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dalamjisung · 4 months ago

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A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 1: Cat Adams

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4986

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you finally understand what is going on. and that leaves you more lost than ever.

a muted shade of green masterlist

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The first thing you notice is the colour of the walls– beige and cold and not green. You don’t say anything to Spencer, though; you couldn’t even if you tried. Not with all those eyes on you. Your visitor’s pass clicks and clanks against the buttons of your shirt and your hands still shake, even with how tightly they are holding onto your bag. Morgan and Spencer have been very careful to not make too many sudden moves near you, but they are not the problem, it’s the situation. It’s the fact that Spencer doesn’t tell you who is Cat Adams. Is the fact that they made you put your phone in a metal box before entering the building, and then proceed to talk about as if you are not right there.

“She’s going to need a security detail,” Morgan sighs, sunglass finally off and it knocks your breath away how worried he looks. He can’t really hide it, you think, not with how expressive his eyes are. Spencer, on the other hand, is unreadable. His face is set and frozen in a blank expression that has all the hair on your arms standing up. He doesn’t speak, though, and that is probably the first time you’ve ever seen Spencer Reid that quiet. “Kid, are you listening to me?”

“Security detail won’t do,” Is all he says before guiding you out of the elevator and into an open space filled with office desk, trapped inside those god awful beige walls. Fuck, you think you are starting to hate beige; that specific shade of it. You hate how it numbs out everything inside, how trapped it makes you feel. No one really talks to you, but from the way they stare, it’s quite obvious that they know what Spencer won’t tell you.

At this point, there are various things happening inside of you and you can’t quite keep up with them all. Your stomach is roaring, sending sharp jolts of pain up and down your torso and you wince a little with each step you take. In turn, each step you take has you wobbling on unstable legs, and you take deep breaths to try and keep it together. Though every time you inhale, your lungs burn from the panic that lingers in the back of your brain. And finally, you brain, tired and overused, still seems to have an issue with processing the situation, and it takes you to a time that no longer exists– a time in which Spencer laughed at your literary themed jokes, or when he would come with coffee and nothing more than a smile. You understand now, why he kept you in the dark about his job; you understand the weight that this job has on him.

It makes you wonder if it’s a weight you’re strong enough to carry on your shoulders.

By the time you blink yourself awake from your world of past memories, there are people around you and you don’t recognise any of them. Somehow, you are seated at what looks like a very typical office desk; the chair swivels as you look around. The copy of The Argonauts on the desk is a dead giveaway of whose desk you are on, but then why isn’t he here? Why did he bring you to this cold, cold place and left you by yourself? Why– “Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

There are two women next to you, one to your right and one to your left. You don’t like how they make you feel like a cornered animal, but their faces show nothing but understanding and compassion, and you don’t feel like being a bitch will help your situation. Your anger, building higher and stronger with each passing second, is not because of them, and you are many things, but you like to think you are not unfair. “Yeah,” You croak out, gulping the ball of emotions that seemed to be stuck halfway down your throat, making it hard to talk or breathe without your lower lips wobbling pathetically.

“Y/N, my name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ. This is Emily, we both work with Reid.”

It takes you a second to know who they are talking about. For you, it’s never Reid. It’s Spencer when you are laughing at one of his rants about something so niche and specific that you couldn’t find it anything other than amusing. It’s Spence when you’re heart is full and the butterflies are awake. And it’s Favourite Customer when you want to tease him. It’s never just… Reid. “Spencer,” You nod, embarrassed by your own need to say his full name. You don’t want to need him, right now, but you can’t help but look around the open bullpen. His wild, shaggy hair is nowhere to be seen and you don’t understand how the sweet man that stole your heart can do something like this. You are scared and confused and he just left you with strangers. “I uh, I’m sorry, but wha-what’s going on? No one will tell me anything, and I think I have the right to now why Spence had a gun and why I was dragged away from my shop and–“

If you had anything in your stomach, you’d vomit again but all you manage is to double forward a little, the pain of your hunger and your nausea together starting to get a little too much when the added stress of being alone with strangers got added into the mix. “Here,” JJ pushes a packet of saltines towards you. “Got into them when I was pregnant with my boys and now I always keep one here. It’ll be good to eat something, Morgan mentioned you got sick.”

“Thank you, I– Penelope?” Seeing her there, with her pinks and oranges and yellows, makes as little sense as seeing Spencer with a gun. Her warmth and happiness don’t fit in a place like this, that, so far, has only brought you anxiety.

“Y/N! Oh my god, sweet, pretty Y/N!” For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you chuckle. And it breaks you down inside, how fragile you must seem for Penelope to wobble towards you in such high heels and yet, hug you with the utmost care in the world. It’s in her arms that you start crying again. “Oh no, no no no, don’t cry, it’s okay… You’re safe here.”

“Safe from what?” You wail, and if Spencer had bothered enough to be there, that would’ve been the first time he would have seen you raising your voice.

Ever since you were little, you never raised your voice. As an adult, it has happened once or twice, but never at someone specifically. Your nature is that of a more reserved person, someone who enjoys the spectator role a bit too much and prefers to observe from afar. There is power in knowledge, and it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone that you value the little bit of it that you have– so much so, that you built a business in which you could gather all the knowledge you deemed special and worthy and important, and then you could share with other people. Sure, you don’t always feel like your job is significantly important for the betterment of the world, but every time a client leaves with a smile, you know you’re doing your part.

“Cat Adams.”

The name alone is enough to make you fall onto the chair again, body limp and drained. Spencer is back, but he’s off. His lips are pursed in that way he does when he is unsure of what to say and he’s hidden his hands inside his pockets. It’s his own way of keeping secrets, hiding his hands from you… and you don’t like it. For as long as you have known him, his excitement shone through his hands; it’s the fast movements and the wiggle of his fingers that always make you smile. It’s how he best communicates and now it’s how he pushes you away. “Miss Y/L/N,” There is a man in a suit standing next to him, and you shrink in your chair under his stare. It’s heavy and cold, and you think that if he looks at you for a second longer you might start crying all over again. “My name is Aaron Hotchner, I’m the unit chief for the BAU. Please, come with me and I’ll explain everything. JJ and Spencer, you too. Penelope, prepare to brief the team in 20.”

Part of you wants to tell him no just to see what would happen. It’s clear, from more than just his title, he’s in charge. Your one and only connection to these people and this place is Spencer, so he is your tell-tale. He is your magic ball. It’s a skill, rather than a gift, being able to sense people like this– it’s something that years in retail and sales have taught you– and right now, you see how Spencer shifts his weight from one leg to the other while looking at his boss, waiting for instructions as if he couldn’t come up with them himself, and that, more than anything else that has happened today, is what scares you the most.

Because if a man like Spencer can’t come up with an answer for this specific issue, you are not sure anyone else can.

—————————————

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” You are not above begging, hands balled into fists on your lap as you look up at Aaron Hotchner with pitiful eyes. You probably look messy, at this point, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you care about is you. And your store. And the fact that an hour has passed since you first got to that godforsaken office and no one seems to care; no one seems to care about your time or your personal affairs.

They only care about that stupid package.

“Miss Y/L/N, I apologise for the confusion we’ve caused, but I guarantee that everything that has been done so far was to keep you safe,” His words, as strong as they sound, don’t feel any more assuring than then tentative glance Spencer throws your way.

“Oh god,” You breathe out, eyes wide while your mind ran circles around you. It is a dangerous thing, to let a literary lover imagine– your brain, filled with epic tales and unforgettable real stories, starts rushing towards the worst case scenario and you find yourself reaching out to hold at something, anything, that might make you feel grounded in reality again. It’s how soft Spencers suit feels in your fingertips that makes you realise you reached out for him. “Oh god, was that like, a bomb? Did I sign for a bomb? Oh god, Spencer, do people send you bombs? I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Spence, I–“

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Spencer is quick to interject, hands finally out of his pockets when he reaches out to hold your shoulders. His thumb gently caresses your arm and you try to breathe somewhat regularly, imitating the rise and fall of his chest like he is the beacon light bringing you back home in treacherous waves– like he is the only one you can trust in that place. “Y/N, it’s okay, it wasn’t a bomb. The contents of the package are not important and they were harmless. But we need you to focus. I know I scared you and that this is all very overwhelming, but you need to listen to Hotch. Please.”

In your mind, you keep repeating those words to yourself– Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“Cat Adams is a prolific serial killer,” Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. “We’ve arrested her a few years ago and we believe she has resurfaced.”

Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“And that she has been targeting Reid.”

With one panicked look his way, you say what the words stuck in your throat can’t convey– I can’t listen to Hotch anymore. “She… She is a serial killer,” You whisper, eyes focused on Spencer in search of a nod or a shake of his head. This is the FBI, but you only trust him. “And she is after Spencer. Okay, I uh– I need– I don’t know what I need.”

If you asked Spencer, he would tell you that you have a certain something about you whenever you are tired. Your shoulders slump forward and your head fall on your hands in a desperate way to keep your neck upright. The lack of energy is almost visible in you, and sometimes he has to fight the urge to hold your head up for you.

But you don’t ask Spencer. Actually, you don’t say anything at all; you let people talk about you and around you, but your brain shuts down with each and every word, unable to retain any more information. “Can I go home?” There is a minute of silence before Hotch sighs, shaking his head. “But you said you arrested her, correct? Therefore I shouldn’t be in any immediate danger. I mean, it’s not like she has access to USPS delivery data from prison, right?” The more you speak, the faster you try to get up. You’re not thinking straight, and with all due reason– there is no power left in you to do this. There is no energy, no will, no strength to keep on going because it feels like you’re running in circle.

Spencer notices it, too, and in what can only be interpreted as a daring attempt to calm you down, he let his hand rest on your shoulder for a second. It’s a subtle way to tell his team to go easy on you, almost like he’s having a full conversation with Hotch without opening his mouth. You, however, don’t catch it, and you continue to try and push yourself upright and away from them. You need to get away from them.

“So she has no clue who I am and I have nothing to do with this because I’m just a bookseller! And I just happened to sell Spencer some books and we’re just friends!”

A wave of shame downs on you when the words leave your mouth, like you are admitting to failure when you haven’t even had the chance to try it to begin with. It’s like you deny Spencer’s presence in your life as a whole, like he has no significant place or role next to you, and you can’t seem to meet his eyes even when he starts speaking. “Y/N, I am so sorry,” The choked out sound that escapes him is the only thing that makes you look, makes you raise your eyes to meet his and you gasp when you notice he is holding back tears. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was gone, that she was not a threat anymore, I–“

“Reid,” JJ sighs, and you see something in her that makes you shift in your chair, a bit uncomfortable with the way his name sounds coming from her lips. “Reid, she’s going to be alright. We will get some officers to keep watch by her place, and we can file a request for protective detail during the day.”

“You know as much as I do that none of that will help!” Spencer’s voice gets higher and louder with each word and his hands are back at it again, flying around the room in frustration. You have never seen him like that before, and it scares you more to see him scared than to hear that you might now be placed under protective custody.

“Spence,” This time, when your voice wobbles in fear, it’s not because of him. “Spence, is it really bad?”

When you were little, you used to refuse to admit your were scared. You’d use any other word– frustrated, spooked, uncomfortable– but you would never admit fear. Your dad always thought it was the cutest thing, though, because despite you puffing your chest out and crossing your little arms over your chest, the one thing that always gave you away was the way your lips wobbled. Right now, you feel like that little kid again, refusing to admit to how you really feel but giving it all out anyways.

Spencer’s eyes read you like a book. You can feel the weight of them, moving across your face, taking in the lines and expressions you make without even realising. It’s like every part of you is a new chapter, telling him more and more of a story he is yet to finish, and with a sigh, sad and defeated, he nods. “It’s really bad, Y/N, I’m so sorry… this is all my fault. I should’ve been honest with you, I should’ve told you what I did and who I worked for and all that it brings with it.”

“No, Spencer, this is not your fault,” You breathe out, reaching for him in a moment of weakness. Your anger is still there, still simmering at the way that, in a sense, this is very much his fault, but you manage to rise through it when his nervous hands try to reach for you but fall nimble by his sides instead. “I mean, it kind of is, but it isn’t. And it’s okay. I’ll be okay. Right? I’ll be–“

“You’ll be just fine,” Hotch interrupts. His brows are slightly raised and from the way he looks at Spencer you think he knows something you don’t, but you’ve been feeling like that ever since you’ve stepped into that office. Everyone around you knows something you don’t– they know things about each other, about Spencer, that you simply don’t, and that you think you never will. Because after this– this betrayal, this hurt, this fear– you just don’t think you and Spencer can coexist anymore. You don’t think you can forget, as hard as you might try, the sight of him holding that gun to your head. So for now, you try to calm down. For now, all you can do is try to calm down. “Miss Y/L/N, we need to asses the situation, understand if you are in any kind of immediate danger. While our team works on this, we will ask that you relocate. Do you have relatives you can call? Friends?”

Technically, you do. Your parents live in New York and so do most of your friends– all it takes is one call. But that is one call you really don’t want to make. “I don’t want to leave my store,” Looking down at your hands, you wonder how easy it is for them to see right through you. “I just moved here. I know it might sound stupid, specially considering the… you know, this whole situation. But my life is here now and I would rather stay, if, if that’s okay, of course, I mean, you know… best.” God, you look so uncomfortable trying to stand up to his boss that the pity in Spencer’s face is almost palpable. “Please.”

“Hotch, she can stay with me.”

“Do we think that is a good idea?” JJ frowns, and you can’t help but nod, looking at Spencer as if he’s insane.

“I– That’s a very kind offer, but isn’t she after you?” You manage to ask, looking around for any clue their team might give you. These guys are professionals, though, and they know how to keep up their masks of indifference.

“Yes and no,” He explains, sighing before crouching next to where you sit. “Y/N, this woman– Cat– she is psychology disturbed. She is what we call a black widow, do you know what that is?”

You nod, blushing a little with how close he is to you. “I uh, I read a book that the main character was a black widow. Butter, by Asako Yuzuki.”

His smile makes you melt a little, and you hate how weak you are to the little windows of personality he allows you to see from time to time. “Yeah, I like that book too. But… this is real life. Cat Adams goes after cheaters, liars.”

“Then why is she after you?”

“Because I lied to her,” He admits, your eyes stuck on his expression and if you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his jaw ticks in response to what you can only assume to be anger. But you are not, anyone else, you are very much so yourself, an observer, a quiet listener, and it just so happens that your favourite person to observe and listen to is Spencer Reid himself. “I was our decoy to capture her and now she sees me a as a game. Almost like, like a game of wits, to see who’s smarter, to see who will win. Is this making sense, Y/N? Do you need a break?”

“I just, I don’t understand where I fit. I was just housesitting for you, I could’ve been a complete stranger.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Hotch interrupted, leaning forward in such a somber way the hair on your arms stand up. “You have managed to get something she never did. Cat Adams is acting out in jealousy.”

“What did I get? I’m sorry, I don’t–“

“Me,” Spencer said, eyes piercing into yours. “You got me.”

—————————————

By the time you make it back home, the moon is high and the roads are clear. It has been a while since you last got out of the house at the early hours of the morning. Fresh from the move and focused on your new store, making friends wasn’t at the top of your priority list when you landed, a year and something ago. Without someone to drag you out to bars or bribe you to go to clubs, you don’t really leave the house much at night, preferring the comfort of your own couch and the company of a book in the weekends.

“You know,” For a second, you almost forget that he is right there behind you, and you jump a little when his voice echoes in your empty apartment. “You’ve been to my place so many times, but I never really even seen your apartment.”

How do you tell him that there is not much to see, anyways? How do you tell Spencer that, in the time you’ve been here, the 365-plus-something days, you just never really thought about your apartment the same as your home? Your walls are empty, and it’s a little embarrassing, the way his brows shoot up when your turn on the lights. Besides your couch and a centre table, the place is almost empty. The TV stands on an old piece of furniture, a unit too dark and too classic to match with the rest of the things you have, and it’s a little too obvious that it came with the place and you were just too lazy to get rid of it. There is a singular throw pillow on the couch and a blanket, with a pile of books standing by the foot of it. But what really strikes him as odd, what really makes Spencer look around and make sure that yes, this is your apartment, is the fact that there are no shelves. There are no books, besides the four or five pilling up on the rug.

“You know, for a book lover, you have… no books,” He mumbled, hands on his pocket as he offered you that smile you used to adore so much, but that now makes you a bit uneasy– tight lipped, never really reaching his eyes. “Why do you have no books?”

“They are all downstairs,” You say, marching straight to your room to grab a backpack. “How many days do you think I’ll be staying with you?”

“Honestly? Until we solve this.”

“…And how many days is that?”

From where he stands, he can’t see your sagged shoulders, trembling hands holding onto the blue backpack you had laying around the back of your wardrobe. “Pack for as long as you can,” He shouts from somewhere deep inside your place. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Too late for that,” You mumble to yourself, grabbing the closest items your found– a couple of shirts, sweaters, and jeans. After today, it’s not like you have much energy left to try and plan outfits ahead, so anything will do.

It’s borderline funny, when you think about it… Just yesterday you were worried about what to wear, nervous hands sifting through your endless collection of sweaters to try and find just the right one for the day. Spencer visits you everyday, so everyday is a new day to impress him. You even start wearing makeup; a bit of mascara to make your eyes shine behind the glasses you refuse to wear, some blush to make the natural flush you get whenever he’s around seem more normal. It’s vain and futile, you know, but it makes you feel a tad more confident. A tad more… colourful. Like Penelope. “I think I’m ready,” You say once you’ve gathered all items you might need from the bathroom. “I’ll still be good to work, right?”

He nods, a smile on his face as if this is good news to him too. “Yes, we will have men stationed outside your store all day, so you don’t have to worry about anything while I’m away at the BAU. I’ll personally drop you off and pick you up myself.” His words don’t make you feel any more confident, hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack. “Y/N, I promise, we will get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. This is temporary, and uh… I’d like to think that, you know, staying with me is not all that bad. You’ll get the bed and you are comfortable in my apartment, anyways, right? And, and! And we can have movie marathons and talk about books, cause I have a lot of books! You know that, of course you know that, you sold me half of them.” Clearing his throat when you just stare at him, you can see how Spencer is ranting. But you don’t mind the rant, actually; oddly enough, his nervous words are the one thing giving you a sense of normalcy right now. “Cat won’t come to you personally, if that helps. She is in federal prison, we’ve confirmed it yesterday, and anyone that comes in and out of your shop will be checked. Y/N, we– I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you need to trust me.”

“I do,” And you don’t mean to sound so sad, but you can’t help it. Right now, he’s the only person you can trust, and for you, that is one of the saddest things you’ve ever experience, because even though you know you need to pull away from him, that you need to put some distance between yourself and the man standing right in front of you, you just don’t trust yourself to be able to do it. “Anyways, can we go? I’m really tired, it’s been one hell of a day.”

The walk over there drains the last bit of life you still have in you, foot dragging and tripping on the road, and you hate that this is how Spencer holds you for the first time– stopping you from falling on your face. “Sorry,” You mumble, following him once you’re on your feet again. The way his hands hover around you while you slowly make your way up the stairs of his apartment is adorable, and each and every time your heart skips a beat for him, it also breaks for yourself. You are digging your grave, and the worst part is that you don’t seem to care. You’re weak, you think to yourself, exhaling heavily when you finally walk inside the familiar apartment.

You are so tired that you don’t really think about things too much, dragging yourself to the armchair you adore so much and sitting down. The way you kick your shoes off isn’t very polite, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow; for now, all you want is to shut your eyes and drift off to sleep, lulled by the muted green walls and the stories they told. While you slip into the hypnotic pull of a dreamless slumber, you can hear shuffling in the background, and later on, much later into the night, you don’t feel it, but Spencer covers you with your favourite blanket– the wool one his mother gifted him ages ago, the one you always leave tossed aside on his armchair. And you don’t see the way he smiles at you either, like he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn’t mind; not as long as you get to sleep as soundly as you are then.

Actually, when it comes to Spencer, you are blind. To logic, yes, but to him, too. For someone as observant as yourself, it’s a little ridiculous how oblivious you are to the looks he send your way when you’re not paying attention. They linger, and he smiles in a way you’re yet to witness, but they are all for you. It’s the one bit of him that Spencer can give you, and you’re not even aware of it enough to take it and keep it safe.

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better to not have hopes.

Sometimes, Spencer thinks, fixing your blanket so that it tucked under your chin just right when your curl into a small, defenceless ball of exhaustion, it’s better to never have loved, then to have loved and lost.

He would know.

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aaaahhhh this is really happening! it's now official: a muted shade of green is an active series :D sorry if it felt like it took so long for an update, I just don't have much time to write recently, but I'm working on it! hope you like it <3

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seriiousgiirl · 1 month ago

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𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. It's in this chapter that the smut warning applies.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 5 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone, sorry for the short notice. I've had a tough few days (insomnia, mostly), and had to take a little break. But I'm back and hope to be able to post chapters 5 and 6 in the next few weeks. Thanks again for your support and patience!

Some people have also asked me to create a James bot on C.AI or Janitor.AI based on this story, I don't know if anyone would be interested?

➜ ┊: chapter 4/?.

It had been a few days since you’d ventured into James's world, and with that, a peculiar silence had settled over everything, thick and suffocating. The morning after your dinner together had dawned heavy with a sense of dread that gnawed at your stomach, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of James slipping past you like a shadow, his gaze averted as if your presence were a ghostly reminder of something he couldn’t bear to confront.

You tried to catch his eye, hoping for a fleeting moment of connection, something to bridge the chasm that had formed between you. Yet, he always seemed to look away at the last possible second, as if he feared the intensity of your gaze would draw forth feelings he wasn’t ready to face. Each time he turned his head, it felt like a small wound, reopening the ache of unspoken words and unresolved tension.

It hurt more than you expected.

He’d been around, of course, often dropping Laura off at school, looking as handsome as ever but visibly worn down by an invisible burden. On one particular evening, you caught a glimpse of him through the dim light of the setting sun, his features sharp yet shadowed, eyes heavy with fatigue. The sight pained you; it was a reminder of the struggles he was wrestling with, of the grief that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

At school, he continued to avoid you like the plague, slipping in and out during drop-offs and pick-ups. Each encounter made your heart race, a confusing mix of longing and disappointment washing over you.

One afternoon, as he picked Laura up, the air felt charged. He glanced in your direction for a fleeting moment, and your heart soared, only for it to plummet when he quickly turned away, his expression unreadable. In that instant, you caught a glimpse of his profile—handsome, defined, yet somehow haunted by the spectres of his past.

You longed for him to break the silence, to bridge the gap between you with words or even a gentle touch, but he remained ensconced in his own silence, treating you like a spectre haunting the corners of his life. And deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw you that way, too—just a ghost lingering in the echoes of his memories.

As you recalled those fleeting moments you had shared, a heaviness settled in your chest. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his large hand had cradled your face and hips, and the soft whisper of your name escaping his lips—it all felt vivid, alive in your memory. Yet, each recollection came with the stark reminder of Mary, the wife he had lost, her absence casting long shadows over everything that might have been between you.

Guilt began to intertwine with your yearning, an insidious companion that lingered in the recesses of your mind. Had you tempted him into something he wasn’t ready for? Was it selfish of you to wish for him to lean into those feelings, to seek solace in you while his heart still mourned the love he had lost? The conflict twisted within you, a complex blend of desire and sorrow that left you feeling hollow, as if you were reaching for something just beyond your grasp.

But as the days turned into an endless cycle of longing and uncertainty, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the ache in your heart—the longing for connection, for understanding, for the warmth of his touch. With every glance, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too or if he was simply drowning in his own sorrow, oblivious to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

It was an afternoon like any other, with the classroom quiet and still, the hum of the school day long gone. The children had all gone home, and you were left tidying up, humming softly to yourself as you wiped down the desks, erasing the chalk from the board. The fading light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you were almost ready to head home yourself.

Until you heard his voice.

“Y/n?”

The sound stopped you in your tracks. Slowly, you turned toward the door, and there stood James, leaning slightly against the frame. The sight of him made your heart sink. His eyes, deep and brooding, seemed weighed down by something heavier than just exhaustion. His whole demeanour—shoulders slumped, head bowed slightly—was one of someone carrying far too much on his own. He looked utterly pathetic, and it wasn’t just fatigue; it was something deeper, like a man on the edge of breaking but holding himself together out of sheer necessity.

You had never seen anyone look quite so lost. He looked so lost, like a sad puppy that had wandered too far from home. His sadness was so palpable, it made the air in the room feel thick, pressing against your chest. There was no hiding it, no masking it behind small talk or a forced smile. It was right there in his gaze, that flicker of torment that hadn’t left since you’d first met him.

It hurt to see him like this—more than it should have, more than you wanted to admit.

He was always handsome, even in his weariness, but today he looked like a ghost of himself. Before, when you didn’t know the full story, his sadness had seemed almost abstract, a mystery you couldn’t quite solve. But now, with everything you knew about his past—about Mary, Laura, and the guilt that haunted him—it was impossible to not feel his pain as if it were your own.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. The weight of his presence had stolen your voice. You tried to think of something casual, something that wouldn’t betray how much seeing him like this affected you, but everything felt inadequate. How could you offer comfort when you felt so tangled up in your own feelings for him?

Finally, your voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence. "James... why are you here?"

He looked up at you, almost startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to acknowledge him. His eyes met yours for only a brief moment before dropping again, his fingers fidgeting slightly at his side. He looked embarrassed, maybe even ashamed to be there, as if he didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Laura…” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, like it took everything in him just to speak. “She forgot her maths book.” He paused, swallowing thickly before continuing. “We started her homework, and it was only then she noticed it was missing.”

His explanation was so simple, so mundane, and yet the way he said it made it feel like so much more. Like this wasn’t just about a forgotten book. It was about him reaching out, searching for something—perhaps even without knowing what. You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral, though your heart ached for him.

He was a mess, a man so clearly lost in his own grief and guilt, and it pained you to see him standing there, barely holding himself together. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment, and yet, here he was, making the effort for Laura, for something as trivial as a schoolbook. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned toward the shelves where you kept the children’s books. “I see... Let me find it for you,” you said, your voice gentle, careful, not wanting to add to the weight he was already carrying.

As you moved to locate the book, your mind raced. James had always been distant, but today was different. He looked shattered, a man barely hanging on, and the worst part was knowing that nothing you said or did could fix that. His sadness was his own, something too deep and personal for anyone to reach, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to try. Even if you couldn’t save him, you wanted to at least ease the burden, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

When you turned to see James, he had already stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound sent a shiver through you, sharp and sudden. You hadn’t expected him to come any closer, but there he was, just a few feet away now, the air between you suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your heart began to race, and you could feel it in your chest as you inhaled the faint scent of his cologne—a subtle, masculine fragrance that was almost too quiet to notice. Yet it wasn’t too quiet for you. You had spent so many days since that afternoon thinking about him, about every detail of him, that missing his scent would be impossible.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you retrieved the book from the shelf, but when you turned back to hand it to him, your fingers trembled. You reached out, the textbook in your hand, but instead of just taking it, James’s hand brushed against yours. His touch was gentle, but there was something intentional about it, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

He didn’t pull away.

His hand remained on yours, fingers curling slightly around the book, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days. His eyes, so full of sadness and longing, seemed to search for something in you, something he couldn’t say out loud. And for a moment, everything else disappeared—the classroom, the empty halls, the world beyond those four walls. It was just you and him, standing there in the stillness, the weight of all that had been left unsaid pressing down on both of you.

You couldn’t move. His eyes held you in place, and you saw something in them you hadn’t seen before—a hesitation, a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but nothing came out at first. He just stood there, his body tense, his hand still on yours, his expression torn between so many emotions that it was almost painful to witness.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, two simple words finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit you like a tidal wave. The apology was raw, carrying with it all the weight of the things he couldn’t say—the regret, the guilt, the pain that had been eating away at him since that day. And in that moment, you realised just how much he had been struggling, how much he had been carrying alone. Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten again, this time with the surge of emotions you’d been holding back. His hand was still on yours, his touch warm, but there was a distance between you now that went beyond physical space. It was the distance of two people caught between what had happened and what could never be undone.

You wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you didn’t blame him for what happened between you. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, trembling under his gaze, as his apology hung in the air between you like a fragile, broken thing.

James’s lips trembled again, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you with those sad, haunted eyes, and for the first time, you saw how close he was to breaking.

But then, slowly, his other hand rose, trembling slightly as it reached toward you. You didn’t move, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently brushed a strand of your hair. The contact was so delicate, almost reverent, as though he feared you might break if he held on too tightly.

He pulled the strand toward his face, his movements hesitant and slow, and before you could fully comprehend what he was doing, James pressed the strand of your hair against his nose. His eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply, breathing you in as though he had been starved of the scent, like it was something he’d been longing for since the last time he held you close. His chest rose with the depth of his breath, the movement laboured, as if the act itself was painful.

The sight of him, standing there with your hair pressed against his face, was intimate—achingly so. There was a vulnerability to him that broke something inside you, as if you were seeing a part of James he had kept hidden, even from himself. His expression twisted, and though his eyes were shut, you could see the torment etched across his features—the crease of his brow, the tight line of his jaw, the way his lips parted with an unspoken agony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. He sounded broken, the words choked out like they were tearing him apart from the inside. “I’m so sorry.”

It was like he couldn’t stop apologising, each repetition heavier than the last, as though he were trying to atone for everything. His hand in your hair trembled, but he didn’t let go, as if holding onto that small piece of you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His apology was raw, relentless, his voice cracking with every word, and you could feel the storm of emotions he was fighting to contain—grief, guilt, desire, all wrapped up in that one act of holding your hair to his face like it was his lifeline. You wanted to say something, to comfort him, to reach out and tell him it was okay, that you didn’t regret what had happened between you. But all you could do was watch him, your heart pounding in your chest as his pain washed over you. His other hand still rested on yours, and for a moment, it felt like the only thing connecting him to reality was the physical touch between you.

James’ breaths grew heavier, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his emotions. His eyes remained closed, his face buried in that single strand of your hair, as if he could hide from the world in that small, fleeting connection.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible. His lips trembled as he spoke, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with the kind of torment that twisted your stomach. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried.”

Your hand moved almost instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed against James' cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, rough from the stubble that had grown in the past few days. He flinched ever so slightly at the contact, but then, as if he had been waiting for it—desperate for it—he leaned into your hand, pressing his face against your palm like a man starved of human touch.

The vulnerability in the gesture broke your heart. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the guilt he carried like a burden too heavy for one person to bear. His eyes fluttered shut again, and a shuddering breath escaped him, his body trembling as he leaned further into you.

"It’s okay," you whispered, your voice soft, trying to offer him some comfort, some relief. "You didn’t do anything wrong, James."

His brow furrowed at your words, as though they caused him physical pain. He shook his head, not moving from your touch but rejecting your reassurance with a stubbornness that spoke of the battles raging inside him. He couldn't accept it—couldn't allow himself to believe that he wasn't at fault. That this connection between the two of you wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It’s not okay... I... I shouldn’t... I—" His voice cracked, and he drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders trembling as though the emotions were too much to contain.

You could feel him holding back, the restraint in the way he stayed so close but didn’t dare cross the line again. His lips were parted, and he kept stealing glances at you as though he wanted to say something more, to let it all out—but couldn’t.

"James..." you started, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. His hand was still on yours, holding it against his face like he couldn’t bear to let go. "You don’t have to keep punishing yourself. You’re allowed to feel, to want something... someone."

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes closed, focusing on your touch. The silence was heavy, and it pained you to see him like this—so conflicted, so torn between what he felt and what he believed was right.

“I shouldn’t want this," he muttered again, voice choked. "I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done… not after Mary."

His words hung in the air, and the mention of her name felt like a knife to the chest. You knew this wasn’t just about you—this was about the weight of his past, the ghosts he couldn’t escape. His guilt over what had happened to her, the pain he still carried even though she was gone. But as he leaned into your touch, it felt like he was clinging to you, searching for something, someone to pull him out of the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

"James," you whispered again, your voice soft but firm. "You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be."

His breath hitched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his eyes—something raw and desperate, a need that went beyond anything physical. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, breaking the contact, his face a mask of anguish.

"I can't," he whispered. "I don't deserve this... I don’t deserve you."

The words hit you hard, and you could see the pain behind them, the deep-seated belief that he was beyond redemption. He tried to pull away from you, as if punishing himself further, but you didn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, closing the distance between you. "You’re not the monster you think you are," you said softly. "You’re a good man, James. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought back the torrent of emotions.

You sighed softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you searched his face. His pain, his guilt—it was unbearable to witness. You wanted to do something, anything, to take it away, to make it easier for him. You didn’t know how far you were willing to go for him, but the sight of him breaking down before you was too much.

"It’s awful to see you like this, James," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked into his tormented eyes. "If it would help... if it would relieve you, then you can claim what you want. Whatever it is, I’m here, I… I won’t say anything, it’ll be a secret. Like nothing ever happened."

The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their weight, but you meant them. The offer hung in the air like a lifeline, and as soon as they left your lips, something inside James seemed to shift. His eyes darkened, a spark of something raw and desperate flickering to life. Hunger. The same hunger you had seen before but held back by layers of guilt and self-loathing. Now, at your words, it began to surface, threatening to consume him.

The maths book you had handed him slipped from his grasp, falling forgotten to the floor with a soft thud. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were afraid to break the fragile tension between you, but he leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your cheeks. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers grazing your skin as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

His nose brushed against yours, his breath warm on your lips, and the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the raw emotion radiating from him. It was palpable, and in that moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the guilt. Not the pain.

Just him.

"I... I don’t know if I can stop," he whispered, his voice strained, almost pleading as though he were asking for permission to give in to what he wanted. "I’m so tired of fighting it..."

His lips hovered just above yours, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his hesitation, the battle waging inside him. But the hunger in his eyes was undeniable now. You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, and whispered, "Then don’t."

It was all the permission he needed. James closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and full of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. His hands tightened on your cheeks, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

His need for you was overwhelming, and in that moment, it was as if nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and emotion that neither of you could control anymore.

James's tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you with a desperation that bordered on feral. He licked along your tongue, sucking on it, as though attempting to devour you from the inside out. His hands gripped your hair, holding you in place as he plundered your mouth. Between frantic, sloppy kisses, James tore his mouth away just enough to gasp out, "We shouldn't... This is so wrong..." Even as the words left his lips, his body betrayed his true desires. His hips rocked against you, grinding his hardening length against your core.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on with breathless whispers. "Take what you need," you coaxed, your voice thick with want. "I'm yours, James. Let go and just feel..."

A low groan rumbled in his chest as James surrendered to the all-consuming need coursing through him. His tongue tangled with yours, licking into your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at it with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Fuck, you taste so good," James panted against your lips, his voice raw with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long… But I shouldn’t…"

But even as the words left his lips, his actions told a different story. His hands were roaming your body now, as if seeking to memorise every curve and dip through your clothes. He groaned when his palm brushed over your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. "Tell me to stop," James pleaded, his voice ragged with need. "Y/n, please... I don't know if I can hold back if you keep encouraging me like this."

He punctuated his words with another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. James' hands slid around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. With a low groan, he turned and pushed you up against the bookshelf, pinning you there with his body.

"I want to hear you moan for me, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands caressed up your thighs, slipping under your skirt. He nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath making you shiver. "I need to feel how wet you are for me." His fingers brushed over the damp fabric of your panties and you couldn't suppress the breathy whimper that escaped your lips. James rumbled his approval.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, rubbing his palm against your clothed slit. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me." He slipped a finger beneath your panties, teasing your slick folds. You gasped at the first touch, your walls fluttering around the digit. James curled his finger, stroking over your sensitive nerves and drawing out needy moans.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, working you with his fingers. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. I want everyone in this school to know who you belong to." He captured your lips in another searing kiss as he fingered you harder, his thumb circling your clit. The obscene wet sounds of your arousal filled the air, mixing with your wanton moans and the creaking of the bookshelf as James rutted against you.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, you could only cling to him, surrendering yourself to the intensity of his touch. In that moment, nothing existed but your rejected love and the overwhelming need consuming you both.

Your moans grew louder as James' fingers delved deeper, stroking over your most sensitive spots. Electric pleasure sparked through your body with each thrust, your walls clenching greedily around his digits. "Oh god, James!" you cried out, your hips rolling to meet his touch. "Don't stop, it feels incredible..."

He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You like being fingered in the middle of the class, don't you? Waiting for me to come claim you, to touch you like this where anyone could see." James curled his fingers just right, rubbing insistently over your G-spot. Your knees nearly buckled at the intense sensation, a flood of wetness coating his hand.

"Answer me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me how much you love being touched by me, even if someone walks by and hears what a needy little thing you are." To emphasise his point, James slipped his fingers out and pushed two back in, spreading them wide to stretch you open.

You keened at the lewd intrusion, your pussy fluttering wildly. "Please..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More, harder, anything to relieve the building pressure inside you.

"Please what?" James teased, pumping his fingers slowly. "Use your words, Y/n. Let everyone know how badly you need to be fucked."

He twisted his wrist, rubbing over that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes. Your moans reached a fever pitch, echoing off the bookshelves. Distantly, you registered the risk of discovery, but it only seemed to heighten your arousal. In that moment, pinned between James' hard body and the shelf, you didn't care who saw or heard. You just needed him to touch you more, to claim you completely. Consequences be damned.

Your body tensed, muscles pulling tight as your orgasm crashed over you. "Oh fuck, James!" you cried out, voice breaking on his name. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fingers as you came hard. James groaned, working you through it, his fingers gentling. He rubbed soothing circles over your clit as you rode out the waves, drawing out your bliss.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me," he encouraged. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

As your climax ebbed, James withdrew his hand, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, savouring your taste with a low hum of appreciation. "Mmm, you taste as sweet as I imagined," James purred. "Seeing you fall apart for me, knowing I did that... Fuck, it's almost enough to make me cum in my jeans."

He rocked his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your thigh. You glanced down and saw a damp patch spreading on the fabric where his cock twitched urgently. James was right on the edge, aching for release. "Do you want to feel me cum?" he asked, voice strained with the effort to hold back. "Want to see me lose control for you?"

“Y-Yes, please.” You said, your voice still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm.

James fumbled with his fly, freeing his throbbing cock. It sprang out, flushed and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked, hissing at the sensation. "Fuck, just like that," he grunted, working his shaft faster. "Watching you cum got me so hard, Y/n. I'm gonna... Ungh!"

With a final few tight pumps, James threw his head back with a guttural moan as his orgasm hit. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, splattering obscenely across your skirt. He milked himself through it, riding out the intense waves of pleasure. Panting, James slumped against you, his softening cock still in his hand. He captured your lips in a languid kiss, sharing your taste between you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction.

"That was... Wow," he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

Your legs trembled, the aftershocks still singing through your nerves. You'd never experienced anything so intense, so all-consuming. James had ruined you for anyone else, with a single touch. You knew you were addicted to the way only he could make you feel.

James helped you smooth your skirt back down and straighten your clothes, his touch gentle but almost impersonal now. There was a new tension in his shoulders as he tucked himself away and refastened his jeans, movements sharp. When he turned back to you, his expression was unreadable. Gone was the vulnerable, broken man who had confessed his feelings. In his place stood a stranger, cold and distant.

"We're keeping this a secret, right?" James asked, his tone almost accusatory. "Like nothing happened."

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Was this really the same man who had been kissing you so passionately and worshipped your body just minutes ago? Shame and confusion warred within you as you nodded mutely.

James searched your face for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Good."

You swallowed back the hurt, forcing a stiff nod of agreement. "Of course. I won't say a word," you murmured, your voice small.

James' expression softened slightly at your acquiescence, some of the anger draining from his posture. "I didn't mean... Fuck. This doesn't change anything, okay? You're still the teacher of my daughter. I can't cross that line again." The mixed message confused you further. If he regretted what happened, why the anger?

But before you could respond, James was already turning away, taking Laura’s maths book on the floor. The dismissal was clear. Whatever connection you thought you'd felt, it was gone now. Just a fleeting illusion born of heat and proximity. Numb, you collected your own books, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. James wasn't angry because he regretted what you shared. He was angry because he didn't.

Because he liked it too much, wanted it too much. And that scared him.

Because it terrified you as well, the intensity of your reaction to his touch. The way your heart raced and your body ached, even now. This thing between you... It was dangerous. Forbidden. But God help you, a traitorous part of you wanted to do it all again. To hell with the consequences.

Shaking your head to clear it, you slipped past James without another word. You had to get out of here, had to put some distance between your bodies before you gave in to temptation again.

As James left without another word, you fled the classroom just minutes later and you couldn't help but wonder what this meant for your future. Could you really go back to a normal parent-teacher relationship after this? Or would the memory of his hands on your skin, his lips devouring yours, be enough to drive you to distraction? Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - your feelings for James would never be the same.

And that terrified you more than any other outcome.

───────────────

Following that afternoon, you had braced yourself for James to disappear from your life, retreating back into the shadows of his grief and responsibilities. Yet, to your surprise, he returned.

James would go to great lengths to ensure these meetings remained shrouded in secrecy. He would meticulously arrange for someone to look after Laura, his little girl blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in her father's heart. The logistics felt cold and clinical, but you understood his reasoning: if Laura saw you at his home too often, she'd start asking questions. And questions were the last thing he wanted to deal with. When he suggested booking a hotel, you sensed it was more than just practicality. It was as if he wanted to keep the entire affair compartmentalised—a small, dark corner of his life that could remain untouched by the chaos of his emotions.

James often reminded you that it “meant nothing,” and part of you wanted to believe him. You had to. It was easier that way. You understood that his heart was still tethered to the past, to the memory of Mary, and what you shared could only ever be physical. Yet, despite the rationalisations, the moments you spent together ignited a fire within you, leaving you both breathless and craving more.

You wrestled with that notion, knowing deep down that it was true. It was just a carnal pleasure for him—an escape from the suffocating weight of his past and the present responsibilities of being a father. And yet, you found it hard to convince yourself that it didn’t mean anything to you, too. Every time he wrapped his arms around you, his touch igniting a fire within you, it felt more profound than mere physicality. You longed for it to be something real, but reality kept slapping you in the face, reminding you that this was just a distraction for him.

You were drawn to him, and every shared breath and fleeting glance ignited a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to let you in. But with every whispered promise exchanged in the dim light of the hotel room, the reality of the situation settled over you like a heavy cloak, reminding you of the limits you—and then James had set, the walls he had built to protect himself.

It was one of those evenings. The hotel room was nicer than usual, you noticed, dimly lit by a warm, ambient glow that softened the edges of the night. You were lying on the bed in your underwear, your body sprawled across the sheets in anticipation. The room felt empty, save for the heavy silence that hung between the moments. You could hear your own heartbeat in the quiet, and the soft rustle of the door as it clicked shut announced James' arrival.

He still wore his jacket, but it looked like a burden, one he was quick to shed as he stepped into the room. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and for a moment, he stood there, unmoving. His expression was clouded, a mixture of exhaustion and something far deeper that you’d come to recognize over these past weeks. James was multi-faceted, a puzzle of emotions that never fully aligned. Most of the time, he wore sadness like a second skin, carrying it with him like a cloak he could never quite shake off. But sometimes, beneath that sadness, there was anger—deep, raw, and bitter—or even hate. It was rare to see him happy, truly happy. The version of James that laughed or smiled felt like a ghost of who he used to be.

Tonight, though, he looked utterly tired, the kind of weariness that dug into his bones and weighed him down. He sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant. His hand found your leg almost instinctively, caressing your skin absentmindedly, as if searching for something—comfort, maybe. But you weren’t sure he could ever really find it.

You shifted slightly under his touch, the feeling of his fingers against your leg sending a small shiver up your spine. You glanced at him, watching his profile as he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. His hand traced slow, idle patterns against your skin, but his gaze was far away, his mind somewhere else.

"Long day?" you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the silence.

James didn’t answer right away. His fingers paused for a moment, then resumed their gentle motion. You could tell he was carrying the weight of something, but it wasn’t your place to ask—at least not anymore. Not in this arrangement, where your time together had become a strange kind of ritual, bound by unsaid rules.

He finally exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of him. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough. "Long day."

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of solace, but you knew better by now. James was a man trapped inside his own pain, his own regret, and as much as you wanted to break through that barrier, you also knew he would push you away if you tried. So instead, you let him sit there, his hand on your leg, and you stayed quiet, letting the silence speak for itself.

His hand lingered, caressing your skin with a kind of absent tenderness that always seemed at odds with the darkness in his eyes. This was the James you had come to know—someone who needed, who sought out comfort in the most fleeting ways, but who could never fully let himself feel it. Someone who wanted but would never allow himself to have.

James shifted beside you, his movements tense and restless, until he finally laid down against you, pressing his body close, almost too close, as if afraid you’d slip away. His head found its way to your chest, clutching at you, not with tenderness but with something more desperate—like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. The moment felt heavy, loaded with all the things he wasn’t saying but you could feel the tightness of his grip, in the ragged way he sighed.

You threaded your fingers through his ash-blonde hair, trying to soothe the tension in his body, but even your touch didn’t seem to be enough tonight. He was different—more on edge, more fragile, and the air between you was thick with unspoken need. James pressed his face deeper against your breasts, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel how hard he was holding back, how much he was crumbling inside.

“I have nightmares,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken. It wasn’t just tiredness. There was something deeper in his tone—desperation, like he was running out of time, out of hope. “I don’t sleep well. Not anymore.”

You frowned, your heart aching for him. You knew he didn’t sleep well, but hearing him admit it, the way his voice trembled, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. “What kind of nightmares?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

James stayed silent, but his grip on you tightened, his fingers curling against your skin like he was holding on for dear life. He didn’t want to tell you, couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he buried his face against you, his body trembling. “It’s bad,” he finally muttered, voice shaking. “Some days it’s worse than others. Today’s one of those days.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. He was coming apart, breaking down, and you weren’t sure how to fix it. “James…” you whispered, but he didn’t let you finish, and he groaned in protest, his head over your breasts. His pain was palpable, suffocating, and you could feel the anguish in every breath he took.

After another moment of heavy silence, James shifted slightly, his body tense as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. It was so rare for him to talk, especially about anything that truly mattered, and when his voice finally broke through the quiet, it startled you.

After another stretch of silence, James shifted again against you, but this time, instead of falling deeper into that quiet, his voice emerged, fragile yet determined. "Mary," he whispered, the name hanging heavy in the air between you. It surprised you—he hadn’t spoken about her since the time you saw her picture at his home, and you had assumed he never would. "I… I felt so guilty. When she got sick, all I could think about was how much I missed her—her warmth, just holding her like this." His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to ground himself through the contact. "But I couldn’t."

His words came out slowly, as if it pained him to say them aloud, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started. You stayed quiet, your hand still in his hair, listening as he unravelled.

"It wasn’t just the sickness, though," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing a sin he had long kept buried. "Even when she wasn’t sick, it wasn’t... right. Our intimacy." His lips twisted in discomfort, and you could feel him tense against you. "There were things I wanted to do, things I thought we’d share, but she didn’t want any of it. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, I don’t know." He sighed heavily, the sound filled with frustration and sadness. "We’d end up arguing—these cold, distant fights that never solved anything. And then we’d—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

"And then we’d have sex, just to stop the fighting," he finally finished, his voice flat, emotionless, like the memory was draining him. "But it was always… it felt so conventional. Like it was just something we were supposed to do, not something we wanted. Not something she wanted, as if I was pressuring her to do it."

James shifted again, burying his face in your chest, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. His hand still clutched you tightly, as if afraid to let go. The pain in his voice was clear, the regret, the guilt, the yearning for something that had always been just out of reach. "I loved her, but… I needed more." His confession was quiet, almost lost in the space between you. "I needed this. I needed what we never had."

It felt like a deep wound had been reopened, and you could feel the rawness of it in every word he spoke. He had been carrying this pain for so long, locked away inside, and now, lying here in your arms, he was letting it spill out. His guilt, his longing, his shame. And even though he didn’t say it, you understood—he wasn’t just missing Mary, he was missing the connection he never had with her. Something deeper, something he was still searching for.

Maybe even in you.

James stayed close to you, his face still pressed against your cleavage, his breathing uneven as the weight of his words hung in the air. You could feel his vulnerability, a kind of desperation that rarely surfaced, like a dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop the flood of his emotions. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, unsure of how to respond to something so deeply personal. But you knew he needed you, your presence, your understanding.

You gently stroked his hair, giving him time to collect himself. After a long pause, you whispered, “It sounds like you were always left wanting something more.”

James’ grip tightened on you, his fingers digging slightly into your side, as if the truth in your words pained him. He nodded against your chest, a faint, tortured sound escaping him.

“I don’t know why,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, heavy with frustration. “Maybe I was too selfish. Maybe I wanted too much. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk to her about it. I didn’t want to hurt her more than she already was.” His voice cracked, as if the weight of that guilt threatened to crush him. “But I was lonely. So damn lonely. And when we… when we were together, it felt like she was just… enduring it. Like I wasn’t allowed to want more from her, to even ask.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart ache. “I needed things I couldn’t ask her for. Things I couldn’t even bring myself to admit.” His lips trembled, his expression torn between shame and an unspoken longing. “And she’d just… shut down. It made me feel like I was a monster for wanting anything.” You listened quietly, sensing the pain in his voice but also the deep frustration that had been buried for so long. It was as though he had locked away all these feelings, all these desires, believing he was wrong for even having them. But now, with you, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“It wasn’t just about sex,” he continued, his voice rough. “It was about needing to feel connected, to feel wanted. I loved her, but… She never made me feel like I mattered that way.”

Your hand rested gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin. “You’re not a monster, James,” you said softly, your voice full of reassurance. “You just… wanted to be seen. To be close to someone.”

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for affection. His breathing hitched, and you could feel the tension in his body, like he was fighting to hold himself together.

“But I never got that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “With Mary, it was always… proper. Reserved. And after a while, I stopped trying. It just… wasn’t worth the fights anymore. We would go days without touching, without even saying much to each other. I’d come home, and she’d just be there, like a ghost, and I’d miss her… even though she was right in front of me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “God, I was such an idiot. I thought things would change, that one day she’d wake up and… see me.”

“I’m sorry, James,” you whispered, your voice thick with empathy.

He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners as he looked at you. “But what if… what if I am just selfish?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What if I always needed too much? Too much from her… too much from you.”

You shook your head softly, your hand cupping his face as you met his gaze. “No,” you said firmly, your tone gentle but resolute. “You didn’t ask for too much. You just asked to be seen, to be loved. That’s not selfish, James. That’s human.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm. “But I’ve already messed things up,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “With you… I’ve taken so much from you, and I… I don’t even know if I can give you anything back.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the rawness in his confession. He was scared—scared of hurting you, scared of repeating the mistakes of the past. But he was also scared of letting you in, of giving himself to you in a way he had never been able to with Mary.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you said softly, your voice steady. “I’m here because I want to be, James. Not because I expect anything in return.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of longing and fear, and you could see the war raging inside him. He wanted to believe you, but he had been hurt so deeply before, left feeling empty and undeserving.

“I just… I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt her.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting gently against his. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you whispered back, your breath warm against his skin. ��I’m not Mary, James. I’m different.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes closing as he absorbed your words. And then, slowly, his grip on you tightened, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and unsure, but the need in his touch was undeniable. He was searching for something—comfort, release, maybe even redemption. And for the first time, you felt like he was truly letting you in.

You held his gaze, your hand still resting on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. James’ eyes, so full of pain and guilt, flickered with uncertainty as you spoke softly, trying to ease the weight he carried.

“James,” you began gently, “sometimes two people can love each other so much that it ends up hurting them. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it doesn’t mean Mary was at fault either. It’s just… sometimes things fall apart, and it’s not about who’s to blame.”

James’ brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came.

“It was a bad time,” you continued, your voice low but filled with compassion. “You both went through so much, and there wasn’t a way to fix it. Sometimes… love just isn’t enough to heal everything.”

James’ eyes closed, his breath trembling as he let your words wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your hand as if he were battling with the acceptance of what you were saying. “It doesn’t make you a bad person,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. “It doesn’t mean you failed her. You did the best you could with what you had.”

James’ grip tightened on you for a brief moment, and then he let out a deep, shaky breath, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of your words was too much to bear. His forehead pressed against yours again, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “I just… I keep thinking, maybe if I’d done something differently,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe if I’d been better, or tried harder—”

You silenced him with a gentle shake of your head, your fingers moving through his hair. “No, James. Don’t do that to yourself. You loved her, and she loved you, but sometimes that love isn’t enough to stop the hurt. It doesn’t make either of you bad people. It just… happened.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the quiet stretching between you as he absorbed the truth of what you said. His hand slipped to rest on your waist, and you could feel him relax slightly, as if the burden on his shoulders had lightened, even just a little. “I don’t know how to let go of it,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached for him, for the weight of guilt and grief he carried every day. But you knew he couldn’t keep punishing himself forever. He deserved to find peace, to let himself heal, even if it took time. “You don’t have to let go of it all at once,” you whispered, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, holding him close. “Just take it one day at a time. You’re allowed to feel everything you feel, but you’re also allowed to move forward. You deserve that, James.”

He stayed still for a long moment, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breath coming out in soft, ragged sighs. And then, slowly, he nodded, the faintest hint of acceptance in his touch as he held you close. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” you reassured him, your fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. “Just know that I’m here. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.”

His grip tightened on you, and for the first time, you felt him truly lean into your touch—not out of desperation, but out of a need for comfort. It wasn’t about running away from the pain anymore; it was about finding a way to live with it, and maybe, just maybe, to start healing.

You held James close, his head resting against your chest as you softly stroked his hair. His body felt heavy against yours, weighed down by all the unspoken emotions, the guilt, and the unresolved pain. In the silence, a thought crossed your mind—one that had been lingering in the background of your conversations. “What is it, James?” you asked gently, your voice a soft whisper in the dim light of the hotel room. “What did you always want to do… but never could?”

He was still for a moment, as if processing your question, caught off guard by the depth of it. His fingers lightly gripped your waist, and you could feel the tension building in him again, as if the memories were flooding back too quickly. His breath hitched slightly, and you knew you had touched on something buried deep.

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His head shifted slightly against your chest, and he didn’t meet your gaze, almost shyly. “I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

You continued to gently run your fingers through his hair, reassuring him with your presence. “It’s okay, James. You can tell me.

You could see the conflicting emotions playing across James' face - the fear of revealing too much warring with the desperate need for release, for absolution. His breath came faster, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrestled with himself. "I've always..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I've always wanted to dominate. To take control. But I never knew how. I was always too afraid."

He lifted his head to look at you then, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to be the one in charge, Y/n. I want to own your pleasure, make you beg for me. Like… more intense?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of excitement mingling with the tenderness in your chest.

"Show me," you whispered, your hands framing his face. "Show me how to be yours."

Something shifted in James' expression, a flicker of relief and determination. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that stole your breath. His hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you.

"You're mine," he growled against your lips. "All mine. And I'm going to make you feel so good, baby girl. Gonna take such good care of you." He nipped at your jaw, your throat, marking you as his. His touch was firm, commanding, stoking the heat between your legs. You arched into him, surrendering completely.

James' hands roamed your body with a newfound confidence, squeezing and caressing every curve. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties, teasing along the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he groaned, feeling the dampness. He hooked his fingers in the fabric and yanked, ripping your panties off with one swift motion. The cool air hit your heated flesh and you shivered. James threw the tattered lace aside, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy.

"You like that, baby? Like me taking control?" He reached out and ran a single finger along your slit, collecting the slick on his fingertip. He brought it to your mouth, painting your lips with your own arousal. "Taste how fucking wet you are," he commanded. James pushed you back on the bed, looming over you.

His clothes were still on but you could see the huge bulge straining against his zipper. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was. "Gonna worship this pretty little pussy," he promised, voice low and rough with desire. "Gonna lick up every drop, make you scream for me."

He pushed your thighs apart, settling between them. His hot breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh as he inhaled deeply. "Christ, you smell amazing," James groaned. "Can't wait to taste it."

He dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick. Your back arched off the bed, a gasp escaping your lips. James growled at the response, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you.

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers pushed inside you, pumping in and out as he ate you out like a starving man. Obscene slurping sounds filled the room, mingling with your unabashed moans.

As James buried his face between your thighs, your moans echoed off the hotel room walls. His stubble-covered cheeks brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, the delicious friction sending electric shivers up your spine. You could feel his nose nestled against your pussy, his hot breath teasing your already drenched folds. "Oh god," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. "James, please..."

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Please what, baby?" he purred, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Use your words."

Your gaze locked with his, hazy with need. "I need you," you breathed, writhing beneath his intense stare. "Please, James... I want to feel you."

A wicked grin spread across his face. "That's not what I asked, sweetheart. Try again."

His words sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. In that moment, you realised exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed to know. Craning your neck, you cried out, "Please, Daddy! I need you!"

The words seemed to ignite something primal in James. With a possessive growl, he surged forward, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, dominating every inch. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so tightly you knew you'd be marked tomorrow.

James broke the kiss with a gasp, panting harshly against your cheek. "That's right, baby girl. Call me Daddy," he rasped, voice dripping with dark promise. "This needy little cunt belongs to me."

To emphasise his point, he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked hard, making you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. He lashed the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, wringing desperate cries from your throat.

"Daddy, please!" you sobbed, fisting your hands in the sheets. "It's too much, I can't..."

James only redoubled his efforts, two fingers plunging into your soaked heat. He pumped them in and out, curling against your inner walls. The mix of pain and pleasure was exquisite, overwhelming. Your thighs trembled around his head, your toes curling into the mattress.

"So good," you panted, head thrashing on the pillow. "Fuck, James, your mouth feels amazing."

When his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles, it finally tipped you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. James worked you through it, drawing out every last aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the bed.

Pulling back, James wiped his slick mouth with the back of his hand, looking immensely pleased with himself. His hair was tousled from your desperate grip, his lips swollen from your kisses. "Goddamn," he breathed, drinking in the sight of you. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you let go like that. My perfect girl."

He crawled up your body, hovering over you. You could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your hip, hot even through his jeans. James captured your lips in another searing kiss, devouring you, consuming you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, musky and heady. "Suck me," he commanded, voice low and authoritative. "Get that pretty mouth on Daddy's dick and show me what a good girl you are." He asked, taking off his tie and shirt.

Your heart raced at the new dynamic between you, this confident, dominant side of James awakening a primal hunger in your core. You sat up and reached for his belt, eager to obey his orders.

You gripped the base of James' cock, angling it towards your eager mouth. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing the prominent vein from root to tip. Reaching the weeping slit, you swirled your tongue around it, lapping up the salty-sweet precum that beaded there. "Mmm, you taste so good," you purred, your words making James' cock twitch against your lips.

You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling gently as you savoured his flavour. Inch by inch, you worked your way down his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him deeper. James groaned above you, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Fuck, just like that," he praised, guiding your head to bob along his length.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to give James as much pleasure as he'd given you. You let him guide your movements, surrendering control as you focused on pleasuring your Daddy with your mouth. Above you, James' abs flexed and his breath came in short, sharp pants. His grip on your hair tightened and his thighs tensed, signalling his impending release. You doubled your efforts, desperate to taste him.

With a low, guttural groan, James came undone. His cock pulsed against your tongue as he spilled his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop, relishing the intimate connection. As James softened, you released him from your mouth with a final, loving kiss to the tip.

James pulled you close, peppering your face with tender kisses. "That was incredible, baby girl," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "I've never felt anything like that before." You snuggled into his embrace, giggling, happy to see him enjoying himself.

“But we aren’t done, yet,” And James rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning your ass in the air. The new angle made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused. You could feel his eyes raking over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," James growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "All ready for me."

He delivered a sharp smack to your right cheek, making you yelp in surprise. The stinging sensation quickly melted into a throbbing heat that spread through your core. James soothed the abused flesh with his palm, kneading the plump globes of your ass. "Count them, baby girl," he commanded, punctuating his words with another smack to your left cheek. "Let Daddy hear how good his little girl is taking her punishment."

"One," you gasped out, your voice hitching as James continued his sensual assault on your backside. Each stinging slap was followed by a moment of intense pressure, the heat building within you until it exploded into pure, molten need. By the time James reached ten, your ass was flushed a deep pink and you were panting with need.

You shifted your position, moving to straddle James' hips. His semi-hard cock nestled against your slick folds, already stirring back to life. You ground slowly against him, coating his length in your arousal. Above you, James groaned, hands coming up to grip your waist.

"Already so wet for me again," he praised, voice low and rough with renewed lust.

“Of course James,” You rolled your hips, sliding your slick heat along his hardening shaft. The head caught on your entrance with each pass, teasing you both with the promise of what was to come. James' fingers dug into your skin, his control fraying at the edges.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached down to guide him inside. With a single, smooth thrust, James sheathed himself fully within your welcoming heat. You both cried out at the exquisite sensation, bodies trembling with the force of your connection.

"So fucking perfect," James panted, fighting the urge to rut into you wildly. "Gonna make this last, baby girl. Gonna worship this sweet little pussy." He set a deep, steady rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before sliding home again. Each drag of his cock along your sensitive walls stoked the flames of your desire higher. Your nails raked down the sweat-slicked skin of his back as you matched his pace, meeting him thrust for delicious thrust.

You cried out at the sudden stretch, walls fluttering around his thick girth as he filled you completely. James stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm. Each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," James groaned, picking up the pace. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with increasing force. "So tight, baby. Like you were made just for me."

The wet sounds of your joining filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps. James' hands roamed your body, mapping every dip and curve as if committing you to memory. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he consumed you thoroughly. "My beautiful Y/n," he rasped against your mouth, the intimacy of your name on his lips making your heart race.

His words, coupled with the relentless pleasure building in your core, pushed you closer to the edge. Your inner muscles fluttered around James' pistoning cock, signalling your impending climax. He reached between you to circle your swollen clit, the added stimulation sending you flying.

You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to James. He gripped your hips, pulling you back against his hardness. With one swift thrust, he buried himself inside your slick heat, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," James groaned, setting a relentless pace as he began to move again.

He pounded into you from behind, the lewd slap of skin against skin filling the room. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body. James' hands roamed your curves possessively, squeezing and kneading your flesh as he claimed you again and again.

"Harder, James,," you begged, arching your back to take him even deeper. "I want to feel you in the morning."

James growled, slamming into you with renewed vigour. He hooked one arm under you, forcing you up onto your knees as he railed you with abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit spots you didn't even know existed, driving you wild with lust. For hours, James took his pleasure from your willing body. You let him explore every position imaginable, determined to bring you to the brink of madness with ecstasy. You lost count of the number of times he came inside you, his hot seed painting your walls and filling your womb.

Through it all, James remained insatiable, his stamina and appetite for you seemingly endless. He worshipped every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, marking you as his own. By the time he was finally spent, you were a quivering, sweat-slicked mess, utterly satisfied in a way you'd never known before.

As James pulled you into his arms, both of you basked in the afterglow. The shy, reserved man you once knew was gone, replaced by a confident, dominant lover who reveled in bringing you pleasure. And though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would gladly surrender yourself to James desires again and again.

You snuggled closer to James, marveling at the newfound intimacy between you. His strong arms encircled you, holding you tight against his firm chest. The warmth of his skin seeped into your own, "Tonight was incredible," you murmured, tracing idle patterns on James' chest with your fingertips. "I've never seen you let go like that before, so free and uninhibited."

James' eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. There was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache. "I've always wanted this," he confessed softly. "To lose myself in you completely, to worship every inch of your beautiful body until you screamed my name. But I was afraid, afraid of my own desires and what they might do to us."

You pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, understanding the depth of his confession. "Don't be afraid anymore, James. This is us, this is what we're meant to be. Just like this, skin on skin, hearts entwined."

James pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You poured all of your love and acceptance into it, hoping to chase away the last remnants of his fear. When he finally pulled back, there was a peace in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Smiling, you rested your head against James’ chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm, one that made you feel safe, despite the complicated nature of what you shared. His arm was draped over you, holding you close, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing mingling together.

You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, knowing that these quiet, intimate nights were rare—fleeting even. Yet, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that this, whatever it was between you and James, meant something more than just a temporary escape. The thought lingered in your mind, bittersweet, as you traced your fingers absentmindedly along the contours of his chest.

James shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers brushing against your back in slow, absentminded circles. There was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, different from the desperate, carnal need that had driven him earlier. It was softer, more vulnerable—like he was allowing himself to truly feel, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t know what this means for us,” he murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough from exhaustion. “But… I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your heart squeezing at the raw honesty in his eyes. For a man who had spent so long hiding behind his grief, his guilt, and his fear, these words felt like a fragile offering. You could see the uncertainty in him, the way he was torn between wanting to keep you close and fearing that he didn’t deserve to.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, brushing a lock of his hair away from his forehead. “I’m here, James. I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes at your words, a sigh of relief escaping him as he pulled you even closer. His hold on you tightened, like he was grounding himself in your presence, in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

For a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the weight of the night’s emotions slowly settled. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many unresolved feelings, but for now, in this moment, it felt like enough. You could feel James’ breathing slow, his body relaxing as exhaustion took hold, and you knew he was finally allowing himself to rest.

As you lay there, nestled in the warmth of James’ embrace, the words slipped out almost without thought, carried by the tenderness of the moment. "Could you stay here tonight?" you asked quietly, shyly. It felt natural—right even. The way his body fit against yours, the way his breathing synced with your own. For the first time, it didn’t feel rushed, like the encounters that had come before. Tonight, it felt… different. Deeper.

But the moment the question left your lips, you felt him stiffen beneath you. His once relaxed body tensed, his hand that had been resting so peacefully on your back froze, and you could feel the subtle shift in his breathing—faster, more shallow. The warmth you had just been enveloped in seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving a chill in its place.

"James?" you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes were wide, almost panicked, darting around the room as if he were suddenly trapped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His gaze met yours for a fleeting second before he tore it away, staring up at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched.

"I… I can’t," he finally breathed out, his voice tight and strained.

"Why not?" you asked softly, a sinking feeling forming in your chest. Tonight had been so right, so good. Why was he pulling away now? You reached for him, but he gently pushed your hand away, his movements almost frantic.

"I can't stay," he repeated, sitting up abruptly and pulling himself from your embrace. His back was to you now, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled as they reached for his discarded clothes. "I shouldn’t even be here."

"But James," you began, your voice catching with the sudden wave of confusion and hurt. "It’s different tonight, right? It felt right."

He shook his head, pulling his shirt over his head, still refusing to look at you. "It can’t be more than what it is," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "This was a mistake."

Your heart plummeted at his words, the air in the room growing thick with the weight of them. "A mistake?" you echoed, struggling to keep your voice steady. "You don’t mean that."

But James didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, buttoning his pants with shaky hands, his back still turned to you. It was like watching him retreat into himself, putting walls back up that you thought had come down, if only for a night. "Please, don’t make this harder," he finally said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you."

Your chest tightened, and the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but something in his posture told you that any more pressure would push him further away.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you whispered, the ache in your voice undeniable.

But James didn’t answer. He pulled on his jacket, his back turned to you as he tried to collect himself. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the struggle in his silence. It wasn’t just fear—it was torment. The closer he got to you, the more it hurt him.

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong—that this wasn’t just about deserving, that it was about the connection you shared, the way he opened up to you tonight. But as you sat there, staring at his back, you realised that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change the deep-rooted guilt and fear that had consumed him. It was too much for him to handle, and the reality of that hit you like a punch to the gut.

"James, wait… what happened tonight—it's okay," you tried, your voice soft, reassuring. You wanted to tell him how much you had enjoyed it, that it was more than just meaningless, that it meant something to you. But before you could get the words out, he cut you off sharply, his voice hard and cold in a way you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” he snapped, turning to face you with a desperate, almost frantic look in his eyes. “What happened tonight… it’s not me. I’m not a man like that. I shouldn’t have—" His voice wavered, but the panic in his tone was unmistakable. “You need to forget about this. Forget it ever happened.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a hollow ache in your chest as you sat there, clutching the sheet to your body. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him how much it mattered, how much he mattered. But before you could speak, James’ next words sent a shockwave through you.

“You better take your pills tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you’re not pregnant. I don’t want to be responsible for anything that comes out of this.” His words were biting, harsh. “I can’t—I won’t support anything related to tonight.”

The bluntness of it stunned you into silence. His words felt like a door slamming shut between you, a reminder of just how temporary this had always been for him. You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, the reality of his detachment settling in like a heavy weight in your chest. You wanted to say something, anything, to make him see that what you’d shared tonight wasn’t something to just brush off.

But it was like he was already gone, emotionally cut off from you.

“And don’t… don’t think this changes anything,” James continued, his voice rough with guilt and something else—self-loathing, maybe. “I still love Mary. I’ll always love her. This,” he gestured between the two of you, his face hardening, “you’re nothing like her. You’ll never be close to what she was to me.”

His words pierced through you, each one like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. He was distancing himself from you, pushing you away, making sure you understood that what happened tonight wasn’t about you—it wasn’t about love, or even connection. You were just a temporary distraction, a way for him to feel something, anything, other than the constant grief and guilt that plagued him.

As he grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door, he finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet, empty room.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you lay back on the bed, staring at the empty space beside you where he had been just moments ago. The warmth of his touch, his embrace—it all felt like a cruel illusion now, a fleeting moment of connection that had evaporated into nothing.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. The warmth of his body, his touch, his voice—it was all gone, leaving you with nothing but the cold reminder that, no matter how close you got to James, he would always pull away in the end.

And despite everything, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… this was all you’d ever get.

“Of course you’re sorry,” you whispered, crying yourself to sleep.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

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highvern · 8 months ago

Text

Patterns II

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play

Length: ~9.9k

Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives.

But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.

“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.

Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.

“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?”

Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.

Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?

Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project

Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies

Y/N: and joy

Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.”

“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.

Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”

“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.

“And?”

The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.

Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary.

Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA

Y/N: Your honor free her!!!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand

Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :)

Y/N: whore

But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…

Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.

Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?

Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.

—

The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.

As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s.

The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.

The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.

A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.

“Okay, I need to go home.”

Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.

“Why?” You ask skeptically.

Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.

“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”

“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”

“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”

Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”

He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.

Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.

“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.

Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?”

“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.

You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.

When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time.

Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.

“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.”

Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.

Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.

“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.

Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”

“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?”

“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.

“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.”

You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”

“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.

“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.

“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again.

Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect.

“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything

Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.

Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite

Y/N: im not spooked so easily

Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.

The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company.

Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.

A trio of voices echo down the hallway.

“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.”

The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them.

You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.

Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter.

Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.

“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.

You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television.

Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.

Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body.

Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.

You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.

“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.

You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.

Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.

You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation.

But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again.

You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel.

The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.

He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between..

In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.

The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.

Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.

Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.

Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.

Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.

Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.

The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.

Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.

What is he waiting for? You think.

Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.

But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm.

Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure.

Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in.

Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.

He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.

Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.

But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it.

Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge.

When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again.

But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.

Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.

Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.

She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.

Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover.

The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered.

Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough.

He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.

The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.

“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.

In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence.

The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.

Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.

With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine.

Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.

You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut.

He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.

On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts burned into his skull.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

Wonwoo: Next time?

Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait

The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.

On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing.

More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?

But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.

Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight.

Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing.

His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.

When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day.

Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.

When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door.

Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live.

Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.

Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.

The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat.

A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.

MISSED CALL: Wonwoo

A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.

“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.

He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.

“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.

“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”

“Why?”

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.

“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”

“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.

“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”

“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.

Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.

“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”

“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.

You wince, “Sorry.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”

“Your landlord can’t let you in?”

“Not answering his phone.”

“And Mingyu?”

“Also not answering.”

After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.

Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”

Silence.

“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”

Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.

“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.

“Wai—”

Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior drowsiness transforms into irritation.

Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.

It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”

The pause on the other end of the line is heavy.

“I was being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.

“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”

Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man.

“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.

“…Thanks.”

The call ends.

Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.

If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.

“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.

“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”

Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.

“Wait, let me get some towels.”

Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra.

It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.

Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head.

“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”

Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came.

Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.

Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”

“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.

The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.

You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.

Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.

You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.

While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.

Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair.

“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”

“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago.

Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.

Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”

“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”

“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”

In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway.

How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet.

More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.

“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”

Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently.

Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”

“You’re right.”

“What?” You choke.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes.

You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy.

“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”

Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.

“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.

He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch.

“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”

“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up.

You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you.

Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.”

Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.

“I’m a really, really good actress.”

A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath.

Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones.

A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.

Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.

Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.

He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”

Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.

Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back.

“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt.

A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.

Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.

Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions.

Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.

Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.

Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want.

“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.

You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place.

“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”

Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action.

Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start.

Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.

Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.

“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.

You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.

Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.

Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.

You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate.

Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls.

Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.

“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?”

The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples.

“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”

The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue.

Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.

You snap. “What the fuck?”

He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.

Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.

Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.

Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own.

The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”

His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half.

If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.

Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper.

One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.

“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.

Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance.

Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.

You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.

“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught.

“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.”

The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.

You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.

Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.

“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.

Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again.

It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you.

And you take it.

“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”

Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips.

“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.

The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.

“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?”

His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.

Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing.

Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.”

Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy.

He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole.

“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”

Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.

“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant.

He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.

With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.

Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care.

You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.

You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

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jolalibrary · 5 months ago

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17. tangerine dreams

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seventeen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.1k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. a little anxious rainy. an: i love them i love them.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You didn't mean to, but your finger presses the screen again.

It illuminates, unveiling the time and how another three minutes have ticked on by. A sigh quickly escapes, nostrils flaring from your exhale as you shake your head at how time passes slowly, as though shuffling its feet to become a bit later.

It shouldn’t bother you, should be able to quiet the irrational from spreading into faux reality.

Because things happen, days get away—

His work could be insane, Luca could be ill; he could have written the message out and not clicked send. All things which are plausible, possible. All good enough reasons to not have woken to a good morning text or have heard from him by lunch.

Yet, you stare at the unread message.

Unread messages.

It’s irrational. Baseless. Yet the worries mount like they’re pressing down on your bones and making your head swim in a sea of doubt as they remain unanswered, unread, unnoticed.

Your eyes blur around the way your messages are sitting there, unable to be retracted. All plural in nature. The words ‘sent’ sitting under them, as memories swirl from the conversation the two of you shared after you’d slipped into bed.

It had been warm, usual, no sign of anything changing—but he had been quiet. Less talkative. You had needed to prod him a few times by name for him to hum, and come back to you.

And now, you’ve woken and it's hard not to believe everything feels different. From your home feeling unfamiliar to the quietness you’ve been plunged in.

Maybe, it had been too much too soon. Maybe you'd overstayed your welcome and he was attempting to retract his three words and his promises and his—

Shaking your head, you rub your eyes with the base of your palms. A scream burning on your tongue. Because he isn't them, he's Frankie.

Good, kind.

And you wish he were here. A thing you can’t say. Not again. It had already slipped out last night, through the cracks of comfort; murmuring itself past your lips before he wished you goodnight. It had slipped out, escaping—

Home is you, Frankie.

You can’t remember his reply. Can’t remember if he thought it was cute or sweet, or if he was horrified and filled with dread.

A thing which tangles up inside of you, becomes matted, and clogged. Not able to be broken apart when you step under the water from your shower. Finding yourself shattering instead, breaking, soap lathering and washing away, repeating, as you conjure all the things you could have said that may have upset him. The jokes, the quietness last night; the flirting and the fact you spoke to his ex. It builds, morphing, twisting, doing so until your skin prunes and no more tears are blurring with droplets.

It forces an opening, one where unruly thoughts can break through, prizing itself open as your finger presses the screen again.

Because it’s always this way. Interested, until they’re not. In love, until they aren’t. Staring as the black screen goes dull again. Memories of past relationships where messages went unanswered for days, leading only to painful goodbyes, flashed through your mind.

Fingers pinching the backs of your forearm, almost bruising, doing so until your eyes stop springing fresh pain and the towel becomes another heavy thing constricting you.

Fool. You think it—digging it into flesh. Again. And again as you dress, as you hang your towel. Burying your nails so deep you could rationalise it as the reason tears drop down your cheek as you wander into your almost finished office, crouching in the centre, readying for a sob to escape, to leave—

“Rainy?”

The slam of your front door ripples through the house, hearing it a clatter of keys, wallet, hat—more thuds than placed—as your fingers brush away your sobs, wipe them as though they never existed, standing up from your crouched position to face him. To stand two strides from him.

Frankie's usually warm eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but you spot them softening as they meet yours, tinged with concern, love.

And he’s holding his phone up, a crack right down the screen—little lines running from it, fractured so similarly to how you must appear right on the inside.

“I broke my phone, well Luca broke my phone, but—”

You exhale—both in relief, in thankfulness, and also because it allows you to fill your lungs. To calm yourself. To banish the shadows away to find the strength for yourself to walk across to him.

Because a past version of you would have shrunk more in yourself. Taking the warning, the fear, and used it to build walls that would keep him out. But you're not that person, not now.

Not just because of him, but because of you. The choices, the decisions, the little things that led you down a path to not needing, but finding him all the same.

“—we was having a morning. Slept through my alarm, and then drop off, and then Harold—”

His words halt with an oof as your head presses itself into his chest, and you inhale. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which lets your heart rate calm before his fingers tease the back of your neck. Rooting you, helping you unknot the last ropes of worry and panic.

“I love you,” you whisper, right against his heart, feeling his fingers slide around the side of your neck, hooking under your chin.

And you repeat it. Softer, swathed in a sigh—relief.

Feeling his face burying itself in the top of your head, a kiss given, one pressing to your forehead when you lift, to your nose, and then your lips.

Biting your lip, fingers sliding over his chin, his jaw—tentatively brushing the wiry hair and the soft dimple that begins to appear—as he asks, you okay?

Nodding, swallowing. Burning the panic that had been bubbling in you all morning.

“Just worried you’d had enough of me.”

He whispers your name—each letter, each syllable—before following it with never, I've missed you so much.

And you believe him. You believe him.

How’s my lover?

Still getting used to this new phone. But, outside of that, my son told me that I look old because my hair has grey bits in it, and then I got to work and gave myself a splinter.

I meant Harry, but that’s a lot baby, I’m sorry.

You’re awful to me.

Would me offering to suck your splinter out help?

You fancy using your key tonight?

Starting to think you hate being by yourself.

I appreciate you giving me time with Luca, but I miss you. A lot.

Is there pizza and uno?

I can promise you one of those things.

Tssst. Only one?

Was thinking Chinese and uno?

Sold.

Unlike days ago, alone, wishing for his voice, this morning you’re woken by fingers on your ankles, lips on your lower spine. All soft strokes, interchanging with drags.

“Need you to get up so I can show you something.”

Groaning, lashes fluttering on your cheek, turning your head on the pillow, you find his skin glossed in sweat, wearing the tell-tale signs that he’s been up for a while.

“Frankie…”

“Shh. Surprise time,” he whispers.

Body crawling up the bed as you turn in his sheets, both hands taking either side of his cheek, bringing his mouth to yours. It’s intimate, intense—right. You taste coffee on his tongue, hoping your own breath doesn’t taste half as bad as you can imagine the morning could be.

Whispering, urging you to come on, to get up, even as he lowers his body on top of yours. As he tries to move the duvet and slots your knee over his jean-covered hip.

“Making it really hard to get up.”

“You’re not making it hard for me to get up.”

Laughing, head tipping back as his grinning mouth trails kisses up your neck. Feeling his other palm slide up your stomach, right under the t-shirt you’d stolen from him.

“You know I’ve seen your cock before, if that’s the impressive thing you’re showing me.”

Snorting, he hovers his face over yours, finger tapping the tip of your nose.

Twenty minutes later, your fingers are knotting through his as he leads you through his house. The morning air is crisp, the sun filtering through the trees as he leads you out of the back door. Half-dragged, and still a little sleepy, Frankie’s hand is warm and steady around yours, leading you outside.

“C’mon, just a bit further,” he coaxes gently, voice a soothing balm against the early morning chill.

You squint against the light, noticing the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. Frankie finally stops, his hand releasing yours as he rubs the back of his neck, and you see it.

The table. The one from a yard sale a few weeks ago—as your eyes flick to his, fingers teasing through his curls, a habit you’ve come to adore.

“I um… tried to strip it back, see what shade it was first,” he began, his voice tinged with nerves. “But I know you love this colour, so I thought—”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight. The garden table, the one you’d both made an entire fake scenario around weeks ago, joked that you’d serve him lemonade and bake him cookies. And now, it’s here, a beautiful, vibrant shade of butterscotch, all freshly painted and gleaming in the morning light.

Emotion wells up, your chest tightening as you realise the effort and thought he’d put into it.

“I—I love it, Frankie,” you manage to say, voice choking up. “I… you went and got it?”

Glancing at the ground, arms folding across his chest as he nods. “Right after I dropped you to meet your friend.”

His hand scratches at his arm, pausing mid-scratch, eyes widening into a joyful smile as though all your words dawn on him. “You like it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “You… god, I don’t deserve you.”

His grin widens, before he pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms, kissing your cheek, the gesture tender, reassuring.

“You did this.” Your fingers slide up his cheek, not forcing the tears back like you’d usually, kissing him. “You bought us furniture?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s nothing, finger-swiping your tear away as his breath warm against your skin. “Told you, it’s you and I”

You nod, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. “You and me, technically.”

He kisses a laugh to your lips.

Me and Benny have decided that yoga would kill you and Will.

You enjoy your class?

I did. I think Benny is still working out what he feels. At one point he asked me to put him out of his misery.

Did you?

Yes, I’ve committed murder.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time. You in that lace set the other week—still think I died there and you brought me back.

Mouth-to-mouth really is something special, isn't it? Oh, Benny’s decided that in your next training session, you’re doing yoga.

Baby, I’ve seen you, I don’t think I can do that.

Oh, you can't.

Did you tell him that?

Yeah. He's still laughing.

The music, which has been blasting from your phone for the last ten minutes in the background, suddenly dies on your phone. Glancing over, suds sliding down your arm, you see his face and name light up the screen, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

“Hey, handsome—” you greet, your voice filled with warmth.

“I’d like it on the record,” he says, the rumble of his engine coming through the call, accompanied by the click of a turn signal, “yoga isn’t for me.”

A grin spreads across your face as you drop the plate back into the water, splashing yourself in the process. “He made you do it, didn’t he?”

“He fucking made us do it,” he replies, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humour.

You dry your hands on your jeans and pick up your phone, sliding into one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I owe him ten dollars now,” you say, your tone playful.

“He said.”

Laughing softly, you bite the nail on your thumb, a habit he has begun teasing you about. You listen as he starts recounting the names he was subjected to in the yoga class, his deep voice filling the silence of the room. Names such as Goddess Squat, Cat and Cow, Table and others fall like a list, listening, occasionally helping when he struggles with the name.

“—Baby, I don’t know how you do it,” he says, a mix of admiration and incredulity in his voice.

You pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it as you smile, the affection in your eyes carrying through your voice. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’ll be doing it again,” he admits, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“I told him you’d struggle with it.”

“Struggle? Baby, struggle is a nice word for what Will and I looked like.” Sniggering, all attempts at burying it in your hand fail as you pretend to clear your throat. “I heard that.”

“Not sure what you mean, Butterscotch.” He grumbles something as your elbows come to rest on either side of your phone. “You want me to massage you, baby?”

“Fuck… don’t do this to me, Rainy. I’m driving.”

Smirking, biting the nail on your index. “I’d warm lotion in my hands, press my palms to your back—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

“I’d have to be naked, obviously.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him groan through the phone.

I need you to be free Saturday.

You need me?

Always. But I specifically need you to be free on Saturday.

Leave it with me. Can I know what I’m required for?

No.

Ominous.

It’s a surprise. A birthday surprise. Do you trust me?

I wondered when that would come back around.

I take that as a yes?

Of course. Just checked, I’m all yours.

Harry be okay?

He said he can ask his nephew to help out.

Is he doing okay?

He’s currently making puns about a new product, so I’m going to assume yes.

The car hums softly as you drive.

The late morning sun casts a golden glow across the dashboard. Frankie is sitting beside you, a puzzled smile playing on his lips as he glances periodically at you, trying to decipher your secret—whatever it is up your sleeve.

He interchanges between resting his hand on your thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that matches the song playing on the radio or re-picking a new station.

“Alright, Rainy,” he says, a heavy curiosity in his voice. “Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?”

You glance at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his easy grin and the way the sunlight highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and the little flecks of silver coming through in his curls.

“Not yet,” you reply, a playful lilt in your tone. “You'll just have to be patient a little longer.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You know I'm not good at that.”

“Oh, I know. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The landscape outside the car window begins to change, the city giving way to rolling hills and lush greenery. As the song changes, you steal another look at him, watching him mouthing the lyrics to the song playing before his expression shifts from curiosity to realisation as you near your destination.

Finally, you turned onto a narrow road that winds through a grove of trees, the sunlight dappling the ground in patterns of light and shadow.

And, Frankie’s eyes widen. A spark of recognition ignited in them.

“Is this—?”

You smirk, unable to contain your excitement—stomach doing flips as you slowly begin to nod. “I thought maybe it was about time you introduced me, even in passing, to your first love.”

He’s leaning forward, seatbelt tense against his chest, hand on your dusty dash as the sun streams in and highlights the way his fingers go white from the pressure.

Picking a spot in the gravel, you put it into a park, killing the engine, staring off at the open field—where two helicopters are parked. Nervousness rolls, balling up as you give him a moment, staring ahead, resisting the urge to glance over and see his reaction. See if you've gone too far. Remembering the way Benny's brows had lifted when you'd asked when you'd told him your plan.

Maybe it hadn't been surprise at the kindness, but surprise at the audacity, at the balls—

It's then you feel his hand on your leg, squeezing. Dragging your eyes to him to find his smile so far into his cheeks, making you wonder if you could get lost in his dimples. His eyes are nothing but softness, so full of affection and nostalgia, you think your chest inflates with love.

“Rainy...

It leaves his lips all thick with emotion, as you squeeze his hand on top of your thigh. “Come on, handsome.”

Exiting, walking to the front of the car, you extend your hand, able to breathe a little easier when he slides his fingers within yours.

“Meet Robert—Robbie,” you say quickly, watching Frankie shake his hand—brows knitted together in confusion he tries to hide over the rest of his face. “He’s a friend of Benny’s—and he has a helicopter.”

Frankie’s head turns to you, eyes still a little wide.

“Now, it’s up to you. It’s your birthday gift. But, if you want to go up in it, you can, Robbie can be your co-pilot—I showed him a photo of your old license and Benny helped fill in some things for you. But, if you want to stay on the ground, show me around the cockpit,” you smirk, leaning into him. “I’ve packed us a picnic. It’s in the back of my car.”

He whispers your name.

Not your nickname, your real name. It's all soft, flowy—so gentle as it passes his lips and kisses the air as he stares at the helicopter ready.

Moving closer, hand sliding along his lower back, you stare at his eyes as they move to yours, dropping your voice, “I know you haven’t flown since… then. I don’t think it’s a waste if you want to stay on the ground. But, if you do, I’ll suspend my belief that I’m not going to feel some kind of way about being so high up.”

“You scared of heights?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being in the air in a small metal contraption?”

Snorting, rolling his jaw, he frowns, before his face smooths out and he cups your face, his eyes searching yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, feeling the heat of his gaze. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet—the kind of kiss which makes time stand still. Almost forgetting everything, the wind, the sound of it dancing through the leaves as your arm slides around his neck, hips moving closer to his when his hand finds a home there.

It’s only when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath mingling with yours, do you think about poor Robbie who has thankfully walked back to a hanger.

Frankie looks past you, something unreadable stretching out across his face. Assessing, almost calculating—a face you’re coming to know well. Spotting the slight narrowing of one eye, the way his teeth bite the inside of his lower lip and his nostrils flare.

“Can I show you around?”

Offering your hand, he takes it, sliding his fingers slowly between yours, knitting your palms together. With a playful grin, he guides you around the helicopter. At first quietly, before he points, clears his throat and begins explaining something.

From then on, it’s hard for him to be quiet. Each part is shown, the door opening and shifting you in front so you can clear, as his voice rings with the passion and precision of someone who has spent countless hours in a cockpit like this one. His fingers trace the curves of the fuselage, his eyes sparkling as he describes the functions of the rotor blades, the tail boom, and then back to the cockpit instruments.

You listen, captivated. Not only by his knowledge but by the joy that radiates from him as he speaks—even if you struggle to follow. Even if your nod feels hollow and you’re lost in watching him talk so enthusiastically about something that you’re so new to.

Then, your stomach grumbles. Eyes widen, his voice trailing off as he stares at you, before slowly grinning.

“Shit.”

“You hungry?”

Face scrunching, wearing a face nothing short of apologetic, you bury your head into his chest. “I was so nervous I didn’t want to eat before the drive.”

He kisses your head, burying an, “Oh, Rainy” against your hair before he moves an arm around you.

“You say you packed a picnic?” You nod. “Alright, well I could eat.”

“Are you just saying that? Because I feel like we’ve barely touched the cockpit.”

Smirking, kissing your forehead again. “Let’s eat.”

Taking charge of spreading out the blanket, choosing a spot right near the helicopter—Frankie quickly catches up with Robert. Doing a little half-run back to you as you set out the plates, the glasses.

“You tell on me that I touched his leaver?”

“Yeah. I said, my girlfriend—who you told not to touch anything—touched everything. Practically licked your leaver.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the word girlfriend. Even if you've been it for so long, it still makes joy bloom across your face, your skin and makes your ears warm as blood rushes to them. So much so, that you dip your chin, digging into the basket for the sandwiches from the place he likes, and the snacks you’d managed to make.

“You should be careful saying that sentence to anyone not on this airfield.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs.

Joining you, sinking to his knees first before sitting more comfortably when you hand him a foil-wrapped sandwich.

It isn’t until you take a bite of your own, do you feel your muscles relax. Your body sag, falling into its natural place as the conversation, as it always does, flows easily. Your mind calming, relaxing from all the worries last night of possible annoyance, maybe even anger—hurt and all others.

Instead, it’s all punctuated by laughter, by smiles, and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

“Happy birthday,” you say, pressing it to his lips.

His thick fingers, glide over your neck, around the side, remaining at the back as he swallows. Before there’s a thank you against your lips, against your cheek, before your fingers find a grape, and pop it against his mouth.

Chewing, he smirks, you slide to sit beside him as you grab another chip from the open bag.

It's quiet, but comfortable as the two of you eat the food, the sun cresting in the sky, as Frankie slowly leans back on his elbows, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. “Would you like to see the sky?”

Your heart skips a beat, excitement and nerves mingling in your chest. “Really? You’d take me up?”

He sat up, his expression earnest. “If… If you trust me. I know it’s been a while so, can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, kneeling, sliding across the blanket to him as you clutch his face, “There’s no one I trust more than you—well, other than Luca. The kid really cannot lie.”

Grinning, feeling it against your hand, your palm. Finger stroking at the dimple that appears as you stare at him.

“I know it’s safe—I know I’m safe with you. But, I know this is a big deal. I know you had to walk away from things, so if you’re sure, then I am. I just don’t want to put you off.”

Frankie’s face lit up with a smile that made your heart soar higher than any helicopter ever could. “If anything, I think you being there is just what I need.”

You’re both quick to begin putting away the picnic, him taking it back to the car before you find yourself seated behind him. Headset on, belt done and checked by Robbie—watching Frankie sitting in the cockpit, finger switching controls and dials flicked.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice coming through your ear, your hands gripping your thighs as you smile.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m ready, baby. You and me.”

His laugh, crackly through the microphone, ripples out. “You sure? Not you and I?”

And you roll your eyes, just as the blades go quicker overhead, and you brace a little more for leaving the ground.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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tanjamikaelson · 19 days ago

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BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 3

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 3: | RUMOUR |

You sat cross-legged on your bed, earbuds in, music playing softly as you replayed the events of last night in your mind. Every time you thought about Rafe, a heat crept up your cheeks. The memory of his touch lingered, the way his fingers had moved against you, sending shivers through your body. It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel—wanted, desired. You had never felt anything like it before. The thought of it stirred something inside you, something you hadn’t been able to shake all day.

You were so lost in the memory that you didn’t hear the door burst open until Sarah’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Y/N, is it true?”

Startled, you pulled out your earbuds, eyes snapping up to meet hers. “What?” you asked, still caught between your thoughts and the sudden reality of her presence. The look on her face—disappointment, anger—hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You slept with Rafe?!” The words exploded out of her, each syllable laced with betrayal.

Your heart dropped. “No, I didn’t,” you said quickly, shaking your head, but the hurt in her eyes didn’t waver.

“Then why is everybody talking about it?” Sarah’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her posture defensive and hurt. She wasn’t just your best friend—she was like a sister. And now, standing there, she looked at you like she didn’t know you at all.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “My ex showed up at the party,” you began, your voice steady but laced with frustration. “I told everyone what he did to me... how he cheated. And Rafe—he stepped in to protect me. My ex was jealous and started spreading rumors.”

Sarah’s expression softened, the anger fading just a bit as she processed your words. “And Rafe broke his nose,” she said, piecing together the bits of information she must have heard throughout the day.

“Yeah, he did,” you confirmed. “He didn’t let him disrespect me like that, in front of everyone.”

You could see the tension leaving her shoulders, the rigidness of her posture easing. “I guess it’s nice of Rafe to do that,” she muttered, almost begrudgingly.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, unexpected and light. “Oh wow, I never thought I’d hear you say something nice about your brother.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but smiled, the last of the anger melting away. She sank onto the bed beside you, a sigh escaping her lips. “Hey, I didn’t say he was nice, just that what he did was.” Her tone was playful, but you could hear the undercurrent of relief.

You nodded, smiling at her. “Yeah, okay.”

But even as you joked, a small knot of guilt tightened in your chest. You hadn’t lied to Sarah, not completely. You and Rafe hadn’t slept together, but what had happened between you was still real, still intimate. And you couldn’t tell her, not yet. Maybe one day you’d find the words to explain, to make her understand, but not now. Now, the truth would only hurt her more.

“So, you want to go dress shopping tomorrow for midsummers?” Sarah asked, her voice casual, as if she was trying to push past the tension that had filled the room moments ago.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, grateful for the change in subject, and for the opportunity to move forward.

Sarah smiled, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face, and for a moment, everything felt normal again. “Can’t wait.”

•°•°•°•°•°•

The next day, you arrived at Sarah’s house, excited for a day of dress shopping and distractions. You had spent most of the morning thinking about what you wanted to wear for the midsummer event, picturing yourself in all sorts of dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. But when you reached Sarah’s room, she wasn’t there. You called out her name, but the house was unusually quiet.

Confused, you made your way back downstairs, pausing when you saw Rafe lounging on the couch, his expression unreadable. “Hey, where’s Sarah?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the disappointment of not finding your friend was creeping in.

Rafe shrugged, looking genuinely clueless. “I have no idea.”

“She told me yesterday to come so we could go shopping...” You trailed off, glancing around, wondering where she could be.

“Well, I haven’t seen her either,” Rafe said, then paused, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. “Can we talk? Privately?”

Your heart rate picked up, but you nodded. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Without another word, Rafe stood and grabbed your hand, pulling you gently but firmly up the stairs and into his room. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound somehow final, sealing you both in. He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours, his expression serious.

“About the other night...” Rafe began, his voice careful, as if he was testing the waters. “If I made you feel uncomfortable...”

You shook your head quickly, the words tumbling out before he could finish. “No, Rafe. You didn’t.” You took a breath, trying to find the right words. “I just don’t want Sarah to know. She almost found out the truth after my ex spread that rumor.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening. “I know. He got what he deserved.”

You smiled, the memory of your ex writhing on the floor, blood streaming from his nose, bringing a dark satisfaction. “He did. I loved seeing him like that.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smirk, his eyes lighting up. He was glad you felt the same way, glad that he hadn’t overstepped. Your gaze drifted around his room, and you noticed a baby blue suit hanging on the closet door, pristine and elegant.

“Nice suit,” you remarked, nodding towards it. “Are you wearing that to midsummers?”

Rafe glanced at the suit, then back at you, nodding. “Yeah. What are you wearing?”

You shrugged, the truth still hanging in the air between you. “I don’t know yet. I was supposed to go dress shopping with Sarah...” But as you said the words, an idea sparked in your mind, a way to match, to be connected without anyone knowing.

Before you could finish the thought, Rafe closed the space between you, his presence overwhelming. You felt the door press against your back, his body inches from yours. His gaze was intense, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “So... I would like that to happen again...” His words hung in the air, charged with the memory of what had transpired between you both at Kelce’s party.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew exactly what he was referring to, and the thought of it made heat pool in your belly. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “But not right now.”

Rafe cocked his head to the side, his eyes darkening with something that made your pulse quicken. “When?”

You shook your head, feeling the frustration build. “I don’t know. When Sarah’s not around.”

Rafe’s hand brushed against your arm, his touch featherlight, sending shivers down your spine. “She’s not here right now,” he reminded you, his smirk almost teasing.

“But she could come back any minute,” you countered, your voice a whisper, but filled with urgency.

Rafe sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. “So you want us completely alone? We’re never completely alone.”

You sighed too, mirroring his frustration, feeling it thrum between you like a live wire. “I know, but we can figure something out.”

Rafe stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice laced with annoyance. “Well, let me know when you do.” He turned away, his shoulders tense, his disappointment palpable.

You stood there, your back still pressed against the door, your heart racing. The tension between you was almost unbearable, and as he turned his back on you, a mix of emotions swirled inside you—desire, frustration, and the nagging guilt that came from keeping this secret from Sarah. You had to find a way to make this right, to figure out what you really wanted before everything spiraled out of control.

You fled from his room, your heart pounding, the walls feeling like they were closing in on you. You needed air, space—anything to clear your head. The intensity of Rafe’s gaze, the weight of his words, and the way your body responded to him had all been overwhelming. You could barely think straight as you made your way down the hallway, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

Rafe stood there, stunned, watching as you hurried out. He hadn’t expected you to leave like that, so abruptly, without a second glance. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, a strange mixture of frustration and confusion that he couldn’t quite place. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tried to process what had just happened. He hadn’t meant to push you away. Hell, he hadn’t even realized how much he wanted you to stay until he watched you walk out the door, leaving him alone with nothing but the echo of your presence. A bitter taste settled in his mouth as he replayed the last few moments over and over in his mind.

Why did you leave?

Rafe felt a surge of anger—at himself, mostly. He had been so close, so close to having you again, to feeling your warmth, to experiencing the high of being near you. The memory of the other night, the way your body had responded to his touch, was still fresh in his mind, burning like a brand against his skin. And now, standing alone in his room, he felt that heat turning into a gnawing ache. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the tension that coiled tightly in his chest. His thoughts were a chaotic mess—part of him wanted to chase after you, to drag you back into the room and make you stay until you understood how much he needed you. But another part, the one that knew he had already pushed too hard, told him to let you go, to give you the space you were clearly asking for.

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He knew he could be intense—too intense, sometimes—but he couldn’t help it. Not when it came to you. There was something about you that drove him crazy, made him feel things he didn’t understand, things he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

He turned and punched the wall beside him, the sharp pain in his knuckles a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside his head. He didn’t know what to do with all the emotions swirling inside him—frustration, desire, a strange sense of vulnerability that he wasn’t used to feeling. You had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Rafe let out a low, bitter laugh. He was angry—angry at himself for scaring you off, angry at the situation, angry at everything that kept him from having what he wanted. And what he wanted was you. Completely, without hesitation, without hiding.

He knew you were scared—scared of what being with him would mean, scared of how Sarah would react, scared of how this would change things between all of you. But he was scared, too, even if he’d never say it out loud. Scared of wanting you this much, scared of what it meant if you didn’t want him the same way.

Rafe stared at the door for a long moment, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in the storm of emotions crashing through him. He wanted to run after you, to pull you into his arms and tell you that he’d wait, that he’d do whatever it took to make this work. But he knew that right now, that wasn’t what you needed.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he turned away from the door, the frustration simmering under his skin like a live wire. He needed to cool off, to clear his head, to figure out how to fix this. Because he wasn’t ready to give up—not on you, not on what you could be together.

But for now, he’d have to let you go.

For now.

•°•°•°•°•°•

The warmth of sunset had started to settle over the open field, casting long shadows and soft light over everyone who had come out for the outdoor movie night. You found a spot on the grass with some friends, surrounded by laughter and the quiet hum of conversation as the film began. But as the movie dragged on, you found yourself losing interest, your thoughts drifting.

A glance around the crowd was all it took to pull you from your thoughts—you spotted Rafe a few feet away, sitting with Topper and Kelce. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the movie either, his elbow propped up on his knee, his cheek resting in his hand as he pouted at the screen. His presence seemed to fill the air around you, sending a small thrill through your chest.

You couldn’t help but notice when he eventually got up, his broad shoulders and confident stance drawing your attention like a magnet. Without really thinking, you rose to your feet and decided to follow him, weaving through the crowd.

Rafe led you around the back of the movie screen, and it didn’t take long to see what was happening. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce had cornered JJ and Pope, the tension crackling in the air. Before you could even process what was happening, punches were being thrown, and a brutal fight erupted between the kooks and pogues.

“Don’t do this, guys!” you yelled, but your voice was lost in the chaos, falling on deaf ears.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye. Kie appeared from nowhere, gripping JJ’s backpack with both hands as she swung it at Topper, landing a blow square against his back. “Let go of him, Topper! Fascist asshole!” she shouted, her voice carrying a mixture of fear and fury. Topper, unfazed, turned on her, yanking the bag out of her hands and tossing it aside as he tightened his grip on Pope.

Your gaze shifted to Rafe, who was busy landing a punch on JJ, while Kelce held him firmly, keeping him from fighting back. Kie, seeing this, leaped onto Topper’s back, clawing at him, trying desperately to pull him away from Pope.

The sight must have caught Rafe’s attention because he turned and immediately moved towards them. He grabbed Kie around the waist, pulling her off Topper effortlessly, her legs kicking out as she fought against him.

“Let go of me, Rafe!” she screamed, writhing in his grip.

“Stay out of this, Kiara. Okay?” Rafe’s voice was low, and cold, as he tossed her aside, sending her stumbling to the ground.

Your heart pounded as you watched Kie rummage through the backpack, her fingers closing around something. Your eyes widened as you realized it was a gun.

“Kie!” you called out, rushing over to grab her hand, panic filling your voice.

She looked up at you, her expression wild and unyielding, yanking her hand away. “Don’t!” she snapped, her tone sharp with desperation and anger. Then, without missing a beat, she stuffed the gun back into the bag, her hand now pulling out a lighter.

“Kie, stop!” you pleaded, but she pushed you back, her eyes blazing with a resolve you hadn’t seen in her before.

“Stop being on their side!” she shouted, her voice echoing over the scene. Without another word, she flicked the lighter and held it to the screen, setting it ablaze.

The next thing you knew, flames erupted, consuming the movie screen and casting an orange glow over the chaotic scene. It was a bold, desperate attempt to end the fight, and it worked.

The sudden blaze shocked everyone. For a moment, all movement stopped, the fire commanding everyone’s attention as it leaped and crackled against the night sky. The Kooks froze, stunned by the unexpected turn, their faces illuminated by the flames.

Rafe let out a dark laugh, the flicker of fire reflecting in his eyes. “Let’s go, Kelce,” he muttered, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. His gaze landed on you, still crouched on the ground, and his expression hardened slightly. Without hesitation, he strode over, reaching down to grab your arm, and pulling you up to your feet.

“You shouldn’t have tried to stop us,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance, though a flicker of something softer lay behind it.

“I don’t like it when there’s a fight,” you replied, brushing the dirt and grass off your clothes, but he wasn’t listening.

“They sank Topper’s boat and held a gun to his head,” Rafe explained his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "We’re supposed to just let it slide?”

You stayed silent, knowing that arguing with him now would only make things worse. He nudged you forward, a light push urging you to start walking with him. As you moved forward, you felt his hand smack against your backside, making you stumble slightly in surprise.

When you glanced over your shoulder, he smirked, feigning innocence. "Your butt had dirt on it," he chuckled, but there was a gleam in his eye that suggested otherwise.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Rafe’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you aside, away from prying eyes. You barely had a second to process before your back was pressed against a wall, his face inches from yours.

"Don’t roll your eyes at me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"You’re annoying," you shot back, trying to mask the thrill that raced through you at his closeness.

A smirk spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, am I?” he murmured, his voice dripping with a playful edge. “Was I also annoying when I gave you an orgasm without asking for anything in return?”

Your pulse quickened, and you struggled to keep your composure. "No. You’re just annoying now," you muttered, trying to ignore the heat pooling inside you.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re annoying too, you know that?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How so?”

His face darkened slightly, the playfulness turning into something more intense. “You rejected me earlier today when I wanted something more to happen,” he said, his tone holding a hint of frustration.

“It wasn’t like that—” you started to explain, but he cut you off, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“But I bet you’d want another orgasm. wouldn’t you?” he whispered, his voice rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you were speechless. Unable to hold back, you nodded slightly, the admission causing a flicker of amusement in his gaze. His hand slid along your thigh, pressing just enough to make you part your legs in response. He chuckled softly, his fingers skimming over the edge of your short dress, teasing you with a touch that was both gentle and maddeningly slow.

“Is that why you’re wearing this short dress?” he murmured, his fingers brushing along the edge of your panties. “You knew I would be here.”

“Rafe—” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his touch ignited a fire inside you.

He grinned, a smug glint in his eyes as he continued teasing you, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. “Shit. Does this turn you on?” he asked, his voice low and amused.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan building in your throat. His hand shifted, moving your panties to the side, his fingers slipping through your wet folds, making you whimper.

“Are you turned on because anyone could catch us?” he questioned, his voice rough, “Or do I just have that effect on you?”

“Both,” you answered quickly, barely able to contain yourself.

Rafe let out a quiet laugh, pleased by your neediness. His fingers moved with more purpose, sliding over your sensitive skin, his touch driving you closer to the edge. You clutched at his hand, desperate for him to keep going.

“This is the last time I’m giving you an orgasm without getting one in return,” he warned, his tone dark and possessive.

Rafe’s lips found your neck, and he began to leave a trail of heated kisses, making sure to leave a mark. You clung to him, your need for him overpowering any sense of caution. His hand moved expertly, and you felt yourself melting under his touch, gasping as he continued.

"Do you ever touch yourself while thinking of me?" he murmured, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes," you admitted, barely able to form the word.

He groaned softly, his own desire evident in the way he pressed against you, his breath hot against your skin. “I’d like to see that,” he murmured, his fingers speeding up, the pressure driving you closer to the brink.

The intensity in his gaze made your cheeks flush, and you could barely meet his eyes as he looked at you, his own filled with a fierce longing. You felt your resolve crumble as he kissed your neck again, his fingers working faster. The familiar tension built in your core, your breaths coming quicker as he guided you toward the edge. When your orgasm hit, you bit down on your lip to muffle your moans, your body going limp as the pleasure overtook you.

Rafe held you steady, his grip strong, and as your legs threatened to give out, he kept you from crumpling to the ground.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

choice — erwin smith.

‘If I were on the verge of death this mission… Y/N, let me face it and rest.’ She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin with a gentleness that belied the harsh reality of their world. She had taken his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, holding onto him, holding onto the promise she had made. ‘Promise me.’

GENRE: alternate universe - canon divergence;

WARNING/S: manga spoilers chapter 84 (midnight sun), angst, romance, hurt/comfort, canon character death, crying, hurt, sadness, remembering memories, grief, fighting, canon related violence, depiction of implied romantic relationship, depictions of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of canon character death, depiction of hurt, depiction of blood and injuries mention of memories, mention of relationship, mention of blood and injuries, commander erwin!, scout! reader;

WORD COUNT: 4.6k words

NOTE: i found my erwin fics and decided to rewrite them for publication, so i hope you enjoy them. its a really good one, i think. and it's a rare call back to my time with aot!!! please look forward to me branching out to other stories again. i'll publish something jjk tomorrow too!!! thank you so much for reading, i love you <3

EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR. Levi's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the serum, his fingers curled tightly around the vial, knuckles white from the strain. The tension was palpable in the air, an invisible force pressing down on everyone in the room.

Hanji, their expression torn between determination and desperation, struggled to restrain Mikasa, whose eyes were blazing with fury and anguish. Mikasa strained against her hold, her voice a mix of pleading and anger, begging Levi to make a different choice. Her cries cut through the stillness like shards of glass.

Floch, across the room, had Eren pinned against the wall, his hands gripping Eren's shoulders tightly as if afraid he might bolt or collapse. Eren's gaze was distant, hollow, his body slack against Floch's grip, but his eyes bore the weight of countless decisions, each heavier than the last. His expression was unreadable, lost in a place between determination and resignation.

She stood there, apart from it all, her heart heavy as she watched the scene unfold before her like a cruel play, its lines and actions repeating over and over. The echoes of past decisions, of choices that had led them here, resounded in her mind. She had seen this before — not just once, but a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, and each time it felt like another piece of her soul was being chipped away.

A thousand times of sorrow, a thousand times of pain, of grief that seemed endless.

She wondered if perhaps that was all she

To her left, she saw Bertoldt, the traitor, sprawled on the ground, unconscious. His face was contorted in agony even in his unconscious state, his body broken and torn apart. The lower half of his legs were missing, replaced by grotesque, steaming stumps where flesh met air.

Steam hissed from the wounds, curling upward in thin, wavering wisps, dissipating into the cold air. His betrayal had come at a cost, and now his once formidable Titan form seemed pitiful, a broken shell of what it had been.

A few feet away lay Armin Arlert, the boy — no, the young cadet — who had been burnt alive by flames so fierce they seemed to have etched themselves onto his very bones. His skin was charred, blackened, and blistered, his small frame twisted and fragile, like a crumpled piece of paper.

His bright eyes were closed, his breathing so faint it was almost undetectable, and yet there was a strange calm about him, a finality in his stillness. She felt the echo of his screams in her ears, a phantom pain that gnawed at her insides. The fire had claimed him, scorching through his entire being, leaving behind only a husk of who he once was.

And then… there was him.

Erwin Smith stood beside her, tall and unwavering, his presence like an anchor amidst the chaos. His face was set in that familiar, resolute expression, eyes sharp and determined.

But beneath the surface, she saw the toll this day had taken on him — the weight of all the lives he had led, the burdens of countless decisions, each one chipping away at the man who had carried them all.

The dirt and blood on his skin were like war paint, symbols of a struggle that was not yet over. His breath was steady, but his gaze betrayed the weariness of a man who had pushed beyond his limits.

When it came to injury and blood, you were used to it. When you lay together, the smell too was heavy. And yet, it was all different now. Now that no breath echoed through him. No longer housing a soul, this husk of a shell.

His hand hovered near hers, so close that she could almost feel the tremor in his fingers, the slight hesitation that spoke volumes. He was right there, standing beside her, as he had so many times before. In his presence, she felt the push and pull of conflicting emotions — admiration and anger, faith and doubt.

He was a symbol of everything she had fought for and everything she had lost. She didn’t need to look up to know his expression; she knew it too well, had memorized every line of his face, every flicker in his eyes.

The scene before her was an unending cycle of torment and choice. Her eyes moved between the bodies, the broken figures of the living and the dying. Erwin, Bertoldt, Armin. Each name weighed heavy in her mind, each a testament to the violence and agony that had become their existence.

How many times had she witnessed this? How many times had she stood at this precipice, feeling as if the world was about to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces?

Erwin’s presence beside her grounded her in that moment of harrowing clarity. For all the sorrow and pain she had known, he had been a constant — a reminder that even in the face of utter hopelessness, someone had to keep moving forward.

"We're giving the serum to Erwin, that is that!" Levi's voice rang out with a ferocity that left no room for argument, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The finality in his tone was unmistakable, a command that brooked no defiance.

Yet, even as he spoke, the young Jaeger cadet, Eren, continued to cry and scream, his voice raw and desperate, pleading with Levi to save his friend. His words were a frantic chorus, a manifestation of the anguish in his heart, but they fell on deaf ears. The redhead, Hange, quickly pulled Eren back, her face a mask of determination mingled with grief.

"Everyone away from here! In this place, we're going to revive Erwin," Levi barked again, trying to maintain his focus, trying to shield his resolve from the relentless tide of emotion that threatened to engulf him.

But then, there was Mikasa Ackerman. The girl with the dark eyes and the fierceness of a storm. She moved with a fluid grace, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to release. She lunged forward, her face contorted in a mixture of anger and heartbreak, her hands reaching out as if to claw back what was slipping away.

For a long time, she had seemed like a machine, all cold steel and sharp edges, but now… now she was anything but emotionless. There was something burning in her eyes — a ferocity that came from the depths of her soul, from a place of profound love and an equally profound loss. She felt as deeply as any of them. Perhaps even deeper. Deeper than Levi, deeper than Hange, perhaps deeper than anyone she had ever known.

And then, everyone left. One by one, the cries and shouts faded into the distance. The decision was made. The line was drawn. The living had been pulled away, leaving only the dying and the few who dared to remain.

But she stayed.

She could not move, could not bring herself to step back into the shadows and let it all fade away. She remained, rooted to the spot, as if by some unseen force, watching as Levi, with deliberate steps, approached Erwin. The tension in the air was thick, and Levi’s gaze was fixed on Erwin, his face a mask of conflicting emotions — determination, regret, sorrow.

Levi halted suddenly, his steps faltering as he noticed her there, kneeling beside Erwin. He hesitated, his brows furrowing. He couldn't read her expression; her face was an enigma, a puzzle that eluded him as much as Erwin's own had so often done. He studied her, but her eyes, her mouth, the set of her jaw — none of it gave him any clue. She seemed as much a mystery as the dying commander beside her, caught between life and death, between decision and indecision.

Without a word, she reached out, her hand brushing gently against Erwin's golden hair. She could feel the dirt and grime that had settled there, the earth that clung to him like a shroud, as if the ground itself sought to claim him before his time.

Her fingers trembled slightly as they moved through the strands, feeling the weight of the dirt, the roughness of the earth that seemed to signify all the burdens he had borne.

Her touch was tender, almost reverent, as if trying to convey a thousand unsaid things, a thousand unvoiced apologies and regrets, all in the delicate brush of her fingers through his hair. There was something sacred in this moment, something that felt like a goodbye that hadn't been spoken, a final connection to a man who had been so much to so many — a leader, a savior, a man with a dream that had carried them all forward. Your...your lover.

Erwin and you had never said anything about it. Labels weren't really what you both were able to say. Permanence was a rarity in your world, after all. A tie to humanity was a bane to the shoulders carrying the weight of the world. And yet....yet both of you know it. Felt it. Knew it.

Levi's gaze never left her, trying to decipher the meaning behind her touch, trying to understand what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But her face remained unreadable, a canvas of calm amidst the storm, as she continued to stroke Erwin's hair, her breath shallow, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat, matching the rhythm of a life that was slipping away.

In this moment, she felt the gravity of the choice they were about to make, the choice Levi was about to make, and she wondered if there was any right answer in a world so torn apart by suffering and sacrifice. The world seemed to narrow down to this single moment, this single touch, and she realized with a sinking feeling that whatever happened next, nothing would ever be the same.

"Y/N," Levi called out, his voice cutting through the stillness as he stopped a few feet away from her, urgency lacing his words. "Get away from him. We're running out of time."

Her eyes didn't leave Erwin's face, but her response was swift and firm, "Don't make the choice for him." She turned her gaze to meet Levi’s, and in her eyes, emotions swirled and collided — fear, sadness, resolve. Emotions that danced just beyond his understanding. "Not this time."

Levi's brows drew together, his frustration evident. "Huh? What do you mean, you brat?" He didn't have time for this, not now, not when every second mattered. He needed her to understand, to see reason.

"You chose for him before," she continued, her voice quieter now but no less forceful. "And he took it to heart. There will be no point in this." Her gaze fell back to Erwin, her hands brushing gently against his skin as if she could soothe him even in this state.

"There is," Levi shot back, his tone blunt and unwavering. "Erwin lives."

She shook her head, and for the first time, he saw the sheen of tears brimming in her eyes. "What for?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, yet it carried the weight of her breaking heart. "Levi, you'll be bringing him back to hell. There is no need for him to… to see it all over again."

"Y/N—" Levi began, his voice faltering slightly.

"I saw it today, Levi," she interrupted, her words almost a scream, yet they came out in a low, choked sob, thick with the grief clawing at her throat. "You freed him, and now you want to cage him again? That's enough, please…"

Levi’s eyes softened, if only for a moment, as he watched her turn back to Erwin, her movements tender and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might shatter what little was left holding her together. He saw the way her hands trembled, the way her lips quivered as if she were on the verge of breaking. “Oi…” he started, but the words died in his throat, replaced by a quiet bewilderment. "You want him to die?"

She closed her eyes, tears spilling over and tracing paths down her cheeks, and when she looked at him again, her expression was raw and open, the pain evident in every line of her face. "

I love him," she replied softly, her voice filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo in the very air around them.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against Erwin's brow in a gentle, final kiss, her hands cradling his head tenderly as if trying to imprint this moment into her soul. If he was alive, he would have smiled at her. His own orbs looking at her face, as though memorizing each and every muscle, each and every expression, each and every moment. But he would never do so ever again.

"I prepared myself for this moment long ago, Levi. That’s why I'm letting him go to rest. As you should."

Levi felt something shift inside him, a familiar ache he had tried so hard to bury now resurfacing with a vengeance. He stared at her, her words sinking in, crashing against his resolve like waves against a crumbling shore. For a moment, he faltered. Her plea echoed in his mind, mingling with the memories of Erwin's countless sacrifices, his relentless drive, his dream that had become a curse. Levi knew that she wasn't asking for Erwin to die; she was begging for him to be free.

He felt his chest tighten, felt the weight of her grief pressing against his own. He had seen so much death, so much loss, but this — this was different. This was a plea from someone who had loved Erwin not just as a leader but as a man, who had seen him not as a symbol or a figurehead but as a human being with fears, dreams, and regrets.

“Y/N…” he whispered, almost helplessly, his hands tightening around the serum as if it could somehow solve everything, make everything right. But nothing was right. Nothing had been right for a long time.

She held Erwin close, her tears falling freely now, soaking into his dirt-streaked hair, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. "Let him rest, Levi," she whispered, a broken prayer against his skin. "Let him go where he doesn't have to fight anymore, where he doesn't have to be a soldier. Let him have peace."

Levi’s hand dropped a fraction, his gaze torn between Erwin’s still face and the woman kneeling beside him, her own spirit breaking right before his eyes. For once, in this world of endless battles, he felt the ground shift beneath him, felt the weight of what it meant to be a human in a world that seemed to forget what humanity meant.

In the silence that followed, he heard the quiet beat of his own heart, heard her quiet sobs, and he wondered if there was ever truly a choice in this place of unending suffering.

Levi looked down at the syringe in his hand, its weight seeming to grow heavier with every passing second. His gaze shifted to Erwin's still face, then to Y/N, her eyes pleading, full of pain and something deeper — something that touched a place in him he rarely let himself feel. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the full gravity of the decision pressing down on his shoulders, a burden he could scarcely bear.

He made the choice.

His hand moved, quick and certain, not allowing himself to second-guess, to hesitate any longer. He turned away from Erwin, his feet carrying him toward the burned and broken body of the young boy, Armin Arlert. Without a word, Levi injected the serum into Armin's arm, pushing the plunger down, watching the clear liquid disappear into the boy's veins.

There was no turning back now.

He stepped back, and it wasn't long before the transformation began. Armin's body twitched, convulsing violently, his eyes snapping open with a look of wild terror. He gasped, his mouth opening wide as an unearthly scream tore from his throat, a sound that echoed across the broken landscape, a sound that seemed to pierce the very heavens themselves.

His skin crackled and smoked, his limbs flailing as if possessed by some primal force. It was a cry of agony, of rebirth, a sound that spoke of pain and confusion and the violent struggle for life.

"(Y/N)…" The soft murmur caught her attention, pulling her gaze away from the horrific sight of Armin's resurrection. Her heart seized in her chest as she lowered her head, her eyes falling to the parted lips of her dying lover, Erwin Smith.

His voice was barely a whisper, so faint she almost missed it amidst the chaos around them. She was certain he didn't know she was there beside him, even after all these years together, all these battles fought side by side, all these nights spent dreaming of a future that seemed so close and yet so impossibly far away.

"Let's… listen… to my… father's stories again..." Erwin's voice was broken, fragmented, each word a struggle, a final breath barely escaping his lips. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, his body limp in her arms.

Those were his last words — a quiet request from a man who had lived his entire life in search of the truth, a man whose heart had been filled with endless questions and doubts. He wanted to go back, back to those days when things were simpler, back to when he had believed in the stories his father told him, back to when there was still a chance to believe in something more.

She listened, tears streaming down her face, each drop carrying a piece of her breaking heart. She felt his pulse slow beneath her fingertips, felt the warmth begin to fade from his skin. She felt his heartbeat — once strong and steady, the rhythm that had carried him through countless battles — slow to a stop. She could no longer feel it, the silence deafening in her ears.

"You died in my arms, my love." she whispered softly, her voice breaking, her body trembling with the weight of her sorrow. She held him close, cradling his head against her chest, her fingers running through his hair one last time. "Just like you wanted…"

Her words were a quiet lament, a final goodbye. She had known this moment would come, had prepared herself for it, or so she thought. But now, with his lifeless body in her arms, all her preparations felt like dust in the wind.

She had loved him with everything she had, had believed in him, had stood by him even when the world seemed to crumble around them. And now he was gone, leaving her with nothing but a shattered heart and a memory that would never fade.

She held him, her tears falling silently, mingling with the dirt and the blood and the sweat that covered them both. She held him as if by doing so, she could keep him a little longer, keep him from slipping away entirely. She held him because it was all she could do, because in the end, there was nothing left but this — this final act of love, this final goodbye.

Levi stood nearby, silent, watching as she wept, his own heart heavy with the weight of the choices he had made, with the price of their survival. He had chosen life for one, and in doing so, had condemned another to death. He knew there were no right answers, not in this world, not in this hell they lived in. There were only choices, and consequences, and the burden of living with them.

Levi and Hange stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in the distance. The young cadet, Armin, devoured the traitor Bertolt with a savage ferocity that seemed almost inhuman. Steam rose from his new, massive form, swirling around him like a shroud. It was a sight both grotesque and tragic — a boy forced into monstrosity, into survival by any means, at the cost of his innocence.

Hange turned away from the chaos, her gaze softening as it fell upon Erwin’s lifeless body. Her fingers reached out, trembling slightly as they brushed over his eyelids, closing them gently, tenderly, as if she could somehow grant him the peace he had never found in life.

Levi turned his gaze to her, watching the grief that etched itself into her features, the quiet sorrow that hung in the air between them. He could see it in her eyes — the mourning for a comrade, for a friend, for a leader whose dream had been left unfulfilled.

"He's gone," Hange whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, each word heavy with emotion. She pursed her lips, struggling to maintain her composure, to keep herself from breaking. Erwin had been their anchor, their constant, and now he was gone.

"Perhaps it's better this way." Levi replied with a soft sigh, his own voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "He won't have to be in his hell anymore."

His eyes flicked back to Erwin's face, still and serene in death, free from the burdens that had weighed him down for so long. He couldn't help but think that maybe, in some small way, Erwin had found the peace he had never known in life.

Nearby, Floch’s brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. He watched Y/N, still holding Erwin’s lifeless body, her hands running through his hair as if memorizing the feel of each strand.

“Why…” he began, his voice trailing off, unable to grasp why she seemed so calm, so accepting of what had happened.

Y/N's mind drifted back to a moment long ago, a memory that played like a silent film in her mind. Erwin’s voice came to her, clear and steady, even as his body had been failing.

‘If I were on the verge of death this mission… Y/N, let me face it and rest.’

She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin with a gentleness that belied the harsh reality of their world.

She had taken his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, holding onto him, holding onto the promise she had made. ‘Promise me.

"He wanted to rest." she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers continuing to dance through his hair as if in a trance. Each touch was a farewell, a quiet goodbye to the man she had loved, to the dreams they had once dared to share. "This was his final choice."

‘I promise.’ she had whispered back then, her voice trembling with the weight of what she knew would come. She had made that promise, not understanding then how much it would cost her, how deeply it would cut.

Now, as she held him in her arms, she understood. She had kept her word. She had let him go, had let him find the peace he had sought for so long. It didn’t matter what others thought, what they questioned or doubted.

She knew what he wanted. She had known him better than anyone, had seen him not just as the commander but as the man beneath — the man who had carried a burden too heavy for one person to bear.

Her voice trembled with love and pain as she whispered once more, "You’re free now, Erwin. You’re finally free."

Levi glanced at her, recognizing the truth in her words, the inevitability of what had happened. There was nothing left to say. They had lost so much, sacrificed so much, and yet somehow, they had to keep moving forward, keep fighting, even as their hearts bled for the ones they’d left behind.

The air hung thick with silence, broken only by the distant rumblings of the newly born Titan, a sound that seemed almost distant compared to the weight of their loss. Levi’s eyes lingered on Y/N, her face shadowed with grief but also with a strange sense of serenity, an acceptance of what had come to pass. He could see it in her expression, in the way she cradled Erwin's body with a gentleness that spoke of deep, unwavering love.

Hange's breath hitched as she moved closer to them, her eyes searching Levi’s face for some form of reassurance, for some hint of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She had seen him make countless choices before, seen him bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, but this… this was different. This was a choice he had never wanted to make.

“Levi…” she began, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “Do you think… do you think he knew?”

Levi's gaze didn’t leave Y/N. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “I think he knew.” he said quietly. “I think he knew exactly what he wanted. And he made sure we understood it too, in his own way.”

Hange nodded slowly, understanding, though it didn’t make the pain any less sharp, any less real. She looked at Y/N, seeing how tightly she held onto Erwin, how she seemed to draw strength from his lifeless form, even now.

“He loved you,” Hange whispered, their voice filled with a quiet, knowing sadness. “He really did. You were his reason… for so much.”

Y/N nodded, the tears falling freely now, her heart breaking all over again at the words. “I know.” she replied, her voice catching in her throat. “And that’s why I had to let him go.”

Levi felt a pang in his chest, a rare, raw emotion that he rarely allowed himself to feel. He turned away slightly, trying to hide the tightness in his eyes, the moisture gathering there despite himself. “We should… we should get moving.” he said, his voice gruff, more of an order to himself than to anyone else. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

But Y/N didn’t move. She stayed where she was, holding Erwin close, her fingers still tangled in his hair, her eyes closed as if she were trying to memorize the moment, to imprint it into her soul forever.

“Just a little longer..” she murmured softly, more to herself than to anyone else. “Please… just a little longer.”

Levi hesitated, his heart aching as he watched her. He knew the pain of losing someone, knew it far too well. And yet, he also knew the strength it took to let go, to keep moving forward when everything inside you screamed to stay, to hold on, to never let go.

“We’ll give you that,” Hange said quietly, a soft, understanding smile on their lips despite the tears in their eyes. “Take your time, Y/N. As much as you need.”

Levi nodded, finally turning his back to them, his gaze shifting to the horizon, to the future that lay ahead of them, uncertain and filled with shadows. “We’ll wait.” he added, his voice softer, more human than it had been in a long time. “But not too long.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving Erwin’s face, her heart aching with the knowledge that this was the last time she would see him, the last time she would feel his presence, his warmth, the strength that had always been there, guiding them, leading them, even in their darkest moments.

She leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead one last time, a final kiss, a final farewell. “I’ll always love you, my love.” she whispered, her voice breaking, her tears falling like rain. “Always… until my last breath.”

And with that, she let him go. She released him from her arms, from the pain of this world, from the burdens that had weighed so heavily on him. She stood slowly, feeling the weight of her grief settle into her bones, a heaviness that she knew would never truly leave her.

Levi and Hange watched, silent, as she rose, as she took a deep breath and turned to face them, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes filled with a quiet, resolute strength.

"Let’s go." she said softly, her voice steady, though her heart was shattered. "We have to regroup now."

Levi nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Yeah."

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secretmellowblog · 9 months ago

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One fascinating thing about the way Hugo writes Jean Valjean's inner conflict is that we're almost never actually in his POV when he makes his final decisions. We spend chapters and chapters exploring Jean Valjean's thought processes as he agonizes over difficult moral choices, but in the final crucial moment, when he actually makes his choice, Hugo "cuts us off" from his internal monologue. We view what his final choice looks like from the outside, from the perspective of other characters. This is especially significant because Jean Valjean, from the outside, is often pretty unreadable. He is uncannily calm, tranquil, and polite. He's opaque. There's a moment where he's described as a "whirlwind within, calm without;" Jean Valjean uses excessively polite behavior as a defense mechanism, "picking up his calm the way a warrior would pick up his buckler." The most obvious example of this is the Champmathieu trial, where Jean Valjean agonizes over whether to turn himself in. We spend chapter after chapter inside of his POV, exploring his terror and inner conflict as he weighs his options and invents a thousand excuses for himself-- we explore his trauma-fueled reactions to the concept of returning to prison in painful, agonizing detail, from his horrific memories of prison to his surreal nightmares about being buried alive. The tension builds as chapters fly by and he still hasn't made his final decision, as he hopes some unforseen accident will prevent him from making it to the trial and he won't have to make the decision after all-- But in the final moment, when Jean Valjean *actually* makes the final choice...we're not in his point of view. Instead, it's told "from the point of view" of the courtroom, and Jean Valjean's strange heartbreaking serenity is described solely from the outside. At the moment where we most want to hear what Valjean is thinking, we're abruptly cut off from his inner monologue. This becomes even more tragic when the "adrenaline rush" of the courtroom fades away and we witness the aftermath of the trial. When Jean Valjean returns to Fantine, we see him from the point of view of Simplice and other characters. He's described as behaving "mechanically" as if in shock. From the outside he appears eerily uncannily "tranquil" and completely opaque. It is impossible to tell what he is feeling or thinking. Jean Valjean responds to Javert's violence toward Fantine with an icy, eerily tranquil restrained fury: threatening him with a leaden bar, saying "I advise you not to disturb me at this moment"-- but you can feel behind that restraint the weight of all the grief/anger from the previous chapters, which he's incapable of letting himself express openly. He has made this horrible nightmarish sacrifice that he's been agonizing over for thousands of words, he's facing unimaginable violence and grief--- and in the moments where we most want to hear how he's reacting to this, "the line goes dead." We're brutally cut off from his mental state and left to imagine what he might be feeling.

After a few moments of this meditation (Jean Valjean) bent towards Fantine, and spoke to her in a low voice. What did he say to her? What could this man, who was reproved, say to that woman, who was dead? What words were those? No one on earth heard them.

#les mis #les mis letters #we were talking about this in the Letters discord server #and im losin my mind over it a little #I think this also happens with stealing the candlesticks #?#and with saving Marius #also the way his relationship with Javert ends #we don't see *why* he decides to rescue him at the barricades from his own pov #and thats significant

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simplygojo · 17 days ago

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The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 11

Authors Note: HAPPY END OF KINKTOBER!!! I am so happy to be back to my regular schedule, when i say that it drained me...omg...anywayysss, new chapter of TDHMM-yippie-Shit is starting to get serioussss. I hope you love it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After another excruciatingly painful nightmare, Gojo takes y/n to go see if Shoko might be able to identify just who she keeps seeing in her teams, and finally put an end to this all. However, after an unexpected surprise, things go downhill, as they all realize how serious y/n's situation really is...

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst, mention of death, minor creepy vibes

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi ; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Morning light seeped into your room, pale and muted, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to every surface.

You hadn’t slept much; fragments of last night’s conversation between Gojo and Nanami still rang in your ears.

One thing he said really stuck in your mind; ‘no matter how much I try to shove my feelings aside; they keep finding their way back to her. She’s in my head—she’s everywhere I look…’

It had been raw, so unlike his typical unbreakable confidence, and it twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

A knock interrupted your thoughts, soft but steady, and you knew right away it was him. Gojo’s hand had a careful rhythm, one that was somehow both reassuring and nerve-wracking.

“Y/n?” His voice was gentle, a murmur through the door. “Can I come in?”

You swallowed, straightening a little as you called out, “Yeah, sure.”

He stepped in, the door creaking softly behind him. Gojo’s usual easygoing expression was gone, replaced with a serious, almost guarded look.

He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning your face as if searching for signs of the sleepless night you’d had.

His shoulders were more tense than usual, his mouth pressed into a thin line. You could feel the energy in the room change, thick and palpable, a strange tension hanging between you.

After a moment’s hesitation, he moved to sit at the edge of your bed, close enough that you could feel his warmth but just far enough to keep the distance between you painfully obvious.

His hand rested on his knee, fingers flexing, then curling tightly as if to keep himself from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but his eyes held a flicker of caution.

“I talked to Shoko,” he said, each word careful, his gaze not quite meeting yours at first.

“About your nightmares and the memories you’ve been seeing. She thinks we might be able to take a look.”

His eyes finally lifted, holding yours, an unreadable intensity making your pulse skip.

“She set up some tests using cursed energy to amplify the memories stored in your brain. It’ll be… intense, but it could help us understand what’s going on with you.”

Your breath caught, hope and uncertainty tangling inside you. “You think it’ll work?”

Gojo nodded slowly, his face softening with a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“If anyone can pull it off, it’s Shoko. But—” he hesitated, then leaned in just a fraction, his gaze narrowing slightly as he searched your eyes.

“It won’t be easy. These memories… they’re tied to something powerful, something you might not fully understand yet. And depending on what we find…”

He trailed off, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his knee, as though weighing something heavy.

“Depending on what we see, things might change. You have to be sure you’re ready for this.”

The air between you seemed to thicken, his words sinking in. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his face, an unspoken warning.

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by ‘things might change,’ but the intensity of his gaze left no room for doubt about the seriousness of this choice.

After a beat, you took a steadying breath, a resolve building inside you.

The nightmares had been clawing at you for weeks, pulling you into glimpses of darkness and confusion. If this was a way to finally understand it, even if it meant facing something dangerous, you knew you had to try.

“I’m ready,” you said softly, your voice steady.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though a shadow of that worry lingered in his eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d say anything else,” he replied, a faint, bittersweet smirk tugging at his lips. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before finally coming to rest on your shoulder.

His touch was warm and grounding, his thumb barely brushing the fabric of your shirt as if he were testing the weight of the contact.

“Let’s figure this out,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something he couldn’t quite keep hidden.

His fingers lingered on your shoulder a beat too long, his eyes still locked with yours.

Then, reluctantly, he let his hand slip away, his fingers brushing against your arm as he withdrew.

You could still feel the warmth of his hand, a lingering reminder of his presence, leaving your skin buzzing.

Whatever was hidden in those memories, whatever awaited you in Shoko’s tests—you were about to find out. And with Gojo by your side, even the fear seemed a little more bearable.

—

As you and Gojo make your way through the quiet hallways toward Shoko’s clinic, an uneasy silence stretches between you.

He walks just a half-step ahead, his usual swagger subdued. Every now and then, he glances your way, his hand moving as if he might reach out, only to let it fall back to his side.

Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what you’re about to face pressing down on both of you.

Finally, you break the silence, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I am a little scared, you know?”

Gojo stops for a second, turning to look at you with an expression caught between surprise and something deeper, almost pained.

His usual mask of confidence falters, and for a moment, his eyes soften. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come.

It’s like he’s struggling with some inner battle, something that holds him back.

“I get it,” he says quietly, looking away.

“This isn’t… easy.” He laughs softly, almost to himself, but it lacks his usual ease.

“I mean, facing this stuff—anyone would feel the same.” He pauses, his eyes flickering back to you, as if he’s waiting for you to believe him.

You can tell he wants to say more, something that seems to gnaw at him, but he just runs a hand through his hair, glancing away.

Nanami’s words echo in his mind: Sometimes, she just needs to know she’s not alone. You need to decide if you’re going to tell her how you feel, or risk losing her in the silence.

Gojo clears his throat, as if pushing the thought aside, and starts walking again, slower this time as you matched his pace.

He can feel your gaze on him, and it makes his heart race with something he’s not used to.

When he risks another glance, you’ve got that look in your eyes—the same one that’s haunted him for days, making him wonder if this silence between you was worth the risk.

—

When the two of you finally reach Shoko’s clinic, she’s already setting up the equipment.

The faint hum of machines fills the room, a steady reminder of the unknown you’re about to face. Shoko greets you with a reassuring smile as she adjusts the settings on a peculiar-looking machine connected to a nearby screen.

“Y/n,” she says, giving your arm a gentle squeeze, “this machine will help focus my cursed energy into the memories stored in your brain. Hopefully, it’ll amplify the images enough for us to see what you’ve been experiencing in those nightmares. But I have to warn you—this might be intense.”

You nod, trying to appear braver than you feel, but Gojo notices the slight tremor in your hand as you settle into the chair.

He watches as Shoko starts to attach small sensors to your temples and wrists, her movements calm and practiced.

To distract yourself, you make a little small talk. “So… this isn’t a normal part of your daily routine, huh?”

Shoko chuckles softly. “Nope. But I’ll admit, it’s a little exciting,” she says, glancing at Gojo with a smirk.

“He’s been pushing for us to try something like this for a while now. Always so determined.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, his usual cocky grin making a brief appearance.

“Can’t blame me for being proactive,” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual bite, and his gaze remains fixed on you, the hint of worry still there.

With the machine finally set up, Shoko gives you a final reassuring nod.

“Okay, y/n. Just relax and try to let the memories flow. Focus on whatever images you remember seeing in your dreams, even if they’re fragmented. Let’s see what comes through.”

You take a deep breath, heart pounding, and close your eyes, reaching into the swirling depths of your mind.

Shoko’s cursed energy pulses gently, a warm yet unfamiliar presence threading into your consciousness, guiding you back to the shadows of your nightmares.

The screen behind you flickers to life, a hazy swirl of shapes and colours forming, but nothing solid enough to grasp.

Blurred images flash—dark forests, twisted silhouettes, flashes of light and shadow—like fleeting glimpses of something lurking in the back of your mind.

“Come on, y/n,” Shoko encourages gently, her voice grounding you. “Try to focus on the details. Anything you can remember.”

You try harder, diving deeper into the fragmented memories. Each attempt only brings flashes—a featureless face you can’t quite place, a feeling of searing pain, as though something is clawing its way out of you.

But just as you think you’re close, it slips away, the images blurring and scattering into darkness.

The struggle shows on your face, and Gojo can’t stand the look of frustration and pain that crosses your features.

He shifts closer, his hand reaching out instinctively before he stops himself, hesitating. His jaw tightens, torn between his instinct to protect you and the words he can’t seem to bring himself to say.

He clears his throat, voice soft but steady.

“Take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.” His words are gentle, a quiet contrast to his usual conduct, and you can feel the sincerity behind them.

But even his voice couldn’t cut through the storm in your mind.

The memories remain distant, elusive, slipping through your grasp like smoke.

The frustration is overwhelming, each attempt to hold onto the fragments feeling like trying to capture water with bare hands.

You’re ready to give up, to surrender to the aching fog that clouds every detail—but then, something shifts.

A sharp, searing pain strikes deep in your mind, like a knife twisting through the haze. Your breath catches, and suddenly, everything clears for a brief, terrible moment.

An image crystallizes on the screen behind you, vivid and horrifying.

A man—tall, with long jet-black hair cascading over his shoulders, dressed in dark purple robes that seem to shift in the shadows.

His face is twisted into a sinister smile that chills you to your core.

But it’s his eyes that hold you captive, cold and calculating, as though he’s staring straight through you, mocking you.

And there’s something else—a line of stitches that runs across his forehead, as though he’s been sewn together, piece by piece, into something monstrous.

It’s a face you know you’ve seen before, lurking at the edges of your mind, hidden in the shadows of your nightmares.

The name slashes through your thoughts, clear and undeniable.

You gasp, your whole body tensing with the shock of recognition, and the image on the screen flickers, distorting with static.

But it lingers, hanging in the air like a ghostly imprint before it vanishes completely, leaving only a dark emptiness on the screen.

Shoko’s eyes widened, and a sharp gasp slipped past her lips, her usually calm demeanour cracking as she processed what she had just seen.

“That… that was Geto, wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Gojo’s reaction is immediate. His face drained of colour, and for a second, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

His usual confidence is nowhere to be found, replaced with a raw, unguarded shock that he quickly tries to suppress.

But his hand still hovers near you, clenched into a fist, as if he’s struggling to contain a surge of emotion.

“Suguru..” He murmured, almost to himself as his eyes remained locked on the blank screen.

“How is this even possible?” His voice tinged with disbelief and dread.

For a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the memory, by the terror that pulses through you.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, feeling as though you’re back in that nightmare, as if you’re staring into those cold, unfeeling eyes all over again.

“That’s him though, the man in my nightmares….… I think he did something to me. That night in the forest—there was… there was a feeling, like something was breaking inside me.”

Gojo’s hand finally closes around your shoulder, grounding you. His grip is firm but gentle, his fingers just slightly digging into your skin, steadying you as he pulls you back from the edge of the memory.

You searched his face, his expression so intense it was almost unreadable—anger, yes, but there was something else there, something raw and unspoken.

“That man…” You took a shaky breath, piecing the fragments together. “Do… do you know him?”

The question seemed to pierce right through him.

For a moment, Gojo’s usual composure faltered, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he took a step back.

His face tightened, his mouth pressed into a grim line, and his gaze fell, no longer meeting yours.

“Yes,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. There was a pause, weighted and painful, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, haunted. “He was my best friend.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless.

Gojo’s best friend. It was hard to imagine him with that kind of connection to someone so terrifying, someone who left such a dark mark on your mind.

The man from your nightmares, the man who had been torturing your dreams, was once someone Gojo trusted, someone he cared about.

“But…” You struggled to find the words, feeling a strange, twisting ache as you watched the turmoil flicker in Gojo’s eyes.

“If he was your best friend… then what happened?”

Gojo’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a mix of sorrow and something harder, colder, that you had never seen from him before.

“I killed him.” The confession dropped heavily between you, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. “It was… the only choice I had.”

For a second, the room felt colder, the weight of his words sinking in. You could barely process it.

The ache in your chest deepened as you took in his pain. The way his hand had lingered on your shoulder, the protectiveness in his gaze, even the anger—it all made sense now.

“Gojo…” you started, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with a fierce resolve.

“Whatever Suguru did to you, whatever he left behind, I’ll find a way to remove it,” he vowed, his tone thick with emotion.

“I won’t let his darkness touch you any more than it already has.”

The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

You could feel the weight of his promise, a fierce protectiveness that was nearly overwhelming.

There was so much he wasn’t saying, so much he was holding back, but you could see it in his gaze—the regret, the guilt, the memories of a friend turned enemy.

You swallowed, nodding as you tried to process it all.

“Thank you… I don’t even know how to start making sense of this, but…” Your voice trembled. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Gojo’s eyes softened, and he offered a faint, bittersweet smile.

“I won’t let you go through this alone,” he said gently, and this time, his hand rested on your shoulder a little longer, grounding you, promising you that he’d stand by your side, no matter what.

The weight of his words settles over you, a strange comfort in the midst of fear.

The memory has left a scar on your mind, but Gojo’s presence beside you feels like an anchor, grounding you in the present, keeping you from sinking back into the darkness.

He released your shoulder slowly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of regret and resolve. Nanami’s words still echo in his mind, a reminder that he can’t ignore any longer.

But for now, he buries it, focusing on what matters most. Finding out what Geto had done to you.

“I think that’s enough for now, Shoko.” Gojo said curtly as his hand found the spot between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you forward to get off of the chair.

—

Gojo’s hand rested firmly against the small of your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet hallway.

Yet something about his touch felt different—less his usual casual, steady presence and more like an unspoken promise, as though he was trying to keep you tethered to something he could barely name.

The late morning light spilled in through the windows, but it felt muted, its warmth blunted by the tension of this new discovery that seemed to hover between you.

The silence was thick, stretching out in the spaces between your steps, until you could no longer bear the weight of it.

You glanced up at him, catching the crease in his brow, the intensity in his gaze as he looked ahead. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and for once, his usual mask of playfulness was gone, replaced by something darker, more conflicted.

“Gojo… are you okay?” you asked quietly, hesitantly, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed ahead, but you could feel his fingers press just a fraction more firmly against your back.

It was as if he needed that point of contact–a reminder of your presence to keep himself grounded.

You stopped, turning to face him fully, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat. “I didn’t mean to put all this on you… to cause you so much stress.”

At that, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as though your words had struck a nerve he hadn’t expected.

The surprise softened into something deeper as he looked down at you, his expression raw and unguarded.

Without a word, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin with a touch so gentle it left a shiver in its wake.

There was a fierce, unyielding resolve in his gaze, but there was something else too—something vulnerable, something he had yet to say.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

He held your gaze, his blue eyes steady, resolute hidden behind his usual frames. “I’m going to–we’re going to find out what Geto did to you. I swear it.”

The intensity of his words struck you, the weight behind them settling into your chest.

He was close now, closer than he’d been since your heated moment he chose to forget, his face mere inches from yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek.

You could feel the quiet ache in his touch, the unspoken emotion simmering between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fleeting second, and his breath hitched, as though he were teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back.

But then, his expression shifted.

The softness faded, replaced by a hard, unyielding line as his jaw tightened, his body going rigid.

His hand slipped from your cheek, and his eyes narrowed, his attention snapping toward your room down just the hallway, his gaze dark and clouded with a new intensity.

“Gojo…?” You asked, feeling a sudden chill creep up your spine.

He barely heard you, his focus now locked on the closed door of your room, his entire body tense, as if preparing for battle.

His eyes flashed with something fierce, a simmering rage that was barely visible.

Without another word, he took a step forward, his hand dropping to his side as he gathered his cursed energy, the very air around him thickening with a quiet, lethal power.

His gaze flicked back to you, filled with something fierce and protective—a look that made your heart beat faster, though not from fear.

“Suguru,” he uttered, the name slipping from his lips like a curse, his voice cold and sharp.

A surge of dread washed over you as he spoke, and you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of something sinister lingering in the hallway.

You saw his fingers curl, his hand lifting ever so slightly, his cursed energy humming just beneath the surface, ready to strike.

Instinctively, you took a step forward, reaching out to follow him, but his hand shot out, pressing you back gently but firmly.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice laced with a deadly calm. The authority in his tone was undeniable, and there was a hard edge in his gaze, one that told you he wouldn’t let you argue this time. “I would never mistake it…he was here.”

You swallowed, wanting to be by his side, to help in any way you could, but the look in his eyes stopped you.

It was the look of a man who would protect you at any cost, who would let nothing and no one harm you again.

There was a storm brewing in him, a silent fury that seemed to burn away any remnants of his usual carefree demeanour.

For a moment, all you could do was watch, feeling a mix of fear and something deeper, something that tugged at your chest.

The door creaked open under his hand, and he slipped inside, leaving you standing alone in the hall, acutely aware of the silence that followed.

Inside, Gojo's eyes swept the room.

It looked untouched—your bed was neatly made, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cast soft patterns across the floor, and nothing seemed out of place.

But beneath the ordinary, he could feel it, like a faint pulse in the air.

Geto’s cursed energy lingered, barely perceptible but unmistakable, weaving through the room like the ghost of a dark promise.

The subtle residue prickled against his senses as he remembered what happened last time he felt Geto’s cursed energy around one of his students…His jaw clenched, and he forced his breathing to remain steady as he let his gaze drift over every inch of the room, his attention as sharp as a blade.

The thought of Geto being here, in your private space, sent a surge of anger through him, burning away the last remnants of calm he had managed to hold onto.

He moved further in, his footsteps barely making a sound as he scanned the shadows, his cursed energy flickering out like invisible tendrils, feeling for anything out of the ordinary.

Every instinct in him screamed to root out every last trace, to eliminate even the faintest whisper of Geto’s presence from this room, this place that should have been safe for you.

But even as he combed through the empty spaces, there was nothing solid—no sign of a physical intrusion, no ransacked belongings or broken barriers.

Just that faint, dark thread of energy, faded but lingering, as if Geto had been here recently, watching, perhaps even waiting.

The thought twisted in Gojo’s mind like a knife.

He tightened his fist, his knuckles pale against the light.

The implications of Geto’s presence—the questions of what he wanted, what he had planned, why you—gnawed at him, a reminder of just how much he had failed to keep Geto away from you.

He was supposed to be the strongest—a weapon of jujutsu society…

And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt a sting of helplessness that cut through his determination, a flicker of vulnerability that he despised.

With a final sweep of the room, Gojo made his way back to the door, his expression grim.

—

When he stepped back into the hallway, his gaze softened only slightly as he met yours, his earlier storm barely concealed beneath a thin veneer of calm.

When Gojo’s gaze finally met yours, he felt his chest tighten, an unfamiliar ache that unsettled him more than he’d ever admit.

The whirlwind of anger and worry roiling beneath his calm exterior nearly broke free, but he held it in check, unwilling to let you see the full force of his turmoil.

He had always been careful with you, keeping the weight of his emotions hidden behind easy smiles and lighthearted words. But right now, with the events of the morning and Geto’s presence still haunting the air around him, he felt his resolve slip.

In the silence, he searched your face, seeing the fear, the confusion—and that undeniable spark of trust shining in your eyes.

It made his heart clench, that unguarded look you gave him, as if he were your anchor in a world turned upside down. His usual self-assurance faltered as he took in the vulnerability you didn’t try to hide, and for a split second, he wondered if you saw past his composed facade, if you knew just how far he’d go to keep you safe.

You looked up at him, your gaze unwavering despite the uncertainty hanging between you.

There was something raw in your eyes that left him feeling both exposed and deeply, irrevocably drawn to you.

He didn’t know how to protect you from what Geto had left behind or how to untangle the curse that seemed to reach through your memories like twisted roots—but he knew he wouldn’t stop trying.

“Satoru…?” You murmured, voice gentle but questioning, as if sensing the weight he carried, the silent storm he hid just beneath the surface.

The way you said his name—it was both grounding and terrifying. He was so used to people looking to him for protection, for answers.

But you looked at him like you saw more, like you saw him—the man beneath the power.

He swallowed, feeling a sudden need to say something that would make this easier for you, that would lighten the weight in your eyes. But nothing came, no easy jokes or clever words.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, the words thick with an emotion he hadn’t dared put a name to.

“I don’t why Suguru here, and I don’t know why he is in your dreams—or memories—whatever it is.” He began, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

You nodded, “I don’t expect you to,” you said but looked just beyond Gojo’s shoulder back at your bedroom door unsure of what had happened.

“Does this mean he had been in my room…” You said, your voice sounding unsure of your words as you said them. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it.

Gojo’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he turned to glance back at your room. There was a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he considered what Geto’s presence might mean.

The thought of Geto lingering in your space, leaving traces of his cursed energy for you to stumble upon, was enough to set a low, simmering fury in his veins. His shoulders tensed, the very air around him thickening with a restrained power he fought to keep in check.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, barely hiding the rage that simmered beneath. “He was here, and not too long ago. This energy—it’s fresh.”

His hand hovered at his side, clenched tightly as if resisting the urge to break something.

His mind raced with the possibilities, the motives behind Geto’s actions. Geto wasn’t one for careless plans.

Every move he made was precise, calculated, with a reason lurking in the shadows.

You swallowed hard, feeling a chill seep into your bones. The thought of Geto standing in your room, of his twisted, mocking presence lingering in the air you breathed, made your skin crawl.

Gojo’s gaze softened as he looked at you, noticing the way your hands trembled slightly as you processed his words.

His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you, reminding you that he was here.

His touch was warm and reassuring, and yet beneath it, you sensed a deeper tension, a protectiveness that bordered on desperation.

After a moment of silence, Gojo took a steadying breath, his hand releasing yours and being shoved into his front pockets before speaking.

“Jujutsu High isn’t safe for you anymore,” he said, his voice resolute.

The words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t soften them.

“Not while he’s still out there, slipping past our defences like it’s nothing.” His eyes met yours, unwavering, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, regret, a hint of the burden he carried.

“I can’t watch him take anything else from me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of fear and emotion swirling within you. The thought of leaving Jujutsu High, of being uprooted from the only place you had found to be safe since losing your memory. But as you looked at Gojo, at the determination set in his features, you realized that this was more than just a decision for him.

It was a promise, a duty he’d taken upon himself to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

“What… what do you mean?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper, searching his eyes for answers, for reassurance.

“I’m going to take you somewhere he can’t reach,” he said, his tone softened but unwavering. “Somewhere I know you’ll be safe. But we can’t waste any time.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you, the gravity of what lay ahead. There was an ache in your chest, a strange sense of finality, but beneath it all, you felt a glimmer of hope—a hope rooted in him, in his strength, his resolve.

“Pack a few things,” he murmured, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer, before finding his phone screen as he pulled it out of his pocket and began texting someone. “We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”

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dolcekissy · 1 month ago

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chapter 1; summer blues

ׂ╰┈➤ a series | in which, rafe used to be your best friend but everything went south once the pogues began their treasure hunting journey. you try everything in your power to fix him, everything. will he eventually come back down to earth and listen? or will he destroy you, just like he's destroying his life?

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | summer blues masterlist

bunny!reader x bsf!rafe masterlist

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There was a time you and Rafe were best friends. There was a time you spent all of your time with him and ninety percent of the time you both always got in trouble. There would be countless unread texts from your parents asking where you were. They knew you were always with Rafe and it drove them absolutely nuts.

Your mom used to be a pogue, she married into rich and that’s how you moved to the outer banks in the first place. She fell pregnant with you fresh out of highschool with an older man she had been screwing. She once lived the same life all of the pogues lived when she was a teen, her parents hated her, hated the life she lived and she sought out the affection and attention she so desperately craved.

Which led to your existence, obviously. You’ve met your biological dad once, you never really cared for him and he never really cared for you. But when your mom married your now step father, your life changed. The man's name is Doug, you love Doug and Doug loves you. He moved you and your mom to the Outer Banks when you were 6 years old, right around the time you were first beginning school.

You and your mom loved the change, you still do. To live by the water, wearing bathing suits, and playing in the backyard everyday was so fun as a little girl and it still is. It was different to be in a completely different atmosphere with a new man, but you were too little to even notice or have any ill feelings towards the new routines and living space.

Starting elementary school in a new state, with new people was nerve racking but didn’t scare you. Your mom always told you that you were bright, happy, caring, loving ever since you were a baby – so this was no issue to you. During your first few weeks you met a lot of your classmates, making your first few friends and having your first few playdates. You rode the bus to school everyday, your mom and stepdad waving and blowing kisses as you happily waved goodbye back. Always being so happy and bright and wearing your bright colored dresses and t-shirts is what brought Rafe’s attention towards you.

He would always tell you how much he liked your bright orange shirt or your bright pink light up sketchers. You’d always give him the brightest smile, twirling your soft locks that were in high pigtails and thank him and that’s when you and Rafe became inseparable. Every morning and every afternoon you sat together on the bus, having funny and friendly conversations on your way to school and back.

It was the same routine all throughout elementary school, middle school, and the start of highschool. The memories you shared together were so special and sacred to you – they always would be, always will be. He was your best friend, the person you told everything to, the person you trusted the most. Until he changed one summer. He wasn’t the same Rafe you became best friends with, wasn’t the same Rafe you told all of your secrets to, he wasn’t Rafe.

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He had always treated you how a best friend would, until he just stopped. It started when he noticed the way Ward treated him compared to Sarah, he started doing coke and basically losing his mind. You had begged him to stop multiple times, he had promised you to stop multiple times but he obviously broke his promises. You didn’t want him to kill himself over his addiction, you’d cry and beg him to stop so much it got to the point Rafe started offering you some to just shut you up.

You knew the addiction wouldn’t stop so you slowly gave up – wincing every time you saw him snort a line, watching his eyes roll back for a moment and his thumb swipe over his nose as he smiled and jumped up like he was ready to conquer the world or some corny shit. It broke your heart seeing him lose himself, your Rafe - your best friend losing himself to an addiction. You watched him snort lines and flirt with coke whores at parties, sitting by his side like usual as he ignored you and counted money as people snorted lines in front of you two.

When you two went to parties you normally sat on the same couch, ignoring everyone else and getting drunk together – laughing and eyeballing the weirdos and the people throwing up on the floors and in the bushes. But now it was just so different, he was different.

You sat on his bed, your phone laid on your chest, the tik tok video you were watching paused as you listened to Rafe and Ward argue. He’d stomp into the room, fresh tears staining his cheeks as he would pace back and forth, running a shaky hand through his hair. You would try to ask what happened, are you okay, anything and his response would always be ‘shut the fuck up!’ or ‘dude, just get out!’. You were always left crying and riding your bike back home and of course your mom was yelling at you for being out late, just to top everything off.

You were constantly sending him texts asking to hangout to take his mind off of everything, help him relax, just something but his response was always ‘no’. After some time your texts began to go unread, ignored, not even being looked at – it broke your heart so you stopped asking. The only times you hung out with him were if he had invited you, ninety percent of the time he was just drunk or high and needed you to just tag along – just for you to be ignored the whole time, or course.

It was draining, obviously. You were tired of pretending to be happy around him, laughing to yourself as you talked about something while he wasn’t even paying attention to you. Tired of pretending to not be hurt by watching him lose himself just because he told you to shut up and stop talking about it. You were tired of it all, so you backed off of him. You didn’t respond as much now, you would tell him you were too busy to tag along with him to a random ass party. He didn’t notice it for a while, he didn’t care.

Until he did.

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chapter 2

#rafe cameron imagines #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe #rafe smut #rafe fic #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #obx x reader #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx

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callsigns-haze · 8 months ago

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Can't two people reconnect?

Pairing: Azriel x reader Warning: Please be advised that the following chapter contains descriptions of emotional distress and sensitive themes. Summary: YN grapples with feelings of inadequacy after losing her wings, finding solace and reassurance in Azriel's unwavering love and support.

This can be read alone or with Bad Idea Right???

The soft light of dawn filtered through the windows of Azriel's private room, casting a warm glow over the tangled forms of YN and Azriel as they lay wrapped in each other's arms. YN stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she gradually became aware of the warmth of Azriel's body pressed against hers.

For a moment, she simply lay there, savouring the feeling of being held in his arms, the memories of their passion from the night before still lingering like a sweet dream. But as the haze of sleep began to lift, YN's thoughts turned to the reality of the world outside their private sanctuary.

With a soft sigh, she extricated herself from Azriel's embrace, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. As she sat up, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of him still sleeping peacefully beside her, his features softened in the gentle light of morning.

But as she glanced around the room, the events of the previous night came flooding back to her in a rush of memories. The party, the search, Azriel's private room... She blinked, suddenly remembering the others and the jobs they had slept in on.

"Az," she murmured, gently shaking him awake. "We need to get up. The others will be wondering where we are."

Azriel stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. "Hmm? What is it?"

"We overslept," YN explained, a hint of amusement in her voice. "We should probably get back before they send out a search party."

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he stretched lazily. "I suppose you're right. Though I wouldn't mind staying here a little while longer."

As they dressed and prepared to face the day ahead, YN couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment settle over her. In Azriel's arms, she had found a love unlike anything she had ever known before, a love that made even the darkest of nights seem a little brighter.

And as they made their way back to the hustle and bustle of the Night Court, hand in hand, YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, united in their love and devotion to each other.

As YN and Azriel entered the main hall of the Night Court, they instinctively released each other's hands, a subtle shift in their demeanour as they joined their friends and allies. Cassian, Rhysand, and Feyre were engaged in conversation with other members of the court, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement as they spotted YN and Azriel's approach.

Rhysand's eyes sparkled with mischief as he greeted them, a knowing grin playing on his lips. "Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence."

Cassian raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing. "Enjoy your beauty sleep, did you?"

YN felt her cheeks flush at their playful banter, quickly composing herself as she replied, "Sorry for disappearing last night. We... got caught up in something."

Azriel nodded in agreement, his expression unreadable as he added, "It won't happen again."

Feyre's gaze softened as she observed the couple, a gentle smile touching her lips. "No need to apologize. We're just glad you're both safe."

With that, the group fell into easy conversation, the events of the previous night fading into the background as they focused on the tasks at hand. Despite the lingering memory of their shared intimacy, YN and Azriel maintained a respectful distance from each other, their actions speaking volumes even as their words remained unspoken.

As the morning continued, Rhysand took charge, announcing the day's plans to the group. His voice carried authority, yet there was a warmth to his demeanour that made everyone feel at ease.

"Today, we have important tasks to attend to," Rhys began, his eyes sweeping over his companions. "YN, Cassian, I need you to head to the borders. Keep a close watch and ensure that everything remains secure."

YN and Cassian nodded in acknowledgment, already mentally preparing for the journey ahead. They were seasoned warriors, familiar with the importance of their duties.

Rhys turned to Azriel, his expression thoughtful. "Azriel, I need you to venture into the woods. We've had reports of suspicious activity, and I need you to gather information."

Azriel inclined his head in understanding, his expression giving away nothing as he accepted the task. He was the Night Court's shadow, its silent protector, and he would carry out his mission with the utmost discretion.

As the group dispersed to prepare for their assignments, YN felt a surge of determination coursing through her veins. She and Cassian shared a nod of solidarity before setting off towards the borders, their minds focused on the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Azriel vanished into the depths of the woods, his movements silent and swift as he disappeared into the shadows. He was a ghost in the night, a whisper on the wind, and he would not rest until he had uncovered the truth lurking in the darkness.

With a silent exchange of nods, YN and Cassian readied themselves to winnow to the borders. Their muscles tensed in anticipation as they prepared for whatever awaited them on the other side. In an instant, they vanished from the safety of the Night Court, reappearing amidst the chaos of the borderlands.

The scene before them was one of turmoil and conflict. A full-scale battle raged on, the clash of swords and the cries of warriors filling the air with a deafening cacophony. YN and Cassian exchanged a glance, their expressions grim as they took in the sight before them.

Without hesitation, they leaped into action, drawing their weapons and charging into the fray. Their movements were fluid and precise, honed through years of training and experience. Side by side, they fought as one, a formidable force against the tide of enemies that threatened to overwhelm them.

With each swing of their blades, they carved a path through the enemy ranks, their determination unwavering in the face of adversity. They fought not just for themselves, but for the safety and security of the land they loved, for the people who called it home.

As the battle raged on, YN and Cassian found themselves locked in a deadly dance of steel and blood. They moved with a grace and skill that belied the ferocity of their attacks, each strike a testament to their unwavering resolve.

But despite their best efforts, the enemy seemed endless, their numbers overwhelming even the most valiant of defences. YN and Cassian fought on, their spirits unbroken even as exhaustion threatened to overtake them.

And then, just when it seemed as though all hope was lost, reinforcements arrived, their allies appearing on the battlefield like a beacon of light in the darkness. With renewed vigour, YN and Cassian pressed forward, their determination renewed as they fought side by side with their comrades.

In the end, it was their unity and resolve that carried them to victory. The enemy forces were driven back, their ranks scattered and broken in the face of the Night Court's relentless onslaught. And as the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded into the distance, YN and Cassian stood victorious, their hearts filled with pride and gratitude for the bond that had carried them through the darkest of times.

As the echoes of battle faded and the dust settled, YN staggered towards Cassian, her strength waning with each step. The adrenaline that had fuelled her through the fight began to ebb away, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted.

Cassian's heart clenched with concern as he watched her approach, her movements unsteady and uncertain. Without hesitation, he rushed forward to meet her, his arms reaching out to catch her before she could collapse.

"YN, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with worry as he supported her weight against him.

YN shook her head weakly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she leaned heavily against Cassian. "I... I'm okay. Just... tired."

Cassian's grip tightened around her, his worry deepening at the sight of her weakened state. "You pushed yourself too hard," he murmured, his voice filled with concern. "Let me help you."

With gentle hands, Cassian guided YN to a nearby rock, easing her down onto its surface with the utmost care. He knelt beside her, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of distress as he checked her over for injuries.

"You're going to be alright," he reassured her, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "Just rest for a moment. I'll take care of you."

YN nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion washed over her like a tidal wave. She felt Cassian's hand brushing back her hair, his touch a comforting presence in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them.

Cassian's hands moved with practiced gentleness as he stripped YN of her shirt, his heart sinking as he saw the extent of her injuries. Along her back, where her wings should have been, there were only ragged remnants, the telltale signs of a brutal attack.

His breath caught in his throat as he realized what had happened. YN was an Illyrian warrior, her wings a symbol of her strength and pride. To have them cut off in battle was a devastating blow, both physically and emotionally.

Gently, Cassian examined the wounds, his fingers tracing the edges of the gashes with a careful touch. YN winced in pain, but she made no sound, her jaw clenched with determination as she endured his ministrations.

"I'm sorry," Cassian murmured, his voice heavy with regret as he met her gaze. "I should have been there to protect you."

YN shook her head, her expression fierce despite the pain etched on her features. "It's not your fault," she insisted, her voice a whisper. "We were outnumbered... it was bound to happen."

Cassian's heart ached at her words, the weight of his failure settling heavily on his shoulders. But he knew that now was not the time for self-pity. YN needed him, and he would do whatever it took to help her through this.

With gentle hands, Cassian tended to YN's wounds as best he could, bandaging them as carefully as possible to prevent infection. He could see the pain etched in every line of her face, but she remained stoic, refusing to let it show.

As he worked, Cassian couldn't help but admire YN's strength and resilience in the face of adversity. Despite the horrors she had endured, she remained unbowed, her spirit unbroken.

And as he looked into her eyes, Cassian knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, bound by a bond that was stronger than any wound.

Guilt weighed heavily on Cassian's shoulders as he tended to YN's wounds, his heart heavy with the burden of failure. He had sworn to protect his comrades, to keep them safe from harm, yet he had failed in his duty. YN, Azriel's lover and his right hand warrior, had suffered a grievous injury under his watch.

As he worked, his mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger at the enemy who had perpetrated such a cowardly act. Regret for not being able to prevent it. And above all, guilt for not being able to protect YN, a warrior he held dear to his heart.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he had let down not only YN but also Azriel, his best friend and brother-in-arms. Azriel trusted him to keep YN safe, and Cassian had failed him.

But amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, Cassian found solace in the quiet strength of YN, who endured her pain with a stoicism that spoke volumes of her resilience. Despite the loss of her wings, she remained unbroken, her spirit undiminished by the cruel hand fate had dealt her.

As he finished bandaging her wounds, Cassian looked into YN's eyes, seeking forgiveness in their depths. But instead of blame, he found understanding and acceptance, a silent reassurance that they would face whatever trials lay ahead together.

With a heavy heart, Cassian helped YN to her feet, supporting her with gentle hands as they prepared to return to the safety of the Night Court. And as they walked side by side, Cassian knew that he would do everything in his power to make amends for his failure, to ensure that YN's sacrifice would not be in vain.

As YN attempted to stand on her own, her weakened state became apparent. With each step, her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give way at any moment. Determination etched on her face, she pressed forward, determined to prove her strength.

But just as Cassian watched her with concern, her strength faltered, and she stumbled, her legs buckling beneath her. With a gasp, she fell back, only to be caught by Cassian's strong arms once again.

Cassian's heart clenched at the sight of YN struggling, her body betraying her fierce spirit. Gently, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her close to his chest as he held her securely.

"It's alright, YN," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of her thoughts. "You don't have to do this alone. I've got you."

YN leaned into him, grateful for the comfort and strength he offered. She felt a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support, his presence a source of solace in the midst of her pain.

With Cassian's help, they made their way back to the safety of the Night Court, his steady stride carrying them forward with purpose. And as they walked, YN found reassurance in the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as she had Cassian by her side, she would never have to face them alone.

----

In the main room of the Night Court, Rhysand, Azriel, and Feyre sat in a solemn silence, their thoughts heavy with concern. Rhysand watched Azriel closely, sensing the tension that coiled beneath his calm exterior. He knew that Azriel was troubled, but the cause remained a mystery.

"Az," Rhysand began, his voice gentle yet probing. "You seem... on edge. Is everything alright?"

Azriel's jaw clenched, his expression guarded as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging within him. "I'm... not sure," he admitted reluctantly. "Something doesn't feel right."

Feyre exchanged a worried glance with Rhysand before reaching out to place a comforting hand on Azriel's arm. "Whatever it is, we're here for you," she reassured him.

Azriel nodded, grateful for their support, but his mind was consumed with worry for YN. She and Cassian had been sent to the borders, and they hadn't returned as expected. The uncertainty gnawed at him, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's YN," Azriel confessed, his voice heavy with concern. "She and Cassian were supposed to return from the borders, but... they haven't."

Rhysand's brows furrowed with concern as he absorbed the news. "Do you think something happened to them?"

Azriel shook his head, his unease growing with each passing moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I fear the worst."

As they sat in uneasy silence, the weight of their worry pressing down on them like a leaden sky, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that hung over them. He knew that until they had answers about YN and Cassian's whereabouts, he wouldn't be able to find peace.

And so, with a heavy heart, Azriel resolved to do whatever it took to find them, to ensure that his beloved YN was safe and sound. For she was not just his lover, but his heart and soul, and he would move heaven and earth to bring her back to him.

A sudden crash shattered the tense silence in the main room of the Night Court, causing Rhysand, Azriel, and Feyre to leap to their feet in alarm. Their hearts pounded in their chests as they rushed to the balcony, where they were met with a sight that sent chills down their spines.

There, standing amidst the wreckage, was Cassian, his arms cradling YN's limp form. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow and uneven, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior they knew her to be.

Without a word, Rhysand and Feyre rushed forward, their hands reaching out to help Cassian with his precious burden. Together, they carried YN inside, laying her gently on the nearest couch as they assessed her condition.

Azriel hovered nearby, his eyes fixed on YN's still form with a mixture of anguish and relief. He had feared the worst when Cassian hadn't returned, but seeing YN alive, even if unconscious, filled him with a sense of hope.

"What happened?" Rhysand demanded, his voice tight with concern as he turned to Cassian.

Cassian's jaw clenched, his eyes dark with worry as he recounted the events that had transpired at the borders. The ambush, the battle, and finally, YN's injuries. He spared no detail, his voice raw with emotion as he relived the harrowing ordeal.

As he spoke, Feyre tended to YN's injuries, her hands moving with practiced skill as she worked to stabilize her condition. Rhysand stood beside her, his gaze never leaving YN's face as he silently willed her to awaken.

And then, just as Cassian finished his tale, YN stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as she slowly regained consciousness. Her eyes met Azriel's, and in that moment, all the pain and worry melted away, replaced by the overwhelming relief of knowing that she was safe.

With tears in his eyes, Azriel reached out, his hand finding YN's and squeezing it tightly. "You're safe," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "That's all that matters."

As YN slowly regained consciousness, Azriel held her close, his heart pounding with relief at the sight of her awake and aware. He cradled her gently in his arms, whispering words of reassurance and love as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

But even as he held her, Azriel's worry lingered like a shadow, his thoughts consumed by the gravity of YN's injuries. He knew that she needed more than just his comfort; she needed the skilled hands of Madja, the court healer, to tend to her wounds.

Feyre, ever quick and resourceful, sprang into action without hesitation. With a determined look in her eyes, she rushed from the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she made her way to Madja's chambers.

Azriel watched her go, his heart filled with gratitude for her swift action. He knew that Madja would do everything in her power to heal YN, to ease her pain and set her on the path to recovery.

As they waited for Feyre and Madja to return, Azriel held YN close, his arms a comforting anchor in the midst of uncertainty. He pressed kisses to her temple, her cheek, her lips, pouring all his love and devotion into each tender gesture.

And as he held her, Azriel vowed to do whatever it took to keep her safe, to protect her from harm and ensure that she never had to face such danger again. For she was not just his lover, but his heart and soul, and he would move heaven and earth to keep her by his side, safe and sound, for all eternity.

As Feyre returned with Madja in tow, the healer wasted no time in assessing YN's injuries. With a practiced eye, she examined the wounds where YN's wings had been severed, her expression grave as she took in the extent of the damage.

"This is serious," Madja murmured, her voice tinged with concern. "The risk of infection is high, especially given the manner in which the wings were cut off. We need to move her immediately."

Azriel's heart clenched at the severity of Madja's words, his fear for YN's well-being mounting with each passing moment. He knew that Madja was right; they couldn't afford to waste any time if they were to prevent further complications.

"What do we need to do?" Rhysand asked, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.

Madja turned to him, her expression determined. "We need to get YN to the healing chambers as quickly as possible," she explained. "There, I can perform the necessary treatments to cleanse the wounds and administer the proper medicines to stave off infection."

Without hesitation, Rhysand and Cassian sprang into action, moving to carefully lift YN from the couch and prepare her for transport. Azriel hovered close by, his eyes never leaving YN's face as he watched with bated breath.

As they carried YN from the room, Azriel walked alongside them, his hand clasped tightly in hers. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at his insides, but he drew strength from the knowledge that they were doing everything they could to save her.

Together, they made their way to the healing chambers, their hearts heavy with worry but filled with hope that Madja would be able to heal YN's wounds and set her on the path to recovery. And as they arrived at their destination, they knew that they would do whatever it took to ensure that YN emerged from this ordeal stronger than ever before.

As they carefully laid YN down on the healing bed, Rhysand leaned in close, his voice soft with concern. "YN, would you like me to take away the pain, just for a while? It may make it easier for you to bear."

YN's eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting Rhysand's with a mixture of gratitude and determination. Despite the agony she was undoubtedly experiencing, she shook her head weakly.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "I want to feel everything. I need to know what's happening."

Rhysand and the others exchanged surprised glances, their brows furrowing with concern at YN's refusal of relief. But Azriel, ever understanding, placed a comforting hand on YN's shoulder, his eyes full of respect for her wishes.

"It's your decision, YN," he murmured, his voice filled with unwavering support. "We'll be here for you, no matter what."

YN managed a weak smile, her heart swelling with gratitude for Azriel's understanding. She knew that he, of all people, would respect her autonomy and her right to make her own choices, even in the face of adversity.

As Madja began her work, YN braced herself for the pain that would inevitably follow. She squeezed Azriel's hand tightly, drawing strength from his unwavering presence by her side.

Outside the healing chambers, the air was thick with tension as Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre waited anxiously. They could hear YN's cries of pain echoing from within, each sound a dagger to their hearts as they struggled to imagine the agony she was enduring.

Rhysand paced back and forth, his jaw clenched with worry as he listened to YN's anguished cries. He longed to go to her side, to offer her comfort and support in her time of need, but he knew that Madja needed space to work her healing magic.

Cassian's fists were clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he struggled to contain his emotions. YN was his closest friend, his confidante, and the thought of her suffering tore at his soul like nothing else.

Feyre stood beside them, her hands wringing nervously as she listened to YN's cries. She longed to offer her own healing abilities to ease YN's pain, but she knew that Madja was more than capable of handling the situation.

Meanwhile, inside the healing chambers, Azriel remained by YN's side, his heart breaking with each cry of pain that escaped her lips. He held her hand tightly, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering support and love.

As Madja worked her healing magic, Azriel leaned in close to YN, his lips brushing against her hand in a tender kiss. He whispered words of encouragement and love, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of her agony.

And though YN's screams and whimpers echoed throughout the Night Court, Azriel remained steadfast by her side, his presence a beacon of light in the darkness. For he knew that no matter how long the night may seem, dawn would eventually break, bringing with it the promise of a new day and the hope of healing and renewal.

As Madja finished her work and emerged from the healing chambers, Azriel stepped out to join the rest of the group. His eyes, usually so stoic and composed, were now filled with tears, a testament to the emotional turmoil he had endured while YN was undergoing treatment.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre rushed forward to meet him, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. They could see the toll the ordeal had taken on Azriel, his usually unshakeable demeanor shaken by the fear of losing the woman he loved.

"Is she...?" Rhysand began, his voice trailing off as he searched Azriel's face for any sign of hope or despair.

Azriel nodded, a small but genuine smile touching his lips as he wiped away a stray tear. "She's going to be okay," he confirmed, his voice thick with emotion. "Madja managed to cleanse the wounds and prevent infection. YN will make a full recovery."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the group, the weight of worry lifting from their shoulders like a heavy burden lifted. Cassian clapped Azriel on the shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity and support.

Feyre reached out, her hand finding Azriel's and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so glad she's going to be alright," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine relief.

Azriel nodded, his gratitude for their support evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I would have done without all of you."

As they stood together, united in their love and concern for YN, Azriel felt a sense of overwhelming gratitude wash over him. He knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as they stood together, they would be able to weather any storm that came their way. And with YN on the path to recovery, he allowed himself to hope for a brighter future, filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

----

Three weeks had passed since the harrowing incident that changed YN's life forever. In that time, she had undergone a transformation, both physically and emotionally. Though her bond with Azriel had grown stronger, the loss of her wings weighed heavily on her spirit.

Unable to work and grounded from the skies that had once been her sanctuary, YN found herself adrift, her sense of purpose shaken to its core. She spent her days sitting alone on the balcony, watching as the world carried on around her, feeling utterly powerless and useless.

Azriel did his best to support her, his love and devotion unwavering in the face of her pain and frustration. He sat by her side, holding her hand and offering words of comfort and reassurance, but he knew that nothing he said could erase the ache in her heart or the longing in her soul.

As the days stretched into weeks, YN found herself consumed by a sense of grief and longing for the life she had lost. She missed the freedom of the skies, the rush of wind beneath her wings, and the feeling of weightlessness as she soared through the clouds.

But as she gazed out at the horizon, her eyes filled with unshed tears, YN knew that she had to find a way to move forward, to forge a new path for herself in this unfamiliar world. She may never fly again, but she refused to let her wings be the only thing that defined her.

With Azriel's unwavering support and the love of her friends by her side, YN vowed to embrace this new chapter of her life with courage and resilience. She may be grounded for now, but she refused to let her spirit be tethered by the chains of despair.

And as she sat on the balcony, her heart heavy with sorrow yet filled with determination, YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them head-on, with her head held high and her spirit unbroken. For she was not defined by her wings, but by the strength and courage that dwelled within her soul.

As Azriel returned from his duties as a spy, he found YN sitting alone on the balcony, lost in her thoughts. Without a word, he approached her, his footsteps silent against the cool stone floor. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close to him in a warm embrace.

YN leaned back into his embrace, feeling the strength and solidity of his presence surrounding her like a protective shield. She sighed softly, finding solace in the warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of his skin comforting and reassuring.

For a long moment, they simply stood there together, the only sound the gentle rustle of the breeze as it danced through the air. Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of YN's head, his lips lingering against her hair as he held her close.

"I'm here, YN," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing murmur against her ear. "You're not alone."

YN turned in his arms, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of gratitude and love. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, her touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that spoke volumes of her feelings for him.

"Thank you, Az," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "For always being here for me, even when I feel like I'm falling apart."

Azriel brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. "You never have to thank me, YN," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

And as they stood together on the balcony, their hearts entwined in a bond that could never be broken, YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as she had Azriel by her side, she would always find the strength to face them. For their love was a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding them through even the toughest of times, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

As YN turned to face Azriel, her heart heavy with uncertainty, she couldn't help but voice the fear that had been gnawing at her soul since the loss of her wings.

"Do you... love me less now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching his for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

Azriel's brow furrowed with concern as he met her gaze, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. He reached out to cup her face in his hands, his touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that took her breath away.

"Never, YN," he replied, his voice firm with conviction. "Not for a moment. Your wings were never what made me love you. It's your strength, your courage, your compassion... those are the things that make you who you are."

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears that shimmered in her eyes. "You are more than your wings, YN. You always have been, and you always will be. And nothing will ever change that."

YN's heart swelled with emotion at his words, her fears melting away in the warmth of his love. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as if to anchor herself to the truth of his words.

"Thank you, Az," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I love you."

Azriel pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin in a silent promise of forever. "And I love you, YN," he murmured, his voice filled with a depth of feeling that took her breath away.

And as they stood there together, wrapped in each other's arms, YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as she had Azriel's love to guide her, she would always find the strength to soar, even without her wings. For their love was a force of nature, unbreakable and eternal, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Azriel's lips met YN's in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of his love and devotion. As they melted into each other's embrace, he trailed his fingers along the scars that marred her back, his touch gentle yet filled with reverence.

Each scar told a story of battles fought and sacrifices made, a testament to YN's strength and resilience in the face of adversity. Azriel traced the lines of each mark with care, his heart heavy with the weight of her pain and the depth of his love for her.

"You are so brave, YN," he murmured against her lips, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet of the night. "I admire you more than words can express."

YN's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who stood before her, his love a beacon of light in the darkness.

"I couldn't have made it through this without you, Az," she replied, her voice filled with emotion. "You're my strength, my rock."

Azriel pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her with a fierce protectiveness. "And you're mine," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "Always and forever."

And as they stood there together, their scars a reminder of the battles they had fought and the love that had seen them through, YN knew that no matter what the future held, as long as she had Azriel by her side, she would always find the strength to face it, one day at a time. For their love was a bond that transcended time and space, unbreakable and eternal, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger

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mariasont · 8 months ago

Text

Our Minds Entwined———————————

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8

MDNI——————————————————

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon’s daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: soft dom spencer, sub oc, making out in a bathroom, spencer & aaron being simps, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, fingering, dirty talk, yeah!

Chapter Seven:

Evelyn's eyes flickered open, greeted by the relentless dawn light that pierced the room. The alarm's persistent drone became a mere backdrop to the blissful haze that wrapped around her, a lingering afterglow of the night before that made her thighs clench at the thought. Extending a lazy stretch, her fingers roaming over the sheets, half-expecting to brush against Spencer's familiar warmth. A cool absence greeted her instead that snapped her back to reality, her heart dropped with a dense thud.

She bolted upright, the sheets clutched to her chest like a shield, her mind a whirlwind of questions that demanded answers. Did he regret it? Was it not as good for him as it was for her? In the quiet of the room, her confusion found an echo, intensifying the sense of abandonment that snaked its way up her spine, panic beginning to take hold. The memories of his touch faded into the hazy idea of a dream, leaving her exposed, her defenses crumbling to nothing.

Evelyn rose, her body moving on autopilot, as she prepared for the day. Securing her badge to her waist, she felt a wave of dread wash over her, the inevitable encounter with Spencer looming over her head.

Evelyn made her way down the stairs, each step tentative, as she entered the lobby. Morning light spilled through the windows, painting long, somber shadows. JJ was there, her blonde hair reflecting the sun's rays like a halo, her posture exuding her calm authority as she conversed quietly with Hotch. He stood with his back to the light, his sharp silhouette and eyes scanning the room as he spoke.

Evelyn felt a twinge of relief upon noticing Spencer's absence; she wasn't ready to face him. For now, she welcomed the reprieve, allowing herself a moment to gather her thoughts. JJ's observant eyes were quick to detect the change in Evelyn's demeanor.

"Good morning!" Evelyn announced with a chirp, her tone light and breezy, as she flashed her practiced smile and wave.

"Morning, Evie," JJ greets with a warm smile, her voice carrying a hint of concern, "How'd you sleep?"

Evelyn's cheeks warmed at the memory, a flicker of awkwardness passing through her. "Oh, you know, the usual--battled my alarm clock, dreamed of paperwork, and won," she smiled, deflecting the attention. "Speaking of dreams, I bet Hotch was up all strategizing about our case, right?"

Hotch eyes narrowed slightly at Evelyn; his perceptive gaze told Evelyn he knew what she was trying to do. "Strategizing is a 24/7 job... and so is paperwork," he began. "Though, I try not to outsource it to the interns."

Evelyn's eyes widened in mock horror, her voice laced with feigned defensiveness. "It was one time! And for the record, I was strategically conserving energy... for more important tasks," she declared, her grin spreading across her face, as infectious as it was wide.

Hotch's response came with a barely perceptible smirk. "Whatever you say," he said, disbelief clear in this tone, yet his expression remained unreadable. "Let's head out."

Evelyn hurried after him, curiosity piqued. "Wait, how did you even know about that?"

Hotch continued forward, seemingly oblivious to Evelyn's struggle to keep up. Evelyn, in her attempt to match his stride, found herself almost jogging.

"Let's just say, not all profilers need to profile to get their information," he hinted with a sidelong glance. "Some people," his eyes briefly flickered to Morgan, seated nonchalantly in the SUV, "just have a hard time keeping things to themselves."

With an overexaggerated eye roll, Evelyn grumbled, "Morgan and his big mouth," earning a burst of laughter from JJ. "How could he?"

The soft chuckle from Hotch was fleeting, but it was enough to spark a glow in Evelyn's eyes. She really loved that sound. "In his defense, he didn't know I was listening. Now, shall we?" He motioned towards the exit, holding the door open waiting for her to lead the way.

They stepped into the station to find it cloaked in a tension, the air heavy with the unspoken urgency of detectives eager for a lead and the simmering frustration of dead ends.

As they arrived at the station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with anticipation and the lingering frustration of a case at a standstill. Hotch guided the team through the precinct's doors, his face an unreadable mask as he moved through.

They received a nod from Detective Martinez, his features etched with lines as deep as the arid crevices of the desert surrounding them.

"Travers?" Hotch asked, his tone direct and expectant.

Martinez's response came with a weary shake of his head, the furrows in his brow deepening into a map of frustration. "He's lawyered up. Won't say a word without his attorney present."

Hotch's voice cut through the silence. "Alright, let's regroup. There has to be something we're missing. Evelyn, find Spencer in the conference room. Go through the evidence again with fresh eyes."

Evelyn's heart vaulted in her chest, as if trying to escape. The idea of working in close quarters with Spencer was like standing at the edge of a cliff; it filled her with a dizzying rush of nervous energy that was hard to ignore. Maybe it would be better if someone just pushed her off. She nodded, schooling her face into composure. I can do hard things, she thought to herself, clutching her files, the soft thud of her footsteps accompanying her to the conference room.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the projector. Spencer was already there, his slender finger, the same one that had been in her hours prior, was sifting through the array of evidence before him. His brow furrowed in concentration, jaw set in a firm line, eyes narrowed in focus. God, it was hard for Evelyn to stay upset when he looked that good.

Prentiss stood by the window. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, darted from corner to corner, missing nothing.

Evelyn's heart pounded as the memories of last night flooded her senses his fingers pounding inside her, the feeling of his lips on hers. Spencer didn't even flicker a gaze towards her, his concentration cemented on the sea of papers that sprawled across the table. It was as if nothing had happened.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Evelyn forced a smile. "So, what are we thinking? Any new angles we might have missed?" she asked, her voice a little too cheerful.

Spencer finally raised his head, his face a blank canvas hiding his thoughts. "We need to reexamine the timeline. There might be a pattern we overlooked."

With a thoughtful tap of her finger against her lips, Prentiss interjected, "And cross-reference the victims' backgrounds again. They all received the remote-control keys shortly before they were killed, but maybe there's more than just the keys linking them."

With a subtle shift in her stance acknowledging Spencer's imposing presence, Evelyn offered him a file. Her fingers brushed his ever so slightly, refusing to meet his gaze. "Look at this," she said. "One of the victims, Mr. Davidson, made several calls to Key Innovations customer service the day before he died. It could be nothing, but it's odd."

Spencer accepted the file, his touch lingering a moment too long. "It could indicate he was having issues with the key. Maybe it malfunctioned, or maybe it was tampered with."

Prentiss leaned in, her eyes darting across the document. "If he called customer service, there should be a record of the conversation. We need to get those tapes," she noted, already reaching for her phone. "I'm going to call the company, see what I can find."

Prentiss stepped out of the room, the click-clack of her heels on the floor punctuating her exit as she moved to make the call. With Prentiss gone, the room shrank, the quiet intensifying around Evelyn and Spencer as they sifted through the evidence, each rustle of paper amplifying the silence.

As Spencer extended his arm around Evelyn to retrieve a file, the closeness of his body sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. His hand grazed her hip in a steadying gesture, and the brief touch causes Evelyn's body to stiffen, stepping back as if she had been shocked.

Spencer's frown was quick to form as he noticed Evelyn's sudden retreat, a crease of concern etching his forehead. "Are you okay?"

Evelyn flashed a quick, wry smile, brushing off the moment. "I'm fine, just practicing my two-step for the next FBI ball," she joked, a lame attempt at deflecting.

"Evelyn," Spencer said, his tone soft yet firm.

Evelyn's response tumbled out in a rush. "So, I wake up and it's just me and the cold side of the bed, which, you know, is a bit confusing. And hey, if that is your way of saying 'it was a mistake,' that's cool. I'm a big girl, I've got my big girl socks on. Just rip the band-aid off quick, okay? I can take it."

Spencer's smirk was a slow slide of amusement. "Oh, I know you can take it," he teased, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the space between them.

He stepped closer, his presence encroaching on her personal bubble, making her heart race faster than she thought possible. As he backed her up, her hips met the edge of the table with a soft thud, his hands planting firmly on the surface to cage her in.

"I don't regret it at all," he confessed, his eyes locked on hers, "In fact, I've been thinking about it all day."

The air was thick with tension, their faces inches apart, breaths mingling, she could almost taste the mint on his tongue. But then, the sound of footsteps snapped the moment in two, and they sprang apart. Evelyn's cheeks burned with fluster, while Spencer just went back to his files.

Just then, Hotch entered. "Another victim has been killed."

The team assembled at the crime scene, a desolate stretch just off the Arizona highway. The air was thick, not just with the scent of the desolation, but also with the oppressive heat. The sun bore down mercilessly on the abandoned car, its metal body almost mirroring the blaze.

Evelyn squinted against the relentless sun; her hand raised to shield her eyes. "Maybe Travers isn't our guy," she pondered aloud, her gaze methodically sweeping the scene.

Evelyn reached out, her fingers wrapping around Morgan's arm to guide him into position, his broad frame now casting a long shadow that shielded her from the sun's glare. "There, much better," she said.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation. "What am I, your personal sunshade now?"

"Only when you're not spilling my secrets to Hotch," Evelyn shot back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "You're lucky I'm such a good sport, Evie."

"And you're lucky I don't have more dirt on you, Morgan," she retorted with a giggle, her gaze returning to the crime scene.

Hotch stepped in, sending a look of warning to the two agents. "Travers fits the profile too well to dismiss," he interjects, his gaze sweeping over the team. "Intelligent, meticulous, socially isolated, and motivated by a desire to be recognized. We can't overlook that."

The team fell into a contemplative silence, each member lost in thought until Prentiss arrived, her expression serious. "I talked with the company. Mr. Davidson was having issues with the remote. They sent a technician our to repair it," she announced, holding out a piece of paper with the name of the technician.

The team looked in to look at the name Prentiss had uncovered. Evelyn's mind raced. "Two different guys," she whispered, the pieces clicking into place. "One who plans, one who executes. It's a partnership."

In the observation room, Evelyn's gaze was fixed on the interrogation unfolding before her. Hotch's deliberate questions and Morgan's intense stare bore into Michael Harris, the technician, the focus of their scrutiny. His posture was rigid, defiant, but his eyes told a different story--a flicker of uncertainty passed through them as he kept his arms folded.

In the sterile light of the adjacent room, Reid's slender frame was hunched over the table, his fingers temped in thought. His boyish features, often softened by an air of absent-minded genius, were now sharpened. His eyes, a clear reflection of his mind's workings, flickered over Travers with a scary intensity. Prentiss stood beside him; her posture unwavering. Her dark hair was pulled back, accentuating her set jaw and calculating eyes.

Hotch stepped out, his eyes locking on Evelyn's. "These guys target what they perceive as privilege--wealth, beauty, the whole package" he explained, his voice a low rumble of contained frustration. "We need to shake him. Evelyn, I want you in there. Your profile... It'll strike a nerve."

Evelyn arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. "Awh, Hotch, are you calling me beautiful? Careful, or I might start thinking it's part of the job description."

Hotch's response was immediate, his tone firm yet not unkind. "Agent," he scolded.

Evelyn's smile broadened for a fleeting moment before she nodded. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Time to see if Harris finds me as privileged as you do."

As she spun on her heel, she could practically hear the sound of Hotch's eyes rolling, his silent rebuke hanging in the air. Evelyn swept into the interrogation room, her confidence radiating like the steady glow of a lantern. Hotch's silent figure trailed behind her. Harris's discomfort was unmistakable as he met Evelyn's steady gaze, evident that her presence had unsettled him.

"Mr. Harris, we know about the visits to the victims' homes. You were the last one to see them alive." Hotch stated, the lines of his jaw tightening in sync with the syllables. The muscles in his arms flexed subtly, straining against the fabric of his dress shirt as he leaned forward. Evelyn, observing the interplay of muscle and material, had to mentally nudge herself back to the task at hand.

Morgan's voice was a low rumble, almost feral in its intensity as he leaned closer. "And let's not forget the convenient malfunctions that only you could fix."

With a graceful tilt of her head, Evelyn locked eyes with Harris. "Must be tough," she murmured, "going into those big, beautiful houses, seeing how the other half lives."

Harris's jaw tightened, muscles tensing in a visible display of restraint. "I did my job," he spat, the words forced out between clenched teeth.

"And you did it so well," she observed, her eyes not leaving his. "But tell me, Michael, did you enjoy having that power? Deciding who stayed locked in?"

Harris's gaze burned with a silent fury, a raw, seething hatred for the conventional beauty he believed had marginalized him. Evelyn's presence, her composure, it all seemed to amplify his rage, teetering him of the edge of outburst. And Evelyn knew this.

With a level gaze and a tone that left room for no argument, Hotch laid out the facts. "We know about the partnership," he said, each word deliberate, precise. "You and Travers had a system, didn't you?"

"He creates the problem, you fix it." Morgan stated pointedly, a verbal arrow pointed at Harris. "Only you're not fixing anything, are you?"

Evelyn's smile didn't reach her eyes; it was cold, calculated. "You're just the repairman, right? Or should I say the executioner?"

Harris's composure shattered, a visceral snarl ripping through his throat. "You don't know anything! You think you're something special with that pretty face?" he sneered, venom dripping from every word. "Bet you're just like the rest, sleeping their way to the top? Who'd you fuck to get this job, huh? The big boss man here?" He jerked his head contemptuously towards Hotch, the disdain clear as saliva flecked his lips.

Hotch's frame stiffened, an instinctual guard rising within him, but Evelyn was already one step ahead. Her hand met his chest, a silent signal that she could handle him, her face a mask of cool composure. "Is that the best you can do, Harris? Reduce me to looks? I thought you were smarter than that."

The flush of anger on Harris's face deepened, his rage nearly tangible in the stifling air of the room. "You don't know what it's like! You just waltz through life on your tits and ass, never having to work for anything!"

Evelyn's eyes didn't waver. "Seems like you've been watching too closely. Does it bother you, Michael? Seeing people like me succeed?" Her question was deliberate, designed to provoke him.

With a sudden, explosive motion, Harris stood, his hands slamming onto the table with a force that echoed through the room. "I worked for everything while people like you just got it all handed it all handed to them! Those people deserved it, you hear me? They deserved to burn! Travers and I were only serving justice."

The clink of Garcia's glass resonated through the air as she raised it high, her voice carrying over the murmur of the bustling bar. "To the most incredible team, who can solve anything with enough coffee and genius brainpower."

The team had gathered at a cozy pub, just ten minutes from Quantico, to unwind after the case. The warm glow of the vintage lamps cast a soft glow on the group, reflecting off the polished mahogany table. The atmosphere was abuzz with the chatter of fellow agents and the soft hum of jazz playing in the background.

Evelyn, dressed in a red dress that hugged every curve, felt the warmth of Hotch's firm shoulder against hers on one side and Spencer's thigh on the other. The proximity to both men sent a flutter of nerves through her. She took a discreet sip of her wine, hoping to dissipate the swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Morgan, ever the charmer, lifted his glass with a roguish smile. "And here's to Evelyn," he announced, "the only one who could get a raise out of Hotch with just her performance review!"

Laughter erupted around them. Evelyn's reaction was immediate; her hands flew to her face, shielding her flushed cheeks from the group. The laughter was infectious, but beneath it, she couldn't help but imagine sleeping with him. Peeking through her fingers, she shook her head in mock display. "I cannot believe he said that," she muttered.

"I think we can all agree that the Bureau's hiring practices are a bit more rigorous than that," (are they though) Hotch said. There was a brief pause as he surveyed the group, his gaze lingering on Evelyn for a moment longer than the rest. "And as for performance reviews, I believe your record speaks for itself, Evelyn. No additional... incentives are necessary."

The laughter resumed, Penelope nearly falling out of her chair. Evelyn leaned in, her voice only meant for Hotch. "Careful, Hotch," she teased, "or I'll actually start believing those rumors about your hidden sense of humor."

Morgan, with a playful smirk, couldn't help himself. "Yeah, the hiring practices are definitely more rigorous," he said, winking at Evelyn. "You just need your dad to be Jason Gideon, and you're in. No big deal, right?"

Evelyn shot Morgan a playful glare, her voice low but teasing. "Careful, Morgan," she warned, "don't think I've forgotten about your big mouth. I might just have to start bribing you next to keep quiet."

Hotch, with a slight upward twitch of his lips that suggested a suppressed smile, shook his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said, giving Evelyn a pointed look.

The bar's music echoed through the air as JJ, Emily, Evelyn and Penelope found themselves on the dance floor. Their hands were occupied with the chilled glasses, condensation beading down the sides. The pulsating lights of the bar cast a kaleidoscope of colors over them.

With a lightness in her step, JJ danced with a carefree grace. Her laughter, louder and freer than it had been all night, rang out clear. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Rossi would be out-danced by Garcia," she said, nodding towards the table where Rossi sat, looking amused yet slightly bewildered by Garcia's animated dance moves from afar.

Evelyn's eyes followed JJ's gaze, and there they were--Hotch and Spencer--barely concealing the way they were looking at her. Their gazes were intense, unapologetically fixed on her. It was more than just a discreet glance; it was an overt appreciation that lingered just a second too long. When their eyes met hers, they looked away almost guiltily, but the message was clear; she was the object of their undivided attention.

The heat of their stares tangible, igniting a flush that spread across Evelyn's cheeks. It wasn't just the warmth of the alcohol coursing through her; it was the unexpected realization that she reveled in their attention. It was a revelation that came with a jolt of excitement--she wanted to be desired by them, liked the way her presence commanded their focus.

With a twirl that sent her hair fanning out around her, Prentiss joined in. "Oh, come on, JJ" she teased with a wink, "you know Rossi's got moves. He's just... conserving his energy for case."

With a thoughtful sip from her glass, Evelyn relished the drink's refreshing chill amidst the bar's cozy hum. "I think it's more like he's conserving his dignity," she tossed out playfully, her remark sparking a wave of soft giggles among the group.

Penelope raised her glass as if bestowing a royal decree. "To dignity! May we always have just enough to keep us grounded, but not so much that we can't fly!"

A chorus of tipsy giggles erupted once more from the group, their movements unsteady as they huddled close, shoulders bumping and heads nearly colliding.

Drunken giggles erupted once more from the group as they leaned into each other, nearly knocking heads. Evelyn excused herself from the dance floor, her steps unsteady as she navigated through the crowd to the bar. The dim lighting and the thrum of the music offering a brief respite from the watchful eyes of her team.

As she waited for the bartender's attention, she felt a sudden, unexpected pressure on her hips. A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle, her muscles coiling tight as she spun on her heel to confront the stranger. Yet, the touch was achingly familiar, and the voice that followed she knew all too well.

"God, Spence, you scared me," she exhaled, relief flooding her voice, her pulse gradually calming to the familiar comfort of his presence.

Evelyn's inhale turned sharp, a shiver running down her spine as she met Spencer's gaze, his fingertips barely grazing her hips. His eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a knowing smirk. "Sorry," he drawled, the words dripping with an insincerity that was as disarming as it was uncharacteristic. "You just look so good tonight, Evelyn."

She could feel like heat of his breath as he leaned in, the gap between them closing to a whisper. It was a side to Spencer she rarely saw--confident, assertive, and undeniably hot. Evelyn's surprise was quickly replaced by a rising excitement.

Evelyn's voice was a hushed whisper, tinged with concern. "Spence, the team is going to see us," she warned, her eyes darting anxiously over her shoulder.

But Spencer seemed unfazed, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you know how many guys were drooling at you on the dance floor?" he murmured, his voice low and intense. "Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to tell them how desperate and needy you were for me last night."

Evelyn's voice was reduced to a whisper as she felt the moisture starting to gather between her legs. "Spence--"

But he cut her off with a single word, "bathroom," and without another glance, he turned and walked away, his departure leaving her feeling as though the air had been vacuumed from her lungs.

She felt almost pathetic as she trailed after him like a lost puppy, her attention briefly diverted to the team, thankfully engrossed by Garcia's orchestration of a drinking game. She pivoted into the muted glow of the hallway, tucking her hair behind her ear with a practiced motion as she made her way briskly into the bathroom.

She stepped through the doorway only to be greeted by desperate hands at her ass that eagerly drew her in, yanking her into Spencer's familiar body. With a faint gasp, she melted into his touch, her intensity matching his, her fingers instinctively finding and curling into the locks of his hair. Without hesitation, he nudged her back against the sink, a quick tap to her thigh a silent command--a command she instantly obeyed, her legs encircling his waist in a tight clasp.

He murmured his approval, "good girl," he praised, a moan escaping her as she tugged gently at his hair.

His smirk, felt rather than seen, played against her lips. His hands clung to her thighs, pushing her dress up to her stomach. He broke the kiss slowly, savoring the taste before lowering himself to her legs. Spencer began to plant open mouthed kisses to the expanse of her thighs, "So sweet."

"Sp-Spencer-," she faltered, her words barely more than a breathless murmur, "we need ground, ah, rules."

Spencer clicked his tongue, his fingers idly twirling the lining of her underwear, his gaze intimately fixed between her thighs, "like what, sweetheart?"

He deftly removed the pesky shred of fabric, and she observed, her lips parted in awe, as he tucked in neatly into his pocket. Her mind went dumb as he gently coaxed her legs further apart.

His thumb began to draw languid circles against her puffed clit as she squirmed. She muffled a moan against her arm, her hips bucking against his touch. Evelyn's body was begging for more and less at the same time.

"Evelyn, use your words." Spencer chided as he drew agonizingly slow circles on the tender spot. "What rules do we need?"

"Well, for one-," she couldn't finish her sentence as Spencer plunged a finger inside her, his mouth coming down on her neck, his tongue licking long stripes up the expanse of flesh.

Her body turned to Jello as he continued to pump in and out of her. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear as she desperately tried to ride his fingers. "You like that, baby? Keep riding my fingers, get yourself off, it's okay."

"Spencer, please, please," she couldn't even form a thought of what she was asking for, hands twisting around the curls on his head, pressing her chest flush against his.

"Oh, I know, princess." He coos condescendingly as he grinded his hard cock straining against the material of his jeans, against her body. Her eyes widened as she realized just how big he really was. The familiar tightening became to form in her core, her pants becoming more desperate, her hands clutching his face in an attempt to stabilize herself. "Let them hear how good you take it, baby."

She could feel her resolve crumbling, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she moaned out a string of nonsensical words.

The words tipped her over the edge, her body shaking with pleasure as she cried his name out. He smirked as his hand pressed down over her mouth, her breath fogging up the flesh as she rode out her high.

"You did so good, sweetheart," Spencer praised, his hand gently sweeping the strands of hair from her face, as she offered him a blissful, dreamily smile. This man had now given her two groundbreaking orgasms.

She had never come from a man before, let one be given earth-shattering, life altering ones just from his fingers. She peeled herself away from the counter unconcerned with her disarrayed appearance as she sank to her knees. Her long lashes fluttered gently as she lifted her gaze towards Spencer.

A deep sigh escaped him, his head dropped back, fingers pressing lightly against the bridge of his nose as he declared, "Jesus, you're going to be the death of me."

Evelyn took that as her permission, her hands were a blur, swiftly working the buckle of his belt with an almost frantic efficiency.

She quickly liberated his length from the clutches of the confining material. A subtle gasp fluttered from her, barely audible, as his cock sprang to life. Mesmerized, she studied it--red, angry, massive and imposing.

A quick swipe of her tongue combated the dryness of her lips as she grasped the base with a steady hand. He stiffened in her grasp as he extended his hand, allowing it to come to a soft halt amidst the locks of her hair at the back of her head.

She took a deep breath, trace a path with her tongue from the base to head, testing the waters. Spencer's exhale was a quiet plea, his fingers weaving through the strands of her hair.

Evelyn wanted to relish every moment, to extend the pleasure, and to take her time. Yet, she felt the pulse of Spencer's impatience. She quickly took him in her mouth, a moan enveloping around his cock while his grip tightened on her scalp.

Her lips sloppily dragged up and down the length, her eyes lifting to meet his as she felt him twitch in her mouth. "God, baby, I wish you could see how perfect you look right now."

This only egged her on and she challenged herself to go deeper. An unexpected string of profanities fell from Spencer's lips as she took him.

He cradled her face between his hands, her eyelashes batting softly in his direction. He gently gathered her hair into a ponytail as she continued to take him deeper, trails of mascara etching down her face that he found so perfect.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He moaned out, his hips beginning to push back against her.

Evelyn's hand clung to his thighs, moisture gathering in her eyes as she continued to take his length as far as she could. She could feel he was close--the way his thighs trembled slightly under her manicured hands, the way his cock twitched ever so slightly in her mouth.

With a quick motion, Evelyn placed her hand on the base of his cock, synchronizing her strokes with her mouth, keeping her gaze locked on his. That's all it took before she felt his hold on her tighten, the hot liquid shooting on to her tongue.

She let out a sound of gratification, settling back on her heels while her tongue swept over her bottom lip. His chest heaved in a steady rhythm, his eyes lowering to meet hers, a weary smile lingering on his lips.

"Yup, like I said that will definitely be playing in my head for the rest of my life," he exhaled, his fingers sifting through his disheveled locks.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up as he extended his hand, drawing her up to her feet. The moment she was within reach, his lips found hers, hungry and insistent. His smirk lingered as he drew away, her cheeks cupped in his hands, his thumbs tenderly sweeping away the mascara smudges.

"What were you saying about ground rules?" Spencer questioned, his voice soft colored with fatigue and a hint of exhilaration.

"Ground rules right," she said. "Absolutely. Just as soon as my neurons start firing again."

Laughter spilled out loudly, his hands deftly untangling her hair. "So, who's braving the exit first? Do you think they noticed?"

Evelyn shot him a deadpan look. "They're profilers," she reminded, then sighed. "But I'll go."

She spun around the mirror, hastily adjusting her dress and taming her hair into some semblance of order before stepping back into the bar. Evelyn's gaze landed instantly on the group, clearly tipsy, their laughter drowning out the rest of the bar. She quieted the butterflies in her stomach as she approached the rowdy group. Her eyes met Hotch's, his single raised brow a silent question about her appearance.

"Evie!" The unmistakable sound of Penelope's shriek pierced the air as she threw her arms around Evelyn. "We were terrified, Chica! We thought we'd lost you forever."

Evelyn responded with an embarrassed laugh, "Oh, P, if I had a nickel for every time I 'died,' according to your standards I'd be out buying a yacht."

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

#aaron hotchner #spencer reid #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader x spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner smut #Spotify #criminal minds fandom #dr reid #reid #hotch #hotchner #thomas gibson #matthew gray gubler

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atlasofthestaars · 1 year ago

Text

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .013

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: Sorry these chapters are taking a while, I hope the longer length makes up for it all! <3 Experimenting with a more descriptive style of writing, so sorry if it is a lot!

Would you guys want a repolling of Rain? I’ve been considering it after seeing all the love for Rain recently in the comments, let me know!

Also I went back and added chapter names for everything ! ty for avianlily for the help!

I know it’s Mortal Kombat, but warning for descriptive gore!

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO SEES SOMETHING LIFE CHANGING

That night your memories returned to you, for the first time, in a dream.

You found yourself standing in the middle of a grand coliseum. At least, that’s what you remember it as. The walls rose high around the arena to accommodate for the massive amount of seats needed for all the people that filled them. It almost felt like a cage with how high up the walls were. The sun beat down harshly upon you, bestowing you with a thin of sweat upon your skin. The scent of dust and blood mingled in the air and your nose scrunched up at it.

You craned your head up to look into the crowd. The stares of the people were unnerving. It was as if you simply breathed wrong they would be ready to jeer at you. You felt more like a zoo animal rather than a person. You took in a deep breath, straightening your back. You would not let their stares make you cower and back down.

Despite all that, you were not the person of interest among the many who were in the coliseum. The crowd was much more focused on the fight happening in the center of the arena. A bandaged man with glowing eyes was beating Johnny Cage to a pulp as if he were a mere training dummy. Every blow the man dealt seemed to echo throughout the arena with how strong it was. Johnny probably had a few broken ribs at this point.

The crowd’s approval roared in your ears, but you could only grimace as you crossed your arms. How could anyone find enjoyment in such a sight? You’ve never understood why anyone would enjoy bloody fighting as entertainment. What drove people to enjoy such bloodlust flew completely over your head. You understood enjoying sparring and friendly fights…nothing like this.

Johnny, worn down and bruised, threw a sloppy kick in the man’s direction. Predictably, it was caught. Your eyes widened as you saw the bandaged man reel his arm back. You already knew what was going to happen. You averted your eyes, gritting your teeth as you heard the sickening crack of bone. That man had broken Johnny’s leg like it was a simple twig. You heard a thud, then a groan, and then you knew it was over.

“Ermac wins!” A voice announced among the crowd’s cheers.

“I’ll help him.” You said to the thunder god at your side. Raiden’s eyes looked at you, an unreadable look on his face, then he nodded. You strode over, looking at the tarkatan who had tried to drag Johnny away. There was a grumble, a reluctant growl, before he let you retrieve your ally. Despite the resistance, you nodded respectfully to him. No reason not to be disrespectful. “Brace yourself, Cage.” You muttered, hoisting Johnny up. You slung his arm over his shoulder, doing your best to keep the pressure of his leg now that he was lame.

“Thanks.” Johnny muttered, a groan leaving his lips. You knew he probably was aching all over. You could also tell he was swimming in and out of consciousness with the weak way his head rested against your shoulder. You looked over to his face, or at least the parts of it you could see, noting how the bruises painted his skin like grotesque watercolor. You sighed, wishing all of a sudden that you had healing powers instead of your shifting ones so you could whisk away his pain.

“Thank me later, try to keep awake.” You chided, your firm tone dissonant with the way your heart was hammering in fear for your ally. He was lucky they showed him mercy, you knew he could have easily been wiped out like nothing. With a grunt of effort, you led him to the back of the crowd, making sure he was situated away from the fighting and beasts Shao Khan let roam in his coliseum. He had enough for today, you figured. Looking up, you noted Kung Lao and Liu Kang walking in.

Relief washed over you as you saw them. They were safe.

Liu Kang had made a beeline for the princess. You sighed, watching him walk past. You had been caught up in the whole tournament and unable to help assist her. Well, at least Raiden had insisted you were more needed on standby than to help the princess. As you watched your long time friend go to assist her, a pit of guilt formed in your stomach.

You should have helped her.

You knew you were justified in staying back, after all you had to be on standby just in case you needed to fight. After all, the number of champions fighting for Earthrealm were much, much less than those for Outworld. But still the guilt grew.

“Not now!” Raiden pleaded, chasing after the man. “Smoke and Johnny Cage have been defeated, and I no longer sense Jackson Briggs’ and Sonya Blade’s presence in Outworld.” The thunder god cried out, trying to make Liu Kang understand the gravity of the situation. You walked by them now, deciding you better listen in on the conversation. You walked to the right of Liu Kang. “Despite my doubts as to whether you are Earthrealm’s savior, you must fight!”

Liu Kang looked at Raiden, a look akin to a betrayed pet. The pyromancer’s gaze drifted towards you, his gaze seeming to search for something as he looked at you. Your eyebrows furrowed at the expression. Was he looking for your approval? What good would your approval do, compared to a god’s? Still, despite your self doubt, you thought about it. You took in a deep breath, then you looked away, down to the dusty ground. Then, after a moment of contemplation, you nodded your head towards Kitana.

“I have other things to do.” Liu Kang, with the voice of a man scorned, told Raiden. His determination seemed to have been bolstered by your encouragement. The man looked at you once more, his gaze much softer. Instead of the smoldering embers of hate, there were merely cinders. He walked forward, not caring for the threatened stances the tarkatans gave him. Shao Khan’s gaze followed, his cold orange eyes assessing the man. He let him pass, not caring for what he did with Kitana.

Vile man.

“Raiden!” Shao Khan’s voice boomed out, his voice sticking out loud and proud among the cacophony of sounds. He looked all too smug on his stone throne situated in the middle of the arena. He lounged too casually, as if he knew his victory was assured. It riled you up, making you grit your teeth and glare at him. “Put forward a worthy champion…if you can.”

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Kung Lao moving forward. A mixture of emotions swelled inside you at the sight. The first emotion you identified was pride for your friend at his confidence in his skill. The second was fear, especially after the brutal beatings you had seen Smoke and Johnny Cage take. You feared he would suffer the same fate, if not worse. He had not fully stepped forward, looking towards the thunder god before stepping back into place.

Kung Lao’s desire to prove himself and to fight for Earthrealm was obvious. You tried to keep your mixed emotions on the matter less obvious. You knew your friend had issues with feeling equal to Liu Kang, your look of mixed emotions would only drive him to doubt himself. That among many other things was not what you wanted.

Raiden looked at you first, a contemplative look on his face. For a moment, you considered whether he was planning on throwing you out there. You took a deep breath in, preparing yourself for that very possibility. You were strong enough, you believed, but your faith in your abilities wavered after the brutalities you witnessed today.

Raiden then turned his eyes towards Kung Lao, noting his more eager attitude. It was like night and day. It was as if he were trying to volunteer to pick up the mail, not to fight in a bloody tournament. You knew he was eager to prove himself, but did he not realize the gravity of it all? You felt your nails create marks on your palm from how hard you clenched your fists upon the realization of what was to come.

It was obvious who he would choose.

“Perhaps you are meant to be the victor.” Raiden said. His words felt like the final nail in the coffin. Your stomach churned with fear as you watched the all too pleased look on Kung Lao’s face. You felt guilty at the conflicted emotions within you. You shouldn’t be doubting your friend’s ability, and in truth, you didn’t. But you just didn’t want to see him get hurt like Johnny Cage and Smoke already did.

��One second.” You said, stepping forward in front of Kung Lao. For a moment, you sucked in a breath, trying to seek the courage to tell him to not do it because of the way your gut twisted and turned. And yet, upon seeing the look on his face, your resolve crumbled. Your gaze dropped, and you raised a hand to rest on his bicep. “Just…stay safe, Kung Lao.” Your fingers pinched at his skin.

“You worry too much.” Kung Lao told you, your name spilled from his lips with a comforting tone. He placed a hand on your own bicep and pinched it back. A light laughter left his lips, and your lips pressed together. “I’ll make sure to beat these Outworlders and come back victorious, for all of us.” He paused, squeezing your arm. “I promise.”

You could only hope that he kept that promise/

“May the elder gods bless him.” You whispered to yourself as you stepped to the side and watched Kung Lao walk up to take the challenge. You were unable to keep out the hint of fear in your prayer. Thankfully, the sound of the crowd washed out your voice so your friend would not hear it. The air was filled with sounds of disapproval towards him, but Kung Lao preserved. You only hoped that your prayer still made it out to the gods despite all the noise.

You felt Raiden’s eyes turn to you. His glowing eyes felt like lasers burning into your head with how intense it was. He surely must have heard your plea. You avoided eye contact, keeping your eyes trained on your razor hatted friend. You didn’t want to know what the thunder god’s reaction was to your prayer, though you had a bit of an idea already.

You heard a pained grunt come from behind you, tearing your attention away from the announcement of the fight. You spun around to look at the person who made the noise. Your eyes scanned the crowd, scrutinizing all the faces. With a sigh, you noticed that it had come from Johnny Cage who had moved from his spot. His leg was now displaced from an attempt to move. With a disapproving shake of your head, you strode over to deal with the actor.

Kung Lao would be fine, surely. You had to have faith in your friends.

“What did I say about moving?” You chided, straightening out Johnny’s leg so it was no longer bent at an awkward angle. You were used to gore and gruesome sights, but you couldn’t help the little hint of distaste you felt upon seeing the injury. At least no bone was sticking through his pants. You couldn’t tell the full scope of how bad it was from his pants, though. “I should help you now that I’m not needed.” You muttered, kneeling down as you took out the medical bag you kept with you.

“Sorry.” Johnny muttered, and you could hear guilt dripping from his voice. “I saw that Kung Lao was going to fight…wanted to see.” He explained to you in a labored tone, his voice lacking his usual cocky tone. He was still slightly out of it, and it was hard to look at his bruised face. You huffed as you pushed the man down so he didn’t strain himself any further than he already did.

“Don’t talk, don’t move. You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.” You told him, sending him a small glare. It was a half hearted attempt as your gaze softened as you saw how tired he looked. “I appreciate the apology though.” You sighed as you observed the cuts and injuries he had sustained. You reached into your bag, taking a rag to clean the open wounds. “This will sting, feel free to squeeze.” You warned him, offering your hand out as you swiped the rag over the wounds.

His hand hesitantly took yours. You heard a hiss come from the actor as you began to disinfect his wounds, and you knew from how hard his hand was gripping yours now it must hurt like the deepest part of the netherrealm. You made sure to bandage his wounds properly, watching with slight concern as bits of the bandages turned slightly red.

“You’re doing good.” You reassured him, running your thumb over the back of his hand which had lessened its grip. “You’re brave for going out there, Cage.” You said, deciding to distract him from the pain by playing up to his ego. You felt his hand weakly squeeze yours. You smiled at him, it was at least reassuring to know he could at least do that.

You nearly jumped as you heard the creaking of metal. Turning your head, you heard the crowd roar in approval as a metal gate opened on the side of the coliseum. A tirgar shokan emerged, and you recalled that he must be the one named Kintaro that your father had told you about. He roared as he exited, the sound echoing throughout the area. The crowd seemed to be bolstered at the display.

With heavy steps, he approached Kung Lao who seemed to be faring well after his last match. He wasn’t badly hurt like Smoke or Johnny was, at least. Relief filled you at the sight. He was okay, and that’s what you really needed to see. You huffed at the threat that Kintaro gave Kung Lao, telling him that he would eat his heart. How brutish.

The match captivated you. You knew Kung Lao was skilled, you helped train him after all, but it was something else to watch him in motion in a real fight. His technique was top tier, and the way he moved with his hat made it feel like it was merely a part of him.

His punches felt impactful with every blow he landed, and you swore you heard the crack of a rib from all the way back here. His hat sliced through flesh and muscle with ease. Kintaro’s blood splattered upon Kung Lao, decorating him with his signs of victory. Long gone was the proud tirgar shokan, he seemed like a pitiful kitten with the beating he was suffering. Anyone who watched could tell Kung Lao had been training his life for this.

How could you have doubted him?

It didn’t take very long for him to defeat the shokan. With a weak yowl, he tumbled into the dirt. Dust clouds rose up from the heavy impact. For a moment, the arena went silent. Then, the crowd around began to boo and jeer the man. You frowned at the noise. The hate sent his way left a bitter taste in your mouth. Yet, Kung Lao didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he basked in all the attention, spinning and bowing, You sighed and turned away. While he didn’t mind it all, you were uncomfortable with it all. You didn’t want to watch it.

You continued to bandage Johnny up, having paused the task to observe the fight. You furrowed your eyebrows as Johnny began to move. Or rather, struggle to move. You pushed him back, sending him a disapproving look. You already scolded him, he surely didn’t need more lectures? The actor was arrogant and headstrong, but he wasn’t this stupid, was he? It wasn’t until he pointed behind you that you realized he was trying to warn you of something.

“Shao…Khan.” Johnny rasped, continuing to intently point behind you.

“What?” You said, furrowing your eyebrows at the words he said. You turned to look where Johnny was pointing. As your eyes landed on the man creeping behind your friend, it felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. You stood, dropping your medical supplies all upon the ground. You didn’t care though. You dashed forward towards the crowd, limbs trying to transform into whatever would get you there faster. Your hand was outstretched to the man. “Kung Lao!” You called out, heart hammering with fear.

“Earthrealm is free-”

You were too late.

Time slowed as you collided with Raiden, but the impact did nothing to tear your eyes from the horrific sight of Kung Lao’s neck being snapped. You barely registered the shriek that echoed through the coliseum as yours, you were far too focused on the sound of his neck being snapped. It was a loud crack paired with the sickening sound of muscle and flesh twisting in a way that the human body was not meant to go.

It was ugly and wrong.

Your limbs felt like they were suddenly made of lead as his body, all too limp and still for a man who had just been breathing a moment ago, slumped to the ground. As it finally hit the ground and dust clouds rose, you felt like you could finally move properly.

You threw yourself to the ground, ignoring the sneer the tyrant sent your way as you dragged Kung Lao’s body into your lap. Terrified prayers to the elder gods hoping that somehow Kung Lao was okay left your lips. You stared down at his head which was grotesquely twisted in an unnatural angle. His eyes were wide open, yet they had no life behind them. Although all the signs were there that he could not possibly be alive, you shakily raised a hand to check his pulse, desperate for anything at all.

Nothing. Just a body that was quickly losing its warmth.

He was, without a doubt, dead.

A scream left your lips as you tumbled out of bed.

You hissed as you felt the impact of the floor. Thankfully it was not a long fall for you, so at most it would only be a minor bruise. Your side ached dully as you laid there, processing what you just witnessed. Through all the noise in your head, all you could hear was your shaky uneven breaths. You turned to face the ceiling, staring at what you could see with the assistance of the crystal lamp.

What was that?

Your vision was blurry, as if you were looking through a foggy window. You reached up to your face, rubbing at it harder than you needed just to make sure you were even awake. You winced at the rough texture of your hands. Your limb, despite you not willing it to transform, was a reptile claw. Still, it did not deter you from wiping at your eyes.

Tears were wiped away, and you saw your other limbs were in a sort of disarray. You were mostly not human right now. You stared at your limbs, flexing them and trying to return them back. Your vision blurred again, but this time with tears of frustration. No matter how much you tried to will it away, you could not transform back.

You were no stranger to gruesome and awful sights in your memories. It seemed whatever life you once lived was filled with grief and pain, it was something you’ve come to learn with the memories you’ve recovered. You’ve seen bloody scenes and lifeless bodies, moments of grief and solitude. And yet what you had just seen had shaken you to the core.

You’ve never seen someone you cared about, or used to care about, die in front of you.

Your mind raced with the details you witnessed, trying to catalog every moment you had seen. Part of you wanted to squeeze your eyes shut and try to force out the memory. To try and forget whatever you had seen and how it would inevitably scar your memories. Before you could let your irrational thoughts get the better of you, you forced your eyes wide open with a single thought.

You had to be calm to dwell on whatever horrifying sight you had witnessed, you couldn’t let yourself forget. Maybe, just maybe, a calm mind would help your body come back to normalcy as well.

You rubbed at your eyes with the heel of your palm using the other hand which had turned into a bear paw. You counted carefully the amount of time you took to breathe in, trying to regulate yourself. Then, for the same amount of time, you forced yourself to breathe out. The panicked frenzy of blood rushing through your ears settled down, turning into a quiet stream.

Your limbs slowly transformed back into your regular form, and you worried a little less now.

You laid on the ground, sprawled out as you let your body and mind recover from the memory. As your rational thoughts overtook the frenzied ones, you finally let your eyes close. You flinched at the flashes of memory the darkness brought. A broken leg, an angry glance…a snapped neck. You groaned at the vision, trying not to remember that particular part.

Taking another deep breath, you focused on what you remembered. That place indicated a tournament, why else would you all throw yourselves into such bloodshed otherwise? You couldn’t tell if it was the same tournament that you remembered yesterday or not, but it was definitely in Outworld. Kitana was captive, but why? She had been a princess of Outworld, there was no reason she should need saving, especially from Earthrealm.

Why were you all even fighting? Somewhere in the back of your head you knew it was for an important reason. You knew that the thunder god wouldn’t send you into meaningless conflict. You stared up at the ceiling for a few moments more, trying to piece together the pieces you barely had. Why was Liu Kang so upset with the thunder god? Was it because Raiden had doubted he was Earthrealm’s savior?

It couldn’t possibly be, the Liu Kang you knew now was far too humble. But then again, was he always? You weren’t sure, in all honesty, your memories with Liu Kang felt blurred. You let out a resigned sigh as you draped an arm over your eyes. This was far too much to think about for just waking up. You rubbed your eyes once more.

Maybe right now wasn’t the time to think about all that tragedy. With another sigh, you forced yourself to get up. As you stood, you grimaced at the mess you made of the bed. It was like staring at a massacred corpse. Deep gashes exposing the mattress were left, and the pillows were torn. The blanket you had tangled with as you fell was even shredded.

You reached up and fiddled with the dragon necklace you wore, a habit you developed. You had no idea how to explain the mess you had made. At least, not without either seeming suspicious or having people worry about you. You’ve never lost control before, how could you explain that a dream…no. How could you explain that a nightmare had made you go berserk? Not to mention you could only confide the contents of your dream to Liu Kang, and after the conversation with him yesterday, you were reluctant to.

You rubbed your face, agitated. You’d deal with this all later, you decided. You were far too stressed out for this right now. You felt a tad bit guilty about just abandoning it, but you decided it was for the best. With how unstable you were earlier, it might act up again if you looked at it too long or stressed over it. Still, even with your rationale, the pit of guilt didn’t go away.

To move past it, you sluggishly moved towards the mirror. You saw your appearance, you looked like you had just been in a scuffle. Grabbing a new set of clothes, you quickly changed into it. You chose not to look at your back. Then, after feeling a bit better about donning a new outfit, you took the time to make yourself seem more composed.

By the time you were done, you looked normal. The only indication of your earlier frenzy was the slight redness of your eyes. That was only when someone got close and really took the time to look at them. You rubbed at your eyes once more, wishing it’d go away faster. Alas, it didn’t work. Shaking your head, you tested out a smile, seeing if you could fool yourself.

Good enough.

Smoothing out your outfit one last time, you stepped out of the room. You took in a deep breath as you stepped into the light. At least the beauty of the palace was somewhat comforting. It wasn’t quite the same as waking up for the sunrise, but it was still a wonderful sight.

Footsteps echoed from the hall. You looked away from the wonder around you to the otherside of the hallway, half expecting to see princess Kitana. After all, who else came down this way around this time of day other than her? Or anytime in general. it felt like. And yet, the person you saw walking from down the hall was perhaps the last person that you wanted to see right now.

Kung Lao.

“Ah, Kung Lao.” You greeted, hoping the smile upon your lips didn’t seem too forced. You scanned his face. It seemed he was far too tired to notice any strange behavior. The drowsiness that clung to him seemed to go away slightly as you walked closer. A smile appeared on his face. You held back a grimace upon noticing how it looked all too similar to the one he had before he died. “How are you?”

“Tired.” Kung Lao admitted, a yawn escaping his lips. His eyes traveled downwards, and his expression seemed to brighten at what he saw. “I’m glad you like the necklace.” He commented, with amusement twinkling in his eyes. You blinked owlishly at his seemingly random comment before drawing your own gaze to where he was staring.

The dragon necklace. The very same you were fiddling in your hand. Your gaze softened as you looked down at the design, then looked back up at the Kung Lao in front of you. Your eyes traveled to the dragon insignia upon the left side of his chest. Perhaps it was not exactly the same size or design, but the similarities between the two designs of the two versions was enough to made you grip the necklace just a bit tighter. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder why there were so many similarities between the two worlds.

Then you stopped, feeling that damned headache remerge at just the thought of overthinking again.

“Yeah.” You said, nodding as you continued to stare at the design on his chest. Bringing yourself to look up at Kung Lao in the eyes felt like a herculean task at this moment. Your smile melted into one that was a touch softer, a bit smaller. “I really like it, actually.” You looked back at the dragon which you rubbed between your forefinger and thumb.

“I knew you would.” Kung Lao remarked, a nearly smug grin on his lips. A satisfied expression settled on his lips as he observed you for a moment more. Then, in the next he stepped over so he was by your side. “Let’s go to the Great Hall, I’m starving.” You nodded a small chuckle leaving your lips. You followed him to the Great Hall. Your eyes kept wandering around like a duckling without its mother. They seemed to land anywhere but the man beside you.

Even if you were composed right now, you didn’t quite trust yourself if you were to look at Kung Lao too long. They were just so…similar that it made your chest hurt. You weren’t sure what was quite causing it: the idea that the man beside you could succumb to a gruesome fate like the one you had seen before, or the fact that the man beside you was close enough to the one who had died. It was like seeing an imperfect recreation of the man before.

All too similar to give you a sense of nostalgia and to nearly trick you into thinking he was the same. And yet different enough that you were bitterly reminded that the man you had known as a friend was gone for good. Part of you was comforted by the sameness, but another part of you wished that he was just different so you weren’t reminded of a man whose death was seared into your memory.

The walk there was shrouded in a veil of awkwardness, but thankfully your walking partner didn’t notice. You were too conflicted internally to initiate much conversation, battling yourself with the newfound feelings of sorrow and grief for a man who has passed long ago. You did, however, talk back whenever Kung Lao attempted to throw in conversation.

Would Kung Lao ever believe you that you once knew him, in another life?

You were never more relieved to see the Great Hall than now. Trying not to make your excitement to not be alone with Kung lao too obvious, you slowed your pace just a little to allow the razor hatted man to reach the fire god and his friend first.

Both Liu Kang and Raiden greeted the two of you cheerily. You smiled upon noticing the more upbeat attitude the champion held today. The nerves that once clung to him the past few days seemed to be gone. Or at least, gone for the most part. The only indication of his nervousness was in the smile that was a little too wide as he handed you and Kung Lao some breakfast foods. Your heart seemed to flutter at the simple gesture.

Well, that was breakfast sorted out.

You gratefully took your portion, and noted the excited way Kung Lao snatched the second serving that Raiden had also gotten him. You felt a little relieved to be falling back into some sort of normalcy after that horrible dream. Eating the bit of food also helped calm you down and not make you feel like you were walking on a tightrope around others.

“So who are you fighting today?” Kung Lao asked, peering over to Raiden. He wiped away the remnants of the food he devoured. By the time you had finished your portion, he had finished both of his. How he managed to scarf down food that fast alluded you to this day. “Not that it matters since you’ll easily beat them.” The former farmer sent his friend a confident grin, to which Raiden returned, albeit not as confident.

“Raiden will be facing the Osh-Tekk known as Ko’atal, or Kotal.” Liu Kang answered. His eyes seemed to squint just a touch in warning towards Kung Lao. The man sent a grin that was only partially apologetic. You felt the familiar buzz of nostalgia in your head at the name. You wondered if there was ever a time you’d stop experiencing this sensation. “He’s one of their best.”

You supposed you wouldn’t. Not until you unraveled all of your memories, at least.

How many more bits and pieces did you have left to find? That question lingered in your head as idle chatter was passed between the group. You didn’t realize how long you spaced out until you were surprised to feel an arm slung over your shoulders. You jolted in surprise at the contact, looking over to see the culprit.

It only made sense that it was Johnny Cage.

“How you doing, Teach?” The actor asked, a wide grin on his face. He leaned his head towards you, his eyes seeming to search your face. He seemed more chipper this morning. Everyone in general seemed in a better mood. Well, everyone but you. You felt a bit guilty that you didn’t share their energy. Still, you put on your best smile. Fake it until you make it, isn’t that what actors say?

“I’m fine, Cage.” You responded. Your eyes dragged over his arm which draped over your shoulders. For a moment, you considered shrugging it off, but there was something about the contact that felt…comforting. “You seem to be in a better mood.” You pointed out, looking back to Johnny. His smile seemed to grow a bit wider.

“I was conversing with one of the princesses yesterday, she was totally giving me the look.” He said, all too proud of himself. You found your somewhat fake smile turn a little real as you wondered what the look on the actor’s face would be if you told him you’ve been conversing with both of the princesses for a bit now. Granted, one was more willing than the other, but he didn’t need to know that. “She’s totally into me.”

“Are you certain she wasn’t just amused by you and your attempts to woo her?” You joked, sending Johnny a look with raised eyebrows. You heard what you thought was a little muffled snort covered up by a fake cough. Looking over, you saw Kenshi covering his mouth with his fist. You could barely detect the amused crinkle in his eyes.

“Ah, you’re just jealous of how close I’m getting to them.” Johnny teased, you let out a short bark of laughter as you rolled your eyes. His hand rocked you back and forth in a playful manner. In what way did he want you to interpret that? You getting jealous of the princesses, or getting jealous of him? “Don’t worry, Teach, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, unfortunately.” You replied in jest. There was a shout of protest from the American at your comment. In the midst of your light hearted banter, you temporarily forgot your woes. How Johnny manages to keep on cheering you up seemed to be a secret talent of his. You wondered if he knew what he was doing, or even was aware of it.

The same fanfare from yesterday played out once more. The entrance of the Empress and princesses was followed by the parting of the crowd. It felt almost comforting to fall into a routine again. You watched as once more, Sindel rose again from her seat on the throne to address the crowd.

“Yet another day of this wonderful tournament.” Sindel announced, a smile on her face. Her arms were spread wide as she looked among the crowd before directing her gaze at Raiden. There wasn’t quite hostility in her eyes, but you sensed there was a sense that she was becoming just a touch less warm towards the champion.

You assumed, or at least hoped it was only due to how he was progressing further than she had expected.

“You have proven yourself well against Reiko yesterday.” Sindel commended, though that lingering sense of little contempt was underneath her welcoming tone. “Let us see if you can continue to prove your fighting prowess within this next match.” She sat down once more, leg crossed over the other. Her head turned to look at General Shao. “General Shao, whom did you choose to fight next?”

“Your Majesty.” General Shao stepped forward once more. You looked away from the man, deciding that after the dream you had today you really didn’t want to look at him. “I have chosen one of my respected officers, Ko’atal.”

A figure you have not seen before, at least in this lifetime, emerged from the end of the hallway. He strode forward, his figure muscular, broad, and tall. His eyes seemed to have a hint of glow to them, though they did not shine like Liu Kang’s. Glowing paint was streaked in jagged patterns down his chest and limbs. He strode in with a humble confidence, much different than Reiko before him. Ko’atal’s face was set in fierce determination as he marched forth.

Just as you predicted, your head seemed to buzz at the sight of him, but you could not glean much else from his appearance.

“Kotal is the pride of the Osh-Tekks, and one of their fiercest warriors.” As the General spoke, Kotal seemed to flex his muscles as if to show off the paint upon his skin. His armor, though had traits of the other uniforms that Shao and Reiko wore, had unique gold embellishments to them. “He is ruthless and loyal, and knows how to take down an enemy easily with the strength he has earned.” You rose an eyebrow at the toned down speech compared to Reiko. Seems like someone has favorites.

“So you are the one who took down Reiko?” Kotal asked Raiden, stopping a few feet away from his opponent. His voice was deep, and boomed naturally. His eyes searched Raiden, sizing him up with a natural caution. It seemed like he respected the man in front of him, or at least as much as he respected any other opponent. Raiden nodded after taking in a nice long breath. “Then let us see how you did it.”

And without much else bravado, the fight began.

Ko’atal fought in a very brute force style. He knew he towered over Raiden, and used it to his advantage. His strikes were much slower than Raiden, but they were filled with such power that every time he did manage to land a hit they seemed to knock the wind out of the champion. His paint, or were they tattoos? glowed as he fought. They changed color depending on what he did. He even summoned totems within the battle.

The warrior even seemed to naturally bask in the sunlight that filtered in through the open architecture. It was like he was charged by the light, and used its power against the electricity user in battle.

How strange, how different.

And yet even with the different fighting style, Raiden adapted. He used the bulkiness to his advantage, going in for quicker strikes to counter his opponent. He used his weight against him, having him fumble and falter when he did miss. It only made sense that Earthrealm’s champion remained victorious during the fight.

“It was an honor fighting you.” Raiden said, his breath coming out labored as he recovered from the intense fight. Kotal, sluggish from the exertion, nodded at his words. He got up, seeming worse for wear. Both men seemed to nod once more in respect for the other, before Kotal walked away, taking his loss respectfully.

“Another well fought match.” Sindel complimented, though her smile felt just a tad bit more strained at the sight of Earthrealm’s victor. She cleared her throat as she stood to address the mass of people. “Once more we shall adjourn at first light.” The Empress declared. Then, after another moment, the crowd began to disperse, even more people seemed to send glances at Raiden’s way this time.

“Another well earned victory.” You commended the former farmer. He seemed to brighten up at your words, eyes wide with joy at the praise. He nodded quickly. “Keep it up, and at this rate victory will be assured for Earthrealm.”

“Thank you.” Raiden said, his voice a bit breathy from the battle. You returned the smile he sent your way. Then, the rest of the champions seemed to join in, throwing their compliments towards their friend. “I have never seen someone fight like him before.” He admitted, adjusting his hat. “It was a very interesting fight.”

“The Osh-Tekks have an innate connection with the sun.” Liu Kang explained, his hand gesturing to the sun which shone in the sky. “Ko’atal in particular had a stronger and closer connection with it, which allowed him to fight so valiantly.” He regarded his champion with a smile. “It is exceptional that you took him down.”

“Do you think he would be open to acting?” Johnny asked, looking towards where Kotal had left. Upon seeing all the looks sent his way, he held his hands up. “Hey! I’m just saying this movie I was working on would kill to have someone like him! I personally think I would be doing him a favor.” He huffed, crossing his arms.

“You could start by doing us favors, Cage.” Kenshi piped in, his own arms crossing as he sent a glare towards the actor. “For example, by giving me Sento.” This now prompted a little bickering between the two men. While amusing, you couldn’t help but to let out a small sigh at the antics. Your eyes drifted away from the duo, before they landed on a figure heading your way. You perked up at the sight.

“Ready for your tour?” Rain inquired, a small smile on his lips as he stopped near you. You nodded enthusiastically, the whole tour plan having slipped your mind due to the dream earlier. At least you had something exciting to get your mind off of that.

“Tour?” Kung Lao piped up. You turned your head to look at the man. He looked between you and Rain, eyebrows raised. It looked like he was trying to scrutinize what was going on, his face changing slightly as he processed it all.

“Oh, Rain’s the High Mage.” You introduced him, your hand gesturing to the man you were talking about. Rain bowed his head. “He offered me to go see the Imperial Academy yesterday due to my interest in magic.” You explained, recalling just how you got into this situation. “I’m quite honored, by the way.” You said, turning your attention back to the mage.

“Can I come?” Kung Lao inquired, his eyes seeming to light up at the prospect of going to a place that had such a high reputation. Your eyes drifted over and noticed how Liu Kang had even taken notice of the conversation.

“Sorry, but you can’t.” Rain said, his voice polite but firm. He offered your friend an apologetic smile. “I already arranged for just one visitor. The Academy is quite strict with who is permitted to visit, but seeing how your friend has such potent magic I was able to pull some strings to arrange a visit.” You looked over, surprise upon your features as you heard about the lengths he went through.

“Sorry, Kung Lao.” You said, shrugging at the news. You sent him a reassuring smile at the pout he displayed. You put a hand on his bicep, rubbing it gently. You swallowed your nerves upon seeing his eyes, fighting the memories of what he used to look like. “I’ll be back for dinner, don’t worry, okay? I’ll tell you all about it when I return.” You pinched his arm lightly before letting go, only realizing what you had done until after it was done.

“I’ll be holding you to that.” Kung Lao said, your name cheerily falling from his lips. For a moment, you stared at him, hoping that he would return the gesture, but he didn’t. You nodded, looking back to Rain who looked at you expectantly. You nodded at him, watching as he gestured towards the hallway leading to the outside.

“Well, shall we go?” He inquired. You nodded, stepping to be by his side.

“See you guys later.” You said, waving to the group. A chorus of goodbyes arouse, sending you off. You, however, didn’t notice the lingering stare that was sent your way as you left. You both walked in relative silence before you noted how you were alone now. “I’m honored you invited me to see the academy, but I’m a stranger to you, why go through the effort?” You inquired, peering over to the man.

“You have a very powerful magic, like I mentioned.” Rain answered simply. “And our ideals of growing stronger, pushing past our limits…it’s very rare to meet someone else who understands that drive. I could tell the look in your eye when you said that was genuine.” There was a pause. “I simply wished to extend this invitation as a sign of friendship.”

“I see.” You said, scanning the man for any sign of ill will. When you saw none, a smile pulled at your lips. “I accept your invitation of friendship then. I hope we shall have a pleasant one until I must go back to Earthrealm.”

“Indeed.”

The Imperial Academy towered high over you, a place of majesty and wonder. It was almost nearly as tall as the palace itself. It even resembled the palace, being made of the same white stone. To set it apart, black stone of the same quality made up the rooftops of the academy and accented certain arches and overhangs. This provided great contrast to the golden embellishments which were set into the building. Symbols were carved into the architecture, giving the building texture rather than letting it be simply smooth.

Lush foliage draped along the railings of the academy akin to banners. Deep red and purple flowers peppered the vines. The way the flora intertwined with the building imbued it with life, as if the nature here and the building were made to coexist rather one conform to another. It was harmonious.

It was located a little further on the outskirts of Sun Do, but it was still close enough that one could travel to and fro from the city. It was nearly intimidating to see it. You could practically feel all the power and magic held just from standing outside of it. It was potent enough that you could almost describe the scent of what raw magic was.

“Wow.” You said, your jaw dropping at the sight of it. It felt almost wrong to be here, especially since you had heard of just how difficult it was to get into this place. “Are you certain I’m allowed here?” You asked, looking over to your companion with raised eyebrows.

“I was just as amazed when I got here.” Rain admitted, looking at you. A slight amused look was on his face, but he did not appear to be judgemental of your awe. If anything, he seemed to take pride in what he deemed was an acceptable reaction. He looked back at the building, a gleam of nostalgia in his eyes. “But when I finally stepped foot in here, it felt like I finally understood my destiny.” He looked at you once more. “I wish I could say perhaps the same will happen for you, but you are from Earthrealm.”

“A pity.” You said, not knowing how to feel about that last sentence. Your gut twisted with unease. You drew in a deep breath, driving out your nerves. “Let’s hope I don’t get too attached then.” You told him. You could only hope to yourself that your own words would become true. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you found a piece of yourself here, in a place that didn’t think you belonged.

“For your sake, I hope so too.” Rain replied. nodding. His words were tinged with pity, a sentiment that made you feel a bit worse. You didn’t blame your companion for your feelings but…pity was one of the worst feelings in the world. You followed him, stepping carefully over the bridge that led over a stream that was in front of the academy. It bubbled softly beneath you like a little lullaby from nature.

Your fingers trailed along the handhold of the bridge, the bumpy surface becoming engraved in your mind. As you two approached the entrance, the doors loomed even taller, dwarfing both of you. You couldn’t even recall if the palace had doors this extravagant. The High Mage cast a look your way once more, his eyes searching yours. It was like he was searching for validation within your reaction. You offered him a smile, one that he returned.

With a wave of his hand, the doors parted. They glided open effortlessly, revealing the building’s contents with ease. They didn’t even make so much as a creak. The both of you ascended the steps to get a closer look of the interior.

To say the inside was immaculate would be an understatement.

The grand hall opened wide and tall to accommodate for a grand statue of a woman you couldn’t quite name. Even without knowing her, you could easily tell she was revered and beloved. At the base of the statue was an altar that was littered with gifts and more of the breathtaking nature. The vines and flowers wound and rose around the woman’s carved dress up around her waist and into her arms which were presented forward with hands cupped. Her eyes were alight with life despite being made entirely of stone. Despite all the foliage that grew around the woman, the statue itself was well maintained.

Even with the stunning statue in the center of the hall, the rest of the building was not any less disappointing. The marble stone below, checkered white and black in a hypnotizing fashion was polished to perfection. You leaned forward, and you were met with a smiling reflection that was almost substitute enough for a mirror.

The walls around you opened wide for many rows of hallways that seemed nearly endless. Stairs that were perfectly symmetrical in fashion twisted up and around to lead to a secondary floor that stood a little higher than the waist of the woman before you. These too lead to more hallways of the academy. Just how many rooms did this place contain?

“What do you think?” Rain asked, his voice snapping you out of your admiration of the area. You sucked in a breath, your eyes traveling over the area once more. It was only now that you noted the hustle and bustle of the area. Students rushed around, brushing past each other perfectly as if they were performing a choreographed dance. The footsteps, which would have sounded chaotic and overbearing anywhere else, sounded almost rhythmic. Magic danced in the air, whether it be in the form of sparks, light, or a creature soaring through the air. Some attendants knelt at the base of the statue, mumbling softly.

“It’s amazing.” You admitted, eyes darting around. A few glances of curiosity were sent in your direction, but ultimately no one approached you. It was like stepping out of their little routines would ruin the delicate ecosystem set in this place. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s like everyone and everything here are in perfect harmony.”

“That is why the best of the best are permitted here.” The mage reminded you with a small tilt of his head. He caught the glance of a student who peered at him. A smile was sent the student’s way, and it sent them into a grinning mess before they scurried off. For a moment, you felt special. After all, you were allowed to be among what must be the most elite magic users to glance into a peek of their lives. Not only that, but you were also accompanied by the High Mage of the royal court. “Come, let’s pick up what I came here for before I give you a tour.”

“You needed to pick up something?” You inquired, peering at the man. Your footsteps tried to match his as he led you down a hallway. Perfectly spaced doors lined the walls. Each was labeled with a neat golden plaque which was also engraved with an equally neat font. “I thought you no longer studied here?” You asked, hoping your tone did not sound too blasphemous.

“I don’t.” Rain confirmed, a small nod showing that he did not think your question was overstepping. “But my studies sometimes require equipment and items that can only be found at this institution, as of late I have been conducting research to help a fellow court member.” You both took a few turns before you arrived at a door which had Rain’s name labeled on it in bold lettering. “This is the laboratory I use at times.”

Opening the door revealed a neat and orderly space. A tall bookshelf was on the left side wall. It was filled with hefty books and some scrolls. On the back wall was a shelf that was lined with various equipment. Some of them you could guess the usage, but some were far too odd to even think of what their usage could possibly be.

Then, on the right was a simple desk right next to a table. The desk didn’t have much of note, but you did spot a simple picture frame. In it was Rain with an older woman. His mother maybe? The table next to his desk was the only place that had an indication of disorder. Some paper with notes written upon them were scattered. Vials and tubes bubbling with unknown substances sat upon a higher section of the table.

“Excuse the mess.” The mage said, stepping into the room. With more caution, you followed. He wandered over to the table, picking up a vial that had been bubbling while sitting atop a gentle blue flame. He swirled it, the soft blue being reminiscent of ocean water. “Feel free to look around.” He told you, his eyes concentrated on the liquid he inspected.

“Alright.” You said, your gaze falling on the shelf lined with equipment. You stopped a foot away, squinting at the items. In your head, you tried to guess the use of them from their looks alone to pass the time. One item in particular caught your attention.

A small cube colored gold sat away from the other items in its own little section. It was rather unsuspecting. You couldn’t quite put a finger on why it drew you in, but you were enraptured by the small thing. Your fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to grab it, but you restrained yourself. A gentle footstep behind you snapped you out of your daze.

“Something caught your attention?” Rain inquired, stepping beside you. He looked towards the shelf, peering at where you had been moments before. He reached out to pluck the cube and looked at you, before holding it out to you. You held your hand out, and the cube, which was heavier than you were expecting, was dropped into your hand. “That’s a magic sensor of sorts. We use it to sense the potency in magic in things, whether it be solutions, in the air, or even in a person. Give it a try.”

“Okay.” You said, looking down at the cube. You stared at it, perplexed before glancing back up at your companion. You saw his hand squeeze at the air, indicating what you should do. Gently at first, you closed your hand around the cube, before putting all your strength into it. When your hand released, the cube began to glow.

Letters in a language you didn’t quite recognize appeared on the cube. A soft white glow appeared behind them. Your gaze flicked from the cube to the man. A delighted look appeared on his face, like he expected exactly that. Then, cube began to glow stronger before bursting into a flurry of colors. Bright pinks, greens, yellows, colors of any kind began to erupt out. You nearly took a step back, and you returned your gaze to Rain.

His reaction was a mixture of surprise and awe, far different from the reaction he had previously.

After the color show died down, you stared at it for a moment, eyebrows raised. You were dumbfounded, not knowing what any of that had meant. There was a brief silence that hung in the air. You sucked in a breath, putting a smile on your lips.

“Did I pass?” You joked, trying to diffuse the tension. You looked back and forth between the mage and the cube. The awestruck look on his face faded into something that seemed to indicate respect. He nodded as he grabbed the cube. He held it up, looking over the fading glow of the letters before placing it back onto the shelf. There was an undeniable gleam of interest in his eyes.

“With flying colors.”

“I’m back.” You announced, walking up to the table where all the Earthrealmers had been. The tour had gone all afternoon and leaked into the night. You both had been amazed by the fact that time had flown so fast past the two of you. The sky had just begun to turn dark when you had exited. “Did I miss much?” You inquired, looking at the group. You spotted an open spot, right between Kung Lao and Kenshi, and walked over to claim it.

Your mouth watered at the smell of the foods laid out to feast on. Your eyes alone feasted on everything in sight, and in that moment you understood what Kung Lao must feel like. After that realization, you snapped out of it.

“We all did our own thing, for the most part.” Kung Lao responded after swallowing the large mouthful he had been eating. You reached over and grabbed some food that had been out on the table, adding it to your plate. His eyes twinkled with excitement, the same excitement that made you tense up at how familiar it was. He leaned towards you with a happy grin. His elbow nudged your side. “So, how was the academy?”

“It was beyond anything I could have dreamed.” You admitted, cutting into your food. You popped a bite into your mouth, chewing it carefully as you considered the right words to say. It tasted even better than it looked “I was honestly amazed at how much magic could be contained within one place. Magic seemed to spill from even the walls.” Your eyes lit up as you recalled the grand statue in the academy. “They even had a grand statue to the goddess Delia. She's the goddess of magic.”

“They worship someone else than my main man, Liu Kang?” Johnny asked, eyebrows raised as he looked at you in surprise. He shrugged, and muttered something under his breath along the lines of go figure.

“What else do you expect?” Kenshi asked, sending a sharp look towards Johnny. There was a hint of exasperation in his face and his voice. “Do you really think Outworlders would worship an Earthrealm god?” He paused and sent an apologetic look to Liu Kang. “No offense, Lord Liu Kang.” He quickly added before returning to his meal.

“I take no offense, Kenshi.” Liu Kang replied, a pleasant look on his face. He turned his attention back to you. With a fork he gestured for you to go on. “Please, go on. I would like to hear about your little adventures within the academy.”

You nodded, a wide grin splitting your face. You went on and on, retelling all the wonders you had seen within the walls of the academy. From your lips was the praises of magic and how beautiful it could really be in the hands of those who wielded it. You talked on and on to the point where your food had gone slightly cold. As your speech ended, you noticed the way the others looked at you. Your cheeks flushed.

“Sounds like you fell in love with the place.” Kenshi observed. His eyes peered at you with careful observation. There was no judgement in his voice, something you were thankful for. You spotted a gleam in his eye, even.

“Yeah, the last time I’ve seen you this excited was when I told you that there was another Ninja Mime in the series.” Johnny pointed out, his fork pointing at you. He let out a small laugh. “I didn’t take you as the type to like magic that much, wildstyle. I thought you were all in on the whole teaching people how to fight thing.”

“A person can have multiple interests, Cage.” You said, rolling your eyes. “But I guess you’re not wrong, Kenshi.” You said, thoughtfully staring down into your plate. Even the marks left by the food you ate seemed to remind you of the swirls of magic you had seen earlier that day. “I ended up liking that place more than I was expecting. I forgot how much I loved to learn about things.”

“Do you think you would take an opportunity to study here if you could?” Raiden inquired, curious brown eyes looking at you. You paused, moving your fork around to push your food. Your lips pursed, and you looked up to see the gaze of Liu Kang staring at you. You remembered, for a brief moment, how this question felt all too familiar.

You tore your gaze away.

“Maybe.” You admitted, shrugging. You felt the burning gaze be lifted from your form as your answer left your lips. “I doubt I would be given a chance anyways, I’m an Earthrealmer.” You said, your gaze now falling down to your plate. “Plus, I think I’d miss you guys too much.” You added on, offering a small smile.

“We’d miss you too.” Kung Lao said, a wide smile pulling at his lips. His shoulder bumped yours. Your heart warmed at the sentiment. Your little smile grew a little wider as you picked up a piece of food and put it into your mouth. Mentally you replied to him. The mere thought of telling them this sent your heart aflutter and your cheeks went a little warm.

I know.

Sitting under the moonlight, you gazed up into the stars. You were sitting on the same bench, this time being the one waiting for the princess. You tried to see the constellations, the ones you had learned about earlier today, within the myriad of dots within the skies. This realm apparently had different stars, it was all so…interesting.

“Waiting for me today I see.” Mileena’s voice rang out, capturing your attention. You glanced over, seeing an amused smirk on her lips. You nodded, glancing back up to the starry night sky for a moment more before turning your full attention to the princess. She caught your gaze before looking up to the sky herself. “What is so enticing about the sky tonight?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” You said, also returning your gaze to the sky above. “It’s just…different from Earthrealm.” Your hand gestured to the stars above. “For example, I learned that you have different constellations than we do back in Earthrealm. I suppose I just appreciate the differences between our homes.”

“Really?” She said, her gaze lingering on the sky for a moment. She squinted, as if trying to see what you did within the sky. “I never thought someone would be captivated by something as simple as a mere night sky.” The princess admits. Though her words felt almost demeaning, there was no bite behind them. It was just mere honesty. She stepped over to the bench and finally took a seat at the other end.

“I guess it is because our skies are a lot different.” You said, giving the princess a soft smile. “Our skies are a deeper blue, and our stars are not as numerous.” You say, indicating with your hand to the sky. “Some places can’t even see the stars even with a clear sky.” You paused, thinking back to the night sky back home. “But it feels like our stars do glow brighter where I’m from.”

“I see.” She said, her voice carrying a hint of intrigue. She stared at you, scanning your nearly awestruck look. “Not even our astronomers seem to hold the same reverence for the sky as you do.” She pointed out, a teasing tone to her voice.

“Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen the stars in other realms.” You offer up as an explanation. “Sometimes, to appreciate what you have you must see other perspectives and things that you are not used to.”

“Perhaps.” Mileena replied, a tone you couldn’t quite place down in her voice.

“I must be boring you.” You said, realizing you had rambled on about the stars for a bit too long. You forced your eyes away from the sky, back onto the ground. You cleared your throat and straightened up, collecting your thoughts. “What type of story would you like to hear about today?” You asked, already trying to narrow down which movie to recollect to her.

“I think tonight I would like to simply hear you tell me about the differences between Earthrealm and Outworld.” Mileena said, her eyes seeming to hold a hint of encouragement. “I’ve never heard someone speak so kindly about both realms…it’s refreshing.” Her hand gestured to you, and you couldn’t help the wide smile. “It almost makes me want to seek out these differences when the next tournament comes.”

“If that’s what you wish, then let me fulfill your request, princess.”

And so on this night, the story you told was of two realms, and just how their differences made you appreciate them both a bit more.

part fourteen

tagged - @bonezisded @lollipopin @simpxinnie @zhivaxo @koisuko

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rynneer · 9 months ago

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Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

Next >

Chapter One

Cold.

You’re cold. It’s dark. You’re falling. Someone reaches for you. Too late.

The water folds in around you. It floods your nose. It floods your ears. Your limbs don’t work. You can’t swim.

Muffled shouts. You open your mouth to cry back. It fills with water.

Choking.

Drowning.

Drowning drowning drowning dr–

You wake with a jolt, sitting up in bed.

Bed?

You pat the sheets around you. Yes, you’re definitely in a bed, not curled up on the leaf litter in Mirkwood.

“I guess it really was a dream,” you whisper, shoulders slumping. But as you run your fingers across the hem of the blanket, you frown. It doesn’t feel like the old quilt on your bed. It’s thicker, softer.

Something is wrong.

You look around the room as your eyes begin to adjust. There’s a fireplace across the room, the dying embers casting just enough light to let you make out the vague shapes of furniture in the darkness. The walls and floor are stone, adorned with plush rugs. The wind rattles the shutters outside the window, hidden behind thick curtains.

This is not your bedroom… and you are not alone. A dark figure stirs next to you beneath the covers. You scramble out of bed but find the floor farther away than expected. You land hard on your side. “Ow!”

You slap your hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. The figure sits up with a groan, rubbing at its face and leaning to peer over the edge of the bed at you. There’s no mistaking that mustache, those braids.

“Fíli? What… where are we?” And why are we in bed together?

Fíli blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks hoarsely, his voice rough. He rolls out of bed and kneels in front of you. “We’re home. In Erebor? You know, the mountain? Big pile of rocks and snow? It’s rather hard to miss.” He raises an eyebrow, trying to coax a smile from you.

Instead, you scoot backwards, putting space between you and the prince as you process his words. “But we were just in Mirkwood,” you protest. “How did we get here?”

Fíli’s confusion turns to concern. “Y/N, that was a year ago.” He shifts closer and brushes a thumb over your cheek. “Are you feeling alright?”

You stiffen against his touch, heart in your throat. Ever the gentleman, he’s never touched you without permission before. But something about the way his palm cups your face feels familiar. “I don’t know,” you whisper, shaking your head. “All I remember is falling into the stream.”

“You don’t remember the elves? Fighting for the mountain? All the time we spent together?” He uncovers a long braid in your hair. “Our wedding?”

“Wedding?!” It’s true, you’ve harbored feelings for Fíli since the two of you met in Bag End. You’d admired him in the book and movies, and to see him for real… it did something to you. But you never thought he would return your affections—how could he? You’re a plain, young woman from another world, and he’s a handsome prince, heir to the throne.

Fíli searches your face, expression unreadable. Finally, he stands, offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You take it hesitantly. His fingers lace through yours, and he helps you to your feet. Strangely, you find that instead of being taller than the dwarf, you’re just level with his chin. But before you can comment on this, Fíli pulls you out the door and down a narrow hallway.

He leads you to a large sitting room, taking you to the sofa next to yet another fireplace. “Wait here,” he orders softly. “I’ll fetch Thorin.”

“Thorin’s alive?” you breathe. “What about Kíli?”

“Kíli would like to know what the pair of you are doing up and chattering in the middle of the night,” replies a voice from behind you. The youngest Durin leans against the wall with his arms crossed, hair still tousled from sleep.

You tip back your head and close your eyes. “They did it,” you sigh in relief. “Oh, thank God, they did it.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Fíli pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me get Thorin first. I would rather not explain this twice.”

“Again.” Thorin paces in front of the fire.

You rub your forehead. “I told you, that’s it,” you groan. “I fell in the water and woke up here.”

Kíli shakes his head. “It makes no sense.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Thorin flashes you a warning look.

“It was no ordinary stream,” Fíli points out. He sits with you on the couch, his hand resting on top of yours. Every once in a while, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It had some sort of foul magic. She wouldn’t wake for days.”

“If it’s magic that we’re dealing with,” you glance at Thorin warily before continuing, “it might be a good idea to talk with the elves.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin snaps. His lip curls in disgust. “I refuse to invite them to interfere in our private matters.”

Kíli’s eyes brighten. “What about Gandalf, then? Where would we find him?”

They all look to you. You close your eyes, teasing and tugging at the cobwebs that cloud the part of your mind where your Middle Earth knowledge is stored. “He’s… there’s no guarantee we even could find him. Gandalf doesn’t have a home, exactly. He wanders. They don’t call him the Grey Pilgrim for nothing.”

“So we don’t know where Gandalf is,” Fíli starts slowly, “but we do know where the elves are.”

“And Gandalf wasn’t in Mirkwood with us,” you add. “There’s no guarantee he even knows about the enchanted stream—but Thranduil definitely would.”

Thorin crosses his arms. “Out of the question.”

“Did you not make peace with Mirkwood?”

“Peace does not mean friendship,” Thorin retorts. His voice, raised in frustration, echoes off of the polished stone walls. Down another hallway, you hear a door slam. Thorin groans at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“And just what in Mahal’s name is everyone shouting about at this hour of night?”

A new dwarf steps into the firelight. In the dim light, she almost looks like a copy of Thorin. But as she approaches, you can see her features are softer, her eyes rounder, her beard thinner. And there’s no mistaking the Durin glare that she levels at Thorin, her blue eyes just as piercing as they are tired.

You glance at Fíli with uncertainty. He squeezes your hand and leans close to murmur in your ear. “It’s just Amad. Mother,” he translates when you don’t seem to understand.

Dís. You nod quickly.

Thorin looks at you, then back to his sister, standing with arms crossed and an eyebrow raised expectantly. As they exchange words in their rough native tongue, Dís’s expression of irritation turns to one of soft, motherly concern. She comes closer to you and gently brushes away a few strands of unruly hair from your face. “You must be tired, natha.”

“Daughter,” Fíli whispers.

“A bit,” you reply quietly, finding yourself suddenly shy with the full attention of a mother focused on you.

“Poor dove,” Dís tuts. She straightens up and pats you on the shoulder. “Fíli, take your lass back to bed. We will speak in the morning.” Thorin looks like he means to protest, but Dís silences him with an icy glare. Planting a kiss on the top of your head, she pushes Kíli and Thorin back down their opposite hallways. Fíli pats your hand and follows her quickly, his words in Khuzdûl fading as he gets further away.

Finally alone, you let out a long sigh. For the first time, you get the chance to look yourself over, to see what has changed. Your hair is longer, brushing the small of your back. When you run your fingers through it, you find braids styled to match Fíli’s. A dwarven marriage custom, perhaps? There’s a thin, gold band on your finger, too, lined with tiny sapphires that sparkle in the firelight. A little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth; at least you kept some piece of your own marriage customs.

And while Fíli has been bare-chested this whole time, you’re wearing a dark green shirt, no doubt one that used to be his. It’s long enough on you to serve as a nightgown. A blush rises on your face when you realize the deep v-neck exposes the dip between your breasts—and has been exposing it to everyone else this whole time.

“Amrâlimê?” Fíli’s voice from the hallway is soft. He pokes his head into the sitting room. “Aren’t you going to come to bed?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, suddenly very interested in the fireplace. In anything that isn’t Fíli’s too-kind face. “Do you want me to?” you ask hesitantly.

It’s silent for a few seconds. Fíli sighs heavily and comes to kneel before you, taking your hands in his. “Y/N, you are my wife. Of course I want you to come to bed. It is our bed.” His eyes search yours, desperately looking for the light he knows should be there. “Do I not have your love?”

“I mean, sure,” you reply softly. Your voice is strained. “I just… I don’t understand how I have yours. You’re the crown prince, you’re perfect. And I’m just… me.”

“You are so much more than that,” Fíli murmurs. “You are everything to me.” He kisses your forehead and stands. Before you can say anything, you’re swept up in his arms. Startled, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to avoid falling, but he carries your smaller frame with ease.

You frown, remembering your observation from earlier. “Shouldn’t I be taller than you?”

“Ah. Well.” Fili’s chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your cheek. “That’s all that we thought the stream did. Make you properly sized.”

“Properly sized?” you repeat in disbelief. “You call this properly sized?”

“You complained about it endlessly,” Fíli continues. A playful smile tugs at his lips. “Until you realized how well you fit in my arms.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m also handsome, charming, brave…”

“Shut up.” You smack his shoulder lightly, but hide a smile as you tuck your head beneath his chin. Maybe you can get used to this.

But as he kicks open the door to his—your—room, and you see the bed with its rumpled covers, you tense.

“Y/N?” Fíli’s breath tickles your neck.

“It’s… just a lot, all at once,” you mumble.

He squeezes you, then lowers you gently to the bed. “I understand,” he murmurs.

“You really don’t, though.” Pent-up frustration simmers within you. “When’s the last time you fell into a stream, woke up, and found out a year had passed and you’re married?”

“Are you upset that we’re married?” Fíli asks, his face falling.

You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at him. This can’t be any easier for him. Running your hand through your tangled hair, you shake your head. “It feels like one moment, I was a girl with a crush, and then I wake up, and suddenly I’m a married woman. I’ve missed out on everything.”

“It’s in there, somewhere,” he whispers, stroking your cheek. You flinch away, your body unsure of how to react to his touch. Hurt flickers across his face, but he pulls back. “Can I fix your braids?” he asks. There’s desperation in his eyes.

Recognizing his need to touch you in whatever way he can, you nod slowly, and turn. The gentle, rhythmic tugging as he combs and re-braids your hair is hypnotic, and you find your eyelids drooping.

“There,” Fíli says, turning you back to him. He smiles sadly. “Beautiful as ever.”

Your heart aches. Whether it aches for him, the dwarf searching for his loving wife in the uncertain girl before him, or yourself, longing to be that loving wife, you do not know.

After a moment of hesitation, you lean in and reward him with a quick kiss on the cheek. His beard is prickly against your lips. “I’m tired,” you whisper when you draw back.

The kiss brings a real smile to his face, however small it may be. Fíli pulls back the covers and you wriggle underneath them. You settle into a dip worn down into the mattress from hundreds of nights before. Fíli slides into place behind you, his chest against your back. You stiffen slightly, but force yourself to relax.

“Is this alright?” His deep, quiet voice vibrates through your body.

You nod. He can have a little cuddle, as a treat. As an apology.

He takes that as a signal to test the limits further. You can tell he’s holding his breath as he drapes his arm over your waist. “Is this alright?”

“It’s cozy,” you mumble sleepily, letting the warmth of his body overwhelm you.

Fíli lets out his breath, pulling you tightly against him and nuzzling his face into your hair.

As you drift off, you do your best to pretend you don’t notice his quiet tears.

You began to stir, finding your face pressed into something warm and firm. As you tried to pull away to look around, you were met with resistance. You made a disgruntled noise.

“Y/N?!” Suddenly, a hand yanked your head backwards. Wide eyes searched your face frantically. You just barely registered who held you before he pulled you back in a crushing embrace. “I thought we’d lost you.”

“Fíli?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his coat. “Can’t breathe.”

He released you, finally letting you get your bearings. The two of you were alone in a small, stone cell. Torchlight flickered just outside the wrought iron bars, casting a dim, orange light into your cell.

A shadow crossed over the door. “Oh, so she is alive. Here, then.” An apple landed on the ground in front of you, followed by a waterskin. “That’s the most you get until tomorrow. Make it last.” The shadow retreated, footsteps echoing down a long hallway.

Pieces began to slot into place in your mind. You nodded slowly. Mirkwood, elves, imprisonment. “How long have we been in here?”

“A few days at most, given how often they’ve brought food and water. But it’s hard to tell.” Fíli seemed distracted, eyes scanning your body. “How do you feel?”

You frowned and patted yourself up and down. “A bit sore, but I think I’m fine.” You untangled yourself from Fíli and tried to stand on shaky legs, your knees instantly failing beneath you.

Immediately, he jumped up and grabbed your waist from behind to steady you. “Y/N?” His voice was soft. “Y/N, please do not be alarmed when you turn around.”

“What?” You twisted in his grasp and looked up into his concerned face.

Up. You had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. He was big. You tried to back away but the space was so narrow, you collided with the wall after just a single step. “You’re taller,” you stated, almost robotically. “But you’re a dwarf. You can’t be taller than me. I’m supposed to be the taller one. How did you get taller?”

“I did not get taller,” he corrected you. “You got smaller.”

You just stared at him blankly. Fíli sighed, gently taking hold of your arm and easing you back to the ground. He took the apple from the floor and placed it in your hand. “Eat,” he ordered quietly. “You haven’t had any food in days. It was hard enough to get water into you.”

Instead, you rolled it between your palms absentmindedly. “How long was I out?”

“Just over a week. We were trying to cross a stream, and you fell in.”

“Instead of Bombur,” you interjected.

Fíli raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Glóin managed to snag you,” he continues, “and when he pulled you out, you were… well, smaller. But you wouldn’t wake up. You even slept through the spiders. I was so afraid that you were gone before I could tell you–” he broke off, his voice thick. He tore his eyes away from yours, a blush rising on his face.

“What?” You reached out and took hold of his chin, turning his face back to you. Yet his eyes still avoided you. You crawled closer, kneeling between his outstretched legs. Your traitorous heart pounded hopefully against your ribs. “Tell me what, Fee?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s foolish. I shouldn’t… you wouldn’t…” Finally, he looked back up at you. “I love you?” He phrased it as a question, his blue eyes filled with hesitation. It was strangely endearing, seeing the normally confident prince so bashful. Fíli lifted a cautious hand to your cheek, fingers just barely brushing your skin.

Surprise temporarily robbed you of your voice. Mistaking your silence for rejection, Fíli quickly pulled his hand away. Shame and hurt flashed across his face. “Forgive me,” he blurted out, ducking his head. “I should not burden you with feelings you can never return.” He pulled his legs back in and moved further into the shadowy recesses of the cell.

But you crawled after him, refusing to let him go that easily. “Fíli, why didn’t you say anything?” When he remained silent, you wound your fingers up in one of his braids and tugged, forcing him to turn his head towards you. “Why are you so sure that I can’t feel the same?”

A cautious spark of hope flared to life in his eyes. “Because you’re perfect, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You deserve so much more than I can give.”

You smiled, eyes tracing his face. The gold locks that framed it, the sky blue eyes, the flushed cheeks. And those soft, pink lips, parted ever so slightly as he awaited your next words.

But words were the furthest thing from your mind. Refusing to hold back any longer, you grabbed Fíli by the collar, lunging forward to claim his mouth.

His eyes widened, then fluttered shut as his hands grabbed at your waist. Fíli pulled you back into his lap and wrapped his arms around you, reaching up to comb through your tangled hair with his fingers.

A rock clanged against the bars of your cell. “Get a room!” came Kíli’s voice, echoing down the hall.

You broke away with a laugh. “This is a room!”

Kíli’s only response was a disgusted groan as Fíli grabbed at your face for more.

#fanfiction #fíli #kíli #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #dís #fili x you #fili x reader #modern girl in middle earth #amnesia #falling back in love #everybody lives #soft Fíli #angst and hurt/comfort #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier

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visionsoffutile · 2 months ago

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Running in circles chapter 5:

The weekend passed in a haze of slow shifts at the music store and late-night thoughts that wouldn’t leave you alone. The quiet hum of the turntable, the familiar scent of vinyl, none of it was enough to drown out the memory of Regina’s words.

"Why you’re not falling at my feet like they do."

It replayed in your mind more than you wanted it to. You had stared into those ice-blue eyes, trying to figure out whether she was playing her usual mind games or if there was something more behind them. Despite your best efforts to shake it off, a part of you couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the store. You had glimpsed something vulnerable in Regina—a crack in her usual mask—and it made her more intriguing than ever.

But today was Monday, and school was back in session. The dull buzz of the day filled your senses as you moved from class to class, hoping gym would be as uneventful as the rest. You weren’t in the mood for drama.

Gym class. You weren’t one of those people who dreaded it, but you didn’t love it either. Running laps around the track wasn’t the worst way to kill time, especially with your headphones in, tuning out the world. You could zone out, focus on the steady rhythm of your feet hitting the ground, the pulse of the music in your ears, and forget about everything else.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the track. You kept a steady pace, your playlist keeping you locked in your own world. A slow, methodical beat. Footsteps in time with the music. No distractions.

That was until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Startled, you glanced over, pulling one earbud out. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you saw who was running beside you—Regina George.

She was effortlessly keeping pace, looking annoyingly composed despite the heat. Her blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail, not a single strand out of place, and her North Shore High gym uniform somehow looked better on her than it did on anyone else. As usual, she radiated control, like nothing could touch her.

You removed your second earbud, confusion and curiosity swirling in your mind. “Regina?” you asked, breath slightly heavy from running. You slowed your pace slightly, and she mirrored you, still keeping stride. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” she replied, her voice annoyingly steady. “I’m running.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, not buying it. Regina George didn’t just run with random people. There had to be more to it. You glanced around to see if any of her friends were nearby, waiting to laugh at some prank she was about to pull. But no one else seemed to be paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, congrats,” you said, trying to play it cool. “You found the track.”

She smirked, that same unreadable expression playing on her lips—the one that said she was always two steps ahead of everyone else. “Funny,” she said, though her tone didn’t sound like she was laughing.

You weren’t sure what her angle was, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about what happened over the weekend. You turned your gaze forward, picking up your pace slightly. “So, what do you want, Regina?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer, just kept running beside you, her breaths controlled and even. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but clear. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

You almost tripped over your own feet.

"What?"

You glanced over at her, surprised, but she wasn’t looking at you. Her eyes were focused ahead, as if she were carefully choosing her words.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though your mind was racing. Regina George—*thinking* about you? It didn’t make sense.

She shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. There was something deliberate in the way she did it, like she was testing you. “You’re... different,” she said, her eyes briefly flicking to meet yours. “You don’t fall into line like everyone else. You don’t care what people think.”

You kept running, the steady thud of your shoes hitting the pavement helping you process what she was saying. It wasn’t like Regina to compliment anyone—not without some kind of ulterior motive. But there was no hint of her usual sarcasm, no cold detachment in her tone.

“You didn’t care what Gretchen said about me,” she continued, her voice softer now. “Most people wouldn’t ignore her.”

You ran in silence for a few seconds, the weight of her words settling between you. You thought back to the store, to the way she had looked at you, that strange vulnerability she had shown for just a moment.

“Maybe I just want to see you for myself,” you said, shrugging. “I’m not interested in the rumors or the reputation.”

She glanced at you, and for the first time, you saw something that looked almost like approval. “Most people are,” she said, her voice low. “You’re not like them.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to Regina being... sincere. Was it genuine? Or was it just another one of her tests?

You slowed down, breathing a little heavier now as you came to the last stretch of the track. Regina stayed with you, still looking as composed as ever.

“So, why me?” you asked, deciding to be direct. “You have your friends, your minions. Why bother with me?”

Regina was quiet for a long moment, her face unreadable again. You thought she might brush it off, say something dismissive, but instead, she surprised you.

“Because I don’t get it,” she said, her voice just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t get you.”

She stopped running, and so did you, both of you standing at the edge of the track, your breaths heavy in the thick afternoon air. Her words hung between you, filled with something more than just curiosity.

“Maybe you don’t need to,” you said, after a beat, locking eyes with her.

For the first time since you met her, Regina didn’t have a quick comeback. She just stood there, studying you, as if you were a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Finally, she smirked, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.

“Maybe,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away, leaving you standing at the edge of the track, watching her retreating figure.

---

The last stretch of the run was quiet. You were still replaying Regina's words in your head as the two of you ran the final lap. "I don't get you." It lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind, raising more questions than answers. What was she after?

You peeled off the track and headed to the locker room, drenched in sweat and more confused than ever. The cool, tiled floors and the scent of body spray greeted you as you stepped inside. The other students were still filtering in slowly, chatting loudly, their laughter echoing through the space.

You found your locker near the back of the room and began to change out of your gym clothes, slipping on your shirt. As you reached for your bag, the locker room emptied out, and you realized you were alone. Or at least, you thought you were. That’s when you heard the familiar click of heels on the hard floor behind you.

You turned, already knowing who it was before you saw her.

Regina.

She stood there, leaning against the row of lockers, her gym uniform looking perfectly pressed despite having just run laps. She had that same unreadable look in her eyes, arms crossed, lips slightly curved—not quite a smirk but not a smile either. The other girls must have already left, leaving just the two of you in the dim light of the locker room.

“Are you following me, or is this a coincidence?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the strange tension building in the room.

Regina raised an eyebrow, pushing off the lockers and walking closer, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet space. “I don’t do coincidences,” she said simply, her eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed, turning back to your locker to grab your things, pretending not to be affected by her presence. But you could feel her eyes on you, watching, waiting.

“So, what is this?” you asked, your back still turned to her. “You trying to figure me out again?”

There was a pause before she answered, and you could almost feel the air shift as she came closer. “Maybe,” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate in the quiet of the empty locker room. “Or maybe I’m just curious why you’re still pretending you’re not interested.”

You stopped, turning around to face her. “Interested?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In what?”

Regina took a step forward, closing the gap between you. Her blue eyes were sharp, but there was something else there too—something softer, more vulnerable, just beneath the surface. “In me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now, the challenge clear in her tone.

Your breath caught for a moment. She was close now—closer than she had been on the track. You could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the scent of her perfume, still light and floral despite the workout. The locker room felt too small suddenly, the air thick with the tension that had been simmering between you both since that first moment in the music store.

“You think I’m interested?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart was racing in your chest.

Regina smiled then, but it wasn’t the cold, detached smirk she usually wore. It was something softer, almost playful. “I think you’re intrigued,” she said, her gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest of moments before meeting your eyes again. “And I think you don’t like that you are.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you kept your cool. “And what if I’m not?” you countered, your voice calm, though you knew you weren’t fooling either of you.

Regina’s smile widened, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were enjoying this little game. “You are,” she said confidently, taking another step forward, leaving only inches between you now. “Why else would you still be here?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of a response. The truth was, she wasn’t wrong. You *were* intrigued. You had been since the moment she walked into the music store. But that didn’t mean you were going to let her win so easily.

“Maybe I just like messing with you,” you shot back, holding her gaze, refusing to let her see the effect she was having on you.

Regina let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You think you’re messing with me?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement. She took one more step forward, closing the space between you completely. “No one messes with me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. She was so close now that you could feel her breath on your skin, her presence completely enveloping you. It was overwhelming, and for a split second, you thought about stepping back, about creating space between you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood your ground, meeting her gaze head-on. “Maybe I’m not like everyone else,” you said quietly, the tension between you both almost suffocating now.

Regina’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe even respect. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the two of you standing there in the middle of the empty locker room, locked in some kind of unspoken standoff. It was as if the air itself was waiting to see who would make the next move.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, Regina stepped back. The tension broke, leaving you both standing there in the aftermath. She tilted her head slightly, that familiar smirk back in place.

“Maybe you are,” she said softly, her tone laced with something almost...admiring. “We’ll see.”

Without another word, she turned and walked toward the exit, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the now-quiet locker room. You watched her go, your heart still pounding in your chest, unsure of what had just happened—but certain that whatever this was, it was far from over.

As the door swung shut behind her, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, staring at the empty space where she’d been just moments before.

#renee rapp #mean girls #regina george #regina george x reader

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moog-rt · 5 months ago

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ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ [ch.1]

[Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Prologue

➨ Chapter One

Next: Chapter Two

Premise:

The multiverse theory is the idea that there is not only one universe but, instead, an infinite number of universes, parallel to one another.

You and Tenko were heroes in your universe. The war came and went, and that left only you. When you are thrown into a universe parallel to yours, you find out the hard way just how similar and different it is from your own.

A/N: I know this is technically the first chapter BUT, there is a prologue for this story. So if you haven't checked that out yet, it's linked above, and I highly recommend reading that first.

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER ONE

The rain grew heavier, encouraging you to turn away from your departing friend in favor of heading home. Combined with the cool early-spring air, you were sure you’d get a chill. It was a little surreal, being a top-charted hero who helped save the world from villainous destruction and taking transit like you were a typical commuter. No one batted an eye. They probably didn’t even recognize you regardless of whether or not you were dressed for work.

That’s how the world was.

They cared for the first few weeks following the end of the war, but that dwindled as weeks stretched into months. Once the roads were rebuilt and everyone resumed their daily lives, there wasn’t much to remind them of what had happened.

And after the upheaval of hero-dominated society, the raving over who was Number One and which debuts showed the most promise declined to almost nothing.

Heroes were becoming a thing of the past.

Your apartment was reminiscent of that fact. For nearly your entire life, you were chasing after some dream of becoming a hero and making the world a better and safer place. Yet there was barely anything decorating your walls or countertops to suggest such a thing. You had been living there for roughly two years, just after the end of the war, but there were countless boxes shoved aside still waiting to be unpacked. You’d peered inside them a handful of times, but you decided it was better that their contents stayed tucked away.

After entering your apartment, you wasted no time in peeling off your soaked clothing. The various articles landed on the linoleum flooring with a wet slap. You kicked your pants to the side and shuffled over to one of the stools at your kitchen counter. You grabbed a throw blanket that was draped over the back of one of them and wrapped it around your shivering body.

A pitiful groan emanated from your stomach just before it cramped up uncomfortably. With a slight wince, you huffed and checked your fridge for any remaining left overs or easy meals.

What a sad sight that was. The light inside of the fridge illuminated your face as you stared at mostly empty shelves.

Whatever.

You could always order take out.

Swiping away missed calls and unread messages, you began a search for anything that sounded appealing.

Maybe if you’d gotten a text from Toga or Iguchi, you would have cared. But Toga was obviously busy with her big move, and you couldn’t remember the last time Iguchi had reached out to you. For a while, you two would try to make time to grab lunch or play games like you used to, but you both knew it was hardly the same anymore. You saw each other less and less, until your meetups stopped altogether.

Nowadays, your dreams were filled with memories rather than hopes for the future. Your heart and soul longed for the experiences and the people in your past, and the only way you could indulge was in your sleep. Waking up afterwards was like pulling teeth as you tried your utmost to return to whatever memory had been playing out in your mind.

The doorbell rang.

Your food was left outside your door, and after bringing it in, you ate maybe half of it before banishing the leftovers to the fridge of doom. The light filtering into your apartment gradually turned cool and dim, meaning it was just late enough for you to justify turning in for the night. You didn’t bother putting on a dry set of clothes, instead opting to crawl into bed wearing your mildly soggy undergarments.

Every day was the same. You’d work, go home, eat, and sleep. You never went out anymore, and you were certain that if you picked up your TV remote, it would leave a silhouette behind contrasting the dusty surface.

The only bits of ‘décor’ you had were photographs strewn about your TV stand. None of them were framed. They just lay there for you to peruse whenever you wanted to inflict even more emotional damage upon yourself. The old photos of your friends from work and school before the war best served for collecting dust.

There was one that stood out from the rest. It lay on your nightstand, still sheen from its frequent handling.

Delicately, you picked it up, just as you did most nights, and peered down at it.

–

It was the day Tenko Shimura officially started as a pro-hero at the AFO Hero Agency.

He spent the past few years with them as an internship and a work study, but everyone felt that starting there as a graduate was something to be celebrated. So you all made a day of it.

Everyone was there, and the conference room had been decorated and rearranged to better fit the occasion. Several platters of food lined the tables, filling the room with a heavenly aroma that complimented the chatter quite well.

Tenko wasn’t typically one for parties or huge get-togethers, especially when he was the focus, but he was kept from standing idly as people took turns congratulating him. You could tell he was beginning to grow tired of all the socializing.

You chuckled as you stepped up to his side, walking him away from his dying conversation. You watched as he relaxed his tense shoulders and dipped his head back with an airy groan.

“How does it feel being the life of the party?” you snickered.

He glowered at you through his messy, black bangs before placing a gloved hand on your shoulder and giving you a strong shove that sent you stumbling. You cursed as you regained your balance, ready to retaliate but he was already walking away from you.

“Hey!” You trotted back up to him.

“You’re next, you know,” he said, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You tilted your head to the side, “To be the focus of a party?”

“To join the agency,” he corrected. “When you graduate, you’d better.”

“Oh, of course.” You grinned at him before narrowing your eyes slightly. “But only if you promise to stick around until then.”

“I’m planning on it,” he chuckled, “Unless you piss me off.”

It was your turn to jab at him, but, unlike you, he kept his balance, barely even stepping to the side.

The two of you found a secluded place to sit and chat idly but it was mostly filled with a comfortable silence as you scrolled on your phones. You were only granted a few minutes of social reprieve before Magne came looking for you.

“Are you two aware that the party isn’t out here?” she said, crossing her arms like a disappointed mother.

You and Tenko exchanged a glance, but neither of you said a word.

“Get your asses in there!” She scolded, shepherding the two of you back to the celebration. “We’re taking a group picture.”

Everyone crowded together. You were pushed up against Tenko’s side, and the two of you felt Iguchi drop his arms onto your shoulders. He stood behind you, still clearly visible between your heads, and Toga latched herself onto your free arm. Touya lurked on the very edge of the group while Compress took on a dramatic pose to ensure his theatrics would be captured for all of eternity.

One of Jin’s doubles positioned himself in front of everyone, partially crouched down and shuffling this way and that in order to get the perfect angle.

He didn’t have to tell you to say ‘cheese’ to get you to grin from ear-to-ear.

You felt Tenko’s gloved hand press against the small of your back as the camera flashed, immortalizing the occasion.

–

Seeing everybody grinning back at you in the photo four years later made your heart ache in many ways. You were happy that you possessed that memory as well as a picture to always remind you of it. But you were also tormented by the fact that it would never be recreated.

Unfortunately, plans didn’t always come to fruition.

When you started as a pro-hero at the agency, the world was in too much chaos to celebrate. And even if you held a celebration once everything settled down, Tenko wouldn’t be there to congratulate you.

In spirit, maybe.

When you really thought about it, almost everyone would be missing.

Magne had passed many years ago, when your team was assigned to the Overhaul-Eri case. The war took away Jin, Touya, Sensei, and, of course, Tenko. Iguchi would have stuck around long enough, but Atsuhiro was forced into retirement when the war first started.

In a way, the villains got what they wanted. Countless heroes were decommissioned, and those who remained were no longer viewed in the same positive light as they once were. Criticism was high if a hero couldn’t carry out a job flawlessly and without any casualties. Even then, you were always at risk of being deemed a ‘fame-chaser’ or that you were only in it for the money.

The only heroes that remained were the honest and the resilient.

You liked to think you were both, but as time went on, you grew more unsure. In the beginning, you were more than eager to make a positive impact on people’s lives, regardless of whether or not you were credited or paid for it. Eventually, you met everyone at your agency, and hero work changed your life for the better. Even if you failed a job, you had people by your side to pick you back up and keep you pushing forward.

But now?

Now, you were tired.

You no longer had your support system keeping you motivated and in good spirits. While you still felt pleased with every life you protected, that feeling of fulfillment would be gone by the time your head touched your pillow.

That’s where you were at currently.

With a deep sigh, you let go of the photograph, letting it fall back onto the nightstand, and rolled onto your back to stare at the ceiling. You shut your eyes, but you knew it would be hours before you actually fell asleep. You would either sleep the day away or you’d barely sleep at all. Rarely could you find a balance between the two.

Usually, you would stay up thinking about how everything ended up the way it did, and whether there was anything you could have done to prevent it all from happening. What could you possibly have done so that your team would still be at your side?

If you were split up differently during the Overhaul raid so that you were in Magne’s group, you could have pushed her out of the way of Chisaki’s fatal touch. If you had stuck by Jin’s side instead of letting him go into the Paranormal Liberation Front’s headquarters alone, you could have fought off Hawks before he landed his deadly blow.

And Tenko…

You’d probably have to end the war all on your own in order to save him. He was at the forefront of every battle, leading the charge. He had no regard for his own safety. He gave up his own body so that Mr. Shigaraki could transfer his quirk and conscience to it. You’re pretty sure that was the point of no return.

After that, you don’t think anything that came out of Tenko’s mouth was truly him.

Whether or not he could even hear you scream and cry for him in the final moments of the war would remain a mystery.

The heels of your hands pressed deeply against your eyes as if you could physically push the thoughts out of your head. You couldn’t do this tonight. You needed to do something, anything, other than lay there and dwell on things of the past.

How could you have known what was to come?

Throwing off your covers, you ripped the last garments from your person and got up to change into something clean and dry. You had to get out of your sad and dingy little apartment. You wiggled your way into a spare hero suit after deciding that lending a helping hand for the night was your best chance at clearing your head.

You made your way back to your agency as quickly as you could through the frigid rain. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were summer time, since the warmth would typically counteract it, but you still had a few months of spring to get through. By the time you arrived, you were a bit damp, but you found it hard to care. Pulling your keycard out of your wallet, you tapped into the system so you could get in.

Even though it was late, there were still a few people around in case of emergency, and none of them were surprised to see you stroll in. Two of them were people you had graduated with, though they did their work studies elsewhere.

“Hiya,” Minji, a pink-haired and bubbly girl, sang to you in greeting. She was sitting alert at her desk, ready for whatever report came her way.

“Hi,” you nodded, walking over to her.

Another girl you attended school with was lounging in the space adjacent to hers, leaning back as far as her chair would allow, both feet propped up on the desk. Her head turned over in your direction before she acknowledged you, “Need something to do?”

“If you have anything,” you said with a shrug.

“I think Sakiko got a call-in just a few minutes ago requesting a hero to accompany the transport of a villain,” Minji chimed with a soft smile, eyes darting over to her companion.

“Uh, yeah. Let me get the details on that,” Sakiko mumbled as she kicked her feet off of the desk and scooted closer to search through her computer. “Yeah, so the police want to transport a villain to a higher security prison… His name is Dai Uchuu. He was involved with Overhaul during the raid, but he was able to escape, and there’ve been no updates on his activity since. We also don’t have any official documentation but his quirk is believed to be a teleportation-type triggered by his hands making contact with each other.”

“Sure, that works. Send me the address, and let them know I’ll be there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The station wasn’t too far from the agency. You walked for maybe ten minutes before you could see its lit-up sign at the end of the block. There was a brief flicker but it recovered almost immediately. However, the lights within the station began to spasm on and off, which was slightly more concerning.

The police relied mainly on quirk-nullifying restraints and cells to prevent breakouts. If they were having issues with the power, then the nullification effects would likely be down, and that would be quite the problem.

You quickened your pace and rushed into the building. The first thing you noticed was the plethora of odd objects that had been thrown about the lobby. There was a bicycle on top of the desk, a canoe sticking out from one of the doorways, and a large tub of paint that was actively rolling across the floor, leaving a trail of blue behind it. You could see a large splatter on the wall where you assumed it had made contact.

The second thing you noticed was the silence. Despite the apparent chaos, not a single cop was in sight. You couldn’t even hear any voices emanating from adjacent rooms. There was no one.

You briefly reported the situation to your agency through the communicator strapped to your forearm and cautiously proceeded onto the other rooms. The holding area and the locker rooms were empty and in similar condition to the lobby. You were about to say the same for the offices, but you noticed a quiet murmur coming from behind one of the far desks.

In a slight crouch and with light feet, you slinked in that direction. As you peered around one of the desks, you saw the villain, Uchuu, still dressed in his medieval garb. His colorful back was turned to you as he rummaged through a filing cabinet. The quirk-nullifying restraints dangled from one of his wrists. One of the officers must have gotten that on him after he had a go at most of the building.

But then why hadn’t you run into him?

You silently reached forward and cast your quirk, causing his clothes to freeze him in place. As you walked forward, he began to snicker. You faltered a step at his odd behavior.

“Of course you would be the one to show up,” he spoke with a strange accent.

“I guess?” You positioned yourself in front of him. You wouldn’t be able to attach the restraint he had on to his other wrist due to it being frozen along with him, so you pulled out one of the few that you carried. “What happened to everyone?”

You reached forward to attach the new set of cuffs, but as you did, you caught sight of the file he was holding.

Was that your name?

The cabinet he was going through was supposed to contain criminal profiles. Just as you were about to question how and why he had one that was addressed to you, you felt a sharp pain on the back of your hand.

“Ow! What the fuck?!” You jerked away and were about the curse the man out for fucking pinching you, before processing the fact that he was standing up. Your surprise had caused you to release your quirk, freeing him.

“What a fortunate turn of events this has been,” he drawled with a wicked grin. You narrowed your eyes and raised your arm to use your quirk again, but before you could, his hands clapped together.

You felt your entire body lurch forward, and for a moment, everything was black.

You figured you must have blinked because it was only a second before you could see clearly again. A wave of nausea began crawling its way up your belly, but you did your best to ignore the feeling while you frantically looked around.

It took you a moment to realize that Dai Uchuu was no longer in front of you. The filing cabinet was closed and no more papers were littering the floor. He must have gotten what he was looking for and bolted… Were you seeing black for longer than you realized?

If he clapped his hands, he must have tried using his quirk but he still had a restraint around one of his wrists. That should have been enough to still subdue his quirk, so he had to be around somewhere.

You quickly made to leave, almost bumping into an officer who was standing up from his desk. He shouted after you, and you gave a clipped apology but kept on your pursuit. As you entered the lobby, you almost ran head first into another officer and had to pause to move out of her way. She didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry though.

“Do you know which way he went?” you quickly asked her as you began walking backwards towards the exit of the building.

She looked perplexed, doing a double take of you. “Who? What were you doing in that area?”

He must not have gone that way otherwise, given his outlandish appearance, she surely would have remembered. That meant he would still be in the building.

“That’s where I found Dai Uchuu. He was going through some of the criminal records but he managed to get away,” you explained, slowly walking back towards her. “I’m not sure what he was looking for, but I’m guessing—”

“Who are you?”

What?

“I’m the hero assigned to your case,” you said matter-of-factly. “You guys sent in a request for help, so I came.”

She jerked her head back, scrutinizing you. “We didn’t—”

“Listen, if you didn’t see him come this way, he must still be in the building. You guys should look for him here, and I’ll check outside in case he found some other way out,” you said as you began a quick pace into the lobby.

They made quick work of cleaning up, because all of the foreign objects that were thrown about when you’d arrived were nowhere to be seen. You noticed even the giant paint splatter was gone. Actually, the entire place looked spotless of even normal dirt and wear-and-tear. Maybe you should’ve hired them to clean up your apartment for you.

The room erupted in clamor as you booked it outside. It was a lot clearer out without the rain, but you still couldn't see any sign of the villain. Leaving it up to intuition, you started sprinting down the road to your left as you updated your agency through your communicator with a request for more heroes to help search.

You were barely running for a minute before you began feeling overheated. There was no way you were that tired already, you didn’t go through all that training for nothing. Then, you realized it wasn’t your body that was too warm, it was the air around you. Not even ten minutes ago, you were freezing your ass off as you trudged to the station in the rain. Now, it felt like the temperature outside was pushing 70 degrees.

Someone had to be controlling the weather. Quirks like that were rare, but not unheard of. Either way, that was somebody else’s problem. You were a little preoccupied at the moment.

You were growing irritated that you hadn’t heard anything from your colleagues. Minji was usually super responsive. She must have stepped away and left Sakiko in charge, which would explain the lack of urgency on their end.

Your pace began to slow as your energy grew more and more depleted.

Your end of the search was proving to be pointless. You passed a run-down convenience store when you decided it would be best to head back to the station to see if the police were fruitful. You heard the chime of the shop’s bell too late, turning on your heel to retrace your steps and crashing into someone as they were exiting.

You jostled back.

There were two people, and your collision caused them to drop their bags, scattering the contents. You crouched down to help them pick up whatever had fallen, hoping they didn’t have any paper products for the rain-soaked ground to get soggy.

Your eyebrows pressed together as you picked up a messy handful of napkins. You looked down at the sidewalk and pressed your hand against it.

It was bone dry.

That couldn’t be right, there’s no way the water would have evaporated that quickly.

You couldn’t ponder the strange occurrence for long as the shoe of one of the people stepped closer to you. Hurriedly, you scooped as many items back into the bag as you could and peered up at them with an apologetic smile. They were already reaching toward you with an open hand. It was a bit too close to your face for your liking, so you leaned away as you stood.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” You pushed the bag into their hand and finally looked at the person’s face to see it was mostly covered by a black face mask and a hood. Despite that, peeking through a plume of dusty blue hair was a pair of fiery red eyes that felt as if they were burning through your soul.

♡ ♡ ♡

➨ Chapter Two

taglist: @boogiemansbitch

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