#but that hardly counts as developing their characters

[asvterias]

𝖨𝗍 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝖥𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖣𝗈𝗐𝗇 ~ 𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖫𝖺 𝖱𝗎𝖾

part two || chapter playlist (1) & chapter playlist (2) || clarisse masterlist

helping palestine 🇵🇸

warnings: the killing of a monster?, character death, crying, some blood mentions & stabbing (not inflicted against us!)

pairings: (both aged up to 16) clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of poseidon) | younger!brother percy jackson ✘ older!sister!reader

genres: sally & reader’s mom (jessica) are lovers bcs GENUINELY FUCK GABE (hate his ass), reader & grover has a sibling bond, hard cold angst, sad angsty beginning, reader’s mom actually dies 🥲, reader’s emotions control the weather, very sad!reader, kinda depressed!reader, reader in denial, MAJOR character death, reader is kinda a girlboss, kinda!dark!reader x always!clueless!percy, vengeful!reader, reader is OUT for blood (specifically the Minotaur)

summary: secrets are liable to make or break the jackson-matthews family until they result in dangerous situations, nearly escaping from death…well nearly most of them managed a safe recovery.

word count: 2.7k+

tag list: @lvrue @kyuupidwrites @xanasaurusrex @urdeadpoet @aurorailvsm @quinnsadilla @st4rzl7 @p0rkbun @star-girl69 @aphroditesmoon @lcvved @tinytea-biscut @dearlydarlings @nvirskies @rocknr0ll @urbisexualfriend @k4zuhas-visi0n @marlswhore @lovelyy-moonlight @thegiganticgirlkisser @thewritingbarbie @apocalypticlibrary @solecitoszn @mira-belcul18 @ampitrit3 @mthefae @sleighingstella @korizzybee @hoku-k @liv444me @lila-went-missing @mariposa555 @cherriesnbutter @justintinderlake4 @natasha-took-fall-damage @b0ok-lover @novastarrs @urfavefag @babyzzlove @importantpotato @laughingcheese037 @iheartamberfreeman @karslyn @haerinfrr @gianni7867 @jimfiqs @4evafvctional @lyzsaphrodite @f4riedimples

author’s note: i really enjoyed writing this ngl! also i have a faceclaim for reader’s mom, jessica matthews is portrayed by candice patton.

Born from the same father but different mothers, your sibling bond with Percy was unbreakable, certainly unconditional. Your mothers were very close, growing up as best friends from when they were teenagers, accomplishing every achievement together for the sake of you and Percy’s life.

Of course, your moms fell in love, hosting a small spring wedding when you were 10 and Percy was 6 years old.

So when Sally had to move again, your mom didn’t ask questions and instead packed your bags, placing them in the car and driving to the airport. A loving family of four was maintained by dark secrets that cost lives.

With everything going on, with the upbringing of your heritage, both of your mothers went through thick and thin. Developing from friends into lovers hardly changed anything, presumably their love maintained massively for themselves and shared children.

It was a rainy day, you and Percy had just been expelled from Yancy. Nancy bullied your brother so you reacted like how any big sister would and punched her before she flew into the nearby fountain, completely drenched in water. That little defense mechanism got both you and your little brother expelled from Yancy indefinitely as you two took a train back to your parents’ apartment.

You two apologized profusely to your moms, but they remained nonchalant, telling you two to pack a bag because you were visiting your residential cabin.

Something was wrong, extremely wrong and you felt it in your gut as soon as you stepped foot into the unkept cabin. From the moment your mom became sorrowful and honest, retelling the story of how she met your father, you knew something was up. Sadly, you just didn’t know that it’d be life-changing for you both.

Interrupted by rapid knocks on the cabin door made you jump a little in surprise and your mom, Sally, went to open the door. It was Percy’s bestfriend, Grover. He was soaked from the rain and began to blabber on to your moms, incoherently talking about revealing the big secret.

“Grover…” Percy speaks, waringly looking down at his friend’s lower body, or rather the lack thereof. Shockingly enough, his lower body wasn’t one of a human’s but one of the legs of an animal, specifically a goat.

“What?” Grover snapped, turning his head to the siblings, hitting his hoove against the wooden floor.

“Grover, why is there half a goat in your pants?”

“Did your mom fuck a goat or something?” The question had to be asked, but it yet remained to be answered.

Doubled in confusion when Grover, Percy’s best friend was also your satyr protector, dedicating to getting both of you at Camp Half-Blood safely. When your mothers’ actually revealed the truth about your father’s real identity, you were appalled, to say the least. You assumed he was a deadbeat and couldn’t care less about his kids, and you were absolutely right. Only now his identity expanded in further detail, making him out to be a god, one of the most powerful gods there ever was. Therefore making you and Percy, forbidden children in both worlds, are continually being hunted by monsters, who strive to see your demise.

“Do you believe this, Y/N?” Percy turns to you, mouth open in bewilderment.

“Right now, I don’t know what to believe anymore.” You truthfully spoke.

“Did you know I’m 24?” Grover asked you innocently.

You and Percy shared the same shocked expression, “Wait? What?”

Grover winces, staring back at the two adults in the car, “Out of curiosity, what exactly did you tell them?”

“We were getting there!” Your moms shouted simultaneously at Grover.

Grover nods his head, leaning back into the seat.

“Moonlight…listen to me.” your mom looks at you through the mirror as your gaze hesitantly meets hers. “You and Percy are forbidden children, monsters are going to attack you every day, this camp can protect you both.”

“Why can’t you and Sally come with us then?” you bargained with her, tears forming in your eyes. You couldn’t imagine, much less experience your life without your mother and Sally. The same women who nurtured you since you were babies and taught you everything you knew. You refused to give up on them, everything they did was to protect and love you, and now it was your turn.

Sally starts to talk, eyes stuck on the road, “We humans are not allowed there. Only demigods like you two.”

“But we don’t wanna leave you two.” Percy persisted.

“You’re our moms.”

“You’re gonna have to, that Minotaur isn’t gonna stop until he kills both of you.”

All of a sudden, a collision hit the car with enough brute force to send the car off the road and everything went black. It was all so quick, the collision, the swiveling of the car and landing on the side of the road, far from bypassers to rescue.

The rain pattering against the car turned into a heavy rainpour as everyone in the car, hanging upside down with the seat belt anchoring them, remained still, all unconscious.

After a while, the dulling pain in your head sharply woke you up, being the first to recover from the crash. Holding your head in pain as you slowly opened your eyes, feeling the blood trickle from your head, surveying your surroundings as you saw Percy and Grover still unconscious. Quickly unbuckling your seatbelt, you got out of your seat, repeating the same action to your younger brothers.

One by one, you carefully got everyone from the car as they began to wake up. A growl from the distance urges you to move faster as you help your other mom, Sally, get out of the damaged car.

Sally, Percy, and Grover were recovering, standing on their feet, checking for any injuries and your mom was the last one who needed rescuing.

“Mom…” you shake her but her body is motionless as the tears well up in your eyes.

You felt Sally’s arm pushing you back, sending you into Percy’s and Grover’s embrace as you nervously observed.

“Come on, come on, Jess…” Sally murmurs, kneeling down, searching for a pulse. “You gotta survive, we have children together, we can’t lose you right now.”

“Is she okay?” Percy chirps up, deciding to speak for you.

You found everything incomprehensible around you, your senses became deafening and a high-pitched ringing in your head matched the loud heart beating in your chest.

When Sally stayed silent, it only worsened your anxiety, “Mom, is she okay?!” Percy speaks again, adding some base in his voice yet his tone slightly wavers.

“She has a fading pulse…” Sally whispers, sparing a sad glance at you and quickly turning back to Jessica, “It’s decreasing rapidly,”

Dropping to the muddy slippery ground on your knees, tears quickly filling the brim of your eyes, threatening to fall as you moved closer to her.

“Mommy…” you cradle her face into your chest, saddened by her face, eyes closed as blood trickles down her forehead.

“We can revive her, right!” Your voice cracks, whipping your head to Sally, “Tell me we can revive her!”

“Y/N…” Sally sighs deeply, trying to contain her own tears. You turn around, looking down at your mother, resting on your lap, body motionless yet her face looks peaceful.

“No! We- I can save her. We can do heart-to-heart compressions,” you shake your head, starting to do heart-to-heart compressions. “Why isn’t she waking up? Mommy, this isn’t funny anymore now, you have to wake up and help us. Please I can’t do this without you, I can’t do this whole new demigod thing without you.” your voice was dry, as you leaned down, blowing air into her mouth, hoping for a miracle to occur.

You didn’t truly believe in miracles, but for your mother, you’d start believing it. Right now, you would do whatever it took to bring her back even if it meant wishing on the impossible.

“We didn’t do plenty of things yet, I wanted you and Sally to meet my first girlfriend, attend my graduation, be there when I move out and eventually get married, and get grandkids from Percy because we both know I’m not going through that torture.”

Your senses became intensely heightened, catching onto Grover’s whisper to Sally, ignoring him as you spoke up.

“I refuse to leave her alone, she isn’t dead, just having some problems waking up and getting a pulse back.” You were in extreme denial, “Come on, mum, you focus on her face, giving her air and I’ll do her chest,” you beckoned Sally forward.

“Sweetheart…she’s already….gone.”

“She’s my mom and Percy’s mom, your wife. She wasn’t supposed to die this early. If all you’re gonna do is stand there and be useless, don’t bother talking to me.” It wasn’t intentional to snap at your other mom, but your emotions were driving you crazy and brazen.

“You’re the sun to my moon, Mommy, I can’t shine when you’re not there with me.” You sobbed. Despite being physically exhausted, you weren’t giving up on trying to revive your mom, she would have never given up on you so you would stop trying until you had something, anything; a pulse, a gasp, her eyes shooting up. “Remember…” You weakly asked, holding onto the moon-shaped necklace on your neck, staring at your mom’s sun-shaped necklace.

The sky crackled with slight thunder as the rain poured down heavier. Finally understanding the meaning of your nickname, you sobbed desperately until the broken cracks of your voice gave out.

There was no sunshine without her moonlight, always them being in a pair, nothing without the other. Sadly, you lost your sunshine, darkening your moonlight to its deepest depths, harvesting it into something vengeful and heartless. Something that even scared you to a certain extent, like this was another new side flourishing because of the horrible circumstances.

“Hold up, is Y/N doing that?” Percy quietly asks Grover.

You rested your mom on the ground, ignoring the cold rainpour.

“She’s gone…” Sally cries, grabbing your arm and pushing you into her body for a hug. You cried into the hug, tightening your grip as your wails echoed throughout the forest. Maybe this was all a nightmare, where you’d wake up and relax in reality. This was the time that your mom needed to wake you up and reassure you that she was right there, staying with you and protecting you.

Your chest clenched against your rib cage, devastation wracked throughout your entire body as the tears relentlessly spilled out.

“But she- she can’t be gone!” You hiccup, eyes glossing over with fresh tears, feeling another arm snuggle around your side.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she caressed your face.

“What kind of demigod I am, if I was blessed with all these supernatural powers, can’t even save my Mom from death? What kind of daughter am I to just stand by and watch her own mother die? I don’t want this demigod life anymore, please take it all away if it meant my mother is coming back, to me, to home.”

“Don’t you ever say that again, you did everything you could, your perseverance is one of your strongest qualities that Jessica adored very much. She wouldn’t want you to doubt yourself like this nor would I,” Sally reassures you, resting a thumb on your cheek, “Our beautiful daughter, she’s so proud of you, I want you to know that.”

Your eyes were puffy and red from tears as you listened to your mother’s words of encouragement and reassurance.

Much to your dismay, another loud roar broke the semi-family grievance, reminding them of the harsh reality.

“We have to go now!” Grover hastily urges.

“I’m not leaving my mom here like this,” you point to her figure on the ground.

“We won’t, I promise you, sweetie. I’ll give her a proper burial, but right now we have to go!” Her tone was urgent as she quickly scanned the dark forest with the illumination from the car light.

You hurriedly rushed towards your mother’s still figure on the muddy ground, leaning down.

“Goodbye, Mom,” you whisper hoarsely, kissing her forehead for the last time. You stared down at her neck, gazing at the sunlight necklace she wore and yanked it off, and shoved the meaningful jewelry into your back pocket. Your heart broke again, realizing she can’t respond back, despite being in extreme denial.

Unfortunately, that was the last time you saw your moms, one died in your arms and the other sacrificed herself for her children’s safety.

The pain and suffering became a dangerous mix of anger and hatred directed at the Minotaur.

Grover’s statements fall on deaf ears, partially drowned out by the heavy rainfall. “Y/N and Percy come on, we’re almost there.” you glance at your blonde brother who holds the same expression on his face. You were going to avenge your mothers, and you didn’t care if you died trying. This monster had already taken your worlds away, so you had nobody else to lose.

Grabbing the pen from your pocket, holding it out, and witnessing it transform into a golden sword at will.

The fight with the Minotaur was brutal and intense, alongside the heavy downpour of rain attempted to slow down the intensity of this fight. Despite double-teaming the monster, he resisted surrender, determined to win and kill you both. Surprisingly, you gained the agility to climb onto his back while Percy distracted him.

Somehow, you gained the ultimate advantage with the lighting sword in your hand and stabbed the monster in its eye, ignoring his roar of pain. If anything its pain only further encouraged you to continue.

Too full of adrenaline, you grab his two horns, gripping them and pulling them out with your utmost strength. A new sudden strength you just obtained. Gasping in shock was quickly outlived when your sword slipped out of your hand and dropped onto the muddy ground, disappearing from your eyesight. Stumbling onto his feet, inflicted by the pain, you groaned, gripping the monster by his rough skin as he attempted to shake you off.

“Percy the sword!” You yelled at him. Your brother throws the sword upwards as you catch the weapon.

You stab the monster in the neck, wincing at his loud screeches, but continue to stab his neck. Once the monster was deemed weak enough, you sliced the sword right through his neck, seizing the opportunity of successfully killing it.

This was all this stupid monster’s fault. If it hadn’t chased after you or slammed itself into the car, your mom would be alive. If it didn’t have such a bloodthirst for demigods, Sally, your mum would still be alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. You just wished your moms were alive, to see you mature into such a courageous daughter to avenge their deaths.

Soon enough, the monster staggered on its feet and its body began to disintegrate into black dust before your eyes.

“Y/N!” The voice becomes disoriented as you stumble on the ground, two arms catching you as you faint, everything fading away into a black abyss.

likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto any other platforms without my permission.

#dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x black!reader #clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue angst #clarisse la rue series #clarisse la rue imagine #clarisse la rue oneshot

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 32.3k+ (dear lord)

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction & calorie counting), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, a parent in the hospital, mentions of sexually explicit scene being shot on film, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy

SMUT-18+ ONLY: fingering & oral (f receiving), nipple stimulation, heavy petting (m receiving), possessiveness, a lot of hickeys(lol), a little praise (please let me know if i’ve missed anything)

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me. this story is personal to me for so many reasons, & parts of it have been a little hard to write. but, they’ve begged to be written. i hope you all love it. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ��︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Christmas Eve: Cherry Tree, OK

The ground was buried under mounds of snow. A fluffy, warm blanket of the softest white, yet it froze your little fingers when you buried your hands into its inviting, bright allure. 

You were bundled so tightly in your winter ensemble that you could hardly move. Your arms were stiff as boards, impossible to lay at your sides. You begged your mom to not make you wear it outside, but she and your dad wouldn’t budge. 

“You’ll get sick.” They warned you. But you didn’t heed them. 

As soon as you were outside and safely out of their sight, you shed your pink puffer and matching mittens, throwing them in a deep bank covering the once vibrant flower beds on the side of your house and freeing yourself of their restrictions.

You’d spent what felt like hours outside in the below freezing temperatures. Intricately rounding out perfect snowballs, building the tallest snowman your six year old body could manage, creating the most heavenly snow angels. 

You hadn’t even noticed the sudden pain and tightness that had developed in your small chest, or the dry cough that accompanied it. You were too busy warding off evil snow monsters from your fort made of icey wonder.

Until you heard your first, middle and last name erupting from the opened back door. 

Your mom and dad were there, their faces as white as the snow your body plummeted towards when your small lungs became too tired to allow for another breath of air. 

You spent Christmas in the hospital that year. The whole week, actually. A collapsed lung due to pneumonia, you were told. It was the most painful thing you had yet to experience in your young life. 

But to this very day, you consider it the best Christmas you’ve ever celebrated.

Nurses and doctors showered you with all the toys your heart could ever long for. You opened gifts from your bed and enjoyed the most wonderfully terrible Christmas dinner the hospital cafeteria could offer. 

You ate more ice cream than what was truly necessary. But no one denied your incessant requests for the frozen treat.

You watched Oliver and Company countless times that week, a favorite of yours and your dads. He hated Disney movies, but he loved this one, only because of Billy Joel’s character and the classic song he featured in the film.

He loved Billy Joel. Loved him enough to sit through hours upon hours of the animated film with you. 

Neither him or your mom left your side that whole week. They didn’t even go home to sleep. They just stayed with you. 

There were no fights between your mom and dad that week. Not even one. It was the closest your little family had ever been, and would ever be again. The love you felt from your parents that week has yet to find a comparison.

Crazy as it sounds, you miss that week. You began missing it as soon as you were cleared to go home. 

Their bickering resumed almost as soon as they put you in your special, tiny wheelchair to take you to the car. Whatever magic that hospital held that forced your family to love each other in a way that was brand new to you, was lost altogether once you were wheeled out of the automatic glass doors. 

You knew, once they situated you in the back of your dads double cab, that you’d never see them love each other that way ever again. 

As the Winter thawed to a bright Spring that year, when the snow melted and ran away to the Deer in Water creek that your home stood proudly beside, so did your hopes of ever seeing your parents love you and each other the same as they had that Christmas. 

That was a time in your life when you viewed your mom and dad in the same light. A time when you didn’t hate your dad, a time when he made you believe a man could love you.

When it wasn’t just your dad that caused problems, and it wasn’t just your mom that showed you love. They both did those things.

It’s strange to think back on it all now, to think about how he’s the one that left, and she’s the one dying. (Or already dead.)

You can’t bring yourself to understand why, but that Christmas you spent in the hospital all those years ago is all that's playing in your mind as Jake is speeding to the hospital. 

He’s asked you a few times how you’re holding up, but you can’t begin to try and answer him. 

You’re unable to communicate more than a quiet nod of your head as you're staring through the tinted passengers window. 

There aren’t any tears. No lump in your throat. 

You want to cry, but you can’t. 

Your mind pleads with you to acknowledge the emotions swirling about, desperate to manifest outwardly. But despite the inner turmoil, your body refuses to show it.

You just can’t.

Everything feels numb. 

You’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been clutching the necklace your dad gifted you  all those years  ago. It’s somehow serving as a comfort for you as you’re being driven to the hospital, even after everything he’s put you through. You find yourself running your thumb over the engraved initial, just  as you always had before he left.

As much as you’ve grown to hate him over the last year, you can’t help but wish he were here. Not being able to rely on anyone right now is…it’s fucking terrible.

Well, aside from Jake. 

He’s the last person you’d expect to be leaning on.

But it was purely an accident. Him driving you to the hospital is just a happenstance. He wouldn’t have if your stupid car hadn’t broken down (thanks, dad) and if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have had to get a ride from Jake in the first place.

But, you’re grateful to him right now. Grateful that he stuck around at your apartment long enough to know he needed to take you to her. 

If it weren’t for him, you’d still be stuck there desperately searching for someone to take you.

Finally, the brakes come to a screeching halt at the emergency room entrance. You absently thank him as you practically jump out of the car. 

You don’t look back, but you hear the thrumming motor of his range rover become more distant as he drives away.

You can’t bring yourself to care at this point as you’re sprinting to the front desk in search of where they’ve taken your mom. 

The young, redheaded man behind the counter with bright green eyes shielded by thick eyeglass frames looks rather shocked at your frenzied state. He’s watching you with his mouth agape, hands frozen on the keyboard of his desktop as he prepares for your inevitable arrival.

“I–I need to f– find my mom. She was just broug–” You take a second to catch your breath, still clutching your necklace for some sort of grounding. “...she was brought here by ambulance and I—” He stops you with a hand held high, asking you to slow down because he can’t comprehend your rushed words.

You can hardly even understand yourself, your voice breathy and stuttering as you’re gasping for air. But there’s no time to wait to catch it in your heaving lungs. 

“I need my mom and you need to tell me where the hell they’ve taken her. Her name is–”

“Miss,” he interupts, standing up as if to intimidate you with his much taller stature in comparison to yours. “If you can’t calm down I’ll have to ask you to leave.” His voice (that he’s clearly manipulated to sound much more threatening) echoes throughout the entire lobby as he’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one.

This man has started copping an attitude with you that you’re in no place to put up with. You’ve backed down to people you’re entire fucking life, but right now isn’t the goddamn time.

You’ve decided to challenge him. If he wants to be loud, you can be loud right back.

Your fist pounds the counter with a force that causes everyone in the lobby of the emergency room to gasp and silence their voices. The metal container holding pens is jolted over the edge, the clipboard holding the blank paperwork for patients to fill out tumbles to the floor from the sheer amount of power behind your hand. 

There’s a stinging pain running rapidly up your arm, all the way to your shoulder, ringing through your teeth and  vibrating in your skull. 

You don’t even so much as wince from the pain.

A potential broken hand is the very least of your troubles right now.  

“She may be dying,” you scream, your first still held firm atop the white marble. “And if you don’t tell me where the fuck she is, you may have ruined the last time I’ll ever see her.”

The tears you’ve held in thus far begin flooding your face, falling like a heavy rain shower on the granite where your sore hand lies. 

Before the receptionist can start the process of having you escorted out, a tall woman dressed in a light blue set of scrubs stops him before he can make a single move. 

“Tell me her name, sweetie.” Her voice is quiet and her demeanor is calm, her wavy brown locks tied in a sleek ponytail at the bottom of her neck reminds you so much of the way your mom used to wear her hair before she got sick. 

You tell her your moms name through a shaky voice, attempting to make yourself sound more composed so you don’t get yourself kicked out of here. 

She gently moves the receptionist aside (Eric, according to the name badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt) and begins clicking the mouse around, scrunching her eyebrows in focus. 

“Here she is,” she confirms, the printer behind her humming with the physical version of what she can see on the screen. “She doesn’t have a room just yet, hun.” 

You feel defeated and useless. You’re her primary caregiver, and you can’t do your job from behind this stiff counter— not knowing where she is, how she is, what happened. So many unknowns, so much that’s completely out of your control.

You suddenly feel the intense pain radiating from your fist and you instinctively pull it close to you, clutching it tightly against your chest in hopes that pressure will alleviate just how bad it hurts.

“I’ll let you know when she gets a room. Until then, you’re welcome to wait in the lobby.” The tall nurse tells you. 

You nod your head in agreement, knowing there’s nothing you can say or do to make them move quicker. Still clutching your fist, you slowly walk away towards the stained lobby chairs and plant yourself in the one that’s closest to the counter.

You pull your phone out of your jacket pocket in search of something to distract you, but you're mortified to be met with the dead battery symbol upon trying to unlock it.

Great. Nothing to divert you from your thoughts (or the searing pain) for god knows how long. You feel the tears start to well in your sleepy eyes again, and you just decide to let them fucking fall. There’s no sense in trying to keep them in, you need to feel right now so you don’t explode again with your pent up aggression. 

Crying feels like the safest thing to do right now, and the best way to relieve some of the mental (and physical) pain. 

You let your chin fall down towards your chest, watching as the tears land on your sheer tights. You can’t help but giggle a little at how much thought you put into this outfit, only for the night to end like this. You had no way of knowing. No signs that she was doing so poorly on the night you decided to fucking leave her.

But before you have the chance to become too deep in your pity party, you hear the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet walking in your direction. You don’t bother looking up; you figure if you ignore whoever it is, they’ll also ignore you, which is exactly what you want right now. 

But ignoring them isn’t quite doing the trick. You see a pair of black sweats out of your peripheral standing near you, and as you lift your eyes a little more, you see a hand offering you a tissue. 

When you shift your watering eyes up a bit more, you realize it’s Jake.

“Wha-what are you still doing here?” You ask, the crying making your voice meak and raspy. You clear your throat as you thank him and accept his small (but rather meaningful) token. A sweet gesture that you can’t ignore. 

“I just wanted to make sure you found her okay,” he says while settling down in the seat on your left. “And I couldn’t leave knowing you don’t have a way home tonight. This hospital won’t let people stay overnight anymore since the pandemic. Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

You hadn’t even thought of any of that. Aside from getting to your mom, you had no plan of action. Anything to come after that just hadn’t crossed your mind yet. You're glad someone thought of all those things, because your mind clearly isn’t capable of considering much at the moment. 

“Well, thank you. But I can just call Nat so you don’t have to stay with me.” Your voice sounds a little colder than you’d like it to. But with the way your emotions are surfacing, it can’t be helped right now. 

“Your phone’s dead,” he challenges, pointing to the quiet device sitting in your lap . “So, I’m staying.” 

You snap your head towards him, wide eyes and scrunched brows in question. “How do you know that?” 

“Been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes,” he explains, taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his call log to prove it to you. “It was going straight to voicemail. I knew there was a chance you could’ve been ignoring me, but I had a feeling your battery had just died.”

You can’t deny the grin that’s threatening to consume your tired features. You’re flattered, to say the least. While you didn’t fully expect him to stay to be sure you were okay, you’re not entirely surprised. (It crossed your mind briefly that he could just let you use his phone to call Nat, be he hasn’t offered. And you’re not going to ask. You kind of like that he’s here.)

“She doesn’t have a room yet. They told me they’d let me know when she does.” You adjust yourself in the stiff, plastic chair to face him while he nods his head.

His eyes are heavier than usual. His drooping lids tell you he’s just as tired. Though he’s probably had a much happier evening than you have had. 

Before you let your mind wander too deeply into the fact that he most likely slept with Stacy tonight, you search for anything to talk about with him.

“So, that spookhouse tonight was–” you begin, but he interrupts your thought before you can continue. 

“Shitty.” He states, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie and letting both hands rest inside the fabric.  “Shitty and not scary in the least.” 

“Yeah.” You huff through a chuckle, grateful for the tiny smile it forced out of you. “Stacy was pretty scared, though.”

The look Jake gives you is one you can’t quite place. He looks…uncomfortable? 

You half expected him to giggle along with you, but he didn’t. Not even close. His eyes shift away from you, gazing across the waiting room. 

Fuck. Why did you have to bring her up?

You pull your eyes away from him as you awkwardly set your sights back on your lap. You’re not sure how, but it’s clear you’ve struck some kind of nerve with him.

It’s probably for the best that you keep your mouth shut. And that’s exactly what you do for the next several minutes. 

Without as much as a single word uttered between the two of you, you’re suddenly longing for the moments prior to his arrival in the lobby. The ones you spent pathetically crying in defeat and helplessness. Alone.

But just as it seems that all hope of having a normal conversation with him is lost, he breaks the silence. 

“Is that what they’re called, where you’re from?” 

As you lift your head, you’re met with his drowsy eyes once again set on you, his right eyebrow cocked slightly as he awaits your response. 

“Is what called…?” you absently ask. Your mind became so filled with the painful lull in conversation that you’d all but forgotten what you were talking about before you mentioned her name. 

“The haunted house,” he says. “You called it a spook house. I was just wondering if that’s because you’re not from here.”

It’s funny, because you hadn’t even noticed that you called it that. Didn’t even think twice about it. 

The memory of Sam pointing out the very same thing pops in your mind. You’re then reminded of how you left him tonight. The guilt is weighing horribly on you, but, sadly, it’s a welcome distraction against the worry (and far greater guilt) you’re feeling  for your mom. 

“Oh, yeah.” You fix your posture a bit, facing him once again as he clearly wants to keep some sort of conversation going. “That’s what we call them back home. It’s so funny how we have different names for things just based on what part of the country we’re from.” 

“It’s pretty interesting,” he mutters, a tiny grin peaking through his sleepy exterior.

You just hum in response, not really sure what to say next. The silence was awkward, but this sad attempt at a casual exchange is almost worse. 

You look over to the counter to see if the nurse who helped calm you down is standing there, but all you’re met with is Eric’s creeping eyes on you from behind the marble that may have broken your hand. 

Your hand suddenly begins to ache once more at the thought, and you instinctively bring it up to your chest again to dull the pain. 

“Is your hand okay?” Jake asks, taking note of your wincing expression after moving your sore extremity. 

You’re not sure you want to tell him about your little meltdown from earlier, so you come up with a quick excuse that sounds slightly better than the full truth.

“I knocked it against the counter when I got here, just by accident.” It’s not a complete lie. The accident addition is a bit of a stretch, but it kind of was an accident that your fist met the granite in a fit of rage. (However justified it may be, it’s still a tad embarrassing.) 

He leans closer to you, attempting to look at your hand that you’re still holding against your chest. With a tender touch, he attempts to pry it away from you. You’re so stunned by this that out of instinct, you hold it even tighter.

“Let me see,” he softly demands. 

After some hesitation on your part, (why does he care so much?) you pull it away from your chest, holding it out in front of you and Jake to get a clearer look.

The outer blade of your palm is swollen and already beginning to bruise. It hurts like hell. (And you’re wondering where on earth that physical strength came from.) 

Jake runs his index finger so gently over the inflammation. Amidst everything happening, your body can’t deny the fire that’s blooming under your skin from his feather light touch. 

Your tired eyes flit up to his face, his features wearing stark concern. When his eyes meet yours, you can’t look away. And he doesn’t, either, his finger still tracing a light pattern around the impact point on your fist. 

…and then he stops. He looks away and jumps up out of his seat without as much as a single word. 

He rounds the corner of the hallway and is out of your sight within seconds. Gone. Leaving you sitting here alone and feeling like you’ve suddenly done something wrong. 

Before you have the chance to worry about that for much longer, you notice the tall nurse out of your peripheral walking in your direction.

Your mom.

You stand up to meet the nurse halfway, ready to finally be taken back to see your mom. 

“Hold on,” she says, stopping you before you take a step. “You can’t go back right now, hun.”

Why won’t they let you go back? What don’t they want you to see?

Is it because she’s dead?

The nurse grabs your arm to keep you stable, your legs almost giving out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes down through your chest. The dizzying feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.  

Your legs threaten to give out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes  down  through your chest. The dizzy feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.

Your body begins swaying back and forth, threatening to collapse from shock, exhaustion…

She grabs your arm to help stabilize you.

“Hey, hey.” She puts her other hand on your shoulder to hold you still. “Everything’s okay. Just sit down for me, sweetheart.” 

She leads you back down to the chair, helping you lower yourself to sit back down. 

“I need you to know that she’s fine, sweetie. She’s asleep, but she’s stable.” 

The tension leaves your body instantly, like a two ton weight has been lifted off your tight chest. 

She’s alive. 

“Can I go back? Can I see her?” You’re nearly begging. 

“Not right now, honey. I tried to bend the visiting hour rules for you, but the big wigs won’t budge. I just wanted you to know that she’s okay, but she’ll need to stay overnight for some extra testing.”

“Everything okay?” Jake sits back down next to you, taking your hand and gently placing ice wrapped in a paper towel on your swollen fist. The cold nearly shocks your system, but it feels so good against the pain.

That’s where he went. He cared enough to get you ice for your ridiculously obtained injury. 

You turn your head to face him, his sweet eyes locked with yours while he holds the ice steady on your hand. 

This isn’t the Jake you’ve grown accustomed to over the months of knowing him. But this is the Jake you’ve wanted.

“She’s okay,” you say, looking down the makeshift pack of ice he brought you. “She’ll just have to stay overnight.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responds, dabbing the frozen compress delicately across the bruise.  

“We’re still not certain what happened to her. She fainted; that’s all we know for sure. We’ll run some tests to get to the root of it.” The nurse draws your attention from Jake back to your mom. You distractedly nod, your mind still consumed with Jake holding your hand the way he is. “You’re welcome to come back first thing in the morning, okay? We’ll take good care of her tonight.” 

A small breath of relief washes over you. At least she’s alive. And she’s stable. But fuck…you just wish you could be back there with her. The immense guilt of not being there when it happened is eating away at you. You want to apologize to her, tell her you’ll never fucking leave her again. But, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. You’ll just be stuck sitting in your guilt until then. 

The nurse begins wishing you a good night, but before she leaves, she glances at your hand that Jake is still holding in his grip. 

“Is your hand okay, sweetie? Do you need someone to take a look at it?” She asks you, concerned. 

“I think I’m okay,” you tell her, looking to Jake who probably has a better idea about your condition than you do. It’s the least of your worries at the moment, you just don’t really care about it in comparison to everything else. This feels insignificant, you feel insignificant. It just doesn’t matter. 

Jake nods, looking at you and then averting his gaze to the nurse. “A little swollen and beginning to bruise, but it’s not broken.” He lifts the ice to inspect it a little further, running his finger over the swelling. “It’s already gone down some. I suppose just keeping ice on it will do the trick.”

You give him a look that says a silent ‘thank you’ for taking care of this for you. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t think twice about it.

The nurse smiles in response, then looks to you again. “I’d say you’re in good hands, then. Better not let that one get away.” 

She once again bids you a good night, reminding you that you can come back first thing in the morning. 

Neither one of you seems to react to what she just said. Not aloud, at least. You both just ignore it as you walk through the automatic doors. 

“I’ll go get the car,” Jake tells you, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Had to park kind of far away. Be right back.” 

As you watch him walk away, you can’t stop replaying what the nurse said over and over in your mind.

“Better not let that one get away.”

If only she knew.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The ice is melting all over you and Jake’s floorboard. You’re desperately trying to catch every drop in your lap, but it’s proving difficult. You were freezing when you first got into the car, so Jake cranked the heat all the way up for you, but it’s causing you to make a huge mess. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you utter, fighting back a few tears brimming your eyes. It’s not the dripping water that’s threatening to make you cry, it’s the fact that you feel like such a burden. And here you are, being even more of one by dripping water all over his nice car. 

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, peering over to you. You sniff the tears away, not wanting him to see you crying over something so fucking ridiculous. 

“The ice,” you answer through a cracking voice. “It’s melting all over.”

His brows crinkle, looking over at you to assess the situation. His eyes lock on your soaking wet lap for a spell, taking a deep breath before his eyes are back on the road.

“It’s just water, y/n. I’m not worried about it.” He takes the final left turn onto your street that’s now much more quiet than it was the last time he turned here. He pulls into the parking lot, parking in what would normally be your spot if your car wasn’t sitting worthlessly at his place. 

He keeps the car on drive, just letting his foot rest on the brake as he unlocks the door for you. 

“Just keep ice on it intermittently throughout the night,” he reminds you. “The swelling should be mostly gone by the morning.” 

Staring at the darkened apartment building, you slowly nod your head as you’re suddenly hesitant to leave his car for some reason. Your seatbelt is still buckled, your body feeling almost too numb to even manage that.

The thought of going into the empty apartment isn’t by any means a pleasant one. You hadn’t even thought of the fact that you’ll be all alone tonight. No one to take care of besides yourself. (And that’s not something you're well versed in.)

You’ve gotten so used taking care of her since it’s just been the two of you. Being in the apartment without her just feels…wrong. On every level. And being alone in your guilt feels even worse. 

At this moment, you’re not sure you can do it. But you haven’t a choice. 

“Y/n?” Jake’s calm voice pulls you back to reality, to the fact that you’re still sitting in his car, quietly contemplating. He’s probably ready to get you out of here so he can go home. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to delve into the turning wheels of your brain. 

Then, he puts the car in park, leaning back in his seat as he looks at you with inquisitive eyes. “Are you sure?” He questions. “Because you’ve hardly said a word since we left the hospital, and you’re not exactly in any hurry to get inside.”

Embarrassed, you force yourself to remove your seatbelt. “I’m fine, just a little tired is all. Thank you for taking me tonight, I really appreciate it.” You begin opening the door to let him leave, gathering the mental strength to prepare yourself to walk into an eerie, empty apartment.

“You know, it’s pretty late,” he says as you're one foot out of the door. “And it’s a long drive back to my place. I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.” 

It’s almost like he could hear the thoughts in your head. He knows, somehow, that you can’t handle being alone tonight. Like there’s something within him that understands. 

“Jake I–I can’t ask you to—” 

But before you can finish, he shuts off the ignition.

“You’re not asking if I’m offering,” he protests. And he’s right. You didn’t ask, but you still feel bad. Because you would love to have him stay. “It’s actually easier for me if I do. Saves on gas.” 

Instantly, the thought of having his company makes you feel worlds better. Even if he’ll just be on the couch. Just knowing he’s there will make things a little more bearable for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, timidly. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable with it, I can just—” he starts.

“No, no. I’d love it if you did. Thank you, seriously.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been lying wide awake in your bed for what’s felt like hours. Flipping and tossing about in search of a comfortable spot that you just can‘t seem to find. 

It’s not really the bed that’s the problem. It’s your unabating mind that won’t turn off its wandering thoughts. You’ve tried scrolling on your phone, using every app you can think of to distract you. But the thoughts are domineering your every attempt to silence them. 

Did they give her the right medications? Are they keeping her oxygen on her? Is someone staying with her all night to make sure she doesn’t stop breathing? Who called 911? 

Or, the worst one…the loudest one.

Is she dead and they just haven’t called me yet?

You’re so accustomed to her being here, hearing the humming of her oxygen machine, being able to check on her to be sure she’s okay. At least when she’s here, you know. With her gone, it leaves the floor open for your mind to wander to every terrible scenario that you can’t do anything about. You just don’t know what’s going on. And the unknowing is the worst part.

Your grumbling tummy is just about as loud as your mind, reminding you that you’ve not eaten anything in almost twenty four hours. 

There’s nothing else to do, so you pull yourself out of your unwelcoming bed t o go find a midnight (actually, closer to two in the morning) snack. 

Eating is a little terrifying to you right now, but you figure some popcorn won’t do much harm. 

You slowly open the creaking door of your room, holding your breath as it seems to be louder than normal in the dead quiet apartment. The last thing you want to do is wake Jake up, so it’s vital that you’re as silent as possible as you make the journey to the kitchen.

You tiptoe as gracefully as your tired body will allow across the living room, avoiding coming too close to the couch where Jake sleeps as you walk as far away from him as you can, not even looking in his direction.

A sigh of relief passes your lips as you reach the kitchen successfully.

You know that there’s one more bag of Pop Secret sitting on the second shelf of the cabinet right next to the microwave. Relying only on the soft light above the stove, you shuffle through the various items in search of it until you at last feel the familiar plastic cover. 

Instantly upon finding it, you start looking for the nutrition facts to know just how much you’re putting in your body. An old trait of yours that you’ve not done in years, yet suddenly, as if it’s purely muscle memory you flip the bag over to the side to note the amount of calories you’ll be taking. 

I’m not reverting back. I’m just curious about what popcorn is made of, that’s all, you try telling yourself. (Although, you know yourself in situations like these. When you’re stressed, you seek comfort in old habits. One old habit of choice just happens to be food restriction and calorie counting.)

It won‘t last long. I won’t let it. I just need something familiar.

130 calories, 6 g fat, 14 g carbs, 2 g protein per 4 cups is printed on the back in dark blue ink.

Could be worse. And there’s nothing saying you have to eat the whole thing. Maybe you can split the bag in half, that way you’re only getting half the fat and carbs. That’ll still be enough to quiet your empty tummy. 

You toss the bag in the microwave and set the timer to three minutes, pressing start and cringing at the loud humming from the appliance. You’ve also forgotten just how noisy preparing this little snack can be. 

Each pop of the buttered kernels echoes throughout the open kitchen and you’re praying to every star that this won’t wake him up. 

With two seconds left on the timer, you quickly open the door to avoid the unpleasant ding that’s sure to wake him up if you didn’t catch it in time.

You pour the contents of  the bag into your favorite blue bowl, designated long ago as the official “popcorn bowl.” You can’t go without a little extra salt, so you dump a good amount over top and sift it around so it’s all coated. 

You’ve realized that you instinctively poured the entire bag, even though you decided to only eat half. You’re not happy about the extra temptation, but you’re mentally telling yourself that there’s no need to eat this whole bowl. 

Shutting the door to the microwave as quietly as you can, you begin to tip toe back to your room to safety.

Only now, you’re met with a slightly horrifying discovery.

He’s laying on his back, sans hoodie that's draped over the arm of the couch and the blanket you gave him sitting just below chest. (God he looks good.) The light from his phone illuminates his face as he’s holding it sideways, seemingly watching a video of some kind. But his drowsy eyes flick to you as you begin the walk back to your room.

As you awkwardly stand in the middle of the room, blue popcorn bowl in hand, he pulls out an earbud and sets his phone down. “Trouble sleeping?” His groggy voice asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer, a little embarrassed that he’s caught you in such a state. “I just can’t seem to relax…but what are you still doing awake? I hope I wasn’t being too loud.”

“I’m a bit of an insomniac, I suppose,” he answers. “Popcorn, huh?” 

He swings his legs over the side and sits himself up on the end of the couch, a silent request to have you come sit next to him. You take the hint. The company would do you a little good right now, anyway. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You still can’t help yourself from asking if it’s okay, given your less than welcomed history with him. 

“Under one condition,” he remarks, full smirk across his lips. 

You stop before you take a seat, slightly terrified of what his ‘condition’ could possibly be.

“And what is that?” you timidly ask. 

He flashes you a warm grin that looks all the more inviting under the very dimly lit living room, chuckling lazily under his breath. 

“You have to share your snack.” 

You nervously laugh as you situate yourself on the opposite side of the couch, taking a few pieces of your snack of choice and passing the bowl over towards his direction. 

You catch a glimpse of his phone that’s still unlocked and sitting upright, paused on what looks like some professional chef working away on some fancy meal.

Perfect opportunity for an ice breaker. 

“You like cooking?” you ask while tossing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. (You’re really hoping you just got a bad piece, because it tastes burnt to hell and way too salty.)

“I dabble here and there,” he answers through loud crunches.

“I’m the one who needs to watch those videos,” you say, wincing at the second piece you’ve now eaten that tastes just as bad as the last one. “I’m probably the worst cook I know.” 

“I’d say so,” he acknowledges through a soft giggle, wincing as he tries more of your snack. “You’ve burnt the shit out of this popcorn and you didn’t need to add so much salt.” 

Of course, he noticed. 

You’re thankful for the mostly dark room as you can feel the blood rushing to your face over ruining something as simple as popcorn. 

But, it’s making him laugh. And you’ve come to really appreciate the moments that you do get to hear him laugh, because it isn’t often. Even though it’s at your own expense, you’ll take it. 

It’s surely been a great way to combat any awkward silence between the two of you. 

You chuckle to yourself as you set the popcorn bowl on the couch, centering it so you and Jake can both grab some as you please. 

“So,” he begins as he brings his feet up to rest on the coffee table in front of you. “I know you’re from somewhere where haunted houses are called spook houses. Where might that be? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oklahoma,” you answer, a little embarrassed. You’ve learned that your home state isn’t much of a popular one amongst people. Although you do understand why, you can’t help but find yourself missing it every now and again. It has its charm, however hard it may be to find. You know it’s there. Parts of it still remain lovingly in your heart. “A very, very small town in Oklahoma called Cherry Tree.”k,

With a soft nod of his head, his hair falls around his face and even in the dark, you can see how shiny it is. You can even see the soft smile over his lips. “I hear it in your voice,” he softly says. You look to him with question, silently asking him to elaborate. With a snicker, he continues. “Your little southern drawl. It’s not very strong, but it definitely stands out around here. A far cry from a Michigan accent.” 

Your whole life, you’d tried to mask your naturally derived, southern accent. You hated it. And you hated when people told you that you had one. It just made you want to unlearn it even more. 

Especially when you knew you would move to Michigan. The last thing you wanted was to stand out as if you’re not from here. 

Clearly, your efforts were useless. And as much as you’ve cringed when people have brought up the way you talk in the past, there’s something about hearing Jake point it out that actually makes you a little fond of it. 

Maybe it truly isn’t something to feel any shame over. It makes you unique, sets you apart, and perhaps that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Time feels mute, like it doesn’t exist in this realm you and Jake are together in. 

The early dawn is creeping through the window blinds, and when you glance at your phone, you come to realize that you’ve been talking with him for nearly three hours, and that’s shocking  to you—it’s shocking because it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. 

The conversations have been flowing so naturally, so authentically. He’s easy to talk to. So easy. You would've never guessed how seamless keeping a conversation going with him could be. 

And, to your astonishment, he’s done most of the talking. You’re witnessing a brand new side of him, one that you could’ve sworn wasn’t there. It seems as though he’s finally comfortable with you. Which is a really good thing, considering he’s spending the night in your place. 

He’s been the best distraction for you amidst everything. If he weren’t here, you’d be lying in your bed, probably crying your eyes out and dealing with the anxiety all alone. 

He’s the very last person you’d suspect would be here for you in a time like this. But, fuck, if you aren’t so happy that it is him.

And as time has gone on, you’ve both moved closer and closer to each other. His legs are spread out on the expanse of his cushion and yours, while your legs are slowly coming to rest on top of his, your body facing him. 

Every so often, his hand will find your calf as if he’s done it a thousand times before. An innate gesture that he hardly seems to notice he’s doing.

But you certainly notice, every single time it happens. Each brush of his hand against your skin causes your heart to flutter. It’s innocent, of course. But it’s the fact that he’s finally revealing himself to you, that he’s trusting you. 

It feels good. It feels really good. 

You’re listening intently as he’s telling you more about the music that has shaped his life up until now. You’ve never noticed all of his little mannerisms, like the way he brushes the tip of his nose after he laughs, or how his hands struggle to stay still when he talks. 

And his eyes, the way they beautifully catch the early light. Their color like a glass of honeyed whiskey over ice, glowing against the rays of the young sun. 

“...and that’s when I discovered the versatility of the SG. My dad searched the entire midwest until he finally found one for me.” The palm of his hand comes to rest on your leg again, only this time, it’s a little higher. His fingertips dare to brush the inside of your upper thigh, his thumb tracing delicate circles across your now trembling skin. The fire within you is growing, felt from the pit of your stomach to your swimming head. “That guitar taught me how to challenge myself. My dad encouraged me every day to keep playing and I’ll never be able to thank–” 

Something changes in his eyes, his expression faltering as he falls silent. There’s a sudden difference in him, one you can’t quite grasp.

And then he looks down at his hand still placed upon you, and with a thousand silent words, he removes it. Quickly. Like he didn’t realize it was there in the first place. Or, worse; like he was suddenly repulsed by the fact that he was touching you. 

The room changes abruptly, the air feels heavier, denser. You notice he avoids meeting your gaze, his thought left unfinished.

What have I done wrong?

“Jake?” 

He moves so he’s now sitting upright, as close to the other end of the couch as he can be. Furthest away from you.

“I should…I should probably get some sleep,” he says, the words sounding ever unsure. “And you should, too. We’ve only got…” He takes his phone to look at the time, breathing deeply from his lungs when he sees that it’s nearly six in the morning. “Jesus.” He runs a hand over his face in…frustration? Exhaustion? You can’t be sure. “We’ve only got about two hours until they allow visitors, and I’ve got to go to work right after.” 

You take the hint that he wants you away from him. 

But for what reason? Well, you’ll be left to wonder that for the next few hours, alone. 

You don’t say anything as you stand up, only nodding your head and shielding your face the best you can.

You don’t want him to see the new tears that have begun to surface. 

“Sorry,” is all you can muster as you open the door to your room. He doesn't respond, only pure silence comes from the living room. 

Whatever you did, it was enough to force him to realize he doesn't want to be close to you, emotionally or physically.

It was going so well. But, you ruined it. Just like you ruin everything else in your life. 

You’ve no doubt that you won’t be getting any sleep for the next few hours. Your thoughts are too loud, screaming everything you’ve ever done wrong in your ear. 

And you can’t get the look in his eyes out of your head, how they appeared uncomfortable being in your presence. How he suddenly decided he didn’t want to be around you. 

But, then again, you can’t blame him. Because who in their right mind would want to be around you?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The alarm on your phone is blaring. You’ve been  counting down the minutes until it was set to go off, laying in complete silence and watching nothing but the clock. Every second felt like twenty minutes in your brain.

When you walk out into the living room, you’re met with an empty space. No Jake. 

Did he leave…? 

The couch is back to normal, the blankets you gave him folded and sitting on the cushion under the pillow you let him use. (Your favorite pillow, but you’ll never tell him that you sacrificed it for him.)

Great. He’s gone. 

And you have no way of getting to the hospital without him. 

Natalia.

You’ll call her, see if she can take you. 

Which you shouldn’t have to do. He said he would take you, and he just fucking left. 

It’s safe to assume that whatever relationship you were building with him last night, has all but left the apartment with him. 

Deciding it’s not worth your time at this point, you grab your phone, unlocking it and tapping on Nat’s contact to call her. 

It’s ringing. And ringing. And ringing. 

Fuck. If she doesn’t answer, you don’t know what you’ll–

“What are you calling me so early on a Saturday for?” She finally answers, her raspy voice a clear indication that she’s just woken up.

“I need your help, Nat. Can you come get me and take me to the hospital?” 

You hear her gasp on the other end of the phone. 

“What? Are you okay? What’s going on?” she asks, her questions coming in quick succession. 

“To make a long story short, my car broke down at the Kiszka’s last night, so Jake had to bring me home. There was an ambulance when we got here, and it were here for my mom. They took her to the hospital, but I had to come separately. So, since I didn’t have my car, Jake took me. I couldn’t stay the night with her and when he brought me back home, he stayed the night to be here in the morning to take me back to her, but he left a while ago and I was hoping you could come get me.”

Even you can’t believe the words out of your mouth. A convoluted mess that you hope she’s comprehending at such an early hour. 

“Holy shit, y/n. Yeah, of course. Is your mom okay?” she questions after a brief moment of silence, probably in an attempt to understand the shit show you’re currently dealing with. “And where the hell did Jake go?”

“Wish I knew,” you say with a cynical tone. “And I don’t really know. They told me she was stable last night but they still needed to keep her. Since I was gone, I have next to no idea of what happened.”

Just as she begins to respond to you, you feel your phone vibrate against your cheek. 

“One sec, Nat. I think I just got a text.”

Jake: I’m outside in the car. Ready whenever you are.

“What the fuck, Jake,” you mutter softly, but loud enough that Nat heard you on the other end of the phone call you’re still on. He couldn’t have communicated this to you? 

No. Instead, he just made you believe he left. 

Either way, you’re glad he’s still here. He’s not that cold towards you. (Although you’re not exactly shocked at the fact that you didn’t question it when you thought he left.)

“What did he do?” You hear her say at a low volume. 

Bringing the phone back up to your ear, you say, “He’s still here, apparently. Just in the car waiting for me. I’ve got to go, I’ll keep you updated.”

With that, you hang up the phone and quickly begin to get ready. 

You take the first pair of leggings you see sitting in your dresser, then decide to throw on your vintage, oversized Billy Joel sweatshirt that you'd completely forgoton you owned. 

The state of your hair is one that you can’t do much with at the moment, you figure a messy claw-clip bun will have to suffice. You put a little moisturizer on your face, grab your belt bag and keys, and run out the door. As much as Jake has upset you in the last few hours, you still don’t want to keep him waiting any longer than he already has. 

He’s sitting in his car, just like he said. Wearing the infamous John Lennon frames that remind you of when you first encountered him. You had no idea at that moment, when he brushed up against you in the hall, when he tried to make you look like an idiot in class, that you’d be here with him. And if you’re honest, given the way he reacted to your closeness last night, you’re not sure this is much better. 

It’s like he wants to be closer to you, but when the time actually comes, he realizes it’s you he’s getting closer to, and backs off. And that effectively makes you feel about a hundred times worse than you did a few months ago. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were out here already,” you tell him as you open the passenger door and take a seat. 

“No problem.” He waits until you’re buckled and settled before he starts backing out of the spot, his right hand grabbing the head rest of your seat while he turns his body to have a better view of the back window. 

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The drive has been quiet, (shocker) save for his music. Something you can’t deny him is his impeccable taste, his taste that is so similar to yours. 

He must’ve taken notice of your Billy Joel sweatshirt, because, ironically, Vienna begins playing over the speakers. One of your favorites. And one that, without fail, makes you cry every single time. He probably queued it up because of your shirt, but little does he know of the deep, deep history you have with this song. 

He doesn’t know that your dad used to play this song while you were getting ready for school in the mornings, how he told you one time that he wanted to name you the title of this track, but your mom wouldn’t agree to it. But, that didn’t stop him from associating the tune with you. 

He called you his little Vienna for a good chunk of your childhood, up until you got to high school and asked him to stop out of embarrassment. You didn’t want everyone privy to your dads nickname for you. Just a normal, teenage thing. 

Then you remember…This was your dad’s sweatshirt that he gave to you a long, long time ago when he left for a work trip. You were devastated that he was going to be gone. He gave it to you for comfort, to keep a piece of him with you while he was away. 

And you chose to wear it today, of all days. When you need the extra comfort. When you know, deep down, that you need him. Your subconscious knew it. That’s why you gravitated towards this shirt without even realizing that you were. 

You’ve not heard this song since he left. Not even so much as thought about Billy Joel’s music, let alone this sweatshirt that somehow made the move to Michigan when you thought you got rid of everything from your dad. 

A single tear falls from your eye, landing on the top of your lip. You taste its salty presence before you wipe it away with the cuff of your (his) shirt. 

The lyrics feel heavier than they ever have. 

Why don’t you realize…Vienna waits for you?

When will you realize…

As the song comes to an end, as Billy plays the final note on his piano, you arrive at the hospital. (Something about it feels poetic.)

He stops at the main entrance of the hospital this time, instead of the emergency room one.

“I have to go into work,” he says while you’re unbuckling your belt. “So just text me and let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come get you.”

“If it’s too much trouble for you, I can just ask Natalia.” You say as you get out of his car. “ I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t work today, so it’d be easier for her.” 

Your tone is awfully cold. Distant. 

You feel like you’ve bothered him enough. So, you want to give him an out. He probably regrets ever helping you in the first place. 

His eyebrows become wrinkled underneath his sunglasses as he’s looking at you. Before you go to close the door, you hear him speak up.

“Well, that–that’s up to you, I suppose. But I don’t mind, y/n.” 

“I’ll let you know,” you say, staring down at your feet as you’re finding it difficult to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you again.” 

And after that, you shut the door and walk towards the front door, hearing him drive away behind you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“She’s in room 430. Just take the elevator to the fourth floor and follow the signs. You’ll come up to locked doors, so you’ll have to buzz in with the phone on the wall. Just tell them your name and who you’re here to see, and they’ll let you in.” This receptionist is worlds kinder than the one you encountered last night. She’s got kindness inscribed in her dark eyes, and a smile that tells you she truly cares about her job. Her long curly locks are beautiful and charming, the color a lovely shade of auburn. Perhaps not natural, as her roots are nearly black. But this shade suits her skin tone perfectly. 

“Are there stairs I could take instead?” You ask the curly headed receptionist. Elevators are not your thing. You’ve had a lifelong fear of becoming trapped in one, and with your anxiety levels higher than usual today, it’s probably best if you avoid them altogether. 

She shows you a warm smile as she guides your sight in the direction of the staircase. Thanking her, you quickly head that way.

The climb up the stairs is grueling and as you finally reach the last step, you’re struggling to catch your breath. It seems you didn’t realize just how many steps there are in four flights. It’s a lot of steps. But, still much better than the chance of becoming trapped in a tiny ass elevator. 

After catching your breath, you take heed of the receptionist's directions and follow the signs that lead you in the direction of her room. And just like she said, there’s a set of locked doors with a phone hanging on the wall. 

As soon as you lift it from the receiver, someone answers instantly. You tell them your name and your moms. They verify her birthday with you and once you tell them the correct date, you hear the doors unlock. You thank them before hanging up the phone and heading down the long, somewhat eerie hallway. 

You’ve always wondered why hospitals look like this. The cold, stark white walls and matching laminate flooring, the harsh fluorescents that are painful to look at. Nothing about it is inviting or comforting in the least, and you’ve always thought they should be. Especially for long term patients that are stuck here for god knows how long. 

It just doesn’t make sense to you. In your mind, hospitals should strive to have a warmer environment, for nothing else other than to make people feel more at ease when they’re in hard situations. 

As you’re nearing the end of the hallway, you see room 428 on your left, 429 a little ways further on your right, meaning 430 is the very last one on the end to your left.

The door is open, and just as you’re approaching it, a nurse is leaving the room with her rolling cart that’s carrying a slew of things to check, what you’re assuming, are vitals. 

She smiles as she walks past you, her squealing cart still audible as she rounds the corner to the unit secretary desk. 

You’re still for a moment, standing just a mere feet from her. Out of her sight, of course. And she out of yours as you’re not standing in the view of the doorway. 

There’s a rush of hesitancy forcing you to stay where you are. You’re not sure where it’s derived from, perhaps it’s from the fear of seeing her in such a state. 

Perhaps it’s something else. But you don’t know what.

Finally deciding that just standing here isn’t doing you or her any bit of good, you put one shaky foot in front of the other and walk towards the open door. 

And then, you see her.

Looking the smallest she’s ever looked in your eyes. She looks too small for all of the devices she’s hooked up to. 

Tangled wires. A mess of tangled wires and tubes and IV bags…

As you walk in a little further, she hears you. Her eyes, ever slow in their movement, blink open and shift to you. 

They’re heavy, almost drooping down her pale cheeks. They look tired. So, so tired.

“Hi, honey.” Her words come through in a sad attempt of vocalization. You hardly understood her, more so relying on reading the movement of her lips than anything. Her hand, complete with an IV needle, raises to motion a weak wave at you. 

I wasn’t there. I wasn’t fucking there when she needed me. I can’t leave her…I can’t leave ever again. It’s all my fault.

“Mom I’m–I’m so sorr–”

“You must be y/n!” You hear a booming voice from behind you, interrupting entirely. When you turn around, you see an incredibly tall man wearing a set of blue scrubs with a white lab coat on top. “Your mom has told us a lot about you. I feel like I know you already.” 

As he reaches out his hand for you to shake, he smiles widely when you take it in yours. “I’m Doctor Roth. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He seems positive. The smile he’s wearing makes you believe that everything just might be okay. “It’s really nice to meet you, too,” you say, a little timid. 

You look back to your mom, who seems to have fallen back to sleep. Rest is probably the best thing for her right now, so you don’t want to wake her. Even though all you want is to talk to her, tell her how terrible you feel that you  weren’t there. But it can wait. As long as she’s resting. 

“Hey, y/n.” Doctor Roth pulls your attention away from her with his James Earl Jones-esque voice. “Would you mind coming to speak with me for a moment?” 

While his bearings have changed a bit, he’s still smiling. But, something is a little off in his tone with the question he asked you. 

“Um, yeah. Of course.” You tell him, although you’re not sure you want to have this conversation. 

Will he tell you that she’s progressed much further than you initially thought? That she’ll never leave this hospital again? She’s dying and will be dead soon? 

As he leads you down the hall, stopping at a little room near the restroom, your heart is thumping rampantly in your tightening chest. 

“Before we begin,” he says while pulling a wooden chair out for you to have a seat. “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Coffee? I believe we have herbal tea, if you’d prefer.” 

Herbal tea always sounds wonderful to you, but you’re not sure you could even stomach a simple cup of water right now, so you politely decline his kind offer. 

“I would just like to ask you a few questions about your mom, if that’s okay.” He takes a seat directly across from you at the round table centered in the middle of the conference room. 

You nod your head, letting him know you’re okay with it. 

“I understand she is prescribed a series of medications for her pulmonary fibrosis. If my memory serves me correctly, she’s on Ofev, Pirfenidone and an anti-inflammatory. Is that everything?” He asks you, taking his rectangle frames off and placing them on top of his head.

“Yes, that’s correct.” You give her those pills every single night. You know their strange names by heart at this point.  “She also uses a few different inhalers to help airflow from her lungs. And she wears her oxygen about eighty percent of the time, of course.” 

“Right,” he says, blowing out a long sigh as he sits back in his chair. “Well, let me ask you this. When was the last time she took those medications? That you know of, of course.” 

“She took them last night before I left.” You answer, confidently. 

“Are you sure she did, y/n?” 

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” you say with a little offense. “I watched her take them before I left—” 

Then, you suddenly remember that you didn’t actually see her take them. You left them out for her and reminded her to take them before bed, but you didn’t see her take them. 

“I guess…I guess she didn’t take them before I left. But, I’m sure she took them before bed. She always does.” There’s a terrible feeling present within you, making your already turning tummy feel a lot worse. “Doctor Roth, why are you asking me this?” 

“There wasn’t any indication of them in her system when she came in. Usually, those drugs can be detected for a few days after they’ve been taken, but there was no sign of them in her bloodstream. Meaning, she hasn’t taken them in at least two to three days.” 

No. He’s wrong.

“That’s not possible. I give them to her every night. With the exception of last night, I always watch her take them. I make sure she takes them. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be mistaken.” Your offense has now shifted to full on defense. 

He’s questioning your ability to take care of her, and that is not something you will take lying down. There’s a whole list of things you’re terrible at, but taking care of your mom is not part of that list. You know that for a damn fact. 

You’re not going to sit here and take this, so you decide enough is enough and stand up from your chair to leave. 

“Y/n, please. I need you to listen to me. The progression of her disease, it’s…” That word. Progression. It stops you dead in your tracks. You hate that word. “...it’s the quickest I’ve ever seen in my fifteen years of practicing. If she were taking her medication as she’s supposed to, her lungs wouldn’t look as bad as they do. They would still look bad, but those medications help to slow the stiffening of her lungs. But with the state they’re in, it’s clear that she’s taken very little to no medications.”  

You’re not sure what to make of this…what is he saying? 

Well, clearly he’s saying that she’s not taking her medications…but how? 

You give them to her, you see her take them…right?

“Is—is there a chance her disease is just progressing more rapidly than what’s normally expected?” You hate saying those words. They feel like poison coming out of your mouth. But they sound better than “she’s not taking her medication.”  

He stands up from his chair to stand closer to you, taking his glasses off his head and placing an end piece on his bottom lip. “That is a possibility, although that doesn’t explain why we saw no signs of her medications in her bloodstream.” 

“Is she on them now? Is that why she’s so groggy?” You ask him, remembering how she was hardly able to speak or move when you saw her just moments ago. 

“Yes, she is. And that is another sign that she’s not been taking them as prescribed. Her body should be adjusted to the severe lethargy that these are known to cause, and it’s clear she’s not.” 

While you know Doctor Roth has no reason to lie to you, you still can’t bring yourself to believe him entirely. It’s not like your mom to do this, to not take care of herself. 

But there’s no sense in arguing with him anymore. It’s not worth it. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s here. 

And as that terrible thought resurfaces, you’re reminded of a question you need to ask him. 

“How much longer will she need to stay here?”

“I can’t be certain,” he answers. “But we’ll need to monitor her a bit longer, run a few more tests. At least another three days or so, but we’ll let you know when we believe she’s ready.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

She’s still fast asleep, having been for a few hours while you sit quietly on the stiff couch in the corner of her room. The room is small, stuffy. Her only source of entertainment is a tiny television mounted high on the wall. 

You know she hates it here. You hate it for her. 

But the one redeeming thing about this room is her giant window that offers a beautiful view of the city skyline. Detroit is always busy, always bustling. 

But it’s lovely, especially from this fourth story view. 

And it's a nice distraction from the beeping monitors and noisy machines. 

Nurses have been in and out every hour to check her vitals, making small talk with you while they record every result. They’ve all been so friendly, each one of them asking if they can bring you anything to eat. You’ve turned them down each time. 

Food hasn’t been your concern today. Wasn’t your concern yesterday, either. 

You’re hungry, that much you can tell. But you can think of a million things you’d rather do right now than eat. Eating would only increase your anxious thoughts, and that wouldn’t do you a bit of good at the moment.

You can just eat when you get home. You’ll last until then. (You’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than this before.)

You suddenly feel the vibration of your phone still tucked away in the waistband of your leggings. 

To your astonishment, it's a text from Jake. 

You didn’t expect to hear from him, but seeing his name on the screen of your phone does feel nice. It feels really nice, actually. 

Jake: I meant to ask but it slipped my mind. How's your hand?

You’d completely forgotten about your hand. But Jake didn’t.

And it warms your heart that he thought to ask about something so meaningless to you. 

You look down to examine your fist to give him a proper answer. Aside from a slight purple tint on the skin, you wouldn’t be able to guess it was injured at all.

You: It’s much better. Some bruising but no more swelling and I can hardly feel it. The ice really helped!

He responds almost instantly, meaning he probably still had your messages still pulled up on his end. 

Jake: Good. : )

Jake, although he has his moments, is great at forcing a smile out of you when it feels impossible to do so. 

His message is reassuring, especially with how last night (early this morning, actually) ended. 

Before you can type out a response, you notice she’s beginning to stir just a bit. She’s done this periodically throughout the day, but this is the first time you’ve seen her open her eyes since this morning when you first arrived.

She turns her head a bit towards you, so you get up and move closer to her. 

“Hi, mom.” You say softly.

She smiles at you, the best she can despite every obstruction on her face. 

Just then, a nurse walks in for her hourly check. “She’s awake!” He excitedly exclaims. 

He’s young, probably a fresh graduate. You’ve seen him in here once before a few hours ago. He’s very sweet, the kindness you’d expect every nurse to have. 

He runs through her vitals quickly, telling you he wants to give you two plenty of alone time. 

You thank him as he leaves, and he flashes a sincere smile while he turns the corner of the hallway. 

Her eyes are suddenly glued to you, but not just you. Your sweatshirt. 

“Where’d you find that, honey?” She questions. 

“Oh, I don’t know I just— I’m not worried about it. I am worried about you. What happened last night, mom?”

You’re sure she recognizes that it’s your dads…and you feel terrible for wearing it around her right now for that very reason. You just didn’t consider it. So, it’s probably best to change the subject. 

She sits up a bit and you reach out to help her. You place her pillows in a way that keeps her upright without her needing to use much strength to do so. Once she’s comfortable, you sit down in the recliner next to her bed. 

“They’re telling me all kinds of crazy things,” she says. “I’m just fine, I know I am.” 

They’ve more than likely asked her about her medications, how they didn’t find any in her system. You want so badly to ask her about that. But, it’s not the time. Not yet. 

“I feel so bad, mom. I shouldn't have been out that late. I should’ve been there, I could’ve done something, I…” Your throat becomes tight with a lump, your eyes brimming with a hundred unshed tears. It’s just all too much. And you feel like you’re to blame. You just can’t shake that feeling. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweet girl.” Her weak hand reaches out for yours. As you take it, you notice just how clammy she feels. “It would’ve happened whether or not you were there. I think it was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

She’s probably right. But, had you been there, maybe the ambulance would’ve been called sooner.

The ambulance. How did they…? “Mom, I have to know who to thank for saving your life.” The tears are streaming down your hot cheeks at this point. “Do you know who called?”

“Mrs. Sweeney,” she answers right away, as if it didn’t require any thought. “Bless her soul. She’s the sweetest lady. She heard me cry out just as I fainted, and called 911 for me.”

Mrs. Sweeney is your next door neighbor in your complex. She’s been the most wonderful neighbor to your and your mom since you moved in. It makes perfect sense that she’d be the one to call. 

“I’ll have to thank her,” you say, wiping away the tears. “She did what I should’ve been there to do.”

Her eyes suddenly widen, a stark contrast in how they’ve looked all day. “There’s…there’s no need, honey. I already thanked her. Called her last night, she’s been thanked plenty.” 

She could call Mrs. Sweeney…but not me?

“Oh. Well, okay," you say, confused. “I guess it would be beating a dead horse at this point to thank her again.” And with that, her eyes go back to their groggy state, closing slowly as she falls back to sleep.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“How is she?” Jake asks as you climb in the passenger's seat. He insisted on coming to get you as soon as visitings hours ended. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He told you he was already on that side of town anyways, so he didn’t see the point in you asking Natalia to make the trip. 

“She’s…I don’t really know, to be honest.” It’s true. You don’t know how she is. You’re leaving the hospital with more questions than you had coming in.

His question…there’s just no easy way to answer it. “She’s okay, for now. But she…she may not be much longer. It’s…complicated.” 

“You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to. I’m glad she’s okay at the moment.” He tells you.

You smile at him, then relish in the silence the rest of the way home. 

You’re grateful that he’s not prying. It’s too much to talk about right now, and it seems he’s picked up on that. 

You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you arrive at your apartment, ready to climb in bed and try to get some much needed sleep. 

You thank Jake before he leaves, fishing for your keys out of your belt bag as you head up the stairs to the third floor. 

Once you make it to your door, you see Mrs. Sweeney leaving as you’re about to walk into your place. Your mom told you not to thank her again, but you can’t help it. You still haven’t thanked her, and it’s just not in your character to ignore a good deed from someone.

“Mrs. Sweeney?” You say as she’s locking her door. 

“Hi, dear! How's your mom today? I’m sure you two have had quite the night.”  

“She’s okay,” you say, the words feeling like a lie. “All thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough for calling the ambulance last night. Seriously, you saved her life when I wasn’t here–”

You stop talking once you see her expression change. She looks befuddled, almost disoriented. “Oh honey, I’m not the one who called last night. I thought you did, dear.” 

…she didn’t call? 

“But my mom said— you didn’t hear her call out for help?”

With a contemplative look, she puts her keys in her purse and faces you. “I didn’t hear anything. And I was home all night. This is the first I’ve left since yesterday morning. I’m sorry I didn’t hear her, dear. Were you not home?” 

As if it were even possible, there are more questions filling your head. 

“I wasn’t, but I’m sure one of the other neighbors called. Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Sweeney. I hope you have a good day!”

“Not a bother at all, love.” 

You walk into your empty apartment, in a near state of shock. 

Why did your mom lie to you? And so blatantly, at that? It’s not something you want to let yourself believe. Maybe it was because of her state, she was just confused after everything. But…she didn’t look confused. 

And she told you she talked to Mrs. Sweeney herself, which clearly didn’t happen. 

As much as you want to figure all of this out, you’re far too exhausted to give it much more thought. You need sleep. Sleep first, then you can get to the bottom of it. But for now, the only thing you’re craving is your bed. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A pounding on the door  wakes you from the depths of your slumber, nearly startling you off the bed in the process. The post nap disorientation is in full effect. The sun was still up when you laid down, and now your room is in almost complete darkness. 

The pounding on the door persists, forcing you to wake up all the way. Who in the world…?

Hesitant to answer with it being so late and being all by yourself, you reach for your phone in case you need to call someone.

And right as you go to grab, you realize you have four text messages from Nat. 

Nat: Are you home yet??

Nat: If you are, be ready to come outside in about 20.

Nat: Hello?

Nat: COME OUTSIDE! We have a surprise for you. 

Based on the messages, you’re realizing that Nat is the persistent knocker. You love this girl so much, and you’re hoping that whatever her surprise is was worth waking you up for. 

Also, you’re not sure what she meant  by “we,” though you’ve got a hunch it could be her new suitor. 

You: Sorry, just woke up. On my way

Summoning what little strength you have left, you force yourself to get out of bed and head towards the front door. Your feet are literally dragging as you walk across the dark apartment. Turning on the outside light, you swing open the door to Nat’s beaming, beautiful face adorned with a full toothed smile. 

“Hey there, sleepy head!” 

Bringing your hand up, you rub what’s left of your (very little) sleep from your eyes. 

“What’s your surprise?” You ask with a tired voice. 

“Hold out your hand,” she says, an enormous grin still across her face. “And close your eyes.”

With as heavy as your eyes still are, closing them isn’t an issue. (You just wish you were still in bed while doing it.)

You do as she says, and as soon as your eyelids are shut and your hands are outreached, she places something peculiar in your flattened palms. 

“What is thi–'' you begin to ask, interrupted by her as she practically yells for you to open your eyes. 

And when you do, you see a single key. 

But, not just any key. It’s the key to your shitty ass Firebird.

“What the hell? Natalia Delores, what did you do?” You ask her, having a good idea of what this is all about.

And then you hear a honking coming from the parking lot. As you look over the edge of the stairs, you see Danny’s curly brown locks hanging out of the driver's side window of your car. 

“Surprise!” She exclaims. “Dan the handyman fixed your car!” 

Cringing at the ridiculous nickname, you give her a huge hug before sprinting down the stairs to do the same to handyman Dan. 

“Did you realize you were missing your key?” He asks as he wraps you in a long embrace. 

“I had no idea,” you say, still held tightly in Danny’s muscular arms. “How did you guys manage to get it without me noticing?” 

“Jake,” Nat tells you. “He took it off your keyring this morning.” 

You’ve a good feeling that happened before you got up this morning, probably before he went out to wait in his car. 

Danny is the first to break the hug, leaving you on your own against the chilly night air. 

“Can I pay you for this?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest to act as a barrier from the cold. 

“Absolutely not. I won’t accept a single dime from you.” He insists, brushing a curl out of his face. 

“Danny, I know this was probably really expens–”

“Nope.” He interrupts. “Not a dime.”

With a fake grunt of irritation, you give in. (Partly so you can get inside and out of the cold.)

“Thank you. Thank you both, seriously. This is such a huge burden lifted.” 

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Despite how things transpired with you and Sam, he’s still treated you the very same. You were terrified that there would be some awkward air with you two after the way you left him the other night, but it’s as if he’s all but forgotten about it. He still fawned over you when you arrived for filming tonight, him and Josh referring to you as “the queen” when you walked in, as usual. 

You haven’t told him about your mom. In fact, the only people who know are Jake and Natalia. You asked them both to not say anything. It’s not because you don’t trust everyone—they’ve all become some of the best friends you’ve ever had in your life, better than any friend you had back in Oklahoma. You just don’t want the attention that would inevitably bring. You don’t need them feeling sorry for you, and you don’t need them asking questions that you don’t want to answer, to questions you can’t answer. And you know it would lead to the fact that your dad doesn’t have shit to do with you. 

It’s just not something that needs to be advertised, not yet. You don’t want it to be the only thing everyone associates you with. You want them to still like you for you. Everything else can be addressed later. 

Of course, that did raise some other questions. Mostly about why Jake didn’t come home that night when your car broke down. His response to his brothers was simple; he just didn’t feel like driving back home that late, so he crashed on your couch. That wasn’t too far from the truth.

They didn’t even bat an eye at it. Just accepted it as fact and moved right on, not giving it a second thought. Jake is a bit distant from his brothers at times, so it’s probably not entirely out of the norm for him to not come home some nights. 

You’re glad that things have been pretty much normal for you and your filming crew.

While you’re not acting tonight, you decided to come over to the Kiszka place anyway, just to get away from your own mess for a little while. The apartment feels much bigger when it’s just you living in it. You love to have your alone time, but it’s been so much lately that your mind is going to some dark places, places that you’re forced to revisit when there’s no one else around to distract you.

So, suffice to say, you jumped at the opportunity when Josh asked you to come over tonight. He often invites you over on filming nights when your scenes aren’t being shot, says he enjoys your company and input on accuracies pertaining to the lore. You normally turn him down on those instances, feeling far too guilty for leaving your mom when you are filming. But with her still being in the hospital, you didn’t see the harm in taking him up on it this time.

Tonight's scene is between Arthur and Camille. Between Jake and Stacy. The first time you’ll see Jake as Arthur, and you’ll finally get to see for yourself what their on-camera chemistry is like. You’ve been told more than once that they’re great together, but now you have the chance to see it instead of just being told about it.

Although, you’re not exactly excited  to see them interact this way. And a huge part of you is hoping that they’ll royally suck together. You’ve been so busy that you haven’t had time to come watch their scenes, not that you’ve really tried that hard to do so. You could’ve if you actually wanted to.

But, you figured you’d rather see it in person than wait until the film is finished. And your imagination has run rampant with what they’re like together and the ‘not knowing’ has been painful. At least after tonight, you’ll know. You won’t have to wonder anymore, and it won’t be a surprise when you get to see the film in its entirety. 

Something you’re a little (more than a little, honestly) happy about is the fact that Stacy doesn’t have her “own” dressing room like you do. Granted, it’s Jake's room that has been designated as your changing space. But, still. She’s stuck using the guest bathroom to change in, and you can’t help the curling of your lips when you see her struggle to carry her costumes in there. 

Nat nudges your shoulder with hers when she catches your grin, letting you know that she saw that. You can tell by her features that she’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You know I need more details.” She says, hushed. 

You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you’ll play dumb anyway.

“Details?” You question with a look of false confusion. “Details about what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, y/n. Tell me more about Jake spending the night with you.”

You shush her as you lead her over to the dining table for a little more seclusion, both sitting in the chairs furthest away from the commotion in the living room where Josh and Malachi are busy adding the final touches to tonight's set.

“Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re wondering. Neither one of us could sleep very well, so we sat on the couch and talked for a bit, but that’s all.” You stare down at your thumbs as you twiddle them. You don’t really feel like mentioning him physically brushing you off when you both got a little too close for his comfort. You don’t even like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. 

Attempting to come up with something to change the subject, you feel terrible when you realize you’ve not even asked Nat anything about her and Danny. You perk up when at the opportunity to talk about something that isn’t the awkwardness between you and Jake.

“Speaking of details,” you say, sitting both your elbows on the table and resting your face in your hands, giving her your full attention. “I need you to tell me everything about you and Daniel this very minute. And don’t you dare leave out a single thing.”

A beautifully shy smile stretches her plump lips as she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. 

“Well, what would you like to talk about first?” She asks, her eyes lighting up. “The fact that we’ve seen each other everyday since our first date, or the fact that he’s the best I’ve ever had in bed?”

Your hands drop to the table, a stupidly massive smile plastered to your face. 

“Natalia!” You exclaim, scooting closer to her. “I can’t believe it, dude! So, are you, like, official? Or just fucking?” 

“Official,” she says, your mouth dropping from pure excitement for them. You can’t get over it. They make such a stunning couple. And she’s clearly so damn happy. That’s the most important thing. “And fucking,” she continues as you throw a hand over your mouth to muffle the laughter. “ A lot of it, too.”

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She looks breathtaking. Gorgeous. The pale shade of purple they have her in accentuates the emerald tones in her round eyes, the matching flowers in her braided hair look like a halo casted over her shiny, sunshine-yellow locks. 

Stacy’s appearance serves as a stark contrast to Guinevere’s. Her look embodies sweetness, innocence. While your character exudes sensuality as an adulteress with her black and red color palette, Stacy’s is meant to radiate charm and a sense of purity. Purity in the sense that, while she’s cheating with Arthur, she isn’t cheating on Arthur. 

Josh did this on purpose, to make Camille look innocent and unassuming, but in reality, she will be a catalyst in King Arthur's inevitable downfall. The fact that she’s an evil enchantress is hidden beneath her flowery looks. With everyone believing Guinevere to be the horrid seductress, no one would suspect that the true horror lies in the guise of Camille, who’s ever cunning under her false veil. 

Though you’re not surprised, she looks the epitome of sheer beauty. Walking perfection. And it’s a bit painful to see. She’s everything you wish you could be. 

You’re suddenly not sure you’re ready to see her interact with Jake in this scene. But, better now than later. Get it over with so you won’t have to wonder. You can sulk about it later when you have time to really feel your insecurities.

And now, here comes Jake. As if it weren’t hard enough to witness the utter beauty that Stacy carries, it’s an entirely different feeling with Jake’s. 

He looks…just so damn good. 

Tonight, instead of just the usual chainmail top and black trousers, he’s added a touch of regality with black velvet cloak over top, the very same one Josh promised him months ago. He looks like true royalty, exuding an aura of majesty, complete with a sword sheathed at his side. 

They both get settled in their respective places on set, and as soon as Josh yells “action,” a surge of unease radiates within you as you feel your whole body tense up.

As soon as they slip effortlessly into their characters, their obvious chemistry is instantly ignited before the camera. Every touch, every glance they share is loaded with an undeniable intensity. 

The way Jake's hand lingers on Stacy's waist, the way they lock eyes with such intensity…you can’t deny the fact that they’re wonderful together. Aesthetically, they just fit. Much better than you and Jake would, you’ve no doubt. 

When Jake speaks his first line, you’re shocked to hear him use a British accent. A horrible one, at that. 

You have to cover your face to hide the fact that you’re trying not to burst at the seams. But you’re not the only one. Nat has turned her head entirely in the direction opposite of you, which is probably a good thing. One glance at each other and you’d both break with boisterous laughter. 

Sam, however, makes no attempt to hide his true feelings. Standing right behind you, he loudly chuckles his classic, Sam laugh that makes it even harder for you to maintain composure.

Then, you hear a very audible groan from Josh, followed by yelling “CUT!” at the top of his lungs.

“Why did you stop us?” Jake blurts out, his arms flailing in obvious frustration. 

“I told you to use whatever creative liberty you deemed necessary for the character,” Josh confirms, both hands resting on his hips. “But I’ve asked, more than once, mind you, to not use that ridiculous fucking accent.”

Here we go. It just wouldn’t be a normal night of filming without at least several fights from the twins.

“It’s essential to the character, Josh. He is the legendary King of Britain, is he not?” His question is more like a statement, adding extra emphasis on the word “Britain” to secure his point.

“I told you, Sir Jacob.” 

Sir Jacob…?

“It doesn’t make sense if no one else is following suit with your shitty accent.” Josh continues. Jake flips a rather dramatic middle finger towards his twin, with Josh generously showing him the very same affection. 

“Alright. Take two of scene number 67,” Josh pauses a moment, waiting until they’re ready. “And…action.”

Thanks to Jake's “creative liberty,” you have to sit through the scene again, watching them and their perfect chemistry—again. 

And then…

…they kiss. The very moment you were not waiting for.

With the way his lips so passionately intertwine with hers, it’s clear they’ve done this more than a couple of times. And not only for the sake of the film. This kind of intimacy transcends the limits of film.

You and Sam had natural chemistry, but their chemistry goes miles beyond what you instinctively had with Sam. Theirs feels experienced. Experienced with each other. 

If there was any doubt lingering that they slept together that night after the haunted house, it’s all but confirmed for you now. 

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“When will your mom be ready to come home?” Nat asks you as the two of you are packing up the set.  

You quickly look around to be sure no one’s close enough to hear, the hesitancy to let everyone know is still hanging onto you tightly.

“Actually, she’ll get to come home tomorrow," you share with her. “She was good as new when I visited her today, and the doctor said she’s making huge strides.”

Your words carry a little unsureness. It’s not that you’re not happy to have her home, the apartment has been terribly lonely and you’re ready to get things somewhat back to normal. But, you can’t get rid of this feeling that something’s just not right with the whole situation. 

From the Doctor telling you there were no medications in her system to her telling you that she personally spoke with Mrs. Sweeney, thanking her for calling the ambulance, despite Mrs. Sweeney having no recollection of it and having not made the call to 911…There’s a web of uncertainty weaving in your brain. You know Nat can sense your apprehension based on the look she’s giving you as she places all the silk flowers neatly in their box. 

“You don’t sound too excited,” she observes. “Are you still thinking about what the doctor told you?” 

“I just can’t force myself to believe it. I know the evidence is there,” you remark, brows furrowed in confusion as you help her shove the ivy vines in the box with the flowers. “But it just…it doesn’t feel right, you know? Why would she do something like that?” 

Her eyes mirror the same questions plaguing your mind, the empathy ever present in them. You know she understands your confusion, her support has been a comfort during these last few maddening  days. (Though you still haven’t told her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You suppose that can wait until you’ve had enough time to process it.)

“But, I am happy that she’ll be home. It’s been so weird not having her there.” Once you get the last of the silk plants packed up, Nat takes the packing tape and adds a few pieces along the center to secure it for safekeeping. 

“I’m just worried about getting her up the three flights of stairs to our place,” you continue. “The elevator went out again and she can’t really climb them on her own. And I’m not strong enough to get her up myself.” You look to her with pleading eyes, hoping she’ll pick up on your silent request for help. 

“You know I would help if I could, y/n. But I’ll be out of town all day tomorrow with Danny visiting his family.” She tells you. You can tell by her tone that she feels bad, but it’s not her fault. 

“Well,” she says, contemplating her options. “Maybe I could just drive myself, so that way I could leave and come help you with your mom and then go back when she’s all settled.” Her offer is undeniably kind, but you can’t bring yourself to allow her to do that. You don’t want to be the reason her whole day is disrupted. 

“No, no. It’s totally okay, babe,” you acknowledge, grateful that she’d even consider such a thing. “We’ll manage. Thank you, though. I appreciate you a lot.” 

Just as you’re finishing up, you hear someone shuffling around in the kitchen. Looking in that direction, you see Jake gathering a few things to prepare dinner. 

“I can help you tomorrow, y/n.” He says, back turned to you and Nat. “Just let me know when.” 

You and Nat share a knowing glance that says what you’re both collectively thinking. 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s offering, given how much he helped you that night and the next day. But, you still can’t help feeling shocked at his proposition.  

“S-sure, Jake.” You say. “I’ll text you the time.” 

But as you accept his offer, gratitude mixed with trepidation floods your thoughts. You’re suddenly mortified at what he may have heard you and Nat talking about, surrounding your unease with your mom’s situation. 

How long had he been standing there?

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“So this is the famous Jake,” she remarks as you wheel her through the automatic doors to Jake, who’s standing outside his Range Rover ready to help her into the passenger’s seat. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as she makes it obvious that you’ve talked about him to her before. 

Meanwhile, Jake’s lips curl in a playful grin at her statement. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says, extending a helping hand as you begin helping her out of the wheelchair and onto her feet. You try to avoid making eye contact with him as you and he position yourselves on either side of her, helping to stabilize her as she walks towards the car. But he isn’t trying to avoid it. Each accidental glance his way is met with his mischievous eyes fixed on you, his grin remaining ever present. Together, combined with what little strength she has, the three of you successfully settle her into the car without any issues. 

Taking the middle seat in the second row, you buckle up as Jake starts the engine and begins the drive to your place.

You didn’t consider the fact that she would probably bombard him with personal questions, and that’s just what she does the entire way home. She asks him all the basics, probing into his background and interests with relentless questions. His answers are pretty short for the most part, not getting very personal with her curiosity. (Sounds familiar.) But it’s her next question that has you wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Are you single?” She inquires innocently. (Although it’s perhaps not very innocent, given what you’ve told her about him.)

In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you see Jake’s eyes widen, mirroring pure shock. You bring your palm up to rest against your forehead, silently wishing to teleport to your apartment and end this agonizing drive once and for all.

But when he answers, you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. 

“I, uh, guess you could say I’m single. I’ve been dating casually, nothing serious though.”

At his mention of “casual dating,” your mind instantly begins reeling and going straight to Stacy and the possibility (likelihood) that he’s been dating her. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you’re nothing to him, after all—but the sting of his words still linger in the air, leaving you feeling so small. Perhaps if you looked like Stacy, he’d be just as interested in “casually” dating you. 

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“Would you like to stay for dinner?” She offers once the three of you make it up to the third floor of your complex. “I’m sure y/n could whip up something quick for us.” A bit of annoyance washes over you with her offering for you to make dinner for everyone. She obviously can’t, but the fact that she just decided you didn’t have anything else to do besides making dinner for three people? Maybe you’re overthinking it, but it’s not sitting right with you at the moment. 

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation finally catching up with you. Or it’s your mind swirling with a million things at once. The doctor's words, Jake dating Stacy, the burgeoning voice insisting that you don’t eat. (And eating around other people right now is just far too much.)

“Thanks for asking, but I have to get back to work,” he tells her as he’s helping her in the door.

“What do you do for work, Jake?” She asks. But before he gives himself the chance to answer, he’s telling you both goodbye as he quickly heads out the door.

…okay? It’s such a simple question, why couldn’t he answer it?

While you’re standing here, confused and baffled by his actions, your mom seems to have not even noticed it as she’s now seated on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels to find one of her shows. 

“When will you be ready for dinner?” She asks you, not even looking your way as you're standing dumbfounded in the middle of the living room. Trying to shove down your frustration, you take her hint that she’s ready to eat and head into the kitchen to prepare tonight's meal. 

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You greet Jake with a sincere smile as you take your seat in Movacks class, only to be met with a simple nod as he looks away from you. 

“Mornin, Jake!” You chirp, summoning your best “Oklahoma” intonation like he brought up the other night, hoping to coax a smile from him. But you're left feeling utterly humiliated as he doesn't even acknowledge you, opting instead to focus on his phone. It's as if you didn't say a single word, leaving you feeling like an actual imbecile for the obnoxious display you've just made. It’s rather clear he wants nothing to do with you today, his pissy mood a good indication that you should probably just keep to yourself. No need in furthering his frustrations with the annoyance that is you.

You’ve tried to ignore the fact that he’s become considerably more distant with you since he helped you bring your mom home the other day. You’ve not even heard from him since then, and given how invested he seemed to be with the whole thing, it’s almost like he’s completely left in the past at this point. 

“I trust you all read the poems you were assigned with your project partner last time we met,” proclaims Dr. Movack as he walks into the room just as class is set to begin.

You and Jake were assigned Sir Lancelot and Guinevere by Alfred Tennyson, a poem that delves deeply into the forbidden affair. A bit of an unwitting irony when considering the depths of your project. He seemed out of sorts about it when you were given the poem to analyze last class period, acting as though it was a chore to have to read it. But you were excited about it, for very obvious reasons as it’s yet another layer added to your research on the character you’ve been playing. 

"Alright, everyone," Dr. Movack announces, starting the timer on his phone. "For the first twenty minutes of class, I want you to pair up with your partners and discuss your individual analyses of the piece you were assigned."

With a hefty sigh, Jake pivots his upper body towards you. “Thoughts?” He asks as his hands gesture for you to begin the conversation, clearly annoyed at this whole thing. (As if it’s your fucking fault you’re his partner.)

“Well,” you start, still taken aback but his brash behavior towards you for, as far as you can tell, no logical reason. “It compares their love to that of nature, while also equating Guin’s beauty to the same thing, making it seem as tho–”

“Kay.” He abruptly cuts you off, turning himself around so he’s no longer facing you, arms crossed and a vexed look about his pretty face. Clad with his John Lennon glasses, reminding you way too much of your initial interactions with him.

“I…I wasn’t done, Jake,” you state, sternly. 

“What else do you need to say?” He implores, his tone making sound more like a harsh statement than a question.

“I also need to say that its theme is a balance of pain and joy, of knowing that they can never truly have each other the way they desire, but celebrating the profound joy they do experience in their shared moments,” 

“The poem constructs the idea of Lancelot tending to the needs of Guin much more tenderly and passionately than Arthur could have ever done for her,” you suggest, pushing him to give you more than what he’s been giving you thus far. (Which has been absolutely nothing.)

But… it didn’t work. You lost him. It was as if the last word out of your mouth shut him completely down. You see through the wire earpiece of his staple Ray-Bans as his eyes close. A hand slowly goes up to rub his temple. 

One more shot. 

“What do you think about—?”

“What the fuck did they teach you in Oklahoma?” He fumes, suddenly and unexpectedly, his head snapping in your direction.

“What?” You blink a few times, surely hearing him wrong. 

“This stupid ass shit you’re spewing,” he growls, turning away from you once again. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?” Okay, you were nearly certain you had heard him correctly. And the way his mouth was set in a straight, unchanging line of ire told you as much.

“I’m so tired of this back and forth game where you think your little hick town brain can get you anywhere in a place like this,” he mumbles angrily, ripping open his journal and book to take his own notes. “It’s not cute to use what little knowledge you came here with as a point of intellect. It doesn’t work to prove anything. We all know the backwoods girl who is hiding underneath this fucking charade you’re displaying for everyone.” 

Your throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter as tears wet your eyes, threatening to fall. He rakes his fingers haphazardly through his shoulder-length, waving locks. With fists clenched, nails pinching your skin where they dig into your palms, you want to grab him by his hair and force him to fully face you again. 

He needs to not be a coward when he says shit that makes your heart quite actually break, crookedly down the middle. Your heart that can only take so fucking much.

He turns, just slightly. His jaw is tight, flexing beneath his frustratingly beautiful skin. How could one man encapsulate so much? One second, he’s driving you here, there, and everywhere—making you feel at ease in a time of desolation. And the next, he’s mocking you for your heritage—calling you out and chiding you for something you can’t help or control. 

A state that, in this moment, you realize you’re proud to represent in some way (you grew up there, the place raised you). You’re feeling some strange, burning need to defend it. 

His body is swiveled back around to fully face you when he rips his glasses off of his face. You fear momentarily of him breaking the delicate metal, but you soon forget the thought when you notice his expression. 

His eyes are flaming, indignant — pure fire in the sweet honeyed bourbon hue of his irises. A fire that infiltrates something so sweet and almost pure… almost. It’s Jake, for God’s sake; he can only get so pure. The word doesn’t even come close to fitting his demeanor at this moment.

The way he looks at you, making you want to crawl completely out of your skin.

“I don’t want you to insert an opinion on this material that is founded on the bullshit they teach you in tiny towns like Cherry-fucking-Tree,” he spit. “It’s a waste of my time and energy to even entertain the ideas that circulate in your mind full of, at best, average thought processes.”

Average. Just an average, hick girl. From the shitass town of Cherry-fucking-Tree. 

Average—Worthless. Just like the town you come from. How could you ever be anything coming from a place like that?

The tears begin cascading down your cheeks before you can even think to challenge them. There is no point in stopping the pools that are leaving your eyes in steady tracks down your hot cheeks. You’re shaking—shivering with equal parts twinging sadness and unkempt rage.

You let them fall momentarily, in shock as his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering and loathsome of you. In his eyes, you watch every negative emotion he feels for you pass through them. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” Your words are stern, louder than you expected. Yet, you don’t care–because your voice conveys all of the hurt you’re encompassed with. 

And as you utter the cold words, you notice that the rest of the classroom is dead silent. A quick glance out of your peripheral vision confirms that all their heads are turned towards you and Jake.

But the eye contact with him doesn’t break. As much as you hate when people see you cry, you need him to see the hurt he’s caused you. 

“I have heard quite enough out of the two of  you!” Shouts Dr. Movack from his place at the podium. Still yet, neither one of you looks away from the other. “You both need to leave my classroom, immediately!”

“Gladly,” you shout, tossing your things in your bag with such a force that causes Jake to wince with each thing you throw in. 

He begins doing the same, matching your frustration with heavy hands. 

You don’t want to walk out with him, so before he can finish, you begin stomping through the classroom, brushing past Dr. Movack once you make it to the door. 

“Expect zeros for today's participation!” He proclaims, but you’re already halfway down the hall. 

Heavy streams of tears drench your face as you pick up the pace to get the fuck out of this godforsaken building before Jake can catch up to you. 

You can’t stand the sight of him right now, you can’t even fathom ever speaking to him again. His words cut deeper than any knife ever could, of that you’re certain. 

It hurts, it really fucking hurts. 

“Y/n, please wait, I–I’m sorry,” you hear in the distance as you’re crossing the street to the parking lot where your car sits. “I didn’t mean—fuck.”

The sound of the voice is unmistakable.

It’s Jake’s. You can discern it from the one he wielded like a weapon, his tool of choice to dismantle and destroy you, word by hateful word.

He calls for you again, but you choose to ignore his pathetic attempt at an “apology,” jumping in your car and starting the engine, wiping the excess tears away that are constricting your vision.

You briefly look up as you shift the gear into drive, catching sight of Jake’s defeated form standing on the last concrete step of the stairway leading to the doors of Angell Hall. 

And as you’re backing out of your spot, he rips his glasses off, tossing them to the ground with a force that very obviously shatters them. 

You know he was probably just speaking out of pure anger, but where that anger is derived from is what you don’t understand. You’ve not done anything so bad to him to deserve any of what he just threw at you.

But no matter where it came from, he had no fucking right to speak to you the way he did. 

Not finding the strength within you to turn back and go to him to hear his apology, you drive away and leave him there to deal with what he’s done alone. 

While there’s a part of you that wants to hear his explanation, you don’t owe it to him to give him the chance. It’s not worth your time at this point. He’s made it known that you’re nothing but a massive pill in his life, that he would probably be much happier without you in it, ruining it with every backwoods word you speak.

He watches you as you drive away, his features as cold as if they were carved in the very stone he’s standing on, unreadable even from a distance.

Tears begin brimming in your ducts yet again as you turn onto the street to head home, him now fully out of your sight. 

It's unfathomable how someone could harbor such hatred towards you, and yet, despite it all, you can't shake the intense desire you still feel for him. 

It just doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense.

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The squeaky wheels of the wooden library cart echo throughout the entire building with each push. The screeching metal wheels send a chill up your spine each time you move, and you’re silently apologizing to everyone in here for the obtrusive noise. With midterms officially over as of last week, everyone has been dropping their books off in piles the past few days. After sorting through them all, making sure to note who returned their books on their account, it’s finally time to put them back on the shelf. 

As much as you hate the squeaky cart, this is your favorite part of the job. It gives you the chance to conduct a very detailed tour of the library on your own terms, truly allowing you to see it all. There’s no lack of discovering something new each time. You love this old building, and you love the smell of the books. The scent was the first thing you noticed when you walked in here for the first time all those months ago, and it still remains your favorite smell in the world.

As you look towards the end of the long Political Science aisle you’re standing in, you suddenly catch Nat peeking her head around the corner, waving at you while her clunky brown boots click as she walks your direction. 

“Need any help? It’s dead as a doornail up there and I’m bored as hell.”

“Sure, Mr. Dickens,” you joke at her nod to a literary classic. “I’ll gladly accept your help.”

She begins helping with your task, finding a certain peace in her company amidst the quiet library.

“I can’t find where this goes, any clue?” You ask, holding up the book on the tools of presenting a good argument. She takes it from you and examines it a bit, reading the faded numbers on the spine. 

“Well, I see why you’re having trouble,” she says, full smirk across her blush pink, glossy lips. “It’s marked wrong. This goes in General Law.”

With a playful wink, she gestures toward the correct section to guide you to its proper place on the shelf.

“How’s your momma?” She asks. “Is she feeling better?”

“She’s okay. She’s home, and she’s alive…it’s all just so strange.” You shelve the last of the political science books stacked on your cart, wheeling it around the corner to the General Law section as Nat follows close behind. “There’s still so many unanswered questions. I just can’t figure out who called the ambulance.”

“Wasn’t it your neighbor?” She asks, helping you maneuver the heavy cart around the tight corner. 

“That’s what I thought,” you answer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you remember the strange conversation you had just days ago with Mrs. Sweeney. “But she told me she didn’t make the call. She said the ambulance just showed up. I asked her if she heard my mom calling out for help, or anything from our apartment that sounded concerning, something that would prompt an emergency call…and she said no.”

Nat matches your confused state, stopping to take in everything you’d just told her. “That just doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Is it possible that she called for the ambulance?”

“My mom?” You hadn’t even considered the possibility. And, she would’ve told you…right? You don’t know why you’re so desperate to know, why it’s keeping you up at night that Mrs. Sweeney told you she didn’t call, that your mom had basically lied to you about the whole thing. “I–I don’t think so, Nat. She was completely unresponsive when they found her.” 

Now the wheels are turning. Maybe it was her, and perhaps she just…didn’t tell you? Is she trying to hide something? It just doesn’t feel likely but…possible, you guess. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Putting this whole thing to rest would make it so you can finally rest.

“Well, like you said,” Nat utters, breaking you free of your relentless, turning mind. “She’s alive. And that’s all that really matters, right?”

Of course that’s all that matters. But, you can’t help the feeling that there’s more to this than what you’re able to see, more that’s being hidden beneath the seemingly cracked surface. It could just be your anxious tendencies, telling you to worry when there’s truly nothing to be worried about.

Or, your gut feeling is correct. There’s something you’re not aware of that feels big.

You begin wheeling the now empty cart back to the circulation counter to grab another lot of books, Nat leading the way ahead of the obnoxious wheels. 

“Right,” you answer, deciding to push aside that worry for the time being.

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“Do you have any idea why Jake despises me? Like, has he ever said anything to you or Josh? Or Malachi?” You ask as you fill the cart with the next bundle of books to be put up.

“He doesn’t despise you, y/n. I know his exterior is rough, but there’s not an ounce of hate in that boy's heart. Just give him more time. You’ve seen it, you know he’s a good one.” 

You know deep down that he is, that he’s got a good heart with good intentions. But, there’s something about when he starts to become close to you that forces him to back away, to treat you like you’re a nuisance. He can shove his hatred for you down long enough, until he can’t and it comes out of him like he was accidentally hiding it.

“He does hate me, Nat. You can’t deny the way he acts when I’m around, like I’m the biggest burden that could’ve possibly been placed upon him.” You roughly toss the final book on the cart, wincing at the loud noise it made that you didn’t quite mean to happen. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me the other day, Nat. He belittled me in class. I have never been so humiliated and disrespected before in my life. Pretty sure I’m nothing more than walking garbage to him.”

“I hate to interrupt your little drama fest, but you are not the biggest burden in his life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” She says, frustration in her tone as she intervenes, slamming a book down on the cart just like you did. “I will stick up for you, y/n. But I also know things about him that you don’t.”

“That’s the problem. I know nothing about him. He doesn’t want me to know him. He’s built this wall around himself and refuses to let me in. He almost did the other night at my apartment, but when he realized he was getting a smidge too close to me, he shut down again. He’s the never ending enigma, one that just so happens to hate my guts.” Your words hang heavy in the air, a tense silence grappling them as you’re left with the realization of just how complex your relationship with Jake is, and it’s not by your choice. 

“I know he can be closed off, and I know he can be an asshole sometimes. Trust me. But you need to know a few things. He’s been through the ringer, multiple times.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, stopping you as you begin to walk away to put the books up, silently urging you to consider another perspective. 

“He and his brothers were adopted by their grandparents after their mom and dad were killed in a car accident. Drunk driver. It left all of Frankenmuth completely devastated.”  

His parents.

You’d never even once thought about where they were, or who they were. Being so caught up in your own shit, you hadn’t even considered…

Fuck.

“Their dad was in a local band,” she continues, taking a seat in the rolling chair behind the counter. “They never made it big beyond the area, but god, everyone in town loved them. And when Jake was about ten, he started playing with them. Playing the guitar his dad bought him, the one sitting in his room. He worked his ass off to buy that for Jake. They were killed only a few months after the first time he joined them on stage.”

When she mentioned his guitar, it all of a sudden reminded you of the night at your apartment. The night he became so disgusted by you right before he could finish talking about…

…about his dad. And the guitar he bought him, the very same one Nat is telling you about right now. You know this because you instantly took note of the SG sitting in his room the first night you stepped foot in there, and that’s the exact model he was talking about that night…the one he said defined him as a player, the one his dad searched high and low for. 

Oh my god.

“When they died, they moved in with their grandparents. But they owned an apartment complex in Detroit, so they had to move here with them. That’s when I met them, when they started school at Central High.”

You just nod in response, needing a second to fully absorb her words that are beginning to paint a much clearer picture of Jake. 

“Then, their grandma suddenly died. They were devastated, didn't come to school for weeks.” Her voice softens, her expression reflecting the weight of all the loss they had endured at such young ages. “They had to help their grandpa with the complex, learn how to run the business. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he got sick a few years later. Pancreatic cancer. The boys ended up dropping out of college for a bit to take care of him, to essentially take over acting landlords.” 

“Nat I can’t…I can’t believe it. I had no idea…” Your brain is struggling to process it all. And if it’s that hard for you to imagine, it must have been hell for Jake and his brothers to live it. It was their reality. But to you, it’s utterly heartbreaking. Unfathomable. 

 “They never left his side, especially Jake. He was with him twenty four seven, and when he died, Jake kind of became a recluse.”

The compassion you’re feeling for Jake and his family swells your heart as you’re realizing the depths of his burdens. His guarded nature suddenly makes a lot more sense as everything she’s telling you is fully sinking in. The old saying is true; you truly never know what someone is going through, what someone has been through. 

Regardless of how he’s acted towards you, you’re feeling a lot of guilt for being so quick to judge him. 

“Jake was the only one with him when he died. Matter of fact, he died in the exact same hospital your mom stayed in. I bet it was kind of hard for him to be there, but he stayed for you, y/n. That is the real Jake.”

Jake was committed to you that night. Stayed with you in the hospital that holds so much weight for him. Even in the midst of his own pain, he stayed with you. It explains so much.

“What happened to the complex? After their grandpa died?” 

“They live in it,” she answers with a grin. “They’re landlords. It was their inheritance. And as hard as it was for them to take over ownership as college students, they made it work. The three of them make one hell of a team.” 

You didn’t know what Jake did for work, but owning an apartment complex with his brothers was not on your list of possibilities. An extremely nice complex, at that. 

“Why didn’t any of them mention this to me? I get Jake but, Sam? Josh?” You can’t help the mix of surprise and confusion, wondering why they hadn’t shared such a big part of themselves with you. It’s their job. And you’ve never known anyone to keep something like that from you. 

Although it does make sense if they didn’t want it to lead to a deeper conversation about their losses. Maybe they’re the same as Jake in that aspect. They just don’t like to talk about hard things.  

Then, you remember how you’ve kept your life a secret from them, too. The only reason Jake knows about your mom is because he just happened to be there. But he knows nothing else. Your dad… he hasn’t and will probably never be mentioned with him. With any of them. And it’s not because you’re ashamed; it’s just not something you want broadcasted. 

“They don’t care for the attention it garners,” she explains. “And they probably didn’t want you to treat them any different. The only reason I know about it is because of my brother, and he’s the one that told me everything else about what they’ve been through. They really don’t like to talk about any of this stuff,” she adds, her voice heavy with sympathy. “They don’t want it to define them.”

“I can definitely understand that.” You say with deeply rooted empathy. Your heart aches, for all of them. But, you can deny the extra twinge of softness you feel for Jake. For him to have shoved all of this down the way he has, it’s no wonder he acts the way he does. It doesn’t completely excuse it, but it sure as hell makes a lot of fucking sense. 

The amount of pain they’ve experienced in their lives, losing practically everyone important in their lives. They’re not only bonded by brotherhood, they’re bonded even tighter because of everyone they’ve lost. All of them being so close to them, raising them. They’ve lost almost everyone who was ever important to them, being left with just each other to lean on. It all makes sense, and as much as he’s hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to keep holding it against him. 

He’s hurting, too. 

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Carrying the third laundry basket up the stairs from the in-building laundry, you’re wondering just how two people have managed to collect so much clothing. You try to designate time each week specifically for laundry, but you’ve gotten so far behind on it that it’s become a little overwhelming. Each basket of clothes you’ve washed and brought back up to the apartment has been overflowing. You’re sure you’ll discover a missing sock or a pair of underwear or two that fell during the journey back to your place, but you’re not about to go back and find out.

You’re finally done washing everything. Now, the worst part: putting it all up. You decide to put that part off for a little while to get caught up on the rest of the chores that need to be done tonight. 

The dishes are next on the list. You usually don’t mind doing them, but your dishwasher decided to quit on you and the landlord is in no hurry to come and fix it. So, you’re stuck hand washing the pile that has somehow accumulated significantly over the last few days. 

With a resigned sigh, you roll up your sleeves and begin scrubbing away at the stack of plates and utensils. The warm water soothes your hands, and you find a sense of rhythm in the repetitive task. 

Your mind starts to drift to the other tasks that still need to be taken care of. The vacuuming, tidying up the living room, perhaps taking out the trash if you can muster up the energy.

But for now, you decide to focus on the task at hand, finding a strange sort of comfort in the motion of washing and rinsing each dish.

Despite the annoyance of hand washing dishes, there's a strange comfort in the routine of it all. With each plate cleaned and set aside to dry, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. 

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You peek around the door frame to see her lying in the same spot she has been for the last few hours, still grazing her plate of food you gave her and watching something mindless on the television. She hasn’t noticed you standing there yet, and just as you’re about to say something, you notice she’s not wearing her oxygen. 

“Mom,” you assert as you storm inside of her room, the frustration in your voice apparent. You grab her nasal cannula sitting on her nightstand and help her put it on. “How long have you not been wearing it?” 

She takes a deep breath as she further adjusts the tube to her face, letting out a dry cough from deep in her chest. “I’m fine, sweetie. I won’t keel over  if I go without it for a little bit. It’s just so invasive, I hate wearing that damn thing.”

“That is not what the doctor said.” You check her tank to be sure she’s getting enough to compensate for however long she’s kept it off. “And based on how horrible your cough sounds, you need it right now. Please, mom. You have to follow their orders. You don’t want a repeat of the other night, do you?”

She sits herself up a bit, as well as she can. Smiling at you and nodding, she says, “I know, I know. Your momma is just a little stubborn sometimes. What would I do without my sweet daughter to take care of me?” You smile back at her, but it quickly fades as you're reminded yet again of the other night and the questionable events that transpired. 

She picks up on your sudden change in expression. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She asks with wary concern. 

You decide that right now is as good a time as any to ask her your burning question. With a heavy breath, you take a seat on the edge of her bed beside her. Clearing your dry throat, you say “I have to ask you something.” 

“Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?” Her eyes watch you with a gentle kindness about them that you’ve always loved about her, but right now, along with the kindness there are a thousand secrets as dark as her pupils. It casts an unease in your spirit that is brand new to you, yet feels oddly familiar all at once. Has it always been there and you’ve just never noticed? Have you just denied it?

You can’t decipher why you’re so nervous to ask her. You shouldn’t be; it’s a simple question. But you feel this heaviness deep within your body that you can’t explain. An intuition that something is awry, perhaps? 

You’ve never once doubted your mom. You’ve always trusted her with everything for the simple fact that she’s never given you cause not to. But you can’t deny that something feels…off. And as she’s looking at you right now, you’re suddenly not sure you recognize the woman sitting before you anymore. Something is different. Everything is different. 

And you don’t know why you feel this way. But you do. And denying it further will only cause you to descend into a maddening cycle of endless wandering.

Her eyes are flicking back and forth between yours, her eyebrows are scrunched and her thin lips are slightly agape. With a curious nod of her head, she quietly signals you to just ask your damn question. 

“Did…” Your tight voice cracks and as she grabs your hand to try and comfort you, you find your voice to continue. “Did you call 911 that night?” The words flow out of your mouth like a river with no end, a strong current that knocks you into the depths of the raging waters. 

Her eyes widen and her mouth falls the rest of the way open. Her hand slowly moves away from yours as her eyes stay steady on you. A look of pure shock washes over her face as she’s quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“I thought we agreed on Mrs. Sweeney calling.” She finally asserts, her voice suddenly much more strong and clear than it has been in a long time, startling you. “I’m not sure why you’re still on this, y/n.” Her tone is sharp as a blade, penetrating you each time she utters a word. She’s almost defensive, angry. Her eyes are narrowed on yours, unblinking and stilled. 

“I just…you’re right. I’m sorry, I must've forgotten.” You manipulate your tone to sound more sure, more accepting than you truly feel. You decided against telling her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You’ve a solid feeling it may not go over well if you tell her what was said. There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of your belly telling you to just shut up. A feeling you’ve never felt with your mom before. You’ve always known you could go to her for anything. Right now, you feel like shutting down completely. 

Her gruff features soften back to the way you’re most used to them, her smile taking over her thin scowl. However, the kindness in her eyes that was mixed with secrets earlier, has shifted to the secrets taking command. You don’t know who she is right now. And you’re wondering if you’ve ever truly known.

“It’s okay, honey. I know you’re awfully busy these days. I’m so proud of you.” Her tone has gone back to its weak, hushed quality. What was once a comfort to you, now feels quite the opposite. And something about her compliment felt…forced. Like she only said it as a distraction. And her voice changing on command, like that was forced, too. As if you weren’t feeling off about this whole thing enough, this has made it ten times worse.

Before you can figure out what to say, you catch the time from her nightstand clock out of the corner of your eye. Realizing it’s well after ten o’clock, you immediately step back in your caregiver shoes. It’s over an hour past time for her to take her evening medications. You grab the three bottles sitting next to the clock, dumping one pill out of each in your hand and setting them back down, taking the half-full glass of water in your hand next.

“Take these really quick.” You say as you hand her the pills and the glass. “I’ll get you more water once you’re done.” 

She nods, tossing all three pills in her mouth and downing the rest of her water before handing the glass back to you. 

Standing from the edge of her bed to head to the kitchen, you tell her you’ll be right back with her water. Without a word, she just smiles your way as you walk through the door.

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It’s nearly three in the morning and you’ve still not gone to bed. With as much time as you’ve had to dedicate to your mom, the apartment upkeep, work, and filming all while attempting to maintain a rather poor excuse for a social life, school and homework have been on the very bottom of your priority list. And that is very much not like you. Your grades have suffered the last few weeks. You’re falling behind, nearing the point of no return. So, sleep isn’t much of an option right now. Hasn’t been for several nights. It’s the only time you’ve got to do something for yourself. Even something as grueling as English homework. 

Tonight's task is to complete your paper on Carmilla for your Classic Horror course, but the words aren’t flowing as seamlessly as they should. As much as you want to be able to focus, you just can’t. You can only manage to get out a few sentences at a time before you have to stop and regather your train of thought. You keep checking your phone, scrolling through mindless social media, getting up to get a drink, anything that might keep you from this rather daunting task.

Your frustration with yourself is growing by the minute. You have to get this done by Monday, and you’re nowhere near finished. There’s hardly a conceivable thought typed on your word document and you don’t see yourself being able to form one anytime soon.

The ever burdening worry is all the more present after your talk with your mom. The way she acted when you asked your question, how her entire demeanor changed to one that made her unrecognizable to you…The questions are persistent, their relevance feeling more palpable than before.

As you start typing out your second paragraph, you’ve suddenly come to a realization that keeps you from continuing…

If she’s hiding that she did call for the ambulance, she would’ve had to use her cell phone. That call would still show up in her log, and although you don’t believe in invading someone's personal space, you just need to know. Odds are, she’s right. She didn’t call, and you’ll probably find absolutely nothing in her phone to indicate that she did. But at least you’ll know. And you can check it off your list of possibilities. You’ll be able to confirm that she wasn’t lying to you. (Because she wouldn’t do that…right?)

You’ve decided that checking her phone is the only way you’ll be able to put this whole thing to rest. Is it the right thing to do? Absolutely not. But you can’t focus until you know. 

Her door is always left open just in case something happens, you can hear her easier. So, with a light step, you walk inside her mostly dark room. Her television is quietly playing some old Western film you know you’ve seen a dozen times, but you can’t decipher which one it is. Some desert battle with horses and weapons flashes on the screen, the light illuminating the room in eerie beams. 

She’s fast asleep. Her oxygen tank is a steady hum against the low volume of the film, her breathing heavy but not labored.

Her phone rests on the nightstand closest to the wall, plugged into the charging cord. As you lift and touch the screen, you’re reminded of the fact that she keeps a six digit code to keep it locked. A code that you don’t know.

Although, you’ve got a hunch. With shaky thumbs, you type out the month, day and year of your birthday.

It worked. You’re in. 

Your eyes quickly shift to her sleeping form to be sure that she is still asleep. She’s situated on her back, her head rolled over on the pillow facing you. Her eyes aren’t open, and she’s not moved since you’ve been in here. You make haste in locating her call log and scrolling all the way to the date she landed herself in the emergency room. 

…and she was right. 

There are no 911 calls anywhere on her log. Not even a call made to the hospital…nothing. But as you take a closer look, there is something amiss. 

It was just after 1:30 in the morning when you and Jake arrived at your apartment to the chaotic scene. There’s an outgoing call that was made at 1:16…just minutes before the ambulance must have arrived. She was completely unresponsive when they found her, so how did she…? And why didn’t she call you?

The contact name is only adding to your questions. It’s a name you can’t place, and it’s an odd one.

Dodger.

Who the fuck is Dodger?

You don’t know a single person with that name…not that you can think of right away, at least. 

Whoever this Dodger is, might be the person responsible for the ambulance call. If not them, then who else? And the fact that she was on the phone with them right before…

Finding out the area code might give you some clue as to who this is. If nothing else, you’ll at least have an idea of where they live. After tapping the information icon to the right, you’re shocked when you see the three digits that tell you this is an Oklahoma number. 

There’s no one back home that she’s kept in touch with since the move. At least, not that you know of. She didn’t have many friends. None, actually. She spent all of her either time at home or, when your dad left, with you. Your mind is empty at trying to conjure up a single person she’d need to call from back home. You stare at the screen for a moment, trying your best to make sense of what you see before you. But you just can’t.

You need to call this number. But not with her phone, so you text yourself the contact information and delete the text from her phone so she won’t know. 

And as you’re in her text messages, you decide to see if she and Dodger ever text each other. But, there’s nothing. You’re quite literally the only person she texts, making this whole thing all the more strange. 

You place her phone back on the nightstand, checking on her once more before you quietly walk away. But before you do, something catches your eye. Her glass of water. It’s empty. You may as well fill it for her so she has it in case she wakes up thirsty. As you pick it up, something else catches your eye. Something far more alarming than an empty glass. 

You see the pills you gave her earlier, the ones you saw her swallow down. Or, at least you thought she did. But she didn’t. The three pills you gave her are sitting behind the glass, hidden from plain out of plain view. Had you not moved the glass, you wouldn’t have seen them. 

Suddenly, you’re remembering how the doctor was convinced that she hadn’t been taking them, asking you suspiciously if she had been. 

And you told him yes. Of course she’d been taking them, why wouldn’t she? 

You give them to her every night. You watch her take them every night. But if you thought she took them tonight when she actually didn’t, does that mean…that she never takes them? 

You can't bring yourself to believe that. You don’t even want to believe it. There’s an explanation. Has to be. 

She wouldn’t do that to herself, to you as her number one caregiver. She’s told you time and time again that she wants you to live your life for you, not for her. She’s said that she hates relying on you, but loves that she can. 

No, she wouldn’t do that. She would know to take her medications, because they make her better. And she wants to get better. For her and for you, like she’s said since she got sick in the first place. 

But it doesn’t explain…

…she really hasn’t been taking her pills.

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The cold, wet hair hitting your back makes you shiver before you wrap it up in a towel, taking the matching one to wrap up your soaking wet body. You decided to take an ‘everything’ shower before filming tonight, completing all of your deep conditions and skin scrubs. This is the most refreshed you’ve felt in weeks.

Tonight will be your last intimate scene with Sam, black lace dress included. And also your first with Jake. This will be the first time you’ll share the screen with him as your fictional ‘husband and wife’ characters. But there will be no loving sentiment between them on the screen. 

No. Tonight, Arthur will catch Guinevere in the middle of the act with her beloved Lancelot, his closest companion and best comrade. It’s going to be one of the most intense scenes within the entire project. 

According to what Josh has written in the script, Arthur will walk in on Guinevere and Lancelot making love, thus beginning the downfall of his reign due to his all consuming desires to get rid of Lancelot. 

Something else Josh wrote into the script is that Arthur and Lancelot have quite the heated argument over who is more deserving of their precious Guin. All the while, she is laid out on Lancelot's bed, clad in her most scandalous attire in front of both men whose need for her will end their relationship in one of the worst ways imaginable. Arthur will take one look at his wife, her body nearly on full display before them both, the most intimate gift that she’s offered his once closest confidant. He will then immediately order the death of Sir Lancelot for treason as he has committed one of the most heinous crimes against the king. 

Lancelot won’t argue, as he believes his time with Guinevere, however short, is enough to sustain him, even in death. She was worth it, she is worth it. And he will force Arthur to look upon her and realize the treasure in her that he has taken for granted. He will beg the king to at last show her the love she deserves once he is gone and no longer can. 

Suffice to say, tonight's scene is a big one. It serves as a catalyst for a lot of significant plot points. And you’re hoping that everything you’ve learned about acting thus far will suffice for the heaviness expected from you and your fellow actors. The hard part about this scene for you is the lack of dialogue. Once Arthur becomes privy to the affair between the two, Guinevere stays silent for the most part save for a few lines. Meaning you’ll be relying heavily on your body to convey her every emotion and thought, which you’ve found to be far more challenging than speaking a few lines with a manipulated voice.

Manipulating your body without a single word is a different thing altogether. To be able to convey emotions without speaking is something you’re not the most confident in, on and off  the screen.

But something happens to you once you put your costume on. You become someone else, someone you’ve always wished you could be. And with Jake being present, you’re sure you’ll have a little added inspiration. But that means you’ll be trying a little harder to look nice for tonight's filming session. Hence the ‘everything’ shower that felt like it took literal ages to complete, but felt so incredibly wonderful. (And also felt rather necessary.)

With your body now only a little damp, you remove your towel to start lathering yourself up in your favorite body lotion, fragrant with notes of wild lavender and chamomile, then taking your frenshe body oil in vanilla cashmere and massaging it all over your skin, focusing a little more on your neck and chest, even adding a little to inner thighs. These scents make for the perfect, seductive aroma, and your skin feels so soft, so alluring. Perfect for tonight.

Normally, you’d shy away from looking at yourself in the mirror, especially your nude form. Yet here you are, scrutinizing your reflection, noting each and every tiny thing that you wish you could alter. The years that you’ve spent hiding…years. 

It’s hard to look at your body when it’s not covered by the sweaters that are two sizes too big. You’re forced to accept your body, to accept the things you hate that you’ve felt the need to cover with a security blanket ever since you were a child. 

You stand to the side to see just how much your tummy is pooched from the apple cinnamon oatmeal you ate this morning. It could all be in your head, but you’re almost sure you can see the bloat from your tiny meal. You turn around completely, looking back for the crinkles of cellulite that you know are present in your ass. 

They’re there. Just as you suspected. You’re sure no model. No perfect ‘beauty queen’... 

…no Stacy. 

Fuck. How could anyone find you attractive when you’re so mortified by your own reflection? 

The voice in your head is loud and overpowering. It’s screaming louder than the voice that talked to you through recovery. 

You’re in such a strange place.

While your confidence in yourself has arguably never been higher, the urge to relapse has grown right along with it. Maybe it’s because you’ve suddenly found a version of yourself that you can appreciate. A version of yourself that you’ve always longed for. But she can’t be found in your real life. 

No. She only makes her appearance when you’re pretending to be someone else. She isn’t you.

She lives within you, but she isn’t you. 

You grab the towel and quickly cover yourself back up with it, not wanting to spiral even deeper into your insecurities when you’re supposed to be playing a confident, beautiful queen in a few hours. 

You’ll be fine once you put the dress on, you tell yourself. Please, please don’t do this. Not right now. 

You know shoving down the thoughts, ignoring them with a temporary fix, isn’t the answer. But you can’t deal with it right now. You don’t have time. You don’t have the mental space for it. 

You’ll deal with it later. It can wait. 

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Josh’s room is the set tonight, and it looks incredible. The bed is adorned with a white satin duvet, with red and white rose petals scattered all over. This is your throne for the night, where you’ll be lying for the entire duration of the scene. 

Josh’s walls are painted white, but he and Malachi have worked pure magic with the lighting that has given them a dark red hue. You thought they had actually painted them when you walked in, but Josh showed you the lights, the “wonders of cinematic sorcery,” as he called it. It looks like a brand new room, it looks so good. 

Jake was right when he told you his brother is one hell of a director. Everything he does feels professional. You just know you’ll see Josh’s name alongside the likes of Tarantino and Scorsese someday. His talent and eye for putting together the best scenes will get him far. And Malachi will be right alongside him, designing the perfect costumes for Josh’s films. A dynamic duo, those two. 

But if you’re honest with yourself, the beauty and eroticism of the set has you even more nervous for this scene. You just hope that you can do this set justice and not fuck it all up. It deserves some of the best acting you can offer Josh. You don’t want to let him down with your insecurities that have been weighing so heavily all day. 

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“I still can’t believe it,” Nat says as you’ve just finished applying the final layer of Ben Nye to your secret ink. (You still can’t get over the fact that Sam now knows about it. Not what you wanted, but there’s nothing you can do now. It’s done. It just feels strange that something so personal is now not as personal as you intended for it to be.)

As you dab a little finishing powder over the foundation, you turn your head over your shoulder to Natalia, who’s sitting crisscrossed in the center of Jake’s bed. “Believe what?” you ask her, snorting a chuckle. 

“Your sexy little tattoo, that’s what.” Her beautiful face wears that contagious smile of hers, her right eye throwing you a sly wink. “I would’ve never suspected it when I met you. You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” 

You have no idea. 

“Guess you could say that.” You huff a giggle while you secure all of Josh’s makeup back in his bag. Still to this day, he’s yet to ask you what it’s for. Odds are, he thinks you just need a little extra coverage for your face. It doesn’t seem he suspects a thing. (You’re just hoping Sam keeps his mouth shut about this unrevealed aspect of yourself.) 

“Do you think you’ll ever get anymore?” She questions as she’s handing you your gown. 

“Thank you, babe,” you tell her, taking the garment bag from her. “And I don’t know, I’ve not really put too much thought into it.” She helps you secure the hook and eye in the back of the dress, holding your hair over your shoulder so it’s not in her way. “I was pretty drunk when I got this one. But I do love it. So, maybe. It makes me feel mysterious, you know?” 

With the dress fastened, you stand in front of the mirror and adjust a few things. The thing you’re always the most concerned about with this costume is the chest area, naturally. If you situate the lace just right over your breasts, there’s not quite a full view of your intimate area. But there’s still enough to add a little sensuality to it. 

“Damn, y/n.” Nat says, her eyes trailing your chest as you get yourself adjusted just the way you like. 

“What?” You say through a giggle. 

“Oh, nothing,” she says. You can see her devious grin in her reflection of the mirror in front of you as she’s pulling your hair off your shoulder, smoothing out the kinks. “Just that Danny’s lucky he snatched me up when did.” Her golden eyes lock with your reflection as she winks and chuckles. “You’re just too gorgeous, girl.” 

You playfully roll your eyes as you both break out in a fit of giggles. (You wish everyone saw you that way. Jake, mostly.) With a final onceover of your liquid lipstick, blotting your lips and cleaning up the edges, you feel you’re about as ready as you can be for tonight's scene. 

“Well, he better watch his back,” you say, opening Jake’s door and walking through the threshold, Nat following close behind. “I could still steal you away.” More laughter sounds from you two as you head down the hallway, walking past the living room and up the staircase to the loft.

Danny is waiting at the top of the stairs, and when Nat makes it up to him, his toned arms wrap her in a full hug. “What are you two laughing about?” He asks, planting a sweet kiss to her temple.

Neither one of you says a word as you throw a silent wink towards Nat, letting the laughter bubbling within you both burst through yet again. 

“What?” He insists. 

Without an explanation, the two of you lock arms and proceed to the film set, leaving him still asking what the commotion is all about, but letting him sit in his wonder while you walk away together.

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“You ready for this?” Sam whispers to you, his face mere inches from yours. With you splayed out on your back, and he perched on his side right next to you, arm draped across your body, you’re positioned just the way Josh had in mind for the beginning of the shoot.

His smile, infectious and beautiful as always, warms your soul (and your body) and has you feeling very much at ease as you mentally prepare for this scene. You haven’t filmed with him in a while, and you’ve been so busy with the utter shitshow your life has been lately that you’ve just not been able to see him much. Feeling him this close to you again after all this time, you’d hate to admit just how nice it feels. 

It feels really fucking nice. You hadn’t realized how bad you missed it, how bad you missed him.

“I think so,” you mutter, smiling at him while he looks at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. “But, are you ready?”

He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it lovingly behind your ear with a peculiar smirk across his lips. You can’t see Jake, but you can hear the prolonged sigh from his lips as he’s positioned just outside the bedroom door, awaiting his cue to barge in on the two of you. 

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he confirms, sending off his words with a wink before he shifts his attention to your director.. “I think we’re good to go, Josh!”

Josh confirms with a nod of his head, gesturing a thumbs up to Malachi to dim the overhead lighting and giving Danny the “okay” to shine a little spotlight on the bed you’re on. 

“Scene 73, take one.” He doesn’t yet have a cue card, so with (a rather loud) clap of his hands, he yells, “ACTION!”

As soon as the scene begins, you’re fully encompassed by your alter, the ever sought after Queen Quiniverre. Every insecurity, every doubt, all but washes away once Josh says the word. You’re not you anymore; you feel as though everything you hate about yourself doesn’t exist within this realm. You’re not you, and Guinevere would never be insecure about the things that you are. 

And that’s exactly what inspires you to be the best Guinevere that you can be. You wish, more than anything, that you had her confidence. But even if you don’t have it, she does. And at least you can know what it’s like, even if the moments are short. 

Once Sam says his few words of dialogue, he leans in to envelop you in a passionate kiss full of burning desire. Bodies tangled, hands searching one another; a moment of pure ecstasy shared between two secret lovers, bound together by a love so deceitful to the King. 

And then, you hear him. He walks through the threshold with heavy feet, his breathing stern and labored. 

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.” 

He unsheathes his sword, a motion to take Lancelot for himself. To battle to the death for their prize who lie in the bed before them. 

…his voice. 

It echoes throughout the entire room, the entire apartment. The anger he’s displaying is being pulled from somewhere deep within him, exhibiting itself through the King as he’s finally privy to his wife's infidelity. The volume nearly startles you from your position on the bed. You didn’t expect such vibrancy from him, such passion to be exuded through him. He’s speaking his dialogue perfectly, acting through it as though he’s done it a hundred times over. He’s still using his accent, but it’s believable this time. It’s coming through much more powerful than the last time you heard it. 

“My once most trusted comrade, you must die at my hands for treason. The highest crime against your king, to lay with his precious Guinevere, deserves no less than a death of the highest order.” 

His accent, where it was once convincing and accurate, has now begun to falter under the pressure of the scene. He’s beginning to sound less like the betrayed king, and more like an pissed off Jake.  

He continues to hold his sword out firm, glaring at Lancelot with a fiery anger from the depths of his soul, until he shifts them to you. The same anger geared towards you, only it doesn’t feel as though it’s Arthur looking at Guinevere, it’s more like Jake looking at you. And the extent of it is making you more uncomfortable as the seconds (that feel more like hours) are passing without a word from either of them. 

It’s supposed to be Sam’s turn to speak, but it’s likely that he’s caught on to the tension pouring from Jake, and the tensions that lie in the space between you and him. 

“Sam!” Jake screams, causing you to jolt from the sheer volume. “Say your fucking line so we can get this over with and I can get the fuck away from all of you!”

“Woah, woah,” Josh interjects, motioning for Malachi to turn the lights back on as he cuts the camera. “What the fuck, Jake? What’s your problem?”

Jake tosses his sword to the floor, taking off his cloak and throwing it towards Josh who hardly has enough warning to catch it. “This, Josh. This is my fucking problem!” Jake fumes, gesturing his flexed arms towards you and Sam as you’re both struck silent by his sudden outburst. “I can’t perform with this, I won’t.” 

You look to Sam as he blinks a few times, as if suddenly being pulled out of his state of utter shock at his brother's actions. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sam challenges, getting up from his position and leaving you there by yourself. 

Danny grabs Nat’s arm to take her out of the room, and she’s waving for you to join her. But you don’t want to leave, not yet. You don’t normally stick around for a full blown, Kiszka fight. But you have to hear what Jake is going to say for yourself. 

“It means, Sam, that I can’t stand working with you,” he looks to you, still on the bed but now in an upright position as you watch the scene unfold before you. “Or her.” 

What the fuck–?

Josh is pleading with him to calm down, but he won’t have it. He brushes him off when his twin offers a comforting hand to his arm. 

“Fuck this goddamn film and fuck every single one of you that has anything to do with it! It’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m fucking done.”

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You can’t take it any longer. You storm out after him, heedless of everyone else, ignoring their presence and pushing your way through to reach him. 

He slams his door but you waste no time in opening it immediately after, refusing to let him shut you or anyone else out after such a blow-up.

There’s not much light in his room, save for the lamp in the corner shining a warm hue on the space. The calming aura of his room means nothing in comparison to the tensions between you two— the ever growing tensions that now feel sharper than any blade.

He stands facing his bed, his back turned to you. As soon as you enter the room and shut the door behind you, he quickly turns on his heel to face you. And he does not look pleased, his features etched with irritation. But you continue to stand your ground, not willing to budge anytime soon.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growls, deep enough for your bones to feel it. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat accumulated between his knitted brows. That familiar flare of his nostrils makes an appearance and his lips are pursed in a tight scowl.

Normally, you’d cower down to anyone who’d find it in themselves to speak to you this way. You’d hide yourself, hide your feelings, stay quiet and out of the way. Give into them to keep the peace. But right now, fuck keeping the goddamn peace. You’ve kept it for far too long at this point and you’re done allowing yourself to be invisible any longer.

“My clothes are in here and I need to change since you selfishly decided that filming is over for the night,” you simper back, your volume challenging his. “And I’m also here to figure out what the fuck your problem with me is!”

His furious stare is penetrating your very soul, his eyes the darkest you’ve yet to see them. His fists are clenched and his biceps are bulging so much you’re just waiting for the chainmail sleeves to give way. 

But you’ve never seen him look better. 

“Problem?” He begins closing the short distance between you, practically stomping across the carpeted floor, flailing his arms about as he speaks. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The heat behind his tone grows stronger and stronger, his gaze on you darkening by the second. 

You refuse to break eye contact while you snicker and shake your head at him playing stupid with you. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he’s clearly choosing to play dumb with you, acting like he hasn’t put you on a fucking roller coaster with him since the day he was shoved into your already messy life. If he wants to keep playing games with you, then you have no problem playing your own against him. 

You’re still in your revealing attire, your breasts nearly on full display, the entirety of your form leaving next to nothing to the imagination— to Jake's imagination. You’re privy to his numerous glances at your breasts. You won’t pretend you’re not, and you can’t hold back the satisfied, devious curl of your lips each time you catch his gaze. You should find the urge to cover up, to hide yourself or wait until you can change to confront him.

But that’s not what you intend to do. Wearing this dress brings out a part of you that you’ve come to cherish— it cloaks you in a confident aura that you’ve lacked all your life. And as much as he tries to pretend it means nothing to him, you know the effect this dress has on him. You’ve seen it firsthand for yourself. He can try to hide it all he wants, but you and him both know what it did to him the first time he saw you wearing it in this very room. You may as well use that to your advantage right now. 

You feel powerful, in control. Those doubtful thoughts you were having earlier tonight about yourself have lowered their volume nearly to a full mute. If he can’t handle talking to you like this, then he can’t handle you.

“You’re fine with me one minute,” you huff a snarky giggle, standing firm and refusing to bring your arms up to cover yourself, even with his continuous gazing.“Then you act like you can’t stand my very existence the next. I’m just fucking confused, Jake. If you hate me so goddamn much, why don’t you ask me to leave? You don’t need me to do this fucking film. Why don’t you find some other unsuspecting girl and rid yourself of me once and for all?”

With as much of yourself as you’ve invested in this film, and the new found sense of self-assurance being in front of Josh’s camera has given you, you don’t want to quit this project. If walking away was truly what you wanted, you would have done so a long time ago. And deep down, you want to believe that if Jake truly wanted you to leave, he would’ve demanded it already. But right now, all you can think about is that conversation you overheard weeks ago. 

“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.” 

It’s something you’ve not let yourself forget. Even after everything he’s done for you— helping you with your mom, staying the night with you when it felt like your world was crumbling— none of it seems to matter because of  his words that linger in your mind like a never ending echo. He wouldn’t have said them if he didn’t feel them. That much, you’re certain of.

And after what he said to you in class…it was a harsh reality that you weren’t ready to face. He validated your deepest fears of not belonging, of not being accepted. Every hurtful thing he’s ever said about you, each cutting remark he’s said to you are repeating relentlessly in your head. 

“I don’t hate you, y/n!” He shouts through gritted teeth. He takes a few steps towards you, leaving only inches of space between your bodies. His eyes are still fixed in their vexed glare, yet there’s something different behind their darkened gaze. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then…” Your voice is shaky as you try to raise it. You have to look up at him to see his face, he is so close to you. Your trembling body begins fighting against your accusatory words. “Then why did you say you only asked me because you had to? That you didn’t want to work on something alone with me?” Of everything he’s ever done to you, those words hurt the most.

“Because I can’t…” He throws his arms up in frustration, shaking his head as he looks away from you. “...I can’t trust myself to be alone with you. And I can’t fucking stand it when—” He stops himself before he can continue, his index and thumb tightly gripping his chin, almost and if to physically stop himself. 

“You can’t stand what, Jake?” Your anger surges, overpowering everything else. Your vision blurs and your limbs are tingling with pure rage. “What the fuck do I do that you can’t stand so badly?” 

He snaps his head towards you, his loose waves, making a luscious display around his handsome face. “I can’t stand seeing you with him.” He points to the photo on his dresser, the one of him and his brothers. The one with Sam. “You think it’s fucking easy for me to see you with him like that? Especially knowing what happened between you two the night we all went to the stupid fucking haunted house.” 

Now you’re pissed. Not only is his reasoning ridiculous, he’s also accusing you of something that didn’t happen. This isn’t your fault. None of this is. And for him to treat you like shit because of that?

“You don’t know shit, Jake!” Your voice rises to a near scream, letting go of any pretense of holding back. “Nothing happened that night, and even if it had, why the hell do you care? What makes you think you have any right to be pissed about anything that I do? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you; this is your fault! So your reasoning is, frankly, complete bullshit. And I’m not buying any of it.” You’re yelling so loudly your voice is cracking and breaking, your words reverberating with raw, pissed off emotion. No one has ever provoked you to this level of anger. No one except your dad, when he decided out of the fucking blue to leave you. You hate that he’s brought out this side of you. “You act like that because you can’t stand the very thought of me,” you continue. “Just tell me you want nothing more to do with me and I’ll walk right out that door. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He stands still for a while, silently staring at the floor. He brings his hand up to rub his chin, something you’ve seen him do a hundred times, when his mind is racing about something. Josh almost always points it out. He does it a lot during filming, during your scenes with Sam. Especially during the ones when you’re wearing the very outfit you’re standing before him in right now. 

Then, he takes two more steps, until he’s close enough to you that you can feel his heaving breaths against your already heated skin. His demeanor has changed. He doesn’t seem angry anymore. The way he’s looking down at you…he now seems desperate. 

“I can’t stand the way he looks at you…the way you look at him,” he whispers, his eyes traveling the curve of your breasts as his lungs deflate letting out a deep sigh. His eyelids have become heavy over his whiskey colored eyes that flick back to yours. “I can’t stand it…because I wish it were me.” His voice, once harsh and furious, is now a deep, hushed whisper. It’s low, gravelly in pitch. 

It’s fucking sexy. But you’re still not convinced. You need more. You’re sick of thinking he likes you for a split second, then pulling himself away when he feels you’re getting too close. 

No. Not this time. If he pulls away again, you’re done. Out the door. Gone from his life and free to live yours without him and this film. You’ll take a failing grade if it means you don’t have to go through this anymore.

“I don’t believe you, Jake.” Your words are stern, but your body language begins deceiving your cold statement. You’re trembling, vibrating through to your very core. No matter how pissed you are, you can’t fight this incessant attraction you’ve felt for him for a long time now. You fought fiercely in the beginning, had completely convinced yourself that he was nothing more than a handsome jerk who harbored feelings of distaste towards you. 

But fuck. That made you want him more. His mystery, his demeanor. The kindness that seeped through every now and again. Nat was right; you’d always known it was there. His genuine heart is sometimes too strong to stay masked behind this rough act he's tried to uphold. It's broken before you enough times to know that it’s there. And maybe it’s because of you that it's breaking more and more. His guard is falling. That’s why you’re so fucking pissed that he’s fighting every second to keep it up. And what you just said…it's not that you don’t believe him. A big part of you does. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he was completely dumbfounded the first time he saw you in this lace dress. The way he seethes when you’re with Sam. On camera or not. 

But right now, you need to fucking see it. To see that side of him that you know is buried within. It’s not enough to simply hear his words; you need him to prove it to you. You’re tired of the back and forth with him. This is his opportunity to show you what ever the fuck it is that he wants from you.

There’s a look of confliction as his hand reaches out to you tentatively, his fingers playing with the lace on your shoulder. They move, hovering just inches over your collar bone before his fingertips delicately skate over the skin with such a gentle, intentional touch. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding as you feel the warmth of his touch.

“I’ve wanted to touch you…” His fingers follow the curve of your neck, passing over your pulse point, tracing a path along the curve of your jawline. “...just like this since the day I fucking laid eyes on you. And seeing my brother get to do it…” Your bottom lip is lightly tugged by the pad of his thumb, smearing the dark lipstick. “...it eats me up inside, y/n. I don’t think I can watch him kiss these lips one more time.” His focus is now entirely fixed on your lips, as his tongue gracefully glides over his own. Your craving for him intensifies with every passing moment. Each second fuels the fiery need within you.

“Then…why don’t you just do it?” The words fall straight from your mouth before you can even think twice about saying them, hanging in the air that’s slowly shifting from an angry tension to a much different kind. Your eyes lock yet again, each of you silently pleading with the other to bridge this divide between you once and for all.

With one hand still caressing your face and finding the small of your back, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight against his warm body. He leans in, his lips brushing over yours, a feather-light caress that steals your breath. 

And as if you’re pulled together by an invisible tether, your lips finally meet. 

It starts slow, almost hesitant. But the intensity begins growing as your emotions are spilling over, fueling the kiss with a passion that is closer to desperation. His hand finds your hair, tangling your soft locks as he pulls you even closer, deepening your embrace with a hunger born of a longing that’s finally being set free.

You can feel his walls crumbling before you, letting break through his barrier. The insurmountable distance that was created between you, not only physically but emotionally, has at last been closed. 

His tongue glides across your teeth, drawing your bottom lip firmly between his. He serenades your mouth with the most beautiful melody, eliciting a yearning that forces your thighs to come together in an attempt to soothe the desire pulsing between them.

He tastes like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. His lips are soft, putting the most sumptuous velvet to shame. 

The hand resting on your back glides upward along your torso, stopping just before he reaches your heaving breast. His lips break from yours before he tugs on the hair at the nape of your neck, fully exposing the expanse to him. 

“Jake…” You start, but he’s already so attuned to your desires that you don’t have to say another word before his mouth meets your taut skin. His tongue traces along your neck, stopping to suckle the skin. A strained moan sounds from deep within you, eliciting a sensual snicker, reveling in the response he’s drawing from you.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against you, sealing his compliment with a kiss. As if you’re not falling apart enough, you nearly melt into him when his hand finally caresses over your full breast. “This okay? Can I touch you here?” He whispers softly in the shell of your ear, his words both a question and a promise of his respect for you.

“Please, Jake, more” you whimper through heaving breaths. 

He groans deeply against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he teases your hardened nipple through the flimsy lace. You practically cry out for him, your body squirming with anticipation, begging him for more. He shushes you gently. “I’ve only just begun,” he whispers, his index finger tracing slow circles over your sensitive bud. “Let me take my time with you.”

He pinches your nipple, playful smirk gracing his lips as he chases the sounds escaping your parted mouth. 

You clutch his biceps tight, anchoring him to you to keep him from slipping away. He hisses as your nails dig into his skin, only igniting his desire for you.

“Do you believe me yet?” He whispers, his lips grazing your jawline.

While there’s not an ounce of lingering suspicion within you, you dare to toy with him a little further.

“Nuh uh, not yet.” You respond quietly, your body betraying you as your desire is displayed physically. He can sense it, and the mischievous grin curved on his lips assures you he’s privy to your little game.

“Feel how much I want you.” And with that, his hand takes yours, guiding it to his pulsing cock that’s straining against his black pants, imploring you to feel the undeniable need he has for you.

He throbs beneath your touch as you palm him through the satin fabric that still conceals him, keeping in time with your own racing heart. His breath hitches, he whimpers beautifully in your ear as you continue to feel him, and if it were even possible, he’s becoming even harder against your touch, desperate to remove the confines of his pants.

“Holy fuck, Jake…” 

Your legs press together once more at the feeling of him, his sheer size and thickness that is obvious even through the barrier between you. All you can think about is how he’d feel nestled away deep inside of you, filling you with every inch. He’s massive, that much you can tell, even through the barrier.

“Yeah?” He hums through heavy breaths. “That’s all for you, love.”

His words have your arousal nearly dripping down your thighs, your body growing more impatient by the second.

“Lay down for me,” he mutters in your ear. “Just like you were for the scene. Only this time, for me.” 

His words, almost possessive in their wake, leave you speechless and craving him even more. He lightly motions you in the direction of his bed, keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

Once you lie down, just as you did just moments ago, he positions himself at the end of the bed while he looks at you, taking in the vision before him. 

Normally, you wouldn’t have half the confidence for a moment such as this, and it’s for that very reason you’re glad  you’re in this very dress. It’s been the source of most confident moments as of late; it only makes sense that you’re wearing it in real life with Jake. 

As he begins to remove his chainmail top, you tremble at seeing him so bare. You’d seen it before, but not like this. This time, he’s taking it off for you, removing yet another barrier that exists between the two of you. 

You’re breathless at the sight of him. His pecs, sculpted and chiseled, rising and falling with his deep breaths. The smooth expanse of his unflawed skin, begging to be touched and explored. And his broad, sturdy shoulders that beckon you to sink your nails into, to keep a tight grip against while he’s on top of you. 

“Look at you,” he mutters, his eyes tracing every curve  of your body as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you as though he’s not done looking at you just yet. “You’re a fucking queen,” he whispers, his voice husky and filled with desire. Finally, he leans in, his lips meeting yours with a tender gentleness, leaving you yearning for more as he lifts away again just slightly. “A beautiful queen.” 

He kisses you once again, this time hungrier than the last. His hands roam your body with a newfound intensity, each touch igniting a fire within you that leaves your body arching towards him, begging for more. More of him.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of kisses along your skin as his body slowly lowers down yours. You suck in a deep gasp as his warm, wet tongue follows a slow trail from your belly button, gliding all the way up to your chest, tracing along the curve of your breast. 

His lips suck a mark right where his tongue stops, leaving a bruise right where the fabric ends along your chest.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against the bruise his lips left on your taut skin, marveling at his work. “All marked up from me. Want to mark you up everywhere…”

His focus seems deliberate, as if he’s determined to leave his mark where it will be most visible during your scenes, his attention fixed solely on the skin peeking out amidst the black lace. 

“This…will be hard to cover up for filming, Jake…” you utter, breathless from your purely aroused state. 

“No,” he whispers between leaving his mark right in the middle of your breasts. “Don’t cover them. Let them see.”

Before you can continue your weak protest, he carefully pushes back the lace over your left breast, fully unveiling it before him. He shushes you as his lips instantly attach to your perked nipple, sucking it deep within his mouth, softly nibbling at it all while his hand removes the lace from your right breast, kneading the flesh between his fingers.

But as he does so, you feel your body begin to tense when you discover his fingers are all over the area covered with makeup. The area with your tattoo. It feels too fucking good to make him stop, but that same feeling that overcame you when Sam unsuspectingly saw it is blazing within you. 

Once you shift your eyes to his hand, you notice the makeup smeared almost completely, the red ink bleeding through to present itself, even if you aren’t ready for it to.

“Jake I…” 

But it’s too late. As he lifts to switch his attention to your right breast, he sees it. His eyes are fixed on your etched secret, mouth lazily agape at this small piece of you he’s discovering for the first time. 

“H…holy fuck,” he stammers, leaning in to peck his lips against the word along the tender spot. “This is so sexy I just…” he brings up his finger, tracing the “R”, then the “E”, the “D”

“Do you like it?” you ask him, feeling a rush of confidence wash over you.

Your initial hesitation has all but vanished. It's so different with Jake…something about the way he makes you feel, the way he brings out this part of you that no one else does. Not even Sam.

“I love this, y/n,” his lips meet the ink once more, decorating it with wet kisses. 

“I…I’ve always been so scared for people to see…” Your words would hardly be legible if he wasn’t so close to you. Your mumbled tone is evidence of how he’s affecting you, what he’s doing to you. “... and it’s not exactly accurate for the film,” you mutter through a weak chuckle.  

“Does anyone else know?” he quietly implores. “Does Sam know?” 

“No.” 

The word flies out of you before you can even take a second to think about it. It’s a lie. Sam does know. But that doesn’t matter to you right now. And Jake doesn’t need to know of what you almost did with his brother in a shitty attempt to get to him. 

“Only Natalia knows.”

“Good,” he mumbles between leaving more kisses along your breast, slowly creeping closer towards your erect nipple.“Let’s keep it that way.”

His tongue lightly flicks the sensitive bud, drawing languid circles around it while his fingers follow the same motion of the other breast.

With the way his body is positioned between your legs, you can’t close your thighs together to ease the ache between them. It doesn’t stop you from trying, though, and when he notices, he grins against your supple flesh, looking up at you to see your completely fucked out state. He understands what you need without a word, and he begins to shift his body even further down your own, keeping your legs spread and his mouth trailing down your flesh, until his face is nearly level with your throbbing core. 

The slit in your dress proves to be quite convenient at the moment, enabling your legs to spread easily while the only coverage you have is from the thong that perfectly matches your skin tone.

As his lips brush against your inner thigh, his warm breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, you find yourself instinctively arching your hips closer to him, craving whatever pleasure he can offer.

“You smell so fucking good, love,” he mutters. 

You’re silently praising yourself for thinking to add your body oil to your thighs, not realizing you were doing it for Jake. 

He’s not done marking you up just yet, as he sucks long and deep on the flesh of your inner thigh, eliciting a high pitched moan from deep within your being, your hand quickly flying up to stifle your sounds. 

“This one is just for me,” he mumbles against the bruise, tracing it delicately with the tip of  his finger. “And only for me.”

“Jake, please…I need more,” you cry out, your voice trembling with desperation as he stares deeply into your heavy, longing eyes. 

“What do you need, beautiful?” He probes, peppering your thigh with gentle kisses, following a slow path towards where you crave his lips the most.

“Jake…”  

“Tell me what you need,” he says in a hushed voice, his lips trailing a delicate kiss just above your throbbing clit. “Just tell me and I’ll do everything in my power. It’s the least I can do for you…please, let me make everything up to you.”

“Jake I don’t care anymore I just—” you reach down to brush a loose strand out of his face, fingers grazing over his sharp jawline as he leans in, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of your palm. “I just need you.”

A devious, sinful smirk graces lips as his attention diverts to your aching heat. 

With his index finger, he traces the wetness you’ve left on the fabric of your panties, drawing slow and lazy circles over your clothed clit. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, his blown pupils dark with need as his question almost sounds as though he’s begging. “Want to see you, all pretty and wet for me.” 

“It’s all for you, Jake.” 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. His hands, strong and firm, reach up to your hips, tugging at the sides of your thong as you lift yourself to help him pull it down your thighs. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He helps you lift your right leg out, then your left leg, placing your panties on the edge of the bed once they’re finally off of you. 

Out of everyone you’ve ever been with, no one has ever taken this much time with you. Not once has anyone asked what you need, what you want. It's a side of Jake you never expected to see. In a thousand years, you wouldn't have imagined him being this attentive, this caring toward you. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hums, his eyes longing fixed on your dripping core. “Every single part of you, just perfect.”

You instinctively jolt once his lips attach to your already sensitive clit, sucking it gently, his warm tongue swirling around it. With a tender touch, he holds your hips down in place, keeping you still for him as he explores you.

“Jake, oh my god, plea–”

He cuts off your words with a long glide of his tongue from you leaking entrance to your aching clit, sealing with a deep kiss to your throbbing bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

With his middle finger, he prods your entrance before slowly pushing it all the way in, finally filling you as you clench hard around his long digit. His grip on your hips does little to restrain you; you find yourself grinding against him, yearning for more of his touch. His tongue dances over your clit while his finger delves deeper into you, setting an delicious rhythm that has you craving more.

Then, he adds a second finger, filling and stretching you around him even more. His thrusts quicken, driving you closer to the edge with each brush of his fingers inside of you. 

Your hands instinctively find his soft locks, fingers entwining in the strands and tugging. A low moan escapes him, sending vibrations against your core.

“Just like that, Jake, just like tha–” 

But just as you're nearing your peak, there’s a sudden knock at the door that causes Jake’s fingers to still their movement, keeping them inside of you as he lifts his face that’s now glistening from your dripping arousal. 

“Jake? Are you and y/n okay?” It’s Josh. He sounds concerned, distressed. It’s sweet, although his timing is…awful. “You’ve been in there for a while…we’re just worried about you guys.”

Shit.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: oof. that was a lot. thank you for sticking with me, lol.

who do we think the mysterious Dodger could be?

i'd love to hear your thoughts! don't be afraid to reach out; hearing from you all keeps me going.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you)

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[genshinluvr]

Oh, Baby!

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Iseka'd!Reader

Summary: Congratulations! You and the men are officially a parent to a newborn son! You thought you were prepared to be a parent because of the parenting books you and the men bought during your pregnancy. But boy, you and the men weren't prepared for your child to be so clingy to you.

Note: This is a mini-fic for the Isekai'd!reader series. Just a reminder that any [character] x isekai'd!Reader mini-fic is part of my ongoing Isekai'd!reader series and is usually around 5k words or less. These mini-fics are made so each man in the harem gets their own screen time with the reader; sometimes, some men (or all) will make an appearance, but not all the time. Usually, mini-fics for my Isekai'd!reader series is for individual characters. This fic, in particular, has all of the Genshin men in the harem currently. I believe this is the first mini-fic that doesn't have smut 🤔 I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mentions of vomit, but it's not major. Poop is one of them. Would a baby overall be a warning?

Word Count: 2.3k

This is a mini-fic to these three fics: Mixed Signals, Eating for Two, and The Men Who Worry a Lot.

The birth of your and the twenty-five men’s child was long and torturous. You were in labor for almost twenty-four hours, and boy, the baby did not want to come out at all. Giving birth is traumatizing, and you don’t think you want to have another kid any time soon after the first baby. Well, at least for now, of course. It’s been almost a week since the birth of your son, you and your son have been discharged from the hospital, and now you and the baby are back at the estate. Even though the men have made a nursery for the baby, you insist that the baby sleeps in the same room as you because of your paranoia. 

You worry that you’re not going to be able to hear the baby cry while sleeping, but you are so clueless. Clueless to the fact that you’re going to get some sleep after the baby arrives. You know you would get less sleep than usual, but here you are, awake at three in the morning, nursing your son.

“You know, I was looking forward to the birth of our son, but I did not expect to lose sleep in exchange for a mini version of myself,” Itto says, sprawled out on your bed, watching you rock back and forth on the rocking chair.

Childe does a double take, asking, “I’m sorry? Our son?”

“Mini version of you?” Diluc asks, raising an eyebrow at Itto.

You sigh in relief when your son unlatches from your nipple, muttering how a newborn can drink that much milk after a week of being alive. You pull your shirt up and adjust your son, patting his back and lightly bouncing him in your arms.

“Please don’t start any argument right now, boys. You’ll make him cry and put him in distress,” you murmur. “Besides, I think Itto meant ‘our’ as in all of us. As for the ‘mini version of himself’ part, I’m not so sure since the baby looks like a mix of everyone.”

You’re grateful to have twenty-five men who help you care for the baby, but even if they tried to help you, the baby gets fussy until he’s back in your arms. You get off the rocking chair and begin pacing back and forth around the room. You hardly sleep a wink, and you are exhausted. 

Aether rubs his eyes sleepily and yawns, stretching his arms in the air with a strained groan. “I didn’t think that was possible. I expected the baby to look like you and one of us, not you and everyone else in the relationship,” Aether says, gesturing to everyone in the room.

“I was hoping the baby look would look like both me and [Y/N], but instead, he came out looking like everyone,” Heizou sighs, watching you continue to burp the baby.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. After the birth of your and the twenty-five man's son, your son ends up having the features of each man. Well, most of them, at least. Since the baby is still a newborn, many other features have yet to develop. Your son is a unique child to be born in the history of Teyvat because your son has a tail, he has horns, and fluffy ears. He’s undoubtedly one of a kind, and you didn’t think that was possible until your son came out of your womb. 

Not only did he have horns, furry ears, and a tail, he was born with a full head of hair. No wonder you had intense heartburn during your pregnancy. Your son whimpers softly before letting out the smallest burp. You coo at your son and hold him up in front of you. Your son stares at you through his semi-closed eyes, smacking his lips together.

Venti squeals softly. “He’s so cute! Look how tiny he is!” Venti coos.

“There’s nothing that can take away his cuteness,” Kazuha smiles.

Your son makes a noise, and before you know it, your son spits up on your nightshirt, making you groan. The men around you wince at the sight in front of them, shuddering with disgust. You and your twenty-five boyfriends (and the fathers of your baby) know that the twenty-six of you need to get used to being a parent. And dealing with baby spit-up and vomit is one of those things you all need to get used to.

Kaeya chuckles and shakes his head. “Our son is adorable, but that was certainly not adorable,” Kaeya comments, walking over to you.

“I’ll go prepare the shower for you,” Thoma says.

You shake your head and give Thoma a smile. “It’s okay, Thoma! You don’t need to do that—”

You stop midsentence when Thoma rushes to the bathroom. You sigh and pass over your son to Kaeya, reaching for the towel over your shoulder and wiping the baby's spit up off your shirt. You’re glad that it was only spit-up and not vomit. Even if it was vomit, it would be liquid and not chunks of food, thankfully. You love your son, but what he did just now was disgusting. Thoma exits the bathroom and gives you a thumbs-up, signaling that the shower is ready.

Scaramouche shudders with disgust. “I don’t think I’ll get used to being a father of a tiny being that poops and pees more than we do,” Scaramouche mutters, rubbing his temples.

“Is that all they do? Besides sleep?” Xiao asks, staring at the tiny baby in Kaeya’s arms.

Gorou and Tighnari sigh, leaning against each other.

“If you think that’s bad, how do you think we,” Tighnari gestures between him and Gorou, “feel when he poops? It’s horrendous.”

Gorou interjects, “And don’t get us started when he starts crying and wailing. We love our son, we really do, but his crying makes our ears hurt.”

“You two aren’t the only ones with keen senses of hearing. Our son also has fluffy ears,” Albedo says, stroking the baby’s head.

The baby starts to squirm in Kaeya’s arms, letting out small whimpers before bursting into tears. Ayato sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, watching Kaeya bounce the tiny baby in his arms, trying to soothe the baby. 

“He’s very attached to [Y/N],” Ayato murmurs.

Dainsleif nods. “More attached to [Y/N] than that bumbling fool over there,” Dainsleif says, pointing over in Itto and Childe’s direction.

Itto and Childe look at each other in confusion, pointing at each other while silently asking who Dainsleif is referring to. As the baby continues to cry, the men crowd around Kaeya, trying to figure out what’s causing him to be fussy other than wanting you to hold him. He’s not hungry, for sure, despite the spit-up. Tighnari and Gorou don’t smell anything foul coming from his diaper (thank Archons), so that isn’t the reason why the baby is crying. 

A few minutes go by, and you finally exit the bathroom wearing clean clothes that aren’t covered in baby spit-up. You watch your son get passed around from man to man, trying to calm down your fussy son. 

As much as you wanted to laugh at the adorable yet comical sight, you know how they feel. The feeling of helplessness when the baby wouldn’t stop crying and wailing at the top of his lungs. Not knowing the reason why he’s crying. Everyone, including yourself, looks exhausted.

You and Zhongli lock eyes for a moment. Zhongli gives you a pleading look and holds your son out in front of him. “Dearest, please help us,” Zhongli pleads.

“He won’t stop crying, and we don’t know why. You fed him not too long ago, and it doesn’t seem like he soiled his diapers,” Kaveh sighs, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“Give him to me,” you say, walking over to where the men are standing and taking the baby from Zhongli’s grasp. 

You cradle your son close to your chest, and he calms down almost instantly. You caress his head, letting out a shaky breath. Al Haitham directs you to the rocking chair, helps you sit, and tucks your damp hair behind your ears while you rock the baby to sleep.

Pantalone pinches the bridge of his nose. “Since he’s clingy to [Y/N], I don’t think it’ll be easy for any of us to take care of him without him bursting into tears when he’s with someone that isn’t [Y/N],” Pantalone mutters. 

You give Pantalone a weak smile and lean your head back. “He’s still a newborn baby, Pantalone. He’ll get used to everyone’s presence and smell if you all hold and care for him. It takes time, don’t worry.”

“If he’ll let us hold him without fussing and causing a scene,” Dottore snorts.

Within the first few weeks of having the baby home in the estate, the men concluded that babies are disgusting. They’re cute, but they are gross. It sounds harsh, but it’s the truth. That doesn’t make the men love their son any less, but everyone is trying their best to get used to it. 

One time, you woke up in the middle of the night out of nowhere. You put your son to sleep less than an hour ago, and here you are, awake in the middle of the night. You sit up and nearly choke on a gasp that made its way up your throat. 

“Why are you guys awake at this time!?” You hiss, turning on the bedside lamp.

Al Haitham clears his throat. “We wanted to make sure you and the baby are okay. We didn’t hear him cry, and we got worried that something might’ve happened,” Al Haitham replies, looking up from his book.

You stare at Al Haitham owlishly. “I appreciate that you’re checking up on the baby and me, but I have a question for Al Haitham….” you trail off, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “How are you reading in the dark?” You ask.

Cyno rolls his eyes. “He can’t read in the dark. He was sleeping the entire time,” Cyno replies, the corners of his lips quirking up. 

Al Haitham rolls his eyes and glares at Cyno. You give Al Haitham a sympathetic smile and pat the spot next to you. Al Haitham gets up from the seat across the room, tossing the book on the nightstand before getting into bed beside you.

“I don’t recommend staying up and waiting for something to happen. Trust me, you’re going to regret it the next day,” you say.

“What, did you do that?” Pierro asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You nod and collapse back onto your bed, closing your eyes. You kind of developed a habit where you wake up every few hours to check up on the baby. Every time you do that, the baby is sound asleep. But when you’re not doing that and are passed out asleep or occupied with something else, your son would be wailing at the top of his lungs for you and his fathers. Whether it’s for food, a change of diaper, or because he wanted you to hold him. 

“I know it’s in the middle of the night, but I wanted to remind you that the baby needs a check-up soon. We’re a little over a month,” Baizhu murmurs.

You crack your eyes open and look at Baizhu sleepily. “Already? It’s been a few weeks since we brought the baby home from the hospital,” you say.

“Yeah, it has been a few weeks. There are about four weeks each month. Therefore, it’s been a month, or a little over that, since we’ve brought the baby home,” Capitano replies.

“I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up when—”

You’re cut off by the sound of something wet and gurgling coming from your son. You sigh and roll over to look where your son is sleeping. Well, he was asleep. He’s awake now— whimpering, kicking his legs around, his face pinching up with discomfort. Itto shoots up from his spot and point at the tiny baby.

“Did that noise come from him!?” Itto asks in horror.

Scaramouche shakes his head, burying his face into his pillow. “There’s no way something as small as him can make that kind of noise,” Scaramouche’s voice is muffled against his pillow.

Tighnari and Gorou groan simultaneously, covering their noses.

“It’s definitely coming from him,” Gorou says, trying his best not to gag.

“Who’s turn is it to change the diaper?” Tighnari announces.

Childe curses under his breath. “Fuck, I forgot about diaper duty.”

You raise your hand. “I changed his diaper last time, and he peed on me while I was putting a new diaper on him. I’m volunteering, Childe,” you say.

“What?! Why me?!” Childe exclaims.

“Do you not remember when you said you wanted to have fourteen children with me? Be a good daddy and change our son’s diaper since his mother did it for him not too long ago,” you snort, gesturing for him to go.

Aether snickers. “Yeah, Childe! Be a good father to child number one out of fourteen,” Aether says.

“That diaper sounds explosive, not gonna lie. I’m glad I got diaper duty a while ago before [Y/N],” Heizou says, sighing in relief.

Childe grumbles to himself, gets off his bed, and walks over to the tearful newborn. Childe lifts your and his (and the others) son up from the bed and nearly gagged. Childe groans and turns to look at you and the others.

Venti gasps, exclaiming, “Dear archons, it’s all over his back too!” Venti covers his mouth in horror.

Diluc and Kaeya snicker, earning a glare from the exhausted, disgusted ginger-haired Harbinger.

“I will throw his diaper at you if you continue to laugh at me,” Childe hisses.

Childe walks across the room to the diaper changing station, holding the now fussy baby away from him while scrunching his face in disgust. As much as you wanted to feel bad for Childe, this is something he has to get used to. After all, he did claim that he wanted to have fourteen children with you. Childe needs to get used to something as disgusting as the baby’s poop exploding in his diaper and up to his back.

Note: There's a chance I might go back and change the fic up a bit, but idk when it'll happen specifically. Mainly because Idk how to feel about this mini-fic since I started working on it not too long ago. Literally a few hours ago before publishing Tragic Outcomes 6. A few days ago, I noticed that some of the links in my masterlists aren't working 🥲 I'm going to try and re-link all of the fanfics in the masterlist. Since it's currently late [as I am typing this], I will update the link when I wake up. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic. There's a chance there will be another mini-fic coming out next week, but I'm not entirely sure if that's going to happen. We'll see how my schedule plays out! To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my mini-fics/overall of my fanfics: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kwelibeeery, @deartoru, @ins4nebish, @jadedist, @mompt2, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @emilymikado, @vinnie-w, @bajifairyy, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @sunlightstarr (Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Genshin impact x reader #Genshin impact imagine #Genshin impact fanfiction #Arataki Itto x reader #Gorou x reader #Thoma x reader #Kaedehara Kazuha x reader #Xiao x reader #Albedo x reader #Zhongli x reader #Childe x reader #Venti x reader #Diluc x reader #Kaeya x reader #Kamisato Ayato x reader #Dainsleif x reader #Scaramouche x reader #Baizhu x reader #Aether x reader #Heizou x reader #Al Haitham x reader #Tighnari x reader #Cyno x reader #Kaveh x reader #Pantalone x reader #Pierro x reader #Dottore x reader #Capitano x reader #genshinluvr

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König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 6 of "Little Mouse" Series)

Word Count: 4.5k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Angst, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Found family, Hints of yandere König, Canon bending Warnings: General dark romance themes A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, and no Maus + Konig, though some desperately needed plot/character development. We will be going back to our hunter/prey vibes with the next chapter.

He rises from the shadows of the cliff.

You see him, see the way his body unfurls from where he crouches. The silhouette of him plucks at the veins of your heart, winding a song that feels ancient in its origin, primordial. Instinctive, bathed in a touch that seeps a crimson so dark and deep you think you might drown in it. It soaks you to the bone, dyeing you in a wash of terror that spreads outwards as his body towers higher, higher-

A monster.

Something from fairytales, the thing that would haunt your nightmares as a child and yet exists even now. Older than your deepest fears, the horror of the thing before you seems etched into your very marrow, an intrinsic instinct to run, run away from the massive form before you. You can only make out the outline of him as he moves, the edges of him wavering in the darkness like a supernatural entity. A poltergeist. One that stretches out with phantom limbs and whispered voices, promising sinister prophecies.

"What made you think we were done, Maus?" He murmurs into the shell of your ear, his massive arms snaking around your front, secured there like bands of steel.

"I'll take better care of you." He promises, and his hand catches yours, smoothing his thumb into the soft, sensitive skin of your wrist.

"Hello, little Maus." He purrs from where he stands, far above, backlit by the waxing crescent moon.

"I'll see you again." You hear his voice all around you, surrounding you, within you.

"Soon."

Now that same creature, that cryptid looms above you, and when he moves he seems to blur at the edges, the darkness of him shuddering into nothingness. A void. You can hardly make out the details of him. When he shifts it leaves an incandescent aftereffect that sears into the back of your eyelids. Too bright and too dark to trace. Red pulses there behind your vision with every drumming heartbeat.

He turns to you, and you can see the bleach tears that pool across his hood, draining down into lasting marks that you think will burn into your soul if you stare too long. You see his eyes then, and they glint when his eyes focus, when he reaches a hand towards you that drips of shadows-

Yet he doesn't touch you. Doesn't extend his hand to grasp at your shivering form.

Instead, there's light.

Soft, glowing, it radiates like sunlight through dappled trees, where dust hovers like glimmer dust. Enchanted, gentle, warm.

Edelweiss.

Delicate pale blossoms that spill from his fingertips, their bright centers twinkle with soft whispers of peace, an entreaty you can't fully comprehend. They sing out to you, against that terror that seems so inherent, so primal it almost pains you to struggle against it. Yet even when the scarlet of it thrums and groans in your veins it's muted by the brightness, the strange, hesitant words of the shadow that offers them to you.

"I won't hurt you, Maus."

When you look up, it's not a monster.

It's him.

---

"Rookie."

You awake fighting, instinctively throwing out your limbs in a sloppy offense that's easily deflected by broader, calloused hands. The gesture does nothing to calm you, not when the world is an enigmatic amalgamation of movement and dizzying, blurring sensations. Squirming, you try to raise your voice, arching off the thin padded cot where you lay and blindly grappling with whoever is trying to subdue you.

"Rookie!" The voice calls again, and now your wrists are caught in a steel grip as you buck, try to yell-

Light floods your vision, and there's another voice now, murmuring a question you can barely make out, startled and concerned. You blink against the brightness, stilling long enough to clear your vision, allowing the hovering face of Gaz to float into view.

"K-Kyle." You manage, and your eyes trace over the still fading scar over his brow, the one he earned on that night all those months ago, when you'd been stolen away into the darkness.

Kyle's eyes are concerned, shocked at your violent awakening. He hunches over your prone form, leaning his weight down so he pins your hands to either side of your head, his shoulders blotting out the crackling fluorescent light above you.

"You're okay." He tells you almost instantly, voice softer now. "You're safe. Take a breath."

You blink at him for a few moments, thoughts rapidly trying to process his words and your hazy surroundings. Yet you follow him when he inhales, holding the air in his chest before releasing it. The sigh whooshes from your lungs, curling up between you and draining the coiled tension from your still drowsy form.

"That's it." Your sergeant smiles at you, brown gaze wrinkling at the corners. "Just had a bad dream. You're okay."

You swallow, feel the dusty, dry air crack against your throat before you speak. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."

"Good." Kyle declares, and his fingers flex around your wrists, loosening. "I'm going to let you go, try not to punch me again, yeah?"

You manage a nod after a moment, mind still churning with the unknown waters of confusion. Yet when he releases you, you keep still, wait for him to pull completely away before trying to sit up.

You cradle your brow in your hands as you do, dragging your palms over the planes of your face in an attempt to reorient yourself. Gaz turns from you, allowing you a few moments to gather yourself before you at last turn to him. There's a pinched, worried look on his face, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.

"You good?" A voice asks from the doorway of the bunk, and it's Soap, his muscular forearm arm braced on the doorframe as he regards you skeptically.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm good." You tell him, even when he quirks an eyebrow at you. "Just...sorry. Had a nightmare."

Soap merely shrugs, but averts his eyes from you as a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. Before you can ask, he focuses back on Gaz.

"Briefing is ready, Price is expecting us."

Gaz nods, eyes looking down in thought for a moment before they refocus on his comrade.

"Give us a minute, we'll be there." He replies, and you blink at the tone in his voice. Grim, contemplative. He regards Soap with a look that conveys a meaning you can't decipher.

Whatever it is, it's enough for Johnny, who gives a single nod before vanishing, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

There's a silence that lingers after him, stretching long and tense between you and Gaz. You cast a glance at him, but his gaze is focused downwards, towards his boots. He doesn't speak.

"...We should go." You offer, standing and moving towards the doorway to follow Soap. You're stopped, however, by Gaz's hand that catches across your bicep. You blink, turn to him, brow furrowed in worry. Yet Gaz's expression is dark, serious, intent on your skittish, frightened eyes.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

The question feels like a gunshot. You feel the impact before you hear the sound, your body tensing automatically, coiling under the blow. It's a blatant reaction, one Gaz takes it with narrowed eyes and a tightened grip.

"Who?" You manage, but it's a bluff Gaz sees straight through.

"König." He answers instantly, and you only wind further into yourself, feeling panic rise at the intensity of his accusation.

He sees it then, sees the sudden flash of alarm that glints across your gaze. Almost immediately he blinks, face softening as he realizes he's startled you, watched you poise to flee under his touch.

"...Sorry." He offers, gaze averting, hand releasing your arm and dropping back to his side.

You don't speak, trying to summon the words needed to answer his question, to grapple with the strange, forbidden secrets in yourself he can't be allowed to see.

"It's just-" Gaz tries, then stops, swallowing before he faces you once more. His eyes are sincere, open and bright as they regard you. "I can see it. We all can."

When you don't speak, Gaz takes it as an indication to continue.

"You won't talk about what happened that night. I mean, we know from your report, but you won't...won't talk about it. You try to act like it didn't happen, try to just ignore it."

"Kyle-" You try, reaching for him. He pulls away.

"Even then, when you've seen him again, anytime he's spotted over comms you get this look in your eyes, like you're trying to figure out what to do with yourself."

Kyle's fists clench at his sides, his brow knotted. Yet his gaze is unwavering, staring straight at you and almost pleading.

"You keep saying he didn't hurt you, but every time you hear his name you tense up, go all stiff like you're scared. It...it makes me think he hurt you, and you won't tell us."

"No!" You try, voice rising quickly, trying to step towards him. Yet the sudden pitch of your voice betrays you, and Kyle's eyes widen then darken at the tone of your voice. You cut him off before he can say more.

"Kyle I swear to you, he didn't hurt me."

Yet Kyle seems unconvinced, lips pursing into a thin line as he stares at you, his eyes trying to uncover the secrets hiding below the surface.

"You don't have to hide it." He offers after a few moments of tense silence. "Nobody is going to judge you for it. I just..."

You see it then, the flash of something across his gaze that looks upset somehow, poisonously guilty.

"I need to know if it was my fault."

You blink, lips parting as Gaz's gaze shifts away.

"Kyle." You ask gently, and when you step forward this time he doesn't retreat. "Why would it be your fault?"

Kyle doesn't answer straight away, nor does he move when your fingers skim across his arm. He allows the touch, even as he avoids your gaze.

"I was your partner." He murmurs at last, and his voice drips with hurt that's self-inflicted. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed. I'm...I'm sorry."

In the silence that trails after Gaz's words, you hear the sound of your heart cracking.

Frozen where you stand, hand outstretched and skimming across his arm, you feel the weight of your secret weigh down inside you. Like a taboo, forbidden gravity, the truth of your answer, of the reality within you drags you downwards into yourself. The pressure of it threatens to fracture outwards, cracking along your sinews, your spine, the shadowy depths of you.

What do you even say?

It's true. König never hurt you. He's saved your life more times than you care to count by now. He was your captor, your abductor, and yet his touch to you has never been anything other than firm, guiding, grounding against the conflict of mystery that churns within you.

You see him even in dreams, your mind conjuring visions of bleach-streaked tears and shadows, only to douse it in his gentle entreaties, the lulling warmth of his words. He ripples across your thoughts, a massive, hulking behemoth that you should be terrified of, and yet somehow find that fear within you absent.

No, you're not afraid of him. You're afraid of the truth, the raw jagged breadth of it that threatens to slice your heart from the inside out.

You don't want him to be your enemy.

You...you want him.

The realization comes so sharp and fast you jolt, flinching away at the exact moment Gaz turns his gaze to face you once more.

Silence, stillness between you both.

Then, blooming deep and wounded across Gaz's face: Hurt.

"N-no, Gaz." You try, voice cracking in your throat as his expression changes. "It wasn't your fault, you were injured too, I-"

Yet Gaz seems to have found whatever it was he was looking for inside your eyes, wild and panicked as they are at the revelations he can't see. His face sours, mouth dipping and brow furrowing as he turns from you, shrugging off your hand.

"I get it." He tells you, and even with his terse tone you can hear the pain there, the aching sensation of regret that clings to his skin. "Just...don't blame yourself. Please."

You don't dare to breathe, and it's within that absence that Gaz brushes past you, makes his way down the hallway to the briefing room. His footsteps fade, and you're left behind, hands clenched at your sides, trembling as you try to hold back the warmth that pricks against the corners of your eyes.

Don't blame yourself, he said. All while his own guilt growls, gnaws at his bones, hidden away in a place you couldn't see until it was too late.

You're such a fool.

Too obsessed with your own guilt and shame over the conflict of your feelings, you didn't notice how much he was hurting, how he watched every expression flicker across your face and betray you.

If you just told him, confessed to him the truth, then surely he wouldn't harbor this hurt, this pain inside him over his supposed mistake. How were you supposed to do that though when you could barely accept the truth yourself? What would he even think? To realize you...might have feelings for the man who hurt him?

"Rookie!"

Price's voice echoes gruff and loud down the hallway, calling out for you.

You wipe your face dry on your arm, swallowing down your bitter regret and turn to follow him.

The team murmurs amongst themselves, but when you step into the main area with the table full of maps and supplies they hush, turn to you.

You see Soap's hand fall from Gaz's shoulder quietly, tucked back to his side.

When Price clears his throat you all turn to him, with his hands planted on the table, body leaning forward and head raised to return your gaze.

"Our enemy is KorTac." He states grimly, taking a pause to fasten his eyes around the members of his team. "An elite private military company composed of international operators  that are highly skilled and extremely well-armed."

You watch as Price's hand smooths across a number of manila folders scattered across the creaking metal table.

"We don't have names of every agent listed within this company, but Laswell has managed to compile a number of reports on some of their members."

When Price looks up, you see his brow is pinched, his lips a tight, severe frown.

"Many of our allies died to obtain this information."

There's a current of unease that ripples through the team around you, unspoken and yet sinister as the reality of your captain's words sink in.

"These are all operators that have gone rogue from their government and have been privately enlisted in KorTac. They operate outside any government and with full discretion. However, we were able to compile certain information on their previous training and deployments, which allows us an idea of what they're capable of."

Price's hand lands on the first folder, his voice rising as he announces its contents.

"Tor Eriksen. Callsign 'Aksel'. Former Norwegian Maritime special forces. He's a utilitarian. Knows everything from HALO Jump to bomb disposal."

"Jack of all trades." Soap offers, thick, brawny arms crossing.

"Exactly right." Price replies, looking up sharply at the sergeant. "Laswell is certain he's KorTac's specialist. He's highly trained, extremely intelligent, and adaptable."

You watch as Price's hand drifts to the second folder, plastered with a grainy picture of a soldier in full camouflage, his face obscured by a matching mask and sunglasses.

"Kim Hong-jin. Callsign 'Horangi', the 'Tiger'."

"Why do they call him that?" Gaz interjects, and when you look at him he stubbornly avoids your gaze.

"We don't know." Price replies bluntly. "What we do know is that he's former RKAF, sniper training." Price's eyes briefly raise to you, and you try your best to return his even stare. "He's been recorded as the executor of several high value targets on the CIA counter-terrorism wanted list. Highly effective and very dangerous."

"Another sniper." Soap mumbles, and his elbow bumps against your side. You manage to shoot him a nervous smile, but the expression feels forced, hollow.

"Rozlin Helms." Price continues, pointedly drawing your attention back to him. Yet before he can go on it's Ghost who interjects.

"Helms?" He questions from where he leans against the wall, outside the reach of the overhead light. "Thought she was with Shadow Company."

"She was." Price returns. "After the clusterfuck in Las Almas it seems she jumped ship, ended up in KorTac. Now she's their munitions expert and weapon procurement specialist. MI6 has tagged her name attached to several illegal weapons sales moving through Eastern Europe."

"Might explain where that one grenade came from." Gaz mumbles, and you feel his eyes dart to you for all of a moment before they vanish from your form. "Maybe."

"Laswell is arranging an information swap with MI6 regarding her whereabouts. If we can pin her, we may be able to pin where the company is currently operating from."

"We're going on the offense, Cap?" Soap asks, his voice dipping, leveling into a harsh, rough grain at the seriousness of his query.

"I'll be covering that in just a moment, MacTavish. Hold your tongue until then." Price replies, voice smooth and yet managing to convey his annoyance for the repeat interruptions.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Price nods. When his hand drifts to the next folder, however, you see him pause, glance at you.

There's no photo.

"König."

The room stills.

"No real name that we can gather. Former German Special Forces Command. Extremely skilled, extremely dangerous."

You feel them, the eyes of the team sliding over to your stiffened form. When your hands shake, you curl them at your sides, refusing to meet their stares.

"Failed enlistment as a sniper, was assigned as an insertion specialist under the first platoon. His former comrades describe him as a human battering ram. He's recorded as single-handedly eliminating an AQ cell in Berlin, all twelve fighters KIA. He's a weapon's specialist, but besides that we know he has a preference for flash bangs and frag grenades."

You hear Gaz shift where he stands, the hostility radiating off his form, poisonous and acrid.

"I don't need to emphasize that this man is dangerous. Given his...history attacking one of our own, you have full execute authority should you encounter him."

You freeze.

Yet Price doesn't notice your sudden stiffness, like a doe caught out in the open, seeing the glint of a rifle from the trees. Instead, he focuses on Ghost's voice that growls from where he lurks.

"Who's their commander?"

Price pauses, takes a drag of his smoldering cigar caught between his fingertips. The ashes spill downwards onto the reports below.

"Declan O'Conor."

"O'Conor?" Soap exclaims abruptly, arms falling as he takes a step towards the table. "Of the Irish Defense Forces?"

"The same." Price responds gravely, and this time he doesn't bother trying to correct Soap, likely allowing Soap's outburst due to his own sense of shock.

"I thought he was dead! They said he was KIA during that raid in Mozambique two years ago!"

"…They never found his body." Ghost adds in the tense silence that follows, voice deep, cutting as he absorbs the information Price has laid out.

"No, this doesn't make sense." You watch as Gaz shakes his head, stepping closer to look at the clear photo attached to the commander's profile. "I knew Conor. He's a good man. Why would he defect? More than that, why would he go so far as to fake his own death?"

You look between the group, watch as their faces morph from surprise to confusion to anger. Yet when your eyes land on Price, you stiffen at the cold, unflinching weight of them, gazing past you, into the possibilities you don't yet see.

"The agent who compiled this report was found dead at her safehouse last night, just outside of Minsk."

You suck in a breath, feel the air in the room drop several degrees as the men around you straighten, stiffen in surprise.

"Wait." You try, and when you raise your voice for the first time during the entire briefing, four sets of eyes turn to you. "Are you saying that...O'Conor had her killed? For just finding out who he was?"

Price is silent, doesn't respond. Yet the grim, fatal glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

"Creepin' Jesus." Soap breathes beside you. You shiver.

Price straightens then, looming above the table as he fixes his gaze on each of you.

"From what we can gather, KorTac has been mobilized against the 141. We don't know from where, and we don't know by who. What we do know is that they've already proven they can strike anywhere, anytime. This puts not only us, but also our allies at risk, and that is something we cannot allow."

Your allies, you realize. Farah, Alex. Alejandro, Rudy. Nikolai. All them, walking with targets on their backs. Because of this.

Because of you.

"Your company, Maus." He insists, voice lowering. A hand flexes on his knee.

He won't hurt you. He said he wouldn't hurt you.

"The 141." You murmur, and something stabs inside you, guilty and hurt over your own betrayal.

"One four one." König echoes, accent turning over the numbers in a low rumble.

Something changes then. You feel it. There’s an energy that seeps from you, coiled in anger, in determination. It unspools from your veins, spilling loose so the threads of it graze against the men around you.

Ghost straightens from where he leans against the wall, and you catch his eyes as they blink open. Dead, empty, cold. Yet there's an energy there, primal, instinctive, calculating and premeditated. When he steps forward into the light his mask catches the fluorescent glow from above. Not a halo, but a radiance that burns dark at the edges. Mesmerizing. Fatal.

Beside you Soap straightens, rolls his shoulders back and you hear them grind, crackle with years of strength built into his bones. The curve of his jaw grits harsh and unrelenting, eyes piercing. Like a live, sparking wire Johnny oozes raw energy, motion, a durability you can only dream of.

When your eyes move to Gaz, you find him already staring at you. There's a clairvoyance there, an insight you know only him to possess. Gaz divines the shifting currents of events like he's tasting the wind and summoning rain. Now that same acumen seems to extend to you, peeling back the layers of your thoughts and exposing the vile, verboten interior of your mind.

You close your eyes against it, try to blot out despite the howling gale of treachery inside your chest, seeping dark and oily into your bones.

You can't tell him. You can't tell any of them. These men, your brothers, who have fought by your side and come to your aid, who have stemmed your wounds and been the shield for your spear, they should never know the horrific, undeniable truth inside you.

You can't deny it now, the fatal secret exposed in the light of your own realization. The outline of him, of König lurks in your mind, turning as you watch, offering his voice in a double edged greeting that seeps of gentleness, of a sinister threat.

"Hello, Maus."

He haunts your daydreams, your nightmares. He stalks you across the battlefield, keeps you safe, only to turn around and reach for you, threatening to drag you under into his beckoning embrace.

"I'd never hurt you, Maus."

He refuses to kill you, choosing instead to poison you, the drip of his curiosity treacherously sweet and sour against your tongue. It winds through your veins, tinting the color of your blood into something you can't discern, a syrupy intoxication that leaves you breathless, reeling from his onslaught.

It will kill you.

You'll kill him first.

You turn to Price then, see your conviction reflected in his knowing, piercing stare.

"When do we start?"

----

As the sun sets over the Svislach river, and twilight oozes from dusk to darkness, the stars in the heavens above Minsk twinkle distantly. Here, in the metropolis, the lights of the city drown out the constellations above, obscured by wispy trails of clouds. The lingering taste of snow clings in the air, blank and frigid, a clean slate of which to start anew. Yet the stars shine, pinpricks of light against the dome of growing midnight that stretches gently against the horizon.

A set of eyes watches them from atop the warehouse in the center of the city. Crouched, hidden by the shadows, a single breath fogs, curls away from him, up into the sky. Beside him, a weapon missing a single round chills against the nighttime air.

König’s eyes open under his hood, staring out across the river, to where the lights of the city gleam and glitter like midnight lanterns. The freezing air bites at his bones, but he ignores it, seeking instead to set his sights upwards, into the empyrean atmosphere, lost in thought.

The sound of a single gunshot still echoes in his ears, the crack of thunder, loud and brilliant. It electrifies him, sends a familiar, addictive energy coursing through his veins.

Yet the excitement, the rising crescendo of feverish passion feels dulled now, obscured just as the stars by the veil of something else.

"Hmm."

The sound gusts, billows like steam, floating higher. König’s dark eyes take it in silently, mind twisting, churning with contemplation.

"It's boring." He decides at last, mouth forming the words under his hood. Even then his tongue grazes against a familiar taste, a memory.

The AQ fighter before him jerks, and there's a violent, grotesque spume of blood that erupts from his head. It sprays against the concrete wall to his left, an abstract of violence. Yet his hands remain clean, and after a moment König realizes the origin of the shot came not from him, but up from the sky.

He turns.

Backlit by the sun, he catches the shadow of your form eclipsing the light that peeks over the rooftops. The glint of your scope shines in the afternoon light, even as it points down to him, to the waiting target of his body.

You saved him.

The realization sends a pulsing, intoxicating electricity through him, rising into a wild, untamed smile hidden under his hood.

You saved him.

He sees you tilt away from your scope to regard him, blinking in the brightness, and König feels the desire to reach out, to touchyou rise sharply inside him.

Within him, a memory of a memory, one that glows against his thoughts, bright and soft with hallowed light.

"Your name, Maus."

Then, the sound of your voice.

König blinks, shifting now to try and rid himself of the cold beginning to bleed into his bones. Drowsiness pulls at him, fed by the bite of winter and the many sleepless hours spent hunting his quarry.

"Hmm." He echoes again, the sound dragging in his chest, close to a displeased whine.

"I miss Maus."

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#König #König x reader #König x you #könig imagine #König x y/n #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #mw22 #mw 22 #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #cod konig #my writing #my fic #reader insert #fic: little mouse

[lets-try-some-writing]

Death is very good being Normal (at least he thinks so)

The Thirteenth Prime is death, that is his function, his purpose. However in response to increasingly high counts of meaningless loss of life, he has taken on physical form to try and address the issue. Too bad he keeps getting wrapped up in side quests and friendship along the way.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Orion Pax was an odd one alright. Ratchet knew that the moment he saw Orion the first time at the archives.

The way he walked was almost as if gravity had no sway over him. His body language was near non-existent and Ratchet couldn't sense an EM field from him at all. The Archivist seemed to blend right into the background if one weren't paying attention and Orion didn't even seem bothered. If anything Pax appeared to be more shocked when he was noticed rather than when he wasn't. Not only that, but there was just something... of about him. His limbs were too long, his plating too jagged and placed in areas it really shouldn't have been able to develop. His optics were too wide, too bright, and lifeless despite their glow.

He was off, but Ratchet found himself intrigued all the same.

He vividly remembered the day he finally worked up the confidence to approach the mech. He requested aid finding a text he could have easily hunted down himself just to see how the Archivist would respond. Ratchet was left even more interested in Orion when all the Archivist did was nod and gracefully guide Ratchet through the archives without even the slightest hint of emotion beyond momentary confusion and shock at being spoken to. It was almost hypnotic following Orion Pax with how every living thing seemed to bow to him.

He left the archives with his medical text in a bit of a daze and with more questions than answers. That day he resolved to figure out who Orion was and what about him made him so mysterious.

He came back to the archives time and time again, at first under the guise of needing new texts for his studies. Orion always seemed so very shocked when Ratchet approached but he never once rejected him. He talked with Orion, often receiving basic answers or ones that were so cryptic they hardly made sense. However eventually he came back just to be with the Archivist he had started to see as a friend. Orion was an excellent conversationalist and wise far beyond what Ratchet assumed was his age,. What started as a simple study of a unique character ended with Ratchet genuinely invested in teaching Orion how to be normal as he quickly discovered his friend was anything but.

Ratchet gave up asking how and why when it came to Orion around a stellar cycle into their friendship and instead merely sighed and accepted the oddity that was Pax.

Often Orion forgot to vent, a thing Ratchet had learned had zero affect on Orion since the mech was always cold as ice, only ever being even the slightest bit warm around the chassis. In such instances he would tap Orion on the shoulder and that would be enough to get him to open his vents and begin running his fans just to appear normal. When it happened in public mecha always began to panic upon seeing Orion with his armor clamped down tight around himself. The concern was so common that Ratchet even began timing how long it would take after Orion forgot for some poor bot to begin worrying that Orion was going to overheat.

The Archivist also tended to forget to show expression, make a show of having a field, and present some sort of body language. The lack of it left everyone Orion interacted with aside from those who knew him feeling like they were talking to a ghost. So Ratchet often straight up told Orion how he was supposed to act when required. Shoulders back, shift pedes every three seconds or so with slight variation, vent twice a Klik, reset the optics periodically, smile when spoken to, and so on. The list was near endless but he coached Orion all the same.

The only times he purposefully let Orion be was when the less savory sort came and bothered them. In those instances he was perfectly content to let Orion scare the scrap out of the poor bot on the receiving end by pure nature of his seeming lifelessness.

There were plenty of other things about Orion that Ratchet couldn't and certainly felt no need to explain. Sometimes Orion would disappear for cycles at a time without a word or a trace, almost like he had never existed at all. The first time it happened Ratchet nearly drove himself into a frenzy trying to find him until Orion reappeared as if nothing happened. After that he panicked a handful more times, but every instance of Orion dropping off the earth always ended with him returning in perfect condition. As such when it happened Ratchet stopped worrying and instead made sure to take care of Orion's plant while he was off doing whatever.

Ratchet also quickly got over Orion knowing things he really shouldn't and giving answers so wildly out there that it was ridiculous. How did Orion know personal details about what the late Lord of Vos preferred in his fuel? No clue. How did Orion know about the death of Sentinel Prime long before it was announced? Ratchet didn't even bother to try and figure it out. How was Orion aware that he had broken a cup in the medical bay earlier that morning when he had been alone and cleaned it up right after? He didn't want to know.

Ratchet: Where are you from Orion? It's rather obvious you are not native to Iacon.

Orion: I come from the place between the stars where time is meaningless and the whispers of things inconceivable to the mortal optic ring out all around.

Ratchet: Right... that is one way to describe the wilds.

Ratchet: So do you have any relatives?

Orion: Father watches over me in my duties, his gaze ever present but not loving. He is far greater than I, his vision so much more expansive that I cannot even comprehend it. My brothers do their duties with little regard for my own purpose. We are set apart, kin in our maker but not the same.

Ratchet: *nervous as hell* Tough family life huh? Understandable. What is this purpose you speak of?

Orion: I am merely a keeper, one who walks the void between realities to safeguard the children of Primus. I care little for who they are or what they have done, only that they are brought back safely and learn. They can struggle as hard as they wish, but all will come to me eventually...

Ratchet: *having a small crisis* An odd way to describe archiving data, but I suppose all do come for learning eventually.

Orion: As you say.

Sometimes he needed a strong drink after interacting with Orion, but he wouldn't dare ignore the entertainment he gained from his friend when he wasn't being driven to alcoholism with wisdom that Orion really shouldn't have and the odd instances where he saw some sort of energy being in place of his friend after long work shifts. After meeting Megatronus, Orion's odd instances became far more obvious since the Gladiator had quickly taken to telling Orion that it was indeed normal to do all the things the Archivist did that were certainly not. It drove Ratchet up the wall the first few times, but it quickly became funny for him as well to watch the reactions of others in response to Orion's actions.

Megatronus was weirded out by Orion on many levels, but he too gained an appreciation for him after listening to the wisdom Orion had to give. Not to mention Orion somehow had contacts everywhere and could forge words like a master even if they ended up being more terrifying than convincing.

Megatronus: How does the speech fare little Archivist? Might I hear a snippet of what you have composed?

Orion: The void awaits us all, our lives ultimately destined to end. Why endure suffering for eternity when it can be changed for those who are to come? Would we condemn the little children to this torture? Stand up. Fight for your freedom and embrace the end. For what harm is there is facing death with honor.

Megatronus: *slightly shaken* A good start, but perhaps tone down on the melodramatics.

To make up for the near constant trauma that came from being around Orion, Megatronus made great sport out of watching the chaos that came from his companion. While Orion was not very expressive, it was pretty clear he thought he was doing a great job at being normal. Megatronus never saw fit to correct him simply because the Archivist managed to scare Soundwave of all mecha by turning up in his berthroom in the middle of the night while somehow managing to get past all the security systems and Soundwave's heightened senses, only to then lean down and whisper to the spymaster.

"Megatronus summons you to formulate plans upon which this world may be rebuilt"

Simply put, Megatronus sent Orion to tell Soundwave to come to a meeting, and by the time the spymaster shot up, Orion was gone without a trace, not even a mark left on the security footage either. Soundwave quickly similarly ceased asking questions about the matter of Orion Pax and joined Ratchet and Megatronus in watching the fallout.

Orion seemed to think he was doing a fantastic job as he assisted in the efforts to begin a revolution in the pits. Megatronus could tell just by looking at him that the Archivist didn't even seem aware of how creepy he was. It was terrifying to have Orion turn up at any and all hours to hand over information. It didn't matter where Megatronus, Soundwave, Ratchet, or anyone else was. If Orion had information he wanted to relay, he would get to wherever they were and hand over the data even if his last known location was on the other side of the planet. Megatronus opted to ignore the fact that when Orion reappeared after disappearances his frame was a little more "normal" looking. He also never commented when Orion stared at him with unfeeling optics as if watching an interesting animal.

And much like Ratchet, he just did his best to forget the times Orion shifted in times of danger to become something... other. It was always different, but whatever it was Orion became when he felt threatened... it was a terrifying mess of energy and optics, claws and denta, fangs and wings. Best to ignore it and move on, as was generally the best decision when it came to anything that had to do with Orion Pax.

Even still Megatronus and Ratchet said nothing, letting Orion do as he felt and only directing him when in public if at all. He was strange and most likely a spark eater or another abomination in disguise. But he was a good mech and cared deeply once one got to know him. So for that Ratchet and Megatronus dealt with his oddities by either ignoring them or drinking them away so they could instead enjoy his companionship.

Orion for his part didn't know he was doing a poor job blending in and was just pleased that his chosen champion was making such good progress.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #the thirteenth prime #death's embrace au #shenanigans #cosmic horror #but minor cosmic horror #Orion is just too focused for his own good #Soundwave over here having a small crisis because “how the frag did orion get in???” #Orion talking like he is an Ancient Old One certainly doesn't help him blend it

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

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Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

---

Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

---

A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request. Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

#harbingers x reader #genshin impact x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #signora's sister reader #signora's sister #platonic genshin x reader #but it's VERY INTIMATELY platonic #scaramouche #columbina #childe #platonic scaramouche x reader #platonic columbina x reader #platonic childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin

[anika-ann]

Paperweight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, prequel, canon-ish (see A/N)

Pairining: (pre) Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 4000

Summary: Falling in love with Steve Rogers is easy. Hiding it while your friendship blooms is considerably harder. Especially when he’s being absurdly loveable and perfectly hot during a training.

In which you stay behind after a work-out, bear witness to a training session led by Steve and are asked for assistance. How could you say no to the man?

Warnings: FLUFF, mentions of canon-typical violence, language? Hopeless idiots in love.

A/N:  a slice-of-life standalone or a one-shot set about half a year before Love on the Brain series; reader is called “Agent Jones”; divider by firefly-graphics 😍

If there was one thing you had known long before you joined the Avengers Initiative, it was that falling for a friend tended to be a complicated thing. It was even more complicated if one was worried it might not work out – which was practically always. The growing affection and attraction were not easy to hide, especially from perceptive people. People like Black Widow. Or worse, Steve Rogers himself.

The one thing making it easier was that everyone and their (grand)mother – in this case, the saying was way more accurate than in all other cases you were aware of – had a crush on Steve Rogers too. That meant that if someone caught you staring, lingering, or even gushing (usually meaning defending) Steve, it was hardly something unique to you. No one would think twice about it. Even as his friend, you were a person with well-working eyes and blood pumping your veins and it was indeed very hard to miss that Steve’s body was literally boosted to perfection to become the peak of man. That was fine.

However, the one thing making it insanely difficult was Steve. His irritating goodness of heart that was actually way more attractive that all typical bad boys from the movies made it seem. When he added the mischievous side to his persona, his wit, his warmth, both physical and in demeanour… and the numerous numerous occasions where he could show off not all his character qualities, but also his strength, it was impossible to stay within the lines of a simple crush.

Growing affection and attraction were never easy to hide, but god damn, in the case of Steven Grant Rogers, it was task fit for titans. And you were just a walking mass of bones, flesh, blood and hormones with a brain that might be rather well-developed, but could still short-circuit when Steve showed off the biceps that could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat – or flashed you an easy smile with the sweetest edge or a spark of being up to no good.

Now, it was given that Steve was a fan of mixed groups in training. Newbies with old dogs who needed to accept they needed to learn new tricks, men with women, different departments and teams mingling together and sharing tips. But Steve, for most part, was also a very reasonable man. He did see that there were advantages to training in groups divided according to sex as well. As someone who had spent the bigger part of his fully conscious life in a body more similar to those of women, he was aware that women needed to learn how to use their agility and how to turn the weight and strength advantage of their opponents against them for instance; men, on the other hand, needed times where they would not haveto hold back completely during training in fear of making the match unequal.

Apparently, Steve also believed that men needed to build their strength in a drool-worthy way.

You had lingered after the training session you had with your female colleagues led by the infamous Natasha Romanoff – or Nat, for you – feeling the need for extra stretches. Nat said it was fine and there was an area in the largest gym designated for stretching even as the main area could already be occupied by someone else. The someone else were men, led by Steve and Jack Rollins; you expected no issues.

You did not expect the training session to turn into a drool-fest so fast. But maybe you should have.

The architectonic genius designing the gym must have indeed been a genius, because even as the group of agents and recruits would have been out of your earshot due to the distance, you could hear Steve’s voice clear as day. You refused to believe it was because you were tuned to his gentle and yet commanding timbre he used whenever he switched to the role of a teacher, the role of the Captain.

You listened. You simply couldn’t help it: not only because it was Steve, but because of what he was saying was, in fact, intriguing.

Squats with weights, front lever. One thick iron pole, three people. As he described it, you admittedly couldn’t imagine how that would work.

And then he asked Rollins to help him demonstrate, picking an agent whose name you couldn’t recall to help by performing the front lever, which alone was a feat because of the strong core muscles and arms it required, along with incredible bodily awareness and coordination. At first, you were grateful Steve wasn’t the one showing that, because seeing him control his body so perfectly as he held onto the pole to basically levitate above the ground would send your mind to the gutter real fast.

Your mind ended up in the gutter anyway. Because the two remaining men – Steve and Rollins – were holding the pole on their shoulders while Agent Whatshisname performed his task. Steve already had to be slightly crouched because he was a good foot taller than Rollins, so it was truly difficult for you not to stare. But then… then they made a squat. Using the agent as a damn weight.

The pole rested on Steve’s wide shoulders with ease as it was nothing but a paperweight, the expanse of his back muscles dancing under his white tee. His sweats hugged his defined ass the way your hands itched to. Your stretches were forgotten.

It was just a brief moment, even if generous enough, and then he and Rollins rose to their (almost) full height. And then they repeated the motion just to show off and to test you. You were just a breathing walking mass of bones, flesh, blood and hormones indeed; you felt physically unable to avert your gaze. As for your brain, well. It circled straight to the thought of being stretched in a whole different way.

Being Steve's friend and only think about him as such was truly an impossible task.

“Easy for you, you could probably lift him on your own!” a voice called out from the crowd, clearly referring to Steve and you internally cursed and used all your willpower to snap your gaze away at last, hearing Steve’s chuckle and the murmur of agreement.

Gee, Mr. Mouthy, thanks for that mental image.

“True. But that is not the point,” Steve explained, thanking the agent for assistance in their demonstration. “This is not all about strength. If you're thinking why bother with this when you could simply lift weights...”

More murmurs of agreement followed and you asked yourself the same, for you could have lived without another image added to the collection haunting the better of your sleepless nights.

“This is not an exercise to build strength, not primarily. It's a group exercise. It’s about cooperation. It took us a hot minute too before we could show you. Come here, Agent Stalinski, please. If you didn’t mind, you’d help us demonstrate why.”

Once again, you did not find it in yourself to resist watching them; this time from genuine curiosity. At least this time, you made a point of laying your chest on your knees and only peeking at them for a few seconds, as Agent Stalinski, who seemed to regret his decision to speak up already, obediently walked to the pole. He could have refused, but he clearly didn’t want to look like a chicken – and didn’t want to disrespect Steve. It was never easy to decide and disrespect a kind man without looking like an idiot and feeling that part too. Giving a choice and respecting it was part of Steve’s charm and strength as a leader.

Without another word, Agent Stalinski performed the front lever as Rollins and Steve held the pole.

“If I use all my strength to show off, we'll fail... ready?” Steve said, waiting for Rollins to nod before they squatted.

And then Steve held back his bodily superiority considerably less than before and stood up with vigour.

It was an exhilarating sight; not only because poor Rollins nearly toppled over and even importantly, because Stalinski saved himself half a second before falling on his ass hard, but obviously also because Steve showing off his skills was a treat to watch. More so when he was proving a point; that was always fun.

And your heart could melt when Steve offered Agent Stalinski a hand to help him up, effectively shutting up the cackles that sounded among the other agents with one single glare; because humiliate the agent for mouthing off was not the point.

Goddamn Steve’s golden heart. He truly wasn’t making things any easier for you – and probably half the agency who was in love with him too.

You could hear a smile in his voice when he spoke up again, almost as if he knew.But you, in return, knew he was simply satisfied with proving his point and the agents understanding the task and the goal of the exercise. Understanding that bodily strength wasn’t everything and they needed to believe both in themselves and in each other; like Peggy Carter or Dr.Erskine once believed in him even if others didn’t.

“Like I said. It's about cooperation. One weak link – weak in working with others, not necessarily in bodily strength – and this isn’t going to work. So… let's group up and try."

As the group of agents begun to move around, you returned your full attention to your stretches, breathing in deeply, slowly releasing the air as you felt your muscles cry in both strain and relief. Remaining in position, you closed your eyes, breathing through the slight pull of pain further. You would sleep like a baby tonight; Natasha did not hold back on you, but that was part of the thrill. She pushed you all, but with enough kindness to make it worth it and a lot of more satisfaction when you could see and feel your progress.

You heard the steps as soon as you felt the floor vibrate under you, and your heart involuntarily fluttered. You should truly not be able to recognize Steve’s jog, because that bordered on creepy and obsessive, but you did go running with him quite often so you could blame it on that. At least that was how you reasoned with yourself. It had nothing to do with the fact that your mind tended to gravitate towards him too often, feel his presence, because it felt like first warm sunrays of the approaching summer.

Easing your position, you looked up as he approached you with a slightly bashful smile, a brief sparkle of mischief in his eye.

Before he could even open his mouth, you glanced behind him, noticing the issue and already guessing why he was here with you instead of the trainees.

One agent stayed alone. That meant that either both Steve and Rollins would be in a group with him, leaving the others without proper supervision and assistance or the one agent would be left out. Or you could join them for a bit. The choice of letting Steve use you – for the exercise, as a faceless agent only to even the numbers in an exercise – was a real no-brainer.

Once again, you reasoned that leaving the poor loner without a chance to train would leave you feeling evil when it was no problem for you to help; and it really would, if you were being honest with yourself. If you got to see Steve up close, either working out or directing other agents with his leadership skills, as a bonus, that was simply a nice coincidence, wasn’t it?

Raising your hand with a tired smile and gesturing for him to help you up, his grin widened, pulling you up without a second thought.

“Hey Sparkles,” he hummed gently, squeezing your hand before releasing you. “Could-“

“Sure, GG,” you interrupted him, rolling your shoulders and pretending your heart didn’t skip a beat when his eyebrows rose, one corner of his lips quirking.

“Well, now I’m tempted to ask anything.”

You gulped. It was nothing but a friendly teasing, you knew. But damn if it didn’t make your stomach somersault a bit, if you didn’t think you saw something flash in his eyes.

The thing was, he could ask you anything. And your little foolish heart would probably command you to do it. Especially when he smiled like that as he towered over you, eyes roaming over you with slight concern in his expression.

“Thank you. You don't even have to do the horizontal workout-“ he noted, a genuine worry in his voice as if he didn’t just said the words horizontal workout in a completely different context than you would like him to. He had to know about how you felt about him and was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? “Just...”

“Be your paperweight?” you suggested cheekily, hopefully masking how the probably unintended innuendo made your face hot.

“I mean-“ You raised eyebrows when he looked as if he was about to deny it. Really? “Well, yes, basically. It’s an important role either way. And I know you could do it, but you already have one session behind you and you were already almost done with your stretches. I understand if you don’t want to undo all of that. So really, any way you’re willing to assist us, we’ll be grateful.”

It truly would have been easier if Steve was only attractive; or only kind, considerate or passionate. But the fact he was all of it was a deadly cocktail you had got addicted rather fast. He was like a magnet, calling out for every part of you and pulling you into his orbit with ease and inevitability. How could you say no to him?

“Sure, whatever. We'll see. But if I’m joining you, I might as well go for the full experience, right?”

Steve smiled at you, a proud edge to the soft curl of his lips, as he beckoned to the agents. The warmth spreading through your body was already well-worth the hard work you had ahead of you.

“Right. Let’s go.”

People who even suspected that they were in love should be stripped of their lawful right to make decisions and be declared temporary insane for the time being. Or maybe that just applied to people in Steve Rogers’ vicinity. That was what you thought of as you wiped the sweat off, feeling your hands trembling minutely with exhaustion.

Of course you had gone for it. You went for the work-out with all you had and maybe even what you didn’t have, but how could you relent for even a second when you had Steve’s proud grin directed straight at you whenever you tried another rep and succeeded at least partially? Your abdomen muscles burned, but when something flashed in his eye, admiration and something you couldn’t quite decipher beyond the emotion being a good one, the pleasant warmth in your belly simply took over and you gritted your teeth once more.

Your body was utterly ruined, all thanks to Steve; and it might not be in all ways you sometimes dreamed about, but the satisfaction it brought you was still well worth it.

The shaking not so much.

The other agents went to run a few laps under Rollins’ command as Steve followed you back to the stretching area, smile all soft and playful even if a little concerned since you walked with a slight wobble. Your core muscles were so overworked that it even affected your ability to walk.

You’d be sore tomorrow; very sore. If there was a chance to prevent at least part of the pain awaiting you in the morning, it was only natural you would take it, right?

That was how you reasoned with yourself. That was how you justified that when Steve’s gentle giant hands carefully took yours with an unspoken question, thumbs pressing into your right forearm just right, you let out the words ‘yes please’ with as little moany quality in your voice as possible.

You must have succeeded, because Steve didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he was polite enough not to mention it. Needless to say that you were grateful you could blame the flush in your face on your previous work-out.

Working his way up your arm in a perfectly collected manner, Steve pressed against the tendons and muscles with precision and well-calculated amount of strength; he wasn’t rough at all, yet he made sure you felt it.

You would bet there were a lot of things which he could make you feel it, but you tried to steer your mind away from the gutter as much as possible. Once again, you blamed your momentary inability to do that more than usual on exhaustion, the lovely visuals you had been offered, and Steve’s more than pleasant touch.

“Thank you, Sparkles. You did amazing,” Steve spoke simply but sincerely, an easy smile on his lips as if his thumbs weren’t kneading the exact spot you needed, flooding your body with the relief you craved; your muscles. Your muscles craved.

Focus.

The gush of wind created by the running agents helped you ground yourself in reality.

You weren’t alone. There was a purpose – a very platonic purpose – to what Steve was doing. He was thanking you for being a good colleague and teammate and it was time again for your brain to switch into that mode. Because there was no romantic mode in your relationship with Steve. There were two people needed for that and if all Steve was offering was his absolutely exquisite friendship, the best-friendship as it seemed to bloom lately, you’d grab it and never let go. Not for anything.

And you’d take a quick massage to your exhausted muscles too.

To sweeten the deal, it felt really good to be praised by Captain America himself. You would be lying if compliments from the Steve Rogers, the ultimate good man, were the only ones that mattered to you; the side to Steve which carried the mantle of the Captain and appreciated you wasn’t exactly something to sneer at, quite on the contrary.

“I didn't want him to feel out if I could help,” you shrugged, earning a slightly scolding look as you moved your shoulders, the arm under Steve’s touch tensing when it was supposed to be relaxed. You grinned apologetically. “And you know you're a good motivator- I mean--- motivational speaker... whatever.”

The gentle rumble of Steve’s chuckle was nothing short of warm even as his grin gained a teasing note.

“Why thank you. I'll consider a career change to a motivational speaker indeed.”

You chuckled too – and instantly regretted it as your belly spasmed minutely, trembling due to the way you overdid the work-out. Steve’s fingers ceased their movements, simply gripping your arm in support. Glancing up, you found his brows furrowed in worry.

Bless the sweet man. But if he was so concerned about your abdomen muscles, maybe he could massage them too- stop.

“Yeah, okay, maybe I pushed myself a bit too much,” you admitted with another chuckle, gritting your teeth to stop the hiss threatening to escape your lips. “Glad I could help. But you mister, are forbidden from making me laugh for the next 48 hours.”

He glanced at the finger you pointed at him with slight offence.

“But I like making you laugh?”

You glanced up on instinct. There was the faintest pout to his lips as your eyes met his and you found yourself on the receiving end of the warmest gaze. His hands were cradling your elbow now – giant and gentle still, thumb brushing over your bicep.

Yes. It was a true shame that Steve’s feelings towards you were merely platonic. Because at this moment, the blue pools of his irises seemed so inviting you’d follow him anywhere, to hell and back; and you knew he’d keep you safe, held your elbow tenderly but firmly when the need would arise and he’d protect your heart too, because Steve Rogers was as much of a fighter as a protector. You already knew as much. You wanted to know even more.

You wanted more. Selfishly and wistfully, you wanted more, especially in moments like this, moments that felt as easy as breathing with him even when your chest felt so full that breathing in seemed difficult – useless. Had he leaned forward, had he taken your lips, you wouldn’t care for oxygen, you’d- stop.

You had to stop and take a cold shower in the evening.

“GG-“

“Cap? What’s next?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Rollins’ howl reached your ears.

Whatever you were about to say died in your throat, whatever your hazed brain planned. You had to admit it was rather satisfactory to see Steve jump a little too, his hands practically dropping your arm and realizing last minute you had obediently left it completely limp and it might hurt. So he gingerly pressed into your bicep two more times, slowly manoeuvring your arm back down, wary of any rapid movements.

“Be right with you!” Steve called back, turning to you with another smile. You probably only imagined the hint of regret and yet; it was a nice feeling to see you’d be missed.

“Well, the crowds call your name, Mr. Motivational Speaker. Thanks for the quick massage, GG.”

“Thank you. Now go get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

You cackled at his unamused face when you addressed him as such, quickly replaced by a brief smirk at how you instantly regretted your actions, your belly protesting again. Serves you right, that smirk said, but quickly blended into the signature worried frown.

“Rest, Agent Jones,” he bit back good-naturedly, shooting you one last glance before he jogged back to other agents under his wing.

You watched him retreat, allowing yourself one last indulgence in the form of the glorious view of his back and ass, before you sighed and turned to walk away, the wobble in your step still present. You hoped a hot shower would ease the tension in your abdomen; however, you did not forget about the need for a cold shower either.

You supposed such was the price for being friends with Steven Grant Rogers.

You didn’t mind paying it, more so when you were gaining too.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did: the evening found you with a knock on your door from your sweet neighbour and a sweet aroma of sugar, cinnamon and apples. Steve stood in your doorway with a slightly bashful but brilliant grin, holding a plate with at least a third of a freshly baked pie that might as well have been prepared by Martha Stewart herself, but was baked by her biggest competition in the baking department.

“Is this allowed or does it fall under don't make me laugh category?” Steve questioned innocently and this time, you remembered to lay your arm over your belly when you laughed a bit, smiling wide, something so painfully soft, gentle and just a little heavy humming in your chest.

“Well, I think this falls into making me smile category, so I'll allow it,” you said, not even pretending you needed to think too hard.

“Good. I like making you smile too.”

The acute feeling in your chest grew – warm, tender and bright – an echo of outrage in your ribcage that Steve could say the words so easily as if they couldn’t be a declaration of love as well as friendship.

“Yeah. I like it too. And same,” you hummed, stepping back to let him in. “Come in, neighbour.”

As you invited him into your apartment, you knew that you were – all over again – inviting him into your heart too.

Maybe that was a dangerous thing to do; but in your line of work, a little danger was an occupational hazard. Of all the risks you could take upon, carrying love for Steve Rogers was one you’d take upon gladly. You’d happily taken the burden; because the weight you’d carry couldn’t be heavier than a paperweight. And even if it was, if that was a weight you were allowed to carry, at least platonically, you’d do so with pride – and with your whole heart.

Because Steve Rogers deserved nothing less.

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Saw a video of this specific work out and my mind couldn’t let go of it… and it’s no longer available, sorry 🤐

Re-reading this, I am genuinely shocked they lasted so long and that it took the Love on the Brain case to break them… well, put them together, whatever :)

I hope you enjoyed this little floofy blurb and that autumn is being kind to you 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #love on the brain vibes #love on the brain #paperweight #anika ann

[just-prime]

Ahsoka is so slow I could cry. She was trained by Anakin and presumably Obi-wan and several other Jedi, and Rosario can hardly do an actual lightsaber twirl, let alone make me believe she could survive Ventress, Maul, Grievous, or Vader, survive order 66, or run in a way that looks fast. Bo-Katan moves faster, Shin moves faster, Sabine moves faster, Ezra moves faster, even Ewan's lazy twirls while walking around and not actively engaged in battle in the prequels were roughly as fast as Rosario's in an actual duel.

It's also canon that in this era, in a less prequels flashy version of standard Jedi abilities, a Jedi can leap SEVERAL feet. Luke in ROTJ- even GROGU can jump higher, while Rosario's feet are consistently glued to the ground. Her choreography and speed are so inconsistent with this established era and people keep writing it off and praising it as her fighting like a samurai now, even though it makes NO sense for her to, given who trained her. She isn't A New Hope Obi-wan, nor sad cave dwelling Obi-wan who hasn't stretched or lifted a weapon in a decade, and a 44 year old Jedi is still supposed to be in their prime.

I truly wonder if part of it is that they can't keep her lekku on properly if she does a flip, and they are shorter because they were meant to be more practical, but I'm really not seeing a character agile enough to need stunt modified lekku.

If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated and each passing week demonstrates this more and more.

I'm sorry to anon into your inbox like this, but your post about the last episode has been so refreshing, and I've felt like I've been watching a completely different show than other people and don't know how they considered any of the actors ready. (Rosario has said she was training during filming). Thank you for your brutally honest take, you're spot on on all counts.

Couple of things.

A) I agree with everything you just said. Always feel free to come and rant into my asks.

B) I HAVE BEEN ANTI TINY LEKKU SINCE MANDO S2. It's laughable that we've seen cosplayers with more Rebels accurate headpieces. And of course everyone defends it with the 'it wouldn't be fair to the stunt person to have them try and do flips in that' and it's like NEWSFLASH Ahsoka isn't doing flips anyway!!! And sure, they probably stuck Rosario in a 5 week sword training class, but she's clearly not had to do any serious combat training given how clunky her fights are. And again, this was also a problem back in Mando s2, only she was in the middle of a foggy woods, so it was easier to hide the fact that she is incompetent when it comes to fight choreography.

C) "If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated" Exactly. This is why every passing day I am increasingly pissed that this show killed and ate the animated Rebels sequel series that was in fucking development. Everything about this show, from Ahsoka, to Hera (hell, even TBoBF cameos like Cad Banes) prove that Disney is not willing to shell out for a decent makeup and/or CG designer. No shade to the artists that are currently working on it, they are doing their jobs to the best of their abilities. What I mean is they didn't have anyone on set that was in a high enough positions to say 'Hey, have any of you heard of contouring?' Like, just looking at the alien makeup of the OT...which somehow holds up better than state of the art Disney budget makeup. It's just fucking embarrassing at this point. There is no reason everyone should look as flat as they do, but it's no surprise that they do when mary elizabeth winstead is celebrating that her makeup only took an hour. Sure, it's understandable that you don't want to be sitting in the makeup chair every morning of hours on end, but in the end you are an actor who signed up to play an alien...Suck it up buttercup.

D) I totally understand how hard it is to be not liking this show right now. The amount of people who've told me that "well, clearly it's just not made for you" after I point out a simple fact that a character is out of character is painful. Looking at twitter after each episode as everyone seems to think Filoni is creating the second coming is painful. Because it really does feel like we're watching a different show than them.

Okay, I think I covered everything. Thank you again for your kind words and your wonderful rant!!!

#rambles #dave filoni critical #ahsoka critical #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #star wars #prime responds #anti filoni

[blorbologist]

Confession time:

In the campaign, I loathe Mythcarver.

Vox Machina are given the Vestige as a sidenote - 'here are the locations of a ton of cool ancient weapons, and also this sword I can just give you guys'. While every other Vestige involves a quest for it, or at least some planning, often with some degree of expectation of who will get it (Fenthras, the Titanstone Knuckles, Whisper, the Plate of the Dawnmartyr, the Spire of Conflux - they all really fit one party member well. Cabal's Ruin is more up in the air until we find out who has it, and the Ward has already been given to Vax by this point). Many of them are tied to character moments for the party members in question - 'take me instead you raven bitch', the killbox, 'my heart is someone else's', 'i forgive you, but I cannot let you leave'.

Scanlan doesn't get a noble quest with his friends to power him up. Scanlan does's even do anything of particular note in Kamaljiori's canon trial. He's just... given this Vestige as loot, and because it's made with bards in mind and he's the bard so he should get it.

Except Mythcarver doesn't suit *Scanlan's* style of bard, at all, and I can count the number of times he uses it on one hand, one of which required heavy prompting by Matt because Sam was so used to ignoring the thing. It's a glorified stat stick that buffs some abilities but never sees use because Scanlan is so heavily focused on support spells. It can't match the damage output or utility of his spells, so it just sits on his belt looking pretty. He gets one cool moment with it, against a minor boss, and that's it.

(Notably, he pulls it out and tries poking for a Blinked enemy during a critical fight which I'm not naming due to spoilers, and he just... still doesn't get to do anything with it. That one round could have prevented a death - sinking a turn into trying to use that sword actively hurt the party. It sucks.)

Credit where credit is due: I really appreciate the vision Matt had for the weapon and the intent behind it! On the other hand, it just... further fed into Scanlan feeling like he was an afterthought to the party. They didn't go on a quest for him. They didn't even think of getting him a Vestige - he's just handed one, in a fairly forgettable sidebar, and then hardly ever uses it again. It sucks. I hate that stupid sword.

So when I tell you I was grinning so, so massively during episide 6 of season 2 -

Mythcarver isn't given to Scanlan by default - it's given to him, specifically, by a friend. Kamaljiori is the first person to see through his exterior, his many masks, who bonds with him over love and longing and sincerity. It's not an offhand 'oh while you're here take this' it's for him. He gets a cool moment with it!! It reveals the locations of the other Vestiges!

Here, now, Mythcarver represents what Scanlan wants to be: a hero, a valued friend, someone who matters and has an impact on the world. Someone loved.

(And also noteworthy that this happened not long after Pike was dismissive of him, too. Whistles.)

And then Umbrasyl swoops in to take it, singling Scanlan out for what he carries - and Kami fights for him. Kamaljiori protects him, over and over and over, not for Mythcarver but because it’s Scanlan, it's his friend. He's going toe to toe with an ancient black dragon for Scanlan. And dies for it.

Not only does Umbrasyl kill Kamaljiori but he steals this Vestige. This gift for Scanlan alone, this first fucking testament to having mattered to someone, to being valued and cared for. Mythcarver isn't just a reward, it actively pushes the plot and Scanlan's character development forward, gives Scanlan what he's been quietly looking for in the background, and then viciously takes it away.

(This also gives Scanlan a bigger motivation to be part of that one stupid plan with Vax that's in the trailer: Umbrasyl killed his friend and stole something representing everything Scanlan wants. And he wants it badly and he wants it back, you flying fuck.)

I can't wait to see what's in store. This was, I think, my favorite change to TLOVM so far after 'darling take off the mask' getting a bigger Moment. I can't believe they gave weight and meaning to that stupid sword and I'm here for it.

#critical role #tlovm #the legend of vox machina #tlovm s2 #tlovm spoilers #scanlan shorthalt #campaign 1 #cr meta #tlovm meta #kamaljiori #anyways this is why I gave Scanlan another Vestige in my AU bc i think its Integral to him deciding not to leave in One for sorrow

[auroravictorium]

you're on your own, kid (k.b.)

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown, and I saw something they can't take away.

Summary: set before the midnights series takes place, reader has been a member of the dregs for only a year and has developed a crush on kaz in that time. one night after her shift, her loyalty to the dregs is accidentally put to the test, and things begin to change between kaz and reader.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (pining by reader) Word Count: ~2.9k Warnings: violence [blood, fighting, stab wounds], death of unimportant character, drinking by jesper and reader, no insight into kaz's feelings in this one bc he's getting his own prequel piece <3, very light proofreading Genre: pretty fluffy until the fight scene

Author's Note: sorry about the delay on posting this, everyone! i've been sick, but i'm feeling better and ready to write again :)) thank you for the requests i've gotten so far - i'm SO EXCITED to write them!! enjoy!

grishaverse masterlist / kaz pov for this piece (coming soon!)

The humid summer air pressed down on you as you rushed the few blocks from the Slat to the Crow Club. The heat made you tired, and you took what you thought would be a short midday nap in your room. The nap ended up lasting longer than expected, and now you were twenty minutes late to your shift at the Crow Club. Cursing under your breath, you adjusted the collar of your dress against your sticky neck as you darted down the uneven sidewalk in your rush to make up for being late.

"Move," you muttered under your breath, shoving past a meandering patron and swiping his pocket watch as you passed. You dashed into the Club and passed Jesper at the door as the man realized he'd been pickpocketed. He roared something unintelligible behind you, and you only smirked as you pushed your way to the bar to relieve the poor Dreg who was still there. 

She shot you a glare and left, and you only shrugged back before getting to work. Whatever. She'd been late more times than you could count.  

You were able to pour two drinks before a cane thumped against the floor behind you. Wincing, you turned to see your boss looking at you impassively. "You're late," Kaz said. He surveyed you up and down, and you tried not to blush under his gaze.

"I overslept." There was no use lying or coming up with a better excuse. Lying to Kaz was a death wish, and you liked your position in the Dregs enough to not want to lose it. After a full year with them, you'd finally established yourself with the group and made friends with Nina and Jesper. You'd even gotten to know Inej somewhat, and you longed to know her better and learn from her. 

Kaz considered that for a moment. "Don't let it happen again." He walked off to probably scare someone else, and you exhaled heavily and returned to making drinks. When he was around, you could hardly breathe and found yourself struggling to look at him directly. Those blue eyes made you want to blush, and the butterflies in your stomach churned violently. It was no secret that people found Kaz attractive, but you'd rather jump into the harbor in the middle of winter than have your feelings exposed. Your cohorts in the Dregs would never let you live in peace.

Regardless, nothing could happen. Kaz was the boss. You were still working to establish yourself in the Dregs; you were surprised he even noticed your tardiness. That's how much of a nobody you figured you were, even though he recruited you himself after word spread of someone causing trouble for the rich.

Boots thumped against the floorboards as Jesper, fresh off the door, shoved his way over and plopped himself on a stool before you. "He let you off easy," Jesper said. You set a clean shot glass on the counter and rifled for his favorite liquor. "Must be in a good mood."

You shot him a look, pausing your shuffling. "Kaz is never in a good mood."

"He never tolerates lateness, either," Jesper pointed out. He jerked his chin toward the shot glass and batted his eyelashes. "Please?"

Shaking your head, you found the liquor and poured Jesper a shot. He bowed his head to you as if you were a Saint, then downed the drink in one smooth gulp. "You're insufferable," you told him.

"You love me." He set his glass down and swiveled to survey the crowded Club around you. "Caught three men trying to get in with fake coin." Jesper clicked his tongue. "Explains why Boss is here."

You didn't respond and pretended to examine the room. But your eyes lingered on a well-tailored figure roaming the less-populated parts of the Crow Club. The crow's head of his cane shimmered in the dim lighting, allowing you to keep track of his movements as he strolled this way and that, seemingly without a care in the world. His hair was slicked back today, the sides a bit shorter than the last time you'd seen him; he must have cut his hair. It suits him, you thought. It complemented his angular face, and with his hair out of the way, you could see his eyes.

His eyes were as blue as the sky on a rare day when the clouds parted over Ketterdam. They were your favorite thing about him, aside from the image of his smile you'd conjured in your mind. You'd never seen it and likely never would, but you indulged in your imagination. As long as word of your tiny crush on Kaz didn't get out, you would allow yourself to wonder whether he had dimples.

Jesper glanced at you and then followed your gaze to where Kaz was subtly looking over a man's shoulder at his cards. He leaned over the bar and whispered in your ear, "You're staring."

You jerked, nearly bumping his glass, then swatted him on the shoulder. "No, I'm not." Your cheeks burned, and you turned your back so that Jesper couldn't see your face. Damn it, Y/N. Couldn't wait to stare until Jesper left?

"You totally were." Jesper reached and ruffled your hair, and you smacked his hands away with a fierce scowl. "Does Y/N have a crush?" he asked in a sing-song voice. He abandoned his stool and rounded the counter to bump his shoulder with yours. He helped himself, pouring another shot and waggling his eyebrows at you.

"I will break your nose," you hissed. Your face and neck were hot, and you glanced over at Kaz to make sure he hadn't noticed the two of you. Nobody else seemed to notice either, but you needed Jesper to shut up before that changed. "Stop talking, Jesper."

"Oooh, you do," Jesper sang. Drink in one hand, he wrapped his other arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. "Y/N has a crush on-"

You grabbed Jesper's arm and ducked under it before giving it a sharp twist. Not hard enough to harm him, but with enough force that he shut his damned mouth. He winced and set down his drink to rub his shoulder. "Don't," you warned him. "I don't want anyone to know." You frowned and poured another drink as a regular walked through the door and straight toward the bar.

Jesper softened at the look on your face and lost his teasing mood. "What's the worst that can happen?" He nudged you gentler this time.

"I get laughed out of the Dregs and end up back on the streets," you answered, already sliding the regular's drink to him by the time he produced kruge and set it on the counter. He added a few coins for a tip, and you flashed him a false smile of thanks before turning back to Jesper. "It's not going to happen, Jesper," you whispered. "I've accepted that. It's just a stupid thing, and it'll go away."

"You don't know that," Jesper insisted, ever the optimist. You shook your head, and he rushed to continue. "You can always test it, see if there's a spark there."

"How am I supposed to do that, exactly? Tell him, 'Oh, hey, by the way, I wanted to ask whether there's a spark between us,'" you said mockingly. You grabbed a torn-up rag and started to viciously scrub at an impossible stain on the counter. You didn't even know why you were starting to get upset with Jesper; it wasn't as if he was being hurtful. He was offering genuine suggestions for navigating your feelings, but you were frustrated by it. Maybe it was the fact that it would never happen. Kaz didn't show interest in anyone but himself and his money. End of story.

"Well, don't say that," Jesper muttered. "A recipe for disaster. Why don't you start by saying hi and see how that goes?"

You faced Jesper and put on your best Kaz glare. After a few beats of silence, you broke and gave him your own scowl. "That's how he would respond, Jesper." 

You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths. You were just embarrassed that Jesper had seen right through you. That's all this was, and Jesper didn't deserve the brunt of it. You'd scream into your stupid, flimsy pillow at the Slat later. "I appreciate the advice, Jesper, but I don't want to talk about this anymore. Now, if you're going to stand behind the bar like an obstacle," you began, throwing the dirty rag at him. He batted it out of the air with a disgusted look, and you smirked in satisfaction. "Either leave or help clean."

"I'd rather not, thanks," Jesper said. He picked the rag up from the ground and held it away from him as if it were poisonous. After throwing it in a bin, he turned to you with that classic, charming Jesper smile. "I'll be at the Slat."

"Please, don't say anything," you pleaded. You caught his arm as he turned to leave. "Please, Jesper."

He stopped and looked down at you. Seeing the desperation on your face, he nodded slowly. "I won't, sweetheart." He ruffled your hair one more time to see your grimace and the look in your eyes that promised violence, then he was off and swaggering out of the Club. 

You sighed in relief and leaned against the counter, fixing the hair that Jesper had disturbed. Seeing the shot on the counter he'd left behind, you considered before grabbing it and knocking it back. The alcohol burned on its way down, tasting bitter and vaguely treelike, and you wanted to gag. But you needed the confidence because the whole exchange with Jesper made you wish you were anywhere else. At least alcohol didn't tease you about your stupid crush. It just helped you through it.

Miraculously, the rest of your shift passed with no further encounters with Kaz or anyone else who could tease you. You made it back to the Slat, your coin pouch weighed down with tips, and you took the steps two at a time up to the attic to deliver your tips for the day. They'd make their way back to you eventually, but Kaz liked to catalog them to get a sense of how his Dregs were doing bringing in revenue.

A true businessman, except infinitely more terrifying.

You slipped into his office, grateful that you'd seen him still patrolling the Club when you left. Unless he could be in two places at once, you were safe. Depositing your pouch on his desk with a short note, you turned to leave.

A thump sounded from the room connecting to Kaz's office. Metal scraping on metal came next, making your ears ring. The hairs on the back of your neck rose, and you immediately slipped your favorite dagger from its sheathe at your waist. The weight was comforting in your hand as you crept toward the door and leaned against the wall next to it, listening.

Silence. A heavy, unnatural silence. And then slow, creeping footsteps moved right toward the door.

Goosebumps rose along your skin despite the hot summer air. This was not a Dreg. Nobody entered Kaz's bedroom unless they had a death wish, and there was only one way to get in. There was someone in there who definitely shouldn't be.

The footsteps to the door, and you threw your weight at it as you opened it. Someone grunted behind the door and stumbled back, and you rounded it to find a man twice your size dressed in all black, except for the gleaming mop of golden hair on his head.

Not a Dreg.

Your days on the streets returned to you, and you made the first move while he was dazed. You shoved him back toward a small, teetering bookshelf in the corner. He collapsed into it. The wood turned to dust, and thick books rained down on his head and hit the floor with loud thumps. His back hit the wall behind the shelf as it damn near disintegrated underneath him. He recovered quickly, pulling his own weapon from a sheath at his thigh and advancing on you.

You exchanged blows. The man was strong and put most of his weight behind each swing, and the blade narrowly missed your face when he slashed a wide arc in an attempt to disarm you. You ducked as he used his free hand to try to punch you, and you shoved his arms away as you came back up, bringing your knee to his gut. He groaned but was unaffected enough that he could plunge his dagger toward your chest. Unable to dodge completely after putting too much weight into the blow to his stomach, you settled for turning to bear the impact.

The blade pierced your shoulder, and you clenched your teeth to muffle your cry of agony. White-hot pain ran through you, and it took every piece of training you had to resist the urge to drop your weapon and cup the seeping wound. Your knuckled turned white as you gripped your knife tighter and went straight for his throat, taking advantage of his moment of satisfaction.

The man gurgled as your blade made contact with his skin, and blood sprayed onto your hands, face, and clothes. He released his dagger and crumbled to the floor with a loud thud, cupping his throat and staring up at the ceiling with wide, agonized eyes.

You knelt over him and shoved his shirt sleeve up. The limpness of your left arm made the task difficult, but you managed by gritting your teeth to muffle your heavy breathing. Something was severed. No time to think about that. Focus. Who the hell was this man who was clearly sent to kill Kaz?

A tattoo stared up at you, dark as night against his skin. It looked as you expected: a cat curled on top of a crown, with the Dime Lions' motto beneath it. You recoiled in disgust and shoved his arm away from you. Standing, you stepped on the Dime Lion's hand and felt the bones snap. Twisted satisfaction ran through you. He deserves much worse.

He didn't respond to the pain. Blood pooled on the floor, puddling beneath him and seeping into the old wood. He was gone, well and truly, and his eyes were glassy and blank. They were turned toward the ceiling as if the Saints could help him now. If you weren't trembling with anger, pain, and adrenaline, you would have closed his eyes, although he didn't deserve the gesture.

Footsteps thundered behind you, and you whirled, ready for more would-be assassins to arrive. Instead, Jesper, Inej, Kaz, and a few miscellaneous Dregs piled into the room, their weapons drawn and aimed. 

Jesper's mouth dropped when he processed what stood before him, and he holstered his guns. "Saints," he breathed. His eyes flicked between you and the man behind you, disbelief shining in them.

Your dagger thudded to the ground as the adrenaline suddenly left your body. The blood was gushing from your shoulder faster, soaking the back of your dress and spreading toward the front. The Dime Lion struck deep, and your head began to spin. The air suddenly felt too cool, and you shivered, crossing your good arm across your chest.

What the hell just happened?

"Get Nina," Kaz ordered, turning to pierce the Dregs behind him with a glare. "Now."

The Dregs went, scrambling out the door and back down the stairs.

Kaz limped over toward the dead man lying behind you. You didn't notice his eyes lingering on you or how they dropped to your shoulder. There were dust motes in the air. Or maybe sawdust from the destroyed bookshelf. Maybe you were imagining it. "Grab her," Kaz said with an unexpected softness. 

You were definitely imagining things now. Kaz didn't talk like that.

Jesper and Inej surged forward, supporting your weight and leading you to a seat in Kaz's office. The wound was nonlethal, but the blood loss certainly could be, and the two wasted little time in ripping the left shoulder of your dress off you and starting to apply pressure to the wound.

Through the open door, you saw Kaz investigating the dead man. You hardly felt the fingers probing at your wound as Kaz bent his head and looked over the scene.

"You did a good job," Inej whispered, bringing you back to yourself. She squeezed your uninjured arm to get your attention, and you turned your eyes to hers. She offered you a small, warm smile that reached her eyes. The tension in your good shoulder eased. She just had that effect. "You did what needed to be done."

Two sets of footsteps approached one from Kaz's bedroom and one from the hallway. Nina entered the office in a mess of skirts and unbound hair. Without hesitating, she knelt next to you and started to work.

You didn't focus on her, nor on Inej and Jesper starting to murmur around you about what happened, how they could have missed this, how they should respond.

Kaz leaned his shoulder against the doorway, putting his weight on his good leg, and he examined you. You met his blue gaze despite the butterflies going haywire in your stomach. Earlier, you'd been too shy to look at him, but now, having killed someone trying to kill him, you met his look head-on. 

Everyone else disappeared. It was just you and Kaz.

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Well done.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #reader insert #the grishaverse #the crows #six of crows duology #jesper fahey #nina zenik #inej ghafa #grishaverse fanfic #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #soc kaz #soc fanfic #soc jesper #soc nina #soc inej #soc matthias #my writing #midnights but make it kaz brekker #midnights

[authorshen]

Tips on Pacing

We, as creators, seek that hook that gets the readers invested and keeps them that way. Nothing does that better than tension. There are all kinds, but it often occurs between characters. The "do they like me" of romance, the interruptions of erotica, the intense adversary from an unknown opponent, or the whodunits of mystery; Tension comes in all shapes and sizes, but it boils down to one thing, leaving the readers holding their breath in anticipation of the next page.

A large part of the creative process is figuring out how to create that tension without leaving the readers wanting to quit out of frustration or confusion. I would like to say there is a correct way to pace things, but it depends entirely on the story and situation.

Action scenes, for example, move very quickly, whereas a scene with a lot of dialogue will move at a snail’s pace. A spicy scene will emulate real life, moving slowly at first and increase its pace. A dramatic scene can be either fast or slow, depending on what it contains.

There are the peaceful scenes that do not move the same as any other kind of scene, showing the contentment of characters, the sun setting, or moving from one place to another. In writing or showing these scenes in a comic, it will go very quickly but the reader will perceive them as slow.

Showing a car ride, or a cooking scene allows characters to reflect on what has been happening and offers character development, but it does not have that tension at all. Still, adding those scenes is like adding bread to your butter. Now, everyone has their own tastes, but I would find it very odd to find someone who would consume just butter, especially if it was unsalted. Adding those peaceful scenes makes the ones that aren’t, all the more impactful, to both your readers and your characters.

The calm before the storm does wonders in storytelling, but the one thing you want to avoid is spending too much time in that calm. An example of this would be The Hobbit. Now, I love The Hobbit. It’s a classic hero’s journey, with a deep world build and rich characters, but parts of it are unnecessarily wordy. There is a page that describes the moss on the trees in such detail that you can taste it, which shows Tolkien’s skills as a wordsmith, but it was ultimately padding.

waits for the rage. Padding; words that don’t move your plot forward and only add to your word/panel count. Padding or filler should not be confused with peaceful scenes. Peaceful scenes will add to your story, padding will not. The literary world has changed a lot since Tolkien wrote The Hobbit, and we can see that evident in modern literature by the fact that there would hardly be a mention of trees at all, let alone the moss that grows upon them.

The next subject of pacing is sentence variation and flow. Now, flow is a tricky subject, and is not often resolved during the initial draft. When I am editing, things will sometimes be in the wrong order and disrupt flow. When flow is off, tension wanes, and when tension wanes, readers will lose interest. There may be entire scenes that I think don’t work where they are, but rather than delete those scenes, I find a place where they fit better. Perhaps that place is earlier, perhaps it is later. If you thought that scene was necessary when you wrote it, perhaps there is a proper place for it.

In A Galactic Star, a part of the chapter titled Repercussions, was supposed to happen right before the climax. I moved it up to allow the reader to understand Chrome’s hesitations between him and Neon.

Even in comics, you aren’t going to necessarily catch things after you just completed them. Many indie creators will recommend a space between writing the initial draft and editing it. The amount of time varies per person, but it is suggested to at least give it a day. The reason is because of the completion high; You just created this thing and in your mind it is amazing and awesome, not seeing the mistakes that are there. I feel as though editing is like polishing a stone; Every stone, no matter how grey or plain in appearance, can be polished into a stunning masterpiece if given enough time.

The editing process has multiple phases, the first is checking for spelling and grammar mistakes, and the second is checking the sentence structure for flow and repeating these steps as necessary. Example: The loud dog barked. Vs. The dog barked loudly. The first is grammatically correct but makes you pause to process, whereas the second will allow you to move on to the next sentence without that stop.

Flow is a key component in pacing, which is a key component in tension, which keeps your readers engaged. As a potential reader of your story, I hope this will help you to bring it to life.

#writing #creative #writers #writers on tumblr #fiction #writeblr #novel writing #comic writer #writerslife #writer problems #writerblr #writing tips #writing advice #writer tips #pacing #storytelling #comics #comic tips #story writing

[usetheeauthor]

Run With Me

Ser Criston Cole x Targaryen!Virgin!Reader

Gif created by @jameswan

Smut (MDNI +18)

Summary: You are the eldest sister and daughter of the Targaryen family. Your father bypasses you as heir to the throne as the rules of realm proclaim you illegitimate to the line of succession. Because of this you feel ignored and develop a friendship with your knight Ser Criston Cole. One day before your wedding, he confesses his love for you.

A/N: I know people are hating on Criston right now. I hate him, too. But I still have a place for him in my heart because he’s a very nuanced character along with Alicent whom people also have their qualms with. Anyway, I wrote a happier version of the ‘run away with me’ sequence between him and Rhaenyra except it’s the reader of course. I hope ya’ll enjoy because I did.

Word Count: 4.9k+

Warnings: misogyny, feeling of depression and loneliness, attempted suicide, loss of virginity, p in v (unprotected), sub/dom dynamics, blood kink, choking, spit kink, spit as lube, creampie, doggystyle, breeding kink, oral (f receiving), spanking, cum eating, ambiguous happy ending

The bastard child. That was just one of the many names you’ve heard swirling around the streets of the Dragonstone when referring to you. It used to hurt a lot more but now you’ve owned up to the name.

You were not birthed by Aemma Arryn. Instead, you were a child born out of wedlock. Daughter of a whore and King Viserys I. As a young child, your father would visit every other fortnight, providing you with food and clothing while keeping you a secret from the public. Slowly, his visits would be few to none and your mother struggled to stay afloat for the two of you.

At age 17, your mother had passed away from illness. This was the point where you’d truly felt forsakened by the Gods. Your father left you and your mother to crawl through pits of hell, your mother’s gone, and now you were officially alone.

When you learned of the Queen’s death, however, you were saddened. In some way, you’d seen her as a mother to you indirectly. Although, she hated the idea that her husband had a secret love child, she still encouraged her husband to be apart of your life. So when she’d died the same day your mother passed, you were utterly shattered. Completely broken.

King Viserys I Targaryen, claimed you as his daughter not long after Aemma and Baelon’s funeral, as a promise to his wife that he’s stay apart of your life.

Just like that you were supposed to accept this new life. No longer on the streets, forced to wear pretty dresses, and learn the customs of the kingdom. Just like that and you were in the eye of the public sent to be torn to bits by rumors and societal norms that did not apply to you. And just like that…you were made to see the man who’s been in and out of your life for 17 years as your Father.

It’s numbing to say the least. Even after 4 years, at the age of 21, you couldn’t possibly see yourself as part of the family. Everyone knows this, too. Even if you shared blood with the King himself, you’ll never be a real Targaryen in there eyes.

The day that Rhaenyra was announced heir was evidence enough. Your father, although, kind and remorseful for his absence understood the rules of the realm already takes issue with a woman on the throne but an illegitimate child would cause a war of all wars.

Now as woman of the Targaryen line with no position for the throne, your next bet was to be married off to some high lord. Your father had plans to marry you off to Lord Jason Lannister. Little protest could be made, your duty was to marry to this man you hardly knew. A man filled with plenty pride but lacked intelligence.

It was as if no one could hear your pleas for help. No one. Not even your half sister could understand this pain.

You belonged nowhere.

————

It was the day of the royal hunt for Price Aegon’s 2nd nameday. Your father ordered you to spend at least a few moments of your time with Lord Jason much to your chagrin.

“Expect that in our marriage, Lady Targaryen, we bore 6 children. All healthy, strong boys that will become future great men leading within the walls of King’s Landing.”

“Although, that sounds…enticing. I just don’t think I’d like that many children. At least…I’m not sure of it so soon. I am young.”

“You are far above the age of marital age for women. Very well a spinster. Should you really have any standards for which you’d be willing to proceed?”

You seethed, clenching your teeth in order to keep yourself from saying anything rude. “Will you please excuse me, Lord Jason.”

You curtsied then walked briskly away. You were sure that your father had his eyes on you. You didn’t care. You wished to be as far away from this place as you could. Your knight Ser Criston Cole follows closely behind you.

You wanted to be alone. Hiking up your dress, you kicked off your shoes and made a run for it through the woods. Ser Criston following close after you.

Your heart pounded against your chest, your heavy garments weighed down on you, your feet hurt with each contact of the unsteady ground but you ran. You ran as if you were searching for the end of the earth.

Every now and then, you’d look back. He was gaining on you. You grew tired but with the last bit of adrenaline you had you continued forward. You abruptly stopped in your tracks when you realize you’d nearly ran over the edge of a cliff. You looked below you. The ragged large rocks and forestry had never looked so peaceful.

“Princess!” Ser Criston calls from behind you. You turned to face him, tears running down your face. Your inches away from the ledge, the tiny rock under your feet shift and roll off with each move you make.

“Don’t call me that,” You shook your head. “I’m no princess. I’m no Targaryen. I’m the daughter of a whore. I’ve lived most of my years scavenging through streets only a few miles away from where my father rules. Now I walk above those same streets but still…it’s only a few miles away. I will always be reminded of my past. I’m not wanted. Instead of my father willing to understand me, he marries me off to a prideful fool. It isn’t fair. I wish to live no more.”

You attempt to lift your feet up to hang over the ledge. Your white knight makes calls out your name halting you from further movement.

“Understand,” He says in a shaky voice, his hands put out in front of him. Gradually, he inches further up to you. “I know what it is like to come from nothing. To have no one. I’ve lost so much in my life that this life I know now is all I know and all I can remember. I would give anything to remember my life before all this that way I’d appreciate who I am now and know the legacy I carry. Your past is who you are. We cannot erase those parts of ourselves whether wish to or not. You have that privilege to know where you come from and use it to your advantage. You belong here.”

“I don’t. My father only came to find me after all these years because his wife requested it on her deathbed. She showed me more compassion final moments than he’s ever shown me in my entire life.”

“And he regrets this everyday. You don’t need to forgive him. It is your choice what you choose. But he only had the best intentions for you now. Even with marrying you off. You’d have a better life. You’d be comfortable and happy.”

“Happy? I’m not marrying who I want. I’m only a pawn for political power. I understand you come from suffering as well, Criston. But you do not carry these burdens that I do. I’m mocked constantly by my own people. I’m all alone.”

“Your not. If there’s anyone that could understand just a morsel of troubles, it’s your sister. She’s a woman announced as heir to the throne. You understand the kind of torment she’s facing because of this. If you’d talk with her maybe it won’t be so lonely,” He standing right behind you. “But please…don’t take your life. There’s more to look forward to. You’re not done seeing life yet.”

You breathing quickens, heavy. You breakdown crying. Ser Criston wrapping his arms around you and you melt in his touch. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to hold you against his chest. The embrace lasting for about 3 minutes before you part.

“Would you like to go back?” He questions.

“No. Not yet.” With that, you walked back through the woods and he follows you through.

The night arrived and you both set camp somewhere. A fire started in the middle you as your only source of light. You both exchange stories of your lives. Ser Criston not remembering much of his life because of the trauma he’s experienced but the parts he remembered fondly opened him up. His smile was quite dashing. It was enough to make you wish that you could always make him laugh.

He’d only every smiled around Rhaenyra most times. You could tell he was fond of her. She was beautiful so it was not hard to see why. She was also very daring. It was unheard for women to speak up so boldly. It was something you’ve always aspired to be. You always envied that you couldn’t speak up for yourself the way you wanted to. Sometimes you just wanted the chance to do as you please with no consequences.

“Have you ever though about what life beyond here is like?” You asked Ser Criston.

“Yes. I think about it all the time. What it’d be like to live life aside from my vows. It’s tempting dream but it’s just not in my future.” He shrugs.

“In my dreams, there’s a place called Sunfair. It’s beautiful because there…nobody knows who I am so they can’t judge me. I’m only a woman. I can do as I please. It’s peaceful. Every time, I close my eyes and dream, I hope to be there again only the next time I wish it to be real.”

“It sounds like a lovely place. I wouldn’t mind joining that nation.” He jokes.

“I think you’d be more than welcome, Ser Criston. A place like that needs a man like you. You’re kind, understanding. If I ever see it again, I’ll dream you’re there, too.”

The knight smiles. “I’d appreciate it, Princess.”

You smiled back. Comfortable silence falling between you with the only other sound being the crackling of the fire.

When the morning arose, you found Ser Criston had thrown his cloak over you while you rested on the soft moss. The walk back to the camp area was silent. At some point, the two of you spotted the white stag for the hunt. Instead of killing it, you approached it, looking in its eyes before setting it free. Your father immediately chastised you upon arrival but relief washed over him knowing you returned safe.

You took the time to approach you sister for a conversation to settle any tension between you two.

“Rhaenyra, I would like to apologize. I was cold. Distant. I made no effort whatsoever to form a relationship with you. I understand if you do not wish to speak with me. But I do want you to know that I would be honored if you were my queen. Your leadership would be much appreciated in this kingdom and anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.”

Rhaenyra laughs. “Thank you, sister. I should apologize, too. I wasn’t so easy to get along with either.”

“Well, both our mothers did pass away within each other, it was only natural that we’d have a hard time getting along,” You excused. “I would like for us to confide in one another for now on. I think we could really support one another especially during times like these.”

“I-I’d like that, sister.” Rhaenyra says, smilingly brightly.

The rest of the day, the two of you bonded over the struggles you both faced as women and the fight for your own autonomy. It was nice to know that you weren’t exactly alone.

You notice Ser Criston across the camp shooting a small smile. You smile back, silently thanking him for listening to you and for patching your relationship with your sister.

On the Sail back home, You and Ser Criston continued telling stories to each other to amuse you. He told you of the battles he’s been in and, although violent, it was captivating. He was warrior to say the least. Sometimes, you question if he forced himself to forget certain things to protect his own peace of mind.

When you arrived home, your white knight took his place standing in front of your bedroom door. You knew you had to go to bed soon but you wanted to talk just a little more.

“I want to thank you, Ser Criston, you’ve helped me out of my shell these past few days. It’s not been easy to say the least. I still struggle with the idea that I’m to be wed to a man with the arrogance the size of horse but I appreciate being able to make amends with my family. “

“If I could, I’d do all I could to make you happy so that you’d never feel the need hide yourself again.”

“Criston…” You whispered.

His hand rests on your cheek, lightly caressing it with his thumb. He’s looking down at you with so much love that it makes your heart full. His lips lower onto yours and he kisses you. His lips are pressed softly on yours like they’re barely there.

He pulls away, apologizing profusely. “I don’t know what came over me, Princess. Forgive me for my misconduct. I shall find myself punished for—”

You cut him off, placing your lips back onto his. This time adding pressure into the kiss. He places his hands over your arms, pushing you away.

“We shouldn’t.” He whispers.

“I don’t care. I just want you,” Your hands run through his hair. “Let me take care of you. In exchange, you’ll take care of me, too.”

“My vows…”

“Forget them in this moment. Let us go to that place in my dreams. The one where you are just a man and i, a woman.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Is it because you love my sister? I see the way you look at her. If that is who you wish to be with, I will not stop you. But I want you to know that I care for you. I have always cared since the first day we met four years ago and you noticed me in the far corner of the room when everyone else ignored. I just hope we can still be friends.”

“Princess!” He growls his hands, cupping your face. “How could you think I wouldn’t want you? I’m not in love with your sister. I love you. I’ve love you since then, too. I’ve just kept my distance because of moments like these. These moments were I’d want you all to myself.”

“You have me,” You turn the knob to your bedroom door. “Stay with me with night. Make me yours. I don’t want to spend another night without you.”

“Then, you have me as well.” He kisses you once more the two of you, stumbling into your room. He shuts the door behind him and he looks at you, eyes dark with pure lust.

You helped him out of his heavy armor, slowly removing them as a sensual way of teasing him. You found that you were only torturing yourself in the process. You needed him badly.

He helps you out of your dress and corset, kissing down your neck and back with each new part of exposed skin.

You turn to face him again, eager to feel his lips on yours again. Your back pressed up against the wall and his strong hand around your throat. You gasped against his lips at his sudden dominance.

“Take me, Criston. Don’t make me wait.”

Taking you by your neck, he peels you away from the wall, walking you back towards your bed. He show you back and you fall onto your mattress. You sit up on your elbows, watching him remove his pants in anticipation.

The moment he’s released from his confinements, you gasp. Your eyes followed v-line of his abdomen leading to something so beautiful. He’s large and erect. You’ve never seen a penis before but the mere size of him was intimidating. The view from where you sat made him look like a King before you. Tan skin glowing with contrast of the orange flames lit around your room. His chest chiseled to that of a Greek God, the hairs sprouting from his pecs adding to his manly presence.

Pulling your legs so that your ass hung just a little over the edge of the bed, he brings them to your chest, widening you for him. He’s on his knees before you. Your glistening virgin cunt presenting before him. He can practically see your heart beating staring down at.

Ser Criston’s eyes never leave yours. Sticking out his long, thick tongue; he licks a long stripe in between your folds collecting the juices that have accumulated. You mewled at this new sensation. Who would have thought the feeling of a wet tongue between your legs could feel this good?

He gives you a few teasing kitten lick before moving his mouth entirely from your core, sucking and biting your inner thighs instead. He wanted to torture you, is that it?

You couldn’t bare it. You needed him now. If he wished for you to beg him, you wouldn’t hesitate.

“Criston…please. I need you. I need your mouth on me. Please drink me.”

“Does my princess wish to have her first orgasm from a mouth willing to please?”

“Yes, yes. I want it.” You cried, hips rolling.

“Your wish is my command.” He chuckles, finding your desperation amusing. Then, his mouth latches onto your swollen clitoris and you go mad.

You moaning as if the walls were thin and yet neither of you cared. He’s shaking his head side to side, mouth fully dived into your pussy to drink from it’s fountain. He loved the way you even tasted so pure against his tongue.

Needing to know just how tight you are, he sinks a finger into you. You tremble at this new sensation. You’ve fingered yourself before but it’s never touched this level inside you. He laps at your clit while fucking his finger into you and another gush of your juices shoot up.

“Fuck, this cunt’s weeping for me.” He groans.

“All for you, Ser.”

He groans at this. He never thought hearing his title said during sex could sound so good. It made him go feral. Forcing another finger into you, he spreads them inside you in order to stretch you out. You were unbelievably tight and Criston worried that even with his fingers it wasn’t enough to properly prepare you for his large cock.

He’s devouring you and the mixing of his fingers pumping into you, massaging your sweet spot, was enough to have you hyperventilating. You’re eyes rolled into the back of your head. You were going to come and it would be with an intensity you weren’t sure you can handle. Yet, you rock against his fingers to reach for it anyway.

He smiles up at you. “That’s it, princess. Ride them the way you would my cock.”

He spanks your clitoris and your officially through. The brightness of a thousand suns blind your vision and your body stiffens as your orgasm slams through you. Then, you begin to convulse feeling his fingers continue to hit against the pressure so that it builds and builds.Tears flowed from your eyes and you wrapped a hand around his wrists to keep him from pumping anymore or you’d lose consciousness.

Showing mercy, he slows his pace until he finally stops pumping watching the way you writhed and whimpered at the sensation he’s given you. When he felt like all shocks had dissipated, he slowly slid his fingers from your soaking pussy. His fingers slick with your honey, he brings them to his lips for a taste. He brings them to your lips as well smearing it around. You instinctively licked your lips, tasting the ambrosia.

“I need to be inside you.” He says.

You move up on the bed, getting on your hands and knees. You press you face down into the mattress. “Take me this way.”

“But…it’ll be too much for your first time. It’ll hurt.”

“I want this, Criston. I mean it. I want to be fill by you. Every inch.”

He bites his lip to keep himself from letting out a desperate whine. You were going to be the death of him.

Positioning himself behind you, he spits in his hand and strokes himself a few times. He didn’t need to do so. You were already so wet but he figured anything could help you to adjust to him. He’s pressed against your entrance, your folds parting to make way for his intrusion. The pressure is heavy but he makes no attempts to move further. Impatiently, you rock back against him in an attempt to sink down on him. He holds your hips from further movement. You whine.

His hand collides with your plump ass and in the same swift motion, his cock splits you open. You clenched the sheets, gasping at the feeling of being torn apart. He moans above you. He understood that you were in pain but the sensation of your velvety walls swallowing him in was so blissful that all he could do is voice his pleasure.

Ser Criston stills. Only a quarter of his length is inside you. He pulls out, only the tip inside. Then, he plunges in again. This time half of him inside you. You let out a choked cry. He rubs your ass and your back as he continues to feed more of himself into your cunt with each thrust.

He snaps his hips forward, rough against you. This last thrust causing you to scream out. He’s fully inside you. Yanking you by your hair, he tangles a fist around it. With your face risen, he uses his other hand to clamp over your mouth, knowing that once he begins moving you’ll be screaming for bloody mercy.

He snaps his hips into you over and over again until he’s picked up a rough pace. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on that pressure of being filled to the brim over and over again. You sobbed into his hand. He’s growling above you like a mad man. An animal. This was how you were meant to be taken. Raw and pounded in with reckless abandon.

The grip of your hands bunching the sheets beneath you matching his grip around your hair. Your tears running down his fingers yet his grip over your mouth never falters. The clapping sounds of his hips clashing with your ass only made you clench around him harder.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so incredibly tight.” He groans.

He removes his hands from your hair and over your mouth, sending you falling forward against his harsh strokes. He pulls out of you and your disoriented and scared that he’ll leave you with no more of him.

“Please put it back in!” You could cry again.

He flips you onto your back, smirking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He plunges into you again, a sign of his devotion to please you. You were going to cum on his cock tonight. He was going to make sure of it.

He’s strokes long and deep into you, dark eyes boring into your own. His cock sloshes around in your pooling heat. You lay a hand against his chest curling your fingers into the chest hair, feeling his heart beat.

His lips find your and your tongues fight for dominance. Your body are entangled in a hot and sweaty embrace and you wished you could stay like this forever. He allows himself the moment to remove his eyes from your blissed out face, staring down between your bodies. Your pussy eagerly draws in his cock begging for its presence even when he pulls out. The mix of blood and your creaminess coats his cock and he could feel pride consume him, knowing that he’s the one to take your precious flower. If he could, he’s keep the bloody sheets as a reminder of how well he’s fucked throughly into you.

Then, he witnesses your hands snaking between your body to rub yourself. He goes into a frenzy at this sight, thrusting so fast into you that you can hardly keep up your grinding. You accept his punishing pace, letting him fuck you into the mattress. Your orgasm was fast approaching.

“I’m gonna come.” You chant over and over.

“Me too, princess. Fuck, I can’t wait to feel you clench around my cock.”

“Cum with me. I want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You mean this?”

“Yes, I want to carry your children,” You cradle your face in your hands, pecking his lips. “Let go for me, love. Fill me with everything you’ve got.”

“Ughh.” He fills you clenched around him like a vice and he comes hard. His white essence painting your walls. He’s gasping and whines with each spurt.

You follow after him, your orgasm hitting harder at the feeling of him filling you. This was exactly you’ve craved from him for so long. You’d desperate wanted to have his children and this moment was an act of you love for him.

When you both came to, you smiled at one another. The wet, sticky mess between you was evidence of your desires for one another. He pulls out of of you slowly. You both groan from the lost. But once he lays beside you and rests you against his chest, you felt no need to mourn the loss of him inside you. You were whole again.

“I marry tomorrow.” You whispered.

“I know.” He sighs.

“I don’t regret any of this. I love you always.”

“I love you.” He says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I will never be apart from you, even when you’re married. My life and my heart belongs to you.”

You held onto each other for dear life. The inevitable will soon arrive. So all you could do now is stall time and wish for it to freeze entirely that way you could forever be with the one you truly loved.

—————

In the morning, your handmaidens had prepared your wardrobe and hair for the wedding. You were noticeably disheartened but neither of them commented, understanding you didn’t wish to be married of to a Lannister. They pitied you but, nonetheless less, your duties are to be fulfilled.

The guests board the ships for the wedding venue and you felt sick at the thought that you were soon approaching a life of an unloving political arrangement.

Criston approaches you, watching as you looked out into the sea. “Princess.” He greets.

You turned to look at him, giving a small smile before looking out into the ocean once again.

“I must tell you. I won’t be serving here very long. I’ve decided I’ll be resigning my position. I’ve broken my vows and I’m sure if I continue my duties here knowing what I’ve done.”

You look at him, eyes widened. “No. You can’t.”

“I must.”

“If you leave, you’ll kill me dead. I’ll be all alone again. I can’t bare it if you’re not in my life.”

“Then, run with me.” He says, slowly closing in on you. “I know of a place. A place with beautiful green pastures. Oranges and cinnamon in abundance. We could go there. It could be our Sunfair.”

“But my duties—”

“You said you’d like to marry for love. We love each other, do we not? If you don’t wish to marry, we could flee. Rhaenyra will be queen. You won’t miss out on the crown or the throne. Come live with me and we could live happily. They’ll never find us.”

You were panting, this spontaneous decision taking you by surprise. This meant leaving your life behind for good. Your father and sister never to be seen again.

“Family…”

“We could start a family of our own,” He places a hand on your stomach. “We can have as many as you’d like. They’d never have to suffer for long as I’m here. But I do not wish to see them torn apart for the fight of royalty and legitimacy.”

“I want this. And I want you.”

“Then be my wife—Run. With. Me.” He stares you in the eye, pleading for your to say something.

“Yes,” You smiled, tears falling down your face. “I’ll be your wife. I’ll run with you. I’ll be the mother to your children.”

He beams with joy, cupping your face. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Take my hand.” He says, holding it out.

You hesitate, looking around before taking it. Reaching the peak of the boat, you step up along with him. People began to scream and yell at the sight, guards making their way to you. You looked at your father one last time a look of horror on his face but then your face lands on Rhaenyra and she’s smiling, nodding her approval.

You focus your eyes on Criston one last time and then you both jump ship. Regardless of whether you’d live or not, you did it. In the end, you’d get to be with him through the end.

Meanwhile, the people screamed for you from above. Below, you and Criston swirled around each other underwater, smiling then leaned for a kiss sealing your love for a lifetime.

#house targaryen #house of the dragon #ser criston cole x reader #ser crispin #ser criston cole #house of the dragon 1x05 #hotd 1x05 #fabien frankel #fabien frankel x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #targaryen!reader #rhaenyra targaryen x ser criston cole #rhaenyra x daemon #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #hotd season 1 #house of the dragon spoilers #game of thrones #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotdedit #gotedit #got fandom #forbidden romance #forbidden relationship #smutty fic #ser criston cole x reader smut #angst fic

[hearts4youz]

The Captains Daughter -Chapter 6-

A/N: This chapter is a bit longer, finally writing some real action!! Expect chapters to be a lot less... boring from here on out. The first couple chapters were slow for the purpose of developing the plot and characters and yada yada yada. But anyways- I hope yall enjoy this chapter!!

Word count: 2k

Reader pov:

You flopped on your bed after dinner. Anticipation for the mission tomorrow morning rendering you unable to sleep. Your eyes flicked to the open duffle bag on the floor, clothes spilling out of it. Sighing you got up from your bed and moved towards the bag, picking up discarded clothes as you did. You opened the plain wooden drawers in your bedroom and placed your clothes in them, organizing them by shirts, pants, socks and whatnot. At the bottom of the bag was the one personal item you were allowed to bring, your photo album. Smiling, you reached down and picked up the binder. It was decorated with pink glitter, paint, and other craft materials. You made it with your friends in middle school, it was almost full now. Inside were pictures in as close to chronological order as you could get. You flipped open the binder, the glossy cover protected each of the pages, gliding past your fingers as you turned each page.

At the beginning of the book was pictures from your first birthday, your parents were still together. Your father's eyes squinted shut from his wide grin, you had cake all over your face and sported a huge smile of your own to match his. Your mother however, smiled less enthusiastically than your dad, a faraway look in your eyes. You frown as you focused on her. You didn't remember her much, one of the only memories you had of her being the night she left.

You were three years old, your father had finished your bedtime routine over an hour ago, but you remained wide awake.

"I can't do this anymore John," you heard your mom yell from the kitchen.

"Emilia. please, for Y/N," "please," you heard your fathers pleas.

"John," your mother said quieter, voice breaking.

"I was never meant to be a mother, I love you, so, so much but.." her voice was breaking as her sentance trailed off.

"You can't just leave me, you can't just leave your daughter because parenting isn't for you." "We're supposed to be in this together"

Your father sounded more upset now

"John I-" "You know how I feel about throwing my life away for a kid,"

"Throwing away your life? can you hear yourself right now?" he raised his voice.

"Yes, I can't even go out anymore cause I have to watch her"

"Y/N is the best thing that has ever happened to us, she is our life now." your dad yelled.

"Maybe she's yours, but she sure as hell will never be mine," your mom screamed.

You didn't understand the severity of the situation. You didn't understand why your dad stomped up the stairs, quiet sniffles leaving his nose.

You didn't understand why your dad hugged you tighter then usual before he dropped you off at preschool the next morning, or why he was always sad and drinking.

You didn't understand why mom wasn't coming home.

You closed the book. You didn't have any emotion at the thought of that night, you hardly knew your mother, never saw her again. Your dad explained it to you once you were old enough, once he was over it. The two of you did just fine alone.

Besides, there's a mission tomorrow, which deserves your focus. No need to reminisce on old memories. You laid down on the subpar mattress, falling asleep shortly after.

The next morning you awoke to your alarm blaring once again. Following your normal routine, you got dressed, splashed your face with cold water, brushed your teeth, and made sure your gear was set for the mission. You made sure your pack had everything you needed as well, forgetting something on your first mission wouldn't be very impressive.

You need to prove yourself, you thought. For your team, especially your father and Ghost. Your dad believed in you, you needed to make sure you lived up to his expectations. The harder task, proving to Ghost that you belonged in the 141.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you took one last look at your room, scanning for something you could have possibly forgot, and left.

The 141 gets to skip breakfast in order to get the mission done, you were grateful you were missing out on rock hard "pancakes," if you could even call them that.

You were told to meet in the bay, where they kept the vehicles. The plan was to take a Humvee to the drop location, hopefully the area would be clear of infadels, and you could be back by mid afternoon.

You took the stairwell down to the bay, which was basically a glorified parking garage, meeting up with Gaz along the way.

"You ready kid?" he grinned, looking intimidating in full gear. You on the other hand, looked like a kid in grown-ups clothes. Your boots were a size too large, tripping you up occasionally. Your tactical vest hung loose off your stomach. You really did look like a kid compared to the burly men in your squad.

"Ready as i'll ever be," you cringed at the corny reply you let slip out of your mouth. Gaz chuckled.

Gaz briefed you on what to expect as you descended the stairs, missions like these were routine, easy. He had told you.

You felt butterflies in your stomach, slight nervousness setting in as you entered the bay, which Gaz assured you was normal.

You reached the spot where the vehicle was parked, Ghost was already there, having a smoke. He nodded towards the two of you as you neared. You muttered a hello as he offered Gaz a cigarette. He held the packet out to you, offering you one.

"No thanks, I don't smoke," you stated.

Ghost scoffed, "You will eventually."

You furrowed your brows, wondering what he meant.

The three of you stood in silence waiting for the rest of the group. Price was next to arrive, then Soap and Alejandro. Once you were gathered, Your father went over the mission once more, then climbed into the drivers seat. Ghost entered the passenger side, Gaz and soap jumped into the middle row, leaving you and Alejandro with the very back seats.

The drive was mostly silent, until about halfway through when your dad kicked on the radio. It was set to some country station, your father hummed the tune, a few of the men nodded along to the song. After around three hours the vehicle slowed, merging onto a dirt road, after a few miles you came upon a small town, few people milled around the streets. Startled when they saw the armored military vehicle turning up the dusty path.

You came upon a run down building at the edge of the town, you were exposed to anything. If enemies were here, they surely saw you rolling into town. You didn't move a muscle when the car stopped, awaiting orders.

The fear really set in now, the severity of what could happen if there were in fact enemies hiding out in this building.

Your monologue was cut short by the sound of Soap slamming his door shut. You jumped up, startled.

"Relax," Alejandro chuckled.

You sighed, relieved that it wasn't gunshots.

The six of you piled out of the car, grouping up in front of the building. You all stared at Price, waiting for his input.

"Let's get in and get out, If anyone is inside they surely know we have arrived. I would have preferred a stealthier entrance, but I was given close to no information about the area to go off of." He said, any trace of your soft, caring father gone. Replaced by the stone faced military man he reserved for work.

You took in your surroundings, the building was old and weathered. Part of the roof was caved in, moss crawled across the damaged siding. Cracked windows decorated the outside, allowing for a look into the unfurnished building.

The group carried out protocol wordlessly, peering into windows to check for danger, planning entrance and exit routes, and assessing the situation. Everyone seemed to have a job, you were lost in the middle of it. Your father was too focused on the task at hand to help you.

Ghost noticed your slight distress and beckoned you over. He was crouched by a ground level window, pointing at something inside. You stood directly in front of the window, trying to make out what Ghost was pointing at, when you were taken to the ground by a large mass.

The wind was knocked out of you as you looked up at Ghost who was now on top of you.

"Stupid, Rookie mistake." he uttered.

"Is there anything inside that lump three feet above your fucking ass?" He spat.

"My what?" your voice trembled.

"Your head you twat."

"He probably saw you, you fucking imbecile," his words bit into your heart, tugging on the strings.

"He?" you gasped.

"Yes, you twat. There's a soldier in there with our supplies," he said, getting off of you, pushing his boot into your stomach after he stood, for good measure. As if you weren't humiliated enough, there was now a dusty footprint across your body.

Gathering yourself, you stood. Crouching behind the Lieutenant as he steadied his gun, taking aim at the man through the broken glass. A moment later you heard the crack of gunfire and the thump of a body hitting the ground. Ghost had hit his target and moved away from the window, flattening himself and you against the siding before anyone inside could return fire.

Your radio crackled as Ghost briefed the others on the events. Price gave instructions in return.

"Stay close," Ghost murmured in your ear, grasping your arm and leading you around the back of the building. With your free hand, you unholstered your own gun.

You followed Ghost as he rounded the corner. You heard the shouts in the distance as the fighting ensued.

Your radios crackled, "Entering the premises," said Gaz.

Ghost responded, "We're around the back, entering on that side."

Another voice chimed in, "Y/N how copy?"- your dad.

"With Ghost,"

"Copy" The back door was slightly ajar, Ghost kicked it open then stepped to the side for cover, nothing happened and he stepped inside.

The room you entered smelled of mildew and soot. It clearly hasn't been used for its original purpose in years. Pieces of drywall lay on the ground, pieces of broken glass mixed into the mess. Old, torn, and stained furniture was scattered throughout.

You scanned the seemingly empty area. Ghost did the same. Concluding that the coast was clear, the two of you walked further into the building. You suddenly heard the sounds of a skirmish above you. Grunting and banging, sounds of someone hitting the floor.

Gunshots

You and Ghost exchanged a glance before frantically searching for a way upstairs, hoping that the slain wasn't one of your teammates.

Ghost pressed a button on his radio. Once the two of you were officially lost. "Anyone caught in the fight upstairs?"

"Negative," multiple voices said.

Price took over the comms to give more orders.

"We've taken out about five so far. An unknown number remain. Stay cautious. Our supplies are supposed to be at the top floor. Lets meet up there. Once we have as much as we can carry we leave. If you meet an... infidel, you have permission to kill."

"Copy"

To be continued...

Taglist: @abbiesxox

#captain price #cod 141 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #task force 141 #cod ghost #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #kinktober #codkinktober #Dad!price #john price #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley

[wisterialilies]

MC as the Leader of a Large Criminal Organization

A/N: Just imagine this, a bunch of people are bowing and trembling in fear while in the presence of the city's most powerful and dangerous figures. The boss arrives. They look up. And what do they see? They see a very fluffy, very pink, very adorable sheep. With sunglasses. That's it. That's all I have to say.

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo, Barbartos, Solomon, Simeon, Luke

Lucifer as… your most trusted right-hand man. You can leave many matters to him and the results will always be satisfactory. If you’re having difficulty making an important decision, you can always count on him to give some excellent advice. And whenever you’re not around to take charge of things, he’s the one giving orders. Not to mention, you don’t even need to bring a bodyguard with you when you go out. All you need is him. One sharp glare from this man is enough to send anybody fleeing in terror. Most people aren’t aware of this, but every single attack and guard dog in your organization were personally trained by him. Maybe that's his form of animal therapy? After all, not once has he taken a vacation ever since he started working for you.

Mammon as… a corrupted inspector on your payroll. Thanks to your backing, he holds plenty of authority in the police force and even the higher-ups are hesitant to get rid of him. He doesn’t hold back when he asks for money, but you don’t really mind since he follows your orders well and doesn’t stick his nose into places where it shouldn’t belong. Not to mention, he’s always happy to clean up your organization’s messes – as long as you pay him extra, that is.

Leviathan as… your organization’s hacker. While most organizations would require multiple hackers, programmers, and developers to conduct cybercrime properly, all you need is Levi. He’s good enough to make up for all the other people you may have needed. He is an absolutely indispensable asset to the organization, really. Except, you hardly see him since he always works from home. Whenever he’s helping out other members – such as relaying stolen/confidential information and keeping an eye on stuff through CCTV footages – he almost always ends up driving the other party mad by speaking in codes that only he understands.

Satan as… your accountant in charge of all the organization’s finances. Originally, he was to work for you as your right-hand man, but Lucifer swooped in at the last minute and took the position. Ever since then, Satan has hated that man with a passion. But despite that, he does his job well and makes for an excellent and trustworthy accountant. Whenever Lucifer is dealing with too many tasks at once, you’ll sometimes delegate a few of his jobs to Satan instead. Needless to say, Satan is always delighted whenever that happens. No doubt he’ll rub the fact that Lucifer isn’t as capable as he thinks he is into his face the next time they see each other.

Asmodeus as… your organization’s exclusive weapons dealer. He always has anything and everything your people need. His weapons are always of the best quality too. He drops by the organization’s HQ often, not that you mind. He’s very charming and people love him, so why not? Besides, he’s even managed to root out a couple moles for you just by exercising his charms on them. Though you’re not quite sure what he stands to gain by doing that without you asking him to – besides the money, of course – it’d be a complete waste to not let him hang around and continue building good rapport with him. Not to mention, you can always count on him to give you the latest fashion advice.

Beelzebub as… the man in charge of the organization’s protection racketeering. With his large and muscular build, it’s very easy to intimidate businesses into ‘buying their protection’. If a business is being stubborn and refuses to pay, he doesn’t hesitate to make an example out of them to show others what would happen if they were to do the same. However, he refrains from using any violence outside of work and reverts to being a giant teddy bear with an appetite. Speaking of appetite, he always appreciates being treated to a good meal after a particularly difficult job.

Belphegor as… the organization’s hitman. He excels in using various types of firearms and almost never misses his targets. With that being said, he only gets assassination jobs every so often, since it’s not like you have people you need dead every day. So with all that free time on his hands, he takes it upon himself to accompany you or Beel as protection from a distance (not that Beel even needs it) whenever you guys go to meet with difficult people. And of course, the rest of his days are spent napping. Take a walk around the headquarters and there’s a chance you’ll come across him napping in some odd spot.

Diavolo as… the boss of another criminal organization. Though he is often playful and may even hold some child-like innocence at times, he is a very dangerous man. He holds many underground and political connections and is practically untouchable to the police. To make an enemy of him would be like signing one’s own death sentence. Luckily for you though, he seems to have taken a liking to you and treats you as a dear friend. And really, you couldn’t ask for a better ally. With him around, people need to think twice before messing with you and your people.

Barbartos as… Diavolo’s right-hand man. He is as scary and capable as Lucifer, if not more so. While you have yet to see him actually do anything besides serving tea and reminding Diavolo of his day’s schedule, you’ve heard about how he has gotten his hands very dirty for the sake of his employer. Apparently, he also has a habit of getting rid of Diavolo’s rivals by poisoning their tea. Although you know he won’t do something like that to you since Diavolo considers you as a friend, the smile he gives you whenever he serves tea really doesn’t help at all.

Solomon as… an informant highly sought after by both the police and criminals alike. While he always gives very useful intel, he can’t be trusted. He can often be found working for somebody one day, then turning around and selling them out the next. Despite his fickleness, nobody dares to lay a finger on him. Anybody who tries always goes missing. Perhaps the only person he wouldn’t dare cross would be Diavolo. Sometimes you go to him when you’re in need of information that you can’t find elsewhere, but other times, you just make sure to stay well clear of him.  

Simeon as… one of the few non-corrupted officers in the police force. He was recently transferred over from another division with the task of putting a stop to the city’s overwhelming amount of underground activities. Though he’s determined to do his best, Mammon is constantly getting in his way. Simeon is always worried about Luke’s safety and in an attempt to shield him from too much cruelty – despite the fact that Luke is a police officer himself – tries to take on the more gruesome parts of the job by himself.

Luke as… Simeon’s partner who transferred over with him. He seems to have a gift of making criminals lower their guards around him. Perhaps it’s because of his innocent appearance, or perhaps it’s simply because he tends to resemble a yapping chihuahua whenever provoked. Anyhow, it makes for a very useful skill, as Simeon can easily subdue the criminals while Luke distracts them. Teasing Luke has become Mammon’s new favorite pastime.

#obey me #obey me MC #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me headcanons

[1nyourdr34ms]

Shadows of Feels: Love at the Second Sight

pairing: NCT Mark x fem!reader

Prequel of Shadows of Feels: Between Heart and Mind

others: Haechan (Marks bestie and friend of y/n), Karina (fem!readers bestie), SVT Mingyu (fem!readers ex), NewJeans Hanni, Johnny, Jungwoo, Yuta

genre: basically fluff and romance

word count: 12.339 words

song rec: NCT Dream – My First And Last & NCT Dream - Hello Future

warnings: making out, kissing

summary: This is a Prequel to Shadows of Feels: Between Heart and Mind Part One. It tells the story of Mark Lee and y/n, detailing how they became a couple.

01 - When I Met Him The First Time

On a sunny afternoon, Hanni and Mark headed to the café to return a borrowed psychology book from you. You met her in your psychology course at uni and immediately became friends. Not close, but on good terms.

As they walked side by side, Hanni could hardly hide her feelings. Her heart beat faster when she thought of Mark, her long-time childhood friend, for whom she secretly harbored deep feelings.

"Mark, are you also looking forward to the barbecue today?" Hanni asked, trying to start a conversation that emphasized her closeness to him. "Of course, Hanni. It will be nice to see our families together again," replied Mark, still thinking about the preparations for the fest.

He saw Hanni as a good friend, almost like a sister, but he had no idea of her true feelings.

As they entered the café, Mark immediately felt an inexplicable attraction to the young woman at the table. He couldn't take his eyes off her, feeling magically drawn to her.

You, waiting for Hanni, looked up from your laptop and immediately noticed the handsome young man at Hanni's side. His undercut, his black hair touching his eyebrows, his well-defined cheekbones, his round eyes that looked innocent but intense at the same time, caught your attention immediately.

Your eyes met, and and a spark of curiosity was ignited. You felt an unexpected but strong attraction.

Hanni noticed a strange aura in Mark, so instinctively she was trying to draw Mark's attention to herself. She casually put her arm around his shoulder, as a sign of their supposed closeness. Mark was a bit surprised by Hanni's gesture, but he smiled politely.

You exchanged a few words about the book with Hanni. "How did you like the book?" you asked, curious about Hanni's opinion. "It was really fascinating. I especially liked the character development," Hanni replied, trying to keep the conversation short.

Inside, she struggled with a feeling of jealousy, as Mark's attention was obviously directed towards you. His gaze still captivated by your radiant eyes. Mark stood a little apart, observing you two, trying to understand his own feelings. This unexpected encounter had triggered something in him that he couldn't put into words. He was confused, but at the same time fascinated by your aura and beauty.

The scene in the café was short but intense. When Mark and Hanni left the café, Mark was still thinking about the mysterious beauty he had just met.

You, for your part, couldn't forget Mark's warm eyes, which said so much more than words ever could.

02 - When I Met Him The Second Time

On a rainy afternoon, you strolled through the aisles of a cozy bookstore, lost in the world of literature. While you were browsing a book about modern poetry, you suddenly heard a familiar, lively voice that made you smile.

"I'm telling you, this book is only for people who have too much free time to think about the meaning of life!" you heard Haechan say.

"Oh come on, Haechan, not everyone has such a superficial taste in literature like you," replied another voice. You recognized Haechan's voice.

So, you turned around curiously and discovered the two friends standing between the shelves. Mark held a book about classical music history, while Haechan held up a comic book.

"Hey, Y/n!" called Haechan, noticing you. "Look who's here hunting bookworms too!" Mark turned around in surprise and his eyes met Yyours. A smile spread across his face when he saw her. "Haven't we met before?"

Haechan, always ready for a bit of fun, grinned broadly. "Ah, this is Y/n. We met her at the university's summer fest."

How I Met His Crazy Best Friend

The university's summer fest, held for kids, was in full swing. Children of various ages buzzed excitedly between the colorful stands and workshops.

You and Mingyu, your bf at that time, were busy leading your creative workshop, helping children create little artworks from recycled materials. You were in your element, giving instructions to the children with sparkling eyes, while Mingyu took care of the organizational aspects.

On the other side of the festival grounds, Mark and Haechan led an instrument workshop. While Mark introduced the children to the world of guitar sounds, Haechan showed them various percussion instruments. With his typical lively and determined manner, he enthusiastically led his instrument workshop. With witty humor that delighted the children, he managed to motivate even the most reserved participants.

You decided to a short break from your own workshop and strolled around to explore the other activities.

When you passed the music workshop, you were drawn by the cheerful music and laughing children's voices. You noticed a boy who, despite the exuberant atmosphere around him, appeared still and withdrawn.

His reaction to the music was unusual – he seemed overwhelmed and at the same time fascinated.

Haechan, noticing your curious gaze, approached you with a friendly smile. "Hey, I'm Haechan, the leader of this rhythmic chaos here. And you are?" "I'm Y/n, responsible for the creative workshop," you replied with a warm smile.

You noticed a boy standing aside and pointed to him. "He doesn't seem to be quite comfortable." Haechan nodded. "Yeah, I've been watching him. He loves music, but the group activity seems to overwhelm him. He has trouble with the noise and the hustle and bustle."

"Could it be a sensory integration disorder?" You asked thoughtfully. "Some children have difficulty processing sensory information. It can be very overwhelming for them.

“I heard that his parents have already consulted many specialists, but so far without success. That's interesting and quite unfortunate,” said Haechan.

"My father is a neuropsychiatrist and has a lot of experience with such cases. He might have some helpful advice," You suggested.

At that moment, Mingyu called you back to her workshop. "That sounds like a great idea. Can we exchange contact information? I would like to learn more about how we can help him," Haechan said quickly.

As they said goodbye, Haechan threw in a humorous comment. "Just be careful not to get too creative and overshadow us all!" You jokingly replied: "Only if you promise not to hypnotize everyone with your sense of rhythm!"

With a laugh, you returned to your workshop, while Haechan watched you and turned back to the children.

You were still surprised by the encounter at the bookstore. "Right, you haven't officially met yet. Mark, this is Y/n. Y/n, this is Mark, one of my best friends," Haechan introduced them.

Mark extended his hand, and you took it, a friendly smile on your face. "Nice to meet you, Mark."

"The pleasure is all mine," replied Mark, his smile widening as he shook her hand. Haechan watched the scene with an amused smile.

"Yes, the summer fest was really nice. But it's funny. I didn't notice you there, Mark. I met Haechan there, but I didn't see you."

Mark frowned. "That's interesting. I was mostly in the background, taking care of the organization. Maybe we just missed each each other." Haechan laughed. "Mark was busy playing the perfect conductor for our little music performance. He hardly had time to mingle with people." Mark nodded in agreement. "That's true, I was pretty busy."

After introducing themselves, they began to talk about their favorite books and authors.

You talked about her fascination with modern poetry, while Mark shared his enthusiasm for classical music history.

Haechan, known more for his humor than his literary interest, waited for the right moment to make one of his typical jokes. "You know what the problem with classical music and poetry is? You almost need a degree in philosophy to understand them!", he said with a mischievous grin.

Mark gave him a playfully annoyed look. "Haechan, you and your superficial taste for literature and music! Sometimes I wonder if you even know who Beethoven is."

"Beethoven? Isn't that the guy who thought 'Für Elise' was a pop song?", Haechan countered, underlining his joke. You couldn't help but laugh out loud. Haechan was just too funny.

Mark shook his head, his smile betraying his amusement. "Haechan, your musical knowledge is comparable to that of a five-year-old seeing a piano for the first time," he replied with a sigh.

Haechan pretended to be offended. "Hey, that was harsh. I think I'll make you sleep in the living room tonight." Mark reacted immediately in shock, worried that you might misunderstand him. "Oh no, no, that's not how it sounds. We live together and – I mean – not like that. We're just roommates and..." Mark stuttered, his cheeks slightly reddened.

Haechan burst into laughter, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Don't worry," said Y/n, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I understand. You're like brothers, right?"

Mark, visibly relieved, smiled broadly. "Exactly, that's exactly what we are.“ Haechan couldn't stop laughing.

Amidst his laughter, he said, "Okay, okay, I admit, my musical knowledge isn't quite as sophisticated as Mark's," said Haechan, "but at least my jokes add some spice to the discussion!"

After talking about various books and authors for a while, Haechan suggested you have a coffee together to continue the conversation. Mark and you agreed, so you left the bookstore to go to the nearby café.

As you left the bookstore, the mood between Mark, Haechan, and you was lively and warm. Now you were standing in line at a café.

Haechan, noticing the subtle glances and developing chemistry between Mark and you, couldn't resist throwing teasing glances at his friend.

Mark felt amused and a little embarrassed by Haechan's implications. He gave Haechan a look that telepathically conveyed: "Stop it, I know what you're thinking." Haechan responded with a broad grin and a shrug, as if to say: "I can't help it, it's obvious!"

You noticed the silent but expressive play between the two friends and couldn't help but smile. It was as if you were watching an invisible, but understandable conversation between Mark and Haechan.

You felt a bit like an outsider looking into a private conversation, but you enjoyed the lightness and humor the two spread.

Mark, aware of your attention, tried to change the subject to defuse the situation a bit. "So, Y/n, tell me more about your work. I'm really interested in what you do."

You were grateful for the distraction and began to talk about your work as a behavior therapist. As you spoke, you noticed how Mark listened attentively. Your eyes met several times, and in those moments, a kind of silent agreement was formed, an unspoken communication that went beyond words.

Haechan, noticing the change in dynamics, leaned back and watched as you two slowly came closer, without directly noticing. He couldn't help but feel a bit like a matchmaker, witnessing something special.

You all chose a table near a large window that offered a view of the busy street. Mark, sitting next to you, took the opportunity to continue the conversation.

"So, Y/n-ah, what inspired you to become a behavior therapist?" You, pleased with his interest, replied with a smile. "Well, I've always had the need to help others, especially children and adolescents. I find it incredibly rewarding to see positive changes in their lives." Mark nodded understandingly. "That sounds really fulfilling. I work part-time as a music teacher at a high school, and I can totally relate to what you mean. There's nothing better than seeing young people develop and unfold."

As you talked, Haechan observed you two and noticed the way you interacted and laughed. There was an obvious chemistry between you two that couldn't be overlooked.

Haechan, always the joker, couldn't help but make a comment. "Look at the two of you! I think I'm sitting at the table with two soulmates," he said casually.

You were slightly embarrassed by Haechan's comment and looked briefly to the side, as if trying to distract yourself from the attention. Mark, noticing this, quickly intervened to lighten the mood again. "Haechan sometimes has a slightly exaggerated imagination," he said with a smile, reassuringly looking at you. "But he has a good heart. And he's right when he says it's nice to meet new people who share similar interests."

You smiled gratefully for Mark's empathetic words. You immediately felt more comfortable and turned back to the conversation. "That's true," you replied, "it's always nice to meet like-minded people."

Haechan, recognizing the subtleties of the situation, steered the conversation to a lighter topic. "So, Mark, tell Y/n about your legendary songs you've written. She needs to know who she's sitting at the table with!" Mark laughed, but noticed that he might do that at a later time.

The conversation continued, and you three spent a pleasant time together. The hours seemed like minutes, and soon it was time to leave.

Outside the café, Mark and Haechan said goodbye to you. Mark looked worriedly at you. "Are you sure you'll get home okay? I could walk you part of the way," he offered, the caring tone in his voice unmistakable.

Haechan couldn't help but grin. "Oh, Mark, the noble knight, always ready to accompany a damsel in distress. But be careful, she might think you're a stalker!" You had to laugh at Haechan's comment. "Thanks, Mark, that's really sweet of you. But I live just a few streets away. I'll be fine," you said with a warm smile. Mark nodded, a little disappointed but still smiling. "Okay, then take care of yourself. It was really nice to meet you."

"The pleasure was all mine," You replied before turning and walking away slowly.

As you were out of earshot, Haechan playfully nudged Mark with his elbow. 'So, how does it feel to be rejected by a beautiful woman?' Mark chuckled softly. 'Rejected? I think she just issued an invitation to see her again.'

Haechan raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, really? And when will you accept this 'invitation'?' Mark looked thoughtfully in the direction you had gone.

03 - When We Dove Into Our Own World

In a cozy café in the city center, surrounded by the soft sound of jazz music and the quiet murmur of other guests, Mark, you, and your friends met.

The atmosphere was warm and inviting, with candlelight dancing on the tables, giving the room an intimate ambiance. Mark, with a thoughtful look, broke the silence. 'You know, Y/n, I've been thinking about the concept of fate recently. Do you believe everything is predetermined, or that we shape our own destiny?'

You looked at him in surprise, pleased by the unexpected depth of the conversation. 'That's a difficult question. I believe in a mix of both. There are things we can't control, but I think we have the power to choose our reaction to them.'

Mark nodded in agreement. 'I feel the same way. Sometimes it seems like certain things are just meant to happen. Like our chance meeting in that bookstore.' A warm smile spread across your face.

'That really was a lucky coincidence. I mean, who would have thought we'd meet again?' Mark smirked.

You suddenly shared a thought that seemed to come out of nowhere. 'Remember the 'flying ducks'?' you said with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

Mark, immediately privy to the insider, burst into roaring laughter. 'Oh yes, the 'flying ducks'! How could we ever forget?'

Your friends looked at them confusedly, while Mark and you reveled in memories of a funny moment when you attended a street performance in the city, where a street artist tried to imitate ducks that could fly.

The scene was so absurd and comical that you two had made it your private joke.

Mark leaned forward and said confidentially, 'Remember how we ran through the city in the rain afterward, looking for a place to warm up? That crazy bookstore we found – I think it was the perfect place for us.' You nodded with a smile. 'Yes, and you tried to explain this extremely complicated theory about the evolution of classical music to me. I think I only understood half of it, but it was so nice listening to you.'

Meanwhile, Haechan watched the couple from the other side of the table with a mischievous smile. He leaned over to Karina and whispered, 'They're so in their own world. I bet they wouldn't even notice if an elephant walked through the café.'

Karina agreed with a smile. Only Hanni shifted back and forth uneasily in her chair, uncomfortable at the sight of Mark and you being so engrossed in your own world.

04 - When He Shared His Dream With Me

During your walk through the park with Mark, accentuated by the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds, your conversation found a perfect balance between depth and lightness.

Mark, with a slight grin, began the conversation. 'You know, Y/n, sometimes I wish I could just stand on a stage and play my music without worrying about what the world thinks.'

You laughed softly. 'That would be a sight! The serious and thoughtful Mark, transforming into a wild rock star. I'd book the front row!'

Mark's eyes sparkled with pleasure. 'Oh, I'd love to have you there. But only if you promise not to cheer too loudly. I wouldn't want to lose my concentration.'

You continued to joke, and you told him about an embarrassing situation from her childhood.

'Imagine, I literally stumbled onto the stage during a school performance. Since then, I've had a kind of 'stage phobia'.' Mark laughed heartily. 'That's incredible! I wish I had seen that. Maybe I could therapize you with a few private music lessons?'

The conversation took a more serious turn as you talked about your work. 'I work with so many children who have lost their inner voice. My goal is to help them find it again. Sometimes it feels like detective work, finding the right words and approaches to reach them.'

Mark looked at you with admiration. 'You're like a light in the darkness for these children, Y/n. Your work is more than just a job, it's a calling.'

You blushed slightly at Mark's words but quickly retorted with a mischievous grin. 'Well, I could also say that your music heals souls, Mark. Maybe we should form a team – you play the melodies, and I bring the words.'

05 - When I Friendzoned Him Out Of Fear

On a mild Friday evening, you invited Mark over for a cozy movie night at her apartment.

When Mark arrived, he was greeted by Elvis, your Persian cat, who was doing something particularly funny – chasing her own tail and meowing in a way that sounded like a little song.

Mark immediately burst into laughter. 'Is that normal for him?' he asked, bending down to pet Elvis.

'Oh, that's Elvis's daily entertainment show,' you replied, laughing. 'He's a real rock star. That's why I named him Elvis.' You two laughed together as Elvis theatrically rubbed around Mark's legs, obviously pleased with the attention.

This cheerful mood continued as you two made popcorn and settled on the sofa to watch the movie 'Soul'.

During the film, you kept finding yourselves in spontaneous conversations, laughing and joking about everything.

Mark, sitting next to you, felt a growing tension within himself. He was fascinated by your joyful laughter and the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you laughed.

Several times during the evening, he toyed with the idea of confessing his feelings. But each time he was about to say something, he hesitated, unsure of the consequences.

In a moment of silence, as the film showed a rather slow scene, you noticed a change in Mark's expression. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze thoughtful and almost longing. 'What's up, Mark? You look like you're calculating the end of the world,' you joked, an amused twinkle in your eyes.

Mark was jolted from his thoughts and smiled awkwardly. 'Oh, nothing, I was just... thinking. You know, sometimes you think about things and...', he trailed off, searching for the right words.

You laughed softly and shook your head. 'You and your profound thoughts. I guess that makes you a good friend.'

These words hit Mark unexpectedly. 'A good friend' – this designation made his heart momentarily stop.

He wanted to be more than that, but the fear of ruining your friendship paralyzed him. He smiled weakly and nodded. 'Yes, I'm glad to be your friend.'

The rest of the evening passed in a mix of casual conversation and shared laughter, but your words echoed in Mark's heart. He left her apartment with a feeling of longing and the question of what could have been if he had found the courage to express his true feelings.

06 - When He Made My Heart Beat Faster

While Mark and you were in the kitchen focusing on preparing dinner, you struggled with a particularly stubborn can of tomatoes. You fought to turn the lid, but it wouldn't budge.

Mark, noticing your efforts, approached you from behind. 'Let me try,' he said softly.

His hands covered yours, embracing the can opener and began to exert pressure. You felt his proximity, his warmth spreading behind you.

His hands moved skillfully, but you noticed his breath quickening slightly. In that moment, as your bodies were so close to each other, you seemed to forget the world around yourselves.

The tension between you two was almost tangible. Mark's fingers lightly touched your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced, and you felt an unusual nervousness. Suddenly, the lid of the can gave way, and it opened.

Surprised by the sudden movement, you two instinctively stepped apart.

Mark's face was just a few centimeters from yours, and for a fraction of a second, you paused, your gazes locked.

Then Mark stepped back, a slight blush on his cheeks. 'Uh, there are your tomatoes,' he said, trying to play off the situation.

You, also red in the face, nodded and murmured a quiet 'Thank you.' You felt strangely stirred, confused by the intensity of the moment and the closeness you had just shared.

For a moment, you continued working in silence, each lost in your own thoughts.

Then, as Mark attempted to make an omelet and failed miserably, the ice broke again.

Egg yolk splattered on the countertop, and Mark stood there, slightly helpless with a spatula in hand.

You couldn't help but laugh. 'Mark, I thought you didn't want to burn anything. This looks more like a kitchen accident!'

Mark looked at the mess and laughed along. 'I think I should reconsider my cooking career. Or at least start with eggs.'

You stepped closer to help him, and your eyes met again. This time, you took a step back. 'I think I'll take over the omelet. But you can help me with the seasoning.'

Mark nodded gratefully. 'Good idea. I better stick to what I can do.' You continued cooking, and despite the previous tension, you two returned to your familiar, playful manner.

The incident with the can remained unmentioned, but in your hearts, you both knew that this moment had somehow changed your relationship.

07 - When I Touched His Hand

As Mark and you strolled through the usual park, the atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful. You talked about everything – from funny experiences to their dreams and hopes.

Mark recounted an embarrassing moment at school, which made you laugh. Your laughter rang through the park, just as dark clouds gathered.

Without warning, it began to rain. At first, it was just a few drops, but soon the rain poured down in torrents. 'Oh no!' you exclaimed, as you hurried to find shelter.

You two found refuge under a large tree, its leaves holding off some of the rain. There you both stood, huddled close together to stay as dry as possible.

You both laughed about your soaked states, your hair sticking to your forehead, and Mark shaking water from his hair. 'Looks like we've taken a shower without planning it,' Mark joked, looking at you with a wide grin. 'Yeah, just what I needed today,' you replied laughing, your eyes sparkling with delight.

'Oh, are you cold?' you asked as you reached out to touch his hand and feel if he was freezing. At that moment, their hands touched. It was a random, but meaningful touch. Your fingers lightly brushed each other, and you both felt a warmth and tingling that spread from the touch through your bodies.

Your eyes met, and you held eye contact for a moment longer than the situation required. In Mark's eyes, you saw a mix of surprise and a deep, unspoken feeling.

You slowly pulled your hand back, your heart beating faster from the intensity of the moment.

Mark, also surprised by the electricity of the touch, cleared his throat and looked away to defuse the situation. 'Um, yeah, a bit cold, but it's okay,' he said quickly, breaking the silence.

Yet you both knew that this small moment had changed something in your relationship, an unspoken awareness of the attraction you felt for each other.

08 - When We Sang Together

Mark gently strummed the strings of his guitar, while you sat comfortably on the sofa, your gaze fixed on him.

The first notes of 'Yesterday' by the Beatles began to play, a melody you both loved. Mark's fingers moved cautiously over the strings, each note clear and full of emotion.

You began to sing softly, your voice perfectly harmonizing with Mark's guitar playing. Your eyes half-closed as you lost yourself in the music.

Mark watched her from the corner of his eye, feeling how the melody took you both to another world.

As the song ended, you simultaneously opened your eyes and met in a deep, meaningful look. An unspoken understanding hung in the air, a connection that went far beyond the words you both could exchange.

Mark broke the silence with a lopsided smile. 'I hope my guitar skills didn't bore you too much.' You laughed, your heart still filled with the beauty of the moment.

'On the contrary, I think you just gave me the most beautiful concert of my life.' Mark blushed slightly at her compliment. 'Well, if that's the case, maybe I'll write a song just for you one day.'

Your eyes sparkled with joy. 'That's a promise I won't let you break.' You laughed together, enjoying the lightness of the moment. Yet beneath the surface lay an unspoken affection, a romantic tension that you both felt but dared not name.

09 - When He Almost Kissed Me

At Johnny's barbecue party, the atmosphere was jovial and friendly. Everyone was in a good mood, and laughter and cheerful conversations filled the air.

When the grilling was over, someone suggested playing games, and soon they found themselves in a merry round of hide and seek.

Mark, you, Haechan, and Hanni decided to hide in the penthouse.

Haechan and Mark, always ready for a little race, playfully argued over who should take the stairs up.

'I was here first!' Haechan called, trying to push Mark aside. 'No, let me through!' Mark retorted, laughing.

Suddenly, Mark felt someone grab his hand. He turned around and saw your laughing eyes. Without a word, you pulled him up the stairs, your fingers intertwined. Haechan, who briefly whined, chose a different hiding spot and left the two alone.

You and Mark found a room in the penthouse and hid behind the door. You were both out of breath and giggled softly.

As you realized you were still holding hands, you both let go of each other, but the air between them crackled with sexual tension.

Your eyes met, and Mark felt a strong desire to kiss you. You felt the same, your eyes half-closed, expectant.

At that moment, Hanni suddenly opened the door. Mark and you startled and quickly stepped apart. Hanni asked with a slight suspicion in her voice: 'What are you doing in here?' Mark and you jumped apart, surprised and embarrassed.

Mark quickly realized the need to lighten the situation. 'We... uh, we thought it would be a great hiding spot!' he said with a forced laugh, trying to play down the embarrassment.

Hanni looked at you both for a moment, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She felt a dislike for you that she hadn't had before. The atmosphere suddenly became tense, and Hanni decided to quickly leave the room.

10 - When We Almost Kissed (again)

During another gathering with friends, a lively discussion on everyday topics quickly turned to love and relationships.

Hanni, unable to hide her growing dislike for you, saw this as an opportunity to rekindle old stories. She began talking about Mingyu, his transformation into a party animal, and directly confronted you.

'Y/n, did you know how much Mingyu has changed? He seems quite different from before,' she asked with feigned innocence.

You, visibly surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation, shook your head. 'No, I haven't seen him since our breakup. I didn't know he had changed so much.'

Hanni, wanting to steer the conversation into uncomfortable territory, continued: 'Did Mingyu also have such a high physical drive for... games during your relationship?'

As Hanni posed her direct and provocative question, Mark felt a wave of jealousy and discomfort rise within him.

He couldn't prevent his eyes from narrowing slightly and his gaze fixating on you, who was visibly taken aback by the question. He wondered how much you would reveal and whether he was okay with hearing details about your past love life.

You, initially felt cornered but quickly responded with a witty comment. 'Mingyu and I had our moments, but I think that's something that happens in every relationship, right?' you said with a slight smile, trying to hide her discomfort. You glanced briefly at Mark, hoping your comment wouldn't worsen the situation.

Haechan, sensing the tension and seeing Mark's reaction, decided it was time to lighten the mood. 'Well, I've heard cats make great pets. They're independent but also affectionate. Quite unlike complicated relationships, right?' he said with a wink.

Karina, picking up on Haechan's comment, nodded in agreement, adding, 'Yeah, just like Elvis, Y/n's cat. Independent but full of love, exactly what's needed in a complicated world.' Her comment brought smiles to the group's faces, slightly easing the mood.

Mark, appreciating Haechan's attempt to change the subject, nodded in agreement and tried to shift his gaze away from you. He knew it wasn't fair to be so influenced by Hanni's question, but he couldn't help but wonder about your past with Mingyu. Deep down, he wished he could just leave the past behind and focus on what could grow between him and you.

Hanni, noticing her remarks hadn't had the desired effect, leaned back and observed the reactions. She had hoped to embarrass you and perhaps win Mark over for herself, but it seemed her plan hadn't worked.

The atmosphere remained tense for the rest of the evening, even as the group tried to return to more normal topics. However, Mark couldn't stop his gaze from wandering back to you, wondering if and how he should categorize her relationship with Mingyu.

On that warm evening, Mark and you sat outside at the table after their friends had gone inside. You both enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere, created by the soft lighting and the quiet hum of the night around.

Mark has been waiting patiently until you were alone and tried to keep the mood light. 'Isn't it strange how suddenly quiet it gets when everyone's gone?' Mark remarked with a smile, taking a final sip of his drink. You, leaning back relaxedly, returned his smile. 'Yeah, it's like the world holds its breath for a moment.'

In this relaxed mood, Mark found the courage to change the subject. 'Y/n, I've been wanting to ask you something... about Mingyu. I hope it's okay.' His tone was gentle, but his eyes searched hers to make sure he wasn't overstepping.

You, surprised but open to the conversation, looked directly into his eyes. 'Of course, go ahead. What do you want to know?'

'What was your relationship like? You haven't really talked much about it,' Mark said, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and a hint of concern. You sighed softly, a hint of melancholy in your voice. 'Mingyu and I... we had our good times, but ultimately we were too different. It was an important experience for me, but some things just aren't meant to last.' Mark felt a certain heaviness in the air as he watched you.

He knew he needed to be careful, yet curiosity drove him on. 'I heard from Hanni that you and Mingyu lived together for three years. That must have been hard...' You looked surprised and somewhat overwhelmed that Mark knew about your cohabitation with Mingyu. 'Yes, that's true. We lived together for a while, but honestly, we grew apart during that time.' You paused briefly before continuing: 'We had different life visions. Our values and dreams no longer aligned.'

Mark listened attentively, but internally he struggled with a storm of emotions. The thought that you had lived with another man brought a sharp pain and unexpected jealousy. He tried to keep his emotions under control, but it was visibly difficult. 'That sounds really challenging,' Mark said, his voice trembling slightly from the effort to hide his feelings. He internally battled with himself over whether to ask the next question.

His gaze was thoughtful, almost distant. You noticed Mark's changed expression and asked curiously, 'Everything alright, Mark? You look like you're fighting an internal battle.'

Mark hesitated for a moment before asking the next question, his voice hesitant. 'Do you still love Mingyu?'

You raised her eyebrows in surprise and gave a playful response: 'Well, I think I love my cat more than Mingyu.'

But Mark remained serious, his eyes searching hers for a deeper truth. 'I'm serious, Y/n.' You looked directly at him, your eyes showing a mix of contemplation and openness. 'No, Mark. I don't love Mingyu anymore. That chapter is closed for me.'

A palpable sense of relief spread across Mark's face. He breathed deeply as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You, noticing the change in Mark's posture, added with a suggestive smile: 'And who knows, maybe I'm now open to something new.'

Mark, surprised by her hint, became visibly nervous. He stuttered briefly before managing to speak. 'Ah, that's... that's interesting to hear.'

'Interesting?' You teased, your smile playing around your lips. Mark, now somewhat flustered, tried to find his words. 'Yes, interesting and... and good. I mean, everyone deserves a chance at something new, right?'

You nodded, your eyes twinkling with pleasure. 'Exactly, everyone deserves that chance.' You two exchanged a momentary look, and the air was filled with a mix of tension, humor, and an undefined expectation.

Mark's heart raced at the thought that maybe he could be this 'new chance.' You leaned back thoughtfully, looking at Mark with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. 'So, Mark, since we're on the topic... what does your ideal type look like?' you asked playfully. Mark, surprised and a little embarrassed by her direct question, cleared his throat slightly. 'My ideal type? Well, that's an interesting question,' he said, gathering his thoughts. 'I think she would be someone who...' Mark hesitated, searching for the right words, 'someone empathetic and understanding, someone with a strong personality but also a playful side. And...', he added after a short pause, 'it would be important that she's someone my parents would accept.'

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'It sounds like your parents play a big role in your life.' Mark nodded seriously. 'Yes, they do. I come from a pretty religious and values-based family background. It's important to me to find someone who shares those values and is accepted by my family.' You smiled, visibly pleased by his honesty.

'That sounds like a good combination. Should she also have certain hobbies or interests?' Mark looked thoughtfully into the distance before replying. 'Well, it would be nice if she had an interest in music or art, but it's not a must. More importantly, she should be passionate – about what she does and believes.'

'Passionate, huh?' You repeated, your smile growing wider. 'That sounds quite romantic.' Mark blushed slightly at her comment. 'Well, maybe a bit,' he admitted. 'But I think it's important to have someone who inspires you and with whom you can grow.'

'That sounds wonderful,' You said, your eyes glowing warmly. 'And who knows, maybe you'll meet your dream woman sooner than you think.' Mark looked at her for a moment, his heart beating faster at the thought. 'Maybe,' he said softly, 'maybe she's already here.' You two shared a long, meaningful look, with unspoken words and feelings hanging in the air.

After a moment of silence, during which your gazes were still locked, Mark cleared his throat and turned to you. 'Well, since I've told you about my dream woman, what about you, Y/n? What does your dream man look like?'

You, having anticipated Mark's question, smiled mischievously. 'My dream man, huh?' you began, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. 'I think he would be someone humorous and intelligent. Someone who can make me laugh but also engage in deep conversations.'

Mark nodded, attentively listening to her words, a slight smile playing on his lips. 'Humor and intelligence, those are good qualities. Anything else?' he asked, a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

'Oh, yes,' You continued, 'he should also be empathetic and have a good heart. Someone who understands and cares for others.'

'Empathy is important,' Mark agreed, his smile growing wider. 'Sounds like you have a pretty clear idea.' You laughed softly. 'I might have a few ideas. And of course, he should have some charming quirks. Perfection is boring, isn't it?'

'Absolutely,' Mark said, his laughter mixing with hers. 'A little imperfection makes everything more interesting.'

'Exactly,' You said, and your eyes sparkled with pleasure. 'And how about you, Mark? Do you have any charming quirks?'

Mark feigned surprise. 'Me? Quirks? Never,' he replied, laughing. 'Okay, maybe a few. But I promise they're all very charming.' You two laughed together, and the atmosphere between them was light and playful.

In that moment, it seemed as if anything was possible, as if the boundaries between friendship and something deeper were blurring.

You leaned in slightly, your gaze intense and full of undisguised attraction. 'You know, Mark, I think the most important aspect is that he looks at me in a way that makes me feel like I'm the only person in his world,' you said with a voice deeper and full of desire. Mark felt the tension between them rise. Your eyes were locked on each other, and he couldn't miss the desire in your gaze.

As you slowly let your eyes wander to his lips, he understood the silent invitation. He leaned in, his heartbeat accelerating as he moved closer to you. Your faces were just a few centimeters apart, and he could feel her breath on his lips. Your eyes were half-closed, and Mark asked with a deep look if it was okay to kiss. You nodded slowly, a silent agreement between them. Just as your lips were about to meet, you both heard the voices of Karina and Haechan approaching.

Mark sighed in annoyance and pulled back, while you gave him an apologetic smile. The missed opportunity weighed heavily in the air.

As Haechan and Karina rounded the corner, Haechan broke into his typical mischievous laughter. 'What's up, guys? You look like you were just trying to crack the world formula!'

Mark and you exchanged a brief glance before turning back to their friends, leaving the unspoken lingering in the air.

You both tried to play off the situation and rejoin the company, but the electricity between you was palpable to anyone who knew where to look.

As Mark and you turned to their friends, you both tried to downplay your sudden closeness and the tension they had just experienced. Despite their efforts to act normally, there was a subtle crackling in the air, a testament to the near-intimacy you had shared.

You still felt the warmth of Mark's proximity and the disappointment that your moment had been interrupted by Karina and Haechan's arrival.

You stole brief glances at Mark, whose eyes occasionally sought and held yours before turning away again. Mark, with his heart still racing, found it difficult to fully concentrate on the conversation.

Each time your gazes met, he felt a pull in his chest, a silent testimony to their unfulfilled longing.

Karina and Haechan, rejoining the group, noticed the changed dynamics between you two.

Haechan, always ready for a joke, threw a teasing comment into the round: 'Did you two have a secret meeting while we were away?' His tone was light and joking, but his words struck a nerve. You responded with a forced laugh that sounded a little too loud and too quick.

'Oh, Dude, you and your conspiracy theories. We were just enjoying a bit of peace.' Mark added, his voice striving to sound casual, 'Exactly, sometimes it's nice to have a moment of silence, isn't it?' Despite your words, an underlying tension between you two was palpable, an electrifying energy amplified by your unfinished gestures and half-spoken words.

Every laugh, every gesture seemed charged with additional meaning, as if you were communicating in a language only you both understood.

The group continued their evening, but the atmosphere had irreversibly changed. There was now an invisible bond between Mark and you, growing stronger despite all efforts to ignore it.

Your friends sensed it, even if they couldn't articulate it. The electricity between Mark and you was subtle but undeniable - a silent promise of what could be, hanging in the air between them.

11 - When He And I Called It Day One

On your first day as an official couple, Mark woke up early in the morning, filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. He wanted this day to be perfect.

Planning to surprise you with breakfast, Mark set out to make pancakes - a recipe he had picked up online a few days earlier.

Meanwhile, you opened her eyes to find a loving message from Mark on your phone: 'Good morning, sunshine. Ready for our first day as a couple? Can't wait to see you. I've got a little surprise for you.'

Your heart skipped a beat with joy. You replied with a smiling emoji, eagerly anticipating the surprise. Despite his excitement, Mark managed to skillfully navigate the kitchen and prepared a tray with freshly made pancakes, strawberries, and maple syrup.

He added a small handwritten note: 'For the sweetest start to the day.' When you opened the door, you found Mark with a beaming smile and the breakfast tray in hand.

'For you,' he said, his heart pounding with excitement. You were touched and couldn't help but laugh. 'You made breakfast? That's so sweet of you, Mark.'

'I hope it tastes sweet too,' Mark replied playfully, placing the tray on the table.

You sat down together for breakfast. Mark nervously watched as you took the first bite. To his relief, you smiled broadly. 'This is really delicious, Mark. You've outdone yourself.'

After breakfast, you two decided to take a walk in the usual park. Hand in hand, you shared thoughts about your relationship and the future.

Mark, sometimes worried about meeting your expectations, voiced his concerns. 'I just want you to be happy, Y/n. I'll do my best,' he said earnestly. You squeezed his hand tighter. 'Mark, I'm happy with you. We'll grow and learn together. Don't worry.'

Later that day, they chose to visit a café. As you sat there drinking coffee, you playfully teased each other about their 'charming quirks,' as Mark called them.

You joked about Mark's 'serious teacher aura' he sometimes displayed, while Mark teased your 'irresistible tendency to be late.' As the day drew to a close, Mark walked you home.

Standing at your door, you faced each other, your gazes locked deeply. 'Today was a wonderful day,' you whispered.

'The first of many,' Mark replied, leaning in to give you a gentle kiss on the forehead. You smiled at each other, knowing you were at the beginning of a beautiful adventure together as a couple.

12 - When Our Friends Found Out

On a sunny afternoon, Mark, you, Haechan, Karina, and Hanni met at your favorite café, known for its cozy atmosphere and excellent coffee, a regular meeting spot for the group.

Greeting each other with hugs and smiles, you chose a table near the window where sunlight bathed the room in a warm, inviting light.

As you settled down, the mood was cheerful and relaxed. 'Have you seen Jaehyun's latest video? He's trying to start his own vlog,' Haechan started the conversation, leaning back in his chair. 'Yeah, I saw it. He definitely has the talent for it,' Karina replied, placing her order. Hanni, appearing somewhat thoughtful, nodded in agreement. 'He's really good at it. It's nice to see how each of us is branching out in different directions.'

During the conversation, Mark occasionally cast loving glances at you. Lost in thought, he finally leaned over to you and whispered softly, 'Can I get you anything else, Babe?' This moment of intimacy and tenderness between Mark and you brought an abrupt halt to the conversation.

The sudden use of the pet name made everyone at the table pause. Haechan, who always had an eye for such details, quickly turned to Mark and you. His eyes sparkled with excitement. 'Wait, did I just hear that right? Babe? Are you two now...?'

Mark, seeing the surprised faces, smiled sheepishly. 'Um, yeah, Y/n and I are officially together now.'

Karina, who always swooned over her friends' love lives, clapped her hands enthusiastically. 'Oh, that's so sweet! Finally! We've all been waiting for this.'

Sana, whose feelings for Mark were still hidden, tried to hide her disappointment. She forced a smile and said, 'That's really nice for you two. I'm happy for you.' But in her eyes, there was a glimmer of sadness.

Haechan nearly jumped up with excitement. 'I knew it! I told you guys! These two were just meant for each other.' He leaned over to Mark and gave him a friendly nudge. 'You lucky guy, you snagged the best girl.'

You, amused by the reactions, couldn't help but smile. 'Thank you, everyone. I'm really happy.'

Mark took your hand and held it tightly. 'Me too.' His gaze at you was full of affection and happiness.

Karina, always the romantic, sighed dreamily. 'You guys are like a dream couple from a movie.'

Haechan, never missing a chance to joke, added, 'Only better because we're the best supporting cast!'

Sana watched the happy couple and struggled internally with her own feelings.

13 - When We Finally Kissed

Mark and your first kiss as an official couple was filled with tension, passion, and a certain playful innocence.

On a warm evening, after a movie night, you two decided to take a short walk. The streets were quiet, and the soft sounds of the city provided a quiet, romantic backdrop.

Walking hand in hand, you both felt the electrifying energy between you.

Mark, usually reserved, felt bolder and more decisive than ever. 'Y/n,' he began, stopping and turning to face her, 'I've been waiting all evening to do this.'

Surprised by his openness, your heart raced. You smiled at him and whispered, 'And what's that?' Mark looked deep into her eyes, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. 'This,' he said softly before leaning in and pressing his lips gently against yours.

The kiss started tenderly and cautiously, as if testing the boundaries of your new relationship.

But it soon gained passion as you reassured each other of your affection.

You wrapped your arms around Mark's neck, deepening the kiss and pulling him closer. Mark reciprocated, his hands finding their way to your back to draw you in.

In that moment, there was nothing else but them. The noise of the world faded away, and all that mattered was the connection you shared. As you finally parted, your foreheads remained leaned together, and you caught your breath.

You smiled and giggled slightly: 'You definitely planned that all along, didn't you?' Mark, still breathless from the kiss, smiled back mischievously. 'Maybe. But tell me, was it worth the wait?' You nodded, your smile growing wider. 'Absolutely. But don't wait so long next time.'

14 - When I Wanted More Of Him

After a long, fulfilling day together, as evening turned into night. Standing in front of your apartment, wrapped in the soft glow of street lamps, Mark and you experienced one of those moments when time seems to stand still.

Mark was torn. On one hand, your proximity irresistibly to join you drew him in; on the other, he struggled with the deeply rooted beliefs of his religious background. 'It's getting pretty late, Y/n. I should probably head home,' Mark said, his voice hesitant, looking for a harmless excuse. In his heart, an internal conflict raged – the desire to stay with you versus his caution not to push things too far.

You, recognizing his hesitation, smiled understandingly. 'Oh, come on, Baby. Just a little longer. Some tea, perhaps?' you suggested, your voice soft and inviting.

Mark felt his resistance wane. The longing to be with your overpowered his apprehensions. 'Alright, but really just for a short while,' he finally replied, a faint smile on his lips.

In the cozy atmosphere of your apartment, surrounded by gentle lights and familiar silence, Mark and you found yourselves on the sofa once again.

It was you who made the first move, your hand tentative but firm, reaching out to touch Mark's face gently.

Mark, surprised by her initiative, felt his heartbeat accelerate. In that moment, everything else was secondary; his focus was solely on you, the woman sitting across from him.

Your closeness was overwhelming. Mark couldn't help but admire your beauty. Your hair falling softly over your shoulders, your eyes sparkling in the dim light, and your smile that captivated him every time.

As your lips met, it was an explosion of feelings and desire. Mark got swept away by the intensity of the kiss, the depth of their connection. The heat of passion rose between you two as your kisses grew more passionate.

Each kiss, each touch brought forth a new wave of affection. Mark felt complete in your presence, as if a long-missing part of him had finally been found.

Yet, in the midst of their intense make-out session, Mark paused, aware of the boundary he had set for himself. He took a deep breath, his breathing still fast from your proximity. 'I should really drink this tea before I go,' he finally said, his voice a little shaky but firm.

You, also breathless, disappointed from the break, but smiled understandingly. 'Of course, the tea,' she said, her voice playful. 'I almost forgot we made it.'

You two rose from the sofa, and Mark took his tea in hand, his thoughts still lingering on the moments that had just passed.

As he drank, he looked at you, a shy smile playing on his lips. 'Thank you for the tea... and for everything else,' he said, his words a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

You chuckled softly. 'Anytime, Baby. It was a lovely evening.' As Mark put down his cup and turned to leave, he felt a tug in his heart. He knew this was just the beginning of something special. 'See you tomorrow, my love,' he said softly before leaving the apartment, still feeling the sensation of your lips on his.

15 - When I Met His Parents

When the day came for you to meet Mark's family for the first time, you was a bundle of nerves and excitement.

Mark, sensing her concern, tried to reassure her on their way to his parents. 'They're going to love you, just like I do,' he said softly, squeezing your hand.

Upon arrival, you both were warmly greeted by Mark's family. His parents, an educated couple with open hearts, showed immediate interest in you. Mark's father, a university professor, and his mother, a talented pianist, engaged in lively conversations about literature and music, topics you were well-versed in.

The conversation was vibrant and welcoming, with you quickly fitting into the family. You talked about your work as a behavioral therapist, which fascinated Mark's mother.

'It's so important to help people overcome their internal struggles,' she said appreciatively.

Throughout the evening, Mark's parents hinted at a possible wedding. 'We hope to host a beautiful wedding celebration for Mark and you one day,' said Mark's mother with a mischievous smile.

Mark felt slightly overwhelmed. He worried that these talks might be premature and put pressure on you. However, he dared not voice his concerns, fearing to disappoint his parents.

To his surprise, you took the remarks with humor and charm. 'Oh, I think we have quite a bit to discuss before we think about weddings,' you said, laughing. 'But it's good to know we already have your approval.' Your response brought laughter from the entire family and relaxed the atmosphere.

Mark's parents were impressed by your witty and warm nature. Mark watched the scene with a smile, relieved that you fit so well with his family.

16 - When He Was Foolish

At a cozy gathering at Johnny's penthouse, meant to be a simple get-together and have a good time, amusing scenes unfolded.

Haechan, Yuta, and Jungwoo had concocted something special to lighten the mood: an impromptu comedy sketch that had everyone laughing.

As the friends gathered in the comfortable lounge, the three "comedians" suddenly appeared in funny costumes. Haechan, dressed as an overly enthusiastic game show host, led the program. Yuta, as his silly assistant, wore oversized glasses and a crazy hat. Jungwoo took on the role of a confused contestant, constantly getting the simplest questions wrong.

The sketch began with Haechan hosting a fictional quiz show. 'Welcome to the most incredible, fantastic, and craziest quiz show ever!' he exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Yuta pranced around him, distributing imaginary prizes to the audience, while Jungwoo tried to follow the instructions with a confused look.

The questions became more absurd, and Jungwoo's answers funnier. 'What's the main ingredient in a stone sandwich?' Haechan asked. Jungwoo, with a serious face, replied, 'Umm, bubble wrap?' The entire penthouse echoed with laughter.

Meanwhile, Mark and you were busy in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for the communal dinner. In the kitchen, shielded from the commotion in the living room, Mark and you were cutting vegetables for dinner.

Your hands worked skillfully as you engaged in a deep conversation. 'Do you know what I find strange?' Mark began as he sliced an onion. 'How different vegetables can taste depending on how they're prepared.'

You, cutting peppers, smiled. 'Yes, it's true. Just like people, right? We show different sides of ourselves depending on the situation.' Mark nodded thoughtfully. 'That's a good comparison. Sometimes I think we're all a bit like onions – layer by layer that has to be peeled back to get to the core.' You laughed softly. 'And sometimes these layers make us cry, right?' You winked at him while tasting a piece of pepper. 'Exactly,' Mark replied, laughing. 'But you know what's the best part? Finding someone you don't have to pretend with. Someone who likes all the layers.'

You put aside the pepper strip and looked directly into Mark's eyes. 'Like a certain person I know and deeply appreciate,' you said with a warm smile. Mark returned your smile and set the onion aside. 'I think I know who you mean.' He grabbed a piece of carrot and playfully held it to your nose. 'You know you're my favorite layer, right?' You laughed and snatched the carrot. 'Your favorite layer, huh? I'm flattered.'

Suddenly, Mark had a cheeky idea. He secretly took a candy snake, held it in his mouth, and turned to you.

You, who was peeling carrots, looked up in surprise and laughed. 'What's that supposed to be?' you asked amused.

Mark replied with a playful grin, still with the candy in his mouth. 'Dare to take the other end?' you, always ready for Mark's jokes, smiled broadly and accepted the challenge.

With a grin, you leaned forward and took the other end of the candy snake in your mouth. Both giggled as they slowly alternated pulling on the snake, drawing closer to each other.

You giggled mischievously. 'I hope we don't get caught,' you said, her words muffled by the candy. Mark countered playfully: 'Would that be so bad?' His eyes sparkled with pleasure. Finally, their lips met in a spontaneous, passionate kiss. You two forgot everything around you, your eyes closed, completely lost in the moment. The kiss was abruptly interrupted when you heard a clearing throat.

You two separated and turned to see Johnny standing in the doorway, grinning broadly. 'Do you mind if I get some water?' he joked, still grinning as he entered the kitchen.

Mark and you, now visibly embarrassed, watched Johnny head to the fridge with a playful smile. He grabbed a water bottle, casting a mischievous glance over his shoulder.

'You know, this vegetable isn't going to chop itself, right?' Mark, trying to play off the embarrassment, quickly replied: 'Oh, we thought we were here to kiss... I mean, chop the vegetables faster.' He laughed, but when he saw Johnny take his comment seriously, his eyes widened. 'Wait, Hyung, I didn't mean it like that!'

Johnny, taking a sip of water, grinned broadly. 'Don't worry, Mark. I won't tell anyone about your little kitchen adventure.' With a wink, he left the kitchen. Mark sighed loudly and shook his head.

You couldn't help but laugh at his naivety. 'You really are one of a kind, Mark,' you said, giggling. Mark looked at you, a smile spreading across his face. 'Well, I try my best. But seriously, let's chop these vegetables before Johnny comes back and thinks we're just here making out.'

Both laughed and returned to your task, but the cheerful mood and giggles remained as you two prepared the vegetables for the communal dinner.

17 - When He Was My Best Comfort

One day as you entered Mark's apartment, you tried to hide your inner turmoil by talking about trivial things. 'The traffic was so chaotic today, and I almost left my scarf at the café,' you said with a voice that sounded slightly shaky. Your smile did not reach your eyes, which were usually so lively and expressive.

Mark, who knew you well, immediately noticed that something was wrong. 'Y/n, is everything alright?' he asked gently, as he approached her. His eyes sought yours, trying to find the truth you were trying to hide.

You continued your forced smile and nodded quickly. 'Yes, yes, everything is fine,' you replied, but your voice didn't sound convincing.

However, Mark was not deceived. He stepped closer to you and looked directly into your eyes. 'Y/n, you know you can tell me anything. It's okay if you're not feeling well.'

You looked down at the ground for a moment, then looked back up at Mark. Your eyes, usually so full of life, now appeared sad and thoughtful. 'It's just...' you began hesitantly, 'my mother and I had an argument today. It's always the same issue - she just doesn't understand what I really want.'

Mark's expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. 'You can trust me. What did she say?' he encouraged you further.

You took a deep breath and began to open up. 'She has her own ideas of how I should live my life. It's so frustrating because it feels like she doesn't really see me.' Your voice trembled as you spoke, and Mark sensed how hard it was for you to talk about these feelings.

Mark pulled her into a hug. 'I'm here for you, Y/n,' he whispered." Mark wanted to lighten the heavy mood. With a crooked smile, he said, 'You know, when you cry like that, you remind me of a sad panda. But even then, you're the cutest panda I know.'

You couldn't help but laugh at his teasing remark. Despite your tears, Mark's words brought a smile to your face. You pressed yourself closer to his chest and hugged him tighter. 'I love you so much, Mark,' you whispered, your voice filled with deep affection and gratitude.

Mark's heart beat faster at your words, and he felt the warmth and depth of your feelings. He held you tight and whispered back, 'I love you too, Y/n. More than you can imagine.'

18 - When He Got Lost In Me

In their favorite quiet corner café, surrounded by soft background music, Mark and you sat at a small table, your coffee cups steaming in front of you.

The conversation was lively and full of laughter as you two talked about the little, everyday occurrences that had shaped your days.

You shared a funny incident at work where one of her colleagues accidentally showed the wrong presentation to an important client.

Mark laughed heartily as you mimicked the reactions of those present. 'And then he stood there, with a presentation on tropical fish, while everyone wanted to talk about unhealthy patterns in a work place!' You said, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mark grinned and responded with an insider joke: 'Reminds me of the time Haechan tried to convince us of the existence of mermaids.' You laughed together, your shared past and the many moments you had with your friends only strengthening your connection.

As you two continued to chat, seamlessly switching between serious topics and light-hearted banter, you shared your thoughts about a book you were reading, and Mark listened attentively, always fascinated by your view of the world.

He valued your profound insights and the way you looked at things. Amid their conversation, you made a personal remark about a mutual acquaintance, which made Mark laugh. 'That sounds just like him! I can totally picture him making a dramatic entrance into the room,' he said, his eyes shining with delight.

Captivated by your appearance, Mark found himself lost in a world where only her beauty existed. Every one of your gestures, each of your movements, drew him deeper under her spell. As you laughed, he noticed how your eyes turned into shining stars, and your smile ignited a warm feeling in his heart. At that moment, he realized how enchanted he was by you. He admired not only her physical beauty but also the vivacity and depth you radiated. Every expression on your face seemed to tell a story, and he wanted to hear each one.

You, immersed in her storytelling, initially did not notice Mark's distraction. You finished your story with a question: 'What do you think, should we do something special this weekend? Any particular plans?'

Mark, pulled from his thoughts, looked at you confused for a moment before gathering himself. 'Uhm, I was just...' he started, searching for the right words. Then, with a sincere and intense gaze, he said: 'I was just wondering how incredibly beautiful and fascinating you are,' he replied with a mischievous smile. 'Your words are like music to my ears, but I must admit, I was completely distracted by your smile just now.'

You was surprised by his unexpected romantic statement. A smile spread across your face, and a warm tingling sensation swept through you. 'That's a very charming distraction,' you replied, your cheeks slightly flushed. 'But try to focus on my question anyway.' Mark smiled sheepishly and nodded.

'Of course, sorry. Let's make this weekend something special. Just the two of us, somewhere where I can continue to be distracted by your beauty and your other parts.' You laughed and shook your head. 'You're hopeless, Mark Lee. But that sounds like a plan.' Your gazes met, and in that moment, you shared a deep connection that went beyond mere words.

19 - When I Got Jealous

In the shopping mall, as Mark and you strolled through the stores, you had a chance encounter with one of Mark's former classmates.

She was a lively young woman, obviously delighted to see Mark after such a long time.

She started chatting animatedly with him, and Mark, always up for a laugh, made one of his typical jokes. 'Do you remember how we used to study for exams, and I claimed my dog ate my notes?' he said with a mischievous grin. 'The funny thing is, I didn't even have a dog back then!' The classmate laughed heartily at his joke, while Mark was pleased that he could still provide amusement.

The conversation was light and carefree until the classmate suggested they should meet outside the mall sometime to relive old times. Mark, caught off guard by the suggestion, reacted hesitantly.

He cast a brief glance at you, your facial expression had slightly changed. 'Uh, that sounds nice, but I'm pretty busy these days,' he diplomatically replied, trying not to complicate the situation.

After Mark's former classmate left, you stood somewhat stunned. You were surprised that Mark did not mention you were his girlfriend was evident in your facial expression.

Mark, still oblivious to the extent of your discomfort, tried to lighten the mood: 'Maybe I should wear a sign that says: 'Taken and happy'!' he said with a grin.

You, however, were not amused. 'Would it have been so hard to just say you have a girlfriend standing right next to you?' you asked sarcastically, your arms crossed and your gaze averted.

Mark realized then that his light-hearted approach wasn't working. He stepped closer, his look serious and sincere. 'Y/n, I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought it was obvious. You are the most important person in my life, and everyone who knows me knows that. There's no one else for me but you.'

After Mark expressed his sincere feelings, you smiled slightly. 'But your old classmate apparently didn't know,' you retorted playfully. Mark looked at you directly, his gaze piercing and confident. 'Does it matter what she knows?' he replied softly. 'For me, only what we both know and feel counts. I don't need anyone else's confirmation to know what's in my heart.'

His words resonated with a deep, romantic echo in your ears, making your heart beat faster. You recognized the depth of his commitment and were touched by his charismatic sincerity.

You sighed softly, your smirk turning into a warm smile. 'You're right, Markie. I'm sorry I overreacted. I know you love me.' Mark gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a loving embrace. 'You're my everything, Y/n. I want you to always feel safe and loved.'

You felt a comforting warmth in your heart as you returned Mark's embrace. You could almost physically feel his affection and the strength of his feelings for you. Your heart felt light and buoyant.

Mark, noticing the change in your mood, loosened the embrace and looked into your face with a playful smile. 'Now that that's settled, how about we enjoy the rest of the day? Maybe with something that brings joy to both of us?' he suggested, his eyes sparkling with delight and a hint of mischief.

You couldn't help but smile. You felt any tension fall away from you, a calm and happiness surrounding you. You were convinced that the man in front of her, with all his love and charm, belonged wholly to you. 'That sounds like a perfect plan,' you replied with a beaming smile.

'I'm in, as long as it's something that makes both of us happy.' Mark nodded in agreement and took your hand. 'Let's make this day something special, Babe.' he said, leading her through the mall, hand in hand, looking forward to your time together and the many happy moments that lay ahead.

20 - When He Got Jealous

On an ordinary day, Mark picked up you from the hospital in his car. He parked and waited patiently as he saw you coming out of the building with a man, deeply engaged in conversation.

You seemed unaware of Mark's presence in the car. Mark observed as the mood between you grew more cheerful; you were laughing and giggling.

A wave of jealousy overcame him as he wondered why the conversation was taking so long. He finally signaled his presence by flashing his car's headlights.

You looked up, recognized Mark, and quickly excused yourself from your colleague. You said goodbye and cheerfully got into Mark's car.

"You scared me with that high beam," you playfully said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Mark didn't respond and drove off.

During the drive, your phone rang. You glanced at the screen and apologized to Mark before taking the call. Mark stopped telling his story and watched you as you spoke in a friendly tone. Jealousy simmered inside him as the conversation lasted longer than he liked.

You sensed the change in Mark's mood and looked at him with concern. "Baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. It was just a quick call from work," you tried to explain, but noticed Mark's continued irritability. "Penny for your thoughts?", you asked, sensing his inner battles again.

"It's just...", Mark hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "it bothered me to see you so cheerful with that guy. And then the call... it made me feel... well, jealous." Mark admitted, his words were soft and hesitant. He briefly looked at you before returning his gaze to the road.

You took Mark's right hand, which rested on the gear shift, and gently stroked it. "Mark, you don't need to worry. There's absolutely no reason for jealousy. I wish you would trust me more." Your voice was gentle, yet firm.

Mark felt the warmth of your hand and looked at you. He visibly struggled as he searched for the right words.

You continued: "I belong to you, Mark. No other man in this world, who isn't Mark Lee, could ever take your place in my heart." These words made Mark smile. His facial expression brightened, and a palpable relief flowed through him. "I know I should trust you more. It's just that the thought of losing you is unbearable," he confessed, his voice becoming softer. You smiled back and squeezed his hand tighter. "You won't lose me, Mark. I love you, and that's not going to change."

Mark nodded, grateful for your words and touch. "I love you too, Babe. More than anything else." Mark held your hand tighter, his fingers gently encircling hers.

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly while his eyes remained on the road ahead. This loving, respectful kiss on your hand was a silent promise of his devotion and loyalty.

"Thank you for always being there for me, Y/n," he said softly as he continued to drive. His grip on her hand remained firm and secure, a physical expression of his emotional bond with you.

You felt the strength of his feelings in the way he held your hand. You smiled, filled with the love that flowed between you two. "I'm always here for you, Mark Lee. Always."

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[elf-osamu]

“YOUR LAST MEMORY OF ME”

[ masterlist ] [ reblogs are very appreciated ]

angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, romantic relationship, jing yuan x gn!reader

warning(s) : major character death, the concept of death is discussed, implied reference for the high cloud quintet lore !!!!, blood, injuries, depictions of violence !!!!

word count : 2517 words

“i think i got too many memories getting in the way of me; you only get what you grieve; the only thing that’s ever stopping me is me; i testify if i die in my sleep, then know that my life was a killer dream; and all my childhood heroes have fallen off or died” — song: stay frosty royal milk tea by fall out boy

a/n: i’ve almost cried while writing this. as a jing yuan lover, i’m terribly sorry (it will happen again).

to be part of a long life species isn’t as easy as mortals make it to be. since their lives are nothing but a fleeting moment which will be soon forgotten, they tend to hope for a longer time to accomplish their goals, rushing every task to meet the temporary relief that it brings — a sweet feeling which one could indulge themself in, but only for a brief moment. as a consequence of this, they’re quite envious of those who don’t have to worry about such matters: those people can enjoy life to the fullest and simultaneously take things at a slow pace, savoring each second of their existence without being overwhelmed by their imminent end; new experiences are always near the corner of their days, quietly waiting for the perfect time to appear and give opportunities of every kind; the weight of death isn’t a matter to reflect upon, since it’s something far too distant to be frightened by it.

a smile was something that jing yuan hardly got to see on that face he had profoundly grown fond of — yours. one could have defined it as an almost imperceptible change, but the way your lips slightly curved in response of his affirmations hadn’t ever escaped his attentive eyes. his life had been consistent for many years, still as a lake in a flawlessly sunny day, with his usual duties and habits which never seemed to change despite the passage of time. however now he had gotten used to your presence and he could have never substituted it. those lips he loved to touch with his, those hands he relished with his when he was looking for reassurance, those eyes he would have treasured with his life if they had been gems — you. jing yuan would have never gotten tired of you.

this is what short life species harshly tell themselves and others — they can’t but concentrate on what they don’t possess, on what their hands will never reach, on what they will never be able to accomplish. nevertheless, said behavior is rather commonly found in the majority of human beings with no distinctions made; envy is a comprehensibile emotion, but when used inappropriately it can develop in resentment. the inherent desire of attaining what we’ve wished for isn’t possible at all times — but we continue on our path forward, often stumbling along the way when it gets too difficult to move on.

the general’s soul wasn’t unblemished as many thought: you had gotten the chance to meet that part of him he tried to hide under a seemingly exemplery mask of polite yet playful remarks. you had tended to his injuries, taking care of his body while he narrated the story of some of his scars; you had listened to his usually unspoken worries, when the role he had to play for the majority of his life momentarily ended and he finally showed you that he was just a human being like any other — someone who had done both outstanding and terrible things. “i… i apologize for not being the hero you’ve heard of”, he had muttered the rare times he had allowed himself to cry; it had been too long ago since the last time he had opened up to someone in such a vulnerable way.

long life species know this too well: between the scars of their past and the hopes for their future, it isn’t rare to find people who are lost in their journey, surrounded by painful memories and feelings of desperation. to forget what one’s forced to remember can make themself cling to the old days and refuse to give a glance to the other side.

you were aware of jing yuan’s foibles and past mistakes — how could you have not? — but those things had never stopped you from loving him. as you were there to accept him for who he was, you could proudly say he did the same for you; patience and consideration were only a few of his characteristics, but they were greatly helpful when you were going through difficult times. jing yuan wouldn’t have ever judged your fears and thoughts: he would have sat next to you, grounding your mind from the stress that life could give you, and reminded you of his unfeigned adoration towards your being. you both had found comfort and solace with each other.

the general of the cloud knights of the xianzhou luofu, jing yuan, had lived for too many centuries to be truly able to count them. he was acclaimed by many people and frowned upon by others — but nobody could have never doubt his dexterity and strength when it came to swordsmanship: his exceptional abilities had been of considerable effectiveness in battles and, simultaneously, his carefulness and diplomacy couldn’t be disregarded in the slightest, since they kept the law and order in his nation.

death passively follows its natural course when the right time is known — it’s a neutral state which can’t be converted by the human mind, something… irreversible; many have tried to change this fact and many have failed. each stage of life is meaningful, thus to accept what’s going to happen someday is the wisest and least painful choice, though it has to be recognized how it can still be a tough journey. his loved companions, his long-lasting enemies, everybody he knew… he had lost them, either because of demise or a change of paths.

during his life, jing yuan had collided with friends, foes and even with himself — bonds were broken, rancour was deepened, distress was reinforced: all the experiences and emotions he had been carrying in his heart for centuries seemed to be never-ending. he did his best to hide his damaged self through loads of work and too many hours of sleep; after all he was one of the arbiter-generals — if he couldn’t do his job, who could have?

he was a symbol of hope: he was someone to use as a role model and as a pillar for anyone who was in need of support and protection — failure had never been an option for those of such great importance.

he just had to resist a little longer… then everything else would have ended and peace would have prospered, as it always did.

clashes of swords and polearms reverberated through the battlefield, they were the only sounds which could be heard alongside the warriors’ screams. destruction and ruination harshly painted the surroundings, scarring the ground where nature once flourished, while combatants fell and took their last breath.

an invasion of that magnitude hadn’t been on the xianzhou luofu for quite some time and nobody had been prepared for it; unexpected encounters were the most dangerous and tiring ones.

you were a brave and capable soldier — your technique wasn’t flawless, but your determination made up for the few careless mistakes you committed while fighting; jing yuan was aware of that, but his chest still hurt whenever he knew you were battling against his enemies. as much as he believed you could successfully take care of your well-being in dire situations, he had to fight the urge to be near you when you risked your life; said feeling was reciprocated though, since the general had caught a glimpse of your figure finishing off an enemy who had tried to attack him behind his back while he was busy with three other opponents. you had flashed a smile at your lover before going into battle again.

it was a tough confront between distinct factions, but hope had come to the surface again once you had taken a glance at how many enemies were still standing: only a few were alive and their counterattacks were growing more haphazard by the second — they hadn’t expected to fall behind in battle. the rush of adrenaline you felt before accompanied your weapon through taking the life of your opponents without backing away.

jing yuan had just fought against a few people when he saw a group of his opposite faction go near you; they were too many to be dealt at the same time, too many even for someone as experienced as him — so he couldn’t let them lift a finger on your body, it was a risk too huge to be taken so carelessly.

he rapidly moved to get to your side — you were rather distant from him but, if he had screamed, you would have been distracted and you would have gotten severe injuries… or even worse. his mind was spiralling while the general was trying to calm himself down and choose the best option available to keep yourself safe but, when he saw a spear coming too near your figure, his body moved on its own: he rushed towards you and, without giving you the time to react, he took what once was your place.

time seemed to stop for a moment as he tasted the flavour of pain that came from the deep skin tear on his chest: gushes of blood brutally tinted his armor and all of a sudden his face lost the color it had just a moment before.

you couldn’t feel anything at first, your brain had registered only a part of what had occurred. then, however, you realized what you had witnessed when you watched jing yuan’s body fall on the ground.

everything had happened in a few seconds, but it felt like an unceasing event: something atrocious was taking place, something you just wished to ignore and forget… but you couldn’t allow yourself to do that.

therefore, a wave of rage hit you: you didn’t waste time to slaughter the ones who attacked the man you loved; when anyone tried to come near you, your blade was swift enough to promptly eliminate them and destroy anything that crossed its path, wounding whoever couldn’t understand the weight of the situation. it had been a while since you felt an emotion in such an intense and uncontrolled way, you looked feverish from how much strength you were using.

anger’s origin was different for everyone — yours was because of despondency.

you were moving too fast to process what was happening: the only clear thing your blurry vision could notice was the carmine blood that colored the soil and people’s armors, especially your own. you couldn’t feel the pain derived from your injuries, your clouded mind wasn’t able to process your physical state.

wrath was embracing you in its strong grip, the one thing that heartened you when you would have preferred to hide away in your own solitude.

as the only opponents left decided to retreat from the battle, you tossed your weapon to the side and fell on your knees; you were exhausted from your sudden outburst, your limbs were becoming numb and your head was spinning.

the familiar sound of your name, however, kept you grounded, making you look at the white-haired man who was laying down on the turf.

sweat and blood littered his scarred skin, a look you had gotten to know through the years you had spent with him. but this time was like no other.

you immediately sat by his side and forced yourself to act like you had everything under control, while trying to disregard the spear that had pierced his body: your hands slightly pressed near the major wound on his chest, clinging to the last hope of keeping more blood from coming out.

“my time… has come, then?” he murmured, his lips were moving slowly, too slowly, though his voice was calm as the usual; you would have said he wasn’t feeling much pain, if you didn’t know him that well.

a grin was plastered on his face and it only made you sadder to see him keep his mask even on that unpleasant occasion.

“don’t you dare say that, jing yuan. there’s still time, we can make someone look for a doctor, we… you can resist for a few minutes until then!”, you sounded — you were — desperate. “everything is going to work out in the end, isn’t it?”.

you were trying your best to pay no attention to your thoughts: there was no doubt that his injury was fatal, he already had lost too much blood to return back to his usual life and be saved. you would have switched places in a heartbeat if you were given the opportunity to do so, you would have given anything to keep him alive; jing yuan had understood it since the first day your love for him had been known.

his eyes were fixated on your face, as if they were trying to soothe your distressed mind. with the last remaining ounce of strength, he rested one of his hands on yours and deepened his smile.

he called out your name again. “do you know how much i care about you?”.

if the situation were different, you would have punched him; tears began to fall down on your cheeks; you would have liked to scream and say he wouldn’t have died in that way, but you managed to make your lips curve into a faux grin; if you had to smile, you would have done it for him.

“yes, love. i do know it all too well”, you whispered, your gaze was focused only on his face and the flutter of his eyelashes.

jing yuan slowly nodded and mumbled “good”: his heart could have ultimately rested now that he had your confirmation.

he looked at the gray sky, silently saying his goodbyes to the world around him. “if there’s anything beyond this life… i hope i’ll get the chance to… to meet my friends… and lost companions there…”. you felt his fingers caress yours in a reassuring manner, a habit of his the general of the luofu couldn’t abandon even in death. “perhaps we are going… to talk again”.

you inclined your head, there was nothing else you could do.

his deep voice, the white cascade of his long hair, those golden eyes that held many memories, the strategies he followed while playing chess, his comforting laugh, every characteristic of his — you would have never forgotten any of them.

“i feel… so light…” he muttered as he closed his eyes, inhaling air for the last time.

an uncontrollable sob broke out from your throat as you bended over and hugged his cold body close to your chest, your forehead was against his.

pain had been a part of jing yuan’s life since he was a child and it ushered him also to his demise, as a loyal intimate who had never left his side.

you held back your tears when a question made its way into your head: would he have found solace now that everything was over? you shivered and hoped he could finally rest, but your heart wouldn’t have been the same ever again.

the peace you had found within his presence had mercilessly been broken and nothing could have ever repaired it.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

[ tag list — @bladesmuse ]

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