#Temporary Relief Teacher

[reliefteachingau]

#Casual Teachers In Australia #Temporary Relief Teacher #Emergency Teacher In Australia #Casual Relief Teacher #Relief Teacher #Teacher Relief Services

[gojonanami]

NO REGRETS ☁︎ KENTO NANAMI

☁︎ summary: when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down. ☁︎ cw: hurt/comfort, angst then fluff, mutual pining, mentions of injuries, blood, spoilers for events of s1, these two idiots are so in love ☁︎ wc: 3,509

Nanami had very few regrets in his life, if any. 

Regrets felt almost wasteful to him — living in the past when you were already firmly rooted in the present, and aside from that, he knew the insidious power of regret — the way it festered and grew and fed cursed energy and spirits alike.

However, as he grasped at his side discreetly — pain blooming with each step he took,  scarlet red painting his fingers that barely concealed the wound under his jacket — he couldn’t help but regret arriving at this trap without backup. 

It was hubris really — he thought as he finally found an empty bathroom — and the utter lack of resources that Jujutsu sorcerers had, in both manpower and strength. 

Really, he thought as he stripped off his jacket, leaning against the wall of the stall, his blood still roaring in his ears, you’d think after all these years, the organization would have any semblance of organization or unity for that matter. He glances at the wound staining his shirt — shit it’s deeper than I thought. 

He rinses his hands off in the sink, ringlets of blood staining the clean countertop and sink alike. He pulls tissue from the dispenser, wiping the remainder of blood from his fingers, before taking clean napkins and wadding it, placing it at his wound to stem the bleeding. 

But how could it? He pulls out his phone — finding Ijichi’s number and dialing it — especially when sorcerers were dying left and right — 

— And he was barely an exception. 

"Hello, I’m sorry!” 

“Hm?” what could he possibly have to apologize for? 

“I’ve just sent you my location,” he feels a headache creeping on, and he wasn’t sure it was from the fatigue or the blood loss — probably both, “please come and pick me up a.s.a.p. I need you to take me to Jujutsu Tech to get some treatment from Ieiri.” 

“Treatment?” he was tired of questions — the exhaustion settled against his body familiarly, the adneradline finally beginning to wane from his body. 

“Nothing serious,” and he almost could have laughed — a penetrating wound in his side wasn’t serious — and he added, “nothing that’s going to kill me anyway.”

But it easily could have — if he hadn’t hidden his soul in time, if he hadn’t chosen to take the hit, he would have died — or would he have? A shiver travels down his spine at the thought of that transfigured human, pleading for him to kill them — or would his subconscious simply have been trapped? 

“That’s good,” comes Ijichi’s sigh of relief, “Well, I’m about to join up with Itadori, then we’ll head your way.” 

Nanami’s brow wrinkles, “What? He’s not with you?” 

There’s no telling what those unidentified cursed spirits’ plans were — but it was a terrible idea having Itadori wander around unsupervised with any of them out there. They had no idea what plan these unidentified special grades had — only that they started emerging when Itadori became the vessel for Sukuna. He pinches the bridge of his nose — whether that was a coincidence or not, he didn’t want to take that risk. 

“I’m sorry!” Ijichi yells into the receiver, and Nanami flinches, holding the phone away from his ear, “I’m going to get him right now. Wait right there.” 

And Nanami hangs up, putting his phone away, leaning against the wall of the bathroom again. The pain in his side begins to throb, and he sucks in breath, only to sigh.  Like he said, it’s not like this would kill him — he glances down at the wound again, but it did hurt like hell. 

He hoped Ijichi got here quickly. 

You see Ijichi’s name flash on your screen, as you glance up from the mountain of paperwork burying your normally neat desk. Volunteering to be a temporary teacher at Jujutsu Tech while Gojo was away was a mistake, if only because you got stuck finishing up the paperwork he so kindly left behind for you. You could almost imagine him laughing at you when he returns, thanking you with some tacky souvenir he picked up from some gift shop. 

He may be the greatest sorcerer in the world, but he’s still the same pain in the ass you knew from your time here. 

You grab your phone — so you’d welcome any distraction — even if it’s Ijichi asking you to run an errand for him. 

You pick up, “Ijichi, what’s up?”

He greets you, “Can you do me a favor?” his voice is breaking, and you wrinkle your brow. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Never mind that,” you swear you hear him sniff, but he continues regardless of that, his voice growing more even with every word, “could you pick up Nanami for me? I sent you his coordinates.” 

“Nanami?” your brows knit together, chest squeezing, “is he okay?” 

“He’s fine, from what he said on the phone, but he needs to be seen by Ieiri for treatment,” Ijichi says, the tension in his voice thick with every passing word, like a clock being wound far too tight, far too quickly,  “please, I would really appreciate it!” 

“Alright, alright, Ijichi,” and you hear him sigh in relief, “Did you let him know I’m coming?” 

Silence fills your ears for a moment, before he speaks, “Can you just let him know? Thank you so much, I will see you soon!” 

“Ijichi—” and he’s already hung up, and you sigh at your phone. 

Nanami’s right — jujutsu sorcerers are shit. 

 You make your way to Nanami’s location, your fingers drumming against the leather of your steering wheel, chewing on your lip. You didn’t bother telling Nanami you were headed his way, knowing him he’d only protest and call a car to come get him. And you weren’t about to let him get driven home by a stranger when he’s hurt. Nanami was the type to hate being reliant on anyone, only when it was absolutely necessary — you had learned that soon enough after meeting him.

You squeezed the wheel tighter — you hoped Gojo hadn’t said anything to him about your conversation with him — the damn bastard was so smug — as always. 

“You really agreed to come back quickly,” Gojo’s lips were split in a wide grin, and even behind that blindfold, you knew he was gauging your reactions. 

“Yeah? So? I’m at Jujutsu Tech half the time anyway in between missions,” you frown at him as he walks you to where you’ll be staying at the school, “plus, this will give me some time to observe the first years, and make sure you’re not filling their heads with nonsense,” 

“Oh, you wound me,” despite that, he’s laughing maniacally after, his lips still curled smugly, “but still, I just find it interesting is all, especially because you were hesitating until I mentioned Nanami would be here as well,” And you furrow your brow, head snapping to him, “is all I mean.” 

“Gojo—” 

“Have you told him how you feel?” and he doesn’t stop for a breath, “of course you haven’t, the two of you still dance around this like you did when you were students here. Very high school of you, but I guess it’s fitting since we’re in one.” 

“We don’t—” 

“You can’t deny it,” he says, still grinning, “well, you can, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still there,” and then he gestures to the door in front of you, “we’re here!” 

You only stare at him, brow furrowed, “I don’t have feelings for Kento — we’re just friends.” 

And to your surprise, Gojo nods, “You’re right — you’re just friends, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” and he’s brushing past you, “unless one of you says anything,” And you blink, teeth digging into your bottom lip, “Or unless I say something—” 

“Gojo!” and he’s already disappearing around a corner, laughing. 

He wouldn’t say anything — he wouldn’t. 

You think, at least. 

But — you tap your foot against the floor of the car — it didn’t make you any less anxious. 

It wasn’t simple. You and Nanami. 

It never was. 

Both first years at Jujutsu High — you grew up together, you lived next door to each other, you fought together — until you didn’t. 

Until he didn’t, because he left. 

But he had to — you never blamed him for that. It was hard enough to see horrors you all did day in and day out, but another thing is to lose people close to you — to be at risk of losing everyone. 

It was too much for him. 

And you knew that, you saw it, even if he didn’t want you to. 

Too many nights you would barely knock on his door only to find him wide awake, bags under his eyes. Eventually, there was one night, after a difficult mission, you found yourself at his door. His door creaked open, and you knew he wasn’t sleeping — he had been lying awake just like you had. You spent the night with him in solace, in quiet, until eventually you both fell asleep. 

It became a habit — one that you had started after you couldn’t sleep one night, and it soon became every night — except the one night Gojo had barged into Nanami’s room, finding the two of you asleep by the dining table on the floor, your head resting against his shoulder. Gojo had woken Nanami up with the click of his camera phone, and you woke up as Nanami yelled at Gojo — who ran out of the room, laughing. 

After that, Nanami would find his way to your room instead. And you had asked him once why he still came? He paused, only shrugging, “Because I want to.” 

And then he came back. Because he wanted to. 

You had him in your life again, but it wasn’t the same. The walls you had tumbled before were higher and harder to climb, and you didn’t even know if he wanted you too.

It had been a while since you had seen him — a few months, almost a year. 

You pulled into the area he was in, as you turned your car off. And you didn’t know what you were going to say to him, grabbing the first aid kit and your keys, before opening your door — only that you hoped he was okay. 

Nanami hears a knock on the stall, and his eyes flicker open, checking his phone — no call or text from Ijichi — his hand instinctively reaches for his blade. Until he senses who it is. He furrows his brow, unlocking the door, “What are you doing here?” 

How long had it been since he’d seen you? A few months? A year almost? Either way, it was far too long since he’d seen you, heard your voice, saw you smile—and he brushed away his thoughts. 

And that was exactly why it had been as long as it had. 

You stand, arms crossed eyes scrutinizing until you find your way to his wound, “Strip,” 

And he blinks, “Excuse me?” 

“Take off your shirt, Nanami,” and he purses his lips at the use of his last name, you open up the first aid kit — fully outfitted in everything needed to care for a wound, “I need to dress the wound before I take you to Jujutsu Tech, otherwise it could get infected, especially since it’s been left to bleed.” 

“You don’t need to—” and the rest of his sentence dies on his lips when your eyes flicker to his, glowering, and he sighs. It was more trouble to argue with you then it was to concede. 

He undoes the buttons of his shirt, as you wash your hands, sanitizing them, before grabbing a clean cloth. He gingerly shrugs off his shirt, and he sees your eyes flicker over his bare chest, before quickly resting on his wound. Heat climbs his neck, as you examine the wound, your cold fingers brushing against his warm skin.  

“It doesn’t look like there’s any remnants of cursed energy or poison in the wound,” you rise, dampening the cloth under running water, “I’m just going to clean it and bandage it.” 

His gaze softens as he watches you, “Since when did you learn so much about caring for wounds?” 

“I’ve had Shoko teach me a few things over the years,” you wring the cloth out, before kneeling again, “this might sting a little.” 

And it did — but his focus was elsewhere aside from pain. His eyes couldn’t help but gaze at you, noting the tenseness in your shoulders, the tiredness in your eyes, the signs of wear on your face, but he also notices that things that haven’t changed — the way you bit your lip when you were focusing, the way your brow scrunched deeply, and the way you always wore your heart on your sleeve, even if it wasn’t apparent to most around you. 

Or maybe it was just the way you were around him. 

That was the one thing that always drew him to you, wasn’t it? 

He was content in his life — he had left the jujutsu world because he thought he couldn’t handle it, and maybe at that time, he couldn’t. The deaths — especially of the people around him — it was too much. But he returned because he realized that the appreciation he could gather, the thank yous, were enough for him to live each day with no regrets. 

But his eyes found you again— almost. 

You were always the one to make him dare to want more than simple contentment — and it was dangerous to want more — because there was more to lose. And he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else — no, he pursed his lips, glancing as you rose to wash and wring out the cloth — he couldn’t bear to lose you. 

“Nanami,” and his gaze snapped up, finding himself staring at a water bottle, “drink.” 

He thanks you, taking the bottle from your fingers, brushing yours as he does, and the question slips from his lips before he can help it, “Why are you calling me ‘Nanami?’” 

You pause, raising an eyebrow “Should I be calling you Nanamin?” 

And he blinks, lips parting to ask where you heard— before he scowls, where else? Gojo must have told you about Itadori’s nickname, “No,” but he felt his ears burn — or maybe you should — and he continues, “You always called me Kento, before,” 

“Like you said, it was before,” you purse your lips, "what happened?" And he frowns, tilting his head, "I mean with the cursed spirit you were fighting," 

"I had to withdraw," he shakes his head, "this was an unregistered special grade — much like the ones that Gojo encountered. It's technique — it—" he breaks off — the memory of the woman— and he corrects himself — the corpse begging for him to kill her, "it was a bad match for mine, so I had no choice." but he notices your gaze lingering, "what?" 

"Are you okay?" And he blinks. 

"I'm fine—" and you shake your head, "what?" 

"You don't always have to do everything on your own, Nanami,” 

And he purses his lips, “Jujutsu isn’t—” 

“A team sport,” you finish, raising your eyebrows, “but this isn’t about the fight itself,” you pull fresh gauze from your kit, “it’s about the toll it takes after,” your fingers brush his, as you guide his hand to press it to the wound. 

“I don’t need to burden other people—” 

“You’re not a burden,” you cut him off, and you steal the breath from his lungs, your gaze burning a trail of heat wherever it lays, “how can you expect anyone to feel close to you if you won’t let anyone in?” the sound of tape cuts through the silence, as you bite it before ripping it into strips. 

“Maybe because I don’t want anyone to get close enough to see how weak I really am,” he says quietly, the back of his head resting against the wall again, “it’s easier to be content living so close to death every day, when you don’t have anything to lose.” 

You frown, “Nanami—”

“The things we see—” he says, “the murder, the disfigurement, the death, the loss,” he runs a hand over his face, “is it worth it to do what we do?” 

He feels your gaze linger on him, “Nanami, what happened earlier?” 

“I don’t—” he shakes. 

“What happened?” he squeezes his eyes shut, before sighing. 

So he tells you. About the cursed spirit, about how it can morph and mangle souls and bodies into whatever form he wishes, how it was the worst match up against his cursed technique, and about the corpse, “And there was a person— a corpse,” he swallows, “their face right below my feet, begging me to kill them — and I couldn’t do it,” his voice breaks. 

“Nanami—” he can’t look at you — he can’t. 

“And it almost did the same thing to me,” he whispers, “I could have ended up just like—” 

“But you didn’t,” your hand reaches for him, but he catches your wrist in his hand, gently, “you escaped.” 

“But I almost—” became just like them. 

And he almost understood what Itadori meant by the fact he wanted to have a proper death — because there was nothing proper about what that cursed spirit did to those people. 

You break from his grip, and your fingers brush his cheek tentatively, and you guide his gaze to yours, “You’re here with me — because of your skill, because of your abilities, because it wasn’t your time,” you tilt your head, “I’m not losing you that easily, Kento. Not without a fight.” 

His lips twitch into a bitter smile, watching the overhead fan spin above them, “But I suppose I’ll still be losing something in the end,” the words slip past his lips, “just like I lost you.” 

“Kento,” and he blinks, mouth parting, his eyes finding yours again, your brows furrowed, “you never lost me. You always have me—” and your eyes shy away, but not before they turn stern, “but not if you insist on being a martyr.” 

“I can manage that,” he says softly, as your fingers brush against his again, pressing tape over the gauze, and he hisses a little, leaning forward. 

Your head whips up, “Sorry,” and you freeze, your face an inch from his own. He feels your breath warm his lips, while his own stills — god, you were so beautiful, weren’t you? 

“Do you still not want anyone to be close to you?” you breathe, and he chuckles, lips curling in a smile, as his fingers dare to brush against your cheek, his chest stirring as he feels you lean into his touch. 

“Maybe not anyone,” and then he adds,  “but if it’s you—” 

“If it’s me?” and he dares a little closer, tilting your head upwards, his fingers resting on the back of your neck. 

“I always want you by my side,” he breathes, his lips a centimeter away, as he breathes your name, almost to ask for permission, “I’ve always—” 

“I know,” you whisper, “me too.” 

And his lips brush yours, for a moment — hesitant, as you both part for a moment, until your lips find his again, and again, and again. Until his hands are cupping your cheeks, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, your nails carding through the hair resting on the back of his neck — as your lips meet again. 

“Kento—” you murmur, and he nearly groans, as he’s pulling you closer — and he can’t think of anything else, but you, “I—” and you gasp, as his lips kiss down your jawline, and your hands slide down his shoulders to the front of his shirt, grasping at it, tugging him needlessly closer. 

“Ow,” he flinches, his wound stinging, and you pull away, hands raised. 

“Sorry, sorry,” and he smiles, his arms pulling you back to him, “Kento— we should get you to Jujutsu Tech,” 

Hu hums, “Just a second,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I just want to savor this.”

“I didn’t know you were one for being sentimental, Nanamin,” and you feel him chuckle, your head resting on his chest, gingerly. 

“I don’t mind you calling me that, so much as I do...others,” 

“I’ll have to let Gojo know,” you snort, as your fingers toy with a button on his shirt, “and I’ll have to thank him.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “For what?” 

“For making me realize my feelings for you,” and Nanami tilts his head, “I’ll explain later.” 

“I’d thank him,” his hands wrapping around your waist,  “if I respected him more.”

“You do—” and he kisses you again, hard, his nose bumping against yours, before he smiles, his thumb softly grazing the length of your cheek back and forth, “Kento—” 

“You can thank him later,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, “I want to keep you to myself for now.” 

“And then?” His fingers slowly intertwine with yours — a perfect fit — as you tug at him, leading him out of the washroom.

He squeezes your hand, “We’ll see.” 

Together. 

☁︎ a/n: this is a fic i wrote a long time ago when i watched season 1 and i was like why not post it?

☁︎ tag list (apologies if you didn't wanna be tagged, going off who liked the poll i put up): @thotsposts, @ib4ryuguji, @sunspawn22, @kannra21, @nightmarelov,

#sab [mlist] #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #kento nanami x you #kento nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami fanfiction #nanami kento x reader #jjk fanfiction

[1104-am]

karina | my beloved, jimin.

genre ; fluff, angst

pairing ; karina x reader

notes ; took me so long to finish this because i want it to come out perfect! i like how this one turns out so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 also the orange text is a simple indicator so that you guys wont get confused w my with my writing!

word count ; 11k+

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"you may now kiss the bride,"

the reverend's words echoed through the air, signaling the culmination of a beautiful journey. in that moment, the world seemed to fade away, and all attention converged on the couple. time stood still as you gazed at the girl you love with your whole existence, captivated by her radiance.

yu jimin, breathtaking in her white wedding gown, adorned with delicate lace and pearls, took your breath away. as your eyes locked, an overwhelming surge of emotions filled your being. tears welled up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you realized the magnitude of this moment.

you watched as jimin closed the gap. the room fell silent, and all eyes were fixed upon the soon to be newly wed.

as she drew nearer, her beauty intensified, an ethereal glow enveloping her. her eyes shimmered with adoration, the tenderness in her smile did a little something to your heart.

in that instant, everything faded into the background. the murmurs of guests, the soft rustle of fabric, and even the beating of your own heart seemed to vanish, as you look at her.

in that poignant moment, a flood of memories engulfed your mind, transporting you back to the time when your paths first crossed in high school.

amidst the celebratory atmosphere, your gaze briefly shifted from the present to the past. images of the bustling hallways, filled with laughter and youthful exuberance, flickered before your eyes. and there, amidst the sea of faces, you found yourself reliving the very first encounter with the woman who now is standing prettily in ber wedding dress, your beloved yu jimin.

you remember the day you first talked to her. panting as you walked up to the classroom after a particularly grueling p.e session, the scorching heat of the day engulfed you. beads of sweat formed on your forehead, glistening as they trickled down your temple as you curse at your p.e teacher for making you run three laps just for simply being late to his class.

with each step, the air felt heavy and stifling, making it harder to catch your breath. you were about to enter the classroom when you noticed a person, falling asleep in the classroom which made you raise your brow in confusion. you quietly made your way into the quiet yet suffocating classroom before realizing that it was the girl you’ve been wary of. not in a bad way, but just because.

as you approached jimin's desk, your palms grew clammy and your heart raced in your chest. the awkwardness hung in the air, almost tangible, as you contemplated how to break the ice.

finally, mustering your courage, you managed to speak up, your voice coming out in a soft, hesitant tone. "um, hey... are you okay?" you asked, concerned.

jimin, taken aback by your unexpected approach, slowly lifted her head from the desk, her eyes filled with a combination of pain and surprise. "oh, uh.... yeah, i'm... i'm just having really bad cramps," she admitted, her voice filled with a hint of vulnerability. her face as pale as a ghost.

you nodded, trying to convey understanding and concern, then swiftly exited the classroom.

jimin watched as you turned and swiftly exited the classroom, leaving her momentarily puzzled and unsure of your intentions. she couldn't fathom why you would suddenly leave after approaching her first.

you hurried down the empty hallways, your mind raced. you needed to help her. the heat seemed to intensify the urgency of the situation, urging you to find a solution quickly. you made your way to the school's convenience store, your steps quick and purposeful. the air conditioning inside provided a temporary relief from the stifling heat outside.

you scanned the shelves, searching for any over-the-counter medication that could alleviate jimin’s pain. finally, you found what you needed, a box of pain relievers specifically designed for menstrual cramps. clutching the medicine tightly, you made your way back to the classroom.

as you entered the room, you saw jimin looking downcast, her expression a mix of pain and disappointment as she had assume that you had left her in her time of need.

trying to hide your own inner turmoil, you approached her desk again, holding out the box of pain relievers. "jimin? hey i got these for you," you said, your voice gentle and sincere.

her eyes widened in surprise as she saw the medicine. "you got these for me?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

you nodded, your cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "this is the least i can do," you explained, your voice filled with genuine concern.

a mixture of relief and gratitude washed over jimin’s face. she realized that you hadn't abandoned her, but had gone out of your way to assist her. "thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity and appreciation.

as the days passed, jimin couldn't help but be drawn to your kindness and thoughtfulness. she wasn’t aware of your existence before, but now she finds herself paying attention to every little things you do.

the classroom buzzed with the energy of high school students. some were diligently working on their assignments, while others chatted animatedly with friends. the atmosphere was typical for a mid-morning class, a mixture of focus and distraction.

amid the organized chaos, you sat at your desk, engrossed in your classwork. little did you know that jimin, was observing you from the moment the homeroom teacher left the classroom.

finally, as the noise in the classroom momentarily subsided, jimin seized her chance. she made her way to your desk, her heart pounding with appreciation. with a gentle tap on your shoulder, you turned to see her standing there, a warm and grateful smile on her face.

"hey," jimin said softly, her eyes filled with warmth, "i wanted to thank you for the other day" she said sliding an apple juice onto your table catching you by suprise. you were taken aback by jimin's sudden appearance and the earnestness in her eyes.

"oh, jimin," you replied, surprised, "it was no big deal, really." you flashed her a sincere smile, making her heart skip a beat.

the surrounding chatter seemed to fade away as jimin began to speak. her smile widened. "well, i appreciate it more than you know. and i wanted to do something nice for you in return."

the sincerity in her voice touched you, and you couldn't help but smile. "you don't have to, jimin," you said, still smiling.

jimin's eyes sparkled with gratitude as a tint of blush kissed her cheeks at the way her name rolls of your tongue "i know, but it’s fine! my treat."

as the two of you exchanged a heartfelt conversation, jimin’s deskmate aka her bestfriend couldn't help but take notice of the both of you.

as jimin returned to her seat, her heart still racing from her conversation with you, her desk mate aeri shot her a curious and somewhat suspicious look. aeri had been taken aback, shocked to see jimin interact with you.

you guys were the two pair she least expected to interact. you, a laid back person who rarely interfer with people’s business but presence always felt, and jimin who is the school’s beauty with brain who is a social butterfly that never fails to capture people’s heart but only she doesn’t know that.

aeri leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper, "jimin, what was that?" jimin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she tried to maintain her composure. she stammered, "oh, um, that? nothing, really. just... you know,"

aeri raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by jimin's nonchalant response. "jimin, you've never talked to y/n before, and here you are giving y/n an apple juice?"

jimin's blush deepened, and she looked down at her desk, her fingers nervously tapping the surface. she mumbled, "it's just... y/n helped me out when i had period cramps the other day, and i wanted to say thanks. that's all."

aeri's eyes widens as she listen to the truth behind jimin's actions, "y/n did what? oh wow.. i really didn’t expect that but that’s so nice of y/n!"

jimin smiled gratefully at aeri, feeling relieved that her friend had understood and wasn't prying further. she knew that her interaction with you had surprised not only aeri but also herself, revealing a side of her she hadn't often shown at school.

your interaction with jimin increased ever since that day. be it on purpose or not, the interaction always ends with either both of you smiling from ear to ear.

one day, as you were leaving the classroom, you noticed jimin looking a bit puzzled over her english homework. without hesitation, you approached her desk. kneeling down to match her eye level, you caught her attention immediately.

you smiled and said, "jiminie? need any help with that?"

jimin looked up, her cheeks kissed by a tint of pink because of the cute name you had just called her, eyes lighting up with gratitude. "please! i'm kind of stuck on this part." she pouted, poking her book with the end of her pen.

you sat down beside her, and together, you worked through the english question. as you explained the meaning of the passage to her, jimin's eyes travels between the paper and your lips everytime you turn to look at her and it didn’t go unnoticed by you. it left the both of you smiling to yourselves as you guys seperated ways walking back home that day.

or when you happened to have an extra space under your umbrella on a rainy afternoon. seeing jimin without one, you offered to share it as you both headed to your next class.

jimin expressed her thanks, saying, "thank you y/n, i owe you one!" she said as she immediately went under it, hugging your arm so close to her.

you responded casually, trying to not make it obvious that the skinship she had initiated is completely blowing your heart off right now, "you’re lucky i checked the weather today, or we both would be sitting in our soaking wet uniform for mrs han’s class" you joked. jimin laughed, leaning her head on your shoulder adding the damage she had just did to your heart.

as you walked side by side under the umbrella, you shared light-hearted conversation, making the gloomy day feel a bit brighter.

you remember during lunch breaks, you occasionally found yourselves sitting at the same table. one day, you noticed jimin's lunch contained her favorite dessert stacked on her plate.

with a playful grin, you said, "jimin, is that your secret stash of chocolate cake?"

jimin chuckled and admitted, "maybe... i couldn't resist today."

you couldn't help but smile as you shared a laugh over her sweet indulgence.

-

you and jimin had grown closer, your relationship evolving into something special, a comforting routine amidst the chaos of school life. whether it was helping each other with classwork, sharing a spontaneous joke, or just quietly enjoying each other's presence, those moments had become the highlight of your day.

so, that morning, as you entered the classroom, you carried with you the expectation that today would be no different.

you smiled to yourself as you envisioned the friendly banter, the shared laughter, and the subtle but undeniable connection you had grown accustomed to.

it was this anticipation that made her absence all the more conspicuous, as the classroom's front door swung open, you found yourself instinctively looking in anticipation for jimin's arrival.

“where is she? she’s never been this late” you mumbled catching the attention of your deskmate, yeji.

“jimin? oh wait, now that you’ve mentioned?” the girl asks, looking around the unironically empty classroom

she was usually punctual, entering the room with a warm smile that brightened the day for everyone. however, to your surprise, jimin was nowhere to be seen today.

as minutes turned into the start of the class and she still hadn't appeared, you initially assumed she might be running late, something out of the ordinary for her but not entirely impossible.

yet, as the class progressed and the morning hours drifted into recess, the absence of her familiar presence became increasingly concerning.

jimin skipping school was a rare scenario. she was known for her dedication to her studies and attendance, never missing a class unless she was genuinely unwell. the worry began to gnaw at you as you couldn't shake the feeling that something must be amiss.

as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, your sense of unease about jimin's absence intensified.

without wasting a moment, you rushed over to aeri, your classmate and friend who sat nearby. with a sense of urgency, you leaned in and asked, "hey, aeri, do you know where jimin lives?"

aeri, who had also been worried about jimin's absence, hesitated for a moment. she had been considering checking on jimin herself but seemed relieved that you were willing to take the initiative. still, she needed some reassurance.

"why do you want to know, and what are you planning to do?" aeri inquired with a concerned look

you quickly reassured her, realizing her concerns were valid. "aeri, i'm genuinely worried about her. she's never missed school like this, and i just want to make sure she's okay. i won't be a creep or anything, i promise."

aeri nodded, finally relenting. "alright, i was planning to go check on her too, but if you're going, that's fine. please make sure she's okay." she said as she sends you jimin’s address through kakaotalk.

with a grateful smile, you appreciated aeri's understanding and support. "thank you, aeri. i'll let you know as soon as i find out anything."

as you turned to leave, aeri couldn't resist teasing you a bit more, her playful tone making you flustered. "you know, she probably overslept and here you are, worrying too much! turning into a detective and shit" aeri giggled at the end of her words.

you chuckled and rolled your eyes at aeri’s playful banter, “oh come on, can’t help that i care for her”

“oh??” aeri’s eyes widen as she whipped her head towards you and then back and forth to the people around her wondering fi they heard what you had just said.

"please shut the fuck up aeri. i'll be quick, don't worry."

with that, you left school in a hurry, determined to check on jimin's well-being, even if it meant your concerns might prove unfounded, and aeri's teasing still ringing in your ears.

after rushing to jimin's house, your heart pounded with worry as you stood outside. to your suprise, the door creaked open, and there stood jimin, looking even paler than you had feared, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

your worry surged as you saw her, and without a second thought, you sprinted towards her, catching her by surprise. "jimin?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your concern any longer.

jimin's tired eyes widened in surprise as she turned to face you, her legs momentarily giving way. however, your quick reflexes caught her just in time, wrapping your arms around her and steadying her.

"oh god, are you okay?" you asked with genuine concern, holding her gently but firmly in your arms.

jimin's face, once pale with fatigue and illness, transformed as she gazed up at you. she leaned into your embrace, her voice soft and filled with gratitude. "i've been so sick, and i'm really glad you're here."

in that moment, as you held jimin close, the worry that had gnawed at your heart finally began to ease. you could feel the warmth of her presence and the depth of her gratitude in the way she clung to you.

jimin, still leaning against you, whispered, "i didn't want to worry anyone, but i've been feeling so sick lately. i thought i could push through it, but today was just too much."

you gently stroked her hair, a soothing gesture, and replied with heartfelt concern, "don’t be so harsh on yourself, okay?"

as you entered the house with jimin leaning on you, your heart filled with worry and care for her well-being. carefully guiding her towards the unfamiliar house, you searched for the living room. you carefully let jimin rest on the couch, before fixing a couple strands of hair that was hiding her pretty face. "what happened? why are you so sick?"

jimin, still looking drained but grateful for your presence, explained in a weak voice, "i caught a cold last night, and it just got worse. my parents are out for the weekend’s outstation trip, and i didn't want to bother them. but i’ve been too weak to even get out of bed, let alone go out and get medicine or eat."

“you should’ve called me. i was so worried about you jimin” your concern for jimin had poured out in your words, reflecting just how much you cared about her.

you were taken aback by the depth of your own emotions, and for a moment, you felt a rush of shyness as you realized how openly you had expressed your care for her, “.. or you could’ve called aeri”

gently placing the pillows and helping her settle on the couch, you stammered, "let’s get you some medicine and something to eat”

the realization of your deep feelings for jimin had made you momentarily shy, you cursed to yourself when you realized how you sounded just now but your determination to help her remained unwavering.

as you moved around in jimin's kitchen, searching for the medicine and the ingredients to make her a warm porridge, your thoughts were divided. on one hand, you were determined to find what you needed to take care of her. on the other hand, you couldn't help but steal glances at jimin in the living room.

every few moments, you would check on her, your worry and care evident in your eyes. she sat there, looking fragile yet comforted by your presence, and your heart swelled with the desire to ensure her comfort and well-being.

you found the medicine and the necessary ingredients eventually, but your occasional glances at jimin throughout the process were a testament to your unwavering concern for her.

few minutes passed and as you stood by the stove, carefully stirring the porridge and making sure the medicine was ready, you felt a pair of eyes on you. turning slightly, you found jimin sitting in the living room, her gaze fixed on you. her eyes held an expression you couldn't quite place—gratitude, warmth, and something more.

a gentle smile formed on your lips as you continued to cook, but you couldn't ignore the flutter of your own heart. it was as though you could feel the intensity of her emotions from across the room.

"should i turn on the tv to distract you while you eat?"

jimin’s gaze never left you as she shook her head softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "no, i just want to look at you."

your heart skipped a beat at her words, and a warmth washed over you. with the bowl of warm porridge and the medicine in hand, you returned to where jimin was sitting in the living room.

you offered her the food, and she accepted it with a grateful smile.

“careful, it’s hot” you said, sitting down next to her on the comfy couch. her small hands proceed to take the bowl from you.

however, as she reach for the spoon, she couldn't resist a playful grin. she set the spoon down in your hand, pretending to be weak, and looked up at you with big, pleading eyes. "could you,, feed me?"

you chuckled softly at her playful request, charmed by her antics. "what got into you?"

“i dont know” jimin faked a cough, making you roll your eyes in a joking manner. “maybe it’s the cold that is getting to me” she playfully giggled as you pick up the spoon. jimin's playful request to be fed made your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but smile as you continued to feed her.

with each spoonful, she would occasionally blow on the hot porridge and then take a small, delicate bite, all while maintaining eye contact with you.

a soft chuckle escaped your lips as you couldn't resist teasing her. "you know, jimin, you're quite the drama queen today."

jimin giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "well, i have to take advantage of being sick, right?"

you nodded in agreement, playing along with her delightful antics. "that's true. and it gives me the chance to pamper you a little."

jimin's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as she gazed at you, her voice soft and filled with warmth, looking at you with wide eyes. "that’s so sweet?"

your heart skipped a beat at her words, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of affection. "only for you,”

the rest of the evening was filled with shared laughter, playful banter, and moments that made your heart swell with fondness.

jimin felt a change in the air. her heart raced a little faster whenever you looked at her, and a warmth spread through her chest as she enjoyed your company. it was in those quiet moments when you shared stories and exchanged smiles that jimin couldn't help but wonder if there was something more between you both, or if you felt like this towards her as well.

in all honesty, you were aware that your feelings for her were far from simple. every time you see her, your emotions swelled, intensifying your desire to be transparent about your affection for her.

and finallly after much contemplation and discussion with one of your closest friend yunjin, you had finally devised a well-thought-out plan to address your emotions and reveal to jimin just how much you cherished her.

it was during this vibrant season that yunjin, one day in class, (not so) suddenly exclaimed, "you guys! there's a firework festival happening this weekend! we should all go together!"

the idea of a firework festival was met with enthusiasm from your classmates, and as the conversation buzzed around you, you couldn't help but seize the opportunity. nervously, you turned to jimin and asked, "will you be free to join me?"

jimin looked at you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "why is that even a question? i’m always free if that means i get to spend time with you"

you smiled, so stupidly that you wish you could just wash your whole expression off right at the moment. you laughed and internally let out a deep sigh, one of you and yunjin’s biggest concern is jimin not being able to make it this weekend.

your heart raced with anticipation as you managed to invite jimin. however, you couldn't help but feel a bit jittery, knowing that the firework festival was the perfect setting to finally confess your feelings to her.

the days leading up to the festival were filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. you wanted everything to be perfect, and you couldn't stop thinking about how to express your emotions to jimin.

yunjin decided to pay you a visit at your house to offer her support in preparation for your confession to jimin. constantly having to reassure you that everything will be okay as she picks what would look good on you for the upcoming night.

she was there to assist you in choosing the right words to express your feelings, select the perfect outfit to wear on this momentous occasion, and guide you on what steps to take immediately after confessing. her presence and advice provided a sense of comfort and assurance as you geared up to share your heartfelt emotions with jimin.

the warm summer evening bathed the surroundings in a soft, golden glow. jimin’s eyes sparkled with excitement and happiness when she saw you walking towards her, sitting next to her on the shared mat.

she was pretty. you couldn't help but stare at jimin, who looked absolutely stunning with her hair tied into a messy bun, her bangs covering her forehead.you were staring a little bit too much, too much that jimin waved her hand in front of you, snapping you out of your trance.

unable to contain your affection, you gently fixed her bangs, "hi pretty, you look absolutely breathtaking." jimin's cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink as she glanced at you, her smile radiant. "and you, you clean up pretty well too."

as you and jimin waited for the festival to begin, the conversation flowed effortlessly, and every word you exchanged felt like another step closer to the confession you had been eagerly waiting to make.

jimin's eyes twinkled as she talked about her favorite firework shapes. "i've always loved the ones that look like colorful stars. what about you?"

you couldn't help but chuckle. "i'll have to go with the ones that burst into a heart shape. they remind me of you."

jimin's cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and she playfully nudged you. "you’re such a charmer, aren’t you?"

as the festival grounds starts to get crowded, the atmosphere became increasingly electric. the anticipation was palpable as you both felt relief to find a spot to enjoy the fireworks beforehand. you and jimin shared a quiet moment, taking in the anticipation in the night sky.

right before the first firework was about to light up the night sky, your heart brimmed with excitement. you turned to jimin, a warm smile plastered on your face as you gently took her hand in your own. your fingers interlaced, and in that moment, it felt like the world around you had faded away,

jimin, caught off guard by your sudden hand-holding, blinked in surprise. her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of delight and endearment. she didn't pull her hand away but instead tightened her grip on yours, her smile growing even brighter. her reaction was undeniably cute, and it made your heart skip a beat.

with a soft smile, jimin leaned closer, her voice a gentle murmur. "i'm so glad you invited me tonight. it means a lot to me."

"i wouldn't want to be here with anyone else, jimin." a gentle smile graced her lips, and her eyes seemed to shimmer with appreciation and affection. your words had clearly touched her heart, and her voice held a hint of tenderness as she responded.

“remember, first burst and you’re on it” yunjin’s voice rang in your head as you nervously anticipated the first burst of the fireworks.

as if on cue, the first burst of fireworks painted the night sky with a dazzling array of colors. in the gentle glow of the fireworks, you turned to her, your heart brimming with love. "jimin," you began, your voice soft yet filled with sincerity,

jimin turn to look at you, as if you’re the most important thing in the universe right now. the words you had been waiting to say spilled out from your heart, "jimin, there's something i've been wanting to tell you."

jimin's eyes widened with curiosity, her gaze that waslocked onto yours, deepened "what is it?"

your voice continued, each word carrying the weight of your emotions. "i want you to know that i really care about you, jimin. you mean so much to me, and i... i think i'm in love with you."

jimin's eyes shimmered with a mixture of surprise and emotion as the fireworks faded into the night. there was a small pause that felt like an eternity. the world seemed to hold its breath as you anxiously waited for her response, your heart pounding with uncertainty.

in that brief moment of silence, you couldn't help but worry that you might have overwhelmed her or said too much, too soon. but then, as the next burst of fireworks filled the night sky, jimin's eyes welled up with tears, and a smile broke across her face like the dawn of a new day.

jimin leaned closer, her voice filled with affection. "you have no idea how happy you've made me tonight. i've been waiting to hear those words from you."

your heart swelled with love, and you gently cupped her face, your thumbs brushing away a stray tear. "jimin, you're the most incredible person i've ever met. you deserve all the happiness in the world."

the next firework burst into the sky, casting a soft, romantic glow over both of you. you leaned in, and your lips met in a sweet, tender kiss, sealing your confession with a promise of a new chapter in your lives.

as the night continued with its magical display, the two of you held each other, feeling like the luckiest people in the world. your love had found its moment to shine, just like the fireworks in the summer night sky.

as the fireworks festival came to a close, you walked jimin home, hand in hand. the summer night had left an indelible mark on your hearts, and the gentle evening breeze seemed to carry the whispers of your newfound love.

the conversation between you both was easy and sweet, filled with dreams of the future. as you reached her doorstep, the moment to part ways arrived, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. jimin, however, looked up at you with a soft, affectionate smile.

"i had the most amazing night with you," she said, her voice filled with warmth.

you couldn't agree more. "i can't wait for more nights like these." your grip on her hand tighten, as she bring the back of your hand to her lips, kissing it softly.

jimin's eyes twinkled with excitement, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking. "so, now that we're, you know, partners... how should we address each other?"

you chuckled, realizing you hadn't quite clarified that yet. "i think we can keep it simple. do you have any special name you'd like to be called? i'd love to hear it."

jimin blushed at the suggestions, and then she looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "how about 'the love of my life'?"

your heart skipped a beat at her playfulness, and you couldn't resist grinning. "i think that's perfect, the love of my life." with a teasing glint in your eye, you added, "but maybe on casual days, i'll call you 'sweetheart' or 'babe.'"

jimin giggled at your playful banter. "you're spoiling me with options now, aren't you?" you leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. "well, you deserve all the sweet names in the world."

the two of you shared a playful and affectionate moment and with that, you shared a tender kiss, sealing the evening with a promise of more beautiful moments to come, and a good night wish.

"come visit me in my dreams tonight, okay?" jimin playfully tapped your chest, eliciting a hearty laugh that left your cheekbones aching from the constant smile.

"you're getting awfully clingy," you teased, just as jimin closed the front door, leaving you alone with a foolish grin plastered across your face.

after that night, your bond with jimin grew stronger by the day. it was as if the sparks of love from that summer night had ignited a permanent flame between you two. you became inseparable at school, often seen together in the hallways, at lunch, and during group activities.

but what made your connection even more special was the low-key nature of your relationship. you didn't flaunt your love for each other; it was the little things that spoke volumes. the shared smiles, secret glances, and the way your hands would subtly find each other's during class or while walking down the school corridors. everyone loved seeing the two of you together, and your classmates often commented on how perfect you were for each other.

of course, like any relationship, you had your disagreements. there were times when a fight would erupt, sometimes over trivial matters and at other times over more serious issues. but what set your relationship apart was your commitment to working things out. you'd stay up late talking, apologizing, and understanding each other's perspectives. you made it a point to never let one another go to sleep upset.

jimin and you knew that in each other, you had found someone worth fighting for and loving with all your hearts.

as high school came to a close, jimin and you continued to be each other's constant support, studying together, sharing notes, and making precious memories along the way. it wasn't always smooth sailing, but the challenges only strengthened your bond.

one sunny afternoon, the results of the university entrance exams were released. you and jimin anxiously checked the list of accepted students. your eyes widened in amazement when you saw your names side by side on the acceptance list of the same prestigious university.

excitement bubbled within you as you turned to jimin. "love! we did it! we're going to the same university!"

jimin's eyes sparkled with joy, and she couldn't contain her enthusiasm. "i can't believe it! we're going to be together in college!"

the two of you shared an exhilarating hug right then and there, surrounded by classmates who were cheering on their own achievement.

with the news that you'd both been accepted into the same university, the excitement in your hearts was hard to contain. you decided to celebrate this wonderful milestone with a special dinner night.

as the sun set, you and jimin dressed up for the occasion, looking your best for the evening ahead. there was an air of anticipation in the way you smiled at each other, knowing that this celebration was not just about your academic success but the continuation of your beautiful journey as a couple.

you chose a cozy, candlelit restaurant known for its delectable cuisine. the atmosphere was perfect for a night of celebration. the soft glow of the candles, the soothing music in the background, and the warmth of each other's company set the scene for a memorable evening.

the waiter brought a delectable dessert, adorned with a sparkler that lit up the room. you reached across the table and took her hand, your eyes filled with love and gratitude. "i'm so lucky to have you by my side, not just tonight, but for all the nights that are yet to come. let’s do well"

she squeezed your hand, returning your gaze with affection. "i know, i can't wait to see where it takes us."

hand in hand, the evening continued with a sense of wonder and joy, as you celebrated your shared success.

as you both enrolled in the first semester at the university, your hearts were filled with excitement and anticipation. while you had chosen different majors, it didn't stop you from making time to meet up during lunch or to study together whenever free moments presented themselves. your connection remained strong, and the bond you had built over the years only grew deeper in this new chapter of your lives.

you cherished those moments when you could share a meal, talk about your classes, and laughing whenever the other makes a joke. those simple, everyday interactions were what made your days brighter.

however, as the semester progressed, jimin started making new friends and gradually spent more time with her newfound companions. the dynamic between you two began to change. she was excited about her expanding social circle and the adventures that came with it.

you didn't mind her making new friends; in fact, you were happy for her. it was her happiness that mattered the most. however, you couldn't help but feel worried about how less time she spent with you. lunches together became less frequent, and the study sessions no longer had the same closeness they once did.

your concern grew when she started attending parties thrown by her new friends. you used to accompany her and enjoy the gatherings, but as she began to attend more frequently, you found yourself getting tired and not as enthusiastic about going along.

it wasn't about jealousy, it was the fear that the person you had shared so many moments with was slipping away, and it left a pang in your heart.

in the beginning, you tried your best to be supportive and understanding. you knew that making new friends and embracing the social aspects of university life was an important part of the college experience. jimin deserved to have that, and you genuinely wanted her to enjoy this new chapter of her life.

however, as the weeks turned into months, the change in your dynamic became increasingly noticeable. your conversations became shorter, and sometimes you felt like you were the one initiating them. you missed those shared dreams, heart-to-heart talks before gong to bed whenever she came for sleepover, and moments of laughter that used to be a staple in your relationship.

in the span of 4 months the parties became more frequent, and you often found yourself neglected and staying back, choosing rest over the late nights of celebration. it was as if you were leading parallel lives, existing in different orbits. the anxiety of feeling left behind began to weigh on you.

one day, as you were going through your own class schedule, you saw a message from jimin about another party she planned to attend. you felt a mixture of emotions—worry, frustration, and the desire to talk things out. you replied,

“jimin”

“understand you want to enjoy college life”

“and make new friends”

“but i miss spending time with you and talking like we used to”

“can we find some balance”

jimin's response was quick, but it was clear that her priorities had shifted.

“i know, but i'm just exploring new opportunities”

“we always meet”

“let me have fun, pls”

her words stung, and you were left with a heavy heart. it was a difficult realization that the person you had shared so many memories with now had different priorities. you weren't against her growth or happiness, but the sudden distance between you two left you with a sense of loneliness you hadn't felt before.

jimin was excited about tonight’s party invitation she'd received and she couldn't contain her enthusiasm. you, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel the distance that had grown between you.

as jimin prepared for the party, you couldn't contain your frustration any longer. leading to you breaking the tense atmosphere as you confronted her. "jimin, do you really have to go to another party?” you turn to look at jimin who was fixing her bang and her annoyingly short dress. “you've been going out so often lately, and we barely spend any time together anymore."

jimin paused, her eyes flickering with a mixture of emotions. she retorted, "i have to, okay? i want to enjoy college life and have fun. it doesn't mean i'm abandoning you."

you were hurt by her response, and the frustration bubbled up inside. "it's not about you enjoying college life, jimin. i want you to enjoy it but it feels like you're choosing these parties and your new friends over our relationship”

jimin's frustration mirrored your own. "come on, y/n. this again? we should trust each other. i can't feel like i'm constantly under surveillance, or that i can't have a life outside of us."

the argument escalated, harsh words exchanged that neither of you truly meant. your voice grew louder as you tried to make her understand your perspective. "i just want you to make time for us too, jimin. is that too much to ask?"

jimin's patience wore thin, and her voice wavered with a mix of anger and sadness. "i can't be your only source of happiness. you need to find some independence too! you can't cling to me like this."

tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a profound sense of loss. "i'm not clinging, i just don't want to lose you."

the weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and it all became too much for jimin to handle. she couldn't take the mounting tension and your jealousy any longer. in a moment of frustration, she exclaimed, "maybe you should figure out what you want from this relationship," and then stormed out of the house.

left standing alone in the silence that followed, your heart ached, and you realized that something had irrevocably changed between you and jimin. you were left to grapple with the reality of her absence and the implications of your argument.

two hours had passed since the heated argument with jimin, and you were now in your apartment, trying to clear your mind and calm your racing thoughts. the silence in the room was overwhelming, and you couldn't shake off the heavy feeling that something had been irreparably broken.

as you went about your evening routine, your mind wandered back to your argument with jimin. you wondered whether you had been too demanding, too clingy, or if there was a better way you could have expressed your feelings. you had no answers, just a deep sense of longing for the way things used to be.

suddenly, the door to your room swung open, and there stood jimin, disheveled and with her makeup smeared. Her mascara had left streaks on her cheeks, and her eyes were red and swollen.

panic surged through you at the sight of her disarray. without a second thought, you rushed to her side and pulled her into a tight, comforting hug.

the familiar scent of the cologne on her shirt filled your senses, the cologne you had come to associate with the late nights she'd spent sneaking into bed after parties. it wasn’t your cologne, nor was it hers. and with all the mess right now, all your doubts and thought fell into pieces.

and that was when you slowly let go of the hug, slowly distancing yourself from jimin, "jimin, what happened?" you asked, tears welling up your own eyes as you figured out.

her breath trembled, her voice quivering with anxiety and guilt. "i slept with someone else... y/n .. i fucked, someone…” jimin sobs gradually grew intense.

“you..." your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the overwhelming hurt and anguish you were experiencing. "intentionally, jimin?" your voice broke

“i wanted to convince myself that i was just drunk, but it was all intentional. y/n .. i messed up-" her red shot eyes turned to look up into yours.

you couldn't meet her gaze, knowing that the same eyes had once locked onto another's just hours aho, sharing affectionate glances, breath, and kisses.

"you messed up?" your voice trembled with anger and sorrow. "that's an understatement, jimin. you betrayed us. you betrayed everything we had."

jimin's tears flowed freely now, and she buried her face in her hands. "i never meant to hurt you. it was... i don't know, i thought it would help me forget about all the arguments and our drifting apart."

the words stung like a thousand needles, and you turned away, your back to jimin. "so, you thought fucking someone else was the solution? how does that make any sense!"

she reached out to you, her voice pleading. "it doesn't. it was a terrible mistake, and i hate myself for it.

you couldn't face her; the betrayal was too raw. "jimin, i loved you more than anything, but this... this is something i can't—" your voice cracked, your movements faltering as the weight of heartbreak pressed down upon you. every word felt like a painful reminder of what had been shattered.

jimin's pleas for forgiveness as she sobs, her voice muffled as the tears continued to flow. her attempts to reach out and touch you went unanswered. she could see the pain in your eyes, the same eyes that had once gazed at her with love and trust, now clouded with hurt and betrayal.

your voice was still heavy with sorrow as you asked, "...what led to all of this? what caused you to betray us?" you breath hitched, holding back another breakdown “three years jimin. three years..”

her eyes were red from crying, and she seemed to tremble at the sincerity of your question. "i.. we were growing apart, and I didn't know how to handle it."

your heart ached as you probed further, "and who is it, jimin? who did you betray me with?"

jimin’s gaze fell to the ground, and she hesitated for a moment before whispering a name that felt like a dagger through your heart.

the truth was as painful as you had feared, leaving you both trapped in the aftermath of the devastating confession.

“lee jeno”

you took a step back, distancing yourself from the person you had cherished. the room felt like it was closing in on you, and you had to escape the painful atmosphere. "i need some space, jimin. i can't... i can’t be around you right now."

as you left the room, her sobs echoed in your ears, a heartbreaking symphony of the love that had been lost. your heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces, and there was no immediate solution to mend the damage.

that had been the last time you laid eyes on jimin. in the days that followed, you spiraled into a world of sleepless nights and avoidance. your once vibrant social life dwindled as you withdrew even from your closest friends and family. you attended classes like a ghost and vanished right after.

jimin, on the other hand, wasn't faring any better. that night when you left her, she had spent hours in her room, blaming herself for the stupid decision she had made. she recognized the effect of her betrayal and the trust she had shattered couldn’t be fixed.

it was that very night when jimin made the difficult decision to delete and block the people she hung out out with at parties, distancing herself from the world she had become entangled with. she regretted not listening to you earlier, acknowledging that her actions had led to a point of no return.

while you deatached yourself from the world, jimin showed up on campus every day, determined to fix everything that went wrong even if it took years. she understood that she should be embarrassed and that she had to face the consequences of her actions. yet, she couldn't bear the thought of losing you and desperately longed for a chance to make things right again.

couldn’t bear the pain, jimin realized that she needed to find a way to bridge the immense gap between you two.

she decided to pour her feelings into heartfelt letters, carefully crafting each word as an attempt to convey the depth of her remorse and her desire to heal what was broken.

jimin’s determination kept her waiting at the cafeteria, just in case one day you might return to savor your favorite lunch. she knew deep down that you'd never show up, but she couldn't help but wait.

on tuesdays, she occasionally found herself waiting at your preferred boba shop, hoping against hope that you would walk in one day, ordering your usual drink.

but despite her efforts, you had completely shut yourself off from her and any interaction. your avoidance reached new levels, and you deliberately altered your daily patterns to ensure you didn't cross paths with jimin on campus.

it was as if you were leading an entirely different life, one starkly different from the world she once knew.

time moved on, and the years passed by, marked by the silence between you. jimin , however, did not give up. every month, like clockwork, she would send you letters filled with her thoughts, apologies, and hope.

they remained unopened, gathering dust on your shelf. each letter was a message of love and remorse, a silent cry for a second chance that you never acknowledged.

as you neared the final semester of your final year, the unopened letters had become a part of your life's background noise. it had been years since you last saw jimin, and you had grown accustomed to your separate lives.

seasons changed and the letters eventually stopped arriving, and you thought that perhaps this was the definitive end of jimin’s attempts to rekindle your connection.

the thought was bittersweet. on one hand, you found relief in finally moving forward from the heartbreak, but on the other, the weight of what was lost remained heavy in your heart.

then, one day, when you least expected it, a message popped up on your phone. It was from jimin. asking to meet you somewhere, and the mix of emotions that surged through you was impossible to ignore. it was a text that marked the possibility of reconnection, or perhaps, closure.

you couldn't predict what the meeting would bring, but you knew it was a crucial moment in both your lives, a moment that could change everything, or end the chapter that had been left hanging for so long.

you agreed to meet jimin at a quaint little café, and as you sat across from each other, the atmosphere was thick with uncertainty.

your mind raced with questions. was she finally asking for a second chance? was it time to open up your heart to her once more? you couldn't deny that you had never truly moved on from jimin, and the thought of a future together still lingered in the depths of your heart.

as you both engaged in small talk, the familiar smile she had always hown you kept appearing, making your thoughts drift towards the possibility of rekindling your connection. you imagined what it would be like to hold her hand again, to share your dreams and your life with her, as you once did.

but just when you were leaning towards the idea of a fresh start, jimin slid a wedding invitation onto the table, and it caught you completely off guard.

you blinked in disbelief, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. the invitation sat there.

the café's ambiance provided an uneasy backdrop for what felt like a pivotal moment. you couldn't help but ask the burning question. "jimin, what's this about?"

jimin's eyes met yours, and she took a deep breath, as if she'd been mentally preparing for this moment. "i know it must be a shock. i didn't want to keep it from you any longer."

you studied her face, searching for answers. "whose wedding is it?"

jimin hesitated for a moment before answering. "it's my wedding"

the words hit you like a ton of bricks. you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, and you struggled to comprehend the enormity of the revelation. "your... wedding? i don't understand."

she continued, her voice shaking. "i never stopped loving you, but i couldn't keep waiting for something that might never happen. i tried to move on, and i met someone else. we've been together for a while now"

the truth was like a dagger to your heart, and you couldn't hide the pain in your eyes. "so, you're getting married. you're moving on."

jimin nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "i'm not asking for your blessing or forgiveness. i just wanted you to know, to understand why i couldn't keep writing those letters or waiting any longer."

you couldn't find the right words to respond. the thought of jimin being with someone else, preparing for a life you once envisioned together, was a devastating blow. you knew that you had pushed her away, but you never anticipated this outcome.

in that moment, you understood that these words were not merely about her wedding. they were about the pain and heartbreak that had filled the void between you.

jimin's tear hung precariously on her lower eyelid for a moment before finally falling, and it was as if the drop held all the unspoken love and regret. the café, once a place of shared laughter, now bore witness to the depths of your intertwined emotions.

a solitary tear rolled down jimin's cheek, glistening like a diamond. her voice was barely more than a whisper as she choked back sobs, her eyes locked onto yours. "i'm so, so sorry."

silence enveloped both of you, a heavy blanket of emotions that neither of you could escape. the café, once a place of potential reconciliation, now held the bittersweet truth that your time with jimin had passed.

“you may now kiss the bride”

you watched as jimin closed the gap. the room fell silent, and all eyes were fixed upon the soon to be newly wed.

as she drew nearer, her beauty intensified, an ethereal glow enveloping her. her eyes shimmered with adoration, the tenderness in her smile did a little something to your heart.

you watched in silence as jimin closed the gap between her and her partner. the room seemed to fade away, and all eyes were fixed upon the soon-to-be newlyweds. the world around you blurred as your gaze remained locked on her.

as she drew nearer to her partner, her beauty seemed to intensify, an ethereal glow enveloping her. her eyes shimmered with adoration, and the tenderness in her smile was nothing short of breathtaking.

but in that very moment, the heartbreak was like a physical weight pressing down on your chest. you couldn't look away as jimin leaned in to kiss her partner. it was a kiss filled with love, the kind you had once shared with her. it was a reminder of the life you had hoped to build together, now realized in someone else's arms.

as you stood there, a sense of loss and longing washed over you. you couldn't help but wonder if you had made a mistake by letting jimin go, by not fighting for what you once had. the kiss marked a new beginning for jimin, but for you, it was a painful ending, a stark reminder of the love you had lost.

jimin offered you an opportunity, a chance to rebuild the trust that had once been broken. but you hesitated, unable to fully place your trust in her, in the one you still loved.

in the end, there was no one to blame but yourself. the choices you made, from buying her medicine back in high school to confessing your feelings under the fireworks, had all led to this moment. meeting jimin, loving her, had shaped your life in both beautiful and painful ways.

with a heavy heart, you realized that maybe those decisions, no matter how challenging or painful, were all part of your story with your beloved jimin.

my beloved, jimin.

#aespa #aespa imagine #aespa imagines #aespa oneshot #aespa x reader #kpop angst #aespa angst #aespa kpop #aespa moodboard #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina #yu jimin x reader #aespa scenarios #aespa reactions

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 6 Buried Truths

Summary: When the past can only be contained for so long, Joel is there to pick up the pieces. Rating: 18+ MDNI Explicit Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, mentions of a hospital setting, mentions of injury, mentions of past trauma, a FUCK ton of angst, little sprinkle of smut, another cliffhanger (don't worry, i won't make you wait long) A/N: This is the part where you all collectively say OH...

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s hand remained wrapped around yours as you stared blankly out the plane window. Everything had been a blur the last twenty-four hours. After you got off the call with Beth, you ran through calling the school to find a substitute, packed what you could into a small carry-on bag, and went online to book the first ticket out to Boston. You tried to talk Joel into staying back in Austin; he had work and Sarah to care for, but he was adamant about coming. He made a quick call to Tommy to make a plan for Sarah and contacted his work to find coverage for the rest of the week. He was only apart from you when he rushed home to pack his travel bag. Then you were both off to the airport: you bleary-eyed and Joel more stoic than you could ever recall seeing. He hadn’t said much between security and the flight gate, but you were too exhausted to try and force conversation. 

“Hey,” Joel said, nudging you. “How you feelin’, baby?”

You glanced at him and shrugged, the tears from earlier still drying on your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

His fingers squeezed around yours before he brought your hand to his mouth to kiss it softly.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he assured. “Beth said he’s recovering now, right? It’s just gonna take some time.”

While you and Joel were waiting at the gate, you called Beth again to find out what happened with your dad. She explained he had been up on the ladder fixing the roofing above the patio when his foot caught in one of the steps, ultimately forcing him to fall ten feet to the ground. He had a broken hip, a fracture in his lower spine, and a severe concussion—leaving him in a temporary medically induced coma. Beth had said he was lucky to be alive, but the anxiety still bubbled inside you in fear of what he would endure through his recovery. The thought of his injury only elevated the already strong emotions connecting you to the past, making it nearly impossible to cope with your dad’s accident while you simultaneously still struggled with your own.

The plane made a rocky touch-down in Boston well after midnight, the autumn rain causing the plane to slide against the tarmac before coming to a jarring stop. You and Joel rushed around the other passengers, filing out of the plane and sprinting through the airport to find Beth. You singled her out of the crowd, her face rosy and hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. The second she had your arms around you, you crumpled to the ground as the sobs broke out of your chest. 

“It’s okay, sis,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s stable. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if—what if he’s not?” You sobbed. 

You clutched onto her sweater, your head buried into her shoulders. She hushed you, her hand rubbing into your back.

“The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery. We just need to wait,” she said. 

“Is there any…” Your voice broke once more.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s no serious damage to his brain.”

You choked on your breath, relief swimming through your veins. This wouldn’t be like your accident; he would be okay. 

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling you to your feet. 

You wiped your nose across your sleeve, sheepishly turning to Joel. Gesturing from him to Beth, you gave a weak smile.

“Joel, this is Beth. Beth, this is Joel.”

Joel and Beth stood motionless, staring awkwardly at each other. You glanced between them, your eyebrows furrowing. Why weren’t they saying anything? 

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and extended his hand to Beth. 

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Beth took his hand cautiously, giving him a friendly smile.

“Same here.”

You’d revisit this awkward interaction later, but you needed to go home. 

“Is mom home?” You asked Beth. 

You reached for your bag, but Joel gently nudged your hand away. He took it into his hand and walked to the parking garage behind you and your sister.

“Her and Stella are at the hospital,” she explained.

You stopped in your tracks, sending Joel staggering into your back with a soft oof.

“Sorry,” you muttered to Joel. You turned back to Beth. “Take me home.”

“No,” she said sternly. “They want you there. You need to be there.”

“Beth,” you started.

She lifted a hand to silence you, glancing over your shoulder at Joel.

“Can you jump in the car real quick? I need to talk to my sister alone.”

Beth tossed her keys to Joel, waiting until the back door shut before she glared at you. 

“Does he know?” She questioned.

“Of course, he doesn’t know,” you argued. 

She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Considering everything going on, you didn’t think to mention it to him?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy getting my ass out here as fast as possible. It didn’t register in my mind to share the sad details of my accident with him.”

“You need to tell him, sis.”

“This isn’t the fucking time to do it!” You snapped. 

Beth rolled her eyes, her lips pursed for another attack.

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? He’s not going to run away if you tell him.”

“Bennett did, so why is he any different?”

“Stop comparing him to Bennett!” She yelled. “He’s nothing like him, and if you seriously think that, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled.

“What? The truth? Because the truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. 

Beth laughed. She actually laughed. Rounding the car, she left you standing teary-eyed and frustrated. 

“Get in the fucking car,” she shouted. “We’re wasting time.”

You hauled yourself into the front seat, keeping your eyes out of the window and avoiding the heavy truth sitting between you, Beth, and Joel. If any one of them told him about your past, you’d kill them. It was yours to share whenever you were ready. 

Beth drove like a bat out of hell to Mass General. No one said anything the entire drive, and you were grateful for it. After the blowup between you and Beth, you had no more energy left to fight. You just hoped you’d be able to reel in the anger with Joel; he didn’t deserve it. 

Mass General loomed above the rain clouds settling over the city. Joel and Beth had already exited the car while you sat inside its warmth, your eyes stuck on the Emergency sign at the front of the hospital. Joel tapped on the window, stirring you from the numbing sensation rolling through your body. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of his knuckles on the glass. Joel cracked the door open, pulling it wide enough to fit his broad between the metal and your shaking body.

“C’mon baby,” he urged, offering his hand. “I know y’can do this. I’m right here with you, okay?”

“I can’t,” you whined. 

Joel crouched slightly, leveling you with soft brown eyes, a curl drifting over his forehead. You wished you were both in bed, curled under the covers and far away from Boston. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers and his stubble ticking your skin. But no, you were here in Boston, with a rain cloud hanging in the sky and your father unconscious in a hospital bed. 

“Look at me,” Joel breathed.

You wanted to look anywhere but at him. If he looked at you any longer, you’d shatter completely. He cautioned your name, coaxing you from your hesitation. His strong hands cupped your cheeks, holding you firm as he kept your focus on his eyes.

“I’m right here,” he repeated. “Ain’t gonna leave your side no matter what. Y’understand? Whatever happens, I’m right here.”

You chewed on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping. It was surprising you had anything left to cry; all you did was cry… and cry… and cry. 

“I can’t go in there, Joel. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded.

“Go without me. I’ll wait outside, okay?”

“Baby,” he groaned. “Beth will have my ass if I don’t get you inside.”

You scoffed, ripping his hands from your face. 

“You speak a few words to her and suddenly know how she’s gonna react?” You glared. “You both acted so fucking weird in the airport and now you’re taking her side?”

Joel straightened to his full height, the shadow of his body blanketing you. You were pushing him away; you knew it, and so did he. You just needed to nudge him a bit more, and he’d run. You’d be alone again and spare yourself the humiliation and heartbreak.

“I ain’t takin’ sides,” he argued. “I’m bein’ realistic. I saw the way she went at you back there. I’m not ‘bout to get the same treatment for leavin’ you behind.”

“Just go!” You yelled. You shoved at his chest, forcing him back into the door. 

He didn’t respond in anger like you expected. He did the opposite, pulling you towards him and into a desperate kiss. You tried to push him off—tried to fight it— but he only held you tighter.

“Keep fightin’ me, baby,” he said against your mouth. “I’m only gonna fight back.”

“I hate you,” you cried. “I hate you.”

But you didn’t stop kissing him. You gripped the wild curls at the base of his neck, pinning him to your lips as you sobbed through every slant of his mouth. 

“Why won’t you leave?” You cried, the words muffled as his tongue searched for yours. “Why, Joel?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you again, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t.”

Joel pulled away from your swollen lips, tears pooling in his eyes. You instantly felt remorse for treating him so badly. You wouldn’t do to him what Bennett did to you. 

“Remember when I said this was real?” he asked. “Do you still believe that?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Then trust me when I say I’m never leavin’. Not now. Not ever.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and buried your head in your hands. 

“Just give me a minute, okay?” You exhaled. “Catch up with Beth, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, echoing the words you spoke only a few weeks ago. 

“You and your deals,” you grumbled, peeking out your fingers.

That garnered a slight grin from Joel, his lips curling upward.

“Take your breather, and I’ll wait by the back of the car. If y’wanna go in, we can go in together.”

You remained silent, hiccuping over another sob. Joel raised his brow, waiting for a response. Avoiding his eyes, you nodded, the Emergency sign taunting you from a distance. Joel leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead and abandoned you to retreat toward the back of the car. 

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale of the air within your lungs. It wasn’t you in that hospital bed; it was your dad. He didn’t sustain the same damage you had, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever the outcome, he was better off than you had ever been, and you needed to be grateful for it. 

You let your legs move on their own accord as you took your spot beside Joel, his hand instantly grasping around yours. His touch grounded you in the moment, keeping you centered as your mind swam upstream through the rocky waves of the past. You had to stay strong. You had to prove you could do this.

The second your feet crossed through the sliding doors, all that strength collapsed. Joel hooked a strong arm around your back, bracing you to his side as he guided you into the waiting room. Your mom and Beth sat side by side in the worn-down seats, their faces grim and tired. 

“Hey,” you said wearily. 

Your mom's eyes snapped up, and she broke down at seeing you. She ran up to yank you from Joel’s grasp, smothering you into a tight hug. 

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How’s dad?” You asked, speaking into her hair that wrapped around your face.

“Doctors haven’t given much of an update, but he’s alright. They’re taking him in for surgery in a few hours to help reset his hip.”

“And his head?” You faltered.

“There’s no serious damage,” she whispered.

You peered over her shoulder to where Beth sat, eyes meeting in a quiet understanding. There was still a tension running thick between you both, but those words from your mom were enough to soothe the surmounting anxiety inside you.

“Mom,” you sighed, tearing away from her embrace. “This is Joel.”

You motioned to Joel behind you, an eerie repeat of what had happened between him and Beth. Your mom stood frozen, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Joel cracked a welcoming smile, extending his hand out to her. No one moved, and his hand remained wavering in the stagnant air. 

“Mom?” You pressed.

She shook her head and opened her arms to Joel, inviting him in for a hug. It was strange but not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances. 

“Hi, honey,” she said as she rocked Joel back and forth in the embrace. 

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Joel replied. You caught on to the way his biceps flexed around her, squeezing her just as tightly as he would with you. He was comforting her, and something softened inside you. 

Beth cleared her throat behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mom released Joel and turned towards Beth.

“She should go up and see him,” Beth told your mom.

“She is right here,” you snapped.

“Oh, now she wants to listen to me,” Beth snorted.

“Both of you!” Your mom shouted. “Enough!”

You shrunk away, folding yourself into Joel’s warm frame. The press of his body against yours quelled the anger rising back up, and you kept focus on his hands rubbing over your arms to keep from lashing out. Beth was pushing, and you knew exactly why.

“Listen, Beth, stay here and chill out,” your mom started. She glanced back at you and Joel before continuing. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll take you to see him.”

You followed your mom up to the ICU, your eyes shifting from one room to another. The repetition of machines beeping and murmurs of nurses through the hall slammed into your head like a hammer, and you found yourself clinging to Joel, twisting his cotton shirt until it stretched between your fingers. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel crooned. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Mom guided you to the room where Stella was perched on a chair beside the bed. You averted your eyes from your dad, refusing to look. Stella turned to see you walk in and immediately sprinted into your arms, sobbing into your chest.

“I know. I know,” you cried.

“I was so scared it was going to happen again, sis,” she muttered. 

“They said he was okay, right? It’s not going to happen to him,” you assured. 

“But what if it does? What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember—.”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Don’t say it.”

She peeled herself from you and wiped away her tears. Joel stepped forward, his hand pressed to your lower back, as he made his way to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he smiled, extending his hand.

Stella flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Your mom watched them with a knowing look, something you couldn’t discern. 

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she sighed. 

Weird. You only really talked to Beth about Joel and didn’t expect her to share it with anyone except your mom. 

Joel rubbed her shoulders gently, then pulled away. 

“Likewise, Stell.”

Stell. You didn’t recall calling her that in front of Joel; that nickname was reserved for you and only you. Your head was pounding, and the nagging feeling that you were losing grip on reality was slowly settling in. You worked so hard to remember everything; it wouldn’t happen again. Not now. 

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mom cautioned, stepping beside you.

Her voice roused you from your confusion, and you made the mistake of looking at your dad for the first time. He looked so much smaller, lying in the hospital bed: a breathing tube situated under his nose and IVs running through the bend of his arm. Oh God, and his face. Both of his eyes were rimmed in dark bruises, and a thick layer of bandages was wrapped over his forehead. Was that how you looked all those years ago? Your stomach churned with nausea the longer you looked at him. The whirring of the machines in the room dizzied you, and you felt your body swaying in place. Joel quickly steadied you, his arms coming around your front to lock you into a tight hold. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmured into your ear. 

“Do you want to be alone with him, sweetie?” Your mom asked.

“Please,” you said, nodding. 

Joel kissed the crown of your head before following your mom and Stella out into the hall. You glanced over your shoulder to see them all huddled together, the cracked blinds inside the room obstructing your view of what they were saying. You’d ask Joel about it later.

Turning back to your dad, you let the real tears fall. The ugly, gut-wrenching ones you had held back for so long. Tears that weren’t just for him, but for you as well. No one in your family knew the fear and pain that came with a head injury. No one could understand you—not even Bennett, despite everything he tried to say and do. You were alone in its entirety, but you’d be damned if your dad dealt with the same. 

Cradling his hand in yours, you drew circles over his calloused skin with your thumb. You didn’t have words to express your pain, so you sat in silence. The constant repetition of machinery beeping throbbed through the recesses of your brain, a migraine looming on the horizon. You’d suffer with it later, but it would be worth it just to stay in this moment a few seconds longer.

“I love you, dad,” you whispered. 

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you hoped he did. 

You remained silent for a few more minutes and glanced at the clock above the bed. 3: 13 AM. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had drained away, and the fatigue in your body was settling in rapidly. You wanted to lie down and wake up when everything was better, but it all came with time. And you hated that. You hated time and things it had stolen from you.

A light rap on the door startled you from your silent cocoon, and you turned to see Joel peeking in through the window. You motioned him to come in, and he bent beside the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“How ya’ doin’, baby?” He asked softly.

“I’m tired,” you lamented.

He smoothed his hand over your legs, the warmth of his touch radiating through your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his.

“I’m gonna ask Beth if we can take the car and go home,” you said. “I can’t be here anymore, and I need sleep.”

“We can do that. Your mom said they’re gonna take him for surgery in a few, anyway. No point stickin’ around if we’d just be waitin’.”

“When he’s out of surgery, they can call me, and we can come back.”

“Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s get you home.”

Joel offered to drive Beth’s car back to the house. You sat beside him, your head propped in your hand, watching as he drove through the city streets. Even cast in the late night sky, he was so handsome. The rich tan color of his skin seemed to be illuminated by the moonlight glinting through the windshield, his brown eyes softer than you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looked so kind and so loving. Joel glanced over at you as the car slowed in front of the red light. 

“What’s that look for?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m just really thankful you’re here,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to see me so angry earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

Joel leaned over the dash to pull you in for a soft, fleeting kiss.

“There’s a lot happenin’ right now, baby. Be angry all y’want. I can take it,” he said.

You chewed on your lip and nodded, turning your attention back to the street as the light turned green. Joel drove in silence the rest of the way to your parent's house, guiding him quietly with directions every few turns. Even though it had only been a few weeks since you were last home, the streets were scattered with yellow and orange leaves, autumn settling over the neighborhood. The car's tires flattened over them as Joel slowed to the front of the house and killed the engine. 

“This where y’grew up?” Joel asked, tilting his head toward the house.

You nodded, but your eyes were glued to the porch. The ladder was still lying on the ground; the metal pressed into the cold grass of the front lawn. Joel must’ve picked up on your fixation and sighed. 

“I’ll go pick it up, baby. Why don’t you grab your bag and head in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But your eyes didn’t stray from the ladder.

You watched Joel reach the ladder, his body a beacon under the moonlight. His tall figure moved against the cover of the night sky, working quickly to move it off to the side of the house. You took an extra moment to collect yourself before gathering your bags and meeting him on the porch. Joel took them immediately from your hands as you guided him into the house. You’d give him a tour of it tomorrow; you just wanted to curl under the covers of your bed and waste away. 

When you opened the door to your bedroom, Joel gave a low whistle, glancing around at the artifacts of your childhood. Miscellaneous pictures of you and your sisters hung on the walls, along with a collection of CDs stacked on the floor in one corner and a reading nook built into the windowsill. The dated white armoire was nestled against the wall beside your vanity, and the large queen bed sat untouched and nicely made with its white comforter and grey pillows. 

“Nice lil’ room y’got here, baby,” Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you shrugged.

You dumped your bag on the ground, collapsing backward until your back hit the bed with a soft thud. Joel followed your lead, and you both lay there silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in circles. It was tempting just to succumb to sleep right in that moment, but you knew you needed a shower to wash off the lingering stress of the day. 

“Come shower with me?” You asked, glancing over at Joel.

“Of course.”

The heat of the shower pelted your skin as Joel rubbed a loufa into your back muscles, working out the knots that had materialized through the long day. You basked in the warmth of his body pressed into yours, your head falling back against his muscular chest and eyes drifting shut. His tender touch helped alleviate the pressure building in your head, and you prayed that the migraine would subside soon enough. 

“Doin’ okay, baby?” He asked, his mouth pressing into the side of your neck.

You hummed at his lips on your skin, bringing your arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. His fingers drifted over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips softly before trailing between your legs.

“Can I?” 

“Mhmm,” you sighed, shifting your body slightly so that he could explore further.

His hand dipped between your legs, your arousal already pooling at your entrance. He was slow with his touch, each graze of his fingers over your sensitive bud eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Joel’s mouth roamed over the expanse of your neck as he continued to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your fingers tugged at his wet curls, urging him closer. The blood coursing through your veins thrummed with pleasure as he teased the build-up of your release. 

“You’re beautiful, baby. Y’know that?” He whispered in your ear.

Maybe it was the gentle touch of his fingers or his words swimming through your mind, but your climax shattered you into pieces in record time. Your thighs clenched tight around his hand as you let out a soft cry. 

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Let go, baby.”

You slumped against his body, your heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Joel held you close, wrapping his arms around your front and swaying you under the spray of the water. Your eyes grew heavy the longer you remained in his embrace, so you decided to cut the water and drag him out and into bed. 

Under the security of your comforter, you clung to Joel and buried your head into the crook of his arm. He traced circles over your bare arm, letting you lay quietly against him. The familiar pressure of a migraine began forming in your mind, the pounding ache settling behind your eyes. You squeezed your eyes tighter, curling yourself up into his body in hopes it would fade away as you slept. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, noticing the tension paralyzing your muscles.

“Migraine,” you choked out. 

“What do y’need? I can go get it.”

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. “Just stay here. Please.”

“These happen often?”

“Not in a while.” You couldn’t find the strength to form complete sentences, so the words came out choppy and pained.

“Will sleep help?” 

“I hope,” you muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joel’s arms tightened around your body, anchoring you to his side as he hummed softly into your hair. Pain pulsated through your head as you forced yourself to fall asleep, your limbs shaking as they wrapped around his torso. 

All you wanted was for the pain to go away. 

A few hours later, the morning light dancing through the window stirred you awake. The residual aching pain in your head still lingered, but it was far more manageable than it had been before you fell asleep. Joel snored softly beside you, and you took the chance to watch him as he slept peacefully beside you. The creases in his skin were softened in his slumber, his face relaxed and calm. His lips were parted slightly, the bottom one plush and pouty and tempting to kiss. You nestled into his body, your mouth roaming over his scruffy jaw and eventually reaching his lips. The strange urge to say I love you nearly tumbled out of your mouth as you kissed him, but you swallowed it and saved it away. It was the first time you thought those three little words in the space with someone other than Bennett. Knowing Joel was digging closer to your heart, breaking down every barrier and wall, it was still frightening. But if this sudden trip had taught you anything, he was right; this was real. You weren’t ready to confess those words, but in time you would. 

Just not now. 

Joel roused himself from sleep, groaning softly as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss. 

“Mornin’, baby. How’s your head feelin’?”

“Better,” you sighed. 

“Ready to go back to the hospital?”

You groaned, shoving your head under the comforter. 

“I hate it there.”

He squeezed your side, urging you back up to the surface. Your eyes connected with his, the morning light coloring his eyes a rich shade of amber. Flecks of gold scattered through his irises, blending into the rich chocolate brown you were drawn to. 

“Why do y’hate it so much?” He wondered.

“I—I just don’t have good memories of it.”

“Y’wanna talk to me ‘bout it?”

You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as the memories waded through the headache still swimming in your head. 

“Bennett, there’s a chance this could actually work,” you begged. 

“I’m not risking it. What if it doesn’t work and things get worse?” He argued. “Isn’t it easier to just move forward?”

You rubbed circles into your temples, trying to soften the onset migraine surging to the surface. All this arguing was making you nauseous and tired. Why wouldn’t Bennett be on your side about this? Why wasn’t he agreeing with you?

“I want to remember,” you lamented. “I want those two years back.”

“The doctors said it’ll take time. Why isn’t that enough?” Bennett sighed, crouching down to meet you at eye level. 

“You don’t understand, Bennett.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped. 

It was the first time you’d experienced his anger in such a way. He wasn’t taking your side, and he wasn’t even listening to your requests. You could only nod and cave to his arguments; he was the one holding the power now. You had to trust him. 

Situating yourself against the headboard, you inhaled sharply and glanced at Joel. 

“I might as well tell you since everyone is on my case about it,” you groaned. 

“Only if you wanna, baby. I ain’t gonna force you,” Joel sighed, looking up at you.

Giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, you dove into the story.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-two, or I guess twenty-four. The last thing I remember was being twenty-two and just moving to Austin with Bennett. We had just moved into our apartment, and I was about to start substitute teaching while finishing my Master's degree. Everything was great. Then, I got in an accident on the way home from school, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. 

“I guess in the crash, my head hit the dashboard hard enough to cause serious damage to my brain. They—the doctors, told me I had sustained enough trauma to cause retrograde amnesia. I woke up thinking I was still twenty-two, Joel. I lost two years of my life. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Bennett tried to fill me in on pieces of it, but trying to remember did more damage than anything,” you continued. “I had migraines all the time. I could barely function for the first couple of months, and that’s when my parents talked me into coming back here. To Mass General. They ran so many tests on me and tried to find solutions, but there was no hope. Bennett was adamant about not causing any more damage to my brain, so I just gave up,” you explained. 

“You gave up tryin’ to remember?” He asked, pulling himself up to sit beside you. There was a deep furrow between his brows and a noticeable shift in his body language. Everything was tense, from his jaw to how his fists clenched together. 

“Yeah. I trusted Bennett with the memories I no longer had and knew he would take care of me. Or at least, I hoped he would. The doctors suggested I stay in Boston to go through psychotherapy to help try and piece together those memories, but Bennett was against it. It caused a huge riff in my family since they wanted me to stay and get help.”

“He kept you from rememberin’ things,” Joel frowned.

You nodded, digging your knuckles into your eyes to try and push away the pressure building behind them again. 

“We were here for almost two months, just constantly going in and out of the hospital. I’d have these debilitating migraines that would lead to fainting spells, so I was always back at the emergency room for more testing. The outcome was always the same, though. I felt so defeated every time like it was my fault,” you confessed. 

Joel laid a hand on your thigh, smoothing over your skin as you tried to drag in a lungful of air. 

“It ain’t your fault though, baby,” he assured.

“I should have advocated for myself more. I just did whatever Bennett said because he knew things I couldn’t remember. He even proposed here. He made this big, long speech about how he never wanted to face the fear of losing me again, and I went with it because I loved him. I loved him enough to do whatever he said because I owed it to him.”

“You were tryna heal from everythin’,” he offered, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s not your fault for what happened after.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“But it is,” you argued. “It’s my fault Bennett left. If I thought our fights before the crash were bad… It only got worse. We moved out of our apartment and got this big house. We decided to speed through our engagement for the sake of my fucking memory. All the while, Bennett just started to get angrier and angrier. I was trying so hard to remember things, and he just started to remember less. He was always fighting with me over every little thing. He barely touched me or looked at me. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me! It’s like he didn’t want me to have those memories back, and I just—I don’t understand why.”

Joel pulled your head into his hands, his eyes darkening as he stared at you. His thumbs rubbed over your cheekbones in an attempt to calm your rambling. You wanted to flinch away from his touch, but he only held you tighter.

“None of this is your fault,” he emphasized. 

“It is, though,” you sniffled. The tears were ready to slip at any moment. “He wanted the girl I was before the crash, and I was so hell-bent on trying to fix my memory that I stopped being that version of myself. I couldn’t be what he wanted, so he left. I wasn’t enough, Joel. I couldn’t fight for him to stay because he didn’t want me. I—I’m so fucked up, Joel.”

Joel’s nostrils flared, a wash of anger clouding his eyes. But you knew it wasn’t anger toward you. It was toward Bennett.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “You’re not fucked up. Bennett was an asshole, and I swear I’d kill him if I could.”

“That’s not funny,” you deadpanned. 

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, baby. I’m serious. Ain’t no way y’went through hell and back for him to do that to you. Y’didn’t get the time to heal because you were so focused on tryin’ to make him happy, and he didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

You shrugged off his hands and scooted out of the warmth of the bed. Digging through your bag, you pulled out a change of clothes, carelessly throwing an outfit together while Joel sat motionless on the bed. 

“Baby,” Joel pleaded. “Stop for a minute, ‘kay? Are you listenin’ to me?”

He threw back the covers and strode to where you stood, your arms halfway into a sweater. He helped tug it the rest of the way, settling it over your body before reeling you in for a long kiss. It was his weapon for shutting you up, and he was really fucking good at using it. You dragged yourself away from his mouth, staggering back until there was enough distance between you and him. 

“I should have fucking listened to everyone,” you heaved. “I should have fucking stayed in Boston, but I wanted to prove I could do it. I wanted to prove I could continue living with this fucked up part of myself.”

Joel cautioned your name, and you took another step back.

“Look at me, Joel!” You laughed. “I’m fucked up! I still can’t remember a damn fucking thing, and being here is only a brutal reminder of that. I lost so much of myself because of that accident. And I swear to God, if I lose my dad, too. I—I can’t…”

Your knees hit the ground before it even registered in your mind. Joel was quick to drop to the floor in front of you, pulling you into his lap as the sobs wracked through your body. You rocked yourself back and forth as Joel’s arms wound into a vice around your chest. He hushed you softly as you audibly cried loud enough to echo around the room. 

“You aren’t gonna lose him,” Joel whispered in your ear. 

“What if—.” You choked on another cry.

“Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe. C’mon.”

Joel inhaled loudly, coaxing you to do the same. You followed his lead, exhaling when he instructed to. You both repeated it a few more times until you felt the surge of emotions slow. 

“That’s it, baby,” he sighed. “I’m right here with you. Everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

You burrowed your head into his chest, your tears dampening his bare chest. How was he not running away from you? You laid all your damaged pieces out, and he still had his arms around you. You didn’t deserve it. You couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do y’say we get back to the hospital?” Joel offered after a moment. “We can check in and see how the surgery went. It’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced. 

Joel helped you to your feet, and you both finished changing in silence. You grabbed your purse and followed Joel to the car, and you both returned to Mass General. 

“He’s fine, honey,” your mom said, giving you a weak smile.

You were all crowded in the hospital room surrounding your dad as he lay unconscious on the bed. 

“The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery,” she continued. “They’re going to slow the sedative down, and hopefully, he’ll be waking up in the next day or so.”

Beth and Stella stood close together, Stella’s head resting on Beth’s shoulder. Their expressions were painted with relief, and you felt your muscles loosen at the news.

“So, we just wait?” You asked. 

“We will wait,” your mom corrected. “You and Joel should go back to Austin. There’s no point sticking around now that we know he’s alright.”

You turned to stare at her, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“I am not leaving until he wakes up,” you argued. 

“We’ll call right when he wakes up,” she offered. “I know being here is hard for you, honey. And you’ve got a job that needs you.”

“Mom!” You shouted. It was loud enough to startle everyone. “I’m not leaving.”

“She’s right, baby,” Joel chimed in. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Look, let’s make a deal. We stay another day and then go home, okay?”

You glanced between everyone in the room, finally settling your eyes on your dad, still unconscious in the bed. Everyone was right, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You weren’t ready. Even if being here felt like hell. 

“One more day,” you agreed.

You remained at the hospital most of the day, shifting between the waiting room and your dad’s room. Everyone took turns visiting him and meeting with doctors, and Joel stayed at your side every minute. Stella took a liking to him most out of everyone, spending a good majority of the time talking his ear off about Sarah. Seeing Joel engage with her as he did was endearing as if they knew each other and were old friends catching up. He treated everyone in your family so kindly that it was hard to continue shoving down those three little words. You wanted to say them more than ever…but weren’t sure when you’d feel ready. 

Eventually, the day faded into night, and your mom urged everyone to go home while she insisted on staying. You didn’t know when she had slept last, but she was adamant about staying with your dad. Beth drove you all home, humming some song that floated through the radio. As the house came into view, she dialed down the volume and turned toward the backseat. 

“Joel, Stella, will you guys head in while I talk to sis?” Beth asked as she parked the car.

You gave her a confused stare as they filed out and walked up the driveway toward the house. 

“Did you tell him?” She asked, turning to look at you.

Her eyes were dark with heavy circles, and her lips stuck in a straight line.

“I did,” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He just sympathized with me. There’s not much else to say,” you shrugged. 

“That’s it?” She pressed, her brows scrunching together.

You scoffed, glancing out the side window. 

“What did you want him to say, Beth? There isn’t much to say when you tell someone your memory is all fucked up.”

“I just figured he’d say more,” she offered.

“Like what?” You snapped. “Nothing he says is going to magically make it better.”

“I know, I know. I just thought he’d say more.”

You stared at her, the tiredness creeping into your bones. You didn’t want to argue anymore, not about this or anything.

“Can we just go in? I’m tired,” you said.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Beth and Stella offered to make dinner that night, all four of you quietly eating in heavy silence as the evening drifted later. Once dinner was all said and done, you and Joel retired to your room, curling up under the covers once again. You tangled your legs between his and kissed up his chest and under his jaw.

“Baby,” he warned. “The girls are right down the hall. Don’t be doin’ that.”

“Why?” You questioned, continuing the path up his cheek and to his lips.

Joel captured your mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in your hair. You moaned softly as the kiss depended, his hands roaming over your body.

“I want you, Joel,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Baby, we can’t,” he groaned. But he didn’t stop kissing you.

He rolled his body over yours, pinning you to the bed as his hand slid under your pajama bottoms. You bucked into his hand, searching for a fleeting touch to quell the ache growing between your thighs. Joel responded to your desperation, slipping a finger between your slick folds. 

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised. “Just keep kissing me.”

Joel relented to your pleas, locking his mouth with yours again. He added another finger, plunging them inside you as you cried out at the pressure. His teeth quickly bit down on your bottom lip, a silent demand to keep your voice down.

“Sorry,” you exhaled.

“Be good for me, baby,” he whispered. 

His fingers abandoned you, but it was barely a moment of loss before he sank his cock into you. You used all your strength to hold back a groan of relief as the slight sting of your body stretching to him faded into bliss. Joel kept his hands tangled in your hair as he rocked into you, your bodies moving in unison as he drove himself deeper with each thrust. 

“Joel…” You whimpered against his mouth.

���Stay quiet, baby.”

His mouth roamed down the column of your throat, sucking gently at your skin as he reached one arm down to hook around the back of your knee. The change in position only sent his cock deeper inside you, your core clenching around him with every drive of his hips. 

“It feels so good,” you panted, rolling your hips. “I’m so close, Joel. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hips snapped harder against you, and you bit back another cry of pleasure. Your body thrummed with the need for release, the waves crashing inside you growing stronger. Just a little more… a little more. Joel’s other hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit. You arched into his touch and ground your nails into the skin of his biceps. 

“Joel,” you choked.

The orgasm exploded through you, fogging your vision as your core pulsated around his cock. Joel let out a strangled groan and tumbled over the edge with you, his release filling you only seconds later. 

Joel collapsed against your body, his cock slipping out of you as it softened. You welcomed the weight of him, letting his skin meld into yours. I love you. It was just a breath from escaping your lips, but you kept it shoved down. 

Another time, you told yourself. 

“Can I sleep like this?” Joel chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Whatever you want, handsome,” you giggled. 

He peered up at you, a grin curving over his face.

“There’s that word again,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up. You like it.”

“I really fuckin’ do.”

You bent your neck to kiss his forehead before settling back against the pillow. It was easier to sleep like this, knowing you’d have him in your arms when you woke up. It made everything inside you hurt less. 

After an extra day at the hospital, nothing new had progressed with your dad. Your mom assured you that she would call if she had any news of him waking up, so you and Joel said your goodbyes and made the trip back to Austin. 

Nothing had changed in Austin, not that you were expecting it to. Joel returned home after spending an extra few hours under your bed sheets with you, groaning about not wanting to leave. You urged him to go, knowing Sarah was probably missing him. That first night home alone was the hardest; the nightmares continued again now that you had no distractions. The migraine had returned at full throttle when you woke up the next morning, and you had to make an extra effort to pull yourself from bed and dress for work. Not a single cell in your body wanted to return to a classroom full of loud kids, but you had missed enough days and needed to make up for lost time. 

Maria was the first to drill you with questions as you arrived at the school. 

“Is everything okay? I asked around and only heard that it was a family emergency.”

You shuffled into your classroom, Maria hot on your heels. You could barely stand the stream of light coming through the windows, let alone the sound of her voice.

“My dad had an accident, that’s all,” you assured. “Everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank God he’s okay.” She flung her arms around you, giving you a suffocating hug.

You peeled away from her, steadying your body against the corner of your desk. 

“I’ll tell you more later, okay? I just need to prep for classes before the first bell.”

“I’ll check in on you later,” she announced before leaving. 

The day moved on slowly, and before you knew it, your final class was over. As the students filed out, you started gathering your things but noticed Sarah lingered behind.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” You asked as she approached your desk.

“Um, kinda?” She gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

She shifted her weight between her legs, her hazel eyes on the floor.

“Are you dating my dad?”

Your breath stalled, and you were unsure of what to say or do. Was it appropriate to lie? You and Joel hadn’t discussed the possibility of her finding out much and now was definitely not the time.

“Why do you ask?” You were deflecting.

“I overheard him talking to my Uncle Tommy last night,” she explained. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, and blood rushed through your ears. God, what had they said? What did she hear?

“Go on,” you insisted, your voice unsteady. 

“My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.”

At that moment, her hazel eyes met yours, and everything came crashing down. You tripped over your words and found yourself gripping the desk.

“Miss Smith?” Sarah cautioned. 

“I’m sure your dad was talking about someone else,” you lied. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She looked at you with confusion written all over her face but eventually followed your request and left you in an empty room.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew Joel’s feelings were there for you, but you didn’t want to hear it from Sarah. You wanted to hear it from him. Searching for your purse, you found your phone and dialed his number with shaking hands.

He answered immediately.

“Did y’hear from your mom?” He asked in a rush.

“No, it’s not that. Can you—” You steadied your breathing. “Can you just meet me at my house?”

“Of course, is everythin’ okay? You’re worryin’ me.”

“I’m fine, Joel. I’ll see you there in a few.”

You hung up before he could say anymore and be-lined for your car. You drove home on autopilot, the words jumbling together in your head. 

I think he’s already falling in love with you. 

My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.

Over and over again, Beth and Sarah’s voices played on a loop. You turned onto your street and blinked back tears. You weren’t ready to face this. What were you going to say? What would Joel say? What would—

You slammed on your brakes right before you got to your house. 

Joel’s truck wasn’t there. 

But Bennett’s car was.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #pre outbreak!joel #angst angst angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus IV.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, alcohol consumption, Space Politics, possessive behavior, yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.4k.

Nexus index.

Time plucked away at the few petals still clinging to Kafka’s roses. 

The insipid end brought an inexplicable sense of relief. An irrational foreboding cast suspicion upon the bouquet; you considered it an ill-omen. You observed it religiously as one would an upside-down hourglass. Waiting, anticipating, dreading. When the last petal fell, you breathed a sigh of relief. It was late by then, so you decided to throw the remains away in the morning. 

Presently, you examine the vase. 

The once wilted stems stand tall, pridefully lifting its crowning gem on a green pedestal. Ruby-colored petals burst forth, wickedly beautiful and fragrant. 

Is this a practical joke? Some little parlor trick intended to unnerve you? 

The latest developments in holograms include olfactory stimulation. Consider this, you decide to test its authenticity. You reach out, expecting your hands to glide through an incorporeal image. 

Your fingers meet resistance. 

You try again just to be certain — the results are the same.

You’re more determined to get rid of it now than ever.

You pick up the most vain rose by its stem. It delays its demise by pricking you, earning a temporary pardon along the white veneer of your vanity. 

Blood pools into a crimson dome on your finger. You watch it, mesmerized, taken aback by memories that emerge alongside it.

The voice of a haughty girl echoes throughout your being. 

“What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, don’t we?”

The LOTUS-EATER has always been your home. 

So long as it wasn’t open for business, you were free to run amuck. Of course, you refused to run amuck — how unladylike is that — but you did enjoy roaming. There were a lot of interesting things to look at. Anything was better than spending hours in front of that dumb blue screen with its stupid made-up people with stupid made-up problems. You didn’t get it. Everyone always said you’d grow up to be a super amazing Arbiter. You’d get tons of clients, make them all happy, get mountains of credits, buy the IPC, and then fire their staff.

Miss Calliope, your teacher when mother was busy, said it took most twenty years to get to where you’ve gotten in one. This reinforced an argument you’d practiced for many cycles. You thought for sure you could convince mother.

It didn’t work out that way. 

Mother said you had to keep studying before you could make a link with an organic being. You really wanted to argue, but you chose to act like an adult and be angry in silence instead. She tried to win you over and offered a ride on the nectar guides. This bribe almost swayed you from your mission. To ensure she knew how serious you were, you said you’d pass, calmly enough for her to know you weren’t actually calm. 

She went off somewhere to discuss boring things with boring people. You seized this opportunity to further refine your strategy and paced The Lounge’s hallways. Maybe if you broke the blue screen, mother would have no choice but to let you learn through experience. This idea greatly enthused you, until you remembered they could just get another blue screen. For this mission to succeed, you needed to cause the ‘collapse of supply chains.’ This was adult for ‘we can’t get the stuff we want’ from what you could surmise. The problem was, you didn’t know where these important chains were located. There’s Thelx, the good place, Ade, the weird place, Mele, the boring place, and Arc, the scary place. 

You stood and contemplated. If you had to hide something important, you’d put it in the scariest spot. Arc it is then. 

A mission of this magnitude would be unlike anything you pulled before. You’d need a… what was that term again…? Accompanied lice…? 

Accomplice! 

That’d be the crux of the whole thing. It couldn’t be any of the adults either, they’re all snitches. You required someone who would do your bidding. You closed your eyes and concentrated. There were three people around. Two on the first floor, one on the second. You sought out the latter. 

A little boy with long blonde hair and dull blue eyes sat by himself in the break room. He hadn’t noticed you yet, he just stared off into space and halfheartedly kicked his legs. The workers sometimes brought their kids along and stuffed them in here, where there were snacks and games. He didn’t seem interested in either. 

What resolve, you thought. What fortitude! 

You walked in front of him, pointed, and loudly demanded, “What’s your name?” 

“M-Miss Phaeales?” He squeaked. 

“No, that’s my name,” you sighed. Maybe your intuition was off. “What’s your name?” 

He hung his head and frowned.

“Oh, um… I’m Vincent.” 

You squinted. “Huh? That can’t be right. Vincent’s the bartender. You can’t do that.” 

“He’s my dad. We have the same name.” 

You felt a strange feeling from tinier Vincent; the kind of strange feeling that made your stomach and head hurt. Mother said you’d be able to block it out as you grew up. You hoped you’d grow up soon.

“Well, that’s dumb. I don’t like that name,” you decided. He remained silent. “Pick a new one.” 

“I don’t think I can…?” 

“You can because I said you can. Pick a new one, or I’ll pick one for you.” 

He stared at you like you had three heads. You did the scary thing mother does when angry — you counted down from three to one in a mean voice. Not-tinier-Vincent just sat there and looked confused. You scrunched your face up when your mean counting finished. You didn’t get it, that always worked on you. He must be immune to pressure… a quality your mission required. 

Maybe he had his merits after all.

“Alright, I’ll pick one. From now on, you’re… hm… Lear.” 

You placed your hands on your hips and nodded. This is a great name, you thought. It rhymes with so many things. 

Lear tilted his head. “Uh… alright?”  

“Great. Onto the next business order — how old are you?” 

He put up five fingers. 

What luck you have!

You grinned. “I’m seven, so according to the law, you have to listen to me.” 

“The law?” He questioned. 

“Yeah, the law. It’s what you have to do or you get in trouble.” 

Lear processed this new information and nodded. “Okay. I don’t wanna get in trouble.” 

“From now on, you’ll be my ac—” 

You covered your mouth with your hands. Wait a moment, you can’t tell him he’s an accomplice!  He might not help you then. That was a close one. You considered alternative titles, but none of them sounded as cool as accomplice. What a shame, but it can’t be helped. Missions required sacrifice. 

“From now on, Lear, you’ll be my best friend.” 

…

A few cycles later, you convened on the balcony outside of mother’s office. 

You liked the balcony. No one made you use the blue screen there. Sometimes, when you weren’t monitored, you’d grab a chair, pull it to the railing, hop up, and stare. This is Eris, you’d think. A cold planet far away from the stars. Stars are big fireballs that make everything nice and warm. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see one. It’d be cool if I could. 

You displayed a vital object for the mission.

“Lear, do you know what this is?” 

Lear stood still with his hands in his pockets. “A circle?” 

“No. Well, okay, yeah, it’s a circle, but this is called a hair tie. You use it to tie your hair.” 

“That’s cool.” 

You held it out to him. “For this mission, full visibility is required. I’d cut your hair, but mother hid the scissors from me.” 

His tiny hand grabbed it. Lear regarded your gift blankly and glanced back at you, his eyebrows furrowed. Did he not know what to do with it? 

You sighed because that’s what mother did in these situations. You started to get why. You took the gift back, tied your hair up, then returned it. He managed to do it on the fourth try. Relieved that the trial was over, you clapped and smiled. Your effort has been rewarded.

“Good job, Lear.” 

Lear’s head rose at that. “What?” 

“I said good job. When someone gets something right, that’s what you say.” 

“... It is?” He murmured. You nodded. You didn’t think you needed to teach him the basics, but an accomplice must be capable. Miss Calliope said that extra effort was always worth it. She changed her mind after you grabbed a stool to mix the adult drinks. You’d like to think she still meant it. 

“Since that’s finished, we can get to the main event.” 

You pulled out a paperclip from a pocket inside your dress. The object was subjected to your immense strength, manipulated, and reforged. It went from a boring shape to a useful shape. You took a deep breath, brought the paperclip’s edge to your pointer finger, then stabbed down. Lear released a choked sound when blood surfaced. 

You cleaned the paperclip’s edge with your dress’ hem and handed it to him. This would go on to determine the rest of your life, you decided. It needed to be done well. 

“I read that doing this makes your promises stronger. Since we’re gonna make an important promise, it has to be extra strong,” you explained. The color drained from Lear’s face. “What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, right?” 

Lear refused to take the paperclip. “A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.” 

“You don’t have to press hard. It barely stings, anyway.” 

“B-But...” 

You pursed your lips. “Lear, we have to, or the promise will be weak.” 

Lear shook his head and took a step back. There were lots of weird feelings that came from him. They confused you, you couldn’t think of a word to describe them. It didn’t hurt, but it felt heavy on your chest. What did you do wrong? Were paper clips that scary? No, it had to be something else. Mother said you can’t focus on another person too hard because it’s unfair. If they don’t tell you it themselves, you shouldn’t know it. 

“Lear…?” 

He stood on his tiptoes and reached for the number pad. You revealed the top-secret passcode to him, since the balcony was to be your top-secret hideout. Every top-secret hideout had to have a top-secret password. The detective books you read said so. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Lear apologized. His voice sounded tiny. “I’m really sorry.” 

You didn’t know what to say to stop him or if you should try. 

Was this what people meant when they called you pushy? You wanted to complete the mission, but you also didn’t want Lear to be sad. 

The door opened and quietly closed. 

With that, the first friend you ever made was gone. 

…

The next time you were allowed on the balcony, you were curled up in a ball. 

You hugged your knees to your chest and sniffled. Mom was mad at you. Miss Calliope was mad at you. Mister Caicias had scolded you. The other Arbiters were less nice too. You don’t think they ever liked you, but at least they pretended they did. It’s okay to hate you for now so they stopped pretending. 

You could hear their thoughts. You didn’t want to, but you could anyway. 

What a spoiled child.

If anyone else had done what she did, they’d never be allowed in this line of work.

I hope the Exalted Arbiter lives a long life, if this is to be her successor. 

Your throat was sore, your eyes burned, and your chest hurt. You didn’t know you were spoiled. You never thought you were better than anyone. You hadn’t realized your attitude was awful. You just wanted to be confident like mom. That way, no one would be worried about the future. Everyone on Eris relied on mom. Everyone on Eris will have to rely on you eventually.

You looked at the black sky, the only sky you’d ever known. It always felt sad. The gray clouds were like little discolored tears. 

You wondered if Noct ever felt bad that they made a planet where everyone was unhappy. 

Someone’s coming, you realized. Is it moma? 

It isn’t. 

It’s the little boy with blue eyes and long, blonde hair. This time, it’s pulled back into a ponytail. You hadn’t changed the top-secret password, he must’ve used it to gain entry. 

You hurriedly rubbed your tears away, and he looked elsewhere until you gave up on your task. Afterward, he sat down beside you. He hugged his knees to his chest as well. 

“Are you okay?” He murmured. 

You nodded and sunk your head into your knees. 

“... Those kids are mean, anyway,” he reassured. “I dunno what they said, but it’s not true.” 

“It is too. The adults think it but they don’t say it,” you whispered. 

You know it’s true. Your mission to Arc almost caused what Miss Calliope called ‘a scandal.’ 

You snuck out of the LOTUS-EATER by yourself.

It wasn’t as difficult as you expected. You just borrowed a staff member’s lanyard, pressed it against the door, and it opened. You stuck to the shadows and navigated your way south. You could tell when an adult was close if you heard their thoughts. The thoughts were rarely happy. You pushed on until you encountered an alley, where some older kids were gathered. 

You froze; you hadn’t accounted for kids. Their thoughts weren’t as loud and terrible. You didn’t hear them.

This bunch, though… they had a kid’s build and the expression of an adult. You counted four in total. One was tall, another was scrawny, the tiniest covered in dirt, and the last kid wore a tattered shirt that reached their knees. 

The tall kid spat on the ground. 

“This is our spot,” he said. “Get lost.”  

You fidgeted. 

“Hello, um… could I just pass over that fence? I’ll be quick,” you reasoned. 

“Are you deaf or something? I said, get lost.” 

The scrawniest kid squinted at you. “Hey, wait a sec, J. I feel like I’ve seen her before.” 

“Really? When?” The tiny one squeaked.

“Y’know, during those big events for when Arc folk move over.” 

“Huh, now that you mention it…” the tall boy trailed off, “You’re [First] Phaeales, right?” 

He said your name like it was a disease. It made your heart hurt. 

“Can you read my mind? What am I thinkin’ about, huh?” The scrawny kid called out. 

“Hey, be careful. I heard those things can make your head explode with a single look,” the kid in a long shirt whispered. 

The tall boy guffawed and stepped forward. “Really? Is that true?” 

You took a step back. 

“What? You gonna run away? Can’t stand to see people like us, huh?” He remarked. “Must be nice, getting everything you ever need handed to you. Yeah. Real fuckin’ nice.” 

“I don’t—” your voice gave out. You ignored how they snickered and pressed on to finish your important sentence. “I don’t think that about you! When I grow up, I wanna help—” 

The tall boy stormed over and lifted you by your dress’ collar. “Help? Help? You can’t do shit. You people never do anything! You promise and promise and never come through!” 

You didn’t understand, there was too much to process. Anger and sadness mixed to become a storm that you were caught in the middle of. You closed your eyes and hoped the pain would go away. Maybe you prayed to Noct, maybe you cried out for your mom, you don’t really remember. 

When you reopened your eyes you saw a music box. It was simple, small, and made of wood. There was nothing else around it. No ceiling or sky, floor or ground. You couldn’t speak, so you couldn’t scream. Nothing felt normal. This wasn’t Eris. Did you float into space? Can anyone save you? Would anyone find you?

The music box’s handle creaked; the lid lifted like a yawning mouth. No song was played. Voices came out instead, though they sounded far away. There was nothing else to do but listen. 

“At this rate, she’s only going to get worse…” 

“You don’t know that. I have a few more items I can pawn off, and then…” 

“... Temperature of 102 degrees…” 

“How much longer will this embargo last? Why can’t they just give in to the IPC’s fucking demands already? We all know they’re going to, but we have to sit and suffer while they play politics!” 

“Honey, keep your voice down, the children are trying to sleep…” 

“... Temperature of 104 degrees…” 

“My wedding ring! There’s still my wedding ring! We have— we have to go fast, the pharmacy closes at 3400!” 

“Jason, your mom and I need to run a very important errand. I need you to keep an eye on Iris, okay? Can you do that for me? I know it’s scary, but it’ll all be okay, I promise. We’ll be quick.” 

“Hey… big bro?” 

“You shouldn’t get up! Here, lay back down. There you go, take it easy. Mom and dad will be back soon. They’ll get what you need, and… and… it’ll be okay. They promised.”  

“I’m sorry… for making everyone sad.” 

“No, no, that isn’t true! When you get better, we’ll be the happiest family there is. We’ll— we’ll take a trip to the entertainment district, get tons of yummy food. I’ve been saving up my allowance so I can spoil you. You can have cookies, cakes,  whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

“... Pudding too?” 

“Of course, pudding too. You’ll have so much, you’ll need an entire lifetime to eat it. A long, long lifetime. So… just wait a bit longer. They should be back any minute now.” 

“You want to hear the music box mom gave you? That’s all the way in the— no no no, don’t look at me like that, I’ll go get it. See? Keep an eye on the door, lift your head just a little bit. I’ll be quick.” 

“Hey, look what I found. Works like a charm too. Hm? Did you fall asleep? That was fast. It normally… it takes… normally takes… l-longer…?” 

The music box slammed shut. 

The tall boy — Jason — released his grip on you and staggered back. His friends ran to his aid. You squeezed your head in your hands, fell to your knees, and tried to disappear. It hurt, it hurt, oh, it hurt, a pain you’d never experienced before. It felt like your chest was stabbed over and over again with something sharper than a paperclip. This pain, his pain, it was too much. 

A few guards that’d been dispatched to search for you overheard the commotion. They ran over, worried that you were injured. Nothing was wrong with you physically. The pain came from within. You thrashed and screamed when they picked you up. You wanted to be left alone, you wanted it to go away. 

You looked at the tall boy one more time before they pulled you away.

Tears fell from his eyes and they couldn’t stop. 

You don’t think those kids were mean. They were just really sad.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” the little boy said. His voice wavered. “I was scared.” 

You felt numb. “Of me?” 

His eyes widened and he waved his hands as if he’d caught on fire. “N-No, well, kinda, but not like that. You’re nice. You don’t tell me to smile or to stop looking sad.” 

Your lower lip trembled. “But I made you tie your hair up.” 

“I see better now.” 

“And— and I said your name was dumb.” 

“... I don’t like it,” he said. The strange feeling reappeared. “That name. It is dumb. You know that I guess, ‘cause of the mind stuff.” 

“Isn’t that scary?” 

“Maybe if you did mean things with it, but… that name made me sad. So you picked a new one. Lear is cool. It rhymes with stuff.” 

You lifted your head. The little boy wasn’t lying, you could tell. 

“Why’d you leave then?” 

His little hands balled into fists by his side.

“I was scared. I was asked to make a promise before, and I lied. It was a promise I didn’t like,” he explained. 

Then, he lifted his finger. A droplet of blood dripped from it. “I shoulda said something. I’ll try, I’ll really try, so please don’t be sad. It makes me sad. I want… I want to be best friends!” 

A lump formed in your throat. Tears stung your eyes, the strength of his words pierced through your sadness like an arrow. A friend. You never had a friend before. You didn’t think you’d ever get to have one. Mom said it’d be difficult, that if you wanted it, you’d need to try harder than you’d ever tried before. 

You launched at Lear, your arms outstretched, and wailed loudly. He caught you awkwardly with a gasp. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder and hugged him tight. 

“I don’t want you as an accomplice anymore! You’re my best friend! I really mean it this time!” You exclaimed in between sobs. 

“Eh? Accom-police?” Lear struggled to repeat the new word. Then, for the first time since you met him, he laughed. “I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.” 

That kid, Jason… is he okay? Did he ever go back home to his parents? You wonder. I used to think I could prove him wrong, that I just needed to grow up faster so I could fix everything. And yet, these past two years have been some of the worst economically. 

You grab the rose by its petals and return it to the vase. 

The crystal lotus shines beside it, its multiple surfaces flickering between brilliant hues. This gift, while beautiful, never particularly stuck out to you before. It wasn’t until Blade expressed an interest that it stood out more.

You sit in front of your vanity.

Mom… was I a good daughter? 

You brush foundation along your face. 

I always thought you never understood me, but… 

Mascara darkens and thickens your eyelashes. 

… I never tried to understand you. 

You slam the makeup drawer shut. 

It has officially been three months since the IPC instituted its travel ban on Eris with seemingly no end in sight. 

Unemployment rates have crept up from 5.3% to a staggering 15%. We reached out to a financial advisor for Metis Mining from Mele, a company that has laid off one-third of its workforce. 

“It’s an awful situation,” he said. “Essentially, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. I’ve been in this field for some 150 years — never have I seen anything like this. Thelx is our heart. If it stops pumping, we stop getting the blood we need to live. We need tourism. We need our heart to beat again.” 

An advisor for Chrysus, however, is singing a different, more upbeat tune. 

“We’re feeling optimistic. The negotiations have been going well. None of us want this to last longer than it has to. We’ve cooperated fully with the IPC’s requests, working endlessly to provide the necessary documentation for them to drop this unfounded charge. We ask that the people of Eris stand together. I will not be accepting questions at this time. Thank you.” 

“What is Chrysus doing,” you groan. “The optics on this are terrible. ‘We ask that the people of Eris stand together,’ sounds like a bumper sticker for a spaceship.” 

The comment section on the article expresses a similar sentiment. The most upvoted post is a picture of Eris on fire with bottom text that reads, ‘Don’t worry, just keep standing.’ The second is a screenshot of the advisor’s comment with the caption ‘me when i lie.’ To make matters worse, the user’s profile picture is the lead singer for Mushroom Mania but with a flower crown photoshopped onto his head. 

You squint at the tiny text beneath it. 

Your friend banona69 liked this post.

“Blade, can you cut my phone in half?” 

He throws you a disinterested glance. 

“Riveting conversation, as usual,” you lean heavily on sarcasm to reel him in.

“You’re working. I won’t interrupt,” he drawls. 

Or maybe it didn’t, who knows, he’s as easy to read as an esoteric tome in a lost language. It is true that you’re working. Keeping up with clients, overseeing reimbursements for canceled appointments, apologizing for circumstances you have no control over; the usual. Your latest torment involved your bank’s servers going down when your employees’ paychecks were due. They’re testing out a new customer service android, but yours had a bug that caused it to repeat everything you said. 

That predicament came to an end and five more popped up in its place. 

You stretch your arms above your head. “If I handed you over to the IPC, do you think they’d lift the travel ban?” 

“Find out for yourself.” 

“Huh?” You swipe your monitors away so you can gauge him better. “What do you mean by that?” 

Blade kicks himself off the wall and uncrosses his arms. “If you can subdue me, you can turn me in.” 

That’s one of the biggest ‘ifs’ to ever if. You narrow your eyes, like that’ll help your ability to discern his intentions. He’s standing there, intimidating as ever, his countenance betraying nothing. You decide he has to be joking. It’d be a major inconvenience for Kafka and her cronies to break him out of IPC holding. You know precious little about Blade, but you do know he takes his job seriously. 

Regardless, this cycle has raised your blood pressure to unprecedented levels, so you play along. A little fun never hurts. 

“Didn’t Nona tell you about my mind-liquifying technique?” 

“Screeched it, more like,” Blade dryly recalls. “It’s a bluff.” 

You swivel around on your chair and get up. He remains perfectly still as you languidly approach, his burning eyes never leaving yours. An electrifying sensation courses through your body the closer you get. It’s unfair how beautiful he is. His dark hair that shifts into a crimson shade, broad shoulders, narrow waist, his surprisingly soft lips that are almost always drawn in a straight line; the wanted posters don’t do him justice. 

You have to crane your head to look up at him, the man’s so ridiculously tall. You’ve never liked it when people look down on you — this must be the lone exception. 

“And if it isn’t?” You challenge. 

“You would never,” Blade insists. It isn’t your eyes he’s focusing on anymore, it’s your lips. “You’re too…” 

On the occasions you can get Blade talking, he’s never at a loss for words. His cadence has a quiet confidence. If he’s in the mood, he’ll have a rebuttal for every possible sentence you could concoct. It’s immediate too, as swift as his bladework. It’s unusual for him to trail off for this long. 

“Too…?” You encourage, tilting your head. 

“Forget it.” 

You don’t have the luxury of pressing the issue. He quite literally sweeps you off your feet, taking long strides to your office’s couch like he owns the place.

“You missed your chance,” Blade lays you down on the cushions and crawls over you. “Unless you’d still like to try.” 

You glare at him halfheartedly and prop yourself up on your elbows. This guy must have a thing for manhandling you, because every chance he gets, he goes for it. You splay your hand against his chest and lightly push. He gets the message and moves back, allowing you the space necessary to lift up your blouse. He’s all over you immediately after, kneading your chest and trailing hot kisses down your neck. He stops at the spots with bite marks or bruises, giving them extra attention so they don’t fade. 

“Maybe I could, who knows? Perhaps I’ve extended you mercy,” you breathe out. 

Blade pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his amusement evident. “You’d be the first.”

He leers at your cleavage like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His lips are back on your skin, starting at your collarbones and then moving down. He lavishes your chest in lovebites, his teeth practically married to your skin. Your low-cut shirts will be collecting dust in your closet at this rate, he’s seen to that. He kisses down your navel and stops shy of your skirt’s waistband. 

“Is this for me?” He plays with your skirt’s short hem, raising it to reveal your thighs. 

You did choose this risque skirt to see how he’d react, but he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing this. 

“You’re not the only person I ever see,” is your cheeky reply. 

He doesn’t look impressed. 

“I’m the only one who can fuck you, though,” he says, as plain as someone describing the weather. 

You frown and twist your head to the side. He picked up on that, huh? You don’t know if it’s definitive, but you haven’t conducted tests to find out. It is exhilarating to lose yourself in carnality without fearing the repercussions. Still, you don’t want him to believe that gives him an exclusive claim to you. You’ll both enjoy yourselves, he’ll get recalled from this job, and that’ll be the end of it. He’ll be nothing but a story you drunkenly recall to Nona. Nothing more, nothing less.

Possessive men are a turnoff. If they wanted to own the thing they stick their dick in, they could buy a sex android. You’re not a sex android. You don’t run out of battery power in six hours or incur hilarious yet painful-sounding reasons for lawsuits. 

“Pouting again?” Blade taunts.

Long, gloved fingers lightly glide against your inner thigh. 

“I don’t pout,” you sigh as his hand dips past your waistband. “I brood.” 

“Mhm.” 

His fingers are quick to find your clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in slow motions, applying minimum pressure. Your breath hitches and you look up at him through lidded eyes. His towering form cages you in. This couch is one of the few surfaces he hasn’t taken you on yet. Your bed, your office chair, your desk, hell, even the wall; he’s fucked you on almost every object with the geometry to permit it. 

Your head tilts back as he steadily drags his fingers down the length of your pussy. His ring and middle finger barely slip in before he pulls them out, returning to their previous task of gathering your slick. There’s enough for each swipe to create audible sounds, despite the relaxed rhythm he’s set. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by him. No, he grins at you, his eyes practically shining. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, covering your face with your forearm. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your— ah!” 

His fingers plunge into you without the slightest resistance, all the way up to his knuckles. You gasp at the abrupt intrusion. Normally, he takes surprising care when pushing anything inside you — whether it be his cock, tongue, or fingers — gauging how your face contorts to ensure you aren’t in pain. He couldn’t have been touching you for more than a minute and yet your body produced enough lubrication to easily suck him in. 

“My what?” He probes, lowering his face close enough for your noses to touch. His soft black locks tickle your cheeks. 

Blade curls his fingers as if beckoning you toward him, which is exactly what he gets; your back arches and you curl your arms around his neck for purchase. He’s noted this clinging tendency of yours and has taken great pleasure in pointing it out. You mewl as he carries on his ministrations, loving the contrast of the cold leather against your warm insides. He finger fucks you nice and slow. His lips find yours, kissing you in a way that can only be described as tender. You reciprocate, though the lustful haze permeating your mind desires something rougher. This is the sweet kiss of a lover, not a… whatever the two of you are. 

Blade pulls back an inch when you run your tongue over the seam of his lips. 

“Are you ever satisfied?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you huff. “Do you have any idea how much shipping Plan B to this planet costs?” 

He exhales sharply in amusement. “You like when I finish inside.” 

Your walls clamp down on him before you can protest this claim. 

“Would you look at that,” Blade hums, his voice dropping in volume as if he were sharing a secret. “I can’t even move my fingers, that made you squeeze them so tight.” 

You’d like to think he was exaggerating, but it does take a few seconds for him to comfortably slide his fingers in and out again. 

“You’re delusional. That’s… an involuntary muscle contraction.” 

He quirks an eyebrow. 

His fingers abandon their prior creed. He embraces a new tenet — one that seeks to make your lips part in pure pleasure. You writhe beneath him at the unrelenting onslaught. He angles his palm so that it rubs against your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You’re quick to sync up with his sharp movements. Every time his fingers glide back in, your hips rise to meet him halfway. Soft gasps and moans fill the air as your peak grows closer. 

Your walls start to tighten, promising that sweet ecstasy will soon be yours. 

The second time it squeezes down, his merciless pace relaxes. He doesn’t stop entirely, he just slows down enough that you aren’t getting the stimulation necessary to come undone. You bite down on your lower lip. He hasn’t deprived you of an orgasm since this feverish passion began; he’s been more interested in seeing how many times he can fuck you to completion. He didn’t even subject you to this cruelty when you made a jab at his age that set him out to prove he doesn’t ‘have the refractory period of an old man.’ 

You don’t bother trying to move your hips for more friction. One night, during the afterglow of sex, you inquired after his sword. Among other things, he nonchalantly revealed its weight of three thousand pounds. You called his bluff. He was in an agreeable enough mood to summon it, allowing you to test the claim’s validity yourself. 

Sure enough, you couldn’t even drag it an inch across the ground… 

His breath is hot on your ear as he whispers, “Admit it.” 

“Admit what?” 

“That you love it,” he commands, his fingers massaging your walls. “Don’t be shy.”

“I’m anything but shy.”

“Hm. Dishonesty doesn’t suit you.” 

You groan in exasperation when his fingers come to a complete halt. Is he really going to make you admit something so embarrassing…? Your face burns as hot as those faraway stars. You examine his expression, searching for some sign that he isn’t being serious. It’s a poor tactic. His countenance is stern, except for the blush on his cheeks from how aroused he is. 

“I…” you inhale shakily, your lower lip trembling, “I like… when…”

“Love,” he corrects. 

You turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes shut. “I love when you… cum inside me.” 

His clothed cock twitches against your leg. 

“I know.”

Blade returns to the heavenly speed that has your mind all but floating away. His palm rubs down hard on your clit, his fingers searching out for that spot you love so much. Inhibitions gone, his name is the only word your tongue can form. Everything else that isn’t Blade has been erased from your lexicon. He makes you feel so good, it’s maddening. He’s addicted to your body and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

To be wanted, to be desired… what bliss this brings. 

Your muscles tighten and release as waves of pleasure devour you. 

Your insides spasm around him, demanding that he doesn’t let up until you’re satiated. He’s happy to oblige. Once your orgasm-induced daze lessons, you yank him down to your lips into an open-mouthed kiss that has you swapping saliva. He swallows a whimper from you while pulling his fingers out, leaving the area he’s become so intimately acquainted with. The arm that he was using to hold himself above you snakes behind your back. You’re made to sit on his lap as he shifts upright, your skirt flaring out. 

As always, it’s you who breaks from the heated kiss first. 

Blade raises his gloved hand for you to see. You gape at how the onyx-colored leather has lightened, thoroughly coated in you. He parts his middle and ring, allowing dewy threads of your essence to form. Those crimson eyes go from admiring his handiwork to reveling in your embarrassed expression. As if you weren’t flustered enough, he slips his fingers into his mouth. His length hardens and he groans quietly while sucking off your slick.

While savoring your taste, he starts the familiar process of pulling your drenched panties down. You set to work on undoing his belt. He then hits an area that’s difficult to pull them over. He gives it one more try before frustration surges from him, hinting at his solution.

“Stop ripping my undergarments,” you chastise, lifting your leg to make it easier for him. “I’ll have to go shopping at this rate.” 

Blade exercises a modicum of decorum and flings the scant fabric aside instead of eviscerating it. 

“Quit wearing them.”

“That dream of yours might come true if I have none left. If that happens, I’m stealing your credit card.”  

“It’s yours.” 

You roll your eyes, focusing on freeing his cock. His length is flushed red and painfully hard. You wrap your hands around the base. Pre-cum leaks from his head in steady streams that flow down, coating him enough that it’s easy to glide your hand up. He hisses out through gritted teeth. Once your hand reaches the top, you rub his smooth tip with the pad of your thumb. The way he leers at you is borderline animalistic. You keep at your task, pumping him up and down. 

“Does this count as me subduing you?” You muse, your voice taking a sickeningly sweet cadence, “Should I get handcuffs ready?” 

“Watch it, girl.” 

You would’ve if he hadn’t teased you so much earlier. But he did, and you must have some compensation. You sink onto the ground. Blade shoots you an inquisitive look, to which you flutter your eyelashes and smile. The realization of your intentions hits him when your lips place an amorous kiss on his leaking tip. The veins running along the length of his cock pulsate from the sight. Such a chaste way of going about a lustful act must do something for him. 

“You…” He growls out, clenching his hands into tight fists, “God.” 

You suck him gently, swirling your tongue along his slit. Meanwhile, your hand pumps him faster. He thrusts his pelvis forward to force more of his cock into your mouth. He isn’t immediately gratified — no, you take him in at your leisure. His gloved hand entangles itself in your hair and helps guide your head up and down. The wet sound of you sucking him off grows louder from the copious amount of saliva slathered along his cock. You reach for his balls, gently cupping and massaging them. Blade pants above you and throws his head back. 

The telltale twitching of his cock starts. 

You pull yourself off him. He glares down at you, silently fuming. 

You suppress a laugh and climb onto his lap. His hand goes to your shoulder, a sign he intends to push your body down so he can fuck you. Rather than moving aside and complying, you undo your bra’s clasp. His enchantment with your bare tits distracts him enough for your scheme to carry on undetected. You align your entrance with the head of his cock and start sinking down, taking the initiative yourself. 

Blade’s large hands fly to either side of your hips from instinct. Inch after inch slides in and stretches you. He maintains unflinching eye contact, the intensity behind his gaze is almost more embarrassing than the act of sex itself. Maybe he’s as pent-up as you are? Whatever the case, the tension in the air begs to be diffused. 

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” You ask. 

“You’re getting there.”

Your lips part in a silent moan when you fully envelop him. Blade grunts, pulling you down so he can go as deep inside you as possible. His thickness caresses your walls and sets your nerves ablaze. You gyrate your hips in one last little act of revenge. He squeezes your flesh, sending the unspoken warning that you’re truly testing his patience. Thinking it best not to test your luck any further, you rise off him and sink back down. 

The legs in your muscles are sore from overexertion but the burden barely falls to you. Blade lifts you off his cock then back down again — you could go completely limp and it wouldn’t make a difference. He must’ve wanted to know you were ready before ruthlessly maneuvering your body for his pleasure.

What a gentleman.

This position has him consistently rubbing against a spot inside you that’s mind-numbing. He fills and stretches you like your body was molded with him in mind. Your gratification isn’t his goal at the moment he’s lost in the pursuit of what you snatched away. He’s greedy because he can be; he’s greedy because you welcome it. You’ve had so much to give and no one to receive it. You aren’t sure how much he’ll take. You’ve decided it’s better to be empty than bursting at the seams with ardor no one can swallow, lest their throat get scorched. 

Maybe his premonition is right. Maybe no one will be able to fuck you but him. 

So you’ll enjoy it while you can. 

The rosy hue on his cheeks, his countenance reflecting the pleasure he derives from your body, the inhuman grip that mars your skin so beautifully; you take everything in. You want it all. You’ll gladly take from him too. You might not like possessive men, but passionate men are a different story. It’s boring if they aren’t a little frenzied. 

“Not… going to last long,” he pants out, his voice strained. 

Your nipples brush against the fabric of his shirt as you lean in to embrace him, your lips right by his ear. 

“Cum in me then,” you whisper, nibbling his earlobe. “Cause I think we both know you love it even more than I do.” 

Blade groans out a series of expletives. Some you recognize, some you don’t.

His cock throbs as he empties himself inside you. He thrusts upward in sharp movements, his pelvis hitting yours hard enough to sting. He’s drunk on the high you’ve brought him. Spurts of his cum slide out from your coated walls, an egregious act he remedies by fucking it back into you. By the time he finally stills, you’re both panting, sweat glistening along your bodies. You rest your head on his shoulder to regain yourself. His bandaged hand runs up and down your back, almost soothingly. 

In a matter of seconds, his flaccid cock steadily hardens, still snug inside you. 

“Who… who’s never satisfied again?” You breathlessly murmur. 

His hand finds your clit and lightly brushes over it. You whimper, your walls tightening enough to give you both a jolt of pleasure. The pitch you hit is high enough to stupefy you from mortification. You slap your hand over your mouth, hoping it’ll dissuade any further involuntary infractions. He gingerly grabs your hand and pulls it away. 

“Still you,” he says, grazing his lips along the pulse point of your inner wrist. 

You don’t get the chance to bite back.

A robotic voice slices through the lustful atmosphere like a scythe. 

“Miss Phaeales, incoming call, Miss Phaeales, incoming call,” it intones. 

You stifle a groan. “Alright alright, I get that, who is it from?” 

“Contact name: Lear.” 

Your eyes widen. Though your limbs feel like jelly, you lift yourself off Blade, who doesn’t give much assistance. You mouth the word ‘sorry’ to him, snatch your bra off the floor, and start wobbling over to your desk. After some quick rummaging, you find the device you need. 

“Put him through to my in-ears,” you order the virtual assistant. 

“[First]? Hello?” 

Relief surges through you upon hearing the sound of his voice. 

“Lear, it’s been so long since we talked, I started to think you were a figment of my imagination,” you say whilst securing your bra back into place. 

“I know, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sounds terribly flustered. You can picture his expression without trying. “It’s just, you’re busy, and then that happened and I—” 

“Slow down, I’m only teasing. It’s alright. I get it.” 

“Eh… you’re as bad as Nona,” he grumbles. “You just hide it better.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s out of my system.”

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll leave it at that,” he’s quiet for a moment, before adding, “You sound like you’re in high spirits, [First]. You don’t know what a relief that is.” 

You twirl a pen on your fingers. “I’ve dabbled with the alternative and found it lacking. It does help that some pesky issues have finally been resolved… which reminds me. Your paycheck came through without any issues, correct?” 

There’s indistinct murmuring from two voices. Lear’s tone sounds chastising, while the other comes off as petulant. 

“Hi Nona,” you greet, to which there’s a faint yet audible ‘Fuck!’ along with rapid footsteps retreating. “How fortunate is it that our paths have crossed like this? I noticed something very interesting. You can’t respond to my texts relating to your studies, but you can like a social media post from a few hours ago?” 

Now, rapid footsteps approach. 

“I’m taking a break from texting for my mental health,” Nona’s voice reasons. 

“... Don’t people normally take a break from social media for that reason?” 

“Check the DSM-106. It’s actually a thing.” 

“Be that as it may, you’re making good progress. Your scores are consistent enough that you can take a few clients again when we reopen. You need to keep practicing so it stays that way.” 

There’s a slight commotion. When it settles, Lear’s the one speaking again. “Sorry, she wanted me to say there’s still an issue with the paycheck coming through.” 

In the background, you hear her cry out, “Teacher’s pet!”

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?” 

You quietly take a deep breath. 

“... How does Nona seem to you, Lear?” 

What should be such a natural question feels like speaking with glue coating your tongue.

“The same as usual. And, no matter what she says, she is studying the notes you sent. She just hates the training program. You were the same way, weren’t you?” 

“I was, yes,” A heavy smile finds its way onto your face. “Has anyone been giving her trouble?” 

The silence on the other line lasts longer than you’d prefer. 

“It hasn’t… been directly at her, per se. There’s just a general atmosphere of unease. Thelx has the highest percentage of citizens integrated from Arc, so things aren’t so bad here. Occasionally, there’ll be a confused kid pointing and asking why her eyes are different, but that’s nothing new.” 

The tension in your shoulders relaxes. “Alright, that’s reassuring. Please keep an eye out for her in my stead, okay?” 

You refuse to believe Chrysus. Everything with him is a move, some preplanned tactic to achieve a goal that advances his interests. You’ve lived life with Nona; he’s read a few paragraphs about her from a .txt file. There isn’t time to be at war with yourself. If he felt comfortable enough to make an accusation like that, there’s no chance it’ll end there. You’ll need countermeasures set in place. 

Countermeasures, countermeasures… there’s Caicias. He loathes ‘secret alliances’ and ‘bloated bureaucracy,’ preferring to keep everything as simple as possible. Depending on your approach, you might be able to sway the former principal. He’s always treated you as an uncle would their niece. While it feels infantilizing now, this soft spot could be an advantage if played correctly. 

An in-person meeting would be your best chance.

“Of course,” Lear says, breaking you from your thoughts. Then he’s quiet again. “[First]?” 

“Mhm?” 

“...” 

You hear him sigh. 

“It’s nothing. I should let you get back to your work.” 

“Hold on, you can’t ‘it’s nothing,’ me!” 

A shrill alarm chirps and pierces your unsuspecting ears. 

“Oh, shit, Nona set the fire alarm off while cooking again,” Lear sounds more exasperated than worried. “Let’s finish this another time, [First]. I… I promise that I will.” 

“Wha— again? How often does this happen?” You demand. “Hello? Hello? Ugh.” 

Irate, you tug your in-ears out and toss them on your desk. What could Lear possibly have wanted to discuss? The tone he used made your heart drop. It sounded so firm, so resolute. He’s always been on the more soft-spoken side unless provoked. He did promise that he’d pick it up ‘another time,’ an unintended callous sentencing. Your mind is going to play fill-in-the-blank with the most dreadful words possible until this burden is lifted. 

You’re about to return to your office chair when you remember your present condition. 

Tousled hair, a hastily put-on bra, a wrinkled skirt, and one of the most sought-after fugitives in the universe’s cum dripping out of you. 

Ah. And said fugitive is still behind you. 

You spin on your heels. “So, um—” 

Blade isn’t anything like when you last saw him. He’s redressed, and composed, his expression a mix between indifference and boredom. He’s returned to his favorite position too. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with one knee slightly bent. Why he favors this stance so much, you’ll never know. You’ve offered him a seat more times than you can count. He comes across as less intimidating when he isn’t at his full height. 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

“I’ll… be getting back to work, I guess?” 

He doesn’t so much as nod and he says you’re the pouty one?! 

You gather your clothes off the floor for what feels like the umpteenth time, your cheeks burning. It isn’t that you feel ashamed, rather, you think he could at least help instead of standing there like his portrait is getting painted. He’s not trying to hide that he’s watching you. His eyes have always had a physical presence, they weigh on you heavily. 

You briefly consider making a snarky comment, but your maturity wins out. You’re above such petty drivel. You finish collecting your garments. Next, you pull up the bra strap that decided to go awol, straighten your skirt, and fuss over your hair. Are you doing this so he knows you’re not embarrassed and in a rush to scamper off like a wounded animal? Maybe. Who could blame you?

You make for your bedroom door, head held high.

Blade speaks your name in that low, dark voice of his, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your body erupts in uncontrollable shivers. 

You stiffly turn around like a rusted cog. 

“Missed a spot,” is all he says. 

You blink. “Huh?” 

Blade nods to the lower half of your body. 

Sure enough, there’s a dribble of his cum caked against your inner left thigh. 

…

You hurl your belongings at him, which he catches without so much as batting an eyelash. 

Your very short-lived satisfaction dissipates when you recall how much you adore that blouse. The same blouse you just chucked at the immortal sword-wielding Stellaron Hunter who can kill people faster than the afterlife can claim them. He’s still holding it. You get the feeling he will continue to hold it. 

“Could I… have… that… back?” 

This appeal doesn’t move him in the slightest. 

You shift your weight between your legs. “Please?” 

“You can,” Blade starts, momentarily filling you with hope, “Come reach for it.” 

There is no hope in this universe, you decide. Nihilism is the only plausible option. 

Blade dodges all your valiant attempts. When you’re about to give up, he lowers the garment, dangling it in a silent taunt. It then ascends to the heavens the second you dive for it. 

He leaves your office that night with a blouse he hadn’t owned hours earlier.

And your cute panties.

Lear

Hello

Lear

Are you awake? 

You’ll scold me if I say I am

Lear

Historically, that is true

Lear

You focus on caring for others so much you forget to care for yourself

You make me sound like a better person than I really am I’m just doing my job

Lear

There you go with self-deprecation again… 

It isn’t self-deprecation if it’s true >:)c

Lear

That isn’t how that works

Lear

You’ve always been hard on yourself 

Lear

I know what you’re going to say so I’ll stop you preemptively 

Lear

Anyone could’ve been born in your role and decided not to take it seriously. You didn’t choose the situation but you chose your response to it

Lear

… I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a lecture

I believe you What was your original intention then? 

Lear

Our phone call 

Lear

Nona decided to try a grilled cheese ‘hack’ she saw on the internet 

Lear

She’s lost stove privileges for a week

Is it truly a punishment if she gets to eat your cooking? 

Lear

Well

Lear

It’s either that or she starves

Fair point Bring me some leftovers or I’m docking your pay >:)c

Lear

I wish Nona never taught you that face. It brings something primitive out of you

>:)c

Lear

(ง •̀_•́)ง

Oh I forgot about those They’re way better

Lear

Yeah 

Lear

ε (*´･ω･) з

Lear

… I got distracted again…

( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴���┴

Lear

Okay okay enough with the emoticons

Lear

I wanted to ask if we could please talk one-on-one 

Pick a date and time and I’ll do my best to fit you into my schedule.  I make no promises. The current estimated wait list is five Trailblazer Years.

Lear

Do you accept bribes

Naturally. I am a government official.

Lear

I’ll bring you a slice of my galatopita

You’re in

Lear

Actually, I wanted you to pick the time

Lear

I know that person has to be around and I won’t ask about it

Lear

But there is something about him that unsettles me

Lear

Does he ever leave?

He’s always on the LOTUS-EATER’s premises He doesn’t have to be in the room though I can ask him to leave

Lear

You feel comfortable doing that?

Yeah, it’ll be fine

Lear

Even after what happened last time?

You could hit me in the head with a brick and I’d still trust your judgment If you think it’ll be okay I’ll think the same

Lear

(^◇^；)

Lear

What an extreme example

Lear

It’s very you though

I know a backhanded compliment when I see one

Lear

(;° ロ°)

Lear

Hey don’t say that

Lear

[First]? ?????

Lear

… You’re messing with me again, I take it?

>:)c I’ll send you the details

Lear

Thank you

Lear

Want to play a round of Connect Four? 

Need you even ask

Lear has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

You have accepted Lear’s invitation to play Connect Four™©®.

The break room has changed significantly since you were little. Gone are the sterile, eggshell white walls and beige furniture. The redone interior boasts bold greens and yellows, colors that aren’t commonly seen on Eris. This bright expanse was one of the few suggestions your mother took you up on. You even convinced her to get a terrarium imported that goes through a randomly selected flora’s lifespan in twenty-four hours. A few besmirched it as ‘watching grass grow but slightly sped up,’ until certain flowers got popular. The daisy with petals that burned was a LOTUS-EATER staff favorite. So is the dahlia that spins like a pinwheel. 

“Was there something you wanted to ask?” 

Lear places his cup of ice water down. “Does it taste alright?” 

“It’s delicious,” you hum. “That’s not what I was referring to, though.” 

You finish your dessert while Lear mulls over your words. The light, creamy taste of the egg custard, the dash of cinnamon strewn across the browned top; he’d do well if he ever started a dessert business. 

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask about it, but…” Lear’s sapphire eyes flitter toward the door, the paper-thin barrier dividing you from Blade. “Has everything been alright during this… er…” 

“House arrest?” 

“That’s a way of putting it,” he sighs. “I know it’s for your safety, but being stuck in this building for weeks on end can’t be good for you.”

“It’s always been this way to an extent. Now it’s just official.” 

He grimaces.

“That doesn’t bother you?” 

This area utilizes the same technology available in your office or the private rooms. Sound waves cannot travel beyond a set point, or in this case, beyond the breakroom. This safety net allows you to comfortably speak your mind. 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t stopped long enough to ask myself that. From my perspective, I have two choices — accept the current situation and carry on, or, get upset and carry on, only with less efficiency.” 

Lear struggles to maintain a neutral countenance. It’s why you always beat him at card games. 

“... Okay, that sounds a bit bleak. What I’m trying to say is that I can’t dwell on what’s out of my control. I’ll focus on what I can do and work from there.” 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t brooded at least a little.” 

“Ha, I’ve done my fair share of that. I’ve just reduced it from boiling to a nice, tolerable simmer.” 

Lear’s grip on his glass tightens. “You’ve matured a lot.” 

“Eh? You think so?” You wonder. “If anything, I should’ve been this way to begin with. I had you as the premier example to follow.” 

Lear’s smile doesn’t reach his tired eyes. 

He inhales sharply. After a moment’s consideration, he comes over, pulls out a chair, and sits facing you. This is the closest you’ve been for a long time. He never wanted you to be afflicted with those visceral headaches, so he maintained his distance. For him to cross the bulwark he painstakingly built cannot be easy. 

Slowly, he raises his palm. He stops at the halfway mark between you. You knit your eyebrows. Does he want you to…? 

“It might not be a brick, but it’s similar,” Lear says, his voice soft. 

His hand is calloused from years of cleaning dishes and tinkering with various contraptions. His fingers tremble, belying the nerves he’s trying to push out of sight. This trepidation isn’t for his sake, it’s for yours. The dire consequences that could be reaped. It’s a gamble where you’re the one forced to go all in.

Your heart pounds and pounds. 

You’ll trust him. 

You’ve always trusted him. 

Lear’s skin is cold yet clammy. His hand overshadows yours, though not by much. They fit together as well as they used to. Unlike then, your touch is more hesitant than his. His fingers sink down and clasp your hand, an action you mirror. Nothing’s happening. Nothing hurts. 

You expect a relieved exclamation or expression from Lear, only to receive heavy silence instead. 

He squeezes your hand once then pulls away. 

“Do you remember the ‘important promise’ you wanted to make when we were kids?” 

You nod. 

“I did want to make it, actually. I don’t know if I ever mentioned that.” 

“It’s been so long, it’s possible I don’t remember, but… I don’t think you ever said that, no.” 

“The promise I mentioned was one I made with my mom,” Lear lowers his head. “She made me promise that I’d forgive my father. I never planned on it, not while he was living and breathing at least. I knew that and still… I agreed for her sake. It might seem silly, but that ate at me. She never asked me for anything, and the one time she did, it was something I refused to fulfill.” 

You lean forward, hesitate to put your hand on his shoulder, yet ultimately overcome the instinct. “You were just a child, Lear.” 

“I know. The reason I’m going into this is that… even when I wasn’t a child, I’d sit there and judge my father. I thought he’d acted cowardly. Instead of acknowledging mom’s declining condition, he’d buy more equipment and supposed miracle cures. He worked nonstop. Mom didn’t want that. She just wanted to be with her family while she could.” 

You can hear the lump forming in his throat. You pass him your water, which he gulps down. He gives himself a second and then continues.

“He wasn’t delusional. He knew, and still, he tried so hard to convince himself that he didn’t. There must’ve been some moment of clarity when it hit him,” Lear’s fair eyelashes flutter shut. “What you said to Nona… that was my moment of clarity. My punishment.”

Thoughts swarm through your mind like the Propagation’s reign of terror from eras past. 

“‘Punishment?’ Why would you deserve a punishment?” You probe. 

Lear doesn’t know how to respond. His lips open and close, words escaping him. What comes out next is interwoven with anguish’s thread.

“Mrs. Phaeales approached me about our relationship. I was so worried, I don’t remember her exact words… it was something along the lines of, ‘If you truly care about her, you need to end this before she gets hurt.’ She wouldn’t go into the specifics. It didn’t come across as a threat, just… a plea, maybe. Eventually, I agreed. It hurt, but I didn’t see any other option. How could I ever willingly do something that’d make you suffer? You, the person who matters to me the most?” 

This torrential downpour soaks into your very being. 

“It should’ve ended there. I thought it ended there. Then I saw you again, and god. You’re so… so confident, beautiful, and bright; I couldn’t do it. I was at a loss, and… then I had this thought. ‘I want to keep her even if it destroys her.’ I couldn’t shake it. That isn’t love, I-I don’t know what that is.”

“Everyone has thoughts they aren’t proud of.” 

“But you didn’t know, because I was too ashamed to tell you,” Lear insists, each word growing quieter. “So instead, you thought you did something to me, right?” 

He wouldn’t look you in the eye. His arms remained limp by his side as you unbuttoned his shirt, tense and strained. You pulled back. Something felt terribly wrong. A sharp pang shot through your skull. You ignored it and beseeched him to tell you what was wrong. He wouldn’t. The sharp pang ricocheted. Being close to him hurt. It was as if you were on the same side of a magnet. He repelled you and you couldn’t fight it. You tried to preserve, tried to claw through whatever barrier he’d put up. 

… A barrier?

Had he not wanted this? Was the gravity of your desire too intense for an individual who isn’t trained to resist? 

“I…” your mouth is dry. “Yes.” 

“You didn’t. I knew you didn’t, and like my father, I tried convincing myself otherwise,” he reopens his eyes, revealing a glassy sheen. He wipes it away with his long sleeve. “I ran out of excuses.” 

You don’t know how to begin parsing through this information. It undermines the rough understanding you’ve operated on for decades. The foundations haven’t just cracked, they’ve collapsed, and the materials are damaged beyond reuse. Anything you build will require a new blueprint. 

“If it isn’t manipulation, what exactly is it?” You murmur, placing a hand on your chin. “You rightfully guessed nothing would happen if we came into contact. What made you think that?”

The direction you’ve chosen to steer this conversation toward surprises him. This must not be the response he braced himself for. Regardless, he’s quick to offer anything he can. 

“Something just felt different, I guess? I’m sorry if that isn’t helpful, I can’t think of a better way to describe it.” 

Mother must’ve known more than she let on, you think. ‘Before she gets hurt,’ she said. Shouldn’t it have been ‘before Lear gets hurt?’ She cared about him plenty too. So why…? 

You pace around the breakroom, your heels clicking throughout the otherwise silent room. 

Alister listened when he thought you were taking him to ‘Roze’, a significant other he created in past Synalinks. He tried to kill you after you took him outside and it became evident that wasn’t your intention. No link could be established past that point. Then there’s Blade. You thought you could manipulate him to rescue potential survivors. You were rushed, yes, but you made absolutely no progress. 

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.” 

What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.

It hits you. 

What it is that makes Exalted Arbiters so paramount, why your abilities far surpass others.

You’re a living, breathing conductor, amplifying raw, often questionable instincts. A lightning rod meant to attract the attention of what reason and morality try so valiantly to suppress. 

You forgo your pacing and sit back down. “Lear.” 

“Y-Yes?” 

“All of us are stupid.” 

“Eh?” 

“Well-meaning and stupid,” you reiterate. “I know what you want from me. You’re not going to get it. You condemned yourself, I condemned myself… what good did that do? Did it change anything? Make it better?” 

You shake your head. “We like to torture ourselves; we’re adept at it. Enough. It’s finished.”

“... You don’t need to make me feel better—” 

Lear receives a flick on the forehead. 

“Idiot, half of that spiel was for me. Maybe three-quarters.” 

You grab his hand and give it a hearty squeeze. 

He squeezes back.

You both sit there, in this room that’s changed throughout the decades. Where you played make-believe (or, to be more exact, coerced Lear into playing the princess role so you could be the knight), gorged on junk food until you both got sick, plotted how to blow up the IPC with a water gun; you never thought you’d be able to do those things. The dumb, silly things you’d watch in movies or read about in books. 

Lear runs the pad of his thumb up and down your hand. “[First].” 

“Mhm?” 

“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.” His breath hitches. “So why… why do you look so sad?” 

You force a smile.

“I think I had my moment of clarity,” you tell him. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Whoever coined the term ‘misery loves company’ deserves the 85th spot in the Genius Society. 

Blade sits beside you on a sinfully comfortable couch in The Club. His legs are crossed and his arm finds its respite behind you; not touching yet close enough. He’s your perpetual shadow. You steal a glance at his side profile. His jaw’s set and his eyebrows crease inward enough for his otherwise unblemished skin to wrinkle. 

“Would you like to talk about your innermost feelings, Mr. 8.13 billion?” 

Nothing, not even a halfhearted grunt, which comprises 50% of his vocabulary. 

“No? Okay. Let’s focus on mine then,” you motion to the empty bar. “My innermost feelings are telling me to drink until my brain becomes a gray matter slushie. Any recommendations?” 

It’s as if you’re trying to communicate with a rock. Which, according to the latest journals published in Geo Elements Organized, might be possible thanks to an artificial intelligence translator who learned how to speak rock. Apparently, pebbles are prone to bigotry. Marble sings operatic arias but each note is flat. These cutting-edge discoveries justify your 10,000 credit monthly subscription no matter what your financial advisor says. 

You exaggerate your sigh. “Fine, I’ll pick my own poison.” 

“Baijiu,” he eventually says.

“Hm? What’s that?” 

He looks at you like you’re an idiot.

“My, my, somebody’s touchy.” 

You hop the counter and peruse your establishment’s expansive selection. Hundreds of brands slapped over uniquely shaped bottles line the wall, each displaying information about their inside contents. You squint. What if he just said a random word to get you out of his hair? Your liquor knowledge consists of the basics, you’d be none the wiser if that’s the case. 

“Where might I find this— oh, fuck.” 

Blade is right beside you in the blink of an eye. Your hand flies to your chest, and while you’re trying to process how someone can move so fast, he finds what must be his intended target. It’s a tall, green bottle with a script you recognize as belonging to the Xianzhou Alliance. How did he ever expect you to find that on your own? 

He rummages around and finds little wine-shaped shot glasses. In the meantime, you scan over the various juices and additives available. It’s been rough, but not drinking-alcohol-without-a-fruity-infusion rough. Blade notices your scheming and shakes his head. 

“Men are so pretentious about liquor,” you lament. 

“You asked.” 

“My mistake.” 

He ignores you and returns to the couch. You do the same, up until the point where you’re about to sit down. His gaze grows heavier, more concentrated. It took millions of years of evolution to develop complex language and he still chooses to opt out. What a waste. An unofficial staring contest commences. What does he take you for? A mind reader? You technically are, but still, using your abilities for this is beneath you. Especially while you’re in the midst of a crisis that you’d give anything to stop thinking about. 

Blade must have a mind-altering epiphany that he has additional motor functions at his disposal. He pats his thigh. 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

You examine your black pencil skirt that stops above your knees. Hopping the counter in this was more of a way to pretend you’re in your early twenties again, not an invitation to test the fabric’s limits. You’ve lost multiple pairs of panties, a nice bra, and a blouse to this bodyguard who took the occupation’s prefix very seriously. This classy skirt isn’t going to be an addition to the clothes necropolis. 

“I like this skirt,” you simply state. 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

Your vision undergoes an odd change. One moment, you were standing tall and assertive, looking down your nose at him. In the instant that follows, you’re facing the bar, its black marble countertop and gravity adaptive stools coming into focus. What you’re sitting on isn’t a foam cushion that’s as soft as a cloud. It’s rigid and displeases your tailbone. You struggle to balance yourself, an issue that’s solved by Blade’s left arm curving snugly around your waist. 

“Did you just—” You cut yourself off, unable to dredge up the energy necessary to get annoyed. He could throw you through the roof for all you care. Sitting you on his lap is forgivable enough. “Whatever, you’re pouring my drink then.” 

He’s already in the process of doing so. He pops the lid and fills the specially shaped shot glass with clear liquid. An aromatic fragrance of fruits and spices wafts through the air. It’s a world captured in a bottle; another place you’ll never get to see. You have to settle for admiring pictures and reading firsthand accounts. 

Does Blade have an association with the Xianzhou Alliance? It isn’t your place to ask, but you’re curious nonetheless. He’s been a silent spectator of your life for the past few months yet you know nothing about him. It should stay that way — getting involved with him physically is already questionable enough. Especially now that you fully grasp the phenomena that’s been haunting you. 

The thought makes you wince. 

You lean your head back and down the shot. 

It burns as it travels down your throat. You cough, the unexpected strength hitting you with the force of a collapsing star. Maybe you should’ve worked your way up to taking shots. It’s too late to rectify the mistake, your hubris is irreversible. The bastard chuckles at your suffering. It’s the briefest chuckle you’ve ever heard, but it still counts. 

“What is the— what is the alcohol content of that?” You rasp out. 

“Eighty.”

You crane your neck to glare at him. “If you wanted to kill me, the sword would’ve been faster.” 

He rolls his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at you. He picks you up, sticks a little ribbon on your head, and delivers you to death’s doorstep only to disregard your valid concerns? The 8.13 billion bounty isn’t enough. They need to double it. 

“I’d like to see you drink this. Considering your prehistoric age, it might short-circuit your cardiovascular system.” 

Blade pilfers your empty shot glass. He refills it, swallows without any fanfare, and then resumes his staring regimen. 

You don’t know if you should be impressed or offended that his tolerance is better than yours.

Ultimately, your competitive nature wins out. You manage two more shots before waving the white flag. The flavor itself isn’t that bad once you get past the initial shock, it’s slightly fruity. The alcohol taste packs a punch though. A version with a lower ABV would suit you better. 

You sigh, lean into his chest, and try in vain to smooth out your bunched-up skirt.

Your inebriated daze hits fast. There’s no pleasant buzz accompanying it, only exhaustion. The kind that makes the prospect of sleeping for a few years tempting. Those cryogenic pod ads know how to sell their product. It speaks volumes how simple their marketing remains since they’re so high in demand. 

You inspect your soulless business. There aren’t any clients traveling to and fro, well-dressed ladies having their fur coats removed by valets, or businessmen celebrating a deal by clinking their glasses together. It’s eerily quiet. There’s nothing but the sound of your slow breathing and the thrum of the oxygen generator. 

This planet’s heart remains frozen with you at the epicenter.

“What’s it like to travel across the universe?” You ask. 

“It’s just work.” 

Just work. You’ve received variations of this response when you’ve used this question on clients. They’ll take your silence as a signal to prattle, complaining about jet lag, getting through customs, finding a hotel that isn’t ridiculously overpriced during busy seasons; on and on they’d go. You’d sit across from them, smiling and nodding along, verbally empathizing with their plight. If they went on too long, you’d temporarily excuse yourself before your agitation spewed forth. 

“That’s it?” You murmur. 

He’s silent. 

You kick your heels off, lay your legs across his lap and the couch, then sling your right arm around his shoulders to hold yourself in place. He observes you with no discernible emotion as you make yourself comfortable. 

“Tell me about it,” you implore. “The universe. Please.” 

Blade considers your request. You take it as a good sign he hasn’t shut you down immediately. For once, you don’t needle him. You just sit there with high hopes and a pleading expression. A peculiar emotion surges around him. It whispers to you, requesting that you lean in and hear it better. You deny the impulse and swat it away. 

This mental exertion almost causes you to miss his frown and pinched-together eyebrows.

It’s fleeting, but there’s no misinterpreting what you saw. 

Have you ever seen Blade’s face reveal so much? 

It’s a vault he doesn’t leave open long. The doors seal shut before you can catalog the contents inside.

“Nothing I’ve seen is worth telling.” 

You part your lips yet no sound comes out. You retract your arms from him and lay on your back, resting your forearm against your head. The LOTUS-EATER’s dark ceiling becomes your latest intrigue. It’s a cool shade of gray, mimicking the joyless sky that hovers outside like a specter deadset on haunting the living. You hate it. Everything’s gray, bland, depressing, an insult to the vibrancy that accompanies sentient beings. 

You close your eyes and all goes silent. 

After a while, his deep voice rumbles, “Do you want to see it?” 

“Hm?” 

“The universe,” he clarifies. 

“Oh. Of course. But…” you pause, noticing how draining an endeavor it is to string together a coherent thought, “If I could, I wouldn’t. Too much… there’s too much I hafta do… here.” 

There’s Nona. You want to help her reach her full potential, she’s brimming with it, a never-ending source of energy and zeal. Then there’s Lear. Why he idolizes you to such a degree, you’ll never understand. He should turn that starry-eyed gaze inward. It’s ironic — he considers you confident, yet you’ve always shied away from ever revealing the fathomless depths of your care. 

You were born to be an object and he made you a person. 

How can you ever repay a debt like that? Why is it so awkward and awful to express anything you feel without theatrics accompanying them? You have to tell him. You know he loves you, and while the love you hold for him is different, does he know that? How could he, if you’ve been so hesitant to say those three harrowing words? 

Man, you think. My head’s killing me.

“Tired?” 

After you grumble in the affirmative, he lifts you up. You think you might be floating. Your head lulls to the side and comes into contact with something solid, which proves you aren’t. Gravity hasn’t quit its longstanding tenure. Your blurred journey begins when you’re laid down in a spot more cozy than the couch cushions. It feels familiar and safe. Tension melts from your body, slinking off to loan you a brief solace. The interest is set high, but you’re too blissfully content to care.

That night, you dream of an ocean dutifully guarded by the sun.

The waves rise and fall along the shoreline, the breeze carries the scent of saltwater, and aquatic birds caw from above. 

Bright white sand is plentiful beneath your bare feet. It tickles your toes and tricks you into thinking you’ll sink with every tentative step. 

As you walk along this esplanade, an object hidden amongst the sand jabs into your sole. 

Blood pools from the wound, trickles down a steep slope, and infects the ocean. 

The scarlet droplet corrupts and warps it, devouring any color it comes into contact with. It's insatiable, a bloody blight that proliferates until the sea is swallowed whole. 

The moon eclipses a dying sun. Driven by vanity, it paints its likeness across red, shimmering waves. 

Unknown 

I have good news 

Unknown 

I’ll be recalling Bladie soon

Unknown 

I located the party responsible for endangering your life

Unknown 

Isn’t that great? 

If you’re being honest, then yes

Unknown

Am I not renowned for my honesty? 

Unknown 

No harm will befall you, so rest easy

Unknown

I hope we can continue our mutually beneficial partnership ♡

-

If there’s anything your mother’s passing has taught you, it’s that time isn’t guaranteed. 

You thought you’d have a lifetime to see eye to eye with her. Over centuries, the layers you cultivated would peel back. You’d then ask her the questions that have lingered on the tip of your tongue. 

Did you want to have me, or was it out of obligation? 

Is this the way you want to live? 

Am I a daughter or a burden? 

You don’t know what scared you more. The idea of asking her, or what the answers might be. 

None of your blood relations are living, but you still have a family. You refuse to treat something as fickle as time lightly again. Nona’s past, Lear’s present, your future; you can only dance around it for so long. The tempo will inevitably speed up beyond what you can follow. Lear’s confession reaffirmed how dangerous this complacency is. By believing you’re sparing one another pain, you’re only sparing yourself. 

Your tea’s gone cold. The remnants swirl down the basin’s drain. 

The true nature of your abilities, the shackles it puts you in, you’ll tell them everything. 

You shoot them a text, asking them to meet you tonight at the LOTUS-EATER. You then set your phone to Do Not Disturb and place it aside. 

Blade won’t be on Eris much longer. Your chances to help him are limited and you still haven’t fulfilled your promise. 

You’d like to try and remedy that. 

“I may have been a bit prickly when we first met, but I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for all you’ve done. I’m sure you just consider this a job, which is just as well, still, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I don’t even want to imagine what would become of this planet in my absence. So please give me one last opportunity to deter your mara.” 

Blade gives you a long, hard look. 

“You’re talking like that again?” 

“I’m trying to be professional.” 

He walks over and leers down at you. You return his blank stare unabashedly. Eventually, he readjusts the collar of your ivory blouse. 

“What was that for?” You ask.

“I saw something that isn’t very professional.” 

Glancing down, you pull the fabric back, revealing a prominent hickey. Your face ignites and you frantically cover it. 

You clear your throat. “Is it a contractual obligation for you Stellaron Hunters to get on my nerves?” 

The glint in his eye makes you nervous. 

“Actually, do me a favor and don’t answer that. Just tell me if you’re interested or not, I’m a busy woman.” 

He thinks it over and nods. 

Throughout the preparation and rites, you consider what you’ve learned. Individuals exposed to you become more willing to act or dwell on their subconscious desires. The exact metrics aren’t clear, but you can safely assume this effect amplifies the longer they’re around you. These desires have a wide range. It can be as innocent as causing an older brother who ran away from his grief to finally cry over his deceased sister, or fuel for justifying selfish actions. 

Blade’s case feels different. 

Unprecedented as the other examples are, you can understand them somewhat. If a person acts on their most innate wishes, their behavior will change accordingly. However, what you’re causing here extends beyond psychological — it’s physiological too. Is that even possible? What could he possibly want enough to alter the fabric of his very being? 

If you can find out, maybe the revelation will help him. 

And so you close your eyes. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

…

Blade’s psyche has changed.

The grayscale composition is gone. Vitality has been crowned the new ruler, overthrowing the morose atmosphere in a successful rebellion. This change brings no alleviation to the undercurrents of grief that hang heavy in the air. Instead, it feels more erratic, like a heart beating wildly after waking from a coma. 

The Shackling Prison stands beyond a straight path as if it's been waiting for you. 

The first time you entered his mind, it rejected you. Now, it’s pulling you in, its gravity far-reaching. 

You hesitate to proceed.

Is it his mara that’s responsible for this? You won’t be able to tell unless you keep going. 

The invisible force that expelled you nudges you from behind. 

You recall when Blade first appeared before you. Your physical eyes showed you a man while every other sense warned he was a beast. A carnivore that would devour anything, predator or prey alike. You believed it then and you believe it now. His condition has condemned him. Where he walks, destruction follows. It’d make sense for you to abandon him to fate’s whims. 

This excruciating hunger digests him too. It’s destined to eat him alive while postponing merciful death. 

Fate can be cruel, but you have an opportunity to be kind. 

You make your way to the Shackling Prison’s gates. 

The seal that’s served as a hindrance halts you. You examine the once bold obstruction. It has faded, its strength depleted, held together by nothing. At its peak, you think it would have pushed you out instantly. Now, as your incorporeal hand presses against it, there’s little it can do. The most it can muster is the resilience to delay you a few more seconds. 

After that, it shatters and fades like weeping stardust. 

A prismatic shard forms from its ashes, coalescing into a blurred, moving image. Distorted sounds crackle from it, which you soon recognize as garbled speech. The noise becomes clearer. You hear a low thrum in the background. Its timbre matches the oxygen generator standard in Eris’ buildings. 

This must be one of Blade’s memories. 

“I know you’re impatient, but play nice a while longer,” a saccharine voice hums. “She’ll be here any minute now.” 

That voice… 

The image sharpens and unveils a grand screen plastered against a wall. It sections off into numerous squares, each dedicated to displaying financial data. It’s bright, obnoxiously so, attesting to the owner’s tacky taste. 

Chrysus’ office? 

A door creaks. Hastened footsteps approach, ringing throughout the brightly lit room. The pair of eyes you’re viewing this memory from — Blade’s — shift to locate the source. The color they arrive at is familiar. It’s the same shade you see upon viewing your reflection, although the shape differs. 

Mom? You wonder, astonishment hitting like pelting hail. What was she doing, meeting with a Stellaron Hunter in Chrysus’ office of all places…? 

“Your message surprised me, Exalted Arbiter. Getting you to agree to a face-to-face meeting is normally like pulling a tooth. What’s the occasion?” The honeyed voice, which can only belong to Kafka, greets. 

“Don’t play coy with me,” your mother replies. While her words are sharp, they aren’t warped with emotion. This is the demeanor she assumed when conducting business. Her sagacity is a trait you’ve never been able to fully emulate. “That thing’s leaving baubles on my daughter’s balcony. How many times have I told you to tighten your dog’s leash?”

“Oh? I thought I had.” 

Your mother smiles thinly. “Should I add incompetent leadership to your list of defects? Deals are meant to be followed. Otherwise, why make them at all?”

“We draw lines to test them. So long as they aren’t crossed, there’s no harm.” 

“Spare me your casuistry. I don’t want that thing anywhere near her.” 

Your head feels like it’s being stretched in multiple directions at once. This sequence unfolding before you has a dizzying effect. Why is your mother so outwardly hostile to Kafka? The Stellaron Hunter isn’t your favorite person either, but this transcends simple dislike. It’s personal, raw. She’s maneuvered through diatribes that’d make anyone else go red in the face, her poise unruffled. Kafka’s little provocations pale in comparison.

Not to your mother, though. She’s a thinning thread close to snapping. 

“As per our original agreement, there’s no harm as long as she doesn’t notice him,” Kafka dismisses. She leisurely sits on Chrysus’ desk, not bothering to move his papers aside. She then crosses her legs and smiles. Her eyes emit an unnatural glow. “On the topic of testing lines… let’s not pretend you’re innocent either.” 

Your mother doesn’t so much as flinch. “If you’re going to make accusations, at least have the confidence to be forthright.”

“You’re fascinating to deal with, Exalted Arbiter,” Kafka croons. “This is why I look forward to our chats. You don’t cower or plead for mercy like our friend outside did. It’s a welcome change.” 

“I’d rather you don’t compare me to Ophídion.” 

Kafka drums her fingers against the table’s surface. For such a simple sound, it’s deeply grating. “Forgive me in advance, then, because I intend to one more time.” 

Your mother remains silent, her lips taut. 

“Still not afraid, hm? Let’s see if we can change that,” Kafka’s smile widens, which crinkles the skin beneath her eyes. “Chrysus’ shipments of ichor are exact, down to the milliliter. Always delivered on time as well. Comparatively, your end of the bargain is far simpler. You just have to grant Bladie ready access to Miss Phaeales’ vicinity. But, I heard something regrettable through the grapevine.” 

Your mother’s eye twitches. 

“You’ve been shopping around for a way to sneak [First] off Eris, correct? Tsk, tsk.” 

All falls silent save for the generator’s dedicated hum. 

Your mother stands unflinching, folding her hands in front of her. The two openly scrutinize each other. Calculating, strategizing. Her posture betrays nothing. There’s no guilt or apprehension, making it impossible for you to determine the credibility of Kafka’s words. 

“It’s fear you devils can’t experience, correct?” Your mother queries. “Here’s a suggestion — try having a daughter yourself. You praise me for not caving to intimidation; that’s because I’ve experienced far worse. From their conception to our death, fear is the only thing we mothers know. Fear that they won’t become like us, or, even worse, that they will. What a funny juncture we occupy.” 

Mom’s voice doesn’t sound right. It’s so… forlorn. 

You don’t want to keep watching. 

You can’t pull yourself away — the memory’s weight is heavy enough to pull you back in. 

“Is that maternal dedication enough to condemn an entire planet?” Kafka ponders. “I’m not a judge who is eager to sentence. I’ve been lenient with you and would love to keep it that way. Leave Miss Phaeales in my care, no harm will befall her.” 

For the first time since entering the room, your mother acknowledges Blade’s existence. Her eyes turn to slits as she scowls at him. Disgust, reprehension, and wrath; it converges in a maelstrom that could sink fleets of ships. You hone in on the emotions Blade experienced at that instant. There’s nothing. It’s hollow, save for blots of mild impatience. 

“It wouldn’t be your care, it’d be his.” 

Your soul convulses. 

“Is that so terrible?” Kafka hums. “Separated, they’re essentially cursed, the poor things. They complement each other well, the more you think about it. One who incites madness and another who has the means to resist it. You of all people should understand that, hm? Or is Mr. Phaeales available to voice his dissent?” 

Dad?

Darkness passes over her countenance. 

You don’t understand and you’re afraid to. Kafka freely tosses around the most taboo topics as if twirling a poisoned dagger on her fingers. 

One who incites madness. Is that what you are? A catastrophe patiently waiting for its chance? That can’t always be the case, but, more often than not, what a person covets most should never be fully realized. There’s a reason the sensible and moral components of one’s psyche stuff this risk down as deep as it’ll go. If everyone did what they wanted, whenever they wanted, civilization itself would cease to exist. 

As for Blade’s role in this… Kafka must know whatever he wants would have a value that outweighs the potential drawbacks. 

“I won’t let her be reduced to a retractable leash for your attack dog,” she seethes. “Let your Cancer of All Worlds do what it will. My decision is final.” 

Electricity crackles in the air. 

“It’s this script, then,” Kafka murmurs, more to herself than anything. “So many diverging paths, so many possibilities. To think that out of all futures you’d get to pick out specially for [First]...” 

Kafka motions toward Blade, who readies his weapon. 

“You chose one of the worst ones.” 

some misc author notes for this one:

regarding the reader's condition, i didn't want to include a sigmund freud jumpscare in the story itself, so it gets to be down here instead. for those unfamiliar with his theories, what reader is referring to here:

'What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.'

is a more abstract version of freud's concept of the id, ego, and superego respectively. originally, i used this exact terminology, but something about it just felt very immersion breaking to me 😭 all i could do was think about mr freud floating about in the honkai universe. consequently, the unreliable narration of reader trying to understand her condition + not using the widely known terminology made me worry it'd be a bit confusing...

so, in freudian terms, being continually exposed to reader's presence causes an individual's id to dominate their thoughts/actions instead of their ego and superego.

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #not sfw #nexus #my stuff

[mangomonk]

edit: here's the full fic based off this drabble! pt. 1 and pt. 2

an idea about goodie two shoes!remus that's been bouncing around in my head

remus is straight laced — he follows the rules to the t, tries his best in his studies, is polite and diplomatic to the teachers and the other students — all because he feels he can't afford to stray from being a good citizen. he's exhausted but he's afraid that if he does something wrong, the other students will look at him and if they look at him for too long, they'll know. he's dry and sarcastic and himself around the marauders, but outside of them, everyone only ever has glowing words for remus. polite. helpful. charming. remus prides himself on his princely behavior.

the only thing is that recently, he's begun to hear murmurs. "why doesn't remus lupin have a girlfriend?" he overhears one hufflepuff fourth year ask her group of friends. He knows they're really only whisperings, but remus, afraid of being seen as other, can't help but fixate on them, especially when he hears similar sentiment. "he receives plenty of confessions, but he only ever gives a vague rejection."

before he can even help it, remus is stuck into a spiral of anxiety. though he knows it's foolish, he can't help it. he's sure that everyone will connect the dots. first it'll start with the question of why he's never accepted a confession after all these years, and then soon, someone will guess that there's something wrong with him. and then everyone will see right through him.

after a particularly rough full moon, coupled by his growing anxieties, he accidentally snaps on a random girl. he doesn't even really remember her name or what he said or what even led him to snap at her, but once he does, he feels a strange mix of guilt and pure relief, as if the burden of holding up this princely facade has been lifted off his shoulders. and then he feels horror. she's staring back at him in pure surprise and all remus can think is, she's going to tell everyone what i'm really like. paralyzed in fear, all remus can do is mumble a half-assed apology before turning on heel and high tailing it out of the library.

"if you're so worried about this, why not just get a temporary girlfriend?" james suggests later at dinner, mistakenly taking remus's silence as anxiety about the girlfriend rumors, and not how he had blown up on some girl — remus didn't tell them, he was still panicking trying to figure out a plan for damage control. he couldn't help but keep watching her across the great hall, on edge every time she said something to a friend. if only he could keep watch.

"it's not that easy, prongs," remus says, forcing his voice to be even. if i get a girlfriend, she'll find out easily after i disappear each month. not to mention remus in general not wanting to subject someone to his lycanthropy.

"seems easy enough," sirius says, nodding past his shoulder. "you have another confession lined up."

"er, remus," a ravenclaw girl says from behind him. he recognizes her from his potions class, but all he can feel is a sense of dread as he notices a few other students turn around in growing interest. "i've fancied you for quite awhile now, and i was wondering..."

remus has a hard time listening to her as his nerves grow. if he rejects her in front of all these people, are the rumors going to spread? out of the corner of his eye, reflexively, he spots the girl he had blown up on earlier leaning to whisper something to her friend. "i'm sorry," remus says, forcing on an apologetic smile. before he can question himself, his nerves gets the better of him. "i actually have someone i like right now."

"oh," the ravenclaw girl squeaks, disappointed. "sorry, i didn't know—"

"that's okay, i haven't made it very clear," remus cuts in hurriedly, his gaze fixating past her. the ravenclaw doesn't even have a chance to ask — she likely wouldn't have asked anyways, but remus points to the girl from earlier. "—that i like her."

ANYWAYS can you imagine the hurt that would ensue if they eventually start dating (fake on his end, real on hers... he picks her because 1) he never expects her to agree to date him after that incident, 2) he can keep an eye on her or blame his behavior on having a crush) and eventually he grows comfortable to not have to put up this goodie two shoes facade but she finds out it was just to cover his ass yeah... im hurting

EDIT: full fic below pt. 1: i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me pt. 2: i've been dreaming

#hp #hp marauders #harry potter fanfiction #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #the marauders #marauders era #drabble #hp drabble #harry potter drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin drabble #light angst

[callsign-rogueone]

not joking - r.g.

Ridoc Gamlyn x rider!reader There aren’t many things that Ridoc is serious about, but your safety is one of them. [requested by anon] wc: 519 (sorry it’s short, I’ll definitely write more for Ri in the future!) 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS, slight violence and injury, Cat (and her gryphon) being a bitch. no pronouns are used for the reader!

The first two hours of the “team-building” hike that the Lieutenant Colonel had been so enthusiastic about have done nothing to soften the relationship between the riders and fliers, and you’re doubtful that the next ten will do it, either. Exhaustion is starting to set in, shortening everyone’s patience, and the freezing temperature isn’t exactly helping.

Having Cat and her gryphon directly behind you is wearing on your nerves. The creature is equally nasty as its human, and has made its distaste for you known all morning, snapping its beak whenever you turned to check on the rest of the squad behind you. It’s already lunged at you once, and it likely will again.

You slow toward the top of an ascent, filling your lungs. You can see flat land ahead, which according to the map each squad has been given, means you’re nearly a quarter of the way there. But the sense of relief is temporary. 

You cry out in pain as claws rake down the back of your calf, and Ridoc whips around from where he stands ten feet in front of you. It’s easy enough for him to piece together what happened from the way you’re clutching your leg and the smug satisfaction on Cat’s face.

He glares up at Cat. “Control your fucking bird," he warns.

Cat doesn’t react, just glares at Ridoc with contempt.

“I’m not joking. Tell him to knock it the fuck off, or we’ll barbecue him for dinner at the top of the mountain. Should be enough for everybody.”

Cat simmers with anger, but Sawyer has already placed himself between you and the flier, who looks at the squad leader expectantly, like a child whose classmate has just pulled their hair and wants the teacher to make them stop. The irony.

“Five minute break, and we continue. Hydrate.” Rhiannon declares in her squad-leader voice, not acknowledging either of them. You know she's on Ridoc's side, she's just too responsible to say so aloud.

Ridoc kneels in front of you, cold hands pulling your foot up to rest on his leg so he can dress the three short wounds.

“I’m fine, Ri. It’s just a graze,” You say quietly, attempting to soothe him. You've haven't seen him like this since the first day of gauntlet training, which feels like it was years ago with how much you've all been through.

He takes a long strip of cloth from his pack, wrapping it around your calf tightly. “It’s not about the severity,” he responds, inspecting his work, “it’s that they dared to hurt you at all.”

Cat still looks like she wants to kill you, but she remains silent. If she can shut up and keep her gryphon out of trouble for the next ten hours, everyone will make it up to the summit alive.

“Are they tied to one another in the same way you and Lieutenant Riorson are?” Maren, the kind flier, asks quietly.

“No,” Violet answers, still watching the pair of you. You’re smiling again, laughing at another of his jokes. “Their dragons aren’t bonded. That’s just love.”

#ridoc gamlyn #fourth wing #iron flame #ridoc gamlyn x reader #reader insert #imagine #mine #fourth wing fanfic

[the-guilty-writer]

Crave and Courage

Request from anon: If its no pressure ofcc could you do Reid x Daughter!reader who has been struggling with addition (i imagine drvgs but anything works ig) and she is trying to get clean but shes been having a hard day and he finds her in the kitchen at like 2am crying with a bottle of … in front of her??

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Spencer comes home from a case to find you torn between crave and courage.

A/N: Hopefully this is what you were thinking!

CW: reader is addicted to pain medication, talks about addiction, craving, reader has a breakdown

---

Your story sounded like one that had been heard a million times before: someone goes in for a relatively simple surgery, you go home with a bottle of prescription pain medication, and the feeling you got from the pills was too hard to resist.

The reason your story was different was because you had Spencer Reid for a father. He was a profiler, but he’d struggled with addiction as well. It didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together and help you get back on your feet… sort of.

Nothing was truly that simple.

You still struggled with craving relief from the pressures of life, even if that relief was temporary. You were three months clean, but it was still hard. Spencer had explained that it was hard. He’d rattled off facts and statistics and plans to you. But all of that was easier said than done.

Your dad had been out of town for a week now to work a case across the country. It was harder to stay clean while he wasn’t around, but you’d done it. It didn’t feel good, but you were proud of yourself none-the-less. You knew the pride would soon override the want for just one little-

No. You’d almost made it to four months now. You weren’t going to let that fall through now. Hopefully your dad would be home soon. It would be easier once he was home.

But the day was slowly getting worse. Little inconveniences annoyed you in the morning and the problems grew throughout the day. Some kid pushed you over during gym class, a bad grade on an assignment, something in your lunchbox exploded making everything inedible, a pop quiz you were sure you failed, being late to your class after being locked out of your locker, getting after school detention because you were late to class, getting hit with spitballs throughout detention, being late to the metro stop, having to walk the long way home around construction, finding out through social media that your friends had all gone to see your favorite movie without you, finding out through social media that they had also gone to your favorite restaurant without you, teachers sending emails to ask why you’d been a star student before and now you were close to failing, being unable to concentrate on your homework because of all the noise clouding your head.

That’s how you ended up on the kitchen floor, your hands threaded through your hair on the verge of pulling it out. The bottle was on the tile. The pills inside weren’t your normal craving- they were leftover from when your dad got shot in the knee years ago. They were expired for sure, but when you’d gone through the cabinet in a frenzied search for anything to help you escape, that’s all there was that would fit the bill.

But as soon as you’d read your dad’s name you’d crumbled to the floor- torn between having to confess that you’d given into the craving and the need to feel nothing for just a little while. The sound of pills against plastic triggered your tears when the bottle hit the tile. All you could do was cry silent tears and hope that the agitation you were feeling about everything would exhaust you enough that you’d fall asleep before you had the chance to make a decision.

Spencer walked into the apartment, exhausted from the case and thankful for the silence of the late night. Like usual, you left on the dim lamp in the living area, but unusually you had also left on the lights in the kitchen. He walked over to turn them off. That’s when he heard you, softly crying.

He rushed into the kitchen and the sight before him caused him to freeze: you were curled up with your eyes shut tight, hands pulling at your hair, body trembling, and an old pill bottle turned on its side on the floor. The first thing he did was pick up the bottle to read what it was. When he did, his heart sank. How could he have forgotten to get rid of these? He didn’t forget anything.

With the bottle back on the counter, he knelt to the floor and put his hands gently on your wrists, seeing that your nails had dug into your scalp. “Shhhh-” he cooed. “It’s just me. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Dad-” As soon as you realized it was him, you threw yourself into his arms. He gripped you in a hug so tight you thought he might cut off your circulation, but you didn’t care. “I didn’t take any, dad. I wanted to so badly, but I didn’t.”

Spencer rocked you back and forth as if you were a child again, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t get rid of those.”

“I’m sorry I almost gave in-” you started sobbing. Your dad rubbed your back. “I almost-”

“But you didn’t.” A tear escaped his eye. “You didn’t and that’s what matters. You’re so strong, (Y/N). So, so strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” you managed to choke out.

“Most of the strongest people don’t,” Spencer said quietly. “But they are anyway.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

[throwaway-yandere]

"No." (Yandere!Albedo/Reader)

A/n: I got sick but it just so happens I live off of spite so I finally finished this fic. Most characters are a bit/really obnoxious here. Also, the reader's state of mind and relationships with friends are unhealthy so if you're sensitive to the following CW please skip this fic. (If you're wondering why the fic is... Like this then here's me rambling here)

Unreliable synopsis: You kissed the most popular professor on campus. (Subtle yan!fic)

gn!reader

Cw: yandere, unhealthy friendship dynamics with clingy!sucrose & other characters, student/teacher relationship implications, the reader is an eccentric "class clown" with implied mild impostor syndrome, and small mentions of sexual harassment. (I'm not a medical professional so please take the impostor syndrome warning with a grain of salt– just added it in case this type of content is triggering. This isn't smut and it doesn't fully explore the last topic, but still please reach out for support if you are a victim of sexual harassment. Title IX is a very real thing.)

-------

"Does accidentally kissing someone cross a line in Title IX?"

That sentence alone makes you sound incredibly criminal out of context, and it doesn't get better with it either.

Your long-time friend, Sucrose, became fixated on setting you up with a romantic partner after the breakup you had three months prior. 

It was not a heart-wrenching tale, if anything, the entire relationship you had with Arataki Itto plays off as a major joke. You dated the man simply because you thought his impulsive behavior was entertaining, and oddly enough, he found your unpredictable temperament alluring. You just never anticipated that the idiot will buy an overpriced toy drum when you asked him to get a coke and "get something for yourself as well."

It's no surprise you permitted him to spend your money. But that wasn't even supposed to be a gamble. That was just an instruction, and he failed HARD. Arataki "I-swear-you-didn't-say-Pepsi(???)" Itto... got you orange juice. 

Breaking up was a huge relief. Instead of adopting a façade of the partner he wants, you have at last discovered the temporary freedom to choose over what you enjoy. For a while, they didn't treat you like a court jester; instead, they gave you the tender care you'd reserve for a helpless person.

Sucrose was distraught when you two decided to stop everything after Itto wasted most of your money by falling for Dori's scam. She appeared to be more affected than you two. Sucrose must have thought of you two as "the Golden pair" since she is naturally fascinated by research about personalities and relationships— more notably the 16 personality types. Seeing you two break up was an antithesis to her defense on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test. You broke up due to (financial) differences, and there's no unreliable science needed to learn that.

Here lies the problem: Sucrose refused to give up.

You've heard concerns about her callous demeanor in person and online. Some people thought it endearing that you have a friend who genuinely cares about you, while others consider her nagging to be a burden, and rightfully so.

You felt icky after accidentally seeing her list of candidates, yet you can't bring yourself to make a strong effort to stop her. Sucrose lost two of her best friends last year in an accident, and you are essentially the only support that's keeping her sanity in check, but sometimes you feel as though you are risking your health on the line. She had written down some questionably extensive background on every man and woman she thought was worthy... You don't even want to know why Ajax is on that list.

No matter the reason, that didn't stop Timaeus from barfing out his triple-layered peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"W-WHAT on EARTH did you DO this time?!"

Sure is tough being a menace to society.

Hah... You're already on the brink of a mental breakdown and yet you still kept making self-deprecating jokes.

"WHAT'S with THE reaction?" You asked, casually copying his tone before you sank to your seat. "It's JUST a QUESTION."

"We know how you work, (Y/n)!" He knew you were purposefully trying to rile him up, yet Timaeus slammed a fist on the table in exaggerated disgust. "You did the EXACT same thing last time. You asked us 'hOw bAd woUld iT bE iF I datEd a gaNgstEr' and then you fucking did it anyways! What the hell– heck."

Timaeus's outburst was audible throughout the entire cafeteria, yet nobody seemed to care. The other people you shared the table with, Ying'er, Collei, and Tighnari all cast curious glances at you. It's not as though they have never heard of your misadventures before, frankly, whenever something happens they avidly observe it. You're all inseparable because of your shticks. However, apart from Sucrose, Dorian had been awol from your friend group, and it is no less due to the headline you're about to announce.

None of them took you too seriously, which they should have, given the nature of Title IX. As "good" friends, they should've worried over your safety and overall wellbeing. 

You could feel tears of fear and frustration swell up in your eyes.

Yet you couldn't be mad at them for reacting this way.

You're the chaotic link– the friend that didn't quite fit in– assigned to the role of being the "funny one." It started with a single joke until you unintentionally formed a false sense of confidence that you're something bigger than what you are. Everyone thinks you're hilarious, and you're afraid of disappointing them. You weren't trying to be funny most of the time, they just want someone to laugh and point at. Even though you are academically above average yourself, without your carelessness and gambles, you practically have nothing to offer this otherwise brilliant population.

Timaeus may not always deliver the right answer in his alchemy test papers, but he's never wrong about you even if he's drunk off of two bottles of Death After Noon. You recall Timaeus specifically in that instance because he was right; you have no future and you won't amount to anything.

In short, your image dilemma can be summed up by something you said high out of your mind in front of the mirror: "I think I accidentally gained an ego after joking about being hot and sexy one too many times, and now I'm being punished for my hubris." (You're never asking Lisa for philosophy book recommendations on Sundays ever again.)

And if it's true that you have no future and that you're nothing more than an insecure fraud, then you might as well come clean right now and let your "friends" break their ties. It doesn't matter, not anymore.

Ying'er laughed heartily. Contrary to her lover, she loves it whenever you act like this since it makes her normally composed and optimistic boyfriend snap and curse... You would know because she constantly divulges pointless details about how "hot" it was in private messages. And you two weren't even that close when she first did that. But now she's practically your unofficial attorney with how many times she played devil's advocate. You'll miss her.

"Why are you already accusing them? Who knows, maybe they're the victim here, babe. You're being too insensitive."

"Yeah, Tim, you should listen to your girlfriend over here." You nudged him and he glared vehemently.

"(Y/n), you're not supposed to openly agree with me, but yeah, why don't you give them the benefit of the doubt?"

You gave Ying'er a weak friendly wink and a thumbs up, feeling repulsed at yourself deep down. It's incredibly flattering for her to insinuate a professor would find you attractive rather than filing a restraining order.

She'll probably hate you once she finds out the truth, right? She did have a crush on your victim.

"This is them we're talking about." Timaeus glared. "They're bound to do something stupid. C'mon, Tighnari, say something!"

Tighnari merely shrugged and stabbed his fork into a mushroom (presumably poisonous, given its unnatural blue color). He had grown tired of dealing with your antics over the years. No lecture had ever worked in the past, and you both telepathically agreed that streak was not going to end today. You're lying about being self-possessed. He knew that whenever this happens, you were trying to be an idiot, and did not allow yourself to be an idiot. There's a fine difference between those two, and he knows which is which.

In a way, Tighnari views you in a more positive light than most of your friends. And he could sense that you have more grave matters to say.

So, he played along to help you set the mood. "I said this yesterday and I'll say it again: we're studying to become botanists. We're growing plants. Our future job isn't to help them grow a brain."

"Facts." You snapped your fingers and smugly nodded.

"Don't just agree with him!"

"You can grow plants all you want but just know my Timaeus right here doesn't need any more growing if you catch my drift~."

"Ying'er." Collei groaned.

"What? I was just saying his height is perfect enough as it is."

"I feel like we're having thirty different conversations at once." 

"Your mother is thirty different conversations at once–"

"Mx. (L/n)."

The table went silent. Except for yourself, who's still droning on, unfinished. Everyone noticed the uninvited man in the cafeteria and their lips were silenced. 

Here he is. 

"–eeegood evening, Professor Albedo." You stood up from your seat and slightly bowed your head down.

It's the untouchable Professor Albedo. The Alchemy Professor on this forsaken campus exudes a breath of freshness even if the scent of chemicals follows him like an affectionate dog. The only person that students would ogle at amid all the balding learning facilitators. Sucrose's mentor. Dorian's 32-year-old brother. The "Kreideprinz".

And the guy that might just sue you for your careless mistake.

Your circle caught the tension between you two and started watching the scene unfold like a car accident.

Professor Albedo cocked his head forward. You never claimed to be one of his adoring fans who can spot his emotions after one look, but your gut tells you that he's more than amused despite his stoic expression. He's similar to Dorian in that aspect.

"I trust that you've read the excerpt I've sent you?" He asked in almost a whisper.

You thoughtlessly lamely pulled up your library-borrowed copy of Title IX. In your perspective, nothing matters anymore, so you might as well let it out there.

Your friends jolted simultaneously, someone even dropped their utensils while Collei hit her knee up the table and hissed at the pain.

"Oh my God..." Timaeus shuddered.

Your friends had the face that collectively screamed "YOU MADE OUT WITH PROFESSOR ALBEDO?!" in all capitals, bold, italics, underlined, shadowed with thick black strokes– whatever makes it more out there. They're not in the wrong to react that way. 

In one single move, you broke 2 rules on the so-called Bro Code, one being the infamous "don't fuck my brother" and the second being the lesser known "don't fuck my professor". Not only that, but most importantly you violated a line or two in Title IX. 

Leave it to (Y/n) (L/n) to break more than three rules on the daily.

... You really should stop making jokes as a coping mechanism.

The cafeteria started to murmur, urging their seatmates for information they don't have. You released a small, clipped laugh. You should've thought that one through.

Tighnari meets your eyes with a sympathetic stare. You could tell he had more to say, but your heavy heart no longer wished to know.

"... Great work." The professor said just as nonchalantly. No doubt, he tried to salvage your reputation but you sabotaged it yourself. How wasteful. He beckoned you forward with one finger. 

"Come with me. We'll talk somewhere more private."

You walked away from your table and gave them one look.

They were incredibly disturbed to see a small sad smile on your face, rather than the wide mischievous grin that they were used to. After seeing that, they all had one emotionally detached thought in mind:

So, it wasn't a joke after all.

--------------

You neither like nor dislike Professor Albedo.

There are multiple fluffs about how friendly and dorkish he is as a reclusive person, but none of them sparked your interest. You often feigned reactions whenever Dorian expresses his apparent disdain for his more successful brother, and your sly smile barely reaches your eyes. If anything, hearing about the same man over and over again makes him feel oversaturated rather than entertaining. He's too perfect in those gossips that you're bored to tears. 

At least the rumors were positively right about one thing: his tastefully braided blonde hair and blue eyes make him no lesser than a portrait of a prince. But no more special than Dorian, in all honesty. You wouldn't be able to know which is which if they wore similar clothes and let their hair down. They're like clones of each other.

Albedo kept fidgeting a hand inside his pocket, and you can't hazard a guess as to what it is. A recording device, perhaps? You pride yourself on your ability to read and toy people like clockwork. That ability, however, does not translate well with Professor Albedo. 

You snapped out of your trance as the professor began reading what was on his clipboard.

"(Y/n) (L/n). 27. Graduate School. Taking a Ph.D. Botany program– though if I hadn't known that, I would've guessed you were a music major." Albedo vaguely pointed at your face without looking. "Your tongue would've fooled me."

You flinched. Is he teasing you or scolding you– you can't make sense of his tone. He's too monotonous.

"Professor, are you uncomfortable right now? If so, I could leave if you wish and we can talk via email instead about your complaint."

Professor Albedo eyed you carefully this time, even though he's squirmish. The tone you used to address him and your overall body language differ greatly from how you behave in the company of your friend group. Your professionalism does not match how the rumors perceive you. This is probably the reason why young professor Kusanali didn't believe any rumors about you. He was impressed.

"Am I supposed to be happy that you’re not giving me a moment of your time?” He said. "It's a bit difficult to achieve that state when you have yet to slip out of my mind. You did assault me yesterday–"

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of that, Professor." You cringed. "But–"

"Albedo."

"Sorry?"

"You kissed me, (Y/n). I think you can call me Albedo."

"Right." You chuckled nervously. "Like I was saying, P-Professor, it's all a major misunderstanding. I wasn't aiming to assault you."

Albedo raised an eyebrow. He did not miss the way you suavely dodged calling him by name. Other than that, assault is a strong word, and he did not expect you to use it as well. 

You thought it was a fitting word to use. Albedo barely makes eye contact, and he probably doesn't like being reminded that you stole a kiss from him.

"It's Albedo. So, you were planning to sexually assault another student?"

He is relentlessly quick on the uptake. Albedo sounded like a cop. What he said was correct, absurdly phrased, but correct nonetheless.

"I mean..." You rubbed your hands against your pants. They were a bit sweaty, and you had to accept the fact you were not faking it. You are genuinely anxious. "When you put it like that, it does sound inexcusable doesn't it?"

"It is a positively hair-raising notion, yes." Albedo deadpanned. "And if I had to take an educated guess, you were planning to assault my younger brother Dorian and you mistook me for him instead."

"..."

Figuring that out was a no-brainer. Although Professor Albedo is older than his brother, their appearance and physique make them appear twin-like. Dorian once droned about how it happened due to Albedo's poor upbringing under their aunt Alice's guidance, making his growth stunted. And his tendency to talk your ear out is one of many reasons why your intrusive thoughts often suggest that Dorian had no personality outside being the renowned professor Albedo's younger brother. Hence, you don't absorb a word of what he says. You didn't listen to gossip often cause you figured that you were not one for trivial gossip like the rest of the student botanists. 

... And based on the dilemma you find yourself in now, it appears as though you don't have common sense like the rest of your peers either–

"Please stop woolgathering. Is there a more interesting specimen to take note of on the floor? You seem to be more intrigued by what's on your shoes."

You cringed for what you felt like the 1000th milestone at that point.

"Professor, I know that I sound terrible–"

Albedo sighed. "I would never insinuate that, Mx. (L/n)." 

"But you keep cutting me off." You said in a questioning tone. It sounded a lot more polite in your head, yet the famous Kreideprinz was flustered by your reply.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. Carry on. You are aware that you sound like a sex offender, and?"

That came out incredibly cold. It felt like being under the cold blade of a frigid prince, and his icy stare and light complexion just adds the cherry on top. The professor said that he wasn't insulting you but his paraphrasing is exactly that. You didn't comment on it, figuring your education is more important than a harsh remark, and continued.

"... The truth is," you took a deep breath. "I only kissed you cause, well, I mistook you for Dorian, and also because I was trying to get Sucrose–."

"Sucrose?" Professor Albedo's eyebrows furrowed. "Sucrose, one of my–"

"Your student assistants? Y-Yes, sir." You nodded hesitantly. "We're best friends– not that it's unsurprising since I am a bad influence and she's a good person. I recently went through a breakup and she's worried about me. Dorian agreed to fake date and make Sucrose believe that she accidentally found us making out in a room to make it more believable but–"

"You mistook me for my brother."

"... Yeeaaahhh...."

"..."

This reminded you of your conversation with Dorian a while back. You asked if he and his brother would switch lives for a day, and he cackled and told you it happens more than the number you were thinking of. The moment you realized who you were kissing, you clung to the sliver of hope that it was Dorian wearing his brother's lab coat. It was not.

You looked down at your shoes again. It's too embarrassing and shameful that your entire lineage will probably be cursed. 

"..."

Knowing that you won't talk until he does, Professor Albedo read through his notes for a topic.

"Understandable. I presume you know my brother because you're both on the same course and are on similar schedules?"

"Yes, sir." Should you tell him the whole fake-date thing was Dorian's idea as well?

"It's Albedo to you. And to add to that, Sucrose is under the impression that we're dating."

"I think so, sir."

"That's not a question, (Y/n), that's a fact." He said. "She recently confronted me to ask if we're dating."

You gulped. Moment of truth.

"What did you tell her, sir?"

"What do you want me to tell her?"

You could hear your pulse pounding in your ears. 

On one hand, you want her to know what happened, but at the same time that would just blow you and Dorian's cover story.

But was that a smug tone you heard? Is he toying with you?

You bit your bottom lip. 

"... Yes, I think? What did you say, professor?"

"Albedo."

You tilted your head. "What?"

"Respectfully, please call me by my name and I'll tell you the answer." He smirked curtly, but it was gone before you could process it.

"S-Sir!"

Albedo shrugged. "Guess you'll have to ask her directly–"

"Sir Albedo–"

"Hmm, I don't recall having 'Sir' in my birth certificate–"

"Albedo! Albedo!" Geez.

He gave a small smile, longer this time. But he was still avoiding eye contact. You puffed your cheeks, embarrassed.

Prof. Albedo has a slightly twisted sense of humor.

None of this was professional, at all.

You felt your face growing warmer. You can't believe this is the same Albedo everyone is crushing on. 

You bit back a sharp retort. He sounded a lot more serious in campus gossip, and not the type to pull on your heartstrings like this. Your faith in that image is wearing thin.

The professor laughed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reply. You don't have to be nervous around me, (Y/n). I figured that if we were going to do this, you could use my first name.

"I refrained from answering. But, if you wish, I can confirm her suspicions. However, I must inform you in advance that I find relationships rather... Tiresome." Albedo robotically sighed. "I struggle to maintain them, so you will have to guide me."

Never in your life have you ever considered the possibility that a professor in your grad school would ask you to fake a romantic relationship with him. 

You digressed, not wanting to make a decision just yet. "But isn't your job in danger?"

Albedo then spoke in a genuine trill of amusement. 

"Not at all. Besides, I don't care enough to file a complaint about this incident. Also, you're not my student. Suffice it to say, I've thoroughly checked the handbook and consulted the headmaster herself. Rhinedottir sees no problem with this arrangement–"

Probably because she's your mother.

"–Granted, it will not be in full effect unless you give this a go signal. Will you?"

You looked away.

"This situation... Kinda reads like some cheap Harlequin novel, doesn't it?" You muttered.

It's a great offer. But it sounds too good to be true...

... Did he say that he wasn't going to file a complaint in the first place?

The professor watched as your impassive stare morphed into something uneven and sly but unavoidably empty. You clicked your tongue as your hands slip back to your pockets. Albedo could tell you're holding back an ugly laugh.

A switch had been flipped.

Professor Albedo immediately noticed the change in your demeanor and crossed his arms. He's anticipated this much. There's no way he didn't know about your "self-destructive patterns."

How interesting. For both you AND him.

"So, Albedo." You lazily pointed at him. "Something's fishy about this, don't you think?"

"You're too eager to help. I'd get it if you have something to gain from this, like scaring off your fangirls or something, but you fend them off just fine anyways." You grinned.

"I'm flattered that you think I send them away effortlessly." He answered point-blank.

Albedo turned to you, his face dim and heavily affected by his calm resignation.

"It's incredibly taxing work. I've told you before, haven't I? I may seem calm on the surface but people can be... A considerable handful."

His smile belied the severity of his inner turmoil.

But you can't help but doubt him. You don't buy his pitifulness.

You reassessed the situation in an instant. The Albedo you're talking to acts far from the untouchable Chalk Prince from the get-go. His words did not boast his usual research-riddled speech. This act is more than just premeditated.

Sure. You're the sort who is bound by what you "owe," but you can't say you can't empathize with his problems because he didn't seem-- he ISN'T troubled in the first place. And you're almost sure of it.

You believe you're not smart enough to remain in this university. But at least you have faith that you're perceptive and street-wise. 

Still, you kept your hollow cheeky grin plastered to your face.

"Then why aren't you taking a less problematic approach? You could say you're dating Professor Alberich– you'd get some people off your back."

Translation: Can't you just bother someone else?

"By attracting other unpleasant folks pestering me about Kaeya instead, yes, seems like a sound suggestion. I'll keep it in mind for future reference."

Translator's note: He's being sarcastic. Stop trying to worm your way out of this one.

Albedo continued. "But right now that's not viable. If you feel guilty for stealing a kiss from me this may be a good opportunity to ease your conscience."

...

"That's it? But you won't report me if I didn't agree to these terms, right?"

"Of course. I have your best interests in mind and simply warned you." He gave you a faint smile, hoping to ease your nerves. "You're part of Rukkha's batch of dean's listers. I don't have the heart to file a complaint."

Rukkha was a great woman, but you don't deserve your scholarships and sponsors. You don't have any talent or skill to truly impress people, and it seems you fooled both Professor Rukkhadevata and Albedo into thinking you're something special as well.

"Professor...."

But with what he basically said just now is that there are no consequences for your actions.

"It's Albedo, and yes?"

"You seem to have reserved some very unrealistic expectations for me. You should be more distrusting."

"... What do you mean?"

"I don't see any reason to accept your offer." You honestly had no idea where this confidence is coming from. Perhaps your class clown persona had slowly rubbed off on the "real" you, and for once you didn't hate yourself for it.

Because you don't want to be in this relationship. It's legal, yes, and you're old enough, but you're incredibly wary. Albedo may be leagues better than Itto but that's beside the point: you're emotionally spent and you're not ready to get to know another person.

"Oh, understood. For starters, agreeing to these terms will make Sucrose less abrasive with her attempts to set you up, and I could help you with connections."

"That sounds as though I'll be abusing your influence..."

You paused. 

Did you tell the professor about Sucrose's disturbing attempts to hook you up with people earlier...?

You don't recall ever sharing that bit of information. You made sure to pick your words carefully so Sucrose wouldn't be seen in a bad light. Since when did he...

"What? No, it's not. It's simply a small trade for your cooperation."

"No."

"And– sorry?"

You can see the appeal. You truly do. When you are chosen by someone of greater influence and intellect, it seems almost magical. He could undoubtedly help your botany profession thrive. Most people would conclude that if Professor Albedo chose them from the crowd, they must be extremely unique in comparison to their peers. 

However, this is somewhat unethical. This is the kind of scenario you'd find in a shoddy coming-of-age novel that desperately tries to convince you that there are no other elements to consider but love. However, you must also consider your mental health, reputation, education, and other factors that influence every fiber of your being.

Albedo isn't the type of person who would jeopardize your future over a minor disagreement, but you never know with people. People change as much as seasons do. You are a living example of this. Itto would not have used that argument against you if it were untrue.

You have nothing against those who engage in lawful student-teacher relationships, but you're self-aware enough to recognize that you're not mentally fit to enter one. And sometimes the conclusion is as straightforward as that. Besides, you're sick of having others (including yourself) continually doubting your intelligence. Fake-dating a professor will only exacerbate the situation. Rumors will spread that you only earned your grades because of him and not out of your efforts. Dorian already had it rough, and you've learned what it's like through him. Simple self-preservation.

"Thanks for the offer, really, but no. If I'll date someone, even if it's fake, I want to set it under my terms as well." 

You scratched your neck, eyes lifeless.

"I'm sorry, Professor. But I genuinely can't see why this agreement will help both of us, I especially can't see why this will benefit you compared to your other options. I could just come out and say I mistook you for Dorian and it's an easy fix to my problems and in turn, you wouldn't have to deal with the stigma of dating a student. I'm sorry, Prof. I'll take a rain check on it." 

You shrugged uncomfortably. "Besides, this is still a student-teacher relationship. I'm uncomfortable being in an uneven power dynamic like that. I'd rather date Dorian instead."

...

Shit. 

Okay, maybe accidentally implying that you're open to dating his kid brother had to be the second most uncomfortable thing you subjected Albedo to.

You didn't mean to come off as THAT honest.

A test tube must've cracked somewhere around the area cause you could've sworn you heard something shatter. You flinched, but he didn't.

"... Is that so." The professor muttered. You almost didn't hear him from how silent his defeat was.

You sighed in relief so intense that you physically felt your shoulder muscles relax and your eyes roll back. Seems like he gave up.

"I promise that I'll pay you back in other ways, professor. I owe you and I'm sorry. But I must refuse for both our sakes." You said. "I have taken something important from you, and I will respectfully understand if you file a complaint for what I've done. No one should have a kiss stolen like that."

He didn't reply. Albedo stood there, eyes unblinking as he mulled over your words. At the beginning of this conversation, he barely looked you directly in the eye, but now he refused to look away. 

You waited for him to say something else and stood there for a solid minute. Nothing came. 

"Please, excuse me."

You wanted to say that you left to give him more time to consider but the truth is that you couldn't bare standing there for a second more so you left in a frantic hurry. 

It was only when you left did you realize what made you wary of him the entire conversation.

Professor Albedo wasn't breathing the entire time.

-------

Upon unlocking his door, Albedo was greeted by a boy with a face akin to his. He was waiting for him, and in turn, Albedo anticipated that he would be here, too. The boy sat idly and almost casually inside a room littered with wall to wall of red-stringed photographs and texts, and there was not a single hint of disgust or any other natural reaction on his face. Albedo's nose scrunched.

Dorian did not budge from his brother– master's office chair. He stared back with a blank expression. Most papers were by his feet, crumpled, but not discarded. How could they be, when all pictures centered around one very precious subject:

You.

You, in all forms, poses, and angles make you ineffably you. These are the candid shots that bring out the little moments that Albedo longed to study under a microscope. They didn't need to be dynamic, rather, Albedo adored the simplest pictures the most. Needless to say, images of you resting is the most popular. It's a lot more convenient and easy to take, but that doesn't cheapen the value and elation the professor feels upon holding the finished polaroid up close.

Every time he swapped schedules with Dorian, he couldn't help but be curious about you.

It doesn't stop there. Albedo clicked his tongue as he noticed the journal Dorian held. It was his dog-eared notes he cleanly put together when jotting down your schedule, private life, and other more delicate intricacies. The clipboard he had earlier is nothing more than a silly prop compared to his actual notes. There's something so breathtaking about making the "unknown" into the "known", and the same applies to every bit of your life that he was curious about. Albedo's aware that it's not something he should brag about. Retrieving paraphernalia such as worn-out gardening gloves and locks of hair from your shower drain was not something he acquired robotically. However, he didn't fancy the idea that Dorian read it and found it just as entertaining as he did. He didn't like the idea of sharing.

Maybe you were right.

Maybe he did reserve some very unrealistic and idolized expectations for you. But that was only because he can see your potential. He firmly believes that. It's an awful and objectifying train of thought, but the professor is convinced he'll be the one who can "fix" your people-pleasing issue.

He figured, if he wants to make sure you'd always be with him, he had to conduct some trial-and-error.

Albedo breathed harshly. He forgot how to do so. He never needed to breath.

"Did it work?" Dorian asked. "Did your plan work?"

His eyes went dim.

Albedo didn't answer.

He locked the door again. This time, he allowed Dorian to keep the lights on. If anything, it's a small reward for indirectly helping him. But not even his fellow creation can have what the genius professor of the century desires to attain. He has to face the truth.

Albedo pulled out a recording device from his pocket. You said no. There's nothing he could do about that. 

"No."

"No. No. No. No. No--"

He played your refusal over and over again.

He thought he did everything right. He genuinely believed he followed the right procedure in getting you to say yes. What went wrong, then? Albedo doesn't get it. He was sure that he didn't say anything wrong or suspicious as well. You shouldn't have known that he had been following you from that conversation alone. 

"No."

He practiced everything for hours.

"No."

Word for word.

"No."

He researched tips and tricks on how to let other people's guard down.

"No."

He thought not pressuring you to do it will make you more willing.

"No."

He even asked Alberich how to subtly flirt with someone.

"No."

So. What went wrong?

"No--"

Albedo slowly blinked before realizing he had thrown the device against the wall in full force. The batteries and their other internal components spilled on the floor. He didn't have the willpower to clean it up. 

It's an undeniable error. He still can't believe his approach failed.

Master was right.

"Dearest Albedo, if you can't have them in their most authentic self, then what's stopping you from making an indistinguishable copy?"

#tag: no - albedo #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere fanfiction #yandere #yandere genshin imagines #albedo x reader #yandere male #yandere oneshot #ansy-writes

[redahlia-writes]

dream a little dream of me. | steven grant

Abstract: He thought it’d be awkward. He thought the lie would be too much and that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that perhaps his shyness would get the best of him, and though he wanted desperately to try for you, he was terrified he’d somehow mess it all up. But he finds himself at ease, a sense of home he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

Words: 3K

Content: f!reader; fluff, just fluff, fake dating, a little awkwardness, them being down bad for each other, yes it’s november and i’m posting a christmas fic

A/N: is this based on this tiktok i’ve seen months ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about? yes it is. but moving on - (scene is from doctor who’s christmas special “the time of the doctor”)

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

“Emergency, you’re my boyfriend.”

For a moment, he thinks he hasn’t heard you correctly - it’s not the first time he receives a call from you that starts with an absurd statement, question or words that overall leave him confused. He’s almost grown fond of it, though this time it takes him too long to process what you’re saying.

“Ding dong, okay,��� he replies, and frowns at himself - what? “I might be a bit rusty in some areas, but -” stop talking. “No, no,” you sound frantic, a clatter in the background followed by a string of curses under your breath before you clear your throat. “You’re not actually my boyfriend, Steven.”

“Oh, that was quick,” you snort, only to return right away to your muttering and swearing, followed by more loud noises that truly make him worry for your safety. “What’s going on? Why do you sound like that?”

“Because it’s Christmas, and I lied to my family, and this bloody oven won’t work and I’m so behind with dinner - fuck,” he knows your phone slipped and fell to the ground - there’s more rattling, a slam, a sigh. “They’ve been setting me up on blind dates for ages until I told them I had a boyfriend, and they said they couldn’t wait to meet him for Christmas - I thought they were joking, but now it’s Christmas and I don’t have a boyfriend and they asked about him for tonight, so I need you to be my boyfriend. Please.”

The last time he heard you so panicked was when a group of school kids had run inside the museum, escaping the control of their teachers. You had fussed and worried about the artefacts in spite of the glass cases, and he’d had to bring you a hot chocolate to calm you down as the children settled back into order, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you at last got up for their tour.

“You do know I’m Jewish, right?” he asks then, and you groan quietly. “Well, mazel tov - you’re still coming to your girlfriend’s Christmas dinner,” he laughs then, shaking his head a little - of course he is, he’s decided the moment he heard your nervous rambling, getting up from the desk to get to the closet and change out of his worn out clothes - he knows it’s play pretend, but his mind still started reeling about the need of making a good impression on your family, and he cannot do that in a washed out white shirt and old trousers with more than a hole in them.

“Alright, alright - so bossy,” he replies, and hears you exhale in relief, a temporary pause that is interrupted by a too loud ding that makes you yelp, quick steps passing by, more noise. “Hey, take a deep breath for me, love, will you?” he calls out - he knows the phone is still on the floor, speaker on, your hands otherwise busy. Later on, once he gets to your place before the rest of your family, he’ll find it there, still.

“Can’t,” you call right back, yelling a little over the sound of running water. “I’ll be there in a bit,” he sighs, and hangs up before you can respond, hoping that, at the very least, your house won’t burn down in the time it takes him to get ready.

To say your family is loud is an understatement. From the moment they walked through the door, Steven’s senses have been assaulted by greetings and laughters and too-tight hugs.

He finds he doesn’t mind it one bit.

He helps you bring the food to the table, keeping an eye on your injured hand - a shallow cut from a broken glass he cleaned and bandaged himself because you refused to lose too much time going to get it checked. Stubborn, he’s muttered under his breath, and you’ve waved a spoon in his direction in mock threat, making him laugh.

He truly doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen so much food, vegan options thrown in the mix he knows for a fact you’ve done last minute when he’s accepted to go along with your lie - he’s thankful for it, for you, for this night.

Your mother is the most curious about him - and where did you meet, she asks, and how long have you been together, and how’s his job, and -

“Mum,” you call just then, loading her plate again with a pointed look. “It’s Christmas, not a job interview. Give him a break, will ya?” “I’m just curious,” the woman shrugs, looking at you and then Steven, then back at you. “You always talk so much about him, I want to hear some of those things from him,” she protests, and for a moment your movements still, face heating up.

“Ma!” you complain, a quick glance in Steven’s direction as he grins - his cheeks hurt for how much he’s been smiling tonight.

He thought it’d be awkward. He thought the lie would be too much and that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that perhaps his shyness would get the best of him, and though he wanted desperately to try for you, he was terrified he’d somehow mess it all up. But he finds himself at ease, a sense of home he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

And it’s not so difficult to pretend to adore you, to be in love with you - it’s not pretending at all, really. So he slips into it, that tugging at his heart that makes him feel warm all over whenever you hug him, or rest your hand on his arm, or talk with him in that enthusiastic way that makes your eyes shine a little bit brighter.

“Well, we met at work,” he clears his throat, pushing the few crumbs that remain on his plate around to stop himself from fidgeting with his hands too obviously. You fill his glass again, a new surge of affection in his eyes when he glances at you. “It was her first day, and I still worked at the gift shop - she bought too much candy right after her first tour ended and accidentally started her second one late because I kept her talking about some of the newest artefacts,” you snort, shaking your head a little - it feels like ages have passed.

He doesn’t talk about everything else - about Khonshu, and Marc, and Ammit. He doesn’t mention the help you’ve been during the whole mess, that you’re most likely the only reason he’s still got a job - and a promotion on top of that - and how you’ve kept him sane in the aftermath just by being his friend. He wants to say you’re probably the most important person in his life as for now, but he doesn’t because his mask would fall then and expose him to everyone in the room, you included. For now, it’s just pretend.

“In his defence, I’m the one who started rambling, and he had to remind me I actually had a job to do, so -” you shrug a little, but the smile doesn’t leave your lips. He’s looking at them too often tonight, he knows, but he can’t help himself.

“Is that why you called him your saviour?” your mother chuckles, and you almost drop the glass in your hands, eyes widening. Steven coughs on his mouthful of wine.

“Did you, really?” he wonders, and doesn’t want to sound amused but truly cannot help it. “I thought you’d said it as a joke,” he still remembers - the embarrassed laugh, frantically reaching for your badge as you walk towards the exhibition area, calling over your shoulder a you’re my saviour, thank you!, quickly hiding the candy in the pockets of your skirt.

“Half joke,” you scoff, bumping your knee with his under the table - that’s just for him, not for the show, and he smiles again. “I reckon I wouldn’t have liked it particularly if I had been fired on my first day.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have liked that either,” he muses, your nose scrunching up with your smile as you lean in a little. “But we’ve been friends since - she also helped me get out of the gift shop, somehow convinced our boss I should do some of her tours.”

“That she told us - spent the whole day complaining about Donna, is it?” both of you groan a little at the woman’s name, then quickly exchange a look that your father, not-entirely distracted by whatever was playing faintly from the TV, notices with his eyebrows raised.

“What she did not tell us,” your mother chimes in again, hands locked under her chin, “is how this,” she gestures between the two of you, a coy smile upturning her lips, “happened.”

“Ma!” you say again, one hand rising to cover eyes and forehead as you sink a little into the chair. At his side, your grandma chuckles, elbowing Steven gently.

“They’re shy, can’t you see?” she tuts, her eyes moving from Steven to you. “Haven’t even kissed once, these two.”

“Come on, leave the kids alone,” your father says, now no longer paying attention to the TV. “What? It’s just a kiss!” the older woman protests, grinning up at Steven. “It’s Christmas after all, what’d you say, young man?”

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, both hands lifted to cover your face. Steven feels his neck burn, words tangling on the tip of his tongue as he glances at you, back at your grandmother, you again, unsure of what to do, say, think. “As long as you drop it.”

There’s an apologetic look in your eyes when you drop your hands and turn towards him - he wants to say it’s fine and don’t worry but he can’t, because you’re leaning in and brushing your lips to his. It’s quick, a peck, a brush of lips that makes his heart flutter, and you’re holding your breath, the tip of your fingers caressing his chin before you’re pulling back, leaving him dazzled, yearning for the taste of wine on your mouth.

“There,” you clear your throat, reaching for your glass with a hand that shakes slightly - there’s a groan at the other end of the round table, and in his temporary haze Steven sees your eyes widen, fingers curling around nothing, a notch away from the glass.

“You call that a kiss?” suddenly you’re wondering if you should’ve stopped bringing bottles of wine when your grandfather refilled his glass for the 6th time, his mood certainly turning jolly. Loud. Boisterous. “Come on, lad. Give her a proper kiss!”

“For the love of -” you look at him and sigh again, shaking your head a little. “Pops, really, it’s not -” you turn to Steven, still apologetic looking.

A split second, and he’s kissing you. Steven shouldn’t be taking advantage of the situation, he knows, but it’s a proper kiss and your grandfather is laughing. And Steven is kissing you, a proper kiss - gentle, delicate, and your hands come up to cup his jaw before you can help yourself, suddenly not wanting him to part from you. His stubble scratches your palm, and you let your eyes flutter shut at last, surprise leaving place to ease.

It’s easy, kissing Steven. It’s soft and gentle and warm all at once, and his hand is on the back of your head while the other rests on your thigh - his fingers trace a pattern over your clothes, and through the small fireworks popping in your mind you manage to discern letters. S-o-r-r-y, the apology on the tip of his fingers as the kiss goes on for longer, his lips parting and yours with them, melting towards him.

You would laugh, if you could remember how to breathe. Instead you’re carefully bringing your hand to Steven’s curls, slowly smoothing them back from his face, and your lungs are burning because you’re supposed to be breathing but really you don’t want this to end, you want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until you’ve grown tired of it and then some.

It’s Steven that eventually pulls away, and there’s an odd noise trapped at the back of your throat as you force your eyes to open, to make it seem as if that wasn’t your first kiss, as if you didn’t feel the ground rock beneath your feet, and your heart wasn’t trying to jump out of its place behind your ribcage.

The tip of Steven’s nose is bright red, as if he stood in the cold for too long, and it spreads across his cheeks like a rosy brushstroke - his lips are a little parted, short bursts of air coming out of it as he looks back at you with his eyes shimmering a little. He looks unbelievably pretty, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you to turn away instead of diving right back towards his lips.

“So, who wants dessert?”

You’ve been looking at him for a while. He’s in the living room, carefully stocking up the empty plates from the table, setting the cutlery aside, the paper crown sitting a little askew on his curls. He’s humming as he does so, and a smile catches on your lips - it’s Dream A Little Dream Of Me, a song you’ve found yourself singing often in between tours, Doris Day’s version constantly stuck in your head.

“I will deal with that in the morning - you’ve already done more than enough,” you tell him softly, reaching his side. He looks up towards you, your eyes meeting for the first time since after the kiss - it still burns on your cheeks, lips, neck, the tip of your ears. “Thank you.”

“I cannot possibly leave you with this mess,” he argues, still gathering what’s left on the table - empty glasses and paper from gift wrappings and Christmas crackers. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” he grins a little, and you laugh, shaking your head. The clock behind his head signals 2:34 AM.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to repay you for what you did tonight,” you reach up to fix the paper crown on his head, and he forgoes the plates and forks to turn to you.  “I enjoyed it,” he’s fidgeting a little, fingers tapping along his thighs. “My family - it’s never been like this, I’ve never had anything like it. It was nice. I’m glad you asked me.”

Steven’s never spoken a lot about his family, or Marc’s family - he’s mentioned things off-handedly, but has always been quick to change the subject, and you haven’t asked, there was no need. Still, the hurt is palpable each time, and it makes you ache for him. For them.

“Well, you’re invited next year as well, then,” you say, stepping a little closer and lifting his hand towards him in offering, the other reaching for your phone in your pocket. “Come, there’s one more thing.”

Steven frowns but obliges, watching as your thumb quickly slides across the screen while you wrap your hand around his, and soon enough soft music starts playing from the speakers - the first notes of the song turn Steven’s lips in a smile as you put the phone away again, looking at him again.

“Not Ella Fitzgerald’s?” he wonders, your now free hand reaching for his shoulder. Tentatively, he places his hand on your waist, slowly catching on on your intentions when you start rocking side by side, following the music.

“My grandma would play Golden Girl all the time when I was with her,” he starts following your movements, albeit a little slower, a little unsure. “I think it stuck,” you shrug lightly, taking a little step to the side, then back - Steven follows, looking down towards the floor. “Steven.” “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking up, then back down. You smile a little, drawing closer.

Once the initial awkwardness vanishes, Steven is great - he finds his footing and begins leading, steps becoming wider, more sure, and you let him move you both around the living room as you hum the words almost under your breath, never looking away - Stars fading but I linger on, dear / Still craving your kiss / I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear / Just saying this…

He’s looking at you, too, and smiling still - for a moment you wonder if there truly was too much wine, because his eyes are shimmering, and his cheeks are still red like right after the kiss, as if he’s still warm all over, and then -

“Mistletoe,” he says, so soft you almost don’t hear him, even if the music is low, even if you have stopped singing for a while. You look up towards the doorframe you’re somehow under, and Steven is unbelievably close, his chin tilted up to look at the small plant hanging above your heads, throat exposed to you.

“Steven?” he snaps out of it as soon as you call his name, gentle, and meets your eyes. “Yes, love?”

You desperately hope you haven’t misread the whole evening. You also hope the wine induced courage won’t leave you right now as your eyes flicker to his parted lips. You lean in, gripping his shoulder a little tighter for balance, and the moment your lips brush his he shudders a little, but pulls you closer right away. He hiccups lightly, dips his head forward, and though the kiss is initially hesitant, it’s true.

It’s somehow softer than the one at the table, slower, gentler, and you both melt into it, into each other, hands untangling only to reach for the other - your arms wrap around his shoulders, and his palm presses gently against the small of your back. Steven sighs into the kiss, shoulders sagging as if in relief.

It doesn’t last long, and when you pull away, he chases the contact for a moment longer, lips searching for yours once, twice, and then he stops, eyes widening again as he looks at you. You feel yourself smiling, hand moving from the back of his neck to brush his curls away from his forehead.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper, the tip of your nose bumping his, and his face splits in a wide grin, holding you a little closer, a little tighter. He won’t let go now - not for the rest of the night.

“Aces.”

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x oc #steven grant x female reader #steven grant imagine #steven grant fanfic #steven grant fic #steven grant fanfiction #mcu moon knight #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon boys fic #moon boys #moon boys fanfic #moon boys fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you

[reliefteachingau]

#Relief Teaching Jobs In Australia #Relief Teaching In Australia #Best Website For Teaching Jobs In Australia #Casual Relief Teacher Jobs In Sydney #Substitute Teacher Jobs Near Me #Casual Teachers In Australia #Temporary Relief Teacher #Emergency Teacher In Australia

[ashesandhackles]

@hprecfest Day 2 - A Comfort fic

Regretfully Yours by @maria-de-salinas

Severus/ Petunia. Explicit.

The unexpectedly tender and intimate romance between Severus and Petunia - post the events of First War- tops this list. Maria has a way of writing care, intimacy with such loving attention to detail, it blows me away in all of her work. This also has a sequel!

Summary:

1981 was not Petunia's year. The day before New Year's Eve, determined to make a fresh start of it, she straps Harry and Dudley into the car and flees north--only to hit into the biggest snowstorm she's ever seen in her life. Grief-stricken and dazed by his pivot from Death Eater to teacher, Severus Snape spends his holiday far from everyone, wandering aimlessly through the snow. The last thing either of them wanted was their paths to collide, but when Petunia gets stuck in the snow, they'll get stuck with each other.

2. Not bright or noble, but almost sublime by @yletylyf

Severus/Sirius raising Harry. Explicit.

I remember talking to Lety when we connected in Snirius fandom: "Where are the fluffy fics? Where are the raising Harry fics?" Of course, Snirius fandom as a whole is interested in the tension and delicious angst of Sirius and Severus together, often veering to darker territories - so it was a relief when Lety started writing this! A very fun Snirius raising Harry story.

Summary:

On that fateful Halloween night in Godric's Hollow, Severus Snape and Sirius Black unite in a common cause: find the Secret-Keeper who betrayed their best friend. Or: A temporary truce turns into something much more.

3. The Dog and Deer Detective Agency by @artemisia-black

Sirius/OFC.

If you ever wanted to see Sirius Black in a noir-esque mystery, this is your fic. Not only is Artemisia good at building the luxuriant atmosphere for the foreboding story, this is a good exploration of Sirius in an alternate universe without threat of Voldemort. He is a freer version of the man you might see in canon, but still has that family baggage. There is also tons of baby Harry and Sirius cuteness (yes, that is my catnip- Harry and Sirius are my favourite dynamic in canon)

Summary:

Set in an AU where Voldemort is never born. James and Sirius are both the best of friends and brilliant wizards, and not wanting to be tied down to a 9-to-5, they founded a detective agency. A year in, they have had a steady business from scorned spouses until one day a woman arrives and draws them into a sinister plot in the Scottish Highlands.

sore subject by @incalculablepower

Lavendar Brown/Parvati Patil & Demelza Robbins/Parvati Patil

No one gets the romantic comedy #vibe of Half Blood Prince quite like Incalculable Power. This fic is special among her work because she captures an experience lot of queer women go through - an intense codependent friendship that is just waiting to edge into romance.

Summary:

The High Priestess, reversed. Trust your intuition. Your true self is waiting; she refuses to be contained for much longer.

Orchards by @whinlatter

Harry/Ginny.

Whinlatter dropped into the fandom with a 17k fic written about the summer Harry and Ginny fell in love, and it was utterly beautiful tribute to first loves, Harry, Ginny and also, the third character: the orchard. Even when the fic weaved in the grief Harry is still dealing with and references the war years, it is infused with hope for the future.

Summary:

The orchard is a wild, thousand-flower, crumpled-gate, fall-down-fence sort of place, where things grow that you’ve never asked for, that you’d never expect. The summer of ’96, the story of something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow.

#harry potter #ginny weasley #severus snape #petunia dursley #lavendar brown #parvati patil #demelza robins #sirius black #james potter #hinny #snirius #fics recs #hp fics recs #hp rec fest

[esoteric-chaos]

Energy Healing 101

Welcome to my separate expanded post on Energy Healing. I decided to separate it from my post on Reiki (that I am actively rewriting) for those who are hesitant to get into Reiki (aka lack the funds because it can be quite expensive or not just cannot find a non-appropriative teacher) or would rather learn a different method. This post is for you.

I want to be transparent, as this post is mostly UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis) and SPG (Shared Personal Gnosis). I don't actually know where I learned to energy heal, as I intuitively knew before I practiced Reiki.

What is Energy Healing?

If you can manipulate energy, you can heal with energy. Energy healing is a form of energy manipulation to heal things similarly to Reiki. Arguably, just as well. Reiki is just a specific practice and guided style of doing so. Energy healing has been seen throughout history in many different cultures and traditions.

How Can I Energy Heal?

First, you have to be adept at Energy Manipulation. It is like building muscle. It can sometimes take a lot of hard work and training to get to the point where you can heal with energy. It takes focus, visualization, physical energy, mental energy, and practice. You might not get it on the first try, but that's okay. Some may also get it on their first try. Try not to beat yourself up about it. We're all different.

I deeply suggest learning how to borrow energy from sources first before you engage in energy manipulation of this type. It can drain you severely both mentally and physically if you are not careful. Especially if you are a healer who takes on or feels others' pain during sessions. I recommend this for Reiki practitioners as well.

When you go to do this healing process, it's not a true healing as it will not remove ailments, but it eases its side effects and pain.

None of this is a replacement method for healthcare practices and psychological practices. If you are feeling unwell, it may be an underlying condition that could prove to be serious. Please take a look with your physician for treatment when needed.

Sometimes, depending on the practitioner, this process may sting or feel like you are buzzing with energy. From many practitioners I've talked to, the experience is different. Warn the person before you start. It could sting, feel cold/warm or like you are a small battery. Warn them to expect the unexpected. That it will feel better in the end.

Energy Healing Yourself

First, I like to ground and centre. It helps me get into the right headspace. To ground, I use the tree method of visualizing roots coming down from my core (mine is my heart space) and deep into the earth's soil. I then soak up the earth's energy through those roots to borrow (I always return it after the session and give some of mine as a thank you.) I drag the energy up through the roots, towards my core and let it centre my being. After I feel ground and centred, I visualize that energy seeping down my arms and into my hands.

Next, I assess the pained area of myself. Are my calves really tight? Neck? Shoulders? I'll hover or touch the pained area to see how they feel.

Start an assessment and hover your hands over different parts of your body. See what connects and feels icky. Some pained areas can lead to others within your body.

With your energy, latch onto that negative energy. With my method to make it not uncomfortable, I visualize light coming from my hands and cleansing the area. Like you would energetically cleanse a space. Visualize that light penetrating that negative area and slowly filling, replacing the space and "burning" (sounds scary, but it's not) away that negativity. Those I practice on tell me this feels cold, warm or tingles.

Continue this process until the areas feel clear of the negativity and are replaced with this shield-like glow on the area for temporary pain relief. Think of a temporary bubble ward.

After a final sweep, you are done if you cannot find anything. Get yourself and them a snack with some water. Remember to rest after. That is vital. You may feel drained, or you could even feel energized. Everyone is different.

Energy Healing Others

Ground and Centre, like above. Gets you in the correct headspace.

Access the person I'm healing. Hover your hands over the area of the body where the pain resides. Let your energy touch their body, not your hands. However if that is harder for you, you can touch them with their consent and comfort.

Start an assessment and follow the limbs, torso, neck, and such. In your mind, set your sights on or intend to find areas of pain that will register within you as either dark energy, colour you view as negative, or even temperature. It helps to see where the pain is if you have a visualized goal. When you find a dark, sticky, magnetizing, cold/hot area, anything that feels "wrong," pause there. See if it stretches from that location to other parts of the body. Our bodies are like spider webs. Everything connects. Sometimes, a painful spot will lead to another.

Continue with point 4 above in healing yourself. I see others using these methods, too, by grabbing the energy and dragging it out of the body. I do not use this method personally, as it feels less natural.

Continue this process until the areas feel clear of the negativity and are replaced with this shield-like glow on the area for temporary pain relief. Think of a temporary bubble ward.

If you cannot find anything after a final sweep, you are done. Get yourself and them a snack with some water. Remember to rest after. That is vital. You and they may feel drained. They could even feel energized. Everyone is different.

Channelling Different Energies for Healing

Here's where we get a bit interesting. If you do not connect directly with the earth's energy or it does not vibe with your energy style, try different energy sources. After you do a basic grounding exercise, you can use celestial energy to be present by visualizing a beam of light coming down from the heavens, through the top of your head, and into your centre.

You can also use different elements, depending on your healing method and what you are trying to heal. I find water soothing and healing for emotional deregulation or aches and pains. Try washing your hands with blessed water or spring water before you partake in healing and channel that energy into your hands. Visualize that energy forming around your hands, like a waterbender from Avatar, the Last Airbender, to perform healing.

You can also wear crystals with the corresponding element. You can draw on that energy when needed.

Tips and Tricks

Who says you can't use a wand if you struggle with channelling energy into your hands? Especially if you're a practicing witch. I find selenite wands beautiful for healing and apple wood-based wands.

If you struggle with visualization, simply directing your thoughts and narrating what is happening like a story while using your other senses, like feeling, can significantly improve your energy practice. Any practice, that is.

Resources

Books by Barbara Ann Brennan are great resources, and I built off my practice with them regarding energy healing. They are less problematic than most books with chakras in them, but remember they have some elements in there regarding more western washed versions of such. I started with Hands of Light by Barbara Ann Brennan. However, these books are not cheap, so trying to find them second-hand may be your best bet.

Another excellent book is Eastern Body Western Mind by Anodea Judith. It covers the Eastern-based practice of energy and puts it into a Western-based framework for understanding without watering down any significance. It also covers the energy channels, how they move with the body, and much more. If you enjoy seeing spirituality from a psychological perspective, this book is for you.

Blessings!

Would you like to see more of my posts? Check out the Masterpost.

#witchcraft #witch #electic witch #witchblr #energy manipulation #energy healing #energy work #energy centers

[carmodance]

On Christmas morning, a dance studio was destroyed in a 3-alarm fire in Los Alros, California. The roof collapsed and the building was completely destroyed.  https://www.nbcbayarea.com/news/local/los-altos-el-camino-fire/3406574/?amp

Bay Area Dance School is not only a small business and a dance studio but also a safe space. With this fire, dozens of children who dance at the studio on a daily basis are being uprooted from the space where they find community, build discipline, and practice their craft. Our dance community is heartbroken this Christmas.

With the dance competition season around the corner, it's crucial that the dancers are able to continue training. The funds from this GoFundMe will go towards solidifying a temporary space for classes and rehearsals, building a safe studio (sprung floors, Marley, barres, acro mats, mirrors, etc), and covering all other capital expenditures of running a dance studio.

The Bay Area Dance School teachers are truly wonderful dance instructors and the most kindhearted, incredible people. They need all the assistance to rebuild, and no amount is too small. Thank you for your support!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/fire-relief-for-bay-area-dance-school

oh no! that is so very sad. thank you for sharing. What an awful thing to happen on Xmas. I can only be thankful no one was in the building.

Here is the gofundme link for anyone wanting to help or share:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/fire-relief-for-bay-area-dance-school

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

I Cherish You, Halcyon Days: ii.

“You’re gonna die, kid. In the worst way possible.”

tags: afab!reader (she/her), angst, slow burn

pairing: gojou x reader + onesided!getou x reader

summary: You’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. You’re 17 years old when you realize who your killer will be. And you’re 17 years old when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

index | previous chapter | next chapter

"[Full Name]," your aunt's tone is stern.

"Now before you start, Auntie, I just want to say you look lovely today."

"[Full Name]."

"Classes were canceled today!" Your aunt looks at you in disbelief and you chuckle nervously. Lying to your aunt isn't normally your style, but you knew the trouble that would be heading your way if you told her you ditched. Your classmates and teacher were easy to lay off when you texted Shoko you wanted to be alone. You don't have the same excuse to toss to your aunt. "Seriously, I told you months ago that this school is weird with its scheduling, didn't I?"

Her brow unfurled only slightly at the reminder, your weak argument somewhat convincing. There isn't much she knew about the world of jujutsu besides what Yaga told her in the initial sales pitch as to why he wanted you to transfer to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. Auntie Chiharu only knew the basics: curses are real, cursed energy and that's the bulk of what your education would be concerning going forward.

Skeptical as she was, your aunt didn't stop you when you expressed your interest in attending. She only asked that you did what you could to stay safe. "And if it gets too much, you can always go right back to Tsubame High with all of your friends."

You loved that about your aunt. She'd never stop you from the pursuit of self-discovery. It's what made her especially cool to you when you first came to Japan during what was supposed to be a temporary living arrangement. As long as you weren't doing anything exceedingly stupid, you were free to give something a shot. As long as your grades didn't slip, she was quite loose when it came to curfews.

My parents were the kind to be really strict," she told you one day over lunch. "When I remember how uncomfortable that was, I told myself I'd try to be different than them. Just don't take your privileges for granted and I can keep being the cool aunt, okay?" Auntie Chiharu wasn't your family, not by blood anyway. In reality, she was just a family friend ー your mother's host sister back when she did a year long exchange program in Japan. She's been Auntie Chiharu for as long as you could remember.

"Well if you are just actually visiting because you didn't have classes today, then it is nice to see you, [First]," you finally get a smile back from the woman. "You didn't have to come all the way out here. I was going to see you next week."

If you could do so without bringing overt suspicion to yourself, you'd sigh in relief. "I just wanted to surprise you, that's all. And I wanted to see Mina."

Auntie Chiharu makes a knowing sound, "ah ha! So it wasn't me you wanted to see, but Mina. I should have known." Picking up a bucket of fish and ice, the aquarist nods at the one she left behind before leading the charge to where your favorite animal companion lies. "Maybe one day you'll love your aunt like that, you just want me for the aquarium."

Everything about it still feels as magical as the first time you came to your aunt's place of work your first summer in Japan. You were too young to care about things like humidity and the incessant cries of the cicadas and your level of Japanese was nonexistent. All that paled in comparison to visiting another country for the first time and even that fact paled in comparison to getting backstage access to an aquarium. So almost everyday that summer break, you left early in the morning with your aunt to her job. If you weren't helping to feed some of the animals with freshly washed hands and arms alongside the watchful eyes of the staff, you would walk around the place pretending you had rented out the entire place for yourself.

You love all the sea critters in the Wonder Aquarium, Mina is a simply the most beloved part of the 'my aunt is an aquarist' experience. She was 7 and you were 7, a bond meant to be as far as you were concerned back then. Even now, you consider Mina the beluga to be among your very best of friends.

If you weren't busy with school, you were at the aquarium telling her about the little updates in your life, the highest highs and the most embarrassing of lows.

The time you cried as you told her about the accident you had in class because you couldn't remember how to ask to go to the bathroom.

When you finally made your first friend.

Becoming a first year in middle school. Meeting Chinatsu and Tooru.

And of course, you told Mina all about how you got yourself dragged into the world of jujutsu. How the weird demon and ghouls you always saw were called curses and that you were going to learn to how to fight them.

You haven't been able to see her as much since your enrollment. The thought of her being a few short minutes away does something to calm your nerves after the events of yesterday.

Grabbing a bucket for yourself, you follow after your aunt with an enthusiastic skip, "seeing you is an added bonus!"

"How's school been?"

"It's been fine," you keep any mention of dying in the worst way possible at the hands of your beloved to yourself. Auntie Chiharu is many things. One to take fortunes of death concerning her niece with a pinch of salt ? You're sure she'd sooner try burning down your school. You never even told her about the death of the one and only second year at the school a couple months prior. "I told you before how they actually celebrate our birthdays at this school because there's not a lot of students, right? But because me and another classmate ー that Gojou guy I mentioned ー have birthdays just days apart from each other, they're just celebrating ours on the same day." Your aunt makes a noise of curiosity and you explain with your own noise of annoyance. "He was born on the 7th so we're supposed to share the 8th."

"Well that sounds fun."

"Trust me, sharing a birthday party with Gojou isn't going to be fun. He's annoying." I was supposed to be due in late November, right? Why can't I share birthdays with Shoko? But no, instead baby [First] took her sweet, sweet time and decided December 9th was the day for her.

Auntie Chiharu ignores your dismay, laughing at your anguish, "I still haven't met your classmates from this school, you know. You should bring them over when you get the chance. I'll make sure they leave thinking you're really cool."

I'm pretty sure they'd find you way cooler than me. "I'm not really sure if any of my classmates would be interested in coming to an aquarium. Well, maybe Suguru would be, just to be polite." Everyone else comes from jujutsu families whether big name or small. "Then again, I think Utahime would love it here." During an old conversation of yours concerning first date spots that weren't just dinner or a movie, you both agreed that going to an aquarium would be a fun conversation starter. Among your upperclassmen, she is a romantic.

"Suguru sounds like a first name to me," comes says coyly. "So does Utahime. Is there romance blossoming at this special school of yours?"

You roll your eyes in good fun, "I'm on first name basis with almost everyone at that school, Auntie," you tell her before she can run on with her theories about your non-existent love life. "I'm not into either of them and neither of them are into me. I'm holding out for Morris, we've been through this."

"That man is married and 36 years old."

"He's gonna leave his wife some day," you counter with too much confidence for someone only turning 16 in 6 days. "And when he does, I'll be waiting at my wedding venue of choice!" Whatever your aunt says in response, you have no idea as she shakes her head with an exasperated release of her breath. You open your mouth to argue for the sake of arguing when you see a familiar squishy head peering over a wall and any debate concerning your pipe dreams halt. "Mina!" Two more heads pop up, ah yes the other members of her little pod. "Ryuu, Yuu!"

Auntie Chiharu pats your back lightly, "I'll take the boys and feed them before moving onto a different area. I'm sure you can handle your best friend." Your aunt knows the drill. Mina time is private time, like writing in a sentient diary. "Don't jump into the tank," she adds with a pinch.

You chuckle, "that was 10 year old [First]'s prerogative."

And 7 year old [First]. And [First] 8 through 9.

"Hey, Mina," you sigh softly, placing a gentle hand on her melon and giving it a friendly squish. It doesn't matter how many times you've touched it, beluga skin still feels something akin to touching wet styrofoam. "It's been forever since I've seen you, how you've been?" At Mina's friendly whistles you beam. "Good! I'm glad to hear the boys aren't giving you too hard a time. Me? School's been... something." You wait until you hear the telltale clatter of the the tank doors and you know Auntie Chiharu is far enough to not hear anything that comes next.

Another breath leaves you, this time much heavier in nature as you toss a few fish into Mina's jaws. "Seriously something," you whisper. "You already know where I'm going to school now, you don't need a major recap. But," you stall over your next words and focus on feeding Mina fish and ice.

When there's nothing left in the bucket besides melted water and fish scales you place you decide to lay on your stomach, disregarding the cool water seeping through your shirt and pants. "I'm supposed to die, Mina," you murmur at last, touching her melon again. "Looks like we won't be growing up together, after all." You recall Takamatsu's owlish eyes, his near manic grins.

All sorcerers are supposed to be at least a little crazy, apparently.

You wonder what the crazy meter is for someone who can see glimpses of someone's future when they look at them. Crazy enough that I can't ask him 'boring questions' about how I die. "Not really sure when, I forgot to ask. But to be honest, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have liked it if I asked," you tell the beluga about Takamatsu's disdain for lackluster questions. "So don't go asking me when or where. I don't know that either.

"... it's not like I didn't go into sorcerery thinking I couldn't die," you continue on. "It's a huge part of the job description. Warning: being a jujutsu sorcerer will bring in closer proximity to curses and curses can cause death, life threatening injuries, disembowelment, decapitation, more death and oh did we mention death? Ask your primary doctor if being a sorcerer is right for you."

But you promised yourself back when an undertow almost took you out that you wouldn't let fear run your life, just like Auntie Chiharu decided not to. Now here you are, confronted with something scarier than the abstract 'I could die' ー a solid confirmation of death. "... but I guess it's not even a curse that does me in, girl. I'm supposed to be killed by someone precious to me."

You wave your hand and despite yourself, you giggle when Mina rolls onto her side and waves back. "You're not gonna kill me are you, Mina?"

The sea canary makes what you say is a convincing argument that she wouldn't even dream of doing such a thing. "Don't worry, I didn't think you would," you reassure her, letting your arm sink into the chilly water. It's not jumping into the tank, Auntie Chiharu can't make any complains. Death by beluga whale sounds pretty interesting so you're sure Takamatsu would have mentioned it if you asked. "But this person is supposed to be so special that I won't even die mad about it. That Takamatsu guy said I really loved them."

You must really really love them.

At the sounds of clicks and whistles that are distinctly not the beluga in front of you, your eyes wander to the far east of the tank where you know your aunt is. You try to imagine Auntie Chiharu killing you, you try to picture how you'd feel if she did it now.

"I'm," you rest your chin on the hand that isn't elbow deep into icy cold water. "I'm really gonna love someone that much some day," you babble softly on in awe at the statement. "It's kinda amazing when I think about it. I don't really know if there's anyone I love that much right now. I don't even think I love my parents that much. We're the kind of family where our relationship got better after I moved out of the house." No more weird daughter, no more talk of imaginary ghouls. The love you have for your parents definitely has its limits. Your future executioner you adore definitely has to be someone that isn't family. "Who do you think it'll be?"

Mina has no answer for you but you grin anyway, "I wanna meet 'em too."

It's almost 18:00 when you finally finish making your way up the gazillion steps onto Jujutsu Tech's campus and that's when you're caught sneaking back into the dorms by Suguru.

"I thought you were sick in your dorms," the boy remarks when he catches you red-handed.

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, "you wouldn't happen to believe me if I said I'm just a figment of your imagination, right?" Your shoulders sag in relief when Suguru chuckles at your lackluster attempt at covering your ass. At the very least, you knew the taller boy wouldn't snitch on the fact you hadn't actually been moping in your room all day.

"It'll be our little secret," Suguru says at last when his light bought of laughter subsides. Perfect. "How are you feeling?"

"Compared to yesterday? Better," talking to a beluga whale about your problems has been a surprisingly effective tactic since you were 7. "I just needed to clear my head and think for a while. And well I guess I thought, if I'm gonna die anyway, why not knock something off my bucket list. I've never ditched school before," despite your lackadaisical grin, Suguru grimaces at your words and your heart clenches. It's too soon to joke about your fate, even for you. But fake it til you make it. You made your decision. "So why not do it so I'm not laying on my deathbed full of regrets, right?" The lack of banter in return makes you sigh, holding your arm closely to your side. "Sorry. Kinda just figuring out how to approach the whole... dying in the worst way possible thing."

Suguru's look of sympathy isn't one you know if you should accept full-heartedly, "he let you ask questions about it, so there might be some way to change what happens to you. The future is malleable."

You remember how the seer looked aghast at you even asking how you die and snort, "those answers were helpful and unhelpful at the same time. So, I'm not really counting on things changing much." Not unless you really didn't like what you saw in the future. "Either way, I want to see this thing through and see what happens. It's terrifying, don't get me wrong," you divulge truthfully with a shaky sigh. Shit yourself levels of terrifying if you're being particularly honest.

Death may be part of your job description but you don't want to die. "You got 'hey man, you're gonna have some tough life decisions' and I got 'you're dying, not sorry'. And I don't even have a timeline I'm working with," you curse yourself again for not asking Takamatsu when you'd die. But if I did, he'd probably cut off letting me ask anymore questions in the first place. That sounds like a boring question, after all. "But living in fear isn't my style. So I'm just gonna keep doing me until I'm in the dirt. We're all dying some day, I'm not special."

And there's someone I want to meet, you keep to yourself. I want still want to choose my own future. So you will.

You'll meet whoever it is you're supposed to love so much you wouldn't even care if they killed you and you'll judge for yourself if they're someone you actually want in your life. With un-tinted glasses.

With an internal pat on your back, you give Suguru one that is much more external in nature, "so don't worry about little ole me. I'm pretty sure I'm not dying any time soon based on what I was told though, so don't get all sad on me. My birthday's coming up though so if you do wanna be extra nice, just get me extra presents or something."

You get a small smile in return, although you're sure your classmate isn't thoroughly convinced. You accept the smile as a win despite that. "I'll try to catch myself from moping too much then. I'll tell Satoru to be extra nice too," Suguru turns a sharp but playful eye toward you. "You're birthday buddies, after all."

"Please be for real," you squint back in displeasure. "Now we're gonna be stuck together all day on the 8th. Be lucky you don't have any birthday buddies." Utahime and Suguru's birthdays were a comfortable enough distance in February that neither had to worry about sharing anything other than a birthday month. Apparently that's too much to ask for yourself. "Let's switch birthdays, actually," you rest a fist on your other palm, a metaphorical light bulb lighting up over your head. "He's your best friend, it would perfect!"

"No way, I can't handle that much Satoru in my life." You roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out petulantly. "If it's any consolation, we didn't get along much our first couple weeks of school." It didn't offer much comfort so much as amusement. According to Shoko, their first day of school, Suguru and Gojou got into a fight so bad classes had to be canceled the rest of the day. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that squabble. "So it'll probably be the same for you," he smiles to himself, lost in whatever thoughts of friendship and rainbows he must be having. "It'd just be nice for the two of you to get along seeing as you're both friends of mine."

You hold your index fingers up in an 'x', "don't jinx me please. I'm a proud member of the We Hate Gojou Alliance with Utahime, I'm not betraying my girl like that." In spite of your vehement protests, Suguru laughs. He can laugh all he wants, I'm not giving up my badge of being a hater. A yawn falls from your lips. "Anyways, I'm hitting the showers," you yawn again, the lack of sleep finally beginning to catch up to you. "I've been out all day and I'm tired."

"Where'd you go anyway?" Suguru asks as you finally continue making your way to the dorms. "You smell like fish."

You laugh sheepishly. That's a drawback to the backstage aquarium visits. Good ole fish smell.

There's a reason no one wanted to be next to you on the train. "Enoshima."

"... Enoshima?"

index | previous chapter | next chapter

Extra

Alt. chapter title: Local teen trauma dumps to beluga whale, results may very

Auntie Chiharu's name is written with the characters for small '小' and spring '春'. That isn't important, I just think it's a cute name. She's got a degree in marine biology and works as an aquarist in Enoshima. She's not your average aunt, she's a cool aunt. Has heard many of your Gojou-related rants in the past. She deserves a medal

#look she's writing #jjk #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #i cherish you halcyon days

[nomatterwhatnomatterwhere]

What a ( Not so) Strange World IX

Prev Next

No, I am not dead - I apologize for the immense delay. Also I would like to thank @the-ace-reader for putting up with my rambling and especially for giving us the scene with Sebek ( so very thank you <3 )

As a student you were supposed to take classes-which were about to start-in a class that had not yet been assigned to you and whose location you had no idea about.

Given the rather high chances of getting lost around the school the situation was pretty good, wasn't it? You were trying to get to Crowley's office as quickly as possible when a voice made you stop, sigh with relief, and return to your anxious state

"To enter the classroom in your current condition would be disrespectful, I hope you know that."

You were definitely relieved to hear - and see - that adorable furball - not that you would have told him out loud - Lucius: If he was here, it meant that Trein was not far away; if Trein was not far away, it meant that maybe he could help you.

The only thing you didn't understand was why your "conditions" would be a disrespect-you looked as hard as you could, trying to figure out what the problem was, but you just couldn't figure it out.

( In your defense, the small footprints left by the hedgehogs were in places rather obstructive for you to see them.)

Distracting you from that thought, however, came, fortunately for you - as you had anticipated - Trein, who passed his gaze from Lucius to you and then snapped his fingers and did something

( make the stains disappear from your clothes and your face)

and then turned to you in what for many would have been a rather austere tone, but you knew better

"I am relieved that Lucius found you, we were afraid you would get lost before you got to class."

Oh.

So you had been assigned a class.

Your expression must have openly stated what your thoughts were given what Trein said to you as you headed to said class

("I will be your Homeroom Teacher. There will be no special treatment, and although I guess you already expected that, I wanted to emphasize that." )

Arriving just before the entrance to the Trein Classroom he slowed his pace slightly, before stopping to take Lucius in his arms, thus letting you enter before him-wasn't this considered special treatment? Delaying his entrance so that you would turn out on time?

The classroom was structured in a way that was rather new to you: the desks that stretched high rather than wide made you think more of the stands of a stadium than of a classroom, but you imagined that for a theoretical subject it made sense to structure the classroom that way.

Even from the outside you could sense the large number of people present-if you concentrated you might be able to distinguish the different murmurs-but upon entering you realized that most of them already knew each other, or at least were not total strangers

( If you had looked closely you would have noticed that your classmates were grouped according to dormitory, that's why you felt like they already knew each other, because they already knew each other.)

Compared to the first time you had arrived in this world you thought you had changed-hopefully for the better, but never take anything for granted-in many respects, but that of socializing with your peers had remained at a decidedly poor level:

At RSA it had been Neige who had approached you - and you had made a masterful fool of yourself - Rook had put an arrow to your neck - and you had made a fool of yourself again as well as ignorant. You had approached Mr. Fae by pure mistake, and since you had no chance of escape, you had maintained a conversation -- rather brief and awkward, by the way -- you had been assaulted by one of your temporary roommates, and you had found yourself in spite of yourself harboring a problem child under the dilapidated roof of the dormitory.

So, in short, you weren't good at socializing at age 8 and you weren't good at it now.

You hoped to find a medium-isolated seat, not too far away, not too close, from which to take class without too much trouble. Oddly enough -- for being the first day of class -- there were several vacant seats, even though you were late, so you didn't have too much trouble choosing a seat to your liking.

You sat at the third desk, just past the "aisle side" desk - the idea of someone giving you a shove as you walked by did not appeal to you, it definitely seemed painful - and you took advantage of the short time Trein had given you to arrange your material.

Kind of like whoever was sitting in the pew below yours was doing : he was wearing a green and black armband that matched his hair, which had drawn you in rather quickly.

(Had he thrown several pounds of wax on it, or was it naturally that way? You felt like stroking them, but it didn't seem quite right, it was rude, and none of your guardians would let you get away with it.)

Trein's arrival marked the end of your ramblings: he introduced himself as the Homeroom Teacher of your class, explaining what subject he taught and what his methods of judgment were-and introducing Lucius, of course-and then began the actual lesson by talking about the Mana Stones.

The topic was definitely interesting, and you were used to Trein's method of teaching, but you didn't feel like it was that difficult to keep up. The boy sitting next to you had hit his head on the desk after only five minutes.

To his credit, Mr. I Used Too Much Hairspray Today seemed to be holding up well; indeed, he did not seem to be affected in the least by Trein's monotone voice during his explanation.

The choice of topic then made you laugh; not because it was funny per se, but because of Yuu and the Problem Child ™s situation : there was a certain irony in talking about the Mana Stones, especially if students had risked their lives to retrieve one without knowing anything about it.

( At first you didn't understand why the older students didn't like Lucius, but after spending an entire class watching him wander around the class, annoying anyone who fell asleep or pointing out the names of those who weren't paying attention, you understood why he wasn't seen as the lovable, slightly snobbish furball you knew.)

Next you moved to Sport Field, for the hour you feared most given your possessing two left feet and being as graceful as a fawn on the frozen lake

( Lady Tremaine's efforts had been to no avail; during your etiquette lessons you kept tripping and dropping books-Frau Grimilde had suggested shoes that knew the dance steps, "just in case.")

Honestly? You had to find a way to be excused from that subject because A) you were incapable of doing the simplest of exercises without falling down and B) sweat absolutely disgusts you.

( C) you fear that Coach Vargas might decide to include his raw eggs in your diet.)

All the while you had done nothing but wait for the class to end as soon as possible, and when the coveted moment had finally arrived, the adverse fate had well and truly decided to bid you farewell

( Effectively you had been too lucky up to that point and it would not have been you if you had not made some embarrassing figure by involving poor strangers in your misfortune.)

You had no idea how it had happened-you had surrendered to being the plaything of fate-but after picking up your things, on your way to class you had stumbled.

Over nothing.

You hadn't put your foot wrong at all.

You had tripped over nothing, and you were bracing yourself for the impending head injury that would come shortly.

Only the head injury wasn't coming because someone had come chivalrously to rescue you.

( He was restraining you with one arm under your sternum, but he had a rather delicate grip, considering the force that must have been behind restraining you…you probably looked like a sack of potatoes.)

Except that instead of the Prince Charming ™ you might have expected you had found yourself covering your ears to protect your eardrums from the screams about your lack of attention that were being-absolutely unkindly-addressed to you by your…savior-which was none other than the boy who sat in the desk below yours in class

"WHY ARE HUMANS SO CARELESS AND CLUMSY! THEY SHOULD FOCUS MORE "

Seriously, what bad character problems did the students have? Were they all so … bizarre?

Which by the way he was not a beast man-or at least he didn't look like one-so either he was a fae-but you hadn't noticed any of the typical signs, nor did you sense the typical aura of magic that you had sensed in Mister Fae-or he was a merman, but either way saying such things was downright rude.

( He had been kind, though; he had prevented you from a potentially dangerous fall, and despite yelling at you he had checked that you were not hurt. Also, he was not wrong, you should have paid more attention to where you put your feet.)

Third period was with Crewel, who was in charge of explaining the basics of potionology to you, but you just couldn't concentrate: the smell of sweat was definitely strong for you, so much so that you wondered if the boys had used the showers after the previous class, because you really didn't understand.

You were also more interested in the Not- at- all Prince Charming : you had not figured out whether he was unaware of your arrangement , was simply ignoring you or was so extremely focused on the lesson that he didn't notice anything.

( Crewel, on the other hand, had definitely noticed that your attention was not on his lecture at all and was wondering if he should start worrying.)

When Break Time arrived you were supposed to head to the Cafeteria, for that lunch you had promised Cater, but it seemed to you that the stench of sweat stuck to you and you didn't want to stink, so you made a quick stop toward your room in the faculty wing, to freshen up a little

( although on the way to the Courtyard you saw out of the corner of your eye a gray ball of fur running wild.)

The ride, while long - you had missed a hallway and had to be shown the way - had been very quiet.

What was not quiet at all was what you saw as you entered the Cafeteria.

Was it possible that those idiots couldn't keep from getting into trouble? It was quite annoying how everywhere they went they seemed to make trouble.

( You hoped-more for their sanity-that the Problem Children would not assume that Yuu was their caretaker because that would be pure nastiness; they had already been through so much, letting them eat in peace seemed the least)

You were going to intervene - my circus, my monkeys I guess - maybe cast some little spells from a distance? so that you wouldn't actually have to get too close to those four, mainly because three of them … make that two and a half ( Deuce after all seems like a good kid) are mess makers and you get into messes just fine on your own without outside help, but before you could do anything the problem seemed to have been solved.

Just as well, you thought, as you took a look at what the Buffet was offering.

( you had been greeted by the ghost with whom you had cooked the previous afternoon; he had been very kind and had advised you what to take from the things that were left )

Feeling satisfied you began to look around for Cater's recognizable ginger hair, though in doing so you made eye contact with Rook who smiled at you and you sent him a nod of recognition.

Once you found who you were looking for you approached, being pleasantly surprised to see an old acquaintance again

( it must definitely have been the "Trey" effect that had made you smile like a moron seeing her first crush again which was indeed true)

" … the new Prefect from that dump of a- I mean the 'rustic' dorm"

" 'Rustic' is a compliment, that's actually a … I don't even know if there's a word to describe how much of a dumpster that dorm is " you inserted yourself into the conversation by sitting next to Yuu

(to whom you passed some of your food because theirs was being gobbled up by the weasel…maybe you could have made some Bento Boxes?)

You gave a general nod of greeting-even though you had to shoo Cater's hand away from your lunch.

"I've heard about luddites like you, but I never imagined I'd meet one in the wild !"

"Yuu's not a rare animal, you know that Cay?"

During Trey and Cater's explanation of the dorms there were some rather interesting moments:

When they pointed out to you a boy from Savana Claw you couldn't help but think you had seen someone very similar before: he was smaller and definitely more kawaii, but that Beast Man really did look a lot like Jack…maybe you should have contacted him? IF you remember correctly, he, too, should have been attending first-year

Rook pretending he didn't know you were talking about him and whoever was sitting next to him while talking about Pomefiore students.

"You two are morons. There aren't girls officially enrolled here" Thanks Ace, so you were either a cockroach in his eyes, or he didn't think of you as a girl at all, as if he wasn't aware of it…were you supposed to be offended?

The most interesting point came ( literally ) as you were talking about Diasomnia : among the boys Cater had pointed out to you was your Not-at all Prince Charming, but he was not the interesting point.

"Despite my fresh faced, boyish good looks it would be inaccurate to call me a child."

Lila Vanrouge was definitely a fae, you could also tell by the rather old-fashioned way he described himself-he seemed to be a little older than Mr. Fae, but he exuded less dangerous fae-ish energy

( Not that her mere presence didn't make you stiffen--and not that he didn't notice--she was still a Fae, and he seemed like one of those Fae who enjoy playing pranks on their neighbors.)

(Trey's reaction, however, made you smile slightly).

"And yet those guys over there aren't exactly rolling out the red carpet in terms of approchability."

You couldn't blame Deuce, the other two seemed ready to attack you if you made the slightest dangerous movement though….

"Um…" you had to be very careful, you didn't want to end up incurring a debt to a fae, whoever it was " I would really appreciate if you could be so kind to thank your…friend for helping me today."

Effectively, you had not thanked the boy, who in spite of his manners, had nevertheless done you a great deal of pleasure

The speech Trey made as soon as Lilia returned to his table left you slightly confused: he had not referred to Lilia's abilities as those of a fae. It was hard not to know it was…was it forbidden to talk about it? Something else you should have investigated as soon as you found the library.

Great, more and more infomation to look for.

Just great

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