester him in the back of his mind. He wanted his journal back, and that’s all this relationship was to him, a mutual exchange of her reading and then him eventually getting back his property. But with the way she had done her hair, Akaashi had a hard time focusing solely on wanting his diary returned.

She was glad that Bokuto appreciated the gift, she hadn’t known him longer than a week or so, and she had gone with a safe gift based on what she knew about him and why this party was even being thrown. She got him a wearable jump monitor that her dad had bought a month ago but never used, she was grateful for having a father who never threw things away. She also included some stickers that she had bought from a small sticker shop online, and some that she had made using Miwa’s craft supplies.

When the excitement of her being at the park died down, she made her way to a table, with a small plate of desserts. She observed how everyone interacted with each other, almost as if they had been friends since the dawn of time, and she believed that that very well might have been the case.

Akaashi stalked her from afar. He appreciated that she was similar to him in a way that mattered to him, she was a watcher. She would assess what was going on, who would talk to who, and how they would nonverbally communicate as well. He got so engrossed in watching her that he neglected to observe the others as well.

Specifically, Konoha, Washio, and Komi had grabbed a water cooler and had the full intention of dumping the water on Akaashi. It was payback for declining their invitations to various other parties from the last year. So there he was, not only soaked through with water but revealed from his vantage point unmistakably indicating to her that he must have been watching her. She laughed a little at the antics but then brought over a small cloth she had in her crossbody bag.

His white shirt was completely transparent, and his brown slacks had turned from a regular light brown into a dark musty brown. The only way to resolve the issue in her mind was to start dabbing at his chest with her handkerchief.

“I see that your friends have a peculiar method of exacting humor.” Her handkerchief eventually was too soaked through that she was just touching his chest with a cloth that had performed osmosis and was now at equilibrium with the water on his shirt.

“Yep.”

“Look, there’s a hoodie in my car, I know we aren’t too close, but it’s probably better to wear my oversized hoodie than to have your whole torso on display for the rest of the night.” She shoves her thumb in the direction of her car.

After making their way to her car, she digs through the trunk and pulls out a grey hoodie with the words ‘Miwa’s Salon’ embroidered on the back. He tugs at the back of his shirt to take it off and she widens her eyes before turning around. The hoodie is comfortable, with a soft fleece on the inside, and it smelt like lychee, vanilla, and surprisingly chocolate marshmallows. It smells like her and he wonders if he could have the scent bottled and then sprayed all over his house.

Suddenly he’s tugging at the collar of the hoodie and swallowing thickly, looking around at anything but her figure in front of him.

“We should probably get heading back to everyone now that you’ve changed.” She goes to start walking to the gazebo, but Akaashi’s words stop her.

“How well do you know me?” She tilted her head and said something about not following along with what he was saying, so he continued, “Well, you’re reading a part of me, you know with my journal, my internal thoughts and hopes and dreams and all that. So, how well do you know me?”

She timidly bites down on her bottom lip, formulating a response. But Akaashi surmises that she must not really care much for the conversation, so he, unfortunately, starts to run his mouth and the words just spiral out.

“You know, it doesn’t matter, to you, it’s just a story about a teenage boy who played volleyball. It’s silly to assume you’d try and actually-”

She cuts in, “I know you’re a considerate person. And it's not just about the volleyball stuff, it's about you, finding yourself to some degree. I know you are polite. I know you’re allergic to beating around the bush, you’re direct and blunt. I know that you can overthink too much.”

Akaashi repeatedly adjusted his glasses, and she stepped just a little bit closer to him, folding her hands behind her back and leaning in slightly so she didn’t have to talk as loudly.

“You also have a bad habit of thinking you can control more than you can, one of the interesting things in your journal is how you jump back and forth between knowing what you can control and then inflating from stress and thinking you can micromanage the entire world. You said you can control the court, but in reality, that’s your worldview. You conclude you can control the entire world sometimes.”

He regrets starting the conversation because this revelation of how much she knew about him exposes him. Akaashi didn’t know how to continue with the gap in knowledge between the two of them.

He only knew she was younger than him, she was incredibly perceptive, and she smelled so freaking good he just wanted to shove her into the backseat of her car and kiss her. Akaashi’s thoughts could not have been his own at this point, he was going crazy. He must have gotten sick from the cold water being dumped on him he speculates.

When they get back to the gazebo, Akaashi thanks Bokuto for the party and heads home. She stays at the party, talking to a select few people and wondering what exactly she said that scared Akaashi off so quickly.

Sitting in the tub, Akaashi rests his head against the shower wall and lets the hot water filter his congestion that didn’t exist. His hand twitched over to his phone, which was on the toilet seat playing some piano music that he hoped would alleviate all his bad habits. He wonders if she will text him soon. If she would text him ever. He felt like he was younger, it was ridiculous that one person would have such an effect on him to this degree.

After the party, she sits with Miwa, disclosing everything that happened at the party.

“And then he just ran off?” She nods at Miwa repeating what she just said. “Girlie, you gave him an in-depth review of his personality and you’re shocked that he ran away? Sometimes you can be too judicious for your own good.”

“Should I text him an apology?”

“Are you sorry for anything?” Miwa rolled her eyes, hating when she got like this. Miwa never allowed her to apologize for things that didn’t need to be apologized for.

“No.” She rubs her arm and chews the inside of her cheek.

“I think you think he’s hot, I mean, you understand this man on a deeper level that he now grasps, and you said he had the chest and torso of some kind of slutty librarian/gym rat agglomeration.” Miwa takes a bobby pin out of her hair and runs a hand through her bob cut, “If it was me, I would send him a picture of the journal and ask for nudes, or else the book gets it.”

She hits Miwa with a pillow, and Miwa realizes she really should throw the pillows away or else getting hit with them would be a very painful recurrence.

Miwa goes to sleep, but she stays up just a little later. Eyeing Akaashi’s number that lay painfully glaring at her. She decides to read more of his diary instead of texting him. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Weltschmerz; Sadness When The World Isn’t As It Should Be

Summer sucks. Bokuto has a training thing for some team he wants to be a part of in the future. All my friends that were third years are essentially gone, actually out and living life, and I’m stuck here. At least there’s only one more year left of high school. And then I can go and work for a literary magazine.

I miss people. Despite their failings, I do need people in my life.

You can only play so much volleyball in a day by yourself before your motivation is gone by the third week of playing alone.

It’s times like these that make me think about the future. I don’t spend much time with girls per se, but they are pretty and nice. Our manager is a girl, but she has a boyfriend. She’s chill.

Sometimes, when I feel like something is wrong, I turn to the idea of love. I’ll admit that I love a few things in life, but that’s only because I think love is something truly special that you can’t just fling around. I ‘like’ things more often than I ‘love’ them. Volleyball, my best friend, my family, books, and writing.

Will I know when I’ve found the love of my life? My parents said they knew they loved each other from the first moment they met. Will I feel like that too? Will I know it’s love? How can a feeling be recognized as a specific feeling? How do I know what anger feels like, besides that heat and pressure and red hot sun? How do I know what sadness feels like, besides water, coldness, and finishing a run? Would love have those distinct colors and associations? Or would love just become the person I love?

I don’t believe in soulmates. Definitely not. I think people are infinitely compatible, and it all depends on our ability to communicate and agree to grow with a person for the rest of our lives. I believe we make our own soulmates, through sharing experiences and agreeing to be ourselves no matter what. I told my mom this and she just smiled at me like I still had a lot of life left to live.

But don’t I have enough experience to know what I want? Or at least to formulate my own opinions and beliefs? I may be 17 but I am not an idiot.

Or did my mom’s look of a wistful future just mean that when I fall in love I’ll know it and I’ll look back to these words and think I’m completely ridiculous?

Dad made spaghetti for dinner. It was gross so we ended up having to order udon from the place I like instead.

We watched a movie Mom wanted to show me, the title was something like Wildly Wealthy Westerners or something. It was just about rich people from America and Canada, plus a subplot of romance between a basic guy and this rich heiress girl who just couldn’t be together because of rich people's reasons. It was silly but the music was good. The ending kiss scene was hot, he shoved her into the backseat of his jeep and I swear I heard Mom sigh.

- A.K.

She didn’t expect him to text her on Monday of the following week, asking if they could meet for tea at a place near his work during his lunch break. She surprised herself by agreeing to it, and then by cheekily calling it a date.

Akaashi shoved his phone into Udai’s face, “What does this mean?”

Udai pushed his bangs back and inspected the text messages on Akaashi’s phone. “I think it means she agreed to go on the date you asked her on?”

“But I didn’t ask her on a date?”

“Oh, but you definitely did. Oh and tea? What dork takes a girl for tea on a first date?” Udai pushed Akaashi’s phone away and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then Udai’s face breaks into a blinding grin, “Is this your little diary thief? And the one who gave you the sweater at Bo’s party? Oh, it is isn’t it, do you have a picture of her?”

Akaashi briefly flashed a photo Bokuto had taken with her in Udai’s direction.

“DAMN! I need me my own diary thief,” Udai raised his eyebrows and started laughing a little, and then he ruffled his hair and used his fingers to zoom into her face, slowly, he started moving down the picture to her body. Akaashi pulled his phone back before Udai got too far down.

The clock on Akaashi’s desk wanted him to leave for an early lunch and by an early lunch, an hour early. So there he sat at the small cafe on the corner by his office building, rubbing his sweaty hands against the legs of his pants, waiting for her. She was five minutes early and was surprised to see him already at a table, so she decided to have a little fun.

Since his back was turned, she went up to him and tapped his shoulder, when he turned around she let out a small “Boo!” and put her hands up into an imitation of claws, trying her best to seem scary. He just thought she was adorable. He motioned for her to sit down.

Resting her crossbody bag against the back of the chair, she took a seat. Akaashi was able to wave down a waiter, who gave them a single menu to look over.

“What kind of tea do you like?” She asked, using her pointer finger to scan through the options the cafe had available.

“I like black tea, and sometimes chamomile tea.” He asked her for her favorite type, and she told him. He tried to commit her favorite to memory as quickly as possible.

Eventually, they had their tea, and the silence started to set in. Between sips, Akaashi would try to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. But he thought it was all too bold. So he told her a little about his life, his work, and his friends and she did the same, returning statements in a unique fashion about her life. Her word choice was special, calculated even. She was like him in another way that mattered, a calculated, intentional way of speaking.

She could always make him yearn to be a little more considerate of his words. Until she managed to pry them out of him.

“So why am I here?” She stirs a little more sugar into her tea, then pauses from drinking her tea to take a sip of her water.

“I want one of your journals.”

She laughs before realizing he’s entirely serious, “How do you even know that I have any journals to lend to you? For all you know, I could be living a journal-less life.” She waves her small stirring spoon around, before putting it into her mouth.

“I can’t explain it, but I know you have journals. Only someone with a journal of their own would be so obsessed with another’s.” Akaashi takes the spoon from her mouth and uses it to stir some sugar into his tea. Her mouth gapes for a moment while he smirks, looking right into her intelligent eyes.

The next day they have tea again, and she gives him one of her journals from high school.

“Don’t read it all in one go.” She pauses, “I don’t write nearly as well as you do, so don’t scrutinize my words the way you do all your mangakas’ words.”

Akaashi nods.

He read it all in one night. He calls her in the middle of said night.

“Who the hell is this Ito kid? When did you and he start talking? Just outta nowhere he pops up at the end of your last entry. Where’s the careful recollection of all your interactions with him?” Akaashi is exasperated, running his hand through his hair. He disagreed with what she said about her writing.

She was compelling and interesting, and she most definitely had his heart. Her high school experience had been so different from his, and she seemed to be much more optimistic about life than he was. Despite her calling him a realist, he believed that in comparison to her, he was a total pessimist.

She explained to him about Ito, and that he was a short-lived crush she had had at the end of her second year in high school. Akaashi was glad when she said she didn’t even talk to him anymore. Based on the way she had written about him, Akaashi thought that Ito would be the love of her life, and Akaashi was slowly realizing maybe his heart was in the process of making her the love of his life.

“When do I get the next journal?” Akaashi wanted to keep talking to her despite the lateness of the hour.

“You don’t. I told you to pace yourself, I only have one of yours so you’re only getting one of mine.” She was lying on her stomach on her bed, slightly kicking her feet while talking to Akaashi.

Akaashi groans but tells her he’ll return the journal next week when he can have another long lunch break. She says she’ll be there.

Akaashi recalls when he remembered his diary was lost.

It had been a long day at work, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. His mom hadn’t remembered his apartment address, so she sent one of his old journals to his work office. He put it into his satchel and made his way home.

On the train, there had been a slight jostling. And Akaashi hadn’t noticed the journal falling out of his bag and under his seat.

When he exited the train, she had gotten onto it. She sat down in the same seat he had. Right when Akaashi started walking to the stairs to exit the station, she reached down under the seat to stow away her bag, only to be met with a rough material. And for a moment, if they had just turned around, their eyes would’ve met right as the train pulled away.

When he finally got home, he unpacked his bag, looking to put away his journal safely into a box with other memorabilia from high school. When he dumped his bag upside down, shaking everything out, he just couldn’t find his journal. When going home from work the next day, he had asked all the employees if they had seen a leatherbound notebook. None turned up.

If there ever was a moment that could’ve changed the future, that was what it would’ve been. If the train hadn’t jostled. If Akaashi Keiji hadn’t been tired from work and forgot to check for the journal on his way out of the station. If she hadn’t sat right where he had been sitting, and most definitely, if she didn’t love a good book, then it all would’ve turned out differently.

But that’s not the story that’s being told. The story being told is of Akaashi Keiji realizing that to love someone, you have to accept that they may know you better than you know yourself.

It had been six months, and she was close to finishing the journal. Somedays she didn’t read at all, others she read three entries and wanted to binge the rest of the diary.

They went for tea every single week. Sometimes twice. Then other times, he would take her around Tokyo to go exploring. They went to every museum, every library, every cafe that specialized in tea. He figured that they ought to be on an even playing field when it came to how well they knew each other, so instead of getting more journals from her, they traded lists of their top one hundred favorite books.

She had put three Haruki Murakami books on her list and Akaashi wanted to hold her face in his hands and kiss her.

But they were just friends. Friends who knew each other better than Akaashi was comfortable with. She knew what he would order before he said it, and he knew what she was going to comment before she stated it. When she asked him about his experience with failure, he knew that she had gotten in too deep.

She knew more about him than he expected her to, she knew all about the silly things that rattled around in his brain, and although it had been a journal from high school, he knew that people stayed pretty similar throughout life. So when she looked at him, she didn’t just see professional editor Akaashi Keiji, she saw a teenager who wondered what place he had in the world as well. She saw him as acne-ridden and languid with life. He wanted to control her perspective of him and he couldn’t do that now, because she had the key to his past and the map of his future.

So he tried to put some space between them. Just in case. Maybe it was a horrible tendency to overthink, no, he knew it was his horrible overthinking tendency. There were so many ways their relationship could go. He could completely crush her, to be completely crushed himself in turn.

Walking the edge of a knife with her. Balancing on the blade of friendship, if he fell onto one side, with no cuts, then they could have a happy relationship. If he cut himself on that blade, then the worst-case scenario would be that she realizes she doesn’t like him back and then there’s just someone who knows him too well out in the world.

When he hadn’t texted her in four weeks and her messages were left on read, she decided to finish the journal and be done with it. Their time as friends was short-lived she thought. She thought there may have been something more for the pair of them. And suddenly all the depressing love songs became about him. Which made her resentful, because who ruins ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls like that for someone? DATE: XX-XX-14 TITLE: Quatervois; A Crossroads

I graduated today. I went through that book of fancy words Mom gave me and stumbled across this one. Quatervois, a crossroads. Does this count as a crossroads?

The magazine I want to work for said I could have an internship while I attend college. An internship in the manga editing department. Was I not good enough for the literature department? Is it because of my age? I think my essay and grades were good enough to at least qualify me for a chance to interview in that department. But they only let me interview for the editing department.

Does that make me a career failure? I like the magazine, but I’m not sold on the department they want me to go into.

Washio called me to congratulate me, he said that I was finally crossing over into the real world. I’m pretty sure I’ve been living in the real world for as long as I’ve been alive, but Washio made it seem like things would be so different for me. I digress.

When nothing seems straightforward, and you come to a fork in the road and you have two options that you can’t see down, how do you choose which road to go down? The one lined with flowers, or the one with a dirt path that could eventually have something more alluring at the end.

- A.K.

On the penultimate page of the journal was a glued-down picture of Akaashi wearing his graduation suit, and holding his graduation scroll, his parents stood on either side of him grinning proudly at their only child. Maybe she should’ve checked the book from the last page and then started reading the front. But she didn’t want spoilers, that’s why she never checked the second to last page.

She texted Akaashi and said she finished the journal and was ready to return it. When he didn’t respond, but had read the message, she texted Bokuto asking for some clarification. She asked if Akaashi had said anything about her that would’ve indicated why he was mad. Bokuto just said that Akaashi wasn’t mad at all. So now she was confused. If he wasn’t upset, then why was he ignoring her?

Instead of going to their tea place, she goes to his office during lunch. She scans the buttons, looking for his department.

“Hey diary thief, whatcha doing here?” A shorter guy with shaggy black hair and a hoodie with a denim jacket over it comes around to her and presses the elevator button.

“Are you going to the Manga Editing Department?” She checked before entering the elevator with the shaggy-haired guy, who had introduced himself as Udai Tenma, but she could just call him Tenma. He confirms and then doubly checks her identity as the same person Akaashi had been talking about and spending all his lunch breaks with.

“It’s funny that you know about the journal, I came here to return it finally. Probably much to Akaashi’s delight.” She adjusts her bag across her shoulders, giving a short sigh.

“No, Akaashi loves that you have his journal. At first, he was a little annoyed, but now it’s kinda like you have a little piece of him all the time. I told him just to get you a necklace with his name on it, but noooooo Udai I can’t do that because I’d essentially be confessing if I did something like that.” Udai did a brilliant imitation of Akaashi, even going as far as to push his shoulders back to make him seem taller and with a broader build.

Udai turned slowly to face her, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “Please pretend I don’t exist, I never said anything about Akaashi’s undying love,” He froze, “Also ignore what I just said.”

Udai got out of the elevator on the floor below the editing department. She could hear him start to criticize himself and say he owes Akaashi so many more favors and solids now.

She walked through the office, lightly admiring all the manga panels, all the stories that had come out of this building astounded her, it had been a while since she last read a manga, so she considered picking one up on her way out. Maybe she’d read the one written by Udai.

Then she sees him. Akaashi, with a pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other. His head is moving slightly, due to the music playing through his headphones she assumes. He fidgets in his chair, wiggling the seat around. Despite being angry at him, he was still adorable when he was engrossed in his work.

“You’re being childish.” She handed Akaashi the journal. Akaashi had to take off his headphones when he saw that his journal was being thrust into his face, he dropped his pencil and turned around only to be met with her. Even though she seemed to be upset with him, she still looked beautiful.

Akaashi looked confused, so she clarified, “Ghosting? Really? You could have just said you didn’t want to be friends.” Her tone is sharp and penetrating.

It wasn’t the being friends part, it was the part where he wanted her to be entirely his. An overwhelming desire to attach her to him in all senses. He swallows and takes the journal back. He wants to ask what her thoughts were, and what she came to understand about him. Yet, he knew she was upset with him. He would be upset with her too if she did what he had done.

He had completely blown his chance, hadn’t he? The one woman who had read the teenage journal and still wanted to be friends. Maybe her knowing more about him wouldn’t be too bad at all, maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

“I don’t want to be friends.” She starts to sniffle, she quickly runs the sleeve of her shirt onto her eyes. Akaashi rushed the next part out, “I can’t be just friends with you I’m afraid. I think I want more.”

She blinks rapidly before regaining composure and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to sort out your feelings. Because if you really wanted more, you wouldn’t have treated me like I was disposable. You wouldn’t have ignored me. So, figure it out, and let me know what the result is. You know where to find me.”

She rubs her thumb on his cheek in a parting gesture. He remembers when she did that for the first time, around three months ago. They were at a library he had found in a far corner of Tokyo, and he was talking about a book that Udai hadn’t understood at all, which made him irate that Udai could skim over such an important story. They were in their little section, with dim lights and a stack of books they wanted to talk about.

As he was waving his hands around, trying to show her the pages and lines he was referencing in the book, when she reached over and brushed her thumb against his cheek, the rest of her fingers resting along his jaw and lower cheek. Her palm barely contacts his chin.

“You had a little mark there. But I think it’s just a cute little freckle, it won’t wipe off.” She brushes against his skin again, and when the mark doesn’t disappear, she leans back into her chair, waiting for Akaashi to begin again. When he starts talking again about the book, he keeps stumbling and stuttering over his words.

She gave a small wave before leaving his office space. Akaashi's co-workers just turned their heads to watch her exit, heads sticking out of cubicles, and then in a blink, they all turned to face Akaashi with disappointed faces, shaking their heads and clicking their tongues. Then, they went back to work and Akaashi was sitting at his desk with his journal brazenly staring at him.

He had one chance to make it right. So he set aside Udai’s manga draft, knowing he could go through it in less than an hour, and he picked up his pencil, writing one more entry in his journal.

He can only wait a week before giving it to her when he shows up to her apartment unannounced. Miwa opens the door and rolls her eyes, but letting him in.

“I gotta run and get some new specialty scissors. I’m not afraid to use them in an unintended use if I get back and she’s crying.” Miwa motions her fingers from her eyes to his. Akaashi gives her a thumbs up.

When she comes out of her room, she inspects him on the couch, he’s holding his journal.

“Read the last page for me. It’s an extended edition.” He jokes somewhat. She sits next to him and reads his ‘extended edition’. DATE: XX-XX-XX TITLE: Micawber; An Eternal Optimist

I was stupid. Believe me, I know I was a whole idiot and a half.

Here’s to giving up realism and embracing optimism.

You knew who I was before I knew you. I was scared that you would know too much. That’s hilarious, right? I wanted you to know me, and yet there I was completely afraid to let you get too close, but you were already close. It’s not just what words were contained here, although I re-read my journal and there are definitely some things I should’ve self-censored.

You were what made the entire difference. Your ability to perceive me as a whole rather than a sum of my parts was the distinction that was made.

With you, I truly am a protagonist. Not a side character anymore, but the main character who shares the limelight with his love interest. Although, I have a distinct feeling that you may be more of a main character than me. But, I know you’d say you digress.

In your journal, you mentioned once how you believed that a good story can compel you to be changed. How characters drive a real tangible change in a person. Did I do that for you? At least a little bit? I know I was changed when I read your story, I realized that maybe I liked you a little more than just liking you.

Please don’t think I am mean. I was cruel, rude, and inconsiderate to you. Ghosting for more than a month because I was worried is likely going down in my personal history as the worst thing I’ve ever done to you. But I’m dedicated to never doing anything bad to you ever again. I’ll never hurt you, and I’ll never lie.

I’m optimistic that you like me a little. Maybe even a little more than like.

So, tell me why I still feel worried. Is this feeling even worried? Or is this what love feels like? The desperation to not hurt you in any way. The pang of knowing that I am myself with you. And, yes, the physical magnetism that makes me feel just a little more like a teenager when I am with you.

I think this feeling is love. I just think it’s so overwhelming that I ended up making it into a negative emotion instead of what it is.

I’m sorry. Forgive me or I really won’t know what to do with all these feelings that flit around in my heart for you.

I love you.

- Yours, Akaashi Keiji

She knew he was watching her. She had her nose in his journal, reading what he had written for her.

“Can you get me a tissue?” Akaashi handed her one. He was ready to say his goodbyes.

When she closes the journal, he looks at her with curious eyes. She smiles.

“Best book ever.”

He grabs her by the back of her head and kisses her. She held his face in her hands, tilting her head slightly and he hummed into her mouth. His nose was cold on her face, but the warmth of his mouth contrasted with the frostiness. His other hand grips her hip, trying to pull her closer to him. Despite them being already so close, he wanted her to envelop him.

Then he was pressing her down onto her couch, both hands on her hips. When she wrapped a leg around his waist he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Her head was on the arm of the couch, and he had moved from her mouth to the side of her face to her neck, to right above her bra, leaving a trail of his making. He was glad she was wearing a low-cut top because it made it easier for him to pull the shirt down so he could reach more of her skin.

In contrast to him, she felt soft and pliable. She also felt wholly his in this moment.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling the strands in a mellow methodology, not wanting to hurt him almost. She wanted his hair just a little longer, but the short hair tickled her neck, so she was happy with the length it was currently.

The top of her chest was creamy and supple. He let his tongue brush out once, twice, before going back up to kiss her again. He licked at her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth just enough for him to run his tongue into it for a moment, before biting at her bottom lip in thanks.

“You taste like sugar.” He was hot in the face and had some hair sticking to his forehead. She pushed his bangs back tenderly, his chest was still rapidly moving up and down trying to catch his breath. He went in for another kiss, still short of breath, so she had to intervene.

“Slow down loverboy, you need to breathe, or else you can’t keep going.” She laughs a little and he can feel the way her body carries the laugh from her chest to her stomach. She moves in close to his ear, “And that would be a zero-sum game for us both.”

He nods, and she draws his head down to rest on her chest.

“Is this better or worse than that fantasy you had about making out with a girl in the backseat of a car?” She recalls one of his entries from his journal.

He rubs his face against her, inhaling deeply. “This is way better. But we’re still gonna kiss in the back of my jeep, and soon at that.”

She hums a little in response.

The next year, Akaashi and her moved in together, Miwa was glad because now she could finally walk around her apartment without clothes on (despite her doing that when they were roommates anyway). Bokuto was glad to see that Akaashi finally had someone to read his confusing books and that he didn’t have to read another one ever again. Udai would occasionally make a joke about if it didn’t work out with Akaashi she had a place in his awaiting arms. Akaashi threatened to work for another manga magazine and Udai would be stuck using only Grammarly. That usually shut Udai up pretty quickly.

They both kept detailed journals. And when they finished them, they would let the other read them. Akaashi let her read all his past journals as well, and she let him read her diaries.

Maybe love isn’t what you expected at first, maybe it's not even a feeling you want to feel at that moment, or for that person. But love works out for the best in the end. Whether that’s with a best friend, a lover, a child, or even a book.

For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

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