#pray for me if I do not manage to get it within the next week I will likely explode. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

h5eavenly · 7 months ago

Text

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-four - a little of me, warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

You had woken up feeling awful. It doesn’t really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.

You were so wrong.

Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you weren’t just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it – given his love to announce everyone’s news like they’re his own.

So, it didn’t take you long to figure out there’s definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.

And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you can’t seem to cough. It’s torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.

“Jesus. You look awful.” Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.

“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?” Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence guys.” You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.

You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.

“Do you even have makeup on?” Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way it’s directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.

“Yeah. I have concealer on.”

“Yikes.” Sunghoon coughs.

“Maybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circles” Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.

“Are you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?”

“Your makeup. Duh.” Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.

You think you’re aware that you don’t look your best. Although to be quite honest you’re not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You don’t get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isn’t very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.

You’re really praying to every fucking god that exists you’re not actually falling sick.

You’ll be fine though – or at least that’s what you think. That’s what you keep praying for -

Please god please please please!!

At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon aren’t gonna bother you too much.

However, it does get to you when you’re face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You don’t think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.

“Oh, you look...” he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be “not every good.” He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. You’re not very sure of anything anymore.

“For fuck’s sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!” you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.

“Aww yn. Don’t mind these silly boys. They’re just being dumb.” Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.

“Like always.” She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words.

“Are you sick?” She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing.

You don’t think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that you’ve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).

“I think I’m just a little tired.” you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry.

“You don’t look a little tired though.” She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver “thankfully, you don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I do have a bit of a headache.” You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.

“Maybe you should head home.” She rubs your shoulder soothingly.

“And do what?”

“Rest.” Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.

“Oh, I’ll be fine don’t worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- “Soojin doesn’t even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. It’s warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is.

“Jay, does yn have anything urgent today?”

“Not really. Jake’s schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.” The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.

“Great!” she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and it’s somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun “I’m getting you an uber and you’re going home to rest!”

“Soojin I’m fine seriously. “Once again, she doesn’t give room for you to argue, your words – or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.

“You owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?” she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness “we need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.”

“Okay.” You sigh and she smiles “If I feel worse then I’ll leave!-“ you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.

“Jay.” She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat “call jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.” Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.

As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesn’t seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they aren’t as aware of.

“Ivy’s the boss here. whatever she says, happens.” He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe it’s the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.

But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while you’re still attempting to fight the decisions already made, you’d think you’re somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.

“That guy is whipped for you.” you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.

“No, he’s not.” Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head “He’s that way with everyone.” She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.

“He doesn’t even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.” your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members “and she’s his actual boss!” you whisper yell.

“Shut up your uber is almost here.” She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.

“Why does he call you Ivy anyway?”

“It’s my English name.”

“That’s cute. You must be special.” You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.

“Very cute. Now go rest and if you need anything don’t hesitate to text me.” She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.

Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.

“Thank you.” you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows you’re about to cry so in the next moment she’s slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.

“I can’t hear you!” her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and it’s more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.

On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when you’re inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize you’re not sure what to do if you’re not working.

You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but it’s been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when it’s light outside, when your body knows you should be working.

That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.

Niki.

Jake

Niki

Jake

Niki.

You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then you’re taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.

“Thick or regular?” Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.

“Uh-“ you blink at the black screen of your tv “What are we talking about exactly?”

“Soy sauce.” He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.

“I didn’t even know there’s such thing as thick soy sauce.”

“Apparently thickness is taking over the world. That’s why bbls are a thing yn.” you snort.

“Maybe you should consider getting one.” A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.

“Okay I’m surrounded by soy sauce and you’re talking about how flat my ass is I’m so overwhelmed right now.” The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter “It’s not like I’m getting backshots soon.” He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you aren’t careful enough.

“I will be the one doing backshots,” you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.

“Okay moving on from you and your shots.” You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified “Are you at the supermarket?” you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.

“Yeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.”

“You seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?” you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.

“What’s up with you? you sound like shit.” He asks after a few beats of silence.

“Thanks, I only heard that like ten times today.”

“Are you sick?”

“Probably. I’m really overwhelmed right now too.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.

“I’m honestly still really worried about Niki.” You mumble.

“What did that fucker do?” The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.

“Nothing. I’m just worried about him. I know he said he’s gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.” You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder “Never. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I can’t help but worry about him.” You add.

“Yeah I know – hold on-“ there’s shuffling on the other line. Heeseung’s voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear “Hey can you stop being a little bitch?” The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of what’s going on.

“Or go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.” He adds and then there’s an unsettling silence. It doesn’t last long, and it’s interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing “MOM!!”

“Kids these days am I right?” Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.

“Heeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?”

“Yeah. Anyways back to Niki,” you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then you’re shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives it’s little that surprises you with him.

“Yeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.”

“Not really. He’s been acting the same too.” He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry “If you’re that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.” He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded “I don’t know if he’ll be happy about it though.”

You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.

“Hold on,” you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch “What do you mean shifts? He’s been working at the restaurant?”

“Shit yeah. it’s been a while now. You didn't know?”

“What the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body can’t handle it.” you berate, frustration woven in your tone.

“I don’t fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.”

“Did he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.” You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you aren’t sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.

“I really don’t know yn.” Heeseung sighs on the other line “But either way I’ll talk to him when he comes into work later. Don’t worry.”

“That would be good, thank you.” you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.

“Of course.”

“I’ll talk to him about everything properly once I’m over this cold or whatever it is. I don’t want him to get sick.” You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.

“Yeah, you better rest for now. I’ll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like they’re taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didn’t feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadn’t noticed?

The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasn’t moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath

Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You aren’t sure how long you slept. It’s long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.

The only reason that’s strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think it’s a part of your dream but you’re picking apples and they’re crispy red and shiny but there’s a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?

You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then it’s nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.

Your doorbell rings again and this time it’s repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost don’t recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.

You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags he’s carrying.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.

“Yn.” he exhales as if he’s relieved, he’s not stumbling upon your corpse and instead you’re alive “Jay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh – “ he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps that’s why it feels like you don’t understand anything he’s saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.

You must be really sick or still dreaming.

“Anyways are you okay?” He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.

He tells himself he shouldn’t be this panicked – this nervous. Shouldn’t let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuck’s sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and there’s embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.

And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. It’s solely why you don’t say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.

“Yn.” Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again “Bunny.”

You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands it’s not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadn’t spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, what’s best for you. he doesn’t touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.

“Bunny what’s wrong? Are you dizzy?” his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.

“Can you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?” He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why can’t his hand be as gentle “Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Mhm?” he suggests once again.

“My head hurts so bad.” You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. It’s the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.

“Okay.” He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and he’s looking around as if he’s trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair “Painkillers. I’ll get you some painkillers.” And then he’s walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.

“Fucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?” He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. “Do you have any painkillers?” He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if it’s something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesn’t last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and there’s a glass of water in his hand.

“This will make you feel better. Come on bunny.”

He’s standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.

“I’m really nauseous and I don’t feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.” You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if you’re about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. It’s uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if there’s no way for him not to feel you.

You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine he’s fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.

But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.” He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.

You’re unsure if you’re dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because he’s suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and it’s been so long since he touched you.

“Is there anything else that’s hurting you?” He asks – whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.

“My body hurts too.” You reply – whisper back just as delicately - and you can’t fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, you’d be cringing at how dramatic you’re acting.

“Thankfully you don’t seem to be having a fever.” The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly “You’ll be okay.” He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you aren’t sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

“I have you.” it’s a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you don’t want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.

“Do you promise?” you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.

“I promise.” He replies and you sigh because you don’t know if he means that you’ll be okay or that he’s got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.

It’s only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“Do you think you could try taking the painkiller now?”

“Yeah.” you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.

Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and it’s only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.

“For troubling you. Being a burden. I don’t know.” you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.

“You’re not a burden bunny.” You can sense there’s more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait “I’m here because I was worried about you.” he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.

“Does your body still hurt?” He asks when you’re quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didn’t feel his face burning up at his confession.

“A bit.” You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat “Can you hand me my laptop, please?” you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.

“For what?”

“There’s a couple of stuff I need to get done.”

“Like what? What’s so important that you need to do now?”

“Bills. Rent is due soon and there’s Yeonjun’s car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.” You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.

“Car fees?” he questions and you nod as if he’s supposed to understand “yeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.” You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you don’t get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.

You wish he wouldn’t kneel so easily, as if he won’t swallow your heart up and flee.

“Are they urgent?” He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isn’t enough room for your breaths to leave.

“No but I have to do them right now.” You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.

“Shh, you don’t need to do anything right now, okay?” he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you aren’t sure if it’s because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you aren’t sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.

I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.

“You’re on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.” His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours “You can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?” you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.

“Okay.” You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.

“Good.” He grins, overtaken by triumphant.

Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you don’t think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldn’t cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.

You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. You’re so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.

“How about I run you a bath?” He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.

“No.”

“Why not? It will help you feel better.”

“I don’t really wanna move right now.” As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.

And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise – his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when he’s everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.

“Weren’t you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?”

“That’s different.” You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.

“It will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.” He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe it’s you.

“My ache is fine actually, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?” he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if they’re claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, haven’t realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.

“That’s because I’m cold.”

Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didn’t know you could miss someone when they’re right in front of you and you didn’t quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him – where touching him isn’t forbidden and looking at him comes easily – without threats for your words to spill.

“What about you?” you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.

“I can handle the cold just fine.” He retorts “You know what would help you warm up though? A bath.”

“I’m gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.”

“I’ll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness you’re gonna feel.” He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. You’re quiet, as if you’re contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere – he misses you.

“What if the water is too hot it burns my skin?” you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again – as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isn’t sure how to deal with it.

The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.

“I’ll make sure nothing like that happens to you.” he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And it’s unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.

“How about this,” he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and you’re envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features “I’ll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you don’t want to go in, you don’t have to, okay?”

You don’t think you’re brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home – within your soul.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges – hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because you’re scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys.

“I’ll be back.” He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.

Your house – a small apartment is the complete opposite of his. He never was into the intricacies of home décor. Hence why the space of his home remains plain and simple. His own touches of life lacking and the only thing close to boisterous are his forget me nots and the painting that somehow managed to lead back to you.

You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.

He’s gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.

“Changed your mind?” He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.

“The thought of a bath didn’t seem so bad after all.” You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.

The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.

“This smells just like you.”

“It is my bodywash after all.”

“I like it.” He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you don’t.

When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and there’s a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when he’s leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.

“Y-You don’t have to do this Jake.” You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.

“I know.” He looks up at you “I want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He questions throwing your socks to the side. You’re left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.

“No.” you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.

“Can I?” He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.

Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.

And it stays even when you’re finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.

“Just call for me if you need anything, alright?”

Suddenly you’re inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.

“Alright, bunny?” He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then you’re shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.

“What if I need something but I can’t call for you?” stupid, stupid yearning.

Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before – not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, he’d rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.

“I’ll just stay then.” He tells you, tender and you’re shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.

You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace that’s always there.

It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And it’s him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace – his – remains around your neck even when you’re bare. It’s like you’re wearing him, and he likes to think he’s woven into the fabric of your soul.

He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God – you’re breathtaking.

“I just had a stupid thought.” He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.

“Tell me.” you say, and he thinks you’re too tangled in his soul.

“It just feels like it’s been a while since we looked at each other.” He says softly “But we see each other every day so it’s stupid.” He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.

“It’s not stupid.” you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul “I have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.”

“They’re extraordinary, I wouldn’t call them stupid.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying I’m stupid.” You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.

“Shut up you’re not stupid.” He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.

You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and it’s vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything you’ve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe it’s been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesn’t feel like that. It’s akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.

“You’re the last person I expected it to see today if I’m being honest.” You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.

“What would have you done if I wasn’t here?” He doesn’t ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.

“Probably become one with my couch until I felt better.” You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself you’re growing too hot and that’s it.

“I wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.” He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you aren’t sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” There’s no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.

Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?

But Jake hasn’t been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, it’s evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like there’s room for him. He touched you like he wasn’t made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but they’re all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.

“I’m here now.” He says, I’m here to take care of you, you hear.

The enormity of his desire disgusts him, it’s a craving beyond his flesh and it’s unjust. I’ll shape myself into something that’s worth taking care of you, he means.

“You have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.” He adds when you’re quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, they’re pink and the sky is gray.

He’s unworthy but it’s a great honor to think he’s the reason why.

“Tell that to my boss.” You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.

“I actually heard your boss is super nice,”

“Did you now?”

“Uh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.” He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.

“Who’s feeding you these lies? Jay?”

“So, you don’t agree that I’m handsome?”

“Beauty is subjective.”

“Is that a no?” a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you can’t help it.

A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.

“In all seriousness,” he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isn’t provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, they’re soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.

“You’re doing a good job, bunny.” Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment – the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;

You have managed to stumble on a lost star – he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.

“You’re doing a good job too, Jake.” He smiles and your mind careens.

“Tell that to my assistant.”

This time it’s you who splashes him with water and this time it’s him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you don’t tell him that you didn’t let the water get to him on purpose, and you don’t show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.

“Shall I help you wash your hair?” He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.

“You don’t have to.”

At your answer he’s already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When he’s behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. It’s foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you don’t remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And there’s unavoidable loneliness at the thought, there’s melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.

No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through – none of them are yours.

“Bunny I can’t wash your hair if you’re leaning that far off.” Jake comments with a chuckle.

You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you aren’t sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.

Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks you’re stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks you’re teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and it’s a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You don’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.

His hands aren’t soft against your skin, they’re rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you haven’t been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness – unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.

It’s another stupid thought – but maybe there’s room for something to belong to you.

When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.

You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.

“You okay?” He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.

“Just a little tired.” You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering – perhaps for days – how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.

In his dreams, his heart isn’t as filthy and merging into you isn’t as fearful.

In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Mhm.” You lean your head back onto his chest when he’s standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.

“Not yet.” He inhales you.

“We’ll need to get some food in your system, yeah?” He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair “We’ll also need to do something about your hair – can’t have you getting sicker.”

“I don’t feel like doing anything.” You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.

“I’ll do it for you.” He replies with an amused grin at the way you’re acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.

You aren’t sure what he means by that – however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. He’s extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you don’t even provide for your own hair. And there’s a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.

“I never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.” You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.

“My mum taught me.” he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair “I used to braid her hair for her all the time.”

“That’s really sweet.” You reply with a lowered tone – a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.

“I vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.” His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. It’s an image that still glides throughout his reality.

“She always joked that it’s better this way. That it’s easier for me to braid.” He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant – longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.

I’m sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but you’re well aware that’s not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It won’t ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness – anger. You’re well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when he’s dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.

What is he like when his anger isn’t restrained – what is he like when he’s not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You don’t give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know it’s not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.

“She sounds like a lively woman.”

“She is.” He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair “She was.” He corrects in a fleeting second “She was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.”

Jake’s lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. There’s softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. It’s a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesn’t know why he tells you all this and doesn’t know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours there’s not a single cell of regret in his body.

You don’t look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like it’s just – him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But you’re there, in the midst of it all and you’re not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isn’t made of prickling thorns.

“I’m sure she’s still watching over you, proudly.” You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldn’t shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he can’t say anything back to you. You don’t look at him as shame or grief and he can’t let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.

Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies – his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesn’t find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that it’s not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.

“All done.”

“Wow! it’s really well done actually.” You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and it’s peculiar to feel like you’re holding a piece of him so delicately.

“it’s just one of my many talents.” He quips and you giggle slightly.

You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than he’d like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.

“My mom,” you speak suddenly and then you’re looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face “my mom never really taught me anything.” You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, they’re raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.

It’s bitter and doesn’t belong in you.

“You still turned out wonderful.” He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be – he wonders if there’s room for him to linger around.

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m sick.” You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.

“No.” you answer, and you think you can’t slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.

You realize it then – how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything that’s coming your way.

And he realizes it then – that there’s so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadn’t given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.

You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. It’s an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.

Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.

“Sorry,” you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.

“Is everything okay?” he asks at your lingering worry.

“Yeah um,” your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him “Niki is here?” you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No,” you lock your phone and stand up “I told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.” You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.

The sound of your door unlocking has Jake’s eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?

“Anyways it probably won’t be long so just stay here.” You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .

“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asks eyes trailing over your figure.

“Yeah, why?”

“You have been complaining about being cold all day and now you’re wearing shorts? Do you want to die?” you blink at him slowly “Change. Wear something warm.” He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, it’s slightly amusing and it has your lips twitching upwards.

“Yes boss.” You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, it’s adorned with affection.

After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.

“What the fuck yn?”

To be continued....

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora @vousty

@realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory @xyztammy

@jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @babrieeee @softieluvsyou @onlyhyunjin

@fuxktaekook @lukeysgiggle @jakeyverse @belovedsthings @vveebee

@duhgurl @niniissus @dreamiestay @lhspeachie @illvding @luvrseung

@tanisha2060 @sngleehee @hmusunoo @chlodavids

@mandoscyare @danielleism @nessas-archive @pochamocharoll @thatonexcgirl

@jakesfurry @enhaslxt @missychief1404 @stargirl-gigi @ohwonzs

@pochakkeu @sunshine-skz @jinspinkflipphone @woorcve @yuniesluv

@eneiyri @sumzysworld @02zluvbot @simpjay @insommni4

(bold can't be tagged)

277 notes · View notes

cinnamostar · 1 year ago

Text

five dates to fall in love

part one. part two. part three (here). part four. part five. part six coming soon.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.7k

cw :actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), not proofread, descriptors of insecurity and stuff, internal struggle but nothing serious

a/n : finally... its here... sorry for this taking long, i was traveling for holidays and then classes started but its here! lmk what you guys think :3 this chapter is a lot chiller imo... just trying to set a Vibe of emotional conflict... ALSO im not trying to paint hyunjin as the bad guy.,.,, but i think its also important to show that people will form opinions no matter what and will inevitably pick a side. so yus...

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Tears cascaded down your warm cheeks as you tossed yourself in your bed, the frustration and anger you were holding back finally catching up to you as quiet sobs escaped your lips. You hated how horrible the feeling of pure anger, as it always felt you were on the verge of bursting at the seams from how violent and erratic the emotion was as it overran your body. You had no idea what to do with it, always allowing it to linger til it overwhelmed you to the point of tears and surrendered to its burning grip. Your phone began to vibrate, which your hand mindlessly reached over for and picked up without second thought, as you knew it would be no other than Chan calling you at such a moment.

“Y/N… Are you okay?” concern dripped from Chan’s voice, while all you could muster out was a muffled grumble as you stuffed your tear-stained face into your pillows. “Right,” he responds, acknowledging your groan, “Well, I heard what happened through Changbin, so I called to check in on you.”

You take a deep breath in to soothe your hoarse throat from your onslaught of tears, praying your voice wouldn’t be too shaky as you spoke, “Well, I’m upset.”

“I don’t blame you one bit, I’d be just as upset as you are,” he reassured you gently, “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you need some more time to figure your feelings out?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your face away from the pillows so your voice was clearer, “I don’t know how to feel. It’s just a lot. It’s such a stupid reason for him to have just been so shitty to me for so long. He literally could’ve just asked me or talked to me about it instead of assuming.”

“Right, I agree. Even Changbin didn’t know about that being the reason,” added Chan, “I’m sure he lectured him on it because that is a crazy conclusion to jump to.”

“And I’m even more upset that was the conclusion he landed on! Why did he just assume I’d do something so terrible? Why did he not consider that I was trying to help him secure the role?”

“Sounds like he has an insecurity issue, if I had to guess, but who knows. You have every right to be upset, but there is another pressing matter we do need to address.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back as you use your free hand to rub your temples, “Yeah, I know. As upset as I am right now, I do still want to keep doing this project, but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t really… know if I can do that because I don’t wanna see his stupid face or go out on any other practice dates,” you huffed angrily, feeling a bit relieved to verbalize some of your feelings.

“Well, I won’t force you to go on another date if you still need time to cool off, but maybe it will help you get used to seeing his stupid face after this. Plus, Changbin did tell me that you have permission to yell at Hyunjin if you wanna get that out the way.”

You let out a small chuckle, unsurprised to hear that Changbin said such a thing, “I’m not going to yell at him, but I appreciate the offer. I don’t know, I’m still really worked up from the whole thing.”

“Give yourself time, you can let me know in the morning how you’re feeling and we can go from there, okay?” Chan asks, the gentle tone of his voice bringing you a sense of comfort.

“Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks Chan.”

“Of course, take care, Y/N.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The next morning rolled by rather quickly and while it would’ve been a lovely day to stay in bed, your stubbornness caused you to find yourself walking to your third date of the week. You were still terribly upset at Hyunjin and forgiveness was not in the cards at this point, yet you had other pressing matters that did not allow you to wallow up in hatred and resentment for him. You had to set your feelings aside for a moment in order to make some sort of progress on this current acting project, as you were way too excited for how the final product would turn out and truly believed in the success of the film.

Although, you didn’t have high hopes for today, as you expected it to be a similar outcome to your previous dates. Today’s day was Chan’s idea, which was attending a local farmer’s market in your area that provided all sorts of family-owned shops to look through, including a variety of food to choose from. It was a bit last minute, but Chan knew your love for these small events, so he hoped this would bring you some joy, but also give you the opportunity to wander off from Hyunjin if needed, while also giving you both the chance to talk about something.

You were approaching the entrance to the park it was being hosted at, checking the time on your phone relieved to know you were on time. Honestly, while Hyunjin would probably be late once again, you didn’t mind the chance to enjoy bits of the market alone, especially on such a sunny day during these winter months. However, you were completely stunned to find Hyunjin waiting by the entrance as well, nonetheless waiting five minutes earlier than the time Chan had told you. He stood there awkwardly, both hands in the pockets of his coat as he bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, his eyes widening when his gaze finally lands on you.

You approach him with caution and a raised eyebrow, not completely believing the sight before you, “I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” you state curtly, trying your best to remain civil and cordial despite yesterday’s events.

“Well,” he stammered, his fingers jittering in his pockets, “I think I owe you an apology, and I thought showing up on time for once was one way to show that I am being genuine.”

“An apology?” you question, your ears not believing his words.

He sighs nervously, brushing a hand through his hair, “I have… realized I was entirely wrong about the situation, and I am truly sorry for that and for treating you so horribly the past two years we’ve known each other.” You wear an unconvinced expression, unsure what could’ve caused him to have a change of heart overnight, especially since he was just in deep denial the day before. He continues his statement after picking up on your apprehension, “I ended up reaching out to director Han about the situation and he… he told me how much you vouched for me when he spoke to you.”

You nod your head as you take in his words, “I see, well, I’m glad you’ve come to that realization and I accept your apology,” a hopeful look appears on his face, “But, I do need time before I can forgive you because the way you’ve treated me has really hurt me. And the fact that you thought I’d ever do that to you hurt me a lot too.”

His expression falters, but he offers an understanding smile, “I completely understand, I honestly do not even deserve your kindness right now, so thank you for being kind about this.”

You return his smile with a tightlipped one, still not entirely believing the sudden change in him, but you couldn’t lie, it did feel a bit nice to see him so timid and meek, and hearing an apology come from him did help loosen the knot of rage that laid dormant in your stomach. “Well,” you clear your throat awkwardly, trying to find a way to continue the day, “Do you want to head in?”

“Sure, lead the way,” he responds, his hands returning to his coat pockets as he anxiously trailed behind you. Eye bags hung on his face, indicating the restless night he had suffered due to the guilt he had been digesting since his phone call with the director. Hyunjin felt horrible after the revelation he had, feeling nothing but the heavy, deep seated weight of anxiety and guilt resting atop his chest. Even the sight of you made the feeling worse, facing the reality of how his actions have affected you all this time was a whole new hurdle he had to learn to conquer. The least he could do was try to be as kind as he could be from here on out, and brace himself for whatever angry slurry of curses you had for him, but how could Hyunjin forget?

The volatile version of you he had become used to these past two years was not who you truly were, but something he provoked out of you through his incessant insults and stale attitude. In reality, you were an extremely kind and patient person outside of the context of your relationship with him, and your reaction to his apology was evidence of that. He couldn’t help it, he felt like such an idiot for thinking you, of all people, would have ever sabotaged an important role for him, and he only further deluded himself in that belief by pushing you to the point of petty toxicity.

The best he could do was remain quiet as he followed your course through the various stalls, the shame only intensifying when he would witness your eyes widen with joy whenever you found an item that interested you, and how you even took the time to converse with each stall owner about their products. The genuinity in your nature was something he couldn’t believe he had denied for so long, disillusioned himself so far to have forgotten it. All for what? Because he couldn’t accept his own failures, or face the daunting insecurities about his talents that he held so closely to his heart? Perhaps it was your self-assuredness that caused a hint of jealousy to brew into this mess he had concocted today, your very confidence that struck a chord of envy within him. He didn’t quite understand what led him to act in such a manner, he could only guess why he was the way he was, but all he knew was that he owed you a lifetime of favors.

At the moment, he stood uncomfortably by your side as he watched you peruse through a few crocheted trinkets a stall had, afraid to disrupt the bits of peace you could’ve had with him tagging along. In all honesty, to an outsider, he probably looks like a child who got dragged along with his parents on a day out. You sigh as you place the trinket down, turning your head to catch his eyes darting around nervously, “Hyunjin,” you speak. He startles upon hearing his name, not expecting you to ever pay him any mind today. “I get this is awkward, but you can loosen up a bit. I don’t bite,” you chide with a hint of playfulness in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He lets out a strained exhale, acknowledging your words, “You’re right, I just don’t want to make you feel weird or uncomfortable,” he confesses.

“Well, I think staying quiet doesn’t help that cause much, does it?” you ask rhetorically before adding on, “It’s okay. Have you seen anything you like from any of the stalls? I really like what this one has,” you muse, a gentle smile taking your features as you hold up a small crocheted keychain of a jellyfish with a wobbly smile on it, “He’s kinda silly looking, I think I might take him home with me.”

Hyunjin lets out an airy chuckle, his shoulders relaxing a tad, “He definitely is funny looking,” he replies, “Ah, I don’t know. There’s so much here, this is my first time going to something like this.”

“Oh, this is your first time? You’ve never been to the farmer’s market ever?”

“Nope, never been, but this is nice. It’s a lot better than I imagined.”

“You’ve been missing out, I love going to these. I try to go every now and then whenever I’m free,” you took out your wallet, handing the vendor cash to pay for the keychain, “There’s always fun knick knacks here, and everyone is so sweet. You sure there’s nothing you wanna stop by before grabbing some food?”

His eyes scan the stalls surrounding you both, but you notice them lingering at a small jewelry stall that sold handcrafted rings, ones that definitely fit his aesthetic. “Come on,” you motion him to follow you to the stand, “Maybe you’ll see something you’ll like.” He follows behind you, still in a timorous manner, but you could see the way his eyes brighten once he realizes where you were dragging him off to. Although you were far from friends, it didn’t mean you weren’t aware of how particular he could be when it came to fashion, and you wanted him to at least get something out of today after suffering intense awkwardness.

It was now your turn to watch Hyunjin look through the assortment of jewelry the owner had laid out and of course, he was gravitating towards the silver rings, each with their own intricate designs that demonstrated the amount of artistry and talent the owner held. He looks overwhelmed with the amount of choices before him, indecisive as he holds two different rings in his hands, modeling each to figure out which one he liked best. “Why not just get both of them?” you ask.

“Both?” he ponders on the suggestion, “I guess I could do that.”

“Or,” you start, picking up a ring that you thought would suit his taste, “get this one instead,” you hand him the ring, a knowing smile on your face.

His mouth fell in surprise at it, slipping it on his finger as his eyes marvelled, “Wow, this one is so nice,” he mumbles while now placing the two previous rings away, “How did you know I’d like this one?”

You shrug nonchalantly, turning away from him, “You know, we were friends once,?” you remind him, “Just get it, find me by the food stands once you pay for it.”

He stays in his place as he watches you walk away, once more left speechless by your kindness as he begins to wonder how you were able to treat him as such. The guilt that made its home in his stomach began to rumble, the bitter taste of it overpowering his sense as he comes to terms with just how wrong he was all this time, and how awful he had been to someone as gentle as you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The day had come to an end, and surprisingly the latter half went better than either of you could have expected. In a way, it was like time hadn’t passed as you both chatted effortlessly over food from whatever food truck caught each of your attentions. You both caught up on what you missed in each other’s lives during your heated rivalry, and somehow, every part of the conversation felt natural, nothing felt out of place and it was almost as if the past two years didn’t exist.

It was incredibly unsettling for you, and you started to feel a bit conflicted on where your anger lied with the boy as the time you spent softened your heart. Although, you knew you couldn’t allow him back into your life that easily, as his behavior deserves some sort of consequences, so you decided you couldn’t allow yourself to surrender that easily. Not all because you found yourself missing the friendship you once had with him, that wasn’t a good enough reason to overlook his actions. You cursed yourself silently as you arrived home, yet there was a small voice in the back of your mind that tried to convince you that perhaps it was best to let this happen in the name of the acting project you were both on.

No, no, you remind yourself, he definitely doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or trust that easily.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @vixensss @cupidcures taglist cut off at 20 people :)

#cinnamostar writes #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids hyunjin x reader #skz hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids angst

409 notes · View notes

shigikaji · 1 year ago

Text

͝ ꒡ ͝ 𖣣 ͝ ꒡ ͝

reader ( accidentally or not ) speaking in their mothers tounge to their significant other ( who ៸ that i'm praying for ៸ doesn't know a single tear drop of their sweethearts' language ) 𓈒

— sfw , perhaps ooc , gender neutral reader : i write whatever i think suits the character for said scenario . ( sorry ) new to blogging + writing ,,, spare some mercy on my soul and butt

— characters : isagi kaiser ness ( sorry pt . 2 )

— writing with italics & bold = you're speaking your native language .

— if ur native language is act german : uhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm pretend ure speaking in a language u wanna speak in when u read thru this <3

— isagi .

you're woken by the sounds of the water running in the shared kitchen you and isagi own in your cozy household, just for the two of you, you crank your head and see that it's 7:41 am in the morning on the blindingly bright red clock next to your nightstand .

you groan as you sit up and decide its time to embrace the day instead of sleeping in bed all day, which, you wish was an option (it's not)

you sleepily walk over to the kitchen near your living room to find your dearly beloved, isagi, making breakfast for the both of you, seeing the sight of him cooking and washing two glass cups for the both of you makes your heart crumble apart and rebuild itself back up with stronger love for him .

as you reach your grubby hands out to him, wrapping them around the raven-haired boy as you place your head in the slot of his neck, drawing a surprised noise at the touch and a gentle smile painting his soft face when he realized it was just you .

"ah, good morning y/n," "mmh, good morning dear ." "you know, I've been wondering, would you perfer waffle or— what ."

the room shuts out all noise from the outside as it builds up with silence with you two, you lift your head up with a confused look .

"what ?" you ask to the blue eyed boy, as he replies with "what, what . what did you say just now ?" ". . good morning dear ?"

a few seconds run through the clock ticking that you can hear in your living room before your brain processes what you said, you chuckle as you stuff your face in the football players neck again, you've just realized you've never spoken in your mothers tounge to your own boyfriend before .

the raven-haired boy laughs at the tickling sensation in his neck as he manages to let out a reply that comes along with shaken laughter "what— what's funny ?" "nothing— it's just that I forgot I never spoke to you in my language before, 'm love ." you speak out as you draw out a smile on your face "then tell me what you've said, I'm quite curious ."

you let out a hum as you settle within your thoughts, you reply back with a simple "no, I want you to guess ."

safe to say the whole breakfast montage of your beloved making it was just going with you repeatedly saying "no" and isagi looping around with his guesses as he looks like his brain will impale itself if he doesn't get it right this instant .

until you both reach the couch as you settle next to one another with your food in your hands, slicking you both together as if you'd die being separated, "if it's not my other answer then it has to be—" "baby, I only said 'good morning dear' ."

you confess as you stuff your mouth with the delicious morning breakfast your beloved made (with immense struggles cz he's confused as shit on what to do and countless reckless mistakes with the food butttt also love in it) .

" ah ."

pt. 2 of safe to say the following week you're seeing isagi on the couch on duolingo on your iPad, going through his daily course of his lessons to learn your language

alsooo pt. 3 of safe to say you couldn't believe your heart could grow even more love and endearment at the sight full of effort and determination from and for the one you call your (soontobehusband) boyfriend .

sometimes you wonder how you even pulled him, but sometimes he also wonders how he even pulled you (he wonders about that more than you do for him at a concerning amount)

— kaiser .

it was a thursday night and you just came back home earlier from a busy day, draining all of the remaining energy you've saved up in the morning to start your day .

you quickly fell asleep the moment a single strand of your hair felt in contact with your pillow, not even bothered to change your clothes to more comfortable ones .

a few hours go by and you stir awake by a voice calling something out, you were too tired to even hear the voice your boyfriend, kaiser, who had been calling out your name for the past few minutes around the entire house looking for you everywhere, and I mean everywhere .

unfortunately for you, you were too tired to even function properly with your head, like it suddenly didn't want to work anymore for a bit and dozed off, too tired to even think and only came up with a reply that goes along with the lines of "ugh, mihya . . five more minutes, let me sleep ."

you could've hear a pin be dropped due to the silence in the room, but you groan as you get shaken by the shoulder by a large hand on it, you open your eyes to see it was kaiser .

"yes yes . . hello to y—" "repeat what you said ."

well, that was a shocker to hear because you opened your eyes fully now to hear him out on what he just told you

"huh— what, what did i say ? did i say something wrong ? . ."

your curiosity and worries come out as you wonder if you told him off with something bad while you were still waking up .

but it soon washes away when you hear the blond guy go all awkward and try to repeat what you said, stumbling over the pronouncing and the words, then it clicked that you spoke in your mothers tounge subconsciously to him and you bark out a tired laugh .

he did not find it funny, as he was confused on what you said to him .

then a few minutes later you find yourself still in bed with the bi colored mane guy's head on your chest, wrapping his smeared arms with blue and black colored tattoos around you as he asked— no, made you speak in your native language to sleep since his only reasoning was just:

"your voice sounded pretty when you said that mien lieben . I wish to hear more, won't you do that for me ?"

then after a few more minutes of you speaking in a soft toned voice, ranting of your day with a mellowed tone, you look down to see your beloved sleep, drool running down his mouth and in a vulnerable state, it almost made you wanna coo, but you decided against that for today and decided to fall asleep along with him as well, since you were still tired .

not fun to say that he made you lullaby him to sleep in your native language every night of each passing day you two spend together since all his reasons were "i like hearing your voice," "it's easier to sleep when mien schatz speaks in such beautiful language to me every night," and a bunch of german coming out of his mouth, as if he's expecting for you to suddenly know his mother's tounge as well .

but you don't mind doing that for him, right ?

— A/N : to everybody who doesn't speak German ( me included ), he called you " my darling " and " my love " as pet names, u can continue ur reading now <3

— ness .

it was 4:27 in the evening and you're sitting on your couch with your boyfriend, ness, who's rambling on about magic related things to you as you lean your head on his shoulder, him wrapping an arm around your waist as he keeps on talking

you stare at him with nothing but love and adore in your eyes, and that applies to your smile too, only going "mhm" to signal that you're listening to him, even if you weren't, he wouldn't mind that .

he paused for a second to catch his breath since whenever he talks about his fixated interest to you, he never stops to take a breather once when you allow him to talk about it

an idea popped in your head, something you think is so good that if you were in a cartoon, a light bulb would be painted over your head .

the room filled with your sweethearts hearty laughter and heavy breathing, you took your chance to say what you wanna say as you reach out to his unoccupied hand and interwine your fingers together .

"I love you, ness, you're the best thing I've ever been blessed with in this life and i hope i keep that blessing with me till i die next to you, thank you ."

you said what you wanted to tell him for quite some time but couldn't as he was away for practice alot of the times, but felt too embarrassed to tell him directly in the language you both usually speak to one another in, so you decided to do it in your own .

ness on the other hand, looked like he was asked the most confusing question in the world by you with the smile he only shines towards you that you know is just created with love as he responds will a little " huh ."

later he begs for you to tell him what you said, you keep on shaking your head no with a face so red it could match the color itself !

"pleaseee. . pretty please, hübsch bitte bitte mein lieben ?"

a few more pesterings, puppy eyes and whines whenever you deny him broke you and you finally told him what you wanted to say for weeks on end, adding a few more appreciations for him in it while you had the chance to do so .

you closed your eyes and looked away in embarrassment, when you didn't hear ness speak, you look back in surprise to see his entire face being more red than your own, if he was also in a show, steam would be coming out of his head, with hearts surrounding him and covering his eyes with them .

"ness ? ."

you call out to him, as you think you might've (literally) broken him, you almost regret that when he practically jumps onto you like a puppy, instead of licking your face as one, he kisses it and your whole self repeatedly with him spewing out german phrases, some you know, some you dont .

"ich liebe dich so sehr"

"deine liebe ist mehr wert als ein diamant und ich bin damit gesegnet"

"ich werde dich niemals im jenseits gehen lassen"

and a bunch more, but these are the only ones you could make out but not necessarily understand a single thing about it .

so basically to summarize your whole evening and night, you were dealing with your boyfriend who was head over heels inlove with you once more about you, and you sheepishly accepting it the whole day,

but you were surprised that he never let you go of encouraging you to talk more in your mothers tounge the very next day and to hear that he talked about it to kaiser everytime they see one another,

he even changed his contact name to "puppy who's inlove" because of the amount of times he's heard your name in their convos has given him a huge fuckin' migraine even after three weeks since that even happend .

he'll never let this go actually .

— A/N : lol authors note once again for other non germans . ness said " pretty pretty please my dear ? " " i love you very much " " your love is more worth than a diamond and I'm blessed with it " " I'll never let you go, even in the afterlife " hehwiqaoapa ^ _ ^

i hope whoever reads this likes it 'cuz holy shit my brain is fried now lmfaoooooooooooooooo,,,,,,, so sorry for only doing 3 characters i have no fucks given for other bllk characters much to know how to write them so . eat up 41 kis and ns fans ig ?

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock x you #bllk #blue lock x y/n #isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #alexis ness #ness x reader

266 notes · View notes

bean-bean2000 · 1 year ago

Text

The Maid Part 2

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts). Eventual loki x reader pairing. Reader is a maid.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 1 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

🧹🧹🧹

You wake up to the Snake throwing you out of your cot.

"Witch! You dare to sleep in? Get up and start working NOW!" he yells at you.

You groan in pain as you try getting up and starting the day. The medicine Banner gave you is working wonders; you feel none of the pain and your wrist has significantly healed overnight.

You make your way to the kings wing when the Snake corners you against a wall.

"The king has asked me to send you another personal message." he sneers. Your eyes widen in fear when he suddenly slaps you across the face. You feel the wound in your lip split open again, the now familiar metallic taste filling your mouth. He grabs your cheeks with one hand and squeezes painfully.

"Watch your back, witch. I'm watching your every step." he threatens.

He throws you to the floor and walks away, as you gather your items and continue to the kings quarters, refusing to let him see you in pain.

Silent tears are brimming your eyes. You blink them away and take a shaky breath.

I don't know how much longer I can take this.

You manage to complete your tasks within the allotted time given you to by King Loki. You leave his wing with a long sigh of relief, praying that you never have to see him again.

A few weeks go by as you manage to do your work properly and on time to avoid the king. However, the guard Snake, seems intent on making you fail, on breaking you into submission. Without reprieve, he has consistently targeted you every night, to limit your capabilities. Your response and demeanour remains the same: silent and emotionless. As a result, the pain compounded, the prevention of your body to receive time to heal made you weaker. Last night was the worst, as you were too weak and in pain to fight back. You return to Banner, who provides you with more medication but insists that something must be done to stop them from this continuous abuse. You say nothing as you stare back at him, knowing there is nothing either of you can do. You've been sold to the crown to pay for your parent's debt and there was no way out.

The next day, you wake up in unbearable pain. You look in the mirror and curse at yourself. You eye is a deep purple, yellow and green on the outskirts where your nose and eyebrow is. You had fogotten to apply the balm last night, as you had slipped into unconsciousness after the traumatic events of the night.

You decide to wear a shawl over your head and to keep your eyes to the ground while you walk around the castle to the King's wing. You manage to get through most of the work without seeing anyone. When you get to the king's chambers, you close the door behind you and tighten the shawl around.

You start your work, slowly moving around. You still have a limp from the pain in your ankle after the guards had stomped on it the other night.

You work your way around his chambers, focused on cleaning the large windows. You're slowly stepping up on the tall stool with one foot and hanging the other in the air to avoid putting pressure on it. You slowly lift your arms but hiss in pain from the stretch of your bruised ribs. You're shaking with every movement as you clean. You're so focused on ignoring the pain and cleaning that the sudden sound of a throat clearing behind you makes you jump in fear. You yelp as you try to steady yourself but put too much pressure on your ankle and begin falling to the floor when you're suddenly wrapped in strong arms and behind helped back up onto your feet.

You see a flash of green as you're being pulled up and immediate know who it is. You look down at your shoes.

"Sorry darling, I didn't mean to scare you." Loki says with amusement.

You stay quiet as you stare at the floor. You feel his stare boring into you.

"Not much of a talker I see... very well, continue on with your work. I've been pleased so far, so please continue." He says as he steps to the side to let you get back to the windows.

From the corner of your eye, you see him grab the book from his night stand and sit on his bed.

He notices your hesitancy "Don't mind me, I will simply be reading. He turns his head down to the book.

You swallow thickly, anxiety seeping into your bones. All of the rumours you've heard of his cruelty creep into your mind and you start to shake. You force yourself to calm down and return to your work.

Keeping your down as you do not want him to see your bruises on your face, they're especially brutal this time. You turn to the stool and begin stepping up on it. Leaning on the wall, you put one leg up and look behind you quickly to make sure the king doesn't see you as you grip the wall and jump up a level of the stool on one foot. You keep the second foot flat on the stool, but put no pressure on it, to avoid suspicion and keep the pain at bay. You grab the cloth in your hand and stretch yourself slowly to reach the top of the glass and move your arm slowly side to side. You stretch too far and groaning loudly in pain as you retract and pause to take a deep breath. You don't dare look behind you. You know he heard you but you refuse to acknowledge it.

You try again and start cleaning the windows, moving your arm side to side and manage to finish without hissing out loud in pain. You're biting the inside of your cheek as you start lowering yourself from the stool. You pause to grip the wall again and hop down the first step, you miss it and instinctively put your pained ankle down to prevent from falling. As soon as your foot steps on the stool, you yelp in pain and jump off the stool, gripping the wall to steady yourself. Your head is down, you're breathing rapidly, knuckles turning white as you try to regulate your breathing.

You're so focused on waiting for the pain to go away that you don't hear Loki get up and walk up behind you until you feel his hand on your elbow.

You stiffen at the touch.

"Turn around." he orders you.

You feel tears forming in your eyes. This is it. He's going to send me to the dungeons and have me killed or tortured, or worse. You swallow hard and slowly turn around on one foot while staring at the floor.

"Look at me." he orders you again.

You slowly lift your head up and look at him. You see his eyes widen slightly and his jaw tick.

"What happened?" he commands.

His eyes are a deep green, you can see the emotion behind them.

What do I say? I can't tell him what's happening... he will never believe me. I'm a simple maid. Who am I to snitch or accuse a royal guard?

"I slipped and fell." you reply queitly.

A lie. He can taste it. He looks at you and slits his eyes as he ponders your answer.

"You mean to tell me, you slipped and fell in such a way that split your lip, gave you a black eye and seriously sprained your ankle almost the brink of it being broken?" he asks you incredulously.

"It was a very bad fall your highness." you say queitly.

He chuckles at your answer "You know I am the God of Lies and Mischief, and yet you still choose to lie to me. I do not take you for a fool. You speak eloquently, you seem somewhat educated and intelligent. Yet, you still lie to me."

You swallow thickly and sway slightly out of anxiety.

"Apologies your highness. It was not meant in ill-will."

He sighs deeply "I can smell Dr. Banner's healing balm on your skin. He created it for me, to numb the pain while I am at war. Why would a 'simple maid' such as yourself need the balm?....I will ask you one last time, what happened?"

You're shaking, his eyes look you up and down with concern.

You remain quiet. Too fearful to lie or say the truth.

He sighs deeply "You refuse to answer my question again? You understand the consequences of such disrespectful actions towards a royal. Why?" he questions.

You shift again "I can't lie if i remain quiet, your highness."

He stops and stares at you. He is shocked by your answer. His eyes shimmer and lips curly slightly into a smirk; he's impressed.

"Very well... You may leave now."

He watches you limp to the closet, put the supplies away and lower the shawl over your face again.

You bid him farewell and take your leave.

When you leave his chambers he can't help but wonder about you.

She lied. I know she did. Who does she fear so intently that she is willing to lie to her king for? Something isn't right here. Her eyes... they looked empty....

He paces his room and stares out his window, coming up with a plan to figure out what is happening within his kingdom's walls.

🧹🧹🧹

Part 3

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me suggestions for scenes/drabbles that I could add into the stroy :)

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

@gruftiela

@elegantcheesecakecrown

#marvel #fanfic #tony x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #steve x reader #natasha romanoff #captain america #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #loki x reader #king loki #loki laufeyson #loki #thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #angst #slow burn

118 notes · View notes

naamahdarling · 11 months ago

Text

MY medical update:

I am beginning to feel like I will never reach the end of anything. I am legitimately folding like a wet house of cards. My mental health is being profoundly negatively affected as my identity as "a unique and vibrant human being with a meaningful life" is increasingly subsumed into a deeply trauma-adjacent and depersoning identity as "a patient", with all the associated expectations that I will repeatedly and with minimal complaint allow people I barely know or have never met access to my emotions and my traumatized and marginalized body. That is not safe space within which to exist. Medical professionals, even the very kind ones, often forget the toll that "care" can take. (Bad ones disregard it altogether.)

My unusually high degree of emotional awareness allows me to see what is happening, and even allows me to cope with it very well, but "very well" is still not enough to make this sustainable over the long term. I don't actually know where to go or what to do from here.

I am torn between wanting to get all of these appointments out of the way as quickly as possible, so that I can relax without anything hanging over my head, and spacing things out just to give myself room to fucking breathe even though that means I will always have something lurking in the near future, causing me dread. I've run the math in my head over and over and I still can't work it out. There are too many unknowns, and too many variables, and too many ways things could go wrong either way I go.

I don't even know if there is a right choice. I don't know if there is a best answer. I've never been under this kind of pressure for so long before, I have been struggling with one thing or another since before the beginning of the year, and it is genuinely starting to do what I believe could turn into lasting harm.

I had a long and helpful talk with my boyfriend tonight, and while it did not fix much, it did help me to understand that the constant pressure on me is making it difficult for him to be here for me as much as he would like to be able to, and that's obviously distressing to him. That hit me really hard, because that is exactly the position I was in earlier this year trying to get his medication refilled and trying to help him deal with a deeply incompetent dental clinic.

I very much appreciate that he shared that with me, and I probably will try to find a way to slow things down and space things out, because even if I don't know that is what is best for me, if that is what is best for him, that's what I want to do. I've been so overwhelmed trying to manage my own emotional state that I sadly have not stopped to think about the effect this has had on him. I do feel guilty about that, but the important thing is that he let me know and I heard him.

I am very tired, and I'm praying that next week is uneventful. I don't have anything scheduled, but that doesn't mean that something annoying or even actually horrible might not occur.

Right now I'm going to have a snack and go to bed and hope that the pharmacy refills my meds tomorrow so that I can go back to having 30% less ADHD.

45 notes · View notes

yourkimjaejin · 1 year ago

Text

Dizzying Thoughts

In Osaka

“Unnie-yah, You ate right? I didn’t see you grab anything.” Juno sat down with her full plate in catering. The younger barely missed the leader's wince. Moxy’s face snapped back into a neutral position when Juno looked up.

“Yeah I had some food earlier.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Madrid

“Migyeong-ah, I didn’t see you eat today. You’ve had something right?” Soonjae asked her charge while Moxy adjusted her mic.

“I ate a granola bar Unnie. You know how my stomach is before a show. I promise to eat after.” Before Soonjae could respond, The stage director started rehearsal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Paris

“What did you order last night, Gyeongie?” Hannah luckily was lounging on one of the beds in Moxy’s room while the aforementioned leader was finishing up her skincare in the bathroom. It’s lucky cause Hannah missed the flash of panic that racked thru older’s body while she thought of an answer.

“Uhh…..I got a……burger?”

“Really?” Hannah sat up, “I got one too but Kenji-oppa never mentioned getting you one too.”

“He must have gotten mine earlier than you.” Moxy walked out the bathroom, praying her face didn’t betray her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The members of AG and their tour crew were crowded around two long tables with piles of food lining each one. The group was celebrating ending the European leg of AG’s tour with a final show in London tonight. While her members and staff sat around talking jovially and devouring the food laid out for them, Moxy sat hunched over. Moving the food around on her plate, illuding that she was eating. But Moxy had been doing quite the opposite for a while now.

See, our precious leader has an anxious stomach. Sometimes things get so severe that the sight of food nauseates her. Leading to the rapper going on stage with nothing for her body to feed off of for three hours of vigorous dancing and exhausting singing. Nervousness mostly affects her before big moments in her career. Her first stage of Limitless. The first time she sang You Don’t Know Me. Her first recording session for Something Like A Party. You get the point.

It was never something she couldn’t manage. Once her worries were disproven, she’d take the time to eat and everything would be right with the world. Noone would be none the wiser. The first time it got real bad was during 127’s tour, Neo City - The Origin. Moxy was so nervous. Anxious over how each crowd would receive her. Everytime the boys offered her food she shrugged it off, promising to eat later at the hotel. Then she’d there and a whole new batch of fearful thoughts crept into her brain, taking her appetite with them.

This went on for a weeks. Regretfully, all of 127 were just starting to get along. So the boys weren’t tuned into Moxy behavior until it was too late. After the group's show in Phoenix, Moxy collapsed as soon as she made it backstage. Nobody had a clue what was wrong so Soonjae made the decision to call an ambulance. She was diagnosed with low blood sugar and was forced to spend the night for observation. The managers knew they had to get to Houston. They all could tell getting them to leave would be like pulling teeth so they rebooked flights. Migyeong got the scolding of her life from Johnny when she came to. She proceeded to get smothered within an inch of her life between the arms of Doyoung and Taeyong.

127 had a serious talk about what Moxy had been going through after the next show. Jaehyun and Doyoung paired up on ways to help the rapper get past her nerves before they got on stage and it worked. As the tour went forward, with her members help, Moxy was able to stomach small meals and snacks before performing. Anytime another attack came, she knew her members would be right there to help even when Moxy had to fly back to Korea for AG’s debut.

Before AG left for their tour, Johnny talked to her about keeping up with meals.

“I’m seriously Migyeong-ah. I do not want to hear about you fainting while I’m here and you’re across the country.” Moxy grabbed Johnny’s hand. She felt the same concerns but she was better now.

“It won’t get to that point and if it does I’ll tell Hannah. You know she doesn’t play with any of our health.” Moxy continued to pack. She missed her oppa’s concerned gaze.

Now almost a month later and it was worse. Moxy was lucky to fly under Hannah's radar while the second oldest fretted over Aurora and her healing burn. As she looked around at the others happily shoveling food into their mouths, it nauseated her even further. Moxy pushed her plate away, ready to escape the stuffy restaurant into the sweet silence of her hotel room. But her actions caught the attention of her dongsaeng.

“Unnie have you even eaten anything? Your plate still looks full.” Juno stole a piece of the elders chicken. The leader had to fight off the look of disgust. Then the question registered in her brain. If Moxy was in an anime, that one sweat drop would be right next to her forehead.

“Oh! That's just because….. I grabbed more food than I can handle. Don’t wanna be too bloated before tomorrow.” She rubbed her stomach to sell the lie.

“Are you girls excited?” Soonjae interrupted, “The crowd last night was crazy. I swear they’re the loudest we’ve heard so far.”

Hannah snorted, “Yeah lets hope we don’t get another crying session courtesy of Aurora.” Aurora reached out to smack Hannah’s shoulder but the elder ducked out of the way. “YAH! I told you that was because my nanan was in the crowd.” Happy to have the attention off of her, Moxy slumped down in her chair.. The nauseous feeling dulling down. Maybe once she gets to the hotel, she’d be up to eating something.

Yeah, she could do that. Just make it to the hotel.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

That hotel meal didn’t happen. After dinner finished, Moxy had every intention of ordering something small but the girls were called to the venue to do some testing and last minute rehearsals. They didn’t finish until 3am. By that time, food was the furthest thing from the leader’s mind. She crashed as soon as her body hit the bed.

Breakfast and lunch didn’t cross Moxy’s mind either. Even after a flawless show yesterday, Moxy woke up worried. She didn’t want to underperform especially when their fans had paid money to see them at their best. The leader went through the motions all day. Time passing in a daze of anxiety. She blinked and the group were being ushered to their places. During the entire opening, Moxy fought off several bouts of blurriness. The rapper was lucky her spots were drilled into her brain. She could find a formation blindfolded.

Nobody questioned if something was wrong……at least until the dizzy spells started.

Come on….not now… Moxy thought as another wave of dizziness washed over her after the girl group cover section. The results of her mistake had been growing and growing all night. Honestly, the stories of adrenaline doing crazy things to the human body was a fact to her now. Moxy had no idea how she made it through this much of the concert with passing out.

She couldn’t wait until the show was over so she could finally eat.

In the middle of the cordi noona’s helping her change for the next stage, Moxy felt her legs give out for a moment before she caught herself. The noona’s around her shared a look but Moxy waved them off. “Just lost my balance.” reassuring everyone

Come on girl……two sets then you’re home free.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Everything was moving in slow motion. Every step felt like it took minutes. Moxy barley felt the hands ripping clothes off and replacing them with the ones she needed for the encore.

The noise around her turned into sludge. The rapper was incapable of distinguishing what anyone was saying around her. She didn’t even notice when her members surrounded her.

“Noona?”

“Moxy..can…..you…..hear……”

“Is…..-thing…..on.”

The world around her felt far away. Like she was floating into a dark abyss. The arena’s backstage a small box as she lifted off.

Moxy didn’t even register when she hit the ground.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Her eyes opened to the concerned eyes of Soonjae.

Moxy’s brain caught up before her body. The memories of the night coming like photos in her brain. Skipping meals. Feeling sluggish just as the concert started. The dark spots in her vision as she looked out at the thousands of fans. The dizziness giving way to exhaustion finally taking her out. Confusion, recognition then panic rattled through her. She sat up but another sudden wave of dizziness almost sent her back down. Soonjae tried to push her back but Moxy twisted away.

The director ran in, “I don’t know how much longer we can stall.”

Hannah’s eyes snapped over, anger blasing, “You better find time. Migyeong’s not awake yet but when she does there's no way she’s going on stage yet.”

“Actually look who's joined us.” At Soonjae’s voice, three faces snap to Moxy’s place on the couch. All wearing different expressions: one pissed, one of concern and another of relief. They crowded around the leader but instead of assuring them she was ok. Moxy went against Hannah’s words.

“Yes….I am.” Moxy was finally able to say after the dizziness faded. She tried getting up but Hannah pinned her with a dark look.

“Moxy you just passed out. No way are we performing the encore.” Hannah was ready to argue back but Moxy glared.

“Good thing you're not the leader.” Four pairs of arms reached out as Moxy stood up, wobbling a bit in place but quickly steadying herself, “I was only out for a couple minutes. We’re going out there and finishing this show.” Everyone tried to object but Moxy just held her hand up. “I’ll take it easy but we are going out there and that’s final.” Nobody said anything. Well nobody had the courage to.

Hannah, Juno and Aurora worried over the leader's condition but they all knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Slowly everyone resumed their tasks. Three women surrounded Moxy to fix her makeup and clothes. Practically erasing the past four minutes from reality.

The girls ran to reenter the stage while the music started up for Our Time Is Here. Several mangers followed behind the eldest, making sure she made it to the stage safely. Before Moxy walked out, Soonjae grabbed her hand.

“Answer me one thing? Have you been eating?” Moxy’s silence was answer enough. She couldn’t even look Soonjae in the eye.

If looks could kill, Moxy wouldn’t be walking into a stadium full of cheers from the crowd. She’d be in for an earful when they got back to the hotel.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Moxy stayed back to get checked by the doctor while her other members left for the hotel. Maybe I won’t get chewed out tonight Moxy though as the car pulled into the hotel's parking lot. The dread built as she walked through the lobby to the elevators. The leader dragged her body down the hall, feet sliding on the carpeted floor. She swayed on her feet, fumbling with the key to unlock her door.

She could feel the embrace of her bed close by but instead of a blissfully cold bed, there sat Hannah with a full bag of food and holding a phone, Moxy sighed knowing what she was in for.

“Oppa’s on the phone for you.” Hannah held the phone out for the leader to take.

“Taeyong-oppa?” She said, hopeful.

“No…..Johnny-oppa.”

“Shit…” Hope’s shattered, Moxy plopped down on the chair across from Hannah. The dancer focused on taking out the food while Moxy braced herself for a pissed off Johnny.

“Yeobeoseyo?”

“........Thea Marie Thompson.”

“Oppa before you start—”

“Don’t even try it, Thea.” Moxy’s mouth snapped shut. She could feel Johnny's anger through the phone.

“I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this. You promised me we would not repeat what happened during Regular promotions. You promised me you’d eat, Thea. But now not only am I getting calls from Soonjae but from Hannah about you passing out and still going back on stage.” Hearing Johnny’s retelling of what happened tonight made Moxy feel worse than she already did. Maybe things had gotten bad and she just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“I did and it wasn’t going that far. At least I didn’t think it was. I…I was only skipping food before the show. I tried to eat after..…but things got hectic. And that's on me. My nerves have been getting to me and I felt like I couldn’t stomach anything. So I kept going because I had to” Both sides of the line were quiet. “I’m sorry for not calling for help.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t fly out to make sure you’re eating before every show.”

“Hannah’s already got food sitting in front me.” Moxy looked out at the impressive spread Hannah was able to put together between the ending of the show and the car ride to the hotel.

“You should have told Hannah beforehand.”

“I thought I could handle it okay! I’m not some little kid Johnny. I’m a young adult who made a mistake and went past her limits” She heard Johnny sigh on the other end.

“You’re right…..You’re right you are an adult. But can you blame me for being concerned? Last time this happened, you landed in hospital with no one knowing what was wrong. I never want any of us to go through that again.” Moxy didn’t like to think about her last stretch of not eating. All of her memories revolved around the worried looks of the 127 members as they surrounded her hospital bed.

“I’m sorry Johnny. I promise to keep a closer watch on my food intake.”

“And I promise to help her.” Hannah chimed in, making Johnny and Moxy laugh. “Don’t worry oppa, we’ll get our leader back on track.” Hannah placed a container of food in front of Moxy and a fork. Before he hung up, Johnny told Hannah to take photo evidence of Moxy eating and send it to him. To ease his worries.

Moxy finally dug into the delicious food Hannah had ordered. It’s not weird to cry over really good food, right?

“So what happens?” Hannah asked between bites.

“What do you mean?”

“When it feels like you can’t eat. What runs through your head.” Moxy blew a raspberry trying to think of how to answer that.

“I guess….I overthink about everything. The performance and my vocals. I want everything to be perfect for the fans. I don’t want to disappoint them. Those thoughts…..they run through my brain like a hamster wheel. I get overwhelmed then my stomach gets queasy. You know what happens next.” Moxy took another bite of her food.

The members of 127 set up a code word to help Moxy through these anxious moments. Code: Underwater. Anytime her emotions took over, Moxy could text one of the members at any time. They in turn would help calm her down and get a couple bites of food down in Moxy’s system. The more she thought about it. The more the truth behind her regression became apparent. She was AG’s leader. Calling her older members for help with her anxiety felt like she was being a baby. Someone that wasn’t fit to lead a team, especially when they were away from home.

“Now, you got me to help. And anytime you feel nervous like that I’ll remind you that you’re a beast and one of the best leaders around.” Hannah shook her shoulders, getting a smile on her face.

Luckily, she has the greatest members on the planet. Who would never think less of her for having anxieties.

“Even if you made a mistake you could never disappoint anyone. Not us and much less the fans, okay?” Moxy nodded. It would be difficult reaching out at first. But she never wanted to worry her members again. Not when it can be stopped beforehand. Taking Hannah’s words to heart, The oldest began to eat with earnest, savoring every bite.

As they ate, Aurora and Juno joined them with their own food. The four of them crowded around the small table, sharing what they had between them. Moxy knew the younger two wanted to be close after she scared them today.

The members decided to screw bedtime and just stay up. They scrolled through instagram, played music, danced and even caught up with some of the members. They all needed a night like this. After all, the tour just started. AG had a long way to go.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Next up for tour angst.....Hannah ~ Author Izzy

#NCT AG #NCT AG.Writing #NCT AG.Moxy #nct female addition #nct female member #nct female unit #nct female subunit #nct female oc #kpop addition #kpop!au #kpop!oc #kpop!addition #kpop!fakegroup #kpop female member #kpop fake group

13 notes · View notes

simslegacy5083 · 11 months ago

Text

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9

Today's (7/12/2024) Episode: Praying for a Miracle

Luigi barreled through the doors of Magnolia Medical Center, a bleeding and unconscious Noemi held tightly against his chest.

He yelled for help, startling the medical staff into action. Within seconds Noemi was being lifted from his arms and rushed into triage while he was led to a small consultation room by a nurse and asked to tell them anything he could about what had happened prior to their arrival.

Still in shock, Luigi did his best to rely the events of that evening, frustrated that he didn't know more. Their date night had been wonderful… until it wasn’t. He honestly had no idea know what had happened and hated that he didn't have more information to provide.

When the nurse was satisfied that she had all the info she could gather from him, she guided Luigi back out to the waiting room. He wanted to see Noemi but was told she was being treated and someone would come out to fill him in as soon as they knew more.

He begged the nurse for assurance that they would help his fiancée and was only more worried by her gentle response that carefully avoided making any promises.

Left alone, Luigi felt numb as he spun out of his bloodstained clothes and found a seat near the window.

Pulling out his phone he called his dad and stepmom. As soon as they heard what had happened Peachy offered to come sit with him, but Luigi asked him to stay with Skye instead. He promised he'd be fine on his own and would call again as soon as he had any information to share.

Luigi knew he should probably call Noemi’s family next, but he couldn’t bear to tell anyone else that he had no clue when, or if, she would open her eyes again.

He tried to distract himself with the magazines laying around the waiting room, but nothing could hold his attention as his mind frantically raced around in circles. What was going on with Noemi? Why hadn’t anyone told him anything yet? How long should he wait to check in with them?

He loved Noemi so much; he couldn't bear to think of trying to move through the world without her by his side. It wasn't just him either, Skye deserved to get to know his mother, to have her in his life. Luigi was barely managing this "fatherhood" thing as it was – he couldn't do it alone!

Worries bounced back and forth in his head until he glanced at the clock and was shocked to see that an hour had gone by. What the heck!?

They definitely knew something by now! At this point the doctors could have gone over Noemi with a microscope from top to bottom, and if they were still running tests, then they could at least tell him what they’d found out so far. They had clearly forgotten him; had they forgotten her too?

He marched impatiently up to the reception desk and waited in line to be seen again. When he finally got his chance to inquire after his love, all the clerk at the d would tell him was that she was still being treated and someone should be out to see him shortly.

Luigi had never wanted to hack a computer system so badly in his life, but he didn’t want to get kicked out and not be able to be there for her.

Luigi walked back to his painfully familiar chair and sat down, the helplessness and smell of hospital reminding him of his long ago visit to Isra.

He had no evidence that his plea to The Watcher on his ex’s behalf had anything to do with her eventual recovery, but once again he bowed his head and hoped that the otherworldly being supposedly tracking his every move could and would heed his silent and desperate wishes.

“Please, please let her be OK. If I only knew what you wanted, I would promise to do it. I can’t raise Skye without her, so if you want to see another generation of my family’s ‘legacy’ you need to give her back to me.” He felt like a fool, begging and threatening the void, but he’d be a fool if that’s what it took to see Noemi awake and smiling at him once more.

This week was intense 😶. As usual I didn’t plan any of it, the game simply decided to make things hard for my little legacy family following Skye’s birth for some reason 😭!

Also, my apologies for another cliffhanger. I write and break episodes based on length and where it feels right; this flow was what I felt worked best.

Thanks for hanging in there with me and Luigi!

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 challenge #sims4 #sims 4 nsb #sims 4 not so berry #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 lets play

7 notes · View notes

fandomsandflyingstingrays · 8 months ago

Text

My contribution for Acolyte Week day 2: Truth/Lie!

By the time the screams began, Yord had almost had himself convinced that the first of his Trials would be isolation.

The only reason he’d known the Trials had begun at all was because the masters watching him had faded, leaving him entirely alone at the center of the Temple. He had meditated, gone through every lightsaber form he had remember, called out for guidance, before finally daring to ascend the steps that lead back to the Temple proper. Only, the halls that were usually choked with robed figures and alive with chatter were still and silent. As far as Yord had been able to tell, there wasn’t a soul left within.

Only moments ago, it had unsettled him. Now, he yearned for it with every molecule he possessed.

Clutching his lightsaber, he sprinted in the direction of the petrified cries, his breaths coming in quick gasps and his blood slapping against his ears. At first, he thought it was nerves that made the air curdle in his throat, but the pain only got stronger, as did the acrid scent that filled his nostrils. The soot-stained Jedi that ran coughing down the hall towards him only confirmed his fears.

“What happened?” He demanded.

It was Master Sol’s new padawan who answered, her voice so hoarse Yord could barely make out the words. “She started a fire— the Temple Guards tried to stop her, but she was so fast—“

Yord’s stomach filled with ice.

“Who?” He demanded.

The padawan shook her head, letting out a cough that wracked her from head to toe.

“Jecki, who started the fire?”

The sound of a lightsaber igniting drew his attention away from the girl. Jecki took one look over her shoulder and broke into a run again, and Yord couldn’t blame her.

The blade was a deep, bloody red, the color sharp enough to stand starkly against the flames. And the figure holding it— the girl holding it—

“Come on, Yord,” Osha said, a faint smile curling her lips. “Don’t tell me you're upset that an old friend decided to pay you a visit?”

It took Yord three breaths to get his voice to work. “I know this isn’t real,” he managed at last. “I know Osha would never do this.”

He prayed, as he said it, that the words would dispel the nightmare in front of him. That this was only his Trial of Insight, and seeing through it would make it go away. But Osha kept stalking towards him, her smile giving way to a look of absolute fury.

“It’s not real,” she mimicked. “I’ve heard that before. Don’t you remember? It’s what you told me the first time you woke me up from a nightmare about my home burning to the ground. It isn’t real, Osha.” Her voice turned high, boyish and mocking. “I was the one who lived through it. It was real to me, even when the rest of you wanted to pretend it wasn’t. And when I couldn’t pretend, too, you threw me away.”

“No one threw you away.” Yord was relieved to hear his voice come out clear. “I remember the day you left. You came back from that mission to Prostatis and said you almost got everybody killed trying to save the one person who didn’t choose to evacuate. You said you would never be able to let go of what happened to you, so you shouldn’t have a Jedi’s responsibilities.”

Osha cocked her head. “And what happened to me next, Yord? Where did I go to live, an eighteen-year-old alone in the galaxy? What kind of job could I get, having spent my whole life learning about almost nothing but the Force and then not being allowed to use it?”

The words singed Yord’s skin like sparks from the fire. They were familiar; questions he’d asked himself every night for months after he’d left until his master had told him in no uncertain terms that he had to let go in order to finish his training. He’d never been able to come up with an answer, and Osha saw it.

“I left at the recommendation of the Jedi, because I wanted to follow the Jedi Code. And they didn’t spare me a single thought once I did. I had to scrape to survive, to live entirely alone in the world, and all because I couldn’t stop myself from feeling a pain that no Jedi can hope to understand.”

All at once, Osha broke her stillness, lunging for Yord with a speed he’d never known anyone could possess, grabbing his wrist, and plunging his hand into the flames. Yord only knew he was screaming because he heard it. It sounded like he was tearing his own throat apart, but he couldn’t feel his own voice, couldn’t feel anything but the molten agony consuming his flesh. Even when Osha yanked his hand back from the flames, he could do nothing but sob from the pain of it.

“Go ahead,” she snarled. “Forget that. Act like it isn’t real.”

Yord tried to take a breath, but it burned his lungs, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing. With a sudden clarity, he realized that while the burn wouldn’t kill him, the fire still could. He had to put his pain aside, the way a true Jedi should.

Sweat pouring down his face, teeth digging into his lip to keep from screaming, he staggered to his feet. Rage flashed in Osha’s eyes.

“I see,” she said, low and lethal. “Maybe that pain wasn’t enough to make you understand.”

She swung her saber, and without thinking, Yord brought his up to block it. Her eyes widened, the betrayal in them cutting him far more deeply than her anger had.

“A Jedi doesn’t ignite their saber unless they mean to kill.” She punctuated each word with a swing of her blade, and Yord blocked them clumsily. “Are you going to kill me, Yord?”

“If you would just stop hurting me… if we could just talk—"

“And did you try to talk to me, before I left? Did you try to convince me to stay?”

He barely dodged Osha’s next hit. His reflexes weren’t enough, not on their own. He tried to focus, tried to call on the power of the Force, but it was elusive to him even in the best of circumstances, and with the pain searing through his hand, it was further from him than ever before.

Osha lunged for him, and he tried to jump, but his body alone couldn’t clear her. Her arm slammed against his chest, pushing him against the wall, and her blade hovered over his throat.

“You see? You don’t belong here. You never did.”

Yord tried to deny it. He wanted to deny it. But deep down… he couldn’t.

Osha saw it, and her expression softened, her rage melting away until she reverted to the friend he remembered.

“Come with me, Yord.”

“Wh-what?”

“Leave with me,” she repeated, gesturing to the Temple entrance— now miraculously clear of flames. “I’ve been so lonely, Yord. And deep down, I know you are, too. The Jedi will never accept someone as weak as you, but I always have. I always will. You can walk away from all of this. All the fear of failure, all the responsibility. You’ll never be able to save the galaxy, but you can still save me from a life of being all alone.” Her voice broke, but she recovered quickly. “You can save yourself from a life of knowing you’ll never be enough.”

Weak. Failure. Never enough. The taunts rang in Yord’s ears, but not in the way they were meant to. Osha had been there when he’d failed his first round of the Initiate Trials. Osha had been there when he was the last to get his lightsaber, the one struck most by the training droid during combat practice. Osha had been with him when he’d overheard one of his teachers warn the first master who had considered taking him as a padawan that his medichlorian count barely met the required threshold for Jedi training.

And Osha had never, not once, even so much as hinted that she thought he was anything less than capable.

“I know this isn’t real.” This time, his voice was certain. “The real Osha would never do this. It’s time I started believing in her the way she believed in me.” He reached up with his good hand, squeezing her arm with it. “I never forgot you, Osha. This trial proves it. But I can’t take responsibility for you, either. I’m sorry I made you feel like your loss wasn’t important. I’m sorry I’m saying this to a figment of my own mind and not the real you. But I can’t let losing you define my path. I want to be a Jedi.”

“What makes you think they’ll accept you?”

“Good question,” Yord admitted.

What made him think he would pass his Trials? He hadn’t used the Force once. Wouldn’t it be easier to give in to this Osha, to see her happy one last time in case he couldn’t find the real one after he left?

Left.

That last memory of Osha, walking down the same steps that were before him now, nagged at him.

Osha had been strong in the Force. Lightsaber training, meditation, mind tricks— it had all come easily to her. And yet, she hadn’t made it to her Trials. Because being a Jedi wasn’t just about having power. It was about knowing how to use it.

“Because I’m going to follow the code,” he murmured to himself. “I’m going to learn every precept, every rule. Maybe I’ll never be a powerful fighter. But being a Jedi isn’t about fighting, anyway.”

Osha scoffed, raising her blade. “That’s what everyone who can’t protect themselves says to make themselves feel better.”

She meant to make him afraid, Yord could tell. But he had made his choice, and Osha had made hers, and there was nothing either of them could do for each other now.

She swung her blade.

He reached out with the Force, pushing her back against the wall and her lightsaber out of her hand.

“Goodbye, Osha.”

The scenery faded around him, blurring and running until he found himself at the heart of the Temple once more.

“Congratulations, padawan.” He could hear the smile in his master’s voice. “Although I suppose I won’t be able to call you that for much longer.”

#the acolyte #theacolyteweek2024 #yord fandar #osha aniseya #jecki lon #ray rambles #ray writes

3 notes · View notes

breederking · 7 months ago

Text

The late afternoon sun slanted through the grime-streaked windows of the bus, casting a golden haze on the weary commuters. Among them was Jamie, a transgender man who had been riding the bus for the past half hour, trying to get to his appointment at the clinic. It was only about a week to his due date, but the doctor had said there was no telling when things would start. Right now, all Jamie wanted was to get to his destination without drawing too much attention.

He had always been an expert at hiding his body. For years, he had worn oversized shirts—shirts so large that they nearly swallowed him up. They had been his shield, his way of controlling how others saw him. But now, as his pregnancy progressed, those shirts that once hid his frame had become the very thing that marked him as undeniably pregnant.

Jamie’s stomach had grown so large, his belly pushing out in front of him like a beach ball, that even the baggy fabric of his shirts was beginning to stretch to its limits. The material strained across his belly, clinging uncomfortably to the roundness, and Jamie couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

The discomfort was compounded by the awareness of the two men sitting across from him. They had been staring at him since he’d boarded the bus, eyes drifting toward his belly every few moments. Jamie tried not to meet their gaze, but the way they looked at him made him feel exposed, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. Not just because of his pregnancy, but because they saw him as something else. Something feminine.

Suddenly, Jamie’s world shifted. A sharp pop echoed in his ears—like a balloon bursting—followed by a sudden gush of warmth between his legs. His water had broken. The unmistakable sound of it was audible to everyone within a few seats of him, and the two men froze, staring at him in shock.

“Oh god, not here,” Jamie muttered to himself, panicked. He tried to ignore the rising pressure in his abdomen, the unmistakable ache of labor starting to grip him. He had hoped—prayed—that his contractions would stay manageable until he could get to the clinic, but now everything had shifted into overdrive.

The men, who had been watching him, immediately jumped into action. One of them��a tall, muscular man with a thick beard and calloused hands—was the first to speak, his voice low and comforting, but with an edge of urgency.

“Hey, you alright there?” the man asked, his hand hovering awkwardly over Jamie’s belly.

Jamie stiffened, his face flushing. He was ashamed. He hadn’t expected anyone to help him. Let alone two strangers, especially not men like this—big, strong, and completely unbothered by the femininity that made him feel so exposed.

“I—I need to get off,” Jamie managed, his voice strained. “Please, just let me off the bus.

But the second man, shorter but no less muscular, quickly reached for the door’s emergency button, signaling for the bus driver to pull over.

“Hang tight,” he said, his hand on Jamie’s shoulder in an attempt to steady him. “We’ll get you through this. It’s just like helping my wife. She had a rough time with our kids. You’re gonna be okay. You’re doing great.”

The words hit Jamie like a cold slap. “Your wife,” he repeated weakly, his chest tight with frustration and humiliation. Why couldn’t they see him for who he was?

The taller man nodded, kneeling in front of Jamie, his hands gently but firmly pressing against his swollen belly. “I helped her through every one of our kids, man. We’re here for you, alright? Just breathe. Take it slow.”

But Jamie could feel the pressure building inside of him, his contractions getting closer together. His mind screamed for some kind of privacy, some kind of escape, but it was too late now. The men were already kneeling next to him, their hands on his belly as though they had every right to be there.

The taller man—who had introduced himself as John—reached to pull Jamie’s shirt up. “We need to see the position of the baby. We’ll be quick, alright?”

Jamie tensed, the words ringing in his ears like the worst kind of insult. He didn’t want them touching him like this, didn’t want them to see him like this—vulnerable, exposed, trapped in a body that didn’t feel like his own anymore. But the men’s hands were already on him, tugging at the oversized shirt, trying to pull it up and away from his stomach. The shirt was stretched taut across his belly now, the fabric tight from the weight of his growing bump, and it took a few moments of awkward tugging before the fabric finally gave way.

John’s hands skimmed over Jamie’s skin, feeling the position of the baby. “Alright,” he muttered, nodding, “head’s down, things are looking good.”

Jamie closed his eyes tightly, ashamed of the way he felt: so small, so weak, so undeniably feminine. His chest tightened with a blend of helplessness and humiliation. He wasn’t the one giving birth here—his body was simply going through the motions, carrying out its function, and he had no control over it.

Another contraction hit, stronger this time. Jamie gasped, his face contorting with the effort of holding it in. His body was a foreign thing to him now—so full of life, so full of something he couldn’t control.

“Hey, it’s alright,” the second man, Carl, said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “Just like I told my wife—deep breath, okay? You got this.”

Jamie grit his teeth, trying to block out the words. He didn’t need their comfort, their comparisons to their wives. He didn’t need to feel like a woman. But as the pressure inside him grew, he couldn’t stop it. A wet, splashing sound filled the bus as the first baby’s head crowned.

John quickly shifted into position, his hands gently guiding Jamie’s hips forward as the contraction peaked. “Push, man. Come on. You’re almost there.”

Jamie’s body betrayed him, and with a strangled cry, he pushed as hard as he could. The pain was unbearable, searing through his body like fire. The world around him blurred, the faces of the men kneeling beside him a strange blur of concern.

“Good, good,” Carl murmured, his hand resting gently on Jamie’s lower belly. “One more push. you’ve got this, okay? Let's see this baby."

Jamie gasped for breath, pushing again through gritted teeth. The baby’s body slid out with a wet squelch, and the men were quick to lift the baby to Jamie’s chest, wiping it off gently.

“That’s one,” John said softly, his voice full of awe. “You’re doing great.”

But before Jamie could fully register what had happened, another sharp pain slammed into him. His water broke again—louder this time, with an audible pop—and Jamie let out a cry of pure frustration. “No, not again… Please, not again.”

But it was already happening. A second baby was coming, and there was no stopping it. Carl didn’t hesitate, positioning himself at Jamie’s side. “You’re doing amazing,” he said, his hand on Jamie’s belly once again, feeling for the baby’s position. “Just like with my wife. You’ve got this.”

Jamie could barely breathe through the next contraction, the pressure rising again as the second baby came. He pushed, and after what felt like an eternity, the second baby was born, and John was already handing it to Carl to wipe down and wrap in a blanket.

But then, Jamie felt it. A third wave of pressure, even more intense than the first two.

“No,” Jamie gasped, his face contorted in distress. “I can’t…”

“There's another one. You’ve got this, alright? Just like my wife did. Push, man. Push.”

Jamie clenched his fists, pushing once more, the pain so overwhelming that he didn’t even have the strength to speak. But then, with one final, powerful push, the third baby emerged into the world, the sound of its arrival almost drowned out by the thudding of Jamie’s heart in his chest.

The two men, their hands busy wiping down the babies, exchanged a look of astonishment.

“Three,” Carl murmured, his voice low with disbelief. “Three babies. That explains the belly. My wife was nowhere near that big.”

Jamie couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. His chest heaved as he cried, overwhelmed with a sense of defeat. He had just given birth to three children, but he felt no pride, no sense of accomplishment—just a deep, painful humiliation. The men, despite their helpfulness, had reduced him to something he couldn’t escape from. Something fragile, feminine.

With three babies now in his arms, he closed his eyes, wishing for everything to just stop.

#ftm pregnancy #story #trans pregnancy

4 notes · View notes

delilahcalicocat · 1 year ago

Text

[Do I have to remind him?]

{Rating: 16 or 18+, Smut and Fluff.}

{Warnings: Again. Roddy regretting his life choices, Hook facing Charlie's Ex, Fighting, Blood, Thin hotel walls (of course.), Dom/Sub Dynamic, Swearing.}

♤~You've been warned!~♤

{Pairing: Hook and Charlotte Strong}

{WC: I do not know.}

{Summary: Charlie's Ex tries to win her back. Only got Charlie's "Master" to step in and remind her who she belongs to}

[Charlie's POV:]

I was by catering, I was going to get Hook some chips. Since he wanted some but didn't dare go get them himself, I had no problem with it. Since I was going to check on my brother before his title match against Whoever he was fighting.

So I went to get the chips, and I saw my ex.. I instantly hid like a little helpless puppy, I heard My ex say to his new girl after he kissed her "What's Wrong little mouse?"

That alone had me in a mix of terror and also a state of arousal..

I walked back to get Hook, and I had forgotten I'd worn light pink shorts that day..

♤Time Skip of about 30 minutes♤

At that point my Ex was in the area by Hook's locker room, he probably was confused when he heard a..

"Please... Master I'm sorry!" I managed to gasp out through sharp moans.

"You'd better be.." He said, Stopping

"I am master..." I said finally catching my breath

"What the hell?!" My ex exclaimed, seeing what was happening.

I gasped and shielded my body with my arms

"She isn't yours man!" My ex said

"Master.. get him out of here." I said, Hook did so.

[TIME SKIP AGAIN >:)]

My Ex was now on the ground, Blood pouring from his nose as his girlfriend sobbed, Hook decided to remind him who his "girl" belonged to.

♡To the Hotel now♡

[Roddy's POV:]

I'm hoping and praying that after my match on rampage, I'll be able to sleep tonight. Still a room across from my younger sister and Hook.

Little thing is that.. Her ex is in the room right before hers. I'm in the one after hers..

Cant wait for this fucking shitshow.

[Charlie's POV:]

My Ex was about to learn who he was fucking with.

"Ah... Fuck!" I gasped a little

My ex could hear everything happening

"Do I have to remind him who you belong to?" He growled

[Roddy's POV:]

"Gah!~ Yes!~" is all I heard all night, my brain is rotting with amount of shit I've heard within the past fucking week.

"Ah! Master!~" dear fucking God himself help me.

~{The Next Morning, and in Charlie's POV}~

[Charlie's POV:]

"You think my ex heard everything?" I asked him

"Probably, he's probably crying." He said

"Hehe. I hope he learned" I said

"I hope he did too" he said

♡~The End, I know it was more smut. But I can't not just write smut with a dom/sub dynamic.~♡

#{♡}delilah's fics{♧}#aew hook fic #aew #aew fanfiction #aew smut #aew hook x reader

16 notes · View notes

recklesswriter · 2 years ago

Text

I'm sorry for being so MIA on here, guys! I think I've said it before, but I have a bad habit of forgetting I have a tumblr until I go to update one of my stories 😅

Anyway, I'm happy to say that after 2 years of it going untouched, I'm finally feeling inspired to write the last chapter of With Friends Like These. I've written half the chapter in the past week, and I'm hoping to get it finished and posted within the next two 😁

Here's the first scene of the chapter given to you early, since it's been so terribly long:

Sasuke runs faster than he’s run in his entire life.

The soles of his shoes slap loudly against the stone floor, the sound bouncing and ricocheting off the walls of the narrow corridor. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his side, in the space between his ribs, but he ignores it and pushes forward despite the lack of oxygen he’s managing to pull through his lungs. Despite his pounding heart, a part of it still screaming at him to turn around and go back.

Back to where Kakashi is fighting—his extreme skill and experience rendered practically useless against the likes of Obito Uchiha. There’s no way Kakashi can hope to best him, not without Sasuke to back him up.

He's going to die.

Sasuke bites the inside of his mouth, hard enough to taste blood. He wishes, just for this moment, that he could go back to when he was seventeen—back to when he didn’t care about anyone except his brother. It would be easier, that way. It would hurt so much less.

Sasuke owes Kakashi so much—for everything he’s done for him. But Sasuke has always been selfish, and so once again, he chooses Itachi. He’s always chosen Itachi over everyone else, even when Itachi hasn’t chosen him.

I’m sorry, Sasuke thinks. And prays, by some miracle, that his sensei survives.

He forces the guilt away—shoves it somewhere deep down in his chest where it can no longer influence thoughts and decisions. Instead he focuses on the desperate pull in his chest that is somehow guiding him. The one that’s blaring his brother’s name at him like a siren—

Itachi, Itachi, Itachi, Itachi—

Something has happened. Itachi is hurt somewhere, is dying, and Sasuke can’t explain how he knows this but right now he doesn’t care. All that matters is reaching him.

Sasuke refuses to lose him again. He can’t.

He skids sharply around the corner as he reaches the end of the hallway. He catches a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes widening, but he’s running too fast to stop himself in time—he collides with the person in front of him, a brutal smack followed by a surprised yelp, and both of them are knocked to the floor.

Sasuke catches himself on his elbows, wincing as the impact reverberates through his entire body. He blinks his vision clear.

Deidara is on the ground across from him, also blinking and grimacing in pain. “Ow! What the hell, man? Watch where you’re going!” He glances down at his arm, which got scraped up by the fall and is now bleeding sluggishly. He looks back up at Sasuke with a glare. “Look what you did!”

He shoves his bleeding elbow into Sasuke’s face. Sasuke shoves it away. “Where’s Itachi?” he demands.

The other Akatsuki member scowls at him. “'I’m so sorry, Deidara, for knocking you over. Are you alri—‘”

“Just tell me where he is! The two of you went off together to find Konan!”

“Yeah, and we split off from each other! Like I want to spend anymore time than necessary with that asshole! Seriously, what the hell—”

With a scowl, Sasuke pushes himself to his feet. He ignores the new soreness throughout his body. “Which direction did he go in?”

Deidara looks ready to snap at him again, but he looks at him and something on Sasuke’s face must give away the seriousness of the situation. The indignation flickers, replaced by uncertainty and concern.

“Why? What's happened?”

“I don’t know, but he’s hurt—badly, I think.”

Deidara pushes himself off the floor, wincing slightly and brushing off his black and red cloak. “How do you know?”

“I just do. Which direction?”

Deidara looks unhappy with that answer. Most likely he assumes Sasuke is lying and not wanting to explain, rather than the truth that he genuinely has no idea how he knows. He just does. But Deidara presses his lips into a thin line and nods.

“Alright. Come on, this way. We’ll find him.”

They turn around and begin going in the direction that Deidara just came from. They don’t run, like Sasuke was earlier, and Sasuke has to bite down on the desperation that makes him want to snap at the other man to hurry the fuck up. But they’re walking at a quick, urgent pace, Deidara’s longer legs causing his paces to be bigger than Sasuke’s. Sasuke is forced into something near to a jog.

“What happened to you?” Deidara asks.

Sasuke frowns. “What?”

“Your clothes—they’re ripped. They weren’t before, so it’s not from fighting with Sasori. Did you fight someone else?”

Observant of him. Sasuke clenches his jaw. “Obito knows.”

Deidara’s mouth drops open, panic in his eyes as he jerks to a halt. “What? Oh fuck—”

“Which is why we need to find my brother now! Okay? Because Obito knows he’s a traitor—he knows you are, too—”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. This is all your fault, Uchiha. You’ve dragged me into your shit—"

“Me? You’re the one that attacked Hidan!”

“You killed him!”

“Because of you—!”

Sasuke cuts himself off as they round the corner. His breath leaves him, a sharp, choked gasp sucked through his teeth. His feet come to an abrupt halt as the blood in his veins turns to ice.

Beside him, Deidara freezes as well. Eyes wide. “Shit. Is that…?”

Deidara’s eyes are locked in the center of the room, where a broken, misshapen shape is barely visible in the dark. It’s Kakuzu, his body so shredded and disfigured that he’s barely recognizable. A bloody heap of flesh, surrounded by scorch marks and discarded weapons that tell tale of a battle.

But Sasuke—

Sasuke looks right past the sight. His eyes are on another body, a bit further into the room and more to the left. His Sharingan swirls to life, allowing him to see clearer in the darkness. Dark hair—purple, bloody fingernails against the gray stone floor—

Itachi.

It takes a second for him to fly across the room, for him to fall to his knees by his brother’s side. Something thick and wet immediately soaks through the fabric of his pants—blood, from the deep wound that’s sliced through his brother’s chest. The metallic, coppery scent is heavy in the air.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke says. “Nii-san!”

Itachi’s face is deathly pale. He doesn’t respond to Sasuke’s voice. Sasuke’s hands shake, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs, as he pulls the ripped fabric of the Akatsuki cloak back to get a better look at where the blood is all coming from.

He remembers two fingers against his forehead. Dragging a line of wet blood down his face.

(Forgive me, Sasuke. But this is it.)

No. No, no, no, no.

He’s on his side. One of his arms stretched out, fingers smearing blood against the floor, like he was trying to drag himself forward. Sasuke shifts his brother’s body slightly, his head lolling against Sasuke’s folded knees. There’s blood on his lips, and it makes another spark of panic go off in Sasuke’s chest.

Deidara drops down next to him. “God. Is he dead? Who did this to him? Kakuzu?”

There’s actually a thread of something close to fear in the blonde’s voice. Curious, considering how many times he’s expressed a desire to kill Itachi himself. Deidara cares, despite how vehemently he denies it, and any other time Sasuke would never let it go without comment—but right now it barely registers.

His trembling fingers shove Itachi’s hair aside to press against his neck. He finds a pulse there—slightly too slow, but undeniable proof of life.

Sasuke releases a breath. “He’s alive. For now. Help me stop the bleeding.”

“With what?” Deidara demands. “I don’t carry a medical kit with me! Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

“Shut up,” Sasuke snaps. Deidara’s panic is only making his worse. The momentary relief that Itachi is alive is quick to fade, the previous fear returning as he takes stock of the situation—of Itachi’s injuries, probably too serious for them to treat even with the proper supplies.

Sasuke strips off his Akatsuki cloak. He balls it up and presses it to Itachi’s chest in a pathetic attempt to stem the blood flow. “Who here knows medical ninjutsu? Anyone?”

Deidara grimaces. “Sasori.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s not usually an issue! Konan knows a bit of battlefield surgery, I think—Leader-sama, too—but this might be too much even for that. And we still don’t know if Ane-san’s managed to get him on our side, so he might be trying to kill us too…”

Great, Sasuke thinks. The only person with the capability to possibly save Itachi’s life in time is the same person that Itachi kicked through one of Sasuke’s portals less than half an hour ago.

He takes a breath. Looking down at his brother and resisting the urge to flinch at the blood on his lips. Unless Itachi bit his tongue or sliced the inside of his mouth on his teeth, that blood meant internal bleeding. Likely a punctured lung.

He brushes the bangs from Itachi’s face. “It’s okay,” he says shakily. “You’re going to be okay. I won’t let you die again, I promise.”

He turns his head to look at Deidara.

“I’m going to retrieve Sasori. I need you to stay here with him while I do.”

Deidara’s mouth drops open. “Wh—Me? No way!”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“But what if he dies?!”

“Then make sure he doesn’t!” Sasuke yells back. Leaving his brother is the last thing he wants to do—but unless Sasuke can get him help, there’ll be no saving him. All Sasuke will be able to do is sit here and hold his hand while his life slowly fades away.

No. Itachi will live this time. He has to.

Deidara grimaces. He looks down at Itachi’s bleeding body, then back to Sasuke. “Okay, okay, fine! Just—hurry the hell back, you brat!”

Sasuke slides out from under his brother. His bloodstained hands, holding the wadded-up cloak tightly against Itachi’s chest, are replaced by Deidara’s. He stands up, pushing his hair out of his face and the rings in his left eye whirling as the power activates.

A portal opens up in mid-air. Beyond, Sasuke can see miles upon miles of desert—the same plane of existence where he trapped Sasori. Taking one last glance at Itachi, sending up a prayer, he steps through the portal and leaves the two of them an entire dimension away.

His feet land in the sand. The portal closes behind him.

#naruto #my fics #sasuke uchiha #itachi uchiha

20 notes · View notes

thats-how-i-role · 2 years ago

Text

Secrets And Spies (1)

A/N: Okay so first, I am cheating. This isn't all of it but I still have like 2000 words to go and not a lot of time to do it. Second, this is a combined day for Tuesday and Wednesday so it features a lot of Jem, and a lot of Faye, and of course a lot of side characters

P.S. If you want to be added to the document lmk but I promise I will post the rest of the story before New Year's I'm just running out of time this week.

Word Count: 7,116

Friday September 14th, 20:34

The hunt. For many it’s about a calm before the storm, or the spike in adrenaline when you’re closing in on the prey. But tonight, their focus is on the subtleties of conversation. Finding the best opportunity when to strike without blowing their cover. If they falter the slightest, then law and order will never prevail.

Faint classical music echoes throughout the dining hall of highclass gentlemen. Conversations were being shared over the round tables, with red, floor length tablecloths. The room was bright from the high-priced chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, and the sconces scattered equidistantly across the walls. Many of the words exchanged are similar to the next. Either business arrangements or the latest gossip within their social circles, often interjected by the sound of glasses clinking together.

On the far right side of the room was the bar that stretched across most of the wall. Glasses and pricey alcohol bottles were hung on the wall behind the counter. The bartenders all shared the same black and white vest suit, and bow tie combinations. They talked up their clients as much as possible, praying the idle chit chat could get them a tip.

But there was one person that no one seemed to be able to break for more than a few words. A tall, lean person with a neatly styled, black undercut and fair skin. Underneath the carefully placed makeup were deep scars from the years they have spent in the agency. They dressed in a tailored, three piece suit with a silver tie, and nursed a glass of red wine.

The calmness and grace across their features contrasted to their racing heartbeat. The only reason they haven’t spoken much is because they feared their voice would waver before the mission even started. Every little thing had them on edge.

Maybe I should mingle?

If I leave the bar I may miss the target coming in.

What if I’ve already been made?

A voice coming in through their earpiece startled them out of their thoughts. “Jesus Christ J, you’ve somehow managed to look constipated and like you’ve shit yourself all at once.” Amalthea, the sometimes crass, always blunt, redhead heckled.

Jem took their glass and hovered it in front of their mouth, to block any onlookers from seeing them talk to themselves. “I cannot stress how much I didn’t want to be here. And believe it or not the comms aren’t meant for your cheeky commentary.”

“You love my cheeky commentary.” She giggled, and Jem could almost picture the mischief in her brown eyes. Her tone switched instantly from humorous to supportive, “Stick to the plan. She knows you as Caspian Vanderbelt, you run a successful stock trading company and have been known to dabble in insider trading from time to time.”

“Jem Morale?” The mere mention of their real name sent ice through their veins. Jem’s face remained neutral, but every muscle in their being stilled.

Amalthea took a pause before rushing out, “Don’t respond,” unfortunately she didn’t manage to speak before Jem turned around to find the source of the voice, “Don’t even turn around. Completely igno- me. Ignore me apparently.”

Standing not even three feet away from them was Jem’s mark. Clad in a bright red cocktail dress that hugged her curves and stayed up via two thin straps was Sol. Also known as the Co-Captain of The Crimson Talons. Her long, white hair was done up in a braided bun, a few loose hairs hung stratgeticaly to frame her face. Her neck and fingers were adorned with sparkling, gold jewellery embedded with rubies. And everything was tied together with a striking red lip.

Jem’s first thought at the sight of her, I should’ve never been here.

Thursday September 13th, 16:22

The dings of the bakery’s front door had been chiming continuously throughout the day. Jem, wearing their favourite apron over a blue flannel, the sleeves rolled up. Lillian had been chosen to help Jem in the kitchen that day, preparing for the morning breakfast rush, and the slower yet always interesting four o’clock coffee rush. Elgar manned the front counter, being the friendliest and most patient of the agency.

The kitchen was spacious, all of the appliances and surfaces made of kitchen-safe stainless steel. Four ovens were stacked in the corner, each set to certain temps for certain baked goods. There’s a warmer pressed up right next to them, keeping the products as fresh as possible. The three part sink was across the room, a table for all the dirty dishes that were cleaned and reused throughout the day just to the left of it. Two tables laid in the center of the room making enough space for multiple people in the mornings to roll dough, line trays, etc. And many of the utensils and pans layed on the shelf beneath the tables for easy access.

As Jem had prepared to serve up another apple pie for the front counter, Thorne entered from the laundry room in the basement of the building. He stood well over six feet tall, his shaggy caramel brown hair was just long enough to hang over his crystal blue eyes. His face and arms covered in scars ranging from light to the most severe laying hidden beneath his black t-shirt. He had the strongest muscular build of the agency, tending towards working out instead of socializing more often than not.

He took the nearest apron off the hook, wrapping it around his waist, “Morale, I’ll take over here. You need to head to the library.”

“Last time I checked, I don’t take orders from you.” Despite Jem’s words, their tone was playful as they handed the pie over.

As Thorne took the pie over an oven mitt, he used his other hand to grip Jem’s shoulder firmly. They looked up and saw the serious look on Thorne’s face, sympathy just barely registering over his eyes, “Jem, Alveyn’s gone.”

The feeling that washed over them could only be described as sickening shock. It shook them to the very core and their vision blurred. For a second they thought they were about to collapse if Thorne’s grip didn’t help ground them to reality. They weren't sure how much time passed until they took their next breath, but even the exhale felt like acid seeping through their airways.

They nodded, grabbing Thorne’s hand and squeezing it for some light emotional support before leaving. They didn’t even remove their apron, and despite the normal fifteen minute walk between agencies, Jem hardly registered the fact they had reached the library until the polite, blonde receptionist, Ophelia interrupted their trance.

“Hello there, is there any way I can assist you today?” Her lilted tone, typically so sweet to anyone who could hear it, was grating to Jem.

She sat still behind her desk, her eyes lighting up towards them, and waited patiently for a response. Jem knew she was waiting for the code to let them into The Remnants. But the shock let the phrase escape them. Jem could only blink, dropping eye contact as they tried to fight the haze of their mind to find the code. But the only thing that appeared in their mind’s eye was flashes of the last time Alveyn and them spoke.

“Jem.” A monotone, yet familiar voice interrupted their panic. Mercy, who had been tucked behind Ophelia’s desk with her, rose to her feet. She came around, and put her tanned arm around their shoulders. Her blue-black hair had been finely french braided down, courtesy of her girlfriend.

“I’m here.” Jem replied with a half-hearted smile, their voice a little shaky.

Mercy nodded, leading them back behind the counter. “I’ll be back in a second.”

As soon as the door to the back room closed Jem asked, “What happened to Alveyn?”

She was slightly taken aback by the harshness of their tone, and Jem wanted to kick themselves for being rude to someone who was genuinely trying to help. They took a deep breath, closing their eyes on the inhale. “I mean, how did it happen?”

“That’s what we wanted to know from you.” Mercy replied, pressing the wall to release a hidden compartment from within. She pressed her ring into the curved indent as one of the bookshelves unlatched itself from the wall. Revealing a hidden staircase leading to a second floor hidden from the masses.

Jem’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wasn’t there. If I was, Alveyn wouldn’t be the one lying on a slab in some morgue.”

Mercy turned on her heel, halfway up the stairs. “Jem, Alveyn’s not dead. He left the agency in the middle of the night.”

That significantly lifted the concrete weight from their shoulders, but the haze in their mind was replaced by confusion and barely contained anger. They slipped past Mercy into The Remnants agency, where Romy, Lewellyn, and Quinn stood around a circular table.

The common room was quite devoid of decorations that weren’t useful in one way or another. Hanging above were long rows of fluorescent lights to illuminate the whole room. The room with bare, charcoal grey walls was no bigger than Jem’s kitchen at the bakery. It had a few round tables spread across the room, which fit considering The Remnants had the largest crew in all the agencies. Nearby each table were whiteboards and cork-boards with information and evidence from the latest case. Each board is accompanied with strings connecting certain theories and timelines.

Lewellyn was the first one to look up from the table, her deep blue eyes widened in surprise at Jem’s rushed pace. Although being only a supervising agent, Lewellyn was Romy’s (the captain of the agency) right hand man. She rose to her feet, grabbing Romy’s arm to get his attention towards the situation.

“Alveyn wouldn’t just leave, there has to be something wrong.” Jem exclaimed, reaching the table and leaning forward with their hands splayed on the flat surface.

Romy’s face tried to remain firm, as he put his hands up in surrender, “Which is why we called you first. To see if he had left you any sign or note of his motives.”

“No, nothing.” Jem shot back, with very little thought. “How do you know he left? What if he’s been taken?”

Romy rose to his full height, around six feet. If he wasn’t so lean in stature he might be seen as more intimidating to others. But from what Jem has seen, it wouldn’t be too smart to underestimate him. “He put both his badge and ring in my mailbox last night. No note, nothing to indicate if he was being forced to do this, or if it was of his own free will. Please, think carefully, has he ever said anything about leaving.”

They let out a frustrated sigh, dropping themselves into the nearest seat. Jem dug the palms of their hands into their eyes before sincerely answering, “Yeah, but he was never serious. Him and I joked about it all the time. How we’d run away, change our names to something ridiculous like Augustus or Benedict and live out our lives in the mountains.” The longer Jem went on, the more their voice relaxed, reaching an almost dreamy state.

They were able to snap out of it before they went on for too long, “But most of those were when we were drunk, and joking around. Even if Alveyn was serious for a second, he would’ve asked me to come with. Those fantasies always involved the two of us, together. But they were just fantasies.”

Lewellyn had been listening intently the entire time, chewing on her inner cheek whenever she wanted to interject but thought better of it, “When did you see him last?”

Leaning back in their seat, Jem’s gaze remained pinned on the table in front of them, “Two nights ago, he invited me out for a drink. And naturally a drink turned into three, and then we lost count.”

“And he didn’t tell you goodbye, not once throughout the night?” Lewellyn questioned again.

Digging through the foggy memories of that night, Jem did in fact recall some words that were out of the ordinary for the two. That night, Alveyn didn’t have as much to drink as Jem did. Therefore he had to drag Jem back home, and pass them over to Amalthea to be taken care of. But as Alveyn laid them across the couch, he spoke under his breath.

“Even though we often drink to forget Bandit, these are the nights I pray I remember the fondest.”

That was the last thing Jem remembered from that night. And anyone who heard it would say it was part of a goodbye, perhaps the whole night out was. But Jem refused to believe this was still of Alveyn’s own accord. If he was tired of this life everyone chose for themselves then they believe he would’ve said something. Alveyn didn’t, not once.

So Jem, taking the moment to truly ponder their own selfish motives, they answered, “No, he didn’t. I promise, there’s something wrong here.”

Both Romy and Lewellyn shared a look, seemingly satisfied with their answer. The captain nodded before he spoke, “Then we will search for him. We’ll spread word throughout our partners and see if anything pops up. Thank you for your help.”

“Do you think it was the Talons?” Lewellyn asked with frustration bleeding through her tone and actions as she began taking down pins from the cork board behind her.

“The Crimson Talons?” Jem questioned, slightly taken aback by the mention of one of deadliest agencies in the state.

Romy gave Lewellyn a sharp look which went unnoticed by her as he came up with a soft spoken answer, “Yes, we’ve been setting up a mission over the past few weeks to try and shed some light on them. Alveyn was supposed to be our way in, but now that’s scratched.” He turned his attention towards Lewellyn’s question as he continued, “We haven’t made enough progress on the mission to tip them off yet. There wouldn’t be any reason for them to target Jones.”

“They could’ve tracked the emails exchanged, it's just suspicious is all.” She deadpanned, dropping the documents of evidence on the table, and resting her hands on her hips. “The date was set for tomorrow night, and now Alveyn’s gone.”

Quinn, the tall, tan woman with long brown hair had been sitting the entire exchange, boring into Jem with her eyes. Her head tilted ever so slightly in intrigue, and it had gone unnoticed by Jem until now since they had calmed down. They stared right back at her, confusion slowly forming across their features.

As Lewellyn went to take down what looked like a timeline of events, Quinn grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “I never noticed until now, but Jem and Alveyn have similar eyes. Don’t you think so?”

Lewellyn stared back at Jem, shrugging it off, “Kind of?”

“And black hair.” Quinn added, rising from the table to stand behind Jem. They went to stand up, kind of uncomfortable with the sudden attention on their looks. That was until Quinn ran her hands through their hair. “Think about it, with just trimming the sides a bit and style down their curls, they could almost be like brothers.”

Jem slipped out of her grasp, escaping via sliding under the table and away from her touch. They rolled outwards and rose to their feet, “Wh-what’re you doing?”

“Are you any good at espionage, Jem?” Quinn responded, eyeing them up.

“That’s not an answer.” They awkwardly chuckled as panic began to show behind their eyes.

Lewellyn turned on her heel towards Quinn, “Seriously, what are you doing?”

She only sighed in response, “Listen, we’ve spent five weeks worth of resources and time to take down the Talons. I’m sorry but I don’t want to let that go without a fight.” She explained, her face softening before speaking towards Jem. “If the Talons did manage to get their hands on Alveyn, then if we continue down this path with Jem instead then we may be able to find him faster.”

Lewellyn shook her head in defiance, “If the Talons do have Alveyn, then there’s no way they’ll come to the meet up tomorrow. There’d be no point.”

Quinn nodded, as if they were on the same page, “Exactly. If they don’t show up, we know exactly who has Alveyn. If they do, then we haven’t been made and we can continue with the plan anyways. It’s a win - win scenario.”

“Except,” Jem interjected, sounding exasperated but a part of their mind was beginning to agree with her, “I don’t do undercover. The Last Stand specializes in operating within the shadows. We deal with break ins, hacking, and other back door tactics to close cases. This is new.”

“We’ll be there every step of the way,” Quinn offered, “and if it helps you relax, we can bring our teams together on this. So you have your people on your back.”

“Quinn, pause. You aren’t a high enough rank to make that call.” Romy finally spoke up, raising a patient hand. The room fell silent as Romy’s eyes flitted back and forth in thought. He eventually rounded on Jem with the gentle facade he typically puts up when he’s extending an olive branch. “Though she does make a very good point. If you’re comfortable with it, it’ll not only help us but it inevitably helps Jones to come home.”

Jem shook their head, anger boiling under their skin but they remained calm. “Stop using Alveyn as some sort of bargaining chip. He deserves more than that.” Despite their own protests, they had to admit it was working quite well. With one last breath of defiance, Jem ran their fingers through their locks, “Do I have to get a haircut?”

Lewellyn gave them a stiff pat on the back, “It’ll help sell the ruse.”

“Cool, cool.” They quipped, approaching the board with the case details pinned to it. They helped Lewellyn and Romy set up the evidence once again, noticing a photo with a large red circle around it. It was a woman, fair skin and white haired, walking down the street.

They nodded towards it, “Who’s that?”

Lewellyn unpinned the photo and handed it over to Jem. “Our target, that’s Sol. Her brother, Umbra, isn’t pictured anywhere as far as we could tell. That’s who the real goal is. If we put Sol behind bars, then that’ll bring Umbra out of the woodwork. He’ll get sloppy, make mistakes.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Jem replied. “Umbra’s the lead assassin, it sounds like we’re counting on collateral damage.”

Romy snatched the photo from Jem, putting it back where it belonged with oddly steeled nerves. His face was not giving any emotion one way or another. Which matched his next, bleak words, “What you call damage is a means to an end.”

Friday September 14th, 20:36

The spy and assassin stared at each other, blinking for a moment. The woman known as Sol had her mouth agape as she held her phone to her ear. She seemed to be mid-conversation as she looked equally surprised at their appearance.

Trying desperately to recover, Jem finally spoke up, “I’m so sorry, do I know you?”

“One second,” Sol put up her finger before speaking into the phone, “I’m gonna have to let you go. I’m at the restaurant.” She nodded before hanging up.

With a regretful expression she turned her attention solely on Jem. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion, I just recognized you from the shop on main street. You own ‘That’s How I Roll’, right? Your photo hangs in the restaurant.”

Over the comms Lewellyn, who was partnered in the van with Amalthea, spoke up with agitation in her words, “Your photo is hanging in the bakery?”

Amalthea replied with an equal amount of fire, “You’ve never been to our bakery?”

Jem tried their best to think past the panic and the voices in their ear. “I do, I just didn’t know anybody paid that much attention.”

“Well not to freak you out or anything, but I go there every morning.” Sol replied, her tone growing softer in the middle of the statement. “Your croissants are the fluffiest I’ve ever had. Paired with your lattes, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.”

Jem tried to hide their smile behind their hand, whether it was from pride in their work or the humour of this entire situation they weren’t sure of. “Well thank you. We don’t get too many in person reviews, so this means a lot.”

Sol tilted her head sideways with a joking aura behind it, “Does it mean enough to you for me to get a coupon?” The two shared a laugh, while Jem tried to hide the genuine blush appearing on their cheeks. After the moment passed Sol peered around the room saying, “Am I keeping you? Are you waiting for someone?”

Jem shook their head, “No, I just finished having a couple drinks with some advertisers. Trying to get the word out so people will shop local. You?”

She peered around the room, “I am looking for someone. Doesn’t look like they’ve shown up yet.” Her eyelashes fluttered back towards them. “I could keep you company for a little bit, if you’d like.”

They contemplated it for a second. As far as they could tell she was genuine, and hadn’t clued in to who they were. And as long as she believed their intentions were true, then Jem would be able to continue with this ruse. Which is the same identity they wear every single day.

Jem nodded to the seat next to them, leaning against the bar countertop as they did. “As long as it doesn’t hold you up.”

Sol climbed onto the tall bar stool, placing her bag on the floor next to her feet. “I’m Faye, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Jem- you knew that, sorry.” They chuckled, taking a drink from their wine glass. Faye - or Sol - giggled as well, her softened eyes focussing on them. After letting out a relaxed sigh Jem asked, “What’re you drinking tonight?”

She gestured her head to the wine glass in their hand, “Whatever you’re having.” Jem ordered her a glass of red (specifically a higher priced merlot than what Jem got for themselves) and slid it towards her with a sharp sound against the countertop. Thanking them first, Faye continued, “I have a question for you that’s been bugging me for the longest time.”

Jem put their finger up in contest, “Afraid not, darlin’. You know way too much about me already. It’s your turn. What do you do for a living?”

This was the first time she paused, tucking her bottom lip into her teeth before answering. Jem wasn’t sure if it was out of habit or to draw their gaze to her mouth. If it was the latter, she would’ve noticed how their gaze lingered.

Her eyes dropped to the rings on her finger as she toyed with them before finally speaking, “This is a test. If you’re a dick this will help me figure it out.” Jem didn’t waver, trying to catch her eyes with theirs again. When she peered upwards from beneath her lashes, she visibly relaxed at their curiosity about her life. “I own a club on the west side of the city. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it but the lower level is a nightclub called, ‘Ruin.’ My brother runs that solo, while I run the upper level called, ‘Eurydice.’”

Jem’s eyes did glow in recognition, but they didn’t lose face. Mostly because the Remnants could fact check it, and maybe their agencies would be able to figure out if this was their front. “You run the strip club?”

“You’ve been?” She shot back, a mischevious grin spreading across her face.

Jem shook their head, “My roommate keeps asking me to go with him. I keep finding excuses not to go.”

“Why’s that?” Her tone shifted, slightly accusatory.

Jem could tell she took pride in her work. Whether or not it was a front, it seemingly made no difference to her. And honestly Jem knew the feeling, as her earlier compliments about their passion for their bakery did warm their heart.

Jem did think about their words carefully, speaking slowly so as to not let it come across the wrong way, “intimacy is different for me than it is for a lot of people. The feeling of comfort and trust I need is not something that can be bought.” A slight flush appeared across her cheeks before they continued, “So since I’ve heard of your club, you must be doing incredibly well for yourself. Do you perform as well or just run the place?”

Her shoulders straightened out, her smile growing twice as wide, “I dance sometimes, but only for select clientele. Typically only those who sweet-talk me in a lovely accent.” Faye’s right hand fell from the table and was subtly placed on Jem’s knee, her fingers gently caressing against their skin.

Jem had to suppress the shiver down their spine, their eyes falling to their glass which they decided to quickly finish off to remove some of their nerves. They made eye contact with the bartender and waved her over. When she arrived Jem simply asked, “Can I get a whiskey? Make it a double, please and thank you.”

The bartender nodded, looking over to Faye if she needed anything as well. Her eyes stayed fixed on Jem’s face as she agreed, “Whiskey, make it a double.” Jem finally turned back to her with surprise written across their faces. She only shrugged, completely carefree, “I did say, whatever you’re having. Right?”

The night continued like that. Hours of ordering the same drinks and chit chat among the two. Jem made sure to slow down, careful to not get messy because this was a mission. But they did forget about the two women over the wire a number of times. Somewhere between them explaining that the name of their bakery isn’t that bad when you compare it to Thorne’s suggestion of “Command-dough”, and her detailing her encounter of how she got the necklace she was wearing. Although ambiguous, she seems to have a lot of things in her possession she obtained in less than legal ways.

The little inbetween conversations were what made Jem forget they were having drinks with a murderer. Someone whose name Jem might not even know for sure; and if she knew who they really were Jem doubts she would even flinch before slicing a blade across their throat. She’s a criminal. A mastermind.

Their empathy was their downfall, even when it came to their marks. Which is why Jem chooses to operate from a distance. Personalizing themselves with a target never benefits their line of work. It actually makes it harder to look at themselves in the mirror.

The only thing convincing Jem that building a case against her is the right thing is Jem doubts this is really her. These aren’t her stories, or her personality. It’s all a facade that she set up for Alveyn prior to tonight. And yet the way her red eyes lit up at every joke and interest made Jem second guess anything they knew.

Eventually, the bartender let the two know it was their last call. Jem paid their building tab with the agency’s card and walked Faye out with her on their arm. The wind stirred in the late night, rushing between the fine strands of Faye’s hair as the two approached the sidewalk of the steadily trafficked street.

“Thank you for tonight, I’m sorry your friend didn’t make it.” Jem lied, but from the way their grin stretched from ear to ear, Faye thought they lied for a different reason.

Faye shrugged, turning towards them and pulling Jem closer by the lapel of their coat. Hey eyes bored into theirs, her smile matching, “Can’t say I share the sentiment.” Leaning forward on her toes, her scarlet lips relaxing as she closed the distance between them.

Jem tried their best to remain calm as the pair kissed under the glowing street light. Their hands slid up her sides and stilled against the backside of her ribs. They pulled her closer, focussing on the subtle movements of their lips and nearly got lost in the softness of her skin.

Faye was the one to pull away, placing a gentle kiss on their cheek and beneath their ear before whispering, “You seem tense, Jem. Wanna come back to my place to relax a little? A hot tub, another glass of wine, whatever you like.”

The tension in their shoulders screamed at them to agree, and the haze from the alcohol and the smell of her perfume convinced them even more. Yet they still managed to mutter out “I’m- I’m sorry. I can’t.” Pulling back just enough to get back some control over themselves, Jem continued, “I got to be up early for work, and I think you being next to me will be the best kind of wrench in my plans.”

Faye stepped back, but didn’t drop her hands from their suit. She took a minute to think as Jem waved down a cab for her. With their head turned, Faye grabbed a pen from the chest pocket of their coat and began writing on the exposed flesh of their neck.

Jem flinched, but her grip on them was surprisingly strong. “Hold still, nerd.”

“It’s ticklish,” Jem breathed out a laugh, but let her finish in spite of it. She pressed the pen into their hand as they quipped, “Done marking me up, darlin’?”

“It’s my number.” She stepped forward once more, not to make a move yet it still made Jem’s breath hitch. “Call me so we can set up a night where you don’t work the next morning, yeah?”

Jem’s eyes widened, a dopey smile growing on their face. They opened the cab door for her and replied when she tucked herself into her seat. “I’ll reach out when I can. Have a great night, Faye.”

She closed the door, blowing them a tantalizing kiss as the cab took off. Jem watched the car until it turned out of sight. Maybe they lingered under the night’s sky for a bit longer, still kind of amazed all of that happened. Until reality set in, and the transparency of the moment fell onto their shoulders.

Faye was a killer. And they were going to arrest her, come hell or high water.

That was the mantra they said to themselves as they walked a block down to a shadowed parking lot. A couple stray cars remained in the dead of night. The black van with two side windows was what Jem had been looking for. They knocked on the back door in a practiced code. A moment afterwards, the door swung open with a very unamused Lewellyn on the other side.

Inside the back of the van was a small three screen computer set up on a wall shelf with two chairs pulled up to it. Acting as a sort of desk, that would be inconspicuous enough in the city. Amalthea was sitting right up next to it, a lined paper notebook in her lap. In contrast to Lewellyn, she was having trouble hiding her smug grin.

And Amalthea inevitably failed as she asked, “How was your date?”

Jem shook their head in aggravation, “It wasn’t a date.”

“Well that didn’t seem like a mission either.” Lewellyn commented, falling back into her chair. Taking a deep breath she reasoned, “If you offered to take her back to your place, then we could’ve taken her in.”

“And leave you guys here? Or were you guys planning on tailing us in the shadiest vehicle of the century?” Jem countered, leaning both of their arms against the entrance to the van. “We can set up another meeting, I got her number.”

“Which wasn’t even your idea. You almost walked away empty handed.” She flipped through the notebook on her lap, chewing her lip. “Okay, not completely. We ran a quick background check on the clubs she mentioned. They are run by a Faye and Malakai Perish. It appears to be the Crimson Talons front. Which means we can put some agents out there to find any other agents connected to Talons. We could get names for everyone involved, and take them all down at once.” For the first time she made eye contact with them, giving Jem a half-hearted smile, “Good job.”

She turned to Amalthea, “What notes do you have?”

Amalthea shrugged, “Only one.” Flipping the notebook around, in big bold letters was a message, Welcome back, slut.

Jem caught their laugh with their hand as Lewellyn tore the notebook from Amalthea and smacked her arms with them playfully. The excuses Amalthea attempted to make were muffled as Jem shut the door and went around to climb into the passenger seat of the van.

Thorne sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes lifting from his copy of, “The Song Of Achilles.” He placed it down gently, using a receipt as a bookmark and started up the engine. He was seemingly uninterested in how the night went down until he pulled out of the parking lot, speaking into the silence, “So, how was your date?”

This exact conversation was brought up continuously through the rest of the night.

Saturday September 15th, 00:14

Faye waited until the taxi had turned out of sight before pulling out her phone. Her shoulders finally relaxed and she slumped into her seat as the dial tone echoed in her ear. It only took one ring for her brother to pick up on the other end, “Faye?” His tone was panicked, anger resonating behind his words. She only rolled her eyes in response.

Malakai had always been protective of her since they realized just how broken of a home they were raised in. Working as assassins had only made his shroud more difficult to shake. Mal was always looking out for the enemies that lie in wait for them to make a simple mistake, and rip out everything the twins built from underneath them.

But Faye wasn’t stupid, nor was she reckless when it came to her work. She hoped he would’ve learned that by now, and yet she was still questioned everytime she walked out the door.

“The one and only.” Was her response as she examined her nails.

“What happened? You ran into Morale?” He asked as he shuffled around some papers on the other side of the line.

They knew very little about Jem in comparison to the real target tonight. The twins discovered that Jem was close with Alveyn Jones, current Remnants member and former agent for The Hangmen. His old gang had been named in connection to the youngest Perish sibling’s disappearance. So the twins needed to get Alveyn tonight, if only for more information.

And yet Jones never showed.

Instead, his best friend and closest confidant stood in his place. Which shocked Faye to the core at the sight of them. But she had to keep up the facade. Nothing had gone to plan which ended with Faye revealing too much about herself during her ruse. But Jem didn’t seem to mind, it actually seemed to draw them in to her more.

Like Icarus to the sun.

“It’s fine, they didn’t notice any red flags. Jones never showed, though.” She explained. “I think maybe they were looking for him too, or possibly were covering for him.”

Mal was silent for a moment in thought. “Are they with you now?”

Faye shook her head despite Malakai not being able to see her, “I tried to bring Jem home so we could discuss some things,” Faye chose her words very carefully so as to not alarm the taxi driver, “but they refused. I did give them my number though so we could try again another day.”

“You think something happened to Jones?” He continued to question her, trying to get the full picture before she arrived so they could focus on planning when she got there in person.

“I’m not sure, I think the best we can do for now is wait for Jem’s call. They have to know more than they’re saying.” As Faye noticed the clubs’ lights coming into view, she reached into her bag and counted out the change needed for her fare. She was incredibly careful not to tip over ten percent.

“What angle are you playing?”

Faye bit her smile, “Charming city girl, who saw a handsome person at a bar and just had to approach them. I wore a pretty dress and ordered pricey drinks. What I really learned about them tonight is that they’re not against an expensive date.”

“Something that’s clearly going to be relevant, I’m sure.” He quipped.

She handed the money to the driver, climbed out of the car, and closed the door gently. The line of people was half a block long, waiting to descend into Ruin. As some people were arguing with the bouncer to be let in, the tall muscular man stepped aside for Faye without a word.

Her heels clicked against the stairs leading into the dimly lit club. The music bounced off the walls, overbearing to the point where you couldn’t hear the person next to you no matter how hard you tried. Although with the amount of people grinding to music, the vibe of the club wasn’t about conversation.

Faye ducked into the back room behind one of the bars, and the music became muffled when the door shut behind her. Jim and Janette were sitting amongst some of the storage, counting cash and filling out forms.

Janette looked up in surprise, a smile beaming across her face, “Umbra was looking for you, you should go see him right away.”

Faye smiled tightly and squinted, she pointed at her phone trying to communicate that she’s been in contact with him, “Thanks Janette.”

On a pivoting floor board, Faye pushed a stack of boxes out of the way, and pushed in. The door ejected from its spot and she entered, using the handle on the inside to pull it shut again. Their communal room was finely decorated, the center of the room having the floor sunken in with seats and a small table in the center. There were stairs on either side to descend into the seating area, and ascend towards the large screen hung on the wall. The furniture -down to the wood of the table- stayed within the colour palette of reds and golds.

The table in the center had a touchscreen that connected to the large one on the wall. Whatever you move, click, or write will appear on the large screen. It made debriefs and planning much simpler in a group.

How the twins got the money to pay for everything, nobody needed to know.

Umbra was leaning forward, elbow on his knee as he leaned forwards to reach the table. He looked up at Faye’s entrance, hanging up the phone and said, “Fucking Janette.”

“Fucking Janette.” Faye murmured in agreement. She tucked her phone into her back pocket before taking a seat next to her brother.

Umbra reached out towards the table and pulled up the most recent photos of their target: Alveyn Jones. They were a series of candid photos expanded as multiple angles were shown. Leaving the library, entering the bar. Leaving the bar with their surprise guest of the evening, Jemon Morale, under his arm.

And the last photo taken on the thirteenth, two days prior. The last known sighting of Caspian Vanderbelt.

He was entering a black car in the dead of night with one bag hanging off his shoulder. The only identifying mark being the rims on the car being engraved to match the look of a pirate ship’s wheel. Everyone had a symbol of their status in their respective agencies. This one was for the Hangmen crew.

Umbra began the debrief, “Jones had spent his final day seemingly running errands. Visiting his bank, his property manager. If anyone looked at it, as Jim had, Alveyn was simply paying rent. Upon further investigation since you were interrupted tonight, Alveyn drained his accounts and ended his lease. No notice.”

“Hence why Jim’s on stock duty, I get it.” Faye replied.

Umbra gave a short chuckle before continuing, “He’s completely off the grid. But I believe he’s still in the city since we haven’t found any plane, train, or bus tickets under any known aliases from the Hangmen.”

“The Last Stand and The Remnants must know that he’s missing. It’s the only reason Jem would’ve been there.” She added. “But how much do they know?”

“What are our options?”

After a brief moment of staring at the screens, Faye began, “They could’ve sent Alveyn in as a double agent but his wire has gone dead.”

Umbra countered, “Maybe Alveyn mentioned something to Morale about the dinner and they went on their own to try and find them. I mean the only person who doesn’t know about Jones’s commitment issues is Jemon.”

She hummed in agreement, “Or it’s a complete coincidence they were there tonight and he and Jem are still writing love letters to each other.”

Umbra was taken aback, letting out a sound of approval. “To keep a cover, not alert any spy agencies to his shifting loyalty.”

The twins shared a look like they cracked something. Or at least came up with the most entertaining narrative like how they gossiped in their youth. It was the most expressive Umbra had ever gotten in their later years. Even in the hardest of times the sun knew how to brighten the moon.

“It does however,” Umbra continued, “mean we’re back to square one. No lead on Tobias, or Jones, or mother.”

Faye let out a deep breath, trying to come up with a game plan. But even after minutes of flipping through notes she could only come up with one solution. “Oddities?”

Umbra groaned, throwing his feet up on the table, “We can’t go back there. I swear, Reward’s out to get me.”

Faye shoved Umbra’s feet off the surface, “It’s our best chance of getting information. Trivia knows everything, you’ll barely have to engage with the guy. It’s not for us, you know that.”

Another sigh left through his lips as a resolute, “For Serena,” followed.

#jem #campaign 1 #au week #friend ocs #au week 2023 #faye #my writing

7 notes · View notes