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steveseddie · 2 days ago

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you pick me up every time

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When Steve’s phone rings in the middle of the night, he wakes up with a start.

He’s out of the bed and running down the stairs in seconds, his brain going through countless nightmarish scenarios as he wonders who could be calling him so late, and more importantly, why.

Steve reaches the phone on the last ring, panting into the receiver, slightly out of breath. “Hello?”

He expects anyone from Robin to Dustin or one of the kids on the other side. Maybe Nancy or Eddie. He even entertains the thought of his parents being the ones calling, maybe to inform him that they’re staying away for another week–

“Harrington?”

He expects literally anyone except for the person he hears on the other end of the line.

Eyebrows knitted together, Steve stares at the phone like it’s somehow playing a prank on him. “Gareth?”

It is, in fact, Gareth who sighs in relief and says, “Oh, thank fuck you’re awake.”

So he was actually calling Steve, he didn’t accidentally dial his number– but why would Gareth want to reach him in the middle of the night?

It’s true that in the last couple of months, Steve has spent plenty of time with Eddie’s friends– a direct consequence of him and Eddie growing close. He’s been to their shows at The Hideout and hung out with them during band rehearsals or Hellfire meetings. By now, they don’t act surprised when Steve shows up and they’ll even strike up a conversation with him, having finally accepted that Steve actually likes Eddie and isn’t trying to prank him. However, that acceptance hardly translates to being the kind of friends who call each other in the middle of the night or at any hour for that matter, not unless–

Unless something happened to Eddie.

Steve’s stomach churns at the thought. “Why? What happened? Is everything okay? Is Eddie–”

“Dude, calm down,” Gareth interrupts with a snort. “Eddie’s fine. Thought you jocks were supposed to be chill and laid back, man.”

“Fuck off, Emerson,” Steve snarks, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wills his heart to stop hammering, repeating Gareth’s words in his head– Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine.

“Geez, remind me to never interrupt your beauty sleep again,” he says with a laugh, the sound almost muffled by the noise in the background. There’s actually a lot of noise coming from the other end of the line and Steve wonders where Gareth is calling him from.

And why.

“So if this isn’t about Eddie, then why are you calling me?”

“I didn’t say this wasn’t about Eddie,” Gareth retorts, confusing Steve further.

“I thought you said he was fine–”

“And he is, but he’s also a pain in the ass.”

Steve can’t help but snort. “You’re his best friend, you should know that by now. What makes you think I can do something about that?”

It’s Gareth’s turn to snort. “Please, man, you could bat your eyelashes and get Eddie to do whatever. Under normal circumstances, at least.”

Stomach fluttering at Gareth’s words, Steve feels himself blush. “Uh, what do you mean– ‘normal circumstances’?”

“Well, your boy is currently drunk off his ass,” he explains. More color creeps up on his cheeks when Gareth calls Eddie his boy. He’s infinitely grateful that they’re having this conversation on the phone. “And he’s asking for you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm, he says he’s not leaving until Steve– sorry, Stevie comes to pick him up.”

The nickname sounds weird coming from Gareth, who only ever refers to him as Harrington and it makes Steve scrunch up his nose.

The noise in the background suddenly grows louder before it becomes slightly muffled again. Someone probably opened the door of whatever place Gareth is holed up in. “Where are you guys?”

“The Hideout. Had to talk Lenny into letting me use the phone in the back, now I owe him.” In the background, Steve hears a gagging sound, and then Gareth adds, “I’d like to not owe him a new couch if Eddie throws up on this one, so can you come get him?”

Steve checks the clock hanging from the wall. It’s twenty minutes past midnight. “Are you serious, man?”

“Well, I didn’t call you just to chat, Harrington.”

Ignoring the remark, he says, “Can’t you just drag him out of there?”

Eddie’s friends are all nerds not jocks, but Eddie is also built like a twig. If they set their minds to it, they probably can move him to one of their cars.

“And take him where? He might suffocate if we drop him off at the trailer.”

“Then take him back to yours.”

“Yeah, no. My parents are home. Can’t do that, man. ‘Sides, I told you. He refuses to go with us. Hear for yourself.”

He must hold the phone away from his ear because suddenly, Steve can hear Jeff trying to talk someone into getting in the car.

“No!” Another voice says. Eddie’s voice, a stubborn tilt to it that Steve has heard before, as well as a faint slur to his words.

“Eddie, come on,” Jeff insists with a sigh.

“No, Jeffrey, I’m not leaving without Stevie,” Eddie says, his voice becoming softer when he says Steve’s name.

“Eddie, Steve isn’t here,” Dougie says, probably not for the first time. “He didn’t come tonight.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, and even through the phone, Steve can hear his pout.

Eddie knows that Steve wanted to go to their show tonight. He’a not one to miss seeing him on stage. He told him as much before explaining that he had already promised to have dinner with Robin and her parents.

But that doesn’t stop Eddie from sounding miserable about Steve not being there.

“I don’t know, dude,” Jeff says, fumbling for an answer. “But hey, he can come to the next one.”

Eddie sighs loudly. “I miss him.”

“You literally saw him yesterday at rehearsal, man,” Dougie says in a bored tone.

“Well, I want to see him now!” Eddie snaps. “And I’m not leaving until he gets here!”

“He’s not coming–” Jeff starts, but he’s interrupted by Eddie yelling so loud Steve flinches away from the phone.

“I want Steeeeeve!”

He can’t hear what Jeff or Dougie say to him because Gareth presses the phone back against his ear. “See? He’s close to chaining himself to the door, man. Do us all a favor and come get him.”

Steve sighs, brushing his hair back. It does sound like Eddie isn’t changing his mind any time soon, and even if the guys manage to get him in a car, he doesn’t like the idea of a drunk Eddie being alone in his trailer.

He’s also a weak man for Eddie, and hearing how much he misses him makes it impossible for him to say no.

“Okay, fine. Fine. I’m on my way.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Harrington,” Gareth says, then without hanging up the phone, he says, “Hear that, Eddie? Your Stevie is on his way!”

There’s the sound of clumsy footsteps followed by some swearing as the phone is wrestled out of Gareth’s hand, and then Eddie’s voice– “Stevie?”

“Hey, Eds,” he says, his own voice softening.

“Are you really coming or is Gare fucking with me?”

Steve chuckles as he pictures Eddie glaring at Gareth. “He’s not, I’m coming to get you. He says you’re being a pain in his ass.”

“The only ass I want to be a pain in is yours, big boy,” he retorts, pitching his voice lower seductively before letting out a snigger.

Steve thinks he hears Gareth snort in the background, but he can’t be sure because of the blood rushing through his ears at Eddie’s words.

“Um, I’ll– I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says when he fails to come up with a reply. “Drink some water in the meantime, please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Eddie purrs and sends Steve’s stomach flip flopping. There’s a sudden loud noise as Eddie unceremoniously drops the phone, yelling at Jeff to get him some water.

Steve is about to hang up so he can head out when Gareth picks the phone back up. “Guess even in these circumstances you can get him to do anything,” he teases, and Steve doesn’t know him that well, but he thinks he can hear the smirk on his lips.

Steve sputters uselessly. “Just– keep him alive until I get there, Emerson.”

“Sure thing, Your Highness,” he says mockingly, hanging up without another word.

***

Steve goes upstairs to change. He doesn’t plan on staying at The Hideout longer than it’ll take to drag Eddie out of there, but there’s no way he’s showing up in his sleeping clothes.

After trading his shorts for jeans, Steve’s hands hesitate on the hem of his shirt– a Metallica shirt that Eddie let him borrow one night and that Steve never gave back, enjoying how comfortable it was, and how it smelled like Eddie. He doesn’t know if Eddie noticed it went missing and didn’t say anything about it or if he thinks it’s somewhere in his closet or in the numerous piles of clothes scattered around his room.

Steve considers if he should change out of it just to keep the secret a little longer, in case Eddie will ask for it back. He figures that he’s going to be too drunk to remember what Steve is wearing, and it’ll probably make him stand out less amongst the Friday crowd at The Hideout.

So he grabs his jacket and fixes his hair and slips outside, towards his car.

***

The drive to The Hideout goes by quickly and Steve barely runs into any cars. He parks as close to the dingy bar as he can, not knowing how easy it will be to get Eddie on his feet. Inside, he heads towards the back. He’s never been to Lenny’s office but he guesses it must be the one door that he can see through the thinning crowd.

After he knocks, the door swings open almost immediately, revealing Dougie, who has never looked happier to see Steve. “Fucking finally!”

Behind him, Steve can see Eddie sprawled on a ratty old couch, snoring softly. Jeff and Gareth are sitting on the floor, playing cards and occasionally shooting glances at Eddie to make sure he’s still breathing.

They both look up when Dougie speaks, sighing in relief when they see him.

Steve wiggles his fingers. “Hey, guys.”

“Took you long enough,” Gareth says, grabbing the cards and pushing himself to his feet.

“You called me like, twenty minutes ago,” Steve points out in a bitchy tone. He thinks he’s allowed to be bitchy– Gareth woke him up in the middle of the night after all.

“Yeah, well. I’ve been dealing with a drunk, mopey Eddie all night and I’m done. You’re up, Harrington.”

He clasps Steve’s shoulder on his way out, following Dougie. Jeff walks up to Steve, handing him what appears to be Eddie’s leather jacket. “Gare is driving the van to his house, so just let Eddie know he can come pick it up after he recovers from the bitch of a hangover that awaits him.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Steve says, grabbing the jacket, his eyes on Eddie. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Jeff gives a half shrug. “Thanks for taking him off our hands.”

“I thought he didn’t drink after shows–” Steve says, watching the way Eddie’s hair flutters every time he breathes.

He thinks about the first time he saw Eddie perform, and how he declined Steve’s offer to buy him a beer after the show, claiming that the high from the show was all he needed to have a good night.

Jeff opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. “He doesn’t– at least not since you started coming to our shows.”

And with that, he clasps Steve’s shoulder the same way Gareth did and leaves the room before Steve can ask what he means.

Steve decides he will overthink what Jeff said, as well as Gareth saying Eddie was mopey and the fact that the only person Eddie seemed to be asking for was Steve, later. For now, he crouches down next to Eddie and smoothes his hair down. It’s a mess, probably from all the headbanging Eddie did on stage and his fingers get caught a few times.

“Eds, hey.”

Eddie groans and his face scrunches up. For a moment, Steve worries he’s about to throw up, but instead he slowly blinks his eyes open.

When Steve finally comes into focus, Eddie begins to smile. “Stevie?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re here?”

“Told you I’d come get you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Thought I dreamed that.”

“No, man,” Steve says, pinching Eddie’s side gently. “I’m really here.”

The pinch isn’t enough to convince Eddie he’s there because he reaches out and pokes Steve’s cheek. His eyes widen. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.”

“I missed you,” he says and Steve’s stomach flutters. He’s glad that Eddie’s friends aren’t here to see Eddie softly tracing Steve’s face with his fingertips with a lazy smile on his face. It would get them teased for weeks.

“Christ, Eds,” Steve chuckles, heat building up on his cheeks at the touch. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Don’t remember,” Eddie mumbles, his expression pinched. “Wasn’t the same– without you here. Thought drinking would make me feel good. As good as you make me feel–”

So Eddie was drinking because he was missing him, Steve was the reason why Eddie was both drunk and mopey. He bites his lip, wondering if it means what he wants it to mean.

“But I– I don’t feel so good now,” Eddie continues and Steve shelves that for later.

“Okay, let’s get you home,” he says, standing up and offering his hands to Eddie. When he takes them– missing the first couple of times thanks to his hand-eye coordination being even more off than usual– Steve pulls him to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Eddie sways a little and Steve grabs onto his elbows to keep him upright. “You okay to walk?”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle as they focus on Steve. “Gonna carry me to your car if I say no, big boy?” He asks with an eyebrow waggle.

Steve gives a little shrug. “I already did that once, didn’t I?” Back when he carried Eddie out of the Upside Down.

Eddie shakes his head, sways a little more. “Doesn’t count. I barely remember.”

“You’ll barely remember this,” Steve snorts. “Come on.”

He circles Eddie’s waist with his arm and loops Eddie’s around his shoulder. A giggle slips past his lips and Steve is hit by the smell of alcohol.

“Christ, Eddie, you smell like a distillery.”

Another giggle. “And you smell–” Eddie pauses and sniffs Steve. “Huh, you smell like me.”

Steve tenses up as Eddie’s eyes travel down to his chest, recognizing what he’s wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

Steve flushes deeply. “Y–yeah.”

“Hm. I wondered where that went.”

“I can give it back–” Steve starts but Eddie shakes his head firmly.

“It looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” he says with a wink that looks more like he got something caught in his eye.

It still makes Steve’s breath catch. “Alright, boozy,” he says, “let’s go.”

Eddie sniggers. “Boozy.”

***

Slowly and clumsily, they make their way to the car. Eddie almost faceplants a couple of times but Steve manages to keep him upright.

He fits Eddie into the passenger seat of the car, fumbling a little with his seatbelt with Eddie’s soft brown eyes peering up at him so closely.

When it finally clicks into place, Eddie gives him a lazy grin. “Thanks, pretty boy,” he says and Steve has to take a few deep breaths before circling the car and sliding into his seat.

He drives them away from the bar, occasionally sending glances towards Eddie to check if he’s feeling sick but it actually looks like he’s sleeping.

Which is why Steve is surprised when he asks, “We’re not going to the trailer?”

“No, you’re coming home with me,” Steve says, his eyes darting between Eddie and the road.

“Damn, Harrington, at least buy me dinner first!” He jokes with a playful grin.

Steve lets out a snort. “Just trying to make sure you don’t die in your sleep, Munson.”

“Aw, you care about me!” He exclaims giddily.

Smiling affectionately, Steve says, “Dude, I literally love you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Steve wishes desperately that Eddie somehow didn’t hear what he just said.

“You– what?”

No such luck, Steve laments. “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing! You said you love me!” He insists. Steve’s admission seems to have sobered him up– he’s staring at Steve with wide and alert eyes.

Steve grits his teeth together and looks back at the road, gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Stevie, pull over.”

He ignores him and keeps driving.

“Pull over, Steve,” Eddie says, “ or I’m going to be sick all over your fancy car!”

Cursing, Steve pulls over on the side of the road. “Well?” He says when Eddie doesn’t move. He glances at him– he looks fine.

“I lied,” he says with a shrug. “I just wanted you to stop the car.”

Steve drops his head against the steering wheel. “Eddie.”

“Stevie.”

With a sigh, he peers at him. “What?”

“Do you really love me?”

Steve can’t bring himself to lie but he’s still nervous to confirm it. “Yeah.”

Eddie squeaks– then starts fumbling with his seatbelt unsuccessfully.

“What are you doing?”

“I love you too!” Eddie says urgently. “And as soon as I slay this seatbelt beast I will kiss you–”

Steve’s heart flutters at the thought but reaches for Eddie’s hand and stops him. “Woah, Eddie, stop.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me?” Eddie asks with a pout.

“I do, but you’re drunk and you just told me you were gonna throw up!”

There’s also a part of him that worries Eddie might not remember about any of this. And if he doesn’t, Steve doesn’t think he can come back from it after having kissed.

Eddie hmphs, slumping against the seat, looking put out.

“But tomorrow morning we can–” Steve starts.

“Kiss?” Eddie interjects eagerly.

“Talk,” Steve sputters. “But yeah, if you remember this, we can kiss.”

His stomach flutters wildly at the thought and how Eddie glances st his lips in anticipation. “I’ll remember,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “And then, I’ll kiss the hell out of you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve gulps, catching the way his cheeks turn red in the rearview mirror as he steers the Beemer back onto the road, driving them home.

***

The next day, Steve is making breakfast when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns around and immediately gets an armful of Eddie.

“I remember,” he says, looping his arms around Steve’s neck. “And I brushed my teeth,” he adds, shooting Steve a beaming smile. “And I love you, so can I kiss you now?”

Steve laughs, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, and tells him– “Yes.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingosummer #stranger things #stranger things fic #i am posting this while being a little hangover myself lmao enjoy x #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw alcohol #monse writes

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evandorkin · 2 days ago

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On Depression

I get messages from some folks about my work helping them get through some difficult times, and I'm almost always asked not to respond to them publicly. I am a goofus and I haven't figured out how to message folks privately, but I don't like to not reply, even if folks say it's okay to not respond. Briefly, as someone who has been dealing with their own anxiety and depression issues my entire life, I am thankful if my work provides any sort of relief or distraction or solace to anyone wrestling with the same things. I have been in therapy three times in my adult life, my current therapist, who I have been seeing steadily for about six years, has done a lot for me in helping me deal with my emotional situation. I am also on medication. Therapy can be expensive and hard for some people, it can also be frustrating to not connect with a particular therapist. It's not a magic bullet, the same goes for medication, more or less. I've discussed my anxiety and depression sometimes in my comics, most openly in Dork #7, which is partially about a breakdown I had in the late 90s. I still deal with the same issues. Before I got back to therapy years ago I went through a very horrible time and at one point tried to harm myself -- fortunately, I'm inept with knots and all I did was collapse on the floor. I also used a helpline one night where I was spiraling badly and it helped me get through it before I could do anything drastic. I'm currently dealing with a bad bout of depression but I'm able to push through it, knowing it can and will end at some point, and I want to be here to take advantage of that when it happens. I want to stay curious about what happens next, I want to be here for those I feel responsible for, for my friends and family, my readers, my cat, Winky. I want to make more comics, read more comics, see things, maybe go places if life allows. Some days I can barely get out of bed, but that doesn't happen as often as it used to. If I wasn't here I wouldn't know about all of you out there enjoying the Eltingville Club, and get to answer your questions. If you are feeling like you don't want to be here, please consider using one of these helplines, or turning to someone who can help, or seek treatment. Anything other than trying to stick it out alone and risk spiraling. We are not at our healthiest when we are depressed, which I know sounds obvious, but it's why we should never make important decisions about our lives when depression has us in its grip.

Again, I'm not a therapist or mental health professional, just a fellow traveler. Here's two lifeline numbers if anyone needs them. Take care of yourselves out there.

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fiendsgf · 23 hours ago

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Soulbound

V. Siren's Song

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You didn’t mean to be seen. But Rafayel was already waiting. A quiet beach, a slip of truth, a hand that shouldn’t have felt familiar. Back in the N109 zone, Sylus doesn't push–but he waits. You tell yourself nothing changed. But the air feels different. Like something important has already begun to unravel.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish), shady raf, it’s a lot going on tbh

1 2 3 4

Dinner had come and gone, but the heaviness in your chest hadn’t. You’d smile when Luke cracked jokes. Tried to laugh when Kieran handed you a drink with an exaggerated wink. But your mind wasn’t in the safehouse anymore.

When the dishes were cleared and the rooms grew quiet, you slipped out. No one stopped you.

You made your way down the slope barefoot, the wind cool on your skin. The sea stretched wide and quiet, its breath steady against the sand. You walked until the water kissed your toes and the dunes were a blur behind you, then sank into the damp shoreline, pulling your knees to your chest.

The silence felt good.

You stared out at the horizon, letting the tide lap closer. Letting the thoughts come.

Then–

“Cutie, you always sneak off this quietly, or am I just lucky tonight?”

You’re kidding.

You flinched, startled. Turned.

Rafayel stood a few steps away, barefoot, boots dangling from one hand. His coat hung open, and the sea breeze played at his hair. The moonlight caught on the pale skin of his collarbone and the gleam in his watercolor eyes.

He gave you a crooked little smile.

“I’ve been accused of showing up uninvited,” he said. “But I prefer to think of it as good timing.”

Just pretend everything is okay.

He won’t know.

You huffed softly, looking back toward the water. “How did you know I was here?”

“I was wandering,” he said, coming closer. “You happened to be where I ended up.”

Without asking, he lowered himself onto the sand beside you, elbows resting on his knees. Not too close – but closer than anyone else had dared to get lately.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. “You seemed kind of… far away earlier.”

Don’t panic.

You didn’t answer right away. The tide crept closer, dark and slow.

He looked sideways at you, his voice softer this time. “You don’t have to talk about it. Just felt like something was weighing on you.”

Something about the way he said it – not prying, not performative – cracked something open in your chest.

You wish you could tell him.

You sighed, eyes on the ocean. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

A pause. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the instinct to stay silent.

“I just feel… out of place,” you said finally. “Like an imposter, I guess.”

Very subtle.

What are you doing?

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded slowly, like he was waiting for more.

“It’s like…” You exhaled. “I don’t know… sometimes it feels like,” You paused. “I’m not where I’m meant to be.”

He let the quiet sit for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he said. “I know that one.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He shrugged, almost to himself. “Sure. Doesn’t matter where you go or how long you’re there. Sometimes it feels like there’s another place, calling your name. But you can’t hear it clearly anymore.”

You didn’t respond right away. His voice had changed, still calm, but no longer playful. Like something had shifted just under the surface.

Of course he understands. He’s not supposed to be here either. Not on land.

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to take someone’s place. I didn’t even ask to be—” You stopped. Realized too late how close you’d come to saying the wrong thing.

He looked at you, still and steady. “Someone’s place?”

You didn’t move.

“I meant…” you scrambled, “...sometimes it feels like someone deserves my place more than I do. Imposter syndrome, I guess.”

He didn’t press. Just studied you for another moment, then looked back out toward the sea.

“You know,” he said after a while, “some people spend their whole lives trying to make sense of where they landed. Trying to make it feel right.” He shifted, leaned back on his hands, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. “Maybe you don’t need to understand everything yet. Maybe it’s enough to just be. It’ll make sense eventually.”

You glanced at him – the cut of his jaw, the light in his eyes, the ease with which he sat in his own body.

You two are talking about entirely different things. He doesn’t even know who he’s really talking to.

But you feel seen.

“You make that sound easy,” you said quietly.

He smiled faintly, still not looking at you. “It’s not.”

The waves pulled closer again. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You weren’t sure what was happening, only that it felt strange and quiet and important. And that there was something about Rafayel that made your skin feel warm in places you hadn’t felt human in for days.

He didn’t ask anything else. Just sat beside you like he’d been there before. Like he’d known this exact kind of silence.

And for now, that was enough.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. The moon rose higher, dragging the tide with it. At some point, your hand had dipped to your side, fingers trailing faint lines in the sand. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten.

Then, Warmth.

Rafayel’s hand brushed lightly against yours, just enough to nudge away a bit of wind-scattered grit from your knuckles. His touch was casual, unhurried. But precise. Like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you wouldn’t flinch.

“Sand’s got a mind of its own,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You glanced at him.

He didn’t meet your gaze. Just let his fingers linger a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

Your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t the touch. It was the way he made you feel like he already knew what you were feeling, before you’d even figured it out yourself.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate it.

You stood a few minutes later, brushing the back of your legs off. Rafayel rose with you without a word. The air between you felt... heavier. Not in a bad way. Just full – like something unspoken had passed between you and was now hanging in the salt-heavy air.

“Don’t disappear cutie,” he said, voice quieter now, but still with that amused edge. “Or at least leave a trail.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out soft.

“Alright.”

He gave you a lazy two-finger wave, then turned back toward the dunes, disappearing into the shadows like he’d always belonged to them.

You didn’t follow right away.

You stood there in the dark, waves lapping at your ankles, your heart still tangled in the warmth of a hand that shouldn’t have felt like home.

The walk back from the beach felt heavier than before, even though the night air was cool and the stars were scattered like secrets overhead. The sand under your shoes shifted with each step, but your mind was miles away, twisting and turning on itself, unable to settle.

You shouldn’t have let yourself stay out that late. You shouldn’t have let Rafayel get that close. You shouldn’t have let yourself pretend, even for a moment, that you were someone else.

The truth gnawed at you–sharp and relentless–that she was out there somewhere, and you were an impostor tangled in her life, her people, her world. The thought made your throat tighten and your chest ache. You wanted to run back, to undo what had already happened, but there was no rewind.

Back at the house, the quiet felt different now. Thicker. You slipped inside, careful not to wake anyone. The creak of the floorboards underfoot was the only sound accompanying your restless steps up to your room.

You collapsed onto the bed, the weight of your own thoughts pinning you down harder than the mattress ever could. You clenched your fists at your sides, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Why did I let it happen?Why do I feel like I’m betraying her – or worse, myself?

What else could I have even done?

A part of you longed for something steadier, something honest. Sylus.

You wanted to see him, to tell him everything. The fears, the guilt, the confusion tangled in your chest. Maybe with Sylus, it would be easier to breathe.

But for now, you lay there, caught between the truth you carried and the secret you couldn’t share.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator hisses open, and the cool, familiar air of the base spills out into the corridor. You’re carrying your shoes in one hand, the faint scent of salt water still clinging to your clothes. The silence is comfortable–but only just.

Luke is the first to break it.

“If I find a single grain of sand in my bed, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

You glance back at him, lifting a brow. “We all shared the same beach.”

“I didn’t roll in it like a happy seal.”

Kieran grunts behind him, shifting his duffel over his shoulder. “We get it. You’re delicate.”

Their voices fade into the upper level as they split off toward their rooms, and you linger in the hall for a breath longer than you need to.

You’re not ready to be alone with your thoughts.

Not yet.

Your gaze flicks toward Sylus’s quarters.

You pad toward his door and hesitate.

Then you knock softly.

A beat.

“Who is it?” His voice is low, muffled through the panel.

You crack the door open and step into the dim light.

“Can I talk to you?”

Sylus turns slightly from where he’s standing at the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His eyes narrow, just barely. “What’s wrong?”

You shift your weight, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about Whitesand.”

He motions for you to come in. You cross the room and sit on the couch, fingers lacing tightly in your lap.

“I ran into someone,” you begin, heart already beating too fast. “Rafayel.”

Sylus’s brow lifts, but he doesn’t speak. Just waits.

“I wasn’t looking for him. I was panicking when I found out where we were going, told myself I wouldn’t see him.” You take a shaky breath. “He bumped into me in some shop.”

You glance up at Sylus, then quickly away.

“He called me ‘Miss Bodyguard’ and I realized he thought I was her. I just played along and tried to stay calm.” You swallow. “But then he grabbed my phone. Sent himself a message before I could even say anything.”

Sylus’s jaw tightens just slightly.

“Then he just left.” You exhale hard, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Later that night, I was sitting on the beach. Alone. And he found me again. Like he knew I’d be there.”

Sylus finally speaks. “What did he say?”

You hesitate. “He said I looked like I was far away. That I seemed off.”

“And?”

“I don’t know why I did it, but… I told him he was right.” You laugh once, bitter and breathless. “Not the whole truth, obviously. Just enough that he thought I was her, having a rough week.”

Sylus is quiet, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say quickly. “I was just…so tired. I feel so guilty. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“Did you tell him anything else?”

You shake your head. “No. But he got my number. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes something is wrong. What if he already knows I’m not her? What if I made things worse?”

He moves closer, sits next to you. “Take a breath.”

You do. Barely.

“I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was for him to look at me and assume I was her,” you whisper. “And I just… let him. I played along. It wasn’t even deliberate, but it happened. And now I feel like I betrayed her.”

Sylus’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t betray anyone.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re not impersonating her.” He pauses. “At least, not with bad intentions. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

You bite your lip, trying not to let it wobble.

“I should’ve said something. I should’ve shut it down.”

“But you didn’t. And you can’t undo that. So let’s just figure out what’s next.”

His voice is calm, even. But you can sense something under the surface. Tension, a flicker of emotion he’s swallowing down.

You search his face. “You seem… tense. More than usual.”

He leans back slightly, folding his arms.

“I went on a mission with her.”

You go still.

“It was fine,” he adds quickly. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. But something felt off. She was quiet. Followed every order to the letter.”

Your brows furrow. “What felt off?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes unfocused. “Our resonance. It was weak.”

There’s a weight behind his words that makes your chest ache.

“Maybe she’s dealing with something,” you offer. “It might not mean anything.”

He nods, but there’s doubt in his eyes.

You move before thinking, heart fluttering as you reach out and place a hand over his.

“You’re right.”

His fingers curl gently around yours.

“It just…reminded me of where we started.” He sighs. “How she saw me.”

You frown. “You’re a good man Sylus. She knows that. She’ll see it.”

He huffs, a small sound of amusement and disbelief.

He squeezes your hand slightly. “...Thank you.”

The corners of your mouth tug a bit.

“Course,”

And for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just the quiet hum of the base and the heat of his palm against yours.

A part of you wishes that he was reaching for you the same way he reaches for her.

But you don’t have the right.

The comfort lingers longer than you expect.

And when he lets go, it’s with the softest kind of reluctance.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Your hand still buzzes with the lingering touch as you lay in bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

You want to run.

From Sylus. From this world. From the way everything keeps getting more complicated.

But where would you even go?

You really thought you could handle it. That staying close to Sylus wouldn’t affect you. That you could exist near him without feeling anything.

And for a while, you believed it.

When fear and confusion still ruled your every thought – waking up in a foreign world, overstepping and ruining the story, accidentally wearing her face and name.

But time passed. You settled in. Fell deeper into Sylus’s world. Saw the man beyond the screen.

And what kind of fool would believe they’d never feel something?

He’s gentle. Kind. Far more human than anyone gives him credit for.

You tried to get away. Thought the ocean would clear your head, center you again.

Instead, it handed you a new problem.

Him.

You looked at Rafayel. Talked to him. Let him believe you were her.

Everything you promised yourself you’d never do.

And now? Now you can’t stop wondering what’ll happen if–when–he finds out. Will he hate you? Call you unwell? Think you’re some delusional girl chasing a fantasy?

Will he think you wanted this?

You think about your world again. How quiet it was. How safe. How ordinary.

You weren’t thriving, but at least things made sense there.

Here? You’re starting to feel like you’ve long overstayed your welcome.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You wake with a dull ache behind your eyes, like your thoughts were fighting through the night.

You roll over and grab your phone, expecting some nonsense from Luke and Kieran.

But it’s not them.

Maybe: Rafayel

hey cutieeee

dun tell me you forgot to call again :(

im working on a new painting, need inspo

come take a walk w me?

Fuck.

It’s fine. Just tell him you’re busy.

Or ignore him.

Yeah. Ignore the man with abandonment issues. Great plan.

You sigh and type quickly:

Hey. Sorry, a bit busy today. Association is swamped. Maybe another time?

You watch the typing dots form.

booooo

ill just come to u then

see u at work cutie

Well. That was the worst possible response you could have hoped for.

No need! My captain actually just said she’s letting me off early today! I’ll come to you.

yay

meet me at [location sent]

You groan, tossing the blanket off. You drag yourself out of bed, half-limping toward the hallway. You don’t even look in the mirror.

You make a beeline to Sylus’s study.

“Sylus, help me.”

He glances up from the tablet in his hand, one brow slightly raised. A corner of his mouth twitches.

“What happened? Did Mephisto steal your earrings again?”

You shoot him a flat look.

“No. This is serious,” you huff, stepping inside. “Rafayel texted me. Asked to meet. I panicked. I said yes.”

You drop your face into your hands.

Sylus leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “So much for laying low.”

You glare at him through your fingers.

“He said he’d go to the association! What was I supposed to do? He gave me no room to back out. I didn’t want to agree, but–”

You cut yourself off with a groan.

Sylus doesn’t laugh. But there’s something fond in the way he looks at you.

“I know you’ve been careful. Trying not to stir things up,” he says. “But… maybe this isn’t the worst thing.”

Your hands fall to your sides.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe if you meet him, it’ll be enough. Might buy us time to figure out the rest.”

“Or it might make things worse.”

Sylus shrugs gently. “Possibly. But I trust you’ll handle it.”

You hesitate.

“…You really think I can?”

His gaze holds yours for a beat too long.

“I do. And I don’t think you have much of a choice, either.”

You sigh.

You steel your nerves and brace yourself like a prisoner awaiting their verdict.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You walk through the park Rafayel said he’d be waiting in. You try not to look nervous as you search for his figure between the willow trees.

“y/n!”

You spin around.

“There she is,” he says. “Cutie, I was starting to think you bailed on me again.”

You give him a half-hearted glare, hands clasped behind your back. “I should have.”

“Too late now. You’re stuck with me.” He closes the distance, hand outstretched to you. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

The streets are warm, the late sun setting everything in gold. You fall into step beside him, letting the quiet stretch. Rafayel doesn’t fill it with needless chatter, just swings his hands loosely at his sides, occasionally nudging you gently with his elbow when the silence gets too heavy.

It’s weirdly… relaxing.

You’re still on edge, every cell humming with what you know – what he might know – but he doesn’t press. Doesn’t interrogate. Just walks.

He leads you toward a small gallery nestled into the side of a stone building. There’s no sign, just a copper door and a quiet hum of music bleeding from within.

Inside, it’s cooler, dimmer. The scent of varnish and citrus cleaner lingers in the air. Paintings line the walls – coastal landscapes, abstract shapes, portraits that seem to watch you as you pass.

One catches your eye.

It’s a person, maybe a woman, but blurred, almost dissolving into her surroundings. Something about the way her shoulders tilt, the way her eyes are fixed just slightly left of the viewer. She looks… lost.

You stop walking.

“She looks like she doesn’t know where she is,” you murmur. “Like she stepped through the wrong door.”

Rafayel stops beside you. His voice is softer now.

“Maybe she stepped through the right one,” he says. “She just hasn’t realized it yet.”

The words settle in your chest like an echo.

You glance at him.

He’s already watching you – not intensely, not like he’s waiting for a reaction. Just watching. Calm. Present.

The moment stretches.

Then he breaks it.

“Come on,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket. “I wanna show you something.”

You end up at the beach.

The sun’s long gone, and the sand is cool beneath your shoes. Rafayel kicks his off immediately, padding barefoot toward the waterline like he’s done it a hundred times. You follow, slower.

It’s quieter here than the gallery. Just the waves and the occasional cry of a distant seabird. You can hear your pulse in your ears.

You try to keep your guard up. Try not to let your steps betray the way your thoughts are racing.

“I knew,” Rafayel says suddenly, voice low, just above the hush of the tide.

You freeze.

You blink. “Knew what?”

He glances at you, half-smiling. “That you weren’t her. From the start.”

Your breath catches. You stop walking.

His tone is too casual – like he’s talking about the weather. That only makes it worse.

“Then… why did you invite me out?” you ask, voice wary. “If you already knew?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct. You looked like someone who needed a night off.”

You stare at him. “How could you tell?”

“There’s something about the way you looked at me,” he says, raising a brow. “Not like a stranger. But not like her, either.”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy trying to figure out if this is a setup – a test – a trap.

He turns his gaze to the sea, hands slipping into his pockets. “I told myself maybe she had a twin. Or I’d hit my head. But when I called your name earlier, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. That’s when I knew.”

You look down. The sand shifts beneath your feet.

“I’m not–” you begin, then falter. “I’m not trying to fool anyone. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I figured,” he says gently. “Still. I had to know who you were.”

You glance at him, wary. “Why?”

“No reason that matters,” he says. “Just wanted to understand. For myself.”

A pause.

“Where did you come from?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You didn’t want this conversation. Not like this.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you admit, voice low. “It feels impossible.”

“Try me,” he says, softer now.

You hesitate. Then you exhale, slowly.

“I’m from a different world,” you say. “A different reality.”

He doesn’t react.

After a beat, he says, “Really?”

You nod.

“Guess that explains the way you looked at everything,” he says, like you just confessed to being from out of town. “You’ve been walking around like nothing quite belongs to you.”

You blink at him. “That’s it? No freak out?”

“I mean,” he gestures to the waves, “weirder things have happened. Probably.”

That earns the smallest smile from you.

He looks at you again, head tilted. “But you knew who I was. Back at the shop.”

You sigh. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You hesitate. Then: “In my world… you were part of a video game.”

He blinks, then grins. “That’s a new one.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous. When I first ended up here, I thought maybe I’d been dropped inside it. But this place – it doesn’t feel like a game. It feels real.”

“Maybe it was a window,” you add. “Or a trick. Or I’ve just completely lost it.”

He hums, thoughtful. “You don’t sound crazy.”

“You sure? Because I definitely feel it.”

He glances over at you, amused. “Cutie, I talk to the ocean and name my pigments after sea creatures. If you’re losing it, at least you’re in good company.”

You laugh – small and breathy – but it’s real.

“I could’ve just ignored it,” Rafayel says. “Pretended I didn’t notice. But you looked like you could use someone who didn’t ask you to explain yourself. Someone who didn’t expect answers.”

You swallow. “Why would you want to help me?”

He shrugs. “Because you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they’ve been carrying a planet on their back.”

His words hang in the space between you, unspoken weight meeting quiet understanding.

A breeze brushes past, lifting your hair. You hear the soft retreat of waves against the shore.

Rafayel reaches his hand out to you.

“Come paint with me.”

His studio smells like salt and turpentine and rain-dried wood. The ceilings stretch high above you, and the walls are crowded with half-finished canvases. Strange, lovely things, some turned away like secrets.

Rafayel moves through the space like it was built around him.

He sets two stools before a blank canvas and hands you a brush.

“No rules,” he says easily. “Just paint whatever’s stuck in your head.”

You hesitate. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know what’s in there anymore.”

He grins. “Perfect. Start with that.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The brush feels awkward in your hand, and the colors run too fast, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel hums something tuneless and soft, flicking pigment across his own canvas in sweeping arcs of color.

Eventually, he breaks the quiet. “So… you said you knew me from a game?”

You glance over at him.

“What was I like in it?” he asks, voice light but curious.

You try not to smile. “Honestly? You weren’t that different from how you are now.”

He hums like he’s pleasantly surprised. “What kind of game are we talking about?”

Your face warms. “…A dating game.”

Rafayel laughs, leaning back with exaggerated delight. “A dating game? Cutie, you’ve been holding out on me.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make it weird! It’s not like I chose it just for that. You were just–part of it.”

“Part of it,” he echoes. “So I wasn’t your favorite?”

You groan, trying to dodge the question. “You were the favorite. The face of the game, actually.”

He smiles, a little smug, and turns back to his painting. “Mm. Glad to hear I had good taste in timelines.”

“You knew about her too, was she in the game?’

You nod to yourself. “Yeah, we create her. Play the story as her.”

He hums. “I see. Same name, same face, makes sense now.”

You huff. “Does it?”

He chuckles. “I’m trying to be understanding here, cutie,”

You laugh despite yourself. For a while, you both return to your work, the silence between you easy now.

Then, more softly, he asks, “So. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks. Maybe longer. It’s hard to tell.”

He nods like that makes perfect sense. “You remind me of myself,” he says. “When I first left home. Everything felt too loud and too far away.”

You nod. “It’s been… strange.”

He leans his elbow against the edge of the canvas, watching you from the side. “Where’ve you been staying?”

You hesitate. “I… ended up in the N109 zone.”

His head turns fast. “Seriously?”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly get a choice. One of the love interests lives there.”

Rafayel blinks once, slowly. “One of the–wait.”

You nod. “Sylus. He’s the one who found me.”

There’s a flicker – a shift behind his eyes. His fingers pause mid-stroke on the canvas.

“Ah.” His voice is still smooth, but quieter. “So you’ve been with Sylus.”

“I sort of talked my way out of being seen as a threat. I’ve been staying at Onychinus since.”

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, then smiles again, easy. “Cutie,” he murmurs, “you might be the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

You grin, a little bashfully. “It’s not that crazy.”

“If we made a movie out of it, no one would believe it.”

You pause, your brush lingering at the edge of the canvas. “Do you think I’m… awful? For not saying anything? For pretending to be someone I’m not?”

Rafayel sets his brush down.

“I think,” he says, “you did what you had to. No one drops into another world with a guidebook.”

You glance at him, surprised by how gentle his voice is.

He leans back on his stool and gives you a quiet smile. “Besides… I was pretending, too.”

You blink. “What?”

“I acted like I didn’t know. But I saw it in your eyes. You weren’t confused, you were trying to protect yourself.” He shrugs. “I get that.”

A pause.

He adds, “And now that I do know a little more… well, you’re still here. That has to mean something.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. But your chest feels lighter than it has in days.

You look back at your painting – the chaos of it, the strange colors, the way nothing really fits – and for once, that doesn’t feel so terrible.

The paintbrush starts to drag in your hand. You don’t notice until your strokes turn uneven.

You blink, realizing how heavy your limbs feel. “I should probably go,” you murmur, setting the brush down. “It’s late, and Sylus is probably wondering where I am.”

You don’t catch the shift in Rafayel’s posture.

He leans back slightly, elbows on his knees. “Back to the N109 zone at this hour?” His voice is casual, but his knuckles flex once, slow and deliberate. “You’d only be halfway there by sunrise.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

“You just got comfortable,” he says, glancing toward the wide windows, the ocean glowing faintly beneath a fractured moon. “No one’s going to mind if you take one night off from survival mode.”

You hesitate.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you offer, though your body’s already aching at the thought of making that long trip back.

“You won’t,” Rafayel replies gently. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed, clean sheets and everything, promise.”

You glance at him.

He lifts a hand, mock solemn. “Swear on my best brush.”

A beat.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Good.” He stands, stretching. “Bathroom’s down the hall. The door with the chipped koi on it.”

You nod and step away to wash the paint off your hands.

When you’re out of sight, Rafayel runs a hand through his hair and exhales, slower than necessary.

The studio feels different now. Like something in the air shifted.

He moves quietly, dimming the lights, rinsing off brushes, setting canvases to dry. It’s muscle memory by now, the motions smooth, effortless. But his thoughts aren’t as still.

You said Sylus was probably waiting for you.

Of course you’d say that. And of course he is.

His fingers press briefly against the edge of the worktable, a knuckle whitening before he lets go.

He casts a glance toward the hallway where you disappeared, then to the couch.

You’d been exhausted – trying so hard not to show it. The weariness in your voice, the weight in your shoulders… he’d seen it. Felt it, like something echoing in his own chest.

Offering you a place to rest had been instinct. But there’s more to it than that. And he knows it.

Still, he doesn’t say it out loud. Not even to himself.

This isn’t the time.

Not yet.

For now, he leans back against the counter and closes his eyes, letting the ocean breeze slip in through the cracked windows. It smells like salt and clean air and the faintest trace of the citrus soap you used.

He stays there a long while.

Just listening to the waves.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The study is too quiet.

Sylus leans back in his chair, arms folded, eyes unfocused as the soft hum of the base’s systems fills the silence. The time glows steadily on the screen in front of him.

You’ve been gone for a while.

He told himself not to hover. You weren’t stepping into danger – just meeting someone. Someone familiar.

Still… his fingers tap restlessly against the desk.

No message yet.

He eyes the comms panel. Mephisto’s idle. He could send him, just a quick check-in.

But he doesn’t move.

Rafayel wouldn’t hurt you. He knows that.

Probably.

He grabs his phone, thumbs hovering for a second before typing:

Everything alright?

The reply comes fast.

he knows.

His jaw tightens. He barely has time to process it before the next message follows:

but it’s okay. i think. turns out you’re not the only understanding man around here?

i’ll be back in the morning

Sylus stares at the screen.

His first reaction is relief, the kind that hits too hard, like a wire pulled too tight finally snapping loose.

You’re safe.

You’re not panicking. You’re joking.

It should be enough.

He sets the phone down but doesn’t look away from it. There’s a strange pressure behind his ribs. Something unsettled. Restless.

He tells himself it’s concern. Simple as that.

You’re not exactly predictable. And Rafayel… well, Sylus doesn’t know what he wants.

He told you to go.

He said it might buy time.

But now that you have – now that Rafayel knows – he can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s shifted. That something slipped out of his reach before he realized he’d even been holding it.

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

He’s just concerned. Maybe you’re too trusting.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.

He exhales quietly, then picks the phone back up.

Be safe.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning creeps in quietly, slow sunlight filters through the linen curtains, casting soft golden bars across the paint stained floorboards. It smells faintly of ocean air and drying pigment.

You wake curled beneath unfamiliar sheets, the bed bigger than it looked the night before. It’s too quiet. Peaceful in a way that makes you hesitate before moving.

You sit up slowly, the comforter sliding off your shoulder, and pad into the studio barefoot.

Rafayel is already awake. He’s perched on a stool by the open balcony, sipping something from a chipped mug, one leg folded beneath him. His hair is slightly tousled. The wind lifts it from his face.

He glances over when he hears you. “Morning, cutie.”

Your voice is hoarse. “Didn’t mean to sleep in.”

“You needed it.” He nods toward the hallway. “There’s coffee, if you trust my taste.”

You find the cup waiting in the kitchen, not perfect, but warm, and kind. You sip it quietly beside him.

After a moment, he speaks again, gaze still on the ocean.

“If you ever need to get away again… you know where I am.” He taps a loose rhythm against the railing with one finger. “The door’s always open. Doesn’t have to be a crisis.”

You glance at him.

He meets your eyes briefly. No pressure. No insinuation. Just… calm.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” He gives a crooked smile. “Now go before the vampires start wondering where their sunshine went.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The N109 zone feels darker than usual when you step back into it – all the steel and shadow, the buzz of faint neon against the gloom. Your body still carries a lingering warmth from the coast, a calm you’re not used to.

You make your way inside the base. The twins are arguing over a drone part in the hallway. Kieran offers you a lazy wave, Luke flashes a grin.

You don’t see Sylus right away, but when you step into the common room, he’s there – arms crossed, standing by a massive digital map spread across the wall. He turns when he hears you.

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his eyes skim over you like he’s scanning for bruises.

“You’re back,” he says simply.

“Didn’t mean to stay out so long,” you offer. “We ended up painting. I lost track of time.”

A pause.

Sylus nods, slow. “You seem… relaxed.”

You blink. “Yeah…” you trail off. “It was nice, I was so worried going into it, but it went better than I expected, I guess.”

Another pause. His gaze sharpens just slightly.

“He seemed trustworthy?”

You catch it – the way his voice dips half a degree, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Honestly, it was nothing dramatic. He was just nice.”

He looks at you a second longer than necessary.

Then: “Good.”

You move past him, toward the hallway. “I’m gonna drop my bag off and go change,”

He doesn’t stop you. But you feel his attention linger like a pulse at your back until you’re gone.

Your room is just as you left it – dim, cold, a little impersonal. But after the surreal calm of Rafayel’s studio, it’s grounding.

You drop your bag on the side table and sink onto the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. For the first time in days, your pulse isn’t clawing at your throat.

It went better than it should have.

So much better.

You had imagined every worst-case scenario: confrontation, exposure, betrayal. But instead, Rafayel had just… listened. No tense interrogation. No fear. Just that easy warmth of his, disarming without even trying.

You shake your head slightly.

Strange, how simple it felt to be around him.

Not safe, exactly – you know better than to believe that already – but seen. Like you didn’t have to fight for every piece of yourself to be understood.

You stretch your legs out and lean back, glancing toward the small window. The skyline of N109 looms jagged against the artificial dark.

But in your chest, there’s still a faint echo of wind and sea air.

Maybe it makes sense. You’ve always sought the ocean when things get heavy. The salt, the endless blue, the quiet rhythms, they’ve always steadied you.

Of course you felt calmer there.

You hum softly to yourself, some tune that's lived in your mind longer than you can remember – airy and strange, like a half-forgotten lullaby.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your door.

Sylus hadn’t meant to stop.

He was just passing by.

But the sound catches him. That humming, faint and familiar, threading through the air like a memory.

And just like that, something in him breaks open.

The hallway dissolves.

He’s somewhere else – somewhen else.

A chapel. Shadowed and quiet, filled with the scent of stone and herbs.

He’s on the floor, barely conscious, blood drying along his ribs. The pain sharp, but distant.

That tune – that same tune – floats to him through the haze. Hummed softly, steadier than his heartbeat. A balm against the ache.

And then another detail,

The smell. Something sharp and herbal, like salve pressed into a wound with trembling hands.

His chest tightens.

He’s not alone.

There’s someone there.

He feels them – kneeling beside him, smoothing his hair back. He can’t see their face. But they’re humming. And they’re warm.

Sylus exhales sharply, blinking hard.

His hand is braced against the wall, jaw tense. The humming has stopped.

Reality seeps back in.

He stays there for a moment, heart beating fast.

It was clearer this time. More vivid than any fragment before. Not just a dream. Not some trick of memory.

But even now, he pushes it down.

Is she remembering?

Why do these memories keep coming back to him?

Why now?

He leans against the wall outside your door, still caught in that strange whirl of memory and tension, when suddenly a pair of energetic footsteps come barreling down the hall.

“Boss! You gotta see this!” Luke’s voice echoes, a little too loud and urgent.

Kieran follows right behind, grinning widely. “No, seriously, you have to check it out.”

Sylus exhales sharply, pushing off the wall and straightening up as the twins approach.

“What is it this time? The vending machine finally decided to eat your money?” he asks dryly.

Luke chuckles. “Better. Some dumb kid in N109 tried to rob a corner shop with a plastic knife.”

Kieran snorts. “The shopkeeper chased him down with a broom. Epic defeat.”

Sylus can’t help the small smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That’s… hardly critical.”

Luke grins. “Can we go check it out?”

Sylus shakes his head. “Not necessary. Let them learn their lessons.”

Kieran elbow-jabs Luke. “Come on, boss, you love the chaos.”

“Love it or not,” Sylus says, voice low but steady, “I’d rather not deal with it right now.”

Luke and Kieran exchange a quick look, sensing his mood, and then fall back into their usual banter as they walk off.

Sylus watches them go, then lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He leans back against the wall, the sound of their laughter fading behind him, and quietly runs a hand over his face.

If she does remember…

If that’s true… it changes everything.

He turns away from the door and disappears down the hallway, footsteps quiet in the dim light.

a/n: godddd this chapter was hard to write omg. i hope u guys like it… <3 everyone is avoidant… who knows wtf raf is up to… at least the twins are having fun. i have so much planned for this story, i have to think like 40 steps ahead for every line i write lmao. everyone pray i stay hyperfixated on this before i fumble🙏🏻

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd @poptrim @hon3yydew @pinkpastelbabygirl @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @yannew @peachystea @cms399 @marinenox @cottagedumpling @nightmarewasteland @mitskunicheesecake @katyeongs @shadowypeachsweets @saybeyonce @napforalifetime @bubera974 @moonlight-inthe-sea @xvilluis @potania @demon-master-zero @antonneva @fairestofnrc @orianakira

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chardama · 2 days ago

Text

Adding on to this, because it's fun.

Tim doesn't start showing VISIBLE traits until he's maybe 13 or 14 ish. The first one? Night vision. It comes slowly. It starts when Tim's eyes turn a frosty blue instead of their regular colors. At night his eyes kind of reflect light (similar to predators, ya know.)

Tim does not recognize the build up. However other people do. The first to realise it is Jason during a sleep over. In this AU the waynes and the Drakes are pretty close (even though tim has tried his hardest to keep Bruce away from finding Jack's identity).

So, during a sleepover, Jason and tim are sneaking into the kitchen one night for a midnight snack. Jason opens the fridge, turns to tim, and nearly has a heart attack when he sees Tim's eyes. They're kinda glowing and tim is staring directly at him. It makes Jason's fight or flight. He slams the fridge shut and nearly crushes the yogurt sticks he manages to swipe.

"Jason!" Tim hisses, "we're supposed to be quiet."

Jason blinks. Tim's eyes aren't glowing anymore. He's definitely telling Bruce about this so the man can add it to the list Jason knows is in the batcomputer. "Uh huh, sure tim tam. Is anything new happening?"

Tim, completely oblivious, "no why?"

Also, someone mentioned in the tags about body snatching. I think it a interesting add on. Bruce taking notes of Jack's drastic behavior change and the fact that he has new abilities. Something HAD to have happened between the dig and the hospital. Jack Drake wasn't known to be this wacky guy before the incident. Yet here he is, loud and proud. Taking care and showing off his son. Making generous contributions to Gotham's museums and schools. Even being way more social and taking less trips (though that was recommended by medical professionals to take it easy.)

So the Drakes has started to mingle with the waynes. Danny taking notes for Bruce in how to be a socialite. He takes tim over there to hang out with Jason and Dick while Danny asks for pointers on how to raise tim.

"So when they start growing into their abilities, who do you go to for training?" Danny asks as Dick shows Tim and Jason just how far he can contort his body with an acrobatic show. Danny has only seen the dead move like that.

Bruce, blinking, "Excuse me?"

"Timmy's about to go through it.. I think puberty. I'm not sure who to go to. He's been very clingy, too, and I think it's because of the divorce a while ago. At least that's what I read could be a factor.." Jack frowns. "Tim has been staying up late at night, being grouchy. He had a recent growth spurt as well. Tim's eyes were developing, and that meant it wouldn't be long before the fangs came in. "

Bruce, taking this all in nonchalantly and comparing notes mentally. "I S e e."

Tim is beyond overworked because he's trying to keep his dad's identity a secret. "You are the reason im like this."

I think by the time Damian arrives, Tim's liminal side is in full swing. He needs ectoplasm, not a lot, but it keeps him at peak health. He doesn't make much noise. He doesn’t have footsteps because he's unconsciously floating sometimes. Like just walking on air. Sometimes, he forgets to blink. And sometimes he can stand really still. He has night vision, too. The only thing he can't really do is the hard-core stuff. Like turning invisible, phasing through walls and energy blasts.

Sorry for all the errors BTW this was done on my phone.

Jackson Drake? Yeah, he ain't human. Bruce is sure the man is a meta. Maybe a poor alien in disguise because Bruce knows he's a disaster sometimes but Jack takes the cake.

The Drakes were their neighbors. Archeologists. Famous for bringing rare artifacts home and are the largest donors to the Gotham Museum.

Then the accident happened.

Jackson Drake had a serious fall while getting their latest artifact. A certain ring and crown that belong to an ancient king. He was rushed to the on-site medics and had to be air lifted to the nearest hospital. He had been in a coma for two weeks. A nasty bruise to the head and when he had woken up it was as if he was a different man. The media was all over it. It got worse when the change in attitude resulted in the divorce.

Timothy Drake ends in the custody of Jack Drake. Timothy knows that the man that woke up from the coma is not his father. But the new jack treats him so much better than old jack. The new jack actually listens to Tim. Actually helps him out with homework. Doesn't yell. Doesn't hit Tim. He lets time babble about everything. He even FEEDS Tim. He NEVER leaves him home alone.

Tim knows that the new ring on his father's hand (that he had never taken off since that expedition) is the cause of it. Or maybe it's the floating crown that sometimes appears when new Jack shows him a ‘trick.’ he likes New Jack. He doesn't want New Jack to go away.

Which is why he has to keep Bruce Wayne- (THE batman) away from his new father. The detective would suss new jack out immediately. Because new jack treats Timothy well but he sucks at being human.

It would help… if New Jack would stop calling the Waynes for every minor inconvenience that happened to Timothy that a regular person should know.

Ex.

Jack: tim is sick.

Bruce, handing the phone to Alfred. : any symptoms-

Jack: he's green, but thats normal because im green sometimes. But he's not doing all the things I do when im green-

Alfred: such as…?

Jack: well he hasn't learned to walk through walls yet. And he hasn't gotten ice breath though he is a bit cold. His hair isn't white yet.

Bruce, overhearing this: what-

Alfred: nausea perhaps? Has he eaten anything to make his stomach turn?

Jack: we did have some seafood from that new place by Mr.Freeze

Bruce, louder: W H A T

Alfred, writing down a list of supplies and recipes: we'll be there in a moment.

#danny fenton #dc universe #danny phantom #dc x dp #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd

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colossrat · 2 days ago

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Marvel is stressbaking

Miss Marvel (Mary) with her lunchbox, not at all happy: Yay, brownies again…

Kid Flash: You don't want it??? They look delicious, why are u sad???

Mary Marvel: Sure, i mean, yes, they are delicious. It's just that I've been eating nothing but bakery stuff all month. Ever since the League and Fawcett problems started happening at the same time, Caps is so anxious and stressed that he is baking nonstop in his free time…

Kid Flash: So... Want my sandwich for those brownies?

Anyway, Kid Flash will gossip with Flash about Marvel's stress baking situation, Flash will tell Hal that Marvel is really anxious right now because hes not really taking time off and is using the kitchen to relieve stress. And Hal will gossip with Superman that Marvel is so tired of so many problems that hes stressbaking so hard that his whole family has diabetes right now

Of course, Superman will say the same to Trinity, and they'll call a meeting to talk about how good it is to take breaks, to stop for a while when everything gets overwhelming, and to let the league know why they are a team

In the end, Captain Marvel says, "Yes, yes, I totally agree"

Superman: Oh, really…? You agree that those with bad workaholic habits should take a break?

Marvel: Yes! Of course, we are a team, we will continue to be here to protect people so that those who need it can rest without worries!

Batman: "we"?

Marvel: Yes, indeed. I know Superman was being very subtle, but I think everyone here knows that a break would help you a lot, Mr. Batman!

Wonder Woman: Actually, we called this meeting to persuade you to take a break, brother. But now that you mention it, rest would do great things for both of you

Marvel: Yeah! --Um, actually, excuse me? Me? I don't need a break. I don't get tired

Batman: Even if you're not physically tired, everyone gets overwhelmed by constant work

Marvel: Does that include you?

Batman: No

Marvel: Yeah, I'm not taking a break. I'm fine, guys! I don't even know where you got that, that i needed a break

Flash: You may look fine, but we know that when you're at home, you cant stop stressbaking to a point where your family can't even think about sugar anymore!

Wonder Woman: You're one of the most dedicated members of the League. You always show up for your monitor duties, you never ask anyone else to take over, in fact, you're one of those who always accepts to cover for others

Superman added: At one point, we had to make a rule to limit the number of monitor duties someone could take. You pulled almost a week of night shifts in a row!

Marvel looked a little embarrassed by that.

Marvel: Well, what can I say? I enjoy what I do… yeah, okay, it's been a lot lately. With league obligations, Fawcett has some new villains, drug gangs, and drug trafficking to keep an eye on… And I also help Zoom (Darla) and Circuit (Eugene) with the housework… I walk Thunder(Pedro) to his baseball practices and games… I deal with Junior (Freddy's) school problems… and I've been wanting to go shopping for new clothes with Miss (Mary) for a while now… I also got a new job… a civilian job… on top of the freelance work I started to help with the bills…

JL:

Marvel: actually i think I'll take a break. Yeah, it's not as bad as it could be

JL:

Marvel: But only If Batman takes a week to rest too!!

Just to recap some of the hcs here.

Billy is 15 years old and was homeless like all the other kids (except Mary, who lives with the Brombofiled)

The kids were adopted, and Billy still keeps in touch

He visits Darla and Eugene's backyard to chat and help with their homework with Solomon's wisdom.

He walks with Pedro to practice and never misses a game.

He waits for Freddy after school every day to defend him from bullies if they try anything

And occasionally hangs out with Mary as civilians to keep in touch with his sister

He works as a freelancer selling photos for the Whiz and was recently hired as an internthere too. Now he's even have a roof!! and a kitchen and money to bakestress, always making and sharing desserts with his siblings

#billy batson #headcanon #captain marvel #dc #shazam #dc captain marvel #justice league #mary bromfield #mary batson #freddy freeman #captain marvel junior #darla dudley #pedro peña #eugene choi #marvel lieutenants

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eye4katz · 21 hours ago

Text

I Think I Love You || Megan Skiendiel

Pairing: Megan Skiendiel x Female!Reader

Genre: fluff, high school au, grumpy!reader x sunshine!megan

Content Warning: mild language, sodani, marz (slight heh), hmm... nothing much. just fluff!!×*#**×#*!

Word Count: 3.2k

Synopsis: Following precise measurements, recipes, and rules has always been Y/N’s way of life. Love—specifically the romantic kind—is the last ingredient she wants in her already chaotic kitchen. But when someone throws a whole lot of sugar into her bowl, will she cover it up with something bitter to balance the taste? Or will she finally take a bite… and taste a cherry pie?

"Y/N! Thank you for bailing me out of the jail booth!" Sophia, the school's student body president, exclaimed as she stepped out of the booth.

The idea of the booth for the Valentine’s event actually came from Sophia herself, yet somehow, she ended up getting victimized by her own activity.

A jail booth is part of the Valentine's Day special held by the SBG—or Student Body Government—where you bring two people and "jail" them together until someone bails them out.

Sounds cute to be jailed with someone on the 14th of February, right?

Well, for Y/N, one of the senators… it wasn’t.

Y/N genuinely hated Valentine’s Day, mostly because of all the couples who made everything romantic. Hugging here, kissing there, was just wasn’t for her.

She’d never experienced being loved by someone, except by her friends and family, and she was sure she never would, not by some random stranger she met on a random ass day. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

She prioritized facts and logical explanations over feelings and emotions.

What can you say? She’s top of the class, after all.

"Bro, come on. You got trapped in your own booth." She scolded Sophia as she handed $2 to YoonChae, their junior senator, for the bail.

Sophia just laughed, holding up her wrist still cuffed from the activity. A shit-eating grin was plastered on her face like the love-drunk puppy she was.

"Come on, it was sooo worth it! Me and my crush got cuffed together for like 20 minutes!"

Y/N, the ever-bitter (and, well… logical) one, scowled. "Oh, you mean the Latina who never actually notices you in any of the activities you organize? Damn, right."

"Well, she noticed me just now." Sophia rolled her eyes, but she was clearly too giddy to care.

Y/N sighed, knowing she wouldn’t win this argument. Sophia was a debater, after all. No wonder.

"Call me if something happens again. If someone puts you in the jail booth—even if it’s with Avanzini—just tell them you’re the one organizing it, so you can’t."

Sophia murmured something, but Y/N was too drained from her job, which involved delivering love letters all over campus to even bother rebutting any further.

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Later, as the students ate lunch, Y/N and Sophia went to the student council lounge to take a break along with some other officer.

They sat at the long table—the same one where late-night meetings, prop-making sessions, and fueled debates had happened.

"It’s great to see Y/N participating in Cupid’s Day, no?" Manon, one of the senators, teased as she sipped on her lemonade.

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. "Please. I’m just here to help y’all." She plopped down beside the Swiss girl, pulling out her bento box.

"Let’s not tease her about it. She might go lovesick again," Sophia added while sliding into the seat beside Y/N.

Now Y/N was trapped between two yappers.

"Lovesick isn’t even a thing! You can’t get sick from friendship and stuff!" Y/N shot back, her voice tinged with playful annoyance.

That earned a good laugh from Sophia and Manon. Y/N’s face twisted into a playful scowl as her friends kept teasing her.

She huffed, trying to defend her point. "It’s not even a disease! What’s the diagnosis then—?"

"Bruh, come on!"

"Girl, you don’t need to be scientific about everything!"

Knowing Y/N, she got easily triggered by stuff that wasn’t logically correct. "Oh, whatever. Believe your delulu stuff, but don’t force me to listen to your yap."

Sophia and Manon just grinned. They both knew Y/N didn’t like nonsense talk, especially not from the Swiss senator who was overly talkative. But they also knew Y/N had a soft spot for them, so she was stuck listening anyway.

Before Y/N could prepare her next attack, Lara, another yapper of the governmen. stormed in. She left the door slightly ajar.

"Job done, bitches!" she announced, slamming down the tip box filled with cash from the Valentine’s booth.

Y/N sighed. Her patience was being tested, but she still loved these people anyway.

"Oh, by the way, I brought two people with me," Lara added casually.

Two heads peeked from behind the door. Two girls, shy and hesitant to come in.

Y/N’s brows furrowed, and Sophia and Manon exchanged confused looks. Their lounge was supposed to be exclusive for the student government officers.

"Why would you do that?" Y/N asked, her annoyance already stacking up.

"Well, I couldn’t just leave them alone!" Lara shrugged.

Poor Lara. She just couldn’t leave the girls—who, by the way, she’d only just met at the booth.

The Indian senator gestured for them to come in and get comfortable in the lounge.

"You can’t just let random students go in he—" Y/N started, but she was cut off by Sophia, who had just noticed her crush among the random students peeking inside.

"Hey! Come on, you can eat with us!" the president beamed, her shit-eating grin back in full force.

A curly-haired girl and a ginger stepped into the lounge, still adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings as they looked around.

Y/N scoffed at the unprofessional invitation, which only made the other senators snicker.

"The president already invited them. No more arguments can be used." Manon shrugged, flashing a grin.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, annoyed by the broken rules. She was so triggered she couldn’t even look at the two girls invading her so-called sanctuary.

She hated rule-breakers.

Lara helped the girls find seats. The blonde sat across from Sophia, the ginger across from Y/N, and Lara herself sat across from Manon.

They all started settling their lunches onto the table.

Sophia introduced herself to the girls, as if she wasn’t already campus-famous.

"I’m Sophia!" she said, reaching out her hand, well, specifically to Daniela.

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed, as she looked away. "Girl... she already knows you," she muttered under her breath, already getting an allergic reaction to how Sophia acted like a puppy around the fierce Latina.

Daniela side-eyed Sophia but reluctantly shook her hand. "Hey, I’m Daniela Avanzini."

Even if Daniela’s face looked like she wanted to bite someone, Sophia could still see the dimples poking out as their hands met.

That just made the Filipina smile even more cheesily.

The ginger finally spoke out, waving both of her hands to the senators and the president.

"Hi! I'm Megan Skiendiel!"

Her smile came with whisker dimples that just added to her charm.

Manon and Megan continued to converse with each other, while Sophia was still busy admiring her favorite student—which, by the way, was Daniela. (simp alert!)

Y/N didn’t know what came over her, but she finally decided to look up at Megan as soon as she heard her voice. She could feel the ginger's energy radiating just by sitting across from her. Y/N’s thoughts ran a million miles away from the room, seeing things she shouldn’t, or mustn't, see.

What?

Vegan? Oh! Megan.

She… has whisker dimples.

This feels weird. It's irritating.

Ugh!

Maybe I feel this way 'cause she has bad energy.

Right, bad energ—

Y/N’s attention snapped back to reality when Manon clapped in front of her face.

"Stop intimidating Megan, you bitter bitch!" she exclaimed.

Megan, who was watching the whole interaction, chuckled to herself; though she couldn’t help but admit she was a little intimidated by the sudden glare, zone-out, or whatever Y/N just did.

Y/N just shook her head, looking away almost immediately.

She swore she saw pink swirls around Megan!

Pink swirls = bad energy. She mentally noted.

After a few chit-chats here and there, they finally finished their food. Thank the school for making lunch last until 2:00 PM.

"Bae, where’s the cherry pie you always bring?" Lara asked Y/N.

It’s a cute inside joke the officers had together—to tease the bitter senator who secretly had a sweet tooth for cherries.

Y/N’s cheeks matched the color of the cherries she always brought with her.

She was known within the student government for always bringing cherry pies, and she was too shy for that information to be revealed in front of the students who trusted her to be in a senatorial position.

Megan noticed her fuming cheeks, making her chuckle softly as she watched the senator reach for her lunch bag, glaring at Lara for even bringing that matter up.

"I apologize for the current action you’re seeing with our senator here," Sophia added, making Manon snicker.

Her glare shifted to Sophia as she placed the pie in the center of the table. This just made the five of them laugh.

The girls also found it funny how Y/N's walls were so high that no one could ever reach or jump over them. Well... maybe her co-senators could, but Y/N won’t admit that!

Thank goodness the two outsiders were there.

If they weren’t, Y/N would’ve scolded Lara and Sophia, and her voice would’ve been the only thing heard in the room except for the cackles of her co-officers.

Manon tried to make Y/N feel a little better.

"Just so you guys know, Y/N is actually a good baker. Her favorite is cherry pie, that’s why she always shares it with us."

Y/N sighed, finally feeling secure.

"I love cherry pies too," Megan unexpectedly replied.

The girl in front of her was still bitter that the rules were bent just for them (maybe because she also saw pink swirls around the ginger), so she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath,

"I didn’t ask."

Sophia, the observant one, couldn’t help but hear Y/N’s mumble. She pinched Y/N’s inner thigh tightly like an Asian mom would.

The girl being pinched let out a yelp, slapping Sophia’s hand away.

"Ouch!!! Stop it!!"

"Then better behave!"

Megan watched their interactions as the other girls reached out for the cherry pie.

It was so amusing how Y/N could behave with a single pinch from her Filipina mom.

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Lunch break was finally over, so that meant Y/N went back to her awesome and exciting job.

Yay….!!!!!

Y/N went to the DIY mailbox the officers had made weeks before Valentine’s Day to get the newly inserted letters.

Hours passed by, and there were only two left in her messenger bag. She looked down, checking who the next letter was for.

To: Senator Y/N

Her eyebrows furrowed, confused by the unexpected letter that had landed in her bag. She gathered enough courage to open it, only to be greeted by a message that said:

"cherry pies are the best, aren’t they? -🍒"

Y/N was taken aback by that.

She looked around, paranoid that other people—besides her co-officers and the two strangers she met—might know her sweet tooth secret.

As an overthinker, she was scared that this info would be used against her.

Petty, right?

So instead of stressing over it, Y/N just brushed it off.

Y/N, of course, found these letters written on sticky notes weird since she always got them after class or after hanging out with the gang.

Eventually, she soon found these things cute—not because she thought the sender was some desperate puppy going after their loml—but because it was the effort and the thought that counted.

She still hates romantic shit, btw!

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After the 14th of February, the two new girls always hung out with the four senators for the following weeks.

Dani and Sophia might be a thing.

Lara and Manon miiiight also be a thing.

Y/N still hated Megan’s guts.

And YoonChae... was still YoonChae.

Y/N would always glare at Megan whenever they made eye contact during functions.

She just hated how mesmerizing her fucking smile was!!

She always wanted the ginger to feel not included, always moving away whenever the other one came near.

Megan was an introvert, yet a talkative one.

She fits right in with the gang, always opening up topics about her niche interests and random stuff.

But when Y/N kept pushing her away, it made the ginger feel disappointed.

The bitter senator still received random sweet messages from ‘🍒’.

The sender was consistent, giving the notes at the same time: every morning at 8 AM, before class at 1 PM, and after school at 5 PM.

Some examples of the letters she received were:

don’t forget to smile, miss maem. -🍒

do u like ginger kitties? cuz i have one -🍒

i think u would rock your bangs when they’re dyed pink -🍒

Another event was being held by the student government on campus, and it was a busy day for the officers. They needed to make sure the fair went well and also give people some relief from their midterm break.

This was just another exhausting day for the officers—especially for Y/N. But not until she realized that she hadn’t received her morning note yet.

It’s not like she was expecting it… right?

She wasn’t into romantic stuff in the first place.

Maybe she was just annoyed because of the change.

She despised change.

The sun continued to do its daily cycle, leaving the officers even busier.

And well… Y/N got more frustrated—about the note? Perhaps.

Second note: still none.

It was already past 1 PM.

This made Y/N moodier than usual, especially because of the exhaustion from organizing the event and the sudden break in her routine.

Things were already getting inside her head. Each complaint or order from her schoolmates made her more irritated.

Is the letter the main cause of her irritation, though?

Y/N couldn’t handle it anymore.

She didn’t want to just burst out and walk away from her tasks just because her feelings got in the way.

Instead, she finished all of her responsibilities first before subtly disappearing from the world—maybe trying to run away from the agitation.

She dragged her feet to the nearest, peaceful, and quiet bathroom.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat on the closed toilet, her head pressed into her hands.

She didn’t even know why she felt heavy and suddenly so emotional.

Ahh. Typical Y/N.

Her disappearance wouldn’t even be noticed by people around her since she was the quiet and reserved one, well, at least that’s what she thought.

A knock suddenly echoed on her bathroom stall door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Y/N…?"

The senator’s ears perked up. Maybe it was just a random student asking about the event or some shit.

She cleared her throat before replying,

"Yeah? This stall is taken."

The person on the other side hummed, waiting for Y/N to get out.

Y/N hated when people waited for her. Being a people pleaser was kind of her thing.

She quickly wiped any visible tears from her eyes. She already had an excuse prepared if they noticed the redness.

Allergies, Y/N thought.

The stall door swung open, revealing a tall ginger woman leaning her back against the sink.

Y/N never expected that, out of all people, Megan would be the one asking questions about the damn event.

"What do you want." She said flatly, as if she hadn’t just spent minutes crying.

Megan gulped. She didn’t know what to say or how to act. "Are you okay…? I saw the way you’re more irritated than usual." She blurted out.

Y/N was wrong.

Very wrong.

Someone did notice her disappearance, someone even noticed her mannerisms.

And that person was Megan.

Megan always looked out for Y/N, even if she was being mean (and annoyingly pessimistic) to her.

The senator cleared her throat, trying to shrug off the vulnerability.

"I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine."

"Just allergies. And maybe a migraine. Some stupid people decided to complain about the event, and I’ve been handling shit the whole day."

Y/N yapped consecutively—so unusual of her.

Megan could see right through her. What do you expect from a geek who loves psychology?

She hadn’t even asked yet, but Y/N was already giving excuses. Some might be false, Megan knew.

"I’m actually the one giving you the letters." The ginger suddenly confessed, cutting off Y/N’s rambling. She figured that maybe not giving the notes was the actual root of the senator’s grumpiness.

Well, Y/N was always grumpy.

But today?

She was extra grumpy.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she gently pushed Megan. "The fuck?! The one giving me cheesy stupid letters?!"

She thought it was stupid… but it was also kind of cute. Not that Y/N would admit that.

Megan nodded, nervous that she’d just blurted it out.

Y/N calmed down a bit.

She didn’t want to be rude, not right now. Not in this situation.

"Why… are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought it’s the actual cause of your frustration." It actually was.

"I- wha-" She couldn’t even form coherent words because, well… maybe it was true.

"I stopped giving you letters because I thought you hated it."

Y/N frowned, her usual high walls starting to crumble. "No, I don’t."

Megan’s ears perked up, like a puppy hearing the word walk. "You don’t?"

A grin crept up on the ginger’s face—the sight made Y/N look away as her cheeks betrayed her, turning a soft shade of red.

"Yes, I don’t. Now shut up."

Megan’s giggles echoed in the room, teasing Y/N for her flustered response.

"So… am I actually the reason for your extra grumpiness?"

"Yes." Y/N whispered, walking closer to her.

She finally found the courage to look up into Megan’s eyes.

Tears started to roll down again, seeing how much she could be vulnerable whenever she's with Megan.

The main reason for her frustration was solved, but the burnout and exhaustion were still there.

Megan scooped Y/N’s face in her hands as the girl leaned into her body.

"Let it all out. I’m right here, all ears if you ever want to rant."

The senator let her feelings pour out. Words were too complicated for the exhaustion she always buried.

After a couple of minutes, Y/N finally calmed down. Thanks to Megan—who somehow knew how to tame the brat that was actually so soft inside.

"I never actually meant to be too rude to you."

Y/N confessed, much like how Megan had earlier.

She knew she was direct, maybe even mean sometimes, but she didn’t want to be extra rude to Megan.

"I just… felt an unexplainable pang in my heart when I saw you the first time. It’s inevitable. That’s why I kept pushing you away. I'm... sorry."

Megan understood her side, watching every move and expression she made.

"A ray of sunshine might be too much for a cloud of rain. I understand. You don’t need to apologize for something that’s not your fault." Her voice was tender, making Y/N’s heart soften even more.

It was basically as soft as a pillow now.

She couldn’t think anymore, not with her guard down and her vulnerability resurfacing.

"Fuck it."

Y/N leaned in, pressing her lips against Megan’s. Their lips were soft, moving slowly and gently—speaking the secret language of intimacy. The world fell into silence the moment they kissed.

Minutes later, they finally pulled away.

"I think I love you…"

Y/N muttered, seeing all the pink swirls around Megan all over again.

"I love you too, Y/N." Megan whispered, pressing her forehead against hers.

The ginger spoke again just to tease Y/N, knowing how much the senator was secretly a sucker for her.

"Can you keep a secret? I’m a little shy."

"Mhm… yeah?"

"You taste like cherry pie."

#katseye #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel imagines #katseye female reader #daniela avanzini #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #manon bannerman #sodani #marz #megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel x female reader

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alaniesims · 3 days ago

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ID Templates for Canva [V1] 🪪

Lately I've been working on templates I've had saved in my drafts and ones I started and never finished. Completing those templates has been so fun and these ID templates specifically were really enjoyable. I'm super pleased with the outcome and I'm excited to see how they're used in everyone's stories and posts.

What’s included in this release: - Multiple passport covers - Multiple passport photo pages - Multiple stamped passport photo pages - Redacted passport photo pages - Multiple passports with boarding passes - Driver's & driving licences + learner's driving licence - Multiple career ID cards - Britechester & Foxbury student ID cards - Britechester & Foxbury student access cards - Copperdale High School student IDs

Please remember and respect my Terms of Use:

💀 Don’t claim them as your own work 💀 Don’t change how my templates look (fonts, placements, etc) and not credit me as the creator 💀 Don’t redistribute or re-upload them anywhere else 🩷 Always credit and tag me when using them

IMPORTANT: Please credit me as the creator whenever you use these templates. I go through a lot of effort to make these accessible for everyone, especially Canva free users. That means a lot of time is spent searching, testing, tweaking and joining items together to mimic and create real features and icons. Respect that effort by giving credit, it really matters to me.

FURTHER:

Once again, while you’re free to tweak my templates and the features within them a bit to fit your aesthetic and vibe, please don't tweak them or make changes to them, and not credit me as the creator. I’ve been seeing this happening a bit more often recently so I’ve decided to address it. Please respect my TOUs, and my efforts.

Have fun with them and as always feel free to let me know what templates you’d like to see next 🩷

Download here 🩵

#sims 4 #sims 4 simblr #the sims 4 #simblr #sims community #alaniesims #alaniesimstemplates #template #sims 4 template #ts4 #sims 4 aesthetic #ts4 simblr #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 edit #ts4 screenshots #the sims community #ts4 community #canva templates

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popcornpoppypop · 13 hours ago

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The Need for Salt and Kindness

Summary: Olivia has POTS. She hasn't told Robby. Of course she has a flare when they're working together.

Warnings: Fainting, POTS, talk of needles, chest pain, heart palpations, headaches, blood for a glucometer.

A/N: I'm a POTS girly so I based a lot of her symptoms on what I experiences as well as some research. I also have hEDS and sometimes the symptoms bleed over. I tried to keep this sweet. Let me know what you think!

Olivia Walter knew she was in for a shitty shift when she woke and her chest felt like there was rocks in it. She had been fighting a flare-up of her POTS for a while. The first indicator for her was chest discomfort. She took her time sitting up and sipped the water next to her bed.

“Well, shit.” She sighed as she started to stand. Her head was swimming already. She started to systematically tense her leg muscles, something she had seen a reddit, to stop the dizziness.

“Eat. You have to eat.” She groaned to herself. She knew that feeding herself would help, but when she felt like she was dying, it was hard to force food in her. She settled on a Gatorade and a breakfast bar with the promise of a protein smoothie on the way to work.

She walked into the Pitt, smoothie half drunk and feeling marginally better. The place was already buzzing with too many people. She felt her fingers tingle and shook them out. Another Gatorade was needed this morning. She pulled out another bottle before throwing her things in her locker and making her way to the Hub for handover.

“You ever try just plain water?” Langdon snorted.

“You ever try minding your business?” She snapped back.

“Ouch. Who pissed in your cheerios?” Langdon rolled his eyes. Olivia moved to stand next to Collins, leaning on the desk.

“You okay? Looks like that desk is the only thing keeping you on your feet.” Collins smirked.

“Yeah, just off today.” Olivia cleared her throat.

“Long night?” Collins raised an eyebrow.

“Long life.” Olivia laughed. Robby gave out assignments and dismissed everyone. He grabbed Olivia’s arm and pulled her to the side, out of ear shot of everyone.

“You were late this morning.” His voice laced with concern.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She rubbed her eyes, the head was settling behind her eyes.

“No, you’re not in trouble. I’m just concerned. You seemed off when I left last night.” Robby crossed his arms, his head dipping so he could keep eye contact.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long week. Don’t worry about me. I can keep up.” She gave a tight smile and walked off, leaving a very unconvinced Robby scratching his chin.

Olivia felt like she was moving through molasses. She did her best to keep up, but her heart palpitations were making her slow down. Robby had checked in more than once and it was starting to piss her off.

“Liv, help me with this cast?” Santos popped her head out of a room.

“Sure.” Olivia sighed. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and not move.

She sat as she helped finish the leg cast with Santos, who was making jokes at her. She couldn’t bring herself to fake a smile. Her hands kept dropping the instruments; they were shaking. She clenched them into fists, as if that would help.

“You okay?” Trintiy asked. As they finished up the cast.

“Yeah. Just so freaking tired.” Olivia mumbled.

“Dr. Walter, I want you monitoring Javadi’s laceration repair.” Dr. Robby barged in.

“Okay.” She sighed as she climbed to her feet. Her body immediately protested. Her legs felt like lead, her chest heaving with each breath. The dizziness made it feel like her eyes were rolling like a slot machine in her head.

“Dr. Walter?” Robby stopped, seeing her face grow pale.

“Mm’okay.” She mumbled.

“Why don’t you sit for a minute?” Robby took her and plopped her in a chair.

“I’m…just…” Her head rocked back and forth as she fought the syncope. “No…please…” She whined.

“Olivia, can you open your eyes?” Robby held her face in his hands as he examined her.

“Can’t…” She sighed.

“She’s going down. Get me a gurney!” Robby called out.

“Sorry.” She sighed as she lost the battle. Her body slumped forward, Robby catching her just in time.

“Shit. Liv? Liv, you gotta wake up for me.” He said, rubbing her sternum.

“Oh, shit!” Santos came running over. “She said she was just tired earlier.” She helped Robby get her on the gurney, wheeling her into a room.

“Get the glucometer, she’s probably not eaten enough.” He ordered. “Come on, Olivia. Wake up.” Robby begged as they hooked her up to the monitors.

“Stop.” Olivia groaned as she started coming around.

“Hey, easy.” Robby stopped her from sitting up. “Liv, you fainted. We need to make sure you’re okay.” His voice was softer than usual.

“I’m fine.” She pushed their hands off her.

“Olivia, you’re not.” Robby was getting stern with her now. She almost wanted to laugh.

“I have POTS. I faint. It happens. I don’t need any of this.” She sighed.

“Shit, her pulse is 112.” Donnie said as he looked at the monitor.

“Yeah. I fainted, my heart rate jumps and then it evens out. At some point.” She shrugged.

“Okay. Thank you everyone. Back to work.” Robby announced, taking the glucometer from Santos and ushering everyone out.

“I just need a second.” Olivia started trying to get out of bed. Robby pushed her back down onto the bed.

“Nope. You need to relax for a minute.” He told her.

“Laying down isn’t great for me right now.”

“Okay, sit, but stay off your feet.” He scolded as he got the glucometer prepped.

“Come on. No. I don’t need that.” She crossed her arms.

“Don’t be stubborn. POTS patients can experience hypoglycemia. You know that. Humor me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” She growled, flopping her hand out to him.

“Thank you.” He swabbed her finger with alcohol and pricked it, letting the stick fill with blood.

“I haven’t passed out in so long.” Olivia shook her head.

“Stress can make things worse.” Robby pulled his glasses out to read the glucometer.

“I haven’t had any more stress than usual.”

“You’re a senior resident. Your life is stress.” He snorted. He turned the glucometer to show her. “70. You just earned yourself monitoring and a sandwich.”

“Fuck.” Olivia cursed.

“Hey, just let us take care of you. Any preferences?”

“Same as Earl.”

“No egg salad, got it.” He smiled as he left the room.

Olivia felt her face flush with embarrassment and frustration. She hated people seeing her sick. She hated when her boss saw her sick. She hated when her handsome boss, that she’s not-so-secretly dating, saw her sick. She leaned over and turned the sound off on the monitor, annoyed at the sound of her heart rate as it slowed.

“Heads up.” Robby came in, tossing a sandwich to her.

“Thanks.” She caught it.

“Turkey sandwich and orange juice. Administer orally.” Robby smirked as he sat on the stool across from her, handing the juice to her.

“So funny.” She rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her sandwich.

“Eh, I try.” He shrugged.

“Try harder.” She had a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, I see we’re feeling better.” Robby crossed his arms. “You want to tell me why I wasn’t informed of your illness?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No one needed to know. I’ve dealt with it for years. It never stopped me from doing what I wanted. It’s never impeded my work.” Olivia straightened up, her hackles starting to raise.

“Clearly. That’s why I had to throw your ass on a gurney today.” Robby snorted.

“I didn’t need help. I would have been fine.” Olivia snapped.

“Easy. I’m just helping. It’s kind of my job.”

“Sorry. I just don’t like being babied.” She sighed.

“No one is doing that. Look, it would have been good to know so that I could recognize the signs and stop the syncope before it starts. That’s all.” Robby said.

“I woke up feeling like shit. I knew this was going to happen.” Olivia shook her head, picking at her sandwich.

“It’s not a weakness to take of yourself or let people help you do it.” Robby dipped his head so he could meet her eyes.

“You first.”

“Oh, ouch.” Robby laughed.

“I’m not accustomed to being taken care of. I’m not good at it.” Olivia shrugged.

“Yeah, me too.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “Look, I’m going to suggest something. Jack will be here in less than an hour, and our shift will be over. Let me take you home, help you through the flare-up.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She sipped her orange juice, hands still shaking.

“I know. I want to.” He shrugged. Olivia watched him for a moment, as if waiting for some mask to fall from his face.

“Okay.” She sighed.

“Good. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” He smiled.

“I can finish the shift.” Olivia started to get to her feet, she swayed on her feet. Robby rushed over and helped her sit back down.

“Not happening. You’re resting. Doctor’s orders.” Robby crossed his arms.

“Who listens to their doctor these days, anyway.”

“Boss’s orders.”

“No one listens to their boss. You sure as hell don’t.”

“Boyfriend's orders. Just sit your ass down and eat your sandwich.” He shook his head as he left.

Olivia sipped her juice, a smile tugging at her lips. Maybe she could learned to let herself be taken care of. A knock at the door broke her of her thoughts.

“Hey, Liv. How you doing?” Perlah’s bright face popped into the room.

“I’m okay.” Olivia smiled.

“Good. You had us worried, kid.” She came in with the IV caddy.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Olivia sat up.

“Robby wants a catheter placed? I thought he told you.”

“Coward. No, he didn’t.”

“Said something about getting you fluids. Am I going to need the soft restraints?” Perlah cocked an eyebrow.

“No.” Olivia groaned as she flopped her arm out for Perlah.

“I’ll make quick work of it, don’t worry.”

“Should have made him do it.” Olivia snorted.

“Oh yeah, that would end well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Robby place a catheter. Probably hasn’t since he was an intern.” Perlah laughed.

“Good point. I do prefer my veins not blown.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, course.” Olivia looked at her confused.

“You two are a thing, right?” Perlah taped the catheter in and leaned back on the stool.

“Oh. Um. I don’t know how to answer that.” Olivia cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry. You just did.” Perlah patted her leg and left.

“Well, shit.” Olivia sighed.

Olivia drifted off to sleep at some point. Her body was exhausted; she couldn’t fight it during flares. She felt a gentle hand on her arm, stroking up and down.

“Liv. We can go home.” Robby’s voice a gentle whisper in her ear. She groaned as she stretched.

“Okay.” She hummed as she sat up, her head swimming.

“Easy.” Robby steadied her. “Should I get a wheelchair?”

“No. Just give me a second.” She cleared her throat. She stood, putting a brave face. Robby could see how dizzy she was.

“I’m getting a chair.” He sighed.

“Fine.” Olivia flopped back on the bed.

“You do feel like shit if you’re not fighting the wheelchair.” Robby chuckled as he left. Olivia had a few choice words for him, in her head of course.

“I left my cane at home.” She sighed as he came back in.

“I’ve never seen your cane?” Robby looked surprised.

“I keep it in my coat closet, in a corner. Most people don’t see it.” She shrugged as she got into the chair. Robby wheeled her out of the ED, many double glances followed.

“They’ll talk.” Olivia sighed. “Perlah knows.”

“Perlah knows everything. She also knows better than to say something to the wrong person.” Robby shrugged.

“Gloria will know.”

“I told Gloria after our first date.” Robby chuckled.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did, you were half-drunk on wine watching Love Island. I didn’t think you were that gone that you wouldn’t remember.” He helped her into the passenger seat.

“Sneaky. You’re sneaky.” Olivia sighed as she leaned her head back.

“Sure. When I need to be. Relax. Go to sleep. We’ll be home in a few minutes.” He told her as he drove off.

Olivia felt the car stop, waking her up. Her head lolled upright.

“That was fast.” She cleared her throat as she climbed out of the car. Robby ran around to the other side, hovering, waiting to catch her. She held onto his arm as they walked up to her apartment. She was always so glad she had a ground-floor apartment.

“Do you want a shower?” He asked as he put his bag on the counter.

“Need one. I stink.” She groaned.

“Do you want help?” He watched her shuffle toward her bedroom.

“No.”

“Let me rephrase. Do you need it?”

“…yes.”

“Okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smirked as he walked behind her.

“I hate you.”

“That is not what you said the other night when I made you scream so loud the neighbors called the cops.” He growled in her ear.

“Not fair!” Olivia gasped.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Robby laughed as he turned her shower on.

“At least shower with me. I washed the clothes you left here. It’ll be easier.” Olivia batted her eyelashes, a move she knew Robby could never say no to.

“You drive a hard bargain. Sure.” He smiled as he pulled the scrub top from her. She moved to take his off, but he pushed her hands off. “I’m taking care of you. Don’t fuss over me. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Her voice was small. Robby finished undressing her and himself. He helped her into the shower, keeping a firm hold on her as she settled into the warmth.

Robby was soft and quick as he helped Olivia wash up. He knew she would have a small window where it felt okay before the syncope reared its ugly head.

“Ugh…Head’s swimming.” Olivia groaned.

“Okay, I got you.” Robby hummed as he rinsed the remaining suds from her skin and turned the water off. He wrapped her in a towel and sat her on the closed toilet.

“Top drawer. Pajamas are in the top drawer. Second drawer is my compression stockings.” She sighed as she took deep breaths. Robby grabbed her clothes and his and went back in.

“I knew I left my Penguins shirt somewhere.” He grumbled as he threw on his shirt and shorts.

“I wore it a couple of times.” Olivia pulled her clothes on. She struggled with her stockings.

“Let me help.” Robby took them from her.

“I haven’t been this bad in so long. I don’t know what happened.” Olivia sighed, feeling the emotions bubbling up.

“It happens. You did party pretty hard at Mohan’s birthday last weekend. Probably what did you in.” Robby got to his feet.

“Yeah. I don’t know. I need electrolytes.” She groaned as she slowly got to her feet.

“Let’s get you settled on the couch. I got fluids for you.” Robby helped her to the couch, tucking her heated blanket around her. He left and came back in with his backpack.

“I have packets on the counter next to the sink.” Olivia grumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut, the headache pounding.

“I’m getting you hooked up and then I’m making you dinner.” Robby pulled a bag of fluids from his bag and a small stand.

“You stole from the hospital?” Olivia looked at him confused.

“Nope. You’re getting billed for the fluids. Sorry. The stand is mine. Jack liked to party hard and made me give him a banana bag at his place. Got tired of taping it to the wall.” Robby attached the fluids to the catheter still in Olivia’s arm.

“I forgot about that thing in my arm.” She huffed.

“What do you want to eat?” Robby sat on the footstool across from her.

“Taco Bell.”

“No.”

“Yes, I want it.”

“That shit will kill you.”

“I need the salt. There is nothing filled with sodium like Taco Bell. It’s my go-to Hail Mary meal.” Olivia whined.

“Jesus. How are you still alive?” Robby rubbed his eyes.

“I’m stubborn.”

“Oh, well, yeah. Knew that.” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to make you something. Just, sit there and try not to die.” He waved her off and went to the kitchen.

Olivia flipped through her apps, not a single thing appealing to her. She moved to get up, wanting to take something for the headache.

“What are you doing?” Robby materialized out of nowhere next to her.

“Fuck! Where did you come from!?” Olivia fell back on the couch, clutching her chest.

“I’m always around. I’m all knowing.” Robby crossed his arms. “Then you’ll know that I’m getting Tylenol for my head.” She looked at him and tilted her head to emphasize her point.

“Okay.” Robby pulled a bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and handed it to her.

“There is no way you knew that.” Olivia grumbled as she poured the pills into her hand.

“Please. You’re not as hard to read as you think you are. You’ve been complaining about a headache all day.” He laughed.

“Does taking care of me just mean you get to be sassy to me all night?”

“Maybe.” Robby shrugged as he walked back into the kitchen. Olivia decided to stop fighting the need to sleep again and let the exhaustion take hold.

“Liv?” Robby’s voice shook her from her light sleep.

“Hmm? Sorry. I get so tired.” She sat up.

“Fatigue is one of the main symptoms.”

“Don’t act like you’re an expert all of a sudden.” She smirked.

“Here,” Robby shoved a plate in her face. “Not Taco Bell, but it’ll be better for you at least.” The plate was filled with a Mexican corn and bean salad of some sort, chicken, and avocado.

“Since when do you cook?” Olivia asked as she took a bite.

“I wouldn’t call that cooking. Just throwing things in a bowl. I watch a lot of Food Network. It’s relaxing.” Robby sat next to her and started eating his plate.

“Thank you.” Olivia nudged his arm.

“Any time. You really shouldn’t eat carbs so much, by the way.” Robby said as he shoved food into his mouth. Olivia dropped her fork and stared at him.

“You weren’t complaining about my fat the other night.” She huffed.

“What? No! Oh my god! No! No, it’s the sugar. It can cause flares! That’s what I meant.” Robby nearly choked on his food.

“Nice save.” Olivia chuckled.

“Fuck, you know how to make dinner awkward.”

“I’m not the one commenting on someone’s diet.”

“Your bag is almost done. I got another one, you think you need it?” Robby asked as he finished his meal.

“No. I think I’m okay.” Olivia sighed.

“Let me know.” Robby took their dishes to the kitchen. “I’m going to ask Jack what electrolytes he uses, his don’t have sugar in them.” He said as he walked back in. Olivia was taking deep breaths and clenching her hands into fists and releasing them. “Liv?”

“I’m going down again. I can feel it.” Her voice broke. Robby sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m going to lift your legs up, keep the blood flowing.” He put his arm under her knees and lifted them so they were just above her chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“I fucking hate this shit.” She cried.

“I can imagine.” Robby nodded as he used his free hand to massage her neck.

“What a mess.” She hummed, her body shaking. Her head fell back against the couch as she lost consciousness.

Robby moved her body so she was lying flat on the couch, her knees bent. He ran to the kitchen and got a cold, wet dish towel, placing it on the back of her neck. He kept his hand on her wrist, keeping track of her pulse. He ran his hands through her hair, waiting for her to wake up.

Olivia’s head slowly shook, her eyebrows furrowed. She grasped down on whatever was holding her hand. Robby’s hand, she figured.

“You’re okay. Nice and slow.” Robby murmured to her. She took a deep breath as she opened her eyes, Robby was sitting on the floor next to her.

“Sorry.” She groaned.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Robby told her.

“You’re nice.” She sighed.

“I do my best.” He smiled, his fingers still combing her hair. “I think you need to go see your neurologist.”

“The great Dr. Michael Robinavitch admits he can’t fix a patient? Is the sky falling? You should check.” Olivia smiled.

“You’re so funny.” Robby rolled his eyes.

“I know. I’ll call in the morning.” She sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Really.” Robby traced patterns on the back of her hand.

“I don’t like being treated like glass. When people find out I have a chronic illness, they treat me like glass. Or they get mean. I couldn’t bear it from you. Anyone but you.” Olivia pulled her hand from his grasp and cupped his cheek in it, running her thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’ll never be mean to you. Not on purpose.” He kissed her palm. “I know you’re an independent woman, you hate people infantilizing you. But you can let me carry the weight sometimes. You can let me take care of you, not baby you, care for you.”

“Shut up. I’m already tachycardic and you’re going to make it worse.” Olivia coughed.

“I’ll work on diluting my high levels of charm for you. We’ll monitor your intake, like the sugar.” He smirked as he leaned down to kiss her.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr. robby #dr. michael robinavitch #dr. michael robinavitch x oc #dr. michael “robby” robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr. robby fluff #doctor robby #dr. robinavitch #dr. robby x reader #noah wyle #tw food #tw blood #tw pots #tw fainting

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infinitydivine · 2 days ago

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Their late-night thoughts about you: Pick a Pile Reading

✨If this reading resonates with you, kindly share it to help your reader :)

✨The extended reading can be found on my Patreon and is also available for sale as a post without becoming a member :)

Masterlist -Paid Readings-Paid Readings Reviews-PAC Readings-My Patreon

Choose your pile intuitively. Take what resonates and leave the other things. If you think this reading is not for you then choose another pile. If still it doesn't resonate then this might not be your reading. There are Three Piles.

Hello Pile 1~~~

It always happens when the world starts to slow down. The lights are off, the phone’s on charge, and they’re finally lying still like no distractions, no noise. That’s when their mind wanders. And, somehow, without fail, it ends up back on you.

It’s not dramatic and also it’s not some grand emotional breakdown every night. But it’s there...quietly and constantly. You my loves show up in the smallest of moments...as a memory or as a glance. A feeling they can’t quite name. And sometimes they just lie there thinking, “Why do I keep thinking about them?”

Honestly, they don’t really get it either. Maybe they’ve tried to distract themselves, dive into work, scroll endlessly or mindlessly, talk to friends, or convince themselves they’ve “moved on.” But the truth is, your presence or your energy stays like a song they can’t get out of their head. Not because of something specific you did, but because of how you made them feel. And that part? It’s not easy to ignore my loves.

Read the extended post here.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile 2~~~

My loves of pile 2- There’s something about you they can’t shake, even now. Even when they tell themselves to move forwar and if they pretend it didn’t mean that much. But it did And it still does.

At night, when everything quiets down and they finally put their phone down or stop pretending to be busy, you come back. And not just like a thought. You come back like a feeling. Like a wave that keeps returning to the shore, no matter how far the tide goes out.

They don’t just think of what happened between you two. They think of what could’ve been. They imagine alternate timelines. Versions of the story where you both had better timing, more clarity, or just a little more courage. It hurts sometimes the way life didn’t exactly cooperate. It’s not about blame. It’s about longing. That feeling of knowing something real touched your life and wondering if it was supposed to stay longer than it did. Read the extended post here.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile 3

Okay, so first thing, your pile is the only pile that has any channelled song...and that for you guys is Glimpse of Us by Joji.

My loves of Pile 3~~~Some people hit you like a wave, all at once. But you? You make your way in gently, quietly. And now, when the world slows down and everything is still, you’re the one they find themselves thinking about.

It’s strange because they didn’t expect to care this much. In fact, they probably told themselves it wasn’t that deep maybe even convinced others it wasn’t serious. But now, when the lights are off and they’re left alone with their thoughts, your name is the one first things that come to their mind and that too quite a lot actually.

They’re not the type to show much, Maybe they’re emotionally reserved, or maybe they didn’t even realize what they were feeling at the time. But there’s something about late nights that strips away all that armour. It’s when truth bubbles up. And lately? The truth is... they miss you. Read the extended post here.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Thank you and Love,

Infinity

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emisluvr · 2 hours ago

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‎ AFTER HOURS ˎˊ˗ s.jy

✶ SYNOPSIS ── your coworker, jake, is the shameless office slut. he’s cocky, lazy, and infamous for fucking every girl in the office until they’re obsessed. you’re the opposite: organized, driven, and sick of his shit. your best friend heeseung keeps teasing you about the “sexual tension,” but you deny it every time.. until one night, you and jake end up staying after hours at the office.

✶ STARRING ── office fuckboy!jake, fem!reader, bsf!heeseung

✶ CAUTION! ── smut (minors dni), enemies to lovers, lots of cursing, office au, y/n overhears boss and jake getting freaky, unprotected sex (wrap it), spanking, lots of dirty talk, dumbification, cum play, masturbation, fingering, making out, kissing, breast play/sucking, spitting, dirty jokes, big dick!jake, teasing, heavy tension, mentions of gossip, jake is an absolute menace.

✶ DURATION ── 10.8k word oneshot.

EMI ✉️ jake has been bias wrecking me HARD lately, so it's only natural that i write a filthy fic for him !! considering this is my first long fic, i'm kinda proud of myself <3 enjoy reading my luvs, feedback + rbs are appreciated!

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Truth be told, you loved your job at the office. You enjoyed working in a fairly quiet and independent environment—you know, having your own cubicle where you worked away at your desk, the only time you could actually talk to your friends being during breaks.

Not to mention, you’re dedicated. You’re a hard worker, somewhat uptight, but your boss always praised you for your work ethic. So really, to say you didn’t like your job would be a bold-faced lie.

However, there was one thing—someone who made your job fucking miserable. This one person made you regret clocking in to work every day. Heck, he even made you regret staying employed at the office.

Sim Jaeyun.

He made corporate hell ten times hotter by being handsome, loud, lazy, and disgustingly fuckable.

It’s 8:52 a.m., and you had just arrived at work after running on four hours of sleep trying to finish your report. You wore your typical office attire, a crisp white dress shirt, a fitted black pencil skirt, and a tailored blazer. Your heels clicked with every step, your shirt just slightly unbuttoned at the top from rushing out the door. If anything, today was the one day you really didn’t want to deal with Jake’s shit. Really, it’s every day. But today? You were particularly ticked off.

The minute you step out of the elevator and onto your floor, you already hear him laughing with someone three cubicles down. His laugh, in some unfair way, is hot. But it also makes you want to smash his head into a wall. It’s too fucking early to hear his voice, especially when he’s always the one that comes in late. But this time, he beat you by two minutes.

You turn your head just slightly, and there he is. His dark hair all soft and messy, yet it looks so effortlessly good. His white dress shirt is slightly unbuttoned, the tie hanging loose like he threw it on five seconds before leaving. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he flashes that awfully pretty smile of his while his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t even fucking need glasses. He just wears them because he thinks it makes girls get on their knees for him. Truthfully, that’s usually what happens. But it’s none of your business.

“Ay, two minutes late, Y/N!” he calls out, raising his tone and pointing at you so there’s no way you missed it.

“As if you don’t come late every day, asshole,” you mutter under your breath, walking into your cubicle and setting your bag down with a heavy thud. He didn’t hear you. Of course he didn’t. He was too caught up in whatever him and some other girl from your department were talking about. He probably fucked her too.

Jake’s the type of guy everyone loves, even though there’s not a single good trait about him. Except for the fact that he shows up to work looking hot with zero effort. In the bathroom, girls constantly gossip about him. There’s never a time you can pee, let alone wash your hands, without overhearing some girl rave about how good he made her feel.

“He made me cum in under five minutes.”

“He secretly edged me at my desk.”

“I still dream about how his fingers felt inside me.”

“He fucked me in the lounge room.”

These are just a few of the things you hear about him on the daily. And it’s usually a different girl every time. That’s what made him such a whore in your eyes. And sure, everyone knew about it, but no one cared. A guy as good-looking, probably big, and charming as Sim Jaeyun could get away with just about anything.

To say it pissed you off was an understatement. He showed up late almost every day—today being a rare exception. He flirted with HR and practically skated by with minimal effort, all because he was hot and somehow everyone’s type.

Yes, he does actually do his work on rare occasions just to avoid getting fired, but most of the time he coasts on charm. It’s the only fucking thing he knows how to do with that pretty face.

What everyone knows best about him, though, is his reputation for fucking his female coworkers and leaving them obsessed. The thought made you partially disgusted. But at most, all he is to you is just a guy with an insane face card who’s using it to his advantage and getting exactly what he wants in return: pussy.

And as if that didn’t already paint the perfect picture of him being an asshole, he always made it a point to specifically tease, flirt, and annoy you. The one person in the office he hadn’t gotten the chance to fuck. If you gave him that chance, he would absolutely take it. But since he’s your arch-nemesis, you promised yourself you’d never let him touch you, let alone lay a finger on you.

As everyone settles into their cubicles and starts their usual routine, the faint sounds of keyboard clicking, rummaging through papers, and coffee sipping fill the air. And of course, so does Jake, as he leans against the divider separating your two cubicles.

It was worth mentioning that your cubicles were just one apart. And no matter how many times you begged your boss to move you, it was never approved.

Of course, he’s doing anything but his assigned tasks and instead chooses to bother you for the second time today. But knowing him, once is never enough. Just like how he can never stick to sleeping with just one girl.

“How’s your little spreadsheet going, love?” He teases, slim and veiny fingers resting against his cheek as his elbow props on top of the divider. He stares down at you, voice coated in sleep, his accent making it sound like honey.

“Don’t talk to me,” you say firmly, not even looking up. The four hours of sleep were really starting to hit now that he was trying to push your buttons, and the urge to grab his head and smack it into the divider was growing stronger by the second.

“You sound so hot when you’re mad,” he hums, teasing you one last time before realizing you weren’t in the mood and finally retreating to his seat.

“I’m not one of your little office playthings,” you tell yourself silently, glancing at your spreadsheet that barely looked like one now. You could hardly focus with someone nagging you as much as he did.

Your lunch break was the one time of day where you finally got to breathe. To be away from him. And instead, spend it chatting with your best friend, Lee Heeseung, who worked in the same department.

You let out a pent-up sigh as you walk into the lounge room where the two of you usually met. It was quiet and secluded enough for you to vent in peace. The moment you plop down on the cushioned couch beside him, you cringe slightly.

Gross. Didn’t Jake fuck a girl here?

Heeseung was the only one who knew about your misery. The only person you truly expressed your hatred for Jake to.

“Jake? Again?” Heeseung asks, mid-bite, as he spots the familiar look on your face.

“Yes. He’s so fucking useless..” you mumble, running a hand through your hair. Heeseung silently offers you a bite of his food, clearly seeing how dead you look.

You chew slowly, letting the flavor melt on your tongue, and it makes your mood just slightly better.

“I don’t know how he even got hired,” you mutter, taking another bite and handing it back.

“Probably gave head to the hiring manager. Wouldn’t be the first,” he shrugs, like he somehow has Jake’s entire history memorized.

“You’re not helping,” you glare, crossing your leg over the other.

“What? You don’t think he’s good with his mouth? You know how many girls he’s probably eaten ou—”

“Hee! I don’t want to know! Probably a lot.. okay, I know that. But still, numbers can only say so much about a person,” you huff. The image alone makes your face twist with disgust—and your chest tighten.

“Just saying.. if you hate him so much, why do you know his entire fuck history?” He teases.

“Because everyone knows? Not that it’s any of my business. I could care less about who he’s fucking. He’s just always a dick, always annoying me like he thinks I’m one of his hoes,” you mutter, walking over to the Nespresso machine. You needed caffeine. Badly. Especially for this very conversation.

“You’re next,” Heeseung says from the couch.

You pause, turning your head back with a confused expression as you stir your coffee. “W-what? What do you mean?”

“I’m saying you might be his next little thing. I see the way he teases you.. it’s not for no reason,” he shrugs, tossing his lunch container in the trash.

“As if. He only wishes,” you murmur, shaking the carton of vanilla creamer before pouring it in.

“You say that now, but.. watch when he gets his way with you,” Heeseung calls out, already halfway out the door.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” You yell, throwing your hands out dramatically.

“I am!”

“Mhm,” you mutter under your breath.

You leave the lounge room with your warm cup of vanilla coffee in your hands, trying to mentally reset after your conversation with Heeseung before you have to get back to work.

The office is mostly quiet, the infamous keyboard clicks, murmurs of people chatting, and printer hums filling the air. You’re in a somewhat-decent headspace to get back on track, especially since you didn’t once hear Jake’s voice during your entire break.

No, that doesn’t mean you hate the way his voice sounds. His voice is attractive, oddly. His accent, the whiny undertones, and raspiness all make it sound so sweet. The only issue that occurs is what comes out of his mouth, and his repulsively cocky personality.

But who were you to say anything? He most definitely knows exactly what to say during sex, especially with a voice like that, that can draw anyone in. No wonder there was a new girl on her knees for him every week.

Just as you reach a few feet away from your cubicle, you see him leaning at the entrance, smirking at you while he reveals his perfect smile. His tie is looser now, sleeves pushed up higher, a pen between his fingers that he’s absentmindedly twirling.

“Miss me?” He teases, eyes locked on yours as your expression is blank, but your eyebrows slightly furrow when the sentence leaves his mouth.

“Move.” You demand, as his body is pretty much blocking the entire entrance into your small cubicle. You stand in front of him, but maintain your distance, staring up at his tall figure. You're not even sure if the caffeine from your coffee will help with anything anymore.

“Say please.” He crosses his arms, eyes still locked on yours as he looks down at your shorter figure, waiting for the satisfaction to hit of you saying the word that every single girl probably moans when being fucked by him.

“Go bother someone else, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, shoving past him, your shoulder harshly brushing past his as you set your cup down on the table and sit in your chair, only to resume your endless typing.

“Attitude, baby,” he says firmly, yet teasingly, before walking behind your chair. He felt oddly close to you, making your body nearly shiver as you look behind you, staring up at his standing figure.

“You want something? Maybe a quickie in the break room?” He mocks, watching how your eyes slightly squint in disgust. He always tried to get his way with you like this—through sex persuasions.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re staring.”

“Get out.” You dart your head back to your computer screen. He cockily smirks before leaving your cubicle and walking back to his.

Your stomach fluttered when he called you the name, but again, that’s what he probably addresses every female as in this office. You were no different, except that he just liked to annoy you to insanity.

You resume your typing while sipping your already-cold coffee, constantly hitting the backspace button as you find yourself writing nonsense, desperately trying to forget about your encounter with Jake just now.

Your phone lock screen flashes, a text from your boss appearing. “Can you send Jake in my office? He owes me a favour.”

Favour my ass. Just say you want him in between your legs again.

You simply like the message and walk over to the cubicle next to yours—Jake’s.

“Jake,” you whisper, trying not to be too loud, but he’s on the phone with his friend. Of course he can’t hear a damn thing.

He’s lazily manspreading in his seat, facing away from the computer screen with a blank document—typical. His phone is pressed to his ear as he rants away.

“I swear, she was basically shaking by the time I was done with her—”

“Jake!” You say a little louder, catching his attention as he looks at you, eyes wide and innocent—though deep down, he was the complete opposite of that.

“Boss wants to see you in her office,” you say with a stoic expression. He bites his lip before saying, “Ay, I’ll call you back,” and hanging up.

By the time he gets up and makes his way to the office, you’re already sat in your seat again.

Your phone’s lock screen flashes again. This time, it’s a text from Heeseung.

“Saw your boyfriend going into the boss’s office.”

“First of all, not my boyfriend. Second of all, Boss’s orders.”

“How much you wanna bet he’s fucking her so she can give him a raise?”

“I don’t even wanna bet on that, I know it’s happening.”

He replies with a laughing face before you shut your phone off, setting it down on your desk before your eyes catch the coffee you didn’t end up finishing. Frankly, you don’t want to anymore.

You sit up from your chair, cup in hand, before searching for the nearest trash bin, which happens to be right next to the boss’s office.

You approach it before tossing your paper cup in the bin, leftover coffee seeping out of it and piling on the other cups, some stained with lipstick and gloss on the edges.

You stay for a moment, the faint sounds of.. something coming from the office catching your attention.

Your ear moves closer to the locked door, until you finally hear it—pornographic moans. Your boss was getting fucked. By Jake.

Heeseung was right.

“Y-yes, fuck! Right there!” You hear her screams, making your face scrunch in disgust. But you keep listening in on it.

“You gonna give me a raise now, yeah baby?” You hear the familiar sound of Jake’s voice, all breathy and groany. The more your ear presses up against the door, the more the light sound of skin slapping is heard.

“Yes! Fuckfuck—” The moan escapes her lips. It’s almost as if she wasn’t even trying to hide it. It’s either she wanted everyone in the office to know she was getting fucked like a slut, or that his cock was just too good to stay quiet.

You’ve had enough. You can’t hear anymore of this. Your chest tightens as your ear comes off from the door, everything you had just heard made you feel a little uneasy.

Not that you cared, because again, his sex life was none of your business. But damn, even your boss got his cock?

This had further proved how much of a whore Jake was. Your boss was freshly thirty, and even though you both were only in your early twenties, it still disgusted you. He really would fuck anything, so long as it had a pussy between its legs and would personally benefit him—whether it was through a job raise, pleasure, or in this case.. both.

You quickly make your way back to your desk, trying to resume your previous typing, though it’s nearly impossible considering what you had just heard.

You didn’t know why it was still lingering in your head, like you didn’t already know that he’s done this to nearly every girl in the office. It doesn’t matter. It’s just Jake. He’s a sleaze, a whore, and the very reason your days feel ten times longer than they should.

And yet, you can’t stop thinking about what you heard. The way she moaned, the way he groaned and talked so dirty to her, the infamously cocky tone in his voice like he knew he was ruining her.

You squeeze your thighs together under your pencil skirt, looking away from the screen, utterly disgusted with yourself for letting your thoughts wander.

You keep clicking away at your mouse, moving tabs around, trying to look productive—like you’re doing something—but you can’t focus on anything. You type random words that float around in your noggin that don’t relate at all to what you have to write about, delete them, type again, until you eventually give up and roll your chair away from your desk, now facing the entrance and trying to take a breather.

Your thoughts still creep in your head. They’re almost impossible to push out.

“He fucks like that just for a raise?”

“She sounded so dumb for him.. Was it that good?”

“Is he that big?”

“Why the fuck do I care?”

Fuck it, you need another cup of coffee.

You step out of your cubicle, running a hand through your hair as you notice Jake walking out of the office. His hair is messier, shirt untucked, sleeves still rolled to the elbow. He looks even more disheveled now, yet he still looked so good, even post-fuck.

You really didn’t want to cross paths with him again, not after hearing him railing your boss in real time, when he didn’t think anyone could hear.

The minute he walks by you, your eyes meet, and he winks. “Slut,” you mutter under your breath, heart skipping in frustration. You blink, your heels clinking against the floor louder as you walk faster toward the lounge room, desperate to get away from everything and anything, even if that meant through another dose of caffeine.

You and Heeseung planned to meet at a small café in the lobby of your office building during a quick break. Since the workday had already started, the café was pretty quiet—soft music played in the background and just a few coworkers were scattered around. It was the perfect spot to catch your breath before heading back.. and to tell your friend what you had just heard not long ago.

“You look like you saw something you weren’t supposed to,” Heeseung says, noticing how you look down in your lap and stay oddly silent. Normally, if you were going to complain about Jake or your never-ending workload, it would’ve spilled out by now.

“Close enough..” you look up from your lap and at your friend’s bambi-like expression, and reluctantly tell him what you overheard just an hour ago.

“You heard it? Like.. full-on?” His eyes slightly widen—not that he was surprised or anything. He was only shocked that you had finally got a taste of it yourself, meaning you heard everything.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Gosh, she sounded like a pornstar..” you say, before cringing at your own words.

“Was he all like ‘who’s your boss now’?” Heeseung smirks, about to laugh at his own dirty comment.

“You’re disgusting,” you say, before realizing that’s one of the many insults you threw at Jake today.

“I’m just saying.. guess the real promotion was inside her all along.” He cracks another stupid joke.

“Heeseung!” Your tone goes higher.

“Jeez, sorry,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Bet you couldn’t even focus on your work after hearing that.”

You can’t even make eye contact with him anymore. Because it’s true, you couldn’t. The sole thought and memory of it was consuming you, and you hated it.

Jake’s high-pitched groans, his breathy filthy talk, the way she was moaning like it was the best sex she’s ever had—all lingered in your brain more than they should. It’s almost as if the second you heard it go down, the sound stuck with you for the rest of the day, clinging onto you like a reminder that the man who teases you every day, the man you despise, is willing to go as far as fucking his boss for a raise.

He doesn't even deserve one. Never did. But again, who says no to a face like his?

You part your mouth to speak before both of your phones buzz. You glance at your screens, only to see your Gmail app say: Subject: Quarter-End Team Assignments (After Hours)

It’s essentially a company-wide initiative that happens at the end of every quarter, in which select employees are asked to stay after work hours and help with outstanding internal reports, archiving client files, and assisting with next-week's executive presentations.

Your stomach sinks. You open the email and sigh loudly.

Not that you were nervous or anything, but you liked working on your own—and staying past the time you normally have to would drain the life out of you. Well.. depending on who you’d be paired with.

“Imagine you’ll be paired with lover boy,” Heeseung laughs, noticing your sudden mood change after seeing the email.

“Bite your tongue. And I don’t know yet..” you start, before adding, “But I’ve got a bad feeling.”

He raises a brow. “Bad or horny?”

You throw the crumbled sheet of paper from your straw at his face, hitting him right in the middle as he flashes his pretty smile in response.

“Well, I’m leaving,” you say, standing from your seat as you grab your bag. “Some of us have to go face our fate.”

The elevator ride back up to your floor felt oddly slow, almost as if the universe was preparing you for the news to come.

The minute you step in, you walk into one of the smaller glass offices, where you find the project lead—one of the newer coordinators. She didn’t look intimidating, but rather sharp, like she knew how to keep someone on their feet.

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” you softly say, bowing in front of her as she looks up from her laptop and smiles politely.

“Good to see you, Ms. L/N. Thanks for dropping in,” she says, before continuing, “I see that you’ve been super consistent with your deadlines lately. This’ll reflect really well on your internal review.” She softly nods, lips pressed into a smile as her index fingers push up the round frames higher on her nose bridge.

“I’m sure you saw in the email, but we’re asking a couple of people to stay after hours the next few days throughout the week. It’s mostly to tidy up client files and organize emails for an important presentation early next week,” she adds.

You nod with a relaxed expression, but deep down, you already wanted her to spit it out and tell you who you’d be partnered with. Your apprehension comes to a stop when she finally speaks.

“Oh, and you’ll be paired with Jake for this. He’s got some catching up to do, so.. we’re giving him a little nudge. You both start tomorrow after the workday ends.”

You swear you feel your heart drop the minute you hear his name, but obviously, this just had to be your luck.

You nod, face stoic but trying to show some sort of satisfaction, before you thank her and turn your back, walking out of the office.

“This better get me a raise,” you think to yourself, letting out a pent-up sigh of despair before you step out—only to see Jake leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for you.

You already had a feeling he knew about the two of you being paired.. And he did.

“Looks like we’re in this together, sweetheart,” he smirks, voice smug as he throws his arm over your shoulder, his hand almost brushing your cheek.

You stay silent for just a second, rolling your eyes as your heart slightly feels warm—almost as if it melted a bit? You can only imagine how he’s probably still got the boss’s taste on his fingers, and how many skirts his hand has slid under.

You don’t know why the thought consumed you so much, let alone even bothered you a bit, but it somehow did.

“Don’t call me that,” you say, eyes refusing to meet his as you keep on walking, your breath hitching at the loss of warmth and touch on your shoulder.

He trails behind you regardless. “Just tell me what to do, boss.”

“As if you didn’t fuck ours.” You admit. As much as you didn’t want him to know that you heard a thing, it slipped out anyway.

“So you heard that, huh?” He tuts, his trailing behind you stopping. “I was wondering why you couldn’t look me in the eye all day.”

You turn back to glare at him, stopping in your tracks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Could’ve been you,” he says, before walking the opposite way.

And that sentence stuck with you for the rest of the day.

The next day flew by like a breeze. Your bickers with Jake had still persisted, to no surprise, but it’s almost as if he’d decided to be less annoying today. That is.. if he would save it all for tonight.

By the time 5pm rolls around, everyone is beginning to pack up and get ready to go home after another exhausting day. You had to say, the closer the presentation was approaching next week, the more everyone was in a frenzy.

You were somewhat stressed too, but considering you’d only have to stay a bit behind after hours today in preparation for it, you were okay with it.

You walk over to a big glass table, materials in hand, including Jake’s—typically where workers would sit to work if not at their cubicles. Jake had left the office a few minutes prior, promising a return, though you were ready to see him ten minutes before you left.

Heeseung passes by you on his way out, playfully and lightly ruffling your hair before he whispers a small, “Good luck.”

You sarcastically smile in return. Thanks. I’ll need it.

When the office is finally empty, you get to work. The light of the sun beginning to set casts a beautiful glow across the space as your head is down, mind focused, and brows furrowed. You sort through client folders—colour-coding them, updating labels with new information from recent meetings, and flagging anything missing before next week’s presentation.

In front of your hoard of papers is your laptop, opened to the email inbox. This was initially supposed to be Jake’s duty, but since there was still no sign of him, you decided to start the part for him, refusing to be more behind than you already are.

“Useless idiot,” you mutter under your breath as your eyes scan the screen and rummage through all the unorganized emails.

Your stressing comes to a stop when you hear the elevator ding, followed by the sound of slow footsteps. Jake walks in, a little too casually for someone who’s late. “Should’ve known you’d start without me.”

You don’t bother looking up at him, eyes instead switching from the laptop screen and back down to the papers occasionally. “We both know being late is your only real skill.”

He kisses his teeth before sitting next to you, his knee brushing your thigh. For the next few minutes, the space is filled with the surprising sound of silence—the only evident sounds being Jake’s typing and your papers rustling.

“I have to go print a missing file. Don’t move.” You coldly say, already rising from your seat.

You stand in front of the machine, waiting for your pile of papers to print when you notice Jake walk into the room.

“I told you to not m—” you start, before being cut off.

“Chill, I just need to get something,” he says, a smirk itching to tug at his lips that he suppresses. He walks past you to the shelf of boxes, his hip bumping against your ass when he brushes behind you. You slightly stiffen, breath caught in your throat as you notice him pausing behind you, not moving forward to get what he needs.

His eyes scan you up and down from behind, top lip running over his bottom lip as he traces the curve of your ass. His face moves closer to the back of your head, the sweet and alluring scent of your perfume intriguing him.

“You always smell this good?” He murmurs lowly, his accent mixed with the raspiness of his voice nearly making you go into a daze, but you stop yourself before you can zone out.

You click your tongue, gathering your papers before saying, “Get your shit and sit back down.”

He smirks behind you, finally moving away to grab one of the boxes on the shelves as you leave the print room and make your way back to the table.

Your eye catches the folder you were working on a little farther down the table than usual—probably because Jake was bored out of his mind from doing all the typing and wanted to see what you were doing.

You reach over for it, ass slightly perched up as you bend over the table. Simultaneously, Jake walks back in, only for his eyes to be met with the view of your tight little pencil skirt accentuating the arch of your ass. You already knew he was about to say something nasty about it.

Your back straightens again as you come up, folder in hand, before his hand grazes your lower back, leaning in to use that same low and cocky tone again. “If you’re gonna keep bending over like that, at least have the decency to ask for help.”

You suck in a breath, the feeling of his hand making contact with you nearly making you shiver. “Stop.” You simply say. The demand was simple, but it was enough to have him scoff and sit back down next to you.

You’re both seated, but he’s sitting closer to you than he was before—his thigh pressed against yours, making you shoot him a deadpan look. He notices, smirking before he says, “Don’t worry. I’m working.”

Those four words alone were laced with fake innocence, his eyes scanning the way your fingers flip through the papers, down to the way your plush ass sat against the chair, and down to your legs.

His staring caught your attention, though it didn’t particularly make you uncomfortable.

“Do you ever stop looking?” You say, not bothering to look at him, but the sharpness in your voice was enough to let him know that you were aware of his every move.

“Not when you’re this fuckin’ pretty.” He smirks, before his teeth chew on his bottom lip as he stays leaned back in his chair, barely touching your laptop.

As hard as it was to ignore the supposed compliment, you did, only so he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

He leans in, lips nearly brushing your ear as he drops the bomb. “You really gonna keep pretending you didn’t care when you heard me fucking her?”

Your body freezes, only your jaw clenching. You hate how he noticed that. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were, simply put, slightly jealous and uncomfortable. You can’t deny it.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He smiles, watching your demeanor completely change the second he brought it up.

“You’re gonna break soon, baby. All that attitude, but you’re already so fuckin’ wet, aren’t you?” He says, standing up from his seat.

Your cheeks flush, body going into utter shock as the sentence slipped from his mouth. Those few words did something to you, and Jake knew it—oh so well. He was making it so damn difficult to resist giving in to his stupid temptations.

He gently tilts your spinning chair so you face him, before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at his standing figure.

It gave him so much power, the feeling of you gulping and staring up at him like you knew he was about to ruin you any second now. It’s what he’s been wanting.. to get a taste of you.

“Go ahead. Keep acting like you don’t want it.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You glare, shoving his hands off as you stand up from your seat, still looking up at him as he was taller than you.

Your bodies are close, chests nearly pressed together as the heated tension lingers in the air.

“Make me.” He grins.

Unable to hold back, your lips crash onto each other’s.

Your soft lips move against his—both hungry, messy, like you’d been holding back for way too long. They move in sync, your hands wrapping around his neck as he grabs you under your thighs, pushes away the stack of folders and papers, and sets you on top of the glass table.

Part of your body was in a state of shock. The man who pretty much made work miserable for you was now making out with you, and you let him. However, part of you couldn’t deny the tension between the two of you, and that he always looked so good and fuckable.

Your skirt is slightly ridden up, your hand pulling him closer by his collar as his hands roam your entire body, only because you’ve never let him lay a finger on you up until now.

His hands start on your hips, squeezing them before they slide up to caress your waist, and then between your thighs, grazing over your soaked, clothed pussy. “Knew you’d be wet f’me,” he mumbles into the kiss, chuckling to himself.

You pull away, hands still wrapped around his neck as you look right into his eyes. “Aww, did you now?”

His eyes don’t leave yours—his gorgeous and enticing smile flashing once more before he says, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll fuck you right here.”

“I know you’ve been wanting to.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just fuck me already, Jake.”

“Say please, baby.”

“Dammit—please, Jake!”

He bites his lip, smirking at your plea before helping you down the desk and flipping you over, pushing your chest flat against the cold glass.

He lifts your skirt up fully, bunching it just above your hips so he can get a clear and full view of your ass and soaked panties. He groans at the sight, one hand roughly squeezing your ass as his finger runs along your clothed slit, the wetness picking up onto his finger. “Dumb little baby, you already this wet from a few kisses?”

You roll your eyes, already getting impatient as you wait for him to give you what you so badly want.

He hooks a finger around your panties before yanking them down, letting them pool around your heels. He unzips his pants just enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, and leaking at the tip. “Been dying to fuck you since day one,” he mutters under his breath.

He rubs the tip between your wet folds, collecting your slick as he teases your entrance, spitting a string of saliva that perfectly drips down right before he pushes in.

You squirm beneath as he palms your ass, doing anything but fucking you, before he says, “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve wanted this. Every time you walked past me in that tight little skirt with your tits out—fuck.”

You gasp when he pushes the head in, a groan escaping his lips as he throws his head back, savouring how warm and tight you already feel when he’s not even fully inside you.

He pushes the rest of his cock in, easy to do with how your slick clung to him, mixed with his spit. A soft moan spills from your mouth when he bottoms out, cock fully buried inside your tight walls. No wonder he had the boss moaning like crazy—he’s fucking huge.

The stretch was unlike anything you’ve felt before. It was painful, but more addicting than anything. His thickness stretched you out so good, your pussy doing everything in its power to adjust to it before he absolutely destroys you.

He pulls out a little more than halfway, before slamming back inside you, over and over. Your eyes roll back, head falling onto the table, your cheek mushed against the cold glass as his hips snap into your ass.

The sound of skin slapping, mixed with your screams and moans and his heavy grunts, fills the room. His hands keep a firm grip on your hips, helping to fuck yourself on him so your thrusts sync and hit your deepest spots.

It doesn’t take long before his tip brushes your sweet spot with nearly every thrust, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he hears the stream of ‘yesyes’ and ‘fuckfuck’s spill from your mouth when he angles his hips to find that weakest spot of yours.

“That’s it, you take it so good for me. Knew this pussy was mine the second I saw you,” he breathes out, eyes locked on the way the flesh of your ass recoils every time it slams back against his pelvis. His hand lands a sharp slap to your cheek, making it turn a deep red.

“J-jake—Fuck!” You cry out once you feel the stinging sensation.

No wonder girls keep crawling back and giving into him. He knows exactly what to say during sex. All the right things, the ones that’ll have your head spinning and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You moan out his name over and over, trying to steady yourself on the glass desk with each brutal thrust that has your body jerking forward, but it’s nearly impossible with how limp you already feel—and you haven’t even come yet.

“This what you wanted, huh? To get bent over and used like a fuckin’ toy?” He tuts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back a bit.

You can’t even form a response. All that leaves your mouth is a pathetic moan as his cock fucks into you so deep and perfectly. Your duties are long forgotten, discarded on the table. All you can think about is how good he feels and how dumb he’s fucking you. “You’ve got the best pussy in the office, don’t you?”

The more his tip slams into your sweet spot, the tighter the knot in your stomach grows, your pussy clenching around him. His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut at the sudden pressure, relishing how your walls squeeze him.

“F-uck.. been jerking off to the thought of this for weeks,” he moans, voice cracking. “And now I’ve got you dripping on my cock like a whore.”

You feel his tip begin to pulse, his hips stuttering as you both inch closer to release. “Gonna cum f’me, doll? Gonna be a good girl?” He says, voice breathy and desperate.

You nod frantically, eyes glassy and lips parted as you teeter on the edge.

He keeps fucking into you, hips slamming with every thrust. One hand keeps you pinned to the table while the other delivers another harsh slap to your ass, the flesh a deep, burning pink now as cries spill from your lips.

You whimper when you feel his cock twitch. He pulls out at the last second, grunting through gritted teeth as he spills his warm cum all over your ass, your release dripping just at your core.

His two fingers glide up your slit, collecting the mess from your pussy and your release, before bringing them around to your lips.

“C’mon, baby, suck on it,” he says, biting his lip when you wrap your mouth around his fingers, tongue swirling around them before you swallow every drop of your mess.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Y’know..” he breathes out with a cocky smirk, “You’re even tighter than I imagined.”

You glance back at him, brows raised, a lazy smirk tugging at your lips. You both chuckle breathlessly.

The realization hits you now. You just let your arch-nemesis fuck you at work.. But you don’t care. That was the best orgasm of your life. Now you understand the hype around Jake and his whore reputation. And Heeseung will definitely be hearing from you.

By the time you and Jake had calmed down after fucking like wild animals, to finishing your duties for the night, to going your separate ways to go home, you found yourself laying back flat on your bed—both conflicted and in disbelief.

The entire moment replays in your head, and all you can wonder is, how’d you actually let him fuck you?

Every single detail scrambles in your brain—how dirty he was talking, how rough he handled you, how deep he fucked you, how big he felt, how filthy his voice sounded while he had you bent over for him, how no guy has ever fucked you this good. And his mention of you having the best pussy in the office made your pussy flutter.

Your thighs press together, warmth and wetness pooling between them. Before you can even realize it, you slip your sweatpants off, discarding them on your side as you still lay on your back, legs almost raised to your chest before your hand rubs slow circles over your clit.

You let the images flash behind your eyelids as you do so—from him grabbing your hips, to spanking you, and then cumming all over your ass by the end of it.

Your rubbing stops before you push two fingers inside your entrance, whimpering at the stretch, though you had Jake’s cock ruin you just a few hours ago.

You try to mimic the way his cock had you filled up, how deep and warm it reached into you.

“Jake, fuck..” you moan under your breath, hips grinding into your hand as your slick-covered fingers quickly pump in and out of your pussy, ramming into your sweet spot as you chase another orgasm.

Sure, this was pathetic of you.. Considering you hated Jake. But the way he fucked you quite literally had you reminiscing, wishing it was his cock instead of your fingers right now.

With a few more curls of your fingers, your cum seeps out, painting your digits with the clear-milky fluid. Your chest heaves as you attempt to calm down from your high, hoping it would give you some kind of relief, but it didn’t.

You lie there, your room mostly dark as the only light source comes from your warm lamp sitting on your nightstand, before your free hand grabs your phone.

You open the message app, before clicking on Jake’s icon. Without even thinking, you type out:

“Round two tmr?”

You stare at the text, not sending it just yet as you reread it. Then backspace it all.

You groan, tossing your phone across the bed.

If tomorrow had already come by now, you would’ve deeply regretted sending any of those texts. You’re only horny in the moment, that’s all.

The next day, you walk into the office nervous as hell, heart pounding when you see Jake walking towards his cubicle.

Frankly, you wouldn’t have cared if he told anybody, though he probably didn’t. Nearly every girl in that office was known for having a one-night stand with Jake, so really, it would be to no one’s surprise.

Worst case scenario, he would’ve acted like nothing had happened between the two of you, leaving you attached.

He notices you as you walk to your own cubicle, and he shoots you that damn smirk before saying, “Morning.”

It left you flustered and annoyed, knowing he at least acknowledged you but didn’t mention anything at all regarding yesterday.

As you settle down in your office, everything still refuses to leave your head. You’re in desperate need of spewing your feelings out before you remember—Heeseung.

The one person you tell everything to, but hadn’t just yet told him about what happened last night.

You quickly grab your phone, sending a text to him that reads:

“Come to my cubicle rn”

Hee: “I’m busy doing smth”

“Pls? I’ll be quick”

Hee: “Is it about Jake?”

“No”

Hee: “Coming”

You were lying. It was about Jake.

You react with a thumbs up to his message and next thing you know, he shows up at your cubicle, leaning against your filing cabinet and crossing his arms, iced americano in hand, ready to listen to whatever shit you need to rant about.

“I did something so stupid,” you say, facing in your chair towards him, making sure to keep your tone down.

His adam's apple bobs before he shuts his eyes for a moment, only to say, “What did you do now?”

You hesitate before finally saying, “I let Jake fuck me.”

“You what?!” He says, a little too loudly as he nearly chokes on his drink, brows furrowing.

“Shh!” You hush. “It was a mistake. It just kind of.. happened. It was so good, but also the worst thing I could’ve ever done.”

“He probably doesn’t see it as a mistake, but.. yeah, no shit. You let someone whose guts you hate fuck you.” He says, still a little surprised at your sudden confession.

“I know that. It was.. really good though. He was so big, and I was like screaming the en—”

“Y/n, now I don’t need to hear about it.” He says, putting an emphasis on the ‘I’, before you remember he had just been the one telling you about all of Jake’s sexual encounters and you were the one to cut him off in disgust.

You roll your eyes dramatically, voice whiny as you say, “But I need to talk to someone! He was like—”

“Nope, I’m out.” He says, taking one last sip of his iced americano before setting it on your desk.

“You can finish it. Oh, and don’t fall for his shit. You and I both know he’s just a walking red flag with a pretty face.” He says, making his way towards the entrance of your cubicle so he can leave and return to his.

“Ughh, I know.. that’s the thing.” You say, taking a sip of the drink Heeseung gave you as he leans against the divider, already halfway out, before you say, “But I might let it happen again.”

He shoots you a playfully nasty look as you giggle into the straw.

After your conversation with Heeseung, you went back into spiral mode. It wasn’t full on, nor was it dramatic, but you were thinking way too much for your own good.

Jake hasn’t mentioned a thing about last night. Hasn’t tried anything—not throwing little hints, nothing. That made everything so much worse for you.

Part of you expected it, for him to have his way with you by having sex and then pretending like nothing happened. But the other part of you absolutely hated it. You wanted him to acknowledge it, to say something about it, to give you the validation.

You’re utterly embarrassed that you let him fuck you, especially in the way he did.. but it was so good. The orgasm, his cock, the dirty talk, the touching—every single little thing.

Needless to say, you were attached. Against your will.

You find yourself in the lounge room, making what feels like your fifth cup of coffee of the day, before Jake walks in.

You turn back, making eye contact just as he steps into the room. Your attention darts back to your warm cup of coffee, not saying a thing—instead gulping and looking visibly nervous. You weren’t expecting your body to tremble and your temple to sweat every time you saw him now, but here you were, looking like a chicken with its head cut off.

He walks past you, making his way to an empty couch to unwind after doing.. well, almost nothing. But just as he’s behind you, he says, “If you want me again, just ask.”

You try hard to act unaffected, but it’s almost impossible. Your cheeks flush and jaw clenches before you turn around, facing him as you snap, “Why don’t you go fuck one of your other girls?”

A bit harsh of you, but.. you were too frustrated and anxious in the moment to control what dumb shit came out of your mouth.

He pauses, raising his eyebrow slightly as a look of what seems like shock and satisfaction washes over his face. “Don’t want them. Kinda like the one who talks back.”

If this wasn’t a reference to you, you don’t know what is.

“At least you have the decency to fuck them and leave.”

Jake’s smirk drops a little, his adam’s apple bobbing like he was about to hesitate on what he was about to say before he goes, “Maybe you’re the first one I don’t wanna leave.”

Your mouth parts when the sentence leaves his mouth, though nothing actually comes out. The way he said it doesn’t feel like a joke, almost as if it’s too real, and this time, you have no comeback.

You walk off, leaving the lounge room with your coffee in hand, not saying a word as you’re too flustered and annoyed.

You leave him standing in the room on his own, alone in his thoughts. Shit. Do I actually want her?

You storm into Heeseung’s cubicle, ready to vent to him, even though you pretty much already did just an hour ago.

He’s on the phone with a client—feet up on his desk, but the minute he sees you in his office with a look of shock on your face, he doesn’t think twice before making some shitty excuse and hanging up. Wow, how professional. But in your defence, you would’ve hung up the phone for him if he hadn’t done it himself.

“What is it now..” he says, dramatically leaning back further into his chair and putting a hand over his forehead like he was a damsel in distress.

You sit yourself on top of his desk, legs dangling just a little before you speak, your voice a little more frustrated and louder than usual, “I can’t stand him, Hee. I just don’t know what to do, I-I mean first he—”

“Woah, easy.. calm down. Tell me what happened.”

You take a breather, his words putting you at ease before you speak again, “He hasn’t said anything about last night, nothing. And then today, he just tells me that I’m the only girl he’s fucked that he doesn’t want to leave after?”

Heeseung chuckles to himself, staring down at his lap when he says, “Yet your legs still probably shook when he told you that. Kinda like how they shook when he fu—”

“Lee Heeseung.” You hit him with a deadpan stare from the desk, silently urging him that this is serious and that he needs to get his shit together.

“S-orry,” his voice cracks. “But.. I don’t understand. What do you even want him to say? ‘Oh, last night was fun’?” He says, mocking Jake’s voice.

“Yeah? Any kind of assurance would’ve been nice.” You say, brows slightly furrowing at his lack of help.

“No one does that anymore. It’s kind of corny.”

“Whatever,” you say, hopping off his desk and slowly walking to exit his cubicle, before he says one more thing that sticks with you: “You either need to fuck him again or block him. Depends if he proves himself.”

You walk out without saying anything back, his sentence engraved in your mind as you still try to process it.

Before you know it, you’re already making your way back to your own cubicle, ready to resume the endless amount of typing and calls you’ll have to take, hoping that’ll clear your mind somehow.

Just as you turn the corner, Jake is leaning against your cubicle wall, chewing on his bottom lip as he zones out at the ground.

You don’t know if he was waiting for you, or just doing his own thing and acting dumb, but you never saw him like this. He almost looked.. anxious.

You approach him, not stepping into your cubicle just yet, but instead in front of him, staring up at him with big eyes as his gorgeous ones meet yours.

A small smirk tugs at his lips before he says, “Look, take it how you want but, I know you hate me.. and I know you’re gonna come back anyway.”

So he was waiting for you. And oh, there’s that cocky Jake you always knew.

You gulp as your eyes stay fixed on his, staying silent as you’re unsure of how to reply.

“You still thinkin’ about last night, yeah?” He says, his smirk becoming more evident as he sees your cheek flush and eyes drop to the floor, avoiding eye contact with him.

He already got his answer—he didn’t need you to say it. “I thought so,” he whispers, before his back comes off the wall and he walks away.

You still weren’t happy with how he approached everything, but at least he acknowledged last night. That’s all you cared about.

Later that night, you snuggle in your blankets, eyes still open as you stare off into the distance of your room, trying to forget about all the thoughts of Jake and his antics that consumed you today.

Your thoughts are shut down when your phone lock screen flashes. You grab your phone, only to see that it’s a text from Jake reading, “You awake?”

“Yeah”

Jake: “Wanna come over for a bit”

“For what?”

Jake: “Nthn, just bored”

“Be there in a bit”

He liked your message before you shut your phone off with a sigh. You don’t know if this was going to be a bad idea, but after all, he was the root cause of why you weren’t able to sleep.

You contemplate your decision for a moment before you think, fuck it, and change into sweatpants and a crop top, grabbing your keys and heading out the door, over to his place with the location he shared.

Luckily, Jake lived pretty close, so a 10 minute walk didn’t feel dreadful at all. Instead, you were wondering how everything was gonna go down. Should you mention what happened last night? Should you ask him if you’re something more than friends? What if he doesn’t care at all?

Your walk ended up feeling like 5 minutes before you found yourself in front of his apartment door, pressing the doorbell before he opened the door—greeting you with a bare and sleepy face, wearing grey sweatpants and a loose white shirt, his hair still looking good but a bit messier. Yet, he still looks so good. Typical Jake.

You walk inside his apartment, the fairly-neat space making you slightly surprised as you always thought of him to be the messy type. But who would’ve thought that he actually took care of his apartment?

You stare at the digital clock on one of the shelves, reading ‘12:54 a.m.’

He leads you to his room where you both sit on his bed—him laying his back against the pillows, legs spread, while you sit beside him, legs pulled up to your chest as your arms hug them close to you.

“You looked cute t’day.. All pouty. Made me wanna ruin you again.” He breaks the silence, his voice so disgustingly hot as it’s laced with sleep and extra raspiness.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you say, giggling a little as you refuse to make eye contact with him, too anxious to even do anything. You already started to regret even coming over. “You’ve always been.”

“Works on you though, doesn’t it?” He says, looking straight at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You finally get the courage to make eye contact with him before you say, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Don’t gotta. You’re the one in my bed right now,” he chuckles, earning one from you as well. You didn’t reply because, frankly, he was right. You had every right to decline his request of coming over, but you did anyways—now sitting right on his bed.

The air is thick with tension and silence. You zone out before you finally look over to him again, staring at his lap before your words catch his attention. “Are we seriously not gonna talk about last night?”

Yes, he mentioned it once earlier today, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to pull more answers out of him.

“You want me to say I liked it? That I’ve been thinking about it all day?” He mocks, slightly raising an eyebrow as he realizes just how much you cared about that one night.

You go quiet, sucking in a breath. Yes, you wanted him to say exactly that, but there’s no way you were actually going to admit it.

“Cause I have.” He speaks, before adding, “I don’t gotta tell you, you’re a smart girl.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, heat pooling between your thighs as he smirks at your flustered reaction.

“Come here,” he says a little too casually, patting on his lap like he was telling a dog to come sit.

“W-what?” You stutter. You’ve already been fucked dumb by him, so you don’t know why you were so hesitant to sit on his lap—you just were.

“Just come sit. Why, you scared?” He tuts, patting his lap once more like it was the last opportunity he’d give you.

You roll your eyes at him before you slowly crawl onto his lap, straddling it as his hands immediately find their way to your hips, resting on them as he stares up at you with those pathetic, irresistible eyes.

You gulp at the sight, your hands snaking around his neck as your bodies are so close they could nearly press together.

One hand that was once resting on your hip comes around your waist, closing the gap between your bodies as his face nuzzles into your bare neck, pressing soft and wet kisses on your skin. It was unexpected and sudden, but felt so good—almost making you shiver in his touch.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft and messy locks, your breathing becoming heavier as his kisses trail down from your neck, to your collarbone, down to just the top of your breasts.

You softly gasp when he tugs your crop top over your breasts, the flesh recoiling as he smirks and looks at you at the fact that you came with no bra on. “Nasty girl.”

He helps pull the shirt over your head before his mouth immediately latches onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his other hand kneads your other breast, his large hand palming and squeezing the meat.

You throw your head back slightly, mouth parting as his tongue works perfectly against your tits, your hips unintentionally grinding on his bulge.

He whimpers into the suck of your nipple when he feels the friction, pulling off your peaked bud with a wet pop, his lips swollen.

“You gonna let me fuck you again, baby?” He says, looking back up at you, your brows furrowed in pleasure as both of his hands knead and squeeze your tits like they’re stress relievers.

You whimper before nodding, the wetness in your sweatpants collecting as you want nothing more now than his cock inside of you. Sounds desperate, but in this case, you were.

“Take it off,” he says with a throaty voice, tugging at your sweatpants. You do just as he says, slipping them off and discarding them on his floor as his hands firmly place you on your back, your body on full display for him as he tugs his own sweatpants down—enough to free his throbbing cock, already pink and leaking at the tip.

He aligns his cock with your soaked core before pushing in slow, both of you gasping. You still weren’t used to his size—though you never think you’re going to be able to.

A wet squelch echoes in the room when he bottoms out, loud and sticky. Your eyes flutter open at the noise, at how obscene it sounds.

He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulder, your ankles right at his shoulders as his hips move back and forth, giving you slow and deep strokes that already hit just right. You wondered how he found that sweet spot again of yours so quickly.

“Right there, hm?” he says, pressing down on your stomach to feel where his tip hits inside you. He memorized every spot inside your pussy—what a fuckboy thing to do.

“M-mhmm,” you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, the pure pleasure of his cock fucking into you agonizingly slow making your brain turn into mush.

The filthy squelch of your pussy gets louder with every thrust—a lewd, sticky and wet sound that fills the room. You swear you could feel yourself dripping down to the sheets.

He reaches down to cup your jaw, forcing your face to meet his. “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck this pretty pussy,” he says, before letting out a loud groan when he feels your core tighten at his words.

His thrusts pick up, your tits bouncing as your body keeps jolting with every movement, your legs still resting over Jake’s shoulder while his hands grip onto your hips—firm enough to leave a mark if he let go.

You throw your head back further into the sheets, hips jerking and a soft moan escaping your lips when his tip kisses your cervix, his cock so deep and warm inside you it could almost make you see stars. You shift a little, moving yourself a little further from him. Well, you try to.

“Don’t run, baby. Take it,” he says, pulling on your hips so your body comes down into the place it once was before. Your eyes roll back with each thrust, your pussy practically strangling him.

“F-uck Jake—G-gonna cum—!” Your voice cracks right at the last second, before you cum. Your milky mess drips onto his cock, getting shoved back inside you as he’s still chasing his high, but he’s very close—as you feel his cock pulsing inside your tight gummy walls.

“This pussy’s all fuckin’ mine,” he groans, throwing his head back before he pulls out just in time, stroking his length a bit before his thick ropes of cum paint your stomach.

His hands finally let go of your hips, his finger marks evident as he stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breaths before he walks into his bathroom and comes out with a towel.

He wipes down your messy and dripping pussy, as well as your stomach that he spilled his release on, before discarding it lazily on the bed.

He lays beside you, pulling you into his chest, your leg thrown over his hip as your head rests on his chest, his heart fluttering from the orgasm.

You lay in silence for a few minutes, not even realizing it. All you can remember is him gently stroking your hair while you softly breathe into his chest.

“How about I pick you up from your place tomorrow?” He breaks the silence, his fingers resting in your hair before he adds, chuckling, “Maybe we can stay after hours again.”

You giggle into his chest at his conceited remark. “And what if your little girlfriends see us?”

“I’ll tell them I’m taken.”

Oh.. so this is how he makes things official?

You feel a little stunned at the statement, but also grateful that he still stuck around to annoy you all those days at work, ever since your first day at the job—and grateful that he picked you amongst the swarm of girls who’d kill to be in a relationship with him.

Your head comes off his chest, your face leaning in to press a soft and warm kiss to his plush lips as he hums into your mouth, snaking his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

Maybe the man you so-terribly despised at your office job wasn’t that bad. Hopefully Heeseung approves.

#‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ◜ᴗ◝ 𓈒 𝗘𝗠𝗜-𝗡𝗘𝗧! 🩰#enhypen smut #sim jake smut #enhypen x reader #jake smut #sim jaeyun x reader #enha smut #enha fanfic #jake fanfic #sim jake x reader #enhypen jake smut

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dreamerdoodles · 1 day ago

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so I've been playing a LOT of visual novel demos

you know, since they STILL haven't fixed Date Everything on switch (sobs). but I thought I'd give them all a shoutout because damn these games are GOOD, the indie dev scene is killing it. these are in no particular order, I loved all of them :3

Our Life: Beginnings and Always by @gb-patch

I'm late to this party, of course. it's not even a demo!! it's a whole entire game that you can play FOR FREE with optional paid DLC!! it's a beautiful, heartwarming experience about growing up over multiple summers during your life with the boy who moves in across the street. the art is beautiful, the amount of choices and character customization is staggering, and the way you can truly be yourself without worrying about "messing up" and getting a bad ending has honestly spoiled me. Cove is my beloved, I love him so much.

2. Our Life: Now and Forever

the sequel to OLBA! the demo has a ton of content already and I heard they're updating it with even more later this year?? all my love to the absolute madlads over at gb patch. like the first game, it's about growing up, but it's autumn (my favorite season!!) and there are TWO leads to fall in love with or befriend or if you're a monster hold at a distance and stay only neighbors for your entire life. I'm only judging you a little I promise. it seems like the game will be everything I loved about OLBA and more!! I can already tell the full game is going to be 10/10

3. Touchstarved by @redspringstudio

trust one of five monstrous strangers as you try to find a cure for your curse... maybe fall in love, maybe they'll kill you, maybe you both die tragically?? this was actually the first one I found when I was looking for things that my stupid very old very weak not-even-technically-a-laptop can run, and it did not disappoint! it's VERY different from the two games above, as it is a dark romance, so just make sure you read the content warnings and take care of yourself first. the art is absolutely delicious, all 5 love interests are intriguing (Ais is my favorite so far), and I can't wait to see how the full game shapes out in the future.

4. OBSCURA by @rottenraccoons

not a curse this time, nope, you're actively dying of a super rare disease! how fun! you still gotta trust one of four people you definitely shouldn't, though, in a masked market underground where theoretically one can acquire anything. this game is honestly even darker than Touchstarved, so DEFINITELY read the content warnings first. but the game has a really awesome safe word system for you to nope out if things get too much! the demo covers the first chapter of all 4 love interests' routes, which is amazing, and there's more in paid early access, but I haven't played that yet, so I can't review it. the LIs and the story are what shine the most in OBSCURA in my opinion. each LI is unique and has a very fun dynamic with the MC, who is definitely not a blank slate and has a pretty defined personality (they are, as Keir my beloved says, "mouthy") but that works in this particular game's favor. you can still self insert if you want, or maybe I just have the superpower to self insert into anything haha. I'm so invested in the story that I'm even trying to avoid spoilers until I have the money to buy the game, so it definitely hooked me!!

5. Alaris by @crescencestudio

the world is in trouble, old lore about dragons and fae is stirring, and somehow you, a healer, is caught up in all of it. I. love. fantasy!!!! Kuna'a, Fenir, and Aisa were cooked in a lab to appeal to me, specifically. and there's 3 more love interests too who also all managed to win me over??? amazing. I loved the free time date feature and I haven't even played through all the possibilities yet. there's a lot! the demo covers the common route and I can't wait to see what happens next!

6. Intertwine by @crescencestudio

can I just say VAN MY BELOVEDDDD I just discovered this game tonight and played through it in one sitting. I devour stories about soulmates and past lives and this game did not disappoint!! it's short and sweet and you should go play it right this second actually go go go

7. Threads of You: Beyond the Bay by @lavendeerstudios

your car breaks down and you get stranded in the middle of nowhere, but don't worry, seven (7!!!!!) pretty boys are here to keep you company. this demo is a bit shorter than some of the others in this post but it's very fun!! I love the little character creator, it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. also, it doesn't come up in the demo, but I'm VERY interested in the part of the game description that says "Maybe you want more than one partner or want to see them with each other?" because if I can create an 8 person polycule I am absolutely going to >:3 LOVE ME AND LOVE EACH OTHER PLS

8. Keyframes by @blank-house

what if Our Life, but college?? I say as the highest of compliments. it's a slice of life that starts with the spring semester of your second year, and I think it's planned to go all the way to graduation eventually, which is incredible and insane and I absolutely can't wait (except I will wait and be very patient actually <3). I LOVE slow burn romances and this game seems like it's gearing up to give me the tastiest slow burn of all time. the art is beautiful and charming and has SO much character, the characters themselves are so well written, and there's a ton of replayability with possible events and the order you do them in! I haven't even done them all yet and I'm in love. in love with Jamie Porter, specifically, despite my best efforts. damn you pretty boy!!

9. Lost in Limbo by @ravenstargames

a ritual sends you to another world ruled by seven deities. seven hot deities. I'm going to chase Envy around Limbo until they let me love them and NO ONE CAN STOP ME. ahem. the demo covers the common route and sets up an intriguing story! it seems like each route is going to be very unique from the others and each LI will have a different dynamic with the MC, so there should be something for everyone! also the art. THE ART. THE ARTTTTTT the sprites are beautiful and the backgrounds are INCREDIBLE I want to eat them?? they're partially animated and the lighting is so cool and colorful and they're just masterful honestly.

and that wraps up my list for now!! I've had so much fun with these and I can't wait to see all the full games eventually. hopefully I will have money for all of them (and maybe a proper laptop sobs). if I can beat my depression into submission long enough I'm going to draw fanart for all of them uwaaaaa

#our life beginnings always #our life now and forever #touchstarved vn #obscura vn #alaris vn #intertwine vn #threads of you: beyond the bay #keyframes vn #lost in limbo

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nol0nger-human · 3 days ago

Text

Scars: Analysis :)

The thing I think that especially makes me sad about this comic is that Tills moving in the opposite direction in processing a relationship with a large lack of communication. Its too late for Ivan to realize Tills love for him, but its not too late for Till to process how much Ivan cared for him. Unfortunately though, it seems were moving in the opposite direction, into a world where Till not only doesn't realize how much Ivan loved him, but a world where Ivan flat out does not like him and blames Till for what happened as Tills own self hatred overrides the truth, furthering Ivantills chronic miscommunication EVEN after death. Yaoi so toxic the miscommunication and lack of understanding of one another gets worse even after death. Good stuff!!

I think its important to note that the two forms of Ivan TIll seems to hallucinate the most is Round 6 Ivan, him JUST before he died. And Ivan as a child. Round 6 Ivan is malicious, cruel, unreasonably mean to Till, because its Tills own voice echoing back at him. “A child who is nothing but a burden” among other cruel comments makes perfect sense to come from Round 6 Ivan because

A) Ivan has been someone who has been cruel to Till verbally in the past

B) Round 6 Ivan is where Tills guilt stems from. It wasnt the child Ivan he felt as if threw away his life for him, it wasnt any other version of Ivan that Till loathes himself for not being able to save, but Round 6 him.

Ivan in Round 6 is the root of Tills PTSD, so of course the Ivan Till let down, the Ivan who had to die for him, the Ivan he failed to save, the Ivan who shouldnt have had to die for him, the Ivan that deserved to live (possibly even instead of Till as remember Till didnt know Mizi was alive at that point and had nothing to live for), is going to be the one terrorizing him.

And so (as PTSD does) Tills guilt towards himself manifests THROUGH Ivan. Till self harms, scratching at his scars in order to subdue his own guilty feelings (AKA Ivan), he verbally berates himself constantly, another example of Till being cruel towards HIMSELF simply manifested through the appearance of Ivan, the one who has the biggest right to hate him after all this.

I dont think that this comic is showing Tills “true feelings” about Ivan or “how he really sees Ivan” or anything like that, I think its just an example of how Tills own self loathing is being manifested through a hallucination.

HOWEVER do I think Till may actually see Ivan like that? In a way, yes, but only because his trauma is warping his perception of who Ivan was in order to fit his own self hating narrative, because trauma just does that sometimes. Till DOES still find comfort in Ivan. In his better moments, when hes coping using art, or has sufficiently harmed himself enough to get his guilt and self loathing out of the way, Ivan transforms into his younger self. A gentler, more innocent version of himself in order to represent Tills negative emotions being subdued. He still does see Ivan as the friend he loved, as the child he grew up alongside of and enjoyed the company of. However as soon as Till upsets himself again, “Are you disappointed?” and his negative thoughts about himself reemerge, Ivan transforms back into an older version of himself.

I think the reason his PTSD isnt in the form of Mizi, for example, is because its not quite tangible enough. Yes, he probably believes he should have saved Mizi too, but Ivan ties a lot more directly into his self loathing. Ivan died for HIM. If it werent for Till Ivan would be ALIVE. Ivan is also someone Till believes could be tangibly upset with him about this. Till never had Ivan effectively or healthily communicate his love to him, instead believing Ivan to be someone who looked down on him, was always being rude to him, and who very well may not like him as a person very much. All of this makes Ivan the perfect catalyst for Tills guilt, because as much as Till loved him (as seen in Karma especially) Ivan was someone who had a massive affect on Tills self esteem.

#alien stage #ivantill #alnst ivan #alnst till #alnst #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #mizisua #alnst sua #alnst mizi #alnst karma #alien stage karma #yaoi #toxic yaoi #mira should stfu and die

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leilasletters · 1 day ago

Text

Kiss Me, Kill Me

🏈Jason Todd X Fem!reader📖

bad boy x smarter girl | detention glances & rooftop secrets | don’t fall for him, don’t fall for him, don’t—"he kissed her like a dare. she kissed him like it was the last mistake she'd ever make. and neither of them stopped."

masterlist

Chapter 5

The universe, in its infinite cruelty, has decided that you deserve suffering.

Because this morning, on a perfectly normal Thursday, your AP Lit teacher says the words that will ruin your entire week:

“For this unit, you’ll all be working in pairs for the final presentation on modern themes in romantic tragedy. I’ve already assigned partners.”

You already know.

And sure enough—

“Todd and (Y/L/N).”

You snap your head toward him across the classroom. Jason’s already looking at you. Smirking. Like he expected this. Like he manifested it with his criminal energy and cocky eyebrows.

You want to fling your annotated Wuthering Heights across the room.

You work in the school library during lunch that day. Or at least, you try to.

Jason, on the other hand, keeps talking.

Loudly.

“Okay, so I was thinking we do something easy. Like Romeo + Juliet. Baz Luhrmann style. I’ll grow sideburns, you get a gold gun. We’ll make out in a fish tank.”

You give him a look so deadpan it could bury him.

“No.”

“Come on. People love doomed love stories.”

“And I love not failing.”

Jason sprawls in the chair across from you, hands behind his head. The size difference between you is laughable—he takes up so much space without even trying. Meanwhile, your legs are crossed, your arms are folded, and your entire body is coiled like a trap every time he says something flirty.

He leans in. “What do you want to do? Something nerdy and depressing?”

You raise a brow. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

“Because you scream, ‘I wrote a college essay on Euripides for fun.’”

“And you scream, ‘I passed English because someone paid off the school board.’”

“Not wrong.”

You sigh and flip open your notes. “We’re doing A Streetcar Named Desire.”

Jason frowns. “That’s the one with the screaming guy, right?”

You blink. “You mean Stanley?”

Jason cups his hands to his mouth: “STELLA—”

You slap your hand over his mouth before the entire library kicks you out.

“Geez,” you hiss. “Shut up.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief under your palm. His mouth lingers a beat too long on your skin. You yank your hand back like it burns.

Jason’s smile fades a little.

And in the silence that follows, there’s something… charged.

Too quiet. Too heavy. Too real.

Over the next few days, things get strange.

Not bad.

Not good.

Just strange.

You and Jason actually work well together—annoyingly well. He listens more than you expect. When you bring up feminist theory and how Blanche Dubois is a symbol of post-war fragility and toxic femininity, he nods. He asks questions.

You almost forget who he used to be. Or maybe… you’re just seeing who he is now.

Sometimes your hands brush when you both reach for the same note card.

Sometimes you look up and find him already watching you.

Sometimes he says things like, “You’re a lot, you know that?” in this soft voice that doesn’t feel like an insult. Just a truth. One that he likes.

And sometimes—like today—it all goes to hell.

You're outside school after rehearsal, sitting on a bench, still in your uniform shirt and jeans, flipping through your notebook. Jason's late. Of course.

He finally shows up ten minutes before the bell rings for sixth period, wearing a black hoodie, jaw tight.

“You’re late,” you say, not looking up.

He sits beside you but doesn’t respond.

You glance at him.

His knuckles are bruised again. Fresh. His expression is locked down.

“What happened?” you ask carefully.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Jason—”

“I said it’s nothing.”

You blink at the tone—sharp, cold. Not like him. Not like how he's been with you.

Your stomach knots.

“Don’t take it out on me,” you say tightly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I never said you did.”

You snap your notebook shut. “You’re acting like I’m the one who ruined your day.”

“Maybe I’m just realizing this was a mistake.”

The words hit harder than they should.

You go still.

He exhales, dragging his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Too late.”

Silence coils between you again—but this time, it hurts.

You stand up, arms crossed. “You don’t get to play sweet one second and snap the next like nothing matters.”

Jason rises, too. “I’m not playing anything.”

“Then what is this, Jason? What are we doing?”

He hesitates.

And that’s the worst part.

He doesn’t say nothing. He just doesn’t say anything.

You scoff under your breath and grab your bag.

“I’ll finish the project myself.”

You walk away before he can stop you.

He doesn’t.

[JASON]: I’m sorry.

That night, he texts.

And then…

[JASON]: Things are messy right now.

[JASON]: It’s not about you. It’s just stuff. With my family.

[JASON]: I didn’t mean to take it out on you.

You stare at your phone for a long time.

[YOU]: That’s not good enough.

You don’t expect him to show up to class the next day.

After all, Jason Todd is nothing if not consistent—consistently late, consistently charming, consistently someone who burns bridges just to see if you’ll still meet him in the smoke.

But when you walk into AP Lit, he’s already there.

At your table.

With the project folder in front of him.

His head is down like he’s reading something, but his eyes flick up the moment you approach.

You hesitate. You’re not ready to forgive him. You’re not even sure you want to. But there’s something about the way he’s sitting—shoulders drawn in, not trying to take up space like he usually does—that makes your chest ache in that slow, reluctant way.

You sit.

Silently.

Jason clears his throat. “Hey.”

You don’t answer.

He pushes the folder toward you. “I, um. I rewrote our scene breakdown. It was bothering me.”

You glance down, confused. Your last draft had been solid. You’d worked hard on it. Even stayed up editing it line by line. But when you start skimming his notes… your breath catches.

He didn’t rewrite it to erase you.

He rewrote it for you.

It’s neater. Clearer. Your analysis is still there, word for word—but now it’s supported by new sources. New formatting. Your scattered bullet points have been organized, with a clean structure that matches the rubric to a T. And in the margins—tiny, cramped handwriting in blue pen—are Jason’s own notes.

Blanche uses femininity like armor here. (Just like you said—v smart.)

I don’t think Stanley’s the villain exactly? But I like how you framed it—maybe he’s society’s consequence?

Added that thing you said about mirrors & fragility from class — good point.

You freeze.

This is… thoughtful.

Embarrassingly thoughtful.

It’s not flashy. It’s not public. It’s not a “look at me” performance with a marching band.

It’s just him. Quietly trying.

He watches you read, picking at a frayed thread on his hoodie sleeve. When you finally lift your eyes, his voice is low.

“I know you said that wasn’t good enough. My apology.”

You don’t say anything.

He licks his lips. “But I didn’t want to let the project die just because I suck at talking.”

You set the folder down carefully.

“You didn’t suck at talking,” you say, voice even. “You just sucked at not shutting me out.”

Jason exhales—half a breath, maybe even relief.

“I’ve got some stuff going on. With my brothers. And Bruce. And school, and—” he stops himself, shakes his head. “No excuse. I was just angry, and I didn’t want to feel like I had to explain myself. But you didn’t deserve that.”

You nod slowly.

The classroom is loud around you—papers shuffling, chairs scraping, someone whispering about the math quiz in third period—but none of it registers.

Not when he’s looking at you like that.

“I’m not gonna grovel,” Jason says softly. “But I’ll keep showing up. You can ignore me, yell at me, punch me in the face—”

“I’ve considered it.”

He smirks a little, but his eyes are serious.

“—but I’m not gonna stop trying.”

That shouldn't sound as good as it does.

Jason’s grin falters, turns crooked. “Yeah, well. Maybe I want to be more than ‘not a complete asshole.’”

You shift in your seat. “You shouldn’t have to try this hard just to convince me you’re not a complete asshole.”

He pauses. “At least to you.”

You hate the way your pulse jumps.

Hate the way it means something.

Your fingers brush the edge of the folder. “You really highlighted my points in blue.”

“Only the brilliant ones.”

“You wrote jokes in the margins.”

“You laughed at like two of them.”

“I snorted.”

Jason leans forward slightly. “Best sound I’ve heard all week.”

You shoot him a dry look.

“I’m still mad,” you say.

“I know.”

“I’m not ready to forgive you.”

“I can wait.”

There it is again—that damn patience of his. Like he’s not in a rush. Like you’re the only thing he’s willing to take slow.

You exhale and open the folder again. “If we’re going to survive this presentation, you’re annotating the second half of the text.”

Jason raises a brow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and you have to print it.”

“God, you’re ruthless.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you live.”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it any other way.”

You don’t smile.

But your lips twitch. Just a little.

And Jason sees it.

—

The classroom lights are dimmed.

The chalkboard reads:

STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE — FINAL PRESENTATIONS TODAY

Group 3: Todd + [Your Last Name]

You pace in the hallway just outside the door, holding the stapled script like it might bite you. You’ve highlighted your lines, annotated everything, even color-coded your cue notes—but your stomach still turns.

This isn’t nerves. It’s something else.

It’s him.

Because ever since that damn apology, Jason’s been different.

He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t push. He listens.

And worst of all—he’s… good at this.

You thought you’d be dragging him through this scene like dead weight, but Jason’s performance during rehearsal was tight. Tense. Devastatingly aware of you.

You hated it.

You kind of loved it.

The door creaks open.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice is low. “You ready?”

He’s in a plain gray tee and jeans—nothing flashy. Just that stupid leather jacket slung over one shoulder and the kind of look in his eyes that says he’s not just playing Stanley—he understands him.

You exhale sharply.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He tilts his head. “You sure?”

“Why? Scared I’ll outshine you?”

Jason grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

—

The class is quiet when you step inside.

Your teacher sits at the front, a clipboard in her lap.

You and Jason take your places at the front of the room. No costumes, no props—just raw scene work. The moment you face him, everything else disappears.

He opens his mouth and begins the scene.

“You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume—” Jason’s voice is low, controlled, heat simmering beneath the surface, “—and cover the lightbulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile!”

He’s staring at you.

No—through you.

Your reply snaps out like a whip. “That’s not fair.”

Your breath catches. You weren't supposed to feel this.

But Jason’s voice softens—just slightly. “I’m not sayin’ you’re lying. I’m sayin’ you’ve got to be realistic.”

His eyes lock with yours. And that’s when it happens

The scene bleeds. The lines fade.

It’s no longer just Stanley talking to Blanche. It’s Jason, voice laced with something quieter—something raw.

“And I’m not gonna let you lie to me,” he murmurs.

That line wasn’t in the script.

You blink.

Jason’s lips part like he hadn’t meant to say it that way. Like maybe he’s not sure what just happened either. But he doesn’t drop your gaze. He holds it, steady.

The room doesn’t exist.

Just your heartbeat. Loud. Wild.

You go off script too. “Then stop pretending you know who I am.”

Your teacher clears her throat from the front. You both flinch.

Jason breaks eye contact, dragging a hand through his hair. You turn sharply back to the script and finish the last lines in a rush—something about light and shadows—but your voice shakes.

The moment you say the final word, your teacher claps.

“Well done,” she says. “That was… heated.”

The class titters.

Jason gives a tight nod. His ears are red.

You grab your folder and head back to your desk, heart pounding.

Jason catches up with you just before you sit.

He leans down, voice quiet. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off, refusing to look up. “Don’t explain.”

“I’m not.”

You finally glance up.

His face is too honest. His voice is too gentle.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “maybe it wasn’t just Stanley talking.”

You open your mouth—but no words come out.

You hate that he’s right. You hate that you wish he wasn’t.

You hate that your chest is still burning where his eyes were. Jason backs off slowly. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

You nod.

But you don’t look away until he’s gone.

—

After the Streetcar presentation, you think maybe he’ll back off again. But he doesn’t.

Jason doesn’t try to kiss you. Doesn’t crack a joke or send a text at 2 a.m. saying “so what was that?” He doesn’t even sit beside you in class. Instead, he lets the moment settle like dust—quiet, slow.

You find yourself watching him when you shouldn’t.

The way he leans back in his chair like he’s too big for the room. The way he mouths along with poetry under his breath, like he already knows the ending. The way his eyes flick to you whenever someone mentions the word love—like he’s waiting for your scoff, like he wants to hear what you really think.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Because for once, you don’t know.

You don’t believe in love. Not the big, cinematic kind. Not the kind that makes people forget themselves. But the look he gave you during the scene? The line that wasn’t in the script?

It felt like something you shouldn’t touch.

So you do what you always do: you write it down. Three days before prom, your class gets a final creative writing assignment:

Poetry Slam Presentation.

Write a piece that explores a personal theme. Share aloud.

You pretend it’s stupid.

You pretend you don’t care. And then you go home and write until 2 a.m., your pen slicing across the page like it’s angry too.

Presentation Day.

You stand at the front of the room with your notebook. Jason’s in the back row, chewing the cap of a pen, legs stretched out like he’s not ready for this. You glance down at the title.

“Kill Me.”

You inhale.

Then begin:

kill me.

by [Your Name]

kill me with your stupid voice

your deep, careless, silver-tongued voice

that drips charm like oil on fire

too loud for a library

too soft when it counts.

kill me with your hands

that always hovered near mine

never touching

but never gone.

like you wanted to hold me

but didn’t think you deserved to.

kill me with the way you say my name

like it’s a dare

or a secret

or both.

kill me with your eyes—

kind and cruel,

like they want to read me

like they already have.

kill me because you don’t make sense.

because you’re the boy who made a bet

and then stopped smiling when i got hurt.

the boy who sang like a joke

and meant every note.

the boy who annotated my rage in blue pen

and said i was brilliant

like it was a fact, not a flirt.

kill me because you waited.

and i don’t know what to do with that.

no one’s ever waited.

kill me because i don’t believe in love,

but i’m starting to believe in

you.

Silence.

You close the notebook.

The room is silent.

Your teacher opens her mouth like she wants to say something profound, but even she is caught off guard.

Jason?

Jason’s just… staring. No smirk. No quip. Just his eyes on you. Locked.

You walk back to your seat like nothing happened. Like your heart isn’t about to cave in on itself. When you pass him, he whispers:

“…Was that about me?”

You don’t look at him.

You just say:

“If you have to ask, it wasn’t.”

And keep walking.

The day after you read “Kill Me,” Jason doesn’t show up to first period.

Or second.

He’s not in the cafeteria. He doesn’t text. And for someone who’s made a career out of being everywhere all the time, it feels… wrong.

The classroom feels colder without him slouched in the back row.

So when he finally shows up in English—five minutes late, hood pulled low—you don’t know what to expect. He doesn’t look at you. Not once.

But when your teacher calls his name for the Poetry Slam presentation, he stands.

And for the first time in forever, Jason Todd looks nervous.

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket, walks to the front, then pauses—eyes sweeping the room, landing on you.

“This is… uh.” His voice is lower than usual. “This is for someone. You’ll know who.”

He doesn’t wink.

He doesn’t smirk.

He just begins.

kiss me.

by jason todd

kiss me like you hate me.

because i know you want to.

i saw it in the way your hands shook

when you dropped your pen and didn’t want me to see.

i saw it when you called me a walking cliché

but still let me walk you home.

kiss me like it’s the only time.

because i’ll take it.

i’ll take scraps, i’ll take seconds,

i’ll take whatever you think you can give me—

and treat it like it’s everything.

kiss me when you're angry.

when your voice gets sharp,

when your eyes flash like fire alarms,

when you say you don’t believe in love

and still look at me like i might be

the first thing to change your mind.

kiss me because you wrote about me.

because every line in your poem was a bullet

and i still wanted more.

because even when you said you hated me,

you knew i’d be listening.

kiss me like it’s a bet.

kiss me like it’s revenge.

kiss me because if you don’t,

i’ll keep waiting.

and waiting.

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

i’d wait a lifetime for a girl like you

to believe in something as stupid as

me.

The class is silent again.

But this time, your throat is.

Jason folds the paper once. Twice. Tucks it into his jacket and walks back to his seat. When he passes your desk, his hand brushes the edge—just once—and he doesn’t say anything.

You want to. God, you want to. But the words don’t come. Instead, you just watch him sit. And you realize—somewhere deep and awful—that maybe he was always telling the truth.

He was just waiting for you to believe it.

—

Two days before prom.

You find the note during detention.

The kind that shouldn’t exist anymore, passed like secrets in ruled paper, folded sharp and thin, slipped under your elbow as the teacher’s back is turned.

You uncrumple it without thinking. The handwriting is jagged. Familiar.

I wasn’t gonna ask.

Didn’t think I deserved to.

But you in that poem? You looked at me like I was already yours.So if you show up, I’ll be waiting.

If you don’t… I’ll still wait.

There’s no name. But there doesn’t have to be.

You press your lips together so you don’t smile.

And you fold the paper back up like it’s something you might want to read again later.

Prom night.

You don’t have a date.

You said no to everyone who asked, which wasn’t many—most too scared, a few too stupid. You told your mom you didn’t feel like it, that it was dumb, that you’d rather stay home and rewatch Little Women and scream about feminist rage.

But she made you the dress anyway.

It’s soft. The color is nothing like what you’d normally wear—something too pretty, too kind for the girl who argues with teachers and makes boys cry. But it fits. And it’s yours.

So you show up. For her.

Not for him.

That’s what you tell yourself.

The gym looks exactly how you expect: gold streamers, mismatched lights, a disco ball that spins like it’s trying to hypnotize you. There are too many people. Too many dresses. Too much laughter.

You hate it.

Until you see him.

Jason Todd, in a wrinkled black button-up and boots he didn’t bother to polish, leaning against the far wall like he belongs there. Not trying. Not performing.

Just waiting. Like he said he would. And when his eyes meet yours? He freezes. Like he didn’t think you’d actually come.

Like he can’t believe you look like that.

The song changes.

And suddenly, you hear it.

A slow, pulsing beat. Familiar.

Soft, dangerous, quiet at first—

But growing.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathing in your dust…

Jason straightens. You take a step forward.

Neither of you says anything. Not yet.

And if you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot…

The room blurs. The music swells.

He’s standing in front of you now.

And you swear—for one breathless second—he’s going to say something stupid. Something like "I told you so,” or "You clean up okay.”

But he doesn’t.

He just holds out his hand.

You hesitate.

And then take it.

Because of course you do.

You don’t speak as he pulls you into the middle of the dance floor.

You don’t argue when his hands settle on your waist, unsure.

And you definitely don’t make a joke when you let your head rest lightly on his shoulder.

You just move with him. Breathe with him. Like maybe you’d been waiting too.

Let me be your 'leccy meter

And I'll never run out…

The words are ridiculous. You’d laugh, normally.

But Jason sways with you like he means every syllable. And suddenly, it’s not funny.

It’s terrifying.

Because if you look up now, you’ll say it.

All of it.

But then his voice—barely a whisper—cuts through the music.

“Why’d you really come?”

You lift your head.

And the truth spills out, small and brutal:

“Because you waited.”

Jason breathes in—sharp.

You expect him to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He just pulls you closer, like he’s memorizing the weight of you in his arms.

And murmurs: “I always would’ve.”

The lights spin.

The song ends.

But he doesn’t let go.

Neither do you.

The end.

[ ➤ taglist: @reagan707 @lassoinyourlap @ravenna-rvnclw @deadbeatphobos @freythecrazyfae ]

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