#what happened to just ignoring that content

[sahkuna]

LET'S KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: the end of your contract with GS Holding Corp. is coming to an end. well, your contract working for the company's founder and CEO, gojo satoru, as his personal assistant is ending since you no longer would work directly under him. but gojo will be damned if he lets that happen without trying to change your mind.

content warning(s): fem! + afab reader, plot-ish → eventual smut so 18+ mdni, risky workplace relationship, oral (m→f), unprotected, semi-public sėx, pining gojo satoru bc that's my fave to write

word count: 6.6K+ holay molay...

a/n: wanted to post this bc 1) its been a millineum since i last posted & a fulfilled req which comes from @doinqhemmings and 2) mentally rejecting that manga leak/ending -_-

“I’ll miss you.”

You stand in front of the photocopy machine unmoving. The soft buzz of ink etching itself onto paper is the only sound that floats through the air beside the voice of the persistent CEO you work under. 

Had you known that he would be following you around the building, bugging you as you tried to complete the tasks that he assigned you to complete on his behalf, you would’ve straight up told him to do it himself. 

You contribute much of your time and effort to this company, and you’re highly recognized for your work. …But you absolutely didn’t need the recognition to come in the form of being under constant surveillance from your boss.

Assuming you might’ve not heard him the first time when you don’t respond right away, he leans in closer and rests a comfortable arm on your tense shoulders. “I said, I’m gonna miss you—”

“I heard you the first time, Gojo.”

When the machine stops whirring indicating that it has finished the job, you don’t hesitate to snatch the sheets of paper from the printer and slap them onto Gojo Satoru’s chest, decked out in a baby blue button-up. All too soon, you’re sidestepping around him and heading out the door toward your office right down the hall.

“Hey!” he exclaims at your sudden early departure.

Hot on your tail, Gojo trails after you clutching the papers close to his chest. “Where are you going?” Gojo asks when you take an unexpected sharp left turn from the usual route to his secluded workroom. 

Despite your best efforts to leave him behind, his tall stature annoyingly reminds you that he can keep up with you just fine.

“Y’know,” your boss starts, catching your attention as you practically speed-stomp your way down the halls of his corporation, “Ijichi would never treat me like this!” 

You could practically hear the way he pouts from behind you. When you briefly glance back behind you to confirm your suspicions about what expression he could be wearing, you’re not surprised to see he’s throwing a wistful glance above your head. His soft, pink lips are downturned and tacked with his snow-white brows all bunched together, probably wishing you’d be more graceful with him.

Or take pity on him at the very least, you know?

You turn back around and continue your path toward your own office space. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s coming back next month then, huh?”

Pity denied.

Gojo swore he heard the wry smile in your voice as soon as you finished your sentence. You’re willfully teasing him and playing with his emotions. But that’s why he’ll miss you— none of his employees would dare talk to him or give him the same flack as you do.

When you step into your office, so does he. And Gojo, either painfully oblivious or simply choosing to ignore the blatant act of you purposefully and almost slamming the door shut in his face, swings it wide open and ambles toward your workstation, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Extend your contract with me,” he starts, carelessly tossing the sheaf of paperwork onto your tidy desk once he’s within arms reach of it. He peeks at you over his shades and returns your unimpressed stare with an innocent smile. “I’ll raise your salary a reasonable amount once you do.”

While that did sound nice on paper, realistically speaking, dealing with Gojo’s antics for the foreseeable future was less than ideal for you. God forbid you start getting grey hairs at such an early age. Or a raised blood pressure. And besides…

“I still work under and for Utahime’s department though,” you say matter-of-factly, once you’ve crossed the space of your room to sit behind your desk. Your lips twist into a soft pout as you shuffle the scattered sheets together and place them into a neat pile.

Ah, right.

After Ijichi had filed for a paid sick leave after an unrelated work injury several months ago, you graciously covered your colleague’s position as the personal assistant to the founder and CEO of GS Holdings Corp., for the time being.

Pushing away the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head at the namedrop of his top leading director, Gojo deflates onto your desk.

Utahime has been on his case for the past few weeks to hurry up and file the paperwork so that you’d be back in her good graces as soon as your term with him expires. He’s been procrastinating on filing out mostly because he hates doing tedious work, the other half of him flat-out does not want to see you go so soon.

To say Gojo has thoroughly enjoyed you operating as his aide would be a huge understatement. 

Wherever Gojo was in his grand office building, it wouldn’t be unusual for your co-workers to spot you too far off. Outside of work is the same story, especially considering you’d be the one driving him home from work since Ijichi acted as both his assistant and driver. 

“Just switch to mine!” Gojo whines. He joins you at your desk and sits his ass right on the documents you had printed and stretches his limbs against the surface, nearly eating up all the space on your desk. He ignores your strained quips at him to get the hell off. 

“Utahime’ll be fine, let her find someone else. The job market’s already bad as is, so let another person take it and come be with me.” 

There’s a double meaning if you dig deep, and Gojo prays and hopes you’d take the time to digest what he really means. 

However, it seems like you’re not in the mood to be an excavator today.

Pushing his antics and sweet-talking to the side, you arch a questioning brow at him and lean back into your chair. There was nothing explicitly charged behind that reaction of yours but it shook Gojo to the core realization that his attraction to you was unnerving— though not unnerving enough to have him stay away from you.

“What about Ijichi? Where’s he gonna go if I stay?” Gojo visibly perks up at your usage of the word ‘if’, because in his mind he’s already imagined the situation to be quite likely. You see the way he sits a little taller, a little higher on your desk at the proposed question.

But alas, you dash his hopes by adding, “Which I won’t. But if I did, what then?”

“Then you guys can make it a two-person job!” he proclaims as if it were the most easy and obvious answer in the world. Gojo rests his feet on either side of your hips and the heels of his dress shoes press into the leather material of your rolling chair, prompting you to squeeze your thighs together due to the lack of room. “You know I need all the help I can get around here.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous, Gojo.”

With the wheels on your chair, your boss uses it as leverage to roll you impossibly closer to him than you already were, angling your face centimetres away from his lower torso. You will your eyes not drift down his body and toward his lap.

Lord knows the field trip the man would have with that if he were to catch you blatantly checking him out right before him. 

“Why’s it so hard to convince you to stay, huh?” he asks, knocking a soft knuckle against that stubborn head of yours. “Why? You don’t like me or something?”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his question. 

Insufferable as he can be sometimes, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel some magnetic pull towards him. 

Losing control of the situation a bit, you grab the reins again. Clearing your throat you ask, “Do you talk to all your employees like that?”

He shakes his head. “Nah.” Gojo props an elbow onto his knee and presses his cheek into the palm of his hand. His smile grows warm and gooey when his blue eyes clash with yours from where you sit a few inches below him. “Just you.” 

You’ll die. You swear you can die right now from the way he’s looking at you— which is no way a boss would ever look at their employee. Let alone assistant. 

Keep it professional.

“Wow! I’m flattered,” you reply, your tone laced heavily with dry sarcasm. You brush his legs away, successfully bringing his feet to rest on the floor and scoot back from your desk. The heated tension that once lingered in the air clears out a bit as you rise to your feet.

Soft cerulean eyes watch as you stand before him, a bit more guarded as you cross your arms across your chest. Whatever you say next is completely lost on him because unlike you, as subtle as he may be, Gojo allows his eyes to wander.

He swallows thickly. You shouldn’t do that. His gaze inconspicuously slides down to the low neck of your blouse and zeroes in on how your arms press against your chest, deliciously squeezing your breasts together and—

“Satoru!” you hiss.

Shit.

Maybe he wasn’t as discreet as he thought.

Quickly flitting his attention back to your face, Satoru offers you a half-assed apology but it’s too late for that. Your face is screwed tight with abashment and bafflement after having caught him in the act. It’s an emotion he hasn’t seen you wear lately. He wants to see more of that. More of you.

Before you could get a word out, ready to rip him a new one about how your eyes weren’t ‘down there’, he hurriedly rushes out a proposition— changing the subject and bringing you both back to the original reason as to why he’d been following you around this past hour. “If I get you to like me, will you work past your term?”

You rest your arms at your sides, completely forfeiting your motion to scold him. Now that’s new. “I never said I don’t like you.”

Satisfaction settles in his chest, warm and heavy at your statement. Gojo liked the sound of that. 

“Then how about this,” the tall CEO moves from his seat on your desk toward you. With each step you take back, he matches you in stride until he’s got your back up against a wall. Quite literally. 

“If I get you to like me more than you do now, you stay. With me. Deal?”

The gentle scent of fabric softener and sandalwood cologne wafts around you. This proximity made you squirm with anticipation. “Do what you want,” you say, craning your neck up to stare at him resolutely. “It won’t change the fact that I’ll be in a whole new department next month.”

The smirk on Gojo’s lips stretches wide as he meets you stare for stare. His voice drips heavy with confidence and a brazen spirit as he says, “Yeah?”

You only manage a stiff nod, not trusting yourself to speak lest it comes out as a fucking moan from the sexual tension alone.

Content with your compliant state, Gojo finally backs off from you and makes his way toward your door. “Don’t forget that meeting we have with the executives this Friday.”

“I know,” you tumble out, sinking back onto your office chair, miffed that he's got you in such a tizzy. It's a miracle that you don’t melt into it right away under his gaze.

You pick up a new batch of paperwork and begin filing them into their respective folders. When you finish with the first set, Gojo’s still lingering by the doorway, watching you.

“…Yes?”

“Nice top, by the way.” His hand rests on the wooden frame, eyes half-lidded with intent. “It really does bring out your eyes.”

As expected, you did not forget about that special executive meeting on Friday. Nor did you forget about the many others you’d have to host and coordinate after that, too.

Essentially, you didn’t let what had transpired the week before deter you from your respective duties as Gojo’s personal assistant. As his right-hand… woman.

But you didn’t entirely forget about what went down either. 

Whether you adhered to his “deal” or not was completely up to you. However, after that day, every personal meeting or time alone together seemed to bristle with tension, heavy with a delicious sort of pressure of the unknown. 

When Gojo would catch your eye or you’d catch his during prolonged meetings that stretched over the initial run time with the higher-ups, there would be a brief moment of shared glances. One recent instance stuck with you to the last few weeks of your contract.

You remember how he would roll his eyes sarcastically as if he were being forced against his own will to attend these kinds of things— which technically he was, but that’s the reality of being a successful founder and CEO of your own company— and his actions would rouse a stifled giggle from you, which in turn prompted an easy smile of his own.

But it was through these shared glances, these brief moments of humour that it would slip into something a little slower, a little more sweet the more you two held eye contact like dripping honey until you broke it off, hurriedly directing your attention back toward the front of the room.

It’s only a matter of time until this bundled ball of emotions displayed through knowing glances and brief moments of heated exchanges finally snaps.

You both wonder when that’ll be.

“This is crazy.”

You slide your gaze away from swirling your cup of iced cappuccino to Shoko who sits beside you. She leans her head back against the cushions of your office sofa— a complimentary gift from Gojo two weeks ago(you suspect it was his last-ditch effort to get you to stay).

“What is?” you ask.

Sitting up, Shoko crosses her leg over the other and fixes you with an exhausted look. “This!” she exclaims, gesturing her hands around the vicinity of your room. There are moving boxes scattered everywhere, which is a bit absurd considering you’re only moving one level downstairs to your old space. 

“I can’t believe you’ve only got a week left until you switch departments,” she says. “Suguru’s gonna lose his head the moment you’re gone and Satoru’s already started with the theatrics.”

Trust and believe that you already know. It’s hard not to when you’ve got the Chief Operating Officer, Geto Suguru, knocking on your door for an offer you ‘don’t wanna turn down’. But once you’d told Geto that you were still going ahead with filling out the documents to head back to Utahime and her team, it led to a hefty chunk of your lunch being taken up by him asking (begging) you to reconsider when your contract end date drew closer. 

“I just worry for Ijichi is all,” you say, shrugging as if the situation were already out of your hands. “Gojo’s been very temperamental and… well, bratty these past few days.” 

Shoko’s brown and neatly trimmed brows shoot up with interest at the disclosure.

You think back to a few days ago when you told Satoru to take it easy on Ijichi. You told your white-haired superior that he’d have to patiently reintroduce him to the new tech and procedures that Ijichi would work with as it would be his first week back. You couldn’t believe your ears when he straight-up told you, “I don’t care about a man’s hardships. He can work them out by himself!”

“Satoru’s always tormented the poor guy,” Shoko says, shaking her head at her friend’s show of obnoxious behaviour, “but he does mean well. I think.”

And speak of the devil… 

Over the curve of Shoko’s shoulder through the open blinds of your clear, glass window you spot Gojo. Noticing that he’s caught your attention, he waves incessantly at you through the glass before you hear him twist the knob of your door open.

“Which reminds me,” your friend continues, drawing your sights back on her, “the rest of the team and I were thinking of heading out for drinks later to celebrate with you one last time. Wanna come?”

“Oooh,” Gojo drawls once he’s within earshot. 

He’s looking extraordinarily handsome today, wearing black slacks and a buttoned, linen navy blue top. He’s smiling boyishly from ear to ear when he catches you twisting your lips in a tight purse as if you were trying to stifle a smile of your own. “A celebration, hm? Can I come?”

Shoko scrunches her face at the sudden question and self-invitation. She throws a bewildered look in Gojo’s direction when he settles himself onto his signature spot in your office. Your desk. “Why?”

Huh?

What kind of question was that? Why else would he want to spend an evening out with everyone? With you especially.

White brows bunch together, tight with confusion. “To celebrate with you guys?” he responds as if Shoko had just asked a one-dimensional question. 

“You’ve been a moping mess this past month after you’ve learned that she—” Shoko points her finger into the flesh of your cheek, “—wasn’t going to extend her work contract with you. So, if anyone’s gonna be celebrating, it sure as hell isn’t you.”

Yeesh! Tell him what you really think.

Knowing Shoko didn’t mean any harm by her words, you still felt inclined to soften the blow of her statement just a tad. “Plus, you don’t drink alcohol, Gojo.”

“And you don’t drink,” Shoko adds, raising her arms in exclamation as if to thank you for bringing that point up.

“Well,” pushing himself off the edge of your mahogany desk, Gojo stops a bit before the sofa you and Shoko both occupied. “I don’t need to drink to have a good time with my team!” he defends, directing a pout-induced glower at his colleague.

You’d think he’s done, but with the touch of Gojo’s large hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you off the couch that you realize he’s far from over at stating his point. “And neither do you,” he says, he pulls you behind him, steering you both toward the door. “We’ve got plans.”

Puzzlement crosses over not only yours but Shoko’s features as well.

“We do?”

“Since when?”

Gojo nods at you and Shoko’s questions spoken in tandem. “Emergency meeting. She and I’ve got important matters to discuss.” You feel the faint brush of his hand find the small of your lower back and maneuver you out the door and away from Shoko’s view. “You wouldn’t get it.” Is the last thing he says before he pokes his tongue out at the woman and ducks out of sight.

“Oh, really?” She says, rising to her feet but making no moves to follow you both out the door.

“You don’t even put your own two cents during our regular team meetings! There’s literally nothing for you to discuss, Satoru.” You hear her call after him as he guides you down the hall, past the elevators and toward his big office.

If only she knew how true that statement would be.

Gojo hates meetings. They always happen at inconvenient moments and eat up way too much of his precious time. It’s time that he could be spending doing something else… or someone. 

Which is why this “emergency meeting” was different.

If someone had told Gojo Satoru several months ago that his favourite employee, his darling assistant would be seated pliant for him on his expensive Birch Lane executive desk he would have laughed in their face with a furious blossoming blush nipping at his neck.

But right now, there’s nothing to laugh about.

Gojo’s watching you closely in the shaded dark of his room, tracking every subtle shift in your body language for any indication that you may be uncomfortable and change your mind at the last minute. But when you wrap an arm around his neck, slotting him closer in between your legs, he realizes he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Something in the air felt different. It was thicker. Electric. 

Gojo knew in an instant he wouldn’t last when your lips ghost the words, “This doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind,” on his mouth, before tipping his head to the side, giving you the space to slot your lips with his.

Game fucking over.

Sure, maybe he wasn’t able to completely get you to change your mind about working with him and his department.

But this?

You whimper into his mouth when his hands skim down back and cheekily resting right above your ass. Your body warms underneath the palm of his hands with every touch and how he kneads your hips tucked away beneath your business casual attire.

Gojo Satoru had won in his own right.

Your breaths come quicker as he steals them from you, his left-hand squeezes your side while the other slides across your lower belly and traces the hem of your blouse.

“Take this off,” he commands, his voice wrecked with reckless abandon. His forefinger hooks on the band of your pants, in a pathetic attempt to pull them down despite not having undone your button and zipper. His air of frustration is not lost on you when you see the slight furrow in his brows, the more he pulls but to no avail of getting you in a state of undress.

Not wanting to lose the momentum you both have, you unhook your arm from his shoulders to give him a helping hand.

“Relax,” you say, softly nudging his hands away from your clothing. He hungrily eyes how you pop the button of your dress pants and shuck them onto the floor. 

Once that was off though, everything came into sharp focus, and Gojo’s breath caught in his throat. 

There’s almost a crazed look in his eye the more he stares at your clothed cunt unblinking, unmoving. His breathing’s gone a bit ragged, and every so often you feel the twitch of his fingers dig into the skin of your thigh.

It was a bad idea, considering how the sight of your panties alone had him this rigid, this excited. But he still grits out a rough, “Lemme see.”

Slowly, you pull your laced underwear to the side and Gojo's teeth dig into his inner cheek at the sight. His hands mark a slow path from your thighs down to your knees, pushing them wide apart so that he could see more of you. 

The delicate spread of your folds had your boss entranced. Gojo has seen and salivated over the various outfits you wore to the workplace, always wondering what was underneath before he deemed such thoughts as inappropriate and immediately started thinking about something else. But now that he sees it for himself, it was all too tantalizing. He wanted to see all of you, taste all of you.

The tuft of snow-white hair that once obscured your vision is now gone, sinking lower to your lap.

“Oh!” you exclaim loudly at his sudden movement. Shocked by how quickly he came down to eye level with your pussy.  “You don’t—” you stammer, swallowing hard as all the blood rushed to your head. Instinctively, you snap your legs shut in a weak attempt to shield yourself from his intense, unwavering gaze. “You don’t have to do that!” 

Having one of Japan’s richest, self-made men drop down to his knees staring fervently at your cunt through you in for a loop. You’re sure by now the expression face was no less than gobsmacked right now.

Gojo’s hand grasps one of your calves, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over your warm skin before he hooks it over his shoulder leaning closer to you. “What do you mean?” 

Pulling you closer to his face, you’re forced to plant your other foot onto the ground for stability. “This!” you hiss out, tone laced with embarrassment and arousal as your finger points between his face and your body. “It’s unbecoming, you don’t have to do that to get me off. Really!”

“Why not?”

You don’t have to say what you’re thinking out loud. You were his assistant for fuck’s sake! 

You’re sure what you two are doing would be an issue with some legal policy with the company. But then again… Gojo Satoru is the founder and CEO of said company so he can technically get away with one or two things. But—

Sensing your hesitancy, Gojo’s eyes soften when he looks up at you. “Just… forget the formalities for a sec, will you?” he implores, strong hands grazing up to your knees again hoping you wouldn’t be stubborn with him this one time. “Please? I want to do this for you.”

You look searchingly into his eyes before you finally mellow out. Feeling you relax in his hold and your thighs lose that tension, that was enough of a green light for Satoru before his mouth skims along the mound of pussy. Each kiss he pressed lovingly against your skin, left you shivering in their wake. 

It wasn’t long before his tongue, firm and slick, pokes out and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit which has you keening. You feel his lips twist into a smug smile when he hears the broken sound of his first name from above him.

“Hm?” he hums, still mouthing at your pussy which encourages another ragged moan from you. “Am I doing good so far?”

You don’t know why he even bothered asking, considering the sheen shine of your arousal coating his mouth and chin. Nonetheless, you give him the answer he patiently waits for.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moaning again when the tip of his tongue circles your sensitive clit. 

And it all becomes too much when his hand abandons supporting your leg on his shoulder, to skate its way up your thigh and toward your pussy. The combination of his forefinger rubbing tight, intricate shapes on your clit and his mouth working you open have you yelping from overstimulation. 

You press your palm against Gojo’s forehead when the heat in your lower belly runs hotter, successfully pushing his face away.

“Not like this,” you protested weakly, your hand smooths down from his face to grip his shoulders. There’s a light flush that peaks beneath the collar of his shirt. He looks absolutely debauched right now. “I want you.”

With the cuff of his sleeve, Gojo wipes your arousal off the bottom half of his face. Unhooking your legs from him, you're left to shakily stand on your own, with nothing but the support of his desk to keep you upright.

“Alright,” he breathes, smiling at how your eyes follow the way his hands undo the expensive black Ferragamo belt on his waist. “How do you want me then?” 

“Um…” You look around the place for feasible places for you to get fucked on. Crude, but true. 

Behind Gojo is his office chair rolled back, looking vacant and lonely. “We could do it on the chair?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at your proposal. “If you want?”

“You want to ride me?” he asks, a proud smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

Your air of confidence softens into something more breathless and vulnerable which has his heart surging with reckless affection. “Don’t make it weird!” you yelp, giving his shoulder a light shove.

Dragging the chair closer, Gojo chuckles at how quick you are to change moods. “Come,” he says once he has sat down, patting his lap with one hand while the other pulls himself free from his boxers and slacks. “Ride me. Make yourself feel good.”

You don’t know what turns you on more: A) the way he’s speaking so dirty, so obscene with you right now or B) the sight of Satoru’s cock smacking against the pale, creamy space of his exposed lower abdomen. You stare at it for too long, the build-up of saliva gathering in your mouth the more you stare at his thick and hard shaft, occasionally bobbing on its own under your intense glare.

You could die and go to heaven right now.

Gojo’s hands grab your waist and pull you closer to him. Running your tongue along the inside of your cheek, you twist around so that you’re back is now facing him as you prepare to take him all in.

“No, no, no, no,” he rushes out when you’re about to sit down on his lap facing away from him. Within seconds, Gojo has you facing him. He grasps the back of your knee and tugs it to his side, pushing the armrest out of the way and does the same with the other. 

Oh! You didn’t know it could do that. 

“I wanna see you,” he murmurs, once you’re now straddling his lap and hovering mere inches away from his erection. His free hand moves between your bodies and grabs the base of his cock and angles it toward your slit.

“Oh.” You feel giddy. The noticeable brush of his tip stroking along your slick folds only adds to that dizzying sensation. “Yeah, I’m—”

When the head of Gojo’s cock slowly starts to push inside of you, your sentence is cut off by a broken moan emitted from the back of your throat.

With his eyes closed, there’s a lazy smile that spreads across Gojo’s mouth as he breathes out a heavy groan once he’s all the way inside you. “Yeeeah,” he whispers, the pads of his fingertips pushing tight against your bare skin.

You bite your lip and experiment with this position. Lifting your hips slightly before you sink back down, Gojo buries his face into your neck and breathes, ragged and heavy.

So much for wanting to see you.

“Shit,” you hear him hiss, as he blindly gropes at your ass, working your body to continue to slide up and down his hard cock. The heat of you had him seeing stars as searing pleasure tore through him.

Whimpering, you clench onto firm biceps, enjoying the shallow strokes he pushes into you.

It’s incoherent at first. However, when you tumble out a dazed huh? so that you could hear him repeat whatever he had said, Satoru's lips parted in ecstasy. “I forgot,” he choked out, voice raw and unhinged.

Gently tugging him away from your neck, your core tightened at the fucked out expression on his face. Curious eyes trail down to his stomach and how with each pump inside you, his muscles involuntarily spasm.

“The condom,” he states, slowing down his fevered pace. “I forgot…”

If it were anyone else, you would’ve hopped right the fuck off their lap with panic, body tense over the fact of how careless you were being.

But surprisingly there were no alarm bells and no flashing red lights in your mind. If anything your blood ran a little hotter, the need and tightness in your core taking over.

You don’t know you have it in you to completely stop everything in a search for a condom you don’t even know he might have.

“Pull out then,” is all you say before you begin to ride him again.

Gojo can definitely get behind that. He’s not complaining if it meant he got to have you completely raw.

Your pussy swallows his cock, and Satoru gathers up the bottom of his shirt— wrinkling it in the process— so that he could see the way he disappears inside you over and over.

When he shifts his gaze back up again so he can take in the expression you might be wearing, Gojo’s surprised to see you already looking at him.

There’s an adorable tinge to your lips that has Gojo flitting his gaze back to them every damn time he tries to make eye contact with you as he fucks himself sweetly into your pussy.

He’s overcome with the strong urge to kiss you. To cross the small width of space between your mouths.

So, he does.

His brow bumping yours, Gojo’s hands return to your ass and he stands up with you in his embrace. The cold press of his desk accosts you as he uses his weight to push you slowly onto your back. 

“Satoru,” you sigh your boss’s name blissfully once his lips leave yours to press them along the curve of your jaw before pulling away.

“I wanted this to be nicer,” he says, brilliant blue eyes glittering down at you through the sex-soaked shadows. His hips don’t stop pistoning in and out of you, and he exhales a particularly harsh hiss when he feels you squeeze around him. “Nicer than here.”

You drag in a breath at his sentence, its implications not lost on you. He’s thought about this before. “It's okay, there's always another time.” 

Satoru hums appreciatively, seemingly pleased with your answer. After leaning in for one last kiss, he brushed his mouth from yours and announced in a voice you barely recognize, “I’m gonna come.”

Propping yourself onto your elbows, you nod at him. “Pull out then.”

“Are you sure?” 

 Stuck between the incredulous look painted across your features and how your nails press a little tighter into his skin, Gojo listens. Not without hissing out a disgruntled, “Fine.”

Pulling out from your wet pussy, Gojo’s hand wraps around his dick and he strokes it fast and hot. He growls with sharp relief when you reach a hand down to massage his sac. He thinks he may come all over you if you continue doing that.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your fingers graze the base of his cock. 

Cracking his eyes open, he messily knocks your hand away from him before intertwining his fingers with yours and grabbing himself with his free hand, stroking hard and fast. Every so often his tip would intentionally rub up and press against your nub, successfully stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves with the main goal to climax.

With every pent-up thought he’s had about you, Gojo finally comes with you in tow. His cum dribbles out from his slit and lands on your skin— mostly between your inner thighs and folds.

“So,” Gojo starts, his hands wandering up to the middle of your back after a few moments of comfortable shared silence between you two. As much as he wanted to relax in your post-sex session and bask in its warm glow, he had to address the elephant in the room.

You hum in response as you work the buttons of your blouse, waiting for him to continue. “When you said ‘next time’, did you seriously mean t—” 

The two of you abruptly jump apart at the telltale sound of heels clicking down the hall drawing closer and closer to Gojo’s office door. In a panic, you leap off his desk, sending a flurry of sheets flying down to the floor into a sorry pile. 

“Nice going,” Gojo remarks with a sly grin, as you hurriedly shimmy your pants up your legs. The sheen layer of sweat— among other things— makes it a bit difficult for you to easily slip them on.

Once they’re settled at your hips and you tend to the zip, you cast a withering glare his way, you’re relieved to see that he’s already tucked himself away into his pants, already looking presentable by the time the door opens.

With the click of the lock giving way, you hear a woman starkly ask, “Why are all the lights off?”

You could pinpoint that voice from a kilometre away. 

Turning on your heel, you see the shadowy figure of one of your closest colleagues in the dark of the room. “Utahime!”

When the head director steps into the room and flicks on the lights, the sudden brightness has you squinting your eyes a bit. Upon catching your gaze she offers you a sincere smile, visibly lighting up at the sight of you.  

But it doesn’t last long because seconds after her smile morphs it into a displeased scowl when she spots Gojo lounging boneless in his office chair a few feet away.

“And why’s it so…” Utahime fans a delicate hand in front of her face, casting a weary gaze at you two from across the room. “Warm in here?” she questions no one in particular.

Her eyes take in the setting before her, and she pauses in her tracks. You could only imagine what thoughts were racing through her mind.

“What hap—”

“—It’s warm?! I couldn’t even tell!” you respond, a bit too chipper as you cut her line of questioning off. A bit too fast. 

From behind you, you hear Gojo’s stifled laughter that’s covered by poorly by a ridiculous attempt at a coughing fit.

“Well,” you wring your hands together subconsciously, “what brings you here?”

Noticing your off demeanour, Utahime fixes you with a puzzled look that reads as if she were asking you "are you okay?" as your plastered smile only grows more strained by the second.

“I came here to grab your reports and documentation from Gojo’s outbox, but somebody,” cue Satoru slipping on his signature shades to deflect the icy stare Utahime was housing, “forgot to put them there. Hence why I’m here.”

“Oh, right!” Gojo hums, rolling back from his desk as he reaches down to gather the scattered sheets that had fallen to the floor. “They’re all here.”

You both watch in shared silence as he flips through each page, meticulously setting each one aside that wasn’t labeled with your name on the header. 

Thrown off by how long he’s deliberately taking in smoothing out the crinkles on each page, the older woman stomps up to Gojo and unceremoniously slaps her hand on the wooden table. “Give me that, will you?!” she exclaims, snatching and wrestling the papers out from his hands.

“Ah! Wait—”

Scanning the pages your department leader seems content that everything’s in order.

Until it's not?

The woman’s once sunny and bright disposition suddenly flips on his head, as there seems to be something written on that page midway that makes her freeze.

“Go ahead and hand me a new copy,” Utahime says, practically tossing the sheets of paper back onto his desk without a second glance. She smooths her hands down the silky expanse of her long skirt, once, twice, then three times for good measure. “I want it in my inbox by next Monday.”

She nods curtly at you before she turns and practically books it to his door. You don’t know why but you swear you saw the faintest hue of pink tickling the apples of her cheeks. There was also an expression that couldn’t quite put your finger on that highlighted her features. 

If you were to say though, her emotion looked between the mix of detachment, embarrassment… wait, no. It was mortification.

But what was there to be mortified over?  

“What’s wrong with the copy you gave her?”

Gojo presses his lips together in a sad attempt to keep his smile at bay as he hands it over to you to see for yourself.

Eyebrows furrowed, you skim each sheet. You don’t get it. What’s the problem with—

That’s until you notice that some of the pages were sticking together. It’s on the third page you see it and understand why Utahime was in such a rush to leave. Why she kept wiping her hands onto her clothing.

Right there among the printed hiragana and kanji was a few small white streaks of fluid covering bolded characters and numbers. 

Oh no.

“Y’know…” The sleeve of his dress shirt rests along your neck as his hand squeezes at your shoulder. Delicate fingers slide against your bare skin and pull at the strap of your bra, successfully tucking it underneath your blouse again. Had that been poking out the entire time?!  “I knew it would’ve been a good idea to finish inside.”

Horrified that you’d have to deal with the information of going back to Utahime next week knowing that she knows what you guys did, has you burrying your face into Gojo’s chest and letting out a muffled scream.

“Just saying!”

FIN

i don't know how to stay within the maximum word count for the life of me... i'm not sorry!

also there's probably errors in this as i wrote it very hurriedly YOINKIES... ILL FIX EM TMRW IN THE MEANTIME THANKS FOR READINGGG

[nadvs]

push and pull (part two) (end)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post | part one

» masterlist

When Zach wakes up the next morning, he fully understands the term hangxiety.

His temples pound as he stares at his ceiling. At some point last night, he slipped from tipsy into drunk.

Thankfully, he didn’t get so wasted that he’s forgetting anything. But then again, that means every time he made an ass of himself is a memory etched into his brain.

He remembers welcoming his date. Having a decent time with her. Walking her downstairs. Her lips on his cheek when she kissed him goodbye. Feeling like something was missing, and then, that something wasn’t missing anymore when you came downstairs to let him in.

And he remembers looking over at you across the party. Wishing he was next to you. Feeling crappy for thinking about you while he was with another girl. Knowing he was idiot for thinking he could ignore his feelings for you and date someone else.

Talking to you in the elevator. Crap.

He buries his head into his pillow. Why did he blabber to you like that? His brother would kill him if he knew what he said. He probably already wants to kill him for loudly proclaiming how much he loves him in the hallway. Rafe’s not one for any sort of PDA.

Zach picks up his phone to text you: Trauma dumping to you was just a dream I had, right? Please tell me it didn’t actually happen.

You reply minutes later: you mean in the elevator? definitely a dream.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiles at his screen.

He replies: Sorry about that.

You send another text: it’s no problem. i’m guessing you have a pretty bad hangover.

He replies: Everything hurts.

You text back: make sure to hydrate and rest ok?

Zach smiles again. He can’t help but daydream about you coming over, taking care of him, cuddling him.

He’s worried about the consequences of things going wrong if he got into a relationship with you. But God, does he want you.

He replies: Ok :)

When he eventually leaves his bedroom, he sees Rafe lounging on the couch, still in his pajamas. Surprisingly, his brother actually tidied up.

It gives him hope that Rafe really is trying to improve himself. He’s had his fair share of meltdowns and Zach’s had a front row seat to all of them, watching his brother break down into tears, spiralling into his toxic, self-hating thoughts.

Once he calms down, every time, Rafe talks about how he knows he’s not a good person, that he wants to be better. But then, he sticks to his bad habits. He never gets the help he needs, even though Zach encourages him to.

Nonetheless, Zach never saw the bad in Rafe that he’s so adamant is there. At his worst, he can be violent, drunkenly throwing punches at parties, but Zach knows it’s a result of his emotional scars.

“Shit,” Rafe chuckles when he sees Zach. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” Zach sinks onto the other side of the couch, closing his eyes as he tilts his head back. “You cleaned up for once.”

“Did you just say for once? I’m always cleaning up, asshole,” he mutters, making Zach laugh.

“I hope the neighbors don’t hate us,” Zach says. “The party got kinda loud last night.”

“This guy’s thinking about the neighbors,” Rafe says with a scoff. “The girl you were with looked like she was into you. Bet she would’ve stayed the night.”

“Maybe,” Zach says with a shrug, thinking back to his date.

Then, Rafe says he thinks you might be into him, too, considering he caught you staring. And Zach’s pulse picks up.

He loves and hates hearing that. Because if you really do like him back, it’s exciting, but that makes it even more crushing that he can’t pursue anything.

“Maybe,” Zach echoes.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe laughs, thinking about how good you looked last night. “I’d jump on that if I had the chance.”

“But you don’t have the chance,” Zach murmurs. “If you love me, you won’t jump on any of my friends.”

Zach sits up and looks at his brother.

“By the way, you never said you love me back last night. I’m still waiting.”

“Yeah,” Rafe snorts. “You can keep waiting.”

────୨ৎ────

On Monday morning, you finally get a response from a student you found online who’s selling a used textbook you need.

You’d rather not go by yourself, so you text the group chat: i need to go to a stranger’s house to buy a textbook tonight. is anyone down to tag along so i’m not alone?

To your relief, Zach texts the group a minute later: I got you :)

That evening, you’re knocking on his front door. Instead of Zach, though, Rafe answers.

“Hi,” you say. “Is Zach around? He’s supposed to come with me to pick a textbook up.”

“Haven’t heard him since he got home,” he says, turning to look up the stairs. “I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Rafe comes down, keys jingling in his hand.

“He’s sleeping,” he says. “I can take you. I was about to go for a drive anyway.”

“Cool,” you say. “Thanks.”

You watch him lean over to slip on his sneakers, his frame broad and tall. It’s surprising that Zach, who’s usually reliable, forgot about your plans. And that Rafe, who you’ve come to known as hot and cold, is willing to help you.

He locks the door behind him before you make your way down the hallway together.

“He must be tired after practice,” you say, well aware of the team’s training schedule.

“Yeah, when he’s asleep, he’s out.”

You smirk to yourself, imagining Zach adorably bundled up in his bed. You already know he’s going to apologize profusely once he realizes he accidentally bailed on you.

“It’s only ten minutes away,” you tell Rafe. “I just wanted someone with me since it’s some random guy I don’t know selling it.”

“Zach didn’t offer to just buy a new one for you?” he asks.

“No,” you laugh, entering the elevator. “Why would he?”

Rafe doesn’t get Zach sometimes. It’s insane that he’s not into you, that he sleeps through plans with you, that he doesn’t offer to buy you something that probably only costs a few hundred dollars.

“Want me to?” Rafe asks. You have to laugh.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I already set all this up. Do you always offer to buy girls school supplies?”

He bites his tongue. If Zach wasn’t so adamant about m not being allowed to try to hook up with you, he’d flirt and say yes, he buys all kinds of things for beautiful girls.

“Not always,” he settles for.

The elevator doors open. You enter the parking garage and follow Rafe to his car, settling into the cushioned passenger seat. He starts the engine, then offers the cable hooked up his radio to you.

“Already know you have good taste,” Rafe says. You smile, plugging your phone in.

You’re Zach’s friend, but he figures you can be his friend, too. Because he wants to get to know what he can about you, to flatter you and joke with you and talk to you, even though the night won’t be ending with you in his bed. He has fun with you. He’ll take what he can get.

He backs out of his parking spot, putting his hand against the back of your headrest as he looks through the rear window. You gaze up at his profile, taking in just how handsome he is, how nice his cologne smells.

Rafe doesn’t know the song you put on, but he likes it. He turns forward in his seat, driving out of the garage.

You chat about your days and even though it’s small-talk, it doesn’t feel like it. There’s an ease with Rafe that you can’t really compare to with anyone else.

Still, he’s kind of intimidating, but you naturally want to keep challenging this way he makes you feel, cracking the wall he has up.

When you reach the house at the end of a dark street, Rafe parks in the driveway, turns his key and takes it out of ignition.

“You can wait here,” you offer.

“Nah,” he mumbles. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

With Rafe standing behind you as you knock on the front door, the feeling of him protecting you is intoxicating, making your heart pound harder.

The door swings open and you greet the man you’ve been messaging. He’s holding the textbook you need and when you offer him four twenties, he looks through the bills and shakes his head.

“We said $100,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “$80. You said $80 was good.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have the texts to prove it,” you laugh in disbelief.

“Really, man?” Rafe mutters. “Just give her the book.”

“$100,” he repeats.

“Forget it,” Rafe says. He steps forward, roughly taking your money out of his hand and pulling you by the waist. “I’ll just get you a new one.”

“No, wait,” the guy calls. “$80’s fine.”

“Get fucked,” Rafe mutters. You follow him to the car, still mentally catching up to what just happened. “Trying to scam you over twenty dollars. What a joke.”

You settle in the car, feeling Rafe’s warm, big hand curl your fingers open so he can give you your money back.

He’s fuming, beyond pissed off that someone would try to trick you like that. He’s glad you didn’t come by yourself to have to deal with this idiot alone. And he’s not sure how Zach would’ve handled it.

“How much is a new book?” he asks.

“Like, $250,” you tell him.

“I got it covered, alright?” he says. “Give me your phone.”

You comply, still a little jarred but appreciating how quickly he swept in to help you. You watch him enter digits, call himself to get your number, then hang up.

He returns your phone and takes his out, taps on your number, and quickly opens up a bank app.

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

“It’s fine.”

Within a minute, he sends you $250. It’s bizarre how he’s acting like that much money is nothing. Like he’s giving you change he owes you.

Rafe exhales slowly, starting his car again, coming down from the daze. This happens a lot. It’s like he blacks out when he gives in to his impulses.

But what can he do? He has a weak spot for you and he hates the idea of someone doing you wrong, of him not helping you when he’s totally capable of it.

He scratches his forehead. Zach’s words resonate in his head, telling him he needs to cool down and think before he does things. Sometimes his temper flares with no warning.

He’s sure he came off way too intense. He doesn’t know how to apologize for it. Before he can speak, you do.

“Can you come with me every time I have to buy something?” you say lightheartedly. It eases some of the tension in his chest.

“Was that too much?” he says, tone low.

You smile to yourself. You wouldn’t call it too much. He seems like he’s an intense, passionate person. Beneath the surface, Rafe feels more than he lets on.

“You didn’t let a guy con me, then you bought me a $250 book,” you reply with a laugh. “Trust me, you’re good. Thank you.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Zach as you back out of the driveway. Crap I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Did you come over?

You reply: all good! i figured you were exhausted. rafe went with me.

“Guess who’s awake,” you say, the smile apparent in your tone. Rafe glances over at your profile as you text back.

He hates this about himself, the envy that pushes him to be sure that Zach is so much better than him. That every girl, if given the chance, would pick his brother over him.

“So, you were going to go for a drive?” you say, tucking your phone away. Because of his kind gestures tonight, you’re pretty sure that he likes hanging out with you. “Want company?”

Rafe taps his hand against the steering wheel. Even if this is just platonic, he doesn’t want you to leave his car.

“If I can pick the music,” he says.

“You said I had good taste.”

“Mine’s better.”

You laugh, and because he held your waist just a few minutes ago, you don’t feel apprehensive to touch him. You nudge his shoulder. He smirks.

An hour goes by like a minute. When Rafe and you part, your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing with him.

You talked together nonstop, touching on the most random subjects, finding similarities and differences. You have a deep crush on him. There’s no denying it.

When Rafe watches you step out of his car, he realizes that this isn’t just attraction like he’s used to. He feels like he knows you. And he likes you. It’s exciting and scary.

When Rafe makes it home, Zach is in the kitchen, the whole loft smelling like delicious food.

“You actually remembered how to get home?” Zach teases over the sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan.

“Lost track of time,” Rafe says. He settles on a barstool as Zach stands at the range, trying not to burn dinner.

Zach is glad his back is to his brother, because when Rafe tells him that he was with you that entire time, driving around and talking, his eyebrows furrow in anger and jealousy before he can subdue it.

“But before you lose your shit,” Rafe adds, “it was all friendly, okay?”

“Right,” Zach mumbles. He stares down at the pan, trying to breathe through his prickly frustration. He’s unbelievably mad at himself for falling asleep after practice.

You can do whatever you want, he knows that, but he feels that even though it’s just as a friend, you’re his, not Rafe’s. And his brother getting to spend time with you feels painfully unfair.

────୨ৎ────

The bright stadium lights pool over the deep green soccer field. It’s a cool evening, perfect for a match.

Cold seeps in through your jeans as you sit on the metal bench on the sideline. You have your phone at the ready to film the team as they rush the field for a home game.

You’ve grown to love your job. You found great friends, the TikTok account is earning more traction, and you’ve started to genuinely enjoy coming out to games and cheering on your school’s team.

It’s been almost a week since your night with Rafe. You haven’t seen him or Zach since. You welcome the distance. Liking them both is ridiculously confusing.

Minutes pass. The crowd is getting louder. The team still isn’t out on the field. Your dad runs a tight ship, so it’s weird that they’re late.

You head into the stadium tunnel towards the locker room, curiosity nagging you. A group of players are standing outside the door and you approach Chance.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Something’s up with Zach,” Chance tells you. Alarm rushes through you and you step into the locker room without a second thought.

Zach’s sitting on the bench by his locker, hunched over, surrounded by your dad, the team’s medic, and a few other players.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Zach looks up at you. His eyes are sunken, his lips parted. And then, he loses consciousness.

When his eyelids flutter open, the brightness of the room is so painful that he has to squint.

“He’s up,” he hears. It’s you. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while. He misses it.

He slowly comes to, realizing he’s in a hospital bed. You’re sitting to his left. The team medic is standing at the end of the bed with a doctor. He’s hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“You’re dehydrated,” the medic explains, leaning over to hand a plastic cup of water to Zach. “You’re at Trinity Hospital. You’re okay. Drink.”

Zach weakly picks it up, downing the cool water, his throat feeling raw. He rolls his head to look at you again. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s relieved that you look so concerned for him. That you’re here.

The doctor introduces herself, then explains that Zach was unconscious for so long that she’d prefer to keep him overnight to monitor him.

The news makes everything in him twist with worry and frustration. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want Rafe to spiral.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m alright, though?”

“I’m not worried,” the doctor replies. “I just want to be sure you’re in good shape before I send you home.”

Within a few minutes, the doctor leaves the room. Then, the medic encourages Zach to drink more fluids, calls the coach to update him, and asks if you want to head back together now that you’re sure Zach’s okay.

You politely decline. You’re too worried to leave him alone so fast. And shortly after, it’s just you two in the room, listening to the beeps of Zach’s pulse.

“Dehydrated?” you say playfully, but still worried. “What the hell, Cameron?”

“I know,” he says with a smile. He regrets going hard at the gym today. He’s sure that’s what did it. “Rookie move.”

“I specifically told you to hydrate like, two days ago.”

Zach’s laugh is boyish. He reaches for your hand and squeezes. You remind yourself it’s likely nothing more than a friendly gesture.

“That was hangover advice,” he says. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

“It was life advice, actually.” You inhale slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He lets go of your hand, remembering you can hear his pulse right now and not wanting to risk you witnessing it beat faster.

“It was way more than two days ago, by the way,” he says. He threads his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of how bad he must look right now. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at your lap. You’ve been declining all the invitations to hang out in the group chat because the past few days have been so confusing.

Seeing Zach with another girl was painful, and then, you realized just how unimportant you felt to him when he slept through your plans, even though it was by mistake. You need time and space to stop liking him before you can hang out again.

“School’s been kicking my ass,” you lie.

“Do you need help?” he asks. He’d do anything to have you around again.

“Leave it to you to be in a hospital bed asking if you can help,” you mumble. Zach laughs. You try and fail not to fawn over his perfect smile.

“Did I faint in front of everybody?” he says, fixing his hair again.

“Not everybody,” you half-laugh. “But, seriously, everyone was really worried. We all care about you a lot.”

His heart warms. He may be in the hospital, but right now, he’s grateful for having people who care about him. It’s all he ever wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Zach says softly. “And for staying.”

You nod. You were so worried that you told your dad you were going with the paramedics when they arrived, not even considering that you had work to do, that Zach was already taken care of.

“Of course,” you reply. “You said you don’t like being alone, remember? In that dream you had?”

Zach huffs a laugh and looks away, embarrassed as he thinks about that night in the elevator, but still appreciative.

“Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

“I texted him that I’m with you at the hospital. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Zach nods and thanks you. He tries not to fixate on the fact that you have Rafe’s number. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall to see it’s late in the evening. He figures Rafe’s out with friends or with a girl, not paying attention to his phone.

He wishes he could just talk to him. With every second that passes, he worries more and more about Rafe’s reaction to him being here.

“I should’ve grabbed your phone from the locker room so you could talk to him directly,” you say regretfully. “But I told Chance to get your things for you after the game. Is there anyone else I should contact?”

Admittedly, you’re bracing yourself for him to mention the girl from the other night. Or any girl, really. But he only shakes his head no.

A nurse comes in to remind you that visiting hours are up soon. Zach sits up, visibly on edge, asking her when he can have visitors tomorrow. She tells him 9 a.m.

Knowing he won’t be able to see his brother in person tonight makes him anxious.

After the nurse leaves, Zach frantically asks if he can send a voice-note to Rafe on your phone. You open the conversation and hand your phone to Zach, noticing the nervous way he’s chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker. “It’s nothing. I passed out from dehydration and I’m at Trinity and they’re keeping me overnight just to be sure I’m good, but the doctor’s not worried.”

His eyes flit to you and he swallows hard.

“This is nothing like the last time, okay? I know your mind’s gonna go there and this is not even close,” he continues. “You can come see me at nine tomorrow. And you better bring me food.”

Zach ends the recording, sends it, and gives you back your phone.

“Thanks,” he breathes. You nod, your eyebrows knitting in confusion and worry.

“Sure,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

Zach scratches the back of his neck.

“When he answers, please tell him that you saw for yourself that I’m okay,” he says. “He might be a little freaked out.”

You agree, not wanting to pry, and start to collect your things. There’s no television in the room and you feel bad that Zach’ll be left alone with nothing to entertain him. You want to help.

You tell him you’ll be right back, then rush downstairs at a vending machine you saw when you came in. After, you drop by the gift shop. It’s closed, the flowers and balloons locked up, but you’re still able to pick up a book sitting on a rack.

You leave behind more than enough cash for the book on the counter and go back to Zach’s room.

“Snacks,” you say breathlessly when you enter, dropping the bags of chips and candy and the paperback on the bed, “and a book. Hopefully, this’ll keep you entertained. And don’t tell my dad about the junk food. You know how he is about an athlete’s diet.”

Zach smiles at you, his eyes soft. With everything you’ve done tonight, you could simply be showing what a good friend you are, but what if you feel something for him, too?

The mention of his coach is reminder enough of why he doesn’t pursue this. It could get messy. But maybe he should be more like his brother. Taking risks. Allowing himself to do what he wants to do.

“I should go,” you sigh, looking at the clock. “Feel better, okay? We don’t stand a chance of winning without you.”

He laughs, his eyes lingering on you.

“Thanks,” Zach says. You turn to leave. He stops you with a gentle, “Hey.”

You stop, turning back to look at him. Zach takes you in, how good he feels when you’re around, how there’s still a little bit of worry written into your cute features.

He won’t tell you that he wants to you to be his girlfriend. Not like this, when he’s hooked up to monitors, stuck in a bed. He’ll do it when he’s out of here. He’ll do it when he can hold your face in his hands and tell you how much you mean to him.

“Seriously, thank you,” he tells you. “You’re amazing.” You smile at him again. If only he knew how much his words mean to you.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

You’re pacing through the parking lot when your phone buzzes. It’s Rafe calling you. You answer quickly. He says your name, his voice strained.

“I’m here. Is it too late to see him?”

“Yeah, visiting hours are over. I’m just leaving now,” you say, looking around the dark lot in case you can spot him. “But, honestly, he’s okay.”

“Does he…” Rafe pauses. “I think I see you.”

You approach each other under the starry sky, meeting by a line of parked cars.

His eyes are glossy. He’s been crying. No wonder Zach was so worried. He must have known the effect this would have on his brother. There’s more to this than you realize.

“Hi,” you say softly, ending the call. “It’s okay. He’s acting totally like himself.”

“He doesn’t have his phone?”

“No,” you say. “But I made sure someone’ll pick his stuff up for him.”

“What happened?”

“Before the game tonight, he was in the locker room and he looked really tired,” you explain. “He passed out, but he was already sitting and someone caught him, so he didn’t hit his head or anything. They have him on an IV and drinking lots of fluids.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Fuck. I was at a bar and I wasn’t checking my phone… I got into a cab as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you console him. “He’s good. He was more worried about you than himself.”

Rafe sighs, hands on his hips as he looks down and paces back and forth, hair hanging over his head. You can hear him panting.

“He was worried about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Rafe asks the question the same tense way he did the night of the party. He’s so closed off, clearly upset at the thought of you knowing anything he doesn’t want you to know.

“I heard the voice-note he sent you,” you admit, “and he said you might be freaked out, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business.”

Rafe chews on his lip the same nervous way Zach does. For once, you see a similarity between them.

His breathing gets even shallower. He rests his hands on the rear window of the van parked next to him. His body curls forward. His skin is flushed.

You step a little closer, searching his face in the light of the lamps lining the parking lot. He’s distraught.

“Rafe,” you say quietly.

His stare is on the ground, his chest heaving now. Something bad has been triggered in him.

“Hey,” you say.

“You can go home now,” he mutters breathlessly.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say. You take a risk, placing a hand on his back, feeling it rise and fall quickly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you say evenly. “I get that this is scary, but I promise you, everything’s okay. Zach is okay.”

Rafe’s chest is tight. His veins are made of ice. He feels like punching something. He hates this familiar loss of control, this shock of the world crumbling around him with no warning.

Yet while he thought that he’d hate someone touching him like this, that he’d hate being so vulnerable, he actually feels a little better.

You continue to rub his back, sweetly and tenderly. The touches he shares with girls are never like this. They’re always superficial, fuelled by lust. But this feels like real, sincere care.

“You took a cab here?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Did you talk to the driver?”

“What?”

“Did you?” you say. “What kind of car was it?”

It’s all in an effort to distract him, and while Rafe stammers his way through his answers about the driver and the car and the bar he was at, you notice his breathing start to even out.

Minutes later, his heart isn’t racing as fast. His chest isn’t as tight. He can think clearer.

He’s embarrassed, but relieved you were here to talk him down before he ran into the hospital and demanded to see his brother. He now realizes how bad that could’ve gone.

“I don’t…” he stammers. He doesn’t know how to say that this doesn’t happen all that often, that this is a piece of him he typically buries deep from everyone.

“What?”

“You probably think I’m crazy.” Saying the word out loud hurts more than he expected. It’s what he’s felt all his life, that something isn’t wired right in his brain.

“No. I get it,” you say. You shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know what happened, but… I’m guessing he was in the hospital for something before, right?”

Rafe meets your eyes, straightening.

“I get why you’re freaked out,” you say. “I would be, too. Memories can mess with us.”

The way you just calmed him down, the sympathy in your tone, the alcohol swimming in his system are what push him to actually be honest with someone for once in a long time.

“We almost lost him,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Your face falls in sorrow, eyes searching his face. He looks down at the ground, too uncomfortable to meet your gaze again.

“I almost lost him,” Rafe mumbles, his voice thin. Because, really, he knows he would’ve felt the loss the hardest. His brother is the most important person in his life. Always has been.

And to lose him, someone so irreplaceable, someone he was with from the moment he was a living thing, would kill him. Zach’s right, even though he’s joking, that Rafe doesn’t tell him he loves him enough.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Rafe says.

It was mere months after their mother abandoned them, saying she couldn’t stay with their father anymore, that she did everything she could do as a mom, that she was done.

It left a hole in Rafe that he feels every day. If Zach feels it, he does an incredible job hiding it.

He still doesn’t know what the final straw was. Why fourteen years of her sons’ lives was enough for her. How could a parent decide that they had enough of their kids forever?

She wasn’t the best mom, unpredictable and erratic, but he loved her. There had to be something wrong with her mind for her to act like that. To leave. Something that Rafe is sure skipped Zach and was passed on to him.

“That’s so young,” you say sadly.

“He was really sick for a while.” Rafe’s heart twists thinking about it.

How a freak case of pneumonia had Zach bedridden, his lungs fighting to keep breathing. How mad Rafe was at his brother, as if he did it on purpose. How sure he was that in some twisted way, his mother’s sudden abandonment triggered it.

He still regrets how he acted when Zach was discharged. He couldn’t talk to him for days. He was too angry for scaring him into thinking he was going to lose his best friend, his anchor.

“How long?” you ask.

“Weeks,” Rafe tells you. “And you know Zach. He kept telling everyone he was fine. Even as a kid, he didn’t want people to worry about him.”

“He is like that, isn’t he?” you say with a soft chuckle. Since you met Zach, you quickly learned he dismisses any notion of needing any sort of help. “But I promise, this isn’t one of those cases. I saw for myself. He’s good. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Rafe nods quickly, finally looking at you.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” you say with a small smile, sad but touched that he opened up to you like this. “Until then, just try to relax.”

Rafe loves the feeling of your hand on him. He can’t remember the last time he loved someone’s touch. If he ever even did.

He’s keeping his promise to Zach. He won’t hook up with you. Because he wants more than that. He wants to know you and for you to know him. He wants you to stay the night, every night. He wants you to be his.

And he needs to be sure you don’t feel anything for his brother.

“Are you and him…” He swallows hard. “Is there anything there?”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion. Zach had told you that his brother was his best friend. You’re sure he would’ve told him if he felt something for you.

If he has to ask, Zach must not talk about you much at all. You’re nothing but a friend to him. Although you do have feelings for him, you were right to be apprehensive from the start. He doesn’t like you like that.

“No,” you finally say.

Rafe nods. At least there’s no unrequited feelings on either side. He must have been reading into things, imagining you looking at his brother a certain way.

“You wanna grab some food?” Rafe asks impulsively.

You agree. Right now, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.

Rafe’s been on a handful of dates before, but sitting across from you at a quiet late-night diner, sobering up, getting to know you more and more makes him feel like he’s living in a dream.

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Scared in a good way. Slowly, he opens up little by little, peeling back layers of the wall he’s been hiding behind for years.

He shares what happened with his mom. How Zach was the strong one, while Rafe acted out and made his life hell. You take in every word, seeing just how much guilt and shame and pain he carries around.

You open up, too, sharing things you don’t tell many people. He’s a good listener, and the eyes you thought didn’t have much hope behind them at first aren’t cold at all by the end of the night.

It’s one in the morning when you part ways. Rafe shares a cab with you, making sure you get dropped off first, watching you step through the front door.

Everything in him wants to invite you to his place, but things are going to be different with you. He won’t rush into numbing himself with sex like he always does, because he refuses to be numb or absent or checked out with you in any way.

────୨ৎ────

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink water?”

Zach looks up from his orange juice to see Rafe walking into his hospital room.

He chuckles, asking Rafe not to give him shit for this because you already did. The mention of your name makes Rafe’s heart feel lighter in this tense moment.

Because of how good it felt to be so open with you last night, expressing just how important Zach is to him, remembering everything they’d gone through together, Rafe doesn’t shy away from leaning over to hug his brother, who stiffens in his bed.

“Uh, good morning to you, too?” Zach laughs. “Is this a hug? What the hell? Who are you?”

“I love you, too,” Rafe mumbles, pulling back and holding up a paper bag of breakfast for him. “And I got you your food, princess.”

“You try eating hospital food,” Zach replies, taking the bag, feeling ravenous.

Rafe settles on the chair, remembering his brother at fourteen, picking apart at the food they served him with a look of disgust, yet telling the nurses ‘it’s good, thank you’ when they asked if he was enjoying his meal.

Rafe urged his dad to bring his brother home-cooked food almost every day of his hospital stay. It was one of the little ways he showed up for Zach, taking care of him instead of the other way around for once.

“What’d the doctor say?” Rafe asks. “Do you feel better?”

“She hasn’t come to see me yet, but I feel totally fine.” Zach digs into his breakfast. “How are you?”

Rafe looks down at his lap, sighing before he speaks.

“I freaked out,” Rafe admits. Zach stills. “She told me you said I would and you were right. But, man… she knew exactly what to do.”

“It happened when you were with her?” Zach knows what Rafe’s breakdowns look like. He has full-blown panic attacks. He’s nearly inconsolable. He wonders how jarring that must have been for you.

“Out in the parking lot,” he says. “It was just too much. All that shit came rushing back.”

Rafe shrugs, defeated. Sometimes, he’s able to give into the fact that he can do nothing but surrender to the chaos in his mind. He felt safe doing it in front of you last night. He felt safe every second he was with you.

“Are you okay now?” Zach asks. He notices the hint of a smile in Rafe’s face. A brightness he hasn’t seen in him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I gotta ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Does ‘off limits’ mean I can’t date her?”

“Date her?” Zach repeats, in disbelief. “You want to date her? Like, commit to her? You don’t commit to anyone.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle, pursing his lips.

“Well, now, I want to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe looks like he got rid of a ten-ton weight that was sitting on his shoulders. He’s relaxed. He’s content. Zach can’t remember the last time he saw him like this.

Zach became hyperaware of other people’s emotions at a young age. When their parents would argue, he saw what it did to Rafe, who would shut down and lash out. Zach would distract his brother in every way he could.

Then their mom left and it became ten times harder to keep Rafe steady. But Zach did it and he never stopped trying. Because helping others, putting their feelings first, really does make Zach happy.

But right now, he feels really far from happy.

He looks down at his food. He had it all planned out. He’d get in his best clothes, find a nice place to take you, give you a whole speech about how he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for days and how happy you make him and how happy he could make you.

“She feels the same way? Did something happen between you?” Zach asks. His chest is a hole. A pit.

“Nothing happened,” Rafe says, scratching the back of his neck.

It was nearly impossible for Rafe not to give into the impulse to hold your hand in the booth you sat at together last night and tell you how pretty you are and how much fun he has with you.

But he really does want to be a better person. He wants to think before he acts. And that means checking in with Zach that he’s okay with this, considering how tense he is about Rafe getting involved with his friends.

“But I think she might like me, too,” Rafe says. “And I made sure she’s not into you. I guess I was just reading into stuff before.”

That’s the moment Zach’s heart breaks. He licks his lips, his stare low. So, you would’ve just rejected him.

“You really like her?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“Why?”

“Don’t make me be corny,” he groans.

Zach’s head is pounding. He wants to be mad at Rafe. But he had so many opportunities to tell him that he likes you, and he was too chicken to admit it. And now, his brother is falling for you. And he looks so happy doing it.

“You’re gonna have to be corny,” Zach says. “I need to be sure you’re not just messing around.”

Rafe sighs. It’s always Zach doing this, gushing over a girl, freaking out over if she hasn’t texted him back, getting all nervous before a date. Rafe used to tease him about it. He gets it now, though.

“You suck,” Rafe scoffs, tensing up. It’s hard for him to talk like this, but he forces the words out. “I don’t know. I like who I am when I’m around her. And it’s… when she’s in the room, everything’s better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

“Is that corny enough for you?” Rafe says with a scoff. “Are you cool with this or no?”

Zach chews his food slowly only to buy time before he has to speak again. He’s trying to act unbothered and it’s working, considering how in the clouds Rafe seems.

He has no idea that Zach is falling for you. Because he’s too busy doing it, too.

He meets his brother’s eyes. He takes a deep breath. And, because Rafe’s happiness has always been more important to him than his own, he gives him his blessing.

“Go for it,” Zach says. “And don’t hurt her.”

He’s never felt so bitter. He hates that he hopes you’ll have a change of heart. He hates that he feels like he’d treat you better. He hates all of this. But he stays silent.

────୨ৎ────

You’re having a late breakfast when Zach replies to your text asking to keep you updated.

Doctor cleared me. I’m home and I got my stuff from Chance. Thanks for everything.

His message is cold compared to how he usually texts. But maybe he’s just tired from the hospital stay.

You gaze out your window, thinking about everything that happened last night. Rafe isn’t as different from Zach as you first thought. Behind his hard exterior, he’s sensitive and gentle and so badly wants to be loved.

He confessed to feeling like something was missing in him since he can remember. The look in his eyes when you told him that to you, he seems perfectly whole, is one you won’t forget.

Being with him for hours was a wonderful haze. You didn’t want to part. He made you feel heard. It’s a joy that you’ve been lacking for a long time.

Minutes later, Rafe texts you asking if he can take you out to dinner tonight. You smile at your screen. You love how you don’t have to wonder about if he wants you.

The restaurant he drives you to is lavish and elegant. Rafe is unbelievably handsome across the table over the candlelight, his dark button-up making his eyes look all the more blue. Your stomach is full of butterflies, yet a sense of calm fills you when you’re with him.

You pick up where you left off, conversation flowing without any effort. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. You’re sure you look at him the same way.

When Rafe pulls the car up to your place, in an effort to keep you from leaving right away, he presses his palm against the back of your hand.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, tone low, adorably nervous.

“Of course. Did you?”

Rafe chuckles at the question. Good doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You’re…” he begins.

“I’m what?” you laugh.

He squeezes your hand gently, turning it so he can lace his fingers with yours. The contact is warm, his ring hard but smooth against your skin. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares at you.

“Beautiful,” he says. “In every way.”

His tone is sincere and firm. He says it like it’s a fact.

“And I want to keep doing this,” he says. “Seeing you. If you want to keep seeing me, too.”

“I do,” you say. When he leans forward, his kiss is soft but hungry, making your mind spin.

Zach fakes a headache when Rafe gets home. All he needs to hear is that the date went well. He doesn’t want the details.

────୨ৎ────

You’re wrapped in Rafe’s arms, your back flush against his chest, as music and chatter float through the air around you.

You’re settled on his couch, talking with your friends as the party rages. Rafe’s still getting used to what it means to be a boyfriend, tense and quiet around your friends, but he’d get used to anything if it meant making you happy.

You’ve only been dating a few weeks, but he’s sure if this isn’t love, he’s damn close to it. Aside from his brother, you’re his best friend.

You smile when you feel Rafe’s lips press against the side of your neck. He’s ridiculously affectionate, touching you whenever he can, spoiling you, whispering sweet things to you all the time. He’s completely unguarded.

Zach’s in the kitchen, as far away from you as he physically can be. After the hospital, he hasn’t been himself at all. You can tell he’s trying to be, though, forcing smiles around you.

It makes no sense. He called you amazing that night. But, then, he pulled away. It’s like he’s mad at you for dating his brother, but he refuses to admit it.

You’ve asked him multiple times if things are good between you. He reassured you over and over that they are.

Maybe someone else would believe him, but after you pined for him for so long, you can read when he’s trying to hide that he’s upset. At parties, at casual get-togethers, even at work when you’re making content for the team, he’s absent-minded and disinterested.

And whatever’s wrong, he prefers to hold inside.

Nonetheless, while your feelings for Zach have faded, you genuinely hope he’s happy and that you can be friends with him again one day.

The next morning, you wake up in Rafe’s bed. His arm is around your waist, his breath warm against your back. He’s still snoozing when you slip out of bed to get water.

Zach’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at his coffee. It’s almost funny how just over three months ago, you were here for the first time, yearning for Zach to give you a hint that he liked you. Now, you’re falling for Rafe.

“Morning,” you say kindly.

Zach looks up from his coffee. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

You open the fridge, the awful feeling he’s been giving you lately sitting heavy on your heart. He makes you feel unwelcome, which is something you never expected from him.

“Just getting some water,” you say, searching through the shelves. “He’s definitely gonna wake up with a headache.”

Zach tenses. You’re doing for Rafe what he daydreamed you doing for him. Sharing a bed with him, nursing his hangover, touching him and smiling at him and giving him what Zach would die for.

You look so pretty in the morning, your bedhead adorable, your pajamas complimenting your figure. Why won’t his heart just catch up with his mind? He keeps telling himself to get over you.

He notices that you have Rafe’s ring on your finger. He used to imagine you wearing his things. He’d love to see you in his team hoodie. But he never will.

In another world, you’re in this kitchen as his girlfriend, talking about last night’s party, sharing kisses and laughs. But not in this world.

“I never asked you,” you say, your back to him, “how was that book I got you?”

You hope it serves as a reminder for how much you did for him and how much you care about him. It hurts, the way he’s been keeping you at a distance.

Late at night, as your mind drifts away from you when you try to fall asleep, you’ve considered the possibility of Zach being upset because he’s jealous of Rafe and wants to be with you.

But Rafe told you he checked with Zach to make sure your relationship was okay with him and he even said he didn’t feel anything for you. Maybe Zach thinks you’re not good enough for his brother and he’s too nice to actually say it out loud.

“Good,” Zach says.

You grab two water bottles and close the fridge door. One word is all he’s willing to say to you.

You can’t do it again. You can’t ask him for the hundredth time if you did something wrong, just for him to say you didn’t and he’s sorry that he made you feel like you did.

You leave him alone in the kitchen, padding up the stairs. Zach looks down at his coffee again. His eyes are starting to burn with tears.

He wants to remind his brother that they agreed they wouldn’t let people overstay. And you being here for even one night feels like overstaying. He can’t have you and every time he’s reminded of that, it hurts.

He can’t stop thinking about that night in the elevator and wishing that instead of drunkenly rambling about his brother, he rambled about his feelings for you. At least then, everything would have been out in the open long before you really got to know Rafe.

The girl he met through the video messaged him last night, asking if he was up to hang out again. She’s cute and nice. But she’s not you. And it’d be wrong to pursue someone just to numb the pain of not having you.

That’s all he wants. You. And because he was such a coward, he’ll never have you. Maybe at some point, he had a chance. Maybe you would have grown feelings for him if he was honest with you.

But you seem happy. So does Rafe, who actually wants hold you and kiss you in public. He was never like that with any other girl.

Zach realizes that while he was always so sure he coped with everything that life hurled at them better than Rafe, he wasn’t paying attention to how destructive he is to himself. His martyrdom was never a virtue.

He’s too late. He self-sabotaged. He has nobody to blame for his aching loneliness but himself. That’s the most heartbreaking part of this whole thing.

Rafe’s hair is tousled, his smile lazy when you come back to bed.

“Thought you left me,” he murmurs tiredly into your hair, pulling you tight against his warm body. You smile, your cheek pressed against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent.

Rafe’s sure you can feel his pulse on your cheek. He feels like you own every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” you tell him.

The tension from what happened downstairs leaves your system. You swallow down the tears that threatened to fall when you left the kitchen.

You plant a kiss on Rafe’s chest. You know where you’re wanted. And you’re happiest staying there.

(the end)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Until I found you

The reader's nickname is princess. There are slightly spicy scenes so mdni. Fuck boy Eddie who quickly turns into simp for you Eddie, fluff and a bit of angst. 18+

❤️

The First time that Eddie met you was when he was running from a very irate ex fling. He had literally just ended things and she had taken it badly; even though he told Cassia that he wasn't a relationship guy, she still thought that she could change him.

So intent on getting away from the crying and yelling he fell arse over tit and landed in a heap at your feet.

Normally Eddie would put on the charm right about now but his mind had gone blank at your pretty smile and the amusement in your eyes.

"Uh hey, you wouldn't mind hiding me from my very angry ex would you?" you snort at his request and proceed to help him up.

Now he would like to say that he charmed the pants off you that night but he didn't. In fact it was weeks before that would happen.

Eddie didn't do love. He was too cynical for that shit and he had seen enough break ups and fighting from his own parents and couples around him in his early years that it stuck with him.

Truthfully when he was younger there was still an idealised part of him that dreamed of finding someone who would love him but after various disappointments it was easy to close off that part of him.

He was thirty nine and had yet to have a serious relationship, preferred to indulge in flings with like minded people; there were still a few women who liked to think they could change his mind despite his warnings but they were unsuccessful.

Some people liked nothing better than a challenge and Eddie was a challenge, but he was also stubborn and refused to change his mind about things.

Even when he met you he was still determined that you would be like the others, that this would be a short fling and then be over within weeks... well if you ever agreed to go on a date with himm

However you seemed to have other ideas...

When you finally did agree to a date, Eddie made sure you knew the rules. No way was he having another angry woman chasing after him. You seemed pretty nonchalant about the whole thing until towards the end when you surprised him by gently taking his hand.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" you ask him curious and a little sad. He swallows and shakes his head. "No" he murmurs but that isn't quite the truth, he does get lonely but chases it away with flings, weed and D&D.

You didn't look like you believed him but you dropped it and gave him a little smirk. "So what's this amazing date you're taking me on Munson?"

❤️

Weeks pass and Eddie doesn't seem to realise that this has lasted longer than his usual flings, the two of you are having fun so he doesn't see why you would have to stop now.

Eddie groans as he thrusts into you, he can never get over how incredible it feels being inside of you and quickens the pace, loves the way you moan his name and clench around him.

A powerful, intense orgasm rocks the both of you and Eddie moans into your neck, softly kissing over it and your breasts. You're still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm, eyes closed and a blissful smile on your face.

"Hey beautiful" he caresses your cheek for a second, you cuddle back in his arms and look so content and happy, warmness spreads over his chest as he watches you. Fuck.

This was bad, this was very bad. What the fuck was going on with him? He was moving into dangerous territory here, things he avoided like the plague.

While you were nodding off he quickly dressed and tried to ignore his racing thoughts. So he liked spending time with you? So what! that didn't mean anything.

The content feelings that had been popping up out of nowhere meant nothing either, the warm feeling when he looked at you? Maybe he was getting sick or the AC was too high. That must be it..

This was fine. Maybe if he kept telling himself this then he would believe it? He feels a tug on his hand as he's trying to find his shirt and you're wide awake and gazing at him with big puppy eyes.

"Stay" you murmur sleepily and pout, it's so adorable that Eddie can't help but join you back in the bed.

This was fine. It was just one night it didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

...

Steve is the first person to notice what's happening, he presses a beer into Eddie's hands before everyone arrives for the campaign and the two settle to chat.

"So you and princess? It's lasting a while huh?" Steve waggles his eyebrows at Eddie who almost chokes on the beer he's drinking, annoyed at Steve's teasing tone he shrugs and answers.

"I could end things whenever I want Steve" Eddie waves off Steve's comment, he really doesn't want to mention to Steve how sick he feels at the thought of never seeing you again.

"Yeah, you could but you don't want to Munson and you need to admit that to yourself" Steve says wisely and is saved from answering as some of Hellfire arrive.

No he doesn't.

Steve doesn't stop there and pins Eddie with his gaze. "Dude she's a catch and if you lose her because you're so stubborn, you know she will get snapped up like that" he snaps his fingers and Eddie feels like he's been punched in the gut.

Steve is right. He knows he's right and Eddie knows he's right and those thoughts stay with him.

He tries to lose himself in the campaign, and it works for a while, he's completely in DM mode and smiling at his enraptured audience. Dustin and mini Dustin are hanging on his every word as he finishes this part of the campaign on a cliffhanger.

"Dude, seriously!" Mike whines and Eddie smirks and pats Mike on the shoulder, "Wheeler good things come to those who wait. Now scram!" he orders him.

He's already annoyed that he was so distracted at times during the campaign in the first place, it wasn't often but it was enough to unnerve him. Since when did he get distracted while he was in the zone?

It was you that was distracting him and Steve stupid musings but speaking of you distracting him...

You walk into Steve's house smiling shyly at Steve and your eyes light up the minute that you find Eddie. His heart annoyingly speeds up which makes him grumble under his breath.

The minute you're in his arms his grumbling ceases and he smiles. "Hey whatcha doing here princess?" he's aware of the others watching him and gawking, he throws them a dark look and they scatter off in different directions.

"I thought I'd surprise you, is that alright?" you ask nervously and he's quick to assure you it's fine. The two of you liked hanging out together so he didn't see the problem and he never wanted you to feel nervous asking him these things.

"Sure princess, you want me to teach you how to play? I have a mini set back home" he doesn't expect you'll say yes but you surprise him by nodding happily.

"I'd like that Eddie"

❤️

Eddie smiles as you fall asleep cuddled into his chest, the two of you have barely left the bed since he picked you up from work and you're finally tuckered out.

Usually right about now he would slip out while you slept. Except he finds out that he doesn't want to, he wants to stay and the thought doesn't make him want to run for the hills.

You mumble in your sleep then whimper as your hand traces the empty sheets, he moves closer to you and instinctively you seek him out and sigh content when you're cuddled up on his chest.

It's cute as fuck and he melts. Melts, he can't cope with how sweet that was and he feels that warmness flood over him again as he strokes your hair.

The realisation hits him then. He could happily do this for the rest of his life.

Well shit. That was new and terrifying and he needs to leave now and not look back.

For a second it feels like he can't breath and he's gently moving you to your side of the bed and is halfway through scrambling for his boxers when it hits him that he doesn't want to leave.

His breathing calms and the racing beat of his heart slows down to a normal rhythm.

Once again the thought of not seeing you again makes him feel like his chest had caved in and he slumps back on the bed and immediately gathers you back in his arms.

With a gentle kiss to your hair and the feeling of your body flush against his, he begins to relax and he admits to himself that the feeling of you in his arms is something he will never tire of.

He wants to do this for the rest of his life.

❤️

[abbysbug]

— violent nature

pairing : dark!ellie x fem!reader

summary/request : Ok expansion pack: reader is leaving Ellie because of her violent nature for like the 3rd time, but Ellie tracks her and thinks a little rough sex is all she needs to fix reader's attitude, despite reader wanting out

content : noncon, stalking (kinda), breaking skin, bleeding, gun threats, degradation, fingering, clit rubbing, manipulation, overstimulation, finger sucking, cum eating.

note : this fanfic is pure fantasy and i do not encourage this behaviour happening inrl.

masterlist | discord

Your heart beat violently in your chest and your legs burned with each movement, but you couldn't stop running; you had to get as far away as possible.

You hadn't planned on leaving Jackson, but after multiple arguments with Ellie, you had to go.

Your face still stung from her slap and your bruised body ached.

You didn't take many things. Just enough food and water to keep you going until you found a shelter, and your gun, which you kept tucked in your pants.

It took you two days to find shelter. It was an abandoned neighbourhood that would have been swept through in the early days. The house you camped in had broken windows, doors, and furniture. But, there was a basement that would keep you warm throughout the night.

You felt safe there.

Until the sixth day.

You woke to the sound of a gunshot and a loud muffled cry. The person was close.

You reached for your gun and made your way out of the basement. You silently crept around the house, peering outside but couldn't see anyone.

You swallowed roughly and licked your lips.

They've probably moved on.

You turned around to make your way back to the basement but were met with a gun pointed at your face.

With Ellie's gun being pointed at your face.

Your immediate thought was to run, but your feet stayed glued to the ground. All you could do was pathetically stare at her with fear-stricken eyes.

Ellie chuckled.

"Did you miss me, baby?"

Ellie didn't give you time to respond. Her palm roughly met your cheek and she grabbed onto your throat, shoving you into the wall. You cried out and your gun was knocked out of your hand.

You tried to fight back and clawed at Ellie's hand. She ignored you, keeping her hand wrapped around your throat and her other on your hip, keeping you pinned.

"Little fuckin' bitch." She snarled as you broke her skin.

You kicked her in the leg and Ellie grunted. She threw you to the ground and straddled your waist, pinning your arms above your head.

"Why are you like this?" You wiggled relentlessly under Ellie.

Ellie sighed, leaned down, and kissed your neck "Because I love you."

She slowly shed your clothes, kissing every inch of your bare body. You didn't bother resisting her. She was too strong.

"If you try to run." Ellie used her thumb to wipe your tears away "I'll shoot you."

You nodded and stayed quiet.

Ellie released your arms and moved to lay between your thighs. She placed a soft kiss on your clit and two fingers propped at your hole. You shuddered as she slipped inside and her thumb rubbed your clit.

Ellie has memorised your body like the back of her hand. She knows what places make you scream and what places hurt. She knows how to force you over that pleasurable edge or keep you from it.

You whined, rutting your hips into Ellie's palm. It was pathetic how quickly Ellie made you chase that pleasure. She followed you for 6 days and once she finally found you, she threatened to kill you.

Now, you lay on the floor of an abandoned house letting her fuck you dumb.

A guttered moan escaped your lips as Ellie replaced her thumb with her lips, sucking and licking at your clit.

You clenched around her fingers and covered your moan, embarrassed by your loud moans. Your fingers threaded through Ellie's hair, pulling her closer to your cunt.

"You getting close, baby?" Ellie mumbled around your clit, vibrations going through your body.

Your words got stuck on your tongue as your orgasm washed over. Your back was arched and your toes curled. Your vision speckled white and you whimpered.

Overstimulation came quickly and you had to push Ellie's head away to stop her.

She chuckled and climbed back up your body. She pushed her slick-covered fingers against your lips and you opened. You both moaned as you sucked her fingers clean.

Ellie cupped your cheek and kissed you softly.

"You gotta stop running, sweet girl."

You swallowed roughly and nodded your head, whispering out.

"Okay."

-

a/n: so i would honestly make this darker but i know this fandom doesn't really like dark fics and i don't wanna be cancelled sooo :p

@ashandsweets @mystellenia

[cinematicreid]

for a moment

the one where Spencer reminds reader to slow down.

wc 651

warnings + the rundown: bau!reader, fluff, soft!spencer, i love him, literally can’t live without him, what a sweetheart, mentions of reader getting shot, but nothing explicit, feelings!, yikes!

a/n: can’t beat short and sweet and cutesy. feedback always welcome, come say hi to me i think you’re all so cool!

~

Spencer’s eyes may as well have laser beams shooting out of them with the way his gaze is glued to you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, securing the Kevlar vest to the upper half of your body and completely ignoring him. But this has been happening for almost two months, ever since your incident, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Give it a rest, Spencer, you’re driving me crazy.”

“I know! I’m sorry, just — will you please let me —”

You let out a huff of exasperation, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble, and then more loudly, “Fine.”

Your hands fall to your sides in surrender as he quickly moves toward you and reaches for the vest’s fasteners.

A child. He’s making you feel like a child.

You hear Morgan chuckle from the other end of the police precinct’s tiny conference room, as if he can read your thoughts. You’re about to shoot him a death glare when you’re interrupted by Spencer sharply tugging a strap too tight.

“Reid,” you hiss.

“Don’t start,” he interjects over your complaint.

The incident in question was, of course, an accident. It wasn’t like you had intentionally put your vest on in a rush. There just hadn’t been enough time (which was not a proper excuse, as Hotch had gently but firmly reminded you later), and the loosened straps meant the vest moved around more than it should have when you were running, and the UnSub’s bullet found your side all too easy to graze.

It was stupid, really, but it was one time and nearly two months ago.

None of this was enough to ease the seemingly permanent furrow in Spencer’s brow.

It started as small, albeit irritating, reminders to double-check your vest, which you initially laughed off. But it had now escalated to taking the task entirely off your hands.

Spencer finishes with a final tug.

“Happy?” you ask him flatly. He lifts his concentrated gaze to meet your annoyed one.

“I could do without the sass. But yes,” he says, his shoulders visibly lighter and more content.

“It’s like watching a dad get his daughter ready for Take Your Kid To Work Day,” Morgan teases, rushing out of the room before you can hit him with the closest object at your disposal and leaving just you and Spencer. He rolls his eyes at the poor joke and gently takes said object from your hand.

“I don’t think a pen is going to do much damage,” he says. He loosens a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You regard him for a few seconds, a small part of you melting at the undeniable softness in his eyes, which are so vast and deep you could stay there forever.

You get it.

It’s the thing about this job. How it forces an eternity to become temporary. How, in 20 minutes, you’ll be hunting down the bad guy but for now, what can feel like forever if you wanted, you’re only here with Spencer.

It’s all fleeting. Your little “incident” had only served as a reminder of that.

And so, Spencer had to take care of you in this way. You both knew that.

“You don’t need to be,” you offer him. He avoids your gaze and you nudge his shoulder with your hand. “Spencer, I’m here, yeah?” That earns you a gentle nudge back and the hint of a smile.

“I know. I’m here, too.”

And here is everywhere and nowhere and, perhaps most importantly, together. A beat, or maybe a forever passes before he speaks again.

“If this were Take Your Kid To Work Day I’d be the worst father in the world.”

Just like that, he’s back and you’re back with him.

Fleeting.

“I am so getting him back for that,” you mumble, making your way to the door. Spencer’s laugh as he follows behind you is all you can hear.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your blog and love reading all of your posts. You always have such interesting perspectives and incredibly thoughtful points to add! I'm not quite sure if you're open to answering questions like this right now, and if not, feel free to ignore! But I was wondering if you have any information about the Island of Woe and what life is like there? Like do they ever have to import or export things, do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.? I was trying to figure it out myself and all that I learned was that most people live on the upper walls in the Oceanus section. Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters? And do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

Anyways, again, totally disregard this if you don't want to answer! Thank you for even reading this. I look forward to seeing more of your posts and enjoying your writing and input!

Aaaah, thank you!! ^^ Glad you enjoy my content, whatever it may be!

The bulk of lore for the Isle/Island of Woe comes to us from 6-40 of the main story. We (comparatively) have more information about Styx and how it is run, so I had to isolate what lore is about the island itself + life on the island and what lore is about the organization.

To begin with, here is a map of the area:

Most of the island residents don’t live in Ancient City at the seabed level. Instead, people tend to live in the residential block of Oceanus, which is the outer wall which covers the island. (This is how Ortho describes it to us in game, but it’s sort of confusing what exactly he’s referring to since we don’t see land above the water; based on Epel’s dialogue, the “outer wall” may refer to the upper levels. This means that technically all of the Island of Woe is underwater.)

Ancient City refers to the seabed level of the Island of Woe: It seems to be the community that surrounds Styx HQ, which lies at the center.

The giant pillar in the middle of the city connects to Oceanus Gate, the entrance at the surface of the water, and ends in Tartarus at the other end.

Trains, elevators, and Styx-made technomantic flying vehicles called Chariots are used for transportation. (I assume that only Styx agents are allowed to use Chariots, but this isn’t made clear.)

There is an artificial sky over the isle. This is because natural light provides mental and physical benefits to humans.

Styx makes efforts to use advanced technologies to emulate life on land. This results in the Island of Woe having seasons, weather, forests, and rivers even at the bottom of the sea.

Idia’s post-OB flashback implies that there may be strong security systems in place not only in Styx HQ, but also around the entire island (since he talks about wanting to leave the island and having to disarm the security in order to achieve that; Styx is also shown to control the Oceanus Gate and therefore controls entry to and from the isle).

Going hand-in-hand with the previous bullet point, Ortho states that it’s dangerous to wander the area.

The architecture is a remainder of the Island of Woe’s olden days as part of the Kingdom of Heroes. The buildings are relics there have been well-preserved.

The entire isle used to be spoken of by the common man as like… some kind of superstition or boogeyman?? Lilia tells us that “People believed the Island of Woe would punish any wizard who abandoned their principles and went mad with power.” This is attributed to the isle’s origins as being the place where the Jupiter family sentenced the Phantoms in the Age of the Gods (a period of time in which mages were feared and the relationship between magic and blot was not yet established). Since Styx is not an organization that the general public knows about, it’s possible that the public assumed residents of the isle themselves were vigilante agents of justice against mad mages.

Idia describes the Island of Woe as "filled with the lamentations of give billion people [...] It's dark and gloomy 365 days a year." He also refers to the island as his hometown.

The Island of Woe has bugs, but different kinds than what you would see in the outside world.

To address your specific questions (and please keep in mind that these points are not directly answered in TWST and instead relies on inferencing):

Do they have to import or export things?

While the island does receive sunlight and have seasons + varied weather, I don’t think they’d be entirely self-sufficient depending on the population size and its needs. Styx seems to run the show, but I’d imagine they need to focus their efforts on research and not food production or something. This could easily be automated with tech, I guess??? But some things they just couldn’t get, even with automation. They may have to import some stuff from the outside, though I imagine there are multiple security measures in place to convolute the supply chain and to keep the location of the Island of Woe hidden.

I’m not sure about exports since the island isn’t noted to produce anything significant (other than Styx tech, which I’d imagine they want to keep confidential).

Do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.?

Being that there’s an entire city down there, yes, I’d have to think that the people don’t just work all day. Idia himself is one huge example; how did he get into anime, games, idols, etc. if no entertainment exists in the isle? We even see him as a child playing his beloved Star Rogue in his post-OB flashback scene—and his childhood bedroom is also littered with other signs of his hobbies and interests. Ortho has also mentioned that their family celebrates birthdays and go on outings to parks and such. This implies to me that there are definitely recreational activities around on the isle.

Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters?

I believe the implication is that the Shrouds technically live in Styx HQ. (A researcher remarks that “Idia hasn’t come out of his room for over two years now” while the background shows the Styx interior.) I’m not sure if this is true of the entire Shroud family, but I think it would make sense if they did since it would add to their vibes of isolation and gloom.

Additionally, it’s stated that it benefits the Shrouds to reside in a blot-dense area like Styx HQ so that their hereditary curse burns through blot in their immediate surroundings rather than burning through their own magic (and potentially life force). I don’t think the Shrouds are forced to stay IN Styx HQ all the time though; they clearly leave and explore the seabed city since Ortho says their family used to go on trips like that.

Do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

I don’t know how often travel for work occurs, but it does happen. Styx agents are deployed as needed to secure Phantoms, as well as to speak with important figures. Leona, for example, mentions seeing Ferrymen lurking at the palace of the Sunset Savanna.

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

I Wanna Be Yours.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

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I was listening to the song “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys when the idea for this fic came into my mind.

A special thank you to @its-interesting-van-kleep for proofreading and listening to my ramblings over this! ❤️

Pairing: Jake x female reader

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, graphic sexual content, thigh riding, oral (m! and f! receiving), protected penetrative sex.

Summary: Insomnia leads to unexpected turns of events.

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A loud groan echoed into your room, followed by the dull sound of something heavy hitting the carpeted floor.

You couldn't believe it.

You were so close.

Just one more minute would have sufficed, but clearly, your vibrator had other plans, that included dying in the middle of its duty.

Insomnia had always been a constant in your life since you were little.

You tried everything you could to overcome it. Your friends suggested yoga, relaxing ambience music, incense, hot baths with essential oils but you were afraid that the only thing that could save you was a deal with the devil.

The frustration in your chest grew to the point that you felt like you couldn't even breathe properly, despite the window being wide open.

You sat up on the bed and tugged the crumpled bed sheet away from your sweaty body.

Then you stood and changed the t-shirt you had on with a new one, reveling in the feeling of the cool cotton on your flushed skin.

You needed to get out of that room.

Maybe you would find some needed rest on the couch in the living room. And maybe a cup of tea could help you relax.

You made your way to the kitchen on tiptoes and in the dark, trying not to wake your roommate who was sleeping in the bedroom right next to yours.

You turned the kettle on and were on the tip of your toes trying to grab a mug from the upper cabinet when someone clearing their throat behind you made you squeak and jump, almost causing you to lose the grip you had on the mug.

“Fuck, Jake, you scared me,” you hissed towards him. His silhouette was barely visible, but you could see that he was facing you and there was a beer bottle on the table in front of him.

You huffed, regretting leaving your room altogether.

“Hi, sweetheart. I'm happy to see you, too” he greeted you, his tone condescending and irritating, like always.

“What brings you here on this fine night? You heard me coming downstairs and you were dying to see me, weren't you?” he went on taking a sip from the bottle, slowly.

“That's none of your business, Jake, and no, I didn't hear you or I wouldn't be here.” You hissed and he scoffed at your words.

“Don't worry, I just need to make a cup of tea and then the kitchen is all yours.” You went on, whispering impatiently.

He was the last person you wanted to see and it showed from the way you glared at him.

And you could sense the sentiment was mutual, since he kept trying to tease you.

The relationship between the two of you had always been like that. You kept teasing each other every chance you got and, ultimately, someone (usually him) pushed it too far, resulting in you ignoring him until you both forgot what had happened. It was a pain chain.

The tension was always palpable.

“Oh please, be my guest,” he said, kicking out a chair towards you, signaling you to sit down with his outstretched hand.

You did as you were told with a huff and heard the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

“You didn't answer my question,” he said.

You huffed, annoyed.

He really wasn't able to mind his own business.

“I can't sleep, ok? And now that you know it? I don't think you can do anything about it.” You answered him, harshly.

Your patience was wearing thin.

“And what about you, what are you doing here at three in the morning? You don't have one of your girls to spend the night with?” You inquired, maliciously.

He snickered at your remark.

Now that your eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, you could see him better.

And what you saw made a strange shiver run down your spine.

He was shirtless and his hair looked a bit disheveled, but the sly smirk he was sporting was what made your blood boil the most.

“I sense a little jealousy in your tone, sweetheart,” He whispered sultrily.

“That's just disgust, Jake” you rolled your eyes “and don't you dare call me sweetheart.”

He laughed heartily and shook his head.

“You are feisty tonight. Did something happen?” He asked then.

You groaned at his incredible ability to read you perfectly.

You hated him.

“I just can't sleep, ok Sherlock?” You hissed.

He was about to speak again when the kettle started whistling.

You stood and poured yourself a cup.

When you turned back around, he was already watching you with a strange glint in his eyes.

“That won't help you, you know this, right?” He said pointing to the steaming mug in your hands.

“So, what's going to help me, according to you, Insomnia Guru?” You snarled.

“You just have to let your body relax,” he said, like it was some kind of divine revelation.

“Wow, thank you Jake, I really didn't know that. As if I haven't already tried.” You exhaled and then grasped your head in your hands in defeat.

“Oh, believe me, I know that.” He said then knowingly, and you froze in your spot.

What the hell did that mean?

He didn't hear you, did he?

You slowly raised your head and, when you reluctantly met his eyes, he went on with a devilish smirk on his lips.

“And from what I gathered, it didn't end like you hoped.” He went on, in a mocking tone that had an uncontrollable need to punch him raise in your chest.

When you glared at him, he only raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fuck you, Jake” you hissed. Then you grabbed your mug and started walking towards your room ready to put as much distance between you and him.

You knew for sure that you weren't going to sleep a wink anyway, considering the anger growing in your chest.

“Wait-” his voice, deep and raspy, echoed in the room the moment your foot touched the first step.

You didn't know why but you stopped.

“Come here” he said, and again, you obeyed him, like in a frenzy.

He had turned on the chair and was now facing you.

You found yourself in front of him with no recollection of how you ended there.

He was so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body and suddenly, all you wanted was for him to touch you.

You shivered when you realized that all this time you had been there in just a t-shirt and panties and nothing more.

And your eyes widened when you noticed that he was wearing very short pajama shorts. That simple cotton garment was hugging his thighs deliciously. His muscles caused the fabric to visibly stretch and you had to bite your lower lip not to whimper out loud at the sight.

Jake had been your roommate for over a year now and you had found yourself staring at him from time to time. He was a handsome man, but his know-it-all attitude really irked you. Not to mention the many girls that came and went from his room every once in a while. They especially came, for the absolute displeasure of your ears, and he loved bragging about it every chance he got.

He saw you gawking at him and smirked, removing the mug from your hands gently and patting his thigh.

“C'mon sweetheart, take a seat. Let me help you relax,” he patted his thigh again and you felt yourself fall under his spell.

He placed a warm hand on your hip and squeezed lightly making your legs feel like jelly.

“Stop overthinking sweetheart. I won't bring this up in the morning, I promise.” He whispered and his eyes were sincere.

After a while, you did as you were told but, as you placed your hands on his shoulders, you spoke again trying, and inevitably failing, to seem in control of the situation.

“I'm not your sweetheart, Jacob” you hissed.

When you felt the muscle of his thigh press in between yours, so hot and sturdy, your hard demeanor faltered and your eyes threatened to roll back into your skull.

“There's no need to bring up my full name” He whispered into your ear, gently caressing your hair and making it fall down your back. Then he placed both his hands on your hips and tugged you down flush against his thigh, making you groan and stifle a moan.

“Good girl” he whispered and you whimpered involuntarily, blushing immediately after.

He smirked again, knowingly, at your reaction.

“Oh, you're not my sweetheart. I think you like good girl way better.” He whispered.

His lips touching your ear made you shiver but you ended up moaning his name when he spoke again.

“You'll be my good girl tonight, won't you?”

Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders upon hearing those words.

“You are so wet and warm here, I can feel you” he went on torturing you with his beautiful voice as you pulsed already against his thigh, feeling your wetness increase by the second.

“Now relax, and use me, take what you need” he said, gently pulling you forward by your hips and pushing you back. The friction he created made your eyes squeeze shut as you started panting heavily already.

You started moving your hips, rubbing yourself against his thigh and reveling in the feeling of his sturdy muscle against your center.

After a while, you had your eyes shut tight, your head was leaning against his shoulder and you were about to reach your much awaited orgasm when he stopped you, grabbing your hips and forcefully detaching you from his thigh.

“Jake, what the fuck?!” you snapped, anger was already bubbling in your chest at his interruption when he had promised to take care of you

“Shut up and take your panties off.” He said, out of breath.

In a second, your panties were laying on the floor, ruined and crumpled.

At that moment, he grabbed your jaw and angled your face downwards, towards his thigh.

Even in the darkness you could see the outcome of your previous actions glistening crystal clear on his skin.

"Can you see it?” He asked, breathing heavily.

You nodded, incapable of forming a single word.

“I want you dripping down my thigh now, alright?” He went on, hissing through gritted teeth.

“Now be my good girl and make a mess all over me” he whispered.

Goosebumps covered your skin at his words.

Your eyes traveled from his to his lips, and down to his chest before moving even lower, stopping abruptly at his crotch.

You gasped at the sight before you.

His shorts were having a hard time concealing his prominent erection that was begging to be set free.

When he guided you back down on his thigh, you both whimpered at the feeling of your bare skin on his already damp one and your eyes rolled back when you saw him slightly twitch in his shorts.

You started riding his thigh faster, guided and encouraged by the firm grip he had on your hips.

Your moans started echoing in the kitchen and you heard him curse under his breath.

Your eyes fell to his crotch again and you saw him palming himself. You felt bad for him so, without thinking, you swatted his hand away and tugged at the elastic of his pants to free him. He wasn't wearing any underwear so it was easier for you to reach his skin.

A loud groan left his lips when he was finally free and you genuinely gasped at the sight of him. He was beautiful and you felt your walls flutter at the sight.

When your hand wrapped loosely around him, he grasped your face and kissed you, making your eyes widened in shock.

But the shock was short-lived. You ended up melting on his lips like chocolate in the sun and you kissed him back almost immediately as you kept moving your hips against his leg. His skin was drenched then, making your movements smooth and electric.

He started placing little kisses down your neck and, suddenly, he tugged your t-shirt up and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, suckling at it gently while making eye contact and smirking.

As his thumb gently rolled against your clit, you felt the muscle of your legs stiffen.

“I feel how close you are. Be a good girl and come for me now,” He sultrily whispered into your ear, making your back arch. You felt your orgasm hit you gradually. It started from the tip of your toes and spread languidly through your entire body.

You let go of him to grab his shoulders for leverage as your hips moved quickly, chasing your much awaited high.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder and bit down harshly at his trapezium when you finally reached your orgasm.

He praised you throughout it, helping you ride it out by keeping his strong hands on your hips and guiding your movements that were getting more erratic and uneven.

After the last shockwaves, you slumped onto his body, tired beyond belief. It felt like all the fatigue accumulated during the day fell on you, making even a single movement impossible.

He kept caressing your hair and you relaxed completely against him.

Just as you were about to drift off, Jake moved you from his thigh with a gentle grasp on your hips. The faint sound of your wet skin detaching from his muscle made you both groan.

He sat you down sideways on his other thigh and fixed your t-shirt.

You felt him stifle a whimper when you involuntarily brushed your hand against his crotch in the attempt to grab his shoulder and suddenly you were no longer tired.

He was still hard but he had tucked himself back into his shorts.

“Let's get you to bed. I'm gonna get you tucked in so you can finally get some sleep.” He whispered but you stopped him as he tried to stand.

“I don't want to go to sleep yet,” you mumbled against his neck.

“But-” he tried to say but you interrupted him with a finger on his lips.

“Shhh,” you whispered back, meeting his confused stare with sleepy eyes as you slowly slipped down his thigh until you were kneeling on the floor between his legs.

Your hands caressed his thighs upwards and, when you reached his crotch, you heard him whimper.

He was still painfully hard and the cotton was straining against him.

As you dipped a finger inside his shorts, he clenched his jaw but didn't stop staring down at you closely.

“What are you doing?” He said, trying to look unaffected by everything but failing miserably when his voice faltered.

“You did something for me, it's only fair I return the favour.” You answered truthfully and a little smile spread onto your lips as you saw his jaw clench and his eyes squeeze shut.

A little whimper left his chest when you lowered the elastic band of his shorts to free his length and the smile on your lips turned into a knowing smirk.

He was just as needy and desperate as you were.

“If I were you, I would wipe that little smirk off my face, pet, before I do it myself.” He whispered, caressing your hair and twisting a few strands around his fist to tug a little while trailing the pad of his thumb across your wet bottom lip.

The sight of him towering over you, with his chest covered in a light sheen of sweat and his eyes glinting mischievously made a shiver run down your spine.

His cock was twitching almost imperceptibly, ready for your touch and you were about to reach for it when you hesitated.

His stare was almost intimidating you and your hands started shaking a little.

You were starting to get tangled in your thoughts when a little sound left his lips.

“Please, baby” he whispered and that sound made you snap out of your reverie.

You wanted to hear that little sound again.

You wrapped a hand around him gently and rolled your tongue over the little spot right under the tip.

He cursed at the feeling and tugged off his shorts to spread his legs more, silently begging you to go on.

You started licking up and down his shaft and his hands sank in your hair.The weight and the warmth of it made you crave every inch of him.

When you reached his balls, you twirled your tongue around them and sucked them into your warm mouth making a loud groan echo in the dark silent kitchen.

You kept repeating that motion over and over again and you were feeling your eyelids becoming heavier by the second until he grasped your hair and forcefully separated you from his skin.

“Stop teasing me, please, and I might call you good girl again, since I know how much you love it,” he almost whimpered, panting heavily.

You obeyed and slowly enveloped his tip between your lips, sucking gently and making his head fall backwards with a low growl.

As you sank him deeper down your throat, he started becoming more vocal, making your toes curl and your pussy throb again.

You slowly trailed a hand between your legs to take care of yourself and you moaned around him at the feeling of your fingers slipping easily through your wetness.

When you swallowed around him, he moaned and grasped you by the hair, tugging you forward and making you almost gag.

Your eyelids threatened to close as your movements became sloppier and sloppier around his length. You were downright slobbering all over him and by the unbridled sounds leaving his lips he was loving every second of it.

“Such a needy girl. God, this mouth of yours is heavenly,” he groaned gently thrusting into your mouth.

At that moment, your eyes met his again. As the feeling of his girth started making your jaw hurt, your brain started wondering about how he would feel like buried to the hilt inside your pussy and, unknowingly, you stopped bobbing your head.

His smoldering stare made you almost burn down to your core as his mouth twisted into a devilish smirk.

Maybe all you needed was really a deal with the devil.

But he was no devil.

He just knew what you were thinking. Probably because he was thinking the same thing.

For an unbelievable twist of fate, the moment the thought of having him buried inside you to the hilt crossed your mind, his own was invaded by an irrepressible urge to feel your walls squeeze around him with a death grip.

Suddenly, you two found yourself standing in front of one another.

Your scalp burned where his hand was wrapped around your hair, but the feeling was nothing compared to the absolute craving you felt for him

“I know what you are thinking, pet. And there's only one way to find out.” He whispered onto your lips.

You didn't even give yourself time to overthink about it. You grabbed his hand and took the stairs two steps at a time with him hot on your heels.

Once inside your room, he pressed you against the wall with his naked body and kissed you, stealing your breath away.

After a while, he broke the kiss and placed a single peck on your neck before whispering into your ear.

“Get on the bed, now.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the realization of what was about to happen.

He watched you closely as you obeyed, and when you were settled, he moved towards you.

But suddenly, he stopped abruptly and bent down to retrieve something from the floor.

Your cheeks flushed red when he stood with your dead vibrator in one hand and a devilish smirk on his face.

You hid your face behind your hands ready for him to mock you for it but the snide remarks never came.

Instead, he caressed your shoulder with gentle fingers to get your attention before speaking.

“You should always keep it well charged, you know. Where's the charger?” He whispered making your cheeks flush red even more at the extreme ease that he used when he asked you such a thing.

You were unable to answer him so you just pointed at the last drawer of your nightstand with trembling fingers.

You observed as he bent down and retrieved the charger before plugging it to the wall and then to the toy like it was the most natural thing in the world. You felt your heart flutter at the sight.

Your eyes traveled down the expanse of his muscular back when he was turned and slowly reached his perfect ass. You wanted to feel that supple skin and strong muscles under your fingertips. You always thought he had a nice ass but your mouth watered seeing him like that, in all his naked glory.

When he turned, he caught you staring and approached you with a wolfish look in his dark eyes. He crawled on top of you and you fell down with your back against the mattress, helpless and completely at his mercy.

He took you in so slowly you were afraid that his eyes could incinerate you where you laid.

Then, in a sliver of voice, he spoke.

“Are you really sure about this?” He whispered.

“Yes,” You whispered back without a single doubt.

But you immediately regretted it, in fear of appearing too easy to him.

The fact that he was naked and basically on top of you was making it difficult for you to properly concentrate.

“But this is a one-time thing so don't flatter yourself,” you sharply added, to try and save your face.

“Mhmh,” he mumbled with his usual smirk and he started trailing the tip of his nose along the column of your neck, making you shiver.

His fingers, that were toying with the hem of your t-shirt, slipped under it and lifted the fabric slightly, exposing your naked center to him again.

You shivered as his hand moved further up your body and he stopped again to check on you.

“Still ok?” He whispered.

You were slowly starting to lose your mind.

You needed him. Inside. Immediately.

As an answer, you quickly removed your t-shirt, presenting yourself to him in your birthday suit for the first time.

He cursed and didn't waste time in sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, making your back arch, chasing his lips.

Your eyes squeezed shut because of the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body and your hands grabbed his biceps to try and keep contact with reality.

His whisper of your name in your ear made you whimper.

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, sitting up.

“Yeah. First drawer.” You said as your eyes traveled down his chest.

He opened it and a little laugh made you frown.

A louder one quickly followed.

“What's so funny?” You said, a little worried.

“I can't believe this. This is the same box you had last time I asked you for a condom. When was it? Three months ago? And back then it was new. And now only one is missing… the one you gave me. Oh, pet, that's why insomnia is bothering you. You really need some action to let out your frustrations.” He said nonchalantly and you felt your blood start boiling again.

You pushed him off you, outraged by his words.

“Fuck you, Jake!” You hissed, already looking for your t-shirt to cover yourself.

“No, wait, I didn't mean it like that at all.” His eyes widened when he understood the enormous mistake he made.

“Oh really?! And what the fuck did you mean?” You hissed again feeling betrayed as fresh tears started welling up in your eyes.

You hated yourself for letting your guard down with him. For trusting him in the first place. You wanted to disappear altogether.

“I meant that you should have come knocking on my door way sooner. I would have helped you.” He said matter-of-factly, like it was the most usual thing in the world.

You scoffed at his smug, full-of-himself demeanor. You wanted to slap him.

“Of course, like that's the easiest thing in the world. Knock-knock, hey Jake it's me, I'm so frustrated. I was just wondering if you could just fuck me senseless so that I can sleep. Yeah, easy,” you answered him, amazed by the absolute audacity that man possessed.

“Wanna bet that you can sleep like a baby after I'm done with you?” he whispered sultrily wrapping a hand around his cock while licking his lower lip suggestively.

You scoffed yet again. “You are so fucking sure of yourself, Jake. As if I'm going to let you touch me after how you just treated me.” You really hated him.

“I mean it, but you can just enjoy the show if you prefer.” He winked at you and sat down at the end of the bed facing you with a hand propping himself up behind him and his legs spread while his other hand moved languidly up and down his length.

His face scrunched up in pleasure and your resolve quickly crumbled. The more his hand quickened, the more your need to feel him inside grew.

In a second, you made up your mind and you were on top of him.

“Stop. Since you are so sure of yourself, prove it. I wanna feel you inside.” You whispered onto his lips and he pushed you back on the bed with his body.

He kissed you hard and you felt his hips shift against yours.

You thought he was going to enter you immediately but he didn't. He wanted to take his sweet time with you.

He broke the kiss and kept a relentless eye contact as he lowered towards your center.

“This is to make up for what I said earlier” he kissed your inner thigh before nipping at the muscle with his teeth, making you whimper.

“And to make it clear that I mean business.” He whispered, right before licking a slow broad stripe against your slit.

Still sensitive from earlier, your body tried to pull away from the intense feeling, but, at the same time, needed more.

His mouth felt so hot against your center that your body covered in goosebumps and you bunched up the sheets into your fists at your sides, digging your nails into the fabric.

His pointed tongue kept licking you up and down and when, finally, he sucked your clit into his mouth your hands slipped into his hair holding him in place.

A loud whimper echoed into the room when he flicked your clit repeatedly with his tongue and your thighs closed around his head, trapping him there.

He groaned then and the delicious vibrations made your back arch abruptly.

Now you understood why all the girls he brought home seemed unable to stay quiet when they were locked in his room. You always cursed them because you thought they were making a scene and just wanted to make you, his female roommate, jealous.

At that moment you learned it wasn't the case. He was just so good it was impossible to keep silent.

Your legs clamping around his face didn't stop him. He seemed completely lost in what he was doing and kept rutting his hips against the mattress. What he was doing was affecting him too and the mere idea had you moaning out his name again and again.

Suddenly, he untangled himself from your legs and lifted up his face to speak.

“Is it ok if I use my fingers too?” He said with his raspy voice and glistening face. His eyes were burning and showcased a need you had never seen.

You breathed out a little yes and he immediately obliged.

He caressed your center with gentle fingers and, when he used his thumbs to spread your outer labia, you shivered.

He licked at you again, tracing his tongue around your entrance over and over to be sure you were wet enough for him.

Your hands were gripping the pillow on either side of your head in anticipation and you were unable to pry your eyes from his focused face.

You felt your eyes roll back when he met your eyes, winked and let a string of saliva dribble from his tongue to your center, before spreading it on your skin with his thumb.

You felt like your heart was ready to burst out of your chest the more he edged you.

A single whispered plea left your lips and he cursed at the sound of your already fucked-out voice.

Immediately after, his middle finger slid all the way inside you and your mouth opened in a silent moan.

Instead of moving his finger in and out, he curled it upwards gently and you screamed his name, feeling the need to grab his wrist and keep him there forever.

He did that again and again, increasing the pressure every time.

“I'm going to add another, pet,” he whispered and you stopped breathing altogether.

“But I need you to breathe,” he whispered against your bent knee, looking you in the eyes.

“No wait. I can't. I'm afraid I'm going to cum already if you keep that up,” you whined covering your face.

“Well, that's the plan. Relax for me and breathe” He whispered and sounded so sexy you were afraid you might implode.

“Ok” you whispered back, biting your bottom lip to try and conceal your moans.

You failed miserably, because the moment he inserted a second digit, you moaned his name out loud, feeling your walls clamping down around his fingers.

The smirk he was sporting after that was massive and you wanted to tell him off but the moment your mouth opened, both his fingers curled inside of you, hitting your g-spot.

A moan of his name echoed loud and clear in the room and he groaned. He kept massaging that spot over and over again while his lips wrapped around your clit.

Involuntarily your hands grasped your breasts and your fingers started toying with your hardened nipples making the feeling of your approaching orgasm intensify through your body.

You felt your walls spasm around his fingers and he noticed too. The sensation was too overwhelming and you were having a hard time controlling your hips that kept bucking against his hand.

“There she is. Just like this. Take what's yours” he whispered, watching you with rapt attention as your orgasm hit you.

Your vision went completely blank and everything turned eerily quiet.

You couldn't feel your body at all, but you were aware that your heart was beating incredibly fast.

Suddenly, you felt something warm and soft against your cheek.

“Are you here on Planet Earth with me, pet?” Jake whispered, caressing your cheek with gentle fingers.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was towering over you, with a concerned expression in his dark eyes and a little nervous smile on his lips.

“Are you ok?” He asked again when you didn't answer the first time.

You nodded and watched as he visibly relaxed.

You felt incredibly sleepy but still, you were aware of the fact that he was still painfully hard. You could feel him against your thigh, pulsating and leaking.

“Are you tired?” He whispered into the crook of your neck, while his fingers combed through your disheveled hair.

“Yes, I am…” you answered and were about to continue but he interrupted you.

“You should sleep. I'll get out of your way.” he whispered back and was already starting to stand up when you grasped his wrist.

“Where do you think you are going? I think you were trying to prove a point. You really want to throw in the towel now?” You purred and saw his eyes darken at your words.

“You should know I never back down.” he whispered back against your lips.

Your hand slowly made its way down his chest and wrapped around his cock making him whimper.

You stroked him a few times watching mesmerized as he twitched and leaked in your hand but soon you stopped.

“Prove it.” You whispered against his lips.

“Alright, pet. I'm gonna give it to you good.” He said and gently turned your body on your side, so your head could lean comfortably against your pillow.

Then, he maneuvered himself so he was laying on his side behind you, spooning you.

You faintly heard as he put on the condom and suddenly his body was flush against yours. His chest against your back, his hips against your ass and his legs bent at the same angle as yours. Everything you were feeling at that moment was Jake.

You felt his warm breath against the back of your neck and you shivered.

“I need you to relax completely” he said, placing the arm on which he was laying underneath your neck and caressing from your shoulder to your hip with the other hand.

Then he traced his fingers up and down your back a few times, making you effectively relax.

“Are you ready?” He whispered into your hair, while stroking the tip of his cock up and down your slit, and making your back arch.

“Yeah, please Jake. I need you inside” you whispered not even remotely ashamed of the pleading, desperate tone of your voice.

With a hand wrapped around your hip, he pushed all the way inside excruciatingly slow with a drawn out groan that made you shiver and your mouth hang open in a silent scream of pleasure.

You were petrified by pleasure. Unable to utter a single word or to even move an inch, your brain was entirely occupied but the absolute feeling of fullness he was providing you. You had never experienced anything even remotely similar. Not even your vibrator made you feel like that.

In the back of your mind, you already knew that the whole “I'm not going to bring this up in the morning” thing was a bad idea, but you played along nonetheless.

You were already addicted to him now. It could only backfire in the future.

But, at that moment, your mind was completely blank. The euphoric feeling of Jake's member deliciously stretching your walls was everything you could comprehend.

He was already panting behind you and breathing sweet words of encouragement into your ears.

“You feel so good. God, you are like heaven.” he whimpered loudly, squeezing your hip with his hand.

“I'm going to move, alright?” He whispered and you felt him pull almost all the way out before starting to slide back in. Your walls spasmed and contracted around him, making him stop with an hiss.

“Pet, please, relax.” He said, groaning. “If you keep squeezing me like this I'm going to cum.”

You took a deep breath and tried your best to relax. You focused on the scorching hot feeling of his sweaty body flush against yours. It was one of the best sensations you had ever felt.

You felt him exhale a relieved breath when finally you relaxed enough for him to start moving and you had to bite your lip when he bottomed out inside you.

He set a steady slow rhythm and you felt yourself melt against him.

You had never had sex in that position, but you already loved it. It allowed you to feel him completely, every ridge and vein of his cock, and every sound and whimper coming from his mouth. It was so intimate that you knew you were going to soak your panties every time you thought about it. He enveloped you completely, monopolizing your senses with his presence.

His hand moved from your hip to your breasts, massaging the skin languidly while he praised you.

“You are such a good girl. Look at you, taking me so well.” He whispered and you sobbed out a moan. His name came out of your mouth in a needy whimper that had him biting your shoulder.

You felt yourself dripping all over him and you moaned his name again.

Suddenly, he bent the arm that was laying under your neck to grasp your shoulder to keep you still and flush against him and his other hand squeezed your hip again.

His rhythm quickened until he was slamming his hips against your ass, panting heavily.

Your orgasm was around the corner and you started countering his thrusts pushing your hips against his, feeling him impossibly deep inside of you.

You were unable to utter a single word. The only thought in your brain was made up of four words that kept repeating over and over like a mantra.

I wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

“I wanna be yours”

You were too lost in pleasure to notice that the voice kept echoing in your brain because you were whispering it out loud before you came.

When he heard what you were saying his nails dug into your skin and he let out a wailing scream, spilling into the condom. He kept thrusting a few seconds more bringing you both over the edge of overstimulation before he stopped.

He didn't unwrap himself from around you though, he kept you so close you felt like one.

When finally he slipped out of you, he placed a little kiss in the middle of your back.

“I'm going to get you cleaned up. Give me a second and I'll be back.” He whispered.

After a minute he was back, but you didn't hear anything. You were already fast asleep.

He cleaned you up gently and then covered you up with your bed sheets.

Then he silently left your room.

Before shutting the door, he whispered something only he could hear.

“I'd love that, pet.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Taglist: @gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld

@jessicafg03 @doodle417 @hellowgoodbye @ejoygvf @jaketlover

@jakekiszkasbabymama @objectsinspvce @indigostreakmorgan @witchofendora @myleftsock

@gretavanshmeat @gretasfallingsky @giraffehippy @jennasometimesreads @katiegvf

@sinarainbows @laney_gvf @themorningbirds @starcatcherchords @lipstickitty

@meetingthestardust @joshskittytickler @livkiszka @twistedmelodies @ignite-my-fire

@gvfmarge @writingcold @brujamagik @edgingthedarkness @gold-mines-melting

@mindastreamofcolours @blacksoul-27

@jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @mapelsyrup07 @klarxtr

@takenbythemadness @peaceloveunitygvf

@lyndz2names @jazzyfigz @its-interesting-van-kleep

@katuschka @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @hollyco

@i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @emojakekiszka

[restinslices]

So that Sektor trailer came out and I’m specifically hooked on more info we got about what happens to Bi-Han when he goes after Havik. There’s a line that Sektor says to Bi-Han: “Bi-Han, can you hear me?” I NEED SOME BI-HAN X READER BASED OFF OF THAT LINE ALONE- you can do whatever you want with it I just thought that would be a cool prompt

Hey anon! For some reason this prompt made me think of the song “Once Upon A Dream”, so here we are.

Bi-Han X GN!Reader

Word Count: 3287

Summary: Using your power to jump into other’s dreams, you jump into Bi-Han’s in hopes of speaking with him. Unfortunately for you, things don’t go as you wanted it to.

Content Warning: Angst, hurt w/ no comfort, Bi-Han fighting demons and them mfs got hands, mean Bi-Han, I wrote this while downing a energy drink

“I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam”

Dreams were a powerful and interesting concept. You always thought so, but perhaps that made sense for someone like you - someone who could manipulate dreams and bend them to your will.

You had seen first hand how dreams could affect someone’s day. A bad one could cause someone to be cranky in the morning, a good one made them awake with a smile, a dream about a lost loved one caused tears to pool in one's eyes. The list went on and on.

Dreams were where people could escape their day to day lives. You were no different. Life had been less than ideal as of late, causing you to look forward to sleeping more than you used to. You wished everyday that you weren’t like this, that you could be happy when you were awake. You tried. You tried so hard, but life was too quiet. There was someone missing. Someone you couldn’t have.

Your longing for him only got worse after your recent encounter with Titan Havik and his ridiculous dreams of chaos.

Him. 

Seeing him after his betrayal… seeing him in such a hateful manner at his own brother’s wedding… then what Havik did to him…

Him.

Why was thinking his name so painful? 

And why were you trying to connect with him like you used to? 

Around you was a dull void. No walls, no solid ground, nothing physical. Just a blackness with an unknown light source coming from above, highlighting your frame. Your body hung in this void. Was this the right choice? Maybe you should just abandon this idea and actually dream.

“Bi-Han, can you hear me?”

Under normal circumstances, Bi–Han would respond to your telepathic message. 

“Yes” he’d say back to you.

Such a simple word, yet you were missing it desperately. There was no response. You’d have to check if he was asleep your own way then.

You closed your eyes and pictured the outline of his body. He had no facial features or any details to him. The inside of his silhouette was a white light, the outline a bright blue. The light dimmed and brightened to the rhythm of his heart.

Thump - Dims

Bump - Brightens

Slow and steady.

Thump-bump… thump-bump… thump-bump…

He was sleeping.

“Bi-Han, can you hear me?”

Of course he could. He was choosing to ignore you. Choosing not to imagine himself putting a letter in a mailbox like you taught him to. This should’ve made you abandon this quest, but instead you imagined his silhouette becoming bigger and bigger, consuming your entire vision until-

Birds singing.

He was dreaming of birds singing?

You opened your eyes once you felt your feet touch solid ground. Of course he’d be with his clan in his dreams. This no longer felt like home to you, but it still was to him. 

Dreams were strange. Brains just threw context at dreamers without actually showing them anything at times. You could feel parts of his dream being absorbed into you like a sponge. Somehow you knew that he was dreaming of his perfect future. You could tell Liu Kang was gone. Maybe he was dead, maybe not, but you just felt it in your bones that he wasn’t a part of this reality.

You willed yourself to find him, creating a blue string to show you the way to him. You tried to ignore your own thumping heart. Tried to ignore the stone warriors Shang Tsung promised Bi-Han staring daggers into you. Tried to force yourself to take slow and deep breaths as you continued on the path.

Then there he was. 

Standing atop a cliff, hands behind his back, watching the beautiful sunset. What Havik made him was gone. He looked like his normal self; same suit, shoes, hair, even the details in his skin were the same. His name left your lips hardly above a whisper, “Bi-Han… it’s me”. 

“I know” his voice came out gruff - so the usual. 

“Did you hear me when I tried to-”

“Yes”.

You had known it, but it hurt like hell having him confirm that he ignored you. You should’ve left, but instead your feet carried you to be at his side. You could see now that he wasn’t watching the sunset. He was watching his clan train, their moves perfect. Abnormally perfect.

You didn’t know what to say. All of this was a last minute decision. You hadn’t practiced some big speech about how much of an asshole he was and how your ring felt heavier on your finger. You had nothing planned. 

“I’ve missed you Bi-Han”.

It was the only thing you could think of. You missed him. Morning, noon, evening, night, you missed him. 

“I’ve missed you dearly. The sun doesn’t feel as warm when you’re not around”.

“So?” he said indifferently. You hadn’t looked up at him, afraid of what you’d see in his eyes.

“Have you-” you swallowed. Did you really wanna know the answer? “Have you missed me?”.

He took a few moments to answer. Once he did though, your heart fell to your stomach. “Why would I?”. Why would he? Because you were his closest friend. Had been ever since you were kids! Or maybe because he had proposed to you. Maybe he should miss you because whenever he talked about his future, you were always in it. He spoke again before you could force out a response, “what do you want from me?”.

You stammered your answer out. His shell was always hard, but never this.”I-I, well- I mean, I wanted to see you”. Your eyes finally looked up but his eyes were still on the people below. He was perfect to look at. Always would be to you. Even his new appearance after Havik was perfect to you. It was perfect because it was him. “I love you-”.

He scoffed, which made you furrow your brows. “Love” he shook his head. “You don’t love me. You are a traitor, and it’s a good thing you’re no longer Lin Kuei. You only dragged us down. Dragged me down”. His words sounded like a mantra. Like he had repeated these words over and over again in his head until it became second nature to say it. It still didn’t stop your mouth from opening slightly in shock. People could call Bi-Han mean all they wanted. He had never ever said such cruel words to you. Even when you made mistakes. His lectures always had care and concern under them. This? This wasn’t right. 

“Why would you say that to me?”.

Only now did he look at you. You expected to see disdain in his eyes. Malice, disgust, fury, something that showed he had no love for you. You saw nothing in his eyes. Just blackness. Coal. Darkness. A void. 

“Why are you still here?”.

“Why did you say that to me?”. He tried to walk away from you but stopped in his tracks when he heard you speak again. “How could you say something like that to me?”.

You heard him take in a deep breath before muttering “don’t do this to yourself”. You hardly even heard him. 

“I love you” you hadn’t realized how softly your words came out. Nor did you see Bi-Han close his eyes due to his back being to you. “I’ve loved you practically all my life. You’re all I’ve been thinking about recently, that’s why I’m here. And- and that’s what you have to say to me?”.

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you love me. Or miss me. Or both”

“Why would I?”

“Because that’s what people who love each other say!” you exclaimed a lot louder than you meant to.

He turned to face you. Damn him! You wanted him to look at you lovingly, then wrap his arms around you and say he loved you too. His stare was hard, mouth in a deep frown, hands at his sides. “Sometimes people say things they don’t mean”.

“Are you serious?” you both could and couldn’t believe him. He was always stubborn but to question your love for him? Despair, anger, betrayal, it all began to bubble inside you. “You don’t think I love you? After all we’ve been through? Has it meant nothing?”. Then another thought crossed your mind. One that made you have to take a deep breath before asking. “Have you found another?”.

“I don’t want another” he responded quietly, which was somewhat odd for him. Not necessarily because it was quiet, but because it was soft. Delicate almost. Then he cleared his throat, “love is a weakness. You’ve shown me that”.

“Bi-”

“Leave”

“No”. You kept your feet firmly against the ground. You wouldn’t be going anywhere. Especially not on this note. You didn’t expect that all your problems would be fixed in one conversion but this couldn't be how tonight ended. “We need to talk-”.

“I don’t want you here!” The sudden rise in his voice made you jump. Was that regret in his eyes? No. It couldn’t be. If he actually felt any remorse, his next words didn’t show it. “I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want to see you. You are a traitor, meaning that you are dead to me! You were only slowing me down and now? Now I don’t have to worry about you! Enough of this! Leave!”. Your breathing began to speed up, eyes becoming watery, vision blurring. Bi-Han spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Don’t cr-” he took another deep breath. “I don’t care”. He tried to walk away again.

He got mere feet away before the ground around him rose, trapping the both of you in a wide box. You didn’t know what you felt more. Anger because he had the audacity to yell at you, or sadness because he purposely chose to hurt you. They both bubbled inside you. Your mouth worked a lot faster than your brain. “I have always been by your side” you began, “even as children. Whenever you fell, I was there to help you up. When you needed a laugh, I found any way to make you laugh. When the responsibility of becoming the next Grandmaster felt like a hard burden to carry, I was there to support you”.

“The Bi-Han then was a weak child! I’m older now! I have more challenges!”

“And have I not faced your challenges with you by your side?!” you fully yelled now. Your words were laced with grief and you hoped he could hear it. “When others called you heartless, strict, mean, selfish and whatever else they could think of, I defended you! I always did Bi-Han! I would tell them that you had a huge heart under that hard shell of yours! I would tell them you were strict but loving! That I loved you for a reason! That you genuinely cared for your family!”. All the emotions made you bolder. With each remark, you pointed an accusatory finger at him, stepping closer and closer until you jabbed him in the chest. “I would tell people that I never cared about having children, but if it was with you, I’d consider it! And as more days passed, I wanted it! A family with you was all I wanted! All I want even now!”. It was hard to see his expression. Your vision was too blurry. You thought about wiping your tears away, not wanting to appear weak, but they came too frequently. Your cheeks were already wet. “You can be angry with me. I would be okay with your anger, but do not ever make it seem like I do not love you! I was one of the few people concerned about your safety when you were taken! I carried your body to Liu Kang! I-!”.

A sob passed before you could stop it. You couldn’t stand to look at him. You turned away from him, walking a few inches away, suddenly feeling suffocated. Your chest ached badly. You felt that at any point, your heart would explode, or your throat would get tired of your sobs and decide to close instead, leaving you to die. You covered your mouth with the back of your hand in an attempt to quiet yourself. It worked, but only somewhat. 

With your back to Bi-Han though, you couldn’t see his reaction. You didn’t see his look of confliction, or him clenching and unclenching his fist. You didn’t know how angry he was at himself, because he should’ve hated you for being a traitor, but he just couldn’t. You didn’t know how badly he wanted to comfort you but forced himself not to. He just needed you to leave but you wouldn’t. 

“You betrayed me, do not forget this” he forced himself to say. “I needed you. You, my father, Kuai Liang, Tomas, Liu Kang, you all lack vision! You want me to shackle the Lin Kuei to mediocrity when we could be achieving greatness! No!”. You hadn’t faced him yet. Your bottom lip still trembled. It was humiliating. All this crying on your end and it didn’t even seem like he cared. 

No words were exchanged for a moment. You had to focus on slowing your breathing. What you needed was for him to apologize as he held you. Nothing came. Not even when you walked up to him, putting a hand on his arm in hopes to trigger some hidden affection. 

He took a step back.

You scoffed, then wiped at your eyes again. Your eyes stayed on the floor as you spoke again. “I have spent days and nights thinking about you. Hoping that-” you sniffed, “that you still loved me. I kept hoping that somehow this would all work out and…”.

You couldn’t say it. Everyday you hoped that everything would get better. You’d have each other again. Life would go back to normal, then one day you two would start expanding your family, and when you finally took your last breath, you’d be holding his hand. 

You couldn’t say it out loud. It hurt too much.

“Spare me. Spare me this agony and just say-”

You motioned back and forth between you two hoping he’d get it.

“Say what?”.

You forced it out finally.

“Say you do not love me. Just spare me of this agony and hoping. Just say you do not love me”. Silence passed. You expected that he would just say it right then and there. He didn’t. “Bi-Han please just do this for me”.

More silence.

Then,

“You are a traitor”.

“Fucking shit” you mumbled while wiping your eyes for the millionth time. “Just say it”.

He didn’t. “You were holding me back”.

You looked up at him, though you immediately regretted it. Since when had you gotten so bad at reading him? You tried to guess what he was thinking, but kept drawing a blank. “Please”.

“You left”.

“Bi-Han please”.

Over and over he’d shoot an insult at you, and in response you’d plead with him to say what you needed to hear to hopefully start fully mourning. 

You couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. Why couldn’t he do this one thing for you? Just this one parting gift. “You are so fucking selfish! Why can’t you just be honest with me and say it?!”.

“Why don’t you say it to me?!” he challenged, which was ridiculous to you.

“Not only would I be lying, but I would never wanna hurt you like that! You want me to hurt you the way you hurt me?! Fine!”. You pointed a finger at him, “you are everything that is wrong with you!”. The hardness in his eyes softened. Good. You wanted to see him have some sort of reaction. To hurt as much as you did. “You love to blame me, your father, Kuai Liang, Tomas, anyone for how shitty you can be! You betrayed Earthrealm and your brothers! It isn’t wrong to want a new future, but how you went about it? No, Bi–Han! I wasn’t gonna stand by you as you did something so selfish! You love blaming everyone else and refuse to see that you are in a war by yourself! You scarred your brother! You attacked a wedding and killed innocent people! I am by no means an innocent person. I have made mistakes, and if you have ever genuinely felt like I did not love you, then I’m sorry… but the blood you have on your hands, the blood of innocents and your own” your hand found its way to your chest, your palm feeling your heartbeat under it. “That is not on me”. 

There was no relief after you finished your rant. 

You didn’t feel relief, or satisfaction at the possibility of hurting him. No. You felt terrible. Like you had broken an oath - another one according to Bi-Han -. Once again your gaze tore from his. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. Or perhaps it wasn’t. He hadn’t said the sacred words, but everything else he said was confirmation enough. 

He no longer loved you.

The walls surrounding the both of you collapsed. “You don’t want me here, fine” you forced yourself to say. “I won’t come back”.

“And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom what they seem

But if I know you

I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream”

The heartache was wet tar, sticking to your skin and refusing to budge. You hoped it would cease sometime soon- dammit. Why did you keep hoping for things? Where had hope gotten you? Hope was foolish to cling onto.

A week passed, and still the pain refused to move. You felt it in everything you did. It made your bones stiff, your movements slow, your focus low, your insides hurt. It was the most diabolical of poisons. 

When a knock against your door filled your ears, you didn’t bother getting up. You simply told them to come in, and although your voice could rival a church mouse, they heard you anyway and came in. “Kuai Liang” you greeted once he came into view.

“Have you been well?”.

At least he didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’ve noticed your recent behavior and-”

“I apologize if I have been lacking, Grandmaster”

Out of respect you got out of bed and bowed. You must’ve been messing up during training, or-

“You have nothing to apologize for” he took a step closer to you, “you seem unhappy. You know you can come to me, right? I’m your friend, family even. Not just your Grandmaster”. Keeping eye contact had become something hard for you. You looked everywhere else when speaking to someone, which was something you hated because it made you feel weaker than you already typically felt.

His hand found your arm. His touch was light, like he worried you would crack if he pressed against you too hard. “Are you okay?”.

There it was. Those three words opened the floodgates, causing you to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face against his chest as sobs wracked your body. Had he always felt so similar to Bi-Han or was your mind playing tricks on you?

Kuai Liang was the one who held you close, comforting you with his presence alone.

And like a selfish and desperate bastard, you pretended he was Bi-Han.

“But if I know you

I know what you do

You love me at once the way you did once upon a dream”

A/N: Bi-Han angst is my fave genre y'all. It’s always gonna hit. This is a stand alone so uhhh no part 2 :D.

[dorkycreature-89]

i'm sorry.....those sketches were LEAKED??????

ohhhh my fucking G O D. that has to ABSOLUTELY be the most shittiest things you could do to an artist. i didn't know the gregpearl sketches were leaked until now. and since it happened AGAIN, i......i have no words

i......i don't wanna sound like i'm trying to stamp on anyone's fun but i feel like we're too excited for any ounce of su content, we're just ignoring the fact that these were posted without sugar's permission. i feel like as an artist, that's the most disrespectful things you could do to them since YOU thought it'd be right to post it without their knowledge. and it just annoys me a bit that people are just talking about the content of the drawings rather than the fact it was fucking leaked

i've always had a problem with leaks and this is just atrocious as an artist myself. and yeah, i'm probably overreacting. i do that a lot. i just......i don't know. i'm kinda freaking out as an artist rn

i'm a bit panicked and i don't know what i'm doing

[lambilegs]

does it happen in a season? (part one: FALL)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

(contains: college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, slowburn as FUCK cannot even exaggerate, 10.3K of y'all literally just achieving acquaintanceship, lots of pining. content warning for: brief mention of blood (can be interpreted as period blood or otherwise), weed, religion jokes, brief conversation about serial killers + motivations, anxiety)

----

AUTUMN. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

lee isn’t looking forward to this month. it’s her last year of university, so she knows she probably ought to be feeling a little more optimistic. but, truly, all she’s feeling is the dread of having to meet and adapt to a new roommate – a process which can span from a few weeks to the entire semester, depending on the person. back when she was a freshman, she was convinced that by the time she reached senior year, she’d have gotten used to this. but, no, it feels just as daunting and uncomfortable as usual. maybe even worse. when she was a freshman, her only experience of a housemate was her mom. now, four years later, her experiences with roommates had spanned from mediocre to downright unbearable. so, maybe that’s what’s gotten her expectations soured.

when she meets you, she’s in the middle of assembling her desk, on her knees and lip bitten in concentration. you had arrived a week earlier than her, and had already set up most of your things, and on the phone, you told her that all you needed was to finally bring in your clothes, and, well, yourself. 

she doesn’t really know what to think of you. you greet her, introduce yourself and smile when she gives her name. after asking her if she needs help with the desk, you waddle on your feet for a bit, clutching on your bag, an awkward silence flooding into the room. she ignores it, focusing on the task at hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. she’s already feeling the tension of the silence seeping into her, and she doesn’t really wanna let it expand through silently staring at each other.

after a few seconds, she hears the soft thump of your footsteps walking away, and lets out a breath of relief. at least the first meeting is done with, and now, you two can live in what’ll hopefully be in amicable quiet.

–

you shut the door, back braced against it. god, your roommate is hot. you’re not exactly sure what to do with this information. surely, even if you manage to discover whether or not she’s into women, you can’t do anything about it. you’re certain it’s some sort of unspoken rule to not romantically pursue your roommate – not that a lot of people follow that. or maybe you just move in some really weird circles.

you pad over to your bed, the distance barely anything with how small your bedroom is. flopping onto the mattress, you stare up at the ceiling. class starts in a matter of days, and while part of you eagerly welcomes in the comforting cycle, you can’t help but itch and yearn for the summer days. nothing but familiarity wrapping around you, it was a time where you didn’t have to worry about what’s new, what’s to come, anything like that. now, autumn is creeping in and already, you’re overwhelmed and unsettled by all that’s new. this itchy bedsheet, the new pattern of your comforter, the thin and white walls… your new roommate. 

reaching for your walkman, you plug in your headphones, lying back on the bed. stomach heaving, you suck in a long, deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. the muscle rises and falls, and you try to sink into a world of daydreams. daydreams of good things – acing your assignments, making friends, hell, maybe even getting a girlfriend. 

maybe.

—

lee isn’t used to it. the domestic intimacy that comes with having a roommate, despite being total strangers. sometimes, she nearly forgets the intimacy of sharing a home until she has no choice but to face it head on. like, when she’s eating breakfast in the morning, and you come out in your PJs. yesterday, you’re someone whose name she’s only hearing for the first time. and now, she knows exactly what cartoon you grew up on because of the print on your soft, fuzzy pants. yesterday, she only just saw your face for the first time, and today, your toothbrushes are sitting together in the same holder, your skincare products are crowded together next to the sink, and your colourful mugs are sitting next to her plain white ones in the cupboard.

it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and already, she knows what you look like when tired in the morning. you’re standing near her, yawning, wiping at your bleary, wet eyes, as she glances between you and her reading, sipping tentatively on her coffee.

“good morning,” you mumble, making your way to the fridge and getting out some eggs.

she hums a small “mm” in response, right hand carefully making annotations. a moment later, she swallows hard, a memory flashing through her head. her second year roommate joking about her unfriendliness in front of their own many friends. she doesn’t mean to be, she really doesn’t. she simply isn’t inclined to converse with strangers, and undergo all the social rituals of that. but, still, she doesn’t want to come off as rude, especially since you seem fairly okay as of now. “morning.”

you nod at the papers in front of her, lips curling up. “already getting started?”

she nods. “yeah, might as well.”

“what’s your major?”

she sucks in a tiny breath. okay, so it seems like work will be taking a momentary pause. she sets her pen down. “criminology.”

“oh,” you coo, cracking two eggs into the pan. “and what are you hoping to do with that?”

her eyebrows furrow. do you mean her plan for pursuing it, or what she intends to do post-graduation? “after university?”

at your nod, she pauses. she’s been asked this hundreds of times, of course. virtually any peer of hers who she encounters and speaks to for the first time asks her as such. but, still, she can’t help but hesitate each time. it seems like such a faraway dream, and one that not a lot of people associate her with. she’s always been the quiet person, the one who everyone finds unassuming or off-putting. the image of her doesn’t seem to bode well with a job as chivalrous or active as someone in law enforcement. but, she’s not in it to socialize or be perceived as brave. her reasoning is a lot more literal to the job. perhaps that makes it less interesting of an approach, but it was the truth.

quietly, she answers. “work in law enforcement. maybe in the FBI, as a special agent.”

you tilt your head at her, eyes wide, but not holding judgement. “wow, that’s pretty cool. what made you interested in that line of work?”

she blinks at your, well, pretty neutral response. she was half-expecting some snarky comment, or disinterested wave-off, so she felt her shoulders momentarily loosen at your cool, friendly response. “um…” she tries stilling her thoughts, going back to your question. eyes zoned in on her work, the idea of answering so honestly while staring at you is too uncomfortable for her liking, she finally speaks. “I was tired of seeing and hearing about horrible things, and having no way to help. I want to help give people closure and answers.” she thought of her mother. the kind of people who sometimes visited their home and lurked around, knowing there was no man there to protect them. the fear that’d darken her mother’s eyes when she heard a car drive up their curb at night. the way her mother would clutch onto lee, her own daughter, so many nights, almost as though at nine, she was brave enough to defend her. she didn’t want such fear to exist in other homes, not if she can help it.

but, she doesn’t tell you this. you’re nice, yeah, but she isn’t nearly at enough ease with you to confide in something so deeply webbed into her subconscious. even if you were her closest companion, she isn’t sure how she’d go about it. 

“that’s very noble,” you say, with a kind, earnest smile. at least, it looks earnest to her. “that’s really admirable, lee.”

her eyes are downcast, and she gives a firm nod.. she doesn’t think the job is particularly noble. it’s just her way of using her skills to try and do something helpful. that’s all. so, she doesn’t know what to say in response to your words.

thankfully, you turn back around and continue cooking, so she doesn’t need to figure it out.

–

lee, you’ve learned, is meticulous. and very neat. your first few days in your shared apartment are spent in an array of sweatpants, t-shirts and hoodies. but, as soon as school starts, you really see her in her element. it’s all sharp collars, muted tones, solid colours and smart shoes. the first time you return home from your 8:00AM class, she’s just finished getting ready, and you feel yourself blush, of all damn things, over the sight of her. maybe she notices, but you can’t tell for the life of you, for all you receive from her is a small nod of acknowledgement and a quiet departure. as you watch her leave, her backpack devoid of any pins or patches, you sigh, sagging against the wall. does she even like you? is she as curious of you as you are about her?

it’s not just attraction that’s causing this itch to know her. it’s the way she acts. sometimes, she just zones out, her inquisitive eyebrows drawn in and eyes almost faded and lost. lost in what, you can’t tell. she sometimes sits on your guys’ couch, staring blankly ahead, clearly not focused on whatever channel she’s randomly landed on. it’s like her mind is filled with thoughts, and she’s just victim to the all-consuming hold they have on her. or maybe she likes it. maybe she’s one of those people who could feel sufficiently entertained by her own thoughts for hours. maybe that’s why she likes her time alone.

sometimes, you see her on campus, walking through the humanities buildings. she’s usually with the same two friends, and it’s almost odd to see her so at ease. with them, she’s actually smiling, teeth shining. the first time you see it, you nearly have to gulp at the blinding light of it. lee transforms when she smiles. that face, so soft and doe-like at the eyes, but so hard-edged at the tense jaw, turns into some blissful beam of light when she smiles. she has laugh lines – god, you’ve lived with her for three weeks now and didn’t even know that. they deepen and dimple at the corners of her mouth when she smiles, and her cheeks lift, and her teeth feel almost foreign to look at with how clamped up her mouth usually is. you have to shake yourself from the silent gazing, suddenly feeling embarrassed and creepy.

you also feel rather embarrassed at the distance between the two of you. you’re not ignorant to the dynamics of roommates – you know the two of you aren’t required to be best friends or attached at the hips. but, you two barely ever talk. you’d like to, but she just doesn’t seem interested. and you also feel bad to intervene on her alone time. when she’s sitting on the couch during her occasional and spaced out appearances from her bedroom, usually doing some work or watching the 10:00PM showing of Murder She Wrote, she tenses up when you rest on the arm of the couch, drinking a soda. when you enter the kitchen and she’s munching on a granola bar (she’s awful at eating regularly), her eyes skitter from you to the counter, never able to hold eye contact. do you just force your presence onto her? it seems a bit inconsiderate. do you keep your space and let her come to you? it seems if you do that, she’ll be content to never speak to you.

does she hate you? you couldn’t tell even if you let your mind explore such a bleak possibility.

—

lee hates the subway. the crowds, the relentless shoving and pushing, the buzz of loud conversation, always intercepted by a random shout or curse. when she makes her way down the steps, and sees a swarm of people already poised for its arrival, she usually lingers at the steps, waiting for them to board the train that arrives before making her way down, content to wait for the succeeding one. even if it means she comes late to class, she engages in this little ritual. anything to avoid the chest-tightening discomfort of being pushed into a tight wedge of bodies.

so, she lingers at the top of the steps, leaning on the wall, peering down at the crowd. from this view, her eyes scan all the faces blurring together. she wonders if she could make somewhat accurate guesses of where each of them are heading to. she’s caught with the onslaught of awareness that they probably have a life to return to that’s just as complicated as hers. one that they might be dreading, or celebrating, to return to once they exit the the numbing whirl of the train. she wonders if they can tell where she’s headed to. does she look unassuming?

a bump to her shoulder jolts her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find you standing there, smiling at her. she blinks, suddenly losing her ability to formulate whatever morsels of conversation she usually distributes to you. it’s a bit surreal to see you outside of your guys’ shared dorm, and it’s probably the first time she has. you seem, she doesn’t know, glad to see her? at least that’s how it seems based on your smile. or perhaps you’re just polite.

“hi,” you greet, a breathless laugh flowing from your lips. “I ran to catch up with you. you walk like you’re on a mission or something.”

she opens her mouth before closing it. after a long pause hanging between you two, your expectant eyes making her clear her throat, she says, “you could’ve just called after me.”

“I was just worried you wouldn’t hear.” you peer down the steps. “are you heading to the apartment right now?”

the apartment. it was almost assuring, to know you also hadn’t yet found it to be a home just yet. she still feels unsettled in the place, the shattered routine of her home in oregon still having its impacts on her. “yeah.” 

“me too.” you cock your head at her. “shall we?”

she eyes the platform, filled to the brink. she doesn’t want to go, not at all. but, she also doesn’t want to undergo the vulnerability of confessing to you why she doesn’t want to go. so, she nods, hoping this goes by painlessly. 

when you two enter the packed platform, bodies beginning to softly thud against her shoulder, she immediately starts feeling it. the twist in her stomach, the tension bracing her shoulders. her hands roll into fists, and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a deep breath. it’s hot, god, so hot in this space, and the itch it causes on her neck makes her blink hard, the sensation only adding to her growing discomfort. as more people are filing in, the crowd growing larger to a delay in the subways, she feels herself getting stifled more. pushed in, entrapped, ceaselessly and endlessly surrounded, just as she was in her mother’s home. she continues to take sharp, deep inhales, trying to soothe herself.

“are you okay?”

her head sharply snaps in your direction, having nearly forgotten of your presence. she nods, not wanting to speak. but, then, she feels your fingers brushing against her wrist, right above the first watch she ever bought for herself two years ago. and your tone is soft. “you sure?”

she leans away from your touch. it’s not doing anything to ease the tension in her body right now. she doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t like it. at least not from someone she barely knows. 

you seem to recognize it, pulling away. “do you wanna head back up?”

she shakes her head, ears catching onto the familiar ringing of the train approaching. “I’m okay.” her voice is hard, firm, but you both know it’s a lie.

the train flashes into sight, a mix of grey and yellow as it whirls past her eyes, slowing down until the doors slide open. immediately, she feels the weight of bodies against her backpack, pushing her towards the door. her heaving breaths become faster, her body feeling rigid, almost like a child who has lost their parent in the monotonous aisles of the grocery store.

you’re a pace ahead of her, and you turn back, eyebrows furrowed. you look like you want to say something, and she stares at your shoulder, which is dusted with freckles and pimples, waiting. her gaze lowers when you stretch out your hand, fingers curled to her. your eyes are wide, and you loudly speak over the crowd. “only if you want.”

in the heat of the moment, the crowd pushing in on her even more, beginning to take you away from her, she doesn’t even think twice before grabbing onto your hand. it’s warm, a bit damp, and she clutches onto it like a lifeline. 

you lead her through the crowd, your grip tight and secure. at one point, too many people curl into your guys’ little bubble and you get pulled away from her, your interlocked hands and straining arms the only connection keeping you two intact. people shove into you, urging you to move forward, an act that would require you to let go of her. but, you don’t. your latch onto her hand and freeze, keeping your stance on the ground until she’s able to weave her way to you. someone curses as they walk past you, irritated at you for holding up the rolling wave of people, and you glare sharply at them, remaining still. 

when lee finally manages to slide through between two people, you continue holding on, tugging her through and into the narrow space of the subway. her breathing is shaky, and she’s certain you can feel the insistent thrumming and tapping of her fingers on the back of your hand. she tenses up further when you continue guiding her through the crowd. god, couldn’t you guys just have remained where you were?

you continue dragging her along like a limp doll, and she feels like she forgets what it’s like to feel at ease in her own body. 

you slow down, and she realizes it’s because you found a cart that’s a bit looser, a bit emptier than the ones you two had walked through prior. you continue cradling her hand in yours, raising your entwined fingers to a pole and slowly letting go, coaxing her to hold onto it, patting her hand gently. she gulps down at the kind gesture, gripping onto the pole. for the first time since you two moved in together, she feels gratitude for you.

she doesn’t know what to say. you took care of her in these few minutes, and she doesn’t know how to deal with that. it was rare for someone so estranged from her showed her such consideration, even in such a subtle way. years ago, she had reconciled with the idea that she was one of those people who had to be known intimately to be cared for. she wasn’t used to this… distanced type of caring. 

you raise your arm up, reaching to hold onto the handle up ahead. she catches a glance at the thick fuzz of your armpit hair and immediately turns away, feeling her face heat up. how stupid. she’s pulled your hair out of the drain before, she’s seen the stain of your blood on the toilet bowl, she’s smelled your morning breath. and she’s over here getting flustered from your armpit hair? she forces her eyes to scan the map plastered on the wall, rereading the same stops she’s already committed to memory in her three years commuting.

and then, the other thing she’s memorized rings in her ears.

“apologies to commuters – we are experiencing a delay due to some trouble on the tracks.”

and the train slowly screeches to a halt, the rumbling ceasing.

she sighs. of course.

– 

you two find a corner by the window to slide into. she steps back, letting you go first, and your lip quirks up at her politeness, shifting into the window seat. she gingerly sits next to you, legs pressed together, her hands twisting in her lap. when the silence starts wrapping you two, she begins inspecting her nails, lips lining together in a tight line. your mouth curls into a smile, eyes skipping to her hands. her fingers are long, knuckles curved and bumpy. her nails, just like every other part of her, are neat, finely trimmed. you swallow. is she a lesbian? god, you wanna know. you know it’s not the type of question that’s appropriate to ask, so you hold your tongue. maybe you can investigate further when you guys are closer. if you guys ever get closer.

you pat your lips together, the silence starting to feel embarrassing with all the people conversing around you guys. you look at her, and you can see her gaze flick to you from the corner of her eye. “what class did you have today?

she blinks at the seat in front of both of you. “women in crime. it’s a class on female serial killers.”

you bark out a laugh. she says it so matter-of-factly, her tone flat and impassive. when she blinks at you in question, your laughter dies out, a stab of guilt piercing in your chest. jesus, she finally shared something and you had to laugh. “sorry, I just… you state it very plainly.”

her eyes momentarily skip away before returning to you. “was I supposed to embellish?”

the urge to laugh itches at your throat, feeling that she might be joking with you now. “yes, where is your sense of flourish?”

her mouth twitches. not exactly a smile, but enough to ignite an ember of pride in your chest. 

you lean into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. it seems you two would be here for a while – might as well get comfortable. “so, what are you enjoying about the class?”

she gulps, as though the question were a vulnerable one to answer. she was so intriguing – what did she have to be worried about with such a casual inquiry? “there are a lot of theories about the expectations on women causing the rage involved in such violence. I found that an interesting take.”

“do you agree with it?”

her eyebrow twitches, and she stares at a stain on the seat in front of you two. “I think the ability to do something like that depends on a lot of factors. I don’t think it’s possible to only pinpoint and stick to one.”

you nod. it’s a practical, logical answer – very fitting to lee. “but, still, do you?” you press, curiosity burning through you.

her shoulders lift momentarily as a shaky breath runs through her nostrils. “yeah. I do. I’ve seen what fear and resentment can lead to. it might be far-fetched, but I could see it leading to worse. not just in women, but anyone.”

your eyes drink her in. god, what had she been through to arrive at such a conclusion, one that clearly contained so much of her own private contemplation? a pang of sympathy knocked on your heart. maybe she looked so lost sometimes because there was something that kept pulling her back. “I get that.”

after silence sizzles and grows between you two, the suffocating smoke of it making you shift in discomfort, she speaks, her voice making you jerk in surprise. “and you? what class… did you have?”

she says the question slowly, as though it strains her to speak it, and you wonder again – does she like you? tolerate you? 

you answer, anyways. it feels embarrassing to admit, even to yourself, but even if she’s just forcing herself to speak to you out of pure circumstance and manners, you still want to seize the opportunity to talk to her, dig into her mind. “I had a mythology course.”

her head tilts in your direction, and you know you’ve caught her attention. “professor khan’s class?”

your eyebrows furrow. “yeah. are you in it?”

she shakes her head. “no. my friend is. I couldn’t fit it into my schedule, so she lets me look at her notes sometimes.”

you giggle. “what, so you can mark them?”

she blinks at your joking remark. “no. I just find the content interesting.”

a smile cracks on your face. she really is a little nerd, isn’t she? you know she’s taking a full course load, and still, she was going out of her way to read content that wasn’t necessary. as you absorb her words, an idea struck you, and suddenly, you feel like you never left high school. “you can borrow my notes too, you know?”

her lips press together, the corners pinching up as she gives you a small nod. “thanks.” one of her hands massaged the other, and she peers at you from the corner of your eye. “so, what was this week’s class on?”

“different myths on the origins of the world.”

she seems to digest your words before speaking. “did you… do you believe in any of them?”

you laughed softly. “no, not really. I do think they’re fascinating, though. they’re all so different. and I think it says something about us as humans.”

her head leans in your direction, and something flutters in your stomach at her curiosity. “what does it say?”

“I don’t know, that we all want an explanation for why we’re here? we all want something to believe in, something to rely on to make sense of the world.”

she takes a few moments to reply. “we’re all just curious for answers at the end of the day, aren’t we? or desperate.”

“desperate?”

she nods. “it’s hard to be fully apathetic. everything we research, delve into, continue pursuing no matter how much information already exists on it… isn’t it because we’re either genuinely curious or because we need some, I don’t know, reassurance? so we feel less lost.”

“do you feel lost?”

the question is out before you can even process the implications, or impacts, of it. but, you don’t even have it in you to take it back. once it’s out, you crave her answer.

her shoulders tense up, eyes shifting to your knee, blinking hard. her jaw clenches, and after a long minute of silence, she says, “yeah. all the time.”

–

the next time lee sees you, it’s at a place worse than the subway station. it’s a party. her friends have dragged her along, and it was also an excuse she could latch onto to justify not visiting her mom – one of many, really. she couldn’t help but have felt guilty when she called her mom on the landline the day before, saying she wouldn’t spend the fall break with her, attributing the decision to both her studies and social events, like this one. it helped that ruth encouraged her to socialize more, something that made her feel both relieved and infinitely guilty in her excuses.

you two run into each other at the drinks’ table, hands both outstretched for some soda. when you look up and catch sight of her, you scoff in disbelief, and she feels a sense of embarrassment wash over. you knew she was going out tonight, she had told you as much, but she’s certain this was the last place you had expected to see her.

when you voice as much, she shrugs, grabbing a Sprite. your shock isn’t unwarranted. she spends most nights in, and when she does notify you about going out with her friends, she’ll usually mention the cafes or quiet bars they frequent. not to mention, you’ve brought up, and on three occasions, have invited her to, these kinds of things, but she has always politely rejected. as she clicks open the can, her mind lingers on the possibility of you being offended at seeing her here after her rejection of your invites. it’s not personal, she was just tired of her friends wailing for her to at least try a party, so she gave in. but, she wonders if you’ll take it the wrong way.

it doesn’t seem so, for you’re grabbing a soda and easily smiling at her, as usual. but, she wonders if your smile is genuine, her eyes studying your face. when you turn to her again, she looks away, the corner of her mouth twitching in discomfort. god, she needs to be more subtle. 

“are you here alone, or…?” 

she shakes her head, glancing into the living room. “my friends are in there, dancing.”

your lip quips up into a smirk. “why don’t you join them?”

a small huff leaves from her nose. “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world that can convince me to do that.” the mere idea of dancing in public feels mortifying to her. god, she can’t even dance in private, it feels that awkward and foreign to her.

you nod at her soda. “not that it seems like you’re even having much.”

she takes a sip from it. “yeah, well, I don’t drink.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh? why not?”

it’s not the first time she’s received such a reaction. she knows it isn’t the most common thing to be her age, a university student, and never drink. but, she has her reasons. she pauses, deliberating if she wants to share them with you. ever since your guys’ encounter on the subway, she’s felt as though you guys have crossed a sort of threshold. perhaps it was because you saw cracks in her reservations for once. but, whatever it was, something in her felt a bit looser with you now. 

she relents, sighing. “I was raised religious, so that stuff was never in the house, and, well, I don’t like the feeling of being out of control.”

you nod. “catholic?”

she immediately feels the tightness balling at her shoulders. it’s just a question, she knows that. but, the mention of it, and all it means to her, all the weight it still forces her to carry on her shoulders, is sometimes akin to a tidal wave that tips her over. “uh, yeah.”

you hum in response. a moment later, you say, your tone light, “never wanted to see what kind of drunk you are?”

the implication causes her mouth to widen with the itch to smile. it’s not often that such an urge surges through her, but she lets it slowly spread, hiding it behind a sip of the soda can. will you think her smile is weird due to its infrequency? 

“just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I’ve never tried it.”

you chortle in delight, smacking her arm, which sends her tensing. “okay, so, what kind of drunk are you? emotional, clingy, horny…”

she can’t help it. a muscle in her jaw pulses at your successful guess, and she blinks in surprise when you seem to register her change in expression, your eyes widening and pointer finger jabbing in her direction with a gasp.

“oh my god, you’re a horny drunk, aren’t you?”

she sighs, looking away and continuing to sip on her drink. you were correct, of course. but, she didn’t need to let you know that. just because she was a smidge more comfortable with you doesn’t mean she needs to reveal every secret up her sleeve. besides, the last thing she needs is her roommate discovering just how high her sex drive is when intoxicated.

without warning, the last thought springs forward a litany of lewd images that has her nearly shaking her head to try to rid herself of them.

thankfully, your relentless curiosity gives her a modicum of distraction. “oh, c’mon, tell me.”

she rolls her eyes, muttering, “why do you care?”

you shrug innocently. “no reason… though, I guess it would pan out. repressed christian and all.”

at your slightly joking words, she blinks at her drink, amusement bubbling in her. you have a point. while her mother and her rarely broached the topic during her adolescence, there were the occasional conversations that have remained drilled into her head since. she had known since she hit puberty that sex was meant to exist in the sanctity, the apparent purity, of marriage. well, it isn’t something she knows now – she was sure something had to be a fact in order for her to truly consider it a piece of knowledge she can absorb. but, regardless, that, and her own personal social awkwardness, had made her spend years empty of intimacy, the anxiety of sinning weighing heavily upon her mind. when she had her first kiss with a girl in high school, she had spent days feeling a deep sense of shame, like there was an invisible force frowning upon her. she couldn’t even face her mom for the rest of the day. it was only when she started university, and escaped her small, grey town in oregon, did something finally spark back in her.

she clears her throat, crawling back out of her thoughts. something hangs on the tip of her tongue, and she itches to say it. she doesn’t know why exactly, but part of her wants you to know. “repressed lesbianism does that too.”

your head darts to her, and she nearly winces. was that too direct? she knows you won’t judge. you have a rainbow flag patch ironed onto your backpack, and she knows you’re a part of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance organization on campus. but, perhaps it was too much of herself to reveal to you. maybe you weren’t interested, maybe you didn’t really want to know her.

“you’re a lesbian?”

her mouth twists, suddenly uncomfortable with the focus on her. “yes.” she turns to you, eyes wide. “and you’re gay too, aren’t you?” she knows, at least based on what her friends have said, that it’s impolite to ask such a question, but she assumes it’s okay given how open you are on campus.

you nod, the lines near your eyes crinkling. “yeah. you know, I wondered about you. I’m glad to know my assumptions were right.”

her curiosity is piqued. “what made you think so?”

you smirk. “you have a KD Lang tape.”

her mouth quivers, and for the first time, she laughs.

–

and it’s a glorious thing. white, sharp teeth, usually tucked under her thin lips, finally revealing themselves. her laugh lines, fluttering around the corners of her mouth like wings, are curved and dipping deep into her skin. you can’t tame the beam that spills onto your face from the sight of her laughing. the noise of it is husky, pure velvet trimmed with the faintest rasp, and it makes something warm swim in your abdomen.

a few moments later, you fidget with your pocket, looking at her with a wry, hesitant smile. “listen, I know you want to go into law enforcement, so will you kill me if I smoke a joint?”

she blinks at you blankly. “no.” when you release a relieved laugh at her blunt answer, she adds, “only if you’re up for sharing.”

 and that’s how you wind up sitting together on a porch, sharing a joint. the first time you pass it to her, you feel like a dog, nearly fucking panting at the sight of her lips closing softly over the tip, breathing it in. does she feel the wetness of your saliva on it? does she feel anything at the idea of putting her lips on something yours just touched? the musky scent wraps around both of you, the heat of the joint comforting in the chilled autumn night. crunchy, peach-coloured leaves skip along the street in the breeze, the only noise in the quiet neighbourhood of the hosts, five people who you sure as hell don’t know, and doubt lee does either. 

“I love this song,” you say, turning to the front door, where only the screen door is closed, music flowing through the mesh, streaming into the secluded space of the porch. 

her voice is quiet in the midst of the soft crickets. “what song is it?”

“it’s called Thinking About You by Radiohead.”

“what’s it about?”

you smile gently, touched by her curiosity. you suppose it’s not so unexpected. maybe it’s because she’s so quiet by nature, but you got the sense that she was always listening and soaking in the information surrounding her. like a sort of sponge. “some people say it’s about masturbation.” your eyes flick to her, a wisp of a grin on your face when she swallows hard. “but, I don’t think so. I think it’s about missing someone in a really… aching kind of way. someone who maybe left you, or just happened upon, fame or something better in life. but, really, it’s all fake. or maybe the person just wants it to be fake, because that’s a more comforting idea than admitting maybe someone left you and got something better.”

she doesn’t reply, and the lack of acknowledgement (not even a hum) makes you falter, wondering if she even listened to you. but, then, you see it. her eyebrows are furrowed in focus, and she’s leaning her head in the direction of the door. almost as though she’s straining to listen. it locks into place. she’s trying to listen to the lyrics – for you. the gesture is enough to get you beaming like an idiot, turning your head away from her as you take another drag. 

“it sounds like the person gave up a lot for them.” she watches the lawn, which is littered with a few beer cans and broken bottles. “it’s… sad, isn’t it?”

“yeah, it is.” you frown, the sadness of the song seeping into your mind. it isn’t just sad, it’s devastating. the entire concept of pouring so much into someone, or even having them devote their lives and efforts to you, then all of that crumbling, releases an anxious feeling through your stomach. so much heartache. 

“have you ever been through anything like that?” her voice is so quiet that it’s just teetering on the edge of being a mutter. 

you nearly flinch at the personal question, shock shooting through you. it’s the first time she’s asked you something so invasive. when you dare to look at her, you have to force yourself to keep eye contact with the way her gaze is piercing you. you almost feel that with a singular look, she can open you up and read you with ease.

“well…” you fumble for a few seconds, trying to swim away from the surprise so you can answer. “I suppose with some friends, yeah.”

“what happened?”

you gulp. “well, just situations where we fell out of touch, or something specific happened to end the friendship, and afterwards, just kind of watching their lives from afar, a bit envious. envious that they moved on, curious if their new friends are better than me.”

she’s silent for a few minutes, the air feeling thicker after your confession. by the time you’ve started to tense up, she says, “you seem… like a good friend. even if they find people who they’re happy with, I don’t think it means you were any less of a friend.”

it’s the first compliment she’s ever truly given you, and you wish it was tangible so you could maybe lock it in a box and one day look back on it, the exact moment, word for word, every graze of breeze present. “thank you.”

she nods.

“and you? have you been through it?” you reach your hand out, loose fingers hugging the joint. 

she gently takes it from you, her careful fingers seeming to avoid touching you. you wish she would. as she breathes it in deeply, lips parting to release a stream of smoke, she mutters, “yeah.”

you give her a questioning stare, waiting for her to continue.

she looks away with a soft inhale. “when I was in high school, I kind of dated this girl. we were seventeen, both realizing we were gay – all of that. the anxiety became too much, and I ended it.” her voice quiets, as though she’s still ashamed – but, it seems to be for something else. “in our senior year, she dated someone else. and I still, you know…” she pauses, briefly meeting your eyes, “liked her. so, I just watched from the side, feeling betrayed that she didn’t wait for me. I felt… hurt.” it seems like she strains to admit to the possession of such a vulnerable emotion, and a part of you aches in gratitude that she shared it with you. “I knew it wasn’t fair. she couldn’t wait forever – and back then, the space between seventeen and going to university felt like forever. but, I was really bitter for a while. and I often wondered how her and her girlfriend were faring.”

a stab of sympathy wrenches in your stomach. breaking up was never easy, but to experience it at seventeen? and it being one’s first gay relationship? you can’t imagine the amount of pain she felt, especially considering the religious upbringing she’s alluded to. “I’m really sorry you went through that. I mean, it makes sense. it was your first relationship, and you have so many hopes for that. it’s all the harder when you’re not out, too.”

she tightly nods. “yeah.” her voice sounds slightly like a forced-out gasp. 

“thank you… for telling me.”

the ghost of a smile appears on her face. “well, you did share your joint. figured I owed you something.”

“oh, I see,” you chuckle. “joint for traumatic story – seems like a fair trade. if only therapy could pick up on that practice.”

she glances at you. “you know, if you’re ever lost after graduation, consulting might work out.”

you laugh, and her eyes dart back to the ground.

a half hour later, you yawn, groggily mumbling, “I kind of want to head home now.” you smile apologetically. “sorry. long week.” the weed has taken its effects on you, leaving your body boneless and relaxed, and all you want to do is curl into bed. but, deep inside you, a part of you wails and protests, wishing to sit on this step with her forever, as though it’s become a sacred place.

 she shakes her head at your apology. “I feel like going too. we can walk together.” she stands up, taking one last hit. you gulp down at the sight. jesus, she looks attractive doing that. her button-up is untucked, and she’s wearing a baggy, dark windbreaker that falls at her wrists. smoking has seemed to relax her in a way you’re not used to, her movements less stiff and flowing more naturally from one into the other. she’s a sight to behold in this state – levelled as always, but free in a way. and watching her long fingers tucked against the joint does something to you – something that only pulses even more when she actually wraps her lips around it.

she hands over the remainder of it. “here, you have it. I’m going to tell my friends we’re leaving.”

we’re leaving. it makes you feel delirious, to be a we with her. you giggle, your sober inhibitions completely removed, and she smiles faintly at your fit. “sounds great.”

she’s still gently smiling, looking down on you. “what’s so funny?”

“no, um, nothing.” you clear your throat, trying to reign in some seriousness, before another giddy laugh erupts from you. “nothing.”

her head shakes gently. her usually light brown hair has darkened under the night sky, and strands of it tickle her cheek from the wind. “you’re crazy.” she wordlessly heads in, quietly muttering, “I'll be back.”

you page your friend, fingers trembling from the moment with lee. she’s probably still making out with her boyfriend, so you write out 7, your guys’ code for “Leaving” because of how the number upside down resembles an L, ending the message with 143. before you had beelined to lee, she had sent you a coy look, playfully patting your arm and saying, “let me know if you get laid.”

but, all you lee and do is walk and take the subway, and it’s more than enough. because you at least get to see her smile, her eyes lazy and half-lidded as she listens to you talk about your least favourite professor.

and that’s enough.

–

the next morning, lee pads into the kitchen to find open packs of Cheetos and Cheerios, limp and spilling, on the counter. as she cleans the mess, she can’t help but feel reminiscent of the night before. you were so giggly when high, constantly leaning on her and finding every motion of hers practically hysterical. she got to feel more at ease with you than she had since you both moved in, and it almost gives her a sense of relief to know you have now seen her in that state. you now know what she’s like when the reservations have crumbled, and that makes her steps towards it feel a bit less daunting.

when you come out of the bathroom, hair wet from your shower, eyes bright with the morning, she swallows at the onslaught of excitement she feels at your presence. without having even fully realized it, she had been tapping her hand on the counter. waiting on you to finish and come out.

“good morning,” you drawl out, your tone mischievous as though the two of you had done something last night. she racks her brain thinking of something that could explain your address of her. you guys didn’t do anything illegal, despite your hypothetical musings of walking along the train tracks. you both also didn’t have sex. her nostrils flare at the idea. yeah, she definitely would’ve remembered that. 

she was empty of ideas. “why do you sound like that?”

you smirk, leaning over the counter, and she finds herself reeling back at the proximity. the scent of your shampoo wafts her nose, and she becomes suddenly aware of just how small your shared kitchen is. “well, I’m just impressed with myself for having gotten to see lee harker high as a kite.”

she snorts at your answer, turning to switch the kettle on. sometimes, she forgot the legality of smoking since her and her friends did it so often. 

your voice fills the quiet of the bubbling water. “it was nice, though. we should do it again sometime.”

she pauses, using her task of grabbing mugs and making coffee as an excuse to remain silent for a few moments, needing time to process your words. no matter how old she becomes, she seems to always feel she’s dangling at the precipice of finally understanding and accepting the process of knowing and being known. she has friends, yes, but it constantly feels like inside, she’s still the same little girl who felt discarded to the outskirts during recess, and who perhaps adapted to isolation and solitude not out of a true enjoyment of it, but as a survival instinct. even in her last year of university, she still cannot seem to absorb that someone may truly want to spend time with her. 

“yeah, that’d be good,” she quietly responds, her back still turned to you. she hopes you can’t detect the tension in her shoulders. ever since you successfully guessed at the type of drunk she is based on her reaction, she’s taken note of your observational skills.

when she turns to you, she finds part of herself feeling shy as she slides over a mug to you. it’s one of yours, bright flowers splattered all over it, and it’s filled to the brim with the coffee she usually only makes herself.

you brighten at the offer. “oh, thank you.”

she nods, sipping on hers silently. she wonders if she’s a bad, or at the very least, questionable, roommate. after all, it’s been a month, and this is her very first time even making you coffee. even if she has been a bad roommate, how would she go about it? apologizing? the mere idea of it sends a wave of anxiety through her.

she’s so caught up in her swarm of musings that she doesn’t even realize how long the silence between you two has hung before you start fiddling with the handle of your mug. her eyes flick between your hand and your face, trying to consciously remain on the latter. “do you… have plans today?”

you start at the sound of her voice, and her lips nearly crack into a grin. she can’t blame you. most of your guys’ shared mornings have consisted of you two quietly moving around each other, and when conversation has occurred, it’s been at your gentle prompting. but, even then, it’d last for a few minutes before you leave. you never push her. the realization makes her lips twist. 

“no, no, some kid was begging to take my shift so he could take his girlfriend out, and I had worked a lot of hours last week, anyways, so I gave it to him.”

“high school kid?”

you grin, the bob of your head confirming.

she shrugs lightly. “that pans out.”

“ah, come on, it’s young love. people get desperate when they’re in love.”

she feels the corner of her lip twitching with the urge to smile. how have you been making her smile so much lately? she admits, you definitely wound up being a lot easier to talk to than she had initially suspected. not that you did anything. she supposes she generally spent her life suspecting everyone of being difficult to talk to, but it wasn’t because of them. she had spent enough years carefully observing those who seamlessly stitched themselves into conversation to know she was the common denominator. she struggles, and she knows it forces the flow of conversations to a halt in a way she wishes didn’t happen. and doesn’t she wish for it. for as much as she enjoys her time away from the world, tucked away into a safe corner, she can’t help but sometimes itch for the string of connection only a genuine bond can bring. it’s why your offer to smoke again continues to linger in her mind, minutes after you’ve said it. 

“and you?” you prod. “do you have work today?”

“no. the library closes early on saturday, so they usually don’t take in a lot of workers.”

between you two, an unspoken offer crackles. lee can feel it, and she can sense you do too, your eyes skittering around as though you feel awkward looking at her. she wonders briefly if that’s how she looks to you, but quickly moves on to ponder on the question of if she wants to hang out. she wouldn’t mind letting the question go unspoken. she’s certainly had that happen enough times as is, even though her friends tell her it’s apparently rude to do. what takes her aback, though, is her desire to remain with you for the day. for some reason, despite you two having spent so many days like it already, the idea of you two being free, enclosed in the same space, and not spending time together now feels off to her. it feels wrong. and not out of obligation, but rather just as something that’s so clearly against her wants that she can’t even force it to seem right. the feeling is foreign regarding you, but she supposes it makes sense, what with the recent conversations you two have had.

now, all there is is to actually approach the idea. she clears her throat softly, suddenly feeling on edge when you look up at her. jesus, why did she make this decision again? she sucks in an unsteady breath. “um… we… do you want to, I don’t know, hang out?”

relief flushes through her when you beam and grab her keys from the counter, tossing them at her. “I’ll get my video card for the store.”

– 

the video rental store is only a ten minute walk away, but with lee’s unwavering pacing, you two make it there in seven. you have to resist dragging her by the sleeve to slow her down, wanting to relish in the brisk autumn morning. yellow and orange leaves drift along the quiet street, and the sky is dim and grey, wrapping the entire world up in a cozy sanctuary. when you two enter the store, you nearly have to blink to adjust to the bright, yellow lights of it.

immediately, you beeline to the horror section, only stalling when lee lingers at the front, her eyes curiously taking in the latest hits.

“lee,” you call out, and when you catch her attention, shattering her quiet observing, you wave her over.

“what is it?”

you look back longingly to the horror section. “come on, halloween is approaching, we should be watching something scary.”

as you practically skip over to the row of dark, gory and borderline traumatic-looking tape covers, she follows you, quietly saying, “I didn’t realize there was an official rulebook.”

you glare at her. “you know what I mean. it’s part of the season’s festivities.”

she randomly slides out one tape, eyebrows scrunched together as she scans over the image attentively. you nearly giggle. even now, when merely selecting a tape, she’s so focused. she sets it back into its exact place with a sigh. “choose whatever you want.”

you frown, feeling rather petulant at her disinterest. “we’re supposed to choose together. do you not like horror?”

“not really.” her tone is flat, the blunt answer drained of hesitation, and you nearly laugh. “mystery and thrillers I like – anything I can put my mind to solving. but, horrors are usually too surface-level. just trying to get a rise out of the audience.”

you roll your eyes at her. “whoever’s been showing you horror films has been doing you a disgrace, then.”

something rumbles in her chest, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s a chuckle. her mouth curls up, and she says, “actually, I chose to watch those.”

“so, you didn’t even consult a horror movie connoisseur before choosing to hate on them? such a rookie.”

a small smile appears on her lips. “well, I wasn’t aware there was such a strict regime.”

“thank god for me.”

a quiet snort puffs from her nose. “okay, so, you choose then.” she purses her lips together in concentration, eyes roving over the rest of the store. “and I’ll choose something from the thriller section.”

you nod eagerly. “sounds good.” when she walks away, you turn excitedly back to the rows of films, skin nearly thrumming. you cannot wait to show her a movie of your picking, and even more, have her show you a movie that she likes. you want to have a look, even just a peak, into her mind and what she likes, what she finds interesting.

twenty minutes later, you practically shove the cover of The Shining in her face. “please, you haven’t seen it, right?”

she cocks her head, observing it. “no, I haven’t.”

you nearly squeal in delight. “great. what did you choose?”

cradling it as though it’s a long-lost relic, she shows you the copy of The Silence of the Lambs.

you immediately chortle, skimming your fingers over the cover, something in you stirring at the site of your hand so close to hers, which are dry at the knuckle from the cold, faint, brown hairs at the base of her wrist. you’ve seen the film – of course you have. the idea of a woman in the FBI was thrilling to you when you first discovered the premise, and you and some friends all went and saw it together. the idea that lee likes a movie that you’re fond of makes you all the more curious.

“why the laugh?”

your cheeks nearly ache as you grin widely. “you’re such a damn criminology major.”

a scoff slips from her mouth. “you knew what you were getting into when you asked me to choose.”

you like this side of her. she’s mischievous, but in a quiet, soft way. you feel that there’s more under the current, and you can’t help but look forward to it. 

as the cashier rings up the films, you lean on the counter, handing over your card. “so, do you like movies?”

she contemplates your words for a bit before answering. “not really. I was more of a film buff as a kid.” she pauses, clearly mulling over her next words, her voice tender, vulnerable and almost childlike when she speaks next. “I used to want to be an actress.”

“ahem.” 

you both turn, the cashier watching you both with bored, flat eyes, his hand holding up a flimsy plastic bag with your two tapes.

“yeah, so going back to that,” you continue as you step out, smiling like an idiot when she holds the door open for you, “you used to want to be an actress?”

“yeah, I did.”

you fumble over your words, not really knowing what to say. she so does not seem like the actress type. you saw her at that party last night – she’s more than content to spend her hours slinking into the background, almost melting into the wall. you can’t imagine her desiring to be the center of attention, hundreds of eyes on her. “I wouldn’t have expected that, to be honest. no offense,” you rush to clear up, your words muddled and clumsy. “I just mean… you don’t seem like you’d enjoy being under so many eyes.”

she toys with the handles of the plastic bag. “I don’t. I think back then, I just thought that being an actress meant I could live and escape in the movies I liked. like, I could maybe be part of the adventure.”

you nod. you understand the urge. you, too, had spent one too many moments, even now, in what’s technically adulthood, rummaging through serieses of daydreams, almost as though you’re flipping through a photobook, finding a new one to comfort you and lose yourself in everyday. “what kind of movies did you want to lose yourself in?”

the corners of her lips tip up, and it’s the warmest thing in this chilly, dreary fall morning. “anything with adventure. I liked fantasy – magic, mermaids, pirates, you know…”

“very adventurous.”

“yeah…” her words falter. “though, I don’t think I really had it in me to be expressive enough for that.”

you momentarily debate feigning ignorance as to what she’s referring to, worried you’ll offend her by agreeing, but then decide against it. you don’t think she’d appreciate dishonesty when it came to her own experiences. “you’re not that expressive, huh?”

she shakes her head. “no. I didn’t realize it was… unusual to not show expression until I got older.”

your eyes flick over her face. you’re also unaccustomed to seeing someone as straight-faced as lee. in a way, it was refreshing to see someone who didn’t force themselves to give off certain impressions. “I mean, it’s nice that your parents never gave you a hard time. it’s just different, not unusual.”

she stiffly nods, lips clamping tight together. her eyes uneasily shift over the sidewalk. “actually, I meant to tell you… I’m going to be away this weekend.” at your eyebrow curving up, she adds, “I’m visiting my mom.”

“oh, is everything okay?” you can’t help but let the concern bleed into your voice. it’s a strange decision, to say the least. you didn’t know any peers who went out of their way to actually go back home on halloween weekend.

“yeah, everything’s okay.” when you don’t respond, she awkwardly glances to you. “she lives alone. I visit on halloween weekend just to make sure she’s okay.” she opens her mouth, almost as though she wants to say something else, but a second passes and she remains silent.

you stare at her in awe, feeling as though your heart is expanding. she really was so good, wasn’t she?

–

when lee reaches her childhood home, shoulders heavy and heart already throbbing in pre-existing guilt and shame, she immediately sets out to search for her mother. might as well get it over with.

she gently walks through the wretched hole her mother has made of what was once their home, body twisting and writhing to avoid brushing against anything that might have gone unclean for too long. already, she can feel the dread wrapping around her, hugging around her torso, like a friend simply returning after time away, squeezing, unforgiving, unable to let go.

her mother is nowhere to be found. the television is softly blaring in the living room, and it keeps her company from the quiet of their isolated home. lee purses her lips, concern starting to grip her chest. she tempers her breathing, which is getting heavy and weighed with anxiety. her fingers are twisting and pressing together -- anything to make her feel more linked to earth. 

it turns out to be nothing. in a matter of ten minutes, her mother returns home and lee suddenly feels like a child who thought she had woken up alone at home and is now suppressing the urge to bury her face in her mother’s familiar scent. 

it’s a thought she suddenly feels she’d like you to know. it’s a thought she suddenly feels you’d receive with kindness and comfort. 

she eyes the phone as her mother leads her to the kitchen, pointing out her childhood drawings as she always did. lee can sense that her mother lives in a perpetual state of nostalgia and reminiscence, and she sometimes wonders if she liked her better as a child, and if her adulthood was the low point of her journey as mother. 

lee continues to watch the phone. she wants to tell you these things.

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[mygnolia]

get better! | 13. my kitchen almost caught fire!

SMAU! synopsis -› in which your neighbor and popular twitch streamer park sunghoon breaks his arm, so he switches to vlog style content that matches up with your’s! now everyone’s curious why 1) you have a cute boy in your apartment, 2) sunghoon’s not on his grind anymore, and 3) when are you two going to date!?

[1.2k, minor minor cut, cursing]

Choosing your kitchen to film was one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. 

Sunghoon barely bothers to knock now, yelling at you when there’s no one else in the corridors to let him in. He’ll frantically text you or blow up your phone until he’s impatient from your ignorance and ends up ringing the doorbell to catch your attention. 

You don’t even greet him, and instead, you open the door with an accusatory finger. 

“You better not mess anything up. This apartment is new.” 

He puts his hands up in surrender, following you to see your camera set up, along with ingredients, cutlery, and everything you could need in case he needs to find something. 

“You’re awfully prepared for this,” he notes, walking around the kitchen island to face the camera. “Trust me, I’m friends with a guy who cooks, so I promise nothing bad will happen.”

You stare at him unconvinced, before he hears you mumble something about never trusting men who lie (which he takes a lot of offense to).

Slipping behind the tripod, you click a few buttons, readjusting to get the perfect angle where both you and Sunghoon are in frame, and your roomy cooking space is all included before clicking the dreaded start button. 

“What’s up, Pickles Fan Club? It’s your club president Y/N L/N, and I’m joined with a special guest!” 

Sunghoon’s gaze lingers on your infectiously cheerful personality, before he smiles brightly at the camera and introduces himself once more. You two explain the challenge you’re doing in today’s video, and after the rules are clear, you pull out your cute pink sleeping mask and a pair of white headphones, grinning mischievously when you see him eye the two objects. 

“I’m not wearing that,” He states, staring wide-eyed. You place the items down, putting your fist out to initiate a game of rock paper scissors—and that was how you lose three times, before you had to place your favorite covering over your eyes. 

You hated this; you felt like you could trip at any moment. 

Returning to the camera, you asked Sunghoon to check up on the smaller cameras on your counter and near your stove to make sure they looked right before turning on an upbeat playlist for his headphones. 

“Hey Sunghoon, do I look cute?” You asked, testing to see if he would respond. He was in his own world, staring at the flour and block of cheese as if dozing off. 

Estimating where the camera was based on the counter, you confirmed that, “Either Sunghoon is in another dimension, or he can’t hear me. Anyways, we’re going to make pasta, and we printed the recipe from Jay.” 

Making pasta was probably an even worse decision than choosing your kitchen as your channel’s next battlefield.

It was chaotic as Sunghoon scrambled to lead you away from pricking your finger immediately, telling you to wait as he read the instructions on how the hell you make creamy pasta sauce. 

“Three cloves, finely chopped. You can cut it, right?” You nodded in response, and he handed you the handle of a small knife, watching you carefully find the cloves and using the proper method to cut them slowly without ever hitting your finger. He began to pour hot water into a pot, switching on your stove carefully and waiting for it to heat up. In another pan, he added oil, and measured out heavy cream and butter to keep aside. 

He turns around, just the sound of HOT TO GO by Chappel Roan in his ears as he bops his head to the music before he notices you. Sunghoon grins as he observes how you reach out nervously to find the fabric of his button up. “Sunghoon, where the fuck are you?” You say, knowing he can’t hear you, before you point to your cloves. 

They could use some work, but he slides them into the sizzling oil. 

“Okay, now get the wooden spoon and stir.” You do as he says, slowly mixing as he pours in heavy cream and warns you not to stir too much. He proceeds to place the pasta in the water, switching tasks for you to grate the parmesan instead of stir and possibly burn yourself. 

The moment he sees you stop in his peripheral, he whips around to make sure you’re okay, only to see you’ve nursed your finger after a small scrape against the grater leaves your skin pricked and red. 

“____,” He murmurs, abandoning the stove to make sure you’re okay. “Let me get you a bandaid,” he says. Sunghoon reaches gently for your wrists, and although you can’t see anything, it heightens your senses, and you hear his worried gasp before the barely there pressure of his fingers around your hands. 

Too close. You’re friends. 

You shake your head and stop him by his wrist, finding the block of cheese and waiting until he helps you get it right. What you don’t expect, though, is how he reaches for both of your hands and leans over your shoulder, staying silent as he guides your firm grip on the cheese in the proper direction. 

Friends also do not do this, you think, as he stands behind you and watches you carefully grate a fucking block of cheese. You don’t feel the rise and fall of a friend’s chest behind you or hear their quiet breaths.

Then, something beeps. 

You immediately wring your hands out of his to take off the mask and pull off his headphones to reveal a beeping smoke alarm. Your sauce was bubbling much too high, and somehow your detector went off, and you two turned off the stove before trying to fix the stupidly loud problem on hand. Sunghoon ended up hitting it multiple times on end before it finally stopped, and you looked at each other in fear before quietly returning back behind the camera. 

“So,” you started, “Sunghoon set off the fucking smoke detector.”

He gives you an offended look before turning to the camera as his witness. “It was literally you!” 

You two point fingers at each other before laughing and simply finishing the challenge without your handicaps, and you end up making a really good looking pasta. The chicken looked well seasoned, and although your sauce might’ve burned the bottom of your pan, it leaves a fond memory behind.

To be fair, you both think you did the challenge wrong somehow. 

Sunghoon shrugs before he takes a bite, his eyes glowing with approval. “I knew Jay’s recipes were good,” he comments as he digs his fork back in…to feed you. He opens his mouth as a way to get you to subconsciously do the same, and you raise an eyebrow at not only the hand under your chin to catch any food, but also the fork that was barely a centimeter away. 

“You’re spoon feeding me?”

“Say ahh,” he deflects, before you give in with an amused look. You two spend a few minutes reflecting on how you did, and you still laugh at the fresh memory of your alarm, or cutting your garlic cloves well, or—how Sunghoon felt as he leaned over you and carefully held your hands in his. 

You watch the footage that night with a smile and a storm in your heart, unsure of what the hell you’re going to do regarding a certain Mr. Park Sunghoon.

prev. | ml. | next.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Could I pls request smth a bit more dark/angsty? Ben Shelton x tennis player!reader where reader is dealing with a break-in from a stalker? And how Ben reacts and deals with reader experiencing some trauma and wanting to protect/care for her?

Inspired by “The Diner” by Billie Eilish

♡ navigation / request info / tennis masterlist

♡ warnings: none

♡ a/n: thank you for the request! i like this idea a lot and here's how it turned out. i may rewrite it in future tho

You signed as you stepped out of an uber. It had been a long tournament, every match you fought hard and managed to get into the semis. But now, all you wanted was to collapse on your couch and relax. 

Walking up the pathway to your apartment building, you reached into your pocket for your keys, feeling the familiar weight of them. As you approached the mailbox you braced yourself for the usual collection of bills and junk mail. But as you flipped open the mailbox, your stomach dropped. There, amongst other letters, was an envelope with your name scrawled in messy handwriting. 

You froze. This wasn’t just any letter. You could recognize this handwriting anywhere. You’d seen it before in the disturbing messages that had been arriving sporadically for the past few months. Messages you tried to ignore, hoping they were nothing dangerous. 

With shaky hands you closed the mailbox and looked around you for any potential people. You grabbed the envelope and hurried up to your apartment. Fumbling with your keys, you unlocked the door and immediately knew something was wrong. 

As you walked inside your cautious eyes darted around the scene. The living room was in chaos - drawers pulled out, many items on the floor, bookshelves emptied. 

The kitchen was a mess - plates and glasses laid shattered, the refrigerator door was open, its contents scattered all over the countertops and floor. A chill ran down your spine when you noticed an empty slot. A knife was missing from its usual place.

You slowly made your way into your bedroom. And then you saw it: the picture frame on the ground, shattered glass glittering in the sunlight. It was a photo of you and Ben, taken at a tournament months ago. In matching outfits, both of you smiling from ear to ear, having just played your first doubles as a couple. But something was horribly wrong. The part of the photo where Ben had been standing was ripped out, leaving only you. His side was torn to pieces. 

Your breath caught in your throat, when you started checking other photo frames. In every single one, Ben’s face was gone, either cut out, ripped off or scribbled over with a pen. 

You forced yourself to breathe, to focus. The letter was still in your hand, its edges crumpled from your grip. You didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to see what was inside. But you felt the need to know what was inside.

You tore the envelope open and pulled out the contents. A chill ran down your spine as you unfolded several printed photos of yourself. Candid shots of you in various places: walking to practice, grabbing coffee, even through your apartment window. Your hands shook as you flipped through them, each one a violation of your privacy. On the back of each photo there was a date has been messily scribbled. 

And the letter. Tears ran down your cheeks as you read the words. “Don’t be afraid. I’m what you need” , “I know, we’re meant to be” . But the last line made you drop the letter “If something happens to him, you can bet that it was me”. 

Without a second thought you grabbed your phone and dialed your boyfriend’s number. It rang once, twice, and then his voice, calm and steady, came through the line. "Hey, you back already?". His tone opened a flood as you started hiccuping and crying even more. “Are you okay? He.. he was in my apartment..” you choked out. “What? I’m coming over. Don’t touch anything, I will be there soon”. 

You stood in your bedroom, amongst all the mess, and cried while Ben was still on the line with you. You heard someone walking into the house. Once Ben found you he immediately pulled you in a tight hug, comforting you as his eyes darted around the room. 

After a moment he broke the hug but his arm still rested on your body. As he called the police he noticed a letter on the floor and picked it up. His brows furrowed as he briefly read the message. 

For the next hour, the officers moved through your apartment, taking photographs, collecting samples, and documenting the scene. You sat back down on the couch, Ben’s arm around your shoulders, keeping you anchored as you watched them work.

One of the police officers recommended staying somewhere else while they look for the offender. Somewhere safe. 

The days that followed were filled with tension and sleepless nights. You stayed at Ben’s place, he refused to leave you alone even for a second. He could see how scared you were all the time. He wanted to do more, to fix everything but all he could do was be there for you, to try and bring back some sense of security.

Ben took care of all the practical things. He called the police for updates. But every time he came back to you, his focus shifted completely to how you were holding up.

Some days were harder than others. But nights were the hardest. You couldn’t sleep alone. Every sound, crack or light made you jump. He noticed your state, he stayed up late, stroking your back. “I’m right here” he’d whisper into the darkness whenever you woke in a panic. "No one's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here”. 

You started going out less, avoiding any public places. He didn’t push you, instead he bought your favorite places home. He brought your favorite foods, organized dinner dates and movie nights in his apartment.

He knew you missed the court, but he also knew you needed time. He made sure your practices happened on very private courts with no one else there. He was always with you. 

You were grateful, but you could see the toll it was taking on him too. There were mornings when he looked as exhausted as you felt, dark circles under his eyes. He put on a brave face, never letting you see how worried he was, but you knew. Even with death threats from the letter in his mind he was trying so hard to be strong for you, to keep you safe while pushing his own fears aside. 

Gradually in the span of weeks you started going out more. Short walks first, occasional stops at small coffee shops. With time you felt better and better. The nightmares still haunted you but with Ben by your side everything was easier. 

september 21, 24

[writingcold]

Chapter Ten - The truth is a hard path to follow

Content Warnings:  I need to put this here - this is a work of fiction. There will be imagery of violence, character deaths, inequities, poverty, heavy angst, and adult sexual situations throughout the story. Please read at your own discretion. All characters are fictional, though some of the big events that are shown are historical, but may not be historically accurate. 

Thank you to @edgingthedarkness for all of her help as my all mighty beta for this fiction. She listened to me drone on and on about it for months on end. She really took a bullet for this one! She created the banner for this story as well! Also thank you to @katuschka for her amazing skills in bringing our hero Jakub to life. Divider art by @ firefly-graphics.

The Dead

Jake X Fem!Reader

Chapter Ten word count: approximately 5800 words

Warnings in this part: Violence towards female main character, violence committed by male main character.

Chapter 10.1: Revelations in the Graveyard, Part 2

     I was jumping from one headstone to the next when I felt the air shimmer with snowflakes. They lasted moments only, melting instantly upon the warmth of the ground. I held my palm up only to watch as one floated through the hint of flesh that was once solid. Much like my memories, they pierced through the transparency of what I once was upon this earth.

     My nose turned up towards the ashen colored sky. There was so much more to the memories. Each one Maéva was stitched and etched into with such care. Moments of intimacy, moments of learning, moments of love that bled through each other. She was so eager to love me. This creature that was so fragile and innocent - she had loved me with all of her being and I… I was not a good man in the last of my years. Perhaps if I had died upon that beach at Death’s Door none of this would have happened. 

      The heaven’s seemed to swirl with color as if laughing at me. Had I sealed our fate in believing a curse could actually be uttered by such an ignorant force named Matthias? I sat at the top of my headstone, my bootheels nearly touching the ground below. There was so much more to all of it, wasn’t there? All of her was draped around me. I could look at my hands and feel her on the construct of my skin. I felt her breath in my own lungs. I felt her wrapped around me like the great coat I once wore, shielding me, protecting me. The moment of being joined together, giving all of my love to her - and her alone, rattled in the quiver of my mouth as I settled to the ground.

     I paused. I fully stopped amongst the blades of grass and lumps of dirt and cuttings of weeds. The Thinning. The Thinning - that time that I felt whole and she would come to me. Was that my Maéva as she had been both in life as in death? Was it she that wrapped all around me, swirling around the graveyard just like we had danced in the water of Superior? Was it she that held me tight and laughed and … Was the woman Maéva this whole time? And the creature…

      No. The creature was not like the one who came to me during the Thinning. My frame folded up against the stone and my gaze once again turned to the swirls of the sky. The echo of her laugh touched my thoughts. The corner of my mouth curled with the color that touched me. I could feel the weight of her hand, the silk of her cheek, the brush of her hair perfumed with the yarrow and red clover that were wild in the fields she traversed. I could almost curve my tongue across that scent mixed with the water of the lake on a stormy day. 

      She would like it if I remembered our time fondly and not the strain that was put upon her at the end. That I knew with all that I could ever be across the lifetimes. The wind pushed at the neglected church bell enough to make it toll out of sync with the cosmos. And I had lived, had I not? I had loved others. I had known families and children of my own. I knew comfort and strife and wealth and fear and bravery. Indeed, I had lived well without her. And yet, I cannot help to wonder what life would have been with her had we escaped the confines of Sault Ste. Marie. There was not even time for us to dream of our time in Savannah together. I wonder if we would have survived there. I like to think that we would have thrived. I like to think that we would have had a family of our own - each child smart and beautiful like their mother, and scrappy like me.

     It was a day that I was going to have to say goodbye. The Fier was to sail in delivery of dry goods to all the settlements along the lake south to Lac des Illinois, while picking up furs to send back to Marseille. I found Maéva waiting in the shade of the cliff, a little piece of charcoal in between her fingertips. She flipped closed the heavy corded book as I approached, a sheepish grin on her mouth. 

      “What is that?” I asked, reaching for the little book, but she managed to keep it from me.

      She scoffed and wrapped her arms around my shoulders to stand from the smoothed rock. “Something for me, nothing more.”

      Her cheeks blushed as I remained close, allowing one hand to brush against her shoulder. “Now I really must see.”

      We tussled, and her foot caught in her skirts as she tried to spin away. I caught her and the book. She laughed nervously as I held up the pages of fine paper. Her handwriting was lovely. Filled with dreams and swirls of her thoughts, I pretended to read the private thoughts but really, just did it to make her mad with me. I turned a page and found a drawing. It was me - my face in profile, though it was only just the start of the likeness that she was working on.

    

 

She stomped away from me, her words too fast and angry for me to understand. I carefully closed the pages and chased after her, catching her at the base of the trail that would return her to the fields above. I held the book up for her to take back.

      “I wasn’t reading it,” I whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

      “It’s only because you can’t read it anyway,” she huffed, eyes down from me. “At least not yet.”

      I smiled. She had just started to teach me how to read in French, having mastered my mother tongue of Polish first. “I’m getting there.”

      She nodded. 

      “I did not know you could draw so well.”

      The red that breathed across her cheeks was fast to appear. Her words were tumbling and broken as she started to pull away once more.

      “Is that how you see me?” I asked, catching her hand in an attempt to keep her with me.

      “If you’re just going to tease me again, I’ll go back to -”

      “Is that how you see me?” I repeated, lifting her chin to make her look at me. 

      A nod flooded with shyness. 

      “You make me look stronger than I am,” I said softly.

      A fire lit her eyes as she shifted into me defensively. “The man I love is strong. Strong and well thought of by his peers and warm in his convictions and intelligent in his mind. I will not have him speak of himself like that.”

      She stopped, both hands on my chest as she seemed to realize what she had said. I felt her body soften and retreat. “You love me?”

      I watched as she tucked the little sheath of papers in her skirts. She was talking too quietly for me to hear.

     “Maéva,” I reached for her again. “You love me?”

      When she looked at me, every ounce of her emotions stood out in her eyes. It made me catch my breath. This was not like what was found in the poetry we read together, and yet it was everything that encapsulated those words. My soul prickled with flame while my eyes cooled with tears. I was so moved that this woman before who knew a world apart from my own could dare to love me. My brain lost the function to bring forth words. My hands, of their own volition reached and pulled her roughly to me, my lips seeking hers hungrily. 

     I could have remained there in that moment for all time and been happy. I could faintly remember the smell of her dress, the heat of her skin as I made love to her for the first time. I could remember the crush of her breasts and the sparrow trill of her laughter. And yet, I longed to remember the rose bloom of her mouth and the twinkle of her eyes as she ran through her life with such joy that it was hard not to see her like a sea bird gliding on the wind. I longed to know her face, not just the blurred memory of a blush on her skin.

     And there it was. The anger. The naked rage for the man that put us in this coffin. Five lifetimes was not enough to blunt the edge of my emotions for that man. Five lifetimes was not enough to learn forgiveness for putting Maéva in this hell. I know not how many times I pleaded with the cosmos to let me serve the time to let her be free… Her innocence should never have been punished for my trespass into her world. Her love that she gave upon me so willingly, so wholly was never cause of condemnation. And I repaid it with ruin.     

Chapter 10.2: Revelations in the Graveyard

The Story of Jakub and Maéva as told by Emmett Allaire, Part Two

     Unbeknownst to all parties, Maéva had found love. Not the kind of love that was fleeting. Not the kind of love that could’ve sustained her through a lifetime. She had found her soulmate - the love of all time that was so truly rare in the world that she was supposed to be a part of. The how and when this occurred is unknown. She had kept this part of her hidden, locked tight within a moment that she refused to reveal to anyone for fear of retribution.

     April had brought severe melting and storms to the lakes region. After the grand ball to announce their engagement, Maéva retreated - spending large swaths of time alone in her rooms or out in the fields that rode right up to the cliffs of the lake. She refused to see her fiancé, and indeed even refused to name Matthias as her betrothed. Matthias, not exactly a willing participant, began looking for a way out of the arrangement that would be a detriment to the lifestyle he preferred. He went so far as to romance the matron, filling the woman’s head with promises of comforts for aid in discovering the reason for Maéva’s strange behavior.

     It was betrayal. The matron set aside her duty to her mistress, reporting to him that she would be dressing Maéva for market day and to be ready. Amongst the light snowflakes, Matthias watched as his fiancé meandered through the variety of stalls, her matron close to her side. That was, until they neared the baker. The matron took time to speak to the artisan, while Maéva wandered to the side. At first, it appeared she was merely looking at wares, but from the corner behind her, there was another who was speaking with his head turned in her direction. 

      The man was not quite close enough to truly warrant relations, but something shifted in her. Her smile was warmer, her gaze lingered on him as they seemed to only exchange pleasantries. The man was certainly in poor standing, and by the appearance of his dress, he was a sailor by trade. Certainly, he was not French. He wore foreign cut clothes - eastern European by the looks of it. Matthias was repulsed by the sight. 

      He may have been resistant to the arrangement, but the marriage to Maéva would go a long way to return him to court and the salons of Paris. He made no secret of loathing Sault Ste. Marie. He believed that he belonged amongst the lavishness and grandeur of Versailles. He believed that his birthright dictated a life of velvet luxury, replete with women, fine food, and finer men to gamble with. The matron had been faithful enough in bringing him to the market to spy upon the interloper. He rewarded her with his time and expectation of more.

     Only days later, Matthias was rewarded with a scrap of paper with shaky handwriting, bidding him to come to the LaBeau home. The veil of night could no longer hide the secret that was lingering within the confines of Maéva’s own chambers. Matthias forced his way into the great home, ensuring to rouse the sleepy occupants as he threw open door after door until the worst of crimes could be revealed. Though he did not find the lovers in the throes of their passion, he did find Maéva disrobed on her bed with Jakub laying at her feet in a similar state of undress. In an instant, the LaBeau house was scandalized.

     Immediately, the lovers were separated. Zacharie was called to the house while Salvin tried to assure Matthias that what was found was not the fault of his daughter. Surely, Maéva was innocent in the matter and that the briggand had manipulated her kindness and was clearly seducing her. The young man would not be deterred in his demands for being released from the engagement, and furthered his argument with reparations. He wanted the pair to be dragged through the courts and shamed for being the fornicators that they obviously were. Salvin was of course incensed, while Zacharie was brutal in his response to his son’s tantrum. 

     Salvin, seeing that his daughter was clearly on the precipice of ruin, offered to double the amount of the dowry and a higher stake in the company. Zacharie called the matron before them, questioning her to how she did not stop such interaction between the briggand and her mistress. It was her duty, after all, to ensure Maéva’s behavior was that of a lady. The matron explained that she thought that their interactions were innocent until only recently. Matthias had asked her to keep an eye on his beloved fiancé. The fathers were outraged. The matron, be it to deflect punishment for failed duty, informed the men that Jakub was a sailor on The Fier, under LaBeau’s own employ. 

      Within a day, a plan was devised to rid the families of the blight. Salvin would absorb a grand loss, freeing his daughter of a tether to a lowly deckhand that had obviously forced himself upon her, then kept the threat of scandal over her head to seduce her repeatedly. Zacharie would hold Salvin to the higher level of dowry to marry his son. Matthias was embittered all the more, turning his words into weapons against all concerned. The allure of returning to court on the accounts of his future wife’s family was too great to walk away, but he certainly did not like the situation.

     Storms on the Great Lakes have always been treacherous. Salvin LaBeau knew this firsthand. He also was very aware that the passage through Death’s Door during the Spring thaws held the most dangerous of waters. Under the guise of emergency, he offered the captain of the Fier double wages to sail the strait to reach the settlement in Green Bay for a cargo of the utmost importance. Through negotiations, LaBeau was on the hook for double wages for all sailors on the ship, and quadruple for the Captain. It mattered not. Salvin knew that most if any of that ship would return to collect the proffered salaries.

      Jakub was returned to his ship and ordered to remain on it while awaiting the next manifest. Maéva was not allowed to leave the family estate; even the market was forbidden. The nineteenth of April, 1690, the Fier was recorded to have left Sault Ste. Marie with a course manifest that placed them crossing Cap a la Mort.

      Maéva was not told of the ship’s departure, only the wreckage after. There reportedly were a few survivors that included the first mate and the cook, as well as a third man who was so riddled with injury that he could not speak to identify himself, and was not suspected to survive much longer. Salvin, in the presence of Matthias, told his daughter that the scoundrel was dead and that she needed to free herself of whatever witchery the boy had cast upon her. Matthias called her a whore that had the opportunity to cleanse herself. Zacharie smoothed over the insult with a smack to his son’s head. Maéva had no choice in the matter. The wedding would be in two months time and she would be the happy bride that her father expected of her.

      She shed no tears in the face of the men. She refused to believe that Jakub was dead. Her personality shifted within the girl. No longer was she the free-spirit. Her smile did not come easily. Salvin expressed doubt that it was of good to allow his daughter to leave the confines of the estate, so kept her under arrest. The punishment did not seem to phase her. For hours upon the following weeks, she could be found on the edge of the cliffs, face turned towards the harbor as if in search for any ships from Porte de Morts or from the settlement in Green Bay.

      Cornered by Salvin and Zacharie, with Matthias present, Maéva held herself like a grand lady. Her father demanded she give up the ridiculous behavior and hope that the boy would return. Her future husband would refuse to coddle her for such silly, foolish notions. She stood before her captors with anger on her lips and resolution in her spirit.

      “The father of my first born is the son of a whore,” she said proudly. “Fitting, since my impending husband already sees me as such. Know that his seed resides in my womb and will be favored above any rancid vine this highborn fool may provide.”

     The utter disgrace she slung on the ruling powers of her life was flagrant. She was locked away until the day of the wedding. She refused to put on the face of a bride. She refused to partake in the grand party that her father had arranged. Under the guise of fragility, her presence was not really missed and her hand was given to Matthias with little fanfare. He took his bride from her home and to his family’s manor house he locked her away. 

      The first night of their bond, Maéva refused her husband. Refused his ‘right’ to her body for she did not love him. In his anger, Matthias took what he should not have even though he was bound to her in the eyes of heaven and the law. He cursed her as he ravaged her body to make it his own. She screamed that he could never keep her from her soul. He damned her that night. Damned her to what has become a curse across time itself and no one - not her family nor that of his own, could stop it. The exact words combined with his actions would seal their fate and his own.

      Within days, Maéva found herself truly ill. Salvin demanded that his daughter be cared for, but Matthias assured him that she would be fine - he was looking after her the best that he could. It was like all the light had been extinguished from her and her new husband showed little concern. Indeed, Matthias preferred the gambling halls and women to his home with his wife.

       Ten days. The wild girl who made her home the harbor and taking care of those around her, found herself drawing in her final breath. Her passing cast a pallor across all of Sault Ste. Marie. Her father was beside himself, but there was little to do. There were whispers that perhaps her death was not an illness, but that has been lost to time…

      Maéva’s death is not the end of the story. Matthias was not allowed to return to France like he had hoped. Instead, his father forced him to stay, holding up a grieving widower to see if perhaps the young man could align the family with another wealthy family in the shipping industry. LaBeau continued on, though his relations with the Allaire’s had cooled.

      Late August found Salvin LaBeau standing before his offices with three men he did not assume that he would ever see again. The first mate, Franck Gidde; the cook’s mate, Jacque Longchambon; and… Jakub Kozma from the Fier. He had obviously heard of the fate of his beloved. The rage was naked upon his brow; living in his gaze like an avenger who did not know where to aim his venom.

      Gidde, in closed conversation with LaBeau, sealed the fate of what was to come. The side of goodness was revealed to be on the side of Jakub. It would be an act of piracy that would level the field of battle for the illiterate, son of a whore. Perhaps it was during this meeting with Gidde, but the shipmaster’s manifest was pilfered and sold for a slice of the profits to the remaining crew of the Fier. LaBeau found that one by one, his ships and heavy cargo disappeared. It was rumored that the crews of these ships allowed the pirates to board without incident. The men would be returned safely to a close harbor on the longboats while ship and cargo were confiscated. Jakub had also somehow remained hidden after his appearance in Sault Ste. Marie, his whereabouts to the authorities were always vague. It was like the people knew he was something to be sheltered; knew him to be a wronged one of their own.

       By the time of the winter freeze, LaBeau had no ships to claim as his own and no revenue to replace the ships. It was then that Jakub appeared at the fringe of the man’s grand estate, watching as the family were removed from the costly manor and slunk away in shame. It was said that the deckhand smiled and waved like they were old friends. The LaBeau family is lost to history. Not even rumor was uttered as to their lowly fate.

       The strike against LaBeau affected the Allaires, but did not bring them down. In the months after Maéva’s death, Zacharie had doubled his sponsorship of trapper companies. It was very lucrative as demand for pelts remained high no matter the season. Disruption started small. A few commissioned trappers had their haul taken by bandits over the course of several weeks. It was as if he were the most patient person in the world, but Zacharie knew that it was Jakub with his new found pirate friends that were at the root of the theft.

       At the peak of the season, Allaire found that most of his contracts were late on delivery. He sent scouts to look for these errant trappers only to find that they could not be found. He was watching the restorative funds that he bled for were being chipped away. The end of September brought forth a truth to the viscount - the family was once again in dire straits having lost nearly three quarters of their income on the year. He could not return to Versaille strapped with such failure. The king was beginning to demand profits from all of his nobles that were in the Americas under his sponsorship.

      The beginning of October with all of his debts coming due, Zacharie Allaire was in a panic. LaBeau was gone. All of the other shipwrights that he had invested in only had meager gains. Matthias’ debts were eating up everything as the young man burned through promissory notes before any cash could be made. The first heavy snow of the season left the town desolate. In the early evening, there was a quiet knock on the door. To the viscount’s surprise, it was Jakub, standing with a heavy purse in one hand, another at his side, and vengeance in his eyes. Matthias, ever the one to show strength, was the first to try to attack the young man in his heavy black great coat and new boots. Behind the vagabond, however, two strong men, feral in  nature, had followed him inside. These men held weapons that Matthias’ bare hands could not defend. Jakub merely grinned as the viscount ordered his son to stand down.

      “You do not belong here,” Zacharie scolded the trespasser. “How dare you bring your filth into my presence.”

      “When what stands beside you carries the plague of diseased sex and essence of sin, you are more concerned with my dirt, sir?” Jakub returned, his voice much more commanding than what was expected of someone of such low birth.

     “I hold at my left side the wealth that should have been yours, viscount,” he said, voice full of venom. “I hold the wealth that should have been LaBeau’s on my right. I want you to know that your coin will feed the dregs of the coast for years to come. Maéva would be so very proud of your contributions.”

      Matthias threw insults while Zacharie held his son back. Jakub’s companions grew taut, but the young man merely smiled.

      “You took her. You crushed her. You murdered her.” The brigand before them turned into a monster, his face filled with threat and death and all things that could go bump in the night. “You cursed her.”

     Matthias’ face paled over the heat of the anger before him. “I don’t know what you speak-”

      “Silence your drivel,” Jakub whispered. “Just as you had ears and eyes upon what was not your business, know that those same ears and eyes were quick to search for redemption from me. How odd that forgiveness could be found in a few words without a cock being involved.”

       The air had turned to fire as Matthias tried to mask his words and hide his actions. Jakub was not having it, however.

      “If we are indeed cursed, then it will be of you and your line that cares for us through these lifetimes.”

      “Speak not in riddles,” Zacharie demanded, wholly at a loss for what was happening.

      “Across the letters of our names, we are cursed to live without the other. Is that not what you said? You have cleaved our partnered souls and mean to keep it apart for entire lifetimes,” the man said as if each letter of each word was scarred across his tongue. “If that is the case, then your line will die upon the last of these lives. You will suffer - your subsequent generations will suffer to tend to us as we are in life. You will suffer to watch us live these lives you have disunited us with. You will suffer the death of your reputation, your wealth, and you will watch your noble house fall - all because of your own greed and selfishness.”

      Though the father was confused, the son was not. Jakub grinned at the men. He knew his work was done in the face of such unrest. He bowed like a gentleman, although it was then that the heavy pistols that he wore along his sides were revealed. The glint in his eyes was that of bare threat and the house of Allaires quivered with fear that night. There would be no redemption; no reprieve for the once great, noble house of Allaires. 

Chapter 10.3: Revelations in the Graveyard, Part 2      

     I could not keep my jaw from being slack as I watched this man sip from his glass of beer. Emmett’s expression took on an air of mourning. I excused myself to refresh the empty pitcher and find relief in the restroom. Jakub was a cursed man. Was that why he was in the cemetery? Was he waiting for Maéva?  I splashed water on my face as if that would help to get the information to settle into my overstimulated gray matter. The eyes that looked back at me from the mirror looked ancient in my skull. 

     What a fucking story. My thoughts began to race in how the character could thread through the framework of the man’s words. Holy hell - he said Jakub resorted to piracy, didn’t he? And the love story? Forbidden. There was angst and strife and the possibility of escape. The villain was hideous. Perhaps too much so. There was wiggle room to play with him…

      Picking up the refreshed pitcher, I returned to the booth where Emmett sat with his hands folded before him on the table. “I have a feeling there’s more,” I said as I poured out a new glass for him.

      Those faded blue jean eyes met mine and I realized that the mournfulness shone for me. My stomach pinched as bile touched my throat. I swallowed thickly across the moment.

      “It’s an odd thing to know that you are from a family that did such wrong in its deep past,” he returns with a slow nod. “Jakub was right - there was no redemption, anywhere, for any of my family. Including me.”

      “What does it mean to be a caretaker?” I asked, a hard lump mixing with the acid in my gullet. 

      “The Redeemer came after the graveyard,” he responded. “My family has been charged with taking care that for each return of Jakub or Maéva, the story continues. The spot where their headstone is, marks where Matthias killed Jakub.”

       A fist to my stomach would have been like a lover’s touch compared to the wave of pain that crashed on my flesh. I grimaced as I squirmed to keep still. “He what?”

      Emmett puffed out his cheeks as he averted his gaze away from mine. “Jakub was attacking the fur traders under contract with the Allaires; the very heart of their income after LaBeau folded and left town. Matthias took it upon himself, after three years of failing, to hunt down the man to rid him of this perceived blight.”

      He fell to silence again as he sipped at his beer. It was like the pauses were stabbing me, allowing me to bleed out before him. I was just about to prod him to release his words, but he shook his head with a soft huff.

      “Matthias let it out that he was going to have a tracker explore lands far from Sault Ste. Marie for a better source for pelts. That land was here, these lands that make up Frankenmuth. It was as if Jakub knew it was a trap but followed the information anyway. Matthias was not alone when he cornered Jakub. He had paid hands to trap him and harm him. But it was Matthias that landed the killing stroke.

      “The headstone is right where Jakub fell. It changes to carry the name of the one who is tethered there; the one who is waiting. My family has taken care of that stone every year since it appeared.”       I felt unshed tears sting my eyes as a mix of emotions, all horrible, flush into my bloodstream. “Certainly, it was not Matthias who was the first caretaker.”

      “No.” Emmett seemed to take a relieved breath. “It gives me satisfaction to say that Matthias refused to pay those strong men that helped him put down Jakub. They returned payment in kind and far worse than what was dealt to Jakub.       “Arnaud was the youngest of Zacharie’s sons, and was no friend of his eldest brother. It was said that their father’s favor had fallen to him after the death of Jean-Pierre, despite his best efforts with Matthias. It was said that he was a good man, loyal to the family to a point. It is of his line that the caretakers are from.”

      I couldn’t breathe. It was like a skewer had pierced my lungs and was being twisted to ensure my death. Those unshed tears finally met my cheeks as I leaned forward into my hands. “Dear lord.”

      He waited while I collected myself. I could hear a mixture of music and sports games and people having good conversations and laughter. I hated this crippling grief that I had no explanation for. I hated that I could be so damned invested in his story, but I knew just how to twist it, use it, exploit it to fit my narrative and characters.

      “So you just care for the stone,” I stated, trying to get my feet back under me.

      “No,” he said, holding his fingers up as if telling me to be ready. “For each time Jakub or Maéva arrive at this point, it is our task to share the story in full.”

      “So, why is the name Jacob?”

      “It was the last name that he held when he lived. The name might change, but the meaning of the name was always the same.”

       “If Jacob’s name is on the stone -”

      “Maéva is here at this time, yes,” he said, his voice soft. 

      My brain fired as my jaw turned to jello. Remembering. Oh fuck. Fuck no…

      “I’ve recited this story twice and stood with Maéva while my father told her the story in 1956,” Emmett said, a great relief in his tone. “I am the last of my line, Y/n. Jakub has crossed his name and waits for you - his Maéva.”

       “Oh fuck no!”

       The words blurted out of me at an alarming volume as I fumbled to get my bag. I nearly fell as I tried to get to my feet. To his credit, Emmett did not look alarmed, nor did he add to the scene as it unfolded before me. I couldn’t even look back as I shoved my person through the door. My eyes landed on my car and shocked me to dive into my backpack for keys. All of Emmett’s words were crashing around in my brain like a torrent. The story couldn’t be real, could it? How could I be this woman if I was me?

       I parked in the driveway of the rental and knew I was loud as I navigated through the yard and inside the home. I gasped for breath as I melted at the dining table, eyes fixed on the pictures of Yakub and Jake. My head was throbbing. My gut needed to be emptied. But my thoughts. Surely, the man was playing with me over that bit. The story couldn’t be true, could it?

Well. There it is. The whole backstory… Mostly. Thoughts? Frustrations? See you next week! 💚

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[pleek]

how has gen z taken such a hard left into purity culture? like why is it common for even super progressive people to think that fictional content with immoral stuff in it should be like banned? i understand (and participate in tbh) judging people who make that stuff but why the hell do so many people support literal censorship?

[alluralater]

coming back to my blog after dealing with a family emergency for days to see that men are flooding my blog because some non-lesbian sapphics don’t feel any need or interest in keeping their followers in check. IF YOU HAVE MEN FOLLOWING YOU AND THOSE MEN DO NOT RESPECT BOUNDARIES— STOP REBLOGGING MY POSTS TO YOUR BLOG. i’m so exhausted and the last thing i wanna be seeing is my body and my voice while i orgasm tied to banners with “lesbian content” “men dni” “men do not interact” being passed around between men because they are used to you not having any boundaries with them on your blog. they’re your followers, not mine. keep your stupid men in check. i’m too tired to be nice about this