#man this chapter is kind of depressing ;w;

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.5 child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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[batsovergotham]

Chapter 8 Part 1: Two Lines, One Choice

"You will remember nothing about the specifics of why you're there. But what you will have--which nobody can take from you, ever--is who you are. That will never change--try to hang onto it. It will see you through."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: depression, manipulation, vomit, pregnancy, mark is stressed, mentions of abortion

w/c: 8.9k

a/n: just wanted to say a huge thank you for 200 followers in a week… like. what?? i genuinely wasn’t expecting this kind of love and support, and it means so much to me. it’s made me feel so much more confident about sharing work i’ve kept private (and honestly hidden away) since 2019. stories i thought no one would care about, characters i wasn’t sure anyone would connect with, now i get to share them with you. and that’s everything. also small heads up! i ended up cutting a large chunk from this chapter because it flowed better without it. the story felt stronger with the change, thank you so much for understanding, and thank you for reading, for commenting, for being here. i appreciate you more than you know <3

Mark smashes into stone like a body flung from orbit.

There’s no elegance to it. No superhero landing. Just a crash, flesh against unyielding marble, forceful enough to shatter the surface and send tremors ringing throughout the square. He groans, flops onto his side, and coughs up blood, hands clawing at the earth as he forces himself upright.

He squints up into the light.

The sky is golden. Clean. The air hums with something soft and artificial, like it’s been filtered a thousand times over. He doesn’t recognize the building surrounding him at first, but the longer he stares, the more his stomach twists.

This is Viltrum.

Or... was.

Because it’s not a ruin.

It’s lovely.

Glass and chrome arcologies reach toward the skies. Sunlight dances across skyrails and floating walkways. The buildings breathe with light. And the people, Viltrumites in robes, not armor, float past above like this is just another morning in a utopia.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Mark mutters. “What the hell is this place?”

Then he turns, and sees the statue.

He stops breathing.

It’s you.

Your face etched in marble, arms behind your back, chin tilted up, eyes chiseled to appear like they’re peering into something larger than this planet. The detail is excellent. Too perfect. This isn’t a symbol. This is a memory. A memorial.

The plaque stops him cold.

Beloved. Dedicated by Emperor Markus Grayson, in eternal memory.

“No,” Mark murmurs. “No, no, what the hell…what the fuck is this-?”

"You landed harder than I expected."

Mark turns, instinct already pumping his limbs with adrenaline.

And there he is.

Himself.

Older. Bigger. Sharper around the eyes. Shoulders wider. Taller by inches. His posture isn’t slouched as Mark’s tends to be when he’s tired, it’s straight, military. Imposing. His uniform is custom, crimson and a customary Viltrumite fluffed coat, streamlined for a physique that’s seen too many conflicts and refuses to come apart.

Not garish. Not even that decorative.

Just… final.

Mark looks, breathing quickly.

“What the hell is this?” he demands. “Where am I? Who are you?”

The Emperor lifts a brow. “You already know.”

“No,” Mark snaps. “No, I don’t. I was just standing next to her, and now I’m here, in some, weird, utopian Viltrum remake where apparently I run the place and she’s dead?! So how about you start explaining before I break that statue in half.”

The Emperor steps closer. Slowly.

And the size disparity becomes glaring.

He dwarfs Mark, not like Omni-Man did, not with brutality, but with quiet. Gravity. Like he carries things Mark hasn’t even dreamed yet.

“You’re here because Angstrom sent you,” he adds calmly.

Mark blinks. “Angstrom?”

The Emperor nods once. “He pulled you out of your world. Ripped a hole through the seams and put you in mine.”

Mark’s jaw tightens. “Why?”

“Because I let him.”

Mark glances at him, face growing pale. “You what?”

“He needed to manipulate her,” the Emperor says, voice low, like saying your name out loud would hurt. “He wanted to awaken her full power. Grief is a powerful tool. Losing you… he thought it would be the final trigger.”

Mark’s breath hitches. “He told you to kill me-?”

“I told him I would.”

The quiet pierces the conversation like a gunshot.

Mark’s voice cracks. “You’re insane.”

“I lied,” the Emperor adds simply. “He believed me.”

“Why?!”

The Emperor exhales through his nostrils, jaw tense. “Because I needed to see you. And I needed her to be left alone for a time. To see what it’s like when she doesn’t lose everything.”

Mark’s fists are shaking now. “You used her? And me? Just to, what? Look at the past like some sad ghost?”

“I used Angstrom,” the Emperor adds. “And I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. I brought you here to talk.”

“Talk,” Mark fires back. “You brought me to a version of my girlfriend’s grave to talk?!”

The Emperor doesn’t move.

“You don’t get it,” he replies finally. “She died for me. Saving me. She always did that. I told her to remain behind. She didn’t. She never did. And after she bled out, I thought maybe I might still produce something from what she left behind.”

He nods toward the city.

“This was her dream. Peace. Unity. An end to blood. She devoted all for it. And when I sensed Angstrom was about to go after her again, I said what I had to. To protect her. To allow her space to breathe. Even if it meant sending you here.”

Mark steps ahead. The burning in his chest is white-hot now.

“You think this is protection? You think this is peace? You created a tomb and turned her into a fucking statue!”

“She deserved to be remembered,” the Emperor declares.

“She deserves to be held,” Mark yells. “To be alive.”

Silence descends again. Thick. Ugly.

The Emperor speaks first, gentler now. “She was everything. You know that. And you still have her.”

Mark glares at him.

“You said you wanted to talk. So say it.”

The Emperor glances at him. And now, there’s something cracked in his voice.

“Don’t let her die.”

Mark says nothing.

“Don’t make her carry it all alone,” the Emperor continues. “Don’t let Angstrom consume you. Don’t forget what she’s worth.”

Mark’s voice is hoarse. “I never did.”

“Then hold onto her. Tighter than I did.”

Mark turns approaches the monument one final time. At your eyes. Carved. Cold. Staring into nothing.

And he swears to himself, right there.

He’s getting back to you.

He’s not going to let your narrative finish in stone.

Mark walks.

Not because he wants to.

Because if he stays there another second starring up at that statue of you, he’s gonna punch his fist through it.

He doesn't want to think about your face set in stone like you're already gone. Doesn't want to memorize how your eyes seem looking into nothing. He wants you. Alive. Breathing. Making jokes. Getting ticked off at the way he leaves the toothpaste lid off.

So he walks.

His shoes hit the slick stone with a dull echo that seems too pristine. Too empty.

The metropolis stretches out around him like a sci-fi fever dream. Shining towers. Floating monorails. Not a particle of filth in sight. And people, Viltrumites, sure, but they aren’t screaming, or training, or even talking loud enough for him to understand what the hell they’re saying.

It’s silent.

Too quiet.

Everything is nice. Polished. Hollow.

“This place is creepy,” Mark mutters. “Like if a museum and a dictatorship had a baby.”

The Emperor walks beside him without a word.

Mark glances over. He’s still getting acclimated to how enormous this guy is. Same face. Same voice. But the body? Bulked out. Battle-tested. Every movement is crisp and efficient, like he doesn’t waste energy on anything.

Mark frowns. “Do people even live here? Or is that just where you put your trophies?”

“They live here,” the Emperor answers. “They’re safe. Stable. Unified.”

Mark snorts. “Cool. Sounds boring as hell.”

“They’re not suffering.”

“They’re not living, either,” Mark fires back. “I’ve seen funeral homes with more personality.”

The Emperor doesn’t argue.

Which upsets Mark more.

“You built all this after she died?” he says, voice harsher now.

“I finished what we started,” the Emperor adds.

“Yeah, well, she’s not here.”

“I know.”

Mark’s mouth twists. “You keep saying that like it’s just a thing that happened. Like, ‘oops, lost the love of my life, time to create Space Seattle.’”

The Emperor eventually stops strolling.

Mark almost barrels into him, but catches himself.

“I didn’t build this because I moved on,” the Emperor adds. “I built it because I didn’t.”

Mark squints at him. “That supposed to be deep?”

The Emperor glances around the plaza, at the clean metal seats no one’s sitting on, at the trees placed in precise rows but aren’t offering anybody shade. “She believed in this place. In making it better. Not simply different. She wanted the blood to represent something.”

Mark scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I know her. She wants a better world. But not like this. Not a sanitized version where people act like smiling robots.”

“She wanted peace.”

“She wanted freedom.” Mark motions about furiously. “This doesn’t feel like peace. It seems like jail with nicer lighting.”

He’s feeling hot beneath the collar now. He can feel his skin humming. Not from fury, exactly, but from exasperation. That gnawing, gut-deep wrongness that’s been developing since he opened his eyes in this place.

“And by the way,” Mark continues, moving into the Emperor’s area, “you still haven’t answered the question. What the hell is this? Why am I here?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah? You told me Angstrom did it. But not why. Not how.”

The Emperor meets his gaze. Calm. Steady.

“Angstrom needed leverage over her,” he claims. “To push her. To coax her into unleashing the full range of her power.”

Mark’s blood runs cold.

“Leverage,” he echoes. “He thinks I’m leverage?”

“Yes.”

Mark’s chuckle is piercing and unpleasant. “Wow. So you let him take me out of my life, out of her life, so he could screw with her head? Are you out of your mind?”

“I told him I’d kill you.”

Mark blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I told him if he dropped you here, I’d destroy you. Make it real. Make it hurt. He believed me.”

Mark stares.

And suddenly his voice turns flat. “But you didn’t.”

“No.”

Mark turns aside for half a second. Just enough to think. Then he swings back around and strikes the Emperor in the chest.

Hard.

It doesn’t budge him.

Mark’s voice is trembling now. “You think this is some kind of lesson? You wanted to see me? For what? To have a moment of closure? Get one last glimpse of her through me?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“Well you suck at it!” Mark erupts.

His voice booms through the plaza.

The Emperor doesn’t flinch.

Mark exhales. Tries to breathe through the agony in his chest.

“She’s alone,” he says. “Back home. Right now. Probably thinking I’m dead. And you…you let that happen.”

The Emperor is silent for a beat.

“She’ll survive. She’s stronger than you realize.”

“I know how strong she is,” Mark growls. “That’s why I want to be there. Not to fix her. Just to stand beside her. You think being left behind makes someone stronger? No. It just makes them angry.”

His voice sinks. The fight in it falters.

“She’s not supposed to be a martyr.”

“I didn’t want her to be,” the Emperor continues. “But I made one.”

Mark shakes his head. “That’s not gonna be me. I’m gonna get back. I’m gonna hold her and tell her I didn’t leave on purpose. And I’m not gonna let her turn into some statue people bow to out of guilt.”

He starts walking again.

Faster this time.

And behind him, the Emperor finally speaks low, soft, almost human.

“Good,” he says. “Then don’t be me.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

But in his breast, he repeats it like a vow:

I won’t be.

Mark doesn’t slow down.

He can feel the Emperor following him, silent footfalls against the too-perfect asphalt, but he doesn’t glance back. He simply continues walking. Faster than before. Muscles tight. Jaw set.

Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to do something reckless. He already punched himself once today. And it didn’t help.

“Mark,” the Emperor says.

Mark doesn’t answer.

“Stop.”

“Why?” he snaps. “So you can tell me more about how noble this little abduction was?”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

“You did it anyway.”

The words echo off the empty steel and glass surrounding them, loud enough that a few onlookers halt and turn. But they don’t come closer. Of course not. This is the Emperor's city. People don’t interrupt the man who made a kingdom out of pain.

Mark spins around swiftly. “What, you thought if I left for a bit she’d finally unlock some final form?”

“Yes,” the Emperor answers without hesitation.

Mark falters.

He wasn’t expecting the reality to strike that swiftly. Or that hard.

The Emperor’s voice is steady, too steady. “She’s been holding back. Your Ace. Mine did too, at first. She held reality in her hands, and she wouldn’t touch it. Not really. Not unless it was life or death. But you can’t live like that forever. Not with strength like hers.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mark snaps. “I’ve seen what she can do. I’ve felt it.”

“You’ve felt pieces,” the Emperor corrects. “Controlled fragments. She’s been reining herself in because she’s frightened of harming others. Of harming you.”

Mark’s eyes narrow. “And you thought removing me was the solution.”

“I remember what it was like,” the Emperor adds. “The look on her face when I got too close and she lost control. How she begged me to leave, to stay away, so she didn’t become the thing she was raised to fear. And I didn’t listen. I stayed. I kept getting hurt. So she kept holding back.”

Mark breathes hard, chest rising and falling.

“I didn’t realize until it was too late,” the Emperor adds. “Until she started cracking. Because she had this power screaming inside her, and no outlet. And then when it finally came loose… it killed people. It almost killed me. And it ruined her. Not physically. Psychologically. She didn’t forgive herself. Ever.”

Mark swallows heavily.

He understands how close you’ve gotten to that edge. Knows what it looks like when your powers ripple out in a panic and warp everything around you. When you make the universe skip like a scratched record. When you blink and structures disappear. When you wake up weeping, blood on your face and no knowledge how it got there.

“She needs to ground herself,” the Emperor replies. “She needs to stop suppressing it and learn to feel it, let it breathe, before it eats her alive. She needs quiet. Time. Space.”

Mark’s voice is harsh now. “She needs me.”

“No,” the Emperor says. “She loves you. But she doesn’t need you to keep making her smaller.”

That strikes like a punch.

Mark flinches. His fists flex, but he doesn’t swing again. He doesn’t have to. That one landed clean.

“I’m not trying to make her smaller,” Mark mutters. “I just want her safe.”

“And what is she when she’s safe?” the Emperor asks. “What does she become when she’s protected instead of trusted?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

Because he’s thinking of all the times he’s pulled you back. Not out of fear. Out of instinct. When you went too close to losing yourself in a battle. When your eyes started shining that too-bright, too-wild hue. When you yelled and the walls shook and he stroked your shoulder like that would be enough to bring you back.

And maybe it was. Maybe it did.

But maybe it also stopped anything from unlocking.

The Emperor walks forward. Not threatening. Just near.

“She needs to know she can survive without you. That she can own this power, not just use it when the GDA says go.”

Mark grinds his teeth. “And what if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” the Emperor replies. “She has to.”

Mark laughs, bitter and silent. “You don’t even know her.”

“I was you,” the Emperor adds, eyes keen. “I knew her better than anyone.”

Mark turns away again, but not to go. He gaze out at the city. At the glass and gold and steel trying to be serenity.

“She doesn’t even know where I am,” he says.

“She’ll feel it,” the Emperor answers. “If she’s anything like mine, she’ll feel that shift. That silence. She’ll sense you absent like a limb.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me?”

“No,” the Emperor says. “It’s supposed to remind you that she’s going to survive it. She’s going to grieve you. And then she’s going to rise.”

Mark’s shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t talk for a long time.

Then, ultimately, voice calm but firm. “I want her to be strong. I do. But not alone.”

The Emperor exhales, and for the first time, it’s wobbly. “So did I.”

They stand there a little longer. Two variations of the same man. One younger, angrier, still grieving from the loss he hasn't had to live through yet.

And the other, older, bigger, slower, standing among the rubble of a dream he sought to save by making it into a monument.

Mark shuts his eyes.

And somewhere, across the multiverse, he hopes to God you can feel it.

That he’s still battling his way back to you.

Even if you need to stand without him now.

The breeze changes across the plaza, brushing over the smooth glass streets like breath through a tomb. Mark’s still standing there, arms folded, jaw tense, peering out at a world he doesn’t know yet nonetheless helped make.

He hasn’t spoken anything in minutes.

The stillness is becoming thicker.

The Emperor doesn’t fill it right away. He waits, like he’s used to waiting. Like quiet doesn’t bother him anymore. Like he’s lived long enough that patience becomes muscle memory.

When he eventually speaks, it’s low. Measured.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Mark doesn’t look at him. “You’d have to.”

“You think this place is wrong. That it’s too clean. Too cold.”

Mark shrugs one shoulder. “Am I wrong?”

The Emperor doesn’t answer right away. His voice doesn’t sharpen, doesn’t defend. Just softens, like someone easing a door open that doesn’t want to squeak.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not at first. When we won, when the last of the old Viltrumites fell, I thought we’d burn it all. Start from scratch. Let the galaxy rebuild without us.”

Mark glances at him. “What stopped you?”

The Emperor’s eyes flick to the statue.

“She did.”

“She made me see the value in it,” he continues. “Not the conquest. Not the blood. But the structure. The possibility. Viltrum was made on order. Discipline. Unyielding intent. All of it twisted, sure. But what if you could peel the rot and maintain the foundation?”

Mark snorts. “What, authoritarianism with a fresh coat of paint?”

“No,” the Emperor responds quietly. “Stability. Without shackles. Power with restraint. We retained the architecture. The training. The interstellar paths. But the empire? That’s gone.”

“Doesn’t look gone to me,” Mark mutters, motioning to the metropolis surrounding them.

The Emperor raises his chin, eyes steady. “Because we’re using what worked.”

Mark lifts an eyebrow. “And what didn’t?”

“Gone,” he says. “Forced breeding. Blood trials. Forced conquest. The fixation with power. All of it.”

Mark huffs. “That easy, huh?”

“No. God, no,” the Emperor says, and for once, the mask cracks, just slightly. “It nearly broke us. There were rebellions. From within and without. But I made a choice. She made me pick. If we were going to construct something worth retaining, it had to be earned.”

Mark eventually turns completely toward him. “So what is this, then? A democracy with extra biceps?”

The Emperor huffs something like a chuckle. “It’s a hybrid. Think of it as... a steward system. Viltrumite power, human adaptability. Worlds rule themselves. We safeguard the building. Enforce laws that preserve peace amongst systems. No more occupation. No more forced integration.”

Mark crosses his arms. “And people actually... go along with that?”

“They do now,” the Emperor adds. “Because when they call, we show up. We stop conquests. We redirect resources. We keep kids fed. We stop wars before they start.”

Mark’s silent for a second.

“You sound like Cecil.”

“No,” the Emperor says. “I sound like someone who learned to do the job better than him.”

Mark’s eyes narrow. “And you think this is the answer? Taking Viltrumite beliefs and developing a better body around it?”

The Emperor nods slowly. “It was either that... or let it all burn and hope something stronger rose from the ashes. But I’ve seen too many ashes. This…” he gestures around, “is something I can manage. Something she believed in.”

Mark peers at the sky. Twin suns overhead. No clouds. No dirt. No randomness.

Just order.

“Yeah,” he says. “But do you like it?”

The Emperor blinks.

Mark turns to him again, sharper now. “Do you like living here? You talk about how this world works, how it keeps everyone fed and safe but do you feel anything when you walk through it? Do you breathe easier? Laugh harder? Sleep better at night?”

The Emperor doesn’t talk.

He simply seems... weary.

“She died for this,” the older man replies finally. “And if I can keep it standing, if I can make it worth the cost, then maybe it wasn’t for nothing.”

Mark’s voice is low. “You didn’t answer the question.”

The Emperor’s gaze dips to the street. His shoulders rise slightly with a breath.

“No,” he says. “I don’t like it. But I need it.”

Mark exhales gently.

And for a minute, he doesn’t say anything.

Because he’s starting to notice it now, the cracks underneath the shine. The way the Emperor doesn’t look at anybody else. The way his voice lowers every time he mentions your name. The way this immaculate city doesn’t feel like hope.

It feels like a promise.

One created out of pain and kept together by remorse.

Mark steps ahead again, slower now.

Behind him, the Emperor’s voice follows soft, but sure.

“She didn’t die to make me a god. She died to make me better.”

Mark shuts his eyes.

And then, so quietly he nearly doesn’t hear himself.

“I’m not gonna let that happen to her.”

The Emperor doesn’t stop him.

He just lets him go.

The city descends downward into a garden sector, though garden feels like the wrong term for it.

Mark continues the trail on autopilot, not even knowing why he’s still going. There’s no dirt here. No grass stains. Just symmetrical areas of manufactured flora and clear water streams running through mathematically flawless pathways. Every tree is pruned to a standard height. Every flower blooms exactly the same hue of crimson.

It’s lovely.

It’s smothering.

He stops walking when he hears it.

Footsteps. Light ones. Fast. Like someone running, really running, with no thought for etiquette or symmetry or planned stillness.

A little body barrels around the corner, a whirl of rich navy and light gold.

Mark flinches, reflexively seeking to stabilize whoever’s charging him.

Then the child pauses. Just short of crashing with him.

A boy.

Maybe six. Seven tops. Not tall for his age but wiry, strong-looking, eyes sharp as a sword. He’s breathing hard from racing, sweat slicked around his forehead. And when he peers up at Mark, it’s not perplexity in his expression.

It’s recognition.

Like he knows precisely who he’s staring at.

“…Dad?” the child asks, voice thin.

Mark’s heart skips a beat.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to move.

Because the youngster is gazing up at him like he’s destined to be here. Like this version of him, the younger, leaner, scruffier Mark, isn’t out of place at all.

But he is.

He’s not the father of this boy.

He shouldn’t be here.

And before Mark can say anything, another voice cuts through the space between them deeper, firmer.

“Hey. Easy.”

The boy turns.

The Emperor arrives from the opposite side of the garden, his armor glinting in the sunshine, yet the weight behind his eyes lightened just a touch. His steps are even. Unhurried.

Mark’s still frozen.

The Emperor walks by him and softly rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“This isn’t him,” he replies, gently. “Not me. Not yours. But he’s… someone close.”

The child stares back at Mark. Blinks. His shoulders twitch like he wants to ask more, but doesn’t. There’s constraint in him. A lot for someone so young. Too much.

Mark finally finds his voice.

“You have a kid,” he adds, dumbly.

The Emperor only nods.

There’s no pride in it. No smugness. No sorrow, either. Just truth.

Mark’s voice hardens. “She was the mother, wasn’t she.”

Another nod.

Mark glances aside, eyes blazing. He doesn’t weep. He doesn’t. But something about seeing that boy, that little boy with eyes like his and a trace of your smile, it’s too much.

He laughs, once. But it’s not humorous. It’s hollow. “So what, you raised him alone?”

“Yes.”

“How long has it been?”

The Emperor hesitates. “Six years since she died.”

Mark turns aside, running a palm down his face.

“Jesus.”

The boy is still observing him.

And Mark can’t stop glancing at him now either. Not really. The likeness is remarkable. Not flawless, not a copy but real. Something that makes his chest throb in areas he didn’t even realize were tender.

“You named him after anyone?” he says suddenly.

The Emperor glances down. “No.”

Mark lifts an eyebrow. “No legacy name? No callback?”

“She didn’t want that. She said he should be his own person.”

Mark swallows.

God, he can hear you saying that.

“I wasn’t ready,” the Emperor admits after a pause. “I thought building this world would be enough. But it wasn’t. And when I held him, I thought I’d lose it. Because she didn’t get to see him grow. She didn’t get to name him. She didn’t get any of it.”

Mark’s hands tighten.

“I should’ve died in her place,” the Emperor adds.

Mark says nothing.

Not because he disagrees.

Because he knows the emotion.

The small child stares between them like he understands more than he should. But he doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t say anything. He simply softly reaches out and takes his father’s hand.

And for the first time, Mark watches the Emperor actually fail.

Not with words. With his eyes.

They sink down, away from the sun. Away from everything.

“His name’s Cael,” the Emperor adds at last. “She liked it. Said it meant sky.”

Mark breaths in slow.

And lets it rest in his lungs, heavy.

Then, eventually, he kneels down. Meets the boy’s gaze.

“You’re lucky,” he says. “To have had her. Even for a short while.”

Cael nods. Quietly. “I miss her. But I don’t cry anymore.”

Mark nearly smiles. “That’s okay. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know,” the child says. “But Dad doesn’t cry either.”

Mark glances up.

The Emperor doesn’t meet his eyes.

He stands again.

Mark feels exhausted.

And so damned ready to go back to you.

Mark watches the child gazing up at him, unblinking.

Small hands at his sides, chest still rising quickly from running, but his eyes don’t waver. Not afraid. Not quite curious in the way most youngsters are. There’s something sharper behind them, something knowing. Like he’s trying to read him.

And Mark?

Mark’s simply trying not to stress out.

“Cael,” the Emperor murmurs quietly. “You remember what I told you about the multiverse?”

The boy nods. “You said there’s other worlds. With other versions of us.”

“That’s right.”

The Emperor motions at Mark. “This is one of them.”

Cael tilts his head. “You look like Dad. But you walk like me.”

Mark blinks. “Like… you?”

Cael shrugs. “You don’t walk like a king.”

Mark chokes on a laugh.

The Emperor doesn’t respond, but there’s the smallest quiver at the corner of his mouth. Just a flicker. Gone as soon as it arrived.

Mark crouches, elbows on his knees, trying not to loom over the boy. “Well. I’m obviously not a king.”

Cael narrows his gaze. “You’re… skinnier.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

“But your hair’s better,” Cael says after a second, like it’s vital to be fair.

Mark’s lips twitches. “Yeah, I’ve been trying a new thing where I don’t slick it back like a space senator.”

“I heard that,” the Emperor adds, utterly deadpan.

Cael laughs. It’s light, unfiltered. The first actual sound of life Mark’s heard since arrival in this too-clean world.

It smacks him straight in the chest.

“You always this observant?” Mark asks him.

Cael shrugs. “Dad says I’m nosy.”

“I said curious,” the Emperor corrects softly.

“Same thing,” Cael responds, brushing it aside. Then, asks Mark, “What’s your world like?”

The question shouldn’t make Mark pause.

But it does.

Because the pictures that come pouring back aren’t easy ones. Cities still shattered by conquest. The GDA throws everything it has at damage control. Cecil lying too much. Rex shouting too loud. His mom sobbing too much.

You, with blood on your face and your hands shaking after a fight. Holding his shirt so tight like it was the only thing holding you rooted.

Mark swallows.

“It’s... a mess,” he admits finally. “But it’s real.”

Cael nods, like that makes sense. “Do you have her?”

The words hit like a blow to the stomach.

“Yeah,” Mark breathes. “Yeah, I do.”

“She make you crazy too?” Cael smiles.

Mark huffs out a hearty chuckle. “All the time.”

Cael smiles wide this time. A gap where one of his front teeth must’ve fallen out not long ago. He’s only a child. A sharp one, definitely. But a child.

Mark stares back at the Emperor.

“You raise him alone all this time?”

The elder man nods once. “No one else I’d trust. And no one else he’d let close.”

Mark lets out a slow breath. “Damn.”

The Emperor observes him intently. “I tried to make it enough. But there’s a difference between keeping someone alive and helping them live.”

Cael doesn’t say anything. But he shifts closer to Mark. Just a bit. Like gravity’s drawing him there.

Mark doesn’t move.

“I missed you once,” Cael adds quietly. “Last year. I had a dream you came back. Not you-you. Him-you. But you were younger. Like now.”

Mark’s throat tightens.

“And you said I was strong,” the child says. “Even without her.”

Mark doesn’t trust himself to talk.

Not with that aching growing below his ribs. Not with that small face staring up at him like he’s already someone that counts.

“I’m sorry she’s not here,” Mark replies finally. Quiet. Honest. “I’m sorry you had to grow up missing her.”

Cael shrugs. “Dad shows me videos sometimes. And I remember her smell. Not the way she talked, but... the way it felt when she touched my head.”

Mark stares down. “Yeah. That sounds like her.”

“She used to press her forehead to mine,” Cael says, suddenly melancholy. “Said it was how she knew what I was dreaming.”

Mark grins.

“You ever lie to her about your dreams?” he says.

Cael grins again. “All the time.”

Mark chuckles. “Me too.”

The garden goes still again.

Not the deep quiet from before. This one’s quieter. Warmer, somehow.

The Emperor eventually speaks. “He’s stronger than me. Than you. She made sure of that.”

Mark stares at him, and there’s no envy in the expression. Just... understanding.

“I believe it,” Mark says.

Cael frowns slightly. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Mark’s silent for a second. Then he nods. “Eventually. I’ve got someone waiting for me. She probably thinks I’m dead. I need to hurry back before she makes it true.”

Cael’s smile fades. He nods, almost grown-up in the way he analyzes it.

Mark stares at him.

The Emperor watches his son, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

Then, to Mark. “He reminds me of her more every day.”

Mark grins slightly. “She’d be proud.”

“She wouldn’t want this,” the Emperor adds gently. “The city. The marble. The war monuments. She’d want-”

He cuts himself off.

Mark finishes it. “a kid with dirty hands and skinned knees and too many questions.”

They’re silent again.

Mark glances at Cael. “You ever go flying?”

The boy’s eyes light up. “Not far. Dad thinks I’m not old enough to break orbit alone.”

Mark smirks. “Wanna cheat a little?”

Cael stares at his dad.

The Emperor offers the tiniest nod.

And suddenly the youngster turns, beaming broadly, and takes Mark’s hand.

And for a second, for just a breath of a second, it doesn’t matter whose version of him this is. Doesn’t matter how hefty the crown is or how clean the city’s been washed.

It’s just Mark, carrying a fragment of something that should’ve never been left behind.

The boy’s hand is small in Mark’s. Not weak, but rather something strong in his hold. Something certain. As young as he is, Cael already understands how to ground himself even now. Already understands how to remain stable in the sort of environment that robs individuals like him time to be children.

Mark’s heart is still beating. Not steady, but slower now. Not exactly. Though the adrenaline is dissipating, something else is growing under his skin.

Something calm.

Something frightening.

He lifts off the ground gently, allowing the child acclimate to the difference in gravity. Cael clutches on tighter, laughing as they fly higher above the perfect garden sector, spotless streets and peaceful symmetry dwindling beneath them.

“You ever gone this high?” Mark inquires.

Cael shakes his head, hair blowing in the breeze. “Dad doesn’t like when I go too fast.”

Mark smirks. “I’m not your dad.”

“I know.”

The child grins like he’s just gotten away with something major.

And Mark feels it strike all at once, that moment. That aching. Because this is the kid you never got to raise. The life he never got to see you hold. And he’s here. Living. Breathing. Half of you. Half of him.

He should loathe this.

But he can’t.

Because the kid is yours.

And suddenly, without wanting to, without even comprehending why, Mark’s mind starts calculating.

“How old are you?” he asks.

Cael glances sideways at him. “Six and a half.”

Mark blinks.

His stomach twists.

Six and a half.

He glances down at the Emperor, still observing from the ground, arms crossed carelessly, no emotion on his face.

Mark lands.

He’s isn’t aware he’s doing it at first.

He’s simply standing there, gazing at the kid, his kid, who’s still grasping a silly little rock like it’s treasure.

And suddenly the numbers start lining up in his thoughts. Quietly. One after another.

Cael is six and a half.

The Emperor stated it happened soon after the war.

Which means…

“Oh, no,” Mark exclaims out loud. He blinks. “Oh, no.”

He takes a step back, like that might undo it.

The Emperor doesn’t say anything. He’s simply watching.

Mark’s hands fly up. “Hold on. Wait. Wait. That means, six years, plus, like… if she was already a few days along...”

He gaze down at the youngster again.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Cael asks, absolutely unconcerned.

Mark points at him. “You’re alive.”

Cael frowns. “I know?”

“No, I mean, you’re already alive. Like, your whole deal…” Mark flaps one hand wildly in the kid’s general direction “has already started back home. I just-”

He stops talking.

He remembers.

His brain goes there immediately.

That night.

Debbie’s house. His childhood room. The silence. The way you crawled into bed with him like the world had finally stopped spinning for two seconds. Your naked shoulder on his chest.

He’d kissed you. Slowly.

He recalls the exact moment, because for the first time in forever, neither of you were bleeding. You were simply together.

And that’s when it happened.

“Oh shit,” Mark exclaims.

He turns to the Emperor. “Are you serious?!”

The Emperor only nods.

Mark grips the back of his head with both hands. “She’s pregnant. Right now.”

“About a week in, if the timelines are similar,” the Emperor responds.

Mark glances at him like he just said water isn’t wet. “Dude. I’m twenty. I’ve had a savings account for, like, three months. I don’t even know how to fold a sheet.”

The Emperor shrugs. “You learn.”

“You learn?!”

Mark’s voice cracks.

“You just, what? Figure it out after you accidentally create a whole person?!”

“Yes.”

Mark paces a few steps away, then back. His mouth opens, then shuts. Opens again.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “I was worried about buying her coffee too many times in one week. I thought that made me clingy. And now she’s carrying a human being and I’m not even in the same dimension.”

Cael’s still watching. Calm. Like this is a completely natural reaction.

Mark turns to him. “Do you know how completely insane this is?”

Cael shrugs. “Not really. I’m six.”

Mark blinks. “Right. Okay. Great.”

He stares at the Emperor again. “Does she know? Back in my world?”

The Emperor’s face darkens somewhat. “Not yet.”

Mark moans. “She’s gonna lose it.”

“She’ll handle it.”

Mark snaps, “You keep saying that like it’s comforting, and it’s not!”

The Emperor doesn’t answer.

Mark presses his hands to his face and communicates through his palms. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a dad. I still eat gas station sandwiches because I forget to buy groceries.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Emperor says. “He’s coming anyway.”

Mark peeks at Cael through his fingers.

The kid’s crouched down, sticking a stick into a tiny stream that flows through the garden. Innocent. Focused. Ridiculously cool for someone who just met a different version of his dad from six years ago.

Mark drops his hands. “How the hell is he this calm?”

“He’s like his mother.”

Mark swallows hard.

“Did she ever get to hold him?” he wonders. His voice is silent now. No more sarcasm. Just that cracked thing in his chest that’s beginning to feel more the longer he stays here.

The Emperor hesitates. “No.”

Mark shuts his eyes. The air changes. Feels heavier.

“She found out in the medbay,” the Emperor replies. “She smiled. Said she was glad. And then she…” He stops. Looks down. “She was gone two days later.”

Mark takes in a breath through his teeth.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he adds.

The Emperor doesn’t argue.

“I won’t,” Mark says again. “I don’t care what Angstrom’s doing. I don’t care what fracture I’m stuck in. I’m getting back. I’m going be there when she finds out. And I’m gonna sort this out like a goddamn grownup, even if I suck at it.”

He points at Cael. “Because that kid? He deserves more than a statue. He deserves to know her.”

The Emperor finally meets his gaze. “Then go home.”

“Working on it,” Mark mutters.

There’s a pause.

Then Cael goes back over, stick still in hand, like he’s thinking about presenting it as a second gift.

Mark kneels again. Slower this time.

“Hey,” he says. “You know what I was doing six years ago?”

Cael shakes his head.

“Crying in the shower because I couldn’t pass physics. You believe that?”

Cael shrugs. “I don’t know what physics is.”

Mark laughs. It’s feeble, but real.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Cael holds out the stick. “You can have this too.”

Mark takes it earnestly. “Wow. Two-for-two. You’re gonna be a good gift-giver one day.”

“I know,” Cael responds.

Mark tucks the stick behind his ear. Because why not. He’s already unraveling in front of his future kid, might as well lean in.

Then he stands.

Looks to the Emperor.

“I mean it. I’m getting out. If you have any type of signal, anything, tell her I’m okay.”

“I already did,” the Emperor says. “You’ll feel it. When the occasion comes.”

Mark nods.

Then, after a second. “Hey.”

The Emperor glances up.

“Thanks for not being a huge asshole,” Mark says. “I honestly expected... worse.”

“You were worse,” the Emperor adds, dry.

Mark lifts an eyebrow. “Okay. Rude.”

He turns, tugging lightly on Cael’s sleeve.

“Come on,” he says. “You said you wanted to fly again, right?”

Cael smiles. “Only if we go fast.”

Mark smirks. “Fast is all I’ve got, kid.”

And with that, he launches off into the sky, not to run, but to move. To remember what it feels like to have momentum. To chase something again.

Because this time, he knows exactly what he’s coming home to.

And who’s already waiting.

Mark hovers just a few feet from the ground, Cael balanced delicately in his arms. The child is light. Like you. fast to chuckle, fast to go silent again. Hair ruffled by wind, arms out like wings as they circle the garden section in slow, deliberate circles.

But Mark’s not actually flying.

Not the way he typically would be. Not fast. Not reckless.

He’s stalling.

Because the second he lands down again, the second his boots strike the earth and the trip stops, the quiet will be waiting.

The quiet of not knowing how to get back.

Cael is grinning. “You’re better at landing than Dad.”

Mark snorts. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“He already knows.”

Mark eases them to the ground. The boy hops down with a small grunt and immediately starts collecting up stones like souvenirs.

Mark doesn’t move. He stands there, arms crossed now, peering up at the sky.

Twin suns. No clouds.

No answers.

The Emperor’s voice penetrates the silence behind him. Calm. Controlled.

“You feel it yet?”

Mark doesn’t turn around. “What?”

“The shift. The tether. Anything pulling.”

“No.” Mark’s jaw tightens. “Not yet.”

The Emperor walks closer. Not too near. But enough.

“I didn’t think you would.”

Mark grinds his teeth. “So what, I’m just stuck here? Floating about your lovely future until Angstrom chooses to rip another hole?”

“Yes.”

Mark exhales sharply through his nostrils. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The Emperor is calm.

Mark turns around to face him. “You’re telling me I’m supposed to just hang out here? Knowing she’s back there thinking I abandoned her? While she’s carrying our-” He cuts off. Hands on his hips. Voice falling. “While she’s pregnant, and I’m just, not there.”

“You’re not gone,” the Emperor responds.

“She doesn’t know that.”

“She will.”

Mark’s eyes flare. “You said that already.”

“It’s still true.”

Mark turns away again. Hands sliding down his face.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters. “I can’t just wait.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Mark whips back around, voice fierce. “I always have a choice. I’ve fought Viltrumites, fought my dad, flung myself into buildings. And now I’m just meant to sit still?”

The Emperor’s tone doesn’t shift. “Yes.”

Mark paces. Like the action might keep him sane. “I should’ve known. I felt something that night. Not only with her. I didn’t even think about it at the moment, but she looked at me like…”

He trails off.

Like you’d already chosen. Like some part of you had given in, completely.

He pushes the heel of his hand to his temple.

“I should be with her.”

The Emperor nods. “You will be.”

Mark’s voice cracks, finally. “When?”

Silence.

Cael glances up from his pebble pile. “You’re loud,” he remarks, not unkindly.

Mark lets out a breath that’s half a chuckle and half just breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “I get that a lot.”

He crouches again, elbow resting on one knee, without actually looking at anything.

“I should be home,” he replies gently. “I should be next to her when she starts feeling sick in the morning. I should be there to stress about names. I should be in the room when she finds out and thinks, ‘shit, what now?’”

He pauses.

“Not here. Not like this.”

The Emperor stands still. Watching him. He doesn’t bring comfort. Doesn’t lie. He just lets Mark say it.

Cael moves closer, silently slipping another pebble into Mark’s fingers.

“I miss her too,” he replies gently. “Even though I don’t remember her all the way.”

Mark seals his palm around the rock without looking. His throat’s too tight.

“I bet she would’ve made breakfast bad,” Cael says. “Like... burned toast. But with the nice type of butter.”

Mark grins a little. “Yeah. She probably would’ve.”

The Emperor moves closer, voice quieter now.

“I waited too long to tell her. About the baby. About how afraid I was. I kept hoping there’d be more time. That after the war, after the next mission, after we rebuilt…”

He doesn’t finish.

Mark stares up at him, jaw gritted.

“I’m not gonna wait,” he says. “The second I feel that pull, I’m gone.”

“I know.”

“You’d better not try to stop me.”

“I won’t.”

Mark stands.

He feels taller now. Not older. Not stronger.

Just... heavier.

Everything in him is pushing for something he can’t attain yet.

But he will.

Because you’re still there.

And this time, he won’t be late.

The sun’s still hanging in the sky as they leave the garden.

Mark didn’t think he’d go with them, back to that vast, dazzling, impossible palace on the hill. He imagined he’d break off, fly somewhere alone, scream into a mountain or smash a tree till his hands bled or whatever. That’s more his style.

But instead, he walks.

Cael goes between them, a stick in one hand, the other still gripping a pebble like he hasn’t decided which is more important yet. Probably won’t for a while. Maybe he never will.

The palace looms ahead of them. It’s clean. Like everything else here. Too symmetrical. Too polished. Big columns, lengthy halls, subtle glows of energy illuminating the path. The walls vibrate slightly like everything’s alive, like even the building understands how to be silent.

Mark doesn’t talk for a time. He just walks.

Eventually, the youngster breaks off to rush ahead, vanishing down a hallway, his laughter booming behind him.

And Mark’s alone again.

Well, alone with himself.

The Emperor guides him to a lengthy corridor on the higher floor. A room with no guards, no cameras. Just a vista. A huge, open window that spreads golden light across the floor. The stars are starting to peak over the horizon.

“You built this,” Mark adds after a time. “The whole thing.”

The Emperor nods. “With her. At first.”

Mark lets out a breath and collapses onto one of the long couches near the window. It’s soft. Expensive. Looks like something he’d be too afraid to sit on at a relative’s house.

He slouches anyhow.

The Emperor stays standing.

Mark talks without glancing at him. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Silence.

“What makes you say that?”

Mark scoffs. “You serious?”

He motions vaguely toward the horizon. “I’m twenty. I’m from a planet that’s barely keeping it together. Half my friends are traumatized. The GDA lies for a living. My mom is just barely healing from my dad being a walking betrayal. And now…now, my girlfriend’s pregnant. Probably afraid. Probably sick. Probably waiting for me to come home. And I’m not there.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not ready to be a dad. I don’t even know if she’s going to want to keep it. And the idea that she could go through any of it alone makes me want to set the entire world on fire.”

The Emperor nods slowly. “I felt that too.”

Mark snorts. “Good to know that doesn’t go away.”

“It doesn’t. But it changes.”

Mark glances up. “Yeah?”

“You stop thinking about whether you’re ready. You start thinking about how you show up anyway.”

Mark shakes his head. “I don’t even know if she’s gonna tell me. I mean, she will. I think. Probably. She tells me everything. But this? That’s huge. And I’m not there to help her decide what it means.”

The Emperor moves to the far end of the chamber. He leans on the edge of the window frame, observing the stars.

“You’ll be there for what matters. If you keep pushing.”

Mark leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m scared, man. I’ve fought monsters the size of buildings. I’ve been thrown into orbit. I’ve nearly died a dozen times. But this, her, this kid, this is the thing that actually makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

“You think she’s not scared?”

Mark nods. “I know she is.”

“Good. Then you’re on the same page.”

Mark huffs out a faint chuckle.

There’s a beat of quiet. Not cold. Just the type that comes with someone who’s already lived what you’re attempting to name.

Mark rubs his eyes. “How’d you do it? After she died?”

The Emperor doesn't answer immediately away.

“I didn't," he says finally. “Not for a while.”

Mark waits.

“I went through the motions. Built this place. Raised our son. Made peace with the other systems. Pretended I was the type of man she imagined I could be.”

“Pretended,” Mark repeats.

The Emperor nods. “Until one day, I wasn’t pretending anymore.”

“And the kid?”

“Saved me. Even when I didn’t realize I needed it.”

Mark lets that rest for a minute.

“I don’t want to be like you,” he adds.

“I know.”

“I don’t mean that as an insult.”

“It isn’t.”

Mark sighs. “I just… I want her to know she’s not alone. That she doesn’t have to be strong all the time. That I’ll carry it with her. Whatever she chooses. Even if she’s scared. Even if she doesn’t know yet.”

The Emperor turns to him.

“Then tell her,” he says. “Even from here. Think it. Say it. Say it now. She might not hear it the way you want. But she’ll feel it.”

Mark swallows. “You believe that?”

“I’ve lived it.”

Mark settles back against the couch. The couches slump around him.

He gaze up at the ceiling, the soothing blue lights shimmering overhead. And he shuts his eyes.

He pictures you. Right now.

Maybe you’re sitting on your bed. Legs curled beneath you, a palm resting absently on your stomach, not knowing why you’re so exhausted. Maybe you’re brushing your teeth, pausing to scowl at the sickness rising in your throat. Maybe you’re simply lying there, looking at the ceiling, wondering why the silence feels wrong.

Mark thinks it. Says it beneath his breath.

‘I didn’t leave you.’

‘I didn’t walk away.’

‘I’m coming home.’

Somehow. Some way. He’ll get back to you.

And when he does?

He’ll be better than he was.

Not ready.

But there.

The palace is silent, but for the faint hum of electricity pouring through the walls.

Mark’s sitting on one of the large, luxurious couches, his legs extended out in front of him, hands dangling at his sides. He’s too exhausted to stand, too tired to do anything other than ponder. It’s not that he’s lazy, he’s simply worn out by the sheer weight of everything, knowing that you’re pregnant, the fact that he’s stuck here, and the fact that he’s still not really sure how to feel about any of it.

The Emperor stands across the room, arms clasped behind his back, calm as always.

Mark doesn’t look at him.

He can’t.

The silence between them lingers for longer than it really should. And Mark isn’t sure if it’s the stillness or the sheer weight of everything falling down on him, but he eventually breaks it.

“So, uh, you said Oliver’s here.”

“Yes.”

Mark massages his temples, the tiredness starting to crawl into his bones. “Yeah, I- I figured that out. What I mean is... What’s he like? I know you’ve been parenting him.”

The Emperor doesn’t flinch. He’s already anticipating this.

“He’s not a child anymore.”

Mark’s heart skips a beat.

“What do you mean?” he says, rising up, his voice shaking. “What does that even mean? I-I left him behind when he was still a kid. He’s what, five? Six?”

“No,” the Emperor says. “He’s fully grown.”

Mark stares at him. “What?”

“He’s around twenty. Physically.”

Mark blinks. He could’ve sworn his heart simply stopped beating. “Wait. What?”

The Emperor’s voice is steady. “He aged quickly due to his Thraxan DNA. It’s the same with all their type. They progress from infancy to adulthood in only a few years.”

Mark glances at him, the perplexity flowing over him like a wave.

“He’s not a kid?” Mark repeats, his voice small. “He’s... what, twenty?”

“Twenty. Nearly twenty-one, if you count the days. He’s physically mature today, but his aging will slow dramatically in the future years. He won’t age at a human rate.”

Mark takes a hesitant step back. “Wait, wait so... you’re telling me...”

“That Oliver reached full maturity before he was even two,” the Emperor finishes. “His accelerated growth is the result of his Thraxan genetics.”

Mark runs a hand through his hair, glancing down at the floor. His thoughts are running quicker than he can keep up with them.

“Two years,” he mutters beneath his breath. “Two years... and he’s already grown up.”

The Emperor nods, his countenance opaque. “Yes. He’s not the kid you remember.”

Mark exhales, a dry laugh leaving him. “God. That’s absurd. Back home, he’s hardly walking. He’s still stumbling over his own shoes.”

“I thought I’d have time,” Mark continues, his voice low. “Time to figure out how to be a brother. Time to... be there. To teach him stuff. To be there.”

The Emperor glances at him, his words soft. “You will be. When you go back.”

Mark looks over his shoulder, catching the Emperor’s gaze. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re his brother. And that’s a relationship that doesn’t go away.”

Mark lets the words settle.

His brother. The child he used to hold on his shoulders. The one who couldn’t speak a word without laughing.

Now, here he’s a full-grown man. And Mark hasn’t seen him since he was barely able to walk.

“I don’t know if I’ll get back in time,” Mark adds, his voice softer now. “I don’t know how I can be there for him... for Cael... for her... if I don’t even know how to get home.”

“You will,” the Emperor responds, steady. “Because when the time comes, you’ll know. You won’t have a choice. It’ll be too strong to ignore.”

He’ll have to catch up. Somehow.

He has to.

Because for everything this world possesses, for all it took from him, Oliver is still his brother.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

?

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

[yoonieper]

For the Birds— Part 5 | JJK

I want you to stay even though you don’t want me.

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri) 

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff!, this chapter is pretty much pWITHp (can be read alone)~

♡ Rated: T for Tension

♡ Series Warnings: Lots of smut (not always healthy), cheating, discussions of depression, this series includes Jk in a pretty toxic environment, degradation (not the sexy kind), manipulation, and overall Jk being in an emotionally abusive situation!

♡ Chapter Warnings: spicyyyy, Jk is a bit of a dick, Y/n stands up for herself, major tension, emotions are flowing, slightly subby Jungkook makes a bit of an appearance, thigh riding (m ;D), masturbation (f), public(ish) sex, hand job, protected sex (be smart friends <3)

♡ Word Count: 17.5k

♡ Summary: As the son of the CEO at Golden Tech, a marriage was arranged in the name of business. Jungkook really tried to make the most of his situation and be the best husband he could be, but no matter how much he tried, his wife just doesn’t seem to want him. Then you… you came into his life and his eyes couldn’t help but wander.

♡ Now Playing: Somebody Else by Maxine Ashley— see masterlist for playlist! 

♡ Beta: Thank you so much to @mellowladyanchor for reading this part for me! If you’re interested in betaing a future part, dm me! If you're interested in becoming a permanent beta for this series please first click here and refer to 'details about the job' section for more details and dm for any questions you might have! Betas get early access to chapters, so if you're free to help out and can't wait for next chapter, consider joining the team!!!

♡ Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay friends! The end of last month was a bit hectic for me and then I got sick delaying me even more :') This might happen a lot more often where the schedule I have on the masterlist might diverge from when I can actually get the chapter out because college has started for me once again, so things in my life might get in the way a little more often of editing and ultimately publishing 😭 Thank you all so much for waiting, your patience, and I hope you all enjoy this different type of chapter :D Anyway, this is The Office Sexcapades Part 1 ;)

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

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After you and Jungkook parted ways, you thought things had finally changed between you two. Maybe not entirely, but you wanted to believe you had turned over a new leaf in your relationship. You thought you had extinguished, or at least simmered, the animosity you felt for each other and something strange but new had started to take its place. You honestly didn’t mind it.

You had left the storage room with a dopey smile plastered on your face and a weird pep in your step as you made your way back to your desk. The man you hated only a month ago had managed to send you to another dimension and you still hadn’t come back yet. You felt high in the best way possible and there was some part of you that didn’t want to leave his side when you both agreed you probably had been gone too long. You even gave him a hug before you left the room, Jungkook mumbling a sweet “thank you” into your hair before you pulled away to leave.

It was all still a bit weird, but you wanted to think that this was all the confirmation you needed that things had truly changed between you two. Was it complicated? Yes, this shift was the result of an affair, which wasn’t a solid foundation whatsoever, but the change in your relationship wasn’t entirely bad. At least you didn’t hate each other anymore. 

However, you were in for a shock when you came into work on Monday.

THUNK

The first thing you were greeted with was Director Son being back (yay!). However, before you could even process his return, he was setting a mountain of paperwork on your desk. The size of the stack was far beyond a reasonable workload. It was so tall, even your coworkers could easily see it through the window of your office without needing to crane their necks over their computer screens. 

After you paid your respects and welcomed Director Son back, you finally asked what the pile of paperwork on your desk was all about because it just had to be a joke or a prank. You were ready for someone to jump out with a phone in hand laughing hysterically at the face you made that was now recorded for everyone to see.

“Beats me, I just got back today. All I know is that it comes straight from Director Jeon,” he had sighed in sympathy. You scanned the faces of the rest of the team who were standing outside your office. No one was stifling a laugh, trying their absolute hardest to make this as believable as possible. Instead, they sent you worried glances and sympathetic looks as they quietly gasped at the outrageous amount of paperwork. 

When Taehyung arrived at the office, he came up to you during the chaos of it all. “Woah? What did you do to piss him off this time?” He chuckled lightly, but you could hear the undertone of concern. 

For a second, you tried to rack your brain to see if you could remember if Jungkook had mentioned he would be sending you a lot of work on Monday, anything he said that could have possibly rationalized this. You came up with nothing. 

The details from Friday had been ingrained into your memory at the highest definition. You were practically still experiencing it first hand— every sight, sound, touch, and taste from that day. The chance of you forgetting him telling you about a workload of this magnitude was next to none. The moments you spent with him especially were vibrant; the clarity was irrefutably against the possibility of it simply having slipped your mind. At no point on Friday had he mentioned anything to you about work, or even sent you a text over the weekend to let you know what you’d find on your desk on Monday. He’d completely blindsided you.

Knowing Jeon Jungkook, there was only one reason he would assign you this much work without warning. Mr. Jeon Jungkook, Head Director Jeon, Director Jeon, or what he had urged you to call him so casually, Jungkook, was pissed off, and there was no doubt in your mind that his anger was directed at you.  

As Taehyung waited for your answer, you had to stop yourself from instantly bursting into tears. It was not just because you knew you would be stuck at the office all night because of how much work you had to do, but also because after everything you shared together, he was suddenly being a dick to you… again?

Why? What could you have possibly done to him to make him hate you again with so much vigor that he would assign you this mountain of paperwork in the middle of the chaos of Q4? Had Friday meant nothing after all? Were you just another hole he used to take out his sexual frustration from his marriage? Had those sad, round, sweet eyes and pleas been nothing but a lure to get you to agree to the affair? In any normal situation, you would have never gone along with it in a billion years. Maybe he had seen right through your guise and did whatever was necessary to get his dick wet. Maybe he was through with you, the allure was gone, the fantasy was broken, and he wanted nothing more than to punish you for your stupidity and believing his silly act. Or maybe it wasn’t so complicated. Maybe it was simply your fault for thinking things had changed between you two. 

You had to resist marching straight to his office to give him a piece of your mind, but you didn’t have the energy, time, or desire to create a scene. Instead, you took a few deep breaths, headed to the bathroom to quickly dry your watery eyes, and marched out ready to tackle the workload.

It took you all night and well into the early morning hours to get everything done. It was tedious, detailed, and you knew Jungkook purposely gave it to you in paper form to make it that much more challenging to complete. In your peripheral vision throughout the night, you saw your coworkers say their goodbyes before leaving for their lives outside the office. You even saw Jungkook himself, normally someone who stayed far beyond a reasonable time, pass by and head down the hall to the elevators before you were even halfway done. 

The office had turned dark and your eyes were strained from staring at your computer screen and the tiny font on the papers for far too long, but you saw him. You heard the sound of his fancy dress shoes clicking against the tile first, and even though you tried not to look up, you noticed him pass by through the window. You heard his pace slow down, probably just wanting to see you and relish in your suffering. You felt his eyes linger on your form, but you didn’t dare make eye contact. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You kept your eyes on your work as his footsteps faded into the distance. You truly felt done with him.

Over the next few days, Jungkook would hardly look at you during the rare occasions you’d be near each other. It wasn’t like you had grown close anyway, but whenever you were in the same room you’d normally make a little small talk to ease the tension. But now Jungkook wouldn’t even spare a glance in your direction. He was avoiding you like the plague, so you did the same.

Also, even though it wasn’t as much as Monday, Jungkook kept choosing to be a dick to you and personally assigned you more work than reasonable every day. You had no time to confront him, but you didn’t want to anyway. For whatever reason, he wanted to be mean and avoid you instead of having some type of adult conversation. You couldn’t deal with people like that. It made it easy to want nothing more than to forget Jeon Jungkook even existed.

Maybe you really had been fooled. Jungkook had played you for the sap you were and manipulated you into sleeping with him. But as angry as you were, you couldn't find yourself able to believe that. Even though you were avoiding him, you still paid close attention anytime you were in the same room. The dark cloud continuously storming over him that you had noticed before raged with even more ferocity, still following him around no matter where he was or who he was with. The blank look behind his eyes grew worse with each day that passed. You were honestly confused how no one else had noticed. 

Things hadn’t changed. If anything, they might have only gotten worse than before. You tried your best to restrain your emotions instead of immediately believing the first theory your mind conjured up. Maybe you just wanted to believe that he hadn’t used you, but you truly wanted to hope there had been more to Jungkook’s vulnerability than just a front he used to get to you.

It took a while, but eventually you settled on the most likely outcome and assumed that he was taking whatever feelings he had about the affair out on you for some reason. You had no idea why you had to suffer for a choice he made twice despite your warnings, but it just proved to you that at the end of the day, he really was a dick. 

Whatever the reason, you really just didn’t want to deal with him anymore. What happened happened. It was in the past, you couldn’t take it back now, and he had to realize that. You didn’t mind pretending nothing happened because right now you just wanted to forget it all—  forget Jeon Jungkook, forget last week, and honestly, fuck him.

•────•──────────•────•

Jungkook was a horrible person. The certainty of that truth became painfully obvious as the days passed. He knew how he was treating you wasn’t right, yet he was still awful to you anyway. He just couldn’t be any more pathetic.

Ironically, Jungkook wasn’t even mad at you. Far from it actually— he wanted you so much that it was the very thought of you that pissed him off far beyond a concerning degree. He made an executive decision that despite what he said to you in his office, he needed to listen to his conscience and stop the affair before things got worse. How was he ever going to make things right with Yuri if he was sleeping with you? It didn’t make any sense and he knew that. He knew he needed to end this here and now. After you left, Jungkook had sat in the darkness of the storage room crying over the thought that he was making things worse for him and Yuri and he was a terrible husband. But despite everything, he still couldn’t bring himself to regret doing it. He was just awful, horrible, and truly pathetic. 

Jungkook was so eager to fix things with Yuri, but when has an affair ever been the answer or led to anything good? How was he ever going to repair their relationship if he was spending his time fucking you on the side? He would just look like the biggest hypocrite of the century. 

Jungkook didn’t hate you per se, but he hated the failure that you represented. It was cruel, he was cruel, after everything you did for him, to repay you with an unreasonable amount of work in an already busy time. It just wasn’t fair to you. You probably hated him now. And he almost wanted that to be true. It was just another way to ensure he would stay away from you and get back to what should be his priority: the marriage he was fucking up.

Jungkook had hoped it would be easy to move on if he kept you away. The stars even aligned to allow him the opportunity to focus on his wife and put the affair in the past. Yuri had come home early one evening when Jungkook had happened to be home as well.  They talked and even shared a meal by candlelight together that their chef had prepared. Sure, things were a little awkward and they only really spoke about work. Anytime Jungkook tried to bring up another topic, Yuri seemed disinterested. However, they did briefly discuss the upcoming annual holiday celebration that their families always held together and shared which of their favorite dishes they were looking forward to having, which was nice.

It was good, though. At the very least, she was tolerating his presence, and that was better than the disdain she usually had in her eyes whenever she looked at him. 

Jungkook went to bed in better spirits than he had been over the past few days. He was able to easily fall asleep, though he would have preferred doing so with Yuri in his arms. He knew not to try it and ruin their good evening. He slept through the night and would have likely missed his alarm if Yuri hadn’t woken him up. His tired eyes strained to see her straddled over his lap. The sun had barely come up, but he could see the look in her eyes as she stared down at him. It made him hot in an instant.

“Touch me.” She had whispered right in his ear. It was a command, one that ignited a flame all too quickly. He felt wanted, maybe even needed, as he hastily flipped her onto her back while he began eating her out. 

He was truly a horrible person. The whole time he pleasured Yuri, all he could think about was you in the storage room. The way you gripped his hair and all the pretty sounds you made with each swipe of his tongue. He missed you…

But Yuri was also so pretty, she always was, and when he finally brought her over the edge, his cock pleaded for her in his shorts. It had been so long, but he knew better than to push it. And he was right as always. The minute he got off her, she went to shower and he left him stuck alone in their room.

He missed the way you pulled him close after you finished. How you reached into his pants, touched him, and pleaded for more. He missed how you felt around him, how you held him in your arms while he cried. He really missed you. Jungkook had to fight every urge in his body to stop himself from reaching into his shorts for relief.

He wanted to be good for Yuri. He had to be. He kept telling himself that, but like the hypocrite he was, he finally went to the store to pick up condoms on his way to work. It wasn’t because he was preparing for when Yuri would let him go all the way, no, they were for you. He put them in one of his drawers in his desk, hidden underneath some papers, but not too out of reach in case of emergency. You probably didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but he got the condoms anyway. 

As much as Jungkook had tried to push you away, he never stopped wanting you. Each time you’d pass each other, which was rare because he made sure to avoid you, you grabbed his attention. He thought his feelings would pass, but as the days went by, they only got more intense. His body ached to have you all over again, and as much as he wanted to tough it out, wait for Yuri, and hopefully put the affair behind him, he was weak. So weak, that despite all of his intentions, he texted you to meet him at the storage room again with the emoji you had both discussed beforehand.

Jungkook [1:32pm]: 📦 3:15

He’d been shy about it. He spent days fighting between his urge to text you and to also resist the temptation and focus on Yuri. Like she always said though, he was weak, and ultimately caved despite his efforts. 

He worried he would come off as needy and desperate, especially because of how he’d treated you, but it wasn’t far from the truth. What if he was texting too soon? What was too soon? You probably hated him, what was he thinking?!

He didn’t think you’d show up. Part of him didn’t want you to, hoping his efforts had paid off and you were done with him. But the other half of him was relieved when he heard your two knocks followed by another two knocks. 

A wave of guilt hit him the minute he opened the door and saw you looked less than pleased to see him. He knew he deserved it. He deserved you never even looking in his direction again, but somehow here you were. You hadn’t deserved any of his anger. Your presence both infuriated him and calmed his spiked nerves. It wasn’t fair to you. He was cruel.

“What?” You barked. You were mad. You had every right to be.

Jungkook felt the tears start welling up in his eyes at his conflicted emotions. He felt bad, despite his resentment of you. He truly felt bad because he knew you didn’t deserve his anger. It was he who begged to have you again despite all his concerns. This situation you both found yourself in now was all his fault. 

“Did you just bring me here to give me more work? I don’t have much time thanks to you.” You were angry, but he could still hear the hurt in your voice. He hurt you. He couldn’t stop hurting anyone who got near him…

Jungkook just stared at you with an almost dazed expression. He seemed out of it, even more so than normal. Maybe any other day you would have actually been concerned, but you didn’t want to see him, not now, or really ever again. You just came because apparently he was finally willing to speak to you again, so you thought it would be the perfect time to end whatever was happening between you two. Not that anything really even had begun in the first place. It should have ended after the first time. It should have never even started. This was a huge mistake that you knew would follow you for the rest of your lifetime.

He didn’t say anything back, just continued to stare at you. You couldn’t see him very well, but you were getting tired of his silence. Part of you thought agreeing to his request to meet would give you some concrete answers as to why he might be upset at you. What could you have possibly done to make him so mad when you hadn’t spoken since the last time you were in this room together? It seemed all he wanted to do was stare at you in confusion, and you really didn’t have time for that.

“Director Jeo— Jungkook, look, I don’t really want to be around you, so if you don’t have anything to say then—” You were ready to turn around, leave, and be done with this situation, done with him, but of course just as you were reaching for the door, you felt a hand on your wrist stopping you in your tracks. 

“Don’t— Don’t you see how hard I’m trying to do that?!” His voice was shaky, but you could still hear the agitation. You finally turned around and at this angle you could see the shininess in his eyes. 

Jungkook suddenly had your back against the wall, his arms by your side, effectively caging you in. However, he maintained enough distance between you two to stop short of being intimidating. If you wanted to, you could easily push past him.

“I’m trying to keep you as far away as possible, but you’re making it so—,” he buried his head in your shoulder, “—so fucking hard.” There was a bite to his words, an edge that told you he really was angry with you. 

Fuck him.

“I want to be a good husband— I want to be good to my wife. I don’t want to betray her any more than I already have, but—” One of his hands came down to settle on your waist. So softly, he was always so gentle. You hated the way your body tingled at his touch. 

“You’re making this so hard—” It felt wrong, but having you in front of him felt right all at the same time. He needed you, painfully so. 

“Look at me.” Your words were harsh as you roughly grabbed his hair and pulled him off of your shoulder. Jungkook was certainly not prepared for your aggression, and how it embarrassingly went straight to his achy length. His cheeks burned as he stared down at you.

“I get you have shit going on, but what you’re not going to do is have the issues in your life interfere with my career. You’re making my life hell, and do you know how that makes me look in front of my team?” You finally released all the pent-up rage you’ve felt through the years working for him and you enjoyed the shocked look on his face as he processed your words. He needed to hear them. 

“And you have the nerve to call me back in here after the bullshit you’ve put me through? You made me think things had changed, but you’re still just as petty as you’ve always been. You’re actually ridiculous.” Your anger was justified, so justified that Jungkook was tempted to just break down and cry. You were right and even worse, it was pathetic how he started to feel the strain of his pants growing tighter at the same time. Just a sad, sad human being.

Your hand then rose, and Jungkook watched as you sadistically toyed with the collar of his shirt before running your fingers down the line of his buttons, playing and pulling them lightly. Your finger finally made it to where he had his shirt tucked into his pants, then to his belt buckle, and then you suddenly cupped his growing bulge.

“Fuck!” He was way too loud, but he truly wasn’t expecting that. Tears immediately fell from his eyes, a chaotic storm of emotions swirled around in his head. He felt guilty, he was also frustrated, but more than anything, he just wanted you to touch him. As embarrassing and shameful as it was, he rocked into your hand, wanting more friction so badly. Your grip tightened, squeezing him so he felt your anger in the most pleasurable sense possible, along with the pain he more than deserved. 

“I’m sorry!” he cried, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Don’t apologize. You know you meant what you did. If you want this to continue, you’re not going to pull that shit and try and act like nothing happened. You’re the one who begged for my help. If you’re done with this, just fucking say it. Got it?” you spat. Gone was the unconditional sweetness you’d shown him until this point despite how horribly he had treated you over the years. He had almost thought it wasn’t possible to make you mad, how it was the only way you tolerated him at all, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He fucked up and he took in every word you spat at him. 

Jungkook hurriedly nodded. 

“As for this…” You squeezed him once again, making Jungkook silently cry out. He wasn’t sure if it was out of pleasure or pain at this point. “If you want to get off so badly, you’re going to have to work for it.” You eventually said, moving your hand away, making Jungkook whine at the loss of contact.  

You then propped your leg up against the wall and pulled him a little closer by his waist so he was gliding right across your thigh. Jungkook moaned at the sensation and pushed you further into the wall. He was embarrassed how easily you riled him up and his cheeks burned at the intimate position. What were you doing?

“Y/n…” he groaned, confused as to what this was, but you were quick to guide him. Your hands returned to his waist and you pulled him forward before pushing him back and bringing him closer again.

Oh.

It was an odd position, but one you quickly figured out he didn’t hate. You wished you could see his expression better, but the darkness didn’t hide everything. With your hands as a guide, you pushed and pulled him in a steady rhythm. His rugged breathing grew more labored and the whines he tried his best to suppress grew more pained and filled with need.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” you chuckled darkly.

“What are you doing— oh!” he hurried out, but was cut off by a groan as you started to speed up the pace a little. 

“Mmm, you know exactly what I’m doing. You loved getting off on my thigh when we were together before. Isn’t this what you wanted after all? Isn’t that the only reason you called me in here?” If you could see his face, you would have seen how badly his cheeks were burning. His eyes were watery all over again at the accusation and the compromising position. 

It was true; it was all true. He didn’t bring you here to apologize. That would be a lie. Even though he knew how wrong it was, he still wasn’t sorry. He needed to push you away, he just had to, because if not—

“Oh!” You sped up the pace just a little more and a moan embarrassingly slipped from his lips at the change. He was so weak. 

“Say it. Why did you ask me to come here?” You had to repeat your question to let him know that it wasn’t rhetorical. You wanted an answer. 

He stumbled like it was a hard question to answer, but he knew the answer exactly. It was just the shame of it all that made it hard to tell you.

“Say it or I’ll leave,” you almost cooed, teasing as you lifted your thigh up a little further, making him cry out. You knew what you were doing. He wanted you so badly, he didn’t want you to go.

“I bought condoms— I have one in my back pocket,” He hurried out even faster— embarrassed, ashamed, and mortified at how it looked. But there was no further elaboration needed. He only brought you here to use them. He was horrible, selfish… the list went on, really.

You chuckled lightly to yourself. “Thank you for being honest, but not today—”

“But—” Jungkook rushed out, and pushed into your thigh a little faster all on his own. He didn’t want you to leave, he really didn’t.

“But nothing. Like I said, if you want anything you’re going to have to get yourself off just like this. You wanted to be mean, so we’re not fucking today and I’m not letting you touch me. This is the most you’re getting, so take it or leave it.” 

The familiar hostility was different with you than it was with Yuri. He’d found himself in this same situation more often than not, but with Yuri, it came with an overwhelming dread that he wasn’t good enough for her. But with you… Maybe he had issues— no, he definitely did— but all he could focus on was that you had given him a way out. You didn’t curse his very existence and tell him to stay as far away from him as possible. You didn’t scream or yell. You were calm and slightly sultry in the way you spoke. You were mad at him, just like Yuri had been, but he didn’t understand why you didn’t scream at him too. You had more than every reason to. Your punishment was cruel, but it was far kinder than what he deserved. 

It didn’t make sense, but in the haze of it all, all he could focus on was his desire to have you. For once, he didn’t want to think. He was always in his head too much these days.

Jungkook didn’t realize you were expecting an answer, but you didn’t need one as he responded by hurrying his pace across your thigh, a light moan falling from his lips as he finally relaxed and let go.

“Please—” he groaned into your shoulder. “I’ll take anything.” It was desperate and sad, more than sad, but he didn’t have the energy anymore to even try and pretend he wasn’t at his wits end. 

Jungkook didn’t see the way that you smiled at his words. Instead, all he felt was the way you gently pulled him off of your shoulder and lightly pressed a kiss on his damp cheek. The affection made him whine, wanting to meet your lips more than anything, to drown in you like he had been thinking of doing ever since you left the storage room last time. But you gave him no such relief as you pulled away and slowly lowered your thigh down.

Jungkook felt like he was seconds away from crying. He had agreed to play your game, so why were you pulling away? It didn’t make any sense, and as soon as you moved away he felt himself start to lose it at the thought of needing to take care of the problem you had caused all on his own. 

However, that wasn’t your plan. Instead, in the darkness, you brought your hand up to gently tuck his hair behind his ears. You wanted to see him better. Even if you were furious with him, he was still such a pretty boy. 

Jungkook wasn’t touched much, that much was obvious, so a gesture so soft went straight down to his pleading cock that was already straining in his pants. He pushed you further into the wall, his hands on your waist eager to feel and touch you. He wanted to fuck you just like this, against the wall, as you stared into each other’s eyes. The sounds he knew you would make, he wanted you—

“Mmmm, don’t get too eager,” you quickly reminded him.

“I’ll be good.” He had to be.

“You better be. Just because I’m letting you do this doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.” Your voice was soft and calm, almost infuriatingly so. 

“Likewise.” His tone was pained, but gritty and challenging, as if you didn’t hold all the power in the situation and could easily walk away whenever you pleased. But he was being honest— he was mad, just maybe not directly at you. But seeing you lit a fire underneath him so hot that just being here with you could melt him in seconds. Nothing about your effect on him had changed or would change. Maybe he’d eventually grow stronger to resist you again like he had over the last few years, but right now he was spiraling and he knew that. Just for a second, he wanted relief. 

You definitely weren’t expecting the attitude, but you had said you didn’t want him to lie. You tried your best to ignore the way your heart reacted knowing without a doubt now that he was mad at you. Did you feel hurt? Pain? Maybe something else entirely?

Whatever it was, you did your best not to show it and the darkness of the storage room offered further aid to conceal your wavering emotions. If he wanted to be like that, so could you.

Instead of responding with something sassy, you grabbed his hand and squinting your way through the darkness, you were able to guide him over to a table— the same table he snatched your soul on nearly a week ago. How things had changed so quickly, or rather, maybe nothing had changed at all. You could just see everything for what it was now.

You hopped up on the table and before Jungkook could question it, you pulled him close so he was nestled between your legs and the distance between you almost disappeared. You lightly ran your hands down his sides, basking in his soft sighs as your hands settled on his waist. 

“And what could I have possibly done to you to make you so upset at me?” you chuckled darkly. You knew the answer, but you just wanted to hear him say it. 

You didn’t hesitate to move him so he was straddled over your thigh. It was ironic really, his words said one thing but he was so quick to submit to you. Jungkook groaned, not even needing your help to get things started as he steadily moved himself across your thigh. 

The darkness didn’t help whatsoever with seeing what you knew would be such a glorious sight, but with the light peeking in from underneath the door, you could still make out the faint outline of his sharp features and his disgruntled expression. Your admiration was interrupted when you suddenly felt his hand lightly cup your cheek and he brought you close to rest his forehead against yours. 

“You exist.” 

You could barely hear him. It was so delicate, hardly over a whisper, but the way his voice wavered made his pain obvious. Deep down, you knew that probably wasn’t a lie or an exaggeration to get under your skin. It was clear he meant what he said, but instead of storming out like you probably should have, a wave of conflicting emotions hit you all at once and kept you in your place. 

It quickly made you remember the very reason you found yourself in this position in the first place. Jungkook wasn’t ok, and whatever he was battling with was eating him up inside and clearly winning. It was awful to watch and you couldn’t imagine what he must be going through. As hurtful as his words sounded, you found you couldn’t pull away from his soft touch. 

You let him kiss you. You had no desire to stop him anyway. He did it so well. His kisses reminded you of a fire— at times a fireplace you would sit and enjoy with a good book, and other times it was ash, the aftermath of a warzone when all that was left was destruction. This time, however, the fire was a blazing fury of passion, still burning brightly, but the aftermath seemed inevitable. While it was clear he wasn’t nearly as mad at you as you were at him, you could feel the anger he kept subdued in the way he hurriedly pulled you close. If the situation had been different, you would have thought it was a little hot. 

You finally snapped yourself out of your daze and pulled away. 

“What did I say about touching?” you reminded him, and it was almost startling how quickly he dropped his hand.

“Sorry— I’ll be good—” he mumbled as his attention turned from your face down to where your bodies met. Jungkook’s face burned. As much as his body was pleading for more, he couldn’t deny he somewhat enjoyed this punishment. The position was a little embarrassing, but as your hands started pulling and pushing him, he couldn’t say he hated the way you were handling him. It reminded him of the times that Yuri would sit in his lap and pin him down. A punishment that only made the ache worse in every possible way. Just the thought of it made Jungkook chase a little faster into the feeling of it all and pull you a little closer.

“Oh— fuck.” Jungkook practically whined at the quickening pace. The friction was good and he really didn’t need much of it to get off. Yuri had given him less in the past and he had made it work. It didn’t take very long for him to become putty in your hands. He had already been on edge before you even got here, so now—

“Y/n, please— can I— fuck—” Jungkook was struggling. He needed to be good, but he also wanted more. This position made him think back to the last time you both were in this storage room, how good it felt to be inside you— how good it would feel to do it again. It was painful how much he wanted to.

Somehow, you were able to understand his pleas. “I told you this is all you’re getting.” You were stern, but not in the same way Yuri would have been. As angry as he was at the situation, his punishment was deserved— in fact, he deserved worse. The fact you were letting him do anything at all was a testament to how kind and forgiving you were. The realization just made him feel even worse. And he couldn’t stop begging for more…

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook was quiet after that, instead doing his best to silently get as far as he could. The whole situation made his insides feel like a flurry of butterflies, which had more than a small effect on his cock. Wound up from Yuri’s lack of affection, wound up from thinking of you despite how hard he tried not to, and wound up from the sweet, sweet pleasure from your thigh— it was enough to quickly turn him into a mess. You seemed to notice that he was starting to struggle. 

You stopped helping him, instead letting your hands fall behind you as you watched him struggle in the dark. Maybe he’d grown tired, or maybe he was too caught up in thinking about what it felt like to be inside you, but he just needed more. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I can… I’m close, but— Y/n, please—” he cried, his eyes watery. It wasn’t enough and he was honestly terrified you’d leave him at any moment. He knew Yuri would have by now. She always hated his begging and you probably did too. You probably hated him completely. He was pathetic.

Before he could embarrass himself any further, you took it upon yourself to put him out of his misery. You brought his face closer, pressing a languid kiss right on his lips. It was messy— Jungkook being so eager at the slightest touch, but it was nice. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were enjoying seeing him like this a little too much. So eager that he’d do anything, even ride your thigh, for the opportunity to get off. It was cute, and saying it was a little hot as well would be an understatement.  

As your kisses trailed down his neck, you bathed in his soft sighs of pleasure and tiny moans and pleas for more.

“Oh— oh—” he whined. It felt too good. 

You didn’t plan to go any further. You thought you could be content with just watching him get off and call it a day so he could learn not to pull that shit again, but your limitation was turning into a punishment for you as well. Here in his arms, it was so easy to remember what he did to you the last time you both found yourselves in the storage room. How nice his fingers had felt inside you, the skilled work of his tongue, and you had been daydreaming about the orgasm he gave you since the minute you parted ways.

Your body was hot, and unbeknownst to Jungkook, who was trying his very best to keep his hands down, you made quick work of pulling your skirt up and pulling your drenched panties to the side. He didn’t notice something had changed until you moaned into the kiss, sending a whole new wave of need over his entire body.

Jungkook instantly pulled away and from the soft glow of the light creeping in from underneath the door, he saw your hooded eyes before turning his gaze downward and seeing what was happening between your legs. It was dark, and even though Jungkook had pretty good eyesight, it was still difficult to see the way your free hand had slipped between your legs. It was easy to hear, however. You had to be soaked…

The thought alone nearly made him rut into you until he came, but instead, he quickly tried to compose himself and groaned lightly before looking back into your eyes. Your gaze was haunting in the way he knew it would follow him despite how much he wanted it to go away. The way the light reflected off your shining eyes, the slight smile on your face as you peered into his bewildered gaze— confused, yet eager for more.

“You like what you see?” you lightly chuckled, teasing. Oh, the ache.

“I—I could help you,” he stammered, begging. He would do anything. This was a curse disguised as a blessing.

“Mmm, you’d really want that? I thought you said my existence bothered you,” you laughed breathlessly. You were pleasing yourself well; he could see it from the look on your face.

Jungkook wanted to blurt out that he didn’t mean it like that, but he couldn’t. That would be a lie. Nothing you did had ever bothered him besides the very fact that you existed. You made his life complicated, and he knew that wasn’t necessarily your fault. It was more on him than you, but—

You laughed again when he didn’t respond.

“Just sit there and be a good boy. Watching you is nice. Don’t cum until I finish,” you sighed so sweetly. The nickname was unexpected, but well-received apparently with how he suddenly discovered the newfound energy to speed up his pace. He could see the vague outline of your hand speeding up between your legs, seemingly trying to match his pace, and he wished he hadn’t turned off the lights. You looked so pretty like this, even in the dark… imagine…

Jungkook was a mess, a ferocious battle occurring in his head the longer he watched. He wanted nothing more than to be good for you. He didn’t want to disappoint you, he had to be good. But there was also a side of him that wanted to push your hand aside, help you out, and serve you in the very way he knew he should. If Yuri could see him now, she would be more than disappointed, letting you take care of yourself when that was meant to be his job. Your wish to pleasure yourself was harder not to interfere with than he could have thought.

He had already struggled before when the friction was nice, but not enough. And sitting here now, watching you and hearing your soft sighs and moans, made the ache so painful he needed to slow himself down in order to obey you. He had to be good. He couldn’t let you down too.

He just couldn’t stop himself from helping out a little, though— an occasional kiss when your whines pleaded for a little more, or moving his lips downward to lightly suck across your delicate skin. Jungkook was worried you’d stop him since he wasn't entirely following your orders, but you never did. Maybe you were too out of it to notice, or too out of it to care, or maybe you even liked his little touches. It was a little silly to think about. 

It wasn’t long, though, before he started to notice some of the signs he recognized from the last time that you both were here that you were close. Your whines grew more desperate and hurried and it made him chase into you faster. He wanted to finish you off and make you make a mess all over his fingers. He wanted to ruin you.

“Y/n…” It was just your name, but it was his last-ditch attempt at asking you to let him help you. What he was met with wasn’t the rejection that he was expecting, or even something drastic like you grabbing his hand to replace your own. No, instead you pulled him into a hurried kiss. You both were chasing the euphoria of pleasure too blindly to care about remaining civil. It was messy, and Jungkook found himself enjoying the chaos of it all: tongues exploring every nook they could, teeth occasionally clashing, wet, hot need and desperation in the way you moved your mouth against his. 

It wasn’t any surprise that as your whines grew more needy, so did his own desperation. He had to stop himself from speeding up and finishing too quickly. Instead, he kept his pace as steady as he could while he watched your pleasure unfold right before his eyes, the way your hand sped up and the look on your face growing more pained by the minute—

“Oh—oh—Ju—“ You didn’t get to finish your sentence, and he wished you had, but the sight of you was even better than he could have imagined. With the way your mouth fell open and your eyes fluttered closed as you worked yourself through your orgasm, Jungkook nearly came right along with you. It was honestly a miracle he didn’t. He hadn’t needed much, but it was far more than he required to have him hurtling toward the edge. It took everything in him to stop himself from giving in. He wanted to be good for you— he had to be.

As you steadily came down, Jungkook tried his best to slow himself down. He watched you, wide-eyed, waiting for your next order, thinking maybe you had changed your mind and wanted to leave.

“Okay… You can finish now,” you whispered, clearly out of breath. Jungkook’s body didn’t allow for a moment of hesitation as he immediately got back to work. Now with your permission, he felt crazed as he pulled you into another messy kiss, his body working faster than his mind so that he could hardly keep up. He pressed into you firmly, the unsteadiness of the table apparent with how it squeaked with each move he made. He was close— so, so close.

“Where? Where should I—” Jungkook hurried, realizing any moment might spell disaster. He was hoping for some type of direction from you, his mind so out of it that he couldn’t think up a reasonable solution other than to ruin his pants.  

“Figure it out yourself,” you sighed, your eyes finally back on him, and Jungkook couldn’t help but whine realizing he was dealing with an even bigger emergency than he had thought only seconds ago.

For a second, he just continued as is, gliding across your thigh with no intention of stopping at any point. But finally, finally, he remembered the condom in his back pocket. Right!

Jungkook probably looked like a mess straining to reach in his back pocket while he also tried to keep his pace up and kiss you any chance he could. It was a struggle and many times he considered giving up, but finally he was able to pull it out and slam it on the table beside you. 

Pants— now somehow he just needs to get his pants off…

Jungkook wanted to be good, but he was losing it. He hopped off your thigh and lifted you off the table to flip you around, your hands gripping the table firmly while your ass was pressed right where he was desperate to feel you. Jungkook had to practically tear himself away from your warmth to somehow get his belt loose, a horrendous struggle of need as he kept pressing into you, making it that much more difficult to take it off. 

It was a vicious cycle of Jungkook making a little progress with his belt before the need to feel you became too great and he would consider giving up altogether, before thinking about the consequences and trying his hardest to get his belt loose and his zipper down.

Jungkook was nearing failure. He was only seconds away from giving in when finally his belt came undone and he could pull himself out, desperate to feel you. Jungkook should have pulled away so he could put the condom on, but instead he found himself pushing your skirt up and sliding between your thighs, rubbing himself along the soaked fabric of your panties, bringing himself closer to his breaking point. The condom was in his hand, ready to be opened so he could finally, finally have you, and then—

“Fuccccck!” Jungkook cried into your shoulder, tears slipping down his cheeks as his orgasm washed over him in a flush. It was humiliating and the embarrassment immediately made his cheeks burn as he steadily rocked into you, each wave washing away his problems before bringing new ones to the surface. It had happened so fast… and as nice as it felt, he couldn't help but feel ashamed that this was happening all over again. 

It didn’t take long after the heat of his emotions died down to discover the mess he made on the table. The streak of light pouring in was enough to see where it glistened. Jungkook quickly turned on the lights, feeling relieved that by some miracle nothing had gotten on your clothes. It was also lucky that you happened to be in a supply closet so you had easy access to paper towels to clean things up. 

Honestly, Jungkook was expecting you to leave, but you stayed and watched him try to straighten himself out while you simultaneously tried to fix yourself. You weren’t wearing bright lipstick today, so luckily it wasn’t smeared everywhere. And while things had gotten a little wild, your hair wasn’t in too bad of a condition and was relatively easy to smooth out.

Neither of you said a word, just working in silence until finally the time came for you both to leave. You gave him a slight smile before opening the door, which was more than he deserved, to be honest. 

After you left, the guilt washed over him all over again. He had said he wouldn’t do this again, but—

As much as he was beating himself up about it, he knew deep down that he would eventually seek you out again.

•────•──────────•────•

“Hyung, I told you I can’t,” Jungkook groaned as he stared at his dinner, which was surely cold by now. 

“All I heard was a no. You didn’t give me a legitimate reason why you couldn’t come with me,” Jimin pointed out, making Jungkook sigh for the billionth time.

Jimin had called him at an hour far too late for any type of decent conversation. Jungkook had gotten home late and had been staring despondently at Yuri’s empty chair and uneaten dinner for the last twenty minutes. His mood was down and his eyes had grown watery the longer he let his mind wander, when suddenly his phone rang.

Jimin had called to invite him to a concert that was happening in Itaewon that he was convinced Jungkook needed to go to.

“Hyung, I’m busy! Everyone’s busy right now!” It came off far more charged than he intended.

“That didn't stop you in the past! We used to have a billion things to do for work, but you’d always drag me out with you to concerts like this, saying the experience would be worth it,” Jimin reminisced.

“That was a very different time. I have a billion more responsibilities now. I don’t have time to just go out anymore,” Jungkook grumbled. 

“But all you ever do is go to work and then go home. I think it would be good for you to get out of your routine and do something different for a change. I mean, when was the last time we hung out outside of the office?” 

Jungkook wanted to have a rebuttal. It was on the tip of his tongue, but silence hung in the air as he tried to think about it. He couldn’t remember the last time… 

“That’s because I’m busy. I’ve been trying to tell you this over and over, but you’re not listening,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, wondering why they were still having this conversation. A “no” should have been the end of it. 

“I am listening. I just thought this would be something you’d want to go to. If you weren’t playing, you used any of your free time to try and be at a concert like this,” Jimin recounted. 

Normally, an invitation to an indie concert was like cheese in a mouse trap for Jungkook. No matter the obstacle, Jungkook would try and go. There was even one time Jungkook had been sick in bed all week, but he had tickets to a concert where one of his favorite bands was playing. Jungkook hadn’t yet fully recovered, but he pushed through and still managed to attend. He always spoke fondly of the memory, even though his fever returned afterwards from pushing himself so hard, causing him to be bedridden for another week.

“I told you that that was a different time. I don’t understand why we need to keep going in circles around this,” Jungkook groaned once again. His patience was being tested. It was hard enough being at home alone right now and the last thing he needed was for Jimin to try and drag him out, adding more to his already full plate. 

“And I told you it’s because you haven’t yet given me a legitimate reason why you can’t go,” Jimin retorted. And the cycle continued.

Jungkook had to stop himself from saying something he knew he shouldn’t, taking a couple of deep breaths before continuing. 

“I don’t want to go, okay! Listen to me carefully, I. do. not. want. to. go. to. this. concert. with. you.” Jungkook made sure to articulate each word carefully. It seemed like his attempt to calm down wasn’t enough as it sounded far meaner than he wanted. 

For the first time, the line was silent.

“Jungkook, I’m just trying to help you. I don’t think it’s healthy that all you ever do is go to work and go home. I thought this would be a fun thing for us to do together, a change in your routine you really might need.” Jungkook could hear the hurt in Jimin’s voice, but it didn’t quell his growing anger. 

“I do not want to go! Leave me alone! We’ve been talking for forty minutes now about this stupid fucking concert after I’ve explicitly told you no several times!” Jungkook finally snapped. 

“Jungkook—” Jimin tried to reply. But he had enough and hung up the phone.

Jungkook sighed and tried to return to his dinner. The call had no reason to go on for as long as it did. All Jimin had to do was take no for an answer and there would be no hard feelings. So why did he just have to keep pushing? To help? The last thing that would help him was forcing him to go somewhere he didn’t want to. Sure, in the past Jungkook would have appreciated the offer. It had normally been Jungkook dragging Jimin to concerts instead of the other way around. College-aged Jungkook would have never believed Jimin was the one who was trying to get him to go to a concert of all things. 

Suddenly, in the darkness of the apartment, Jungkook found himself staring into the abyss, realizing how much he had changed. He had to change. No one was the same person they were in college. He had ten times more responsibilities than he had then. He had a wife, he was director of an entire department… he had no time for anything. College Jungkook had been a very different person and Jimin had to accept that. 

But still, the longer he looked into the abyss, his eyes grew more watery. Had he really changed that much? 

From his seat in the dining area he could see out into the living room where the guitar Jimin had gifted him still sat on the wall. Not once had he gotten the opportunity to play it and he didn’t think he ever would. He had more things to think about other than just himself now. He didn’t want to make Yuri unhappy. He didn’t want to make anyone unhappy. Yet why was that the only thing he seemed to do these days? Jimin was just trying to be nice. Jungkook used to love going to concerts, so of course Jimin would try to invite him. He didn’t want to be mean, so why had he been so mean to him?

His dinner became the last thing on his mind as tears quickly filled his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks. Pathetic, pathetic, you’re so pathetic.

A cry filled the silence of the apartment and Jungkook desperately wished Jimin were here with him. 

•────•──────────•────•

Yuri had done it again. 

Despite how much Jungkook insisted and pleaded, she went against his wishes no matter how much he asked her not to. For some reason, Yuri loved making his life difficult. 

Had he truly been so horrible that a simple ask wasn’t even worth considering? That might have been it— he’d been nothing but horrible to her. Maybe she had stopped caring about anything he had to say now. He wouldn’t blame her… 

But was it so wrong to ask her not to lead him on if she didn’t want to do anything further with him? Was it really that much of an unreasonable ask? Not once— but twice in one day Jungkook had found his face flushed, thinking he could finally make love to his wife properly, but then she’d abruptly pull away, degrade him for being so “needy,” then storm off, leaving Jungkook a helpless mess as he cried. Was it so bad that he just wanted a little bit of space for the time being? 

Maybe it was. He was her husband so they should be close, but a little break couldn’t be too bad? Why did she always make it so hard when it didn’t need to be? One minute she was cold, wanting him as far away as possible, and the next she’d lure Jungkook to the point of relaxation, ready to love her, before ripping it away abruptly.

Jungkook had simply invited her to join him on the couch and cuddle. His intentions had been pure, but not even five minutes after she sat down, Yuri was on him not even five minutes after she sat down. He’d gone along with it, trying his best not to disappoint her, but he’d pushed too far when he pulled on the waistband of her shorts and that had been enough to set her off. 

What made it worse was that he knew by now that if he hadn’t been spending his time with you, venting his frustration, that he surely would have ruined things even earlier by now. It was almost a miracle Yuri hadn’t suspected anything considering how jumpy he had been before he broke down in his office in front of you. Though it didn’t even help that much— if anything, his time with you only made him want to be with Yuri in the same way even more.

Maybe it was his guilt— or rather, the lack of guilt he felt about the affair that made him desperate to make up for it in some shape or form. He had been sneaking away with you to the storage room for some time now and not once had he ever regretted it. If anything, any time he made his way there he was excited, knowing he’d feel sweet bliss in the moment. 

Once it was over though, he felt nothing. It was frightening. When he was with you it was the only time he could chase any type of feeling. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it felt better than feeling nothing. Alone with you in the storage room, the world around him drowned out so easily. It was only for a few minutes, but it was enough. 

The next day, Jungkook did the only thing he knew how to do these days and texted you. He never understood why you answered each and every time. He hoped that the first experience would have been enough to dissuade you, but at the same time he was thankful to you for being with him, even though he didn’t show it. Your relationship was complicated, sour, maybe even a little toxic considering the circumstances it was founded in. 

“Why— why— why?!” Jungkook cried as quietly as he could as he held onto you. You both had gotten into another heated argument. Most of the time you would try not to talk to each other aside from Jungkook’s occasional check-ins that it was ok to proceed when he wanted more. This time though, with Yuri on his mind and emotions all over the place, Jungkook couldn’t help but spout a few words as soon as you walked in the room. It seemed he was taking all the bottled-up anger he shielded from Yuri and directing it onto you.

Basically, he’d questioned why you kept doing this to him. They were the words he wanted to say to Yuri, but he meant them all the same to you too. He was trying to be a decent husband and you were pulling him down further into the hole of irredeemability. Yuri already hated him. He wanted to make it work, he had to make it work. So many people were counting on him to be a good husband. How was he ever going to win her heart if you existed? Why, why were you doing this to him?!

As expected, you didn’t take his ranting very well. Jungkook was basically questioning the very nature of your existence and for some reason he thought that your presence was simply enough to force him into doing the wrong thing. It was outrageous, he knew that, and he hated what he said the minute the words left his mouth, but instead of apologizing and admitting he wasn’t having a good day, he doubled down. It was awful. He wanted you to leave. He wanted you to stay even more despite his harsh words. For some reason, you chose the latter. He didn’t understand why, but it didn’t take much time until he had you pinned against one of the shelves. 

A flurry of anger, lust, and a need that spread faster than a wildfire. You both had hardly engaged in any foreplay before he hurriedly stuffed his cock inside of you. Immediately, he burst into tears— his building emotions overflowing and spilling from his eyes. He didn’t know whether they were angry tears or sad tears. He didn’t know why he cried all the time these days. It was so bad. 

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Jungkook sobbed into your shoulder, thrusting harder as he grew close. 

“Fu—fuck you,” you spat back at him. 

“What does it look like I’m doing? Am I not good enough?” he questioned sadly. He didn’t need you to answer, he already knew what you would say. If Jungkook was good enough, he wouldn’t be here right now. He would be in his wife’s arms instead. He would be happy, she would be happy if he was good enough.  

“Fuck you, Jungkook, fuck y—“ you cursed at him as your profanity morphed into a whine. His punishing pace never faltered. 

“Shut up— please.” Not now, not when all he could picture was his wife’s disappointed face. 

Jungkook switched up his pace to long, languid strokes. The tears kept spilling from his eyes. He always got extra sappy when he was close; Yuri pointed it out all the time. 

“Why does she hate me so much? Why am I never good enough for her? Why—” He was upset, yet he knew he had no right to be. He was the one making her miserable. Things would be so much easier if he was just a little better. 

You didn’t say anything back and he was glad you didn’t. Any judgment would have been enough to send him off the edge. Instead, you just listened silently to his saddened cries as he fucked all of his frustration into you. 

Your feelings for Jungkook were complicated, but the sex was good. Very good, actually. The passion was so explosive whenever you were in a room together alone. Sometimes that passion manifested as anger, other times it was lust, and sometimes it was both, like in this case. 

It was clear Jungkook was struggling, and as much as your instincts were telling you to stay far away from him, you feared what would happen if you didn’t keep coming back. Each time the sex got better despite Jungkook seeming visibly worse. He was literally having a breakdown right now and it wasn’t even the first time it had happened. 

You tried your best to keep your emotions under control, not wanting to set him off in any way, but he was harsh towards you, and even harsher towards himself.

“Just want her to— why can’t— fuck— why doesn’t she want me?!” 

You didn’t want to pry, but his pleas already had a picture of his wife forming in your mind. 

“I— I told you— told you to please go easy on me until you’re ready, but you— you don’t want to listen to me. You never do.” His voice was hoarse and pained. These were deep, dark thoughts that he didn’t even know he had until they left his mouth. He felt sick when they did.

All you could see were the faint labels on the boxes in front of you, but for a moment you were tempted to turn around and look at him. He sounded so sad.

“Yuri— please—” he cried, holding you a little tighter.

You could only imagine he was thinking about his wife at that moment. It was a strange experience hearing another woman’s name come out of his mouth while he was inside of you. Initially, you just wanted to turn around and slap him and tell him that you were right here, but you had to remind yourself that it was his wife after all— of course that’s who he was thinking about.

“Please— please— please— oh-pl—” He was close. Really, really close. 

Jungkook’s sobs morphed into pained whines the closer he grew to the end. His thrusts grew sloppier with each moan and you helped out a little by tightening yourself around him, something you had learned was a catalyst to quickly finishing him off. The first time, you were a little too eager when he put it inside of you and he probably didn't even last a minute longer after that. And just like back then, the moment you squeezed around him he was practically putty in your hands. 

After a couple of more thrusts, he stilled inside you completely before pumping the condom full of his cum. He had nearly forgotten to put it on earlier— the heat of the moment making him act a little too hastily. His grip on your waist tightened, and for a moment it sounded like he had stopped crying. For a second, you wanted to believe that you had given him a little relief from whatever hell he seemed to be going through. 

Jungkook didn’t move for a while. Instead, he stayed close, thrusting lightly as he sobbed into your shoulder, mumbling things you couldn’t even make out anymore. You didn’t stop him, nor did you say anything. You just let him cry.

Things seemed to be particularly bad today. You had tried your best to piece it all together from the random words he slipped out. You knew it had to do with Yuri and something that she had done to him, but he never got more specific than that. Seeing how poorly he was reacting, you could only imagine how terrible it was.

He was shaking. You could feel the trembling of the hand he had on your waist, and even though he’d grown quiet, you could feel your blouse dampening with each second that passed. 

You felt the urge to ask him if he was ok again, even though you already knew the answer. You were about to ask, when suddenly Jungkook pulled away. You hadn’t been prepared for the coolness of the room without his warmth. 

You vaguely saw his silhouette move around in the darkness. You figured he was throwing away the condom, but then you watched him go over to the same table he’d often taken you on to grab the box of tissues you had pulled out of storage. You heard him blow his nose before you faintly saw him wipe his eyes and tear-stained cheeks. 

“I’m sorry— sorry— I— ummm…” Jungkook took a deep breath, his voice wavering a little too much, nearly cracking in the process. “You can hop up on the table.” 

You tried not to look too shocked despite the fact that he probably couldn’t see you anyway. You honestly hadn’t expected him to still be in the mood for that today, seeing how upset he was. But no matter how heated the moments could get between you two, Jungkook was always nice enough to help you out afterward in more desperate times like this when you didn’t finish along with him.

“You sure? You don’t really seem like you’re doing ok,” you asked hesitantly, walking over to him.

“Yeah, I want to be useful for something.” He almost sounded like he was about to burst into tears again.

“We don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I do— I want to… please—” He didn’t even let you finish before he grabbed your hand and pulled you close. You had the consuming urge to pull him into a hug or kiss his cheeks to make him feel better, or at least get a smile out of him. You resisted though, and jumped up on the table before letting your heels fall to the floor. You had nearly stabbed him in the back one time, so now you always made it a point to take them off whenever you were in this position. 

You watched with curious eyes as he dropped to his knees right in front of you. You could still see the shininess in his eyes as he looked up at you. What could he have possibly done to make Yuri so upset? You had every reason to be upset at him, yet you still couldn’t find it in you to hold onto any ill feelings or hatred. Things were just complicated at the moment. 

Jungkook proceeded to be sweet to you like he always was, leaving soft gentle kisses across your skin before you had to grip onto his hair as he sent you to another dimension once again.

•────•──────────•────•

“Y/n, what’s been going on between you and Director Jeon?” Solmi asked you out of the blue one day, causing you to nearly choke on your rice.

You had only just arrived at the table to join her and Taehyung for a late lunch. They were both nearly finished already, but lucky for you, you had brought the leftovers you wanted to finish off for lunch today. By the time you made it to the cafeteria, the lunch line had already closed. 

You told them you had been with Jungkook, which wasn’t technically a lie. They thought he had held you up because of a meeting you had mentioned in which Jungkook had emailed you wanting to meet up to discuss budget planning, specifically to get your input about salaries for the department. That had not been a lie either.

Jungkook and you had met earlier for actual work purposes to go over some important information. Director Son was out of the office for a big meeting over at another company— so you’d stepped in to fill his place. It was just that although you both had finished shortly before lunch, a lot of tension had started to build between you over the course of your meeting. No arguments were had,  but anytime you’d get deep into the numbers, he would stare at you with this strange look in his eyes.You had no idea why, as you were just discussing business, but you were so used to that look by now that you knew what it meant he wanted. 

You were just about to leave when you felt his hand close around your wrist. You turned and looked behind you and caught his sparkling eyes peering into yours as he so quietly and shyly asked if he could have just a little more of your time. 

That’s how you both ended up sneaking away to the storage room as the time ticked away into your lunch break. You had both tried to be quick— Jungkook insisting he would work fast, but that didn’t deter him from giving you two orgasms with his tongue before sending you into a third with his cock. You were still buzzing, your knees a little weak, as you hurried downstairs to meet your friends who were waiting for you. 

You tried to keep calm at her question. “Wha-What do you mean?” You nearly choked as you tried to stuff kimchi in your mouth so you didn’t have to answer. 

“We used to be down here at least once a week hearing you rant about how awful Jeon Jungkook was,” she said, imitating your voice during the last part. “But then it stopped and you guys seem closer now. Do you not hate him anymore?” she asked bluntly. Solmi had always been that way.

“Uhhh—” you stumbled, at a loss for words. “We’re not that close, really. My new position just requires us to work together more often. Do I still hate him? It’s umm— it’s complicated.” Technically another honest answer— that wasn’t a simple question anymore.

“Complicated?” Taehyung repeated, his cheeks full of rice. 

“Yeah. It was easier to hate him when he was just a mysterious figure that I hardly ever saw in person, but now… since we’ve started working a little more closely together and we’ve had some time one-on-one… I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s complicated. He’s a weird dude, and I will never forgive him for all the work he’s assigned me over the years, but… he’s also a busy guy and seems like he has a lot on his plate. He’s not so bad when you get to know him a little more personally. Again, it’s just complicated,” you sighed as you played with your food. Again, you hadn’t lied. Despite everything, you just couldn’t really hate the guy anymore, but that didn’t stop you from thinking he could be a major dick sometimes. 

“Really?” Solmi inquired after your long winded answer. 

You nodded steadily. 

“Does this mean you’re not president of the Jungkook hate club anymore?” she followed up quickly, and Taehyung joined her in her laughter. You found it a little funny too. 

“I think it’s time I retire. I’m sure there’s someone who hates him more than me now,” you smiled, but for a second, Jungkook’s words echoed in your head as you thought about his wife.

“Wahhh, I never thought I’d see the day you retire from something,” Taehyung said seriously, looking over at Solmi.

You playfully rolled your eyes, knowing full well what he was referring to. On one of the dates you went on, you told him you never thought you’d ever retire, your ambition making it too difficult for you to settle down.

“If you don’t hate him anymore, then I won’t feel bad bringing up the fact I think his eyes are really pretty,” Solmi said so quickly, you nearly didn’t catch it. 

You gasped at her words before you rolled your eyes again. You couldn’t even say anything back. You thought they were pretty too. Deep down, you knew you always had for some reason. 

•────•──────────•────•

You needed a car. That had become apparent long before you started working at Golden Tech, but it was only recently that it had started to become detrimental to your career. 

Your new position had you moving around the city a lot more often than your last one did. It wasn’t too uncommon for you to need to join Director Son in meetings with other companies, or venture out on your own to get across town. The amount of times you’ve had to deal with the challenges of relying on public transportation to get to meetings was insane. 

You finally decided enough was enough the first time you accompanied Director Son to a meeting and he offered to let you ride in the car with him. In comparison to the bus or subway, it was practically night and day, finally confirming how much easier it would be to just suck it up and get your own car. There was no stress of needing to run to the bus stop so you could make it back to work on time. Aside from the slight traffic you ran into, it was much smoother sailing compared to the times you’d gone on your own. 

Funnily enough, aside from the fact that cars and gas were expensive, you had only gotten your license just last year. Taehyung had actually been the one to teach you after you confessed to him late one late night about feeling a little insecure that you were in your mid-20s and you didn’t know how to drive. Your ambitious nature had gotten you a job at Golden Tech and the Associate Director position all within the span of just two years, but it was also what prevented you from doing certain things, like getting your license. You were always too busy with school to take the time to learn. Plus, you had moved away from home for college and going back home to Busan for driving lessons from your family during your busy schedule was impossible— or well, it just wasn’t going to happen. 

Taehyung had been kind enough to meet up on your free weekends to teach you. Once you finally passed your test, you met up with Tae to celebrate, and that’s when your friendship got complicated. He kissed you, you kissed him back, he asked you out, and suddenly you were in a “secret” relationship and going on dates as often as you could. 

But that had been over a year ago now. You had your license, but never got a car because you never found the time to start that process. Plus, you were making do with public transportation so you found no need for the extra expense. But ever since Director Son drove you to that meeting, you’d been considering it. Your income was sufficient now and you finally felt like you were ready to become a car owner. You hoped it would be a nice Christmas or New Year's gift to yourself for the great year you had had. Right now, though, you were just in the research stage and still dealing with the struggles of public transportation.

This was all to say that when Jungkook told you about a meeting he needed you and Director Son to attend with him, you ran into an issue. You somehow let it slip that it would be a little difficult to make it there in time since rush hour would be occurring at the time. The subway wasn’t a good option since it could get so crowded, making it impossible to get out of the station, and the closest bus stop to the company was ten minutes away, which with traffic meant you’d end up running minutes late. You’d already tried that route before and had had to call the company on a crowded subway to tell them that you were going to be late.

And that was how Jeon Jungkook offered to give you a ride. 

“I’ll drive you. We’re going to the same place anyway. It'll be fine.” His words were nice, yet he had a bit of an attitude. You weren’t fighting, but this was just how things always were between you two. 

It was easy to guess why you were hesitant. Being alone in a car with Jeon Jungkook wasn’t something you really wanted to do. So much so, that you actually told him you’d ask Taehyung to give you a ride first before agreeing to his proposition. You had thought you were doing him a favor by saving him from the awkwardness of the ride, but for some reason his attitude changed completely as soon as you mentioned that. 

You honestly had no idea what had happened, but suddenly he was insisting it would be no trouble. He emphasized that you were going to the same place and that it would be too much unnecessary work for Taehyung since he wasn’t going to the meeting. Somehow, Jungkook convinced you to feel guilty about asking Taehyung, and that was exactly why you ended up walking down to the garage with him on the day of the meeting.

You were both silent as you walked. It had been that way since you left his office earlier. It felt like that day all over again. And just like that day, you were greeted with Jungkook’s fancy ass Mercedes. 

Now that you had been doing a little research into cars, as you got in, you were in for another reality check on how rich he was. Not only did he own a Mercedes, but you knew some of the features you saw were crazy expensive to add on— you know, you had checked after liking Jungkook’s car so much. 

You couldn’t deny how sexy the car looked with its sleek black interior and the pretty lights that added a subtle ambiance, a little color to cut through all the blackness. It was hot, and you had to stop yourself from fawning as you looked around at the lavishness of it all. 

Not in front of him. 

But once again, just like last time, your eyes couldn’t help but to drift over to him as Jungkook started up the vehicle. He had one hand on the wheel as he pulled out, his pretty hair sitting right at his shoulders, the waves making him look ethereal. It was ridiculous how someone this good looking could even exist. 

As enthralled as you were by his beauty, the serious expression he wore concerned you and made you worried he was annoyed with having you there. It didn't make any sense since he was the one who insisted on you driving with him. You had tried to save yourselves the trouble by at least wanting to ask Taehyung if he was free, but noooo, he wanted to make things complicated. 

Instead of dwelling on it too much, you just turned your attention out the window to admire the sights and to stop thinking about Jungkook.

You had thought it would be a relatively short drive, even though the company you both were headed to was on the opposite side of the city. Director Son had actually gotten there earlier in the day, having a meeting on his own before the one you and Jungkook would join started. If he hadn’t had to arrive early, you probably would have asked him for a ride instead. 

You really hadn’t expected the ride to take that long, but once again, you were reminded that rush hour didn’t just apply to public transportation. The traffic was almost immediate as you pulled out of the garage. Luckily for you, Jungkook had insisted on leaving early, probably having better foresight and expecting the traffic, but even you could tell that traffic was particularly bad.

You wondered if it was normal, but as you looked over at Jungkook, you saw his face grow more disgruntled each minute you only moved up a little bit. Of course it was just your luck that for some reason, traffic was especially bad today.

To make the ride even more uncomfortable, the mood in the car was tense. Jungkook seemed to have some type of problem. He hadn’t said anything to you yet, but you were terrified that at any moment he would be back to playing the blame game. Maybe he wanted to bring you along just to torment you? Maybe you should have just lied and said Taehyung had already agreed to drive you? Anything to take back getting in this fucking car. 

In a desperate attempt to keep the car ride civil, you asked Jungkook if you could turn on the radio. You were a little surprised he agreed and even told you where to go on the touch screen. As the poppy chorus of the latest idol songs filled the car, it made things a little less awkward. You were focused on trying to stop yourself from singing along and keeping Jungkook out of sight, out of mind. As long as you kept your attention focused out the window, all would be fine. Before you knew it, you’d be at the company and you’d be free from this claustrophobic hell. 

But then it was your fault that you made the horrible mistake of turning your head too much, letting you see Jungkook’s displeased expression out of the corner of your eye, his eyes burning a hole into the car in front of you. 

Was it the traffic that had him so pissed? You knew being the driver would make the situation even more annoying. Hopefully it wasn’t you, or else you really would have to jump out of the car to avoid his bitching when you had a meeting to worry about.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe you were willing to do anything to save the car ride from turning into a fight, so you let your body act first before your mind could catch up to stop you. All of a sudden, you rested your hand on his thigh. You felt your cheeks warm up as you watched Jungkook look down at it, and then over at you. 

You wondered if he was going to say something. He looked like he was about to, but ultimately he never did. Instead, he turned his attention to fixate back on the car in front of you. 

You honestly had no idea where you were going with this. You had initially acted without thinking, but as time passed, you subtly started to run your hand up and down his thigh to try and calm him down. It wasn’t anything too crazy, but it was enough to make Jungkook look down and then over at you again. 

“I can stop if you want me to.” You finally looked over to meet his eyes. You both knew where it would go if you continued, so you thought it best to ask him if he was comfortable. You didn’t know how you had gotten yourself here, you kept telling yourself, ignoring the way you had been daydreaming about how good he looked driving. 

Jungkook looked at you for a moment and you were keen to notice the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened each time your hand moved a little higher up his thigh, and the subtle way he bit his lip the longer he stared. You hated to admit it was a little hot.

“You’re fine— you can keep going,” he nervously coughed as he turned back to the road.

He was embarrassed, still not quite used to how starkly different things were with you than with Yuri. She would never do something like this for him, let alone let him rest his hand on her thigh. He had tried once, one of the few times she had ridden in his car. He got the idea after watching a movie where the guy did it with his girlfriend. Jungkook’s cheeks flushed and he got butterflies anytime there’d be a scene of them in the car, causing him to bury himself in the blanket he’d wrapped himself with. He figured he would try it out with Yuri one day, but it didn’t go well… nothing he ever did went well. 

He was still getting used to how often you two were meeting up in the storage room. He’d only bought a small box of condoms, figuring just like with Yuri, anything more would be a waste. But weirdly enough, he was already needing to plan his next trip to the store when he realized you were nearing the end of the box. Jungkook would have been shocked if you hadn’t let him have you with less than a week in between, but you never once turned down his shameless begging, even after only a day. He could hardly keep up and he still felt guilty anytime he’d ask you. 

When he invited you to drive with him, he definitely wasn’t prepared for you to flip things around. His intentions hadn’t been impure whatsoever, he truly thought it made more sense then you needing to run off with Taehyung, right? Why should you ask Taehyung when you both were going to the same place and he had room in his car? It didn’t make any sense for you to go with Taehyung— unless, well, unless you had wanted a chance to be alone with him because you—

His mind had been racing with that thought when suddenly, he felt your hand on his thigh. It instantly took him out of his spiral, and when you started moving— Jungkook had to press his index finger between his lips to stop himself from moaning out. You started off with subtle movements, but when you noticed the way he shifted slightly to meet your hand anytime you moved up his thigh, you stopped. Your hand stayed right where his pants continued to grow tighter.

Jungkook was far too weak and sensitive to stay calm. The frustrations from this ridiculous traffic, the stress of making it to the meeting on time, and your hand on his thigh made the frustration so intense he needed to seek you out for refuge like he always seemed to do these days. 

He was hard before you even made it to the next stoplight. 

His face was warm, embarrassed because he wasn’t sure if this is what you had intended when you started, but surely you had realized the effect of your hand by now. 

He was so pathetic. He wasn’t even entirely sure whether or not he wanted to start crying or pleading for more. 

More, he wanted more. As you both sat in traffic, his mind was wandering off to imaging so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to ask for you to touch him more. He could undo his belt and zipper, and oh— he also wanted to feel you. He wanted to feel your mouth again— it had been a while since that day in his office. The very thought was enough to get him flushed in the face as it grew more and more difficult to focus. 

Every time his eyes glanced down and he’d see what you were doing, it just got worse. Part of him was absolutely terrified that someone could see what was happening if they happened to look through the window, but the other half didn’t care and wanted you to finish what you had started. 

It got especially bad when you finally seemed to notice the problem you had made, your fingers tracing over the very obvious outline in his slacks. He felt tears well up in his eyes. You hadn’t been doing enough to make him cum, but he almost wished you had been because the teasing was unbearable. He was tempted to say fuck it, and plead for you to touch him the proper way so he could feel your soft hands all over his skin, and maybe—

Jungkook had to quickly slam the brakes, realizing he had spaced out so much that he didn’t realize the car in front of him had stopped already. You both lurched forward, only slightly, but enough for his embarrassment to get even worse. 

“So-sorry!” he quickly apologized, his face somehow growing even hotter. 

“It’s fine. Did you need me to stop?” you asked, a bit of concern in your voice. 

Jungkook thought about it, and as much as he knew you should, he couldn’t find it in himself to actually wish you would. He had no shame. Jungkook shook his head no, not having enough confidence to tell you honestly that he loved the feeling of your hand and that the thought of stopping now made him want to scream.

He heard you chuckle slightly. “Just make sure to keep your eyes on the road, okay?” 

Right. If he was already this much of a mess from you touching him over his clothes, going further might cause you to actually crash. He kept reminding himself that, but the longer you both sat in traffic, the harder it grew not to beg you to finish him off. You wound him up so easily—

Luckily for him, right as things got to the point where he was seriously about to beg you to touch him more, you finally came to the area that had apparently caused the traffic jam. You were right— it was an accident. Nothing too disastrous, it just seemed like a pretty bad fender bender. Police officers had been steadily directing traffic while officials were trying to clear the scene. The minute after you made it past them, it was smooth sailing. 

It didn’t take too long afterward for you both to finally pull up to the company— apparently, they were one of the suppliers for Golden Tech. You, Jungkook, and Director Son had come to discuss terms for their services for next year. 

Jungkook pulled up to the gate that led into the garage where a security guard stopped you. You quickly removed your hand from Jungkook’s thigh, and for a second, he reached for you to put it back again. 

You pointed at the security guard. Right. 

Jungkook rolled down the window. 

“Oh! I thought it was you! Good afternoon, Director Jeon!” the security guard smiled and bowed. 

“Hi!” Jungkook tried to smile back, but all he was thinking about was your hand.

“Dae-Jung isn’t driving you today? I almost didn’t recognize you,” he laughed, looking past Jungkook and peering at you in the passenger seat. 

“No— I’m working late today, so I’m driving myself.” It was true. He was staying late today to meet all the deadlines he needed to. But he also knew you would be joining him today. Maybe there had been some part of him that knew things would get heated, maybe some part that had hoped they would. 

“I see. We were told to expect you for a meeting. Would you like for us to send someone down to park your car?” The security guard was very animated, in a good way. His energy was infectious and he seemed really sweet. If things were different, Jungkook might have taken him up on his offer considering how long you both were stuck in traffic. He could only imagine the meeting was probably about to start. 

“There’s no need. I can do it myself. Thank you for the offer though.” Jungkook tried to maintain a smile to appear not too rude, but he needed you. 

“Alright, just find someplace to park. A team member will be at the entrance to escort you to the meeting room.” And with that, the security guard went inside the little building to lift the arm up and allow you to drive through.

You were honestly a little confused why Jungkook didn’t take him up on the offer considering the time. Maybe he hadn’t noticed? Luckily, when you made it in, there just so happened to be a spot available close to the door right at the entrance. 

Once he parked, you were ready to jump out and start running when you suddenly felt a hand on yours. You turned to see Jungkook’s shiny eyes looking at you. Right, you almost forgot… 

“We still have fifteen minutes left— I would just need like, two minutes— but, uh, you don’t have to— we, um—” Jungkook was beyond flustered, having to ask. You really should run so you could meet Director Son before the meeting started, but there was no way he’d be able to go up there and face all those people feeling like this. 

You sighed. This was technically your fault. “You don’t think there would be any time to sneak off once we make it inside?” you asked, wondering if maybe you and Jungkook could find a bathroom before the meeting started… maybe? Then again, that didn't sound very smart.

Jungkook shook his head. 

Instead of contemplating it anymore, you just decided to roll with it. “Alright, get your belt off, let’s make this quick,” you sighed as you shifted to get in a better position. 

Jungkook didn’t need to be told twice as you watched him frantically tug off his belt and undo his zipper before looking back up at you with pleading eyes. Huh? He could have at least taken himself out first. But you didn’t say anything, not really having time to fight him, so you reached over the console and did the job yourself. 

At first, you were just going through the motions, trying your best to be quick about this. You weren’t even thinking about it too much until you felt his precum leak onto your palm. Oh?

“That really worked you up, huh?” You were honestly a little baffled, truly amazed at how sensitive he was. You knew you had been teasing him, but you didn’t expect him to get this turned on by just your hand on his thigh. 

“Please…” he moaned, his voice wavering slightly, making you look up and see how flushed he was. This was serious, even more than you originally had thought. 

You watched him carefully as you steadily began pumping his length, occasionally running your finger across the tip. The way his eyebrows furrowed when you seemed to hit a sensitive spot, the way he bit his lip, and the cute way he didn’t know what to do with his hands so he was just clutching anything within range… These little details had been lost in the darkness of the storage room before.

You began slowly and would have kept things going like that for a bit longer, but you both had places to be and not much time left. You quickly took your hand back, spit in it to give you some extra glide, and got back to work, hoping it would make things happen quicker. 

“Oh— oh! Oh…” Jungkook groaned, letting his head fall back. You could tell he was trying to hold back, but he was a little louder than what he usually was in the storage room. You hated to admit it, but his moans were really just as pretty as he was. You tried your best to stay focused on the task at hand and ignore the way your panties were dampening by the second. You had a meeting to go to…

You distracted yourself by keeping your eyes on the time and making sure your technique was supreme so it would go as fast as possible— twisting your wrist with each upward stroke, making sure to prioritize the tip, the little things. And just like Jungkook promised, it was only a few seconds after the clock ticked for a second time that things got serious.

“Close!” he hurried out. 

Alright— you were making ok time. Maybe thirty more—

“Wait— ughh, wait! Where do I…?” Jungkook hurried out quickly. It just dawned on you again exactly where you were. 

“Umm, do you have condoms with you?” you questioned, but Jungkook quickly shook his head. He had tears in his eyes. He honestly thought this was going to be it, that you were just going to stop and tell him to suck it up and get over it. That’s what Yuri would have done.

“Ok, we only have one option then. Hurry up and move your seat back a little.” Jungkook was confused, but followed your words anyway since there was no time to question it. As soon as he moved back, you maneuvered yourself to lean over the console and came face-to-face with his length, grasping it between your fingers. 

“What are you— oh, oh fuck…” Jungkook whined as you took him into your mouth. You tried to be gentle so you wouldn’t ruin your makeup, but you planned to make this quick. Luckily for you, with Jungkook being as sensitive and as close to the edge as he was, that wouldn’t be a very difficult task to accomplish. 

You were only able to get a couple strokes in before his hand quickly flew up to gently hold your head down— he was always so gentle— and you felt him cum down your throat. His noises turned into a mess of expletives, whines, and pretty, pretty moans as you steadily helped him through it. He came fast, hard, and was shaking slightly by the time you pulled off of him. 

That was… 

He probably looked like a mess. His hands had been running through his hair again. He had tried so hard to make it look nice, you’d even helped him out a little earlier when he complained that he didn’t know what to do with it after he’d messed with it all morning. You had been so soft in the way you concentrated on moving all his curls in the right place. Jungkook’s face had burned and his heart nearly raced out of his chest.

“You ok?” you eventually asked when you noticed he seemed kind of dazed.

That finally brought him back, realizing the time was still ticking. “Yeah s-sorry!” Jungkook stumbled, grabbing the things he needed. 

“Don’t apologize… 9 minutes…” You looked over at the clock, but then hurriedly brought out your phone to look in the camera and fix whatever had gotten out of place from your activities. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad. Just a quick reapplication of your lipstick and fixing your hair up a bit and you’d pretty much be good. 

“Thank you by the way…” Jungkook said so softly. His face was a little red, you noticed. It was one of the few moments you had these days when the tension dissipated and you were reminded of the shy boy who started blushing if you looked at him for too long. 

“It was my fault—” You stared intently at your camera as you reapplied your lipstick. “It wasn’t fair to just leave you hanging like that,” you said plainly. 

As soon as you were both done, you hurriedly got out, but then you quickly stopped him from heading to the door. “Let me just—”

Jungkook watched with wide eyes and a warm face as you worked to fix his hair once again. It wasn’t much, you really didn’t have the time to be standing here, yet you still…

“Alright, that’s all I can do— it looked so good before we left. But, huh, somehow you still look great— the messy look suits you,” you say nonchalantly as you continue speed walking. Jungkook had to hurry to catch up to you, dazed from the compliment, your intoxicating sweet scent, and the look in your eyes. 

Oh…

Part of him was tempted to say something, but he was too flustered for anything reasonable to come out.

“By the way, Jungkook, do you have any car recommendations?” you asked randomly as you both started to pick up the pace. You didn’t even need to turn behind you to feel Jungkook’s confused gaze.

“You seem like you have a good taste in cars and I was looking for— you know what, nevermind, we only have five minutes. We’ll finish this conversation later, just run!” You grab onto his hand and despite being in heels, you begin to book it. If only you could see the flushed look on Jungkook’s face as he trailed behind you. 

This wasn’t a situation you were unfamiliar with. There had been multiple meetings where you’d had to runfrom the subway station or bus stop to make it in somewhat reasonable time. How ironic was it? You thought going by car would be much quicker, but somehow you found yourself in the same situation all over again. Seriously, just your luck. 

“I’ll take care of you when we get back!” Jungkook called out from behind you. You didn’t turn around to reveal the smile on your face to him. Of course, he always needed to keep things even. Instead of responding, you just ran a little faster. 

You were going to be late at this point!

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Death Trapped, Clad Happily

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Chapter 1

❝ know that I would gladly be, the Icarus to your certainty ❞

pairing : joel miller x f!reader

tags : description of infected. gore. mentions of violence. description of mental health (anxiety, depression). small age gap. mature language. grumpy x sunshine. no use of y/n. canon divergence. slow burn. eventual smut. occasional joel perspective. lacking established relationship.

Synop :

Meeting Joel was an accident—though one that kept you alive. It was a whirlwind of events: one moment, Tess ushers you into a room, and the next, you're escorting a fourteen-year-old immune girl across the country.

With a man that won't look at you—let alone ask for your name or history.

Is surviving this trek worth it? How do you learn to breathe in a society no longer kind to you. And whose hands do you move to console at night?

w/c 6.8k

Four weeks earlier.

"Just come with me," Tess whispers, her steps light as you navigate the Massachusetts apartment building. Her hair, tied tightly into a ponytail, whips as she turns the corner, your feet following in suit.

"I told you I don't want to go to another party…" A small pout leaves your lips, eyes diligently following the lines of stripping paint against the walls. Old.

"Or, God forbid, another one of those underground gambling tables you found. Just to remind you — we lost not one, but two Snickers bars during that game," you continue, with a sarcastic shiver.

Before another remark could spill out of your mouth, Tess spins.

"I'm serious. This is serious." Her lips thin, small lines pursing with what seems to be anxiety. As much as the two of you fuck around, this is real. She's worried—a state you rarely see. A strong, poised, and strategic woman. Honestly? If it weren't for her, you probably wouldn't have seen the walls of the QZ. She saved you.

"Okay, okay…" You inhale deeply, and the smell of old, rotten wood fills your lungs. The building you had begun to climb was about twenty minutes from the main gate, near the body disposal outlet—a place people begged to leave.

"Just follow my lead. Be cool. I'll explain when we're in there."

Without another word, Tess knocks against the door. The brass numbers bolted to it seem polished—unlike the rest in the hallway.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Click. Click. Slide.

Several locks. The door opens, and a pool of warm light spills into the hallway. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the glow of the lamplight.

Immediately, you're met with coffee-colored eyes and salt-and-peppered hair. A man you've never seen before. Tall—perhaps around Tess's age, maybe a bit older. Handsome.

"Joel," Tess nods, strutting into the apartment with ease.

You hesitate for a moment before following, offering a small nod as you slip into the room beside her.

"I thought we weren't going to go through with this," the man—presumably Joel—says.

His southern drawl coats the words like honey: rough and deep, worn with exhaustion. His eyes match the tone—tired, guarded.

Him—or rather, his apartment—smells like fresh coffee.

God knows how anyone can smell that good in the QZ, but he’s smart, masking the ever-present stench of decay just outside.

The apartment is minimalist, to say the least. A few pots near the sink, a rusted kettle, and blue bedsheets. No photo frames. No personality.

"Well, Marlene practically begged us. And I’m tired." Tess’s voice is tight, tense. "This can be simple—over and done with. We bring her a few towns forward, drop her off, and that’s it."

She’s wound up, more than usual. Like there’s a knot between her shoulders that tightens with every failed moment of peace.

Before Joel can even respond, she sighs. "Joel, we are not good people. We’re doing this because apparently, she’s important. And I’m tired, Joel. I’m tired of failing. So don’t turn this into another job. Not this time."

At this point, you have a vague idea of what’s happening. A mission. A girl. The Fireflies. He’s not a Firefly… right? They’re going somewhere. And you—why are you here?

"Tess—" you start, your voice breaking through the tension.

All eyes snap to you at once, as if they’d completely forgotten you were even in the room.

"What the fuck is going on?"

As if Joel suddenly remembered you were in the room, he snapped: "Who the fuck is she?"

Okay, old man. What the fuck. You shoot back: "Who is he?"

Tess rolls her eyes, fingers gently pressing against her temples. "Can we please take a moment to calm down?"

Her gaze shifts between you and the older man. "This is Joel. He's what you'd call muscle...—and a smuggler. Like us. He does what he needs, gets the job done, and collects the money."

She turns slightly toward Joel, gesturing to you. "And this is my friend, and housemate." A small pause. "You're both trusted adults. I'm sure you can handle the presence of a new human?"

Dejected, you and Joel seem to nod each other off as an afterthought.

"Marlene asked us to bring a kid to some Statehouse. Apparently, the kid’s immune, and they’re working on a vaccine."

A vaccine. Your brain practically rewires at her words.

Surely this is a joke.

Tess leans against the granite countertop, fingers curling against the cool, worn marble. Her tone is steady, but there’s something fraying at the edge of it.

"Joel’s a survivalist. Knows weapons. Knows how to move. Pretty damn good with a compass."

And you—where the hell do you come in?

"You—" Tess starts, but you cut her off.

"Me?" you say, brows raised, disbelief curling into your voice.

"You’re one of the most trustworthy and skilled women I know," she says, eyes locking with yours. "So I’m asking you—just this once—to do me a favor."

"Oh no. No, no, no." You step forward, shaking your head. "You want me to leave the QZ? Tess, I’m not a fucking Firefly."

"I need you to do this." Her voice drops, more plea than order now. "It’s a quick job. I’ll go with you halfway. Then you take her to the Fireflies—they’ll get her to Salt Lake City. That’s it. It’s easy."

Easy.

The word hangs in the air like a bad joke. Your skin prickles.

The city’s still crawling with infected. You know that. So does she. And with the little ammo you've been able to smuggle in lately? It’s a suicide run dressed up as a favor.

Your eyes flick to Joel. He hasn’t moved. Just watching. Weighing.

Then, finally, a sigh. Low, tired, resigned. He pushes off the wall with a grunt.

"Fine."

It’s how you got here. Five days later.

Let’s call it the superhero origin story of this shitty little gang of survivors.

The plan, naturally, went to hell.

It started off fine. The journey to the Capitol building was long and tiring—quiet, mostly. You slipped in and out of streets, weaving around threats with a practiced rhythm. No wasted movement, no unnecessary noise.

Ellie was a good kid. Funny, sharp. She reminded you of your own childhood—of a little sister you never had. Moments stuck with you: the two of you giggling at ancient posters in cracked shop windows, your fingers gently sliding her sleeping bag up to her elbows at night, just in case she was cold. You told yourself not to grow attached. You couldn’t. But something about her made that impossible.

Joel? Joel didn’t change.

His face was always twisted in focus, jaw tight, eyes darker than the alleys he led you through. He could track infected like he had the ground memorized, adjusting his steps with eerie precision—just shy of setting off every clicker in the area.

Tess was right. He was damn skilled.

At night, not much was said. Just a few nods, short plans whispered like orders. He flexed his fingers around that pistol like it was part of him—white-knuckled grip, twitch-ready. Most nights, he took watch without complaint. Always silent.

You don’t think you ever saw him sleep. Or eat.

He moved like a machine—relentless, emotionless, calculating with every step. And somehow, that made him the safest person in the world to follow.

It was on the last day of the journey when everything fell apart.

You'd just arrived at the Capitol building. Eerily quiet. Too quiet. No Fireflies. No signs of life. Just the kind of stillness that presses against your skin like a warning.

—The sound.

A shriek, sharp and primal, tore through the silence. The horde descended fast, their screams like dying animals, raw and feral. You barely had time to react—twisted limbs and bloodied hands swinging like blades. Mutilated fingers turned claws scraped the air inches from your face.

Your lungs burned. You fought. Shooting, swinging, doing whatever it took to keep yourself standing.

Joel stayed close to Ellie, throwing himself between her and the infected. She scrambled behind a flipped table, clutching her knife, wide-eyed and trembling.

It felt like hours before the chaos died down. Slowly, everyone emerged from cover—either bloody, shaking, alive.

"Everyone okay?" you asked, lowering your trembling gun hand to your hip.

There were a few nods. A few pale faces.

Then Joel said it.

"Tess?"

It was in that moment you realized this mission had crawled straight out of hell.

And it came for her.

That kid—the one you shared posters and giggles with? She was the reason your best friend was dying.

The only friend you had left since the world cracked open and monsters started wearing human faces.

You broke. Who wouldn’t?

You dropped in weight, hands gripping Tess’s jacket with white-knuckled desperation. "Tess, please—" You begged, sobbed, pleaded.

But all she gave were final words—choked apologies and a shaky breath asking Joel to take care of you both. To bring Ellie to the Fireflies. To make her death mean something.

Then Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, strong and unrelenting. He pulled you away.

Tore you from the center of the room as your hands slid uselessly across Tess’s chest, across blood-soaked fabric, across the only person who’d ever really known you.

Your vision blurred. The room tilted. Loss never got easier. Your own hands raw and trembling as they gripped the fabric of Joel’s coat, but you didn’t fight him.

You couldn’t.

The next few hours were silent.

No one dared to speak.

No one did.

The Present

"Were you alive before the outbreak?" Ellie asked, arms out for balance as she walked the edge of a crumbling concrete planter, its roots bursting through cracks like veins.

"I was," you said, eyes fixed straight ahead.

A few feet in front of you, Joel marched in silence—boots crunching rhythmically against gravel. Your pack’s straps bit into your shoulders, a dull line of pain carving deeper with each step. Your feet throbbed, the ache crawling up into your thighs like slow fire.

"I was about twelve years older than you," you added after a pause.

Ellie looked down at her hands, counting fingers with a scrunched brow before giving a noncommittal shrug.

You watched her from the corner of your eye. She was always calculating—always curious. But there was something different about this question. Heavier.

"Aren’t you supposed to be answering the quiz questions?" you asked, half-yawning, trying to shake off the weight behind her words. You picked up your pace, closing the gap between yourself and Joel.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept walking—jaw tight, chewing at the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to say something.

Annoyance? Maybe.

Exhaustion? Probably.

Boredom? You knew better.

This silence wasn’t emptiness. It was restraint. "Do I look like I want to answer questions?" Joel gruffed, fingers adjusting the strap of his pack without breaking stride.

"Tough crowd," you muttered with a sigh, earning a small giggle from Ellie behind you.

This was the rhythm now. Ellie pestered. You gave in. And Joel acted like he’d rather fling himself off a fifty-story building than entertain either of you.

It took some getting used to—but if this was how things were going to be, well… Shit. Guess this is how it goes.

The crack of a branch stopped you cold.

Joel froze mid-step. Ellie’s breath cut off like someone’d pulled the plug.

No one spoke.

Just the wind and the low creak of old trees shifting around you—until there it was again. Not a branch this time. A footstep.

Joel’s rifle was off his shoulder in seconds.

"Stay behind me," he muttered, voice low and tight.

You already were.

Hands shot out, nudging Ellie behind you, while your other slipped the gun from the band of your jeans. The three of you moved in sync—a slow, mechanical glide, like cogs in a machine. From the outside, you might look like a well-oiled unit. From the inside? You couldn’t be more disconnected. Chasms between you, wide and silent.

Your eyes flicked right, then left. Scanning. Footsteps—but no body.

Your breath caught as you spotted it: a small gas station up ahead, the door cracked open just slightly.

"Joel," you murmured, nodding toward it. "Back up slow. I’ve got your six—you keep eyes forward. We slide in and wait for whatever's following to show themselves."

He grunted, low and sharp—like the idea annoyed him. But he moved anyway.

You crept closer, each step drawn out like a held breath. But inside?

Nothing. Just dust and old air.

The footsteps never returned.

Joel glanced to the side, exhaled through his nose. “Probably a coyote,” he muttered. “Sound bounces weird out here.”

You didn’t answer right away, still half-expecting something to lurch out from the shadows. But after a few long, empty beats, you nodded.

“Sun’s dipping,” Joel added, checking the light through the windows. “We make camp here.”

Ellie dropped her pack with a relieved thud, slumping against the wall with a tired groan.

For the first time in hours, your fingers uncurled from around your weapon. Sliding it into the band of your jeans, you hurled off your back, setting it against the old 7/11 countertop.

The place reeked of mildew and stale sugar. Gasoline? Yeah, maybe. The coolers were long dead, their glass doors streaked with grime, shelves picked clean save for a few smashed cans and fossilized snacks.

While Joel dragged a tipped-over shelf away from the back wall—clearing a space for the sleeping bags—you moved deeper into the shadows of the 7/11, stepping over broken tiles and the curled remains of old candy wrappers.

Ellie had already made herself at home, poking at a faded magazine rack like it might cough up something interesting.

You crouched behind the counter, rummaging, half out of habit, half out of boredom.

Then you spotted it: A slightly crushed box of tampons tucked behind some spilled batteries and a cracked lighter.

You stood and held it up with a triumphant grin, giving it a little shake like you’d just uncovered buried treasure.

"Ellie," you called, tone mock-serious, "jackpot."

She looked up—and snorted.

“You’re not wrong,” she said, hands on her hips.

Joel didn’t turn around, still adjusting the sleeping bags—but he let out a puff of air. That small, unmistakable sound. Almost a laugh.

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. Just quiet.

Comfortable.

The rest of the night was just that. Comfortable.

No clickers. No distant gunshots. Just the soft hum of wind sneaking through cracked windows and the quiet rustle of Ellie shifting in her sleep.

You stirred sometime after midnight, blinking through the dim, blue-black dark. It was your turn for watch.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you scanned the shelves absently as you moved—until something caught your attention.

Wedged between a stack of dusty paper towels and a tipped-over chip rack: a bottle. Still sealed. Whiskey. The good kind, too. Or at least, the kind that wasn’t mostly vinegar by now.

You smirked, cradling it like a prize as you slipped through the jammed door at the back of the store—the one that led to the tiny nook where Joel stood watch.

He was half-shadow, leaning against the wall, rifle in hand, gaze steady through the smeared glass of a side window.

"Old man," you jeered softly, holding up the bottle.

He didn’t flinch.

Just turned slightly, brow raising, and let out a dry exhale—half surprise, half amusement.

"You trying to get me sentimental?" he muttered, voice rough with sleep and gravel.

"Can a girl not have a drink with her survival—" You paused, eyebrows twitching. Partner? Friend? Foe? What was the word… "Travel buddy."

Twisting the cap off the bottle, you held it under your nose and took a cautious sniff.

Pungent. Definitely aged—but not in the fancy, expensive way. More like sat-too-long-in-a-forgotten-gas-station kind of aged.

You winced slightly, then held the bottle out toward Joel, half-smirking.

Joel eyed the bottle like it might bite.

“Hope you ain't expectin' me to toast to anything,” he muttered, taking it from your hand. But there was no real bite in his tone. Just that low, gruff rhythm you were starting to get used to.

He sniffed it, gave a skeptical grunt, then took a short sip. Coughed once.

“Smooth,” he deadpanned, handing it back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed under your breath and took a pull of your own—less a sip, more a test of courage. The burn hit fast and lingered long.

"God," you choked, eyes watering. “It's like drinking fire and regret.”

Joel huffed—close to a laugh. "Regret sounds about right."

The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy this time. Just settled.

He stayed leaning against the wall, shoulders a little looser now. The rifle rested across his lap, forgotten for the moment. The bottle passed between you, back and forth, the sharp taste dulling with each round.

At some point—without really meaning to—you caught yourself watching him.

The way the low light carved soft shadows across his face. The line of his jaw, flecked with grey. The furrow between his brows that had eased just a little, like he’d finally let himself exhale.

You weren’t sure how long you'd been staring until he glanced your way.

“What?” he asked, quiet.

Your brain scrambled for a lifeline.

“Do you miss her?” you asked softly.

Tess.

You didn’t have to say the name. It hung there, unspoken but loud in the quiet. Your best friend. His something. Something complicated. You knew something happened, and, whatever it was, Tess didn't acknowledge it either. It didn't seem emotional. Purely functional.

Your eyes dropped to the bottle in your hand. You took another sip—whether for courage or to try and drown the memories, you weren’t sure. Maybe both.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but real. Like he was sorting through a drawer he didn’t open often.

“Every day,” he finally said, voice low and steady.

No embellishment. No drama. Just the truth, plain and heavy.

He didn’t look at you, didn’t have to. He just stared out the window, jaw tight again, knuckles resting loosely on the rifle.

You nodded, more to yourself than to him.

“I still hear her laugh sometimes,” you said quietly. “Like she’s just in the next room, about to walk in and call me an idiot.”

Joel gave a soft grunt—almost a chuckle, almost not. “She did do that a lot.”

You smiled.

Another sip. Another shared silence. This one didn't hurt as much.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” you said, almost under your breath.

The words came out quieter than you meant them to—like they’d been sitting too long, waiting for the right moment to slip free.

You slid the bottle across the concrete floor to him, glass clinking softly against the toe of his boot.

Then your eyes dropped, settling on the worn twine bracelet wrapped around your wrist. Frayed at the ends. Tied too tight. The kind of thing you kept not because it was useful, but because it mattered.

Joel didn’t say anything right away.

Just looked down at the bottle, then back up at you.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, voice like gravel smoothed by time.

You glanced at him—just a flicker.

He took the bottle, took a slow sip, then leaned his head back against the wall with a low exhale.

“We all lost the good ones,” he added. “Now we just… make do.”

You looked down at the bracelet again. Your fingers brushed it, almost without thinking.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Make do.”

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The bottle sat between you, half-finished. The wind moved outside. And for once, the silence didn’t need filling.

Your eyes danced across his features once more, lingering just a moment longer than you meant to. A subtle tugging against your chest, a feeling you couldn't quite place yet—like you didn't know what to do with it. Like it was something new.

You shifted uncomfortably, breaking eye contact, trying to ground yourself.

"I hope you don't hate the kid…" The words tumbled out awkwardly, like they were catching on something in your throat. "She's, uh… sweet. Curious…"

Joel didn’t respond immediately. Just took another sip from the bottle, letting the silence hang thick in the air.

You shifted again, wishing for something to do with your hands.

"She’s not your responsibility," you added, almost a quiet afterthought. "But I think she needs someone. Like you. Whether you wanna be it or not."

Joel leaned back, his gaze going distant for a moment as he stared at the ceiling. He was quiet—like he was weighing something, taking his time.

"Don’t think I hate her," he said finally, his tone soft but firm. "She’s… a lot of things. But I don’t hate her."

He set the bottle down beside him. For the first time tonight, his posture seemed more relaxed—less rigid, less like he was carrying the weight of the world.

You met his gaze again, surprised at the weight behind his words. There was a rare softness there—one you didn't expect.

Your eyes flicked to his lips for just a second—barely a moment—but it was enough for the image to flood your mind.

Tess.

Your best friend, dying in front of you. The blood. Ellie’s cries. Your own screams of helplessness.

The nausea twisted in your stomach, sharp and sudden, like a knife sinking in deep.

"Yeah." The word came out thin, barely audible, like you were choking on it.

You couldn’t breathe in the same air as that moment. Not now. Not here.

"Sorry—I’m gonna go check on the kid. I’ll swap with you in a few," you muttered quickly, almost stumbling over the words as you stood.

It was fast—too fast. Like you were running away, even though you weren’t going anywhere. Just away from him. Away from… whatever that moment was.

You didn’t wait for his response, just moved past him in a hurry, heart pounding in your chest.

The bile rose in your throat, bitter and acidic, threatening to choke you. You yanked open your canteen, taking a desperate gulp of water, trying to wash it down, to push it back.

This was normal. You got like this sometimes.

The anxious sweat that clung to your skin. The headache that split your skull in two. The dizzying flood of memories that hit you in waves.

It was only a few weeks ago. But it felt like a lifetime. Like the wound was still fresh, still gaping wide open.A never-ending nightmare you couldn’t shake. Tess’s face, the monster she'd turn into. Ellie’s shaking hands—your own helplessness. It haunted you, clawing its way into every quiet moment.

You peered over the side of the shelf, eyes softening as you watched Ellie breathe slowly in her sleep. She was curled up tightly in her sleeping bag, her hair sprawled out around her like a halo of messy strands.

She looked peaceful—so much younger than she really was.

Must be getting good sleep.

It was rare to see her so still, so unburdened by the chaos that seemed to follow them wherever they went.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to linger there, watching her rise and fall with the rhythm of her breath. A fleeting sense of relief washed over you, almost resembling safety.

But that peace was always fragile. Always fleeting.

You wiped your mouth, sucking in a shaky breath, and tried to focus on the present. The sound of Joel shifting behind you. The distant creak of the building settling in the night. The faint rustle of the wind outside.

But it didn’t matter. The past clung to you, no matter how much you tried to outrun it.

You took a slow breath, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve as you tried to shake off the nausea that still clung to you. You didn’t have the luxury of letting it linger. Not now. Not with everything on the line.

You quickly straightened yourself out, running a hand through your hair, trying to smooth the mess of emotions into something more controlled.

After a moment, you made your way back to where Joel was, still sitting in the same spot, eyes fixed on the darkened world outside. He didn’t look up at first, but you could feel his attention shift the second you stepped back into the room.

“Ready to swap?” you asked, voice steady despite the chaos still simmering in your chest.

Joel didn’t say anything at first—just gave a small nod, grabbing his rifle and standing. He passed the bottle of whiskey back to you with a brief look.

“Stay sharp,” he muttered, almost like a command, though his tone was quieter now.

Joel passed the rifle to you, his fingers brushing against yours for only a second.

It was a brief contact, a silent exchange—like a wordless understanding between the two of you. The kind that didn’t need to be spoken. His calloused fingers lingered just long enough to remind you he was still there.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, stepping back toward the door with the faintest of nods.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said, his voice steady, but the words carrying that familiar weight—the same tone he always used when he wanted to keep distance.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the cold air slipping in behind him as he left.

You stood there for a moment, the rifle now firmly in your grip, the space between you and him growing again, just like always.

But there was something different tonight. Something almost unspoken.

You settled into the corner, rifle in hand, eyes scanning the shadows that stretched across the dim interior. The wind still howled outside, tugging at the edges of the building like it wanted in. Inside, though, it was just you. Just the constant low hum of your thoughts and the occasional rustle of Ellie’s sleeping bag.

The minutes stretched out in the silence, each one feeling like it lasted an hour. You let your gaze drift over the darkened shelves, the chipped walls, the cluttered corners. The world felt distant, as if you were suspended in some moment between everything that had happened and everything still to come.

And your mind kept circling back to Joel.

To how he looked when he passed you the rifle, his hand brushing against yours for that split second. To how he always seemed just out of reach, even when he was standing right next to you. How his hard, gruff exterior never let anyone in—not even when he probably needed it most.

He carried so much weight. You saw it in his shoulders, the way they slumped when he thought no one was looking. Saw it in the lines on his face, carved deep by grief and time. But there was always that wall—impenetrable, cold.

You tried to push away the thoughts, but they lingered anyway.

Tess. Her face, the way she died. How it had changed everything.

And then Ellie, so young, so full of hope despite it all. She had been the spark in the middle of a storm, the reason you both kept going. But sometimes, in the quiet, you wondered if even that was enough. Could it be? Could anyone really be enough to fill the void left by what you’d lost?

Your fingers tightened around the rifle, but it wasn’t to steady yourself—it was to ground yourself. To push the memories back where they belonged.

You glanced at the door Joel had walked through, your mind replaying the way he’d left without a second thought, without a word that lingered.

Maybe he was right to keep his distance. Maybe he was just protecting himself—keeping everyone at arm’s length before it all fell apart again. He was a survivor. A man who had been through things you couldn’t even begin to understand.

But that didn’t stop the ache inside you. The tugging feeling you couldn’t quite place.

You exhaled quietly and refocused on the watch. On the night stretching out before you.

I'm so fucked.

. . .

You woke slow.

Sluggish and weighted, like your bones had soaked up the whiskey overnight and refused to give it back. Your head throbbed gently behind your eyes, a dull pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat. When you finally peeled your lids open, the dim morning light bleeding through the boarded windows made you wince.

The first thing you saw was Joel.

Of course he was already up. Sitting near the front of the store with his back against a wall, legs stretched out in front of him, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. He was watching the street beyond the glass with that same silent intensity he always wore—like if he blinked too long, the whole world might collapse.

Ellie sat beside him, legs crisscrossed, happily munching on a beef stick like it was a gourmet meal. She looked up when she noticed you stirring and offered a lazy wave with her food.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said through a mouthful, grinning.

Joel didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked your way, taking you in. Just a glance. Enough to say _yeah, I saw you fall asleep on watch—but without judgment.

You groaned softly, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Whiskey’s a bitch.”

Ellie snorted. “I told you two, you're old.”

Ouch kid.

Joel, to your surprise, let out a faint hnf—a sound that might’ve been a laugh, if you were generous.

You stretched your arms overhead, bones popping, head still foggy. The cold from the floor had settled deep into your back, and your mouth tasted like dust and regret.

But despite the hangover… it felt like something had eased. Not gone, but softened. Like a knot that had been tied too tight was starting to loosen.

"Yeah, yeah… shush," you mumbled, dragging yourself to your feet with the grace of a ninety-year-old. You shuffled over and gave Ellie a half-hearted ruffle of her hair, earning a dramatic groan as she squirmed away, still chewing.

Your eyes stung—glassier than they should’ve been, bloodshot and heavy-lidded. The kind of look that screamed I didn’t sleep, even without the whiskey's help.

Didn’t matter how tired your body was. The mind didn’t always follow.

You blinked slow, like it might wash away the fog, and rubbed a hand over your face. The night had been long, broken up by flashes behind your eyes—things that weren’t there, things that were. Faces. Gunshots. Screams that never seemed to fade.

It wasn’t uncommon. Not anymore.

Joel had the same look some mornings, though he tried to hide it. You caught it in the set of his jaw, the dark rings under his eyes, the way his hand lingered near his weapon even in sleep. He didn’t talk about it—never did. But you could see it. That shared damage. The horrors of the world didn’t let anyone rest easy.

Not people like you.

Joel stood, stretching his back with a quiet grunt, and slung his pack over one shoulder. Ellie was already zipping hers up, humming something tuneless to herself as she finished her breakfast.

“Let’s move,” Joel said, nodding toward the door. “Storm’s gonna hit by sundown.”

You gave a small nod, shoving the last of your gear into your pack.

Another day. Another stretch of road.

But for just a moment, before you stepped out into whatever waited, you looked back at the little corner of the 7/11 where you’d all found sleep. Where, for a night, things had almost felt normal.

Almost.

It felt like miles had passed beneath your boots already, the 7/11 now long gone behind a curtain of trees. The road had given way to rough dirt and old trails, the remnants of society swallowed by the wilderness. No more crumbling buildings or rusted-out cars—just green, endless and alive, thick with the kind of quiet that wasn’t peace. It was the quiet that came after.

You inhaled deeply, slowing just a little. It smelled like rain.

That sharp, earthy scent right before a storm hits hard. You knew it well. That kind of wet air that clung to your skin, heavy with warning. The kind that made your bones ache, and your eyes heavy.

All around you, the forest was reacting. Squirrels had vanished from the branches, the birds above shrilling in erratic bursts before darting away toward thicker canopy.

Even Ellie had stopped humming. She tilted her head toward the sky, brow furrowing.

Joel was still walking, but slower now, gaze sweeping the tree line with that deep-rooted caution he never seemed to drop. The storm was close—he could feel it too.

The sky above was a mess of dark grays and black-blues, angry and low, rolling over itself like it was trying to swallow the horizon whole.

You adjusted the strap of your pack and gave a glance toward the others.

“We need cover,” you murmured.

Joel gave a low grunt, already shifting his path off the trail, deeper into the trees.

The pressure in the air changed—like nature was holding its breath.

You veered off the trail, boots sinking into the softened forest floor as you pushed deeper into the trees. Branches tugged at your clothes, rocks shifted underfoot, but you moved with purpose—eyes scanning, ears straining, heart thudding in rhythm with each cautious step.

The world was too quiet now. Not peaceful—unnatural.

Joel was just ahead, his movements smooth, deliberate, rifle raised and ready. You mirrored him instinctively, your own weapon held tight, finger ghosting the trigger. Behind you, Ellie followed close, staying sharp without needing to be told.

Even with the storm building above, neither of you let your guard down.

Because where there was quiet, there could be Clickers.

You stepped over a gnarled root, then paused—head tilting as you listened. A soft creak. A bird taking flight. The faint, wet sound of distant thunder rolling in from behind the hills.

But no growls. No clicks.

Still, your grip didn’t loosen.

Joel glanced back just enough to meet your eyes. One small nod. No words needed.

Keep moving. Stay alert.

The forest seemed endless, the trees growing closer, more tangled with each step. Rain hadn't come yet, but the air was thick with it. Pressing down on your shoulders. Soaking into your clothes. A promise of what was coming.

And all the while, the dread simmered under the surface.

Because storms didn’t just bring water—they brought opportunity. For the infected. For raiders. For things best left hidden.

You turned the bend of a tree, your eyes instinctively landing on Ellie just behind Joel. She moved like his shadow now—close, nimble, tuned into every step. A brief smile tugged at your lips despite the tension in your chest. Her reflexes were getting better. Sharper. Like a survivor.

Then came the hit.

It was swift. Brutal. A blur of motion.

One moment you were upright—the next, the forest spun sideways and the breath was ripped from your lungs as your back slammed into the dirt.

Your hands flew up just in time to shield your face, the shrieking, wet rasp of a Clicker tearing through the trees above you. Its weight crashed against your forearms, claws raking for purchase. Feral. Mindless. Starving.

Screams tore from its throat—animal and desperate.

You didn’t scream back.

Your body moved faster than your brain, twisting into the dirt, crawling backward as mud slicked beneath your hands and shoved itself beneath your fingernails. The rot of it all filled your nose. Leaves, blood, old rain. You kicked off from the ground, fumbling for your gun, fingers shaking—

Click—click—click.

More.

A second.

A third.

Your heart dropped into your gut as the sounds multiplied. It wasn’t just one anymore.

It was a horde.

The forest lit up with their snarls, breaking through the tension like lightning splits the sky. The rain started slow—small droplets tapping the leaves above—and then, in an instant, it came down in sheets.

Joel was shouting something, distant, muffled by the roar of the downpour.

You scrambled to your feet, slick with mud, gun finally gripped tight in your hand as shadows darted between the trees.

Too many.

Your brain didn’t think. It snapped into overdrive.

Everything else fell away—the storm, the weight of the world, the rain slashing down like a thousand knives. Your heart pounded in your ears, blood hot and fast. It wasn’t a choice; it was instinct. Raw, desperate.

“JOEL!”

The cry ripped through you, rough and strangled. You didn’t care that it echoed in the storm. It was the only thing that mattered.

Joel’s head snapped around at the sound of your voice—eyes narrowing, rifle already raising. In a heartbeat, two shots shattered the air, punching through the chaos and ending the first Clicker’s lunge. Its body crumpled with an eerie screech, but it didn’t matter.

You didn’t hesitate.

You bolted.

Straight for Ellie.

Ellie’s small form was just ahead, standing too still in the midst of it all—too still. She hadn’t seen the horde yet. Or maybe she had, and was trying to stay brave, trying to stand her ground.

But you weren’t going to let her face it alone.

You pushed forward, muscles straining, lungs screaming. Your boots slipped in the mud, but you didn’t stop. Your heart wasn’t in your chest anymore—it was lodged in your throat, every beat a drum in your head.

You reached Ellie just as the first of them came charging through the trees—claws scraping against bark, shrieks splitting the air.

Without thinking, you shoved her behind you, your back to her, arms spread wide like a shield. You threw yourself in front of her, heart wild in your throat, body trembling with adrenaline.

“Stay. Behind. Me!” You snapped through gritted teeth, eyes never leaving the trees, gun raised but unsteady in your hands. You could feel Ellie’s presence just inches from you, her breath ragged in your ears.

Behind you, the growls and clicks came faster. More.

Too many.

You didn’t look back at Joel. You didn’t need to. His presence was a constant, a safety, even as his shots cracked through the air.

Instead, your gaze locked on the woods. Every rustle, every flicker between the trees set your nerves alight. The storm was falling harder now, rain pouring down in sheets, blending with the blood and the screeches.

Click. Click-click-click.

The ground seemed to quake as they closed in. The trees were alive with them—shadowy figures sprinting at you from every direction, their movements jerky, like a twisted dance.

And still, you held your ground. Because there was no other choice.

Joel’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.

“Move!”

A/n : Can you tell I have a hyper fixation? Nothing would quench my thirst until I had actually written something myself. I'm not sure how long this is, but depending on feedback.. It's angsty, raw, filled with hard topics, and a slow burn - all of the favorites. oh, and of course a future smut chapter, but that's a present for making it through. The story follows semi-canon events of The Last of Us (S1) with deviation. Additionally, each chapter is mildly based on a song, so do with that as you will.

tag list 0/50: comment to be tagged for updates

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Tear stained pillow case - p4

Pairings - Drew Starkey x reader

Summary - Trying to forgive and forget

Warnings - a little angst, handjob. (18+)

A/n - wow wow it’s taken me so long to finish this chapter and honestly I wanted it to keep be angsty and depressing but I’m a sucker for happiness.

Part 3

Two weeks had gone by since you and Drew decided to move forward, it had been hard for you. Hard to let him back in, hard to trust, hard to let him touch you. But, even though it has been hard, the erratic beat of your heart and goosebumps that littered your silky skin when he was around was enough for you to know to push the negativity to the back of your mind.

You continued to tell yourself to take it slow and let the relationship start back up, you couldn’t jump back into the deep end. He was on board with everything you said, he gave you space when you needed it and he didn’t push you to talk when you didn’t want to.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about their kiss. Especially today when he was doing an interview just across town. He had called you when he was leaving and straight away he could tell, you were very quiet on the phone he almost couldn’t hear your responses.

“Please babe”

“Drew… you kissed someone else, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy” you sighed over the phone, pacing your bedroom floor.

You had been on the phone for just under 10 minutes. He had a lot of work commitments. You’d seen each other twice, both times had been great, he took you to the park for a picnic and the other time he made you watch rom coms with an abundance of snacks.

“It was just a kiss”

“Just a kiss?”

“Wait.. I didn’t mean it like that”

“Just a kiss? To you it may have been just a kiss… to me you were throwing away 4 years of love and adoration”

Your fingers hit the side button, closing down the call with him. You felt sick, you always felt sick. It had never been like this when he was filming for outerbanks but then he met Odessa and was booked for a role with her, you obviously didn’t care if he had to kiss or act out sex scenes for a movie,

You were so proud of him and you wanted him to have the best career, but the moment people started shipping them together that’s when it started making you feel sick because you could feel it within yourself that he was slipping away.

“y/n”

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by your Mum slinking in. She closed the door behind her and pulled you into a hug, brushing your hair from your face.

She guided you back to the bed and let you cry, tears staining her work blouse.

You didn’t want to keep crying over him, you wanted to forgive him and move on. But every time you looked at his lips the images of Odessa and him flooded you. You felt like you were drowning around him. And that couldn’t be good.

“He loves you dearly”

“Then why did he kiss her?”

“I don’t know baby… but I do know that man would do anything to have you forgive him. Do you want to forgive him?”

“Of course I do… I just don’t know how”

She continued to pat your hair, humming a soft tune before pulling you up right. Grabbing a tissue she wipes under your eyes and begins to pull your hair up into a ponytail.

It brought back memories of when you were a child, warmth surrounds your aching heart.

“Your going to get yourself dresses, your going to go to reach out to Odessa” “wait what” “let me finish”

“You're going to talk to her, ask the questions you need the truth too. You're then going to make the decision, do you stay or do you go”

You hadn’t told Drew that you contacted Odessa, a part of you wanted to make sure he couldn’t reach out to her and tell her to keep her mouth shut, it made you sick to even think that. Drew wasn’t that kind of person, he would have owned up to his mistakes the moment he told you he kissed her.

Surprisingly she had been more than willing to FaceTime you, she called you at around 5pm. Your fingers shook as you pressed the answer call, her face popped up on screen. She was a lot prettier than you, was the first thing you thought, it latched onto the part of your brain that had you feeling self conscious the whole call.

“I’m really sorry y/n, it was such a dumb thing to do on my part” your eyebrows crease together. “I kissed him”

“Oh” she doesn’t say anything for a moment, running a hand down her face and fixing the phone up. “Can you tell me what happened?” You question, you needed the full story. “Of course”.

Odessa admitted to falling for Drew, she said she had no intentions of doing so. That her and her girlfriend had broken up and he was there for her during the filming of hell raiser. She told you how she knew it was wrong and constantly fought with herself when she was around him, telling herself he was in a relationship. But it didn’t stop her from kissing him one night, the two of them left an event and were standing in the hotel hallway. He wanted to make sure she went inside before he went to his, she took his loitering around for something else and grabbed him by the shirt, the kiss lasted maybe 15 seconds.

She said he hadn’t kissed her back at first but then he did just before pulling away and leaving her in the hallway without a word.

She said he wasn’t their in the morning and she knew she fucked the friendship because he stopped answering her calls.

“And then I found out the two of you broke up and I wanted to reach out and say it was my fault but who wants to hear from the slutty friend”.

“Nothing else happened?”

“Nothing else, he left and I haven’t seen him since”

“Okay”

It’s silent for a few moments, you can feel her staring at you. “I’m really sorry y/n”.

You nod your head and stop the call, you didn’t owe her a thank you or a goodbye. You got what you needed.

You drove yourself over to your old apartment, bags packed. If you were going to give this another shot you needed to go back home, you couldn’t keep putting off seeing him. How were you meant to push through if you only see him once a week?

Your key is in the lock before you can wimp out, the house is dimly lit and you can hear the shower running. You drop your bags and lock the door behind you, your legs are taking you towards the sound of running water. Slowly strip off your jumper and shirt followed by the rest of your clothes until you're enveloped by the steam, clearing your nostrils.

You tap your knuckles against the bathroom door “it’s me”. His head pokes out of the glass door, you don’t miss the way his eyes widen at your naked body. “Hi”

Stepping into the shower he stares down at you with a smile but he doesn’t touch you, unsure if he is allowed to. So you reach up and press your palms to his chest, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. His hand holds your jaw, you're the one deepening the kiss. He lets you take control, he doesn’t want to push you to do something you weren’t ready for. “Sorry” he mumbles as you're pulling away and looking between the two of you, his cock was hard. Poking you in the stomach, his cheeks flushed pink. You hesitate for a split second before your hand wraps around the base of him, looking up at him through your lashes you catch the role of his eyes.

His cock throbs within your hand, pre cum leaks from his pink tip. Your hand jerks up and down his shaft, emitting moans from Drew, his hips begin to jerk. Your thighs pressed together at the sounds he lets out, you can feel your own arousal leaking down your thigh. His large hands grips the glass door steadying himself, his knees weak under him. “Y/n” he groans, you looking between his face and his cock. His body shudders under the shower, spraying you with warm water. “I’m… oh fuck I’m going to cum” he grunts, your free hand cups his balls this tips him over the edge and his spurting his cum all over his stomach.

He takes deep breaths to calm his erratic heart rate, your small hands push him under the water and help him clean himself up. “What was that for?” He questioned, you shrugged and leaned up to kiss him again. “Paying my debts from the other night”.

He thinks back to the night he helped you get off on his clothes cock, another pink blush creeps onto his cheek. “You didn’t have to but thank you”. You kiss for a bit longer, his hands wander all over your body sending shivers down your spine.

A familiar warmth settles within you and you can’t hide the bin grin in your face. You missed this, you missed him.

Then he’s helping you wash yourself, wrapping a towel around you when you both get out. “Do you need clothes?” “My bags are at the front door”.

He can’t hide the smile that creeps on his lips, he practically runs out of the bedroom and grabs your stuff. He watches you pull things out and put back in their place, he quickly throws on a pair of basketball shorts and watches you change into a shirt and shorts.

“Is that my shirt?” “Yeah” another smile creeps on his lips. You had been wearing one of his shirts everyday since you broke up, it had started to smell more like you than it did him.

He’s sat on the bed watching you until you take a seat next to him. “I spoke to Odessa” tension fills the room but he doesn’t move, eyes still on you waiting for you to speak again. “I asked her to tell me everything” “okay”

He turns slightly and pulls you closer to him, your legs over his. “I’m still not over the fact you kissed her but it does make me feel slightly better that she initiated it and you did stop it after a split moment of hesitation”. He nods, his fingers are drawing circles on your thigh. “I’m so sorry” he breathes. “I shouldn’t have said it was just a kiss, it was a kiss that broke us up and I’m so stupid for saying I couldn’t do it anymore, of course I could. You're the only person I want, actually the only person I need”

“Your the only person I want too”

🏷️ - @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @drewstarkeysleftfoot @cameronmedia @users09 @teresalesbian @outerbankspov @bbycowboi @stuffyownswrld @ietss @tastycakee @maybankslover @loverofdrewstarkey @wpdailyminimeta @willowpains @littlefirefly08 @brooklynscherry-z @imnotapretzelsstuff @ijustwanttoreadlols @its-ria-07 @onedayatatime6 @victory-in-the-llama @brooklynscherry-z @abbyshmaby @lassie-bird @daisylovesrafe @pet1t3 @crazyf0robx @willowalexissss @kys4-20 @xo-hayleyy-xo (I tagged a few people who commented on the last part, lmk if you don’t want me to tag you in the next part)

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I wanna say there's some pretty descriptive talk about depression in this chapter, just as a heads up. Anyways, it's my weekend and I'm going to be absolutely zooted every single day so the next chapter will most likely be out Monday morning PST lol.

Cross-posted on AO3

Session 3: Blocking In Color

It was nearly three weeks until you saw Leon again.

You tried to call him a couple days after he'd left that day, a few more times over the following week, but to no avail. The man was unreachable.

Even though you did your best to convince yourself that you just wanted to get his painting started, "It was an important one", you knew that you were really just worried about him.

You've seen this kind of dismay with the other retired agents that've had a portrait painted in the past, but they at least recognized what they'd been through.

Leon hasn't. You could just tell.

Looking over the sketches you made of his face, you couldn't help but wonder what exactly he'd been thinking about the last time he was here. He seemed so bothered, acting like he was hiding it so well, too.

Then again, you did drop a rather large bombshell on the guy while he was in a pretty vulnerable state, but you thought he knew what the portrait he was going to receive was suppose to mean. Again, most of the retired agents you'd seen were similar to Leon in that regard and even they at least had a basic grasp on the finality of it all. So why didn't he?

You nursed your bottom lip, still staring at the sketches laying in front of you while you sat at one of your desks in the corner. You normally don't come to your workspace unless you're actively painting, yet you'd shown up everyday in hopes Leon would randomly pop in. He seemed like the kind of guy to just kind of show up, anyways...

If you had just gotten a picture that day you've could've at least started working out the positioning for his portrait. Unfortunately, he wasn't in any position mentally to put up with anymore of your shenanigans at the time, it seemed.

You really did try your best to get ahold of Leon, eventually giving up a few days ago. You'd already emailed the President, who had been the one to personally commission you unlike with previous ex-agents, letting him know that it's going to be longer than expected. Thankfully he was understanding, knowing rather well how much the whole retirement thing was weighing on Leon.

You'll come back tomorrow and try again. Even the next day, and the day after that if you have to, and so on and so forth.

Guilty. That's all Leon felt right now.

He's been shelled up in his house since the moment he got home after leaving your building, withering away by the minute.

He hadn't showered, barely eaten, only ever really pulling himself from what little comfort his room offered to grab whatever bottle he touched first in the cabinet. Leon didn't care, just as long as it was something.

Chris had been over a couple times after he stopped responding to his messages, doing his best to get him out of the house. Claire had been over a few times more than her brother had, bringing groceries once she'd heard about the sad state Leon was keeping himself in.

It broke both their hearts, but they could only do so much for him. Leon was stubborn, head strong, he wasn't the kind to sway to many forces. He had somehow gaslit himself into thinking he was doing well. "Just peachy", even.

Clearly that wasn't the case, both Chris and Claire could see that. They'd have to be blind not to.

Having been in contact with Leon's government-assigned therapist, Chris tried to set up an at-home meeting for him one day. That turned out to be a disaster seeing as Leon was bordering on blackout drunk and could barely keep his eyes open. Not to mention the vomiting.

Claire even tried to bathe Leon. She only got far enough to wash his hair in his kitchen sink, using his vomit-covered mouth as an excuse to keep him over the sink long enough to shampoo his greasy, stringy hair.

All of it was weighing on him too much. He felt so guilty for making his friends feel like they had to babysit him, ignoring everyone's calls and messages, your calls and messages. That kind of thought process quickly spiraled into him reliving the worst days of his life, having to through suffer so many flashbacks and nightmares, not sleeping because of it. He rarely ever felt safe enough to get under the covers on his bed.

None of this is what he wanted. If it were up to him, he'd start all over; be twenty-one again, work as a cop, maybe get promoted a few times, find a girlfriend, start a family, have a normal life. Why couldn't he have that?

Staying awake night after night, Leon would stare at the ceiling in his bedroom and fantasize about the wonderful life he could've had, the happy memories he could've made. It would make him weep, longing for something that never could've been.

Instead, Leon was stuck with endless images of horror, death, and gore every time he blinked, and oh was he bitter about it all. So bitter, so angry, so...

Feeling sorry for himself was all he could do now. Sure, he killed all those monsters and zombies, saved all those people, not once did he think about himself through the years. Now he had all the time in the world to question and wonder, and having to think about himself and what he wanted most made him feel like a needy, greedy bastard.

But wasn't he allowed to be greedy, if only just a little? He had wants, needs, and though he wanted so desperately to change his past, he knew he couldn't. So, what did he want now? That, he didn't know.

Guilty for feeling this way, guilty for wanting different, guilty for wanting anything good for himself.

It took the better part of those two weeks for Leon to finally muster up some form of energy to stumble into his bathroom and shower one afternoon, dizzy and nauseous. The light emanating from the rest of his house was blinding, not having even bothered to close the shades he had on any of his windows. His room was kept a cave and that's where he stayed.

Leon now found himself sitting down in the shower just like before he'd decided to retire, only this time it was mostly to keep from slipping and dying. The last thing he needed anyone to see was him naked and dead in the shower. Embarrassing.

His thoughts at the moment were shallow, still pretty drunk from his bender, head lulling back and forth a bit as his vision spun. He was finally hungry again, the heat from the shower making that all the more obvious as he grew lightheaded, but he didn't know what he wanted.

After managing to actually crawl his way out of the shower, he dug through the pile of dirty laundry at the end of his bed, finding a pair of boxers that didn't smell too terrible to put on.

Leon used the wall heavily for support to walk out into his kitchen, muttering curses under his breath at just how bright it was. Opening his freezer, he stared at the meal prep containers left by Claire, grabbing one to attempt and read what she'd wrote on the sticky note attached to the lid.

That's right... She made him little meals, even putting them in the freezer so they didn't go bad as fast. All he had to do was put it in the microwave.

Simple enough, he could do that.

The one he chose was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Just the sound of it had his stomach rumbling and his mind craving the comforting taste of a home cooked meal.

The first few bites in made Leon feel nauseous again, but once those bites hit his stomach the feeling immediately gave way to just how hungry he actually was.

He tried to pace himself, he really did try, yet he managed to devour the food in front of him in a matter of minutes, only pausing every few seconds to breathe. It felt so good, something warm in his stomach. Filling in all the right ways. Once he finished, he pushed the empty container away and just laid his head down sideways on the cool countertop, closing his eyes as he let the food settle.

As much as he wanted to degrade himself for acting this way, reducing himself to such a weird and pathetic state, Leon didn't have the mind to. All he knew right now was that the warmth that the meal Claire made him. Not to sound cliche, but he genuinely believed he could taste the love cooked into it.

For the first time in what was now two and a half weeks, Leon was awake and alert when Chris and Claire came over again. He'd eaten everything Claire made, holding all the now cleaned containers out to her. It was a silent plea for more, and lucky for Leon, she had just made another grocery trip for him.

Unbeknownst to him, Claire had been cooking here at his house. This entire time he thought she'd been bringing the meals over, assumed to be leftovers from cooking for her family. She did confess to hoping the smell of the food cooking would pull him from his room. It didn't, much to her dismay, but now she was just glad he was up and eating again.

As soon as Leon tried to apologize for dragging her away from her family, she was quick to shut him down with that mom stare she'd developed after having her kids. It worked, especially on him.

Chris was busy chatting up Leon while Claire cooked him another set of meals for the next week. It was hard to converse, but Leon did manage to nod and him as the other man talked about some random encounter he had the other day while out driving.

It was strange to feel so lively again. Those thoughts still clung to the back of his mind, though all he could focus on were his friends taking care of him like one of their own. Leon feels like he's been a terrible friend lately, seems as though the siblings standing in his kitchen didn't feel the same. He wasn't showing it, but Leon was definitely holding back a smile.

A couple hours had past, Chris opting to stay with Leon and eat lunch since Claire had to head back and help her husband with something.

The hug Claire gave Leon was phenomenal. After the hug he shared with you he's been craving that physical contact more than ever, so finally getting another good squeeze from a friend was boosting his mood.

Chris and him sat, ate, and talked about whatever came to mind, eventually asking about you.

"How's the painting coming along? Do you like the painter?" He smiled, looking at Leon with wide, curious eyes. That man always had a smile gracing his features.

Leon shrugged, taking a sip from the water he poured himself not too long ago. He was pretty dehydrated after solely drinking alcohol for the past couple weeks. "She's alright. Haven't started the painting yet."

Chris raised an eyebrow, placing his arms on the counter and crossed them as he leaned forward slightly. "Just 'alright'?" he emphasized the word "alright" with air quotes, which caused Leon to scoff.

"What else do you want me to say? I've seen her twice so far and its been fine." Leon lifted his hands up in confusion, palms facing the ceiling as he watched the man sitting next to him rolled his eyes dramatically. "C'mon, she was amazing for Claire and I- Okay, how about this..."

Chris repositioned himself so his entire upper body was facing him now, leaning in a little closer to ask another question. "Do you like the room she works in? Cause I thought it was pretty comfy. When she was focusing on Claire's part of the portrait, I took a nap over on that rug she had. All those pillows mixed with the classical music knocked me the fuck out."

He laughed, shaking his head at memory before looking over at Leon again. "So...? And don't lie to me, I saw that pillow on your couch."

Leon sucked on his teeth and hummed, glancing over his shoulder at his couch. "It's cozy, yeah." He brought his head back forward, patting his hands gently against the counter.

The two chatted for awhile longer before Chris eventually had to leave, giving Leon a firm pat on the shoulder while shaking him a bit. After he left, Leon was left to sit alone and think again, only difference now is he felt better. He was crazy tired, his social battery quickly drained from having his friends around, but he felt good nonetheless.

He wasn't ready at the time, yet after a sober night with solid sleep, Leon woke up the next morning and decided to just text you, hoping you weren't mad at him. Calling would've been too much at that moment, not even have listened to the voicemails you left, or anyone's, for that matter.

His chest felt tight after sending the text, but it was quickly eased about ten minutes later when you responded with nothing but enthusiasm. The smiley face you added at the end of your message made him smile, quickly wiping it away with his hand.

Your next session was arranged two days ahead of time in the late afternoon. Leon wanted to give himself enough time to recollect since he needed to look his best the following weeks. You told him it was time to start with the main painting, which you still needed a picture for.

During that time he finally shaved his stubble, went out and got his hair trimmed, tackled all the laundry he'd neglected, and got his best suit dry cleaned. All thoughts aside, he felt good and wanted to stay this way.

Needless to say, Leon was jittery when he pulled up to your workplace again. He was finally letting himself feel excited again about this painting. If it's anything close to what Chris and Claire's portrait is, then that excitement will only continue to grow the further along you get.

You were already there waiting for him at the door, a gentle smile on your face. That wonderful soft perfume that he missed reaching his nose once more as you lead him up the stairs and through the other door. Chris was right, if he had the opportunity, he'd take a nap on your rug. It looked mighty comfy.

Leon was thankful you didn't ask any questions on his whereabouts, he wasn't ready to talk. You were just as excited as he was about getting the painting started, if not more. Watching you eagerly move back and forth between the larger easel and your desks was a refreshing sight to the man.

You stood at your easel for a couple minutes, just silently looking from the blank canvas to where he was sat. You told him to get into a comfortable position, prompting him rest his right leg on his left knee, leaning back and to the side so he was sitting at a slight angle, arms resting on the chair's armrests.

You stared at him for a few seconds, tilting your head side to side with your eyes squinted. "Let me just-" you spoke in a hushed voice, walking over to Leon before cautiously reaching out to rest one hand on the underside on his chin while the other hovered over the side of his face.

You weren't an idiot, you knew what his absence was from. So you made sure to be careful with him, knowing he was probably still pretty fragile. Only gentle and cautious touches for Mr. Kennedy.

So close yet so far. His skin tingled in your hands wake, and god he hoped you couldn't notice his blush.

You could, but you wouldn't say anything. Besides, you weren't faring well yourself, hands a little shaky as you touched his face.

Leon just let you move his head to whatever position you wanted, his eyes now half-lidded as you had walked back a couple times to get just the right angle. You pulled away for a final time with a small "aha!" and he wished you would hold his head for just a little longer.

The floor where your easel sat was marked with an 'X' made with painter's tape, making it easy for you to stay in the right spot for the photo once you pushed the easel out of the way.

"Don't move." You held your hands up after analyzing his position, quickly hurrying over the corner opposite of your desks to grab a bulky camera that sat atop a tall tripod. You worked as fast as you could, knowing as long as you had a picture with him in this position then this whole process would go so much smoother.

You didn't even have to ask Leon to smile or look up at the camera since he was sitting there with a rather dopey smile, his eyes remaining trained right on yours. Nice and natural. He looked relaxed which is exactly what you wanted.

Just as a precaution, you took multiple pictures, giving him a thumbs up once you figured you'd gotten enough. His head back to rest on the chair at the okay, listening to the sound of you walk over to your laptop after untwisting the camera from the tripod. You printed out 3 copies of the photograph and taped one to a stand you had brought over to sit next to the easel, making sure it sat eye level to you.

The ball was finally rolling, now having what you needed to start with the main sketch. When Leon lifted his head up, he noticed that you were ready, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose while he shifted a little to get back in just the right position.

You twirled your pencil between your fingers before beginning to roughly sketch out the chair, eyebrows furrowing as you focused. Leon could see your expression, how intensely you zoned into your work. It was incredibly admirable and he found himself fully content in just watching you do your thing.

It didn't take long before you had sketched out his general shapes, now walking over to take the sketches you made of his face out of your sketchbook to clip up right next to the reference photo. The more finer details would be added later, but you wanted to get just the basic shapes of his face.

That didn't take long either, because before Leon knew it, you were telling him it was okay to talk. He was pretty animated with his hands when he talked, so you kept him quiet until now.

"Am I easy to draw?" Leon spoke with an almost sultry tone after a few seconds of you telling him he could speak. It threw you off only a bit, carding your fingers through your hair as you took one step back to look at what you had so far.

"I wanna say yes and no." You responded, catching his questioning look from the corner of your eye. "You're easy to sketch out, yes, but your hair is giving me trouble." You could hear a low chuckle rumble from his chest as you stepped back forward. "Hey, you asked." You laughed back.

"I know, I know." He shook his head with a poorly hidden grin, tilting his head down to try and hide it a little better. You immediately pointed your pencil at him, not taking your eyes off the canvas. "I said you could talk, not move." Your sarcastic tone made him chuckle again, slowly lifting his head back up with a sigh.

"Yes, ma'am." You could just hear the smirk in his words, causing you to let out a sigh of your own.

By the time the sun had started to set, you had blocked out all the simple colors for the painting. Right now, it just looked like a very bland and abstract painting. It'll come together, slowly but surely. Trust the process, as people say.

Leon was in awe already, having stood up to look at your progress as you washed your hands over in the small bathroom. Oil paints smeared something fierce and as much as you loved your job, you did not want feel oily at home.

"It already looks stunning." You heard the man say from where he stood in front of the easel. It wasn't quite registering in his brain that it was him on that canvas just yet, but hopefully soon it would.

He wanted to recognize himself in something as wonderful as your art.

[aquaticwolfkuri]

You HATE me, But I HATE You more: ch.5

(sorry for the long wait. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Comments are most welcome)

Today at Skool, Zim couldn’t help but notice all the other students were talking about “Prom” And who they were going to ask to go with them or what they were going to wear.

At first Zim just assumes its just some useless Urthling ritual… but than he hears something about “Prom king, and prom Queen” 

Curious, Zim pulled out a small device from his pack and searches through the human database to figure out what exactly the prom king is, and to his delight, it seems like becoming Prom king could help him rule the Skool and possibly even the whole Urth!

Zim begins to laugh, but he's interrupted when Dib suddenly appears behind him.

“Just what are you up to now?” Dib asks, narrowing his eyes at the alien.

 Zim nearly jumps before quickly moving away, putting distance between them.

“Why, I'm just SO curious about this, PROM thing that everyone is talking about” Zim says, but Dib doesn't seem to take this very well.

“Oh no you don't Zim. You are NOT going to ruin my chances to take Plotty to the prom!” This disgusts Zim.

“That PLOTTY-human is just mind controlling you, Dib! She's making you too stupid to see it”

“Whatever Zim, I'm taking Plotty to the prom and I'm not letting you ruin this for me” Dib says says before walking away. Zim glares, furious. 

“Ugh! Stupid Dib! Why does he still insist on being around that Plotty!? I already told him about her mind control, but he just refuses to listen to me…!” Zim grumbles, wishing he could choke the other boy until his eyes popped out, but even if he did, Dib would probably still insist on being around that GIRL....

Suddenly, Zim feels his chest tighten and something sickly in his belly. He quickly scans himself with his device again, but once more, his vitals appeared to be normal like usual.

Just what had Dib done to him?? Was it some kind of undetectable human poison???

Sitting at his desk, Dib vaguely listens to his history teacher while he watches the sky through the window, trying not to fall asleep… but he dozed off anyway.

It's not of any particular memories, but Dib dreams about being 12 again, trying to catch Zim and stop his evil plans… Things really aren't like that anymore, are they?

Zim has become a lot less focused on conquering the earth and more so just harassing him. And Dib on the other hand has nearly put his paranormal investigations to the side to focus on High Skool and just be… a normal teenager.

“Dib.”

“Nh….”

“Dib…!”

“Zim…??” Lifting his head from his desk, Dib groggily opens his eyes, only to realize the person in front of him is his teacher, looking none too pleased with his recent nap.

“Dib, I'll excuse you this time, but if you fall asleep in class again, I'll have to report you,” She says.

“Y-Yes ma’am,” Dib replies, not wanting his dad to hear another word about his misdemeanors at Skool again.

He sighs, wishing he was home right now, feeling kind of depressed after that dream.

When he looks out the window, he realizes it started to rain while he had been asleep. It's a good thing he's always prepared… Zim on the other hand, did not come prepared.

Since there hadn't been any rain, Zim forgot to bathe in his paste this morning.

Once Skool was over, everyone grabbed their umbrellas, and those who forgot to bring their own either had a friend to share with or made a mad dash home.

Zim nervously stared at the rain. It was a week ago that he applied his paste, but maybe it would still be effective?? He sticks a finger out only to quickly retract it, feeling it burn from just a single drop of rain.

Zim cursed under his breath, wishing he had never believed a human weather-man, as clearly, the sky wasn't as sunny as predicted.

Unfortunately, however, while standing around, one of the students decided to have some fun and shoved Zim down the small flight of stairs and into the rain. Zim hits the ground, feeling the small puddle of water forming on the concrete burn his skin, as well as the rest of the endless downpour falling from the sky. He screams and squirms around like a dying bug before managing to get up off the ground and under a tree.

This new shelter doesn't provide much cover, but it was better than nothing.

Feeling his body burn and blister, Zim holds himself tightly, damning this planet's water.

“W-Why does it hurt more than usual??? “ Did it have something to do with whatever Dib had done to him???

Excited to finally get home, Dib meets up with Gaz, telling her his amazing plan about sharing an umbrella with Plotty, but she doesn't seem that interested, instead, she seems more interested in a particular tree out by the front of the Skool.

“Gaz are you-” Dib stops mid-sentence, noticing a few of the students laughing, mimicking some kind of bug before pointing at the same tree Gaz was staring at. Then, it finally clicks. Zim is behind the tree.

Dib looks at the tree for a moment, but he can hear Plotty approaching with her friends… He looks back towards the tree again, thinking about his recent dream…

“Hey, Gaz… I'll meet you back home. Tell Dad I’m running late.” 

“Alright…” Gaz says, and just like that, Dib takes off toward the tree without saying another word. She watches and smiles ever so slightly, approving of her brother’s decision.

“What's wrong Space boy? Did your robot eat all your paste again??” Dib laughs, mocking the green boy. Zim glares, furious, especially because Gir actually wasn't at fault this time.

“Silence, Dib-worm!! I-” Before Zim can continue, Dib suddenly holds out his umbrella over his head. Zim’s body instantly feeling relief from the rain with the new shelter.

“Unlike you MIGHTY Irkens, I can handle the rain,” Dib says, letting himself get completely soaked by the rain.

Zim glares at him, feeling something sickly and squirmy in his stomach again, so he shoves Dib to the ground after taking the umbrella.

“You- Do not mock the Irken empire!!” Zim says, but Dib just laughs.

“D-Do not laugh at Zim!!” 

“I’ll stop laughing when you're MIGHTY empire isn't affected by a little water” “Dib teases, standing back up to his feet. 

Pissed, Zim begins to make his way home, but he's annoyed further when Dib follows him.

“Do not follow Zim! Just because you gave me this water shield device, does not mean I will allow you into my base!” Zim hisses.

“It's an umbrella. And yeah, I know… but if I don't walk back with you I won't get my umbrella back, and I'm pretty sure Dad’ll be mad if I lose another umbrella” Dib says, walking beside Zim.

Zim grumbles, but its when Dib suddenly sneezes that Zim practically jumps like a cat and backs away from him, his back hitting the wooden fence beside him.

“G-GERMS!!!”

“It was just a sneeze Zim” Dib says, hoping the alien won't come back to Skool covered in weird burger meat again.

“But….so….GERMY!”

“Zim-!” Dib sneezes again and Zim screams.

“D-don't come any closer to Zim!!” Zim says, most likely threatening to kick Dib if he didn't listen.

“Geez, alright” Dib, not wanting any more injuries, agrees to keep his distance, rolling his eyes.

While they continue the rest of the walk in silence, Dib starts to shiver and can't help but wish he had just walked Plotty home, then he would still be dry and wouldn't be freezing his butt off for the ungrateful alien.

Zim on the other hand, was somewhat pleased that Dib was antagonizing him again instead of drooling over that stupid GIRL, even if he WAS annoying.

He looks at Dib for a moment, soaking wet as he gets pelted by the rain, then he looks down at the umbrella handle in his hands, and his stomach feels sick again, but this time, his chest tightens.

Thanks to this device, his body was already dry and his pack had healed his body from the rain, but Dib was just a weak and pathetic human, so his temperature had gradually dropped while in the rain… and despite that, he still gave away his water shield device to him.

Zim, staring at the ground intensely, steps close enough to Dib, allowing the umbrella to cover them both. Confused and even shocked, Dib looks at him with a bewildered expression. 

“U-unlike you STUPID humans, I, A MIGHTY Irken, can recover quickly from such rain…! So… Zim shall share…. BUT DON'T EVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN!!!” Zim says, his face suddenly feeling warmer than usual.

Dib just stares at him, and blinks a few times… because he had to be seeing things right? There was no way Zim was… blushing right now…right???

“I-I won't, promise…” Dib says, but when he wipes away the water from his glasses, Zim was already looking away…

He must have just been seeing things earlier. He’s pretty sure Zim isn’t even capable of blushing.

The walk home is still silent, but Dib's been able to somewhat dry off a little bit by staying out of the rain, and thankfully, the rain finally starts to let up as Zim’s house comes into view.

As usual; upon his arrival, Zim’s ROBO Parents welcome him home, as well as Gir from the kitchen..

Dib couldn't help but lean over, feeling nostalgic at the sight of the house, as well as the smell of freshly made waffles coming from the kitchen.

Zim freezes, his antennas practically sticking out of his wig when Dib’s chest presses against his face. The dampness of the shirt burns, but that's not why Zim’s face was burning up, his heart racing, as if desperate for oxygen.

“Y-Y-You're mission is over!! N-Now be gone with you!!” Zim says, shoving Dib onto the pavement, and tossing him the umbrella back before quickly slamming the door behind him. His heart was pounding so quickly, he thought his chest might burst, and his face felt so hot, he felt like he had been baking in the sun, not to mention the weird flippy feeling in his belly.

“T-This is simply not normal!!”

“Aww, what's wrong master??” Gir asks.

“ T-That Dib….h-he 's done something to me!! H-he’s planted a bomb inside me or something!!” Gir cheers in delight, wishing he himself could explode.

“Q-Quite Gir! T-Tests! I need to run more tests!” Zim says before he rushes to the lab, running various tests on himself, and typing in all the strange symptoms he's been experiencing. He runs everything through the computer, hoping to get a proper diagnosis this time.

“Calculation complete. Results. You are in love with the Dib creature.”

“What!? There must be some kind of mistake!! I can't love! I'm Irken!! A-And Dib is the enemy!!” Zim says, feeling his face heat up and his chest swell, almost as if his own body was disagreeing with him.

“According to Irken history. Love is not impossible for the Irken empire, it is simply just irrelevant. Though unused, Irkens still retain their required bodily organs for reproductive purposes in case the Irken Empire should ever reach dangerously low numbers resulting in near extinction.” The computer exclaims, horrifying its master.

“T-This can't be…!! I-I can't possibly be in love with Dib….!! I… I HATE him!!” Zim says, as if declaring war with the universe, and maybe even himself.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Child Abuse, PTSD, Anxiety, Depression

A/N: Here's some more angst I'm sorry Also, sorry for this chapter being so short!! But it felt important and I kinda wanted to do more short chapters like this to help stretch the story along a bit further. But we're so close! More drama is afoot! Angst! Despair! Dun dun duuuuun...

Taglist:@bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts @lillycore555

Chapter 13:

A Rock, A River, And A Boy With a Soft Smile

The dreams weren't constant.... but some of them were better than the first. Sometimes worse... But whatever they were, it was obvious that these dreams were connected to your soulmate... Why else would you be able to touch the boy but nobody else?

As you dreamt, more and more happened. You never saw the boy as an adult man; only ever as a child, or varying ages below 18. It took you a short while to figure out just what these dreams were.

His memories.

And they explained so much of the phantom pains and bruises you'd felt growing up your entire life.

It wasn't until tonight that you were in a different place; trees and grass surrounded you. There was a rocky outcropping with what looked like a crevice inbetween the crags.

Outside of the cave was a boulder, and on that boulder was the boy. His knees were tucked up to his chest and his arms were wrapped tightly around them, his face buried as he shook, bruises visible on his arms, his clothes dirty; twigs stuck out from his raven curls here and there. It became obvious rather quickly that the boy had possibly slept out here.

You rushed over to him, compassion hitting you like a freight train and gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

His reaction was instinctive, brought on by practice of avoiding his mother's blows. The boy's arms immediately went up to cover his head, flinching to protect himself from a blow that you were never going to deliver.

"It's okay, I'm sorry!" You hushed him gently as he scrambles down into the grass to get away from you. You fell to your knees, feeling the dirt and mud cake onto your pajama pants; you held your hands out to him, showing you weren't going to do anything.

It wasn't until one amber eye peeked out at you that he finally realized you weren't his dreadful mother. He lifted his head and his eyes widened.

"Are you okay?" You asked him desperately, "Are you hurt?"

"What are you? Did he send you to mess with me?" He asked you, his voice cracking slightly in pitch, "Because making me do those... those things aren't enough? Now he's gotta... gotta..."

That broke your heart even more; he was so young. Too young to be suffering this kind of abuse, too young to worry about when the next blow was going to land. He shouldn't have to think of his home as a battlefield he had to navigate like some kind of shell-shocked soldier.

"Nobody sent me, I just... I'm here." You try to tell him.

His eyes frantically searched your body, unable to focus on any specific part of you. His brows furrowed and he swallowed.

"You... you can't see me, can you?"

He shifted to sit on his knees, looking towards your face, not quite able to place where your eyes would be. "I... N-No. You look like a... a blob."

Despite the circumstances, you can't help but laugh. "A blob?"

His brows furrowed and he licked his lips, a healing cut on his bottom one making him wince a little. "...You sound funny too. I can't hear everything you say."

"I can hear you." You replied slowly, inching closer to him as he tried to piece your words together. When he didn't move away, you took it as a good sign, that he was comfortable with you. Or, well, getting there at least.

His little eyes seemed confused, and he pursed his lips. "He... didn't send you?"

"Who's he?" You questioned.

"...A bee?" He asked, his face scrunching up in confusion.

You snort, sighing, "This isn't going to be a flawless method of communication, is it?"

He watched as you scooted to sit next to him, and his body instinctively leaned closer to yours. He was shivering. Cold. You were, too, but... clearly you hadn't spent the night in the woods like he had.

He swallowed deeply, forcing the chatter in his teeth away as best he could; "Y-you're...."

"Who you need me to be." You said resolutely, bringing your arm around his shoulders, tucking him into the warmer shelter of your own body.

He seemed to understand the intentions behind your words, even if he couldn't hear them clearly, sighing as his body sunk into the warmth your body bled for him.

Your hand rubbed his warm softly, and you whispered, "Why is this happening to you? Why does she do this?"

"She hates me." He told you. He didn't need to hear you clearly to know you were asking about her. His mother.

He wiped at his runny nose, sniffling. "It's my fault. I-I did something bad... It's all my fault and she... I didn't mean to do it, I swear!"

You felt your heart lurch painfully in your chest as he started to cry, wrapping both arms around him as you tucked him tighter against you, holding his head against your chest to let him cry into your shirt.

"I deserve it. I'm... I'm a bad person. I... I'm..."

Those words made you want to scream, but you kept your voice in check as you pet his hair to soothe him as best you could.

"You're not a bad person." You told him softly, kissing the top of his head as he held onto you. "You're just a boy. Who's hurting, being hurt. It doesn't make you bad. It makes you a victim."

You didn't care if he heard all of what you said to him, but you prayed he understood what you meant by the feeling in your voice as you said them.

He lifts his head to look at you, disheveled, scared, and confused. The bruises and cuts on his lip make your heart hurt and burn with the desire to get your hands on that monstrous bitch of a woman he calls mother.

His smaller hand grasps at one of yours desperately and he holds it to his cheek, desperate for more gentle touches; as if they would soothe the aches and pains left behind even when the wounds had healed and bruises had faded. His sleeve rises up and your eyes trace the faint mark of... of a flower. You couldn't tell what kind, as the bud hadn't bloomed, but...

No, it wasn't time to focus on that right now. He needed comfort. He needed you.

You sat there, unsure of how much time had passed in your little dream sequence, before he finally spoke up again. His voice was softer, this time:

"You can't do this anymore."

"What?" You blinked at him in shock. You even had to shake your head to make sure you hadn't knocked something lose somehow.

He pulled back from you, and stood up, backing away from you.

"You can't keep finding me." He says, tears welling up in his eyes once again. "I'll hurt you, too."

"Wait!" You say, reaching out for him, your heart breaking yet again as he stepped further out of reach. "What's your name?"

"I don't want to hurt you, too... not you..." He sobs softly, clenching his fists before he runs away.

You are barely able to let out a scream before the earth opens up and swallows you whole; and everything goes black.

Chapter 14: Link

[lunarmoves]

I wanted to tell you that your depiction of depression----particuarly the high functioning, long term kind----is really spot on in your Pressure Fic, Who I See Looking Back At Me.

I have experienced a lot of depression in my life, and have experienced stretches that are the high functioning kind. I can still drag myself out of bed to go to the store and work, and in every break and day off I sleep in and do nothing.

You write this expertly in your fic, and I really hope it's not from experience, if it is, you're not alone and your bad days have an end. It will get better.

I also really appreciate that you don't wallow in the mental sickness. It's a background thing that effects the reader, not define them or overtake the plot. I love a good, accurate depiction of depression but man having to read a completely accurate one is not fun, been there done that already ;w;

Thank you so much for writing your fic. It's a joy to read, my favorite of any I have ever read, and a huge source of inspiration of my own writing.

You have an EPIC day!

aww nonnie thank you for sending this in and sharing your experiences with me; i'm really glad i was able to properly capture high functioning depression in this silly little fic of mine <3 any author strives to be realistic in their depictions and i'm glad i was able to nail it!! it means i have done my job right c:

admittedly, most of it is based off of both my own experiences during the covid-19 quarantine and that of my friends lol. namely the fatigue we all felt, haha. it was during my transition from high school to university and actually, i remember sleeping for 25 hours one time when we were halfway thru the semester. at that time i think i was like lmao! new record! but looking back now i'm like hmmmmm.... that wasn't good. anyways, that period of time was not a good one for a lot of people, but we are well past that, thankfully!

also yes! i did not want to focus too much on the whole depression aspect in the fic; after all, i mainly wanted to write about the grief and then subsequent healing after finding out sebastian is alive. i didn't want to outright state that the reader has depression either--it's more of a thing that you pick up on (or don't) through certain actions/feelings. it's not going to be too prevalent in future chapters either. we are in the healing stage after all :) tho it will still poke up every now and then.

thank you again for your kind words and reassurances <3 i'm so honored that my fic is a source of inspiration for you and brings you delight to read <33 wishing you all the best in health and happiness!!

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 16

anakin x reader

a/n: this chapter is a longer one, i have so many plans for the future of this story and there’s gonna be a looot of angst (hope that’s good w u guys hehe)

You finally tell Anakin the news you had been dreading

warnings: cursing, cannon disabled character, insecurity, mentions of pregnancy, arguments, verbal degradation (not the fun kind), slut shaming, alcohol abuse, relapse, mentions of alcoholism, just heavy chapter all around

_______________________________

“Anakin…I’m pregnant” 

He froze.

If you hadn't spent so much time together, you wouldn’t have even noticed the shift in his demeanor, but you knew him and you knew something was wrong.

“What did you say?” he responded stiffly.

You took another deep breath and repeated.

“I’m pregnant, Anakin”

He stood from the couch, blankly staring at you.

“I don’t know how, I thought you said you didn’t- you couldn’t… “ you started, hoping to alleviate his unsettling aura.

“I cant.” he cut you off.

“I don't know what to do, I’m scared!” you cried.

He was still just standing there.

“Please, Ani-, Please say something!” you begged.

“Get out”

“What?” 

“Get out of my house” he repeated.

“Ani-”

“Don’t fucking call me that”

“Anakin, what- why are y-”

“get the fuck out!” he shouted as he pointed towards the exit. 

“You and I know damn well I can’t have children, so that's just heartless to even bring that up to me.” his face held a viscous scowl as he yelled at you. 

“But It’s true! I’ve been to the clinic, I have the-” you pleaded with him. 

“And it wasn’t me, so who the fuck got you pregnant? You aren’t the fuckin’ virgin Mary, so you have to be fucking someone else?” he spat.

“I swear, I have only been with you Anakin, I’ve only been with you” you cried

“Don’t fuckin lie to me, Y/N!”

“I trusted you...I shared myself with you and this? This is what you do?” he yelled as he began to breathe heavily. 

“I’m not lying” you pleaded with him.

“I don’t wanna hear it”

“I’ll get a test, I-I’ll show you all my messages, I-i’ll do whatever, please, PLEASE! I’m telling the truth- You have to believe me!” you were full on sobbing on his living room floor. 

His breathing was becoming jagged and he stumbled back to reach for his inhaler.

“I don’t have to do shit” he said venomously before grappling with the small device in his hands. 

“Ana-”

After he took a large puff of medicine he shouted for you to leave once more.

“I told you to leave, don’t make me throw you out” he said with such disdain.

Even with his limitations, you knew he was strong enough (and angry enough) to do just that. So, weakly, you gathered yourself from the floor and stumbled out of his apartment onto the sidewalk where you collapsed once more. 

You didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that. You clutched onto your shirt and sobbed, not only were you pregnant, you may have just lost the man you loved.

_____________________

The next few days consisted of you floating in and out of reality as you sat absent-mindedly in your classes. You were only getting one meal a day and spent most of your time cocooned in your bed, facing the standard dorm-beige wall.

You didn’t have the energy or the will to do anything…you could feel depression creeping up on you.

Even if you got rid of it, your relationship with Anakin was basically over. But if you kept it you would be stuck as an undergrad student with a baby… not exactly a great way to start your adulthood. 

Ahsoka stopped by to check up on you after she hadn’t heard from you for three days; she came with your favorite snacks and some other stuff to cheer you up. 

The two of you had a self care night and you told her what had happened over the weekend with Anakin (Of course keeping out the fact that he is the one who knocked you up). You told her how angry he was that you were pregnant and not because you were young, instead he was just mad that you had been in a situation to get pregnant.

“Ash, he threw me out… h-he literally threatened to physically throw me out” you cried as you recounted the traumatizing fight.

The tears spilled over as you struggled to breathe, “I jus-st don’t u-understand why he-” a loud sob cut you off.

Quickly Ash gathered you into her arms and coached your breathing.

“Shh, shh, it’s going to be ok… Let’s breathe, ok?” 

You nodded and sniffled.

“Ok, Deep breath in through your nose… good. Now out through your mouth” 

Once you were calmed down she responded to your news. 

Her older friend’s behavior disgusted her, “Y/N im so sorry. Truly, I have no idea what has gotten into him…He has no right to talk to you that way.”

You thanked her for being there for you and tried to move on with the girls' night, you needed to focus on the small bouts of happiness you could find.

The next day, you went ahead and told Ben and Satine, because they were the last two in the friend group you hadn’t told and it covered up the reason you told Anakin (Instead of letting them know you told him asap because he was the father).

Even though he was a total ass, you still wanted to respect the privacy deal the two of you struck back in the beginning of your relationship. Though honestly, you were starting to not give a fuck about the secret; a part of you wanted everyone to know he got you pregnant and was now being a complete asshole about it. 

Days went by and then weeks where you silently hoped for an apology from Anakin, but you knew it wasn’t coming.

Since the confession, he closed himself off from everyone; he no longer attended dinners, texted in the group chat, and you hadn't even physically seen him since then. 

Everyone still got together for the routine dinners, the only difference was that Anakin was a “no-show”. The four of you discussed his recent absences (of course you knew that it was probably because he hated your guts right now, but that was no reason to cut off everyone else), you all worried that he may be drinking again.

Ben explained back when he was first struggling with drinking, he’d disappear like this for days or even weeks, going on unhealthy and reckless benders. 

The more Ben told you about Anakin’s past patterns, you felt more and more sick to your stomach. What he described was wildly unhealthy and you hated that you could be the catalyst that turned him back down that path. 

At the end of the dinner the four of you agreed that Ahsoka would go over to Anakin’s and confront him; Ben and Satine both had work and they thought it best not to send you, incase he was drinking and became violent (plus you didn't think he’d react well to you showing up at his door).

Also, Ahsoka had lots of experience calling Anakin out on his bullshit- she could stand her ground against him drunk or sober. 

Hopefully the group would finally get some answers out of him. 

_____________________________________

Ahsoka arrived and noticed that all of his blinds were drawn and the mail in his box was piled up. 

She took a deep breath; she could already tell this wasn’t going to be good. 

Anakin hollered an aggressive,  “Who is it?”, when he heard the knock. 

“Snipps. I’m comin’ in Sky guy, alright?” she said as she pushed the door open. 

Anakin squinted as the light from outside shone through the doorway; he was lying on the couch in a shirt and a pair of old army shorts and wasn’t wearing his legs. 

Ahsoka gently closed the door behind her and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. It was a mess; dishes all around, dirty clothes scattered on the floor, TV on, and sadly… bottles…all around. 

He relapsed. 

Everyone knew he had been doing really well about keeping his drinking under control, but there were worries of a relapse when no one had heard from him. 

Anakin glanced over to his friend, “I like the new hair, Snipps”.

Ahsoka had her hair rebraided and added more white and blue a while ago. 

“Thanks, It's not that new though, I got them done like two weeks ago. But you wouldn’t have known that, right?” she passive aggressively said.

His blue eyes glared at her as if to say “what the hell did you just say?”.

“Well hello to you too” he huffed as he brought the bottle of rum in his hand to his lips. 

Beside the couch was Anakin’s wheelchair; he usually avoided using it at all costs.

“I didn’t feel like going through the hassle of puttin’ my legs on” he said when he noticed Ahsoka looking at his chair. 

Ever since he could stand to have his legs on, he always wanted to have them on; he never wanted to feel “helpless” and for some reason he was ashamed of his wheelchair. But the fact that he had it out now was a major concern. He wasn’t doing well. 

“Anakin, where have you been?” she sighed defeatedly.

“Uhh, look around, then tell me what you think?” he shot back at her with a patronizing laugh. 

“That’s not what I mean”

“Then enlighten me, what do you mean?” he was getting defensive and irritated, but she was not leaving until she got to the bottom of his sudden absence. 

“We haven’t seen you in weeks. Ben and Satine are worried, so is y/n, and so am I”

“Why would that bitch be worried about me?” he snapped as he tossed the empty bottle into the trash bin beside the couch.

“I know you aren't talking about y/n right now” Ahsoka became defensive and was starting to lose her patience with the man in front of her. 

“Maybe I am, why the fuck would you care if I was?” he said as he cracked open another bottle.

“I heard how awful you were to her”

“Yea. And who’s to say she didn’t deserve it?” he annoyedly stated, rolling his eyes.

“Why are you so upset that y/n is pregnant?! I mean sure she’s young, but it's her life!” Ahsoka yelled at the half drunk man on the couch.

“You wouldn’t understand, Snipps,” Anakin said, resting his head on one of his gloved hands and taking a swig of rum with the other.

“Maker, sometimes you're such an asshole.” Ahsoka huffed. 

“I am not an asshole, she’s the one who fucked up, ok?” he snapped back

Ahsoka narrowed her gaze and watched angrily as Anakin tilted back his bottle once more. 

“You gotta stop with the drinking Anakin.”

“Add it to the list of shit I gotta fix” he huffed out a laugh.

“You were doing so well-”

“Do you not think that I know that? I fucking know I fucked up my sobriety, you don’t have to remind me!” he yelled.

She sighed, “I just don't understand where your aggression is coming from”

“I’m not being aggressive, I’m treating y/n how she deserves to be treated, like the whore she is.”

Ahsoka stomped up to Anakin and snatched the rum out of his mechanical hand.

“What the fuck Ahsoka!?” he yelled.

“You have no right call her a whore, I don’t fucking know what your problem is Anakin Skywalker, but i’ll be damned if I allow you to talk about y/n that way. After all she’s done for you?’.

The color drained from Anakin’s face and he froze.

“Yea. I know she’s come over here to help you, I know she offered to help you when you had to be in your chair that week, I know she helped you when you fucking fell out of bed cause you were too wasted to get up and go piss!! You will not disrespect her like that!! Do not EVER say that again, do you hear me?! ” Ahsoka barked at the man in front of her.

His eyes widened and he shook his head, “Get out”.

“No, I’m going to find out why you’ve been acting like such a dick”

“I said OUT!” He shouted pointing to the door; not that he could really enforce his wish because he wasn’t coordinated enough to get out of his seat. 

“ANAKIN, I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU! YOU ACT LIKE SHE WAS COMMITTING A DELIBERATE ACT AGAINST YOU WHEN SHE GOT PREGNANT” Ahsoka yelled back.

“SHE WAS” he practically screamed.

“What are you talking about?!”

He staid silent and looked away.

“wait…. Anakin…. Do you- do you have a thing for y/n”

Anakin let out an annoyed laugh and rolled his eyes. 

“Anakin, she has a boyfriend”

“I know”

“Then why are you upset? Is it because she’s with someone else?”

“No” 

“Then what is it?” Ahoska pleaded.

“The doctors said I couldn’t have children”

“I know that Anakin, what does that have to do wi-”

“I'm her boyfriend… well was.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened, “what…”

“Yea, fuckin surprise. So it is a personal attack on me ‘casue how the fuck did she get pregnant if I cant have kids?” he lamented with a sad smug look.

Ahsoka shook her head, “Anakin, I think you should get your fertility checked again-”.

“Are you serious right now Ahsoka? Do you even hear what you're asking?”

Ahsoka’s face was serious as she spoke, “yes, it has been years since-”

“Do you not remember what happened last time? What happened with P-” his voice began to waver as he remembered the heartbreak of his last relationship, “Padme”.

“I remember, but I know for a fact y/n has not been with anyone else. She loves you. So much Anakin, and honestly I don’t know how she deals with you”. 

“You don’t know that-”

“Yes I fucking do, I was there to see how much your words affected her. I was there to help her breathe when she was choking on her own tears. I saw a girl whose heart had just been shattered. Why would she be that upset if she wasn’t committed to you?”

Anakin’s heart fell.

Fuck.

A wave of guilt washed over him, maybe he was too quick to judge… but the doctors.. They said..

“I-I don't know what to say” he managed.

“You've said plenty, Skywalker.”

“Could you please tell her-”

“No Anakin. I’m done running interference for your fuck-ups” she said as she headed for the exit.

“Ahsoka…” Anakin called, attempting to follow her; in his drunken haze, he must have forgotten he didn't have his legs on. 

She turned as he landed on the floor with a thud. He groaned and he tried to get upright.

Ahsoka was still angry, but she knew he needed help. 

When she sat him up, he was sobbing.

“Fuck. Snipps, I loved her. I-I just felt like- like she- fuck!” he cried.

“You’re drunk, Anakin. I’m going to put you in bed and spend the night on the pull-out, but we’re done talking about this until you sober up and get a test”

He was shaking, but nodding his head “o-ok-ok o-ok” he repeated.

Ahsoka was drained, on one hand she knew why he was like this and as she helped him to bed all she saw was the kind hearted boy she grew up with. She saw how emotionally damaged he was, she knew how hard he had it. But that was no excuse to act the way he did; the other half of her was disgusted by his behavior and the fact that he spoke to you that way. 

She decided that she was making him an appointment tomorrow morning. No excuses.

___________________________________

The ride to the doctor’s office was silent, the only sound was Anakin’s occasional ragged breath from a night of crying. They arrived and Anakin was taken back to an examination room, but not before Ahsoka insisted he ask for a fertility test.

Anakin hated medical facilities, whether it be hospitals, doctors offices, orthotics offices, or the physio center; he had spent almost half his life in those goddamn places. He sat patiently for his examination and was compliant with his doctor's inquiries. 

“Do you have any more questions, Mr. Skywalker?” the doctor asked as he straightened his wiry glasses.

Anakin debated asking such an odd question at the moment, but he wouldn’t have peace of mind unless he asked (plus Ahsoka would kill him if he didn’t). 

“Yea… you know my results said I wouldn’t be able to have kids”

The doctor nodded as he met his patient’s eyes, “yes… are you inquiring about children?”

"Not really, but is it possible that some of me is still…viable?” his face was surely red with embarrassment.

“If you are asking me about the fertility possibilities for your sperm, we have a test for that, but you’d have to make an appointment at our clinic for fertility and It’ll cost a bit extra but we will be able to get the results back to you in a few weeks.”

“Could I-”

“Of course” the man in the white coat said as he promptly left the room.  

Anakin leaned back against the wall and exhaled a large breath. Fuck. Was he really going to do this again?

He could remember the anxiety he felt when going into that clinic for the first time with Padme all those years ago; the fate of his relationship was on the line back then. 

Now, he had ended his relationship with you but deep down he prayed that he would be able to have kids because the possibility of you cheating on him was tearing him apart. He wanted to believe you wouldn’t do that to him, but he wasn’t really counting on his viability– but after years of no activity, why now would they choose to become active?

But also he didn’t know how he would face you if he were viable…how would he make it up to you after treating you like…that?

***

a/n: next chapter comes after this in the theme line then imma do a small time jump to get to another plot point haha- i hope you guys are still enjoying!!

taglist : @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana @imarimon

[ao3-reading]

When you took me in, absolved my sins

Written by: JupiterInWords, Kuroganetzuki (JupiterInWords)

Fandom: NU: Carnival

Ships: Eiden/Everyone (-Rei, written before his release!)

Tags: Eidens childhood, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, polyamory, Eiden-centric

Thoughts:

"This was his house. This was his home, before he went away. He was laying on the rug of his living room, white ceiling, light blue walls, white furniture that he never changed. This was his world, and for a second, all air left his lungs. All the clan members looked at him, expecting some kind of reaction, but Eiden was frozen, unable to make sense to it. He was back, with all of them. He was back."

So.... *Hysterically starts crying* MAN THIS FUCKS W/ UR HEART!

Eiden's spirals so hard in this fic, and MAN does it pack a punch. You just see how much it pains him to be back in his original universe, how much he tries so hard to look out for everyone else and when he starts to "fall behind" he falls deeper into this pit of self-loathing, depression and anxiety.

It's very sweet to see how everyone just knows that Eiden isn't okay, how even when he tries to shut everyone out... they just quietly wait by the door of his close off heart and hope he let's them back in.

There's moments with all the members, how they comfort him, how they all have their own unique moment and how the all adapt to their new environment.

But what I love the most is that they don't force him, Kuya pushes him sure, but he never goes too far. They all care way to much, and when he say's "I can't" they just smile, to let him know they understand and that they'll wait until he can.

ALSO THE LAST CHAPTER W/ THE BOYFRIENDS BIT IS SO CUTE IT HEALED THE WOUNDS READING THIS LEFT BEHIND!!! AH-

more info under cut

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings

Chapters: 3

Word Count: 60K

Status: Completed

[oh-no-its-bird]

Ok so updated list of my WIPS;

Actually in progress;

- Offal and All (Kakashi's relationship with food throughout the years, mostly told through the eyes of others) I'm activley focusing on this one rn and hoping to post it like, this week actually. It's a mash up of a lot of different tiny Kakashi hc's I've posted about and should be very fun (and depressing, but that's kind of my brand, so.)

- One Step Three Steps chapter 10, it's going well so far actually I just keep writing it at work then being forced to stop bc like. Work. Might go up this week, hopefully

- Chasing Shadows chapter 4, it's like 20% done? Ish? I just need to find the head space to get back to writing it, will go up within the next 2 weeks for sure but idk when exactly. It'll be great tho ur gonna get Hikaku, Fugaku, Shisui, Mikoto, just all the cool Uchiha. Lots of politics, lots of drama, the works

- Itama and the secret senju weed empire fic,,,, it will be long and it will be beautiful which means it'll take me forever to do, sorry

- Magical Girl Izuna AU (my beloved) I got distracted by other projects midway through writing chapter 1 but I'll get there eventually

- Little lab mystery where kid edo-tensei reincarnations of Madara and Tobirama wake up with no memories and immediately stage a jail break

- Nin burger!!!!! Yes this is a real thing yes I meant to post it like the same week I started making it but then I got distracted and didn't. But I swear to fucking GOD I will see it complete. Nin Burger is my favorite real naruto restaurant that is real

- That one oneshot where Madara and Tobirama spend a festival night in the capital together as children, and Madara develops his very first crush on the fox masked boy, but seems to be doomed never to meet him again— till Konoha's first festival is held and he sees a man wearing the very same mask, waiting for him in the crowds. Might not actually finish this one tbh but also maybe I'll save it for tbmd week?? Idk

Considering / Planning;

- Hikaku as the Uchiha clan head after Madara's betrayal comic,,, not an actual fic but I wanna make this so bad. I've written notes for it I just need to get along to drawing it

- Izuna in Wonderland comic, honestly I'll probably end up doing the entire thing in one go one night when I get hit in the face w a brick w motivation. So it'll be a surprise for both u guys and me when I post that! I always do my comics in one go bc I physically can't bring myself to return to art projects if interrupted, which means I tend to do longer ones on my days off where I have literally nothing else to do or distract me, but I haven't had one of those in like. 2 months now. So. But I will soon!! Umm. Maybe.

- Here Before and After Me chapter 2, I'll probably make one eventually but who tf knows when. I have a very specific vision of Kakashi following Tobirama onto the battlefield and scaring the shit out of a very alarmed and confused Izuna

- Tobirama and Izuna's field trip through time and space, I don't think I want to commit to a full fic bc it'd be seriously long and I'm already commiting to Chasing Shadows and One Step Three Steps as my regular update long fics, then the MG Izuna au and Itama fic as my "write it all behind the scenes then post" long fics. One shots only for me, sorry. But I do wanna write a silly one shot of the boys crash landing face first into a konoha council meeting during their field trip

Dropped / Abandoned;

- That one mdtb space mermaid au, rip. Maybe I'll come back to u one day but for now I have a lot to focus on, sorry

- mdtb fish in a pond fic where Tobirama is half spirit and turns into a koifish that Tajima then brings home and tosses into the families koi pond

I think that's everything? I have a shit memory and do everything on my notes app then forget to categorize the notes half the time so I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I'd lost smthn else in my like billion different notes.

Those are the important ones tho, so, good enough!

[sixpennydame]

The Better Man | Chapter 7

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

Read in AO3 here

Content/Warning: Explicit sexual conduct, NSFW, MDNI, descriptions of death, depression, vaginal sex, creampie, choking

A/N: A huge thanks to @mrsackermannx who supported me with some of the more intimate scenes. Only one more chapter to go...

Suggestion Music:

Levi was gone.

 But why he was taken by the Survey Corps, you do not know. When you feel stable enough to get up, you run over to the men who guard the stairs, hoping to get some information out of them.

“Tch, how are we supposed to know where they took them? But that short one sure was mad when they knocked you out,” snickered a curly haired man, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Please, just let me through, I need to catch up with them,” you plead, but the surly men just laugh. 

You knew you were getting nowhere with the guards, so you went back to the apartment to get dressed and make a plan. Several of Levi’s gang are already there, pacing the floor and visibly on edge, all of them feeling as lost as you are.

“I need you all to get out there and find out what happened today. Find out who took Levi, Farlan, and Isabelle and why.” The young men know who you are and what you mean to Levi, so they follow your orders without delay. After they leave, you go to a corner of your bedroom, lift up a loose floorboard, and take out a dusty metal container. Inside is all the money you and Levi had saved in an effort to make it above ground. It probably wasn’t even enough to buy your entrance, but at this point you were desperate. You fold the bills and put them in a money belt around your waist. You know that the longer you linger here, the further away Levi will be and any trace of his whereabouts. 

At that moment, there’s a loud noise at the door. Before you even have time to answer it, two large men barge in and grab you. As you’re kicking and screaming, they put a muslin bag over your head, tie your wrists and ankles together, and drag you outside. You scream for help, hoping that someone - anyone - will respond and come to your aid. But no one does.

What could these men want? They haven’t searched you, so your money is still safely stashed in your belt, nor have they tried to beat or rape you. Could they be some kind of secret MP’s, given the task of arresting you as well?

This becomes more of a possibility as you hear them talking to the same guards you’d questioned earlier at the stairs’s entrance. The bigger one has you slung over his shoulder, but you can now feel that you’re going up stairs. Are you being taken above ground? Maybe you’ll be reunited with Levi after all. 

It feels like the stairs are never ending - you can even feel your ears pop as you move higher and higher. Suddenly, there’s a light shining through the bag over your head - a different kind of brightness and a heat you’ve never felt before. Even with your head covered, you have to close your eyes.

“What are you doing with me? I’ve done nothing wrong!” you scream out. 

The man holding you throws you into the back of a wagon but says nothing. You have no idea where they’re taking you and they only stop to let you relieve yourself. It feels like hour upon hour passes, but really you have no idea how much time has gone by. At some point, you fall asleep out of pure exhaustion and only wake up when the wagon comes to a harsh stop.

One of the men pulls you out of the wagon by your legs and you start kicking, but they easily overpower you. When they yank the bag off of your head, you stop resisting.

It’s so bright. You’re now keenly aware of the sounds around you: wagons and horses, people bustling by and talking to each other. When your eyes adjust, you begin to see images that go with the sounds. You’re above ground. It’s all overwhelming. 

“Where am I?” 

The men laugh. “You’re right outside Stohess District, within Wall Rose. You’ve just won the lottery, missy,” one of them says.

“W-what do you mean? I’m not being arrested?”

“Quite the opposite. You’re now a citizen of Wall Rose.” The other man throws a small leather satchel at you. Inside are your wall citizenship papers and other forged documents. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” you ask the men as they get back on the wagon.

“That’s not our problem.”

You’re confused, but you know this has to have something to do with Levi, so you prod further. “Where is Levi? Where did the Survey Corps take him?”

“He’s dead,” one of them dryly replies as he flicks the reins and they drive away. 

You’re left in the dust of their departing wagon, dirty and hungry, your mind swirling with thoughts and questions. You’re not sure of where to go or what to do from here, but one thing is certain:

Levi is gone and you are alone.

_____

A large clap of thunder startles you and you drop the bowl you were carrying, shattering it into several pieces. A nasty storm raged through Trost late last night, and can still be heard, even in the distance. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Meyer,” you say as you pick up the pieces of the earthenware bowl, “thunder has always scared me, ever since I was a child. I’ll buy you another bowl.”

“Think nothing of it, dear,” Mr. Meyer kindly replies. “It was old anyway. And you must be eager for Lars to return.”

“Yes, it should be any day now.” It’s been a little over two weeks since the Corps embarked on their expedition and if everything went as planned, you expected their return either today or tomorrow. But you’d learned not to get your hopes up - anything could happen out there. 

You couldn’t help but feel especially eager this time around. In just a few more days, Lars will resign from the Survey Corps and you can continue the next part of your marriage together. You’ll start a family, buy some land, and who knows - maybe you could even have your own bakery. Anything seemed possible now. 

You daydream about being pregnant with Lars’ child and being a mother, which makes you nervous. You never knew your own mother - would you even be a good parent? You decide that love is the most important thing, and the child will certainly have more than enough of that from you and Lars. And you’ll be damned if your baby comes into an unloving, broken family. 

But for the briefest of moments, you think back to memories of wanting Levi’s child. How there were times you would secretly hope you’d get pregnant, even though Levi was always so careful. He’d deny it, but you knew he’d make such a wonderful father - a little overprotective, perhaps, but loving and doting..”

You will yourself to stop these thoughts. Levi is in the past, you repeat to yourself again and again.

Lars is your present, your future.

 As the late afternoon sun shines through the bakery windows, you hear the shuffling of people and voices outside. It’s a familiar kind of energy - the Survey Corps must be returning.

Mr. Meyers gives you a knowing glance and a nod, then you leave the bakery and take the all-too-familiar route to the town square, just as you’ve done for every other expedition. Lars will probably be helping unload injured or getting his own scrapes attended to. You work your way through the crowd, looking for any sign of Lars or his squad.

When you finally find Petra, Oluo, and Eld, you head straight to them. “Where’s Lars? Is he inside the hospital? How many stitches is it this time?”

Your smile disappears when you finally look at Petra. She has tears in her eyes. “Lars is..”

You start moving backwards, shaking your head.

No.

 “Where is he?” Your voice cracks.

Eld moves toward you and puts a hand on your shoulder. “His body was taken inside to be cleaned..”

You wince when he says “body” and pull his hand off of you. It’s not true, it’s not true, you say to yourself as you walk into the hospital and ascend each step.

Then you see Gunther and Levi, placing a covered body on a stretcher, their eyes cast downward. Your stomach drops.

You walk tentatively forward. When the two men see you, they step back, allowing you to stand next to the stretcher. “No…” your voice is barely a whisper.

You look at them, your eyes pleading to them to say it’s someone else - anyone else. But they can’t even look at you.

So you move toward the body and pull down the cover. Then it’s like all the breath has been knocked out of you.

There, under the cover, is Lars. His eyes are closed, peaceful, but you can’t look for more than a second before you start to feel dizzy and confused, as if everything is spinning. You stretch your hand out to brace yourself against the wall. 

Is someone saying your name? It sounds far away. You look at Levi - his mouth is moving. What is he saying? 

“What happened,” you somehow manage to ask. 

“There was a titan attack. An abnormal came out of the trees and my ODM gear wouldn’t work. He-,” Levi pauses for a moment, “he gave his life to save me.”

“Save you?” you repeat the words but it’s as if you can’t fully process anything you’re hearing. You feel completely numb. “Idiot..I told him to look after himself first. To keep himself alive so we..” you can’t even finish your sentence; the numbness is replaced with a deep sadness rising up from the pit of your stomach. 

A nurse comes into the corridor. “Excuse me, but we need to clean the body before it’s given to the family.”

Before she even has time to move the stretcher, you grab her hand. “I’m his wife - I’ll clean his body.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s against hospital regulation,” she tries to move her hand, but you’ve grabbed it hard.

“I don’t give a shit about regulations. Noone is gonna lay a hand on him.” Your voice is resolute.

Levi steps between you and the nurse. “I’ll deal with any administration that has a problem with what she wants to do. Just give her the room with him.” He looks at you, placing a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/n, let go of the nurse.”

You release the nurse’s hand and she steps back. “Just..follow me,” she says, shaking her head and leading you all to a small room at the end of the hall.

Lars' body is brought into the room and laid on a cold, metal table. The nurse prepares the cleaning materials, then everyone leaves except Levi. You can feel him behind you. 

“Get out..” you weakly command. 

Levi says your name and reaches out to you. 

“Get out!” Your body bristles and your pain explodes into those two words. 

Then silence. What can Levi even say at this moment? He feels completely helpless. “I’ll be outside,” is all he can muster before he walks out and closes the door.

The afternoon sun is shining through the room, giving it a golden glow. A slight medicinal smell fills the air and it stings your nose, but other than that, you don’t feel anything. In a daze, you walk over to Lars and uncover his body. 

Death is a common sight in The Underground. It’s a shadow that follows everyone. If you didn’t die of malnutrition or lack of sunlight, you’d probably be killed by some other desperate soul just trying to survive. Rotting, decomposing bodies in the streets, abandoned and forgotten - by the time you were an adult, the sight barely phased you. 

But now, looking at your husband’s body, you feel queasy and faint. Bile rises up into your throat, and you have to swallow hard to keep it down. His body - it’s difficult for you to imagine him now as just a body - is bloody and dirty, and his right leg is missing from just above the knee. His skin is cold and stiff, and when you start taking off his uniform, more cuts and bruises are revealed. Numbness once again washes over you, a defense mechanism from enduring years of loss and pain. But you’ve never experienced a loss like this. 

There’s a basin of hot, soapy water next to the table so you take a sponge and begin washing his face and hair. As you continue down his body, tears begin to form in your eyes, the reality of your lover’s death sinking in more and more. But you blink them away - you’re not ready to mourn yet. 

When you finish, you cover him with a cotton sheet and it looks as if he’s only sleeping, but there's a smell in the air that reminds you otherwise. As you gently dry his hair with a towel, memories you had pushed aside for the moment suddenly come flooding back. You’d spent almost four years with this man and just like that, he’s gone. 

And that’s when the tears start falling down your cheeks. You take a deep breath and just start crying, your whole body convulsing with sorrow. It’s a physical pain that radiates from your heart and travels through your nerves. You drape your body over his covered torso, pleading for your lover to come back to you.

Levi sits in front of the door through the rest of the night; a silent sentinel as he listens to your muffled cries.

You awaken early the next morning to Levi gently shaking your shoulder. “Wake up. Lars’ mother and father are here.”

You rub your swollen, bloodshot eyes. When did you finally fall asleep last night? Your head feels groggy, as if you’re in some state between sleeping and waking, but when Lars’ parents enter the room, you are jolted awake.

Lars’ mother clasps her hand over her mouth. “No..my boy..my sweet Lars..” she walks over to the table on which his body still lies. “No, no, no..” she wails.

His father takes his time walking over, but neither of them acknowledge your presence. He puts his hand on his wife’s shoulder as she weeps over Lars’ body. 

“We should get him to a mortician as soon as possible so we can take his body home,” he finally remarks.

“Yes..let me just go back home and change my clothes, and then I can meet you both later to depart for Ehrmich,” you weakly reply to him as you stand up to walk towards the door.

“You’ll do no such thing.” Lars’ mother shoots her head toward you. “As far as we are concerned, we have no more connection to you. We’ll handle Lars’ burial.”

You stand there in absolute shock at her words. “What do you mean? I’m his wife.”

“And we never wanted that for him. I mean, who even are you? You have no family, no history. We know absolutely nothing about you.”

She moves closer to you, her face contorted with grief. “Do you want to know why Lars never brought you to our home to visit? It’s because he knew that we disapproved of this marriage from the start. He was too good for you!” She looks around the room. “He was too good for any of this!”

“That’s enough, dear.” Lars’ father finally interjects, the pain and sorrow visible on his face. “I’m sorry, but it would be better if you’d let us handle things from now on.”

Some hospital staff arrive to help move Lar’s body out of the hospital. As his parents depart, the father stops as if he wants to say something to you, but shakes his head and moves on.

You stand in the now-empty room in complete shock. A voice inside you is screaming for you to fight back, to insist that you accompany Lars and his family back to his hometown. 

But you don’t because there’s another voice telling you that they’re right. You were never good enough for Lars, you’ve known that from the very beginning. For the last few years, you thought you were more, that you were worth something. Lars had made you feel that way. But you’ve always been just some trash from The Underground with no family and no future. 

Levi had stepped out of the room when the parents arrived, in order for you all to have privacy, but he was confused when you didn’t leave with them. When he looks in the room he sees you standing there in a daze. 

“Hey, you alright?” He says, eyes full of concern.

“I’m tired..”

“Why aren’t you going with Lars’ parents?”

“They don’t want me. I’m going home.”

He’s taken aback by those words. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, please I -“ you swallow hard. Your throat is so dry from crying. “I want to be alone,”

He watches as you walk away, wanting so badly to stop you, hold you close, and let you cry in his arms. But his own sadness and guilt stop him. Why did Lars do something so stupid? Why was he so reckless when helping others? You were finally in a place where Levi knew you would be safe and cared for, with a good man; now, that’s all gone.

Lars was the better man for you. He should be the one laying on that cold metal table; nobody would mourn him if he was gone.

Maybe she would, Levi thought to himself, as he looked out the window and saw you walk away.

You don’t really know how you get home, but somehow your body places one foot in front of the other and you walk out of the hospital and down the street. 

You feel completely empty - void of my feelings, tears, energy. Lars’ woolen military coat is hanging on a chair. You’d told him to bring it on the expedition, but he’d said it wasn’t cold enough yet. You grab the coat, hold it close, and fall onto the bed. It still smells like him - a mix of pine trees and sunshine - and you realize you’ll never smell that again, never feel his arms around you again. 

Your chest tightens and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. You gasp for air but it feels like it’s not enough to fill your lungs, as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. A few years ago, you’d almost drowned when you tried to swim with Lars in a lake outside Jinae. Your lungs ached for air and panic had set in until Lars was able to pull you up just in time. This feels exactly the same.

Except Lars isn’t here to save you this time.

You close your eyes, hoping you’ll fall asleep and never wake up.

_____

A week passes, and Levi is making his way to Trost. He volunteered to pick up supplies needed for Headquarters, which he could have easily assigned to someone lower in rank, but he wanted an excuse to check on you. The entire squad had traveled to Ehrmich District for Lars’ funeral and burial and he had expected to see you there, but you were nowhere to be found. When he asked the others, they hadn’t heard from you. 

Lars’ final words to Levi echoed in his mind daily. He had to make sure you were alright. 

He first stopped at the bakery, hoping you would be working, but Mr. Meyer said he hadn’t seen or heard from you since you’d left to meet the Survey Corps’ return. 

“I went by her home to see if she was ok, but no one had answered. I just assumed she’d stayed in Ehrmich with Lars’ family.”

Now Levi was worried. His stomach was in knots as he rode to your house and just as it was with Mr. Meyer, there’s no answer when he knocks. The door is locked, but Levi had learned how to pick a lock in his younger days, and he makes quick work of getting it open. 

It’s dark when Levi enters, and the air is stale and heavy. There’s a half eaten loaf of bread on the table and he notices a dying fire in the hearth, the only sign that you must still be here.

It’s when he enters the bedroom that he sees your body curled up on the bed, a wool blanket wrapped tightly around you.

He sits on the bed and moves your hair off your face; when he says your name, your head turns toward him. 

“Levi? What are you doing here?”

“Nobody has seen or heard from you. Have you even been outside lately?”

“I don’t know…what day is it?”

Levi looks around the unkempt room. “This place looks like shit,” he turns back to you, “and you look even worse.”

You tighten the blanket around you. “Please Levi..just leave me alone. I want to sleep.”

“From the looks of it, that’s all you’ve been doing.” Levi opens the curtains of the front window and starts cleaning up the place. There’s clothes strewn about everywhere and as he starts folding them and putting them away, he notices Lars’ wool jacket next to you. He puts it on a hanger. 

“I heated up some water. You need a bath.” You look so weak, and so Levi sits on the bed and lifts you into his arms. “Come on, let’s get you in the tub.”

He carries you to the washroom, your arms wrapped around his neck and your head leaning on his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d come to see me.”

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t be stupid.” When he gets to the bathtub he puts you down and his expression softens. “I should have come sooner.”

You lift your arms and he helps you take off your sleeping gown. He thought you felt light when he carried you, but looking at your naked body, he can tell you haven’t been eating much, if at all. You hold his hand as you slowly step into the tub and sink into the water. 

You’re not sure why your body aches the way that it does, but the warmth of the water instantly makes you feel more alive. Levi sits next to the tub, wets a washcloth, and begins to wash your hair and weary body. 

Levi handles you as if you are the most precious thing, capable of breaking at a moment’s notice. His hands are gentle as he moves the washcloth over your arms and legs. 

A sigh escapes him as he looks at your emaciated state. “Y/n, what are you doing? You’re only hurting yourself by not eating.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

“Hey,” he grabs your chin and turns you to look at him, “don’t say shit like that.”

Your mouth turns downward. “Why do you care? You gave away that right a long time ago.”

He lets go of you, sadness and guilt shrouded in his eyes. “You know I’ve never stopped caring about you.”

“Right. You cared so much that you left.”

“I got you above ground. I..thought what I did was the right thing.”

“It wasn’t,” you say bluntly. “Can’t you see? You broke my heart into a thousand pieces. And just when I was putting them together again, this-”

You run your fingers through your wet hair, a knot of despair growing larger inside you. “There’s never a goodbye. Just the men I love, torn from me. I’m tired of being left behind.”

Levi sits there silently, his heart aching for you. He yearns to take away all your hurt and pain, but he knows that he’s the root of so much of your sadness.  

“It’s like I’m underground all over again. Any ray of light I touch…disappears. Why can I not keep anyone in my life?”

“I’m here. I’m in your life,” Levi retorts, but he knows it’s a weak defense.

“By chance, not by choice. If it wasn’t for Lars, if he hadn’t joined the Corps and your squad, I would still think you were dead.”

You’re right, he can’t deny it. He’d done it all so you’d have a chance at a new, better life, but had hurt you deeply in the process. “I…made the wrong choice. I’m sorry.”

You put your head in your hands, hopeless. “It’s too late for apologies.” You suddenly stand and step out of the tub, but Levi immediately reaches out to you. You try to get out his grip, but it only makes him hold on to you tighter.

“I’m all alone now.”

Levi sighs. “You’re not alone.”

“Oh yeah? Where were you when I was left to fend for myself in Stohess? When I had to sleep in alleyways and under bridges because I had nowhere to go? When I was knocked out and robbed of all the money you and I had saved?” You push his chest with each question. “Where were you when I searched every jail and prison in Wall Rose for any sign that you were alive?”

Levi grabs your shoulders and looks intently into your eyes. The same sad eyes of a little girl who’d been beaten and exploited by her father, with the same look you gave him when he rescued you from that brothel so long ago. When he was a boy he’d vowed to protect you, and now he knows he hadn’t lived up to that promise. 

“STOP. I’m here now. And I’m not leaving you, ever again.”

There’s silence except for your deep breaths. Without realizing it, he’s pulled you close; so close that your bodies are almost touching.

“You are?”

He’s forever tethered to you, he knows that now. He will never stop loving you, will never stop fighting for you. 

“..yes..” his voice is a whisper as he moves ever closer. He loosens his grip and you look at him with lidded eyes. There’s sadness there, but something else too. His eyes rove over your naked body and he dares to move his hands lower until they rest on the small of your waist. 

He hasn’t touched you in years, but it’s so familiar, your body instantly reacts to it. Without thinking, your hand cups his cheek. This yearning, this love, you can’t escape it; it’s left a deep scar that will never go away. You’d once thought of Levi’s love as a shadow, deep and cool; but his love is a fire, its heat consumes you until nothing is left but ashes and dust.  

And so you throw yourself into the flames.

Neither of you knows who moved first, but your lips crash together with a bold desire that can only be known between former lovers. You want him, you want him inside you, to fill this emptiness in your heart. You tug at his shirt while he pulls off his boots and undoes his pants, both of you desperate to feel something - anything - other than this deep pain and longing the two of you share. He grabs your breasts hard as you bite and kiss down his neck, and he takes in a breath when he feels your teeth. He grabs the hair at the nape of your neck and forces you to look at him; the look in your eyes is wild and untethered and he grows hard with desire. He lifts you up and presses you against the tiled wall. 

Your legs wrap around him as his cock enters you, so forcefully that it takes your breath away. But you welcome the pain and Levi thrusts even harder, his lips all over you.

“I’m here. I’m right here…feel me? Can you feel me right here?”

“Y-yes..” you moan. “Levi…I need you,” you plead. “Harder…”

He grunts as he pounds into you. “I tried to stay away from you. I wanted you to be happy without me. But I can’t.” He moans. “I can’t.”

Your hand grips his hair and you close your eyes, losing yourself to the pleasure of Levi fucking you. You’d never forgotten this feeling, even though you hadn’t touched each other for so long. 

He lifts you up a little higher then walks you over to the bed. Although he throws you down and is on top of you in an instant, you quickly turn the tables and push him down. You straddle him and begin to rub your swollen pussy over his cock, but when he can’t take it anymore he grabs your hips and pushes himself inside you. The act warrants a loud moan from both of you, then you’re riding his cock, his fingers digging into your hips as you move them up and down. You sit up and put your hands on his chest; as if you were made for him, your walls stretch around his girth. It all feels like you’re moving on pure instinct; your logical mind shuts off as you give in to your primal desires.

But then it suddenly hits you - you’re fucking Levi on your bed; the same bed that you and Lars shared. Emotions overwhelm you as you think about the intimate moments shared with him here. Now, he’s gone and Levi is here; the man who left you alone and abandoned, even when he claims to love you.

Pleasure and pain. Hurt and desire. Love and guilt. Each emotion manifests in every snap of your hips. 

The next thing you know, your palm closes over his throat, flattened fingers closing in on the sides of his neck, and his eyes flash. The subtle dominance of your grip is the personification of your hold on him, as you wordlessly demand his every sound and breath in this moment.

Being manhandled like this by you, your act of taking his reigns like he’s not fucking the breath out of you makes his lip curl. The gesture does not go unnoticed by you, so with your eyes locked, you dare a little pressure against his throat just to show him. The thinning of oxygen seems to cut through any numbness he felt, leaving him stripped bare with every single sensation from you running unbridled through his veins.

You feel it, your power over him as all his defenses break down. A moan escapes your mouth as he hits a deeper spot of pleasure, nails sinking into his biceps. “I knew it. You’ve been waiting to get me like this,” you lean closer, “haven’t you?”

You couldn’t stop the words leaving your throat; it felt like if Levi was going to help you through this like he promised, then you needed to twist the knife. Nothing with you and Levi was ever easy. 

Your words, mingled with his own guilt, spark a feral anger in him. Enraged, he flips you over, pinning your hands above your head and pushing your legs against your chest as he fucks you hard without mercy or remorse. 

He leans in close, his sweat dripping on your chest. “My apologies aren’t good enough, so what do you want me to say? Huh? That it drove me crazy to think of you fucking another man, when I knew you were mine? That this pussy has always been mine. That so many times, I wanted to fuck his scent off of you.” 

His grip on your wrists tightens. The sound of his skin slamming into yours reverberates through the room. “But you belong to me. You always have.”

“Y-yes..” you moan. There’s no denying it from either of you any longer. You have always been Levi’s - mind, body, and soul.

When he feels his climax approaching, he doesn’t pull out. He wants to claim you, once and for all, so he comes inside you with one hard thrust.

His cock twitches as it fills you up, but you don’t resist it. Even after his climax, he continues to grind into you until you meet your own orgasm - an intense jolt of pleasure surging through you. 

You lie next to each other, sweaty and breathless. You’d laid yourselves bare to each, physically and emotionally - no more lies, no more pretenses. But your body’s pleasure was quickly being replaced with a feeling of guilt. Had you been pretending with Lars all along? No, what you had with him was true. But why does being with Levi feel so right?

Levi pulls you into his arms and you put your head on his chest. You can hear his heart beating, steady and strong. “It’s not wrong, what we did,” he says, as if he can read your mind. “I love you. I’m going to take care of you.”

You answer by wrapping your arm around his waist. He loves you; after everything, he still chooses you. Maybe this is a chance to begin again. 

The afternoon passes and neither of you move from each other’s arms. Eventually, Levi rises from the bed.

“I need to get back to Headquarters. They’ll wonder what happened if I don’t return soon.” 

You watch him as he walks to the washroom, gathers his clothes, and gets dressed. “Don’t go,” you plead. 

He looks at you and his face softens as he ties his ascot. “I have to, but I’ll be back in 3 days. I’m going to have some food sent to you and I want you to eat. No more starving yourself.”

As he walks by the bed you sit up and grab his arm. “Don’t go back, Levi. Quit the Survey Corps. We can leave this place, together. Just us - like it used to be.”

His eyes widen then his face grows serious as he sits next to you. “You know I can’t do that. I made a promise, one that I don’t take lightly.”

Those words feel like metal in your veins. “Lars said the same thing.” Your eyes water. “And what of your promise to me?”

“I don’t intend on breaking either.” His voice is resolute. “We can discuss this more later, but until then I want you to take care of yourself.”

He caresses your cheek and kisses you once more, and then you hear the front door open and close as he returns to his world.

_____

In three days time, Levi is again riding to Trost. He didn’t make up an excuse this time, but only mentioned that he was going to check on you. No one would question that - Lars was an important part of his squad after all - but he wasn’t sure how you two should move forward in your relationship. It would need to be kept secret for a while, to avert any malicious gossip toward you. Honestly, he didn’t know how this was going to work, but he knows he wants to be with you. Too much time had already been wasted.

He knocks on the door of your house and just like before, there’s no answer; this time, however, the door is unlocked. Everything is clean and in its place, but as Levi walks from room to room, there’s nothing but darkness. 

“Can I help you with something?” An older woman calls from the entrance. When Levi turns around, she recognizes him immediately - everyone knows him in Trost. “Ah, Captain Levi. What can I do for you?”

“The woman who lived here, where did she go?”

Her face turns to a scowl. “She disappeared in the night about two days ago. At least she cleaned up and left money for the remainder of her rent.”

Levi’s heartbeat quickened. “And she gave no word of where she was going?”

“No…nothing. Oh, she did leave this on the table.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out a simple gold band. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” 

The woman hands it over to Levi and he presses it between his fingers, his other hand turning into a fist as the cold reality of it all hits him like a slap to the face:

You’re gone.

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@youre-ackermine @mrsackxrman @mrsackermannx @laraackerman @midnightbarnes97 @notgoodforlife @leviismybby @levisfavoriteacup @ackermendick @junglewoos

[cienie-isengardu]

Cracked Mirror of Black, Cold Soul [Chapter 2]

Author notes: Continuation of this, formely posted just as "MK1 Fanfiction".

I'm writing it as Shang Tsung & Bi-Han's sort of friendship but if anyone like it as Bi-Han/Shang Tsung then that's great too. Also, nothing dark/graphic so far, but maybe in future I will go more into Shang Tsung's experiments, poverty and probably a bit depression. Just saying in advance as I'm aware my idea of "not graphic" may vary from other people's.

No enemy has come that day or another nor the next week. Shang Tsung fell back into his routine - studying, training, experimenting, once in a while getting the needed supplies, and then studying more, training more, creating more devious traps to apparently keep a certain cryomancer amused. The books and scrolls kept disappearing and showing up a few days later, even if he did not see Sub-Zero for weeks. 

Sometimes there was a note attached to returned volumes. Usually short messages, about Li Mei’s search for him or General Shao’s impatience or a new bounty on their heads or to avoid a specific place at certain times. He read the notes, mesmerized its contents, then burned the paper to not leave any unnecessary loose ends if he ever was forced to abbadon the fortress in a hurry.  

Sometimes the note said trivial things. Like under any circumstances do not eat those mushrooms you moron! - and indeed the mushrooms he found in a nearby field disappeared without a trace from his kitchen. Which was truly a shame, for if those truly were toxic he could at least study them to make a new poison or maybe even magic potion or two. More often than not though the message was clean up the mess! which did not amuse him at all. A bit of blood here and there and a misplaced organ or two and everyone was a critic these days. Like it was his fault the creative process at times got messy. No genius was even truly understood and in such moments he did miss Damashi, her kind hand on his back, the melodic voice encouraging him to transcend the boundaries of already possessed knowledge.

Sub-Zero sounded more like a mother hen than a deadly warrior and Shang Tsung for sure did not need anyone mothering him. He was a grown up man, he survived living in Outworld’s wild, uncaring hinterlands alone for hundredth of years, he did not need anyone’s help nor care. It was a matter of pride but also the bitter taste of betrayal that held him back from trusting anyone ever again.

He left his own notes then.

Stop fussing, I knew the mushrooms were poisonous, even though he had no idea, as he had never heard of poisonous mushrooms before. There were plenty of dangerous places in Outworld yet not many uneatable things to worry about. And sure, the fungus looked funny, with nice red caps and pretty white dots, like snow that embellished blood pool, which was specifically a reason why he picked it up in the first place. But why should he not, if the island was part of the Edenia realm and the mainland not so far away? The climatic zone was correct, the ruins were covered with Edenian letters even if the words made little sense to him. As far as he managed to check, he did not find any unusual plants here, no new animal species. Up to this moment, he had no reason to worry about flora and fauna surrounding him as nothing stood out… well, maybe beside the one white pigeon that so eagerly cooed at the sight of him and as it turned out, the funny mushrooms he found by accident and collected on impulse. The sense of danger did not cross his mind and if not Sub-Zero’s warning, he would eat the mushrooms soon. Maybe the edenian blood would neutralize the toxins that Earthrealmer was so concerned about, or maybe not. Now, he had no means to test it one way or another. Begrudgingly he accepted that Lin Kuei potentially saved, if not his life from food poisoning then at least his dignity, but the man did not need to know that.

The note disappeared the day he wrote it, alongside a few scrolls. A week later the paper showed up in the same spot with additional DID YOU?, and even the carefully calligraphed few edenian letters sneered at him mockingly. The rush of blood burned his cheeks and he did not need the mirror to know how red his face was. Out of anger, pure anger, not embarrassment, he told himself firmly while the note turned into ash in his hand. He wanted to burn much more and he would do so, if not the book on which note was left.

Shang Tsung stared at the thick book with a deeply red cover, pondering whether he should open it and bear the reason why the annoying Earthrealm left it there or just fed the flames of hearth with that blasted thing. It didn't matter what was inside the book, only how to not lose the weird game they played for weeks, with no rules and no clear idea who was actually winning. Losing never sat well with him and yet he couldn’t help himself than take a chance, any chance, to prove how better, smarter he was compared to others. And Sub-Zero clearly was exploiting that weakness, slowly and deliberately with each little note, each little sharp remark and additional subtext hidden in black ink, in elegant shape of letter. 

The man mocked him and challenged and Shang Tsung loved that game and cursed it in the same breath. The island was a wonderful sanctuary as much as a lonely, dark place and Sub-Zero, whatever the man knew or not, brought so needed entertainment to keep the sorcerer from going mad. Not that Shang Tsung would ever admit that aloud but fact remained a fact, whether he liked it or not.

The book was definitely not made in Outworld. It was not even a matter of unfamiliar letters but the whole texture of deeply red cover and snowy-white pages inside. Once opened, it smelled of ink but not like the yellowed, hand-written books did. To his own surprise, the smell reminded him of freshness, something new and still unspoiled, so it couldn’t be a second-handed volume either. This pleased him, more than it should. Before Damashi walked into his life, he rarely could afford to buy good quality items; the tailored robes and beautifully illustrated books were always out of his reach. How many times he stared at the richness of colors, how many times inhaled the storm of unique, unknown smells when he passed the small town’s market only to turn away from each stall? When a person needed to choose between food or new shoes for he could afford only one, it was no choice at all. The basic needs always processed anything frivolous, for luxury was nothing more than just a sweet dream to lull the poorest to sleep and torment them by day. 

Shang Tsung now had the money and means to spoil himself with the best; the finest food and sweetest wine, the most soft fabrics and tailored robes, the expansive magic ingredients he dreamed of having as a child. So of course fate spit into his face, as now the gold meant nothing. Only the power he held mattered. The same power now threatened by Fire Lord and Empress Mileena and even by his maybe-still-maybe-not allies.

A warmth spread through his cold, bitter soul at the mere thought the book was brand new and brought specially for him. Even if Sub-Zero did so only to scoff at him, to mock, he still went with the finest gift and not some rubbish. The gesture touched him, surprisingly deeply. Not many people these days bothered to spoil him a bit here and there.

Encouraged by the treacherous feeling, he opened the book on the first page and slowly started examining its content. He couldn’t read it though, as Damashi taught him only how to speak Earthrealm’s most common languages - the one similar to Edenian and the so-called English that tasted weird on his tongue whenever he was forced to use it. Damashi promised soon it would be irrelevant knowledge anyway, so he did not bother learning the unfamiliar letters. Like all other promises of hers, this one too turned out to be a false prophecy. With each passing day, the choking realization hurt a bit less. Each passing day also proved how much she witholded and weakened him on purpose, how much he needed to learn all those supposedly meaningless little things anyway.

Looking back, how he admired the mysterious woman, how he desired her praise and smile, was such a laughable memory. What an ally she turned out to be! And yet, Damashi taught him everything he knew about true magic and above all else, the final lesson will forever stay with him: to never trust anyone, especially those kind to him.

But… Sub-Zero wasn’t necessarily nice to him and he took as much as he gave, considering the rate at which books and precious scrolls disappeared all the time. There was no promise of great power, no sweet praise to make Shang Tsung starve for more attention. The man barely interacted with him in person, more interested in knowledge hidden between yellow pages than what Shang Tsung could do for him. A fair deal, a secret for secret, as apparently Sub-Zero liked to collect those, even the most trivial ones and he did bring a lot of important news to the sorcerer in exchange. 

It wasn’t a kindness, Shang Tsung hummed to himself, just the fairest deal he ever made. 

And who could know where this little deal will take them in future? Honestly has never been his forte while Lin Kuei Grandmaster was as straightforward as a killer could be anyway. And yet so far they balanced well between a little sweet lie here and brutal truth there. No matter how many times he asked, Sub-Zero did not reveal how he found the island nor how he got in and out of there, the same as Shang Tsung never spoke about his experiments done in the laboratory. They just accepted the unspoken agreement as it was, for now at least, and he cherished the weird comfort of having someone around while also not being directly questioned with the endless list of why, when, if.

The book felt heavy in his hand - heavier than it had right to be for with offered knowledge came a pitiful hope.

Maybe Sub-Zero could, if not outright teach, then at least help him to learn Earthrealm letters… if the words found a way to slip through the tight throat and clenched teeth. Asking for help was, in his experience, a sign of weakness he couldn’t afford. Yet he couldn’t afford to stay ignorant either, and the beautiful book held in hands tempted with promises of great knowledge - if he could read it.

Not for the first time he wondered why Sub-Zero wrote all the little notes left for Shang Tsung in the sorcerer’s own language. After the first time seeing the familiar letters of his native dialect in elegant yet unknown handwriting, he figured out that Lin Kuei already checked out his background and gathered all that was out there to learn from; to steal secrets and maybe even blackmail him if needed. Shang Tsung was not concerned about it, as there was not much to collect. A pitiful life of a lone salesman left little to remember about in the minds of common folks. Even if Lin Kuei managed to track down his former clients, those naive, desperate fools from all Outworld hinterlands, all they would learn was the obvious truth: the old-him was a fraud, a cheater, a loser never loved or missed even by his own folks.

Lin Kuei could learn more from his time at Sindel’s court, however Empress Mileena waged war on them. Not that it stopped Sub-Zero and his men from slipping into capitol, in her own palace, but some secrets still were out of their reach, at least for now. 

The only question left was if Sub-Zero knew the sorcerer couldn’t read Earthrealm’s letters and indulge Shang Tsung out of pragmatism? Or was that matter of courtesy, some good manners that mattered to Grandmaster enough to bother? The sorcerer did not like the uncertainty but he couldn’t ask, not yet, for asking meant admitting great lacking in his worldly education. Even worse, admitting the Lin Kuei Grandmaster - anyone - was better than him, and it didn’t matter how trivial such superiority was. 

Shang Tsung could bear Royal Family and Liu Kang’s Champions mockery and hate without blinking an eye, but he would faster swallow his own tongue than allow his maybe-maybe-not ally to think he was the lesser one in their partnership.

But why Grandmaster didn’t just write the next messages in English or any other Earthrealm’s language to test Shang Tsung and then to mock his illiteracy? Why not push and push, until he couldn’t lie anymore and needed to admit defeat? Why did the man spared him the humiliation when even his own, godly-self had no mercy?

It was the riddle that bothered Shang Tsung the most. Not the uncertainty itself, but faint yet no less warm hope that, despite bitter memories, filled his cold, black soul. 

Kindness was a dangerous, treachery tool that could hurt much more than open mockery. He did not want to feel that pain ever again. And yet, like a fool he was, Shang Tsung craved it more than the finest food or wine. To be acknowledged as something more than just a pitiful, poor copy of another, greater sorcerer - to be treated like his own entity worth someone’s time and effort. 

He craved it and how could he not, when the book, though definitely of Earthrealm origin, didn’t feel like a cruel joke? 

Yes, he could not read it, as the letters were unfamiliar, but there was a mark in each corner and, as he guessed, the skull placed there meant he was not allowed to eat the mushroom present on the page. Yes, he could not learn the secrets hidden between letters, but each page had its own stunning illustration. The pictures were so realistic, like he was looking at mushrooms just found in the forest or an open field. He had no idea what magic it was, but the illustrations were so gorgeous and bright with colors he had never seen in any Outworld book before. It needed to be magic, for those couldn’t be drawn, as the texture of the paper was... slippery under his fingers, but in a nice way.

The book was only about mushrooms, and yet each new page made his blood rush faster through the veins, heart beating strongly. When did he feel so good holding a book last time? He could not remember.

(A lie. He did remember. It was the same excitement he felt when Damashi for the first time showed him an old volume about elements to explain what magic is, how to draw it from the world around. It was also the first time she mentioned cryomancers, that they were real people and not some demons from old, almost forgotten legends. When he asked, intimidated by his own boldness, if he would have a chance to meet any, Damashi laughed, a sparkling laugh full of approval that he fell head over heels in love with. She promised he will, soon, and it was one of few promises she kept.)

Somehow halfway through the book, the red capped, speckled with white dots mushroom proudly showed up on page. Oh, he knew that one pretty well now, even if he had no idea how Earthrealm’s fungus got so far away from its native environment... But that thought faded right away, as the thing that held all his attention now was a small note stuck to the paper under the illustration. The elegant, familiar letter said ARE YOU STILL MAD? 

Yes, he wanted to say, to write it back on paper and stick to their usual place for notes. But the treacherous chuckle broke free before he could do any of it. To know how well Sub-Zero knew him despite barely talking to each other should freeze his blood. Yet all he felt was the weird warmness. Cryomancer should not make one feel cozy, not when a mere hour ago the bastard mockingly questioned his knowledge.

Was that… apology? 

No, it didn’t feel like that. For apology meant regretting and he still wasn’t sure if the man was capable of feeling guilt. Anger? Yes. Excitement at a challenge? Definitely. Regrets? Even if so, Shang Tsung did not notice that and he was usually good at exploiting such weakness in people around him. 

Maybe it was just cryomancer’s way to… well, Shang Tsung had no idea. It made him feel better though. So no, he was not mad anymore even if he probably should be at least annoyed.  

He knew though from on, whenever he would see the red-capped mushroom, he would always think about this book, the little note and one cryomancer that made him laugh despite himself. 

The little skull in the corner stared at him all-knowing. Thoughtlessly, he touched it with his finger, enjoying the cold, slippery feeling of paper. He liked skulls, always had. Maybe he should figure out how to reshape his magic blasts to resemble the skulls? Wouldn’t that be something unique, just his and only his?

Suddenly, the book was a thousand ways better than it was already. What else could Earthrealm offer him? What secrets and inspiration was there to seek and use for his gain? 

He grinned, all sharp teeths and gleam in eye. Maybe, if he played their little game well or bargained enough, Sub-Zero could bring him a similar quality atlas but for Earthrealmers’ anatomy? All he needed was the stunning, colorful illustrations and for sure he could figure out everything else on his own. He always wanted to study their enemy’s anatomy but sadly Liu Kang’s pets ran away and trashed his laboratory along the way.

“Are you again thinking about murdering Liu Kang’s Champions?” 

If there was one thing about Sub-Zero that annoyed Shang Tsung more than the man’s cold, rude way of speaking, it was the Lin Kuei habit of sneaking on him. It wasn’t annoying just because Sub-Zero caught him doing things that spoil his carefully cultivated image of a devious and powerful sorcerer - like smiling because of book he can’t even read or returning to fortress all wet and miserable when catched by heavy rain or his not best morning moments when disheveled and still sleepy he wanders through the corridors. No, the worst part was how easily the man walked the shadows, like the darkness was his to command. 

There was something terrible off about that, even if he couldn’t point down why. 

“Maybe” Shang Tsung answered with a bright smile plastered on his face. No reason in admitting to the man how correctly he read his thoughts. Small victory was still a victory and if he was not the winner, he did not like it at all. 

Sub-Zero’s left eyebrow rose up, but the man did not comment nor asked about the book in the sorcerer's hands. So their little correspondence about a deadly mushroom was a closed up matter and not worth dwelling on. For now. 

Since he rarely had a chance to see his maybe-yes-maybe-not ally these days, Shang Tsung looked him over from head to toe. The man had no visible new scars, nothing to indicate an injury or that he was in any fight at all - even if the sorcerer knew from others that Sub-Zero’s brothers, those pathetic idealists, looked out for him and hunted Lin Kuei like mad dogs. So far to no avail, what pleased him greatly. Cryomancer was playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and his foolish brothers still did not figure out who had an upper hand in that strife. 

What however didn’t please Shang Tsung, was the bag on the cryomancer’s back. Full of his books. He knew the man was borrowing his precious volumes from the first day Sub-Zero showed up in his new home, but to see him actually taking out the entire stack at once? That was something new.

The saddest thing about the books collected here was their amount. As much as Shang Tsung hated to admit it, for months he barely managed to look through the shelves in his laboratory and there were more rooms, bigger rooms, from the floor to the ceiling, from one wall to another filled with books and scrolls. He had no idea what Sub-Zero was carrying in his bag this time, and even less what the man appropriated already. There was no point in pretending otherwise, as both knew well there were too many books to keep a track on all of them. A truly bothersome problem that cryomancer exploited without a grain of regret. 

Like always, the bastard ignored his outraged face, then adjusted his bag and walked away without even saying a goodbye or fuck you. The nerve of this man knew no bounds. 

“If you have time to steal my precious books then you could at least bring me something nice to eat!”, he shouted after the man before Sub-Zero disappeared in the shadows enveloping the cold corridor. Not because it could change anything but to have at least the last word.

Out of the darkness flew something small. He catched it without thinking, all reflex and curiosity. It was an apple, red and fresh, definitely not plucked from a tree on the island. Cold to the touch but not cold enough to frostbite his fingers. 

On one side bitten.

He should be mad at Sub-Zero, and yet the laugh filled his lungs. Well, at least the bastard did not ignore him completely. 

It was indeed a great progress.

(In the deepest part of the soul, where bitterness lingered like venom, Damashi’s voice mocked him how weak he was, how needy to cling to cold, uncaring Sub-Zero. How stupid to think anyone could bother to deal with him out of sympathy and not to use him like the pitiful tool he was. How despite everything, Shang Tsung learned nothing.

The bitterness choked him whenever he read left by Lin Kuei Grandmaster notes, whenever the man warned him about danger awaiting beyond the island’s boundaries or complained about the mess, even now, when the beautiful, deeply red covered book weighed in his hands. It was hard to ignore Damashi’s voice when it sounded like his own. But a snake should not choke on its own venom, shouldn’t he?)

Author notes#2:

Like the last time, it is mainly my character study of Shang Tsung and I'm on purpose not writing him how I would normally write one from previous timelines. I enjoy to explore how Damashi and her betrayal had a great impact on him. He is the "in progress" version, not yet the savvy, brilliant sorcerer but trying hard to be seen like that. Bi-Han so far is there mainly for the books XD

I also like to imagine there is some connection between Edenian language and one of Chinese dialect, while English and its letters is totally something new for Shang Tsung. Just solely to avoid everyone speak the same language despite living in different realms. Lin Kuei were taught Outworld language(s) so they could do the dirty job better. Hopefully I did not bore you too much.

This part was about the mushroom note. Next one should be about the mess called Shang Tsung's laboratory :)