#the mind will leave you running in circles.

[naburi]

WE CAN DO THREESOME

JIHYO X PORNSTAR X READER

TAGS: THREESOME, INTERACIAL

1.8K WORDS

Being one of the top employees this year, your manager rewarded you with a flight overseas. But there’s a catch, you can only go alone. Not wanting to be by yourself, you bring your girlfriend with you. After a long flight, you’re now about to enter your hotel room. The reason why it’s only a one man trip is laying on the bed waiting for you in her two piece bikini.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jihyo blurted loudly, the woman smiled before sitting up on the bed. “I have been booked to welcome you,” the busty woman said. In shock of the situation, you found your eyes glued to the body of the woman. Her curves are otherworldly. Her boobs and ass are too big for you to comprehend. Your eyes are wandering all over her body, trying to make sense of how sexy she really is.

“You’re in the wrong room, woman,” your girlfriend says while walking closer to the woman. “I’m here to welcome Y/N,” Violet Myers politely says. Jihyo quickly turns her head towards you, wanting an explanation. You're now making eye contact with the woman, her eyes looking so respectful, contrasting her enticing body that is only covered by pieces of fabric. You explained to your girlfriend that you didn’t know anything about this, your manager only said to go alone.

You and your girlfriend exchange glances as it clicks to the both of you. Violet notices that the two of you haven’t brought down your bags, she stands up to the bed assisting the two of you. She offers to order some drinks and snacks but you decline as you are not that hungry. The three of you are now sitting on the edge of the bed. The room is compact with one bed, a shower room and a small dining area. “You can leave now,” your girlfriend said while she’s in between you and the woman. She appreciates her hospitality but she just can’t stand her being in the same room as the two of you.

“I will not get paid, I didn’t do my job” Violet said. “What’s your job then?” Jihyo slightly raised her voice in agitation. “To give pleasure, I can also give any woman pleasure…” Violet said slowly while looking at your girlfriend. She put her hands on Jihyo's lap, caressing it slowly. Your girlfriend swatted her hands away just as she stood up. “Don’t touch me like that!” Jihyo said in shock. Your girlfriend looks at you, waiting for your reaction.

“I-I guess we should let her do her thing” you said.

“What? Are you out of your mind? Are you gonna fuck her infornt of me?” Jihyo said out loud.

“We can do threesome,” Violet quickly interrupted.

You go back and forth with the two women to find a middle ground. After what seems like an eternity of arguments somehow, you convince Jihyo to do threesome with her as you remind her about your relationship’s bucket list. You both didn’t expect to fill that checklist in this situation. Jihyo finally sat back down in between the two of you. Violet looks at you in the eyes, signaling that she will now do her job.

Her hands go back on your girlfriend’s thighs as she runs her fingers on top of her jeans. You hold Jihyo’s face as you pull her in a kiss. The woman’s hands are slowly caressing its way up. From the thighs, it’s now up on Jihyo’s exposed stomach. She felt violet’s fingers gently running on her abs as this made her moan. Violet’s fingers are touching up on Jihyo’s bra, indicating where her hands want to go. She reaches back on the lock of her bra to take it off. She tosses her bra at the other end of the room before she cups her big boobs in her hands. Your girlfriend's boobs are big but you just can’t compare her size to the woman that you just met. Jihyo moans in between your kisses as her boobs are being groped. As a woman herself, violet knows how to touch someone’s boobs. She continues to grope her boobs while her index fingers are circling on both nipples. Violet is teasing Jihyo into wanting more, which Jihyo did. She put her own two hands on the woman to indicate that she needed more. The woman obliged as she knew pinching and playing with her nipples.

This made Jihyo’s head pull back. She knows leaning her weight onto the woman as she looks like a mess. You take this opportunity to pull her pants down, revealing wet marks on her panties. You pressed her slit over her wet panties, acting like you’re trying to insert your fingers inside her. Your girlfriend’s hand now reaches into her panties and pulls it aside to give way to your fingers. Her slit is glistening wet. Your two fingers swiftly enter her as you feel her wet inside. Jihyo arches her back with sudden pleasure. Violet saw her neck wide open, she sucked her neck trying to give her hickeys as she also licked her in place. Jihyo doesn’t know being touched by a woman can be this good. Violet’s hands are groping her boobs while her mouth and tongue are busy in her neck. Her reaction after you insert your fingers encourages you to plunge your fingers more inside her. A splash sound can be heard due to how wet she is. Few moans have passed, and the woman decides to pull up Jihyo’s crop top, removing it before she lays her down. Jihyo is now laying flat on the bed, the woman moves to the side, kneeling as her mouth reaches onto her boob. Your girlfriend moans as she feels the woman’s tongue flicking her nipples. Seeing her other boob is free, you instinctively suck her boob as well. Jihyo’s moans erratically. Two mouths are sucking on boobs, two tongues are circling and flicking her boobs. This sensation is too much for your girlfriend as she has her first orgasm.

You stand up to remove your pants while watching Violet take Jihyo’s mouth, enticing her into a make out which Jihyo quickly accepts. The two women are busy exploring each other’s mouths as you align your cock on jihyo’s wet slit. You hold your hard cock as you push it inside of her. Your girlfriend moans while Violet’s tongue is inside her mouth as she feels your hard cock inside of her. You have her legs open as you are holding her thighs while you thrust your cock inside her. Violet continues to make out with her but knowing that you’re fucking your girlfriend in front of her made her feel hot. She knows cupping her own boobs, her boobs are the biggest pair of tits you have seen in your whole life. You have heard that everything is bigger in America but you didn’t expect it to be this big. Her hands looked too small to even grab her boobs properly as her boobs engulfed her slim fingers. You thrust your cock faster on her as seeing violet’s grope her boobs turns you on even more. Your thrust is now deeper and faster. With each thrust making a wet sound.

Violet can’t take it anymore, she removes her face away from your girlfriend to finally watch you cock plunging in and out on your girlfriend. She removes her top, revealing her big nipples and her bikini bottoms to give you a sight of her own wet slit. The woman grabs her boob on one hand and inserts two fingers on her slit as she continues to watch you Jihyo. The two women laying in the bed are watching you as your girlfriend is also looking at how your cock disappears and reappears in her slit. Your girlfriend arch her back again as she’s near her second orgasm. Hold her now by the waist as you thrust your cock even harder on her slit. Violet fingering herself faster as all of you watched her orgasm again. Violet takes your place as she goes to her wet slit to slurp her wet juices. Violet knows what she’s doing when her ass is up near the edge of the bed. You take this as a cue to stand up and position yourself on her backside. You give her massive ass a slap before your tip touches her slit. Massive maybe an understatement on how big her ass really is. Your hands are roaming on her massive ass, trying to make sense how big it really is. They look firm yet soft, grope her ass on all angles as you’re amazed at the sheer size of it.

You aligned your cock again to finally enter her slit, her walls are warm as both of you moan with your cock now inside her. This was the first time you felt another woman’s inside after starting a relationship with Jihyo. You pull your cock slowly, taking your time to feel your cock, moving against her inside walls. You thrust your cock deep in her again which put her mouth deeper on your girlfriend’s slit, she is now eating your Jihyo out. Jihyo’s eyes are closed as she’s still high off her orgasm. You thrust deep in her again, the sight of her massive ass waves up with every thrust. This made you continue thrust deep in her just to see her ass waves up again. Violet moans loud as she feels you're already going fast. You can’t help to fuck her faster as the way her ass move is hypnotizing. Violet continues to eat her out, your girlfriend's hands are pulling her hair as Violet’s tongue found her clit. You grab her while hips to fuck her even faster. You know that you're going too fast that you might cum too early but you don’t care. This woman’s body is made to be fuck like slut, and fuck her you did. Loud sound of flesh meeting echoes on all corners of the room as your hips collide on her massive ass harder with every thrust.

Your cock is twitching hard inside her, she feels this too as she climbs off the bed to kneel and have her face in front of your cock, waiting for your hot cum to go in her face. She didn’t need to wait long as you shot loads of cum on her face. Jihyo saw the two of you in that position and wants to join in. She kneels beside Violet as she licks the cum on her face before sharing your cum while making out infront of you. This sight made you harder in an instant, which they noticed. The two girls paused for a moment to look at you before they went to share your cock with each other.

[childrenofcain-if]

Clingy D wasn't something I knew I needed. For research purposes, how would that fare though, author

the texas heat clung to D as they sat on the back porch of their grandfather’s old farm. the air smelled of earth and sunburnt grass, a scent that had grown oddly comforting in the months since they’d moved back.

the farm was quiet now, save for the low hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a stray dog wandering by the fence. the peacefulness suited D—most days. but tonight, it was unbearable.

their phone sat on the wooden table in front of them, face down like it was a guilty party. they’d told themself they weren’t going to look at it anymore.

just leave it, rook, calm down.

stop being so needy, rook.

get your shit together, rook.

you’re always the recurring car crash, rook, the common denominator.

but their eyes flickered toward the phone anyway.

the truth sat under their ribs like a splinter: it had been three days since you’d texted anything more than a brief, polite response to a link they’d sent, and weeks since you’d called. three days of D’s mind running circles around itself, spiraling into every worst-case scenario it could conjure. and they were losing their grip. their fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest of the chair, their boot scuffing against the railing.

maybe you’re busy, they told themself for the fiftieth time that evening. new york is a big place. MBA programs are hard. you’ve got new friends now, fancy urbane friends who wear suits and drink wine like it’s water. you don’t have time to call your idiot partner who still wants to live in their old farmhouse down south and smells like hay and diesel these days.

that last thought stung, and D flinched like they’d spoken it aloud.

they picked up their phone and stared at the screen, willing your name to appear. a new message. a missed call. anything. they’d tried calling you twice yesterday but hung up before it even rang.

the phone buzzed suddenly in their hand, cutting through the peacefulness like a blade. D jumped, nearly dropping it in their haste to answer.

“hey,” they said, too quickly, the word coming out rough and broken, betraying how much they’d been waiting for this. they winced at their own pathetic eagerness.

“hi,” you replied. your voice was warm but tinged with something D couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t joy.

there was a pause, one of those long, awkward ones that stretched out like a wound neither of you wanted to clean out.

“why haven’t you replied to my texts?” you asked finally. your tone was light, sure, but the edge was unmistakable.

D blinked, thrown off-guard. “why haven’t you called me?”

the words left their mouth before they could stop them, sharper than intended, spilling out like blood from a clean incision. the silence on your end was deafening.

“excuse me?” you said after a moment, your voice now tight.

D pushed on, reckless now, the spiraling in their chest too loud to ignore.

“it’s been weeks,” they said, their voice rising despite themself. “weeks since you actually picked up the phone to call me. i’m supposed to be okay with a couple of dry texts here and there? a couple of ‘how are yous’ like you’re checking in on a goddamn houseplant? what am i even supposed to do with that? do you even want to talk to me anymore?”

“of course i want to talk to you!” you snapped, louder this time, frustration apparent in your tone. “but you’ve been so distant during our texts. i didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me if you got too busy with the farm renovations.”

“distant?” D barked out a laugh, harsh and humorless. “i’m not the one out there living some shiny new life in new york city with shiny new friends. don’t talk to me about being distant when you’re the one who left!”

“oh wow, so it’s my fault now?”

“isn’t it?”

the words hung between you like a noose, both of you too angry to let go and too hurt to say anything else.

“this isn’t fair,” you said finally, your voice breaking just slightly, and D hated that they heard it, hated that they caused it. “you don’t get to put this all on me. you knew what this was going to be like. you knew it would be hard. you could’ve just come with me until renovations were done for the farm. you’re the one who insisted on supervising everything to stay in that stupid place.”

“don’t fucking call the farm stupid,” D shot back, their voice trembling now, but they couldn’t stop. “besides, i’m here, aren’t i? waiting by the damn phone every night like some... some pathetic—” they couldn’t finish the sentence.

“then maybe stop waiting!” you yelled, having had enough of it. “if this is so hard for you, maybe you should’ve just come here with me!”

the line went dead.

D stared at the phone in their hand, unblinking, as though willing it to come back to life. the silence that followed was heavier than the summer heat, heavier than anything they’d ever known.

they stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the porch, and paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“unbelievable,” they muttered under their breath, the anger bubbling up again. “they hang up on me? after all this? after—”

the thing about D was that they wouldn’t—couldn’t—express their emotions in words a lot of the time. sure, they could write about it, but writing about it was different than actually saying it. so these emotions were usually spelled out in other ways.

a bloody fist. a slow song. a naked dance.

but this time, the anger burned out as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the ache. the ache they always carried, the one they could never name but always felt. they sank back into the chair, burying their face in their hands.

you’re going to lose them, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind, insidious and cruel. you’re going to push them away forever. they’ve grown tired of you because you’re too much. you’re always too much, rook.

the thought made them sicker than a glass of cheap liquor.

D picked up their phone again, their thumb hovering over your name in the call log. they could call you back. they could apologize. they could beg.

they pictured you in new york, surrounded by skyscrapers and lights, people who had never set foot on a farm in their life and who probably never will. they imagined themself there, awkward and out of place, fumbling with subway cards with their doc martens too scuffed, their drawl too thick and alien.

they never belonged in san francisco. they never belonged in new haven. they’d never belong in new york city.

but they’d go. if you asked, they’d go in a heartbeat. they’d go and make themself fit into your world if that’s what you wanted. they’d camouflage themself all over again like they did in california and connecticut. even if they hated it, they’d still try.

or maybe you could come back. just for a little while. they’d show you the stars again, the ones you couldn’t see in the ever-polluted cities. they’d hold you close and tell you they loved you, over and over, until you believed it.

but for now, they’d wait by the phone like dogs waited for their owners on the front porch—all day, and then the next.

[grechsblog]

(There are several fundamental things that you are certain of, about yourself. The truth about them is so integrated in your bones that no matter how much the curse over your memory tries to scrub it, you refuse to forget.)

"You are certain he is not in the meadow?" You hear Odile ask a third time, something sharp but also maybe a little fearful in her tone. You are bad at depicting exact emotions, always have been, so you aren't fully sure, but you, personally, feel very afraid as of right now watching the House in the distance, so you wouldn't blame her for being so high-strung.

Even if you'd prefer that she would stop biting Mirabelle over it.

(One: you were born on the island north of Vaugarde.)

(The language, the rituals, the crafts — you were raised into it, breathed it, lived it until it all was swallowed into an insatiable black hole that spans across the whole Universe, making it remember and forget and remember and forget, cycling.)

Mirabelle is anxiously wringing her hands, hastily put on oil-stained clothes rustling like tree's leaves in the strange wind you are sure isn't natural. "I am sure!! I've- I've checked it over and over, and walked a bit into the woods near it, and run up to Favor Tree and checked there a couple of times, but he's- he's nowhere to be found."

(Two: you are stubborn when it comes to knowledge.)

(You have been researching your home since the very year you forgot it, learning until you forgot, and relearning it all over again until it sticks. Some of it has, and you are immensely glad- but the things that didn't made you very adept at circling out the important parts of what you see, or read, or learn, which in turn was very beneficial in fighting tricky Sadness or gaining more specific clues to where the Orbs were.)

"Dile!!" Bonnie calls out somewhere on your right, painting with exhaustion from running all over Dormont in the ten minutes they were gone. In the periphery of your eye you see Odile snap her attention at them in an instant; their voice gets swallowed halfway through by the buzzing of your skull, but you still get to hear their report: "I checked the flower shop and fields and clocktower again and asked the guys on the rock but no one saw Za after he went away!! And- and-"

(Three:)

"And there are no Orbs!!!"

You hear Odile take a sharp inhale. Mirabelle makes a choked noise from behind her hand, like something is stuck in her throat. Even you feel a pang of what you may as well call horror.

Bonnie's voice wobbles as they explain that, when you were away, someone ransacked your stuff, taking away the Orbs and tonics, leaving things askew. From the way they describe it, though, the precision was too keen for it be someone who doesn't know exactly what they're looking for, or where to find it — only the necessity was taken. Crafted Water, Pepper, Thyme. Notably no Ginger disappeared, like it wasn't even remotely needed.

The wind blows in your face, bringing a sharp sting of a smell you can't quite name. Your gaze is glued to the House.

(You know what you know.)

You all know who took them.

You do not hear what Odile says over the sudden howling in your ears, but Mirabelle's voice rises several octaves at once and barely manages to tear through. "He wouldn't!!" She argues, voice dangerously close to real tears. "He wouldn't, he- he's-"

Odile's tone is sharper than it ever was before. "I do not want to think of him like that either, but then what will we do? He's still unaccounted for, and nowhere to be found. He either deserted, betrayed us, or-"

"Za wouldn't!! Even if we got into a bad fight he wouldn't!!!!!"

"Boniface-"

The smell grows stronger. Stronger, stronger, stronger. It invades your mind, overtakes your thoughts, claws at your brain with nails sharp as knives. You can't focus on the argument that gains both volume and momentum; everything stinks of something, like it's smeared all over your face. The air is stale with it, compressed, hard to inhale or exhale. There's a comparison on your tongue, so close, so close, if only you could-

"Madame, enough!"

You wish you could-

"Stop trying to sugarcoat it, Mirabelle!"

(There are several fundamental things that you are certain of, but most important is the most obvious.)

You nearly gasp aloud. It's almost funny how such a small thing makes everything click into place.

(You were taught Wish Craft since you were a wee-baby, barely able to walk. You were raised into it, breathed it, lived it. It's part of you as much as your absent memories of how you did so.)

Sugar. You've been smelling sugar all day — in the library, in the clocktower, and especially on Isabeau. Tacky like syrup, awful and sweet to the point of being bitter. Molasses in every breath, rotting fruit between your fingers, overpowering every other smell yet unnoticeable unless you really focus. It's been itching at the back of your head, tidbit for you to pay attention, hot brand on your thoughts now.

(You know what you know.)

He's in the House. The House that is strange, warped, and not in the way, you think, it's supposed to be warped.

(You recognise Wish Craft for what it is when it's presented before you, and especially how truly dangerous it is.)

He's in the House, whose roof is askew at an impossible angle, half floating in the air. Whose windows are all different shades of wrong. Walking halls you've never seen before. Fighting Sadness, finding keys, tearing down the foundation of that building brick by brick. Most likely going to go toe-to-toe with King soon.

You ignore the way everyone behind you yelps when your cloak hits the ground. You ignore the indent in the ground, you ignore the choked call of your name, you ignore the wind's howl, you ignore the stink of sugar, you ignore.

The smell of sweets, — worryingly, — becomes even stronger.

(You don't know what he wished for, but this amount of craft is immense.)

Everything.

(Isa is in danger.)

Your fingers snap and you're gone like a released arrow.

this is also cross posted on ao3 :333!!!

What if during Traveler Isa's act 5 Sif leaves the cloak at the clock tower just out of a sheer rush to get to Isa

Bold of you to assume Siffrin would've left every single one of his belongings at the clocktower the moment he realizes where Isa is >:3c But for real. You sparked an UNHOLY amount of inspiration in me this evening. My hand hurts, but it was worth it! I think!!! thank you! and curse you for hitting me with the creativity brick to the back of my head on my weekend break

[h5eavenly]

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....

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[boobav]

I'm not ready for act 3 😚

People go missing sometimes.

It's a part of modern life. Even in a city as enforced as Piltover, a city as patrolled and watched as Piltover- it happens. There are still monsters that roam alleys, or wear uniforms as camouflage. There are still tragedies in everyday life. Despite seeming so very distant when they're plastered on newspapers, or milk cartons, they happen. They're real.

But people like Jayce are not supposed to go missing.

Maybe it's selfish to say that. Maybe it's something that's meant to go unspoken, the fact that some people are considered more important by society. That some people have more privilege, more protection from the uncaring nature of catastrophe.

And yet, despite Jayce's renowned status, the man of progress, despite him holding the gaze of Piltover itself- he's gone missing.

You're not sure how long it's been. How many sullen days have passed, searching, even in the unlikeliest of places, for a sign. A message. A murmur would do. The weeks have simply collapsed into each other, a sinkhole of hours.

You too, following the hours, have collapsed into yourself. The days spent wrapped in cloak roaming Zaun for information have little difference to the days spent curled in bed like a discarded child's toy. Every minute is one, bound together by pure desperation, utter confusion, and endless despair.

Because how could he have just... Vanished?

Just like that, a man of yesterday. It seems that the city is too caught up in political tribulations to care about his disappearance. Some haven't even noticed it. On your endless quest for information, more than once you've received the response, Jayce Talis? I didn't even know he was missing.

But you haven't given up. Not yet. Despite the circles under your eyes, the new strain in your shoulders. Despite the ever-growing pit in your stomach. For what else is there to do but search? Even if you 'gave up', you'd be looking for his shadow in the street, searching for his image in the crowd whilst trying to wipe it from your memory.

You run a hand down your face, curl into the covers that bit more. A knock at the door forces your tired eyes to re-open. Fatigue in your very self argues against moving, and for a a few moments getting out of bed seems the most difficult task in the world. But the knock comes again, harder. With some garbled noise you crawl out the covers as though emerging from a cocoon, movements lethargic like those of a dying animal.

The first lock comes undone with the work of your fingers. Then the next. Your hand hesitates, though, as it grasps the doorknob, your mind considering the swathe of potentials, an unwanted bouquet of sorts. A sales pitch? A concerned visitation? An enforcers questioning eye?

Or- maybe, a new lead. Unlikely, but it's enough to force your hand.

What greets you is none of those things.

You don't recognise him at first- what, with the tattered clothing, the deep-set frown, the beard as messy as his hair.

As soon as he looks up, though, when those terribly familiar eyes reach yours, the confusion evaporates. Boils away to unearth a passion you can hardly hold; it makes your hands shake, your eyes line with tears, your mouth dry in wordless ecstasy. His name leaves your lips as a whisper, and his gaze falters from yours, the soft reality at complete odds with the one he's settled in. The one with sharp edges, with blood and steel as key elements, not butter and affection.

Jayce's face twists, the onset of tears, and all at once he reaches forward to pull you into himself. Hides his sadness in the crook of your neck, his hammer clunking to the ground beside him. You hadn't even noticed he was holding it. His hands run to your waist, pulling at the fabric to ascertain its reality, but he finds it inadequate. He reaches under your shirt, his warm hands against your skin, and he sighs instead of sobbing.

He's not sure if he can anymore. If that part of him survived the Arcane.

But he's here, now. With you. His hands roaming your back, your arms thrown around his neck. Like the pose from a romance novel. The thought drags some whimper of humour from him, and he thinks that's a good sign.

He smells of oil and iron. Earthy. He mumbles about how much he missed you, right into your ear, breath hot. You think you're crying, though you're not entirely certain. The sensations in your body, your mind, overlap into something abstract to the point that crying seems like a spiritual experience. Like the word crying is unable to describe the motion, the true feeling.

You pull him inside, the door slamming shut a reminder of reality, the loud noise binding you to earthly sensation. The questions that fall from your lips are boundless, piles upon piles of vocalised mysteries that Jayce can't seem to answer coherently. You sit him down, push his hair from his face and cup his jaw tenderly. Tenderly as though he could break any second, but from that newfound fire in his eyes, from the dirt staining his skin, you know such a thought is ludicrous. Peeling off his tattered overcoat and the flimsier shirt underneath reveals bruising you could never even picture before now. The curves and hard muscle of Jayce now stained purple, now scarred in places that'd been smooth perfection beforehand.

A part of him, he thinks, should perhaps be insecure of your wandering eyes, your wandering fingertips. He's changed. His body has been torn, battered, bruised. No longer made of marble, but of flesh.

But your eyes are gentle. Concerned, but gentle. When you settle into his lap to hold him close again, to press desperate kisses against his lips, against his neck, he feels he can never leave your side again. Feels an avalanche of guilt for doing so in the first place, despite the decision not exactly being his own.

Whatever comes next, he knows he'll have you. You know you'll have him. And in this moment, your foreheads together, eyes searching each others for the things that can't be felt with words, you both know that it'll be enough.

[dexastres]

anchor, part two

jude bellingham x black reader

summary : jude calls his ex in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep

warnings : angst

wc : 927

part one

english isn't my language, so please bear with me

2:51 A.M.

After that phone call, she couldn’t get to sleep. How could she when the guilt gnawed at her, thinking Jude was crying because of her? How could she close her eyes after reading the messages he sent? How could she? Her mind was in chaos, in contrast to the calm that filled her room.

“Did he truly mean what he said?” She wondered. She sighed, her thoughts weighed down by nostalgia. She turned on the lights and made her way to her closet, looking for a box.

When she broke up with Jude, she gathered all their photos, letters and small gifts that he had given her, placing them in a box because she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. It held fragments of a history that she was trying to leave behind, but she knew they had shared a special bond. She had understood it from their very first encounter.

After rummaging through the shelves, she finally found it. She sat down and opened the box. A lump formed in her throat at the sight of it, bringing back countless cherished memories.

“It hurts me to say this, but I still love you, Jude.” She murmured, wiping away her tears. “So, please, don’t hurt me again.” Her voice faded, drowned in the sudden rainfall.

04:55 A.M. “Are you free today? We need to talk.” She sent him this last message before falling back asleep.

07:45 A.M. Jude lay on his bed, listening to the rain outside. His eyes lingered on the empty side of the bed, and his heart clenched at the painful reminder of what he had lost. The young man sighed, but instantly regretted it because of the terrible headache he had after crying so much the night before.

Wincing, Jude got up and headed to his bathroom, without looking at his phone that kept vibrating on his bedside table. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he gasped; the dark circles under his eyes and his livid complexion made him look like a zombie.

“I’m so glad Ancelotti moved our training to this afternoon.” Jude muttered under his breath, running a shaky hand down his face. Once he was done with his morning routine, he headed to the kitchen, where his mother was preparing breakfast.

“Good morning.” The young man said with a raspy voice. His mother was startled and turned around to face her son, who was entering the room. She was surprised to see him up so early, knowing how much Jude loved to sleep in when his training sessions were scheduled later in the day.

“Good morning.” Denise greeted him with a smile, but it quickly faded when she saw the state her son was in. She walked towards Jude and pulled him into a hug.

“What's wrong, Jude? You can talk to me, you know. I hate to see you like this.” She pleaded, her voice trembling with worry. An overwhelming silence filled the room. Then, suddenly, Jude’s shoulders slumped, and he began to sob. He clung to his mother as tears streamed down his face.

“I miss her, and I’m an idiot for treating her like shit when we were together.” Jude admitted while staring at the floor. He had never been afraid to cry in front of his mother, but this time it was different. The pain he carried was laced with shame.

“I shouldn’t be the one crying when I’m the reason she left. I’m the one to blame for our breakup. She loved me. She always stood by my side. She made me happy, but I never gave her that love in return. I let her go without fighting for us, and now she’s dating someone who treats her better than I did. I regret everything I’ve done. I wish I could go back, fix my mistakes, and tell her how much…"

Jude paused for a moment. "I want to tell her how much I love her."

Denise robbed his back as he continued to speak. She struggled to find the right words, but she understood that her son wasn’t looking for advice, but rather a sympathetic ear. They stayed like that for another five minutes. Jude already felt better. The weight on his shoulders disappeared, although his headache got worse.

“Thanks, Mum. I needed that. I think I’ll go back to sleep. I’ll eat later if that’s okay with you.” Denise nodded in response, then placed a kiss on his forehead before releasing him from her embrace.

“Go rest.” Jude smiled and went back to his room. Lying on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, letting the raindrops soothe him. However, his alarm went off, interrupting his moment of peace.

Frustrated, Jude reached for his phone from the nightstand and it turned off. As he was about to put down his device, a series of messages caught his eye. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open as he read them.

“What? She’s not with him anymore?” His heart pounded, his trembling hands held the phone as he stared at the screen. Jude blinked, both surprised and confused. He didn’t know how to react. A flood of emotions washed over him: hope, guilt and nervousness.

“I have a training session at 2, but I’m free after that. We could meet at our café at 5.” Jude sent the message and closed his phone without waiting for an answer.

“Our café… I haven’t been there since we broke up.” He whispered before falling back asleep.

[levisolace]

[9] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 9: Small Steps

WC: 7,433 Chapter Warnings: none Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. story masterlist | prev chapter > next chapter

“Sir, should I make you morning tea?” 

Connie asked, his voice careful but laced with curiosity. Levi looked up from the stack of reports on his desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. Connie stood at the door, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Levi’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t need Connie to spell it out for him; he’d already noticed you weren’t here the same time as yesterday. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms over his chest.

“No need,” Levi said curtly. 

Connie raised a brow, clearly intrigued but knowing better than to push Levi’s limits. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As Connie disappeared out of his doorway, Levi let out a soft exhale and glanced at the empty cup on his desk. The air felt heavier than usual this morning, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. The truth was, he was actually looking forward to your presence, as begrudging as it made him feel.

For someone so insistent on “making it up to him,” you were a bit inconsistent about showing up with a cup of hot tea in hand, ready to push through the invisible barrier between you two. His gaze lingered on the door, his mind drifting to whether you’d finally decided it wasn’t worth the effort anymore. It’s only been yesterday since your promise, did you already change your mind?

He shook the thought off quickly. It wasn’t his concern if you did. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

It wasn’t until 30 minutes later that the door to Levi’s office creaked open, and he looked up just as you stepped inside. You looked far from your usual self—your shoulders slightly hunched, dark circles under your eyes, and a weariness in your step that you couldn’t quite hide.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, as though even speaking was an effort.

Levi’s sharp eyes narrowed, scanning you for a moment longer than necessary. He noted the pale cast to your complexion and the slight tremor in your hands as you placed the tea on his desk.

“From the café you asked for yesterday,” you added, trying to muster a polite smile.

He leaned forward, his gaze flickering to the cup before returning to you. “You look like hell,” he stated bluntly, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and something softer—concern, perhaps, though he hid it well.

You blinked, startled, before letting out a short, breathy laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Levi leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize running late also meant showing up like you haven’t slept in weeks. What happened after yesterday?”

“It’s nothing,” you replied quickly, brushing off his question. “Just… didn’t get much sleep, that’s all.”

He studied you for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “Tch. Doesn’t matter how good the tea is if you’re falling apart while delivering it.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, standing straighter. “Really.”

Levi raised a brow, clearly skeptical, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached for the tea and took a careful sip. You waited, holding your breath, unsure if he’d approve.

After a moment, he set the cup down and gave you a curt nod. “It’s better.”

A flicker of relief crossed your face, though you quickly tried to hide it. “Good. I’ll remember that for next time.”

Levi glanced at you again, his gaze lingering. “Next time,” he repeated flatly, though the edge in his tone had softened. “If there’s a next time, get some sleep first.”

You handed him a small smile. “I’ll be here tomorrow, too. Same time—earlier time. Same tea.”

Levi’s brow raised at your declaration, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached for the tea again, sipping quietly. 

You lingered near the door for a moment, uncertain whether to leave as you had yesterday. But something about today felt different—or maybe you just weren’t ready to step back into your own world yet.

Instead of leaving, you took a few hesitant steps back into the office, your eyes wandering across the shelves and the framed photos lining the walls. You take your time admiring each picture like it was an art museum. 

Levi watches you from his peripheral, curious to see what you were doing. After a while, he had enough of the silence. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a raised brow.

“Didn’t realize this was a tour.”

You shot him a small grin, your fingers grazing the edge of a sleek model of what you assumed was the Stohess street layout. “It’s impressive. You’ve come a long way.”

He didn’t immediately answer, but you caught the faintest flicker of pride in his expression. “Took years. A lot of trial and error.”

Your curiosity grew as you continued observing. “This model—was it your idea?”

“Partly,” Levi said, his tone even. “Marketing team thought it’d help investors visualize the growth potential. Turns out they were right.”

You nodded, trailing your fingers over the polished surface of his desk. “And these?” You gestured to a collection of framed photos of Stohess street—before and after shots of the transformation.

“Documentation,” he said simply, though his voice softened slightly. “Reminds me how much has changed.”

You turned back to him, meeting his gaze. “You’ve built all this… from scratch. Do you ever stop to think about it? How far you’ve come?”

Levi’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might brush off your question. But then he shrugged, looking almost uncomfortable. “I think about it when there’s time. Doesn’t happen often.”

You leaned against the edge of his desk, tilting your head at him. “You should, you know. Give yourself credit. This is… amazing.”

Levi’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to stick around to tell me that,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.

“I know,” you replied, your smile softening. “But I wanted to.”

For a moment, the office was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Levi looked down at the tea you’d brought, then back up at you. Instead of commenting on your overstayed welcome, he gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

“If you’re going to hang around, at least sit. You’re making the place look uneven.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, settling into the chair. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

You lowered yourself into the chair across from his desk, shifting to get comfortable as Levi watched you with narrowed eyes. His eyes shift to you from his laptop. “Don’t you have work to get to?”

You shook your head, offering a half-smile. “Took a sick leave today.”

Levi’s brow furrowed, his expression sharpening with concern. “You’re not feeling well?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Just tired, that’s all. Figured I could use the day to catch my breath.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze lingered on the faint shadows beneath your eyes. “Tch.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What now?”

“Still overworking,” he said bluntly. “You gotta let go of bad habits.”

Your smile wavered as you looked down at your hands. “I’m not… overworking. I’m just busy.”

Levi scoffed, the sound soft but sharp enough to make you glance up. “Busy? You look like you haven’t slept in days. You don’t need to work yourself into the ground to prove something.”

“I’m not proving anything,” you said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone.

“Then what are you doing?” he countered, his voice calm but firm. “Running yourself ragged for what? You can’t fix everything by burying yourself in work.”

His words hit closer to home than you wanted to admit. You shifted in your seat, feeling suddenly exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. “It’s not like that,” you said quietly, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow.

Levi sighed, his hand brushing against his desk as he leaned forward slightly. “Take care of yourself, or you won’t be able to take care of anything else. It’s not that complicated.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the rare softness in his voice. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, changing the subject, but the sincerity in his expression stopped you. Instead, you gave a small nod, your voice subdued. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better,” Levi muttered, reaching for the tea you’d brought. He took a sip, glancing at you over the rim of the cup. “Otherwise, I’ll be stuck telling you this every time you show up late with some overpriced drink.”

Despite yourself, a quiet laugh escaped your lips. “Noted.”

You leaned back in the chair, letting a moment of silence settle between you both before speaking up again, your voice softer this time. “Would it be alright if I stayed for a while? I promise I’ll be quiet. Just… not feeling up to being alone right now.”

Levi stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His hand hovered over the stack of papers on his desk, as if weighing the inconvenience against the awkwardness of saying no. Finally, he let out a sigh, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

“Fine,” he muttered, though the tone made it clear he wasn’t exactly thrilled. “But don’t expect me to entertain you. I’ve got work to do.”

You nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite how tired you felt. “Thank you. I’ll stay out of your way.”

True to your word, you remained quiet, occasionally glancing around his office with a mix of curiosity and admiration. The clean, minimalistic décor suited him—everything in its place, not a single thing unnecessary. 

As you sat quietly in Levi’s office, the rhythmic scratching of his pen filled the space like a steady metronome, grounding you in the moment. He worked with a precision and intensity that was uniquely him, his focus unwavering as he sifted through documents and signed off on reports. It wasn’t just the tasks themselves that impressed you—it was the way he carried himself, the quiet command he had over every detail, every decision.

Your gaze drifted across the room, taking in the meticulous organization of his desk, the framed certificates on the wall, and the subtle but distinct logo of Stohess Stone Group etched into a plaque near the window. This wasn’t just an office—it was the culmination of years of effort, persistence, and vision.

And it was all his.

Erwin’s words from last night echoed in your mind, a haunting reminder of what you had learned. Levi had poured himself into this, not just for success, but as a way to cope. To prove something. To build something that might have brought you back. The realization hit you again, heavier this time. Everything he’d created, the street that flourished under his guidance, the empire he now managed—it was all born from a belief that he wasn’t enough for you to stay.

Your chest tightened, the weight of guilt pressing down on you. You’d spent the last few days trying to figure out how to make it up to him, but now… you weren’t sure if you even could. How do you apologize for something that shaped the course of someone’s entire life? For a wound that turned into a foundation, for better or worse?

Levi flipped a page, his expression neutral but focused, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Did he still resent you? Did he even want you here, in this space he’d built for himself? Or had you already overstayed whatever tentative truce the two of you had formed?

You looked down at your hands, twisting them in your lap. The guilt simmered, pulling you into a spiral of self-doubt. What could you possibly say to him that wouldn’t sound hollow? You’d already promised to make things right, but standing in the shadow of everything he’d achieved, your promise felt painfully inadequate.

The silence was too much, and before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

“Are you happy, Levi?”

The question came out softer than you intended, but it landed sharply in the quiet room. Levi didn’t even glance up, his pen pausing only briefly before continuing its steady movement across the page.

“Why are you asking me that this early in the morning?” His tone was clipped, dismissive, as if brushing it off might make it disappear entirely.

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I just… I was wondering.”

“Wondering?” he echoed, finally looking up. His brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What kind of question is that? Especially from you.”

The way he said “you” stung, but you pressed on, unwilling to let it stop you. “All this,” you gestured vaguely around the office. “It’s… incredible, really. But I just—do you even like the person you’ve become?”

Levi stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a scoff, he looked away, his focus shifting to the window behind his desk. “Tch. What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” you said quietly, but with enough conviction to make him glance back.

Levi sighed, rubbing a hand across his face before finally answering, his voice low. “It’s not about being happy. It’s about getting things done. Making things work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He shot you a sharp look, but there was less bite to it this time. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I never really thought about it. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

You bit your lip, the guilt twisting tighter in your chest. You didn’t say anything after that.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping back to the desk. “Is any of us truly happy?”

You hum, opting to offer him a slightly amused smirk. “Yeah, guess you’re right about that.”

He didn’t respond, but the quiet that followed felt heavier than before. Levi didn’t look at you again, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his pen stilled in his hand.

He was lying. And you both knew it.

“Can I lie down on your couch?”

The next question is the opposite of your odd questions this morning, still odd but humorous this time. Levi shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

For a while, the only sound was the faint scratching of Levi’s pen and the distant hum of office activity. You found the stillness oddly comforting, a reprieve from your own frantic pace. You even removed your shoes, put in your earpods, and scrolled away on your phone. But as the clock inched closer to noon, your stomach growled softly, and you shifted in your seat.

Levi didn’t look up but spoke anyway. “If you’re hungry, there’s a vending machine down the hall or I could ask Connie to get you something.” 

You hesitated, then cleared your throat. “Actually… I was wondering if you’d have lunch outside with me.”

That made him pause. He set down his pen, finally meeting your gaze with a raised brow. “Lunch?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a casual tone. “It’s the least I can do, since you’re letting me crash your office. Plus, I’m on sick leave, remember? I could use something decent to eat.”

Levi leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a skeptical expression. “You’re not going to ask me to eat at Stohess, are you?”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “No, no. I’ll let you pick the place this time.”

He seemed to consider it, his gaze narrowing slightly as if searching for any hidden motive. Finally, he sighed, shrugging. “Fine. But if you don’t like it, don’t blame me.”

Relieved, you smiled. “Deal. Just… nothing too fancy. I’m trying to keep things simple today.”

Levi muttered something under his breath about being dragged into things, but you could tell he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. Instead, he picked up his phone, scrolling through a list of places he knew.

“Alright,” he said, finally standing. “Let’s get this over with. Get up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, standing as well. “You make it sound like a chore.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” he shot back, but there was a faint softness in his tone that eased your nerves.

Levi didn’t say a word as he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, slinging it over his shoulders in one swift motion. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Come on,” he said flatly, gesturing for you to follow.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Where are we going?”

“Lunch,” he replied curtly, already heading for the door.

Scrambling to keep up, you grabbed your bag and hurried after him. He didn’t wait, his pace brisk and determined as he made his way down the hallway and out of the building. You noticed how the employees subtly stepped aside as he passed, their gazes respectful, even nervous. It was a stark reminder of the person Levi had become—someone powerful, influential, and commanding in ways you hadn’t fully grasped until now.

The cold autumn air nipped at your skin as you followed Levi down the bustling street. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t speak, and you didn’t dare break the silence, too preoccupied with your own thoughts.

After a short walk, Levi stopped in front of a small restaurant tucked between two larger establishments. Its unassuming exterior was decorated with warm string lights and a hand-painted sign that read The Midnight Hearth. He opened the door and stepped aside, waiting for you to enter first.

“After you,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy, with wooden beams, mismatched chairs, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. It wasn’t flashy or overly modern, but it had a charm that immediately put you at ease.

Levi led you to a table near the window and slid into the chair opposite you, picking up the menu without so much as a glance in your direction. You followed suit, unsure of what to say.

The silence stretched as you scanned the options, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him—his earlier admission, the weight of his words, the lines of stress etched into his face.

Finally, the server arrived, and Levi ordered with a familiarity that suggested he’d been here more than once. He looked at you expectantly when it was your turn, and you fumbled through your choice, your nerves suddenly making it difficult to concentrate.

When the server left, you found yourself staring out the window, the tension between you thick and unspoken. Levi broke it first.

“This place isn’t fancy,” he said, his voice low, almost defensive. “But the food’s good.”

You looked at him, surprised he was even addressing the choice. “It’s perfect,” you said honestly.

He grunted in response, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t expect me to bring you here every day.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your mouth tugging upward despite the heaviness in your chest. “Noted.”

The food arrived quickly, and for a while, the two of you ate in silence. But it wasn’t the tense kind of silence from earlier. It felt more… comfortable, like an unspoken truce.

As you picked at your plate, you finally worked up the courage to ask, “Do you come here often?”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his fork pausing midair. “Why? Planning to stalk me now?”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Just curious.”

He shrugged, taking another bite. “Not really. Physically, anyway. Connie gets me takeout when I ask him to.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to the other patrons. “That makes sense. You’re a busy person.”

Levi didn’t respond, but when you glanced at him again, you thought you saw the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Levi set down his fork, leaning back in his chair as he looked at you with an unreadable expression. “So,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something playful, “do you plan to come pester me every day now?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Pester you?” you repeated, feigning offense. “I wasn’t aware I was pestering you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bringing tea, hanging around my office, asking me philosophical questions first thing in the morning—sounds like pestering to me.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “It’s called making it up to you.”

Levi’s smirk grew a fraction wider, though his eyes softened as he looked at you. “Ha,” he breathed out an amused expression, followed by a tone light but probing. “How exactly are you planning to make it up to me, anyway?”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his sharp gaze. “I… I’m still figuring that out,” you admitted, avoiding his eyes as you pushed a piece of food around on your plate. “But I’m serious about it. I want to—no, I need to make things right.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t say anything. When you glanced up, his expression had shifted, the teasing edge replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He rested his elbows on the table, his hands clasped loosely as he studied you.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice softer than you expected, “if you’re serious, don’t overthink it. And stop making that face.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated, and you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. You shake your head, lightly slap your cheeks, and bring out a wide smile. “Fine,” you said.

Levi had to hold back a laugh at your actions. He looked away and gave a small nod, returning to his food without another word. But the weight of what he’d said lingered between you, unspoken but understood. 

And just like that, something heavy, but not quite all, had been lifted off your chest. 

Levi set down his glass of water and glanced at you. “How’s work?” he asked, his tone casual but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

You paused, surprised by the question. “It’s… fine, I guess,” you said, shrugging slightly. “Busy as always. A lot of cases coming in this month.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Cases keeping you up at night?”

You let out a small laugh, though it lacked real humor. “Sometimes. The tougher ones tend to stick with me, you know? But that’s part of the job.”

Levi studied you for a moment before responding. “Doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the subtle concern in his voice. “It’s not like I’m the only one who overworks themselves,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Tch.” Levi’s mouth twitched in a faint smirk. “I’m better with it now.”

“That’s… good to hear,” you said softly, lowering your gaze to your plate.

In an attempt to keep the conversation going, you began to tell him about what you do on a daily basis, your new coworkers, and the boss you’re slowly warming up to—Pixis. 

“Pixis Dot?” 

A brow raises from you. “You know him?”

Levi shrugs. “A little. It’s Erwin who knows him.” 

“Oh, that makes sense,” you think out loud. It’s Erwin, of course he knows everyone in the city. 

“So, your coworkers,” Levi starts, his tone neutral as he finishes chewing. “Have they been treating you well?”

You nod, spearing a piece of your meal with your fork. “Yeah, they are, surprisingly. I thought it’d be more distantly competitive. We’re talking about lawyers here, y’know?”

Levi’s lips twitch, almost forming a smirk. “Cutthroat by nature, huh?”

“Something like that.” You chuckle softly, setting your fork down. “But they’ve been helpful—supportive, even. It’s a little shocking how decent they are.”

Levi lifts his glass of water, his gaze steady. “And that blonde-haired man you were with at the restaurant… your coworker?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Blonde-haired man?”

“The one who was with you that night at the restaurant,” Levi clarifies, his tone clipped but casual enough to mask any deeper intent.

“Oh, Nanami?” you say, realization dawning. “Yeah, he’s a coworker. Why?”

Levi shrugs, taking a sip of water. “Just curious. You seemed… comfortable with him.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Comfortable? Is that a bad thing?”

“Tch,” Levi mutters, setting his glass down. “Didn’t say it was. Just making an observation.”

You can’t help but smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Is this your way of trying to figure out if there’s something going on between us?”

His expression doesn’t waver, though his silence speaks volumes.

“There isn’t,” you continue, unable to resist teasing him a bit. “Nanami’s just a coworker and a good friend—a fellow “workaholic” they said.”

Levi’s gaze remains unreadable, but you think you catch the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good. I’d hate to hear you’ve developed a lousy taste.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “And what exactly does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead picking up his fork and resuming his meal. “Just means I hope your taste in men hasn’t gone downhill.”

The comment hangs in the air, laden with unspoken meaning. You bite your lip, unsure how to respond, so you let it pass, focusing instead on the warmth creeping into your chest.

Somehow, your heart swells that he cares about who you’ve been with or who you might be with. There’s been none that mattered, you want to tell him, not much as he did, anyway. But that’d be too much for now. 

“Someone’s been busy.”

You glance up from setting your bag down, only to find Pieck leaning casually against your office doorframe, her arms crossed and her expression entirely too amused. She raises an eyebrow at you, her grin as sly as ever.

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence as you pull out some files from your bag.

Pieck takes a slow step inside, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of your appearance. “You’ve got this glow about you lately. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been sneaking out during lunch breaks. Someone’s definitely keeping you entertained.”

You sigh, shaking your head but unable to stop the faint heat from rising to your cheeks. “Pieck, I’m not sneaking out. I’ve been… visiting a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” she teases, pulling out the chair across from your desk and plopping down in it like she owns the place. “And does this ‘friend’ have a name? Or do you just refer to him as the reason you’re suddenly so chipper these days?”

You glance at her warily. “I’m not chipper.”

Pieck lets out a dramatic gasp, leaning back in her chair. “You’re not denying it’s a him, though. Oh, this is good.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Pieck, please. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand as her grin only grows wider. “So you are seeing someone.”

“No,” you protest firmly, sitting down and opening your laptop. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Hmm,” she hums, entirely unconvinced. “So, you’ve just been casually visiting this ‘friend’ during your lunch breaks, bringing them coffee, and probably making googly eyes while you’re at it?”

You give her a pointed look. “It’s not like that.”

Pieck smirks, tilting her head. “If you say so. But you should know, friendships like that usually come with a free side of unresolved feelings. Maybe even a sprinkle of heartbreak, if you’re lucky.”

Her words strike a little too close to home, and you fumble for a retort. “It’s complicated,” you finally say, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

But this is Pieck you’re dealing with. “Oh, I bet it is,” she says with a chuckle, standing up and stretching. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry—much. But if this friend of yours is the reason you’re smiling more, I say keep visiting him.”

You watch as she saunters toward the door, her laughter trailing behind her.

“And for the record,” she calls over her shoulder, “you really do have a glow. Whoever this is, they’re doing something right.”

You exhale, resting your forehead in your hand. Pieck might be too perceptive for her own good, but she isn’t entirely wrong. Something had shifted over the past week with Levi—though you’re not sure yet what it all means. You don’t know what it is but it’s helping you and your relationship with Levi. Maybe even more for you. Waking up these days feels a lot lighter than it had been for the past years. 

It’s late at night. You’re comfortably lying on your bed on a Saturday when another message came through from Levi. You’ve been texting quite frequently for the past few days. Earlier today, you told him to enjoy the party. To your surprise, he was actually doing the opposite—opting to text you throughout the night to update you on what was going on. 

It’s a disaster here. Moblit’s already passed out, Miche’s running some drinking game like it’s the Olympics. They roped Erwin in too.

You laughed softly, imagining the chaos at Moblit’s bachelor party that Levi was invited to. Another message buzzed through. 

Everyone’s drunk. Connie keeps trying to out-chug someone. It’s pathetic. 

You smiled, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Your mind raced for something lighthearted to say. Finally, you typed:

Just leave when it dwindles down. No use staying if you’re not enjoying.

The response was almost immediate.

Should I? 

You chuckle. It’s been known that Levi would just leave a party if he wanted to. A simple grace of his presence is enough for him to say that he had been to the party and that was that. And yet an idea came through your mind. You hesitated before sending your next message. It was a bold thought, one you hadn’t planned on voicing until you were typing it out.

If you want, you can just steal a few bottles and come over here.

Your heart leapt the moment you hit send. You stared at the screen, fingers tightening around the phone as you braced yourself for a dismissive reply—or worse, silence. But then, Levi’s reply popped up, short and simple as always.

Alright.

Your eyes widened. He agreed? You reread the message twice, waiting for him to backtrack, to tack on some excuse about being too tired or having responsibilities. But nothing came.

Now, it was your turn to overthink. Was this a mistake? What were you even going to say to him if he showed up? Yet, despite the nerves crawling up your spine, a strange excitement settled in your chest.

You texted back quickly.

Let me know when you’re on your way. I’ll be waiting.

Levi’s reply was almost instant.

Sure.

You set the phone down, pressing your palms to your cheeks in an effort to cool the heat that had crept there. You tell yourself that it’s just a casual visit. But you know the truth—you had crossed a line somewhere, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or the worst idea you’d ever had.

In a fit of panic, you actually squeal like a teenage girl as you run to the bathroom to fix yourself. You’re already done with your skincare for the night, ready to sleep. You were wearing a simple white shirt and pajama shorts. You pondered changing to better ones but that would make it more awkward, won’t it? Would he even notice?

A few minutes later, the knock on your door was firm but familiar. You glanced at your phone—he hadn’t texted that he was on his way, but here he was. With a deep breath, you pulled the door open and froze.

Levi stood there, a pack of beers dangling from one hand, his expression unreadable in the dim hallway light. The sight instantly took you back to college: the two of you sneaking out into the crisp night air, a six-pack in tow, finding hidden corners to share quiet moments over stolen drinks. The weight of nostalgia hit you square in the chest.

“You gonna let me in, or should I just drink these in the hallway?” Levi’s voice was dry, but there was a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Oh, right—sorry,” you stammered, stepping aside to let him in. “I wasn’t expecting… well, this.”

He raised an eyebrow as he walked in, glancing around your apartment. “What? You’re the one that suggested it. 

You shut the door behind him and leaned against it, watching as he casually set the beers on your small kitchen counter. He seemed completely at ease, but for you, it was anything but.

“I did,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

Levi turned to you, his gaze steady. “Yeah. Just like old times, huh?”

You smiled, “yeah.”

There was a pause as the memory hung in the air between you. Those nights had been different—easier. Back then, you hadn’t carried the weight of unresolved feelings, unanswered questions, and years apart.

“Did you drink there?” you asked finally, gesturing to the beers.

Levi shrugged, pulling out two bottles and popping them open with the opener you handed him from your drawer. He handed one to you and kept the other for himself.

“A little bit,” he said simply, before taking a sip.

You stared at the bottle in your hand, the cool glass grounding you in the moment. “I didn’t think you’d actually come”

Levi leaned back against the counter, his expression unreadable again. “It won’t be weird if you don’t make it weird.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “No. I guess not.”

“Good.” He tilted his bottle toward you in a silent toast, and you tapped yours against his.

As you took a sip, you felt a small knot in your chest loosen. Maybe things weren’t exactly normal, but for now, they felt… okay. The rest could wait. Tonight, you’re just two friends sharing beer together.

The two of you sat on the couch, each with a bottle in hand. The dim light from the lamp in the corner gave the room a cozy, almost nostalgic glow. Levi had started recounting the chaos of Moblit’s bachelor party, his tone dry but tinged with subtle amusement.

“You should’ve seen them. Moblit thought it’d be a great idea to challenge Miche to a drinking contest,” he said, shaking his head.

You let out a laugh, already picturing the disaster. “I don’t know about Moblit’s drinking habits but I already have an idea how that went down.”

“Moblit passed out after three shots. Miche kept going just to rub it in.”

You laughed harder, covering your mouth as you tried to catch your breath. “That sounds about right. Poor Moblit, though. It’s his party.” 

“He woke up before I left,” Levi muttered, taking another sip of his beer.

The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself savoring every word. Levi wasn’t one to talk much, so when he did, it felt like you were being let into a part of him he rarely showed.

“So, what about Connie?” you asked, leaning forward. “He’s your secretary, right? I didn’t know he hung with your circle.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Connie? He’s one of Mikasa’s friends.”

“Mikasa?” you repeated, not having heard of that name in a while. She’s Levi’s distant cousin who stayed with him and Kuchel for a short while back when you weren’t even close. She would sometimes visit Levi back in college. 

“Yeah. She introduced me to Connie when I was starting out. Said he was an idiot but dependable. She wasn’t wrong.”

You grinned. “He is dependable, but an idiot? That’s harsh.”

Levi shrugged. “He’d agree. He’s good at his job, though. Took to it faster than I expected.”

“You sound like you’re proud of him,” you teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. “He’s grown up. Better than most of the people I’ve had to deal with in this line of work.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, trading stories and laughter. For the first time in a long time, it felt natural—like the years apart hadn’t created an unbridgeable gap.

As Levi talked about his employees and the antics at the party, you found yourself watching him closely. The way his usually sharp features softened when he allowed himself to relax, the faint smirk that appeared whenever he found something amusing—it all reminded you of why you’d been drawn to him in the first place.

It was rare to see him like this, and you knew it. So, you tucked the memory away, a quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, things between you weren’t as broken as you feared. On the third bottle, a slight buzz is going on in your head, your laughter turns into hazy giggles, your words slurring a little, and the distance between you and Levi is a lot less than when you first started out.

As the night wore on, you began to notice the subtle signs of exhaustion creeping over Levi. The way his words grew slower, his responses shorter. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, softened with the haze of sleep tugging at him. He rested his arm on the back of the couch, his beer bottle empty on the table between you.

“You look tired,” you said gently, looking into his eyes. You’re sitting shoulder to shoulder now so your faces were a bit close to each other. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, a ghost of his usual sarcasm in his tone. “Thanks. Always nice to hear.”

“I mean it,” you said, ignoring his quip. “You’ve had a long night, Levi. You should rest.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, shifting as if to sit up straighter, though the motion only seemed to emphasize how drained he was.

You gave him a pointed look, crossing your arms. “You don’t look fine. Stay here tonight.”

Levi blinked, the suggestion catching him off guard. “Here?”

“Yes, here,” you said firmly. 

He glanced toward the door, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you replied quickly. “Besides, it’s late. No one’s going to hold it against you for getting some rest.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze meeting yours as if searching for any reason to argue. But instead of pushing back, he sighed, the fight leaving him.

“Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you’re convincing.”

You smiled, hiding your relief. “Sure, Levi. Whatever you say.”

As you got up to stretch while yawning, you caught the faintest curve of his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell you that, at least for tonight, Levi didn’t mind staying.

“And you’re taking the bed,” you said firmly, standing with your hands on your hips as Levi gave you a flat look from the couch.

“Why? I’m fine here.” He gestured lazily at the cushions, though his tone was more annoyed than convincing.

“You’re not fine,” you argued, pointing at the couch. “This thing is terrible. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep on it.”

Levi arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if testing your claim. The faint creak of the cushions didn’t help his case. “It’s fine for one night.”

“It’s not,” you countered, crossing your arms. “You’ll wake up feeling like you got hit by a truck. Just take the bed, Levi. I’m not going to fight you on this.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” he said, his tone definitive. “That’s final.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the armrest of the couch. “You’re not kicking me out. I’ll sleep in the guest room, or on this death trap if I have to.”

Levi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to summon patience. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” you shot back. “But I’m not budging on this. You’re tired, Levi. Just sleep in the damn bed.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally letting out a resigned breath. “Fine. But only because I don’t feel like arguing anymore.”

“Good,” you said, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’ll grab you some fresh clothes and blanket.”

As you headed to your closet, you heard him mutter under his breath, something about “bossy” but you chose to let it slide. By the time you returned, Levi was already making his way toward your bedroom, his usual air of composure slightly softened by exhaustion.

“Thanks,” he said quietly as he passed you, his voice low but sincere.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the room.

When the door clicked shut, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It felt good to take care of him for once, even if he’d grumble about it later.

An hour had passed, and you were still wide awake, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. The cushions were too thin, the springs poking through in ways that made it impossible to find a good position. Your back throbbed, and you let out a quiet groan as you rolled over again, glaring at the ceiling in frustration.

You’d insisted Levi take the bed. You were proud of that small victory—until now.

The sound of a door creaking open broke the silence, and your heart leapt into your throat. You glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure, but instead, Levi stepped out.

He was barefoot, wearing your shirt and the pair of sweatpants that you assumed run in his size. His hair was a little messier than usual. He rubbed at his neck, his expression a mix of exhaustion and mild irritation.

“Why the hell are you groaning like an old man?” he asked, his voice low but carrying clearly in the quiet of the apartment.

You sat up, wincing as the movement sent another twinge through your back. “I wasn’t groaning,” you lied, trying to sound casual. “Just… adjusting.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “Adjusting to dying on that piece of crap?”

“It’s fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Go back to bed.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he sighed, his voice softening as he said, “You’re clearly not sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted again, though the wince that followed betrayed you.

Levi watched you for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in your obvious discomfort. Then, without a word, he walked over and stood beside the couch, staring down at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

“Get up,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Get up,” he repeated, gesturing toward the bedroom. “You’re not sleeping here.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Levi, I told you—”

“And I’m telling you to stop being stupid and just lay down beside me,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “There’s plenty of space, and I’d rather not hear you groaning like a dying cat all night.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his bluntness. “I—”

“Don’t argue,” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re already making this awkward. Just take the bed.”

You hesitated, your pride battling against the undeniable relief the offer promised. But the way he was looking at you—exasperated but sincere—finally tipped the scales.

“Fine,” you muttered, throwing off the thin blanket you’d been using.

Levi stepped back, giving you space as you stood up. He didn’t say anything as you followed him to the bedroom, and you weren’t sure if that made the situation better or worse.

When you both lay down, the silence stretched out, awkward but strangely comforting. The bed was warm, the mattress soft, and for the first time that night, your back stopped aching.

“Thanks,” you mumbled after a moment, keeping your eyes on the ceiling.

“Just go to sleep,” Levi replied, turning onto his side.

Despite his words, there was something in his tone—soft, almost gentle—that made you smile faintly as you closed your eyes. For the first time in hours, sleep came easily. Maybe it was the alcohol… or maybe it was the pair of arms that wrapped around your waist that pulled your back flushed to his warm chest later that night.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. reblogs, asks, and comments are also greatly appreciated. thank you.

[tuxedoferret]

Arcane finale was good....but

Spoilers for the finale of Arcane season 2, Arc 3 in general.

I'm probably screaming into the void but I wanted to get these thoughts out and see what other people think.

In general, I liked the endings for most of the characters. Their arcs make sense.

Vi, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Mel, Singed, and Viktor's story conclusions, I think were ended beautifully! (And Jinx too but I'll circle back to her in a second). Their endings made sense and were executed very well! I'm content with how their stories end!

And MOST of the deaths make sense... most of them.

Of course most of the minor characters are dead, no surprise since a majority of them we don't even know the NAMES of unless you scour the credits in the VA section.

Ambessa's death was well done, with Mel finally getting her mothers approval through breaking free of her control and finally being able to decide her own life and Caitlyn becoming a true leader.

The only thing that really bothers me, is the deaths of Heimerdinger and Warwick/Vander. Out of all of the champions in the game they're the only non-humanoid ones that made it into the show. They're also the only (game first) champions to actually die and they barely get to do anything. (I am one of the believers that Jinx is alive because there's no fucking way they would kill off one of their chief money makers, also based on evidence in the show).

With Heimerdinger in season 1 we see him serve as an oppositional force against Jayce, and then a mentor working with him. He gets kicked off of the council as a result of his conservative viewpoint. And he reflects on this, he leaves to go help the Zaunites however he can but gets shunned away. Then the goes and helps Ekko with repairing his board and getting home. In season 2 this continues with Heimerdinger helping Ekko get into Jayce's lab and them having the discussion about wild runes before getting sucked up into the anomaly. His last episode is him in the alternate universe with helping Ekko build the Z-Drive to return to his own universe. He puts it in the amplifier, is about to go with Ekko, then runs out and puts a few more things together and just... dies. Thats it for him. MAYBE he'll come back since he's a Yordle but this is new canon and the man had flesh and blood squished out of him. But in general his death feels cheap and unnecessary. What was the point of his death? How did it impact the narrative and what did the story gain from it as a result? Not fucking much really. He's never mentioned again afterwards. I feel like his death had no impact on the story whatsoever. I honestly think it would've been better if he had survived and returned with Ekko to fight in the battle against Noxus and Viktor. I would've liked to see him, either returning to the council or not, atoning for his mistakes by trying to make things better in Zaun with his inventions.

With Vander/Warwick there was so much hype around the theory that Vander would be returning as Warwick. And we were all super excited when that came true! We love it when the narrative rewards us for paying attention! But we get like... 3 episodes with him before he becomes a Viktor automaton. He was also still very much alive even after Singed drained his blood, so Viktor was wrong about how that would kill him. Warwick's role in the end felt very lackluster, and it felt redundant to just, kill him off AGAIN. Maybe I'm just a little mad because I have read up on Warwick and I feel like he had more potential for the narrative than just... make Vi watch her dad die all over again. The fight scene with Warwick could've been replaced with any big evil bruiser really (coughBlitzcrankcough). In general Warwick felt more like a Vi and Jinx accessory than his own potential character. Which kind of sucks. And maybe I'm a bit salty that we didn't get a full wolf Warwick. I think the whole his mind was reset/erased bit could've still been done if the explosion damaged his head and it healed back wrong/if singed replaced his head with one of the wolves' heads to make him fully Warwick in the end.

Isha's death kind of feels... not impactful at all to the story afterwards aside from Jinx's spiral. I would've liked it if her death did more than just that (Like I said, permanently damaging Warwick/Vander would've been nice)

This is about the league of LEGENDS and you'd think that Warwick and Heimerdinger would have bigger roles than just being killed off to further another characters story after barely impacting the narrative.

Also I feel like Sevika being on the council is like... stupid. I think she wasn't handled well at all after episode 4. She just completely disappears after running away with Isha. Why do we never see her hanging with Jinx and Isha again? I would have LOVED to see how Sevika reacted to Vander not being as dead as previously thought, the man she betrayed and ultimately ended up mirroring in the end with her refusing to give up Jinx to Piltover. I think it would've been fun if Sevika was the one to tell Vi when she woke up that Jinx gave herself up, despite all of Sevika's protests, an inversion of what happened with Vi and Vander. Putting Sevika on the council in the end is just kind of weird for her character. I understand it's like, the idea of Zaun finally getting representation on the council, Sevika getting a say in what happens in the undercity. But I feel like that could've just as easily been accomplished with finally letting Zaun have its own independence with Sevika being the "Baron" of Zaun, being the new leader. Because we've seen she's a genuinely good leader! She has a good head on her shoulders. It would've been fun to see how she'd struggle with being the new leader of Zaun, struggling against the Chem Barons if future series ever decided to look into Zaun again.

In general I'm fine with the ending of Arcane. But I feel like the endings could've been written a different way for those 3 characters. I honestly feel like it would've been better if the show ended off where the game picks up, and I don't even play League, I just like the lore from what little I've been reading.

[munefille]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑-

yandere!false angel x gn.reader

cw: gore, death, attempted sa (not by yandere)

2.2k; not proofread bc I believe in myself. based on this imagine.

what were you expecting, venturing this far into the woods at night? there's something stalking you from behind the trees. a terrible beast watches and you are powerless to its mercy. luckily, your prayers are answered; not by god, but by the angel covered in red.

The wind was the first thing you noticed. It was still, not even a breeze licked at your skin, nor a sudden chill digging into your bones. Cold, yes, the cold remained even without the slashing wind. The sun dipped farther and farther below the skyline as you walked, taking with it the last remnants of warmth. You tugged your shawl tighter around your form.

Regret began to seep into you. What were you doing in these dark woods? There could be packs of wolves, or bears, or mountain lions, or another predator searching for a meal out there, you being a prime target. A shudder raced down your spine. As terrifying as the thought of being ripped apart by wild creatures were, you were almost certain it would be worse to be caught by him.

You glanced behind you, into the maw of dark trees and snow covered ground from which you came. Threats of what he promised to do to you should you be found echoed through your mind, motivating you to ignore the weariness in your muscles and push forward.

You chided yourself at your predicament- the huntsman seemed so kind. He promised you a warm bed and a meal for the night while you waited out the snow, mentioning how he understood the difficulty of traveling during the winter months. He made good conversation, although he spoke little of himself. You doubted he would present to be a threat towards you. How wrong you were.

Oh yes, he provided a meal and a bed for you, but neither were out of the kindness of his heart. No, apparently there was an expectation that you were going to service him in some way- to which you promptly refused. It was then that his true nature began to reveal itself. The huntsman grabbed one of his weapons, threatening to get his rightful payment since nothing comes for free. He wasn't going to let you leave otherwise.

You were lucky to have made it out of the door. You booked it, running in whatever direction you were facing, which happened to be the thick, untamed forest. He was searching for you, that much you knew. You could hear the howls of his hunting dogs somewhere behind you, sniffing you out.

Panic was starting to set in. What were you going to do? It was cold, you were running out of stamina, and you had no clue where you were or how long it would take to reach another village. These woods seemed to stretch for hundreds of acres, completely uninhabited by people. It was easy to get lost here you imagined, the tall trees melded into each other at some point. You could be going in one big circle for all you knew.

Besides the clearly psychotic man on your trail, the woods itself concerned you. There was a distinct feeling that said you aren't supposed to be here. As if the trees were going to wrap around your limbs and pull you apart on their own. You knew that was unlikely, but still- something in the back of your mind remained aware of the fact that you were bordering territory that would not welcome you. Maybe it was because you recalled the horror stories of people who entered and never came out- or they returned with not all of them attached.

Another howl cut through the air, snapping you out of your rumination. It was much closer this time. Frighteningly close. Close enough that you wouldn't be able to outrun it from where you were. There was only one other choice- hide. You scanned your surroundings, searching for something that would cover you. There was a small clearing up ahead and woods on both sides of you. The trees were too thin, but there were a couple of fallen ones and an uprooted trunk that created an opening just large enough for you to crawl into and hide behind. It would have to work.

You tucked yourself in, heart hammering frantically in your chest. He was so close now that you could hear his boots crunching against the freshly fallen snow. The chuffs of his dogs resounded in your ears like deafening booms, each one ready to rat you out.

"We could've done this the easy way, you know." The huntsman spoke into the silence, voice dripping with malice. Your heart dropped. Did he know you were nearby?

Your hands covered your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from breathing too loud. You could see him now, he was a couple feet ahead of you in the clearing. A large hunting knife glistened in the moonlight. Heavy realization set in, he was going to kill you.

And there was nothing you could do to stop him.

If you ran, one of his dogs would surely chase after you. You had no weapons to fight him with nor the strength to go against his much more well prepared form. The cold sapped at your energy, making it a chore just to keep yourself alert. The adrenaline helped, but it wouldn't last forever.

You did the only thing you could do. Pray.

You clasped your hands together as you waited, shutting your eyes and mouthing pleas to whoever would answer. Even if you had never been one to pray before, the imminent threat of your mortality was enough to make you chant feverishly for mercy.

And an answer you got.

The huntsman paused, shushing his mutts while sticking his nose up to the sky. Then it happened.

It was almost too quick for you to catch- one minute he was standing in the clearing, the next he was dangling above the trees. A white flash of feathers came down upon him, plucking his form like a mouse caught by a vicious hawk. With a powerful beat of the creature's wings he disappeared out of sight, far above the canopy of the trees. His dogs cried out for their master, but even they retreated into the safety of the brush for fear of being snatched.

One long, haunting death screech pierced the once still air for just a few seconds before abruptly quieting. There was barely any time to process what you saw or what had happened when splatters of red rained down from the sky, staining the white snow like paint on a canvas. Something round and fleshy dropped and landed on the snowy floor with a cracking sound, almost similar to a coconut.

You strained your eyes to see what it was.

A... head.

Not long after the creature swooped back down with the remaining parts of the huntsman, holding his corpse up to its mouth like a cat with a large rat. You shifted ever so slightly from your hidden position where you could get a proper look at it while it seemed distracted.

The scene was horrible, but you couldn't stop the awe that crossed your mind as you gazed at it. Two large, white wings speckled with blood emerged from the pale being's back. So pale it was that it practically blended into the snow.

The more you looked, the more you thought it seemed to appear more humanoid than creature, so reminiscent of the angelic sculptures you would see watching over graveyards. From the great wings, to the long white hair, it was nearly exact to how you would picture heaven's inhabitants to appear. Except, they couldn't capture how overwhelming the presence of it was. Utterly magnetic in a way you couldn't describe, a kind of beauty not defined by humanity.

you've been rescued by an angel.

It came right when you called, in your greatest time of need, like it had already been watching. Like a guardian angel.

Distracted by your realization, you didn't notice eyes locking onto your hiding form.

-

He missed one.

Warm blood trailed down his lips, dripping onto the white ground below. A human thing was hiding in the foliage, behind the broken trees.

He focused back on the body in his grasp. So loud and annoying, parading about his territory, hunting his prey. The deer were already scarce this winter, but the human had scared off the remaining few. Other prey were not as abundant. Humans he did not often approach, but everything was fair game in his domain.

He took a bite of the neck, the flesh tearing apart like filled dough. The metallic taste caused his wings to rustle in delight. He almost forgot the tenderness of human meat, rich with fat and underdeveloped muscles from a life of comfort. As of late, there had been less and less willing to enter the deep woods where he roamed, most likely due to what ends up being leftover of those who do.

His attention is drawn back to the one who tried to hide. Amusing, it hasn't run yet. Maybe it knows that it has no chance if it runs, even in the crowded trees his form is lithe enough to maneuver around the branches much better than the human can. It must've thought that the only viable option is to wait for him to finish and leave. Such a plan might've worked, if he was a much less vigilant predator.

The body is dropped onto the snow with a thud, entrails spilling out of the half eaten man. He was in a good mood, not only was the problematic creature dead but he had just gotten a meal along with it. Maybe he would decide to do something else with the remaining one.

Slowly, he turns his head in the human's direction.

-

The angel is approaching you.

It's now crouched, no longer standing on two legs; instead slinking towards you like a cat. You would be terrified by the sight of this massive creature covered in blood targeting you had you not already made up your mind that is must be your guardian angel.

When it is close enough to reach out to you, it pauses. It cocks its head, temporarily parting the hair covering its face to reveal pale, blanched purple eyes. Its- his- face was decidedly masculine, you thought. The wings on his back are folded close to his form, reducing any drag they could've caused.

Your heart is pumping, but this time not out of fear- no, you're enthralled by this opportunity.

The angel opened his mouth, uttering words that made you freeze.

"Be not afraid."

You think your pulse stopped for a solid moment. The voice was somehow quiet, yet cold and not quite reassuring. It surprised you that he could even speak in the first place. The smell of metallic blood and pine was noticeable. You reach out shakily, just slightly touching his hair. Your fingers meet the white threads, long and thin, like spider webs. The creature flinched in surprise at your boldness, but didn't move away.

The question tumbled out of your mouth before you could regret saying it. "Are you... are you my guardian angel?"

The angel fixed you with an unreadable expression. You thought he was confused for a second, before he stood up to his full height, no longer face to face with your form curled up in the branches. You couldn't help the raw unease that came to you then, he must've been nearly twice your height, taller than any man you had ever seen.

"Angel?" it repeated, looking down at you. "Your angel?"

Your mouth felt dry. The wind started picking up again, gliding through his feathers and into your bones. There were two options being presented to you; either you were right, and this being was an angel, or you were wrong. You didn't want to imagine what was standing before you if you were wrong, especially not after witnessing what became of the huntsman.

He seemed to consider this, staring down at you with strange intensity. His eyes were once again covered by hair, making his expression even more difficult to decipher.

A tense few moments passed before he spoke again. "Would an angel show you mercy? Lead you out of the woods to run back home?"

You nodded your head, still not daring to move. He bends down to pet your head, lips curling up subtly at your reaction.

True to his word, the angel did lead you out of the forest- although you lagged behind significantly and weren't nearly as swift navigating through it. It was a wonder how something so large moved as fast as he did. You were beyond grateful, thanking whatever higher power had listened to you. It was unlikely you would've made it out yourself, even with the huntsman gone. The woods were not friendly to outsiders.

You didn't say a word as you followed, too busy keeping up to ask any more questions. Tiredness overcame you as well now that your survival mode was beginning to wear off, leaving you sluggish and inattentive.

When you reached the treeline outside of the huntsman's cabin, you looked back up at your savior to thank him, only to be met with nothing but the breeze.

"Thank you." You whispered, regardless of whether or not you would be heard. The thought of your experience being a trauma induced hallucination crossed your mind, one you would consider if it wasn't for the fact that there was a large white feather caught by a tree limb beside you.

It was now almost morning. The sun was preparing to rise over the horizon soon.

You trekked your way back home, unaware of the new pair of eyes following you from the sky.

[spicywriter]

HIDE AND SEEK : JOHN PRICE

cw: stalking. knife play. fingering. shit gets wild.

an: posted for the first time. enjoy, nasty fucks. more writing coming soon;)

I can’t let him get the satisfaction of seeing me tremble within my skin. I can’t let him win every single time he decides to scare me by roaming outside my house, trying to instill a sense of dread inside me. I can’t even talk to anyone without making sure they don’t lose their lives— especially guys.

I know that if a guy even wishes to talk to me, he’s probably going to sew their vocals chords shut. No, he’s definitely going to. No amount of security can confine this man. Nothing. Everything I’ve tried has failed. He always finds some way to maneuver around the system. But that’s okay, because this time I’ll show him that I’m not scared of him. Even if I am, like every night, he’ll stop by— he’ll roam around my house like always, sometimes would send me a text message, and then he’ll leave.

But this time I’ll find the perfect moment, just a small crack in his plan and I’ll flee away from here. He’ll be here soon. Just the thought of him makes my hair stand. I focused on my breathing, listening intently to outside noises. My head whips towards the noise of a branch cracking outside. He’s here.

I grab a knife just in case things don’t go accordingly— and tiptoe towards a window in my living room. I peeked through the tiny opening while looking at his hooded figure, my breath hitches. He halts in his steps, taking out his phone, seeing his fingers rapidly pressing on the screen.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket before slowly taking it out…

Unknown number: I must be looking good today, seeing how hard you’re staring at me.

Furrowing my brows, I look away from the screen and back at him just to see him looking right directly at me. Shit.

He begins walking west from my front door, starting to roam around my house like usual. I wait for a minute, knowing that he’ll be on the opposite side from my front door, and then I rush towards the door. But I immediately freeze hearing keys jingle. Wait a damn minute, why is he here? He’s supposed to be on the other side.

I hear him inserting the key in the lock. My legs develop a mind of their own as I dashed to the nearest wall and hid behind it. The door cracks open, revealing a tall hooded figure as he starts to walk around. Few minutes later, I hear his footsteps going upstairs. Now’s my chance.

I charge for the door when suddenly I stopped dead in my track. “Going somewhere, my love?” I gulped and slowly turned around and there he was, walking downstairs. I feel the liquid adrenaline pumping through my body. I just froze, I couldn’t even move an inch. His deep British accent voice rings inside my skull

“You’re too scared to run, aren’t you?” I whimper involuntarily. He’s right. My knees begin to tremble while he grin widens, knowing he got under my skin. I come back to my senses before holding my knife up— my hands slightly shaking violently.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” I muttered out, my voice slightly cracking.

“Do you like games, love?” He questions challengingly, his words drenched in cockiness. I shake my head slowly. He slightly smirks before continuing.

“How about a game called Hide and Seek? If you can hide for ten minutes without being caught, then I’ll leave, forever.” He raises his eyebrows, studying my face. For someone who has been infatuated with me for almost three months, disappearing altogether in ten minutes doesn’t sound promising. Either way, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes— and if ten minutes is all it takes, then so be it.

“Start counting.” He commands, before he exits out of the front door and circling my house— making sure I don’t try to officially run away in the process. There are absolutely no hiding spots in my fucking house. I managed to find a compact space in my closet, just enough for my body to squeeze in.

A few minutes later, I hear the front door close— and his heavy boots clanking on the floor. I count the minutes in my head. Approximately seven minutes later, I realize that I don’t hear him.

I quietly crawl out, making sure I don’t creak my floor which ends up taking some time to reach. He’s nowhere. I have about fourteen seconds, and it’s over. I swiftly moved— being cautions of my surroundings as I make my way to the front door. Counting down the seconds in my head, I reached for the doorknob, twisting it and flipping the door opened on the last few seconds.

Before I could dashed out, someone grabs me by my waist and pushed me on the hard cold floor— my back colliding harshly with it. “Gotcha. Did you think you can really outsmart me? You have no fucking idea who I am. You can’t get past me even if you wanted to. I hope what I’m going to do next answers your previous questions, yeah?” He hisses before hovering above me— his hands are on my throat, slightly knocking the air out of my lungs.

I struggled, attempting to shove him away but my efforts are futile. Suddenly, he leans down close to me and presses his lips onto mines— this shouldn’t feel good— I shouldn’t like this. The way his lips mould with mine, leaving no space between us. How is tongue explores my mouth greedily, licking into me. How he touches me everywhere. I don’t have a damn choice— I managed to roughly push him off of me, gasping for air. My chest was slightly burning while my heart was racing rapidly.

One of his hands is around my throat while the other grabs the knife is my hand that I had long forgotten about. “What should I do with you, hm?” I struggle against him, but his strong hold is tight. He waves the knife around my cheek, my shaking body risking getting sliced. “or maybe I should cut that pretty tongue of yours.” He slightly scoffs, the tip of the knife slightly pushing onto my bottom lip, making a tiny cut as blood tickles down my chin.

“Open your mouth.” He orders, and I comply, feeling his grip on my throat slowly loosen. I opened my mouth which was slightly twitching and trembling in fear before he slowly inserts the knife, the flat blunt surface of the cold metal on my tongue— being careful not to cut the inside of my mouth. “Or maybe I should…” his sentence trails off as his eyes set on my throbbing cunt. He slowly leads the tip of the knife between my legs, only a centimeter away from my core. “Take it off.” He demands, gently gazing against my clit through my shorts.

“Come on sweetheart, take ‘em off.” His tone sounds so reassuring but his actions are the complete opposite. My fingers move and hook around the hem of my shorts, pulling them off roughly. I can feel the pool of my arousal painting my thighs and soaking my panties.

His orbs instantly latch down there. “Does this excite you? How fucking adorable.” His smokey laugh pinches my ears, and I feel the humiliation swell my skin. The knife slips under the hem and cuts off the string on both sides.

I gasped— completely bottomless, and aching. He turns his knife around so he grips the sharp metal, the tight grip making his palm start to bleed. The handle stops at my opening— then I feel it slowly pushing inside, causing me to moan slightly. “Come on baby, let it out.” He commanding voice booms out while he thrusts deeper— his thumb circling on my clit roughly

The pleasure builds more and more until it explodes inside of me, flooding my system with immense pleasure. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth hangs open as my entire body tenses— it’s almost unbearable. He moves my hair aside, pressing his warm lips on my neck and placing featherlight kisses there.

“Good girl.” He praises, before embracing me in his strong arms. “No matter where you go or what you do, you’ll always be my prey— and I’ll always hunt you down.”

— © SPICYWRITER 2024.

[novankenn]

What If...

Pyrrha was also under the sway of Salem Cinder and Pyrrha love each other (Pompeii) ONLY Pyrrha and Jaune "fell"

Scene : Beach of the EverAfter

==> @watcher-servant - It's only one end to this version... shall we turn the clock back to the beach?

The spartan walked through the Ever after, she would keep her distance, but the voices would temp her try to get her to rage, but she didn't and each time she hesitated it almost feels like a new way is open to her. At the tree she comes face to face with the symbol of her actions, Rusted Jaune, who gives her a choice: Will go into the tree and accept judgement...or will you become lost?

She chooses to accept judgement...but this would be the last time she sees him. Jaune is part of the world now, he's the guardian of the Ever After now and once Pyrrha leaves it's time for him to guide others seeing more colored stars falling.

==> @arkosfan -  it's actually her END?? Or Is just the beggining?? Because you could trap her in a Time loop, where After each choice like THIS, Jaune Will kill her AND she Will revive her worst Nigthmares AND Mistakes until she Choose the rigth path

Choices & Consequences - PT 1

Pyrrha shrieked in agony and terror, sitting up from her bed of palm fronds, clutching at her chest, for a wound that was not there. She looked about herself in confusion. She was back on the beach. Awake and alive in her little shelter. Grabbing some of her collected wood, she banking her small campfire. She was shaking as she stared at the flames.

"What... happened?" she whispered to herself as vivid memories of being run through by Jaune, played in her mind.

"You failed." came the voice of Cinder. Pyrrha looked up startled and saw the wraith like image of her deceased lover hanging just outside the circle of light cast by the fire.

"Failed?"

"You were too weak. To easily subdued." Cinder's voice floated through the air to her ears. "Stronger. Get stronger."

"But what is happening? Can you tell me?" Pyrrha pleaded with the image of her dead lover. "What is going on here?"

"Get stronger." was all that Cinder said before fading away into the night.

"She lies." Pyrrha froze at the sound of that voice. It was one she hadn't heard for many years. "She lies."

Pyrrha turned her head towards the water, the gentle slosh of the surf underscoring the voice, that reached out from the darkness.

"Mom?"

"She lies, Pyrrha." the voice spoke once again. "That is all she is. Lies, upon lies."

"I..."

"Why did I die, Pyrrha?" the ghostly voice floated through the still night air. "Why? Did you strangle the life from me?"

Pyrrha gave no reply. She just fell to her side, curling her knees to her chest, while screwing her eyes shut, and covering her ears with her hands.

"She lies, and only lies."

The morning sun, found Pyrrha, exhausted. Deep bags under her blurry eyes. Cinder's voice had returned later that night mingling with her mother's. The constant whispered words, keep her at the edge of sleep. Climbing out of her little shelter, she gazed out over the expanse of beach.

A glint of something metal, made her blink, and try to focus. Fatigue still warped her vision, but eventually she was able to make it out. It was Milo, thrust blade first into the sand. She blinked some more, and slowly, cautiously approached. As vision grew clearer, and sharper she noticed that in front of her weapon the sand was marked.

"Evil taints you, body, mind and soul. You tread a path through the valley of the shadow of death. Continue to do so. Continue to suffer. Absolution, Forgiveness, are lost lest you seek your truth and the tree. Stray... and I will find you. I will always find you. The Rusted Knight."

Pyrrha had to read the words several times, for them to fully sink in, and when they did, she scuffed her feet through the sand to obscure them. Grabbing Milo she held it ready as she scanned her surroundings.

"I know you're out there! Show yourself... Jaune!" Pyrrha screeched as she turned her full attention to the forest edge. "Stop being a coward! Show yourself!"

"He has no need." came the voice of her mother standing in the gentle surf. "Heed his message. It will save you from her."

"Save me from who, bitch?" Pyrrha snarled, as she whipped about and faced the image of her mother.

"The liar. The deceiver. The one that lead you astray."

"Cinder loves me!" Pyrrha howled, "You tried to separate us! To drive us apart!"

"So I died at your hands, for the sin of trying to protect you?" her mother asked.

"No you tried to control and ruin my life!"

"I was protecting you, from her... but I was too late."

Pyrrha lost in her anger, tossed Milo to the sand, and charged into the surf. She grabbed for the thing that wore her mother's face, only for it to vanish. She fell forward ending up submerged in the rather deep section of water. Flailing about was able to reach the surface to gasp for a breath. Standing before her, was her mother, a sad smile on her face.

"Her stain upon you has seeped in deep." Her mother reached out with a single hand. "Where is your... Cinder... now?"

Pyrrha suddenly found herself submerged in the crystal clear waters, and inhumanly strong hand tangled in her mane of crimson hair.

--

Pyrrha rolled of her bed of leaves, gasping, choking, panting, and retching. The suffocating feeling of water filled her lungs making it hard for her catch her breath.

"Weak." Cinder's hostile voice assaulted her ears. "Pathetic."

"Cinder?"

"She lies. Lies are all she is. All she ever will be."

==> A/N - So I'll need to revisit this "prompt" a few times. I don't know how many I'll do, before she actually reaches the tree. Feel free to offer suggestions of choices/interactions she could pass or fail. <==

[beegomess]

M.R. || Take me back to the night we met

Summary: Years after leaving London, Mattheo returns accompanied by his girlfriend, Catherine, only to be confronted by a past he believed he had overcome. An unexpected reunion at the Nott's house brings up intense memories and unresolved feelings, while he faces the new life of a love that was left behind. Between dialogues full of tension, unexpected revelations and the weight of past choices, Mattheo needs to decide if it is still possible to move forward or if he is condemned to be a prisoner of his own memories. Warnings: None, just some broken hearts. - word count: 4.4k

If you were to define your love life in a few words, maybe you would say that time, kind and ruthless, was both a curator and a sculptor. He resignified the wounds, turning them into scars that today carry stories, and not pain.

You will always love him, always. Mattheo was undoubtedly the love of his life.

But there is something about these loves that no one warns: sometimes, the love of your life doesn't make you the love of his life. Confusing, but real. And now, years after that sudden breakup on a cold night in the communal, this truth echoed in you. It was like a distant note, but still capable of making an impact.

The pain of that moment was inevitable. The end came without warning, between a mixture of tension and an almost unbearable weight, just before the great war. Time, however, fulfilled its promise. He didn't erase the past, but he smoothed its edges. The painful memories gave way to something kinder: the good moments, the laughter, the intensity of a youthful love that seemed infinite, but was as fragile as a glass.

Mattheo, on the other hand, moved on as he could. For him, the process was no less complicated. Your absence was a shadow that he had to learn to get around. Life, as you learned, didn't expect anyone. And the choices they made shaped them, even if they were separated.

And so, another day began. You, in your routine, walked to the cafe near the Ministry, the same one where you always bought your favorite candy before work. The typical London rain created a constant rhythm outside, while the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room.

Mattheo was also in London. He had returned that week to introduce the wizarding side of the city to his girlfriend, Catherine. She was everything you would expect from someone coming from Beauxbatons: graceful, with an almost unreal beauty and that air of natural sophistication. He walked next to her around the small center near the Ministry, describing school stories with a hesitant smile. As much as he was there, a part of Mattheo seemed distant, wandering somewhere that not even he knew for sure.

So, chance - or maybe fate - interfered. When Mattheo entered the cafe with Catherine, his eyes immediately caught something familiar. A silhouette that he would recognize in any crowd, even after years.

You were there, analyzing the sweets in the window, unaware of his presence. The attendant smiled at you as he did every day.

- You'll want the usual, Miss. Nott?

- Well, I think so. I just can't decide... - you answered with a light laugh, the same joy that used to enchant you in the past.

Mattheo was paralyzed. His body didn't move, while his mind seemed to run in circles. Catherine, without realizing his internal conflict, advanced, analyzing the sweets with curiosity. He couldn't say anything, but his eyes never left you.

When you finally turned to leave, it happened. His eyes met his. And the world stopped for a few seconds. The coffee was still full of murmurs and movement, but for both of you, everything disappeared. He looked different, more mature, but there was still something so unmistakably "Mattheo" in him.

His eyes showed surprise, but soon softened into a smile. That smile that made him relax, even without realizing it.

- For Merlin, what are you doing here? - you asked enthusiastically, approaching for a brief hug, but loaded with a nostalgic heat. The touch, no matter how fast it was, reignited memories that Mattheo had been trying to bury for years. - How are you?

- I... I'm fine. - He finally managed to answer, still processing the moment. - I brought the...

- Does Theo know you're here? - you interrupted him, excited, your mind already running to the reunion with the friends from Hogwarts. - We need to get everyone together again!

Before he could answer, Catherine appeared next to him, interrupting the moment. She was so different from you, and yet, so present. With perfect blonde hair and striking green eyes, she looked like she was out of a painting. He held Mattheo's arm naturally, a gesture that did not go unnoticed.

- Oh, sorry! I'm Catherine. - She said, offering her hand to you. The French accent was charming, but somehow you felt the impact of what it represented before you even touched it.

- Nice to meet you, Catherine. I am... - you started, but she interrupted you with a sweet smile.

- I know who you are. - The statement sounded casual, but there was something almost calculated in her tone. - Matt told me about you and the Hogwarts group.

The word "Matt" fell like a stone on his chest. It was small, but heavy, because it sounded so intimate coming from her. However, you kept your composure.

- Oh, of course. - You answered naturally, looking back at Mattheo, as if you wanted to find some explanation in his eyes. - You should go to our house today. Theo would love to see you.

- As long as it's not a nuisance, we don't want to get in the way. - Catherine said, with her impeccable politeness.

- Not at all. - His voice was gentle, but there was a sincere firmness in his words.

Mattheo just nodded, uncomfortable, while Catherine smiled next to him. You noticed the discomfort, but decided to put it aside.

- Well, I need to get back to work. See you at night, right? - you said, looking back into his eyes.

- Of course. - Catherine answered before him.

- Great. Our house is at the same address as always. - You addressed Mattheo, hesitating for a second before adding: - I hope you like it here, Catherine. It's not as sunny as France, but I swear there's something special in the rain.

You waved and left, opening the umbrella from the outside. Mattheo remained motionless, watching you cross the street. He couldn't look away. The rain blurred the glass, but he still saw you with absurd clarity. It was as if, for a moment, nothing had changed.

Outside, you also felt the weight of the meeting. As much as time had transformed the wounds into scars, some still throbbed, remembering that certain loves leave marks that not even time can erase.

______________________________________

Your family's house, the one you and Theodore currently shared, was almost as Mattheo remembered, but now there was a different touch, a warmth that didn't exist before. Still, every corner seemed loaded with memories that came back to his mind like a flood. He always knew that this house was part of you, but now, when he entered again, he felt as if he was stepping on a territory that was both familiar and strange.

The cold marble of the entrance hall still reflected the lights that floated gently in the air, but something was different. The wooden hanger next to the door now supported not only an umbrella, but also a scarf of yours and a bag, objects that made you realize that you had transformed that place in a subtle way, making it more yours. It was an inhabited, lived house, full of history. Nostalgia squeezed Mattheo's chest. He couldn't ignore the echo of the teenage steps he used to take there, running furtively to his room, while waiting for no one to notice his presence.

In the main room, the photos caught his attention immediately. Delicately ornate frames decorated the main bookshelf, showing a timeline of you and Theodore. In one of them, you were sitting next to Theo, Draco and Astoria in front of a perfectly decorated Christmas tree. The image seemed to exude a calm and cozy joy, but for Mattheo, it was also a cruel reminder of what he lost. He should have been in that photo.

There were also portraits of smaller events: birthdays, trips... Mattheo delayed his gaze on each of them, unconsciously looking for traces of himself that were not there. The absence hit him unexpectedly, as if those frames also enclosed a piece of his life that he had left behind.

Catherine seemed fascinated by everything around.

- What a beautiful place. - she commented, genuinely enchanted. - It seems so... full of history.

The dining table was another example of the care you had put into that space. A simple floral arrangement adorned the center, accompanied by scented candles on silver supports. The hand-embroidered towel looked like something inherited from past generations, and the dishes were perfectly arranged, as if they were for a special occasion.

Theo received everyone with his usual charm. He hugged Mattheo warmly, without hesitation, before shaking Catherine's hand.

- I hope you're hungry. - he joked, guiding them to the table. - Dinner prepared by magic hands. Literally.

You tried to disguise the slight tension throughout dinner, but Mattheo didn't. He couldn't look away from you. The way you smiled, the sound of your laugh - everything seemed exactly as he remembered, and at the same time, new. He saw you in a new light, someone who had grown and changed, but was still the same person he loved years ago.

While Catherine got involved in Theo's stories, Mattheo got lost in memories. He could imagine you sitting at the table, still a teenager, laughing at something Theo said. He remembered going up the stairs in silence, feeling his heart race as he entered his room. The smell of your perfume still seemed to be impregnated in some corner of the memory, as well as the sensation of your touch.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room. It was a smaller and more intimate space, with shelves crammed with books, a comfortable sofa and an armchair that Theo occupied while serving whiskey to everyone. He lit a cigarette, and the strong aroma of tobacco mixed with the air already heated by conversations and laughter.

Catherine was completely at ease, laughing while Theo narrated compromising stories about Mattheo.

- For God's sake, how did you get rid of these things? - she asked, between laughs, looking at Mattheo, who looked away, embarrassed, but amused.

- For some reason my father didn't kill him. - Theo replied with a mischievous smile, blowing a cloud of smoke. - Not that there was a lack of reasons.

- But what were you doing so wrong, Matt? I'm curious. - Catherine insisted, excited.

You, who were next to Theo, tried to divert the conversation:

- Theodore is exaggerating. - You start, with a light smile. - Our father was not the kindest person in the world and he never needed reasons not to like someone.

However, his brother excited by the drink, let go without thinking:

- Oh, right. Let's pretend that Dad thought it was normal to find Mattheo's pants in his room.

The silence fell like a rock in the room. Mattheo looked at you, visibly uncomfortable, while Catherine processed the information.

Before the tension in the room could suffocate everyone, hurried steps echoed through the house, cutting the charged air like a cruel warning. A male voice, firm and distant, sounded in the distance:

- Slowly!

A little girl appeared at the door, her messy black hair framing a radiant smile. She ran directly to you with the purity of someone who did not know the weight of a past.

- Hey, how are you? - His voice came out so sweet and natural, as he took it easily and raised it in his arms, as if that gesture was part of his daily life. You laughed, a sound so light that it made Mattheo's chest hurt, as if that laugh was something he could never claim again.

- Hi, Uncle Theo! - The girl waved to Theodore, pulling a warm smile from the man who always seemed to be at ease, even in the most uncomfortable situations.

But Mattheo was frozen. The world around you seemed to be reduced to a blur, while only one question hammered in his mind: did you have a daughter?

His heart, which already seemed overloaded, took an empty leap, as if it was unable to process the possibility that you had built a life so far from what he still secretly imagined.

And before he could organize the fragmented thoughts, the door to the room opened again.

A man came in. Tall, impeccable, with a perfectly aligned suit and a posture that exuded confidence. He looked out of a painting - with striking features, deep eyes and a magnetism that made the environment revolve around him. But it was the way he looked at you, with intimacy and possession, that crushed Mattheo.

- Hi, dear. - The man's voice was soft, but every word sounded like a blow. He approached you with a sharp familiarity, depositing a brief but intimate kiss on your cheek.

You turned to him with a smile - that smile - and, as if the universe had chosen that moment to destroy any remaining hope in Mattheo, you said:

- Tom, these are Mattheo, an old friend from Hogwarts, and Catherine, his girlfriend.

Thomas stretched out his hand with the naturalness of someone who had no idea of the impact of his presence. Mattheo squeezed her, like a mechanical reflex, while his mind was spinning. So, you finished, casual, without noticing that each word was like a dagger:

- This is Thomas, my fiancé.

"Getroved"...

The word ricocheted in his mind like an endless, deafening echo. He felt the ground give way under his feet. Like an automaton, his eyes sought his hand, and the brightness of the ring on his finger seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder that he was too late.

Catherine, noticing the tension, tried to intervene, smiling kindly:

- Is she your daughter?

You laughed, a quiet laugh, and exchanged a look with Thomas before he answered:

- No, she's my niece. But he loves spending time here.

The explanation should have brought relief, but the knot in Mattheo's chest just tightened. It was more than the child. It was the man next to you. That's what he represented: a future that Mattheo didn't have by his side.

The little girl, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, pointed to the glass on the table.

- Aunt, what is this?

You smiled, still so light, and answered without hesitation:

- Apple juice.

- Can I drink?

- This one is hot. Let's go to the kitchen to get a very cold one. - You got up with the girl on your lap, moving away from the room, but not before adding, with a caress that seemed so natural: - After that, you go to bed, agreed?

Your voice disappeared as you moved away, and Mattheo remained motionless.

Everything around seemed to fall apart inside him. It was a suffocating mixture of longing, jealousy and a pain that he didn't know he could feel again. He wanted to move, he wanted to breathe, but the air seemed too heavy. You were everything he had wanted - everything he still wanted.

But now, he felt like a shadow, a spectator of his happiness. And as the sound of his steps moved away, something inside him broke irreparably. Mattheo's heart finally accepted what his mind already knew: he was looking at the life that could have been his, but would never be.

He looked away to the window, to the cold night outside, and for the first time in years, allowed himself to feel the weight of what he had lost - and what he would never have back. Feeling the weight of everything that would never be his, a new wave of pain hit him, more subtle, but still devastating: guilt.

He felt the overwhelming weight of having been so deeply shaken by you, by your new life, while Catherine was there, by your side, full of confidence in what they had together. She didn't deserve that. Catherine was good, kind, full of enthusiasm for life.

And yet, there he was, unable to look away from your memory. Unable to silence the storm inside you.

He hated himself for that. He hated the fact that a part of his heart - a part he thought he had buried a long time ago - still belonged to you, even with Catherine so close. Her smile was real, her intentions were pure, and yet he couldn't match everything she offered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather strength to mask the whirlwind inside him. When he opened them, he forced a smile to Catherine, who looked at him curiously.

- Is everything okay? - she asked softly, the concern tinging her voice.

Mattheo nodded, the lie stuck in his throat.

- Of course, it's okay. - he replied, his voice sounding distant even to himself.

But he knew everything wasn't okay. And the weight of that would consume him long before the end of that night.

Thomas returned to the living room alone, walking with controlled but firm steps, as if he were perfectly at home. He removed the suit with an almost automatic movement before looking around and announcing:

- She went to put Amélie to sleep. - Her voice was low and well modulated, and there was an almost rehearsed tone in softness.

Mattheo hated it. He hated the way Thomas looked so natural there, as if that space was as much his as it was yours or Theodore's. It was a visceral feeling, almost childish, but he couldn't ignore it. Thomas was the stranger, the intruder, and yet he was the one who was by his side now, who was part of his life.

Thomas approached the armchair that was previously occupied by you and sat down casually, crossing his legs while pouring more of the amber drink in the glass you had used before. Catherine, always friendly, leaned slightly forward with a polite smile.

- So, Thomas, do you also work in the Ministry? - she asked curiously.

Thomas looked up at her, the smile he answered seemed polite, but calculated.

- Yes, I work as a strategic advisor in the International Cooperation Division. - He folded the sleeves of the white bed to his forearms while talking. - It's an interesting position, but also very stressful.

Theodore let out a slight laugh, leaning against the arm of the sofa.

- Believe me, this is nothing more than an elegant way of saying that he deals with annoying people all the time.

- Something like that. - Thomas replied, a skewed smile appearing on his lips.

Mattheo, until then silent, finally manifested himself. His voice was low, but loaded with something he himself didn't know how to name:

- And how did you meet her?

The question seemed innocent, but the look he gave Thomas carried an intensity that neither Catherine nor Theodore could ignore. Thomas did not hesitate, but the brightness in his eyes seemed to change slightly, as if he was calculating the impact of each word.

- We met during a conference in Paris, at the International Division. - he began, with a polite tone, but something darker seemed latent. - She was presenting an alliance proposal for the British section. Intelligent, articulated... - He paused, as if savoring the weight of the next words. - I confess that it was fascinating to meet her. She... seemed to have a lot to overcome, even though she was so young.

The silence that followed was dense. Mattheo narrowed his eyes, and Theodore, perceptive as always, turned his gaze from Thomas to Mattheo, capturing the subtle change in his friend's posture.

- She's good at it - Theodore intervened, trying to ease the mood, but sounding uncomfortably aware of the tension. - It always was.

Mattheo didn't answer immediately. He knew that Thomas knew more than he was letting it show. That last sentence, "she seemed to have a lot to overcome", was an indirect, almost a provocation.

Thomas tilted his head slightly, the smile on his face more contained, but still with that touch of provocation that Mattheo began to recognize.

- But what about you, Mattheo? - Thomas asked, his voice low, loaded with intentions that he didn't need to hide. - What have you been doing since you ran away... sorry, did you leave London?

Mattheo looked up slowly, a look that masked the whirlwind inside. There was something lethally controlled in his posture, like a stretched rope about to burst.

- Just living my life. - The answer came coldly, each word deliberately measured. He took a sip of his drink, as if that was enough to swallow the discomfort. - Sometimes, leaving London is the best thing you can do.

Thomas smiled almost imperceptibly, as if he knew exactly what was happening under the surface. The silence hovered for a moment, heavy and sharp, until Catherine, always insightful, intervened with a polite smile, trying to dissipate the suffocating tension.

- So, have you already scheduled the wedding date?

Thomas turned to her, and his smile seemed to gain a warmer air, but still calculated, as if each word had been carefully rehearsed.

- Oh, yes. Actually, it will be next week. Something small, intimate, but, of course, you are invited. We couldn't leave out old friends.

Mattheo squeezed the glass in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he processed that. The idea of you marrying Thomas seemed like a low blow, even though he knew he had no right to feel it anymore.

That's when you returned to the room, the steps echoing softly while your gaze carefully evaluated the scene. There was something in your eyes, a glow of caution that suggested that you knew the atmosphere was loaded.

Mattheo straightened his posture, as if his presence had taken him out of the torpor. He put the empty glass on the table with an abrupt movement and got up, fixing his coat with slightly trembling fingers.

- Dinner was great, but it's already late. - he said, his voice firm, but low. He avoided staring at you directly, giving Catherine a brief look. - We'd better go.

You nodded, offering a little polite smile that seemed loaded with unsaid words.

- It was good to see them. - You said moments before hearing the phone ring in another room and going to answer while they left that room.

Theodore accompanied them to the lobby, where Mattheo, already eager to leave, noticed something that had previously gone unnoticed: a wall covered with magical photos.

His gaze was immediately captured by a particular image. It was you and Thomas on a beach, illuminated by the golden sunset. Thomas lifted you up easily, a sincere smile on his face, while you laughed, his arms around his neck. In the sequence, the photo showed you two running back to the water, the brightness of the foam captured in the constant movement of the image.

Mattheo stopped for a moment, unable to look away. That scene was not just a static memory; it was a glimpse of a life that seemed so distant from him now, a happiness that he knew he could never have given you.

Catherine lightly touched his arm, her soft voice breaking the moment.

- Shall we go?

Mattheo took a second to answer, forcing a brief smile and waving to Theodore.

- It was good to see you, Theo.

He took one last look at the photo before turning and leaving, each step heavier than the previous one. As he and Catherine appeared away, the snap echoed through the night, but the silence that remained behind seemed to speak more than any word he could have said.

Inside the house, Thomas stood in the same place for a moment, watching the door through which Mattheo and Catherine had left. A half smile curved his lips, loaded with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what he had provoked. There was something almost triumphant in the way he released the air, as if silently celebrating a won battle without raising a wand.

You entered the room soon after, your gaze immediately capturing Thomas' face and that smile that, although contained, brought an enigmatic air.

- Have they ever gone? - he asked casually, trying to ignore the persistent feeling that he had left something unresolved.

Thomas nodded, approaching you with calm steps, his hand landing on your waist with the familiarity of someone who knew exactly where it belonged.

- Yes. - He took a brief look at the corridor before turning his attention to you. With a subtle gesture, he began to guide her towards the stairs. - Who was on the phone?

- Your sister. - you answered, letting out a light sigh. - Asking if Amélie had already slept.

Thomas let out a short laugh, full of affection.

- Always so worried... - He dramatized with a playful smile, his hand still on your waist as you began to climb the steps.

The sound of the steps echoed softly through the environment, and the weight of that night seemed to finally give way to fatigue. But as his feet followed the usual path down the stairs, his mind wandered for a moment into the past.

Mattheo's face, the way he looked at you during dinner, the way he seemed to carry so much on his shoulders - as if the weight of the years had transformed him into something you barely recognized - all this throbbed in his mind. It was like opening a chest that you swore never to touch again, only to be enveloped by the dust and memories that had accumulated.

But when you looked at Thomas, who guided you with a gentle smile, reality came back strongly. He was the constancy you never had, the gift you chose to build in the midst of the ruins of a war that had taken you so much. Mattheo, as important as it had been, now it was just a shadow of what it once was. The past, he realized, was a place where you no longer belonged.

Meanwhile, outside, Mattheo walked silently next to Catherine, the darkness of the night swallowing every thought he couldn't control. Thomas' face, the ring shining on your hand, the happiness that seemed to emanate from you - all this corroded him, but nothing affected him as much as the feeling of guilt.

He cast a brief look at Catherine, who walked next to him with a serene expression, apparently oblivious to the storm inside him. The guilt grew, overwhelming. It wasn't just the weight of still feeling so much for you; it was the fact that, by drowning in the past, he had neglected the woman next to him.

Catherine deserved more than the shadow of a man attached to something he could never be again. And while the click of the apparatus took them away, Mattheo knew he needed to choose: continue carrying the ashes of what it once was or finally learn to leave them behind.

masterlist

A/N: I'm finally back!

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[lolotheparagon]

Yes and no. The Layton franchise tends to write women as either sideline support like Flora or the catalyst for a man’s character development I.e. Katia from Pandora’s Box, Claire from Lost Future, Angela from Miracle Mask. And that’s just side characters. But I think this is the one franchise that can both write women really well and not at all. In order to keep this essay short, let’s use two prominent examples: Flora and Emmy. Two main characters from their respective trilogies

The original games had Flora, Layton’s adopted daughter was the only recurring female character in the gang since the end of the first game Curious Village, and yet shes still relegated to the sidelines and is often used as a plot device or a damsel in distress. In Pandora’s Box, she secretly followed the professor and Luke on the train they were taking cos she didn’t want to be alone again and Layton was happy for her to join. But an hour later into the game’s story, she’s kidnapped and replaced with Don Paolo in disguise. That’s it. She’s completely gone from the rest of the game. This was lampshaded in Lost Future where Flora gets rightfully angry at Layton and Luke for not letting her take part in their adventures, yet because of the severity of their mission at the time, Layton decides to break the promise he made to Flora and just up and leaves her at his apartment, leading her to chase after them and join them in “Future” London to force them to bring her along and yet…she ultimately does nothing substantial until she’s kidnapped again.

The writers really have NO IDEA what to do with Flora after the events of Curious Village and instead of dropping her entirely, they always bring her back cos she has the cute uwu anime girl appeal. It not only makes Flora feel like a nothing burger of a character, it makes Layton look like a neglectful guardian.

Which is even more depressing when you remember Flora’s story in the first game, Curious Village, was her losing her mother to illness, m her father building an entire village of robot people to keep her company until she grew old enough to live on her own and when the father died, he put her in a giant tower cos she couldn’t stand the robot replacement of her new mother (yeah sure let your socially malnourished daughter live in a tower away from everyone) And he set up her own adoption to be treated like a grand prize rather than just…letting the village look after her after her dad died? I mean yeah they’re robots programmed to be her friend yet they have their own lives and jobs so it’s not like there’s any ethical complications there.

Now on the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Emmy, an adult character introduced in the prequel trilogy who serves as tritagonist and assistant to the professor. She’s fiery, energetic, resourceful, inquisitive and can kick all kinds of ass. She’s the ultimate girlboss and I freaking love her. And while the end of the trilogy gave us a shitty twist regarding her I won’t spoil here, she still had much more characterisation and personality than Flora.

I also love how despite initially wanting to be Layton’s assistant, she isn’t set up to be a love interest for Layton but to just be a companion, mostly cos Layton proved her innocence after being framed for pickpocketing when she was a teen and treated her with kindness (bare in mind this is in late 50s Britain, a teenage girl being treated with respect and dignity by a grown man back then was fucking unheard of)

So Emmy is patient zero of how to have a cool side character by just writing fun scenes with her. And it’s clear Level 5 had a lot more fun writing her. She also isnt perved on by the camera and isnt drawn with big cute eyes and an uwu sad face unlike a lot of anime women.

The only exception to Level 5’s rather blase treatment of women is with Katrielle, who debuted in a spinoff game where she was not only manager of her own agency, runs circles around politicians and lawmen with her razor sharp instincts, is a fashionista with an arrogant personality yet is kind to everyone she meets. She has no love interest, not an emotional catalyst for another person’s character development. She’s unlike any woman in any previous Layton game, which is why I love her so much.

Also, I want to shout out to Arianna from Spectre’s Call cos Luke is the one serving as the catalyst to her character development cos she’s his best friend and nor the game or main characters force her to come out of her shell cos the traumatic stress she went through having no parents and only having her brother as companion/caregiver and internalised the rumours of her being a witch understandably makes her closed off to the world so Luke tells her “when you feel better, you can open up to people again.”

Like. Level 5 you can be legit GOOD if you put your mind to it and don’t resort to standard anime tropes and shit, so PLEASE! YOU CAN DO BETTER

professor layton series

Professor Layton Series (Video Game Series, 2007)

Explain your reasoning in the tags!

[justajsworkshop]

what would happen if you really took everything you’ve learned about the law and yourself to heart? not to your mind, but to your heart? what would shift if you implemented allowing your heart to lead instead of your head?

[transzilla]

Ik I shit on city people quite a bit but the trans ppl are marginally better adjusted xnsjfjzjz trying to approach other gay people in a homophobic area as like a passoid trade working trans man is like a cruel and unusual punishment

[natterghast]

& HEADCANONS ; voices and accents ☄. *. ⋆

● nahinu ; has the thick accent of someone born in east harlem due to her innate mimicking, but nevertheless speaks in soft, airy tones and with the halting nervousness of her social anxieties. her voice is a high register. ● devisee ; most often lacks an inflection, picks his words with perfect enunciation, and overall carries conversation with the awkward pauses of someone well read, but unused to speaking with others. curses in an aberration's tongue when no one else is around to hear. his voice is a low register. ● xianne ; has an inviting, easy-going cadence to match her smile and overfamiliar, teasing jabs. calls it like she sees it, and keeps conversation rolling like her Rs. her voice is a slightly lower register. ● geid ; has an accent thick as tree sap, and speaks ponderously, with verbiage that one really has to chew on; often difficult to understand. his voice is a low register. ● solar ; has no discernable accent to whomever they're speaking to, because they speak with the aid of their psionics, and occasionally may only converse mentally if their vessel can't form speech. their voice varies with possessions. ● jeanot ; slips into falahni inflections when he's angered as a result of the memories lodged in his brain, but otherwise speaks with some amalgamation of northern american accents at a soft pace, unless info dumping. he has a slightly higher registered voice that sometimes cracks. ● benjamin ; speaks with a thick new acadian (louisianan) accent of honeyed words, and a genial lilt to go with a mouthful of lies behind that great big smile of his. his voice is a slightly lower register. ● zelman ; through practice speaks the languages he's fluent in without a hint of his polish roots — except, perhaps, when he's half awake, and typically comes with the devil-may-care attitude of curt phrasing. his voice is a slightly lower register. ● lazare ; doesn't talk, but has a laugh from the chest that's coarse and higher pitched than his register, like he swallowed gravel and breathed in a helium balloon. his voice is a low register.