#me: can i PLEASE not take 3 hours to write ONE SCENE
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DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs
the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.
or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.
pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.
content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.
content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.
w/c ; 9.6k
note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3
“What was your first kiss like?”
Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.
All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.
But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.
“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”
You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”
“Oh.”
He was right.
“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”
He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.
“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”
You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.
“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.
“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.
You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”
He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.
Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.
Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.
“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”
You snort.
“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.
He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?
“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.
You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”
“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.
He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.
You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.
He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.
The urge to just… lean in to you.
It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—
Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—
“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.
True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.
But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?
“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.
“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.
“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”
“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”
He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.
Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.
“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.
It’s… devastatingly cute.
“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.
“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”
It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.
He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.
Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.
He swears.
“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”
Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)
“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”
His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.
“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.
“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.
You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.
Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.
And yet—
“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.
Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.
You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.
When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.
His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.
Eight seconds later… still nothing.
“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”
“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”
It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.
“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”
It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”
“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”
You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.
His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.
You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”
“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”
“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.
“That was one time!”
“One time too many.”
“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“
You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.
He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.
“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”
“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”
He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.
“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.
“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”
You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.
Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.
He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.
Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.
Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.
“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.
“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”
When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.
“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…
He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”
“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?
He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.
I love them. Thank you, you said.
It’s perfect.
He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.
“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”
Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.
He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.
“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.
“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.
“I don’t know-…”
“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”
Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”
Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.
Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.
On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.
“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”
Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.
“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”
“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.
But… It's too late.
Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.
And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.
Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.
Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.
But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.
Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.
It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.
Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.
You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.
When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.
You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.
“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.
“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”
“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”
He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.
“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.
His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.
“He what?”
Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.
He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.
I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)
So… you were in love.
With someone who wasn’t him.
He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.
Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.
“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”
You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”
Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.
“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”
Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.
“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”
Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?
He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.
“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”
You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”
You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.
“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”
He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.
“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.
“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.
It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.
He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.
“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”
With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.
“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.
Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.
But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.
“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.
He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.
When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.
He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.
And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.
“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”
He’s so proud of you.
Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.
[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]
Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.
He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.
[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]
[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]
So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.
With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.
Not enough, but some.
With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.
7. 6. 5.
The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.
Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?
4. 3.
Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.
2.
For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.
1.
Happy New Year.
As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.
For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.
You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”
“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…
Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.
He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.
You could do it, his brain tells him.
So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?
But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.
One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.
He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.
Being in love is enough.
“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.
He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”
In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.
His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.
But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.
To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.
You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.
This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.
The pouting continued.
Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.
All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?
He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.
“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.
“This way.”
You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.
“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”
You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.
“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.
“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,
He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.
You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.
“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”
“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.
“Close your eyes.”
You know.
Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.
“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.
“You really think so?”
“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”
Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?
He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.
“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.
“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”
“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”
Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.
It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.
He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.
Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…
“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.
“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.
One.
You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…
There it all is, when you finally pull away.
Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.
“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”
A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.
“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”
thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3
#vernon fluff#vernon x reader#vernon chwe fluff#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#hansol x reader#hansol fluff#kpop fluff#j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3#vernon fanfic
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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble
Can I request shy!reader and Derek? Maybe where she's really shy about pda but she finally works up the courage to hold his hand or kiss his cheek in public and he just melts <3
tysm! ♡
"Penelope, I'm not wearing that."
Penelope waves the custom t-shirt she's made at him threateningly. "Yes, you will, because you love me and you love Hotch and he deserves our support."
She's created matching garb for their entire team as well as any partner willing to support Hotch. "This is his second triathlon, and he's very much going to remember last year's triathlon and his now ex-girlfriend. Plus, it's for charity!" She slaps his chest with the shirt. "Put it on."
You smile at his reaction, the fond clench of his jaw, his rolling eyes as he peels out of his t-shirt. The smile quickly stifles, mouth dry as the Sahara in seconds. The tight pack of his abs ripple in the sunlight, dark skin practically glistening.
"It's too hot for this," he complains.
Penelope nudges you. "He can say that again."
Derek squeezes into his shirt and laughs. "This better be the wrong size on accident."
"Maybe." She leans down to grab another shirt from her tote bag, saying, "This should be the right size, sweetcheeks."
Yours is big enough to wear over your original blouse easily. Derek glares at you without any real malice and swings an arm around your shoulders, dropping a kiss at your temple. "Looking good."
Being with Derek has never made any sense to you. Or rather, Derek being with you has never made any sense —you'd be a fool to turn him down and he's a fool to think you're good enough. He's ridiculously attractive, a bombshell of a man, with ambition and a good heart, sweetness and heat alike practically drip from him. You're confused by him often and melted by him more, a melted puddle of a girl as he walks you to the crowd of BAU employees waiting at the finish line to cheer for Hotch.
Jack and Henry stand together, though Henry, JJ's son, is much smaller. Will crouches next to him to make sure he doesn't run anywhere he isn't supposed to, while JJ stands with Emily and Spencer, all already bedecked in their supportive t-shirts.
There's a chorus of hellos as you join them. Everybody Derek cares about that isn't in Chicago stands in a bubble, and it terrifies you like always. You want to make a good impression. You don't want to let Derek down.
Not that he cares about any of that. He knew you were shy to aching when you met and he has no intentions of trying to change you. "Sorry we're late," he says. "My fault."
Actually, it's your fault. You got the time wrong. But Derek doesn't embarrass you by telling them —your affection for him swells.
He keeps a hand behind your back for a while. You sway under the huge sun beating down and on tired feet for a while, Hotch your saviour as he appears across the finish line. Will takes Jack to meet him, and Jack, the poor thing, gets a super sweaty hug.
Hotch isn't first to finish, but he runs a good time.
"Better than last year's!" Emily cheers.
Penelope wolf whistles. You clap your hands with Spencer, pleased if feeling a little out of place.
"Maybe I'll sign up for next year's triathlon," Derek says, grinning.
You know he's kidding, but Derek could do anything he set his mind to. You go on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "I'd cheer you on," you say earnestly, stepping back, wiping the tiny balmy kiss print you've left behind.
Derek looks at you plainly startled. Your heart skips a beat, worried you've overstepped.
"Can I get another one of those, or are they in limited supply?" he asks, warm and quiet, not an inch of bravado to be seen.
You turn back the unfolding scene of victory in front of you, "Maybe later."
Derek is noticeably sweet on you for hours, and declares at dinner that he'll be joining Hotch in next year's triathlon. You reach for his hand under the table and nod along. You'd love to see him at the finish line.
#derek morgan#derek morgan x reader#derek morgan x you#derek morgan x y/n#derek morgan x fem!reader#derek morgan imagine#derek morgan fluff#derek morgan fanfic#derek morgan oneshot#derek morgan scenario#derek morgan drabble#derek morgan fic#derek morgan fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#luveline's 40k party
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i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you (and i)
summary: dating tip? just don't. for celebrities, romantic relationships are absolutely forbidden. the slightest hint of one could ruin your career. but are you even listening to the lecture? doubt it, 'cause you're doing the complete opposite. (alternatively, a celebrity au featuring secret relationships.)
→ featuring: childe, & ayato (you can really tell who my faves are)
→ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, slight cursing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, tension, actual cursing, unreliable reader pov, gender-neutral reader (i apologize if i missed things, i haven't proofread it yet)
→ a/n: so, hi! long time no see? i was pretty stressed with college and well, i'm back! i began writing this last year and finally got the courage to finish it. but here it is and i hope you enjoy it :> please let me know if you like it <3 it really makes my day!
credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts!
beware, lengthy post ahead!
more under the cut!
the debut.
“forbidden?” you repeat.
“absolutely forbidden!” your manager says. “a rookie with no fanbase? a scandal will ruin your reputation! you're absolutely forbidden from dating anyone.”
you sigh. he's being too overdramatic.
you will never be in a relationship, you're absolutely sure. how can you? with no time for yourself as it is, dating someone with the limited hours you already have sounds impractical.
besides, you're too busy training and practicing for auditions.
remembering it now, you want to laugh.
i told you so, your thoughts chastise.
god, you should've listened.
childe, the actor
“that's a wrap!” the director cheers.
your eyes glisten as you hold back tears. it's embarrassing, you think. so damn embarrassing.
you've been repeating the same kissing scene multiple times now. obviously, the director cheers for finally completing the take and not because you did a good job.
childe pats your back. “you did great,” he says, with a smile.
but you know the gesture so goddamn well. the same nonchalant cold grin he throws at everyone that he now directs at you? oh, he's angry alright.
for what reason? who knows. you're too busy wallowing in self-despair over how terrible your acting is.
the scene is supposedly simple. it involves the second lead, who happens to be you, confessing their love to the leading man, resulting to a spontaneous kiss.
yet, you're fumbling over the lines, acting so out of character, tripping over set, incorrectly initiating the kiss at awkward angles—the whole time-wasting squander.
“what's going on?” childe eventually asks, once he arrives at your shared apartment. his bag drops to the floor with a flop. “you're acting strange. the entire crew sees it, i see it, the director sees it—what if he decides to fire you? what will you do then?”
you swallow dryly. you left the set early hoping childe's hectic schedule prompted him to forget the whole issue. yet, here he is finally bringing up the conversation after what feels like a month's worth of tension.
as you sit on the sofa chair, your fingers massage the bridge of your nose. breathe in, breathe out. you repeat. don't cry. you try to calm yourself down as a sob tries to break through.
eight months, you've been a couple.
but, there are some things you're afraid to say.
each year, the biggest tabloid newspaper in the country releases an article on celebrity dating scandals. a month ago they released one single page article about a popular actor dating a newbie actress. it barely had any juicy details, just a simple paragraph of a somebody dating a nobody.
yet, it did not end well for them. and you're terrified; for when it could happen to you.
you imagine it. dozens of messages and multiple missed phone calls on your cell as your name becomes the next talk of the town. the headline reads: revealed! a nobody actress, the second-lead from the northland bank saga currently dates the nation's boyfriend, childe!
it terrifies you. you could lose your job. lose what you love doing the most. and you could get tossed aside like an old sweater under someone's bed, left to rot and decompose.
so, yes. you hesitated earlier at set because you don't want anyone to connect the dots. to look at the kiss between you two and notice something amiss. to speculate that there's more to your relationship than what meets the eye. to realize you look at him as more than a co-star. to see how much you're in love with him. to realize the both of you are dating.
“it's not easy.” you say, releasing a sigh.
two years you've been in the business. rookies barely get any roles as it is. being in a well-received rendition of an old romance drama is a once in a blue moon opportunity and you can't risk someone finding out about your relationship.
“camera shy? no—you've kissed heaps of actors for that school drama.”
you mumble, “two people aren't heaps of actors, tartaglia.”
“then what is the problem?”
childe saunters to where you sit. he leans towards you and presses his palm on the head of the sofa, trapping your body between his and the chair. childe's eyes meet yours and you instantly look away.
he knows you well enough to comprehend that look on your face. the way you hide your clammy hands behind you, the manner of your eyes staring only at your feet, how your body tucks itself into the corner of the seat.
“me?” childe whispers.
he places a hand under your jaw. his thumb softly pushes your chin upwards so your eyes meet his.
“why?” he pleads.
“you won't understand.”
“i will if you tell me,” he says, holding your gaze. seeing how you relentlessly persist on keeping your mouth shut, he shakes his head. “oh, please tell me.”
you hesitate. you tell him and then what?
you could say: hey, childe! i'm afraid of our relationship being discovered. i'll be hated by your fans. you'll be constantly drained by my crying and whining. your reputation would take a hit regardless of how popular you are and—and then he'll finally realize how exhausting and annoying it is being with you.
your self-deprecation loves to pull you deeper into its sapping embrace. you're nothing, it mouths. childe would dump you and find some other actor or actress to date. god. it would be so easy. with his popularity, good looks, and charming personality, he'd find a better and talented rising-star the moment he chucks you out the front door.
so, you shake your head firmly.
“tell me, please.” he whispers.
you cross your arms, and look away.
“are you sick?”
you shake your head.
“somebody hurting you on set?”
again, you shake your head.
childe pauses, “...do you have feelings for someone else?”
“no!”
“then what is the damn problem?”
“nothing!” you exasperate, furrowing your brows together.
childe takes your reluctance as distrust and it ignites his irritation. do you not trust him? is he that insignificant to you? what are you hiding? hell, did you fall for the main lead of the show, zhongli? or do you not love him anymore? god, he can feel himself suffocate in resentment.
is he so unimportant that you'd prefer to keep the problem to yourself? it makes his blood boil; how he'd do anything for you, but you'd rather keep it to yourself and suffer alone.
“tell me.” childe scowls as he watches your lips quiver.
you keep your mouth firmly shut.
“fine, hold your tongue.” he sneers, “i understand. i really do, baby. it's not about the cameras, the flashing lights, the audience.”
childe brushes his lips against yours, “you wouldn’t kiss me like that in public, though, would you?” he releases his hold on your chin and his sharp eyes meet yours. “it’s only behind closed doors when you care to act like we’re each other’s.”
with a hooded jacket in one hand and a face mask in another, childe swiftly leaves the apartment with a slam of a door.
leaving you alone with your wretched thoughts.
more under the cut!
despite walking out the flat hours ago, childe still reverberates jealousy and anger; pure envy at how normal you act around everyone else yet, around him you're too guarded; and angry at himself for saying those awful words to your face.
he smacks his forehead on the steering wheel. childe acknowledges how childish he's been acting. you aren't ready to talk, and he shouldn't be forcing you to speak out your difficulties.
surely, the stress is piling up on you. he knows the hours you've been working on set, memorizing lines, practicing moves—again, he thumps his head on the wheel.
stupid, he curses. control your damn temper next time.
he reaches for the box of blueberry cheesecake on the front passenger seat. subconsciously, he drove two hours (and back) to the bakery's main branch as its side branches were sold out of your favorite cake. and he knows how much you love the pastry.
however, his body slouches in the parked car outside the apartment. the long drive works miracles with his anger, but the courage to actually walk inside and apologize never comes.
the ding of a text draws his attention. ‘go inside and beg for forgiveness, brat.’ yoimiya, a fellow actress from the same company as him, says. the woman is always in the loop and well-informed.
a shiver goes down his spine. if you told yoimiya about the argument, he's absolutely sure you're furious. you'd only speak to her as a last-ditch effort; knowing her personality she'd pummel him to bits while you watch.
as a result, he stands inside the apartment, one hand knocking on your bedroom door. however, instead of tasting blood, he hears your stifled sobs. the abrupt sound convinces him to turn the knob and enter the room.
the illumination from the hallway brightens the bedroom, shining a bit of light on your face. you lay on the bed with your knees to your chest, with a blanket over your waist. your reddened cheeks and tear-stained eyes makes his stomach churn.
“please don't cry, baby.” childe cooes, kneeling by your bedside. he leans over you, his fingers gently grip your cheeks. “i'm so sorry.”
the sudden apology sprouts pools from your eyes. his thumbs brush the water off your face and softly says, “i shouldn't have said—please, don't cry. it's my fault for taking my anger out on you.”
“i'm afraid of losing you,” you whimper. “if they find out—oh god—they'll tear me apart. i'm nothing compared to you. i'd lose everything. i might even lose you—”
“never, i will never leave you. no matter what happens,” childe interjects.
you furrow your brows, sobbing. “i'm no one—too difficult,” you hiccup. “you'll throw me away. i'm too whiny and too draining. if they find out... you'll see all the comments about how ugly—”
“breathe, baby.” he settles himself on your bed and softly places you on his lap. “you're gorgeous. you're not draining, and frankly, you're cute when you whine.”
you bury your face into his neck and continue, “i'm serious, childe. you'll get exhausted. the articles will talk about you too!”
“articles, mhm. they're just articles.” he hums.
irritation begins to set in. was he this clueless? you release another sob, “they're not just articles. they'll nitpick every single thing you do! oh—look at this newbie getting together with childe. oh, they suck at acting! why is childe even—”
childe gently places his palm on your neck, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “are you talking about the tabloid from last month?”
you sigh, “what else am i talking about?” and instantly you sense his laughter resonate. “are you laughing?”
“you're adorable, baby.” he breathes, nuzzling his face on your neck.
“you're making fun of me! what the hell, childe?”
he releases a sigh, pausing his laughter. “the tabloids every month. they're paid. companies pay them to talk about their idols for publicity.”
your face contorts into confusion, “who would willingly—they talked about lumine all month because of the article! you know she's my favorite actress. why would they willingly put her on the spotlight like that?”
“publicity, baby.”
you shake your head, “it makes no sense.”
“oh, it does.” childe hums. “of course, they'd seek permission first. it boosted views for her drama, didn't it? lumine did say she got extra for the views and switched apartments.”
“yeah, wait—you knew this whole time and didn't bother to tell me?”
he chuckles, “that's what you get for keeping these things to yourself for a month.” he squeezes the bridge of your nose.
“you're terrible.”
“love you too, baby.” he teases, “and besides, if a tabloid threatened to do something—” his thumb gently traces the skin around your neck. “—i'll keep you safe.”
a soft smile graces your features. “...i'm just not ready for anyone to find out. yet, anyway.”
childe hums, “we'll do it on your terms, okay? whenever you're ready.”
“sure, i guess you can keep me for a while longer. until you throw me away and find the next rookie to—”
childe's soft laughter sparks a flutter in your stomach. he would never do such a thing. the moment he first laid his eyes on you on set, heard your beautiful laugh between takes, listened to your jokes while practicing lines, and god, seen your angelic smile? the things he would do to keep you as his.
“never.” a cheeky grin appears on his lips, “i'll take care of you.”
bonus: five years later
your phone rings. the vibration continues on and off, signaling multiple inbox messages. you swipe your phone to see texts from several of your close friends.
‘i know you told me you were okay with it, but i didn't think he'd try to do it so soon. i tried but he's too hardheaded.’ says yoimiya.
‘congratulations! when's the wedding? i'm kidding. don't kill childe.’ says thoma, an actor from your same company.
‘sorrows, sorrows, prayers.’ says venti, your current co-star.
you even receive a message from childe himself.
‘good morning, baby. i'm completely fault-free. simply honoring your wishes as a devoted fiancé should.’
attached to a message was a link to a video entitled: please don't kill me honey.
you click the link.
the video's blurry, as if taken by a cellphone. you recognize thoma as the person videoing the whole scene, as he turns the camera to face him before focusing it on a woman—seemingly a fan of childe. she wears merch from his most recent drama.
a fan goes on stage chosen by a random lottery draw. the said fan wins the chance to interview childe, who was the guest of the day for talk show, and ask one question.
the girl hastily walks on stage, holding a microphone given by staff.
“um. hello, childe!”
the audience screams as the huge video screen focuses on your lover's face. he waves a quick ‘hello’ and the crowd yells louder.
the girl hesitates, “are you dating anyone right now?”
childe twists the microphone in his hands. “hm? right now... i'm not dating anyone.”
the crows sighs in relief, utterly happy their favorite leading actor continues to be single.
but you see the outline of a smirk flashing on his face, and you instantly know there's a deeper meaning to that sentence. “but, it's difficult to say... since we're not really dating as of the moment.”
quietly, you hear the voice of yoimiya whispering, “don't do it.” the camera now focusing on her, trying to get herself on stage. thoma flips the camera around to face it on himself, waving a hello, apparently enjoying the drama. he then focuses the camera on the wide screen, featuring childe's face.
to add mayhem into the mix, childe continues, “i don't think being engaged to your partner falls under dating. we're way past that.”
the interview ends with the audience screaming their lungs out in disbelief, while childe's laugh resonates the whole auditorium.
ayato, company director
“oh, them?” ayato's steady gaze meet yours, pressing his lips in a tight-lipped smile. “they're a friend of mine.”
friend. it echoes in your mind, repeating incessantly. friend. friend. friend.
dread creeps into the pit of your stomach akin to a quick flick of a lighter. after all this time, your stomach lurches. is that all he thinks of you?
god, you need a drink.
the businessmen before you smile, prompting you to return the favor. subsequently, you humbly introduce yourself as just an ‘actor in the industry’. and they laugh. of course they do.
who wouldn't know you? a multi award-winning movie and television star with piles of nominations. so modest, they say. so kind, they praise. you grin, the smile not reaching your eyes, thanking them for their compliments.
but you're so accustomed to their fake smiles, ingenuine flattery, and sweet talk; you never truly know what's actually honest and real—eyes flickering to your azure-haired partner—no, who's honest and real.
you swallow the thought down.
as if aware of the invisible daggers thrown his way, ayato's gaze meets yours. his lips are pressed firmly together, eyes devoid of warmth.
not now, his expression conveys.
you narrow your own eyes, irritation burning through your corneas. as much as you want to start an argument in front of his investors, you agree to his silent insistence. after all it's his gala; one he's tirelessly prepared for over several months.
so you bite your tongue and smile: one honed by years of acting—fake yet strangely genuine.
it's not strong enough. you say, sipping wine with shaky hands. earlier, you left ayato to his fellow businessmen using the excuse of needing a bathroom break, a reason to which he obliged.
you stare at the elaborate party before you, wishing you could go home. the gala swiftly dissolved your social battery, aided by forced mingling and bitterness. a friend, your consciousness repeats. always a friend. so you sit on a chair by the wall, sipping drinks like water.
suddenly, the hairs of your neck stand on end. you sense his presence behind you, prompting a glance through your peripheral vision.
“careful, darling.” ayato's says, tone smooth yet laced with warning. “i'd rather not have you collapsing. your lovely face wouldn't compliment these filthy floors.”
you tense immediately, shoulders stiffening. “reverting back to pet names, i see?”
ayato's hand now rests on your shoulder, his thumb brushing your soft skin. “what seems to be the issue? i doubt it's due to the eight glasses of wine you've consumed in one sitting.”
you roll your tongue in your mouth, practicing the words. let's break up. you bite your tongue. let's see other people. besides, he wouldn't care would he? it's not as if he's been acknowledging you as someone he's been dating, has he? hiding your relationship from his business partners is one thing, but concealing it from closest friends? his family? that's an entirely different matter altogether.
a friend, he says to his business partners.
a star from the company, he answers to his closest friends.
a companion, he whispers to his family.
you're sick and tired of it. all of it.
raising the wineglass to your lips, you drown the drink in one go. you raise two fingers signaling the waiter for another drink.
ayato sighs and you think you feel his hand on your neck tighten, ever so slightly. “you've reached your limit with wine, dear.”
soon, the waiter arrives with three more glasses on his tray. ayato's disapproving glare compels the waiter to scurry across the ballroom floor, steering clear of you.
you click your tongue and begin, “who says so?”
“your fiancé,” he mutters, voice dripping with venom.
you immediately scoff. “sure. for your sake, i'll pretend you mentioned that earlier.”
before ayato could retort, the presence of another individual calls his attention; his younger sister, ayaka.
“brother, the sangonomiya heir's requesting your presence.”
he sighs, irritation etching his features. yet, you blink, catching a subtle shift in his expression—seemingly twisting from annoyance to something resembling relief at the mention of sangonomiya's name.
you swallow the bitter thought.
“watch them for me, could you? i'd rather not have them find a server willing to disobey my instructions and serve them a drink,” ayato whispers, his tone betraying a hint of tension that doesn't go unnoticed.
ayaka nods. her consent prompts the older brother to depart, heading towards the misty rose-pink heir who stands at the opposite side of the ballroom.
ayaka says the inevitable, “you should let him know it bothers you.”
“...i'm not sure what you're referring to.”
her gaze follows yours, observing the giggling and cheerful countenances of the kamisato and sangonomiya heirs. they seem to be enjoying their time together. as always, you remark.
“they're just close friends, you know.”
you click your tongue. “like how him and i are just friends?”
ayaka sighs, understanding your implication. “you know what i mean.”
sangonomiya's hand on your partner's shoulder elicits an exasperated sigh from you. “thoma told me they were to be married if i wasn't here.”
“the man always running his mouth—” she takes a calming breath before continuing, “—but brother's very fond of you. i'm his sister, i should know.”
“then how come after dating him for five years, he still calls me his friend.” you pause, a hand sliding into the right pocket of your outfit. you absentmindedly play with the engagement ring inside. “i'm his fiancé, aren't i?”
“he has his reasons. petty reasons.”
you bite your tongue. or he's embarrassed of you.
you met the kamisato company heir two years after your debut as an idol. as you shifted towards acting, you developed a close relationship with his sister, a seasoned actress from the same company. eventually, she became the bridge that strengthened the bond between the two of you.
you dedicated yourself nonstop, evolving from a rookie actor to a multiple-nominee and winning star; all in the pursuit of being able to openly show off your relationship with ayato without it tarnishing your reputation.
however, when you're prepared to finally reveal your relationship, he isn't.
and it leaves you wondering, is there someone else?
you mean, you're hesitant to doubt the love of your life. but considering he's kept your relationship a secret from everyone for years, it's obvious he's adept at keeping things hidden.
even from you.
and the thought sours your mood.
excusing yourself once more to use the restroom, using the premise of consuming ten glasses of wine, you bid adieu to your favorite kamisato (at the moment). you instead head towards a secluded balcony away from prying eyes.
you stare at the garden below. your eyes quickly blink back the tears threatening to fall. not now, you hiss. don't do this to me, not right now.
“i assumed you would have retreated to your room by this point.” his voice murmurs, unnervingly composed.
you turn around to see your partner holding a glass of wine. his features remain blank, inscrutable.
maybe it's because of all the wine you've been drinking. you can't seem to tell between what's real or not.
“what did you discuss with kokomi?”
“i wasn't aware you were both on a first name basis.”
“answer the question.”
he smiles, “business as always.”
you huff and wrap your hands around your arms. “of course. just business.”
ayato immediately picks up the anger in your tone. he lays his palm on your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. “look at me,” he pleads, with a subtle trace of irritation in his voice.
you turn to look at his face, eyes glaring.
“i felt your glares the entire night.” he begins.
you shrug, smiling innocently. “...what ever do you mean?”
“don't toy with me, darling.”
as he enunciates his answer, it's as if the final thread of your patience snaps. does he still continue to feign innocence and lie to your face?
last month he proposed and you were overjoyed. you then expected a shift in your relationship; the final unveiling of your engagement to the public. you gave him your permission, a definitive “i'm ready for everyone to know.”
yet thirty days later the engagement remains concealed leaving only a few of his friends (thoma) and a few family members (ayaka) knowing about your updated relationship.
if it was the ayato from two years ago, he would be delighted—ecstatic even—to reveal the truth. he might have used the gala today as an avenue to scream to the world, this person and i are in love.
but he didn't.
so the weight of your feelings began to drag you down; it almost feels suffocating in a way. as if a ribbon labeled, he's ashamed, tightly winds around your insides, intricately tying them all together into a sophisticated bow sowing distrust whispering; he's hiding something.
your suspicions, coupled with his frequent visits this month to the sangonomiya estate, fueled your frustration until it erupted. if only he ceased pretending innocent, perhaps you would able to smile through the whole facade.
if only he didn't ask.
“i'm not naive. if you developed feelings for kokomi then you shouldn't have proposed.” you snap. “was it out of pity? did you feel so damn guilty that you chose to go through with the engagement instead of being honest about your feelings?”
ayato furrows his brows, mouth tightening in anger. “what are you talking about? i discuss private affairs with kokomi. business affairs.”
you laugh; one infused with irritation and disbelief. “don't tell me then. keep your stupid secrets.”
“do you want me to jot down a damn list detailing every single thing i do in a day?” he growls. “i won't divulge company secrets just because you feel like throwing a tantrum.”
your hands drift to the tie around his neck, tugging the crooked tie straight. “no. go ahead and keep your secrets.” you pause and roll the words with your tongue, “you're clearly very good at keeping secrets. you’ve kept me—us—as a secret for so long, so of course you’d be good at keeping fucking secrets.”
anger flares across his face. “you desired our relationship to remain a secret, and i respected your wishes.” he sneers, “i wanted to let the damn world know how much i'm in love with you yet, it was the opposite of what you desired.”
ayato releases his grip on you and strides back into the ballroom, but he halts right at the door to the balcony. “so don't dictate when i should reveal the truth simply because you've grown sick and tired of keeping me as your dirty, little secret.”
he finally departs; and you stay, tears pooling, with a profound ache in your heart.
ayato waltzes around the room in a nonchalant dance; yes, good to see you. he lies. how's business? he couldn't care less. enjoy the party! no, he wants everyone in the damn room to feel his wrath.
although he yearns to set the entire ballroom ablaze, ending the party prematurely would be ill-manned of him. so, ayato continues being a gracious and honorable host.
but he feels hollow. he envisions himself freezing the entire room in an icy gust, everyone turning into statues. he wants to sprint back into your arms and plead for you to listen.
he doesn't understand what came over him. why he lost his temper like that. typically, he'd manage your outbursts with composure and understanding. what happened? he doesn't know.
he attributes his outburst to the mounting pressure. the chronic lack of sleep and continuous exhaustion coming from his title as heir. perhaps it's the truth gnawing his skin; despite his powerful position atop the company, it can easily be ripped away with the flick of a wrist.
instead of spending time with his fiancé—he doesn't know if he still deserves to call you that, you probably threw away his ring the second he left the balcony—yet here he is, engaged in conversations with business associates he cares little about.
“brother?” ayaka calls. she finds him leaning against a railing of stairs. “i closed off the gardens.”
ayato swallows. he last saw you sneaking towards the grounds. “they're still on the grass?”
“yes.”
“they'll catch a cold.”
“they will.”
he glances at his sister. “they think i'm unfaithful.”
“i know,” she says matter-of-factly. “have you offered them any evidence to convince them otherwise?”
ayato stays silent.
“i know you care about them, brother.” ayaka sighs, “however, surprising them with a specially crafted ring and being petty when your entire relationship is at stake may not be the wisest move.”
he sighs.
“most especially if they suspect that your frequent visits to the sangonomiya manor are fueled by romantic feelings for its heiress, and not for their own wedding ring.”
after a while, ayato spots you lying on the grass in a starfish formation, having finally swallowed his pride. his eyes glaze over your features: red eyes, cheeks marked with tear stains, and an exhausted expression.
“can we talk?” he begins.
you spare a quick glance before turning your attention back to the night sky. “there's not much to talk about.”
“i'm not cheating,” he asserts.
“i know.”
“do you know, or have you resigned yourself to not knowing?”
“hm,” you hum. “a part of me entertains the thought of you cheating. yet an even smaller part absolutely knows that if you were truly cheating, you'd be more discreet. who, in their right mind, would inform thoma that you visited her manor?”
he chuckles, a laughter-less sound escapes him. “i understand i've been secretive. you have every right to assume i'm up to something indecent. but i have my reasons.” ayato confesses, kneeling beside your body. he places his hand inside his suit pocket, pulling up a black small box.
you instantly sit up. “you're horrible,” you cough, eyes widening as he opens the box to show a ring. “this entire time you were—god.”
“i placed a special order,” he mumbles. “i visited each day to ensure it was flawless, right down to the smallest details.”
“i'm so sorry.”
“don't be, love.” he breathes, “you had your reasons, and i was insistent on keeping it a surprise.”
relief floods your features. “good,” you whisper before tears well in your eyes.
the sound of your sobs breaks his heart. he immediately wraps his arms around you, brushing his lips on your cheeks.
“i'm sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing the skin above your brow. “i'm sorry for worrying you.”
“goddamn sadistic,” you sob. “you knew i was freaking out, but you just watched!”
he grins, “i have to admit, you look cute when you're jealous.”
a groan escapes you. “don't make me throw away both rings.”
“is that so? i should've ordered twenty spares.”
“no.” you scold.
“oh? look at my darling, so jealous,” he smirks, nuzzling his face into your neck. you then feel his lips press into a straight line. “you're not something i would ever try to hide. i would never be ashamed of our relationship.”
you laugh, “prove it.”
your smile faces seeing the smirk on his face. in that exact moment, you know that kamisato ayato, the preposterous god in human flesh, plans to do something grand and explosive to prove you otherwise.
“do not.” you begin, “we've talked about this. you cannot—you absolutely will not bribe the government to declare our wedding date as a national holiday!”
bonus: ten minutes before the clash
“is it getting warm in here, or am i sensing the intense gaze of your loving fiancé on me?” kokomi laughs, sipping a glass of champagne.
ayato takes a peek, and he chuckles upon seeing your irritated and jealous expression. “they certainly are.”
“please do not involve me in your lovers' quarrels. everyone knows we're just close friends.”
“they do.”
“have you told them?”
“...it may have slipped past my mind.”
kokomi shakes her head. “sadistic.” she slips a black box into his palm. “clear it up. i do not want to be murdered by your future partner.”
ayato glances at you from across the room as you engage a conversation with his sister. “mhm, i could, but their jealous expression is too endearing.”
“sadistic,” she repeats. “absolutely sadistic.”
he chuckles.
“also, kazuha mentioned that you've been referring to them as your companion. correct that.” she continues, “and stop calling them your friend!”
“they asked me to when we started dating.”
she rolls her eyes. “you're so petty. stop trying to provoke them!”
“anyways, everyone knows we're engaged,” he corrects. “their whining face is the cutest.”
“sadistic.”
“kokomi?”
she tilts her head and hums, “yes?”
“ever wondered how much it costs to propose a national holiday?”
author’s note: lmao. so in this modern au ayato actually succeeds in turning your wedding date into a national holiday. the government actually appreciates his donation because a.) they always accept goodwilled (lmao) funds and b.) ayato's an important pillar to the gov and they don't want to upset him 'cause petty rich boy tantrums tilt the economy (how sadistic).
so, ayato's the heir of the company where you are employed at as an idol turned actor/actress. kokomi is the heiress to a big jewelry corporation. lmao they were both engaged together when they were like five but they instantly broke it off because well, they both threw five year old tantrums.
plus thoma telling you that they were to be engaged was just a fact he blurted out when you asked about kokomi (he manages to omit the five-year-old part because he's careless + he didn't think it matters because anyone can tell ayato's intensely in love with you)
#genshin x you#genshin x reader#genshin impact x gender neutral reader#genshin imagines#genshin impact x reader#tartaglia x reader#childe x you#childe x reader#ayato x reader#kamisato ayato x reader#ayato x you#genshin x gender neutral reader#genshin headcannons#genshin angst#genshin hurt/comfort#kamisato ayato#childe#tartaglia x you
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Motivation For Writing
Getting Off Your Butt:
1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way
2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing
3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft
Maintaining Motivation:
1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept
2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done
3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on
Afterwards:
1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe
2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it
3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point
#writing#writers#bookblr#writeblr#book#writing tips#writing ideas#writing inspiration#writing advice#on writing#writersnetwork#write#writers of tumblr#how to write#writer#writers on tumblr#writers block#writers and poets#writerscommunity#writer things#writer problems#writersociety#writerblr#writerslife
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1-800-TROUBLE
Serial Killer!Suguru Geto x Bimbo!Fem reader
Content: 18+ MDNI!!! Serial killer Geto, Bimbo bunny girl reader, fuckboy victims, blood and homicide mention, implied roofing, knife play, deepthroat, degrading (slut, whore) + praise kink (princess, baby sweetheart, love), daddy kink, Multiple O’s, & Creampie
A/N: Ahhh sorry for the delay my sweet freaks, but I did it and I must say holy shit I’m nasty 💀; AND UM HELLO?? THANK YOU FOR 1.1K?!?!? I seriously cannot find the words to describe how happy and grateful I am for each and every one of you <3. I love you and enjoooy 🖤
wc: 3.7k
On your way home from a party you take a few wrong turns, and when you try to call your…. Overprotective boyfriend your phone dies before you get the chance to tell him the cross streets, you’re at. With it being late on Halloween night, most of the house porch lights are off your feet continue to carry you down this foreign neighborhood until you hope to see someone could help you. Tears begin to sting your eyes with each street corner you turn, and the nip fall air strips you of any warmth from your cropped puffer jacket Suguru made you wear before you left. You definitely wish you listened when he warned you repeatedly to charge your phone too…
Police sirens are blaring in the far distance from where you originally started which means only one thing… “One of the officers can take me home!” Right…
Trying to follow the sounds to guide you out of the maze of houses you’re lost in. You find a group of men sitting in an open garage, drinking with the tv on in the background. Although you know Suguru told you not to talk to strangers especially when they’re drunk, what other people were around that could possibly help you?
“Excuse me? Hi, I’m like super lost…Can I borrow your phone or a charger please?” Every one of their eyes grazes over your body before meeting your eyes, and of course the man that looks spot on for a Chad speaks up first, “Ooo a sweet bunny girl like you all alone? Need me to come warm you up?” You glance around the garage spotting the space heater near the couch he’s sitting on and a bright smile appears on your face. “It would be nice to get out of the cold while I charge my phone!” You happily skipping inside the garage to sit near the heater and immediately feel so much better now that you're off your feet… Little did you know that with this little interaction…. you won’t be back on your feet anytime soon.
All eyes are on you and you're like an innocent hare unaware of the foxes preying in the tall grass.
“So, you gotta a name sweetheart?” Asked the store-brand version of Derek Shepherd. “Uhh I’m a bunny, duhh?” The men all blink at you before bursting out in a fit of laughter. You don’t understand how that was hilarious, but you’ll take it as a compliment. “Funny and cute… But seriously what’s your real name?”
Hearing that emergency number Suguru always tells you to remember if you're lost coming from the braking news announcement about some house party incident. You focus on the tv and ignore Chad’s questions, “Hey can you turn the tv up? I think I know that number.” The extra quiet man, who remains you of your friend's creepy uncle Lester, turns up the tv and it retells the gruesome murders of the house party that just occurred half an hour ago….
“The next image we show may disturb some viewers…”
Grumbles and tsk scatter among the men around you as they get a glance at the gruesome writings on the wall. You squint your eyes as you notice a similar stamp Suguru uses when he writes you love letters…. Your stomach drops at the thought of someone else using that beautiful stamp for something so… horrifying.
“This message along with a description of the women and the phone number were left at the scene of the crime…” The woman proceeded to describe you from the hair on your head to the holographic boots you’re wearing. The men in the garage are too drunk to realize that you’re exactly what the killer wants, “Please if anyone has any information regarding this woman… please call: 1 (800) 876-8253… That’s 1-800-……TROUBLE… Again, that number is 1-800-876-8253…”
You begin to feel guilty about making Suguru so worried about you that he had to go to the local news to find out where you were. Tears fill your eyes as you quickly try to turn on your phone only to realize that you forgot to plug it in, “Sorry um… I really need to call that number. Can I use one of your phones please?” Chad looks towards you smirking smugly, “Oh sweetness, I’ll let you use my phone only if you put your number in it too.” Your teary eyes brighten as your request is going to be made possible, “Oh thank you soo much.”
Chad hands you his unlocked phone and you begin dialing the number with a bright smile on your face as it rings, “I hope he answers... I know he's so worried.” You don’t notice how Chad’s smirk fades nor the other two men grumbling about how long it’s been since either of them have gotten laid... As you mention a ‘he’ Chad scoffs as soon as the phone is answered, “You got some fucking nerve to be using my phone to talk to another dude… you fuckin’ tease.” You pout as Chad lets his blue balls speak for him and off brand Derek Shepherd snorts as he turns the tv off, watching every unfold between the two of you, “Hold on kay’? You don’t have to be so mean...” You hear heavy breathing on the other side of the phone which pulls your attention back towards your initial plan, “Um Hello? I’m the woman that the lady was talking about on TV? Daddy told me to call this number if I got lost? H-Hello?” A familiar growl is heard before a distorted voice rings through your ear, “Where are you.” The rough demanding voice sends tingles down your spine and your frown quickly turns into a smile of relief that you’ll be able to get home safely. “Uhh let me ask them real quick,” You look between store-brand Derek and Chad like you’re so close to winning the lottery, “Uh what’s the address?” Derek gives you uneasy smile before looking away and Chad holds his hand out asking for his phone back, assuming you thought he’s going to tell the person the address for you. “Oh, he’s gonna tell you for me, here ya go!” As you pass the phone back to Chad, and he gets up and walks into the house...
“Ay don’t bother coming to get the girl or calling this number back. She’s gonna be too busy taking my dick.” Chad says boastfully, “The only dick she’s takes is mine.” The distorted voice says darkly. “Ha not tonight big guy. You can have her back in the morning.” Chad says before ending the conversation…
A few minutes of awkward silence goes by before creepy uncle Lester gets up to shut the garage. Chad comes back to the garage with two beers in hand before handing one over to you and sits back in his spot of the couch, “So did he tell you his way here?” Chad takes a swig of his beer as he glances between Derek and Lester, then gives you tight smiles and nods. “Yeah yeah… might take him a while, so you should get comfortable sweetheart.” With the good news you smile brightly and tap your nails against the glass bottle softly, “You know we never got you name little bunny?” Lester speaks to you for the first time, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He’s too busy undressing what little clothes you had on. “Well neither did you silly! I mean it is Halloween. Do names really matter?” Lester tsk at your response and mutters whatever under his breath as he struggles to open another beer in his drunken state. “Aren’t you gonna drink? Don’t need you wasting our beer and our time.” Chad chimes in with his half full beer in hand, although his words are bitter his tone is sickeningly sweet as if he was speaking to a child.
“Oh! Actually, I don’t drink beer it’s like super gross. You got like a soda or somethin’?” You chuckle as you place the beer on the table. An uncomfortable feeling sets in as the men stare at you. They all exchange looks between each other, but a late night.... An extremely late-night trick or treater knocks at the door before anyone can act or say anything... Derek is the one to get up to answer the door, “Who and the hell let’s their kids out this late...” he grumbles as he walks into the house. Lester grabs your open beer off the table, but Chad warns him not to, “Now now... You shouldn’t drink the lady’s drink. Have some respect dude.” Lester waves him off, but grungily puts your drink back down on the table. “Sooo is that a no to having any soda?” Both men ignore your question and Lester turns the TV back on.
A few minutes go by since Derek went to go answer the door, and just as Chad gets ready to go check the situation, his phone begins to ring with the caller ID being Derek himself, “Dude where the hell did you go?”
“Sorry about your boyfriend, all those muscles didn’t help much.” the distorted voice rings through his ear and chills ran down his spine, and he doesn’t react too kindly to this prank, “Who the hell is this?” Chad spits venomously into the phone. “Why don't you come find out, filthy monkey.” The call ends before he can respond, and Chad being himself isn’t the type to pussy out to any threat... Yet something in the back of his mind is telling him not to go... “Bro let’s go see what’s going on...” Chad taps Lester leg to as he dozes off, “What? Why the hell do I have to go?!” Lester protest, “Don’t be a pussy and get up.” You perk up as they both get up to head inside the house, “Ooo can you get me a soda too!” Lester is the first to head inside the house, and just before Chad follows suit, he turns on his heels towards you with an irritated look, “You’re cute, but dumb as rocks y’know that sweetheart?” You pout and he leaves you in the garage alone.
Ten minutes go by, and a lot of banging and muffled voices are heard from inside the house, but Suguru always tells you not to go digging your nose into other people's business. So, you reach over to grab your phone... which is still dead because the charge itself wasn’t plugged in, “Goddamn it! Guru is definitely pass pissed off by now...” You bend over the back of the couch to plug the charger into the wall.
“Your incompetence never fails you does it Princess?” Suguru’s voice startles you, but his appearance is something straight out of a horror movie alone, “Aww Guru, you scared me! Aww, and you did dress up for Halloween after all! I wish you came to the costume party.” As you ramble on and on, Suguru gives you that same smile he always gives you when you’re so oblivious to the dangerous things around you. He sauntered towards you, luring you deeper into a false sense of security. Not that you would notice any of the rage he was feeling… No, he made sure that you would feel just how angry he was when you’re his good little mindless cock—
“Y/N.” he utters as you continue on about how you wondered about and met the men, he had the pleasure of coming across himself. You’re lost in your own world which isn’t helping you out of the punishment of Suguru’s wrath… only makes it harder and harder for him to fight the need to carve his name into your skin.
“My poor poor little slut. You have no clue how much trouble you are, do you?” You gasp as he grips your hair at the base of your skull, forcing you to strain your neck to look into his darkened eyes, “I-I ‘m sorry you had to go to the news to find me, Guru… I won’t be so... S-so careless next time…” Suguru chuckled humorlessly at your words and his grip tightened causing you to whimper. “It's always next time with you… Next time I tell you to do something you fucking do it. Do you understand that you brainless brat?” You nod slightly which only angers him further, Suguru press the very same blade that took the lives of the people from the party and those disgusting pricks in the next room, “Use your fucking words or I’ll cut that pretty little voice box of yours from your throat.” Tears well up in your eyes as you swallow the fear in your chest, “Y-yes daddy.” you mutter timidly. Suguru’s grip loosens slightly, and he gives you a sadistic smile, “That’s my good girl, now stay very still...” He slowly glides the blade down from your throat to the harness of your costume, you keep your eyes on his as he swiftly cuts the leather fabric like it’s nothing. “You have no idea how many people I’ve killed just for looking at you Princess… How many times have I told you to stay out of trouble, hm?” You look around as you think about each time Suguru has told you and you begin to count each moment on your finger, and he laughs mockingly when you do so. “It’s a rhetorical question, dumb bunny.” You pout confused at his statement. “Soooo was I supposed to repeat the question?” He presses the blade against your cheek with light pressure and he smiles as you stiffen at the sensation, “Let me do all the thinking for you,” Suguru unbuckles his belt with his free hand, he pulls out his throbbing cock from its restraints and you gasp softly at the sight of his cock stands a few inches above your lips, “Open your mouth princess.” without hesitation you open your mouth, relaxing your jaw as he slide his cock down your throat with easy. Pushing your face closer to his pelvis “That’s it princess, just relax don’t think.”
Your eyes roll back as you choke with his thick cock down your throat. You squeeze your thighs together, attempting to gain some sort of friction. Suguru groans out feeling you gag on his cock; he smirks as he glides the blade down the laces holding your corset together cutting away the fabric slowly, causing you to flinch.
You gasp at the stinging sensation when the blade deeper against your skin, “Now did I tell you to move princess?” Suguru scold you as he pulls you off his cock, “I-I’m sorry daddy I just really like this outfit...” He mentally rolls his eyes while caressing your cheek and smiling at you, “Don’t worry about that love. We can always replace materialistic things, but we can’t replace you, so stay still like a good girl.” He brushes he cock against your lips, and you gleefully take his cock down your throat once more.
Gaging and moaning at the feeling, he curses under his breath while gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail pushing his cock deeper down your throat, “Fuuuck baby— such a good little slut. My good little slut, yeah?” He cuts you free of the suffocating corset letting your breasts breathe freely, your eyes water while you look up at him.
That was just what sent him over the edge of holding back, Suguru sets the blade on the couch and grips the back of your head to pull back slightly leaving the tip his cock resting on your tongue, “Take a deep breath f’me sweetheart, time I fuck your throat properly.” Before you could even take in a complete exhale, Suguru shove his cock back down your throat, fucking it relentlessly without any mercy in sight the sounds of his loud groans fill your ears, “Sh-Shit— y-you fucking attention needing slut. You love pissing me off, don’t you? Showing your ass to all those filthy fuckin’ monkeys.” His harsh words leave a pool of excitement dripping down your thighs and the lack of oxygen you dig your nails into his thighs, desperately needing his cock to fill your cunt.
Suguru grunts as you do so and roughly pulls out of your throat, and a long web connects your swollen lips to his tip. You cough roughly whilst finally taking in a deep inhale, “Daddy please? Please fuck me! Can’t wait anymore please? Ple—” Suguru grabs you by the neck pulling you up to your feet, and your bodysuit falls to the floor. He growls into your ear, and more tears fill your eyes as you squeeze your thighs together tightly, “You’re already crying, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” Suguru chuckles darkly while caressing your wet cheek, “If you’re this much of a mess just from sucking my cock, I can’t wait to ruin your cunt.” You let out a choked moan as his grip slightly tightens around your throat, “P-Please?” Begging him to ruin you just how he wants... With those wet red eyes, tears-stained cheeks, swollen lips...
Suguru’s grip tightens as he pulls you closer to whisper in your ear, “Bend over now.” He releases his grip and picks up the blade once more. You step out the bodysuit completely, placing your knees on the couch with your ass in the air then lowering your upper body down to rest on your forearms. “All soaked just from sucking me off? Or did those monkeys get my slut excited, huh?” Suguru glides the blunt side of the blade against your thigh and hip while spreading your slick slowly with his fingers. Shuddering at his touch and the blade against your skin, “O-Only you daddy! Can only get this wet from your tou— mmn!” You whimper softly as the tips of his fingers tease your clit, deepening the arch in your and his cock twitches at the sight. “Such an eager little bunny aren’t you sweetheart?” Suguru places his knee on the couch behind you while keeping the other on the floor.
He taunts your cunt with his tip making you wiggle and moan, “Keep. Still.” His icy voice kept you still as a statue and from making another sound all together. You’d forgotten about the blade against your skin all together, too excited for his cock being deep in your guts…. He’s still pissed off and he’s not letting you off that easily…
Without warning he bottoms you out, pushing every atom of oxygen from your lungs, “You really thought I’m gonna fuck you because you deserve a treat? Oh no princess.. I’m taking away your privilege of being able to walk freely without every step remaining you that you.. belong… to me..” Suguru bullies your cervix with a few more deep thrusts before pulling out, giving just a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again and he slips back into your cunt while gripping you hair to keep you from running away. “Su-Su!— D-Daddy! Wa— fuuuck!” His cock keeps your brain from calling out any mercy you think he’ll have on you, without realizing you cum around his cock and only broken words and screams can be heard. Suguru pulls you up from the couch and bites on your neck harshly, marking you in the most mundane way he can. Fighting his sadistic needs, “Don’t try to talk your way out of this now Princess. Remember you begged for this, so take it.” He growls in your ear while dancing the blade up from your hip to your navel. Fear and pleasure overwhelms your senses as he continues to fuck you like he absolutely despises you, and taunts you with the sharp object against your skin. “D-Daddy pleeease! Ah a— ‘m sorry!” You cry out while panting heavily and drool begins falling from your lips, yet Suguru ignores your pleas and opts for you muffled screams instead. “Bite.” He brings the handle of the blade to your lips and without question you bite on the handle, muffling your sounds. Suguru stops his movements all together leaving you to throb around his twitching cock buried inside of you, “So you listen when you want to and not when you need to, is that right y/n? Or is it because I fucked the remaining brain cells you have outta ya, you can’t complain now?” Hearing him say your name your rolled back eyes start to focus, and your breathing becomes heavier as he only speaks your name when you’re in the type of trouble where no one and nothing could save you from him…
“Oh don’t worry precious. I’m not gonna hurt you… You’re gonna feel real good. I can promise you that, but you don’t get to stop cumming on my cock until I say you’ve learned your lesson.” Suguru takes his free hand and grabs both your wrist, placing them behind your back, giving your neck a kiss before thrusting inside your cunt at an animalistic speed. Your mind short circuits causing your eyes to roll back and muffled screams to leave your lips, “S-Shit you like when I fuck you like this, don’t you? You love being my little brainless whore.” Suguru’s words are confirmed when you scream as your second orgasm hits you harder than the last, and your body trembles uncontrollably. Suguru groans as you tighten and cream around his cock, leading him to chase his high and he tightens his grip on your neck, pulling your body back against his like you’re his personal fuck toy. “Be a good doll and milk my cock, yeah? I just might forgive you for the trouble you caused.”
In your fucked out state, you do as you’re told and bounce back on Suguru cock, trying to match his pace. “That’s it princess. That’s it— Fuuck~” Suguru shoots his load deep inside your cunt, triggering another orgasm of your own. Drool runs down your chin as you tremble and moan out, Suguru groans in your ear and takes the blade from your lips to kiss you passionately. “D-Do you f-forgive me daddy?” You croak out as you look at him with heavy eyes. His raven hair brushes against your cheek as he whispers, “Oh.. Oh princess….. Not even a little.”
A/N: Somewhere along the way during my….. research I ended listening to Badjhur annnnd I haven’t been the same since.. But anyways! Thank you so much for reading!!! 🖤
tags: @fuyuaika @ykimobessed @smolbeanzzz @bontensbabygirl @euvwia @etherealmaya @macsimagines @hoshigray @biscuitsngravie @tojisbutterfly @bunz-lover also!!! If you don’t see your tag it’s because tumblr wouldn’t let me 😭😭 I promise I haven’t forgotten about you 🥺🖤
#/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ~♡ 𝓜𝓞𝓒𝓗𝓐’𝓢 𝓢𝓤𝓒𝓗 𝓐 𝓕𝓡𝓔𝓐𝓚❕#geto suguru smut#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#geto suguru#getou suguru x reader#jjk suguru#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk fic#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader smut#jjk geto#geto x reader#geto smut#jujutsu geto#geto x you#geto x y/n#jujutsu kaisen geto
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Adult actor!Jihoon who fucks you so hard on camera, it leaves you wanting more long after your scene together. Hehe. 💕💕😮💨
a/n: well hello there nana!!! thank you sm for this request, it was a lot of fun to write, hehe. I tried to care a bit less about plot with this one to see how i feel about it and i actually like the way this turned out, so i hope you enjoy to <3 ily!!
PAIRING: PornStar!Jihoon(Woozi) x PornStar!Reader
GENRE: Smut, MDNI!
WARNINGS: no pronouns but female anatomy described, penetrative unprotected sex (loads of it), mentions of tit fucking and squirting, degradation (usage of the words: whore and slut), multiple orgasms, begging, dirty talk
WORDCOUNT: 1.1k
Smut after the cut!
The cameras had already left, just like the people who operated them. The light crew had long ago packed everything up and the director had yelled cut ages ago.
Yet the squeaking of the cheap bed was still echoing through the room, accompanied by your endless cries and moans, your whimpers and screams and Jihoon loved every second of it. He was on top of you, probably for the fifth time in three hours. Before, you had been filming your new piece: a cheap motel for which the slutty student sadly couldn’t pay and so the owner took it upon himself to offer them another way to pay for his generosity to let them stay. It had started with you sucking his enormous cock, your eyes so wide and innocent when you saw it, your mouth looking oh-so good around his length. Then, he had taken it upon himself to fuck your tits, leaving a trail of cum before moving to the next position that was you on top of him. Both of you had taken a few breaks between takes, had eaten and gotten a glass of water. Exhaustion came easy with the job.
To make a long story short, after several takes that had your cunt dripping for him, your orgasms coming more often than they didn’t, your cum already all over his abdomen, his cock, his thighs, the sheets, you still weren’t done with him, still weren’t ready to let go off him and his perfect cock. So, now you were on your back, your legs hanging over Jihoon’s shoulders as he fucked into you at drastic speed.
“Ngh- J-Jihoon! G-Gonna cum!” You cried out, actual tears running over your face and when Jihoon pressed his thumb onto your soaked, overstimulated clit, your legs straightened up into the air, toes curled. You honestly had lost count of the orgasms this man had brought you tonight.
“Such a needy little whore, are you finally satisfied or do I need to fuck your pussy a little longer?” Jihoon’s words made your already pulsating pussy throb even harder, a sob leaving you as you shook your head, back arching.
“M-More, want you to fill me up, please!”
Jihoon chuckled at your plea, having already expected this answer. The perks of being a trained adult film actor was the ability to cum many times in one night, his orgasms maybe not being as intense over time, but still giving you what you want: his cum. He leaned forward, his cock hitting your sweet spot like it had so many times before and his hand wandered to your sweaty and cum stained tits, squeezing them hard as he picked up the pace once more. He felt the way your cunt clenched around him, how even in its exhausted state it wanted to milk him for all he had.
“Fuck, your insatiable, aren’t you? How many times have I filled up your slutty cunt by now, hm? And you still don’t have enough?” His hips drilled into yours, your eyes rolled back into your skull, back arched against his touch, mouth hanging open as you moaned loudly, just the way Jihoon liked it. He licked his lips, watching the way your body reacted to his thrusts, to his words. You whimpered when you felt him press down on your nipple, when you felt him pinch into it.
“Can never get e-enough of your cum, Ji!” Your words made his cock twitch, leaking inside you as he groaned, leaning forward even more to bury his head into your neck, sucking on the salty skin. Your hands found the back of his neck then, nails digging into his skin, your legs still over his shoulders and now also over your head and silently you thanked yourself for the endless yoga classes to become more flexible for the job.
Jihoon’s groans caused your blood to pump harder, your back to arch higher and your nails to dig deeper, everything about his sounds making you want to keep going forever.
But when he moved back down, thumb pressing on your abused clit, there wasn’t much you could do besides coming for the nth time that night. Your body spasmed, high pitched, uncontrollable pleas of his name escaping you as your hips moved quicker against his, your pulsating pussy finally bringing him over the edge too - his cum shooting right into your already filled cunt.
“Fuck!” Your voice was strained and your chest was heaving, your arms dropping down onto the bed as Jihoon practically collapsed on top of you. Both of your legs slipped off his shoulders, making small thumb noises as they fell onto the mattress. It took the two of you a while to regain composure, Jihoon still buried inside you. Your eyes were closed and you felt his cum inside of you, felt the warmth of it. You also felt that Jihoon wasn’t exactly shrinking. Your eyelids fluttered open, Jihoon’s head still between your shoulder and neck and as you were about to speak, his hips thrusted and your words turned into a squeak.
“Can’t believe, I fucked you a fucking million times already but my cock just can’t get enough of your pussy, shit.” Jihoon’s hips moved frantically now, your eyes rolling back as your pussy sucked him in once more, your body flat on the bed, as he had his way with you, fucking into your spent hole.
“J-Jihoon, pl-please-,” at this point you weren’t even sure what you were begging for anymore. Another orgasm? For him to use you?
“Just one more, baby, fuck, just need to fill you up one more time, alright? Your cunt is just too good, so fucking good.”
His tongue lapped at your neck, shivers running down your spine as you nodded, hands now moving to his back, nails digging into it. There were already a few very visible marks left by your nails on his back and you didn’t think it’d matter if there were a few more added to the canvas. Jihoon’s heavy breath hit your skin over and over again as he fucked into you, no sense of control, only urgency. His cock was hurting from how hard he still was and how much he needed the final blow and when he felt your pussy squeeze him hard, he moaned your name, cock twitching repeatedly.
“Cum for me, Ji, please, fuck, need your cum so bad!”
Your voice was what got him over the final edge, the real finale edge this time. Cum shot out of his cock, warming your walls and painting them in a pretty white, your pussy overflowing with his juices and now he finally began to soften.
“Holy fucking hell.” Jihoon pulled out of you, instead plopping onto his back next to you. Both of you were drenched in sweat and bodily fluids, his and your release now dripping out of your core and onto the already dirty sheets.
“Too bad there weren’t any cameras around, people would eat this shit up,” you said, grinning at him. Jihoon chuckled.
“Nah, baby, this was only for our eyes.”
#woozi smut#woozi x reader#svthub#svt smut#seventeen smut#svt x reader#jihoon x reader#jihoon smut#woozi x you#woozi x y/n#svt au#svt imagine#svt fanfiction#woozi fanfiction#seventeen imagine#seventeen au#seventeen x raeader
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exoplanet part 7
pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used)
series masterlist (read parts 1-6 here!)
summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf
warnings: stuck up awful rich people. mentions of: abortion (sowwy ** i can't write kids), homophobia, throwing up, general awful elitism, heavy drinking, implied minor character death, and we talk about stuff like unethical labor practices/basically slave labor. depictions of: violence, guns.
a/n: hey yall....sorry for taking literal months to write this. and sorry in advance for what you're about to read, since this is admittedly a little far removed from tlou. and i'm also sorry if this isn't what you guys are expecting—i know i made you wait a long time for this, so it was tough for me to finally get around to posting because i didn't want to disappoint anyone. also it was just sooo sad writing the last scene because i just didn't want it to end!! anywayyyy enjoy
wc: 14.6k (i know...i know...)
tags: @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @sugarqueencosmos @iriswalrus @chiao1209 @lovecaraya @thatgiraffefromtlou @alwayslongingforyou @thelastofshimmer
May 16th, 2029
Welcome to AskAI! Enter your questions below and I'll try my best to answer :)
How does Cordyceps spread?
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis is mostly commonly spread between humans by the medium of bodily fluids, though this was not always the case. In the early stages of the outbreak, most carriers were infected by the presence of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis spores in flour from a Jakartan mill. It is still unclear how the contamination occurred.
Is saliva included in bodily fluids that carry Cordyceps?
Yes, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis can be spread through human saliva. Other bodily fluids include blood, feces, mucus, and semen.
So if someone were to kiss someone infected with Cordyceps, would that person be infected too?
Yes, because Ophiocordyceps unilateralis can be spread through human saliva.
How long would it take before seeing symptoms?
If Ophiocordyceps unilateralis spores were to be introduced to an individual via mouth-to-mouth transmission, the approximate incubation window has been recorded to be no longer than 8 hours.
How long would it take to be detected by a standard testing device?
Our testers would detect the presence of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis within an hour after exposure. Note that this only refers to the conditions outside of Terranova. There has never been a detected case of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis in Terranova’s history.
Thank you.
You’re welcome! Please leave feedback on the AskAI Feedback Form if you have any ideas as to how I can improve <3
One year later
“And there’s no way we can skip?”
“You know the rules.”
Dina rolled her eyes and sighed as you two stood at the door of your parents’ penthouse, waiting to knock. “Maybe if you went and I said that I was sick or something.”
“They’d know you were lying.”
“They’d probably be happy if I missed dinner.”
“I don’t know if happy is something they can be,” you said. You tried to make it light and joking, but it came out with the heaviness of truth. “Plus, they’re not exactly thrilled with me either.”
“Not exactly thrilled” was the understatement of the century. Ever since you’d come home with a pregnant outsider toting a gun and covered in dirt, your parents had convinced themselves that you’d somehow become corrupted over your time living outside.
But Dina had it way worse. Your parents were so scandalized by her rugged ways and the fact that she’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock that they’d nearly fainted upon realizing you were advocating for her Terranovan citizenship.
You both had had the good fortune of avoiding any further tense interactions with them for the last few months, but that morning you’d awoken to an email that contained an invitation to their home for dinner. It was noted that Dina had to attend.
So here you two were. Dressed in uncomfortable, stiff clothes and nervously twiddling your thumbs.
“You’re going to be fine,” you promised Dina. It sounded like a lie. “I’ll do most of the talking, okay?”
“If you say so.”
You rang the doorbell.
It took just a few moments before the door swung open.
“Hi Chris!” you greeted, plastering a smile on your face.
Your family housekeeper smiled back with a neutral warmth. She looked slightly thinner than you remembered when you saw her last just a few months ago. “Hello. Miss Dina, please remember to keep your shoes on this time.”
Dina flushed bright red. The last time she’d come over for dinner, she’d taken her shoes off and had been given a very stern lecture by your mother about how improper stockinged feet were for dinner. “Of course not, ma’am.”
You sent her an apologetic look and stepped inside.
“Your parents are in the sitting room,” Chris told you as she took your coats.
You thanked her.
“Why don’t they ever come up to greet us themselves?” Dina whispered to you.
You shrugged. “No clue. They just never have. They probably don’t want to have to take a break from whatever stimulating conversation they’re having about the country club happenings.”
She snorted. All of a sudden, you were overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude for Dina and her spirit. After your family had essentially decided you were hopeless, family get-togethers had become torture. Dina was your lifeline.
As Chris had said, your parents were found lounging in the sitting room, your mother fanning herself with one hand and holding what looked to be a gin and tonic in the other, your father sitting across from her in a tastefully worn armchair.
“Girls,” your mother greeted. Her eyes looked flinty and flat. “How good of you to come. I was worried you’d lost your way.”
It was a classic Y/L/N insult for latecomers, but it was barely a minute past 6:30.
“The elevator wasn’t working,” you offered. “We had to take the stairs.”
“Hm. Well, come and sit. Petra can get you a drink.”
A tall girl who couldn’t have been much younger than you was standing at the other end of the room next to the bar. She had bright ginger hair that stood out starkly against the neutral beige of her uniform and a small, squatty nose. You’d never seen her before in your life.
“Is she new?” you asked.
“Who, Petra? Oh, I think so. It must’ve been…oh, I’m not sure. This March, I believe? What do you think, darling?”
“Around then.” The solid ice globe slid against the glass with a clink as your father answered, taking a long pull of his bourbon after.
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Dina politely.
Your mother let out a labored sigh. “Dear, I’m very glad to see you working on manners, but there’s no need to engage with the help.”
Dina didn’t answer, instead sending you a meaningful look.
“Well, not usually,” she continued. “Though it is appropriate to interact with them in matters that are considered strictly business. Take, for example, the fact that neither of you have managed to order a drink yet. Petra, come.”
You stared at your hands, folded tightly in your lap. If there was anything you hated more than your parents, it was how they treated the help. And, though you’d never say it out loud, you didn’t understand how two middle aged adults needed more than one full-time housekeeper on hand. Chris made sense. Petra was entirely unnecessary.
“We really don’t need anything,” you said to Petra when she was in front of you, looking rather pale. “But thank you.”
The tension in the air refused to dissipate, not even when you were relocated to the dining room and had the crutch of picking away at the three courses served to you.
Dina, having been thoroughly scolded by your mother the last time she dined with her, was clinical in choosing which utensil to use for each course.
Your mother babbled on and on about the country club and the book club. Your father occasionally butted in with a few dull, lifeless comments. There was something especially dead in his appearance, like he was running on zero sleep.
“You may be curious as to why I asked you two here today,” your mother said after the main course plates had been cleared. “First of all, I wanted to extend my congratulations to my daughter for graduating in just a few days.”
“Thank you,” you said stiffly.
“And more importantly—”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
“—I wanted to announce that your father will finally be retiring,” she said. “He’s been working so hard for the last few years. Isn’t this wonderful?”
“That’s really great, Father,” you said, feigning a smile to hide your confusion. You hadn’t known that your father had even worked, much less hard enough to warrant a formal retirement.
“Thanks, dove,” he said.
“When’s your last day?” you pried, wondering if you could manage any more information out of him.
“This Friday.”
“Hm.” So much for that. You exchanged glances with Dina as Petra reappeared with a tray of small goblets filled with colorful globes of sorbet.
“You’ll both be expected to be in attendance at his retirement party,” Mother added. She was frowning deeper now.
“Even me?” said Dina.
“Yes.” She smiled tightly. “And please note that they’re unaware that we helped you through your…little problem. I can’t imagine why that would ever come up in conversation, but I would really prefer it didn’t.”
“Uh huh,” responded Dina, her eyes wide.
When Dina had arrived, your family had given her two options—have her child and give it up for adoption, or terminate the pregnancy then and there in secret. Refusing to comply would lead to your parents being entirely unwilling to sponsor her citizenship as it was far too unseemly to be an unmarried mother. Though it was clear your parents thought she was devastated by the prospect, she’d confided in you later that she hadn’t realized that that had been an option for her. She’d taken the second option without a second thought, telling you that she didn’t feel ready to be a mother.
The unfortunate part of it all was that your parents held this over her head on occasion, using it as leverage to make Dina feel like she owed them. Hence why she never felt entirely comfortable with telling them off.
That your parents had kept the abortion a secret was hardly a surprise. Abortion was one of those issues that no one liked to talk about. Though it wasn’t the hardest procedure to get, it was never publicly discussed. You’d never personally known of anyone who had gotten one before, but the clinic had been so full when you’d attended with Dina nearly a year ago that you were beginning to second guess that fact.
“Anyway,” said your mother lightly, “Darling, have you heard anything from the Thompsons recently?”
“Oh, no. I haven’t seen Richard in quite some time.”
“It’s funny you say that. Melanie was supposed to host the Garden Club party last week, and you’ll never believe what happened.”
“What, honey?” Your father stared dully at the tablecloth, entirely unengaged.
“When I stopped by, the rest of the girls were already there,” your mother said. “Just sitting out in front of her building looking very confused. I walked right up and asked what was going on—you know, now that I’m co-president, I need to keep things in order—”
“Yes, honey.”
“—And Angie tells me that they’ve been ringing her for ten minutes and she hasn't answered. I decided to give her a call, and straight to voicemail. So we all sat out there until it started raining. We never even got an apology text.”
“Oh,” said your father, looking a little more engaged. “Is that really?”
“Yes,” your mother said. The attention made her sit up straighter. “It absolutely was. It was incredibly inappropriate. I couldn’t believe it. And to think that she stole that hosting spot from me…”
“Do you know if she’s alright?” your father asked,
She shrugged. “I should hope not. That’s the only excuse she could have for what happened.”
“Hm.” Your father moved the melting sorbet around without clinking his spoon to the crystal. “It seems that quite a few of us have been dropping off the face of the Earth.”
“It must be because of the long winter,” you said diplomatically. “Too much darkness makes us all a little loony.”
Your mother raised a brow and hummed in assent. “I suppose so.”
“Is that why groceries are so expensive now?” you asked. It had become a new development. About 6 months after you and Dina had returned, the prices on the shelves had rocketed upwards.
“Something like that,” your father said vaguely.
“What does that mean?”
“Y/N,” your mother warned.
“It’s alright, dear,” your father said, waving his hand. “It’s really nothing interesting. Supplying this city has always had its challenges. This year just happens to be especially hard.”
“What kind of challenges?” pried Dina.
“Shipments are always difficult to orchestrate,” he said. “As is quality control. It’s nothing that we haven’t seen before. Prices will go back to usual within a few months. The pendulum always has to swing back.”
It was a saying he always used—the pendulum analogy.
Dessert wrapped up quickly. Your mother gave you the official date for your father’s retirement party and ironed out your graduation details, and before you knew it you and Dina were off into the night.
“Thank fucking god that’s over,” said Dina as you two trotted down the street to the metro.
“Tell me about it.” You zipped up your jacket to ward off the slight chill in the evening air. “I’m really sorry you had to deal with all of that. I appreciate you coming with me. I know they’re awful to you.”
“Well, they’ll be worse if I don’t go,” she responded, her eyes cloudy for a second. She was right. One misstep and they could have her citizenship and their financial sponsorship rescinded.
“True,” you conceded.
The metro was bustling with people as you and Dina hopped on to the yellow line that would take you to the university residences. It was modeled right after the Parisian metros, with its Art Nouveau signs and themed stops. There was only standing room, so you two clutched onto the stainless steel poles in the middle.
The doors made a groaning sound and a speaker crackled as the announcer came on.
“Doors closing. Please stand clear of the exits. This is an express train with service to University Park. Other stops include 25th Street and North Village. There will be no evening service to Rotingham.”
You and Dina seemed to come to an unspoken agreement to remain silent and process the hell that had been dinner with your parents as the train lurched forward into motion. You closed your eyes and would’ve rested your head against the handrail had it not been so gross.
The only fortunate thing about your parents was the fact that they were incredibly easy to get to, despite living on the other side of the city from the university. What would’ve normally taken 40 minutes with transfers was cut down to 15 with the use of an express train that ran right from the station outside of your apartment.
You had resolved to just sit in silence when the train came to a screeching halt.
Your eyes shot open, meeting Dina’s confused gaze.
The lights above flickered, then sputtered out to leave you in darkness.
There was a hushed silence amongst everyone in your train car.
“What’s going on?” Dina whispered to you.
“This happens sometimes,” you said quietly back, but it was sort of a lie. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for the lights to go out, but you’d never had it happen in tandem with a train stopping on the tracks before reaching a station. And especially not an express train…
The lights flickered on again, and there was a shared sense of relief as a few of the train’s occupants let out a shaky laugh.
“Thought we were going to have to walk!” said a ruddy looking old man sitting across from you. The car responded with polite chuckles.
“Apologies for the delay,” came a voice over the loudspeaker—a human voice, not an automated one. “There was a disturbance on the tracks that had to be dealt with. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused. Service will continue as usual.”
The train lurched back into movement, the dark walls of the tunnel moving past in a blur.
“That was weird,” Dina remarked once you two had gotten to your stop and were walking up to ground level.
“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I didn’t want to tell you then because I didn’t want to freak you out, but normally express trains never stop, especially not at this time of night with less trains in service.”
“What qualifies as a disturbance on the tracks?”
“I have no clue,” you confessed. The sun was hovering just barely over the horizon, its last rays of light reflecting aggressively off of the skyscrapers in the distance from which you came. “Someone probably dropped something big like a suitcase onto the tracks and blocked the way. It happens.”
You were purposefully avoiding the elephant in the room—that it had probably been a person on the tracks. It wasn’t especially common—not nearly as common as you heard it was in places like New York before the outbreak—but it happened on occasion. Terranova wasn’t the best place for everyone.
“The Thompsons are Simon’s family, right?” Dina asked you. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the cheerful chatter of fellow university students socializing and drinking on the green next to the sidewalk.
“Yeah,” you said. You and Dina had occasionally hung out with Simon since returning. You noticed that Simon had really taken a liking to Dina, but neglected to mention it since his parents were actively attempting to arrange a marriage between him and some girl in the Art History program at your school. “Have you talked to him at all? I haven’t heard from him for a week or so.”
“Me neither.” Dina tightened the dark braid that fell over her shoulder as she walked, looking rather troubled. “I didn’t realize his parents were missing.”
“They’re probably fine,” you said. “I seriously wouldn’t worry about it. There’s nothing here that could hurt them.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I just forget that there’s no infected here sometimes. Like, tonight, I thought I was gonna have to start swinging on someone in the train when the power cut.”
“God, same.” You shivered. “It’s weird to know that we don’t have to worry about that anymore. But I think it’ll get easier with time.”
“Yeah,” said Dina, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Well, I’m going to text Simon and see if he’s alright. Or maybe call him. I’m sure he’ll know what happened.”
“Let me know what he says.” You’d ascended the steps up to your shared apartment and were slotting the key into the keyhole. “By the way, did I ever formally invite you to my graduation?”
“Not that I recall.” Dina followed you in and kicked her shoes off.
“Well, consider this your formal invitation,” you said, turning to grin at her. “It’s this Saturday. Be there or be square.”
“Will there be free food?”
“And anything you want to drink,” you told her, though you weren’t entirely sure of that fact. You’d only ever been to one graduation in your life, and that had been years before it was socially acceptable for you to drink anything beyond the odd glass of watered down wine—but you recalled a memory of particularly free-flowing champagne flutes being passed around.
“Consider me sold.”
~
You had to be going crazy. There was no way.
You entered the numbers back into the graphing software again. Then again. Then one more time, just to be sure you were seeing what you were seeing.
“Everything going alright over there?” asked old Professor Gunther, looking up from his grading and his steaming cup of tea.
“Um—” You blinked, hard, then looked back down at your calculations. “Professor, can you look at these for me? I think I must’ve made a mistake.”
“Of course, my dear.” He graciously accepted the notepad full of barely legible numbers that you came up to hand to him and adjusted the glasses on his face so he could squint more efficiently. “And what is this exactly?”
“I’ve been parsing through the data on that star—that K star you’d been watching for a while—and, um, I’ve noticed something.” Your voice shook nearly as much as your hand as you pointed to the scribbled numbers. “Can you, uh, graph these? And put them into a different program than StarBlast? And look at the spectra? It’s giving me what I think is—actually, I don’t know. You do it and I’ll show you what I got.”
“I’m confused about what you could have possibly done wrong,” he said, though he was already opening his own laptop and starting up a different program that you hadn’t used before because of how much you hated the GUI. “Did you try to parse it by hand to check?”
“Yes,” you said. “Horrible idea. Took me forever.”
“And you got the same result?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm.” He took off his glasses to wipe them off, then began typing in the data you’d emailed to him earlier for bookkeeping purposes. “Let me see what I have.”
The agonizing few minutes it took for him to enter him already had your mind spiraling with possibilities as the implications sunk in. If you were right—if this was right—everything was going to change in your field.
The spectra graph roared to life.
“Jesus Christ,” you heard your professor say. “Is this—”
“I think so,” you said. “I think so.”
What you two were looking at held more than one piece of crucial information. The first was nothing but basic calculations of a Doppler Shift that detected that there was a planet. Your calculations estimated its size at roughly the same as the Earth, with a similar orbital period and distance from its star that placed it in the habitable zone.
That wasn’t anything earth-shattering. There were plenty of Earth-sized planets in the habitable zone, implying that if the conditions were right, there was an environment conducive to organic life.
What was, however, were the spectra emissions that you were staring at, slack-jawed and skin prickling.
“Methane,” you whispered. “And oxygen. And phosphine.”
And not just a little—enough that it suggested biological processes that could only occur with the presence of life.
“I think you should finish writing this report,” Professor Gunther finally said.
You froze. “What?”
He turned to you, his glasses sliding down his bulbous nose and a kind smile on his face. “I’ve made enough discoveries in my life. This one is yours to claim.”
You were overcome with so much gratitude that you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
Gunther good-naturedly patted your back with the enthusiasm of a grandfather being pestered by his grandchildren. “This is your moment. Take it.”
“Thank you,” you said, pulling back with tears welling up in your eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He smiled again. “It’s truly my pleasure. I feel lucky to have had a student like you.”
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to start crying.”
“We can’t have that,” he said, standing up and handing you back your sheet of calculations. “You have work to do.”
You settled back into your work across from him, nearly buzzing with excitement as you finished typing up your findings. It would be a long process for the study to actually be published—long, painful, and undoubtedly draining—but it would be so worth it. You’d be the one who discovered a planet that (most likely) harbored life. For the first time in history.
Though you wouldn’t be publishing a paper any time soon, you still had to log the planet into the “global” (not exactly global given that there was no other place on Earth with the same technology as Terranova) database. And with that meant giving it a name.
In that moment, it was like time froze as the cursor blinked in the box. There was nothing but the blood rushing in your head, the dull hum of the fluorescent lights above, and the slight stickiness of the leather desk chair beneath you.
You gulped. It was standard in the department to name planets after the astronomer that discovered them. You’d never had a planet named after you before. You’d only ever crunched numbers that Gunther had given to you to analyze spectra emissions. This was the first time you’d ever actually discovered something that hadn’t already been logged before it had landed on your desk.
And yet…
You closed your eyes. Suddenly you were back in the meadow at Jackson, tracing the wisps of the Milky Way with your finger as you and Ellie talked about the constellations. You saw the childish excitement on her normally stern features when she held the moon rock for the first time. You saw the wonder in her eyes when you told her a new space fact that she’d never heard before. That she’d never had the opportunity to learn before.
Your fingers moved before you could stop them, quickly tapping out the name “Ellie” into the box and hitting the enter button.
For the rest of the day, you regretted it. You tried not to think of her anymore. It was something that you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t do after you spent the entirety of last summer miserable and doing nothing but turning over the memories in your mind until Dina made you do something with her.
It was difficult. You wanted to put it in the past, because you couldn’t think about her without thinking about how she probably wasn’t even alive anymore. Which didn’t make any sense. Nothing ever made any sense about Ellie. Even before you predicted she’d been bitten, she’d already been behaving erratically—not packing her things, not saying a real goodbye to Joel, catching more food than their small group of three could possibly need near the end. It was like she knew that she wouldn’t be able to go.
Which didn’t make any sense, because why go all that way knowing that it was for nothing?
Which made you think about how bizarre she was before leaving. How sad she seemed when she told you that she was going, like even then she knew that it wouldn’t happen.
And you hadn’t gotten sick from her, even though you should have. She’d kissed you long after she would’ve been bitten. And you knew from your frantic research upon arriving that you should have tested positive when Simon checked.
So why hadn’t you? And why had she?
It was things like this that could keep you up for days if you weren’t careful. It was awful, but sometimes you liked to believe that she had really been sick and had died shortly after. You had a vision of her killing herself before fully turning, and even though it hurt to imagine it, it was the most humane end of them all. If she was dead, then maybe there was an afterlife, and maybe a piece of her was watching over you. Maybe she was still with you. Maybe she finally was able to rest.
You hoped that little piece of her had seen her name the first planet with life after her.
A tiny smile crept across your face, but inside you felt devastated. You were going to mourn her again all day, like you always did when something reminded you of her. And you were probably going to dream of her, of her stupid grin and the way her hair felt when it tickled your face.
Pull it together you thought glumly. You had to be normal for your father’s retirement party that night, and you had just under 4 hours to do so.
~
“Ugh,” you said, staring at your phone as you stood with Dina near the door, both of you dolled up and ready to go to the party.
“That’s how I feel too,” said Dina. “I’m going to kill myself if anyone brings up anything about how hard my childhood must’ve been and how I’m doing such a good job adjusting one more time.”
“Ha,” you said. “Mom just texted me to tell me that we need to stop by theirs first.”
“Why? Aren’t they already at the venue?”
“Yeah,” you responded, wrinkling your nose. “But apparently she forgot her gift for him—some vintage Rolex she got restored for him.”
“A vintage what?”
“Stupidly overpriced wristwatch,” you explained.
It took less time than usual to get to their building. Despite it being at peak busy hour, the platforms seemed eerily empty.
“Is there some holiday going on?” Dina asked, sitting across from you so that you both had your own row of seats.
“Oh, I’m such an idiot,” you said, clapping your forehead with your hand. “Of course there is. That’s why my father held his retirement party today. It’s the first day of this festival that goes all week.”
“What’s it for?”
“I honestly don’t know the background,” you admitted. “Most people just use it as an excuse to get incredibly drunk. I think it has something to do with the founding. It’s, like, the only time that public intoxication is okay.”
“Damn,” said Dina thoughtfully.
“The trains will probably fill up on our way back,” you said, sighing. “Hopefully it won’t be too bad. Worst comes to worst we can walk.”
“It gets that bad?”
“There’s hardly standing room,” you said, recalling the last festival you’d been around for—the summer before you’d been catapulted to Jackson. “And it just reeks of drunk people. And you have to be really careful, because I hear the custodial staff has to work overtime to clean up all the vomit.”
“Gross,” said Dina. “And here I was thinking that it was just all being proper and mannerly.”
“Everyone has their limits,” you said lightly.
The penthouse felt just as oppressive as when you came for dinners, like you were walking into the lair of a dragon who was coming back at any moment. Chris was gone—likely participating in the festival herself—but you were surprised to see the figure of Petra bent in a corner as you entered, dusting the top shelf of their bookcase.
You and Dina politely greeted her before ascending the steps to your father’s office.
“Why did your Mom put it in here?” Dina asked as you began shuffling through papers to find the box that your mother had described over text.
“My father doesn’t work in here all too often,” you said, opening a few drawers and seeing no trace of the green and gold box. “He just uses it to file away things.”
“What does he do?”
“I actually have no clue,” you confessed. “He doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t ask.”
“Do you want to see if we can find out?” Dina asked with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrow as she motioned towards the filing cabinets. “Just a quick look. They’ll never know that we were here.”
You took a moment to consider. If Chris had answered the door to let you two in, you would’ve told her that you couldn’t, because she would definitely snitch if she knew. But she was nowhere to be seen, and Petra looked like she was busy enough downstairs.
“Sure. Why not.”
The first few cabinets held nothing interesting—just spending reports and copies of contracts that were written in legalese.
“It looks like he works with whoever supplies this place,” remarked Dina as you two skimmed the papers and saw records of contacts all over the continent, from the old continental US and South America, each detailing something boring about shipping dates and inventory.
But then came the third cabinet, with papers dated back before you were born with what looked like sketches of barren looking buildings and hand-scrawled notes.
“What are these?” you breathed, laying them out on the ground.
“I think…” Dina squinted. “I think that these might be manufacturing plants?”
“Oh?” You dug further around in the cabinet to see if you could find any further illuminating evidence.
“Yeah,” said Dina, staring as she began to flip through the pages already on the floor. “Holy shit, dude. This is…sort of messed up. Look at how small these living quarters are.”
You peered over her shoulder to see the architectural sketches of what looked to be more of what you imagined a prison to be. There were long bunks stacked on top of each other in what looked to be a never ending line, the mattresses barely even large enough to be considered twins.
Someone cleared their throat behind you, and you nearly leapt.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Petra. Her voice was low and raspy. You noted that it was the first time she’d ever spoken.
“Oh, uh—” You began to frantically gather the papers, hoping she hadn’t seen. Would she tell your parents? “Sorry if we disturbed your work. My parents, uh, they asked us to get something from—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you.” You stared up at her steely green eyes, wondering what had compelled her to approach you and Dina. “Um, is there anything we can do to help you?”
“Don’t drink the bourbon,” she said, so quickly that it seemed to fluster her.
“What? Why?”
“Just don’t do it,” she said again. “Better yet, don’t drink anything except for the water.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling genuinely apologetic. “I’m not sure if I understand.”
Something crossed over Dina’s face, and suddenly something in her seemed to shift. Her features paled. She knew something you didn’t.
“I came from one of those places,” Petra said, motioning to the diagrams that you were staring at. “They’re not—they’re not somewhere you want to be. We all try our best to come here. That’s what they tell us, you know. Do well enough and you’ll get sent to where everyone gets to live a life of grandeur and luxury. But they barely send anyone, and when they do, they get shitty positions like this.”
Your breath caught in your throat as your understanding slowly grew. Of course. How had you been so stupid to think that wealthy people were ever going to have any of their kind work any real job?
“You two were the ones who came from outside, right?” Petra continued. When you two nodded, she crouched next to you. “And you were wondering what was going on with the prices?”
You nodded again, awestruck.
“Your Dad’s little spiel on it being about bad weather is bullshit,” she said, her words hard. “People are getting tired of this. They’re realizing they’re never getting out. You know what it’s like out there—it’s scary. It’s tiring. So many people get sick, so many die. So when people finally caught onto the fact that the work they’re doing is nothing but dressed up slavery and that their chances of getting out are basically zero, they start doing things to mess with the system.”
“Like contaminating the products?” Even as she said it, it seemed like Dina already knew the answer.
Petra just gave you two a long look.
“So that’s what he meant by quality control,” you said, the realization hitting you.
“Among other things.”
“How long do you think we have?” asked Dina.
“Not very long at all.”
“You guys can’t be serious,” you said, nervous laughter catching in your chest. “Do you seriously mean that Terranova isn’t going to be around for much longer? Is that what you’re saying?”
Petra shrugged and stood up. “Believe whatever you want. But from where I stand, it looks like there’s only two possible ways out of this situation. That is, unless you guys all become farmers.”
“I don’t think I’m following,” you said.
“Two options,” Petra said, sighing heavily. “Either we starve or we don’t. And the latter means taking a really big fucking chance on what we bring in.”
“But the system has worked for so long,” you said, more to yourself than anyone else.
“Too long,” she amended. “It was never sustainable. Maybe if you people had been okay with just eating native plants and wildlife. Maybe if you people were okay with changing your way of life. But no, you just had to have your fucking oranges from Florida and your coffee from South America.”
“Don’t lump me into this,” said Dina. “I just got here.”
Petra laughed, but it was a hard and sharp sound. “Well, chances are you won’t be here for long.”
“Hang on,” you said. “We’re still doing quality control inspections. The most likely scenario is that we’re going to have to cut down on imports—not that we’re about to go up in flames any minute.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” she said in that voice that told you that she thought that you definitely weren’t and didn’t see the point in arguing further. “Anyways, I’ve got to finish working so I can get home before dark. Be careful, okay?”
“You too,” you said. “And thanks for…not saying anything.”
It was a bit presumptuous considering that Petra hadn’t really given you any good reason beyond her word that she wouldn’t mention you lurking in your father’s cabinets, so you and Dina were thorough in carefully placing each file back into the correct place, just in case.
“Do you really think what she said is true?” you asked once you and Dina had located the watch and were on the metro once again.
Dina shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Look,” said Dina. “I know that this might be hard for you to hear, but I’m pretty sure this place lives off of what’s basically slave labor. If there’s any humanity left in the world, I would like to think that Terranova would eventually fall.”
You swallowed hard, then blinked. For a moment you thought you were going to throw up. “I never knew. I didn’t realize.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Dina’s voice was surprisingly patient. “You were a kid. But you’re not anymore, so it’s time to grow up and face the music.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t either.”
The two of you fell into a silence as the train sped past empty platforms bathed in shadows and you thought and thought and thought.
There was just too much happening today. First Gunther’s lab, then Ellie, now your entire worldview toppling.
As the train windows continued to blur the background of the tunnels and empty stations, your mind spun with reflections of your childhood—of you enjoying simple luxuries that you didn’t realize came at the expense of others. That you didn’t even think to ask about. You’d mindlessly trudged along, eating your exotic fruits and drinking your expensive tea and wearing clothes built from indulgent fabrics just because you could. Even when Dina had asked where the oranges came from all the way back in Jackson, you hadn’t let yourself wonder. You hadn’t let yourself consider the possibility that it was anything less than the sanitized fairyland that you’d been brought up in—perhaps because you knew all along.
And that made it even worse.
Dina seemed to understand, sending you a few glances without prodding.
“Do you think we need to leave?” you asked, your voice just barely a whisper.
“Us leaving isn’t going to do anything,” Dina said, like she’d been expecting it. “And how would we even do that? It’s not like we can just charter a helicopter again to drop us off back in Jackson.”
Something twisted inside of you. “Oh, God. You’re right. We couldn’t even leave if we tried.”
And you might have to try, a sinister voice inside you whispered. What if Petra was right about the contaminated products? What if they missed something when checking imports?
You’d never been taught how quickly the fungus spread in the original outbreak, and you knew little about the normal amount of time it would take any sort of disease to infect the entire population. But you did know how densely populated everything was. How reliant everything was on a few strictly maintained channels, like public transportation.
It wouldn’t be hard for it to all come crashing down, really. It would just take the right place at the right time and—
“Don’t freak out, Y/N.” Dina laid a hand on your shoulder. “We’ll figure something out if it comes to that.”
You smiled at her, grateful that you didn’t even have to put your words into thoughts. “But if we can’t leave, what do we do? It’s not like we can just sit by and do nothing.”
Dina pulled her bottom lip under her teeth, worrying it before answering. “I don’t really think that we have a choice. Right now, at least. I don’t know if there’s anything that just the two of us can do.”
“I’ll find more,” you said. “I’ll talk to my professors—my friends at university—Simon—”
“Do you think that we’re the only two that know about this?” asked Dina. “Because I really don’t. Maybe your friends don’t. But anyone in the military and anyone who was around when this was founded has got to know. They just don’t care enough.”
Something slowly iced over inside of you as the implications sunk in.
Gunther had probably known. No, scratch that—he definitely did. He was an academic who had been in his 30s when the world fell apart. Any adult would have asked the same questions that Dina had upon arrival.
“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” said Dina firmly. “Okay? Don’t worry.”
“Speaking of Simon,” you said, narrowing your eyes, “Did you ever get in touch with him? Is his family okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” said Dina. “He texted me back a bit ago. Said something about how he was just busy and that his family had been camping up in the mountains.”
You two faded into silence.
The retirement party came and went without much trouble. On the outside, at least. You were a mental wreck, barely able to keep it together as near strangers came up to you and expressed how much bigger you were since they’d seen you a decade and a half ago.
You noted with muted suspicion that Simon’s parents were nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd, not even by the lavishly decorated bar.
~
That night, you did dream of Ellie. It wasn’t the usual. Ellie wasn’t turning in front of you or bleeding or crying out in pain with a bite mark on her arm. She wasn’t yelling at you for failing her and letting her get bitten without even noticing. No; instead, she lay beside you in your meadow spot and talked to you.
And somehow that was so much worse.
“I named a planet after you,” you said, feeling hot tears pool at the seams of your eyes that you squeezed together to avoid sobbing. You knew you were dreaming. You always knew you were dreaming—seeing Ellie always seemed to prompt a degree of lucidity that was otherwise missing in your sleep.
“That’s really fucking sappy of you.”
“I miss you.” It came out like a compulsion, like you couldn’t stop it. “Are you here? Are you with me?”
“Y/N,” Ellie said, turning to look at you. The darkness made it difficult to see her whole face, but you could see the look of pity on her features in the gray-blue of the moonlight. “Of course I’m not here. Don’t be stupid. I’m dead.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re not. Like, if something happened.”
“Something did happen. I died.”
“Fuck you.”
She smiled sadly, and for a moment you thought her eyes looked more reflective than usual. “It’s not very helpful to think that way. And what can I tell you? I’m not even real.”
“I’d like you to try,” you whispered.
“Fine.” She sat up, pulling her legs into a lazy tangle as she looked at you. “What did you seriously expect, dude? You were never going to stay. I wasn’t going to go. If I hadn’t been bitten, I’m sure I would’ve orchestrated some way to get out of it. My family is back in Jackson. I liked you just fine, but you’re not my family. That shit’s deeper. Different.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. The sharp pain in your chest faded into a cold sense of familiarity. Then, because she wasn’t real and there was no reason to feel embarrassed about bearing your emotions:
“You feel more like family than anyone here.”
“Then that sounds like a you problem,” said Ellie, flatly. “I’m not gonna let you guilt trip me like this. Boo fucking hoo, you grew up richer than everyone else on Earth and had to deal with strict parents. Do you realize what actual, real problems are? What about the people who make your lifestyle possible, huh? What about them?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Then you’re fucking stupid.”
The tears were streaming freely down your face now. “I would do anything to be back with you. I wanted to stay. I miss you so much. I don’t know what to do with myself without you.”
“And I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
“Will you just say that you miss me too? You don’t have to mean it. I just want—I just want to hear it.”
“I can’t miss you. I’m not around anymore.”
Ellie watched as you curled in on yourself and sobbed so hard you thought you were going to be sick.
“You’re so weak,” she said after a few minutes. There was no venom in her tone. It was as if she was merely relaying something as inconsequential as the weather to you. “All you do is expect other people to care for you.”
Not real. Not real. Not real you repeated to yourself in your mind with growing franticness.
She wasn’t real. None of this was real. Ellie was never that affectionate with you, but this was another level. This was something personal.
“You said that being weak isn’t bad.”
“And you said that you were going to make sure I was going to get to Terranova.”
“And it’s not my fault that you decided to go gallivanting alone in the woods.”
“You could’ve tried harder.”
“I did as much as I could.”
“Sure you did.”
You bolted awake. The hair at the nape of your neck was wet with the slick of sweat. For a moment, you let yourself catch your breath, reorient yourself in your surroundings.
Your room. You were in your dorm room, with your space posters and your books. Ellie hadn’t been here. She hadn’t said that. You were okay.
A blaring noise jarred you as you realized that your alarm had made you wake up. Your alarm, because it was graduation day and you needed to be ready for a full day of festivities.
“Fuck,” you muttered, scrubbing your face with you hands. The last thing you wanted to do after this was have to see your parents and pretend like you like them for appearances.
She's gone. She's gone. She's gone you repeated in your head like a mantra. It was over. You shouldn’t have named that stupid planet after her, because she was gone and she always would be.
It would only be a matter of time until your parents would start asking you about your dating life, you realized as you brushed your teeth over the shiny white basin of your sink, the minty bubbles making your lips tingle. They’d been willing to entertain your reasoning of wanting to focus on your studies while you were at university, but you knew they’d been looking for prospective engagements behind your back.
It took you longer than usual to get ready, your mind wandering as you lingered in different corners of your apartment. You kept the lights off, opting to let the cool, gray daylight from the gloomy clouds wash the surfaces of your room.
“Hey,” said Dina, appearing from her own room and leaning against the doorframe.
“Good morning,” you greeted blandly, your attention on the necklace that just wouldn’t clasp around your neck.
“Looking spiffy,” she said. “By the way, did Simon say anything to you?”
“No.” You paused and turned to her, a frown on her face. As far as you were concerned, you really had no reason to be in contact with Simon beyond the general pleasantries.
“He just called me,” said Dina. “He seemed—I dunno. Like, weirdly frantic. He was saying that we need to stop by his.”
“His” was inconveniently on the opposite side of the city, even further past your parents’ place.
“Why? Pretty far for a short jaunt.”
“He was really insistent,” pressed Dina. Her long black curls were unruly, her skin sallow in a way you hadn’t seen in a while. She hadn’t been sleeping as well recently, it seemed, just like you since you’d spoken to Petra. “Maybe we should just stop by.”
“Did he say anything about why?”
“I tried to ask,” said Dina, frowning. “But the call dropped.”
“I hate how horrible service is in your room,” you said.
“Me too. Anyway, are we gonna see him?”
You shrugged. “I guess. We have some time. I’ll text him too just to see what’s going on.”
Dina was ready in just a few minutes, pulling a light blue sweatshirt over her shirt and stepping into her shoes.
“You look soooo cute,” she said, pinching your cheeks. “My little grad.”
You rolled your eyes, but the size of your smile ruined it.
For once in your life, you noticed that the university green outside of your apartment was suspiciously empty.
“Quiet,” Dina noted as you made your way to the metro. “It’s eerie.”
“People were probably partying all night,” you said. “Celebrating graduation and whatnot. I imagine everyone’s sleeping off a hangover instead of having to get up at the crack of dawn to voyage across the city.”
Dina held up her hands. “Gee. Sorry.”
The train was a little more populated. Some older Terranovans had newspapers cracked as they licked their fingers to turn the page. The silent hum of the train lulled you into another soliloquy as the tunnel plunged you into darkness.
You had to stop thinking about Ellie. You needed to move on, as awful as it was. You’d named a planet after her. She’d be forever remembered in the stars, and that should be enough. You didn’t need to keep dragging her memory behind you like a corpse, because she was dead and she was never coming back and she was—
On the platform?
Your mouth dropped as the doors of the train slowly rolled open to reveal a short girl with shoulder length auburn hair slowly ambling towards the platform. She was wearing a pale green short sleeve that had some sort of edgy spatter pattern on it—something that was very Ellie-esque. But something wasn’t…
It took you one breath to notice that neither of her bare arms had any tattoos. It took you another to see that what you had initially assumed to be a pattern was actually blood-soaked fabric formed from red rivelets that trickled from a wound on her neck.
“Holy fuck,” you whispered, grabbing Dina’s hand. “Do you see—”
“Everybody run!” Dina screamed, leaping up from the train seat and dragging you with her as she bolted off the train and to the opposite exit.
The girl wailed and barrelled towards the train car, her eyes locking onto the nervous movement of the passengers. You froze. It was slowly becoming obvious that this wasn’t Ellie, from the slightly different set of her eyes to the unfamiliar button nose. But it was hard to not feel anything but sympathy for the monster before you. She was just a girl, probably younger than you.
“Fucking go, Y/N,” Dina snapped, yanking you harder and onto the platform just as Not-Ellie leapt onto one of the newspaper readers. “It’s not her.”
She didn’t need to tell you twice. In seconds you two had sprinted to the mouth of the stairs, feet pummeling against the pavement as the sounds of the carnage unfolding behind you followed.
You ran. You didn’t stop running, not even when the screams faded and you and Dina were blocks and blocks away, hidden in an alley. Not even when your lungs were so empty and sore that they felt like they were breaths away from breaking, not even when you were sure there was nothing left inside you.
Dina kept your pace, blindly following your lead as you darted in between streets and side alleys until you reached your parents’ apartment.
“Do you think there’s more?” you managed to whisper through heaving voices once you stood on the steps.
You and Dina hadn’t ran into anyone after the metro, undead or alive.
“Not here,” hissed Dina. “Inside first. Then we evaluate after we’re safer.”
For a moment, the phantom dread from your normal life spilled over and you were afraid of facing your parents. It was almost laughable—there were deranged infected hosts looking to eat your flesh roaming the streets, and you were worried about seeing your parents.
“I’d almost prefer out here, too,” said Dina, looking as if she’d read your mind.
The apartment complex was also empty and eerily quiet as you two ascended the steps. Dina had insisted that you took the stairs, pointing out that the elevator was far too risky.
“It might get stuck,” she’d whispered as she’d pulled you away from pressing the button. “Also—unnecessary noise.”
You nodded wordlessly, following her up the steps until you reached the top floor.
Still no one to be seen.
The spare key was still hidden under the flower pot, and the penthouse door swung open easily. You and Dina locked it behind you before dragging a small bookcase in front of it, piling on books until no one could physically break through.
“Sweep the apartment,” Dina said lowly, reaching over to grab the fireplace poker that was in the entryway. “Behind me until you get a weapon.”
For a few tense moments, you cowered behind Dina as she navigated you both into the dark, empty kitchen. Every breath that left your lips was shaky and uneven. Your fingers trembled around the handle of the butcher’s knife that you’d retrieved from the block.
Nothing was on the first floor.
Nothing on the second floor, either. There was no sign of your parents anywhere. By all accounts, it seemed that they’d just up and left for coffee. Which is probably what they’d done, given that your father had just retired and had nothing better to do.
“Fucking thank god,” you’d cried out once you’d swept the last room, collapsing onto the sitting room sofa. “Jesus Christ, Dina. What the fuck. I can’t believe I just—”
The words petered out as the adrenaline rush that had been keeping you at least someone composed dissipated, leaving you a shaking and inconsolable mess.
“We’re so lucky that we got out in time,” said Dina, her eyes blurry and unfocused.
You took a break from your crying to look at her. “What?”
“The doors close automatically,” she said flatly. “No motion sensor. If that girl had shown up any later—if we hadn’t noticed her in time—”
“We would’ve been stuck on the train with her,” you said, cold realization trickling into you. “Oh my god. That probably happened to the people on the train who weren’t quick enough.”
“Or didn’t know any better,” Dina added. “Didn’t you say that no one here really understands what the infection is? That it makes people hosts?”
Your heart dropped. “We’re so fucked. We need to get out.”
“Have a plane anywhere?”
“Oh, god, Simon,” you wailed. “He was probably—he must’ve known—his parents must have—”
“Let’s not dwell,” said Dina firmly, brushing her hands off on her pants. “Okay. Let’s take inventory of the situation. That girl likely wasn’t patient zero. Wherever she came from was around…8th street?”
You nodded.
“Right. 8th street, which is where the majority of non-student residential living spaces are. Chances are that if it wasn’t already, it’s all over that area. We came south, which is away from the most densely populated area and probably why we haven’t seen anyone else. We’re up high with what seems to be currently running water, no current activity in the building, and plenty of both perishable and nonperishable food.
“But this isn’t permanent. The power grid is going to fail soon, and plumbing is likely going to go next. And if we somehow make it long enough, any infected in the building are going to turn into clickers, and they’ll stop at nothing to get in. Our window is limited. If we wait to get out, they’re going to get stronger and grow in numbers. We need to play this right.”
“So what you’re saying is that if there’s any possible chance of escape,” you said, feeling the blood drain from your face, “That we need to take it.”
Dina nodded, her face hard.
“How long do you think we have until we have to make that choice?”
She winced. “Probably 2 hours ago. There’s likely enough infected scattered around the city after the metro incident that it’s all over now.”
Your stomach dropped.
“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” said Dina. “It’s only going to get worse the longer we wait. So if that big fancy scientist brain of yours has any genius plans of how to get us out, please hurry it up and say so.”
“Well,” you said, your mouth dry as you brainstormed aloud, “We are at the southern tip of the city. We’re probably not all that far from the border. The problem would be getting across—and, of course, getting there in the first place. It’s designed to be deceptive so that raiders can’t find it.”
“We’re not going to cross the border,” said Dina. “We’re never getting across on foot unless it’s been destroyed. Simon told me about how it works. There’s quite literally zero chance unless we start tunneling underground.”
“So no crossing on foot,” you said weakly. “Noted. Well. Uh. Can you fly a plane?”
“Depends. Do you have one?”
You buried your face in your hands.
“Come on, Y/N. Think. There has to be another option.”
Another option. Another option. Think, think, think…
Scientist brain. Science.
Like your degree. Like the lab you’d been working in last year. Like the ill-fated experiment that you’d scrapped after the university cut funding for it after your accident.
Like the time that you’d actually succeeded in inventing teleportation, even if it was accidental.
Like the contraption that was likely gathering dust in an unlocked lab room just a few blocks away.
“Dina,” you said, “I’ve got it. But I need you to get me to Gunther’s lab.”
The only good thing about today was the fact that Gunther’s lab, which was normally an inconvenient train ride away from your apartment, was in fact within perfectly reasonable walking distance from your parents’.
There were many bad things, though. Namely the infected now roaming the streets. And the plumes of smoke rising in the distance, suggesting that the Terranovan authorities were attempting to quell the issue the old-fashioned way.
With two knives and a pistol in your hand (you’d never been more happy to see something actually useful in your father’s antique collection), you were at least feeling more prepared to slowly creep back down the staircase of the building and out onto the streets.
For the first two blocks, everything remained uneventful. You and Dina stuck close to the shadows, being careful not to speak, make any noise, or bump into anything noisy.
Then a girl that looked somewhat familiar to you came stumbling around the corner, cloudy orange saliva dripping from her ashen lips. She locked onto you and began to excitedly chitter, her jerky movements becoming more pointed as she started approaching.
“Knife,” Dina whispered, flicking your arm once she saw you raise your pistol. “Too loud.”
It was your first kill without the help of a bullet. As the blade slid across the throat of the girl, you realized where you recognized her from—she’d been one of the students you’d tutored back in high school. You’d always liked her. Her name had been Liesel, and she was one of your best pupils. She’d been so bright. You thought she’d end up skipping senior year and just coming with you to college.
Not anymore. You tried not to think too hard about the look you’d seen in her eyes right as you severed her carotid artery—something human, something cognisant. You couldn’t cope with what that implied.
Did Ellie look like that? No, surely not. It’d been over a year. She was likely a clicker by now, her freckled face entirely swallowed by the spore shards. But was she still in there, like Liesel had been?
The next ones were easier—random men whose eyes remained flat and flinty even as you sent them to their ends. By the time you and Dina had broken into Gunther’s lab, you were splattered in blood and assorted mystery fluids.
The sterile building was empty and deathly silent. Each step on the tiled floor echoed, the fluorescent lighting painfully bright.
“Are there any workers in here usually?” Dina asked, her voice low.
“Rarely,” you whispered back. “It’s normally totally empty beside me or Gunther.”
“I hope you’re right.”
A long screeching that sounded like it came from a few doors down made you freeze.
“Let’s move,” Dina said under her breath. “I don’t want to find out who that is.”
Gunther’s lab was nearly just as you remembered it. The only difference was the missing files on his desk, which suggested that he’d taken his work home with him.
As you’d hoped, the prototype you’d developed in your third year was under a white sheet, almost entirely untouched.
“This is what sent you to Jackson?” Dina whispered in wonder, her fingers hovering over the wires but not daring to touch.
In actuality, it was a very small contraption, just transistors and gates and wires that crossed over each other like veins. It had been intended for use on laboratory rats. It’d never been sized to people. But if this was your only shot…
“I can’t remember exactly what Gunther and I did to—”
Scratchhhhhh.
Your blood ran cold. Something was outside the door.
“I’ll cover it,” said Dina, her voice firm. Don’t worry.”
And you wouldn’t—not when there was one zombie against you and Dina, armed to the teeth.
“Uh, anyway—” You blinked as you stared down at the mess of wires. “Technically what happened was it short-circuit—”
Scratch scratch scratch
You gulped. “Um, like I was saying, it short—”
Scratchscratchscratchscratch
To punctuate the point, the door creaked and shifted.
Dina pressed her finger to her lips as she slowly crept over to the door, standing on her toes to look through the thin strip of plexiglass that ran across the top of the door.
For a moment, you thought that she’d frozen. Then she quietly stepped over to the desk, snatched the pen Gunther had lying around, and scribbled something onto it. She handed it to you, her finger still posed over her lips.
7 of them. All big. I think they followed us from the street.
Just as you finished reading it, the doorknob began to turn, back and forth and back and forth against the lock.
Dina pulled the note from your fingers to scribble something else out.
Don't say anything. Noise will send them into a feeding frenzy. Door won't hold long. Do whatever you need to fix it and get us out.
You nodded, your heart crawling in your throat. If you couldn’t figure out how to fix this in time…Gunther’s lab was on the 6th floor.
There were only 3 bullets in the pistol—you’d checked. And a kitchen knife was fine when you were out on the street facing one infected at a time, but 7 in an enclosed space was different.
You probably weren’t going to get out of here alive.
Not unless you pulled it together right now.
You pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to run through all possible ways to recreate the conditions that had sent you to Jackson. You needed that special iridescent wire, which you could see shoved into the corner. You needed a power source. You needed a working circuit board.
You had all of it. You could do this.
SIlently, you retrieved the spool of wire and began reattaching it to the board in the pattern you vaguely recalled from your work.
The lights flickered above, and it was all you could do to keep yourself from swearing out loud.
The power needed to hold. It needed to hold for just one more minute, just for a moment while you finished configuring the—
Your hand knocked the spool to the floor.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The thudding started slower but crescendoed into the sound of groaning wood as the infected outside began to pound at the door.
Dina waved a slip of paper in front of you with wide eyes that said Hurry the FUCK up!.
You sent her a desperate look back. Your hands were shaking so hard that it was a miracle you were even able to feed the end of the wire through the pliers to snap off the end. You dug your nails into the protective sleeve at the end to expose the tip of the wire.
The door held just until you plugged the wire into the input.
As it hummed to life, sputtering and sparking and shimmering in the air, the lights flickered once, then plunged you into darkness as the sound of wood splintering came from the door.
Someone—it was probably you—screamed as a crowd came barrelling through the door, all hunched shoulders and gaping maws.
Then you grabbed the hand of Dina and felt yourself tumble into nothingness.
~
The sky was clear and bluebell blue above you when you came to, your back pressed uncomfortably against the sun-warmed earth. Every part of you ached like you’d just been run over, just like it had that day one year ago that started it all.
You didn’t need to look around to confirm—you were certain of where you were. You just knew it.
A groaning sound made you shoot up, clutching at the pistol in your hand.
Dina was sprawled on the ground next to you, rubbing her forehead with her hands.
“We did it,” you said, astonished. “We actually did it. We got out.”
“And you launched us out to Jackson.” Dina was sitting up now, looking around with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ. Are those things coming with us?”
“I don’t think so,” you said blandly. Your hands were still shaking, just as they had in the lab moments before.
The backpack you’d packed with supplies lay strewn on the ground, covered in the dust of the clearing.
“Are we—”
“I think so,” you said. “Funny how it sent us to the same place it sent me. I guess we’ll never figure out how, though.”
“Yeah.”
A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you acclimated to the bright Wyoming sun, the warmth of the air against your skin.
Your heart lurched as the implications sunk in. Now that you couldn’t pretend like Jackson had been some sort of distant memory, you were going to mourn Ellie all over again whether you liked it or not.
“It’s going to be weird without her.” Dina was apparently on the same page.
You choked back the sob that came up, rubbing your eyes angrily. You would not cry right now, not when you had more important things to attend to.
“She really did love you, you know,” Dina continued, also apparently oblivious to the fact that you were just barely holding it together. “Even if she never said it. I’ve never seen her like that around anyone. I hope you haven’t been beating yourself up over what happened.”
You sent her a tight smile. It was odd, talking about Ellie like this with her. You’d never had before. It was one of those topics that you both knew to just avoid. “I just hope Joel is alright. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be—losing two daughters just like tha—”
A twig snapping in the woods sent you into silence, your hand drifting back down to your pistol as you spun around.
For a moment, all you could hear was the breath that hitched in both your and Dina’s throat. Then a girl with short brown hair burst through the tree line, her gun set on you.
“Ellie?” you gasped.
She fell still, mouth agape and eyebrows nearly touching her hairline.
“Ellie, what the fuck?” said Dina, recovering much quicker than you. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I—” Ellie dropped her pistol so it pointed to the ground, staring at Dina incredulously. “What are you doing here?” Then she rounded on you. “What did you do? You promised to stay in Terranova.”
You couldn’t answer. You were just so starstruck that all you could was stare, taking in everything about her. She was certainly Ellie—with her stupid little flashlight on her backpack strap and her fern tattoo and the perpetual grumpiness etched on her face. It was strange to think that you could have mistaken anyone else for her.
“Well?” she pressed, stepping closer, her mouth in a hard line.
“Terranova fell. It’s gone. I did what I had to do to get us out.” The words came out quietly. Then, without thinking: “You’re alive.”
“Long story,” said Ellie. “I think the scanner was defective.”
“That sounds like a pretty short story.”
She stared at you with an expression of such odd devastation that you felt your heart drop.
Dina jumped to her feet and launched herself at Ellie, throwing her arms around her neck and laughing hysterically. “I can’t believe it. I just—I just—you’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Ellie, for her part, stood mostly still, awkwardly patting Dina on the back until she was released. “I’m glad you are, too.”
You tried not to feel jealous, but it was hard not to. Dina could jump into Ellie’s arms and tell her nice things like that without having to think twice because they’d always been friends. You did, because you weren’t sure if Ellie would want that anymore.
You didn’t try to touch her as she walked you and Dina back. She followed suit, not even trying to speak to you.
By the time you were walking through the walls of Jackson and waving to the gaping passerbys who were shocked at your return, you felt like you were going to be sick.
Ellie was alive. She’d never been dead, and you’d left her out here while you and Dina got to eat fancy Brazilian chocolates and Floridian oranges and artisanal bread. You’d been actively trying to forget her instead of trying to find her.
And now she was here, next to you. And she didn’t seem even remotely interested in you. But could you blame her? It had been a year. You’d left her to come back to Jackson all by herself. She didn’t have any reason to wait around for you. She’d probably found someone else. Or gotten back together with Cat.
And who were you to think that she’d even be interested in you if there wasn’t the guaranteed casualness from a definite end date?
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Joel appeared on the front porch as you and Dina approached with Ellie flanking you, his eyes wide.
“Joel!” you cried out, your angst briefly forgotten.
His eyes darted between the three of you, his face awash with shock. “Did ya just get sick of living there or something?”
You looked down and surveyed your outfit. You were clearly wearing something that was intended to be formal—a flowing graduation dress—but you were splattered with blood and viscous mystery substances and covered in a healthy layer of dirt. You’d clearly gone through some shit.
You were struggling to come up with a response other than “hey” when you were reminded of something you’d shoved into your bag while you’d been preparing to leave your parents’ penthouse.
Feeling smug that you’d managed to remember, you reached into your pack and fished around until you found what you were looking for.
“We just figured you’d be almost out of this by now,” you said dryly. The value-sized bag of coffee beans dangled from your fingers, its maroon packaging catching in the sun.
His face split into a wide grin as he shook his head in disbelief. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. I guess I’ve got to tell Tommy that we don’t have to ration anymore. C’mon, let’s get you settled.”
~
Joel insisted that you move back into your old room instead of the vacant cottage down the street, which was equal parts touching and equal parts terrifying. Ellie lingered by the doorway as you unpacked, disappearing down the hall when you finally lifted your head from your few belongings to say something to her.
You let out a long, labored exhale, dropping onto your bed and curling your knees up to your chest. You’d since changed and showered the dirt and blood off, shed your tattered graduation dress and left it gathered in the corner like a snake’s molt. The setting sun filtered through the curtains, turning the walls golden.
You didn’t know what to do. That you could even come back to Jackson had been a thought you hadn’t dared to consider until this morning, when there were no other options. That Ellie was still alive—well, you hadn’t had any time to strategize or plan for that one. You were still reeling from seeing her for the first time in a year, all summer freckles and flyaway hairs escaping from a loose hairband.
She’d looked even better than you’d remembered. There were certain parts of her that you realized you’d forgotten—like the scar on her eyebrow, the way her voice sounded. It made you feel nauseous, knowing that despite your best efforts, you hadn’t been able to keep the real Ellie alive in your head.
You’d already eaten something with Tommy and Maria, who had been insistent on hearing from you and Dina about the events in Terranova. Joel had left you to your own devices with instructions to see him tomorrow to figure out work after you’d had a decent rest, so there was really no reason to go roaming around hoping to run into Ellie.
But you really wanted to. You checked the clock again, seeing that it was already past 9. Dusk had already fallen upon Jackson, the setting sun now just a suggestion of a golden line on the horizon.
You had a feeling you knew where she was.
The meadow was just as lush and green as you remembered as your feet carried you across the grass. It seemed that really nothing had changed—except for the horses in the distance, where you could see a small foal beside a chestnut mare that you were pretty sure was Shimmer.
“Hi,” you said, settling down next to Ellie’s spot under the tree.
If she was surprised to see you, she didn’t show it. She just sighed and fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” you said, keeping your eyes locked on the darkening sky. “I just wanted to come find you to tell you that I understand if you don’t—want me like that anymore. I’ll leave you alone if you want me to.”
Even when she took her time responding, you didn’t dare look her way.
“Is that what you want?” You couldn’t quite decipher the tone she’d used.
“Obviously not,” you said mildly. “I would never want that.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze dropping to meet hers. You were just about to speak when—
“The scanner wasn’t defective,” said Ellie. Her voice was soft, her own eyes falling to look at her tattooed arm.
“Of course it was,” you said, feeling very confused as to why she was suddenly detouring into something so unrelated. “If it wasn’t, you’d be dead already.”
“I’ve been bitten twice.”
You blinked, sure you’d heard her incorrectly. “Sorry?”
“I’ve been bitten twice,” said Ellie again, this time with more conviction. “That’s why the scanner came back red. There was nothing wrong with it.”
“Then how…” Your words trailed off.
She didn’t let you ponder long. “I’m immune.”
Immune.
You closed your mouth—it’d been hanging open unceremoniously for a moment—and tried to fit this very startling fact in with everything else you knew about her. What did being immune mean? And why was she telling you now?
“You knew from the start that you couldn’t come with me to Terranova,” you realized aloud.
Ellie was gnawing at her bottom look as she looked back at you. You noted that she didn’t offer up any corrections.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You couldn’t hide the hurt in your voice. “Why did you lie to me like that?”
“I found out that I was immune when I was back in Boston,” Ellie said, the words spilling out of her. “I was in this abandoned mall with my best friend—Riley. She told me she was leaving to be a Firefly, and I begged her to stay and kissed her and for a moment I was so sure that something was going to change between us—something for the better. But then…” She waved her tattooed arm in front of her. “We both got bit. I survived. She, obviously, did not.”
Something deep inside you twisted as you tried to imagine how traumatizing that must’ve been for someone that couldn’t have been older than 14.
“And so I thought that maybe, you were my chance to right what I’ve done wrong,” continued Ellie. Even though she wasn’t looking at you anymore, you could see the reflective sheen of tears in her eyes. “I’ve gotten to live while so many other people have died. I just can’t handle another. It’s not fair of me to keep someone here when there’s somewhere safer for them. It’s selfish, and I’ve been that enough.”
It was as if you’d found the last puzzle piece for the jigsaw of Ellie Williams. All this time, you’d been struggling in your attempts to understand why she was pushing you away—and why she changed her mind so suddenly.
Now you got it. Ellie had come into this knowing that she’d likely never see you again. She’d been betting on it, even. It was all some convoluted way for her to set things right in her head, for her to forgive herself for Riley and whoever else she’d lost.
“You could have told me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I would have understood.”
Ellie sent you a sad smile, shaking her head. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone that I’m immune. It’s one of those things that only Joel and Maria and Tommy know about. No one else. They’d fucking kill me if they found out you knew.”
“I’m really sorry.” The fabric of her t-shirt was soft under your fingers as you rested a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m really sorry for how much of an asshole I was to you,” said Ellie. You didn’t miss the way her eyes had widened when you’d reached out to touch her. “I didn’t want to be that way. I always wanted more. I just couldn’t handle having that, knowing that you were going to leave anyway. I thought it’d be easier for the both of us if you thought I was awful.”
“Didn’t work very well.”
“Clearly.”
“I forgive you,” you said, moving your hand so you could thread your fingers into the loose strands that she hadn’t pulled into that baby bun she always wore.
Instead of kissing you like you thought she might, she threw her arms around you and crushed herself against you, burying her face into your neck.
You held her there, feeling the way her frame trembled under the weight of a sob and tracing patterns across her back.
“I missed you,” you whispered, your chin rested atop her shoulder. “I thought about you every day.”
Ellie clung to you harder as you shifted.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again, muffled against your neck. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“I’m not.” You finally pulled away so that she had to look you in the eyes. Under the soft bath of moonlight, her green eyes glowed. “Terranova shouldn’t have existed in the first place. I’m glad that I got out. And I’m even more glad that it brought me back to you.”
Her hand found yours, your fingers tangling.
“I used to spend all my free time wondering what you were doing up North,” said Ellie. You felt her thumb brush across the top of your hand. “I thought that maybe if I imagined you happy, it’d be easier.”
“What did you think I was doing?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Lots of studying, I assumed. And going to fancy events for rich people, eating all that expensive shit that the rest of the world can’t have.”
“Not far off,” you admitted. “But you missed how much time I’d spend wondering about you. I dreamt about you all the time. Sometimes I’d see people who looked similar to you and it’d ruin my whole day. I couldn’t believe that you were gone. I think that deep down I knew that you weren’t.”
She squeezed your hand. When you looked down at where you were touching, you noted how there wasn’t such a stark difference between you and her anymore. The doll fresh-out-of-the-box skin had disappeared in favor of scars and marks collected from your time in the real world.
“I really thought you’d be safe there,” said Ellie.
“You don’t need to worry about me like that anymore,” you told her, cupping her face with your free hand. Her eyelids fluttered half-closed as she leaned into the contact. “You’ve done enough. You can care about me without taking responsibility for everything bad that ever happens to me. You deserve to have something good without suffering because of it. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not anymore,” she agreed.
When you kissed her, it felt like coming home. There was something so achingly familiar in the slope of her neck, the slight chapped-ness of her lips, the almost silent click of her jaw as her mouth parted with a gasp as your hands twisted in her hair.
You weren’t quite sure how you managed a year without it.
The skin of her neck was just as soft as you remembered against your lips, her response just as reactive.
“What’s this?” you asked, pulling away to point at what looked like a small tattoo on the side of her neck. You hadn’t noticed it before—her hair had been covering it.
“Oh.” Ellie looked sheepish. “My free birthday tattoo from Cat. It’s the moon.”
“I see that,” you murmured, brushing her hair back more intentionally to get a better look at it. “Why that phase?”
“It’s the phase it would’ve been on the day we met,” said Ellie. She was bright red now. “Don’t fucking laugh. I know that it’s stupid. Shut up. Stop!”
You desperately tried to stop your giggles, schooling your face into something straight and no-nonsense.
“I spent so long wondering if you even liked me,” you told her. “And now you’ve gone and gotten a tattoo dedicated to me. I feel so validated.”
Ellie rolled her eyes.
“I have you beat, though,” you said, quieter now.
She looked back at you, her brows furrowed. “Huh?”
“When it comes to grand, stupid gestures,” you explained, your finger pointing up to the sky in the general area that you’d collected your data from. “There’s a planet named Ellie up there now.”
Her jaw dropped for just a moment. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” Now you were feeling slightly self-conscious.
“You would do something like that,” Ellie muttered, more to herself than anything. “A whole fucking planet.”
You let her drape an arm around you, pulling you into her until your head fit into the space between her shoulder and her chin.
“So,” Ellie said, and you could feel the words vibrate in her diaphragm, “What now?”
“What do you mean, what now?”
“I mean, what are you gonna do now that you’re stuck here with me for the foreseeable future?”
“Enjoy being stuck with you,” you said. “Maybe get a matching tattoo. Give you the piece of the meteorite I nabbed from the display case in my lab. But mostly spend my time bothering you.”
When she didn’t answer, you shifted so you could look up at her. She was already looking back, her eyes soft and the corners of her lips pulling into two dimples.
“Is that alright with you?’ you ventured.
Her arm tightened around you, fingers gently pressing into the flesh of your forearm like she still couldn’t quite believe you were there.
“You can be so fucking stupid sometimes,” she said. “I get a tattoo for you and you’re still asking if I want you around.”
“It’s been known for you to make rash decisions,” you offered dryly. “I didn’t want to jump to any assumptions.”
She rolled her eyes, still smiling down at you, eyes awash with the reflections of the stars above.
Slowly, you reached up and touched her face again, letting your fingers relearn her features, tracing the paths created by freckles—just like you had in her bed all those months ago.
But unlike last time, she didn’t stop you. She didn’t do anything except let you. There was something in her demeanor, something that was fragile and vulnerable and everything that you wanted her to be with you.
“Is this going to be enough for you?” she asked suddenly, her voice raw.
“What do you mean?” Your fingers paused and rested at her cheekbones.
“It’s just—” She blinked hard and cast her gaze up to the sky. “You grew up so differently than me. I’m not going to be able to give you that fancy Terranova life. Are you sure this is going to make you happy?”
“Yes.”
She looked at you, an eyebrow raised skeptically. Your hands moved to cup her face, fingers threading back into her hair.
“Don’t make that face,” you chided.
“I just find it really hard to believe.”
You took in a breath. Perhaps more elaboration was in order.
“I’ll put it like this,” you said. “I spent most of my life thinking I needed to be something extraordinary to be happy. I put so much time into trying to be special and nothing I did ever felt like it was enough. But then I met you, and one day I realized while I was here that I didn’t need that anymore. Just being around you makes me more content than I’ve ever been. I don’t want to be like what I was before. I would consider it my greatest success if I got to lead an ordinary life with you.”
You took her brief silence as an opportunity to press your lips to the corner of her mouth.
“Believe me now?” you asked.
Ellie nodded, leaning in to drop an affectionate kiss at the top of your nose.
And as you sat there, nestled into the warmth of her side and craning your head up to the sky, you’d never been more sure of yourself.
This would be more than enough.
final a/n: ok so some apologies are in order for this one! first of all, sorry for aborting jj lmao. i just couldn't envision doing light speed travel with a baby strapped to dina. big apologies for not including a final smut scene. i actually had one semi-drafted out because i wanted to write one where ellie bottomed bc i feel like it would really hammer in that she was finally choosing to be vulnerable, but the shift in the scene tone just didn't sit right with me. sometimes i write bonus scenes for big fics like this, so if there's enough interest i might write a short one shot of the scene i scrapped/other scenes that i also scrapped. also, speaking of things i scrapped: i had an alternate ending in mind where joel actually did die and ellie went on her seattle rampage + y/n realizes she's alive and tries to sneak out with dina to find her. i might end up writing that one too, depending on interest! anyway, thank you all for coming along on this journey with me so far! it's not totally over yet...the epilogue is still in the works! i appreciate hearing what you guys think of this and hope you all enjoyed !!!
also idk if this is important to bring up but i will say that i didn't realize the kind of message i'd be sending when i wrote a protagonist who's from a place like terranova—exoplanet isn't meant to be some sort of piece that makes you empathize with ignorant beneficiaries of slave labor...it's just the way it shook out and for that i'm sorry 😭
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams x oc#ellie williams x y/n
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takes one to know one
another extra from the dress series universe, but can be read as a stand-alone!
pairing: Dave York x f!reader
word count: ~3.3k
summary: “Not a sound,” a deep voice snarls into your ear. A familiar voice. You turn your head ever so slightly to make out his face over your shoulder, your wide gaze meeting his, the brown eyes that you know so well almost black as he drinks you in. You whimper against his palm and he smirks.
warnings/tags: explicit smut (18+ only!), consensual non-consent (it’s not explicitly mentioned but they have a safeword), Dave breaks into reader’s place and chases her, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Dave, sub!reader, degradation kink, knife play, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control), rough sex, slapping, spitting, choking, established relationship, hints of fluff because i can’t help myself, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, as always: let me know if i missed anything please <3
i want to make it very clear that cnc has been discussed between the both of them before and that reader is consenting throughout the entire scene that i’ve written here. still, check the tags and if this kind of content upsets you, please don’t read it 🤍
a/n: I’m still struggling with the plot for the main series, but I was horny aaaaand that’s really all I can say for myself. Because I know of several people who have written or want to write about some variation of the ✨knife riding✨, let’s not open up some kind of plagiarism discourse about this, please <3 I got my inspiration from this post and I know others have too, and honestly, I’d read a thousand fics about that shit because it’s fucking hot, so to anyone who wants to write it: PLEASE DO IT
dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3
find my full masterlist here!
You’re sat on your couch, headphones over your ears, typing away on your laptop when a large hand wraps over your mouth, trapping the surprised scream that’s fighting its way up your throat. The headphones are roughly pulled away as you’re frozen in shock, your heart hammering in your chest.
“Not a sound,” a deep voice snarls into your ear. A familiar voice. You turn your head ever so slightly to make out his face over your shoulder, your wide gaze meeting his, the brown eyes that you know so well almost black as he drinks you in. You whimper against his palm and he smirks.
You hadn’t expected him for another few days and you sure as hell hadn’t expected this, but a twisted sensation of anxious excitement is thrumming through your veins.
Your eyes flit over his figure, taking in his dark clothes, more casual than you’re used to and a black cap that you’ve never seen on him before that accentuates his hard jawline and his dark eyes. A buzzing desire shoots through you before you can stop it. He quirks an eyebrow, seemingly amused by the reactions replaying on your face.
You take another breath, your brain running a mile a minute, clocking his hold on you that’s strong but not as strong as it could be and the door in your back that leads out of your apartment. Before you can overthink it, you twist out of his grasp, driving your elbow into his side sharply. His surprised and slightly pained intake of breath barely registers with you as you bolt for the door, your bare feet hitting your hardwood floor. You throw the door open and fly down the stairs as quick as your feet carry you, adrenaline pumping through your veins.
You’ve never played the scenario like this before, but the thought of him chasing after you, his dark figure hunting you down, and the things that he might do to you once he’s caught you, have you breathless with excitement.
You step out onto your street, which is thankfully almost empty in the early evening hours, and take off to one side without thinking. You don’t dare to turn around to check if you’re being followed before you dart into a small alley between two townhouses and press yourself against the wall, praying that he didn’t see and will pass you without noticing.
Your breath is coming in short pants and your gaze is glued to the street while you’re staying hidden in the shadows, determined not to miss him when he -hopefully- passes your hiding spot.
It feels like several minutes tick by, and while you can’t really be sure in your current nervous state, you start feeling anxious. You begin to creep towards the opening between the houses when a hand covers your face for the second time this night, the other hand wrapping around your wrist in an iron grip.
“Boo,” Dave whispers into your ear from behind you, making you jump, his body crowding you in as he spins you around to face him.
“Thought you could run away from me?” he smirks, his hand moving away from your mouth to possessively wrap around your neck. “Let’s get you back home, doll.”
He keeps a tight hold on your slightly trembling body, much tighter than before, and the adrenaline is slowly being replaced by more nervous excitement as he leads you back to your place, up the stairs until you’re standing in front of the door. He pulls the keys out and opens up, shoving you inside before he slams the door shut behind the both of you.
He holds your weary gaze while he locks the door, then he’s on you, pushing you against the wall, his hands clawing at your body, sliding under your shirt and tearing at the waistband of your leggings.
“P-please,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his hands.
“No,” he growls, capturing both of your wrists and holding them above your head while he glares down at you.
“You thought that was funny, huh?” He motions with his head towards the door, his voice an angry snarl. “Thought you were smart, that you could trick me?”
“N-no, please, I-” You shake your head, your voice thick with tears that are brimming in your eyes. He gathers both of your wrists in one hand, the other hand roughly slapping your cheek and causing your head to fly to the side.
“Shut up,” he spits, “I don’t want to hear another word from you, is that clear?”
Traces of real fear are coursing through your veins, but this is exactly how you wanted it to be, exactly how you had asked to be treated. Despite the fear, you feel wetness gathering between your thighs, and desire blooming in your whole body.
“Please,” you try again, not sure what you’re even begging for, just playing into the feeling of being completely at his mercy that you enjoy so much.
His hand hits your cheek again, twice in quick succession this time, and a whimpering moan escapes your mouth. “Not another word,” Dave repeats, his cold eyes boring into yours. He reaches for his belt and raises his hand a moment later, holding a knife that looks concerningly big, especially with how close it is to your face. He presses the blade against your throat and you freeze, your heartbeat loud in your ears and your eyes wide, your entire focus on him.
“Not another word, or you’ll regret it. Is that clear?” he asks again, his voice low and drenched in coldness. You manage the tiniest nod, scared to move against the blade that you can still feel on the delicate skin beneath your jaw.
“Good,” he grins, slotting his knee between your thighs and it takes everything in you not to grind down onto him. He removes the knife from your throat and presses his mouth onto your skin instead, his hands sliding under your shirt and groping at your tits while he sucks and bites on your neck with a roughness that is surely going to leave your skin sore for days. He kneads your breasts and pinches your nipples, sending jolts of equally pain and pleasure through your body. Your head is leaning back against the wall, your eyes pinched shut and high pitched whimpers falling from your lips.
He stops abruptly and gathers your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and his fingers. “Stop complaining,” he snarls, “you think I can’t feel the way you’re soaking my pants right here?” His other hand cups your mound over your leggings, fingers digging into the drenched fabric and you can’t stop your moan, nor the way your hips buck to chase his touch when he pulls it away again.
“Desperate little slut, so fucking easy, just waiting around for someone to come and fuck you, weren’t you?” You try shaking your head and he tightens his hold on your face. “Don’t lie, sweetheart,” he says, his voice a cold whisper, “you love being treated like this. Love being put in your place. I think you should thank me.”
You give another small shake of your head and he lets go of your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. His hold there tightens slowly and your eyes grow wider as he arches an eyebrow at you. You start feeling dizzy and your hand flies to his wrist, tugging desperately, but he just chuckles, squeezing your throat tighter. Desire burns between your legs as you’re gasping for breath, finally giving up on the defiance, like you both knew you would.
“Thank you,” you force out, almost choking on the words, and Dave grins triumphantly, loosening his grip on your throat.
“See,” he coos, leaning closer until you can feel his breath on your face, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He grabs your neck again and maneuvers you into your bedroom, where he orders you to strip, to show me what I came here for, doll, while he leans against your doorframe, watching your trembling form with a smirk in his face. You do as he says, pulling your shirt over your head and your leggings down your legs until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your panties.
His eyes flit over your body, lingering on your breasts with an expression of hunger on his face, until they stop at your underwear. “Those too. Unless you’d rather have me cut them off?” The knife is back in his hand and he’s twirling it mindlessly. Your gaze follows the motion for a second, mesmerized by the casual ease with which he’s handling the weapon, until you remember his threat and hastily strip out of the panties, leaving yourself completely bare while he’s still fully dressed.
He stalks towards you, crowding you in and his fingers wander between your legs, swirling through the wetness at your entrance and making you gasp when he flicks your clit. “I knew it,” he grins smugly, “you’re so fucking wet for me. Like it or not, sweetheart, you love being treated like this. Best to just accept it.” He leans in to bite at your neck again, still playing with your clit while his other hand splays over your ass, causing you to flinch when the knife’s blade makes contact with your skin there. You’re helplessly turned on, so many sensations all over your body that you can barely process and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking about it, just wanting him to give you more, to make you feel good the way you know he can.
“Good girl, there she is,” he whispers into your ear. Then he pulls back, stepping around you and throwing your naked body down onto the bed, looming over you, the knife still clutched in his hand. He straddles your thighs, smirks at you and pecks your lips, then he pulls back and drives the knife into the mattress beside you in one fluid motion, tearing through the material until only the handle is visible, sticking out of your bed.
A small scream had escaped your throat at the sudden motion and another slap lands on your face. “There,” he grins, the amusement clear on his face. “You so desperately want to have your cunt filled - use this.” Your stare flickers between him and the knife a couple of times, understanding slowly growing inside your mind.
“Y-you want me to ride? …T-this?”
Dave pets your cheek almost affectionately, then nods towards the handle. “Exactly. And you better get on with it, you don’t want to test my patience, do you?” You gulp and shake your head, wearily eyeing the intimidatingly large piece of black material that’s sticking out of your mattress. Dave clicks his tongue impatiently and you scramble to your knees, positioning yourself until you’re hovering over the knife.
Your insides are burning with the humiliation that he’s putting you through, but there’s also a twisted sense of excitement bubbling inside of you, knowing that no one but him would push you like this, which is why no one like him makes you feel like this. Your slick is dripping down your legs and you know that he can see it, with the way he’s watching you closely as you’re still hovering, anxiously biting your lip.
You look up at his face and despite the cold and cruel mask that he’s been wearing all evening, you can still see the fire in his eyes, making you feel warm, telling you that ultimately, despite everything, you’re safe with him and he wants you to enjoy yourself, will push you to enjoy yourself if necessary. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t take you out of the scene, but his voice is still clear in your head, speaking words that you’ve heard a hundred times. For me, sweetheart. I know you can.
You take a deep breath, your brows furrowing in concentration, and start sinking down. It’s an awkward angle at first and you need to adjust your position, but then the knife’s handle is pressing against your entrance. You gaze up at Dave again, whose eyes are trained on your pussy, watching eagerly as you sink down further. It feels strange, not unlike a toy, you think, but the shape isn’t exactly right and with a toy you wouldn’t be worried about cutting yourself with a wrong move. Your walls stretch around the foreign item and you gasp at the sensation, the feeling of finally being filled up giving you the sweet pleasure that you had been craving.
You begin moving your hips over the handle without further instruction from Dave, sliding up and down in careful motions, still aware of the sharp blade that’s currently buried in your bed, but sparks of pleasure are traveling up your spine nonetheless.
Dave reaches out to tweak your nipples again and you arch your back towards his touch, causing him to laugh. “That’s right, slut, fuck yourself on my knife. You’d do anything as long as that greedy pussy gets filled up, wouldn’t you?” You nod mindlessly, chasing your pleasure, the whole situation sending your arousal into overdrive.
Standing beside you, Dave finally pulls his dark sweater over his head, then opens his belt buckle. You eagerly drink in the sight of him, his broad chest and shoulders, his strong arms and his softer stomach, the smatter of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
“Please,” you whisper, once again not certain what you’re even asking for, but you want more, more of him.
“Open your mouth,” Dave demands, leaning down to your level when you obey eagerly. He spits into your mouth, his saliva pooling on your tongue, the degrading but weirdly intimate motion making you moan desperately. “Keep it open,” he mutters as he pushes down his pants and underwear in one motion, your eyes flying to his cock before you can help yourself. He glides his hand along his length slowly, watching you while you’re still riding his knife, your combined saliva pooling in your open mouth and the desperate longing clear on your face.
He steps closer and taps the head of his cock on your tongue, eliciting another moan from you when you feel the familiar weight. “Yeah, need all your holes stuffed, one just isn’t enough, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head steady as he presses his cock into your mouth until he’s nudging at your throat. You try your hardest not to gag and shudder in his grasp, tears spilling from your eyes and mixing with the spit that’s drooling out of your mouth.
He pulls back a little, letting you suck on him instead while you try to keep up your rhythm on the knife’s handle. “So good,” he groans, his hand curled in your hair, “taking me so fucking good.” He starts fucking your mouth again in quick thrusts and tweaks your nipples until you moan around him, the vibration causing his grip in your hair to tighten. “Think you can come like this?” he pants, “does riding my fucking knife while I’m fucking your throat turn you on that much?”
You nod as best as you can, pleadingly looking up at him. “Dirty fucking slut,” he snarls, landing another slap on your cheek that has you clenching almost painfully around the knife. “Go on then, touch yourself.” Your hand flies to your clit at his words, rubbing at the tight bundle of nerves and shuddering at the pleasure that’s thrumming through your veins. You come almost embarrassingly quick, the different forms of stimulation flooding your senses until you’re writhing on your knees, moaning around the cock in your throat as waves of pleasure roll through your body.
You faintly register Dave getting on the bed behind you and his hands on your shoulders. He pulls you off of the handle roughly and you fall back against his chest, still on your knees, barely keeping yourself upright. “Good fucking girl,” he coos into your ear as he pulls you into his body, his large hands pressing into your flesh. “You’re a quick learner. No need to get hurt when you’re obedient like this, see?” Then he pushes your head back down until you’re at eye level with the handle, still drenched in the wetness that your pussy has left behind. “Open up,” his cold voice demands from above you, underlining the order with a sharp slap to your ass when you don’t react quick enough. “Clean up your mess, make it all nice and shiny while I fuck this dirty little cunt.”
You feel a new wave of wetness between your legs at his words and obediently close your lips around the tip of the handle, moaning at the taste of yourself. “Just like that,” you hear Dave from behind you before his hand is in your hair again, pushing you down further. His other hand’s fingers are digging into your hip as he’s lining himself up and thrusting into you in one rough motion. Your scream at the sudden stretch gets muffled in your mouth and you hear his faint chuckle before he starts moving, setting a brutal pace right from the beginning that has you writhing, your hips stuttering with the force of his thrusts.
“That’s it, good girl, take it just like that,” Dave pants, his voice wrecked, “good fucking girl.” Getting praised while being in this degrading situation has your head spinning. You hear the wet squelch every time his cock presses inside of you, the smack of his flesh against his, the touch of his hands feeling so rough but so right on your body.
Dave is groaning behind you, sliding into you in hard thrusts that make your eyes roll back into your head and moving against your g-spot again and again. You feel yourself tightening up around him, more wetness seeping out of you until you can’t take it anymore. You tip over the edge, your whole body tensing up, shudders running through you as stars explode across your vision and your pussy clenches around his cock rhythmically.
You hear him swear behind you, his hips stilling and his hands pulling your body back against his chest, his cock pulsing deep inside of you and painting your walls with his release.
“So fucking good,” he murmurs and presses a gentle kiss against the soft skin under your ear. You nod, your mind still dazed but a tired smile growing on your face.
He gently pulls out of you and moves your body up the bed until your head is resting on the pillows. He cleans you up, peppering your entire face with kisses, muttering praises against your skin, replacing his demanding hands with soft, featherlight touches.
You watch with wide eyes as he carefully pulls the knife back out of your now ruined mattress and puts it down on your nightstand. The handle is still glistening with the remnants of your spit. Dave catches your eye and grins in that cocky way of his that almost makes you want him between your legs again immediately.
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.” You smirk and stretch your arms out towards him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him down into a kiss, his lips softly moving against yours, the dominating persona all but blown away.
“You better,” you murmur against his mouth and his responding chuckle makes you smile.
tags: @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @catchallfangirl @joelscurls @reddedmiller @iamasaddie @guelyury @theywhowriteandknowthings @corazondebeskar @vabeachazn @mellymbee @bbyanarchist @untamedheart81 @missladym1981 @no1-nosesitter
i’m going to stop using a taglist, so if you want to get updated on my fics, please follow @janaispunknotifs and turn on notifications <3
if you liked this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, you’d really make me suuuuper happy! 🤍
#janas fics#the dress series#dave york#dave york x reader#dave york x you#dave york x female reader#dave york x f!reader#dave york fanfiction#dave york smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedrostories#the equalizer 2
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Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café
-> Chapter 1(Here)| Chapter 2 | ...
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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.
And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.
-Eli
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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.
Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader
Characters: Reader
Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.
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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.
You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.
The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.
As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.
You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.
You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.
Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.
'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.
You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infrot of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.
Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.
You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.
The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.
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also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:
Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah
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#genshin sagau#genshin reverse sagau#genshin impact sagau#genshin reverse isekai#genshin impact#genshin fanfic#various genshin characters#gn!reader#gender neutral reader#gn!reader x various genshin character#•works[🍡]•#genshin series
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Double Tap
House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3
Summary: You were hesitant when your friends told you about their other friend who needed a roommate. Living with a man, let alone a Naval aviator, isn't your ideal living situation. However, you are desperate to get out of your current house. So, you will have to suck it up and make a deal with Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Now you just wish he would stop doing things that make you fall in love with him.
Pairings: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC
Word count: 19k
AO3 LINK
Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with Abuser, Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, Implied calorie counting, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, taxes, Neurodivergent coded! Hangman, Fiscally responsible!Hangman, Protective!Hangman. Please let me know if I missed any for this part, I know it is a long one.
Authors Note: This got so completely out of hand. It started as one scene and then grew a mind of its own. Part two is written, just not edited, I'm planning on having that done later this week. Hangman Coyote BFF supremacy. I apologize for writing the most hyper-specific!Jake you have probably ever read. 85% of his personality is just things I find attractive in men.
Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.
You had been at your friend Marlee's house for almost an hour before she couldn't stop herself from confronting you. She had at least let you get settled and offered you a drink while pretending to be distracted by the lasagna she was making. She had spun towards you expectantly when it was in the oven, having reached her limit on waiting.
"What happened?" Marlee asks.
"It's nothing." You respond.
"It is something. I don't want to reread your texts back to you, babes."
"Marls," you sigh, briefly closing your eyes, trying to fight the exhaustion you feel.
"You can't live there anymore. We need to get you out."
"Yeah, let me just move and find a place to live. It's not that easy, Marlee."
She sighs heavily. "I know, babes, but at least stay here with Javy and me. If he touches you like that again."
"It was just a one-time thing," you quickly cut her off. But, from the pitying look in her eyes, she knows it hasn't been just this one time.
"If something happened."
"Nothing is going to happen." Marlee was too bright and too good of a friend. She knew something had already happened, and she knew things had been happening. Her frown and eyebrow raise say it all.
"I can't just crash here," you say.
"You are always, always welcome."
"You are," a voice pops up, and you both look over to the couch. You thought Marlee's husband, Javy, was thoroughly invested in the game he was playing on his Xbox, but it turns out he had an ear on your conversation.
It wasn't something that bothered you. You loved Javy, he had been an excellent partner to Marlee, and you considered him a friend. He was fun and easygoing, something you hadn't expected from a Navy man. You also weren't bothered because everyone knew they were the type of couple that told each other absolutely everything. So, Javy would have found out one way or another.
"I know that. Thanks, you two." You tell them, trying to get them off your back.
"Marlee is right. We can't have anything happening to you."
"Nothing is going to happen to me, Javy," you say, now trying to reassure them and stop this unnecessary worrying.
"You know. I have a friend who has actually been looking for a roommate." Javy says.
"You do?" you ask, surprised you hadn't heard about this sooner.
"Yeah, I mean, he can be a lot. But he is a good guy and a great roommate."
"Who ?" Marlee cuts in.
"Jake."
"Hangman?"
"Yeah, Hangman." The two of them stare at each other, and you can see that they are having one of those conversations of glances and small expressions you weren't entirely privy to understanding.
Marlee then shrugs, nodding, and looks back at you, "It would be a nice safe place."
"I mean, it's an option and would be a nicer place to stay than anything else you'll find. Plus, someone who is not a total stranger as a roommate." Javy tells you. He pulls off his headset and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets his hand on your shoulder and gives you a kind smile.
"I'm not sure about living with a man."
"If you don't want to live with Jake or you aren't interested, we will find somewhere else. Or you stay here with us, but you can't stay there anymore." The seriousness behind Javy's smile isn't lost on you. So you start to slowly nod.
"I guess I could at least chat with your friend if y'all think it's a decent option."
"Yeah, for sure," Javy said with a grin. "I'll ask him about it, then maybe y'all can meet this weekend. We are still having a big bonfire on the beach. I'm sure he will be there."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on going to the bonfire." You start to say, which makes both Javy and Marlee frown.
"Why aren't you coming to the bonfire?"
You tried to think of a valid excuse beyond that being in open public spaces was terrifying to you right now. An excuse past the fact that you knew your bruises wouldn't be gone by Saturday.
"I've just been stressed about finding a place to live, you know." You gave them both a weak smile, but neither of your friends seemed appeased.
"Well, now you have a reason to come," Marlee says.
"Yeah, exactly, and I'll talk to Jake." Javy presses a kiss to your forehead and then a lingering one to Marlee's lips. He returns to the couch, but not before looking at you seriously. "You know if you ever need anything, you call us?"
"Sir, yes sir," you tell him with a laugh, making Marlee giggle too.
Even with Javy's reassurances, you are unsure about this whole idea. However, whoever this friend Jake is, you know he had to be better than your current living situation. After dinner, Marlee and Javy both reiterate their feelings on the whole issue before you leave their house. You did your best to wave them off and tell them you would see them in a few days.
When Saturday rolls around, you head to the pin Marlee sent you for the bonfire. You are thankful it is a cooler day and will only be colder once the sun sets. It allows you to not look so out of place in your conservative clothes, ensuring all your bruises are covered.
You arrive purposefully late and park far from the beach. By the time you make it to the group of people, you have sufficiently hyped yourself up to interact with the others. You decide to ease yourself into the party. You walk around the different coolers, opening them and investigating the available drink options.
You are in the middle of shuffling through one when you hear a voice behind you.
"Anything specific I can help you find, sweetheart?" You turn around and are met with one of the most attractive men you have ever met. He is tall, with dirty blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.
"I'm just browsing," You tell the man with a shrug, proud of yourself for being able to put together a sentence.
"I think I know what would be perfect for you, sweetheart.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah," He says, flashing you a grin. His smile makes something in your stomach swoop a tiny bit.
"And, what would that be?" you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Me, of course."
You can't help the shocked laugh that falls out of your throat. Which just makes his handsome smile widen.
"I was thinking something a bit stronger, actually."
"I know I look like a tall glass of water but let me tell you, I won't disappoint you."
"Well, looks certainly can be deceptive."
"That's true. Are you really as sweet as you look?"
Before you can answer, you hear Javy's voice to your right. "Oh good, you two already met."
You turn your head to see Javy jogging over. He stops next to you with a smile on his face. You process his words and feel your stomach drop. The incredibly handsome man you were trying to flirt with was Javy's friend. Javy's friend he thought you could live with.
"There haven't been any formal introductions," you say.
"Jake Seresin," he says. He sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand, give it a firm shake, and share your name. He repeated it softly, giving your hand an extra squeeze before letting go.
"Javy said you are looking to move," Jake says casually. Your voice seems stuck in your throat. You examine Jake's handsome face again and know you can't do this.
"Yeah, she is. Soon, too." Javy says after you haven't said anything leaving an awkward pause.
"I have lots of space."
"Oh well, you know." You say, trying to figure out what to say by saying nothing at all. Jake nods along with you, but his eyebrows pull close together while his eyes narrow.
"Plus, Jake is really clean," Javy adds.
"That is good to know. Maybe Jake and I can talk about it later?" You say, giving both of them a smile. You turn back to the coolers and grab the first drink you see.
"Yeah, we can talk about it later. Javy owes me a spike ball game anyways," Jake says. He flashes you another smile while grabbing a High Noon out of the cooler, gesturing for Javy to do the same. You leave them to find Marlee and chat with some other people at the party.
You are considering how to best say goodbye and leave the party while sitting next to the fire later. You stare into the flames hoping they might provide you answers.
"You would actually be doing me a huge favor by moving in, "Jake says to you casually. You are startled by his sudden presence, and you look over at him, quirking an eyebrow in response.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. I haven't had a roommate for a while, and I would prefer someone who isn't in the military. I don't want to bring work and ranks home. You know?"
"Oh yeah, sure, that makes sense," you say, following his line of logic.
"Also, rent these days is," Jake doesn't finish the sentence, instead just whistling quietly.
"Yeah, rent is expensive," you laugh. You find it much easier to talk to Jake if you don't have to look directly out at him.
"You don't have to let me know right now, but I don't have any issues with it."
"We haven't talked about it much," you tell him, surprised he had decided so quickly.
"There is this saying that beggars can't be choosers."
"I would want a roommate contract. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that would be fine by me, Sugar."
"Okay, cool, but we should think about it."
"Tonight is a party, and we are supposed to be having fun. Not doing business. So, why don't you text me, and we will hash out the details this week. Plus you can see the place, which you would probably want. Maybe you could move in next weekend if we can work it all out?"
Part of you thought you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so you decided to text Jake throughout the week to hash out the details. And the next thing you know, Javy, Marlee, and Jake are helping you move your stuff.
Living with Jake wasn't as hard as you worried it would be. In fact, it was much easier than you were anticipating. Jake led his life with strict regiment and routine. It was something that stretched beyond that he was in the military.
Jake would wake up in the mornings and go on a run before coming home, making breakfast, showering, and going to work. Then he would come home, change and go to the gym, come home, shower again because he needed to, and then eat dinner. Every night if you were home while he was cooking, Jake would always offer you some. That leads you to find out he is a phenomenal chef.
Then Jake would read in the large armchair in the living room and half-watch whatever you put on the TV to watch yourself. He only requested to use the TV when one of his sports teams was playing or on Wednesday nights, where he would spend an hour and a half playing Animal Crossing with his niece while they facetime.
You had told Jake that the TV was his, and he didn't have to ask you to use it. Jake just laughed and shrugged before telling you he wasn't the biggest TV guy. Jake had been telling the truth when he said that. You realized that Jake was more interested in his books. If he wasn't reading a book, he sat silently with one of his sudoku puzzles and country music playing on vinyl. Then Jake would go to bed after whatever chores he deemed he should do.
It was a strictly followed pattern, only differing on Fridays when he would sometimes go out to a bar with the guys or sometimes Saturdays. However, even on the weekends, he would follow the schedule closely. Regardless if he had gone to the bar, he would still wake up outrageously early in the morning, work out, do chores, and then go to the gym again. Sometimes Jake would venture out of the house to see his friends, but more often than not, he was reading or in the workshop in the garage with some project.
Marlee had not prepared you for how amazingly hot Jake was. When you moved in, he had been very polite, if a bit curt. Never venturing to flirt with you again like when you first met. As the weeks living with Jake passed, though, he definitely warmed up to you. But still never pushed the roommate line between you.
You worked hard to push your attraction for Jake to the side or shove it into a safe in the back of your mind. That was a challenging task to accomplish because, just like Javy said, Jake was very clean. It wasn't that he was a clean freak per se, but he was definitely an orderly and well-kept person. Everything in the house had a place it belonged.
Jake always did his dishes and tidied up after himself in your common areas. He also never leaves any of his laundry waiting around. You had watched in a mix of awe and horror the first time he pulled out clothes from the dryer within five minutes of the machine going off. Then Jake started folding, halfway through the laundry, stoping to pull out an iron and ironing board.
The sight was all so attractive that you had to excuse yourself upstairs. That was something that you often had to do. Anytime you felt heat build in you towards your roommate, you would quickly excuse yourself. You knew giving into your attraction for Jake in any shape or form would not lead anywhere good. You needed a place to live, and this place you had with Jake was way too good to risk anything.
Given his career choice, it was not entirely surprising how regimented Jake is. However, what did surprise you was when he started to incorporate you into his routines in small ways. Jake would automatically set out an extra plate for you when cooking, and picks up snacks you like from the store. One day you come home and find a second shoe rack by the door just for you. On the days you had to be up for work, you would find that Jake had already put your morning drink together for you when he returned from the gym and was making his own breakfast. You like the steady rhythm and consistency that living with Hangman provides you. It's seamless and easy to fall into step with him.
You had been living with Jake for a few months, and things were going really well, almost too well you sometimes felt like it was too good to be true. Your nightmares weren't as frequent. You get full nights sleep and feel comfortable here with Jake. The only times you don't feel content are the times that you think about how hot Jake is. Or when Jake does something that makes it hard not to try and smash your lips against his in a heated, passionate kiss.
Then one day, you get home from work, and worry suddenly sweeps over you as you glance at your phone and realize what time it is. The house is completely dark and quiet. Jake should have been home several hours ago and on his way to the gym already. In fact, right about now was when he should have been getting home from the gym.
You resist the urge to call Jake and check that he is okay. You know that action would be overstepping the roommate boundaries that exist clearly between you. You tell yourself it's silly to worry all because he wasn't following the schedule you made up for him in your head. It's not like Jake had ever written down his routine and given it to you. Maybe today was a special anniversary, or maybe he had after-work plans you didn't know about.
Your worry is eased about twenty minutes later when you hear Jake's truck pull into the driveway, followed by the garage door rumbling open. You find yourself easing further into the couch, some of the tension you weren't wholly conscious of easing out of your body.
Jake comes in, and you cut your eyes over to see him still in his flight suit. He doesn't say anything to you as he unlaces and kicks off his shoes. He passes you while walking to the stairs and manages a short but gruff hello. Then, without another word, he is gone. You stare after his back in shock. Something is definitely not right with Jake.
He left his shoes sprawled on the ground by the door. It was not a sight you had ever seen in the house, not even the times Jake had stumbled home drunk and giggly. Jake always pulled off his boots, neatly tucking the laces in and then setting them up on his small shoe rack by the door.
You get up from the couch and walk over to fix his shoes, tucking in the laces. You tell yourself it is so no one will trip over them, not for any other reason. Then you hear Jake's shower turn on, and the water runs much longer than the twenty-minute showers you are used to him taking. It all feels so odd and out of place. You decide to make some pasta for dinner, convinced Jake is planning on not eating at all with how far he is off his schedule.
You are just finishing dinner when the water in his bathroom finally shuts off. Then fifteen more minutes later, Jake comes downstairs in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a thread-bare Annapolis shirt. He appears to be looking around downstairs, almost a bit dazed and lost.
"I made dinner. How about you have some?" You call out to him from the kitchen. Jake follows your voice to the kitchen and looks at the food you have made and dishes up. Hesitantly he sits down at the table.
"If you don't mind."
"Of course not. I know this may shock you since you normally cook, but I can do it too."
"I've never thought that you couldn't cook." Jake quickly responds.
"I know, Jake. I'm just teasing you. Now eat up."
Jake follows orders and takes a bite of the pasta, letting out a small groan. "So good," he mumbles before taking another bite.
"Do you want the macros?" You ask him conversationally after eating in silence for a few minutes.
"Oh. No, thank you. I appreciate you making something and sharing. No need for you to put in extra work. I will be fine not tracking my macros for one meal," Jake says.
"Okay," you say and give him the kindest smile you can think of. You don't want to push him on why he isn't okay. However, you can't stop yourself from sliding the piece of paper you wrote the macros on across the table to him anyways.
Jake stares at the note card for a long moment and then looks up at you. It's not a look you have ever seen on your roommate's face before. You aren't entirely sure how to decipher the way his green sea-glass eyes are gleaming back at you. He folds the paper once before putting it in his pocket.
Jake clears his throat, and the edges of his lips quirk up. "Thank you."
"Of course, anytime, Jake," you say back. He puts away his plate a few minutes later after finishing his food. Then packs up the leftovers into some tupperware.
"I'm going to bed," Jake tells you. Jake doesn't even stop to grab the current book he is in the middle of from where it is placed next to his chair in the living room.
The moment Jake disappears up the stairs, you are frowning again, considering his behavior. It bugged you, something clearly was off, but you weren't in the position to ask him what it was. As you start to settle down for the evening, you notice that Jake had put it in the laundry basket next to the washer that morning. Seeing that you knew he originally had every intention of starting it before going to the gym that night something that never happened.
You briefly considered that maybe it isn't normal how you have memorized his routine, but also maybe that was just part of living with Jake. You didn't even think before you were throwing his laundry in the washer for him. You stay up to put the clothes in the dryer. Then you find yourself folding items and hanging some of them, not confident that you could iron them correctly. About halfway through the chore, you stop realizing just what you are doing but finish it out, imagining the look on Jake's face when he sees his laundry done. You are in too deep to back out at this point.
🏡🧩🏡
You knew it wasn't the best idea that morning when you had left to go pick up some of your remaining stuff and random mail from where you used to live. However, you didn't expect it to go as badly as it had. You were still shaking from the interaction you had when you got home. Every moment of the interaction repeats over and over in your head. You hazardously throw your keys into your little key bowl, not caring to notice Jake's there as well.
You were still trying to take calming breaths and push away the tears streaming down your face. Standing at the entrance to the living room frozen, you aren't sure if you are actually at home or back there with him.
You startle and jump, letting out a small shriek, hearing a sound in the kitchen. You turn slowly, shocked to see Jake staring at you dressed in his NWUs instead of his flight suit. You are equally surprised by the sight of him home in the middle of the day, in a uniform you rarely see him wear.
The adrenaline of being scared forces your brain into letting go of the nerves and panic you had barely been keeping in check. Tears spring freely from your eyes as you take gasping breaths. J ake sets down the knife he is holding and takes long strides across the room to quickly reach your side. His hands hover near you but don't actually touch.
"What's wrong?" Jake asks in a deep voice.
You just shake your head at him, unable to respond, instead focusing on getting air into your lungs.
"Can I touch you?" Jake asks then, and that does seem okay, so you jerkily nod your head yes.
First, his hands settle lightly on your shoulders. Once it seems like you are okay and comfortable with that. Jake goes a step further and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You press your face into the material of his shirt. Your hands come up to bunch it slightly on his chest as you find purchase to clutch him closer.
He makes gentle shushing noises but otherwise doesn't say anything while holding you. He is so warm, and his arms feel strong around you. Jake's hold on you doesn't waiver once while you cry. Only relaxing slightly when your sniffles and crying start to level out and you let go of his shirt.
You take one more deep breath of him. Jake smells of a pleasant mix of his body wash, y'all's fabric softener, and his cologne. Letting the calming effect of the smell flood your system before letting go of your hold on him completely, only then does Jake let his arms slip away.
Pulling away from the hug, you shyly look to see Jake's face. You find that he is already looking at you. For one of the first times since you met him, you don't like how Jake's face looks. There is a soft and sad demeanor that you see in his eyes. His eyebrows crease and his lips are pressed into a flat line. You feel embarrassment and shame flood you. The way that you just broke down and cried on your roommate, fully processing in your muddled tired head.
"You're home," you eventually say, trying to break the ice and put a brave face back on.
"Yeah, I'm not flying today. So, I had the time to come home for lunch."
"Sorry to interrupt." You say, looking down to examine your feet.
"You didn't interrupt anything," Jake reassures you. He goes back to the kitchen, and you watch as he continues to cut ingredients for his salad.
"Do you want me to make you anything?" He asks.
"No, thank you. "You say not feeling even a little hungry.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jake asks next.
"No, thank you," you say again and settle at the kitchen island to watch Jake cut the veggies and toss them in a big bowl.
"Okay," he says. You like that Jake doesn't push you for things. He respects the boundaries you set and doesn't even try to toe up against them.
"Am I allowed to know why you aren't flying today? I thought someone had broken in. Plus, I hardly recognize you out of a flight suit."
"You don't like these?" Jake asks, looking at the Navy camo print he is wearing as if this uniform suddenly offended him.
"I didn't say that," you tell him, giving a small laugh. Obviously, Jake could make anything look good, even things that shouldn't.
"Can't fly every day." He says with a shrug. "Also, I'm going through some maintenance stuff and checks with my sailors."
You hum, but otherwise, don't comment watching Jake wash the knife and cutting board he had been using then. Then, after he drys them and puts them away, he turns back to you.
"There isn't anything to be embarrassed about," he tries to venture lightly.
"You don't come home and cry on me," you say, frowning.
"You sure about that one?" He asks, shoving a mouthful of salad into his mouth.
"Pretty sure that I would remember such an occasion."
Jake just hums. One of those sounds that makes you feel like he doesn't actually agree. A few bites of his food later, he sets his bowl down. His green gaze is trialed on you, but then he glances at his watch, huffing in annoyance.
There is a slight caving feeling inside you. You feel bad. How much of Jake's lunch have you taken up? You had never actually seen him come home for lunch before, so he must not get a long time.
"I do all the time. Maybe just a bit less of the wet physical crying." Jake tells you, putting a container lid on his bowl.
"You could," you utter to him, a little embarrassed.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, wouldn't bother me if you ever needed to. You know. I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Darlin," Jake says. Then glances at his watch again. "I got ten minutes before I have to go. What would you like to do?"
"I'm fine," you tell him. "You should use that time to eat."
"I'll munch while I'm doing some paperwork later."
That was a lie. You knew that Jake would never eat around paperwork. However, it was the kind of lie that settles warmly. It was one of those lies born with good intentions and made to be soothing. You could never be upset that he is even trying to comfort you at his own expense.
"I don't want to talk about it, Jake." You reiterate again.
"I know, and you don't have to. I won't ask again. However, if you ever decide that you do. I'm here for you too. Always."
"Thank you, Jake. You're a really good roommate."
"I hope you can consider me a friend too?"
"Of course, we are friends too," you reassure him. Jake's lips quirk upwards, his dimples flashing upon hearing that.
"Now, I can't go back to work without seeing at least one smile."
"That's a pretty tall order."
"Well, they don't call me the best for nothing."
"Do they really call you the best or is that something you just tell people?" You ask him, mostly joking. Jake pretends to take offense, pressing his hand dramatically to his chest.
"Ma'am, you wound me," Jake says, pouting.
"I don't know. I think it is a pretty legitimate question."
"I am the best."
"And how do they determine that exactly? Who the best is."
"Well, there are a lot of ways. Many different factors to consider."
"Oh really?"
"Yup. Also sorts of stuff, but they get us all together once a year, and we have a competition."
"What kind of competition?"
"Only the elite members of the Navy participate. We all take turns sliding."
"Sliding?"
"Yup," Jake confirms, sounding one hundred percent serious. "We set up a huge slip and slide on the carrier runway. You only get three tries, and then we add them for scoring. I may have ripped off all the skin on my chest last year, but it was worth it to win."
You can't help but let out a laugh. You picture Hangman competitively sliding down a yellow tarp that doesn't have enough water on it. It's such a silly concept you aren't sure where he came up with it.
"Ahh there she is," Jake says with a broad smile.
"I never would have thought that was a skill the Navy values."
"Yes, Ma'am. It's actually the second part of the Naval academy mission," Jake tells you, still maintaining a serious tone despite his smile. Then Jake stands up straight to his full height in parade rest.
"To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor and loyalty in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship and government." Jake repeats dutifully and then adds. "In addition to putting these ideals to the test by hosting the world's most competitive slip and slide competition. Weirdly, people don't talk about that second part much."
You only laugh harder, shaking your head at him. "Yeah, an absolute mystery. I can't believe that isn't common knowledge."
Jake chuckles along with you. Then you two are interrupted by a timer going off from Jake's phone. He sighs and silents it.
"I'm sorry. I've got to go, sugar. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah. I promise I'm okay. Thank you, Jake."
He bites his lip and nods at you going to put in his shoes and lace them back up. "Are you going to be home later?"
"Yeah, I'll be home."
"We could do something if you're feeling up for it. Or I can pick up takeout."
"That's sweet, Jake, but you really don't have to."
"I want to," he says with a shrug. Then checks his reflection in the mirror, making sure he is presentable to go back to work. After that, he turns back to you.
"I'll think about it." You tell him before playfully shoving him out the door so he isn't late. You try not to melt when Jake gives you another hug. You catch his hand just before he is too out of reach.
"Thank you, Jake. For making me smile."
"It's the prettiest thing I've seen all day," Jake says, squeezing your hand with his own. His words muddle your brain a little bit. You don't get to say anything else before he heads off to his truck, waving at you one more time and driving off.
You also pretend you aren't screaming on the inside when Jake comes home from work that night with your favorite food and ice cream. The night feels easy and warm, sitting and eating with Jake. The events of that morning can't cross your mind while Jake tells you all about some of the weird contraband he found in the junior sailors' barracks that day. He is no less than spellbinding.
🏡🧩🏡
Jake is sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work. He is surrounded by neatly organized papers spread all along the table in various piles. Jake is wearing a button-down, tie, and slacks that make you do a triple-take on him.
"Welcome home," he says, glancing up from his laptop that is open in front of him. That's when you see he also has a pair of glasses on.
"Thank you," you say, slowly making your way to the kitchen but still looking at him.
"What are you working on there?" You ask.
"Oh, I'm doing my taxes," Jake says while giving you one of his winning smiles.
"Taxes?"
"Yes, Ma'am"
"I guess that makes sense," you say while looking around the kitchen for a snack.
After a few minutes of silence, you decide to ask another question. "Do you have a date later?"
You knew Jake dated. A man who looks like that has to date. However, you had yet to see him ever bring someone home, which felt odd considering everything about Jake, and the persona he liked to put on as Hangman.
"No. What makes you ask that?" Jake asks you.
"Oh. I don't know. You're dressed like you are going on a date."
"No, I'm not," he says, looking down at himself.
You laugh at him and shrug. "If you say so."
"I would never wear this on a date," Jake mutters, clearly offended.
"Well, then, why are you wearing it?"
"I'm doing taxes," he says again.
"Yeah, we have covered that. What does that have to do with your clothes?"
"I'm dressed like an accountant," Jake tells you. You can't hold back your giggles at his phrasing and bring a hand up to your mouth to try and stifle them before giving up entirely.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Two things," you say, holding up two fingers, finally biting back your giggles.
"One, the fact that you got dressed up to do your taxes. The second is that being an accountant is a euphemism for being a sex worker." Jake chuckles at your explanation but shrugs.
"Well, Mrs. Celeste said I should always dress for the day. It helps you present your best self. If you dress the part, it helps you act that part." Jake says that like a well memorized and treasured quote. A saying he clearly remembered with much fondness.
"And today is my tax day, so I am dressing like a tax professional. I will have you know. Since I started doing them myself, I have never had one problem with my taxes."
You couldn't help but chuckle more at his explanation and give him a fond smile. Sometimes the way Jake was so perfectly built and attuned for the military was endearing. Of course, a career Naval man would think a uniform was essential for each different activity.
"So, are the glasses part of your tax uniform too?"
He made a show of pushing the said glasses further up his nose. "Yes, Ma'am. They also are blue light blocking, which helps prevent migraines."
You nod along to his explanation. You finish putting together your snack and lean against the kitchen counter while munching on it. "Who is Mrs. Celeste? A teacher?"
Jake's lips flatten slightly before the expression relaxes just as quickly. "No, Mrs. Celeste is my Babula."
"Your Grandmother?" You guess.
"Yeah, sorry. My grandma, but she was strictly Mrs. Celeste growing up, only Babula occasionally."
"I don't think I've met someone who calls their grandparent by their first name."
"Well, not really her first name. You have to be respectful and throw the Miss in there with it. She is a very particular lady."
"Is it a southern thing?"
"Yeah, maybe," he says with a small laugh. The edges of his lips quirk up, and you have to look away from Jake to distract yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of how beautiful he is, with the sparkle he can get in his eyes. Or how even the smallest of his smiles makes you want to grin back.
"So, how are the taxes?"
"Oh, it's good. I'm almost finished up."
"Awesome, congrats Jake."
"Have you done yours?" He asks you.
You shake your head and roll your eyes at the idea. "No, I definitely haven't."
"But you got your W2s in the mail last week."
"Jake, are you snooping through my mail?"
He raises both his hands up in defense. "No, I'm not! W2s just have a very particular look."
"I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't snoop through my mail. Yeah, I got them, but I've been busy. I guess I should make a Tax Masters appointment or something."
That crease in between Jake's eyebrows appears, the one that haunts you, that you pretend you don't obsess over. Followed by a small frown.
"Tax Master?" He asks, clearly appalled. You shrug back at him, not entirely seeing the issue.
"I could do them for you," Jake says, then quickly adds on. "I mean, I can help you do them. If you have the time. I'm already dressed for it, and I won't charge you or anything."
"Oh no, Jake, that is so sweet, but I can't ask you to do that."
"No, really, I wouldn't mind. I think it would be fun. Plus, then you will have it done, and you won't have to worry about it."
"Really, thank you so much, but it's fine."
Jake's frown deepens at your answer, and he seems almost genuinely upset at your denial of his help. The warm feeling in your chest likes to flip over and grow a little bit more each time he is too sweet in moments like these.
"You know Javy warned me that you were an asshole when I was going to move in. However, you have not once lived up to that. You could stand to be less nice to me, Jake." You tell him. You mean it to come off as almost flirty and a bit of a joke. However, it doesn't seem to land with him that way.
The change that comes over Jake isn't something entirely tangible. It is almost like a shift in the air around him rather than anything physical. The way Jake looks at you just feels heavier and more charged. The confidence he always exudes seems to double with how he sits up just the smallest bit straighter but then leans back against his chair casually.
"Go get your W2s." He tells you in a perfectly level tone, but it has a demanding edge.
"Jake," you start to say and roll your eyes at him.
"Nope," Jake says, popping the p. His voice takes on a lower candace, leaving no room for arguments. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going to do your taxes."
"No, we aren't doing my taxes."
"Yes, I am. I can't be caught not living up to my reputation. So, I'm not going to be nice and accept that you don't want to. This is one of the few situations I won't take no for an answer."
"It was just a joke."
"No, it wasn't," Jake says, giving you a small shrug. You can't tell if he is actually hurt by how he is acting, but you suspect some part of him was twinged at his best friend's description.
"It really was, Jake. Javy adores and trusts you. I'm sure he never would have suggested me moving in with you if he actually thought you were an asshole."
"I know I'm an asshole. It's fine, sugar, don't worry. I'm not going to tattle on you telling me that to Coyote."
"You aren't an ass, though. That was my whole point."
Jake just shook his head at your answer. "I am one, and I don't want that to be a surprise when you inevitably witness it."
You aren't sure how to respond to that, so you are relieved when Jake changes the topic. "Now, get your tax stuff, so it doesn't take us all night."
"Okay," you sigh, giving in to defeat. Jake gives you a mega-watt smile, and looks back at his computer screen.
As you are walking up the stairs, you hear him yell across the house. "Dress like your best accountant self!"
"I won't be doing that," you yell back.
"Please! It's important." Jake yells back.
When you are in your room getting all your stuff and paperwork pilled together. You find yourself opening your closet and pulling out an outfit that you could imagine wearing if you were an accountant.
You also spend several minutes too long wondering what would happen if you went back downstairs in the most provocative lingerie you own. After all, Jake didn't specify which type of accountant to dress up as. You wondered if it would be tempting to Jake. Could you provoke him into falling into lust with you? Tempt him enough that he took you on the dining room table on top of all the Tax paperwork? Jake has expressed attraction to women before, so there must be at least some part of him that is at least a little attracted to you.
You smash down your thirsty thoughts and try to screw your head back on straight before it can drift too much off on track. When you get back downstairs, Jake is still at the table. You dump all your stuff on an empty spot there.
Jake looks up from his computer and smiles at you, quirking an eyebrow. Then, Jake speaks to you teasingly, "And here I thought you might dress up as the other type of accountant you were telling me about."
Your brain has no choice but to start short-circuiting, and you open and close your mouth twice. Jake starts shuffling through your paperwork, looking at what you have brought him.
"I ordered us some pizza too," he says before you get out a proper response or say anything teasing back to him.
"Yum. I'm excited," you tell him sliding into a seat and opening up your own laptop.
He stops his shuffling and examination of the papers to level you with a serious look. "Thank you for indulging me, by the way."
"Anything for you, Jake," you tell him and mean it. Unfortunately, the way you feel about your roommate is rapidly spiraling out of the tight control you tried to keep it in.
"I like when we do fun things like this together," Jake says to you, grinning.
"Me too," you tell him. Then add, "Only you would find taxes fun, though, Hangman."
"I am about to show you just how fun taxes can be and how you can get a great return," Jake says, taking your words in stride.
Jake does your taxes almost entirely by himself, only asking occasional questions. He also then organizes all of your paperwork in an extra accordion binder he has. The taxes aren't fun, but spending time with Jake is.
"Thank you," you say to Jake daring to press a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. You linger for a moment, the prickle of his end-of-day stubble ticking your lips, but you don't mind it. When you pull back to gauge his reaction, Jake looks almost pained and upset. You worry for a moment that even just a cheek kiss could make him react this way. You briefly thank god you didn't actually try to seduce him earlier.
"Always, anytime." He finally says. However, Jake is now glaring down at his keyboard and not looking at you.
"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you venture, confused by this mood shift.
"Sugar?"
"Yes, Jake?"
"I don't think you should pay so much rent."
"What?"
"Listen," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it all out of sorts. "I just don't think it's fair for you to pay so much."
"Of course, it's fair. I live here," you explain.
"Yeah, but no. I get BAH, and I don't have any student loans from school. Plus, the Navy pays me plenty as an officer. I was paying for this place all alone before you moved in anyways."
"I'm not going to pay less rent because you saw my financials and feel bad." You tell Jake quietly, trying not to actively become upset.
"Please don't be so stubborn," he pleads with you.
You cross your arms over your chest, "Take your own advice."
"I'm the one being stubborn?"
"Yes! You are. You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."
Jake's frown deepens, and that sad look in his eyes at your words starts to break through to you. Then he responds, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try and work on that."
Jake starts meticulously putting things away into different folders. He moves through each of his piles on the table and doesn't spare you a second glance. It leaves a crushing feeling in your chest.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you."
"There is no need to apologize. I'm the one who is sorry." Jake says, shrugging off your apology.
"No, you don't need to apologize. I understand why you said what you did. I know you were trying to be sweet." You start to say but are cut off.
"I wasn't trying to be sweet."
"Oh my god. Okay, fine, trying to be nice, then," you say, rolling your eyes.
Jake sets down the folder he is currently holding, and it thumps a little bit on the table. The force and loud sound make you flinch.
"I'm not sweet, nice, good, or kind. Okay? I'm not any of those things. I call things how I see them. I look at facts, figures, and numbers. Then I run calculations and act accordingly."
"And how is it mathematically possible that me paying less rent possibly works out for you, Jake? You will be losing money." As he shakes his head, he huffs at your words a little bit like they are funny.
"You could do a lot and make a lot of gains if you paid less rent, and I don't mind picking up the extra amount. You might be one of the few people I haven't hated living with. I don't want you figuring out you need to live somewhere cheaper and moving out on me. So, I'm not being nice. I'm being a selfish asshole." Jake clenches his fists hard, and you see his knuckles start to turn paler. With a deep breath, he relaxes and shrugs. Loosening the tight coil of his muscles, Jake gives you a curt tight lipped smile with a nod. "I'm just a selfish asshole, okay?"
"Please stop. Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true," he says, rolling those beautiful eyes at you.
"It's not true. Also, I would prefer if you don't use the word selfish around me, please." You say in a surprisingly steady voice. You don't really want to get triggered right now, and you could only hope that you wouldn't have to explain triggers to Jake. It takes him one moment to think and another to process before he says anything.
"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry. I won't use it again." Jake promises, no questions asked. His words blow up a balloon in your diaphragm, making it feel like your breath is about to catch. Then he adds on, "If there are any other words…" He looks around and grabs a loose pen and one of his notebooks. Jake slides them across the table to you. "Write them down. Maybe? If you can."
The warmth Jake inspires in your chest is unparalleled and drowns out anything you can think of aside from how endearing he can be and how fond you are of him. Jake doesn't take the lack of response from you well.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. You spring from where you had been sitting, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. You make sure to give him plenty of time to protest and say something.
Jake looks steadily back at you. However, he looks like he is preparing himself to be slapped or punished, holding perfectly still. Instead, though, you wrap Jake in a tight hug. He is stiff as a board beneath you. After a long moment, as you consider pulling away, Jake relaxes and wraps his arms around you. They are wrapped loosely at first but then tighten in small intervals until Jake is practically clinging to you.
"You are so good," you whisper to him, a little dazed. You are almost stunned by how desperately Jake tries to pretend otherwise.
"Don't say that," Jake whispers in a broken voice, hugging you a bit tighter.
"Too good." You left the words for me unsaid, but you felt them.
"I'm really not."
"It's okay if you don't see it. I see it for you. I'll make sure everyone else sees, too," you tell Jake curling your hands into a fist in his shirt.
He doesn't say anything but keeps holding you tightly. You don't know how long the two of you stay embraced like that until Jake finally eases his grip on you, and you reluctantly pull away from him as well.
He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Please stop paying so much in rent," he requests again.
"That will not be happening, Hangman."
"So stubborn." He sighs. Jake kisses your forehead again. He leaves his lips lingering, and you start to count the breaths memorizing how warm his lips are. Three breaths later, he is pulling away. Jake grabs his laptop and a stack of folders heading upstairs without another word to you.
You stare after him for a while, trying to parse out the mystery Jake presents, and coming up a bit short, just like you always did. He is one of the most outwardly confident men you have ever met. Yet, other times, Jake is the first person to make a self-deprecating comment about himself. You swallow down how much you desire more from him, wishing for more, knowing you can't and shouldn't have it.
🏡🧩🏡
You and Jake were lounging on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, avoiding going to the gym, half-heartedly trying to convince you to go with him. You were also scrolling your phone while deflecting Jake’s offers.
That was when your doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking. You and Jake both look up at each other. He raises his eyebrows, and you just shrug, having no idea who could be at the door. Jake looks back to his phone, clearly ready to ignore it, when the doorbell rings twice more, and the pounding on the door gets louder. Jake sighs and gets up, walking across the house towards the noise.
“Hold your horses out there!” Jake yells towards the door before opening it.
You wait for a moment, trying to hear who it is, curious about who would be so rude and what they needed. However, you don’t hear anything from where you are on the couch. So you stand and follow Jake into the entry hallway.
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You hear Jake say. He is standing at his full height in the door frame.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You hear from on the other side of the door.
Nervousness shoots through your whole body hearing that voice. Anxiety immediately pops up, and your stomach drops. You know that voice. You have heard it a thousand times before. Why was he here? How was he here?
“I asked you to leave, Sir.”
“Just tell that little bitch that —”
Jake steps further forward onto the front porch. “Now, we don’t speak about ladies like that where I am from. And I’m going to ask that you act accordingly while at my home, Sir.” Jake cuts him off with that well mannered southern military niceness.
“I don’t give a fuck where you are from.”
You flinch at his tone of voice, feeling bile rise up in your throat. You lean against the wall slapping your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from throwing up.
“I asked you politely to leave. I won’t ask again. I can call you a taxi or an uber. But don’t you dare take one more step on my front porch.” Jake says in a deep tone. You are hit with the sudden, horrifying realization that he is going to hurt Jake, and that is something you just won’t let happen.
You are trying to go through possibilities in your head. Anyway, this could shake out; it would be bad for Jake. Jake would either get hurt and get in trouble, or he would kick ass and gets in worse trouble. This would end badly; either way, Jake is going to get in trouble, and it would be your fault. You would be responsible because you caused this situation. Jake was going to pay the consequences all because he was trying to protect you. You were roommates, so Jake must think he has some obligation to protect you.
You feel swamped in stress knowing how easily Jake can escalate a situation and provoke someone; sometimes, all it takes for him is one well-placed smile. That stress is finally what unfreezes you, and you stumble towards the front door.
Jake’s large, broad form still mostly hides your view of the other side, but you cautiously approach and set your hand gently on the back of his shoulder. You feel how tense Jake’s muscles are under your hand and can see it in the line of the back of his neck.
“Sugar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Jake says in a deep voice. He doesn’t budge an inch or look back toward you. “But I would like to suggest that you go back inside. I have this handled.”
You want to cry. You want to cry for so many reasons: cry because you are in this situation, that you have to deal with this again, that you feel so small. However, you mostly want to cry because Jake “Hangman” Seresin is such a good man. It’s startling sometimes, not because it’s really unexpected, but rather that it is so completely and bluntly genuine.
Having Jake here defending you, trying to protect you from the person who has probably scared you most in your life, it feels so silly to pretend like you don’t have feelings for him, to pretend that you aren’t more in love with him than you ought to be.
The realization doesn’t really feel shocking; it is closer to acceptance. A given truth that is part of your life now. An empowering truth that swells in your bones like a swift tide, filling up the spaces that have been empty for so long.
You love Jake more than you are scared. The warmth of affection towards him is so hot it burns out the freezing ice in your veins and the numbness in your fingers. You love him, and you will be damned if you let Jake be hurt, touched, tainted, or affected by this man who has hurt you. It seems cliché that loving someone like this is enough for you to finally break through the barrier of fear you have lived your whole life in. However, now it just feels so simple.
Your heart is beating hard. The adrenaline is pumping through you so strongly that you can hear it echoing in your ears. Your hand slides up Jake’s back to his bicep, and you give him a gentle push. Jake shifts with the movement. He slides to the right so you can finally fully see the front porch. However, he doesn’t move enough that you are fully exposed. Jake’s body is still partially concealing you from view.
Then you hear your name, and your attention snaps away from its hyper-focus on Jake. You turn it forward and brace yourself. You drift your eyes to the ground, landing on the feet of your visitor, staying there for a minute before meeting his burning eyes.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Ah, so she is here,” your father says, throwing his hands up and glaring at Jake. You can smell the booze on him from the doorway. It makes your stomach turn. You resist the urge to wretch, squeezing your hand, which is still on Jake’s bicep. He flexes, and his bicep digs into his shirt as your nails also dig in. You don’t like those angry, hateful eyes on your Jake. Jake doesn’t budge an inch or react to your nails on his skin.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” You ask him. Your hold on Jake acting like an anchor point for you.
“You don’t bother to answer my texts or anyone else’s calls and texts. Just because you moved out doesn’t mean you get to be a selfish bitch” your dad spits out.
“I’ve been pretty busy,” you defend yourself in a small voice.
“Oh, I bet you have been so busy. What are you doing these days?” He growls at you. “You know it doesn’t really count as moving out if you are spreading your legs to pay for it.”
You flinch, your hand falling from Jake’s arm and balling into a tight fist at your side. You hate how easily he can make you feel small, even when you are angry.
“Watch your mouth,” Jake hisses, rejoining the conversation. You glance at him, and Hangman is shaking with contained rage. You know this is not a good situation; anytime, someone could blow up.
“You should go inside, Hangman,” you tell him gently.
“Absolutely not,” Jake responds instantly.
“So you are playing the part of a pathetic little whore wife for this pretty boy.” Your dad says, cutting in.
You grit your teeth as he continues on. “Come on. I thought you gave up pussies after our talk when you were in high school.”
With the reminder of just what he is referring to, You are overcome with anger, and you finally can’t take it anymore. You recognize his words for what they are, a direct bait at Jake and undercutting you. It makes you so angry you start shaking. Tears burst from your eyes, trying to let off some steam bubbling inside you. It boils up, so you can’t take it anymore, and you whisper, “Shut up.”
“What?” Your dad asks, clearly shocked. You take a step forward fueled by your anger.
“Shut the fuck up.” You pronounce each word slowly. Then continue on, “I’m tired of this. You don’t get to be mean to me and still expect a relationship with me. You don’t get to hit me, yell at me, and abuse me just to show up at my house on your bullshit. And you sure as fuck don’t get to say anything about Jake.” You suck in a rapid breath, the words fueling the fire in you. Your angerburning brighter with every word.
“You made me think that kind, decent men didn’t exist, Dad, but Jake is good. He isn’t a pretty boy. He is smart, sweet, strong, and kind. I will not hear you say one more thing about him. Ever.” You punctuate the sentence with a jab of your index finger at him. He looks like he might be cowed, and before you can even finish a prayer that he will be done, the fire in his eyes lits again.
“You could have at least found someone who stands up for you. A real man.” Your dad isn’t even looking at you when he says it. Instead, he is staring at Jake.
“That’s a rather rude thing to say about an active duty Naval Officer,” you hiss. Your dad takes a step back, his eyebrows raising, reexamining Jake. He shifts his weight between his feet nervously.
“You aren’t welcome at our home. So leave and crawl back into the bottle you drank before coming here. Don’t come back, Dad. I don’t want to see you.”
You try to force your body to relax, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard in your veins. So, you start to walk backward back into the house. Jake still hasn’t taken his eyes off your dad, and he makes no move to come with you back into the house.
“Jake?” You ask.
“Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to have a talk with your old man here and make sure that he makes it home.”
“I don’t want him near you.”
Your dad still looks blown away by this turn of events. Like he is scrambling to put words together. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Jake.
Jake breathes out heavily through his nose. He turns his head enough to glance at you. Whatever he sees on your face must break his resolve. Jake clenches his jaw, and you watch the muscle flex once, then twice. After that, he rolls his shoulders, and it’s like Hangman is physically able to just shrug the tension of the situation off.
“Get home safe, Sir. I suggest doing so soon. MAs are known to drive down our street.” Jake says it in a light, easygoing tone, border lining on cheery. Then, plastering that practiced, perfect smile on his face, Jake nods his head toward your dad and comes back into the house.
Jake closes the door but doesn’t move, staring out the frosted window on the front door. His body is tense again, standing rigidly at his full height. You are still shaking from anger. You slump against Jake’s back, letting your body weight shift into his. One of his arms bends backward a bit awkwardly, sitting on your waist. His large palm is burning hot. You can feel it through the fabric of your clothes. Then Jake’s fingers flex to give you a small squeeze of reassurance.
When Jake finally does move, it is just to turn away from the door and wrap you tightly in his arms. You enjoy the warmth of his strong embrace, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline starts to fade. Jake is still shaking, though.
“He’s gone,” Jake says into the crown of your head. You let a little sigh escape you, feeling a bit more of the tension release.
“Good,” you manage to tell him.
“I wanted to defend you. I wanted to slam his face so hard into the porch that he wouldn’t ever be able to open his mouth again. Wanted to tell him how you are—”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” you cut Jake off before he can continue. You don’t want to know what he thinks about you right now. You can’t handle whatever words could spill out of his mouth next.
“I’ll make sure he never comes back here,” Jake says, his voice dropping, and you feel the rage contained in him, the subtle shake and heat coming from how tense he is.
“I don’t want him near you. If something happened to you because of him….” you trail off. Your hands wander the expanse of Jake’s back in an almost soothing motion. However, you don’t know who it is soothing more, you or him. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
He takes a deep breath and then releases it in a heavy sigh. “What if you just give me his full name and social security number? You wouldn’t have to know about anything else.”
“Jake,” you whisper in a tone that is almost reminiscent of amusement.
Jake sighs again. He draws back from your hug and cups your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have been lingering.
“You are the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met,” Jake whispers. Considering how he is looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes, it’s clear the emotions of the situation are still running rampant. That look, paired with how he is holding you, makes you think Jake might be about to kiss you.
“No, No. Stop.” You don’t know if you are trying to ask him not to kiss you or to stop talking. Either way, you feel like you might explode if this interaction isn’t over soon.
“Yes,” Jake says. “Let me, please.”
His thumb is still tracing along your cheek, and you can’t help yourself from leaning a tiny bit into his palm. An action that momentarily freezes his thumb before it picks up steadily again. Not hearing an explicit no from you again, Jake continues on.
“That man has no say over you. Who you are is so stunning. You never deserved to be treated the way you were. I am so sorry you ever had to go through that. I am so sorry he showed up here. You don’t owe him a single second of your time or attention. You are valuable. You are amazing. He is trying to make you small because he sees how good you are.”
A shudder racks through your body, hearing Jake’s words, and fresh tears start to fall unprompted from your eyes. As soon as they do, though, Jake pushes them away. “I am so proud of you for getting away from him. You are so strong and brave. It makes me awed. I’m so glad that you moved in here. You are…” Jake doesn’t finish the sentence, he seems to lose his train of thought. His mouth parts a little bit, and his eyes flash down to glance at your lips.
Jake is going to kiss you, and it might possibly be the worst thing that could happen. If he kisses you right now because of your dad, you know you might break into a million different pieces. You don’t want Jake to kiss you for any reason but pure desire and affection. You don’t want him to kiss you in comfort, or pity, or convenience, or as an outlet. You don’t want him to kiss you just because emotions are running high from the incident that just happened. Most of all, you don’t want Jake to kiss you and not mean it. You don’t want him to kiss you without the intention of kissing you again.
So, even though you are desperate to feel his lips, and memorize their shape, how they feel against yours. Desperate to discover what he tastes like, curl your fingers in his hair and take comfort in the form of his body. You know you can’t, it has the power to break you, and you already feel so broken and exhausted.
You cover the hand Jake has on your face with your own and pull it away. However, you don’t immediately let go holding his large palm. Hangman takes your hint and steps backward, giving you a little space so that he is pressed against the door again. You decide to thread your fingers with his. Jake’s skin is still almost hot to the touch in your hand.
“Thank you, Jake,” You finally say, meeting his piercing green eyes again. You squeeze the hand you are holding. He gives you a tight nod and then tips his head upwards, so he is looking at the ceiling. Jake rests his head against the door as well and closes his eyes.
You observe him for a moment, then you go to release the hand you are holding. Jake stops you, though, his hand tightening as yours loosens, and you try to pull away. You give a little tug, and he tightens his fingers even more. Jake’s head is still tipped, and you hear him sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out.
“Please don’t let go,” he begs you. Jake’s eyes flash open again, and he is looking down his nose at you. “I just, I need you.”
You inhale sharply at his phrasing, and he sighs heavily. “I might do something terrible if you let go of me. If you don’t need me here, there won’t be anything to stop me.”
“You’re not going to do anything terrible,” You say, retangling your fingers with his. Jake’s hand flexes in yours, and he takes another big breath.
“I’ll make sure he loses our address and forgets it too. Make sure he doesn’t remember anything at all anymore. I’ll—”
“You’ll stay right here, Jake.”
He lifts his head so it isn’t tilted against the door anymore and stares down at you. He looks like he is holding on to every word you are saying to keep his sanity. His skin is flushed from anger, and his palm shakes slightly in yours. You were in awe he was able to hold back this reaction so long, remaining calm and collected throughout the entire encounter.
“You will stay here with me, Jake. I need you.”
“Yeah?” He asks shakily.
“Yeah. Need your help, Jake.”
There is a low rumble in his chest, almost resembling the hum it was probably supposed to be. You step closer to Jake, once again closing the gap between you.
“Tell me what you need.” It comes out as a demand, and he seems to realize that when he adds on a small quick “Please.”
You look at him then, trying to read his face and those eyes that haunt your dreams. You examine the creases and lines his face makes with the severe angry look he has plastered on. You take the time to observe how his hair is hazardously falling out of place for how many times he has run his hand through it. You don’t really find any of the answers you are looking for. You just find Jake. And Jake is an oh-so-wondrous thing to find.
You step closer to him and tug the hold he has on your hand again. His nose scrunches for a moment, and his frown tightens. His eyes lift upwards towards the ceiling again as his jaw clenches; he lets go of your hand. Jake’s hand falls heavily back until it hits the door making a smacking sound. You flinch at the sound but take another step forward, crowding Jake against the door. You lift your hand up to trace over his neck and then settle on his face, encouraging him to adjust his gaze back to you. He follows direction and leans into your hold, just like you leaned into his earlier.
“Need you to stay with me,” you start slowly, encouraged as Jake nods his head in a small jerk.
“I need you to leave the front door.”
He considers your words for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry, sugar. I need to protect you.”
“There is no one in the world I feel safer with than you, Jake.” He squeezes his eyes tightly closed at those words and pulls in a ragged breath. “So, you can’t leave me alone here.”
He nods again but still has his eyes closed. “Ain’t leaving. You need me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can I hold you?” Jake asks, then once again remembers his manners throwing out another small, please.
“Yes, please,” you whisper. Jake doesn’t waste a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snuggly against him. The change of angle causes your hand to slip from his face, so you wrap it around his neck instead, your fingers drifting against the short hairs there. You go to wrap your other arm around his waist but instead awkwardly hit the front door. You hiss out a small breath at the momentary pain.
Jake responds to the sound. He starts walking forward, making you walk backward. Walking while he is wrapped around you proves to be difficult, and you stumble a little. That seems to be all Jake needs; he wraps his arms under your ass and lifts you.
You are terrified at the concept that Jake is going to try to carry you, and you open your mouth to protest. However, with only one small grunt that honestly sounded more like pure sex with how low and husky it is, Jake is carrying you down the hallway. You wrap your arm around his neck more securely, adding a second one for more leverage.
Jake doesn’t stop to set you on the couch like you had expected. Instead, he continues up the stairs and right into his room. He sets you on his bed gently, and you unwrap your arms from his neck, letting him pull away. Jake goes back to the door of his room, closes it, and clicks the lock into place. You raise an eyebrow at his action.
"That’s rather presumptuous, Hangman.”
“What?” He looks at you confused before he looks back at his door. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I’m not.”
You shush him motioning towards yourself to try and get him to come closer again. “I know.”
Jake comes back to your side. Now that you have been given the temporary clearance to freely touch him, you cannot stop yourself. Jake sits next to you on the bed, and you are scooting closer so that your thighs are flush side by side. Jake throws an arm across your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him.
“Do you need to talk about it?” He asks you softly. You let a hollow dry laugh at his question, your laughter starts to devolve until it’s nearly hysteric giggling. Jake takes it in stride, holding you close and his thumb drawing small soothing back-and-forth shapes. After you are almost breathless and heaving, you finally start to recover.
“I don’t want to talk about it, but I definitely need to. Not with you, though, Jake.”
“Why not me?”
“Because it’s the kind of fucked you talk to a therapist about.”
“I’m a great listener.”
“I know you are, but this isn’t your baggage to pack around and deal with, Jake.”
“Baggage? Sugar, that’s why we have the attic. If that isn’t enough space, or you fill it up. I’ll build a shed in the backyard.”
“What if that’s not enough room?”
“Then we have the garage. We’ll just park in the driveway.”
“You would give up your shop?” You ask, thinking of Jake’s favorite place in the house.
“Yup,” Jake says without hesitating. “And after that, well, I’ve never been too fond of the extra guest room anyway.”
“If that’s all not enough?”
“Then we’ll move. Or we go through it until we find some we can let go of.” Jake says, his free hand crossing his body to settle warmly on your knee.
“It’s not physical baggage.”
“I know it’s not.”
The feeling of affection you feel for him grows even more. Every time you think that there is no way possible you can fall further in love with him, Jake turns around and proves you wrong. He does some kind, funny, sweet, unexpected thing that makes you fall a little harder.
You lift your head and look at him. Jake’s eyes meet your own, the severe stormy look in them a little less present. He is a bit more at ease, no longer shaking with anger. You let your eyes fall to his lips. You briefly think you love him so much it might be worth the risk to shift forward and kiss him. That maybe it wouldn’t lead to disaster like you’ve convinced yourself it would.
“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” Jake asks, breaking you from your trance. You shift a bit further away from him but not far before giving him an answer.
The two of you watch your favorite comfort movie. You are cuddled into Jake’s side the whole time. The two of you had shifted back into the bed, cuddled close while watching the wall-mounted TV in Jake’s room. Exhaustion hits you like a wall as the adrenaline leaves your system, accompanied by the heat radiating off of Jake, the way everything smells like him, and his Tempurpedic bed; you relax more than you have in a long time.
As you start to drift asleep against Jake’s chest, his heartbeat has a steady, soothing rhythm under your ear. You think out of all the times you have dreamed of falling asleep with Jake in his bed, none of those fantasies come even close to how good it actually feels. None of your dreams prepared you for how safe you would feel.
Your dreams also didn’t prepare you for sneaking back to your room at three in the morning when you woke up. Or pretending the next day that nothing had happened. After all, nothing had happened except some tense moments and Jake getting a glimpse of your past. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t, either. You catch him watching you closer than he would typically for the next few days.
More time starts to pass, and you are thankful that nothing was risked or changed between you and Jake or has affected you as roommates. There are only the slightest moments when both of you are much more casual about physical affection. Hugging Jake was now a commonplace part of your day, and you occasionally catch yourself daydreaming about what it felt like to fall asleep in his bed.
🏡🧩🏡
You had started to pick up what the signs were when Jake wasn't okay, and something was bothering him pretty early into moving in. He had some pretty obvious tells. However, something had been really really bothering him for a while now. He didn't say anything to you, but he didn't have to; Jake's mannerisms gave him away. Jake wasn't following his routine and had started obsessively cleaning.
The other night, he knocked on your door, bursting open seconds after you told Jake he could come in. Then Hangman had all but begged you to let him deep clean your room. When you told Jake no, he gave you a look like you just insulted his Babula and stalked out of the room. Half an hour later, he was back in your doorway, asking the same question phrased slightly differently. You had finally given in after his second time double-checking. However, you insisted that you helped and supervised his cleaning. Once you agreed, Jake had done his happy dance. It was so cute it managed to cover the embarrassment that was crawling in you at letting someone else, let alone the man you loved your roommate, clean your room.
The next day Hangman decided to reorganize all the bookshelves. First by color, then by genre, and even one time by the number of pages. His last reorganization was to put them all back to by author's last name. This was only after Jake talked to you for over an hour about the pros and cons of the Dewey decimal system in modern library science.
After the books, you come home, and there is a puzzle on the table. A 2500-piece puzzle of the painting Meeting On The Turret Stairs. Jake works on it constantly. Only stopping to go to work and the gym. For three days, he doesn't read and doesn't do his sudoku. Jake doesn't sit with you in the living room at night. Instead, he just works on his puzzle, blowing past his typical bedtime every night. Then he stops going to the gym, and a day after that, he cancels his weekly call with his niece. That's when you know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is bothering Jake must be significant.
Finally, you can't bite your tongue or try to keep your nose out of his business anymore. The concern you feel is too much to handle. You had gotten up at 3 am for some water, and Jake was still puzzling at the table.
"How's it going, Sport?"
"No, I'm Hangman," Jake answers in a quiet voice.
"What?" you ask him, confused.
"Not my callsign," Jake mumbles to you. You squint and try to piece together what he means in your still half-asleep brain.
"You know someone named Sport?"
Jake just shrugs his shoulders, engrossed in his task. "There are worse callsigns to have."
"Like Hangman?" You tease him. Jake finally looks up at you when you say that. Jake's eyes are bloodshot, and he has a hurt look. The small frown, paired with his glassy tired eyes, makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy.
"Hangman is cool," Jake protests.
"Hangman is very cool," you tell him placatingly, holding up your hands in surrender.
"You don't actually think it's cool," Jake whispers, his tired eyes falling back to his puzzle. Jake sounds so sad about it that your feet are moving before your brain, and you are sliding next to him on the bench for the long side of the table.
"Hangman is cool," You say and then nudge him affectionately with your shoulder. "You are cool."
His lips quirk upwards from his frown before falling again. “Well, I am the Hangman.”
"How is the puzzle going?"
"Fine, good. I like puzzling."
"You have done other puzzles?" You ask.
"Yeah, I have a whole box full."
You hum at his words, tiredly wiping your eyes. "You should have been Puzzleman."
Jake's eyes flash over to yours, slightly worried. "Do not ever say that around Coyote."
"Hangman, It's three AM." He looks surprised to hear the time, and you watch him turn his wrist to confirm the time on his watch.
"Go to bed," You add softly.
"I like when you call me Jake."
"Then why do you listen better when I call you Hangman?"
"Hmm, maybe because that's the name I hear most often. Maybe because it's easy to be Hangman."
"Is it hard to be Jake?" You ask him gently.
Jake is quiet for a long moment after your question. Before answering, he sets the piece he had been holding back in its color pile. All he gives you is a whispered, "Sometimes."
You aren't sure what to say, so instead, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. "It's time for bed, Jake. It'll be here in the morning."
Jake nods his head, listening to you. You get the water you initially came downstairs for and wait until Jake starts up the stairs. Following behind him, you make sure he goes into his room. You aren't really eased about the situation when he shuts the door. However, you are glad he will at least get some sleep.
Before you go back to bed, you shoot your group chat with Marlee and Javy a text.
Have you ever seen Jake do a puzzle?
You wake up to texts from Javy and Marlee, both asking all kinds of questions like: what you meant? What kind of puzzle? With how many pieces? And, how long has Jake been working on it?
From the questions alone, you gather that your worries are correct and Jake puzzling is not a good thing. Getting out of bed, you make yourself presentable enough to venture out of your room and downstairs.
In the mid-morning light, you are once again greeted with the sight of Jake hunched over his puzzle. A steaming cup of tea sitting next to him, and Chris LeDoux playing from the record player.
"Good morning," you say.
"Morning, sugar," Jake says back. You are glad to get a response, but the worry is still gnawing at you. You start putting together your own morning drink, and your eyes keep drifting back to him.
"Jake, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good." He says, not looking away from the puzzle piece he is currently studying.
You stop leaning against the counter, taking your drink with you and walk over to his side. Jake is completing this puzzle concerningly fast; you notice examining his progress this morning alone. He keeps staring at the piece in his hand, unblinking even as you approach. You watch him for a few more moments before deciding it's time for you to intervene.
"Do you want to talk about it?" You pose cautiously. His eyebrows crease, and he still doesn't look away from the puzzle.
"About the puzzle?" he asks you in a hopeful tone.
"No, Jake. About what's bothering you."
He finally does spare you a glance, and you don't like how dull his green sea glass eyes are. The normally vibrant, mischievous glint isn't present, and they are slightly bloodshot and red, even after you forced him to get some sleep.
"It's fine. I'm fine. Just work stuff. I've got to finish this puzzle." He tells you, then looks away.
You frown at Jake's answer. Puzzles are supposed to be fun, and you don't think this is actually a healthy, cathartic activity for Jake anymore. You almost preferred his book reorganization or when he went to every door and oiled the hinges, the top and bottom hinges twice but the middle ones only once. When you asked why not the middle one twice? Jake had told you something about middle children that had made you laugh.
While Jake normally released stress through organization, order, and control. The frenzy and energy he has with this puzzle is different. This wasn't like the month after you moved in, and he decided to rearrange his shop in the garage. Jake had reorganized his tools, labeling where they all went. After that, he made you a booklet of where everything in the garage was located, just in case you wanted to use something. Jake was very genuine about it, too. As if he really believed you were about to start borrowing his screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, lathe, and various other tools.
Your frown deepens, and you pull out your phone, shooting a text to your group chat with Marlee and Javy. Answering some of their questions from the morning and shooting back a request of your own.
After texting with them for a few minutes, you set your phone down on the table, taking the spot next to Jake. He gives you another short look but doesn't say anything. You take a moment to look at the piece he has been staring at for over five minutes at this point.
Taking it gently from his grasp, you examine it yourself. A moment later, you place the puzzle piece into the correct spot. Jake ghosts over the piece you just placed and taps it twice as your hand retreats.
"You got to tap it into place," he tells you softly. Then Jake is back digging through his piles, looking for the next piece.
You help Jake with his puzzle for a little bit, pleasantly surprised at the textured surface of the pieces, enjoying how tactile they are. You know this must be a very expensive and nice puzzle. Any time you place a piece, you make sure to tap it twice for Jake. Each time you do, Jake gives a small nod of approval. The one time you forget, his fingers quickly find the piece again and tap it twice with a small annoyed huff. You don't try and coax Jake into a conversation again, simply enjoying just being with him.
Y'all's work is broken a while later by the doorbell ringing. The sound startles Jake, and he jumps in his seat and his head snapping towards the door. You place a hand on his shoulder again to try and ease the sudden tension.
"It's okay," you tell him quietly, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'll go get it."
"No, I can get it," Jake says, starting to stand up. You know he doesn't like you to answer the front door anymore. He hasn't ever since your dad showed up unannounced. Jake has never explicitly told you he doesn't want you to answer the door. However, you have picked up on it because he has not let you answer the door once since the incident. One time Jake had even sprinted across the house to beat you to the door.
"Don't worry. I know who it is," you say. Jake gives you a concerned look but then nods a little bit. His eyes trail after you as you make your way to the entry hall.
You open the door to Javy's tall form and are immediately wrapped in a tight warm hug. You lean into his embrace, enjoying the comfort for a moment.
"Is it really bad?" Javy asks you in a low voice when you pull away from his hug.
You shrug but then follow it up with a nod. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe not? But it's the worst I have ever seen."
Javy gives you another reassuring squeeze before he saunters into the house towards the living area. Jake's eyes are trained on the hallway, clearly waiting for you to come back. However, when he sees Javy, he blanches, dropping his eyes back to the puzzle. Jake's shoulders hunching tight almost up to his ears.
"Hey, Hangman," Javy hums.
"Machado," Jake says gruffly, fiddling with a piece.
Javy shocks you by not immediately going over to Jake. Instead, he meanders over to your TV. He shocks you even more by opening a drawer in the entertainment center and pulling out an Xbox. Javy starts hooking up the console, and you shift your eyes to Jake again.
He is still sitting there digging through his puzzle pieces. You aren't sure what to do. If you should leave the two of them alone, join Javy in the living room, or go back to the table with Jake. So instead, you end up in a weird middle ground lingering in the hallway. Finally, when Javy has everything set up, and the Xbox booted on, he goes over to Jake. Coyote sets his hands down so hard on Jake's shoulders that it jostles the blond a bit.
"Wow, buddy, this is a nice puzzle," Javy says casually.
Jake just hums in response, placing a puzzle piece and tapping it twice. Only answering once he picks up another piece. "It's a watercolor by Frederic William Burton. He painted it in — "
"It's time for a break, Hangman," Coyote says, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Naw, you see this section," Jake gestures generally towards the entire surface area of the puzzle. "It's almost done."
"Nope, it's break time," Javy repeats more firmly.
Jake's shoulders hang, and it looks like it takes him physical effort to stand up from the table. Jake's joints and back audibly pop from the action, and he raises his hands above his head to fully stretch.
You try to root yourself in concern, not thinking of the flash of skin you saw where Jake's shirt rode up a bit. Jake blinks a few times, and when he finishes stretching, he turns to fully look at Javy.
"How long are you staying?" Jake asks, daring to glance back down at the puzzle. Javy snaps his fingers in front of Jake's face twice and then points aggressively toward the couch.
"As long as I want to," Javy responds with an upbeat tone and a wide grin. He gives a light shove, and Jake shuffles over to the couch. Jake looks at you as he walks, and you can tell that he feels betrayed.
"I'll leave you to it," you say, ready to retreat into your room.
Jake looks away from you then, and you don't like the flash of embarrassment on his face as he does. It's been odd seeing Jake so completely out of his element and uncomfortable in his skin the last few days. Embarrassed wasn't a look that fits well on Jake. It made you want to rush in and remedy the situation.
"You don't gotta go," Jake calls to you.
"Javy came over to hang out with you, Jake." You say plainly. You want to give them space to talk and hang out.
"Yeah, bro, feeling the love," Javy says jokingly. It earns him a sharp jab to his side from Jake. The action just makes Javy laugh, though. "Don't worry so much, Hang. Marlee is coming by later with dinner, and then all four of us will kick back, but right now, it's me, you, and the Master Chief."
"You'll hang out with us later, though? Or are you doing something tonight?" Jake asks, ignoring Javy.
"There is nothing I would rather do tonight than hang out with you," you tell him. Jake's eyes snap up from where they had drifted to the left, lowered just enough not to meet yours. The burning bright color in them is startling after the dull, distant look he has supported the last few days. You can't stop the words you say next, needing to try and back peddle. It takes a long beat before you say, "and Marls and Javy. I don't know if you've ever had Marlee's green chile enchiladas, but they are to die for."
"They are so good," Jake agrees enthusiastically and looks down at the controller he is holding for the first time. Javy then shoots you a smile with a thumbs up, and you are reassured enough that you head upstairs and into your room.
You hear Javy's voice behind you, "You know Marlee only cooks for two reasons."
You close your door before hearing Jake's answer and resist the urge to eavesdrop. A few hours later, you hear loud yelling and laughter from the living room. Then get a text from Marlee to send the boys to help her get the food out of her car.
The rest of the night is mostly light, and Jake almost passes for his normal self. He jokes with Coyote, eats two helpings of Marlee's enchiladas, and with you... well, with you, he is hot and cold. One moment Jake will be flirting with you in a heavy bravado, then the next, he falls into a quiet, contemplative silence. Javy has to herd Jake away from his puzzle three separate times. It gets easier to draw Jake back in every time; the last time only took a question directed toward Jake to draw him back to you guys.
It is a good night, and everyone seems happy at the end. Jake hugs Javy and Marlee goodbye and leaves you to walk your friends out. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing Jake walk up the stairs and not back to the dining room table.
You talk with the couple for a few more minutes on the front porch, then hug them goodbye. You are thankful for them, to have such good friends who are willing to be a support system, for you, for Jake, and for their other friends too. It warms your heart, and it feels a lot like family.
Jake's puzzling is less frenzied after that night, and he starts to reign back in. He has full conversations with you again and goes to the gym after work as well. He follows Javy's rules that had been texted to you both and doesn't puzzle by alone again.
For the next week or so, Javy and Marlee end up in your living room in the evenings. Keeping Jake from becoming too obsessed, you also notice that he won't let Javy or Marlee touch his puzzle pieces. But when Jake does work on the puzzle, and you are home, he always invites you to join him.
Jake makes an effort to converse with you while working too. The conversations you two get into range from academic to childhood memories, favorites — books, movies, foods, bands, animals— funny stories, and anything else that would pop in your heads. Of course, each puzzle piece must still be double tapped into place, and you are meticulous about following that rule.
Puzzling in the evenings with Jake surprisingly becomes one of your favorite times of the day. Sometimes you would even just sit there at the table with Jake, scrolling on your phone while he works on the puzzle.
Hangman's presence is a comforting steady grounding force, so much so that you can only hope you provide half of that for him. You knew you were roommates, and Jake may not carry the same romantic feelings you do. However, you couldn't deny the plain platonic affection that poured from him, so much you sometimes think M aybe . Maybe he does feel more.
When you enter the kitchen, you see the puzzle is finished. You go to examine it and realize two pieces are missing. You feel a bit of worry creeping up in you, not sure how Jake will react to having lost pieces and being unable to complete the puzzle.
You start to look around, checking every chair and bench to make sure a piece hasn't fallen. You shine a light under the couch in case they slipped under there. Then you are flipping up the edge of the rug in the living room and trying to think of any other feasible place the pieces could have disappeared.
"What are you doing?" you hear, and you snap your head to see Jake standing on the other side of the couch, looking at you bemused.
"Sorry, I was just looking for your missing pieces," you say, straightening up and fixing the rug.
Jake quirks an eyebrow then he follows your gaze to the table where his puzzle is. Jake's mouth drops open, lips barely parted, and a soft "Oh." falls out like he didn't even make the sound intentionally.
"No luck so far, though. I'm sorry. I'm sure they will turn up. Only so many places they could have gone," You say, making sure to project an upbeat, positive tone and attitude.
Jake looks between you and the puzzle twice before suddenly you are graced with the rarest of Jake Seresin's smiles. It is one you have only seen a handful of times. It's different than his smirk and his confident panty dropping smile. It's not the smile that he gets when he laughs, and his eyes crinkle around the edges or the mouth wide open smile. It's not his practiced perfect smile he uses for pictures.
No, this smile is closed-mouthed, those pearly whites hidden from view. It's a quirk of his lips like Jake is trying to hold it back from showing it on his face but he isn't entirely successful. His bottom lip is tucked a little bit between his teeth as if he is physically trying to bite back the expression, none of which prevents Jake's dimples from popping up.
It's a smile that always leaves you a little stunned, and this is no exception. Not that there are many things about Jake that don't leave you feeling that way. This smile, paired with the soft look in his eyes, makes you want to melt into the floor.
"I have the pieces," Jake tells you then. It takes you a few moments to process his words.
"Oh, you do?"
"Yeah, I do," he says and pulls out a ziplock baggie from his pocket with the two pieces in it.
"That's great!"
"They weren't lost. I was saving them, actually."
"Saving them for what?"
"For you. Well, for us."
You don't think you are able to hide your surprise at his words. "For us?"
"Yeah. You know, so we can finish this puzzle together. We worked on it together. So, we should finish it together. Few things match the feeling of putting the final piece of a puzzle into place."
God, you want to kiss him. You want to grab his face and smash your lips against his. You want to taste him and thread your fingers in his short dirty blonde hair. The little fantasy starting to form in your brain is cut off by Jake walking over to the table.
You follow him there, and Jake sets the last two pieces on the table, letting you pick which one you want. Once you make your selection, Jake grabs the other one.
"Okay, on three," he tells you with a grin. At his countdown, you both place the pieces of the puzzle. Automatically you double tap your piece into place. Jake was right; it is an extremely satisfying feeling finishing the puzzle and seeing it whole for the first time.
Your gaze drifts over the puzzle, and you look up to see Jake staring at you instead of the finished piece. After a moment, you realize what is wrong. Your hand reaches across and gently nudges Jake's to the side. Then you tap Jake's piece twice, realizing that for the very first time, he seemed to have missed that compulsion of his. However, you knew it would bother Jake when he realized he had forgotten, so you make sure to complete the ritual.
Jake's gaze snaps down to the piece you had tapped for him. Then his knuckles purposely brush against the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.
"Thank you," spills from both of your mouths at the same time, which makes you laugh.
"Jinx," Jakes says in a rushed voice, making you laugh harder. That odd tension in the air between you two disappears.
You walk into the kitchen and grab a white claw from the fridge, bringing it back for Jake, handing it to him. Jake is a strict enforcer of the jinx soda pop rule. The two of you look at the puzzle for a few more minutes. Taking in the stunning painting, the yearning and sadness of it never fails to impact you.
While the two of you had been working on the puzzle, Jake had told you many different facts about The Meeting On The Turret Stairs. How it was a watercolor painting by Frederic William Burton, the poem it was based on, the era it was painted in, and its place in Irish art.
When you asked Jake more, he surprised you by knowing hyper-specific details and answers off the top of his head. Intrigued, you learned how he had double majored at Annapolis in Aerospace Engineering and History. However, because Jake was golden boy Midshipman Seresin, he had gotten away with his final history thesis being art focused. Hangman more than understood how to be charming when he needed to be.
"What now?" You ask him.
"What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused.
"What do we do with the puzzle?" you ask. It sounds much better than what you wanted to say. What now between the two of you? What were you going to do to keep spending time together?
"We take it apart." Jake shrugs.
"No," you gasp, horrified thinking of all the time you had put into the puzzle just to undo it and throw it back in the box.
"What else would we do?" Jake asks you. You think for a moment before smiling at your own idea.
"Let's Mod Podge it, and then we can hang it up. We have some pretty bare walls in the house, and it is a stunning piece of art," you suggest.
Jake doesn't even take a moment to think it over before saying, "I love that idea."
So, you two are driving to the craft store to get cardboard and Mod Podge. A week later, the puzzle has been cemented and hung on the wall in between your and Jake's rooms upstairs. After the puzzle is finished, Jake is back into his sudoku and his various other reading books. He still lingers near you in the evenings, waiting longer than he used to before retreating to his room for bed.
One night almost a month after you two had finished the puzzle, Jake brings the subject up again. You two are lounging on the couch, he had just gotten home from watching the Army-Navy game at a bar with some of his friends, and he is definitely a little bit tipsy.
"I am going to build us a puzzle table," is the first thing he had loudly declared, walking in the door.
You were instantly worried about why Jake might want to start a new puzzle. "Is everything okay?"
Jake doesn't seem to hear you, though, as he continues on. "A really nice one that opens and closes with velvet or something so we don't have to worry about losing pieces, and maybe I can even make it an adjustable height?" He is talking to himself more than to you.
You watch as he grabs a notepad and pencil out of a drawer. Then he slumps on the couch. Before you know what's happening or can stop it, Jake has his head on your lap and is sketching design ideas, potential measurements, and materials.
"How are you doing?" you ask him again, staring down at his face, unable to contain your enamored smile. Jake just nods his head and keeps sketching while mumbling.
You run a hand through his soft hair tentatively. It is a bit longer than usual right now, almost out of regulation. He will need to get a haircut this week, but the strands are so soft, and you can't help but enjoy that there is a bit more there to run your fingers through. His eyes instantly close, and he hums contently at your touch.
"Hangman?" you ask him almost teasingly, halting your movements.
"Yes, sugar?"
"Are you okay?"
He blinks his eyes open and looks at you. Their gleaming sea glass green color is a little glazed over and so very soft. His mirth is open and obvious to you. "I'm so great. Navy won."
"That's great. Go Navy." A wide grin splits his face wide, and Jake's eyes actually crinkle closed, hiding their unique color from you again.
"That's right, Honey. Ooh ahh!" Jake responds automatically, making you both laugh, and maybe you had been drinking a little bit of wine before he came home; perhaps you were warm from that, or maybe Jake was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes lock with his, and your hands pull out of his hair. You let one drift trace his face helping him relax the furrow in his eyebrows.
"Why do you want to start a new puzzle?" You ask.
"No new puzzle. A new table." He corrects you. Jake taps his pencil on the notepad pointedly.
"For a new puzzle?"
"You liked doing a puzzle with me, right? Well, after the first bit, you liked it?"
"I loved it." The words slip out of your mouth before you can amend the sentiment to come off less forward.
"Me too,"Jake says and trails off for a moment. Then he continues asking, "So you would be open to doing another one with me? Just for fun this time, not my mental health." Jake doesn't say the last sentence with any bit of shame or embarrassment, which you admire. However, the vulnerability is obvious and glaring.
"Yeah," you confirm, once again having to run your fingers over his brow to relax his face.
"Perfect. I'm building the table, then. You can pick the puzzle this time."
You can't help but let your hands slip back into Jake's hair, and he returns to sketching on his notepad. It was a moment of quiet peace you knew you didn't ever want to let go of.
"Javy said that you don't like to do puzzles with other people, and that's what helps you pull out of the pit."
Jake's eyes don't leave his notepad, and he turns the page. You watch Jake start to scrawl the pros of a dovetail joint versus a dowel joint before he starts to draw it out as well. You almost don't think he will say anything back by the time he finally does.
"You aren't other people," Jake tells you, as he starts drawing in shading, which is completely unnecessary for anything beyond aesthetic. He bends the lines from a basic blueprint to a detailed drawing of a realistic table joint. It was distracting watching the engineer in him flow into the unexpected artist.
The idea that you ever had thought his talent for art and engineering were such radically different things was a bit funny. Now that you see him dance between the lines back and forth so elegantly that you understand it wasn't two competing sides of Jake. It was just him. It was how he worked and operated.
It was how he was Hangman and also Jake. It was how he could fill out sudoku then go to bed at 9 pm and how he could shoot pool until closing with the squad. It was how he was a cowboy and a pilot. It was how you wanted to cry a little bit, knowing he enjoyed you there, knowing you weren't like other people.
And you are struck with the thought that you don't ever want Jake to do a puzzle with anyone but you. You never want to see him sitting alone at three am with bloodshot eyes putting pieces into place again. And you don't even want to consider him explaining animatedly why he believes a piece goes in one color pile and not the one it was originally sorted to anyone but you.
You want to be selfish with Jake. You want to have him, and you want to keep him close, never letting go. Surely you could convince Jake to be yours. It was a selfish act that could be forgiven if you promised to cherish him. After all, there were worse things in the world than loving someone, so entirely the fact they might not love you to the same degree didn't hurt so much.
Jake flips to the next page in the notepad and starts to sketch out the living room. As he works, the living room table starts to look significantly different than your current one.
"Oh. It's for the living room?" You ask him.
At first, he just hums in response, but when he finishes rounding out a line, Jake lifts his pencil from the paper. It pauses there, poised and frozen, as he asks, "Do you want the dining table instead?"
"No." As you continue, the pencil falls back to the page, "It just wasn't what I was originally thinking."
"I could do a dining room table too. They could even be made of the same wood." Jake says. His green eyes broke from the page to glance up at your face for the first time in a while. He searches your face trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.
"Two puzzle tables?"
"Think of all the possibilities. We could do two puzzles at once." Jake gasps. You kind of hate the excited timbre that Jake's voice picks up at the idea, but you actually mostly love it.
"Just one puzzle at a time, please." You say, giving his hair a teasing gentle tug, ignoring the sharp inhale of his breath that immediately follows. You refuse to give away the unexpected thrill sent straight through your body that settles at your core. You have to consciously make sure your words do not fall out rushed, "I think it would be nice to have out here, comfier."
"I thought the exact same thing."
"Oh really?" You ask, amused.
"Yes, Ma'am. I've got two words for you, puzzle naps."
You huff a small laugh at him and bite your lower lip. He flips back to his first page of notes, where he had a small list of wood. He adds cherry to his list after oak.
"Juniper is really pretty," you suggest. He immediately starts to write down your suggestion with a little heart next to it. When Jake starts to shade in the heart, you feel like the one in your chest might actually burst out. Something very similar to butterflies was fluttering around in you, but it is much less nervous and rather born of pure fondness.
"Sounds beautiful. I'm sure it's perfect," Jake tells you.
"Let's pick one together, though. It should be our choice."
"No," Jake says, drawing an elegant oval around juniper. Then he goes back and strikes a straight line through the other options. "No one else has ever remembered to double tap."
Jake spends a few more minutes detailing the design before his eyes start to get sleepy, and his pencil marks become light and halting. It doesn't take much from you to encourage him to go to bed, just a whispered suggestion.
He stumbles up from the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. Jake puts his notebook on the counter in the kitchen. After that, Jake circles back to press a second lingering kiss to your forehead. You watch him go all the way around the house to double check the locks, the front door, the garage, and the back door. Finally, after sending you two finger guns, Jake drags himself up the stairs, humming Anchors Aweigh.
"Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home!" You loudly hear him sing. You listen to Jake as he hums his fight song while randomly peppering in other lyrics. When you finally hear him close his door, your mind makes a decision on the war it's been having.
You are going to do whatever it takes for Jake Seresin to agree to be yours. Potential consequences be damned; Jake is worth the risk.
#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake seresin x you#Hangman imagine#Slow burn#Roley Coley's writing#part 1#Double tap#Hangman x you#house we share
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hi i was wondering if you could write something for tsu’tey? so to set the scene it’s jake and fem avatar’s iknimaya and this is when jake is first taming his ikran and fem avatar (that tsu’tey had to train like neytiri trained jake) gets really concerned for her friend who has been through the same things as her (in reference to getting found by neytiri and then being taken to the na’vi village and having to be trained) and tsu’tey gets jealous because he’s slowly grown feelings for the avatar reader as he’s taught her
(and i’m actually so excited bc i saw you write for Sylwanin and Mo’at and now i have so many ideas for stories but i’ll refrain for the time being, also hope you’re doing well since getting over your sickness! <3)
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!! MY FIRST TSU'TEY REQUEST!! THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEET~!! OH HOW I WANTED SOMEONE TO REQUEST FOR HIM!! MY SWEET HUBBY!!! HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE~!!
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Ningay
Of all things to happen to tsu'tey, he can bare it all. Hunting, gathering, teaching, fighting, being a warrior. Tolerate pathetic whiney skxawng. He can handle it all. But teaching a sky demon the ways of his people? His already thin patience, will be hair thin.
He and neytiri were given the task to teach jake sully and his dream walker friend. Stranded and lost in the forest, those two were found by him and neytiri. Given a sign by Eywa, mo'at had allowed them to learn the ways of their clan and go through their iknimaya.
At first, while neytiri was reluctant, tsu'tey was highly against it. But of course, what the tsahik says it goes. So neytiri was assigned to train jake, while tsu'tey was assigned to train the demon who he never cared to remember the name of.
"wrong....wrong ...wrong again! even a child can hold a bow better than you!" tsu'tey bullied criticized the sky demon. The false na'vi in front of him inwardly sighed, [don't say anything don't say anything don't say anything].
Tsu'tey smirks knowing the demon cant talk back, she doesn't even think of saying anything knowing anything can go wrong in her way. "AGAIN!" he would say after each failed attempt to shoot a proper arrow.
If he is forced to train the demon, might as well get some fun out of it. "At least tell me where I am in the wrong, yelling 'wrong' wont help me get better" the demon says. He merely scoffs and shakes his head. "I have told you again and again, but your little demon brain cant seem to grasp! What is the point to show you if you don't listen? Demons like you never do!".
"Well at least show me the correct way otherwise, we would be out here for hours" the demon says, slight irritation in her voice. Inwardly sighing, tsu'tey grabs her arms and corrects her position. His face close to her, taking in her natural scent. For a demon...she doesn't smell all that terrible.
The sky demon has gotten better, doing good in a well paste. All achievements, small victories, and accomplishments, the sky demon celebrates them. However, she doesn't celebrate it alone. The sky demon shares her excitement with jake sully.
Why him? Yes they go through the same trials and errors but it is tsu'tey that guides her! If there is anyone the sky demon should share her happiness is should be with him! Not the skxawng! But alas, seems the sky demon only has interest in jake sully. It brings bitter taste to tsu'tey's mouth for some reason.
"jake please be careful and try not to die!" the sky demon screamed after jake sully. It was time for the both of them to tame an ikran, and it was jake who is to tame one first.
Tsu'tey was expecting a good laugh, to see jake sully fail miserably. He could use a good joke. He and others of his training group gathered to see jake sully making his way towards the untamed ikrans.
Looking over, the mighty warrior sees the sky demon holding herself in comfort. Tsu'tey walks over to her, close, nearly their arms touching. "He will succeed....right?" the demon asks in worry, her eyes never looking away from jake. He wont die. Why must she keep looking at him when tsu'tey is right there beside her?
"If he doesn't make a foolish move, he will pass" tsu'tey replies, huffing a bit. The demon should be more worried about herself. In a fit of a show, jake managed to tame his ikran with not so much of blood or injuring himself. Taking his first flight with his newly tamed ikran.
Now it was the demons turn.
Taking a deep breathe, the demon went ahead to the other group of ikrans. "Remember what you have to do!" tsu'tey shouted after. Nodding in fear, the demon hissed at the ikrans, until one took at her challenge.
The demon screeched as she does her best to tie the mouth of the ikran with pale light coloring. But the ikran was slightly more aggressive than jake's. Tossing the demon back against the rocky walls. "I will tame you!" the demon said with determination in her voice. Launching back at the ikran, tsu'tey would secretly admit he was impressed. The demon isnt letting down with a fight.
As days pass, and both dreamwalkers were succeeding in their iknimaya, tsu'tey was no fool in how neytiri sees jake. He sees how she looks at him in a new light. Yet would play it off. But tsu'tey is no fool. He knows, neytiri knows deep in her heart. She is growing deep affections for jake sully.
Tus'tey isn't mad. True they were arranged to be mated but if neytiri feels a connection to jake, who is he to step in the way. Besides, he soon begins to feel for the other sky demon....
Every time he and the sky demon are together, he feels more at free, more loose, more...himself. With the little demon, he smiles more, makes jokes and coitizes less. Overall, he is more at peace.
"you know it tsu'tey, you know it as much as I do" neytiri spoke to him one day. Tsu'tey knows exactly what she is talking about. "I know....but the question is....can it be possible" he questions. Can it be? Can they love the sky demons truly?
"after the iknimaya....they should know" neytiri says. It wasn't a question nor was it a thought. It was confirmation. And tsu'tey agrees. While he may not understand these new found feelings for the female sky demon, its best to confess now. Before either jake sully or someone else speaks from their heart.
Their iknimaya is complete. Both sky demons are now part of the people. Omaticaya. And tonight, the whole clan celebrate their new brother and sister. But in the midst of it all, tsu'tey sees neytiri taking jake away from the crowd. That was his cue.
Gathering all the courage he can withhold, he seeks the female sky demon. It wasn't hard, she was the center of attention. Something tsu'tey isn't fond of. She has to share her attention to everyone, everyone that wasn't him. Quickly he grabs her arm and takes her away from the celebration and somewhere more quiet and private. A field of night flowers that the sky demon has come to love. Her favorite place.
"Thank you for taking me away from them...I am not so used to that amount of attention" the demon laughs nervously. She stares at the vast field of the night flowers, admiring their beauty. And tsu'tey does the same, rather, for a different type of beauty.
"I saw jake leave with neytiri. I wonder where they are going....perhaps somewhere like where we are....Jake is a man who can get easily lost I wouldn't be surprised if he loses neytiri somewhere in the forest" she releases a light giggle. He would have join in had it not being the mention of jake sully. It is always jake sully in her mind. It bothers tsu'tey greatly.
Slowly he moves closer, almost touching at the shoulders, taking in her sweet scent. A lovely smell pleasing to his nose. "Jake is a fine warrior....and so are you" he comment, the demon looks up at him with joy in her eyes. "Yes, it is thanks to you I have come this far...truly tsu'tey, I appreciate everything you have done for me"...there it goes. The pounding of his heart beat, ringing in his ears. The rush of joy and pride flow throughout his body.
"I merely did what I was tasked to do...but you are a good student. Better than others I admit to say. Now I await to see what you can do with everything I showed you" he says with care and genuine clarity. The sky demon giggles lightly, her sounds send shivers down his spine like never before.
The girl smiles brightly, seeming to be pleased with his words. Good. That is a good sign. Teasing him to follow, she leads him further into the fields.
Together, side by side they admire the beauty of the night. The glowing flowers gently swaying from the breeze. "Tsu'tey...there is something I have been meaning to tell you" the demon says in a low whispers but he managed to hear it. Shifting a bit he looks down at her, "what is it?". Anticipation is all he feels at the moment.
"I don't know when it began but......whenever I am with you.....I feel things and......I know it cant be good. While I am now Omaticaya...I don't think it can be with..." her sentence trails off. No no this isn't what he wanted!
Getting near her face, speaking with a soft voice he says "What if you could? What if...we can?" tsu'tey looked at her with strong hope, hope that she may reciprocate what he feels. The demon-no, calling her a demon now sounds more insulting, she is anything but a demon.
This beautiful woman in front him stands still, hesitation in her golden eyes. Gently grabbing her oddly five fingered hands into his. A small smile creeped up to her sweet lips. Oh how her beautiful smile brings warmth into his heart.
She takes a deep breath and says "does this mean you understand...?" she asks. Tsu'tey nods a bit too desperate. "I do...I have began to feel certain ways for you and if we give it a chance, explore where it can go" he offers. He is willing to do almost anything for this woman. As moments pass, he is getting more certain what he is feeling for her. Yes, he knows now.
The sweet girl laughed a bit and looks at him directly in the eyes, "then....can we" she asks a bit hesitantly. Smirking a bit, he says "we can ma'ningay" tsu'tey wraps his arms around her waist, and her arms around his neck, both getting closer, eyes closed and their lips meet to a passionate kiss.
Aaaaaaaaaaaand that is all for this one! Sorry this took me a long time! had to rewrite this so many times! But I hope you all like it! until next time! see ya!
Ningay = truly
#avatar#na'vi x reader#avatar the way of water#avatar 2#na'vi x human#na'vi avatar#jake sully#jake x neytiri#neytiri#tsu'tey fluff#tsu'tey x reader#tsu'tey avatar#tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan#tsu'tey x y/n#tsu'tey x you
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Trouble After Paradise (Part 2)
Warnings: slightly sexual content, explicit language, again angst
Summary: if you haven't already, read part 1 here !
A/N: For context, below is the visual image you will need to keep in mind for this part. Trust me. It will help.
This part is also a lot shorter. The good stuff to come is in Part 3. I should have the last part up by Saturday. It’s super hard trying to write and upload during the week because I work 8 hour days!
You had spent the first ten minutes that morning after Harry left for his run, doing some laundry. It helped to keep you occupied instead of going insane as you nervously anticipate his return. You aren't sure exactly how long he's planning on keeping up the silent treatment act for but you honestly don't think you can take it a second longer.
You then made about ten pancakes, shaped in hearts, all dished onto a cute pink heart plate you purchased about a year ago when you and Harry were making purchases for your new house. It was one of those plates that only get used for special occasions and to be honest, you were using whatever you could at this point to say sorry.
You then squeezed some fresh orange juice into a glass jug and set the table for the two of you. Some coffee also prepared to be made for his return. You cut up a few strawberries and threw them into a bowl with blueberries. Making sure the few final bits and pieces were also at arms length, you placed some whipped cream and maple syrup in the centre of the table, between yours and your husbands plates.
Looking at the scene you created, you were chuffed. You don't expect a breakfast made for his return will solve all of your problems, but, perhaps it might encourage him to finally speak to you about it.
After almost an hour, Harry finally returned from his run. You knew this because you could hear the door close as you were finishing up cleaning the kitchen. Your heart sunk to your stomach.
You stand there in the middle of your house, looking awkward and not really knowing what to do with yourself, or where to look as he walks towards the kitchen. He takes off his sun glasses then takes out his AirPods, not paying too much attention to his surroundings at first as he's focusing on steadying his breathing after running for so long.
"I made us breakfast. The same way I did it on Valentines Day, you remember?" You nervously ramble to catch his attention. Pointing over to the small dining table and although Harry is wearing that harsh frown on his face as he looks and listens to you, you notice the way he seems less tense that earlier.
"Is all of that supposed to fix what you did last night?" He bluntly asks, almost straight away.
"Obviously not, Harry." You sigh and you want to roll your eyes at his attitude so badly but you restrain yourself. You walk closer to him and thankfully he doesn't back away. You can see the sweat covering the entirety of his skin. It glistens in every angle of light in your sight. His muscles larger due to excessive use of them recently.
You've barely even realised how much his facial hair has actually grown since you saw him last week. You never cared much for it in the past but this grown out moustache is quite the distracting feature for the current moment.
You're stood in front of him now, only a step away from a hug but you dare not even try to touch him. He's staring you down. You can tell from the look in his eyes that he's genuinely disappointed and it crushes your soul to know you caused that sad look.
"I thought we could talk it through over a nice breakfast." You almost whisper. "Can we sit down, please?" You then add, eyes directed towards the table.
Without verbally replying to you, Harry just walks past you and heads upstairs towards your room.
You've had enough now. You're done waiting and you're done sucking up to him. He won't even listen to you and he's wasting the time you two have by dragging this on.
You wait a few moments, covering up the food so it doesn't get cold because you know it will get eaten at some point today.
"Right! That's it! Harry Styles, I've given you your space and I've let you go mute on me, but I am not tolerating this anymore. I need you to listen to me!" You begin ranting loudly as you storm your way up the stairs.
You enter your room to find Harry still sweaty but undressing himself as he's obviously about to get into the shower. He only managed to get his hat, shoes, and shirt off before you barged in.
He's stood in the ensuite with that angry pout on again, looking as angry as ever with you. He almost opens his mouth to retaliate but you cut him off before you give him the chance.
"No listen, Harry. I fucked up massively! I know that and I have no excuse for being an idiot to forget to pick you up and to forget about our dinner.” At this point Harry is arching a brow in amusement at your boldness. He’s still visibly livid but he’s listening.
“I was so caught up in wanting to spend more time with you this week. The only way I could make that happen was to race through three days worth of work yesterday just so I could have Monday and Tuesday with you because I miss you so fucking much." You say all in one breath. You're too heated to cry at the moment but you know as soon as this explanation is over you will probably tipple over the edge.
"I should've called you and should’ve stayed in touch to keep you in the loop but my mind has been on high-stress over-drive since we got back from our honey-moon. Work has not given me a second to breathe and unfortunately I’ve let it affect us which makes me so angry with myself but you have to know I would never do this on purpose. Please." And that was it, you said all that you needed too. It was a weight lifted and you literally had to gasp for air at one point but you did it.
"I'm so fucking angry with you." Harry deadpans but his actions next completely throw you off. “I’m angry but I can’t stand not being around you anymore. Fuck this.”
He storms toward you and grabs your face between his hands with a mild force as he brings his lips down harshly onto yours in a rushed, salty kiss. It's sloppy and full of anger but you melt into him with a small whine escaping from the back of your throat as your hands snake up his broad, sweaty shoulders and yank him closer in the kiss but tugging your fingers through the ends of his damp hair.
“Will you forgive me though? We only have until Wednesday morning to be together properly and I don’t want us to be like this the whole time. I’m really sorry. Please, Harry, my perfect husband, let me make it up to you?” You coax him and use that flirty tone in your voice that you knows has him in the palm of your hand.
Your soft hands are running up and down his large biceps and shoulders. Your eyes all doe like as you pout at him. He’s finding it so hard to resist. He holds you in his arms, still. He’s thinking of what to do next.
“I know a few ways how you could make it up to me.” He smirks ever so slightly. His eyes darting to your lips as you lick them knowingly.
His eyes darken and the energy has shifted in those few moments. He’s obviously forgiven you but he’ll never say it. Instead he wants to make up the way you both like to best. Sex.
“And what do you have in mind, moustache man?” You tease. Harry raises his brows in surprise before he leans forward and starts leaving small bites into the crook of your neck. You wince at the mixed sensation of pain, pleasure and the tickling from his moustache as he attacks your neck.
“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” He retaliates. Yanking you towards him harshly so he can pick you up and you wrap your legs around his waist.
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles smut#harry's house album#harry styles one shot#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harrysmut#harry styles angst
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3, 2, 1… Blow The Candle
Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Geto Suguru x f!reader
Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Genre/Theme: Established relationship; non-sorcery au
Content warning: fluff, eventual smut, oral (m.receiving), explicit sexual content, language, angst, sexually frustrated Geto.
Summary: What is the best birthday gift for Suguru, you ask? Riling him up till he reaches his breaking point before surprising him on his birthday with a gift he’ll never forget (aka, you give him the best head he’s ever received).
Author's Note: Hello, I was down bad for Suguru, wanting to give him the glock-glock 9000 and boom, this one-shot was born. I was too lazy to write the entire smut scene but let me know if you’d like a Part 2, I could use the extra motivation T.T
Thank you for reading!
~ Eren’s Birdie
Song Dedication: Religion by Lana Del Rey
Geto Suguru wasn't the kind to celebrate his birthdays with much enthusiasm — it's not that he hated them… he just couldn't care less about them. For him, it was just a reminder of another year passing. And although he never said it out loud for fear of sounding too cheesy, he cared more about the time he got to spend with his people.
So this year, you wanted to please your boyfriend in a way that he preferred, giving him a good time that would be hard to forget. You’d both taken leaves from work for tomorrow to get some alone time all day together before going out for dinner with friends.
With just a few hours till midnight, you were making mental notes of everything you had planned for tomorrow, ticking each item off your checklist. Last year, you’d gotten him an electric guitar, based on Satoru’s recommendation – which Suguru loved, of course, but he had joked that you could simply bake him a cake and he’d be the happiest man on earth.
Which was ironic coming from someone who’d constantly bombard you with flowers and presents for relationship milestones and celebrations that were days or even months away. Suguru was all for spoiling his girl but when it came to receiving, his love language was, more often than not, physical touch.
And that’s what you decide you’d do. Your plan was to make tonight extra special. So, while you had materialistic gifts lined up, you had other things in mind to please the birthday boy.
You’d asked a friend to bake a batch of hash brownies, paying extra for good quality stuff, since you knew that’s how Suguru liked it – he was the type to easily distinguish good quality weed from the subpar one.
You’d also ordered a custom made jersey of his favourite rugby team with his birth date ‘03’ on the back. Since Suguru can sniff out a surprise in an instant, you’d taken extra steps to get it delivered at Satoru’s address instead of yours.
On your way back from work in the evening, you’d received a call from your boyfriend, asking if you could bring take-out since he was too occupied with work to take on dinner duties tonight. You’d agreed, secretly cheering as it would be the perfect opportunity to make a few stops to pick up the brownies from your friend’s and the jersey from Satoru’s place.
When you arrive home to find him seated at the dining table, eyes fixed on the table, you almost fear that he’d gotten back earlier than expected.
“Baby, weren’t you working till late?” you question as you place the food parcel on the table before walking towards him to place a kiss on his temple. He brings his hand up to give you a side hug, not peeling his eyes off the screen.
“I am, I brought the work laptop home since I figured it’d take too long… would rather work here till late than at the office.”
“Will you be working late into the night?” you ask, feeling a bit disappointed.
“Oh no, I’d be done before midnight hopefully… I know your obsession with wanting to be the first to wish me.” he chuckles. You quickly make an excuse of freshening up to hide your handbag into the cupboard, before returning to the living room again for dinner.
When you’re done with dinner, he quickly gets back to typing away hastily on his laptop. You quietly make your way to the bedroom, locking it behind you. You take the jersey, the box of brownies and other gifts out of your fully stuffed handbag… thanking the heavens for the nth time that your boyfriend was too focused on work to notice anything odd.
After wrapping his gifts and stacking them away in the cupboard, you take your time to shower and shave for the special occasion. You put on a white, skimpy, lace lingerie that leaves barely anything to the imagination before wearing his rugby jersey on top. You twirl in front of the mirror, noting that the jersey nearly covers your ass but would ride up easily if you bent down.
Your heart beats faster as you place a pair of leather handcuffs in a red paper box with black ribbon, placing it next to the box of brownies on the bed. You knew things were going to get wild so you recall your safe word ‘monkey’ just in case, but don’t fixate on it much since you trusted your boyfriend to know just how much he can push you before it gets too much.
You had mentally prepared yourself for a sexually frustrated Suguru since you hadn’t allowed him to touch you for about 15 days now, which was the longest he’d gone without your touch ever since you started living together almost more than a year ago.
Usually you’d run to him to fuck you on your period since it always helped you with your cramps, but for the first week, it became an excuse to act cranky and bratty, which he took without complaining. You were aware that you probably shouldn’t press his buttons so much since his payback would be 10 times worse but you couldn’t help yourself since it was just so damn easy to rile him up. It revealed his animalistic side in bed, leaving no room for the gentle lover that he sometimes was, and you were a sucker for that.
You loved being ravaged by him because the aftercare was even better. Besides, it wasn’t easy for you either, to act so dumb and innocent in front of him while actively trying to seduce him throughout this whole week. You wanted nothing more than to jump his bones when he wasn’t even trying to seduce you. Your boyfriend was simply existing and it was enough to get you wet.
At the beginning of your relationship, he’d quickly realised you were on par with him when it came to being horny to the point of borderline sex addict. For a short time, he had your number saved as ‘my succubus <3’ briefly to tease how much you craved his touch all the damn time. It didn’t last for long however, since you made him change it back to your name when Satoru accidentally read it when you’d called Suguru’s phone and started calling you that out loud at insanely inappropriate times in public.
So imagine your boyfriend’s surprise and confusion when you, of all people, were asking for space because you ‘simply don’t feel like it.’ He respected your wishes, being a respectful gentleman, not wanting to overwhelm you.
Though you knew his patience was wearing thin and almost broke 3 days ago. You’d gotten out of the shower and dropped your towel to the ground as you paced around the room naked, taking longer than usual to decide what dress to put on, moving your hips seductively to The Weeknd’s more explicit and dirtier songs playing softly on your phone. He’d muttered a ‘for fuck’s sake’ before making his way to the bathroom for a quick shower, trying to calm himself down. He only stepped out of the bathroom when he was certain you’d left the house, a few moments after gently knocking on the bathroom door to inform him that you were leaving for work.
When Satoru had asked you why Suguru had been more irritated for the last two weeks, you told him about denying him sex to rile him up. Satoru chuckled, calling you devil incarnate… maybe so, but this devil was sure going to have the time of her life soon so it was a win-win for you.
As you spray on some perfume you know he loves, you hear his voice call out your name. You check the time and gasp – it’s 11:49PM. You place the red box on the bed for later, checking yourself out and fixing your hair one last time before opening the bedroom door.
“Baby, did you fall asleep?” Suguru speaks while sliding it into the bag and placing it on the coffee table. His back is turned to you so you think he doesn’t notice you tip-toeing into the living room.
“And here I was thinking you almost forgot it’s my birthd-” he abandons the joke, his words getting caught in his throat when his eyes land on you as he turns around.
“Hi,” you giggle sheepishly, suddenly conscious about the way his eyes roam over your body. But you snap out of it just as quickly.
Pull yourself together – you have a plan to execute, a mission to accomplish!
“Sugu, do you like your present? The jersey?” you ask, feigning innocence as you twirl in place. He’s checking you out shamelessly with a devilish look on his face, “Love it.”
“Hmm. Maybe you should put it on to see if it fits.” you reply as you seductively remove the top and toss it at him. He catches it, a cocky smile plastered on his face as he observes your antics in amusement – so this is what the forced abstinence was about.
“You’re right, we really should make sure it fits.” he peels off his own shirt before putting the jersey on in one swift motion.
“Perfect.” you smile at him as you walk to where he’s standing near the sofa, your hands landing on his chest as you caress the fabric gently to smoothen the crinkles.
You could melt under how intense his gaze feels. You bite your lip as you blush, hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. He gives your ass a firm squeeze before lightly spanking it, causing you to yelp in surprise as his arms snake around your waist, trapping you.
“Baby, you are in so much trouble tonight.” he brings his lips closer to your ear, biting your earlobe.
“I’m counting on it.” you giggle at the tingling sensation of his lips on your neck. You pull yourself out of his arms and he lets you, following behind when you guide him by his wrist to settle him on the sofa.
“Let me make it up to you, birthday boy,” you say, bending down in front of him, intertwining your fingers with his to pin them to his sides.
You kiss him softly and ever so slowly before letting it deepen. Even with you trying your best to not let him touch you just yet, you know it's a useless effort given that your strength is nothing compared to his. Suguru tightens his grip, fingers still tightly intertwined with yours as he moves your hands to your lower back to lock them there.
You try to wiggle your hands out of his hold and feel him letting go. You try to take back control but his rough grip on your hips indicates otherwise as he pulls your body onto his till you're straddling him.
You let out a groan as you put your hands on his chest and pull away to catch your breath, feeling his hard poke against your ass. Your hand reaches to your side to pull his wrist to your face as you check his watch, the screen lighting up just on time as 11:59PM turns to 12:00AM.
“Happy…” you give him a small peck on his forehead, “Birthday…” another one on the tip of his nose, “Babyyy.” last one landing on his lips.
He's smiling into the kiss as his grip relaxes a bit. You take the opportunity to slowly move down till you’re kneeling between his legs. You hastily unbutton his pants and he lifts his hips up to let you take them off completely.
Your hand strokes his dick as you lick the tip gently. You slide down his foreskin to reveal his wet tip, your mouth watering at the sight – Suguru might just have the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.
“Missed this lil’ guy so much.” You tease and he lets out a snort, if there’s one thing that Suguru will never take an offence at is you joking about his dick, it simply doesn’t faze him – and why would it? He knows he’s big.
Your tongue rolls over his tip, causing him to sink down into the sofa, spreading his legs out further. You lick up the base before taking a few inches in your mouth as you hear your boyfriend let out a low groan.
He rests his head back as his eyes close, enjoying the way your tongue feels on his cock after so long. The peace doesn't last however, when his phone rings in the pocket of his pants.
Mouth still connected to him, you reach a hand down to where his pants are bundled up and pull out his phone to silence it, tossing it onto the sofa next to him. You look up at his face as your mouth moves up and down his length.
His phone rings again in a few seconds.
“For fucks sake…” he mutters as he looks at who's calling. You release his dick from your mouth, letting your hand take over.
“Who is it?” You ask, kissing at the base.
“Satoru.” he sighs, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “He's gonna keep calling till I answer.”
“It's okay, go ahead,” you assure him, your hands still.
He nods as he answers the call. But right as he's about to greet his best friend on the other end, you take him in your mouth, letting his tip hit the back of your throat slightly as you steady your hands on his thighs.
Suguru cusses out a loud ‘fuck’ as his hands move to your hair, gripping at your strands to steady your movements.
“Hello?” You can hear Satoru's confused tone.
“Sorry… I hit my… elbow.” Suguru speaks into the phone, almost mumbling the excuse, eyes closing as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“Happy birthdayyyyyy best frienddd!” You hear the blondie's sing-song squeal.
“Thank you Satoru.” Suguru says rather plainly, trying to sound as serious as he can. You’re determined to break him though, so you suck him the way only you know makes him lose his mind each time.
He moans as his hand wraps around your hair to take it in a makeshift ponytail. He yanks it… you know it's his way of asking you to behave.
“I was honestly gonna knock on your door with a cake at midnight… but my favourite bakery was closed since the owner's away… thankfully, she'll be here tomorrow so I'll see you in the morning with only the best cake ever! Soooo what were you up to?” you hear Satoru's rambling on the other end, loving that him being so talkative is wearing Suguru’s patience out.
Your hands move to massage his balls and the base of his cock while your head bops in a steady rhythm, earning a soft groan as he moves his phone away from his face, putting it on mute.
“Careful baby, this is your only warning.” he groans before unmuting. You release his dick with a pop.
Satoru is still going on when you hear him ask if he's the first to wish Suguru. Just as your boyfriend opens his mouth to speak, you lick at his sensitive tip, almost causing him to moan. He clears his throat to cover it up as he struggles to speak, “yeah… you are.”
“No way! So I beat your girl to it?!” Satoru rejoices.
“Yeah you did… She’s aslee- I’d hate to… wake her up… Bye.” Surugu cuts the call, not waiting for a reply. He tosses his phone to the side, eyes staring you down as you keep on blowing him.
“Baby, if you enjoy having your face stuffed so much…” his grip on your hair tightens while his other hand caresses your cheek briefly, deceitfully gentle, “... let me show you how it’s done.”
Before you can register his words, you feel his dick hit the back of your throat, tears instantly welling in your eyes. You choke, letting out a few muffled moans and whimpers as he face fucks you, taking back his control.
The intensity feels too much but not enough for you to bail just yet. For times like these, where you cannot speak, you had a safe gesture, tapping his ass thrice on repeat… he’d protested initially by suggesting you do something else but you’d justified it by saying this was the only action that would seem out of place. He has accepted by now that, when it comes to arguments, he can never really win against you. He gave in eventually, still confident you wouldn’t ever need to use it cause, “I’m sure you’ll take anything I give you like a good girl.” One would say he was being too cocky but his words were like holy scripture, you obeyed every single word.
Within minutes, he’s warning you that he’s about to cum, since he knows you’ve never really been a fan of swallowing. He’s about to pull out to cum on your tits but you swat his hand away, surprising him by sucking him even more fervently. Such a simple action is enough to make him lose his mind. He shoots his load into the back of your throat, warm liquid filling your mouth as you struggle to swallow it all.
When he pulls his cock out, a string of saliva connects it with your lips. You bring the back of your hand up to wipe your lips while he leans down to wipe your tears off your cheeks.
As he observes the black residue of mascara on his fingers, you grip his thighs for support as you stand up. He looks back at you, “God… I love you.”
“I love you too Suguru.” you smile at him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs, pulling you closer to kiss your abdomen. You giggle and run your fingers through his hair. He brings his arms up to secure them around your lower back before tackling you to the sofa in one quick motion, moving to position himself on top of you.
“SUGURU! I almost had a heart a-” he shuts up your complaint with a kiss and you let your words melt as you kiss him back, moaning at the way his hands rake whatever area of your skin they can find.
Your hands automatically move to his hair as he leaves hungry half kisses over your neck, making his way down to one of your breasts. He licks and bites the hard bud from over your bra, causing you to whimper at the touch. He repeats the action on your other nipple as wet patches form on the fabric.
Your breath hitches when you feel two fingers rub at your clothed pussy, already wet with your arousal.
“Wait… Sugu– please, wait.” you breathe out as he rubs your folds with more pressure.
“Baby, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without fucking you tonight.” he groans as his eyes find yours, his face contorted.
“Suguru, I’m not letting you sleep a wink tonight…” you reassure him, cupping his face in your hands to give him a quick peck, “... but please take me to the bedroom first, I might have another present or two for you.”
#erensbirdie#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsukaisen x reader#geto x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#geto smut#geto suguru#jjk geto
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My friend got sick with a bad cold, but because of school I couldn't help her get better, so, can I ask a headcanon where the reader takes care of sick anemo children? (I have too much affection and I don't know who to give it to)
If you don't like it's okay!
Hope you and the other anons are ok! - 🍄anon
Sorry it took so long for me to write this! I hope she's doing better now and I also hope you don't mind but you didn't say who you'd like to be included so I just picked some anemo boys! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy!! <3
─⊰⊹ฺ🎄𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⊹ฺ🎄
{༻~Caring~༺}
CW: Mentions of sickly children, lots of fluff. (Pet names: Kazuha: Dear,
(Includes: Venti, Kazuha, Xiao, Wanderer and Heizou!)
𑁍༄Venti:
You sat down next to one of the children, covering them up with a blanket as music filled the room and the once cold air evaporated into a warm comforting breeze. The power of the anemo archon was truly something...and listening to him as he played the lyre was healing for the soul, it was no wonder the children liked him so much and the medical staff often asked him to perform.
"May every boy and every girl, sleep well tucked in tonight. Have no fear and feel no fright, for the anemo archon will keep shining down bright upon you." Venti sang out, chuckling sweetly as the children sang along, in that moment you fell deeper in love with him and everytime his eyes met yours during his performance...he fell harder for you too.
𑁍༄Kazuha:
Kazuha laughed softly as your words made the children around you giggle, he had no idea you were so good with kids...it was like the second you walked in all of them felt just the tiniest bit better and it amazed him. He could sit here and listen to you tell them jokes and read silly stories for hours and so could they.
"Can you read another?"
"Oh pretty pretty please tell us more jokes."
You glanced at Kazuha as the children around you asked for more, would he mind staying longer?
"I want to hear another too, please go on dear."
𑁍༄Xiao:
You glanced in Xiaos direction, blushing slightly as you watched him carefully make a paper lantern for the child next to him. He'd been doing this all day with you, helping the sickly children take part in lantern rite and giving them a chance they normally wouldn't have. You still couldn't believe this was his idea...it seemed so different than how he normally portrayed himself...it was a whole new side of him that you wish you could have met sooner.
Fireworks started to go off around you and you both hopped up as the kids hurried to release their lanterns. All of you watching together as the floated up into the sky, carrying dreams and memories along with them.
𑁍༄Wanderer:
"Hmph" Wanderer sighed, trying to hide his flushed cheeks...how you'd managed to get him here...taking care of sick children and watching them as they played with his hat...who knows. That wasn't even the most surprising part of it either, he was genuinely enjoying it...he was enjoying watching you.
The children all looked up to you and you gave all of them attention, never leaving one out...hell you hadn't even left him out this entire time. It was unreal to him, how it felt like he had found his heart and it was you...
𑁍༄Heizou:
Heizou set out the crafts he had prepared, making sure each and every child had one, and of course you too. This idea he had was genius, he'd been planning it for weeks now and you just couldn't help but love him even more everytime he mentioned it. He was so proud and hopeful that it would make the kids feel better, if anyone could do it...you believed he could.
"Alright do all of the little detectives have their crafts?"
A chorus of yes's followed and as he explained the rules you watched the wonderful scene unfold. With a little help the children shaped out a magnifying glass out of paper and then poured different colours of paint into a sturdy see through bag, with this they could find shapes and make out different creatures or items in the mixing paint, like pointing out shapes in the clouds. In the end they would have a squishy to remember the moment and a paper magnifying glass to search for more beautiful things everyday.
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Merry Christmas~*.✧
#genshin impact#genshin headcanons#genshin#genshin fanfic#genshin x reader#genshin x you#anemo boys#venti headcanons#venti fluff#venti x you#venti x reader#kazuha x reader#kazuha headcanons#kazuha fluff#kazuha x you#xiao x reader#xiao fluff#xiao x you#xiao headcanons#wanderer headcanons#wanderer x reader#wanderer fluff#wanderer x you#heizou headcanons#heizou fluff#heizou x you#heizou x reader
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ateez - calling them by their full name (hyung line)
ateez x gn!reader
warnings: little bit of angst if you squint, other than that just fluff fluff and more fluff.
word count: 1.3k
note: this is my first post/writing ever! i am definitely taking any constructive criticism so please don't be afraid to lmk! all the love <3
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hongjoong: coming home after a long day of work and taking a long, and hot shower was originally the plan. pulling up in the driveway, you noticed hongjoong's car hadn't been there, meaning he was probably still stuck at work in the studio. brushing that thought off, you walked into yours and hongjoong's shared home to find his things by the door, and a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom.
carefully following the said trail, you walk upstairs inspecting the scene before you. hongjoong was covered in paint, head to toe, trying to make his way to the bathroom to (hopefully) wash it off.
"kim hongjoong!" you say, startling the poor covered man. "yah! you scared me y/n, what's with the full name card?" he asks, stripping the last of the paint covered clothing before stepping into the shower. you let out a slight chuckle at his current state, before joining him in the shower.
when you two exit the bathroom, both clean and dressed in clothes that didn't have paint on them, hongjoong proceeds to explain what happened.
"we were shooting a new wanteez episode, and i thought that we were just going to be playing another game like always. we hadn't even gotten ten minutes into shooting when wooyoung and san dumped buckets of paint on me!" at his explanation, you die laughing, holding onto the bed for support before going up to him and giving him a hug.
"as funny as that is my love," you say pulling away from the hug to face him, "i hope you know you are absolutely going to clean your paint trail up," he smiles and kisses you before going downstairs to clean his mess.
seonghwa: although you and seonghwa had been together for years, it just hadn't ever been feasible to live together given his schedule. your apartment was almost an hour from the studio, but regardless seonghwa always made the time and effort to see you.
it was a friday night, and the weekend was going to be the first one you've spent entirely with seonghwa in weeks. it was almost midnight, and he was supposed to be home hours ago. with the heavy thunderstorm brewing outside, you had grown worried whether or not your precious boyfriend was safe.
"hwa? you were supposed to home hours ago, are you okay?" you text him. after a few minutes he responds, "hi my love, i'm so so sorry for being late. we've been in the studio trying to get this choreography right for hours. i'll be home soon, i promise," he responds. keeping up your hopes of him being home soon, you stay awake waiting for him to walk through the door.
two hours pass, and it's pushing 3 am before seonghwa walks through your front door, drenched and shaking. you, still being awake, walk up to him. "park seonghwa! you had me worried to death!" you say, slightly panicked but upset at him for not keeping his word.
"baby i am so so sorry, the storm got so bad they wouldn't let us leave. the power went out and my phone died. please forgive me, i didn't mean to worry you so much," he says taking a step toward you. he looked at you before keeping his head down, and you knew he felt bad. "before anything, please go get in the shower so you don't get sick," you say before going to your room to bring him some dry clothes.
after he showers, you two sit on your couch. throwing on a movie, you brew him some tea and bring it to him. "please forgive me love, i really tried to get home to you," he says while scooting toward you on the couch.
"all is forgiven hwa, now finish your tea so we can go to bed," you say, cuddling into his chest.
yunho: sunday's were always cleaning days for you and yunho. you two always made sure to dedicate this day to keeping your shared house clean, and never skipped a cleaning sunday.
thankfully, yunho always found a way to make cleaning fun. with his golden retriever energy, he wasn't able to sit still or do some mundane task without adding a little bit of fun into the mix.
while you tasked yourself to cleaning the kitchen, yunho was busy in the living room. while putting away the dishes, you heard a small crash and an "ow!" accompanying it.
rushing to the living room, you find yunho on the ground behind the couch, rubbing his shoulder. "what happened in here?" you ask, before kneeling down to assist him.
"i was trying to dust the fan, but i lost my balance and fell," he says, looking sheepish. "jesus love, i thought you were really hurt," you say before helping him up and walking back to the kitchen.
yunho followed you, an idea popping into his head. he grabbed the duster, and stood next to you in the kitchen with it behind his back. "i believe you have a living room to clean mister, you're not getting out of your chores so easily," you say, glancing at him with a small laugh.
he then pulls the duster out, and begins to tickle you with it. laughing, you try to escape his grasp before he darts from the kitchen to another part of the house. "jeong yunho! you're not getting away with this!" you yell, before grabbing another duster of your own and chasing after him.
yeosang: yeosang was the loveliest person you've ever met. from his charms to his attentive personality, you loved absolutely everything about him. he only had one small flaw though, and that was never talking to you about his troubles.
you had come home from work early one day, after getting a call from jongho that yeosang hadn't been feeling well - physically and mentally. he didn't mention much aside from him thinking that yeosang hadn't been taking care of himself properly.
walking through the front door, you find yeosang laying on the couch, a cloth to his head and him in a bundle of blankets, obviously cold. he looked half awake, half asleep, and all you wanted was to take care of him.
walking up to his sleepy form, you touch his forehead - it's hot to the touch. "yeo? you awake honey?" you say, moving into his sight. he sits up, rather quickly, before looking at you. "oh, hey y/n. aren't you supposed to be at work? how come you're home so early?" he questions, looking genuinely confused.
"i got a call from jongho just a bit ago," you explain, "he told me you weren't taking care of yourself yeo. what's going on?" yeosang looks slightly uncomfortable, but doesn't voice it.
"i'm fine y/n, jongho's just being a bit dramatic is all," he says while moving to get up, and presumably head to the bedroom. "kang yeosang, get back over here," you say with your hand on your hip, looking at him expectingly.
he trudges back over the side of the couch, before casting his head down, not looking at you. you walk up to him, giving him a hug, but being careful not to squeeze too hard.
"love, it's my job to take care of you just as you take care of me. you know you can tell me anything, anything at all. i don't want you to hide things like this from me yeo," you say, your hands on either side of his face to get him to look at you.
"i know, i know. i'm sorry, i just don't want you to worry about me is all," he says with watery eyes. "it's okay, just come to me next time alright? i'll always take care of you honey," you say before leading the both of you to bed.
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thank you for reading! i'd like to start taking requests, so if you have any, please feel free to let me know!
#ateez#ateez angst#ateez fluff#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#hongjoong#seonghwa#yunho#yeosang#kpop imagines#kpop headcanons#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#hongjoong x reader#seonghwa x reader#yunho x reader#yeosang x reader
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"Just Write For Yourself"
I think the thing that gets to me the most about the whole "just write for yourself!" response to writers complaining the lack of engagement in fanfic, is that it makes me realize that there's a fundamental misunderstanding between writers and readers of how much work writing fic is.
Like, there are 2-3 scenes in any given oneshot or chapter that I want to write. I usually write those first. They'll take me a couple of, very enjoyable, hours at most.
And then I have to go back and write the whole rest of the fic. Which is work. And it's usually not immediately enjoyable.
For example, one of my best fics on AO3 is a Star Trek fanfic called Rascal'ed. This was one of the fics that was easiest for me to write, one of the ones that just possesses you until it's done. It took me less than five days to create.
And I still had to go back in and fill in blank spots and cut bad prose and revise the dialogue.
If you want to see what a difficult fic to write looks like, like my fic Leap of Faith, here's what I do for my stories that I actually plan out:
And that's just the planning. I still have to write the damn thing. And there are things in the above layout—which is just for Chapter 1, mind—that got changed between this and the final published version of the chapter. You can see that the title of the story itself was changed at some point.
So when people say, "write for yourself, not for engagement!" What I personally hear is: "I as a reader do not understand how much work writers put into getting a story into a publishable form, and I also do not realize how easy it would be for them to write the couple of scenes they enjoyed writing and then to let it sit forever in their drafts."
(Of these eight fics—averaging more than 20 pages each—only two of them ever made it to AO3. The rest remain unfinished and unpublished.)
And for the record: I, personally, have wonderful readers. Kind, attentive readers who leave me comments engaging with the work. And it's because of them that I continue to publish stories! Like, I don't want to sound like sour grapes here, because I know that I get way more comments than many great writers out there.
But I've seen, across the board, writers trying to express that they are just not getting the engagement that they desire and expect for the work they put in, and people responding with "you shouldn't expect engagement; just write for yourself."
And the thing is, I know they're not trying to be rude. I know that! Of course they don't know how hard we work, who would have ever told them? We can't blame them for not knowing what they've never been told. Which is why I just felt the need to get out here and say:
Writing fics takes a lot of work. A lot of work. Hours upon hours of unpaid labor. Any fic that you see on AO3 or Fanfiction.net or Wattpad, is not something someone wrote solely for themselves. They could have just daydreamed about it, or written a couple of scenes and then left it unfinished. But they chose to put in the hard work it took to finish it. Because they wanted other people to read and engage with it.
Please engage with it.
Because if all fic writers ever hear is "you should just write for yourself"—we might start believing it.
#fanfic writers#ao3#writing#fanfic writing#fanfiction#fanfic#write for yourself#the mortifying ordeal of showing your fic writing process to strangers on the internet
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