#how much would i feel it’s absence if i set it down and left it behind

[deep-peach]

i think the best long term takeaway i had from konmari is “discernment”

i used to keep everything i liked bc i liked it so why not

but now, for ex. with perfumes, if i find a nice rain scent, it’s compared to the best rain scent i have, and if it’s not better than that why would i spend $$$ on a bottle? i have enough nice rose smells, i’m not really looking for more. the best plumeria scent i’ve ever smelled outside of a fresh blossom exists, why do i need more tiare or frangipani in my collection? sometimes similar scents fulfill different purposes or needs but i must say that i’ve kept my wishlist insanely pared down compared to what it would’ve been 5 or especially 10 years ago.

feels nice (*´꒳`*)

[smokesandsonatas]

I just want to see the Octavinelle trio get surprised, tongue-tied and amused because the reader is cunning.

Characters: Azul, Jade, and Floyd.

Warnings: None, just the old contract signing the Octavinelle way. First person pov. Mostly in Azul's pov. Tension (?).

Not beta read.

Shrimp Cocktail.

Apparently, it does not take a lot to amuse the Octavinelle trio. Or the story where you took a deal with Azul and it went unexpectedly.

They should learn not to underestimate Shrimpy.

Azul had always underestimated you. In his eyes, you were a mere human—a dimwitted fish floundering in the waters of Night Raven College. You lacked the cunning and intelligence of Jade, who could manipulate any situation with a few well-placed words, and you weren’t a lazy smartass like Floyd, who could memorize an entire book but discard it just as easily if he found it dull and boring. With your easy-going nature, you seemed like the perfect prey.

Well, you are the perfect prey.

Here you are, sitting in Azul’s office at the Mostro Lounge, the twins flanking you in chairs beside you. Floyd lounged with a lazy grin, manspreading on the sofa, while Jade sat, poised like a gentleman, a smirk barely concealed behind his gloved hand. Grim had been left behind at the ramshackle dorm, leaving you alone in the scammer's den. Azul could barely contain his amusement—you had just fallen into his trap, one he fully intended to exploit. You sat quietly in front of him, your face poised with a neutral expression. To Azul and the twins, you looked kind, naive—perhaps even a little stupid. They think you are an airhead. Their excitement was barely contained. They got you right where they wanted you to be. Here in Mostro Lounge, with no one but them watching over you like predators waiting to pounce and choke their prey.

"You're here for the favor of us providing Grim with food three times a day, seven days a week, for the duration of your absence with Professor Trein as the school's official photographer at an event outside Night Raven College," Azul began, his voice dripping with the saccharine politeness he used to mask his true intentions. "In exchange, you agreed that you will work for fourteen days, regular shifts, without any compensation for Mostro Lounge. I expect you to fully commit to your duties."

You nodded, hands neatly placed on your lap, a small smile on your lips. "Yes, that’s exactly it."

Jade’s grin widened slightly. You were so naive, so predictable. Pathetic, really—but there was something endearing about your earnestness. Everyone in Octavinelle liked this about you—how you walked into traps with your eyes wide open, never realizing until it was too late. You really are a shrimp, through and through. No sense of survival, no sense of fear.

Jade could feel his twin looking earnestly in you, their expression one of amusement.

You will never survive in the ocean.

"Very well then, Prefect," Azul continued, practically trembling with excitement as he handed you a golden scroll, a quill magically appearing in his gloved hand. "Sign this contract, and the favor you ask shall be yours."

You took the pen, hovering it just above the dotted line. Azul’s eyes gleamed with anticipation—just a few more minutes—seconds, and you’d be bound by his terms, forced into two weeks of unpaid labor. The satisfaction was almost too much to bear. You would be working without compensation, and Azul could even charge you for any drinks or food you will consume during your shifts!

Azul had also noticed that whenever you work, customers come flocking in! Is it because you're the famed Ramshackle dormleader? He can only suspect so. He might also have you gather more customers—all for free, technically, you are working free to him anyway.

Azul raised an eyebrow when he saw you set the pen down and lean back, that small smile on your lips widening into something sharper, more calculating.

Azul frowned.

"Azul," you began, your voice light and casual, but with an edge that made the room’s atmosphere shift. The twins noticed it too. Jade’s eyes narrowed slightly yet the smirk remains in his lips, and Floyd’s grin widened a little more as they both watched you closely—their eyes glued to you as a clear sign of their newfound interest.

Azul blinked, thrown off by your sudden change in demeanor. "Is something wrong, Prefect?"

"Not at all," you replied smoothly. "I’ve just been thinking about our arrangement. Fourteen days of unpaid work for three meals a day for Grim. It sounds like a fair trade, but then I realized something interesting."

Azul’s hand twitched slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. The contract is perfect in his eyes, all will favour him, how could it not be perfect? "And what might that be?"

You leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Well, the contract is almost perfect. Almost. But there’s one tiny detail that caught my attention—the meals for Grim. You’ve agreed to provide them three times a day, seven days a week, but the contract doesn’t specify the quality of those meals, does it?"

Azul’s smirk faltered, it is common sense that Grim will be given tuna in cans, isn't it? "The meals will be adequate, and his favourite tuna—"

"Ah, ‘adequate,’" you interrupted, your tone almost playful. "That could mean anything, really. Some stale bread, leftover scraps—technically, that would fulfill the contract, wouldn’t it?" You giggle, a sound so sweet it almost had the twins—in their fascination, to stand up and hover behind you. You heard a thud, no doubt it was the twins. Jade’s eyes narrowed, yet his smirk remains, replaced by a look of intrigued and amusement. Floyd sat up straight, fully intending to be by your side yet his uniform was immediately yanked down by Jade, stopping him from interfering. Floyd almost let out a hiss at his twin, though eventually he relents.

"But here’s where things get interesting," you continued, voice dropping to a near sweet tone that Azul use. "If Grim receives such ‘adequate’ meals, he might not be satisfied. A can of tuna alone won't cut it, he needs meat. A properly cooked, healthy meat seeing as he is a carnivore. He could get hungry, irritated—perhaps even cause trouble." You pout—a gesture which distracted Azul for a second as his eyes fell on your lips—appearing as meek as possible, "And as his caretaker, his henchman, I’d be worried. Distracted. And a distracted worker is an inefficient worker."

You locked your eyes against Azul's blue ones.

Azul’s eyes widened as he began to see where you were leading him. He blinked in intrigued and a mix of irritation and amusement.

"And," you pressed on, now leaning on the table, merely inches away from Azul's face. "if Grim were to get sick or cause problems because of poor nutrition, it wouldn’t just be a problem for me." You roll the scroll and use it to poke Azul's chest. "It would be a problem for Mostro Lounge. After all, you’re responsible for providing his meals, for almost a week at that. Any disruption he causes would reflect poorly on your business, wouldn’t it?"

Azul’s mind raced as he tried to find a loophole, but you had him cornered. Refusing your amendment meant sticking to a contract that could end up causing more trouble than it was worth. Agreeing to it, however, would mean committing to a higher standard of care for Grim, cutting into his profits. Twenty-one cans of tuna is not a big expense for him, but if you're to insist on nutritious meals... Well, that would cost him much more than what he intended to provide for your gremlin of a cat.

A simple overlooked in his part really, perhaps it is his fault for thinking you're one of those anemones that will blindly agree to anything without reading the fine print.

Finally, Azul forced a smile. "What do you propose, Prefect?"

You smiled sweetly, as if this were all a friendly discussion. "I propose that the meals provided for Grim meet a specific standard. Balanced, nutritious, and satisfying. A mix of tuna and properly cooked meat. A steak even. That way, Grim stays in good condition, I stay focused on my task outside of Night Raven College, and Mostro Lounge continues to run smoothly." You smiled at Azul as you lean at the table—mere inches away from his face, the octomerman can practically inhale your scent, have you always smelled this good?

"I also propose that I won't do overtime during my shifts for fourteen days, though I will not get paid, I would love it if my meals and drinks are free of charge—all within the time of my shift, of course."

You smiled sweetly at Azul—the way you don't break eye contact. It's exhilarating. It's making him sweat under his dorm uniform. "It’s in everyone’s best interest, don’t you think?"

Azul hesitated. This was not the agreement he had envisioned. His meticulously designed scheme had been dismantled by your shrewd maneuvering. We're you secretly a trickster? Appearing naive and helpless yet you are the one who catches people in your trap of being a false prey.

With a begrudging sigh, he conceded, "Very well, I’ll agree to the contract your propose. The meals provided for Grim will meet the specified standards, and you shall have the favours you asked during the course of your shift at Mostro Lounge."

You picked up the pen again, a triumphant glint in your eyes as you prepared to finalize the deal. A sweet, sweet, smile on your lips. "Thank you, Azul. I’m so glad we could come to an agreement."

As you signed the contract, Azul's sense of triumph morphed into a tumult of frustration and begrudging admiration. It's disgusting, your body language appeals to him—he knows it appeals to the twins too, given how Floyd is laughing right now, with Jade snickering beside him. You're one of the first—if not the first who had successfully turned the tables on him. It is not even a heavy contract, just an agreement for food and yet, Azul concedes to your demands. Though he suppose it is not bad, since he will see you everyday for almost two weeks. What had seemed like a one-sided victory for him had morphed into a more balanced exchange. You had come into his office alone, seemingly naive, and yet you had outmaneuvered him with words that unsettled him deeply, yet amused him greatly—jellyfishes swimming on his stomach. Perhaps during that time for your compensation he will invite you to his office so he can give you a proper assessment.

Heh, not bad at all.

Jade and Floyd had their mismatched eyes glued on your form, as you stand. Admiring the sway of your hips as you walk outside the room where nobody ever comes out as victorious as you are. You, a small shrimp, had greatly amused the twins. Unfortunately for you, Floyd hates being bored and Jade loves unpredictability—both qualities you tickled the moment you succesfully negotiated a deal with none-other-than Azul Ashengrotto.

As you left the room, Floyd let out a low, almost purring chuckle—how dare you Shrimpy? His blood is now pumping in excitement because of you. "Hehe, Shrimpy’s got some real bite, huh? This is gonna be interesting."

Jade’s gaze followed you with a newfound intensity. "Indeed. The prefect is far more dangerous than they appear. Heh, perhaps they relish the game, much like we do."

Azul was left staring at the contract, his frustration intertwined with a growing, unsettling admiration. You weren’t the dimwitted fish he had thought you were. No, you were a tempest—a captivating, unpredictable force in the waters of Octavinelle. The way you had twisted the terms of the agreement had left him both disturbed and intrigued. Your brilliance was both unsettling and exhilarating, making him realize that you were a much more dangerous fish than he had ever anticipated.

A shiver of something dark and obsessive crept into his thoughts. You had managed to turn a simple negotiation into a display of strategic dominance, leaving him with a dangerous mix of respect and a growing, unsettling fascination. The twins are no better, Jade glues you into his memory, the way you answer casually—it is attractive. Floyd is well, Floyd. He might visit you later and compliment you for outsmarting Azul!

Hehe, who would've thought you are a predator in your own right? Perhaps the shrimp cocktail is a dish best served cold after all.

[hearts4hughes]

tied up - rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: master manipulator!rafe ; mentions of violence ; sexual innuendos towards the end

a/n: the second i saw rafe tied up and sweaty in this episode, i KNEW i had to write about it. this is probably the first of many writings relating to this scene.

the ship rocks gently beneath you, creaking in time with the water lapping against its sides. you step carefully, feeling the weight of the metal plate in your hands, warm against your fingertips. the scent of food mixes with the salt air, thick and lingering, though you’re sure he won’t touch it. rafe sits a few feet away, hands bound to a pipe in front of him, his head drooped forward. he doesn’t look up as you approach, but you can feel his awareness.

you pause, just out of reach, and the light catches his profile—a bruise blooming darkly his eye, his lip split and red, dried blood marking his mouth like some careless stain from when jj knocked him out. he lifts his head slowly, almost deliberately, and his gaze finds yours. his eyes are sharp, narrowed, an intense blue like broken glass in sunlight, calculating and unreadable.

the plate feels heavier in your hands, like it’s suddenly full of something fragile. you set it down, the scrape of metal on wood cutting through the silence like a match. he doesn’t move, just watches you with that unblinking look, like he’s trying to measure how much of you he could break if his hands were free. the thought chills you, but you don’t step back.

“eat,” you say, trying to sound calm, detached, but your voice feels too loud in the confined space. his mouth twitches, a hint of something that might be a smile, but it’s too cold, too hollow. you can see the strain in his shoulders, the pure anger in the way he holds himself, but underneath it—something else. a flicker of vulnerability he’s trying hard to hide.

“so, they send you down to try to convince me to eat? think it would soften me up or something?” his voice is rough as it echos through the confined room. “i already told sarah that i’m not eating until they untie me.” he says with pure defiance. his eyes bore into you as if he’s trying to study you.

you turn your head, your gaze diverting to the dusty floor. “actually, no one sent me down here. they could give a shit if you starved or not. it would be doing everyone a favor.” you avoid his eyes, afraid that your confidence would melt if you met them.

for a second, you wonder if he’s about to say something, something meant only for you, and the realization tightens in your chest like a warning.

“then, why are you here?” he asks harshly. you look up to meet his haunted eyes, a chill runs down your spine and butterflies settle in your stomach. “what happened to never wanting to see me again, huh? what happened to ‘i love you forever’ ?”

his words command a flood of memories to rush through your head. your breathing becomes heavier as you remember it all; the lingering gazes, the sweet nothings, and finally, the way the absence in his eyes as he shot sherif peterkin.

“you know what happened, rafe,” you warn, your voice cracking slightly. he smirked, almost as if he could sense your anxiety. “you know why i left you.”

rafe’s smirk deepens, twisted and bitter, and he leans forward as much as the bindings allow him. “left me?” his voice is low, mocking, but there’s something raw in it too. “come on. we both know you didn’t leave me—you never really left me.”

the words cut through you, sharper than you expect, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. he watches you, waiting for a reaction, relishing it, and maybe even needing it. his gaze is relentless, pining you there like you were the one in restraints.

you force yourself to meet his eyes, even as every instinct screams to look away, to leave the room, and to escape. “i did, though. i left you because you weren’t the man i started dating. you were this,” you gesture to his bruises, his dried blood, and his hostility shimmering in his expression; the man who seems like a stranger and yet is all too familiar.

“you’ve always been mine.” he mutters more to himself than to you. “and i’m- i’m trying to change, y/n. i’ve been trying to change.” he says sternly, almost as if it was obvious, but it wasn’t. “y-you people don’t understand that i can change. i can change just as easily as you and sarah did when you started hanging around those goddamn pogues!” he raises his voice, jolting forward, and causing you to jump back.

when he notices you flinch, his gaze softens. he take a deep breath and sits back. you swallow harshly as he shifts from 0 to 100 in mere seconds.

“i’m just trying to change for the better; for you.” his voice is soft, not like what it was before. you can hear the sadness and the desperation dripping from his mouth.

it’s a trap. it’s all a trap. you’ve known rafe long enough to sense when he’s being manipulative, and he’s at his peak right now. you don’t respond, shaking your head, and going to grab the plate of food. as you grab the mental dish, his hands clasp around your wrist. the plate drops to the floor with a clatter.

“don’t- don’t go.” he whispers softly. his eyes search your face for even an ounce of reciprocated feelings. you bite the inside of your cheek as you ponder the possibilities. “stay here with me… please.” he isn’t speaking anymore, no, he’s begging.

your guard completely falls, leaving yourself vulnerable, and raw to his manipulations. when he senses the sudden shift, it’s as if he latches onto you, stringing his webs tighter around you.

you relax your shoulders with a sigh, not saying yes, but not leaving. he smiles and his eyes fall to your plump lips. his grip tightens around your wrist, fingers wrapping around your pulse. his breath is shallow and ragged, as if he’s afraid you’ll drift away.

your pulse quickens, a silent thrum that feels too loud, too obvious. his thumb moves softly, tracing small circles against your skin, a touch that’s barely there but enough to send a rush of warmth up your arm. you could pull away, break the moment before it goes any further, but you stay still.

rafe’s eyes drop to your lips, his jaw clenching as he takes a steadying breath. he’s drawing you closer, erasing the distance you swore to keep. “you don’t have to stay,” he murmurs, but his fingers tighten, betraying his words. “but… I don’t want you to leave.”

he inches closer, his face barely a breath away as his scent fills your senses. you can feel him hesitating, struggling against something, something that holds him back as much as it pulls him forward.

thousands of thoughts, warnings, and memories flash through your mind like blinding headlights, but they quiet under the intensity of his stare. then, he leans forward, closing the final sliver of space between you. his lips press softly against yours, and as if surrendering, you begin to kiss him back. the kiss begins gentle and sweet, but quickly turns into something desperate and fiery.

his tongue teases your mouth, slipping against your bottom lip. he’s frantic, raw, almost as if he’s afraid of losing you again, like he’s trying to make up for everything that happened. your lips slot against his like a puzzle piece.

you pull away breathlessly and stare at him. he lifts his arms that are bound by rope just enough for you to slip under them, now straddling his lap. you settle on his lap, something hard presses against your ass.

he smirks, “feel what you do to me, baby? i’ve missed you so much.”

the way he stares at you then and there tells you that you’ll be his forever. that there is no escape from him, even if you allow yourself to believe so. you’ll eternally be stuck in his web as he dances around you, only adding more silk to restrain you.

“calm down and untie me.” he says with a twisted grin. “let me take care of you, sweet girl.”

[deusfoundry]

18+ only mdni pls thank u!

also big BIIG thanks to ree @tbaluver for helping me w this ILY MWAAH!

zayne would never be opposed to letting you have your way with him.

one half-lidded gaze from you, one graze of your manicured nails at his clothed length, one drag of your wet tongue against the shell of his ear as you tell him how badly you want him inside you, and he's a goner. already, he's letting you drag him to the bedroom. sometimes neither of you even have the patience to go there, and zayne ends up pinning you against the wall just outside his office, his palms desperately clinging to the back of your thigh in a way that burns. sometimes he settles on having you bent over his desk, his chest pressed against your back, the same nails clawing at the heavy mahogany, papers hastily pushed to the side.

but this report is important. it's due first thing in the morning, and as much as he wants to be in bed with you, right now he has to finish this.

when you first approached him tonight with the pure and genuine intention of getting him to sleep early, he dismisses you apologetically. he places a hand on your cheek, swiping his thumb right below your eyes as if he's wiping your tears and tells you he's sorry. he'll be there soon, and you should go to sleep if you're feeling tired (which he knows you are, if the yawn you struggle to push down is anything to go by).

he watches your figure retreat from his office, shoulders hunched and footsteps unnervingly silent. the guilt starts to simmer within him, slowly, steadily eating at him until he's filled with thoughts of abandoning his work to put that smile he adores back on your face. he wills his focus back on the screen in front of him instead, dead set on making it up to you after his shift tomorrow. perhaps he can even afford to clock out a little earlier, just in time to pick up two boxes of the strawberry macarons you two love so much from a cafe at the other side of town right before they close.

except, you come back to his office a half hour later, and this time, zayne knows you're up to no good.

it's in the little things. you're sauntering towards him with a sway to your hips. the first two buttons of his shirt you're wearing is undone, one side of the collar pulled to the edge of your shoulder, exposing to him a dangerous amount of smooth skin. the cherry on top is the noticeable absence of the shorts you were wearing earlier.

zayne wonders if you'd forgo wearing your underwear as well.

"zayne..." it's there, too. in the way you say his name, drawled out and a little breathless. if he listens closely, he can hear the undertone of a whine.

he feels the all familiar strain in his pants.

zayne watches, a mix of amusement and intrigue, as you rub a palm up and down the length of his arm before nudging it away and sliding yourself onto his lap. you encase his neck between your arms, using it to anchor yourself closer until you're right on top of his increasingly aching cock.

you make no comment about the bulge in his pants poking your thighs, but he knows you're aware of the effect you have on him. a smug grin makes it way to your lips. just a flicker, a brief moment where you acknowledge what you're doing to him, and it's gone the next second.

"i'm not feeling too well, doctor. i think i need a check-up."

you begin feigning distress, making a show out of curling into yourself and leaning against his chest. the movement you make causes the fabric on your shoulder to slip off. slowly, like each added inch of skin baring itself to him is taunting him. it stops, resting right in the middle of your arm, low enough that he can see the better part of your left breast.

his face runs hot, but he decides to humor you. just for the few seconds he could afford to spare if he wanted to finish this report before midnight.

the back of zayne's hand finds your neck. he moves it around a little, shifting from one side to another as if he's checking for your temperature.

"there's nothing particularly off about your temperature." he hums, sliding you further down his lap, intent on pouring all his attention to his work. he'll just have to deal with his ... problem later.

zayne almost misses the way your face falls in disappointment once you realize what he's doing. there's that guilt again.

he plants a kiss on your temple, his lips lingering on the side of your head much longer than it should've had. he's hoping it's enough to convey his words unsaid.

"perhaps you're just missing a few hours of sleep. shall i accompany the patient back to her bedroom?"

you stay quiet, lips pursed in deep thought. the silence stretches on until zayne gathers it's time for him to speak.

only, you beat him to it, moving to straddle his thighs so quickly that zayne can only react by wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don't fall. you land right back over his cock with enough force that it pulls an involuntary groan out of his lips and a whimper from yours.

"i think-" you breathe in, a sharp inhale through your nose before you breathe out through your mouth. the searing heat of your breath on zayne's ear makes him shiver beneath you, low vibrations sending a jolt to your clit through the damp fabric of your panties.

"i think this requires a more..." you take his hand in yours, shakily drawing it closer to hover over your breast. "hands-on approach, doctor."

zayne's head is spinning. your cunt over his painfully hard cock. the odd warmth radiating from your chest, the faint shadow of your pert nipples through his shirt. this look you're giving him, eyes hazy and half-closed like you're already lost in the pleasure when you've barely gotten enough. it's too much.

it's all too much.

"dear-"

he's cut off by the drag of your hips, pressing down on him with enough pressure that his head is thrown back from the friction of the inner fabric of his pants rubbing against his length, but just shy of the speed you both need to chase your high.

zayne finally puts his foot down when your pace starts to get more frantic. he pries his hand off of yours, using the combined strength of his arm around your waist and his hand on your hips to steady you.

he hears a quiet whine slipping past your lips at the loss of pleasure.

"stop. t- that's enough." he means to add more conviction to his words, but he finds that his voice comes out as less polite pleading and more pathetic begging. "i'll make it up to you later, just- just let me finish this."

a mix of whimpers and whines fall off your lips. you try to move despite his restraints, rolling your hips with as much fervor as you can muster. and it works. zayne moans, his arms going limp over that momentary burst of pleasure. you take advantage of his weakened state to full on ride his clothed cock.

zayne begins to lose himself. the thought of his report sits there, idly in the back of his mind, but it's almost completely replaced by you. you, and the delicious roll of your hips into his, filling his vision with the sight of stars and the whole universe. you, and the blissed out look on your face as you use his body to chase your pleasure. you, your eyes shut in concentration, your messed up hair, your nails clawing at his shoulders.

you.

you.

you.

you've almost consumed him whole.

almost.

zayne regains his bearings just in time to stop you from going over the edge. your eyes are pried open, jaw slacking as his hand finds your waist once more. you're about to complain, beg him to allow you to keep going. but his fingers dig into your flesh. his grip, firm yet delicate, sends an odd blend of pain and pleasure through your senses.

"i said that's enough."

zayne says—no, commands with a certain finality in his voice that makes you think he wants to stop altogether. but you find his actions contradicting his words when he pushes his chair back, providing him enough space to turn you around with ease.

your mind is having trouble keeping up with him. you can make out the sound of his zipper being pulled, the rustling of his pants as he yanks it down just enough for his length to spring free, the light slapping of skin on skin when his cock makes brief contact with your back. but you only come face to face with what's happening when zayne hoists you up by the waist, dragging your panties to the side. your juices from earlier acts as a lubricant for him to sheathe his cock into you with little resistance.

you're so full so suddenly, gummy walls gripping him like a vice. the tip brushes against that spot inside you that zayne knows sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"zayne-!"

"shh, be quiet." he slides the chair back towards the desk, his arm unmoving around your waist. every slight twitch of his cock has you clenching down on him, but zayne makes no move to react. your only indication of how riled up he truly is are his hand latching on to your skin and the minute quiver of his voice, breath hot and shaky over your ear.

you're reminded of how it was him in this position a moment ago. how it was seemingly your victory.

"now, why don't you be a good girl and stay still."

something tells you you're in for a long night.

a/n: smut is surprisingly fun to write lmfao HKASHFD

dividers by @cafekitsune

[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part two)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k

warnings: even more slowburn than before lol, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: part 2 finally here !!!! guys, i think i'll complete it in one more part, we haven't even got to the juicy parts, they're both still Realising their feelings for each other i'm really taking the slowburn to another level :'D posting this now since i have a busy weekend ahead and it'll take some time for the final part to come out, so enjoy <3

nine.

jake wasn't sure when he started noticing the small things.

it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't some grand realization, some epiphany that crashed into him like a runaway train. no, it was more like a slow leak in the ceiling – subtle at first, barely noticeable, until one day, he looked up and realized the whole thing was caving in.

you were still there. still at your desk. still doing your job. but something had changed.

for one, you no longer lingered.

before, you used to wait by his desk after reminding him of a meeting, hovering until he actually got up because you knew how prone he was to getting lost in his own head. you used to place his coffee just within reach of his right hand, knowing that he’d grab it without looking. you used to let out these small sighs when he worked through lunch, before eventually caving and placing a takeout container beside him with an exasperated, “at least eat before you starve.”

but now? now, you just told him his schedule and left. you still got his lunch, but it was left on the side of his desk, impersonal. you still reminded him about meetings, but you never waited for him to actually stand up. and the worst part? he knew it was because of him. because he had snapped at you. because he had made you feel like you had overstepped when, in reality, you were just doing what you had always done – taking care of him.

the guilt sat heavy in his stomach.

well, he had got what he had wanted, right? he had told you to stop caring, to make yourself scarce, and you were doing just that. you were back to being background noise again, the week before had probably just been a blip in time. maybe none of it had even happened – he hadn’t been late to his meeting, he hadn’t spent an entire evening with you sorting through his emails, he hadn’t brought you coffee like a delirious fool. he hadn’t snapped at you – acknowledged your efforts and put you down regardless.

there’s a law in physics, the law of unintended consequences.

jake had spent his life studying the rules that governed the universe. he had built entire theories on cause and effect, on how one action – one force – could change the course of everything around it. but there was a gap in every equation, an unpredictable variable that not even the most meticulous calculations could predict.

it was a rule he had known but never thought to apply to his own life.

and yet, here he was, watching as you followed the letter of his words but not the spirit. he had wanted distance. he had told you as much in sharp, thoughtless words. he had thought, idiotically, that space would bring things back to how they used to be.

instead, it had set something irreversible in motion.

at first, he told himself it was fine. he had bigger things to focus on, deadlines to meet, research papers to finalize. but the problem with noticing something was that you couldn’t stop noticing it. you were efficient, precise, the perfect assistant; exactly as you had been before.

except now, he felt the absence of you.

before, he never had to wonder if he’d make it to meetings on time. you would wait, standing by his desk with that look, the one that told him you knew he’d ignore you if you gave him even a second of leeway. but now? you simply reminded him and left. no hovering. no pointed sighs. no exasperated nudges to get moving.

and then there was the coffee.

it was a small thing, but jake noticed. before, the cup would be exactly where he needed it, always within reach of his dominant hand. a quiet, unconscious act of care. now? it was placed neatly at the edge of his desk, just out of immediate reach. he had to go out of his way to grab it.

it was ridiculous, the way these tiny details unsettled him.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that he had asked for this. that he shouldn’t be so thrown off by things he never even realized he relied on.

and yet.

he wasn’t sure what did it.

maybe it was the moment he saw you cleaning up a stack of files and, in your hurry, ran your hand along the sharp edge of a paper cutter. you barely reacted, shaking off the small drop of blood, about to move on like nothing happened. but something in jake stilled.

something made him sit still and watch like a creep through the crack of his door as you paused in your actions and moved your finger to your lips, gently sucking on the wound till the bleeding stopped.

it was such a small act. so innocent, something akin to a first aid, but his breath hitched. his breath hitched when his eyes tracked your actions, your hand going back to sorting through files, your wound long forgotten.

his body moved before his mind could catch up, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood.

for the first time in days, you actually looked surprised when he placed a bandaid in your palm instead of just tossing it onto your desk.

“you should be more careful,” he said, his voice coming out gruff, almost scolding.

you blinked at him, clearly thrown off, before your expression shuttered back into polite professionalism. “it’s just a small cut.”

jake clenched his jaw. he knew that. of course he knew that. but that wasn’t the point, was it?

still, you thanked him with a nod, applied the bandaid, and carried on like nothing had happened.

and that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn’t.

because jake, who had always been so good at solving problems, had stumbled upon one that didn’t fit neatly into any equation.

the unintended consequence of his distance wasn’t just that you stopped lingering. it was that he now felt like an observer in his own life, watching as something essential slipped away, and—

and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

jake had never been one to believe in regret. he made decisions, and he lived with them. he adjusted. he recalibrated. he hadn’t cared much when only his mom could make it to his annual school competitions, doing her best to cheer louder, to compensate for the missing person in his life. he hadn’t given two shits when people in high school had stared and pointed at him like he had been an anomaly. not when his overbearing aunts had disguised their praises for him as something he should inherently be able to do to make up for the absence of the person in his life.

he hadn’t wasted time pondering upon silly questions like ‘was i not enough?’ or ‘was i not lovable enough for him to stay?’.

even in his young mind, those had seemed futile questions, ones he would never have an answer to and therefore, not worth his time.

but now, he was finding himself staring too long at the empty space you used to fill. he was realizing that, for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had overlooked the most important one.

he had always thought that if he pushed something away, it would eventually return to its natural place. like gravity pulling a comet back into orbit.

but now, he wasn’t so sure.

now he was actually questioning things – emotions, feelings, hurt.

had he hurt you?

but why would he care? why would he start now? why would you care about him to the point that you would let his ineptitude hurt you?

jake didn’t consider himself the kind of person who fixated on things. he was methodical, pragmatic, someone who could compartmentalize problems into neat little boxes and only open them when absolutely necessary.

but this?

this was a crack in the foundation he hadn’t accounted for.

he told himself it was fine – your distance, your absence, the way you had begun to retreat from him in increments so small he might not have noticed if he weren’t already looking for them. he told himself he had wanted this, and that it didn’t matter.

and yet.

jake found himself watching. noticing. keeping track of the subtle ways you had begun to slip from his periphery, like sand through his fingers.

before, he had always known where you were. even if he wasn’t actively looking, you were just there, orbiting around him in a way that felt natural, unshakable. but now? now, he caught himself scanning the office for you, only to realize you were nowhere nearby. it wasn’t that you weren’t working – you were still efficient, still meticulous, still the perfect assistant – but you were no longer his constant.

the worst part? he had no idea why it bothered him so much.

he kept trying to rationalize it, to shove the thought into a mental folder labeled irrelevant and move on. but it was harder than he expected.

because there were moments, tiny and fleeting, where he thought he caught glimpses of something deeper beneath your polite professionalism. a hesitation before answering him. the way your lips pressed together just slightly when he handed you a stack of papers without so much as a please or thank you. the way you never quite met his eyes for too long anymore.

it had been a series of choices, he realized. small, inconsequential decisions that had snowballed into something much bigger than he had ever intended.

like the way he had dismissed you, snapping at you in a moment of frustration. he hadn’t thought twice about it then – just another conversation, another fleeting exchange in the middle of an exhausting day. but the weight of it lingered, heavy and suffocating, because now he could see the ripple effect in real time.

he had thought pushing you away would return things to normal. instead, it had left him standing in the ruins of something he hadn’t even realized was important to him.

and the most frustrating part? he didn’t know how to fix it.

jake wasn’t used to being at a loss. he had built his life around solutions, around having the answers before anyone even knew there was a problem. but this? this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve with logic or calculations. this was different. this was messy and human and something he didn’t even fully understand himself.

so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t control – he observed.

he started paying closer attention. he told himself it wasn’t because of you, not really, just a vague curiosity that had no deeper meaning. but then he noticed how you laughed more with others now. how you lingered in conversations with coworkers, how your shoulders relaxed when you weren’t around him.

it was disorienting, realizing that you had found ways to exist outside of him. that you had always been capable of doing so, but he had just never seen it before.

and maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

one afternoon, he caught himself staring at the untouched coffee on his desk. it had gone cold. the same coffee you had placed there earlier, just slightly out of reach, like an afterthought.

jake had always taken for granted that it would be there. he had never even considered the effort behind it, the simple, thoughtless care that had gone into something as small as placing it within easy reach.

but now, staring at the lukewarm liquid, he felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like how things felt off-kilter. how he had let something slip between his fingers without even realizing what it was. he didn’t like how aware he was of your absence now, how much space you had unknowingly occupied in his life before you started retreating.

it was frustrating, this gnawing feeling of wrongness.

so he did something stupid.

“hey,” he said one evening, catching you just as you were gathering your things to leave.

you blinked at him, clearly surprised. “yes?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “did you—uh. did you send the reports to finance?”

your brows furrowed slightly. “yes. i emailed them over earlier.”

“right. okay.” he shifted, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “thanks.”

you nodded, waiting for a beat. when he didn’t say anything else, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “alright. goodnight, dr. sim.”

and then you were gone.

jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. what the fuck was that?

that wasn’t what he had meant to say. it wasn’t what he wanted to ask. but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, heavy and unfamiliar.

because what had he wanted to say?

had he wanted to tell you he noticed? that he missed something he couldn’t even name? that for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had failed to account for the one thing he should have seen coming?

gravity.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

he had pushed you away. and now, he wasn’t sure how to pull you back in.

jake sat back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway where you had just been.

he needed to fix this. he needed to rise up from his inability to form human bonds or interact like a normal functioning adult. he had never felt the need to do so before, but for once – he wanted to. at least try and make amends.

because  jake never meant to offend anyone, much rather put them down. but he had done, willingly so this time around. but he wasn’t so broken as to not hold on to the semblance of a decent human being and not apologise.

he needed to fix this. he just didn’t know how yet.

ten.

its 10:09 am when the phone on your desk rings.

your fingers hesitate for a second before picking it up, already half-expecting it to be a mundane request from another department. but the voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“hello, this is dr. sim’s office, correct?”

you straighten slightly at the mention of jake’s name. “yes, this is his assistant speaking. how can i help you?”

the woman on the other end exhales, relief threading through her voice. “oh, thank god. i’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell. can you please tell him his mother is calling? it’s urgent.”

your breath stills. his mother? you’ve never spoken to her before, but something about the way she sounds – strained, worried – has your heart clenching instinctively.

“of course, ma’am. please hold for a moment.”

you press the receiver against your chest as you rise from your desk, walking toward jake’s office with quick steps. when you push the door open, you find him at his desk, eyes glued to his monitor, expression unreadable.

“dr. sim,” you say carefully. he barely glances up. “your mother is on the line.”

that gets his attention.

his head snaps up so fast it looks like it might hurt, and the second he sees your expression – neutral but carefully watching – something in his own face shifts. a split-second crack in his usual control.

his mother wouldn’t call the office unless something was wrong.

you see it the moment his mind catches up to the implication. his face goes pale, and he pushes back his chair roughly, standing so fast it scrapes against the floor.

“transfer it,” he says, voice clipped, but his hands are already trembling as he reaches for the phone on his desk.

you nod and return to yours, quickly pressing the button to connect the call. as soon as it clicks over, you hear his voice – lower now, tight with something close to dread.

“mom?”

you should turn away. you should focus on your work, give him the privacy he needs. but something keeps your gaze locked on him, even as you try not to make it obvious.

there’s a pause. then, whatever his mother says has the color draining from his face entirely.

his fingers clench around the phone. his jaw sets tight, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

then, finally, he exhales.

“when?” his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your stomach twist.

another pause. then he nods, even though she can’t see him. “okay. i’ll be there.”

he hangs up.

for a moment, he just stands there, fingers still curled around the receiver like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his head is slightly bowed, his shoulders tense.

and then he turns.

his eyes meet yours. and for the first time in a long time, you see something raw and unguarded in them. not frustration. not cold professionalism. something else entirely.

something that makes you forget, for just a moment, that things have been different between you. that there’s been an invisible wall between the two of you, made of everything unspoken.

“is everything—” you catch yourself. it’s not your place to ask. but the words are already out there. “is everything alright?”

he swallows. a muscle in his jaw jumps. he looks like he wants to say no. but he doesn’t.

instead, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to ground himself. “i need to leave for a bit.”

“of course.” you hesitate, but then add, “do you need me to reschedule anything?”

he nods once, curtly. “yes. i’ll send you a list.”

the phone call had been brief – too brief for how he looked now. his face was pale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. the usual sharp focus in his eyes was gone, replaced with something unsettled, something raw.

you had barely heard what he’d said when he hung up. just a quiet, clipped response before he set the phone down with unnatural care, as if it might shatter in his hands. then silence. a long, heavy silence that made you shift in your seat.

he’s already reaching for his coat, but the way he moves – it’s not the usual controlled efficiency he carries himself with. his hands are stiff, his grip on the fabric just a little too tight. like he’s barely holding himself together.

“…dr. sim?”

jake didn’t respond.

you hesitated, glancing toward the doorway of his office. no one else was around – just the two of you in this unsettling quiet. you had been ready to move on, to keep things professional, to pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the strange coldness that had settled between you both. but this? this wasn’t something you could ignore.

you took a step forward. “jake.”

his head snapped up.

it took you off guard, the way his gaze sharpened at the sound of his name. but then, just as quickly, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. his expression flickered – like a fault line deep underground, cracking beneath pressure.

you tried again, softer this time. “what happened?”

jake inhaled, but the breath barely reached his lungs. “it’s my mom.”

your stomach twisted.

you had remembered jake’s phone call with her a few days ago. how he had sounded so agitated back then. jake never spoke much about his family, but you knew enough to understand that she was important to him in ways he didn’t know how to express. that, for all his cold rationality, all his carefully measured distance, she was a gravitational force in his life that he could never quite pull away from.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked at his hands – like he wasn’t sure when they had started shaking. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly inaudible.

“she’s in the hospital.”

something in your chest tightened. “jake…”

he shook his head once, as if physically stopping himself from unraveling. “i—i need to go,” he said, already reaching for his coat, movements stiff. “i don’t—i can’t just sit here.”

“of course,” you said immediately. “do you want me to call someone? arrange a flight?”

“no,” he said, too quickly. he pressed his fingers to his temple, exhaling hard. “i’ll handle it.”

you watched him, watched the way he was barely keeping himself together. and despite everything, the growing distance, the unsaid things, you couldn’t just let him go like this.

“jake,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “let me help.”

for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze directly. and for the first time in weeks, you saw something unguarded in his eyes.

not calculation. not control.

just fear.

his throat bobbed. he looked like he wanted to say something – like he didn’t know how. but then his jaw clenched, and he nodded once, just slightly.

you reached for your phone. “i’ll book the next flight.”

jake exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. he didn’t thank you – not verbally. but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly, the way his hands stopped trembling—

it was enough.

the drive to the airport was quiet.

jake was in the passenger seat, fingers curled into fists on his lap. he had barely spoken since leaving the office, only responding in brief nods or single words when necessary. the weight of the unknown pressed heavy between you both, thick like fog.

you had booked the first flight you could find, mere hours from the phone call and you had made sure he had gone back home immediately to pack his necessities. you knew you had a hard time coming with all the meetings and deadlines that needed to be pushed back, but that could wait. you had to make sure he was fine first.

you were in half a mind to offer to go along with him, but that would be crossing a line, right? afterall, you both were still at crossroads, still just assistant and employer. you couldn’t possibly even dare to suggest this in the first place.

when you pulled into the departure lane, you hesitated before reaching for his bag in the backseat. “are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“no,” jake said, shaking his head. his voice was hoarse. “you’ve done enough.”

you swallowed. he wasn’t saying it unkindly – just…tiredly. hollow in a way that didn’t suit him.

still, you lingered. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because of the way he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly. maybe it was the way his breath came uneven, like he was bracing for something.

maybe it was because, for the first time, jake sim looked small.

he was out of his lab coat for the first time, a hastily found hoodie on his frame but his eyes. they looked so lost, so panicked and scared all at the same time, you couldn't even start to think what was going on in his mind. but you know for once that it hadn’t got anything to do with numbers and the universe.

you don’t know how to comfort him, not without knowing the situation and you definitely do not want to feed him empty reassurances. he would see right through them, the logical man that he was, he would probably even scoff at you for being presumptuous. so you do the best you can with the situation.

“i hope she’s okay,” you said quietly. “let me know when you land.”

he hesitated. then, finally, “yeah.”

“and don’t worry about work, i promise i’ll reschedule everything, take as much as you need.”

this, you mean too. because you will make sure of this, it’s the only thing you can do, to be quite honest. so you decide that you will, and you’ll give it your all.

you didn’t expect more. and yet, just as he was about to turn away, he stopped.

for a second, he looked like he might say something else. like he might let something slip through the cracks of whatever walls he had built between you both.

but then he just inhaled sharply and stepped away from the car, disappearing into the terminal without another word.

and you were left there, watching him go, wondering why it felt like something in you had gone with him.

eleven.

jake sat in his old car, the one his mom drove now. he had tried to convince her to buy a new one, but she insisted on using this beaten up junk he had used for most of his university life.

his day had been hectic, to say the least. he had touched down within two hours of leaving, all because you had managed to book him the earliest flight possible. his first stop had been the hospital where his mother had been admitted. she had fainted apparently, in the middle of a grocery store. someone had helped her and when she had come to, she had called jake immediately.

of course, as an understanding woman, she had hesitated before calling, but then she figured she’d be abandoning her son the way his father had, so without a second thought, she had called. she had buried the feeling that she was being a burden and explained to jake what had happened.

something very minor, a quick surgery would fix it, she’d be up and about in a week, but she would require someone by her side for that time.

jake talked to the doctors, a decision was made almost immediately, whatever his mother needed, he would do it. the surgery was in three days, she would not be in any major danger till then.

and then he had called you. well, he had called his front desk and asked to be transferred to you because he did not have your number.

“dr. sim?” your voice sounded distant and it only hurt a little that you didn’t call him by his first name like you had back then.

a long silence. then, his voice – low, rough, exhausted.

“she needs surgery.”

you had straightened in your chair. “surgery?”

“a minor procedure,” he clarified, though his voice sounded anything but reassured. “the doctors said she’ll be fine, but…”

he trailed off. you waited.

“but i don’t know if she wants me here.”

that was the part that made your stomach twist. not the surgery, not the hospital – those were tangible things, things jake could analyze and categorize, things with numbers and statistics and measurable risks. but this? the unspoken weight of old wounds, of things left unresolved between him and his mother?

this was something jake couldn’t quantify.

“dr. sim…” you started, hesitating. you weren’t sure if he wanted comfort, if he would even accept it. “i’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

a dry, humorless chuckle crackled through the receiver. “i have been pushing her away for so long, i won’t blame her if she doesn't want me here.”

and he had done the same to you too. he had convinced himself that you did not need him or have any requirement of him in your life for it to function.

you closed your eyes. “have you talked to her?”

another pause. “not really.”

the admission had made something in your chest tighten.

“i don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “i don’t know if i should even be here.”

you exhaled slowly, gripping your phone tighter. “dr. sim, she called you.”

that made him pause.

“she called you,” you had repeated, softer this time. “if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have.”

for a long time, there was nothing. just his breathing on the other end, slow and uneven. then, finally—

“maybe.”

it wasn’t certain, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

you had glanced down at your planner, at the list of tasks you still needed to get through before the day ended. none of them had seemed as important then.

“if you need anything,” you had said, voice steady, “just let me know.”

jake hadn’t responded right away. but when he finally did, it was quieter, softer than before.

“yeah,” he murmured. “thanks.”

and then the line went dead.

his hands rested now on the wheel, unmoving, but his mind was anything but still. he had been sitting there for ten minutes now, staring at the house in front of him, telling his mother to go on first, that he would follow soon after. it was the same house he had grown up in, the same porch light flickering against the damp evening air, the same worn-out welcome mat his mother refused to replace because she said it held memories.

memories.

jake hated memories.

but lately, they kept creeping in, unwelcome and persistent, just like the thoughts of you that he couldn’t seem to shake. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out of the car. the moment he knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately.

“come on in, i was starting to think you’d spend the night in that old thing.” his mother’s voice was warm but held that gentle chiding tone only mothers could master. she must have been waiting.

“yeah,” jake muttered, stepping inside. “sorry.”

his mother gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. instead, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. it was strange, being back home. the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.

they ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. his mother had made all his favorite dishes, even before she knew he was coming like it was something she did regardless of whether or not her son was in town, and he hated how easily that made his chest tighten.

“so,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “how’s jay? sunghoon?”

jake nodded. “they’re good.”

his mother hummed, waiting. jake knew she wasn’t just asking about them.

“and you?” she prompted.

“i’m fine,” he answered automatically.

her eyes softened, but she didn’t call him out on the lie. instead, she reached for his empty plate and stood to rinse it. that was always how it was between them. no forced conversations, no prying. just patience. it used to drive him crazy.

“you don’t visit as much anymore,” she said casually, but jake could hear the weight in her voice.

jake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “i’ve been busy.”

“too busy for your mother?”

his throat felt tight. “that’s not—” he sighed. “i don’t know.”

she shut off the sink and turned to him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “you’ve been running, jake.”

the words struck deep, hitting something raw inside him. he opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point? she saw through him, as she always had.

“ever since your father left,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you’ve been running from anything that makes you feel too much. you push people away before they can leave you first.”

jake clenched his jaw. “that’s not true.”

her expression didn’t change. “isn’t it?”

he wanted to argue, but flashes of his past screamed otherwise. his father’s car pulling out of the driveway, his mother’s silent tears in the kitchen, the way he had stopped asking when his father would come back. how he had pulled away – from her, from the warmth she tried so hard to keep alive in their home. because what was the point? if his own father could leave so easily, then wasn’t everything temporary?

his mother sighed, walking over to sit beside him. “i don’t bring this up to hurt you, sweetheart. but i see the way you hold yourself back. you’ve always done that, even when you were a boy. you care, but you don’t let yourself feel it too deeply.”

jake exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen table. the weight of his mother’s words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against old wounds he’d buried for too long.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

his mother didn’t gloat, didn’t press. she only gave him that quiet, patient look that somehow made him feel both seen and uncomfortably exposed. it was always like this with her – gentle in the ways that hurt the most.

“i know why you’ve been distant,” she said softly, moving back to the table. “and i know it’s not just about me.”

jake stilled. he knew what was coming next. he could feel it in the way his mother studied him, in the way her eyes carried an understanding he wasn’t ready to face.

“you always bottle things up,” she continued, her voice steady. “you don’t let yourself get attached. you let people slip away before they even have the chance to stay.” she paused, letting her words settle.

then— “but there’s someone you don’t want to let go of, isn’t there?”

jake’s breath hitched. his immediate instinct was to deny it, to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. but the words refused to form.

because she was right.

because for the first time in years, there was someone – someone who had slipped into his life so effortlessly, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed until the absence of their presence started to eat away at him. someone whose voice still echoed in his head, whose absence left a hollowness he couldn’t explain away.

you.

his mother didn’t push. she just waited, as she always had, offering a space that was safe even when it didn’t feel like it. and maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few days, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t want to run from this conversation.

jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his mother simply hummed, waiting.

“i’m… off,” he admitted, hesitating. “lately, everything feels – wrong. like i’m forgetting something important, like i’m missing something. but i don’t know what to do about it.”

his mother tilted her head slightly. “and does this have something to do with the person you called earlier?”

jake’s fingers twitched against the table. “i didn’t call her directly,” he muttered, because even now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle what saying your name out loud would do to him. “i had to go through the front desk to reach her.”

his mother smiled knowingly. “that’s not the point, sweetheart.”

jake swallowed. he knew. he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“it’s just… she’s just been there,” he found himself saying, his voice hesitant. “always so put together, always knowing exactly what i need before i even have to ask. it’s like she—” he stopped himself before he could say too much, but his mother was already watching him with an expression that told him she understood more than he wanted her to.

“she takes care of you.”

jake’s jaw clenched. “yeah.”

“and you don’t know what to do with that.”

his laugh was hollow, humorless. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

his mother sighed, her eyes soft. “jake.”

he shook his head, leaning back against the chair. “i hurt her.”

the words felt heavier than he expected. saying them out loud made them real, made them impossible to ignore.

his mother didn’t look surprised. “how?”

jake hesitated. he wasn’t sure where to begin. it wasn’t just one thing – it was everything. the way he’d dismissed you, the way he’d taken you for granted, the way he’d let you become part of his routine without ever stopping to consider what that meant.

“i pushed her away,” he admitted, his voice tight. “i didn’t even realize i was doing it until it was too late. and now…”

his mother’s gaze was patient, understanding. “and now?”

jake exhaled slowly. “now, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

his mother’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “because change terrifies you. and she’s become part of your life in a way you never expected.”

jake stared at the table, his thoughts a tangled mess. “i don’t even know when it happened,” he murmured. “i just… one day, she was there. and now, when she’s not – it feels wrong.”

his mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over his. “that sounds a lot like caring, jake.”

he let out a slow, shaky breath. “maybe.”

his mother squeezed his hand. “sweetheart, i’ve watched you close yourself off for so long. and i know you think it’s safer that way. but it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to care.”

jake closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that. he really did.

“i don’t know how to fix this.”

his mother’s smile was sad but encouraging. “then start by not running away.”

jake swallowed hard, her words settling deep inside him. for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe – just maybe – he didn’t want to run anymore.

jake’s fingers curled against the table. “i don’t know how i feel about this.”

his mother reached out, resting a hand over his. “that’s okay. but don’t let your fear stop you from figuring it out.”

jake didn’t respond. he didn’t know how.

his mother sighed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “just don’t push her away, jake. don’t make the same mistake your father did.”

the words hit harder than he expected. he wasn’t like his father. he refused to be. but deep down, he knew – he had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt that he had been the one keeping others at arm’s length.

maybe that needed to change.

later that night, as he lay in his childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you carried yourself, the way you fought for your place, the way you—

the way you made him feel.

jake turned onto his side, exhaling heavily. maybe it was time to stop running. maybe, for once, he needed to stay.

twelve.

you sat at your desk, staring at the chaotic schedule in front of you. jake had only been gone a few days, but it felt like an entire month’s worth of work had piled up. between rescheduling meetings, handling review dates, and ensuring the interns didn’t completely destroy the office system, your plate was overflowing. but that was your job. and you were good at it.

jake’s absence, however, made things feel heavier.

you had never been more aware of how much of your day revolved around him until he wasn’t here. normally, he’d be in his office, shooting you the occasional exasperated look over paperwork, or stepping out to ask for another coffee despite already having two. you had gotten used to the rhythm of his presence, the way it filled spaces without needing to demand attention.

now, that presence was gone, and you were left to make sure everything didn’t completely fall apart before he returned.

you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples before picking up your phone. another call, another problem to solve.

by the time jake’s return was only a few days away, you were running on caffeine and sheer determination. you had managed to keep everything under control, but it had taken everything out of you. your mind barely had space to wander – except for the brief moments when you remembered your last conversation with jake. the way his voice had sounded so lost, the hesitation behind his words.

but you couldn’t dwell on that. he wasn’t here. and when he came back, things would fall back into place.

a knock on your office door snapped you from your thoughts. you looked up to see one of your colleagues peeking in.

“hey, dr. sim called. he asked for you specifically.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah. said he wanted to check in.”

you hesitated for a moment before grabbing the office phone and dialing the number.

it barely rang once before he picked up. “y/n.”

his voice was different. not as tired as before, but still carrying something heavy. you straightened in your chair. “dr. sim. you called?”

a pause. then, “yeah. i just… wanted to check in. how’s everything?”

you glanced at the never-ending list on your screen. “under control.”

jake let out a small huff, almost like a laugh. “of course it is.”

silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what else to say. but then his voice softened. “thank you. for everything. i know it’s been a lot.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “that’s my job, dr. sim.”

jake inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hurt him.

your job.

like this was just a role, a duty to fulfill. like you were only here because of professional obligation, not because you had ever cared beyond that.

and maybe that was the worst part – knowing that at some point, you had cared. that at some point, he had meant more to you. but now, all that remained was distance, formality.

“right,” he said after a moment, his voice unreadable. “i’ll be back soon.”

“of course. safe travels.”

the call ended before either of you could say more, but the weight of it lingered. you sat there for a long time, staring at your desk, trying to push away the uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

meanwhile, on the other end of the line, jake sat in his childhood home, gripping his phone tighter than necessary. for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had lost something important.

and he had no idea how to get it back.

jay keeps him updated, the way you’re single handedly managing his schedule, making sure kang doesn’t fire his ass straight up (not that he would, jake’s too much of a genius for that to happen). but more than that, jay spoke of the way you kept things running, how you barely took a break, how you worked yourself to exhaustion, making sure everything was still intact for when jake returned.

jake listened in silence, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each passing word. you had always been efficient, always been reliable. but there was something about the way jay talked about you now – how you were overextending yourself, how you hardly left your desk unless necessary – that made him uneasy.

by the time he finally stepped back into the office, the weight of unfinished conversations, of unspoken words, was pressing heavily on his shoulders. his absence had given him clarity, but clarity didn’t mean anything if he didn’t act on it.

when jake does come back, it’s a surprise to you too. he hadn’t called in advance, hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t even asked you to book a flight. just shown up to work on a thursday like he hadn’t been on a leave the past week.

it surprised you, you thought you were hallucinating.

jake was the same, yet different. he was still dressed impeccably, his dark suit fitted just right, his tie slightly loosened as if he had already had a long morning. but his eyes – those damn eyes – were sharp when they landed on you, scanning you like he was seeing you for the first time in months, not weeks.

“morning.” his voice was smooth, composed. if he was affected by anything, he didn’t let it show.

you forced herself to breathe. “morning.”

a pause later, you added, “how’s your mom?”

jake smiles, faintly. he looks tired, but also like he was well rested. like the week away from his office had given him the rest he had deserved.

“she’s fine,” he says, and you realise you had missed the warmth of his voice, “she’s recovering pretty fast.”

you nod, thankful that things were alright. you want to say something more, ask him how he was doing, ask him ask him if he’s really okay.

the words sit on your tongue, hesitant, unwilling to be spoken. you don't know if you have the right to ask anymore.

jake, for his part, watches you like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expecting you to say more, but when you don’t, he only nods. there’s something restrained in his expression, something that makes you feel like there’s more he wants to say too – but neither of you does.

instead, the moment passes.

“i should—” you gesture vaguely to your desk, to the endless tasks that had piled up in his absence. “i didn’t know you were coming back today, if you want , i can set your schedule up today. maybe a meeting in an hour with director kang, if you’re up for it, and then a review session with the legal team later in the afternoon. i can send the details to your email.”

jake exhales, eyes flickering to his office door. you’re rambling and he finds it amusing. or endearing. the thought of the latter feeling makes him tighten his hold over his bag, but he doesn’t look away, just nods along to whatever you say.

afterall, you know what’s best.

“right. i’ll look through it.”

you nod once, curt, and then turn back to your screen, as if that conversation hadn’t just been something fragile, something that could’ve cracked open if you had let it. you think that’s the end of it. that he’ll walk away, go back to his office, and things will return to the way they were.

but jake doesn’t move.

he lingers.

and then, in a voice softer than before, he says, “thank you, y/n.”

your fingers pause over your keyboard.

it’s not the words themselves that make your breath hitch – it’s the way he says them. the way they aren’t just polite acknowledgments, aren’t just an empty phrase meant to brush past the weight of everything left unsaid. no, this is different.

this is him meaning it.

this is gratitude in its truest form, held in his voice like it’s something delicate.

you inhale slowly, schooling your expression before you look up at him again. “of course,” you reply, but the words feel distant, like they don’t quite match the way your heart stumbles against your ribs.

jake’s lips press together, as if he wants to say something more. but then jay appears, calling out to him from the other side of the office, and the moment snaps in half.

just like that, he’s gone.

for most part of the day though, jake is drowning in work.

it had been that way since he got back – nonstop reviews, overflowing emails, projects that had stalled in his absence. the moment he stepped into the office, he had been pulled in every direction, barely given room to breathe. and he let it happen. work was easier to focus on. it was something he could control.

but every now and then, between the numbers and the reports, he felt it – the weight of your presence just beyond his reach.

you were there. moving around the office, talking to coworkers, slipping in and out of the conference room with files in hand. he caught glimpses of you in passing, his eyes drawn to you more times than he could count. you weren’t avoiding him anymore, not like before, but the distance was still there – an unspoken, lingering thing between you both.

he wanted to talk to you. he really did. but every time he so much as turned in your direction, something else demanded his attention – a call, an urgent email, a meeting running longer than expected. so he buried himself in work, knowing that if he just got through all of it, if he could just clear his plate, then maybe he could finally sit down with you. no interruptions. no distractions. just you and him.

but the day passed, and the timing was never right. not until lunch.

he didn’t notice at first – too caught up in his screen, typing away furiously. but when he finally leaned back to stretch, his eyes landed on your figure, knuckles raised against his door as if you were just about to knock.

your eyes widen as if you had been caught doing something scandalous, but you school your expression, clearing your throat hastily.

“you should eat,” you said, voice careful. “it’s been a long day, and it's only going to get busier later. dr. lee called for an impromptu review at four pm.”

you sound apologetic, almost as if you’re the one who put him through this predicament, especially after his first day back.

for a second, he just stared at you. it had been so long since you had done something like this for him. since you had even looked at him like this – cautious, hesitant, but still caring. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the words weren’t automatic, weren’t distant.

jake exhales, pushing away from his desk. his shoulders ache, his mind heavy from the sheer amount of work waiting for him, but for the first time today, his focus shifts entirely – to you.

you’re still standing there, waiting for his response.

his gaze flickers over your expression, taking in the way you hover, like you’re unsure if you should even be here. like you’re debating whether you should have said anything at all.

and suddenly, he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

jake clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “have you eaten?”

you blink, clearly thrown off.

“uh,” you hesitate. “no, not yet.”

jake nods once, contemplative. then, without overthinking it, he pushes back his chair, standing to grab his coat.

“let’s go, then.”

your brain stutters. “go where?”

“lunch.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like it’s not entirely unprecedented and completely out of character for him to suggest something like this.

you stare at him, almost suspicious. “like, together?”

a corner of his mouth twitches, though he quickly tamps it down. “yes, y/n. together.”

you should say no. you should.

because this? this is dangerous territory. jake doesn’t ask you to lunch. he doesn’t ask you for anything, really – at least, nothing that doesn’t pertain to work.

but then he tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting. and maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, maybe it’s the way your stomach actually growls at the worst possible moment, or maybe it’s just that he’s looking at you like that.

like he’s trying.

“…okay,” you say before you can stop yourself.

jake nods, satisfied, before leading the way out of his office.

thirteen.

the café jake picked was a little ways away from the office, tucked into a quieter street lined with small shops. it wasn’t anything extravagant – just a cozy place with warm lighting and a surprisingly extensive menu. you weren’t sure what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“you come here often?” you asked as you both settled into a table near the window.

jake hummed, glancing over the menu. “not really. but i figured somewhere away from the office would be better.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “oh.”

he didn’t elaborate, just focused on the menu like this was something normal. like he hadn’t just, for the first time in forever, actively chosen to spend time with you outside of work.

the waitress arrived, and after a quick back-and-forth (in which jake somehow convinced you to order something other than your usual go-to sandwich), you were left with nothing but your drinks and the thick air of unspoken words.

“so,” you started, wrapping your hands around your cup. “how’s your mom doing?”

jake leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table. “better. still recovering, but she’s been more energetic these past few days.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“she actually told me to stop hovering over her,” he added, lips twitching in amusement. “said i was more of a nuisance than a help.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i can imagine. you don’t seem like the type to sit still when you’re worried.”

jake’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “you’re not wrong.”

there was a beat of silence, comfortable this time. jake studied you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “what about you?”

you frowned. “what about me?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “how have you been? you’ve basically been running the office while i was gone.”

“it’s nothing i couldn’t handle,” you said, brushing it off.

jake wasn’t convinced. “jay made it sound like you barely had time to breathe.”

you huffed, shaking your head. “jay exaggerates.”

“does he?”

you hesitated. “okay, maybe a little. but it’s my job. it’s what i do.”

something flickered in his expression, but before you could dissect it, he changed the subject. “what do you do after work?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“when you’re not running the office or making sure i don’t completely destroy my schedule—what do you do?”

you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “why do you want to know?”

jake smirked slightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. “just curious.”

you hesitated for a moment before sighing. “not much, honestly. i usually just go home, maybe read a little. sometimes i go out with friends, but it depends on the day.”

jake hummed, nodding. “sounds… peaceful.”

“sometimes.” you tilted your head. “what about you? when you’re not buried in research papers or ignoring kang’s calls?”

jake exhaled a laugh. “ignoring kang is a full-time job in itself.”

you snorted, shaking your head. but you’re also slightly malfunctioning. never in a million years would you have even imagined that you’d be sitting across jake sim, making small talk. is this a dream?

“but,” he continued, “i guess i read, too. or watch documentaries. i used to play soccer more, but it’s been a while.”

your brows lifted slightly. “soccer? really?”

jake smirked. “what, don’t believe me?”

this side of him is new. the smirk, the unguarded laughs, the way he sometimes bites his lips. you will yourself to stay calm, clench your fingers in your lap and exhale slowly.

you shrugged. “i just can’t picture you running around on a field when you’re usually glued to your computer.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, mock-offended.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered.

then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “so, are you seeing anyone?”

your entire brain short-circuited.

“wh—what?”

jake leaned back, utterly unbothered. “you know. dating. boyfriend, girlfriend, situationship. whatever people call it these days.”

you stared at him. “why do you want to know?”

he shrugged, playing it cool. “just making conversation.”

your eyes narrowed slightly, but you answered anyway. “no. not at the moment.”

jake nodded slowly, almost like he was committing that information to memory.

you crossed your arms. “and you?”

his expression didn’t change. “no.”

“not even someone waiting for you to finally look up from your research and realize they exist?”

jake exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “not that i know of.”

you hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

for a moment, the conversation lulled, and then you found yourself blurting, “why did you choose astrophysics?”

jake glanced up, slightly surprised by the question. but after a beat, his lips curled up faintly. “you really want to know?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t.”

he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on that familiar, passionate undertone he always had when he spoke about his field. “i guess it started when i was a kid. i always liked figuring things out, but space… space is different. it’s infinite, unpredictable. the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know.”

you watched him, absorbed by the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

“it’s terrifying,” he admitted, a small grin playing on his lips. “but it’s also incredible. there are entire galaxies out there, black holes that warp time, planets that could be habitable. the laws of physics as we know them could be completely different somewhere else.”

you smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “you sound like you’re in love with it.”

jake blinked at you, momentarily thrown off.

then, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i am.”

and for some reason, something about that made your chest feel oddly tight.

the food arrived then, breaking the moment. but as you both ate, the conversation continued – easier now, lighter. and you didn’t miss the way jake kept looking at you, like he was memorizing this, like he was finally realizing that outside of the office, outside of schedules and meetings and deadlines, there was you.

and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore.

jake walks beside you as you both make your way back to the office, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. the lunch had been... nice. unexpected, but nice. and now, as the two of you walk in comfortable silence, he seems more at ease than you’ve seen him in a long time.

then, without warning, he speaks.

"did you know that if you fell into a black hole, time would slow down for you compared to someone watching from the outside?" his voice is contemplative, as if he’s only now realizing he said it out loud.

you blink, caught off guard. "um. no?"

jake nods, as if he expected that. "yeah. it’s called time dilation. the closer you get to the event horizon – the point of no return – the slower time moves for you, relative to everyone else. so technically, if you could somehow escape, you’d find that far more time had passed for the rest of the universe than for you."

you process his words, lips twitching. "so what you're saying is... if i ever want to time travel, i should just jump into a black hole?"

jake huffs out a laugh. "not unless you want to be spaghettified."

you stop mid-step. "spaghettified?"

he turns his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "yeah. because of the intense gravitational pull, your body would stretch into thin strands, like spaghetti. it’s called ‘spaghettification.’"

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "you’re messing with me."

"i swear i’m not." he grins, and for a moment, you see a different version of him – one without the weight of responsibilities or expectations pressing down on him. "the gravitational pull at your feet would be much stronger than at your head, so you’d get stretched out like a noodle before—" he snaps his fingers. "—being ripped apart."

you stare at him, utterly baffled. "what a horrifying way to go."

"oh, absolutely," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "but theoretically, if the black hole was big enough, you might not even notice you’d crossed the event horizon. you’d just... fall. forever."

you don’t know what’s funnier – the fact that he’s so nonchalant about it, or the fact that he’s clearly enjoying this little tangent.

"so, the moral of the story," you say, crossing your arms, "avoid black holes."

jake chuckles, the sound low and genuine. "exactly."

for a moment, the two of you just walk, and you realize something – you actually like listening to him talk about this. there’s something comforting about the way he explains things, the way he gets lost in his own thoughts, his usual guardedness slipping away as he speaks about something he genuinely loves.

you glance at him, curious. you suddenly wonder about the jake sim you don’t know about. the one who apparently plays soccer and reads for leisure at home. what does he read? books on astrophysics? does he read fiction? does he have a favourite soccer team? does he still watch matches?

the more you imagine, the more you want to know.

who is jake sim outside of the brilliant astrophysicist you’re an assistant to?

but you don’t have to wonder too long. you’re already at the office doors and jake pushes them open first, holding them so you can step inside before him.

and that’s when jay sees you.

he’s standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, cup of coffee in hand, and the moment he spots the two of you stepping in together, his brows shoot up to his hairline. his eyes flicker between you and jake, and then – because he’s jay – his lips curl into a knowing smirk.

"well, well," he drawls, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "look who decided to have a little lunch date."

you freeze. "it wasn’t a—"

jake, to your surprise, doesn’t even flinch. he merely tugs off his coat, shrugging. "we were hungry."

jay’s smirk deepens. "uh-huh. sure."

you roll your eyes and push past him, but not before catching the way jay mouths "okay, i see y’all" at you behind jake’s back.

you ignore him.

you ignore the warmth in your chest too. however, if you know jay, you’d know that he’s anything but dismissive. that’s how you find yourself cornered in the printer room not even twenty minutes later.

jake had barely settled back into his office when you made your way to the printer room, hoping to grab some reports before his next meeting. it was supposed to be a quick trip – get in, get out, avoid any unnecessary interactions. but, of course, jay had other plans.

you didn’t even hear him coming.

“so.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin. “jesus—”

jay leaned against the printer, arms crossed, watching you with an all-too-knowing look.

you should’ve known. the moment you and jake had stepped into the office together, jay had been watching. his eyes had flickered between the two of you, brows raised ever so slightly, but he hadn’t said anything much at the time. which, in retrospect, had been a warning in itself.

and now, here he was, looking way too entertained for your liking.

“what do you want?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed the stack of papers.

jay grinned. “oh, i don’t know. just wondering how your little lunch date went.”

you almost dropped the reports. “it wasn’t a date.”

“sure,” he nodded sagely. “just two colleagues, having lunch together, alone, outside the office, for the first time ever.”

you exhaled sharply, fixing him with a look. “he asked. i said yes. that’s it.”

jay hummed, unconvinced. “and what did you two talk about?”

“nothing special.”

“uh-huh. so, just to be clear,” jay continued, tilting his head, “jake sim—our very own resident workaholic, who has never once asked you out to lunch—randomly decides to do so today, and you think that means nothing?”

you shifted, feeling cornered. “jay—”

“because, and hear me out,” he interrupted, grinning wider, “it kinda seems like he’s making an effort.”

you blinked, lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

jay watched as realization flickered across your face, the way your fingers tightened around the papers in your grasp. and then he smirked, patting your shoulder before sauntering off, leaving you standing there, replaying the conversation in your head.

making an effort.

no. no way.

…right?

fourteen.

it started, as most things did between you and jake, with work.

you had long since grown used to your role as his assistant, leaving meticulous reminders on his desk so that he wouldn’t conveniently forget to review reports or attend meetings. it was a well-oiled system by now. you left him a note, he (sometimes) actually followed through, and the world kept spinning.

but now there was a comfortable dynamic starting to form between you two.

now jake would stop by your desk for a whole minute, greeting you warmly and in fact, he had started receiving his coffee from you at your desk itself.

there was always a polite but warm ‘good morning’ and ‘thanks for the coffee’ greeting you. and you liked it. you liked that jake would mirror your smile. the first time he had smiled at you – like, openly grinned, with his eyes crinkling – you had been blindsighted. you were probably too shocked to even return the gesture, sitting still for a whole minute, imprinting and memorizing the sight you had just been graced with in your memory.

turns out, you didn’t have to memorise it, because you were suddenly a regular recipient of it. every damn morning. well, it certainly was one reason to start looking forward to your mondays.

this was still jake, he was still the same old sleeves rolled up deep in calculations person inside his office. but when he passed by you? or when you entered his office? a permanent grin etched on his face. those eyes that had been focused on some report? positively sparkling behind his thick rimmed glasses.

he was suddenly starting to resemble a puppy in you reyes and the more you sneaked glances at him, the more you were concerned of this comparison.

so when you left a neatly written sticky note on his desk one evening—"reminder: review kang’s quarterly report before 10 am meeting tomorrow."— you thought nothing of it.

the next morning, you arrived to find the note on your desk. only, something had been added beneath your writing, in jake’s neat, slanted script:

"did you know that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate? just like kang’s expectations."

you blinked. then blinked again. what the hell?

you turned your head toward his office, where the glass door remained shut, jake nowhere in sight. he had to have done this late last night. and he hadn’t even addressed your reminder – just hit you with a completely random space fact.

you thought it was a one time thing. maybe he saw the post notes on your desk and decided to leave one for the fun of it?

the next evening, after finishing up your reports, you left another note on his desk: "don’t forget to go through the intern evaluations before friday."

when you returned the next morning, there was another addition:

"forwarded you the evals.” below it, in his slightly scratchy handwriting was an addition: “incidentally, did you know that time moves slower in stronger gravitational fields? maybe that’s why this week feels endless."

you covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. this man.

and just like that, it became a thing.

it started slow, with simple reminders laced with cosmic facts, but then it evolved. jake’s responses became more elaborate, slipping in more than just dry science.

one day, you left: "you need to approve the lab’s funding proposal by end of day. no exceptions!"

by the next morning, jake’s response was waiting for you: "did you know that some stars shine brighter when they have a companion? also, the proposal is on your desk, don’t nag."

your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason that day.

but jake never acknowledged it out loud. when you interacted in person, he was the same – calm, composed, occasionally brooding but never ignoring your reminders anymore. yet, on paper, in these little sticky notes, something else simmered beneath his usual cool demeanor.

it was a language only the two of you seemed to understand.

the next time you found a note, you stared at it a little longer than usual before pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

"scientists believe there’s a ninth planet in our solar system, but we haven’t been able to find it yet. kind of like how i never see you taking breaks. go home on time for once."

like he’s one to speak, pulling long hours on days you leave on time anyway. regardless, you read it three times, warmth unfurling in your chest before tucking the note away in your drawer – right next to all the others you had kept. because you were keeping them now.

even if he didn’t catch you in the act of placing them carefully in one of your drawers, you had a feeling jake knew.

sometimes he was straight up funny, or so you thought. it was a side that you could usually only see through these notes because jake sim in person? he never said stuff like this.

once you reminded him of  a deadline: “the research proposal deadline is on friday. let me know if you need anything."

he replied: "there’s a giant storm on jupiter that has been raging for over 300 years. that’s still shorter than some of the meetings we sit through."

you had laughed. you had tried to be discreet about it but you couldn’t help the chuckle that had tumbled out and jake had caught you in that moment.

it was unfair, really. how easily he managed to make you smile. how effortlessly he turned something as mundane as sticky notes into something… else.

your cheeks had warmed up and very sheepishly, you looked away. but you missed the way jake had smiled to himself, pushing his glasses up and scratching his ears. cute, he had thought.

and proceeded to malfunction the rest of the day.

and of course jay noticed. of course he had something to say.

he started with jake first, because believe it or not, his friend was an absolute loser.

jay had been watching jake all morning. well, technically, he’d been watching jake for weeks now, but today was different.

jake was fidgeting.

now, jake sim did not fidget. he was the type of guy who could stare at a complex data set for hours without breaking concentration, but today? today, his pen was twirling between his fingers with a sort of nervous energy, his glasses had been pushed up his nose at least five times in the last two minutes, and most damning of all, he kept sneaking glances at your desk.

jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the way jake’s ears tinged pink every time you so much as moved.

“oh, this is so good,” he muttered to himself.

jake ignored him, as he usually did. but jay knew the truth.

he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the sticky note exchanges. it had started small, easy to brush off as just another one of jake’s quirks, but then jay had seen you laughing at a note one morning, your eyes lingering a little too long on the writing before tucking it away. tucking it away. as in, keeping it.

jay, of course, had confronted jake immediately.

“you like her,” he’d accused one evening as they left the office.

jake had barely given him a glance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, dude. you’re writing her space facts like it’s some secret code for flirting.”

jake had hesitated then, the barest of pauses in his step before he scoffed. “it’s not flirting. it’s just… facts.”

jay had groaned. “you absolute loser.”

the worst part is, jay actually reads one of those notes. 

you don’t even notice. he was leaning against your desk, waiting for you to find him one of those empty files you usually kept handy when he saw it. the yellow paper peeking out from under your keyboard.

you hear him scoff.

you turn just in time to see him pluck the sticky note off your desk, holding it between two fingers like it’s the most scandalous piece of evidence he’s ever seen.

“really?” he deadpans, reading the words aloud. “fact: the andromeda galaxy is on a collision course with the milky way. kind of like how you’re on a collision course with burnout if you keep staying past office hours. go home, y/n. – jake’”

he blinks. then looks at you. long. hard. smug.

you snatch the note back. “mind your business.”

“oh, no, no,” jay grins, crossing his arms. “this is my business. because you–” he points at you, then at your drawer, which probably has a whole stash of jake’s little science notes, “are clearly stockpiling these. and he” —cue the dramatic hand gesture in the direction of jake’s office— “is clearly trying to rizz you up with astrophysics.”

your soul leaves your body. “he is not!”

jay just laughs. “oh, honey. he is. and the fact that you’re keeping them? you’re down bad.”

you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “please shut up.”

“but like—are you guys flirting through the cosmos?” he’s grinning so hard, it’s physically painful to witness. “is this—interstellar rizz?”

“jay…”

“a universal love story?”

“jay.”

“gravitational attraction?”

“oh my god!”

fifteen.

it's been a whole entire month now. an entire month from the day you had been venting to jay about how you were just a paperclip to jake. a whole month since you quietly but seamlessly made your presence known in jake’s daily routine.

funny, how things change.

jake’s never been good with change though. 

it unsettles him – the way you’ve become this constant, the way he’s started to notice you in ways he never used to. at first, it was just small things. the way you always showed up in the lab before him, already setting up for the day. how you somehow remembered his preferred coffee order better than he did. the way your presence always lingered in the room, even when you weren’t speaking.

but then, those small things started becoming something more.

like how he started looking for you before even realizing he was doing it. how your voice, your laughter – hell, even the way you sighed when you were frustrated – started threading itself into the fabric of his days.

and the worst part? he let it happen.

jake liked routines, formulas, things that followed a set pattern. he liked knowing what to expect. but you? you were anything but predictable. and yet, somehow, you were still there, right in the middle of everything, shifting the entire equation of his life without permission.

how your presence had become something…expected.

jake didn’t like expecting things. expectations led to disappointments. people left, and routines shattered. he had learned that early on, and he had learned it well.

jake hadn’t meant to think of you. really.

he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the notes sprawled out before him, running calculations and double-checking measurements for the upcoming visit to the observatory. it was standard procedure – his advisor had asked him to review the telescope’s latest readings, compare them with the simulations, and ensure everything was in order before they proceeded with the next phase of their research. it was work he could do on autopilot, something he’d done dozens of times before.

and yet, he found himself pausing.

because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go alone.

it wasn’t unusual for jake to make solo visits to the observatory – he actually preferred it that way. it was quiet, isolated, just him and the endless expanse of the universe stretched out before him. no distractions, no expectations. just the comfort of knowing that the stars above would always remain as they were – constant, unmoving, predictable.

but ever since you had slipped into his life, disrupting the structure he had so carefully built, everything felt different.

the observatory had always been his space. a place where he could think, where the world made sense. it was the last place he should be considering bringing someone else. and yet, the idea had wormed its way into his head and refused to leave.

he frowned, tapping his pen against the desk.

why did he want you there?

it wasn’t logical. you weren’t a physicist. you had nothing to gain from being in the observatory, nothing to contribute to the calculations or the data collection. the rational part of his mind told him there was no reason to invite you.

still, he found himself gripping his pen a little tighter, watching you from the corner of his eye as he wondered what you would say if he asked. but technically, he could use an extra pair of hands. he needed to cross check some numbers anyway, maybe you would be willing to help?

or is he rationalises his thoughts and actions as he finally makes his way over to you. it seemed, lately he had been doing a lot of that – seeking you out at your desk. 

“are you busy this evening?”

you looked up from your notes, brow arching slightly. “depends. are you about to ask me to do something tedious?”

jake scoffed lightly. “define tedious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “dr.  sim, you’re asking me to stay back after work. that email disaster was a one-time thing, but if you’re going to make me stay late to organize more files or proofread another hundred pages of data sheets, i will be charging overtime.”

jake huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “it’s not that.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

he shifted his weight slightly, gripping the edge of your desk like he needed something solid to keep himself grounded. “i need to check something at the observatory tonight. cross-check some numbers, recalibrate a few things.” a pause. “figured an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

you blinked. “and i’m the extra pair of hands?”

jake nodded. “yeah.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher his expression. you weren’t exactly well-versed in astrophysics, and you were pretty sure there wasn’t much you could actually do to help. but jake wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you were at least somewhat useful, he wasn’t the type to waste time.

still, something about this felt… off. not in a bad way, just unusual. jake rarely asked for company, let alone your company outside of work hours.

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “i’m not sure how an assistant is supposed to be helpful at an observatory.”

jake shrugged, nonchalant. “moral support.”

you gave him a flat look. “moral support?”

“yeah. you know. in case i get emotionally overwhelmed by all the equations.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “right. that definitely sounds like something you’d struggle with.”

there was a glint in his eyes, like he was amused by your skepticism, but he didn’t argue. just watched you, waiting for your answer.

you exhaled through your nose, considering. the observatory wasn’t exactly your idea of an exciting evening, but… you couldn’t deny you were curious.

and maybe – just maybe – a small part of you liked the fact that he had asked.

“…fine,” you relented. “but if i get bored, i’m leaving.”

jake smirked. “noted.”

which brings you to now.

the observatory was quieter than you expected. it stood at the edge of campus, slightly isolated, its large dome stretching into the night sky, a dark canvas dotted with stars, and though you've never really considered yourself someone particularly enthralled by space, you can't deny the way the sight steals your breath.

in the center of the room, a massive telescope stands like something out of a sci-fi movie, its lenses gleaming under the soft glow of the control panel. but what steals your breath is the view beyond the glass ceiling – an entire universe stretched out above you, vast and infinite.

you exhale, stunned. “wow.”

jake watches you, something unreadable in his expression. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought you’d like it.”

there’s something about the way he says it – soft, almost hesitant – that makes your pulse skip.

jake was already setting up, his movements methodical. you hovered near the entrance, taking in the scene before finally making your way to him.

“so, what now?” you asked, clearing your throat.

he glanced at you, then gestured to a set of notes on the table. “just cross-check these while i calibrate the telescope.”

you nodded, flipping through the pages. silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. just the soft rustling of paper, the occasional click of buttons, and the steady sound of jake adjusting the equipment.

after a while, you looked up, watching him in his element. his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, completely immersed in his work.

“so.” you clear your throat, still taking in the sky. “this is where you go when you disappear for hours?”

“sometimes,” he admits. “it’s quiet here. no emails. no meetings. just… this.”

he moves to the telescope, adjusting the dials with practiced ease before glancing at you. “want to see?”

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer.

jake’s hands brush against yours as he guides you to the eyepiece, and you pretend not to notice the way your skin hums from the contact.

you peer in, and suddenly, it’s just you and the stars.

it’s breathtaking. planets and constellations in sharp clarity, galaxies swirling in a cosmic dance.

“this is insane,” you whisper.

jake chuckles. “insane in a good way?”

“in the best way.” your voice reduces to a whisper on its own accord. through the eyepiece, you feel like you’re experiencing something intimate, only for your eyes. “i think i’m starting to understand why you like doing this work.”

you don’t know what motivates you to actually say it out aloud, but the comfortable silence that had settled between you may have been a catalyst.

jake laughs a tiny little laugh, almost quietly as if he wanted to preserve the sanctity of this moment. nothing but the hum of the machines surround you now and he can hear the way your clothes rustle when you adjust yourself to the telescope.

“it makes sense,” he said simply.

you tilted your head. “more than people do?”

his hands stilled.

for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then, he let out a quiet breath, gaze still fixed on the telescope.

“people aren’t predictable,” he said finally. “science is.”

you set the notes down, stepping closer. “predictability isn’t everything sometimes.”

he turned to look at you then, something unreadable in his expression. the air between you felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could name. the way his gaze lingered made your stomach twist, and for a second, you thought he might say something – something important.

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice quieter. “you ever think about it?”

“think about what?”

“how small we are,” he muses. “how, in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re just specks of dust on a floating rock.”

you pull away from the telescope to look at him, but his gaze is fixed upward.

“you’re telling me,” you start, amused, “that we came all the way here so you could have an existential crisis?”

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “no. i just—” he hesitates, choosing his words. “i guess i wanted to show you why i love this.”

you don’t know why, but that confession makes something tighten in your chest.

you watch him for a moment – how the glow of the dim lights casts a soft halo around his face, how his brows furrow ever so slightly in thought. the glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the stars above you. how his eyes shine behind those glasses, holding things you didn’t dare to ask him about. the soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his neck craned up in familiar appreciation.

for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in his world.

“this is where it started for me,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

you turned to him, curious. “what did?”

his lips curved, not quite a smile, but something softer. “my obsession with space. the stars. everything.”

you waited, sensing that he wasn’t finished. and after a beat, he exhaled, tilting his head back as if he could reach into the past and pluck the memory right from the sky.

“i was ten the first time i saw saturn through a telescope,” he murmured. “my mom took me to an observatory for my birthday. she—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “she wasn’t exactly the type to understand science, but she knew i loved it. so she made the trip just for me.”

you watched him, noting the way his fingers twitched slightly before curling into his palm.

“she let me stay up late,” he went on, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “and i remember looking through that telescope and seeing saturn’s rings for the first time. it didn’t feel real. it was just this perfect thing, floating out there in the dark. and i thought, ‘if something this beautiful exists so far away, what else is out there?’”

you felt your heart twist at the wonder in his tone, the lingering traces of a child who had once stared at the universe with wide-eyed fascination.

“she sounds like she really cared,” you said gently.

jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “yeah,” he admitted. “she did.”

a comfortable silence stretched between you, the weight of nostalgia settling in. when he spoke again, his voice was a touch lighter. “anyway, that’s how it all started. one night, one telescope, and a planet millions of miles away.”

you smiled. “and now you’re here. making it your whole life.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah, guess so.”

the two of you stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between you – not awkward, not uncertain, just there. comfortable. quiet. something unspoken settling in the air between you like stardust.

and when jake finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with another question. it was with a quiet, thoughtful, almost teasing murmur—

“you know, saturn’s rings are actually disappearing.”

you turned to him, eyebrows raised, almost alarmed. “what?”

he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “slowly, of course. give it a hundred million years.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile that pulled at your lips. typical.

jake had been careful in his explanations at first, as if gauging whether you were truly interested or simply indulging him. but the moment he realized you actually wanted to listen, something in him loosened. the words started flowing, effortless, unfiltered. he spoke of nebulae and galaxies colliding, of stars that lived and died before the earth had even existed. he pointed out constellations, filling the silence with a quiet reverence that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something infinite.

you wonder if anyone else has ever seen this side of him.

not the researcher, not the reserved and often too-intense scholar, but the man who could speak about the cosmos with a fascination so deep it bled into his voice. the man who, for all his cool detachment, still carried the kind of awe that made you believe in something bigger than yourself.

and that’s when it happens. that’s when you feel it.

that slow, creeping realization that something has shifted. that this isn’t just about your inherent respect for this man. no, it was more than that. sure, you had started this month with a reluctant motivation to make this person acknowledge your existence.

but now that he is? it does something to you.

a quiet, unsettling shift that settles deep in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs where your heart beats just a little too fast. the realization slinks in slow, insidious – like the tide rolling in, creeping past where you thought the shore ended, until suddenly, you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

jake is still speaking, voice steady and sure, filling the silence with his quiet reverence. you barely hear the words anymore. something about the life cycle of stars, about the sheer immensity of time itself – how the light from some of these constellations has taken millions of years to reach earth, how when you look up, you are peering into the past.

it should be overwhelming. it should make you feel small.

but instead, all you can think about is the man beside you. talking so animatedly, his lips splitting into a grin, his teeth biting into the flesh every once in a while when he pointed out another constellation to you.

the paperwork you were here for in the first place remained forgotten. insignificant, almost as if you hadn’t really been required for it in the first place.

because you realize, then, that this isn’t just admiration anymore. this isn’t just you being awed by his mind, by the way he sees the universe with such unguarded wonder. it’s not just about the way he listens when you speak, or how he’s begun to answer your notes with scribbled facts, or how he’s been looking at you lately, with something unreadable in his gaze.

it’s him.

jake, with his impossible knowledge and even more impossible depth, the way his fascination bleeds into his voice when he speaks of things so much bigger than himself. the way his eyes are fixed on the sky, dark and gleaming, reflecting galaxies you’ll never touch but somehow feel closer to just by standing here next to him.

and it terrifies you.

because this isn’t what you planned. you were supposed to break down the walls between you, supposed to demand acknowledgment, supposed to pull him out of that self-imposed solitude and make him see you.

but now that he does?

now that he’s speaking to you like this, sharing this piece of himself so freely, without reservation?

now that you’re standing here, heart stuttering in your chest, wondering if maybe – just maybe – you don’t want him to see you just as his assistant anymore?

the thought makes your breath hitch.

“—are you listening?”

jake’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and you blink, snapping back to the present. he’s turned toward you now, brows raised in mild amusement, but there’s something else in his eyes, too – something patient, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to whatever just shifted between you.

you clear your throat hastily. “yeah. of course.”

his gaze lingers for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you. but then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks back toward the sky.

“good,” he murmurs. “i’d hate to bore you.”

as if he could.

you don’t say it out loud. instead, you let your gaze drift up to the stars, to the vastness of everything above you.

and you let the realization settle, no matter how terrifying it is. because something’s happening. something has happened in the span of a month already. you have an inkling as to what it is, but you’re not going to admit to it. not yet.

the tiny voice in the back of your mind is here to support you on that cause it seems, chanting in tiny font: just an assistant, just an assistant, just an assistant.

but when jake shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore

sixteen.

the office is eerily quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic scratch of a marker against the whiteboard. the usual hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations has long since died down, leaving behind an almost sacred kind of stillness.

you glance at the clock in jake’s office – 7:34 pm. way past your office hours, but jake’s still in his office.

jake should have gone home hours ago. so should you. and yet, here you are, perched on the edge of his desk, watching as he works through whatever calculations are currently consuming his mind.

you’ve seen this scene play out before, too many times now.

it used to be just an observation. a fleeting thought that it couldn’t be healthy to spend so many hours so completely submerged in work. but lately, that thought has settled into something heavier, something almost akin to concern.

he’s been stuck for the last twenty minutes. you can tell because he’s frowning at the whiteboard like it personally offended him, one hand on his hip, the other tapping the marker absently against his thigh. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, equations unraveling and reforming, one possibility after another spinning behind his sharp gaze.

you don’t know when you started caring like this. you really don’t.

but you do.

so, as you hover near his desk, watching him scribble something with an almost frantic energy, you decide – he needs a break. and you, apparently, have taken it upon yourself to make sure he gets one.

“dr. sim,” you say, but it barely registers. his pen doesn’t even pause. nothing.

with a sigh, you reach forward and pluck the pen right out of his hand.

that gets his attention.

he blinks, finally looking up at you, and you don’t miss the way his brows furrow, like he’s only just realizing you’ve been standing there this whole time. you would have laughed at the way he looks at you like a kicked puppy. like you just snatched his lollipop right from his hands. although, given the situation, that’s an accurate comparison.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice slightly rough from lack of use.

“saving you from yourself.” you twirl the pen between your fingers, giving him your best unimpressed look. “when’s the last time you took a break?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t have time for a break.”

you shake your head. “that’s not an answer.”

jake lets out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. “i just need to finish this.”

“that’s what you said two hours ago.” you glance at the clock pointedly.

his lips press together, but you see the way exhaustion flickers across his features. he’s wearing himself down, the way he always does, and for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with you anymore.

“you look like you’re about to fight that thing,” you tease, breaking the silence.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “might as well. it’s being stubborn.”

you tilt your head, pretending to examine the mess of symbols and numbers scrawled across the board. you don’t understand a fraction of it, but that’s never stopped you from trying. “have you tried… asking nicely?”

jake gives you a flat look, and you grin, making your way over to the whiteboard in question.

“or,” you continue, voice laced with mischief, “you could let me help. i’m very good at doodling. that squiggly line right there?” you gesture vaguely toward the board. “desperately needs a smiley face.”

for a second, he just stares at you, expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches. “that’s not a squiggly line. it’s a sigma notation.”

“yeah, well, i think it would be a lot friendlier if it had some personality.” before he can protest, you lean forward, swiping the marker from his hand. with a few quick strokes, you turn the apparently very serious mathematical symbol into a little doodle of a face, complete with tiny arms raised in triumph.

jake huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “that’s sacrilegious.”

“it’s art,” you correct, grinning as you cap the marker and toss it back to him. “you’re welcome.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a softness there, something warm and reluctant in the way he looks at you. like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his space, disrupting his routine with something as simple as a smiley face on a whiteboard.

like he hasn’t just surprised himself by not losing his mind over the fact that you just doodled on his very important notes. like he doesn’t even mind.

for a long moment, he just stands there, marker still loosely gripped in his fingers. then, with a quiet sigh, he lifts it and – to your utter delight – draws something beside your doodle.

he started with a small star in the corner – sharp, clean lines. then, next to it, he hesitated before adding another one. then another.

you tilted your head, watching him with something warm in your gaze. “what are you drawing?”

he glanced at you, then back at the board. “…orion’s belt.”

a slow smile stretched across your lips. “of course.”

jake didn’t know why the warmth in your voice made his pulse stutter, but it did. and when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly, he felt it even more acutely – the soft graze of fabric against fabric, the fleeting press of warmth before it vanished again

he doesn’t know when he started paying attention to things like this. the way your laughter fills up a room, how effortlessly it winds its way into the air, sinking into the corners of his office like it belongs there. the way you nudge him – not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in ways no one else ever has.

he doesn’t know when it started, but he knows now that he’s in too deep to ignore it.

because right now, he’s standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, with you beside him, doodling what can only be described as a catastrophically inaccurate solar system.

and somehow, impossibly, he’s smiling.

actually smiling.

he catches himself in the reflection of the glass across the room, and it startles him a little. he looks different. softer, somehow. the lines of his face, not weighed down by calculations or theories, but by something lighter. something he doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

jake doesn't know how long he stands there, marker in hand, staring at the mess of doodles you've scattered across his once-pristine whiteboard. he should be appalled, maybe even annoyed, but he's neither. if anything, he feels... lighter.

your laughter still lingers in the air, curling around the edges of the quiet like something tangible, something warm. and when you shift beside him, stretching lazily with a satisfied hum, he catches a faint trace of your perfume, something soft and familiar, something he has no right to associate with comfort but does anyway.

"i think we did some great work here," you say, stepping back to admire your collective masterpiece. "a true collaboration between genius and artist."

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "you mean vandalism."

"semantics," you counter easily, nudging his elbow playfully. your touch is fleeting, barely there, but jake still feels it long after you've moved away. he grips the marker tighter than necessary.

you glance at him then, a knowing glint in your eyes. "alright, dr. sim. time for your verdict. did my artistic intervention help at all?"

he exhales slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the board again. and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s you, but he realizes that, somehow, the problem no longer seems as daunting as it did twenty minutes ago. the frantic mess of calculations, the numbers that had refused to align, don’t feel as suffocating now.

it’s absurd. it’s ridiculous. but somehow, your ridiculous doodles make the whole thing feel less intimidating.

jake turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. you’re still looking at the board, a pleased little smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way his mind is currently betraying him.

when did this start? when did you start creeping into his thoughts, into his space, into his carefully structured life with your easy laughter and casual touches? when did your presence start feeling like a constant, like something that belonged?

the realization unsettles him.

he clears his throat, looking away. "it’s… better."

your smile widens, and for some reason, jake has to fight the urge to look away again. "see? i told you i’m helpful."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. if anything, it’s just an excuse to look at something other than your stupidly pleased expression, which, annoyingly enough, does things to him he’d rather not analyze right now.

"well," you say, clapping your hands together, "my work here is done. i’ve successfully distracted you from overworking yourself into an early grave. i should get a raise."

jake snorts, shaking his head. "you’re already overpaid."

"lies and slander," you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "i should report you to hr for emotional damage."

he’s about to retort when you suddenly step forward, reaching for the marker in his hand. jake’s breath hitches – completely involuntarily, because that’s the only explanation – as your fingers brush against his.

it’s brief. a fraction of a second, really. but it’s enough.

jake freezes.

the touch is light, barely there, but his mind registers it in excruciating detail – the faint press of your skin against his, the subtle warmth of your fingertips. it’s nothing. it’s everything. it’s enough to send his brain into a sudden, inexplicable shutdown.

you don’t seem to notice. or if you do, you pretend not to. you just pluck the marker from his hand and uncap it, adding one final detail to your masterpiece.

jake watches, still unnervingly aware of the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. his fingers curl slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that’s no longer there.

you step back with a satisfied nod, capping the marker with a flourish. "there. perfect."

he barely registers what you’ve added – a tiny shooting star trailing behind orion’s belt – because he’s too busy trying to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way his heart is currently behaving like it’s lost all sense of reason.

silence stretches between you for a beat too long. jake wonders if you can hear it – the way his pulse feels too loud, the way his carefully structured composure feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

then, mercifully, you step away, stretching again as you let out a small yawn. "alright, for real this time. i should go before i become permanently attached to this office."

jake nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

you glance at him one last time before heading for the door but for a moment, you just stand there, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. then you turn, looking at him with something softer in your gaze. something thoughtful.

"you should go home soon too, dr. sim."

it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that. no teasing, no playful lilt. just quiet. just sincere. jake’s heart clenches, aching to hear you call him but his first name. but he doesn’t say anything. not yet.

and for reasons he can’t quite explain, it sends something dangerously warm curling in his chest.

jake swallows. he nods.

you smile – soft, small, something just for him – and then you’re gone, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you somehow louder than it should be.

jake exhales slowly, staring at the empty space you left behind.

then, finally, he looks back at the whiteboard.

the equations are still there, unsolved. the numbers are still a mess, waiting for him to untangle them. but in the midst of all that, there’s something else now. doodles and stars and smiley faces. a small, stupidly drawn solar system that doesn’t belong in a room like this, in a world like his.

and yet.

jake lifts a hand, absentmindedly tracing a fingertip over the edge of one of your stars.

and yet, somehow, impossibly…it fits.

jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, not everything in his world has to be so rigid, so calculated. maybe some things – some people – aren’t meant to be neatly solved, but simply felt. and as his fingers linger over the soft curve of your drawn star, he realizes, with quiet certainty, that you’re the first anomaly he doesn’t want to solve.

[mariasont]

GOOD LUCK CHARM - A.H

a/n: this came to me yesterday and i sat my ass down and WROTE

that should be me fr

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

warnings: just my babies being so infatuated with each other it literally hurts, hotch is a pining fool, i love him, i need him, i want to kidnap him to my basement

wc: 0.8k

Hotch was having a rough day. He had never put much stock in the idea of luck, favoring the belief that a path was carved from the choices made. However, if he were to entertain the notion of luck, he would concede that today, he seemed to be rather out of it.

A lot had gone wrong. For starters, he had stained his favorite white dress shirt with coffee this morning. This undoubtedly set the precedent for the day, he was sure.

As soon as he arrived at his office, he was greeted not by the familiar click of the lock but by a stubborn door that refused to budge, his key sitting on the side table in his apartment. This then led to him reaching out to the custodian for a spare, only to be intercepted by Chief Strauss, who, in her usual fashion, had a litany of critiques ready for the BAU.

The day had been steadily unraveling, and the realization that you wouldn't be in until lunch because of a doctor's appointment was the tipping point. Normally, all these minor irritations could be overlooked, but in your absence, he could truly grasp just how much he relied on you.

You handled a lot on his plate, if not everything. You planned out his schedule, answered his phone calls, you double-checked his paperwork. You consistently shouldered more than he ever asked, despite his repeated warnings about overloading yourself--warnings that he, admittedly, never listened to.

Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He found himself unwittingly watching the door, anticipating the bright burst of pink and the shimmer that accompanied you, but unfortunately that did not happen. Lunch couldn't come quick enough.

His vision began to waver, the words on the page melting into an indecipherable stew as he pressed a long finger into his temples. The lamp at the edge of the desk flickered capriciously. A mental note to replace it was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing need for an aspirin, prompting him to reach for the left drawer.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, fingers reaching into the space as he pulled the flimsy object from the drawer. It was a hot pink sticky note, its surface alive with glittery ink, smiley faces, and hearts. The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his back easing just a hair.

Aspirin isn't in this drawer silly! First one to your right! And don't take more than 2, okay? Between that and your scotch drinking habits your liver is screaming!!!!

He couldn't suppress the laughter that rumbled through him as he pressed the note to his desk. He turned to the drawer on his right, pulling it open to find, much to his satisfaction, the aspirin. Attached to it was yet another sticky note.

You found it!! So proud!! Hope your day is going amazingly! Don't miss me too much! :)

His heart thumped louder in his chest, a wave of heat blossoming across his neck as he carefully folded the sticky notes, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

When you finally came ambling into the office--your ponytail swaying, a pink ribbon securing it in place--he felt an instant lift in his mood. His jaw relaxed, fingers instinctively straightening his tie--a needless act but one that gave him a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful. You always did, but as he fingered the note in his pocket, he could feel his chest constrict just looking at you.

"Hi there, Mr. Boss Man," you sang out, voice as sweet as syrup as you glided towards him with an ease that defied that height of your heels. "The office didn't burn down without me, did it?"

"It came close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," you giggled, the bracelets on your arms tinkling like wind chimes as you wrapped them around your notebook. "You look stressed. Are you stressed?"

"I'm fine, just a headache." He paused, his hand absentmindedly reaching again for the sticky note. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Squeaky clean bill of health." You beamed at him, shifting your weight to your toes. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. Thank you." A grin was vying for control of his features while his hand found its way to his neck, pressing lightly in a vain effort to steady his racing pulse.

"You're so very welcome," you chimed, sending him a smile that nearly made the air evaporate from his lungs. "Also, I fixed a couple issues in your calendar, and I ordered you a new lamp, I noticed yours was broken. I hope that's okay."

More than okay. You were perfect. If he were a man who believed in luck, he would be inclined to think you might be his good luck charm.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[dixons-sunshine]

Needs To Be Perfect | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Thank you @lazyneonrabbitt for the idea!

“M’tellin’ ya, Dog, it has to be perfect. I can’t screw it up. She ain’t gon’say yes if it ain’t a hundred percent perfect.”

You stopped your descend down the stairs, hiding your body behind the wall as you heard your partner’s voice fill the air. You had temporarily left just to go grab something from your room, and it appeared to you that Daryl had decided to have a heart-to-heart with his furry companion in your absence. And apparently, the aforementioned heart-to-heart included something he was planning for you. Saying that your interest was peaked would be an understatement.

You could hear Dog let out a small bark, as if trying to communicate with his owner. “Yeah, s’what m’thinkin’. She’s perfect, so she deserves the damn best proposal ever. Ain’t gon’ give her no damn sloppy one.”

You could feel your heart stop, yet speed up at the same time. Proposal? Daryl was planning on proposing? How long had he been wanting to do that? And why did he ever believe you’d say no? He could propose to you with one of his bike’s wheel nuts in a sewer and you’d say yes with zero hesitation. That’s how much you loved your partner.

“M’thinkin’a takin’ her out on my bike to that lake we found way back when. S’one’a her favourite spots. Maybe I can set up a picnic or somethin’.” Daryl stopped and let out a deep sigh. “Nah, that’s too cliche. She ain't any ordinary person. She deserves better than that. Bein’ proposed to while on a picnic... S’been done way too many times already.”

You smiled to yourself as your grip on the book—the thing you had left to go grab from your room—tightened. Your heart was attempting to pound out of your ribcage. So you hadn’t misheard him. Your partner and love of your whole life was planning on making it official. He was planning on putting a ring on your finger. He wanted you to be his wife. You felt like crying from happiness, but you knew that if you did, Daryl would be alerted to your knowledge of his plans. No, you wouldn’t spoil this for him by letting him know that you knew.

“What ‘bout takin’ her huntin’ and proposin’ to her like that?” As if disliking the idea, Dog let out a growl. “Well, what do ya suggest I do, then?!” Daryl exclaimed in frustration, before stopping and letting out another sigh. “What have I come to? Talkin’ to a dog ‘bout things it ain’t never gon’ be able to help me with. M’slippin’ badly,” Daryl mumbled to himself. “I jus’... M’terrified, Dog. I dun’ wanna screw it up. I dun’ know what I’ll do if she says no.”

Your heart broke at the sound of the evident fear in the archer’s voice. You knew that this fear stemmed from years of mistreatment. Daryl didn’t believe that he deserved you, and he was scared of the day you’d walk out on him—a day that would never come. So, you vowed to yourself you’d ensure that he wouldn’t doubt himself. You’d subtly ensure him that whatever he decided to do as his proposal, you’d say yes regardless. He deserved to have that clarity.

You stomped your foot on the stair once, loud enough so that Daryl could hear and think that you were just bounding down the stairs. You walked down the remaining few steps and walked into the living room, book in hand. Daryl looked up at you with raised eyebrows and widened eyes, clearly being afraid of being caught planning something big. You knew, of course, but you wouldn’t tell him about your knowledge of his plans.

“Sorry it took forever to come back,” you apologized, raising the book for him to see. “This took me a while to find. Did I miss anything?”

Daryl let out a small sigh of relief, and you had to refrain from chuckling. “Nah, nothin’ important. Jus’ havin’ a lil’ chat with Dog,” he told you, falling back on the couch and patting his bare chest as a way to tell you he expected more cuddles—cuddles that had been interrupted earlier due to your need to find the book.

You smiled and climbed onto the couch, settling snuggly against him and opening the book. “He say anything interesting?”

Daryl snorted as his eyes drifted to the animal that rested on the floor near the couch. “Nah.” He wrapped his arms around you and placed a tender kiss to the top of your head. “Ya gon’ read to me now or not?”

“In a minute.” You looked at Daryl and gave him a small smile. You admired his features, from the dip of his nose to the curve of his lips, his beautiful ocean coloured eyes, everything. Everything about this man was beautiful to you. “You’re stunning, Daryl.” Daryl scoffed and shook his head, but you cut him off before he could say anything. “It’s true. Don’t even try to fight me on this. You’re stunning. You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re brave, and you’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. I’m so lucky I get to tell everyone that you’re the love of my life. I’m so lucky that I get to spend my life with you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Daryl hesitated for a moment, before sending you a small smile. “Yeah? Ya dun’ mind spendin’ yer life with me?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.” You leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to his lips before pulling back. “I love you, Daryl Dixon.”

“And I love ya. So fuckin’ much.”

And with that, some of Daryl’s worries got soothed. He was still freaking out over what he would do for a proposal, but he felt a little better knowing that you didn’t intend on leaving him anytime soon. You were the light of Daryl's existence.

And he planned on keeping you in his life for the rest of his days.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[66stitches]

abby anderson request !! :)

i wanted something where abby is starting to doubt her sexuality and trusts reader to ask questions and just talk about it (reader is a lesbian and they're close friends, it can end up with them kissing — or more, if you're comfortable)

cw: sfw, kissing (a lot of it), descriptions of masturbation (abby), talk of sexuality and questioning sexuality, no physical description of reader

Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

a/n: thank you for the req !! I don’t write full on smut unfortunately (though I might write some short stuff in the future), but I tried to write a few kinda sexual scenes here and there

wc: idk prob like 1k

divider creds

Abby loved Owen, truly. She was attracted to him: that is what she kept convincing herself of everyday.

Every moment with Owen was a new lie she fed herself.

He was the man she loved. There was nothing she doubted in her relationship with him. The absence of love’s warmth meant to fill her body was her own fault; her inability to reach climax when they had sex was a problem for which only she was to blame.

It doesn’t mean she never tried, though. Abby had spent nights attempting to pleasure herself to the thought of Owen: the only person she should be thinking of; the only person supposed to be capable of reaching her to her climax.

And yet, all she felt was nothing. She laid in her bed, carnal and romantical dissatisfaction utterly consuming her. She was convinced that she was simply incapable of experiencing any sort of attraction exceeding platonicity.

But it only grew more confusing from there.

In another one of her inevitably futile attempts of bringing herself to climax to the thought of Owen, she felt her mind begin to drift to another thought that would hopefully bring her to that much desired release.

She didn’t intend for it to, but the man was just not doing it for her.

That night, she thought of a woman.

That night, she came so hard she swore she could see stars.

A specific woman she thought of in particular, but she would never admit who it was that finally relieved that ache. Not even in the confines of her own thoughts.

And so here she found herself, seated on the soft cushion of your worn-out couch.

You were Abby’s sole friend who was openly lesbian. Abby had seen you bring women over numerous times before. She had listened to your rants about your sexual and romantic encounters with women.

She even helped set you up with one, which harbored a slight odd feeling in the pit of her stomach for a reason she couldn’t quite decipher.

She had thought of it many times: what it was like being with a woman. She didn’t really know what to make of those thoughts. Whether it was mere curiosity, or perhaps something more.

And now here she sat next to you, trying to find the confidence to speak.

She never found it hard to confide in you. Of course not, you were her dearest friend. But this dilemma of hers was difficult to merely utter aloud, even if it is only to herself.

You were on your phone when Abby spoke.

“So… you’re gay,” she started, and she wanted to strike herself as soon as the words left her mouth, because of course you were gay. What kind of opening is that?

“Good observation?” You chuckled, bemused. You placed your phone down, curious as to where she was going with this.

“What’s it like? You know, being with a woman,” she asked, already regretting bringing it up, but she just needed some certainty.

Your eyebrows twisted in confusion at the inquiry. You and Abby were comfortable enough to share anything with each other. Nothing was considered too much information or too uncomfortable to talk about.

It was just an odd question coming from Abby, who you thought was so sure of her sexuality.

“I guess it’s like how it feels for you being with a man.”

God, she hoped not.

“Why?” You asked.

“Just curious, that’s all. Wanna understand your sexuality more, educate myself,” she spoke rather timidly.

You laughed softly. “Oh, because you’re so woke, right?”

Abby could tell you didn’t believe her. In all fairness, she didn’t really put much effort into trying to sound the least bit credible.

She didn’t even know why she was lying to you right now. She trusted you, she always has. This was just a difficult truth to face.

“I don’t know. I’m just feeling a little confused, I guess,” she confessed, shrugging.

“About your sexuality?” Your voice was slow, but your heart beat quicker than ever before.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Abby attractive. You’ve always had a little childish crush on the blonde, but you constantly found yourself trying to shove your feelings aside, somewhere far away so it could no longer reach to gnaw at your heart.

But now this — this made it all different. You might be getting slightly ahead of yourself, but you can’t help but think that now you might have the smallest chance with her.

“I don’t know— I mean, yeah, I guess,” she said as she fiddled with the seams of her shirt. “Owen’s just never really made me feel… well, anything. Anything you’re supposed to feel with a partner, I don’t feel it. I thought maybe the problem was Owen specifically, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not.”

“But women get you going?”

“I think so,” she admitted, finally. “I tried to think about a woman last night, while, you know…” she trailed off, her skin suddenly feeling very hot at the confession.

“And?” You whispered, feeling just as hot at her confession. “Was it just what you were missing?”

Abby went quiet for a moment, then she answered. “Yeah, it was.”

It was silent. Abby still looked like she had something to say, so you offered no response for a moment.

“But how could I know? I’ve never tried anything romantic or sexual with another woman, so how would I be able to tell? I could just be confused,” she said.

You were quiet, contemplating your next words. What you were about to do could either ruin your friendship, or elevate it to something more. You were relying on the latter.

“You wanna try?” You asked. Your voice sounded bold, but everything within you was shaking with apprehension.

She offered naught but an incredulous look. Her eyes were blown wide, disbelieving.

“What?”

Well, shit.

“I mean, solely for experimental purposes, of course. A kiss shared with another woman, just to be certain,” you explained.

The tension was thick, almost palpable. You were nervous at Abby’s silence and you realized that this is where your boldness gets you.

You were ready for her harsh rejection and the revulsion that would surely be evident in her voice, but then she spoke.

“Okay,” she said. Not a hint of revulsion in her tone. You didn’t know it, but her heart beat just as quick as yours.

“Really?” You asked, surprised as if you hadn’t been the one to offer.

“Well, yeah,” she leaned in slightly, bringing her face closer to yours. “Just for experimental purposes, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you breathed. You brought your face to hers, and in a split second you closed the gap between you, meeting each other in a slow kiss, your eyes fluttering shut.

Her lips were soft. Her kiss felt nervous, lacking confidence, yet it still exceeded every expectation.

You pulled away once you felt it was enough. You looked at her and waited for what she had to say.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely gay,” she said and pushed your face right back into hers, meeting your lips in a much more heated kiss.

This kiss, however, held the confidence the previous one lacked, her lips moving skillfully against yours. You waited for the shock to wear off before kissing her back, clearly not expecting her to want more.

You disconnected your lips once again, pulling her face away from yours. “Abby—”

“Just need-” she interrupted her own words to press another swift peck to your lips. “A little more-” another kiss. “Just to make sure,” she said, finally and pulled you in for another kiss. She cupped your burning cheeks with her palms and slipped her tongue into your mouth.

What was supposed to be an innocent kiss, solely for the sake of experiment (how the thought made you laugh now), turned into her exploring your mouth with her tongue and pushing her body against yours. This kiss held no place for innocence now.

She softly moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating throughout your body.

She used her thumb to lightly caress your cheek as she kissed you like her life depended on it. She slightly pulled apart then, nibbling on your bottom lip with her teeth.

As the kiss came to an end, you sat staring at each other, breathless, and oh so blissful.

“You wanna know something?” Abby asked with a dumb smile on her face which brought another smile upon your own. You hummed.

“It was you,” she started, still faintly breathless. “You were who I thought of.”

Your eyebrows rose at the confession. It was unexpected, but certainly not disliked.

What you were more surprised at, though, was how casually she said it, seemingly too blissed out at the moment for any feeling of embarrassment.

“You telling me I was your gay awakening?” You asked, grinning.

“You could say that.” She shrugged and scratched at the back of her neck.

You laughed and scooted closer to her. “Well, I guess I’m honored then,” you said.

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes and laughed. She leaned in then, craving more of your taste.

You giggled into the kiss and pulled away, licking your lips to savor her intoxicating taste.

“I think we’ve already come to the conclusion that you’re gay. You still want more?”

She brought her face closer again and caressed your cheeks. She was close enough that you could feel her breath against your lips.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

[rafesangelita]

🍪; lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley

♡ “sometimes a man must awake to find that really he has no one. so i’ll wait for you, love.”— in which rafe never took your relationship seriously when he had you, so you left the island in hopes of starting new. however, you’re back one year later, and this time you’re both on the same page.

warnings: second chance au, implied age gap, lots of talk about marriage and having kids, angst, time skip, rafe is pretty regretful in this one

a/n: this couldn’t have been a more perfect request! i’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while now. left this one on a little cliffhanger, pls don’t hate me </3 buttttt if requested enough, i’m completely open to making a part two!

rafe knew the night you left him without a word, he was the one entirely at fault. he knew deep down there was only so much you could take before you’d have to realize he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted more than anything else, and that was serious commitment. despite you being slightly younger than him, you valued the more serious, traditional side of things. while rafe was thinking about where he would take you to dinner next, you were wondering if your babies would have his blue eyes.

refusing to be the one to initiate that kind of conversation with him, you held your tongue and enjoyed the time you had with him until your heart couldn’t take it anymore. the final straw for you was when you two were laying together the way you always did post-sex, and rafe revealed to you that marriage would never be in the cards for him. he claimed that he was too much of a possessive person to share you with anyone else, let alone children, and you swore your heart broke in two.

“you don’t want to get married.. like ever?” you gazed up at him with those fucked out eyes of yours, just hoping he wouldn’t say the words that would give you confirmation to let him go. “no. i know a lot of people say this, but it’s true; marriage is just a piece of paper.” that night, you remembered every curve and detail of his face, forever engraving his image in your head as you silently slipped out of tanneyhill and didn’t look back. you cried. oh, god, you cried so much. apart of you felt like going back and erasing all desire of marriage and family and just indulge in what you and rafe had, but in no world would that work.

rafe woke up that morning, feeling a profound sense of emptiness he didn’t expect to feel without you near. he recalled the way you looked at him before he fell asleep, like you were never going to see him again. panic set in, his feet moving before he could think. he called your name out, checking every room and bathroom before the harsh reality hit him like a ton of bricks. he called your phone, throwing his own when an automated message said the line had been deactivated.

rafe was in denial the first week. he was sure you’d turn up somehow, somewhere, and wrap your arms around his shoulders while planting kisses on his neck, but you never came. that didn’t stop him from looking for you any chance he got, hoping, pleading that he’d bump into you somewhere and you’d go home with him. when he caught word that you had left the island altogether, he felt hurt, betrayed. how could someone as sweet and soft, and so precious as yourself just vanish without warning?

he didn’t understand, not being able to wrap his head around the fact that you felt like you had to run from him. you were the only thing he had on this god forsaken island. his family, his friends, no one truly knew him like you did. no one recognized his efforts to be a better man, no one comforted him, loved him. he spent his days focused on work, completely shutting everyone out. he was filled with regret, and it was your absence that made him realize marriage was so much more than a legal document.

it was vowing to never take that person for granted, it was carving your love in a stone of history, it was a sacred promise to never leave one another, a sacred promise that he so badly wished to have another chance at. before he knew it, an entire year had passed and just like you, there was nothing he wanted more than a family of his own. scratch that, he didn’t just want it. he dreamt about it, yearned for it just as much as he yearned for you. what he didn’t know, was that it wouldn’t be long until you showed up at his door.

[vvampirelust]

just thinking about ellie and shane being obsessed with actress!reader

warnings: smut, filmindustryAU, actress!reader x shane x ellie, weird crossover i know, oral (r receiving), not proof read

it all started when you moved to LA for for a part in an upcoming sci-fi role. a huge change, uprooting your life suddenly…but this could be your big break. you were diving in having no previous interaction to anyone on the movie, therefore you had expected to make connections, friends, opportunities. what you weren’t expecting, was to meet them.

first is your hairstylist, who had the socks charmed right off you minutes after sitting in her chair. Shane, she carries herself with such confidence, knowing exactly how hot she is. big on eye contact as she kneels to level with you, explaining what she’s gonna be doing with you each day. she’s just doing her job, you have to tell yourself when she mutters things like “mhm, that’s hot,” as she admires her work. or “you’ll look beautiful if we just…yeah, that’s it,” nimble fingers pinning the front of your hair back. other hand gently pulling messy strands out to fit the scene you were doing, fingertips always lingering a little longer as she skims the skin of your face.

and then there’s Ellie, assistant director, working her way into SFX, getting at much experience as she may need. when you first saw her on set you were convinced the two of you would not get along. after witnessing her grumpy attitude, scowling and sighing, snapping into the mic of her headset. yet when ellie is sent to tell you, you were needed back on set, she was wide eyed and blushing. you found her adorable, the way she stumbled over her words, attempting weakly to rephrase herself, “i mean, shit. would you mind coming back to set with me? big man’s asking for ya’ but you know, if you’re busy it’s cool. i’ll uhm-yeah i mean i can talk to him?” she’s awkward and unsure of herself but returns your grin with a shy smile of her own. since then, she loves fetching you for your scenes, always ensuring she’s not busy, jumping at the opportunity to spend even just 5 minutes a day getting to know you.

the two girls soon became aware of their mutual interest, neither exactly hiding their attraction. ellie would huff every morning she came to pick you up from hair and makeup. not so silently grumbling when shane would lean down to whisper some inside joke you shared. hating the way you would laugh, flashing that pretty smile of yours. the hairstylist would flick her gaze to ellie in the mirror, smirking as always. now ellie would never admit it, but she too was made flustered by shane’s charm.

~

one night, the three of you were together in the hotel room you were staying in. a little drunk, celebrating being halfway through filming. other friends you had made along the way had been and gone, empty glasses and beer bottles left in their absence.

thighs touching as you now sat comfortably between shane and ellie, staring intently out of the floor to ceiling windows. city lights shining in the night, tiny little dots from how high up you were. how the hell did you get here? shane cut the silence, and the bullshit, pulling you out of your thoughts with one question. “if you had to choose one of us, me or ellie?” what shane doesn’t know is you’ve been trying to figure that out since your first week on set. so you shrug, “i really don’t know.” neither of them enjoy that answer. “i like the both of you,” you say with a sigh, but it is the truth.

turning to shane first, your lips meet in a slow, tentative kiss, breaking the barrier. her hand slides around your waist, you gasp, and shane kisses you harder. heating by the second, tongue sweeping in to taste. shane’s showing off, pulling you into her lap, knowing ellie is sat frozen on the other side of you, feeling a mix of jealousy and guilt for watching but she’s never been more turned on. your hand finds shane’s throat, softly pushing her head back against the sofa. she’s smug, eyes daring as she looks up to watch what’s next. you’re beckoning ellie to come closer, practically gulping as she does. your free hand cups the back of her neck, pulling her in, lips shyly slotting against yours. ellie gains confidence in her kisses, eagerness in each swirl of her tongue. her plump, bitten lips feel so soft against your own, each satisfied hum from ellie vibrates over your mouth. it takes all your strength to break the kiss, especially as ellie stays there, panting through parted lips, cheeks flushed, eyes blinking open in confusion. she follows your gaze, your eyes innocently cheekily flicking between the two. shane straightens her posture, the three of you closer than ever. each can feel the others breath, each knowing there’s no going back now. shane leans in, capturing ellie’s mouth, who’s moaning instantly. tongues clash, eager for more.

shane breaks away to kiss along your cheek to the corner of your mouth, her hand joining yours behind ellie’s neck, urging her to follow. ellie’s tongue swipes your lips, and shane’s. your own seeks to taste them both, the three of you releasing whimpered sounds as your tongues messily dance with each other, pushing past your lips to try and get more of you.

which is why they now have you laid back on the couch, shane and ellie kneeling on the floor between your legs. stripped bare, pushed back and spread wide. ellie’s freckle splattered cheek is smushed against shane’s, sticky and wet from the mess made between your thighs. their mouths are latched onto your swollen cunt, simultaneously eating you out as if you were the last food source on earth. tongues clash, sliding up and down your pussy, curling around the other as they dip into your folds. the slurping sounds are inescapable, making you whimper and squirm, cunt pounding harder. they trap your clit between their tongue, massaging with enough pressure to make you mewl. “oh my god,” your hands land on each other their heads, trying to push them down, to ease up the overstimulation making your stomach tense up so much, it hurt. “fuck, it’s so good,” you’re moaning, hips bucking, “feels so good.” shane slides her tongue to your sloppy hole, slipping inside, she fucks you with her tongue while ellie keeps your clit trapped between her pursed lips.

your first orgasm of the night felt different than any other you had experienced before, so intense, so filthy and intimate. you couldn’t warn them, unable to find the strength to sleep as the euphoria paralysed your mind. ellie swears she can feel your heartbeat through your clit, trembling thighs giving away your release. in the back of your head, you can hear shane moaning, or maybe it’s the vibrations against your cunt you can feel. shane can feel your soft walls clamping around her tongue and she suddenly needs her fingers inside of you. “tight fucking pussy, babe,” shane grunts, two fingers thrusting into you with ease, earning a loud moan from you, back arching as she reaches so deep inside you, “fuck, you’re so pretty,” she near whimpers, a third finger squishing inside your clenching hole.

“shane, ellie, i- fuck,” you trail off into a pathetic sob, another climax approaching so soon. ellie hasn’t let up on your poor clit, her sensational tongue playing with the sensitive little bud as if it were her favourite toy. paired with shane’s long fingers knuckle deep, rutting into your pussy at such a fast pace you’re seeing stars in the back of your head, curling up just right, battering your g-spot with each thrust. it’s too much all at once. but you like that, you squirm in pleasure at the torture you endure. the heat in your belly getting hotter and hotter, tightening, threatening to explode. shane rests against the inside of your thigh, a tired smile on her wet lips, admiring the state you were in. whimpering, shaking, on the verge of cumming. “let us have it baby, come on,” shane moans softly, feeling you tightening around her fingers, “cum for us, please baby.” she begs as if you could resist how good they make you feel.

and this is just the beginning.

if it isn’t obvious, i watched challengers the other day

[midnight-bay-if]

NSFW

How would the ROs react to MC accidentally walking in on them while they’re changing?

(Sorry for the wait on asks everybody. Life has been... interesting.)

S: They have stripped down to their underwear, thumbs tucked into the waistbands, ready to bare all for a quick change before a mission. Nothing seems out of the ordinary... until the familiar sound of the old-fashioned door handle twisting with the usual struggle disrupts the silence, as the mechanism sticks at an odd angle. They sigh, anticipating Rain or Taj bursting in, their manners entirely disregarded. It's a routine they have come to expect, and they have had to set aside certain notions of decorum after working with them.

The self-conscious ideas of propriety seem to belong entirely to humans in their experience.

What they do not anticipate, with their hand half outstretched to still the turning of the handle, is coming face to face with your wide eyes when the door swings open.

A stunned silence hangs in the air... until both of you scramble for a way to salvage this greeting—you by covering your eyes with a hand, and they by hurriedly grabbing any material to cover themselves.

“I’m sorry!” you call, your eyes still firmly covered. “I think Rain just tricked me. They said you were waiting for me and that I should come straight in.”

They exhale sharply. Of course, they did. “It is quite all right; if you could give me a moment, I shall be with you shortly.” All the while ignoring their fluttering pulse and the fact that you are mere feet away from their bare skin. Would you dare look? Do they wish you would? When you don’t immediately leave, they cannot help but push. “Were you hoping for an invitation?”

“Right! Sorry!” The door slams shut behind you, and they already deeply regret your absence.

Rain: They hum a familiar tune of home as they pull off bright items of clothing, the door left ajar. They notice it, their leg half out of their trousers, and begin hopping over to close it properly. However, they only get partway before the door swings open, your voice trailing in soon after.

“Rain, there was something I meant to disc— Rain!”

Your shout startles them, their feet getting tangled in the legs of their trousers as they trip and fall to the ground. “Ouch!” they exclaim, landing elbow first. “What? What is it?” The note of surprise in your voice sends them into a panic.

“Y-You’re not dressed.”

Oh. Right. Yes, S did warn them about this. “Sorry! I forgot to close the door! I didn’t startle you too much?” they ask, slipping their pants back up their legs, feeling no real achievement since their chest remains bare. They finally notice how demurely you stare down at your feet, a hint of shyness that seems to emerge only when you are alone together, and their heart skips a beat. “Be out in a minute?”

You nod, darting out much quicker than you entered, and they smile. “Perhaps leaving the door open wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.”

Taj: They were meant to be alone. Rain informed them that everyone else had already left on their way out the door. It was quiet; there was no reason to doubt this. So, when Taj began shedding their clothes on the way to the bathroom, they thought little of it. The heating had been left on, and the place was sweltering due to the humidity. They leant forward, reaching to turn on the shower when they heard a voice.

“Taj, is that you leaving your clothes all over the floor?”

Your voice.

They swivel their heads towards the door, and there you stand, arms laden with various items of clothing, mouth agape, staring at their bare backside... until your eyes begin to trail of every scar.

“I didn’t know—”

Taj never gives you the chance to explain, slamming the door in your face with a resounding bang. They press their forehead against the wood, breathing harshly, their heart thundering in their chest as all the blood rushes to their… “Fuck.”

“Taj, are you alright?” They hear you through the door, and their breath shudders. Stop it. Stop talking. They need to calm down, and your voice… “I swear I didn’t realise you were, um, naked. Are you angry?”

Angry. It isn’t the first word that comes to mind; it would be easier if they were.

N: They are admiring every detail of their guise in the mirror. “The skin is so smooth,” they whisper, trailing their fingertips over the unblemished surface of their torso. So perfectly immaculate. That isn’t to say they are not also taken with their usual body; all the prongs and bumpy skin feel exquisite when in the throes of passion if you know how to use them, and they know. Well, they have never heard any complaints.

But there’s something about being human that is endlessly fascinating to them. The weightlessness of their head without their horns, the ease with which clothing can be slipped on and torn off without a tail… and the skin. So delicate, like the most exquisite silk. N would be lying if they claimed not to have thought about exploring each and every inch of yours.

As if summoned by fate, the bedroom door swings open, revealing you standing there, mouth agape, taking in the scene. “Now, which one of us is the mind reader, my dear?”

You shake off your surprise and swiftly squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m sorry! I d-didn’t know. I promise!”

“It’s quite all right. You can take a peek if you like.”

“N-No! Thank you!” you squeak, backing out the door, pulling the door with you.

“Are you sure? I certainly don’t mind—”

“Goodbye!”

They sigh, a little wistful. “Oh, well… maybe next time.”

Umbra: They never liked taking their clothes off. Each layer gets peeled back like they are being forced to peel off their own skin, grimacing as if in pain. They at least have the good sense to do it in complete darkness, with curtains shut and mirrors covered by whatever dark material they can get their hands on, so they don’t accidentally catch their reflection in the mirror.

It isn’t the scars or stitches that denote their marred limbs, nor their ghostly paleness that causes them pain, but the fact that, even stripped bare, they feel no colder. All of this is repulsive, and each inch of exposed skin serves as a reminder of the monster that lies within.

Most of their skin is bare when the door handle turns, and in you walk, nonchalant, without fear despite the wretch that they are. It is they who show fear. “MC! I-I’m not… I was getting changed—”

Only now do you realise what you have walked into. “Oh, Umbra! I’m sorry!” You squeeze your eyes shut, and Umbra feels as though they can breathe again. That’s right, MC. Close your eyes. Save your stomach from churning. They anticipate you heaving with disgust or running away as you retch… but you do none of those things. Instead, you turn, lashes fluttering demurely. Not ashamed, but embarrassed. Your fingers flex against your thigh before tugging at the hem of your shirt, as if shy.

You like what you see.

An impossible sensation seizes their chest, a tingling and heat they thought themselves incapable of feeling. They can live with being a monster if they are not monstrous to you.

[babsworlds]

SCHOOL STRUGGLES.

pairing. Dave Lizewski x fem! reader

synopsis. you struggle with school a lot, but no matter what, your boyfriend is always here for you.

warnings. angst, mental struggles, school struggles, no use of y/n. I decided to mirror my own problems into this fic. I struggle with school, and if you do too, you’re not alone, don’t be afraid of asking for help!

FOR SEVERAL LONG MONTHS, you’d been struggling with every aspect of school—grades teetering on the edge, studying feeling like an impossible task, and attendance becoming a burden you couldn’t bear.

Each night you went to sleep with hope and wishes to never wake up again, but when you woke up every morning, it was disappointing.

Your mind was locked in a dark place, a mental block that kept you from focusing on anything related to school. Books and assignments became like foreign objects, strange and impossible to engage with.

Most days, you found yourself wandering aimlessly, going anywhere other than the dreaded classrooms. School turned into a place you despised, filled with people you disliked, teachers who seemed to drain your energy with every word, and the endless homework that left you completely exhausted.

Dave, your ever-supportive boyfriend, noticed the change in you. He worried endlessly about your constant absence, knowing how much you were skipping school. He tried his best to help, offering to walk to classes with you, hoping that his presence could make it a bit easier. But despite his best efforts, nothing seemed to change, and your steps continued to stray from the school’s doors.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at home grew tense and filled with arguments. Your parents’ patience was wearing thin as they saw you neglecting your only responsibility: school. “You only have to focus on school,” they’d remind you in every heated argument. Their anger and disappointment hung heavy in the air, making the walls of your home feel like they were closing in on you.

You were exhausted from failing every test, overwhelmed by the looming dread of yet another academic setback. Despite the frustration and disappointment you felt, the motivation to study remained elusive. It was an endless circle of anxiety and avoidance, a cycle that seemed impossible to break.

It was a late weekend night, and you found yourself on a video call with Dave. Your parents had forbidden you from going to his house for a sleepover because of your poor grades, adding to your already heavy heart.

“I’m so sorry, Dave,” you began to apologize, your voice heavy with emotion. “I feel like shit,” you said, gazing at your boyfriend on the notebook screen.

“Don’t say that, baby,” Dave tried to calm you down, his voice soothing and gentle. But the words did little to stem the tide of salty tears forming in your eyes. “I’m stupid,” you admitted, “and because of my grades, we can’t have a sleepover.”

Dave’s expression softened, his concern evident. “You’re not stupid,” he reassured you. “We’ll get through this together. It’s just a rough patch, and it doesn’t define you.”

The weight of your struggles pressed heavily on your heart, driving tears down your cheeks. “I wish I could just disappear. I wouldn’t care about the absence or grades,” you cried out, the hopelessness in your voice stark and raw. You wished everything would just end right then and there.

Dave’s eyes lit up with a sudden idea. “You know what, baby? I’m coming over. Just leave your window open,” he announced, his grin widening with excitement.

“Your parents forbade you from coming to my place, but they didn’t say anything about me coming to yours,” he smirked, always looking for ways to find a loophole and support his precious girlfriend.

“No, Dave, you really don’t have to—” you started to assure him, but he was already set on his plan. He hung up the call quickly, not giving you a chance to protest.

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope at his determination. As you left your window open for him, a small sliver of comfort crept into your heart.

Dave lived just two blocks away, so it didn’t take him long to reach your house. After a few minutes, you heard noises outside your window and spotted Dave climbing in.

“Hi, baby,” Dave smiled at you, pulling you into a tight, welcoming hug. “I missed you so much,” you whispered into his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he kissed your hair.

You both sat on your bed, and once again, salty tears began to stream down your face. “I’m so shitty, why am I so stupid?” you choked on your tears, sobbing violently into Dave’s chest. “I’m a shitty student, daughter, girlfriend…”

Dave broke the tight hug and looked into your eyes. “Don’t ever say that again,” he warned gently but firmly. His eyes were filled with concern and determination, wanting to help you see the worth you couldn’t find in yourself.

“Just because you’re struggling now doesn’t mean it’s forever. You’re a smart girl. I know it,” Dave started, his thumb gently rubbing your cheeks.

“And I’m not exactly an academic weapon, but if you need help with studying, I’ll do my best to help you, baby,” he continued, his voice filled with unwavering support and love.

“I love you and I’m always here for you,” Dave said, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Those were the words you needed to hear.

“Tomorrow we can go for a walk, and on Monday, we can try to get you back into school,” Dave offered, gently tucking a strand of your long hair behind your ear.

“I love you,” you replied, pulling him into a hug once again, feeling a sense of comfort and hope in his embrace.

[yourheart-inmyhands]

I got one for you. Reader with long hair. Yan zhongli, Childe and Pantalone adore brushing it out or washing it for you, putting pretty (but not pointy) decorations in it. but you HATE them touching it. So one day, maybe when they slip up and leave smth sharp in your abode you grab it and lop off as much as you can before they come back (or stop you if they’re in the room when you do it). What happens afterwards?

Cannot wait to see what you cook with this, I adore your takes.

ah tysm! sorry it took so long to get to this, i took a little bit of a different twist from my normal writing style and did some headcanons and a short blurb! hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against will, mentions of reader almost being hit, zhongli being a softie, delusional behaviors, obsessive behaviors, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Pantalone would be furious, as someone with hair of a decent length himself, he knows the time and dedication it takes to grow it out so long.

He also knows how much maintenance it took, which is why he never fussed about helping you with it, often insisting to do it for you.

He saw it as a bonding moment between the two of you, something to help him wake up in the morning as he did your hair and something to unwind to at night as he’d undo the intricate styles he had done it up in that morning. 

You cutting off your hair with a letter opener that he’d left in the room by mistake hurts him, upsets him to the point he almost strikes you. To him it’s as if you had cut him, making a statement that you’d rather give up on something you’d dedicated years to, than to allow him the comfort and satisfaction. 

Pantalone can’t even bear to look at you for the next few days, sleeping in another room or in his office. 

“How could you do something so despicable? Do you even care how this made me feel?” The way Pantalone speaks almost makes it seem like you’d given him an impromptu haircut. With the gorgeous hair that used to reach down the length of your back now sitting in choppy piles on the floor, it almost felt like you had in a way. Your hair was uneven, lopped off sporadically in case he tried to interrupt. You’d just taken off the last few locks when he had noticed the absence of his letter-opener, intending to merely pop into your shared bedroom to grab it. Instead he was met with the grueling sight of you, kneeling before the full length mirror, hand clutching the letter opened as your opposite hand released a fist full of hair, letting it float down to the piles that had formed below.

Yandere!Zhongli would be conflicted. Part of him is upset that you’d make such a hasty decision, not even weighing the outcomes and taking away something from not just yourself but from the both of you. 

The other side of him is hurt that you didn’t come to him first. That you didn’t feel comfortable expressing your discomfort with his actions and had taken it to the extreme instead. His heart aches at both thoughts.

You’d managed to pry a sharp piece of stone off the walls of the cave, using it to hastily take off chunks, only for Zhongli to catch you mid way through. His contempt at the situation settles with a sigh as me approaches you, gently prying the rock from your hands before disappearing, leaving you to sit on the floor, half of your hair lopped off just scattered around you.

He returns a short bit later though, bringing with him a large mirror and a sharp pair of scissors. Setting the mirror in front of you, he gently begins correcting your hazardous hack job, carefully trimming off all the missed areas to even it all out.

While his work wasn’t great, it certainly looked a little better than how it had started. Your hair now sitting a few inches above your shoulder, a simple all around cut that was, mostly, even.

Zhongli didn’t say a word as he approached, looking down at you with a blank expression, his calm eyes staring deeply into your wide ones as he gently pried the rock from your hands, leaving you to wallow in a pile of your own hair as he disappears. Upon his return, he places a large, ornate mirror in front of you. It was typically kept in the living room as a decorative piece but he required it’s services here. Pulling from his pocket a pair of sharp scissors, he gently angles your head to be straight before reaching for the areas you hadn’t gotten to yet. Quickly shedding the length of those pieces he gets to work on straightening the rest out, doing an ok job at making it all match up and look decent. “If you wanted me to leave your hair alone you could’ve always asked darling, you know I only want to make you happy in this life of ours.”

Yandere!Childe manages to catch you before the act. You had thought you were sneaky, tiptoeing out of bed early in the morning over to his work clothes that had been hastily shed after his return last night.

You knew he kept a couple different blades on him, having shown you them before. Yet as you checked every pocket, every hidden loop, all the little places he’d shown you that he could be keeping them, you continued to turn up with nothing.

Over and over you checked, an almost pleading in the way your hands silently searched through the crumpled clothing, desperate to find anything even remotely sharp at this point.

You could feel the frustration as well as tears welling up in your eyes, why couldn’t anything ever go your way? First you get stuck with that crazed lunatic, and now that he’s practically taken over your hair you can’t even take some control and rid yourself of it.

As you search, you failed to hear the bed creak, or the soft patter of footsteps behind you. The only two things that tell you he’s awake are his voice whispering in his ear and his hand flaunting the exact thing you’d been looking for.

“I thought you might go looking for this, so I hid it under the pillow. A little cliche but I thought you’d be too stupid to look there, guess I was right~” Childe’s voice comes out in a sing-song tone, almost as if he was bragging about outsmarting you. He could tell from the moment he took an interest in your hair that it made you uncomfortable, just another button of yours to push as he slowly molded you into the perfect spouse for himself. His nimble fingers twirled the simple knife around, flaunting it to you. You could try to grab it, lunge for it even, but it was no use. You wouldn’t be able to get even a strand shortened before Childe would have it back in his possession, especially when the distance between the two of you was so short. Short enough that you could feel his chest pressing against your back, his breath on your neck, and his soft strands of hair brushing against the back of your head.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you���re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

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[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Where You Belong

Fem!Reader When you move into a house with 8 men for six months, one seems to be do everything he can to make you stay.

<pt2 pt3 pt4>

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

You sat at the dining room table, feeling as if you were under some sort of interrogation. The one you had met first- Minho, if you remembered correctly- was nowhere to be found as you sat across from the seven other men.

So much for heading to bed, you thought to yourself.

Now, instead, you were riddled with a crippling kind of anxiety. With the chaos of earlier gone, the reality of your new arrangement set in.

Concerns, both imagined and realistic, swirled in your mind.

Were they regretting accepting you? Would they kick you out? This was never the intended arrangement, but would they blame you for the miscommunication?

"So... Y/N?" A man with a prominent nose and a thick accent broke the silence.

"Yes?" you responded a bit too quickly, mentally kicking yourself for sounding nervous. Your leg jittered under the table, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the undeniably adorable, chubby-cheeked guy sitting to your left.

"Are you anxious?" he asked softly, his warm gaze meeting yours. "We’re not going to do anything. We’re not perverts! Well, I’m not a pervert-"

A reserved-looking guy with tired puppy eyes clamped his hand over the other’s mouth, muttering something in Korean that you couldn’t entirely understand but recognized as scolding.

You laughed nervously, shaking your head. "Not exactly," you mumbled, unsure how much to reveal. Across the table, the soft-looking boy with freckles cocked his head at you, his curiosity evident.

"You don’t have to worry," the man with the thick Australian accent finally spoke, his expression kind but slightly strained. "If you’re uncomfortable with anything, you can tell us."

"I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t okay with it," you reassured him, though your voice wavered slightly. "It’s just...a big change for you guys and I feel bad for the miscommunication."

"That's understandable, but its no one's fault. Slip ups happen," the freckled boy chimed in, his tone soothing, and his accent mimicking the other guy's. "We’ll do our best to make this easy for you."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you slowly began to relax. They introduced themselves one by one, though the names blurred together in your mind. The freckled boy was Felix and the other Australian was Chris, you remembered that much. The others’ names- Hyunjin, Changbin, Seungmin, Han, Jeongin - felt like puzzle pieces you’d need time to fit together.

"Wait," Jeongin piped up suddenly, his voice playful. "Do I call you noona?"

The table burst into laughter as you blinked, caught off guard. You waved your hands quickly. "I don't know much about honorifics." you clarified, your cheeks warming.

When you pieced together your birthdays Jeongin cackled maniacally.

"I can make her call me Oppa-"

"Thats perverted!"

"What did I say about the misuse of that word-"

Chaos ensued and you could see the brotherly affection between all the guys, making you curious about their stories. Your mind trailed to Minho, and you wondered where exactly he fit in the puzzle.

I hope I didn't upset him...I haven't seen him since the boys came back...

The teasing eventually died down, and the conversation flowed naturally. You couldn’t help but notice how each of them made an effort to include you, easing your initial fears. But as the night wore on, one absence grew more noticeable- Minho still hadn’t returned.

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, the unfamiliar setting still making it difficult to stay asleep.

A faint pink glow spilled into the hallway from the bathroom, catching your attention. Rubbing your eyes, you wandered toward it, your curiosity piqued.

As you reached the door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. The glow wasn’t from the usual light bulb but a neon sign that read, "Slay! Go Piss Girl!" bolted above the toilet.

Inside, Minho stood near the switch, his hand hovering over it as he squinted at the sign in a cringeworthy pain, like he couldn’t decide if it was brilliant or a mistake.

You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should interrupt, but the soft creak of the floor gave you away.

Minho turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly before his expression settled into something unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stood awkwardly in the pink glow.

"Uh...sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Minho stepped back slightly, giving you space to pass.

"It’s fine," he muttered, his tone clipped but not unkind. He smelled clean, as if he had just showered, though his hair was dry, and he was in the clothes he had been in earlier when you had your first unexpected meeting. He glanced back at the sign, then at you, his mouth twitching like he was debating whether to say something else. Finally, he did.

"Jisung said on FaceTime that you’d like it. He thought it’d be funny."

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected explanation. "Oh...well, it is funny," you said, trying to ease the tension. "It’s definitely unique."

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, and he crossed his arms self-consciously. "I wasn’t sure it was appropriate...for, you know...a lady," he added stiffly, his gaze flicking to the sign and then back to you. "But Jisung insisted. He said it was the way people joked abroad, but I think he was just being ignorant..."

The way he said "a lady" made your lips twitch, though you bit back a smile. "People back home joke like this," you assured him, your tone light. "I think it’s...charming in its own way. My boyfriend never even decorated so even if it was the worst sign ever- the fact that you guys cared enough to decorate for a stranger means a lot."

Minho froze and then nodded curtly, but the stiffness in his posture didn’t ease. The silence stretched uncomfortably between you as the pink light bathed the small space. He shifted his weight and itched his neck, and you got the sense that he was struggling to find the right words, though it seemed like a losing battle.

"I didn't mean to make it awkward bringing up my ex-"

"About earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low but deliberate. His eyes didn’t meet yours, instead focused somewhere past your shoulder. "That...thing. With the, uh...in the kitchen. I didn’t mean...yeah."

You blinked, unsure where this was going. Then it clocked.

"Oh. It’s okay," you said quickly, trying to save him from the awkwardness. "It wasn’t a big deal."

"It looked bad," he continued, ignoring your attempt to let it go. "I didn’t mean for it to- well, you probably thought it was...an odd situation."

The corners of your lips twitched, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at how stiff he sounded. "I didn’t think anything," you said, trying to sound earnest. "Really. Other than I might have made you upset but it doesn't seem like it so everything is fine. Gwenchana 's the word right?" You said in a teaaing manner.

You managed to crack a smile from him, the pink accenting the curve of his lips.

"Yes, gwenchana."

Minho finally glanced fully at you, his expression unreadable but his ears noticeably red in the neon light. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was frustrated with himself.

"Good then," he muttered. "We sorted things out. Because it wasn’t intentional. I want you to feel comfortable in this house. So...there's other stuff for you too." He said motioning to the living room. "We...you can sort through it tomorrow..."

You nodded, though the tension still hung in the air. "Thanks for saying that," you said softly, trying to sound genuine. "And thanks for the gifts.

You stood in another awkward silence.

"Anyway, I was just checking the sign," he said, his tone abruptly neutral again. "It works." He nodded again, the movement jerky, before stepping back toward the door.

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at his obvious retreat. "It does," you agreed. "I'll make sure to tell Jisung it’s a hit."

Minho made a noise that might have been agreement before he slipped out of the bathroom, his figure disappearing down the hall.

You stood there a moment longer, shaking your head as you wondered if all your conversations with him would be like- if he'd always seem this uncomfortable; or if it was just the pink neon light playing tricks on both of you.

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

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[mockerycrow]

Lately I've been dying with stress induced migraines and was wondering if I could request the 141 or any character of your choosing to take care of the reader suffering from them??

MIGRAINES (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist

[WARNINGS; medicine/drugs, inaccuracy of medicine stuff, inaccuracy of military, fluff, physical hurt/comfort, mention of overdosing, it’s implied you do not have regular sleeping problems.]

You know a migraine is about to come on when you’re looking down at the paper in front of you—something about a past mission—and you can’t see the lower right corner of the paper. You blink harshly and rub your eyes, the blotch not leaving which leads you to believe it’s a migraine aura. A heavy feeling forms in the bottom of your stomach, a weird sensation blooming in the nape of your neck. You put the paper down for a moment and rub your eyes—it’s only Tuesday and this will be your second migraine. 

You feel frustration ebb at your nerves as tears threaten to spill, causing you to let out a shuddery breath. You stand up from the office chair you’re sitting in, near your desk in your barracks. You decided that you should warn the Captain about your aura and that you would need some rest for the incoming day and maybe even tomorrow.

You can already feel the light sensitivity setting in. It doesn’t hurt just yet as you open your door and you’re forced to be under fluorescent lights, but you can tell your tolerance is lower than usual. You offer quiet greetings to those who you pass in the hall, making your way across base to the offices. You squint a bit more, the muscles surrounding your eyes tensing. You can’t help but wonder why they use such shitty lighting in an office space.

You stop in front of a door with a name plate labeled “CPT. JOHN PRICE”, and you knock on the door a couple of times. You hear his gruff voice, saying something along the lines of come in. You open the door and close it behind yourself, looking at Price who is looking up from his paperwork; probably surrounding the last mission like yours is, too. “I feel another migraine coming on, Captain. I came to ask for the day off.” 

Price’s eyes narrow for just a moment in concern. He knows your history with migraines, and how they’re usually induced by stress. “Alright, but you make sure to go see medical if it persists, yeah?” Price says with a lifting tone, but it’s not a question, it’s an order. You go to open your mouth, but Price beats you to it. “I know they can’t do much for you, but those painkiller cocktails are very much worth it.”

You close your eyes as a wave of nausea passes over you, causing you to freeze for a moment. The man in front of you utters your name which prompts your eyes to open back up. His eyes are scanning your face. eyebrows lifting ever so slightly to prompt an answer. You press your lips together and give him a nod; those cocktails are lifesavers, but they don’t last as long as you need them to. You’re thankful for his suggestion anyway. Price gives you a firm nod. “Hope to see you tomorrow feeling better, sergeant.”

“Thank you, Captain.” You reply before leaving his office, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to stave off that beginning twinge of pain beginning in the base of your skull.

Something was off—Ghost could feel it in his bones. When you don’t show up for morning PT, he knows something is off, especially when for the second time in a few days, Price hands him a signed off medical emergency paper from you. It contained no details, nothing other than “1 day medical absence” signed by Price himself. It left Ghost feeling uneasy; you are not the type to do this type of thing, even when you had the seasonal flu, it was like the entire 141 had to lecture you to slow down, or maybe even rest a bit.

Ghost half expects you to show up anyway, but just like a few days ago, you are nowhere to be found. Ghost finds some free time a bit after 1500, so he makes his way towards medical. Perhaps you were physically injured? He steps into the infirmary and is met with a few pairs of eyes, a couple of them shocked to see him. “Lieutenant! How can we help you?” A medic at a cart parked against the wall asks, quickly packing up something he was doing. Ghost utters your name, glancing around. “Are they here?” He grunts.

“No, sir,” The medic replies. “They did stop by for some treatment, though.” Ghost’s eyebrows furrow for a moment; treatment? Treatment for what? Ghost doesn’t bother to ask, knowing the medics wouldn’t likely tell him anyway, so he murmurs a shirt thank you before leaving the infirmary. He racked his brain—what possibly could keep you out of commission willingly when not even a GSW would? Ghost then decides right then that he will head for your barracks.

He makes his way across base, going from the infirmary unit all the way across to the on-base barracks. Gears are turning in his head as he tries to not jump to conclusions—is there a physical injury he’s not being told about?—and Ghost is failing. You’re one of the couple of folks who don’t have a roommate, so he knocks with a purpose as there isn’t anyone else to worry about bothering. He waits for a few moments and is greeted with silence, so he knocks again with a loud and deep, “Sergeant?”

Ghost is met with silence again, which doesn’t soothe his nerves. He tries the doorknob and to his surprise—and concern—it works. Ghost slowly opens the door to find your room in complete darkness, the only light being the one from the hall which is illuminating your bed. He sees you hunched over in your bed, wrapped in your blankets with your face half buried into your pillow. Near your bed is a TV tray stand with two plastic bowls with separate washcloths hanging off of the side of the bowls. There’s an orange medicine bottle and a small white medicine bottle next to a half empty water bottle and another full unopened bottle.

Ghost closes the door behind himself as he walks over to you, narrowly avoiding the TV tray stand. He peels back the velcro of one of his gloves before removing it, pressing the back of his hand to the part of your forehead that is exposed. Your temperature feels fine at first so he turns his hand over and presses his wrist to the small part of your forehead and he receives the same result. Ghost blinks for a moment, noting that you have no fever. Immense relief floods over him; he’s not exactly sure why.

He calls your name and puts a hand on your arm, shaking you ever so slightly. You don’t move a muscle, but you’re breathing just fine. Ghost looks over at the bottles of medicine and leans over, grabbing both of them. He reads “Zaleplon” and “Rizatriptan”. With a quick google search on his phone, he finds out they are both prescribed medications, which makes his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You have prescribed medications? For sleeping and migraines? You’ve never mentioned this before.

Ghost puts them back down on the TV tray stand and he shakes your shoulder a bit more forcefully as it seems you’re really asleep. He feels bad, knowing he should just let you rest, but he doesn’t know if you’ve eaten. He has no idea if you have only drunk that one bottle of water all day, if you have left to go to the bathroom—nothing. He calls your name louder which still does not harbor a response from you, making his gut tighten once again.

He knows it’s the anxiety talking, that you would be careful with medicine, careful enough to not take too much—but he can’t help but still worry. Ghost doesn’t know that maybe you forgot you took a sleeping pill before popping another, putting you in a deeper sleep. Your breathing seems fine, so you’re definitely not struggling in that department. Maybe you’re just sleeping heavier than usual?

But what if you did take more than needed? What if this is you in the middle of an overdose? You are indeed turned over, your face halfway smushed into the pillow. That’s enough to strike anxiety into Ghost’s soul so he grabs your shoulder and forcefully rolls you onto your back, a heavy relieved sigh leaving him when he doesn’t see any vomit or excess saliva on your pillow or hoodie. Your skin is its usual color, as well as your lips. Ghost’s fingers grab your wrist to feel your pulse, counting the beats. Your heart rate is fine.

So why are you not waking up? And why is he so anxious about it?

Ghost calls your name even louder and his shoulders relax when he hears a quiet groan leave your lips. Your closed eyelids squeeze together for a moment before an expression of pain floods your face, causing Ghost to press his lips together underneath his balaclava. “There ya are,” Ghost murmurs, putting a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open and they land on Ghost after a moment. “Ghost,” You breathe out, pain lacing your tone.

The room is dark so you’re both struggling to see each other, but Ghost doesn’t mind. If it helps your head, he will gladly squint. “Have ya eaten?” He grunts out, his voice rumbling and low in his chest. You let out a tired breath and rub your eyes, taking a moment to answer. “What time is it?” You croak, your hands moving from your eyes to your temples. Ghost pulls out his phone, it being too dark to look at his watch. “1321.” He replies, making you inhale sharply and let out a groan. “Shit, didn’t mean to sleep that long.” You slur ever so slightly.

“Did’ja miss a dose?” Ghost questions, and you let out a quiet “mhm”. You hear Ghost reach over to the TV tray stand, but you can’t tell what he’s doing. You hear one of the medicine bottles pop open. His hand finds yours and gives you a pill, and then you hear the water bottle crinkle. “Up.” He orders, and you comply, sitting up just enough to take the medicine. You wince at the change in angle so easily irritates your pounding skull, but you appreciate the soothing water running down your throat. Ghost caps the water bottle and puts it back. You hear water sloshing around and one of the washcloths being wrung out, and you flinch ever so slightly when you feel a cold washcloth being tucked underneath your head and against the nape of your neck.

“When did you start ‘aving migraines?” Ghost asks. His tone isn’t accusatory, but it’s clear he’s confused on why he was never let known. He’s also your superior next to Price, looked over the necessary files. You let your eyes shut, focusing on the cold feeling seeping underneath your skin. You appreciate the man keeping his voice down. “Always had ‘em, but they’re stress induced. They aren't constant.” You reply, your voice also remaining low, barely disturbing the silence of your room. “Had one a day or two ago, guess that shit never left.” You joke, earning a huff from Ghost. “Y’didn’t answer my question. When’s the last time you have eaten?” Ghost inquires, making you let out a sigh. “Mm, maybe 4 or 5 hours ago,” You hum. “I should go grab something soon, helps the medicine kick in faster.”

Ghost shakes his head even though you can barely tell. “No need, I’ll grab it. Are you experiencing nausea?” Ghost stands up from the bed, the mattress leveling out. “A bit, yeah. Could you grab something light on the stomach?” You request, your fingers grabbing your blanket as a warm fuzzy feeling in your gut begins to distract you from the pounding in your temples. “‘Course.” And with that, Ghost leaves you with your thoughts for the time being. You don’t understand why he’s being so nice and generous—it’s not like Ghost is not nice, but he’s usually more teasing and serious about getting shit done. 

To be fair, the last time you got injured, he also took care of you. You had earned a nasty brush with death after being too close to a large explosion. You had been thrown back into a wall, crashing through the other side, earning you a broken shoulder and a piece of wood through the major artery in your thigh—as well as the classic severe concussion, of course. This happened about a year ago and when your shoulder aches, Ghost somehow knows and offers to rub cream into it. It’s similar to Soap’s knee pain, so he knows what to do. Countless nights over a year of rubbing cream into the part of your shoulder that you can’t reach, the words left unspoken between you two? 

Ghost returns with a light meal for you as well as a cup of ice water, knowing it’ll help you more than your room temperature water bottles. Something about Ghost being so domestic over this past year up to now, taking care of you and bringing you food, rubbing cream into your shoulder when needed, when he took you to those temporary physical therapy appointments for your shoulder? Something snapped inside of you and you could never look at him in the same friendly way and by the way he looks and speaks to you, it seems to be the same for him.