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engeorged · 1 year

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Aster's Maze

Follow up to Obi's Place and Santa’s Otto

Art by @badoobers

Words by @engeorged

I know it’s been over a year since I posted, but it’s been quite a journey for me. One I’m not even sure if I’m ready to talk about. The encounter with Obi changed me somehow and I’m not the same person I was. I can’t quite seem to settle anywhere for very long any more. I feel restless, and to be blunt, like I’m not quite fully present wherever I am. My mind is always in a different place?

Let me go right back. By now, you’ve probably read about my encounter at Obi’s place. I’m not gonna lie, I was a wreck for a few days. It was like a hangover meets a sausage casing? The amount of food he’d packed in me took days to digest. I was swollen for 72 hours, not really able to do anything but sleep and go to the toilet. (I’ll spare you the details although I’m aware a few of you out there will want them you dirty bastards!!) I didn’t check my messages the whole time but after my last post, a lot of you had reached out to me. Turns out there’s quite a few of these guys around and they don’t fuck about! The pictures you all sent me were quite eye opening! (That's maybe for another post!)

The whole thing felt like a dream, but on reflection I realised it was a pretty good dream. I hate to admit it, but being able to eat that much food was quite a turn on. I tried for months to find him again and ask what he did to me. I’ve not been able to repeat it by myself, and trust me, I’ve tried. I can’t really even eat half of what he put into me. Every few weeks I would sit down in a restaurant or a buffet place and just block the afternoon out and eat as much as I could to see what would happen. Now I’m a big guy (and getting bigger!) and I could probably out eat most people if it came down to it but there’s just no way I can get as full as I did that morning. My belly is definitely increasing in size and capacity but still, without whatever magic he was using I can’t do it again.

To cut a long story short, I ended up travelling. The few stories you sent me (that weren’t totally nuts) were fascinating, but from all over the world. I’ve been searching for trolls in Norway, piscies in the UK, dragons in china, tikoloshes in Africa. Nothing! Not a single bite. I was starting to believe that maybe it was a hallucination from being so over tired. Maybe the stripes on the road had hypnotised me as I drove or something.

I’m currently living in Greece for a bit. I’ve pretty much run out and so I found a casual labour job on a building site in Greece. It’s a bit of a shit show to be honest, but all I have to do is turn up and lay bricks for a few hours in the afternoon and I get paid! The extra bit of timber I’d put on means I break a sweat the second I get up, as even though it’s early autumn, here it’s still 24 degrees by midday!

It was coming up to lunch time on the site when I started feeling a bit faint. I realised I’d not had anything to drink for a few hours and I was super dehydrated. I grabbed my water bottle and when lifted to my lips, only a few drips came out, so I had a scan of the area and saw a guy with a cart selling gyros and beers. Usually the street food was pretty good around here so I headed over, still wearing my tight high viz vest. As I got close to the stand I started to realise how hot the guy was selling them, now I’m newly ‘out’ and so I don’t still fully know what my type is but I can tell you reader, this guy was everyone’s type. He was stacked, his arms were like ripe watermelons and as I got close I realised how huge he was. I’ve told you I’m 6’5, but this guy towered over me. He must have been 7 feet easily. His hair was everywhere and he had this crazy medallion around his neck with a symbol on it I recognised from somewhere.

Now, I know my story has ended up on some niche websites and blogs, so I know what you pervs are all waiting for. So here it is. His gut was potentially the hottest thing I have ever seen. It was huge. He was so tall it was practically oval. Firm and round and pushing against the buttons in his shirt. It was like he wasn’t even tempted to hide it. In fact, as I approached, he lifted his arms above his head to stretch which meant that there was a good three or four inches of furry dome poking out from underneath. He looked as stuffed as I was at Obi’s. As I got nearer I started to regret my decision to go over. I must have looked like an absolute state. I was wearing my battered work jeans and fluorescent jacket, covered in brick dust and sweat and I absolutely stank. A 280 lbs slab of man like me working in 30 degree heat is a recipe for funk, and I was dripping with it. He looked up and saw me so there was no going back, I committed and walked up trying to look cool. Something about him made me want to melt into a puddle. I said ‘Yasass’ in my best Greek accent and he replied with a bass filled ‘Hello, how can I help you’ in perfect English. His accent was vaguely British with a hint of Greek overlayed. The rumble of his voice made something shift inside me. I think I was in love.

I ordered two beers and paid him. Lifting it to my lips, thirst took over and downed one on the spot. I didn’t really want to leave, I wanted to try and get his number or something. I downed the second beer and I could see it must have impressed him as he leant forward in his cart and offered me another. I ordered two and offered him one which he took. We stood chatting about the weather and what I was up to and as we chatted he started putting together a huge gyro full of amazing smelling meat. There was a hint of salad at the bottom but the thing was packed as tight as his shirt. He wrapped it up with his strong hands and offered it to me. I took it immediately and took a big bite, within minutes the thing had gone. It was the best tasting thing I’d ever had. When I finished I realised he’d just been watching me eat it, not saying anything. His dark eyes focussed on me making me feel very seen. He had very keen eyes that looked deep into my soul. (I know how pretentious that sounds, don't worry, but you’ll see I’m right in a minute!)

I jokingly said I could eat another one and before I’d finished my sentence he had one there in his large paw! I won’t bore you with the details because there will be a lot more later but suffice to say I ate 3 of his huge gyros. I was substantially full, my own belly was beginning to push out against my work clothes and I’m pretty sure I lost a button I offered to pay but he wouldn’t take it. He just said he’d see me again. I went back to work on the site very full and very horny!

I stopped by for lunch every day for the next week and a half. In the evenings I discovered he owned a small but very cool restaurant bar selling the same food but with the addition of a whole selection of spirits and cocktails. It was a full two weeks before I plucked up the courage to ask him out. There was just something about him that drew me in. Reflecting back I don’t know if we actually spoke about much. Even now I know very little about him. All I remember is his huge belly, round and tight, every day staring at me. Perfection in a fursuit. I remember that he had a few piercings. The medallion round his neck had chains coming off it connecting to nipple piercings. He also had a heavy gold nose ring, which, if I wasn’t thinking with my dick, might have been a bit of a clue. I was looking out for whatever Obi was, not whatever he was. And is, I guess?

On reflection, and with what I know now, he was strategically increasing my already substantial belly capacity for the game. (More on that later) Every meal, he would give me a little bit more food. A bag of stuffed vine leaves here, some baklava there, extra meat in the wrap, a special sauce, larger wraps. Before I knew it I was eating 6 of his gyros twice a day with whatever accompaniments he palmed off on me that day. Every evening I would spend bloated and swollen, nursing my aching stomach whilst thinking of Aster. (Oh I forgot, one thing I did get out of him was his name) I guess I should add that I didn’t twig what was happening in case that’s not obvious. I was bewitched by everything about him to the point where I didn’t realise he was testing me out for something much bigger.

A few weeks in I had a penny drop moment, I’d just finished my 6th evening gyro and he was making me one more to finish me off. My belly was huge, packed with the supply of food he’d been encouraging me to eat. I was wearing a now painted-on shirt and I was standing in the street at 5pm obediently stuffing myself silly with his street food. I’d gone past full a few gyros ago and it was now simply pushing and stretching my stomach more and more. The feeling of the stretch (as some of you probably know) is exquisite. I’d experienced it fully with Obi and I’d been chasing that feeling all over the world to get to that place of total engorged capacity and it dawned on me suddenly I was there again. Something about that day made me realise I'd met another one of these creatures. Aster wasn’t human.

I swallowed down my last bite and took the next one from his massive hairy hand. I looked at him properly for maybe the first time. Looking past my own lust and attraction and I saw that he wasn’t quite ‘right’. His hair was shaped in such a way that hair didn’t really grow. His side burns were much more than a side beard and that ring in his nose was huge because his nose was so large and flat. And his belly! No human belly would ever be that size and rounded shape when it was that big. It would be sagging down over his belt, not sitting proudly on top of it defying gravity. I started eating the food he’d made me and asked him outright. ‘Who are you?’ He looked me in the eye and said with a slightly crooked grin ‘Obi said you could eat.’

I stood back aghast. He was one of them. I had so many questions. But before I could ask any of them he started packing up his cart. I found myself rooted to the spot while he packed away. I literally couldn’t move. As he grabbed the handles he turned to me and put his large hand on top of my distended stomach and winked. And that’s when I saw it. The little purple twinkle in his eye. With that, he was gone and I was finally able to move. The fullness I was not noticing yet hit me and I nearly sat down on the pavement where I stood but I managed to pull myself together and make it back to the site where I did very little work. He’d fed me as much as Obi had done but without me noticing. And I let him!

I could hardly wait for opening time at the restaurant that evening. Still full from lunch, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to ask him out or just demand some answers. When I saw him behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a tea towel I knew what I wanted. I marched right up to the counter but before I had a chance to speak he pulled out a single purple rose which he handed me. As I looked at him in the low light, I realised all his confidence had fallen away and he was genuinely a little nervous. Turns out he’d fallen for me too. He ended up asking me on a date. Who knew a 7 foot tall Minotaur would be such a hopeless romantic. (Yeah I just dropped that in. I didn’t know how else to say it really! It is what it is?) He told me that he finished around midnight but that he had somewhere he wanted to take me and would that be alright. I agreed, obviously! And parked myself on a table by the window to wait for him.

Even though the restaurant was pretty busy, he found time to be quite attentive. Every hour he brought me another rose and a plate of something to eat. By the time it was midnight I had a vase full of flowers and a belly full of Greek food! Bear in mind I was stuffed from lunch and I arrived at the restaurant at 6. So do the math to work out how full I currently am. That’s important for the rest of the story! As the final customers left I watched as he whipped round the place lifting the chairs and sweeping up as fast as he could. It was kind of cute to see how keen he was. When it was all done he explained to me that he wanted to take me somewhere that was special to him, somewhere he thought I would enjoy. He looked a little sheepish but I agreed. We walked through town (slowly I might add, I was basically round at this point) as he held my hand. Not many people can make me feel small but walking around holding this giant's hand was quite humbling. At this point I think my belly was bigger than his but he was still over half a foot taller than me. Being near him calmed my stomach too. It was like I was just pleasantly full when I was near him, not dangerously packed to bursting. We chatted a little bit but we mainly walked in silence, happy in each other's company.

We arrived at a sort of park on the edge of town. There were a few ruins we walked past but we ended up at the edge of what looked like a small cave. In any other setting I would have run a mile but he has been so tender with me I just felt super safe. In the moonlight, at the edge of the cave we stood looking into each other's eyes. He slowly leant in to kiss me and I let him. As he leant back I felt myself rooted to the spot again unable to move. He started walking backwards into the cave and as the dark consumed him he winked again and beckoned me to follow him. After a minute the effects of whatever it was wore off and I was able to slowly walk into the cave. After a few steps I discovered that it was lit all along by torches and it started to become more of a corridor. There was no sign of Aster but I carried on into the maze. As I walked I felt a little rumble in my stomach. I brushed it off as just digestion starting and kept going. After a few turns it saw a few petals in the ground. The massive softie had left me a trail to follow.

Eventually, I came across a small recess in the wall with a little table set into it and a candle. I sat down on one of the chairs and Aster emerged from out of the darkness with two heavy cloched plates. He sat down and put the plates in front of us. He pulled the cloches off to reveal a sizeable plate of oysters. I smiled and he smiled back. I found myself inexplicably hungry and went to take my first one, but he leant over and stopped me. He picked up a large oyster and lifted it to my lips. I smiled and opened my mouth and titled my head back. If I’m totally honest I’ve never eaten oysters before but I’d seen it in films. I knew I was supposed to swallow them whole so fortunately I didn’t make a tit of myself. I don’t know if you’ve had them before but I’m not gonna lie, they taste good but they are like swallowing snot! Being fed them was hot though! Knowing I had the full attention of this slab of man was really doing it for me! He fed me a few and then sat back and I did the same for him! Watching his heavy Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallowed was a surprising new kink I discovered in that cave!

Suffice to say, it was like time worked differently in that cave. We’d only been there a few minutes and there were a fair few oysters on each of our plates. Maybe 3 dozen each? They didn’t really take long to eat but it felt like we were there for hours. I wasn’t counting the oysters but by the time we’d cleared the plates, my belly had advanced quite a way. Like way more than a few dozen oysters would have done. It was still tight and round but it was a lot bigger and heavier. It appeared that my tank top had ripped at the edges and so I just took it off. Even though we were underground it wasn’t cold so I was happy in just my jeans.

I looked at Aster and he had the biggest grin on his face. His own belly was beginning to blow out from our oyster binge. I could see even more of his substantial furry belly pushing out from his shirt. I wasn’t sure if he looked taller at that point? Everything about him was larger in some way and he was meatier and hairier too. (Yes every part of him was bigger. I won’t say more than that!) He was absentmindedly rubbing the underneath of his belly curve as he watched me readjust to my new bloated mass. His eyes were both kind and predatory at the same time. We stood there for a little while admiring one another until he winked and shimmered like Obi used to. With that he was gone and the chase was back on. I lumbered on further into the maze of tunnels, my swollen midsection slowing me down considerably. The path twisted and turned as I was led deeper in.

I couldn’t tell you how long it was until I found him. At first, I began to hear running water and so, for want of any other clues, I followed the noise. The walls of the maze were beginning to look less constructed by human hands and more cave-like, I guess? Stone bricks giving way to actual stone. I even thought I saw a few flashes of gemstones here and there but I was more interested in my next meal. Even though I must have eaten a week's worth of food so far, I was still inexplicably hungry. I don’t know if I can describe how it felt. My insides felt packed full. Like totally solid. There was very little give to my belly. And yet I knew I wanted more. Actually I needed more. The stretched feeling I have when I’m around these guys is something I’ve never experienced before.

Eventually, the water got louder and louder until I walked through a stone archway and found myself in a cavernous expanse. The sound of water turned out to be an underground waterfall, the water cascading down into a piercing blue lagoon. The ceiling was lit with some sort of glowing insects which were making a melodic rhythmic chirping sound. I searched around the expanse until I found him. He was sitting with his legs in the water next to a fire where he seemed to be grilling fish. It was the first time I’d seen his legs and they were indeed as you would imagine them to be. Covered in thick black hair. I couldn’t see his feet as they were in the water but I am guessing he didn’t have five toes at this point. It seemed that he was becoming more of his true self the closer we got to the centre. I made my way round and joined him sitting by the water. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been. We sat there for a few moments in silence. Enjoying the beauty. I realised after a while that he was holding my hand. He turned his attention to the fire and pulled out a perfectly grilled fish which he placed next to himself and he began to break off pieces of the succulent meat and began feeding it to me. The fish melted in my mouth. It was so succulent and tender. I ate the whole thing quickly and he brought a second fish over and put his hands back on the floor as a signal for me to feed him. I obliged, tenderly placing it into his mouth. We did this for a while until all the fish he was cooking had gone. He leant forward and I thought he was going to kiss me again but instead he plunged his hand into the water and pulled out more fish. I’m no expert but I know one of them was a Salmon, and a pretty big one at that. And I think there was a rainbow trout and something else sort of blue? We carried on eating and cooking and eating and cooking for hours. The time weirdness means I have no idea how long we were there or how many I ate at this point, but looking at the both of us we were both much bigger. I don’t know if it’s part of the atmosphere or I genuinely ate that much but there it was. My own belly was enormous. Way bigger than I had been in the diner. His gut was spectacular. Round and hairy and now totally free from his shirt. Bear in mind he was nearly 8 feet at this point.

He reached over and tenderly began to massage my own swollen stomach. His hands, surprisingly gentle, but firm. I closed my eyes and relaxed and basically let him do what he wanted to me. All of my senses seemed to be heightened, every little touch was like a wave of ecstasy flowing across my skin. His smell was heady, strong and potent and filling my nostrils. Eventually, I realised he’d gone but I stayed there for a little while longer. Partly because it was so beautiful but also partly because I could hardly move.

I pulled myself to my feet, hauling my cantilevered belly up. It was still self supporting and jutting straight out from me into the air. I wished there was a mirror somewhere so I could have seen it properly. I saw an opening in the wall near the waterfall so I followed it through into a darker and more narrow part of the maze. The walls were closer than before and there were a few parts where I was worried I might not get through with my newly ballooned gut. After a while I started to smell the aromatic smell of cooking pork which made me instantly hungry again. I followed the smell and found three doors with a riddle written above it. I can’t remember the riddle but it was something about liars and guessing the way. You can probably guess that I’m not the smartest guy, I’m not dumb, but when it comes to stuff like riddles I’m out. My belly was rumbling loud at this point too so I was distracted. I decided to just listen at each of the doors. Door one I could hear a whistling noise which I reckoned was some sort of drop. Door two was a distinct growling snore. Although Aster was super stuffed I was pretty sure it wasn’t him asleep, and having met some of these guys I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a cute teddy bear behind there! I approached door three and had a listen. I could just about hear a sizzling sound and with the smell of pork I couldn’t handle it so I threw the door open. I wasn’t disappointed!

The room was a small stone cell with a fire pit sunk in the bottom. On top of it was a decently sized pig on a spit. I couldn’t see Aster so I stepped in gingerly. The door closed behind me and as I turned it dissolved into the wall. There was no way out. I stepped into the room and looked into the shadows at the edges. And there he was, taller than ever. As he stepped out into the light of the fire I could see he’d changed more. The first thing I noticed were the horns that had now sprouted from the top of his head. They weren’t massive but they were slightly curved and protruding from his thicker hair. The hair wasn’t just thicker on his head either. He’d now taken off his shirt and I could see the extent of it. He was pretty much covered in thick black hair all over his arms and sides. Virtually the only skin visible was across his bloated sphere of a belly. And that had a decent covering all along the bottom of the curve stretching up to a thick happy trail that snaked up to his hairy pierced pecs. The thick gold chain connects to his medallion.

He spoke with a deep gravelly voice that I could literally feel in my feet. He told me under no circumstances was there to be any pork left before we left this place. Under any other situation I would have laughed. The pig had to be 200 lbs of meat. That would literally have taken any normal person a few weeks to eat. But here, with him, I knew right there that we would do it. I was apprehensive to think about how much my stomach would distend after that but I knew that whatever this place was it would be ok. I walked up to him and put my hands firmly on the sides of his thick belly and looked up. He looked down at me and bent his head to kiss me on the lips again. I smiled and sighed with contentment. Something special was about to happen.

He pulled back and handed me a sharp knife, and took out one of his own and cut a slab of meat. The juices were rubbing down his arm. He pulled off the crackling and greedily began to eat it, crunching and swallowing it down. He offered me the meat and I eagerly opened my mouth to receive it. It tasted even better than it smelt and within minutes the whole slab had disappeared into me. We continued to feed one another the pork for a while, taking it in turns to slice off large chunks of flesh and sharing the delicious meat. We were soon covered in the stuff, our bellies continuing their rapid expansions. As we progressed, instead of slowing down we began to speed up. We even abandoned the knives and took to simply ripping off our next portions and guzzling down our haul. He fed me and I fed him and we ate ourselves. The boundaries of reality slipped away as we gorged on the meal together. (Yes I know that sounded a bit twatty but that’s how it felt. How many pigs have you shared with a fucking Minotaur?)

We didn’t take any breaks in our gluttony, the pig simply ended up inside both of us. I’d guess Aster ate more, simply because he is a good few feet taller than me but I didn’t notice him actually eating more. By the time the pig was reduced to bones we were both insanely swollen. My own gut was packed so big I couldn’t see anything else when I looked down. The skin tightly stretched over the vast quality of food it held inside itself. If I thought for a second about how much food I contained I’m not sure my brain could handle it. I looked like someone had slipped an air compressor up my arse and turned it on for a good half an hour. Physics had to be different in there because there was no way I’d have been able to stand up without some supernatural help. Looking at Aster, he was the same. Comically swollen, his huge abdomen surrounded by a sea of hair. The only difference between us is that you could still see some of his muscle definition. The power and strength he contained was tangible when you looked at his animal-like frame.

Covered in grease and bits of food we sat back admiring each other's new size. I wanna keep the story a touch modest, but he was clearly aroused by our efforts. I won’t go into details because I never kiss and tell, but fuck me he was a big boy! I’m glad there was magic in the site because after what we did next I could have ended up in hospital!

After we had, erm, cuddled, we lay back with our heads next to one another. Our engorged stomachs stuck high into the air, solid and packed with food, unyielding in their size and volume. We stayed for a period of time and chatted about our lives. Aster clearly wasn’t wanting this to be a one off encounter. He was surprisingly affectionate and romantic for a half man half bull. He wanted to know all about me and my life and what my plans for the future were. It was such a tender moment I could have stayed there forever but Aster had one more plan up his sleeve. He pulled himself up easily and offered me a hand to help me up. I just about managed to get to my feet, helped by his superhuman strength I assume! Kissing me again he led me by the hand into the shadows where we found a new door. Fortunately, it was a double door as neither of us would have fit through anything smaller at this stage. We walked into a vast cavernous space. I didn’t think it was possible but it was even more beautiful than the underwater lagoon where we ate the fish. The glowing insects were back and this time other glowing creatures joined them. Small colourful lizards darted from rock to rock making patterns in the water that filled half the floor. Several smaller waterfalls fed this one, each framed by cascades of glowing plants with brightly shining flowers falling down. Alongside the water was a long banqueting table covered with food. There were golden bowls and plates full of oversized fruits and bread. Huge slabs of roasted meats and wheels of cheese. At the end there appeared a large ornately decorated cornucopia which seemed to be the source of the food. Aster led me to the table and sat us both down in large oversized thrones. We’d made it to the centre of the labyrinth!

As we sat down, our swollen bellies resting on our legs I realised he had plans to carry on eating. Whatever magic was present meant I definitely felt hungry but there was no way I could physically move to get the food. I was practically pinned down underneath the sheer ridiculous size of my own belly. I was about to say this to Aster when I heard something move in the water. I looked across to see six men emerge from the water. I say men, we both know they weren’t that. If I had to guess I would say they were some sort of water nymphs? They had a pale bluey green tinge to their skin which had a faint shimmer to it as well. They were lithe and incredibly beautiful, their muscles and sinews visible underneath their skin. Their tight shorts left very little to the imagination and their eyes looked as hungry as I felt. They were here to feed us.

I don’t know whether we were there for a few days or weeks or months. The food from the cornucopia kept coming and we kept eating. Non stop gorging, all enabled by the blue dudes. Their dexterous long fingers feeding us food and massaging our swelling bellies. We both ended up the size of trucks, our inhumanly swollen bellies stretching way past what was physically or morally possible.

At some point we were done and we were pushed or rolled to the edge of the water. I slipped in and sank heavily to the bottom. Whether I was magically able to breathe underwater or whether I somehow didn’t need to breathe, I’m not sure, but Aster and I were able to move freely under the water. We swam for a while through caverns and caves, snaking away from the maze. When we surfaced we found ourselves on a small island just off the coast of the town. Away from the magical influence of the labyrinth, Aster was back to his more human form and his belly was vastly reduced but still clearly swollen. I was the same, my belly was huge, but it at least was obeying the laws of physics. Again, I don’t want to make the story any more r-rated than it needs to be so let’s say we spent some time with each other there. We needed some time to digest and recover as well.

Friends, I don’t know whether what happened was a dream or some sort of vision, but I do know I’ve gained 50lbs in a few days. I have a very definite and prominent ball belly now, which I’m not unhappy about. I also have a new boyfriend. Unlike Obi, Aster was happy to stick around, so I do know that something happened. I don’t really want to ask too many questions from Aster because I don’t really mind if it was real or not. I know he’s here and I know we ate a shit ton of food and I know he’s not going anywhere

#belly expansion #gainer fiction #gay gainer #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #male gaining #stuffing art #gainer artwork #gainer story

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kyupidos · 6 months

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11/04/23’s delivery 🏹✉️ twisted wonderland

because it’s such a pretty nightヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ,ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ ;; summary. ‘the moon looks lovely tonight, doesn’t it?’

characters. pomefiore : vil schoenheit ( separate ) ;; romantic . 🖇️ tags. reader is gender neutral ( you/your ), reader is yuu, pre-relationship, romantic fluff

📡 _a/n. one final halloween themed post before my normal posting.. anyways woo, haven’t posted in a minute. ik i said i would get to those part two-ers, but i ended up thinking of this first..bare with me now, i’ll get to it ( also apologies if the wording doesn’t make sense i was half asleep listening to malice mizer )

v. schoenheit

— under the light that refracted into marvelous colors of warmth, reds and purples, through the stained glass pane that overcasted the both of you, vil held your hand tenderly, leaning down slightly just to kiss it with all the same care he had been giving you since your dancing had begun. a mere slow twirl it had started as, before as the music continued on but instead more fast paced, and you’d began to quicken your synchronized dancing to fit. you could only be thankful that you listened to vil’s advice to work on your footwork, otherwise you’d surely have broken an ankle by now. you couldn’t help but think of how beautiful he looked, though, even if you were already all aware of his outstanding beauty just from his title as pomefiore housewarden, in such a costume that though you were dressed similarly, couldn’t help but make you feel just made him stand out in such beauty all the more despite the apparent anonymity behind it.

— a masquerade ball, crowley had been planning for it thoroughly apparently, a fun after-party event of sorts to halloween week. you were masked and your appearance was hidden by your outfit, but you quickly found that even despite the circumstance, vil was quick to be able to find you among a crowd, even if the crowd was full of people wearing fits that hid their identities to near a t. though, it wasn’t like you could say you didn’t recognize him either, when you first saw each other by the table where some were sat, the two of you included, enjoying the feast that was prepared. that much was all that was necessary for vil to politely request your hand in dance, you quaintly accepting his outstretched hand, moving to a quiet corner of the ballroom to dance peacefully to yourselves.

— when it came time for everyone to take their masks off, vil huffed and carefully strung you along outside, a beautiful area as you stepped down the staircase, passing by marble pillars, the music still playing now muffled, though audibly blending into a slow romantic song, as the housewarden gently took you by the waist to bring you back into position to dance, the night sky brightfully lit by stars and the full moon and the pitter-patter from the nearby overtly extravagant granite fountain soothed your nerves from your tension about messing up. you weren’t sure how vil interpreted this dance to a song of love, but perhaps he was thinking the same as you—though you couldn’t quite tell, because unlike you, vil had yet to unmask himself despite the fact you were well aware of each other’s identities at this point.

— though even despite, you could tell, perhaps by a gut feeling, that his eyes were focused on you, and only you, as you danced, and with every step you took you moved slightly further and further away from the indoors of the masquerade. you stood right in front of the fountain, now, and slowly your dancing came to a halt. the song had yet to end though, as despite its muffled sound it was still loudly played through the speakers, and you could tell it was still ongoing, perhaps only halfway through its run time. even so, vil stepped a bit away from you, disappointing you almost from the loss of warmth, though he still held onto your hand the same way he did when he invited you to dance in the first place. slowly, he took off the mask that hid his face, and finally you were greeted with his striking purple eyes that were in fact still laid on you.

— when he craned his neck slightly upward to get a view of the sky, you followed suit to match his line of vision, the moon’s light shining on you both in a similar fashion as the light that shines through the stained glass pane once had, but now a stream of white light instead framed your face, and as vil sneaked a glance in your direction as you were still focused on the beauty of the moon, he couldn’t help but seem it fitting, for someone who’s beauty was as endless and bountiful as yours. his stares did not go unnoticed by you, though, a light blush dusting your face at the thought of his gaze on you, though you tried to keep your eyes on the sky above as to not make the situation awkward. perhaps you could not interpret his thoughts, but as you stared at the moon, you couldn’t help but recall a saying from your world that you were sure didn’t exist in twisted wonderland.

— you hummed as vil readjusted his hold on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours for it to become a proper hand hold. when you finally collected the bravery to turn to vil again, he was still gazing at you with a look you couldn’t quite place, but if you had to give it a word, you’d say infatuation. you were making eye contact now, and you couldn’t help but feel a tug on your heart as your eyes flitted away again, focusing on the moon’s reflection in the waters of the fountain in your nervousness. you took a breath in and recollected yourself, focusing on the warmth from the hand vil used to grasp at your own, and turned your head slightly to motion to vil your thoughts, as though you weren’t sure if vil’s thoughts were similar to your’s, you still couldn’t help but let it be known even in a roundabout way like this.

— “the moon looks lovely tonight,” you coughed up, “doesn’t it?” the blonde let an air of approval escape his lips, and you knew immediately he had a different understanding of your words( but you still savored it when he agreed, “it does, and it captures you perfectly.”

#🦢 swan signed !#kyupidos #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twst x gender neutral reader #twst fluff #twst hcs #twst headcanons #pomefiore #twst pomefiore #book 5 #twst book 5 #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x gn reader #vil schoenheit x gn readee

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sequinsmile-x · 8 days

Text

The Albatross

The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk.

A reimagining of Route 66, in which Emily experiences complications from an old injury.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi friends,

This is based on a message I got over on twitter from the lovely Suu <3 As soon as she sent it to me I couldn't stop thinking about it and here we are.

I settled on this being a two parter, and part 2 will be up over the weekend!

I really hope you like it, and I will anticipate the yelling. <3

(Also, lets appreciate the fact it took a week and a half for me to use a TTPD song as a fic title. That's growth haha)

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: injury, canon compliant themes

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She feels awful the moment she wakes up, her limbs impossibly heavy as she forces herself out of bed, pain in her abdomen pulling a groan out of her as she stands up. She takes a moment to try and blink away the discomfort, briefly dizzy with it as she hisses and rubs her stomach, only driven forward towards the door when she hears her son cries from the next room.

“I can go get him, sweetheart.”

Emily smiles as she turns to look at her husband, shaking her head as she continues walking out of their room, “You get all day with him, I need my snuggles.”

She winks at Aaron as she leaves the room and heads towards the nursery. She groans again as nausea rolls through her and she pauses, leaning against the wall as she breathes through it. She’d felt off-kilter the last few days, nausea, exhaustion and pain that she put down to her periods and hormones still being out of sync after she’d had Issac six months ago. She knew she was still adjusting post-pregnancy but she hated that she still didn’t feel in control of her body. She blows out a breath and walks into the nursery, a smile spreading across her face as she looks at her son, a sympathetic whine leaving her as she walks him over and picks him up, his cries immediately muffled by her skin as he buries his face against her neck.

“Oh tell me all about it, sweet boy,” she says, pressing a kiss to his temple, patting his back soothingly as she settles into the armchair, “Mommy’s got you.”

Issac grabs at her shirt and presses his face into her chest. She chuckles and adjusts her shirt, expertly unbuttoning it and unhooking the cup of her bra with one hand, a trick that months ago, when Issac was tiny and seemingly endlessly fragile, felt impossible. Aaron had told her that she’d be a natural, patiently talking her down from every edge her anxiety pushed her towards as her due date drew near, a loving smile on his face as he told her that she was already an amazing mom to Jack, and part of her was furious he was right. A stubborn streak in her that she’d never been able to get past that she felt bubbling in her gut whenever he’d smile at her, a hint of I told you so pressed into his dimples whenever he watched her with Issac.

She rests her head on the back of the chair as he latches on, her eyes closing for a moment as she hums to him. She looks down at her little boy and sighs contentedly, everything else disappearing for a moment apart from the two of them. She runs her knuckles down his cheek as he feeds, his skin still as soft as the day he’d been born, and she feels familar love warm her from the inside out.

“Mommy has to go to work today,” she says quietly, tracing her fingers over his dark hair. She hears the floorboard outside of the nursery creak, a specific spot they’d avoid if they knew Issac was sleeping, and she smiles, “But I bet if we ask really nicely, Daddy will bring you in for lunch so I can see you both.”

She looks up as the door opens and Aaron walks into the room, just like she knew he would, and he smiles widely at her, “I’m sure we can manage that.”

Before they’d even started trying for a baby they discussed what would happen with their careers. It hadn’t felt right to either of them for them both to continue working at the BAU. After a lot of back and forth, and more than one argument, they’d settled on her staying and him moving on. It felt right for them, and she knew Aaron had been keen to do it - wanting to learn from the mistakes he’d made in the past. In the end, he’d decided to leave the FBI altogether, content to stay at home whilst Issac was still so young. He taught a class at the academy a couple of times a week to stop himself from going completely insane, but she knew he enjoyed it. In her worst moments, she was almost jealous of the time he got with the boys, but she wasn’t ready to leave her work behind yet. And for the first time in her life, she had what she’d always wanted - a family to come home to.

The last thing she’d anticipated was that Strauss would offer her the Unit Chief position. Aaron hadn’t been as shocked as Emily had been and she later found out he’d been the one to recommend her, something that she’d briefly been mad at him for, not wanting anyone to think it was just because she was married to him. He’d assured her, as had Strauss, that it was nothing to do with that, that her history and skills spoke for themselves. She’d returned to work in her new role when Issac was three months old and, despite the added stress, she loved it.

“Good,” she says, looking down at Issac as he pulls away from her, smiling softly at him as she passes him over to Aaron when he reaches for him. She winces as she lifts her arms, the ache in her abdomen turning into a sharp pain as she hands the baby over. She tries to cover it with a smile as her eyes meet her husbands, “I’d miss you too much otherwise.”

Aaron frowns at her, concern licking at his insides as he rests Issac against his shoulder, patting his son’s back as he looks his wife up and down, “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and nods, standing up and clenching her teeth as the dizziness returns, her head hazy as she steadies herself on the crib for a second, “I’m fine.”

He sighs, stepping towards her, “Em-”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps, immediately feeling guilty as she cuts him off. She sighs and closes the gap between them, her hand on his arm as she squeezes it, leaning in to kiss an apologetic kiss against his lips, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

He isn’t sure if he believes her, but he knows not to push her, not now anyway, so he nods, kissing her back, “You should get ready, you don’t want to be late.”

She nods and kisses him once more before she kisses Issac’s head and leaves the room. She rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose as she walks back into the master bedroom, the start of a headache pressing at the back of her eyes.

She tells herself that she’ll be fine once she has a coffee and she gets ready, taking time to say goodbye to her boys before she leaves, making sure Jack has the homework she’d helped him with the night before in his bag.

It’s gone 11 am by the time she accepts that she isn’t well, the morning dragging by like syrup, time slowing down around her as her headache and stomach ache gets worse, her vision blurry with it as she tries to do her paperwork. She knows she’s taken her bad mood out on the team, her door and curtains closed as she sought out solitude in her office after complaining about how behind they were with their paperwork.

She eventually gives in to the fact she needs painkillers and she stands up to get them from her purse. The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk. ___

Aaron readjusts his hold on Issac as he steps into the elevator, chuckling as he turns his attention to his son who was seconds away from trying to put his father’s visitor badge in his mouth.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” he says, unclipping it from his polo shirt and moving it out of Issac’s reach, smiling when the baby frowns at him, a look written all over his face that Emily would always say was all him. He tickles Issac’s stomach and smiles as the baby giggles, a sound that never fails to make Aaron’s heart swell in his chest, “You excited to see Mommy?”

Issac babbles in response as the elevator doors open onto the BAU’s floor and Aaron sucks in a breath as he steps out into the hallway that he’d once walked every day.

It was strange being a visitor in a place that had been so significant in his life. He’d built his career here. He’d lost his first marriage to this place and met the love of his life here too. A constant give and take that had formed decades of his life. He’d known horror and joy and gut-wrenching sadness in between these walls, and he knew he could never regret a second of it, not when it had led him to the life he had now.

“Hotch and Little Hotch,” Derek says, his smile wide as Aaron walks into the bullpen, the nickname for Issac that Emily hated slipping free easily when she wasn’t in earshot, “What are you guys doing here? Where’s Medium Hotch?”

“Jack’s at school,” he explains, ignoring his eldest son’s nickname too, “Issac and I are taking Emily for lunch,” Aaron says, frowning when he looks at his wife’s office, the closed door and shut blinds unusual, “Is she in a meeting?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t know man, she’s not in a good mood though.”

“She isn’t?” He asks, thinking back to that morning, how she’d snapped at him before immediately apologising, something that hadn’t happened since the early days of Issac’s life when they barely slept at all.

Aaron feels the concern he’d felt earlier return, a churning in his gut that he doesn’t fully understand, an instinct he can’t ignore that something was wrong with his wife. She’d not been feeling like herself for days, he knew that, but she’d pushed him away whenever he mentioned it. She claimed it was her period regulating after having Issac, or that she was tired after a long day of work.

Derek shakes his head, “She told us all we’re behind on paperwork and then shut her office door” he says, reaching out and ruffling Issac’s hair, smiling when the baby giggles, “You’d better put your cutest face on Little Hotch, be a good boy and cheer up your Mama for the rest of us.”

Aaron chuckles politely and then nods towards Emily’s office, “We’ll go cheer her up, right buddy?”

He smiles as he almost walks into Dave on the walkway, a wry smile on the older man's face, “You’re here to cheer up our fearless leader I assume?”

Aaron hums and nods towards Issac, the baby getting fussy as if he could tell his mother was near.

“I brought the big guns,” he says, knocking briefly on Emily’s office door before he steps in, “Hi sweetheart…”

He drifts off as he takes in the scene in front of him, time slowing down as he looks at the scattered papers and the chair jutting out at a strange angle. For a moment, as he looks at his wife lying on the floor, he can’t quite take it in, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her, a ringing in his ears that he can’t shake off, memories of finding Haley laying in their old bedroom years ago flashing across his vision. A grim showreel as it feels like his past collides with his present.

His senses come back all at once as Dave steps into the room too, his gasp pulling Aaron back to the present, time returning to normal speed so quickly it hits him square in the chest, making him breathless.

“Emily,” he says, his voice shaking as he hands Issac over to Dave, grateful when his friend takes his son, his hands already out and waiting. Aaron doesn’t feel pain as his knees hit the floor, doesn't feel the ache spreading through his joints as he touches Emily’s slack face, trying to wake her up with nothing more than his touch, “Emily, sweetheart, I need you to wake up.”

His nerves fray as she doesn’t respond, her head lulling to the side as he tries to gather her against him. Panic swells in his chest as he hears Dave yell out for someone to call an ambulance, the chaos from the team in the bullpen driving Issac to burst into tears, his cries only increasing when Dave thwarts his attempt to get to his parents.

Aaron looks up at Dave, his eyebrows furrowed as JJ and Derek enter the room too, the latter getting on the floor with Aaron, kneeling by her side like he once had in a warehouse in Boston.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Derek says, his voice tight, the pleasant nature of their conversation just minutes ago feeling like nothing short of a lifetime ago.

“How long has she been like this?” Aaron demands, looking back and forth between them, anger flaring in his chest when they all shake their heads, guilt and panic painted across their faces, “When did any of you last speak to her?”

“She asked to be left alone,” JJ says, her voice shaking as she takes Issac from Dave, doing her best to calm the little boy down, “We didn’t…we didn’t know.”

Aaron clenches his teeth, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t lash out at his friends, that he didn’t say something he’d later regret. He turns his attention back to Emily, his hand tightly around hers, lifting it to kiss her knuckles, his lips grazing her wedding rings.

“Sweetheart,” he begs, not caring who was there to listen, who was there to watch the cracks form in his once impenetrable facade, “Please, wake up.”

The silence he gets in return is deafening, overriding the panic in the bullpen and his son’s whimpering cries from the other side of the room.

___

Emily groans as she wakes up, her head spinning as she tries to make sense of what’s happened, of where she is.

She looks around the street she finds herself in, at first unsure when she’d even left the office, and she frowns as she spots a movie theatre, finding herself drawn to it. She pauses outside, the familiar feeling of being watched burning at the back of her neck, goosebumps making her shiver as they spread throughout her body.

“Hi Emily, it’s been a long time.”

She freezes at the sound of the familar voice. One she’d heard on tapes more than she’d ever heard in person, the joy that would always flow from it in family videos so different to the last words she’d ever spoken. Words Emily had heard down a phone line back when Aaron was just her boss and Jack wasn’t her son.

She sucks in a breath as she turns around, her eyes wide as they meet the hazel ones their son had inherited.

“Haley?”

-x-

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cellu-lightreading · 6 months

Text

Pure Greed

It was all a coincidence really. Jamie's friends took him on a vacation, and a few drunken afternoons produced a flurry of content of him shirtless on his socials. He was twerking on the beach and eating all kinds of food. As he watched it back, he was a little embarrassed. The internet isn't usually kind to guys like him with double chins that eclipse their necks and waistlines wider than adults are tall. When he checked his phone and saw that his phone was blowing up, he was nervous that trolls had come to attack him. That's not what he found.

Hundreds of likes materialized overnight with a comments section overflowing with support and love. Not exactly body positivity comments, more swarming sexual admirers. There were heart eyes and eggplants and peaches. They said they liked his soft gut and his giant dimpled ass. They were drooling over how much he could eat instead of criticizing all the junk he was stuffing in his mouth.

At breakfast, Jamie decided to share the phenomenon on his post. No one could quite explain how these legions managed to find him of all people, but one friend had one idea of why they were so obsessed with him.

"They're called feeders or encouragers." Brandon said "When they see a big fat guy not promising to lose weight, they're like moths to a flame. You filming yourself stuffing yourself is like porn to them."

"How do you know all of this?" Jamie asked.

"'Cause they swarm the comments of all my favorite fitness influencers going on a dirty bulk in the winter. They go rabid watching a dude's abs melt away for a few months and then get disappointed and disappear in the spring when it's time to cut. Actually, this is a pretty good opportunity for you if you play your cards right. These guys will literally throw money at you just for being fat. Now that they've slashed your hours at work, you can probably string these guys along to keep the bills paid."

"I don't know how I feel about selling my body."

"You're not exactly doing porn. You don't even really have to get naked. All you have to do is be fat and get fatter."

"Get fatter? I just clocked in at 375 the other week! I can't afford to get bigger!"

"Considering we're the ones paying for your stay this weekend, I'd argue that you can't afford not to get bigger."

A few days after getting home, Jamie decided to give making content a try. He wasn't really sure what to do so he started with something basic every influencer did nowadays: a get ready with me video. He started the video from bed, letting the people see him heave his body out from under the covers. He slept shirtless normally so that might be something. He showed himself buttoning up his uniform shirt around his large frame and hoisting his pants around his thighs. He got a little self-conscious thinking about the ways his clothes tended to get stuck around his folds and how tight they looked in places. He pushed the thought away and started on breakfast. Normally, he didn't eat all that much for breakfast, at least not compared to his other meals. He didn't really get that hungry in the morning, preferring to keep things simple with some toaster waffles and bacon. He thought half the box of waffles was pretty moderate considering how small they were; there were only ten in the box to begin with. After licking up the syrup, Jamie ended the video with a wave and a smile hoping he was enticing enough.

Jamie closed the app out and forgot about it. Work usually kept him very occupied, so there wasn't a lot of time to check his phone. It was only at the end of the day when he got a call from Brandon that he thought to open the app at all.

"I'm genuinely curious: you really call five waffles and half a pack of bacon a light breakfast?" he asked Jamie incredulously.

"Yeah? I'm usually not quite full after that."

"Oh it's no wonder they're reacting well to this."

"How well?"

"Like two thousand likes plus a never ending stream of comments."

"No way!"

"Yeah and this comments section...honestly is pretty obscene. I definitely feel like some of these would make you uncomfortable, but still no fatphobic trolls so that's a win. People are definitely fans of you. They think you are the sexiest thing ever."

"I still can't believe this is a thing."

"It is absolutely a thing and it is happening to you. Lots of people hoping you'll keep making content, and you're already getting people offering to pay for you to eat stuff. I honestly feel like you should show them what you normally eat before you do all that."

"But I'm hurting now. The cash would be good to have now. You have no idea what I can do with that kind of money."

"I think I’m starting to." He said to himself. Then he asked, "Aren't you the same guy who was nervous about putting yourself out on the internet?"

"I am, but $40 is $40. I go through a lot of money in food and things like that. It would be pretty neat if I really could get a little help around here."

"Well, how does this sound? Take the offer, go have a good time. Don't deny yourself anything for the next month. Every time you want something, have it. You don't have to push yourself, just show off your normal life- and get it on film."

Jamie accepted the challenge. He took pictures and videos of every time he ate. Within the first week, Brandon was shocked to find out just how much food went towards keeping Jamie as big as he was. When he said breakfast was light, he wasn't kidding. He was ingesting thousands of calories just from the vending machine while he worked at his desk. One night he ate an entire party-size lasagna by himself and then remarked that "he still had a little space left, maybe dessert would finally top him off." He went to his freezer, grabbed a pint of ice cream he filled with all sorts of treats and toppings and ate it until he was licking the container. The scariest part to Brandon was that most of his videos felt like a confessional; no one was supposed to know all the eating he does, especially not the people in his real life- i.e. Brandon. Jamie was increasingly comfortable admitting to his new internet friends all of his favorite treats and tricks. That's how Brandon found out people put crushed Doritos on pizzas.

By the time their little challenge was ending, Jamie was on camera complaining how his jeans were getting a little tight. When the two of them met up at a function for a mutual friend, the conversation quickly veered off toward their project.

"You know, I had a lot of fun following your advice in the last month. I don't know when was the last time I got to have so much fun guilt free."

"Really?" Brandon asked. He thought back to a video where Jamie went back to a restaurant after their friend group left to have a second round of food. "I'm glad you've got a new space to do that now."

"Yeah, and the fans are really getting into it. They've got all kinds of food suggestions and the money never stops pouring in. They've been really supportive.”

"Speaking of ‘supportive’, how to put this delicately, has it gotten any harder for some of the things around you to physically support you and your new hobby?"

"Is this your coded way of asking me if I gained weight?"

"Yeah, I'm trying not to be really rude about it in public."

"It's fine. But it has gotten a little harder to wear anything with buttons, nothing wants to close anymore. I've easily put on 15 pounds, maybe even a whole 20."

"20 pounds in a month is pretty fast."

"That's why I was so nervous to start this. My body is an expert at putting on weight."

"So I see. Do you think you'll cut back down to something a little more manageable or-"

"No, I don't think the fans will like that too tough. That's like the one thing that gets them really jumpy. Every time I bring up the word diet or cutting, the comments get flooded with messages about how beautiful I am at this size and begging me not to lose weight."

"And this doesn't concern you at all?"

"I mean at the end of the day, they are people on the internet and this is my body. I get the final say on decisions I make with my body. I can always just lose the weight, right?"

"But it doesn't bother you that people are begging you to get fatter?"

"Honestly, no." Jamie laughed. "Like it sounds weird, but I kind of enjoy it. I mean, look at me. With no extra effort on my part, I gained 20 pounds in a month. If I'm going to keep getting fatter, I might as well do it with people who appreciate me this way."

"If you say so. As long as you're okay with it."

"Yeah, it's fine. All this talking about the channel is making me hungry though and I know I smelled something good earlier. What do you say we check out the snack situation?"

Sooner than expected by all, Jamie was planning on celebrating his first gainer milestone- 400 pounds. Jamie was a little surprised at the number, but his reaction surprised himself more. For a while, the idea of reaching the 400s was enough to send him into a crash diet of nothing but carrots and celery for a couple of weeks until a strong craving hit him right when he was starving. His willpower would fall apart in dramatic style, and his weight would continue its upward trajectory. This time, Jamie accepted it. It was shocking to know he had reached it with so little effort on his part. He expected to reach the 400s in the holidays, not from an extra trip to the vending machine at work. In fact, he didn't feel that much bigger crossing over the line.

While Jamie might not be excited, his followers were very excited to get the news. They begged to see him step on the scale and watch the magic number appear and sent some extra money to celebrate the accomplishment.. When Jamie saw how big the donations were, he knew he had to try to do something special. He had exactly one idea, but it made him a little nervous.

"So to... celebrate 400 pounds, I thought I would treat you all to a little sneak peak behind the scenes of the real life behind the fat man. This stuff annoys me, but you all seem to love it so I think you'll have a fun time. These are 4 of my big fat problems."

Jamie started off by showing his followers the pile of clothes he couldn't bring himself to get rid of. Every article of clothing in the pile was something he had destroyed just from being too fat. Shirts with the buttons popped off, belts where the buckle had been torn off, pants where his thighs had worn down the fabric from rubbing together all the time while he was walking and waddling everywhere, and everything where a seam ripped in defeat from holding back too much fat. More embarrassing than how he knew he was never going to fit back in those sizes, was how he had destroyed those clothes so no one else would ever get to wear them either. Trying to get them fixed would mean admitting that he had done all that damage to these clothes. To complete the exercise, Jamie put on an outfit from the bottom of the pile that looked smaller than he last remembered. The sweatpants were once the pants when he was too bloated to fit his normal clothes until his thighs made a heart shaped hole around the crotch. Years later, he could hardly get them around his legs. The fabric still felt delicate around the inside of his thighs, thin enough that he could practically feel the skin on tthe other leg through his pants. When he made the mistake of reaching for a shirt on the ground, the pants ripped apart all the way up to his ass. Jamie decided that was enough.

Number 2 was in his dining room. Jamie had a set of chairs that used to be his favorites in the house. He keeps them hidden now because he had two of them collapse under his weight in one night in the middle of a party. He won't use any of them anymore to save himself the embarrassment of using a chair that doesn't match. It doesn't hurt that even if he wanted to sit in one now, the arms on the chair are so narrow that he wouldn't be able to fit his ass in between. Jamie knew his followers would want the painful proof, so he gently lowered his rear end into one. First came the pinch of the arms skewering his doughy flesh, but the more he tried to unload his body in the seat, the more the arms relented against his flesh until they snapped off. With the arms no longer in the way to help slow down the inevitable, all of Jamie’s body plopped in the chair. The chair immediately protested with a loud symphony of moans and creaks. Jamie thought he might be safe from the ultimate embarrassment. He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the chair. Before Jamie could even process what was happening, the chair disintegrated into splinters underneath him.

Number 3 was deceptively simple: tying his shoes. It took so much effort to do every morning that Jamie actively dreaded the idea that they would get undone during the day. With a large gut permanently sitting in the middle of his body, reaching all the way around to his feet was a challenge. Every day he would try in vain to reach over his belly to tug on his shoes. Getting it done often required contorting his body into ridiculous shapes to bring his leg closer. When he was done, it often left him breathless and tired enough that he considered slides for the rest of his life.

The last segment of his video involved going jogging outside. In the early spring, the weather was a fairly mild temperature, but you wouldn't be able to tell from looking at Jamie. Jamie purposefully made it short- just one lap around his cul-de-sac. There was no delusion that he would go far when this would already be one of his longest runs in years. He recorded how his tits and ass and belly all bounced around with every footfall. By the time he was back at his house, Jamie was wheezing and panting. His shirt was wet all over and his face was drenched in sweat. Just a few yards had the ability to completely destroy him. With that, Jamie decided that he had enough.

Jamie posted and it was a runaway success. All around the clock, Jamie was getting comments online. They cheered him on and told him how beautiful they thought he was. They weren't afraid to tell him just how hot that video was to them. The more comments he read, the more assured he felt that he made the right decision. Why be ashamed of something that made everyone love him more? Maybe this was where he belonged all along. His followers tripled within two weeks. He promised his followers that he would eat whatever they paid for. Jamie tried to sweeten the pot for them too, "If you look back in the archive, you all can tell what kind of guy you're working with when I make promises like that. I eat all sorts of junk and stuff myself whenever I get a chance. I'm also probably not going to burn all of that exercising. If my last video didn't make it clear enough, cardio is not something that has a regular place in my life. So feel at ease, knowing your money is going to a very good cause." Jamie gave his stomach a couple of pats for the camera.

Suddenly, money started coming in like a water hose. Money was coming into his account, gift cards were getting sent to his email, and presents were showing up at his door. Jamie had full-on supporters now. They were all in, engaging with him whenever he wanted to be there. If he was considering being lazy or having a little extra dessert, someone was always there within seconds to tell him to do it. If he wasn't sure about finishing his meal, there was always a little encouragement waiting for him in his messages.

His new supporters also came with a bit more edge. They were more willing to speak their mind about the kinds of food he should be eating: fattier, more flavorful, more. They introduced him to shakes; they gave him new concoctions to try to actively help push a few more pounds onto his already very generous frame. It was a new step for him to take. All this time, he hadn't been trying to gain, the weight had found him from trying to have fun. This had all been an adventure in people enjoying who he already was. The last 25 pounds were already a big shock for him, what would happen if he really opened the floodgates and started actively gaining weight? What would people say?

Nothing he hadn't heard before, something deep inside told him. It was scary to admit, but people had been comfortable saying all kinds of crazy things to him about his size for a long time. 400 might have been a new threshold of big, but he'd been fat enough to draw the ire of folks for hundreds of pounds now. The stares, the jokes, the dire warnings of health concerns, and the snide remarks were already fixtures in his regular life. No one would care if he put on a little more weight, they had already written him off as fat. The only person's opinion that matters is his own...and he was having fun.

Jamie made a video taste testing some gainer shake recipes for the very first time. His mouth watered watching all these delicious ingredients get added to the blender. He chugged one after another before he came to the realization that each one of those glasses was the calorie equivalent of a full day's eating. "Maybe I overdid it," he admitted on camera. The comments assured him he was on the right path.

One evening a few months later, Jamie was meeting up with his friends to celebrate a birthday. He was trying to inhale the rest of the McDonald's he had picked up on the way in his car. When he heard a tap on his window, he was startled. Brandon was leering in. Jamie rolled down the window.

"Jamie, are you actually eating in the parking lot of a restaurant that you're about to enter?"

Jamie looked to the pile of food on the passenger seat and accepted lying was not an option. "Yes."

"Oh my God."

"Look, I know this isn't the best look, but I had to do something. My appetite has been growing a lot lately-"

"From the amount of stretching your stomach's been doing for the channel."

"-and I don't want to pig out at every meal that I have in public. I already eat more than everyone else, I don't need to keep adding fuel to the fire. You and I both know they really only tolerate all of this," Jamie jiggled his belly, "because we've been friends for such a long time."

"Yeah, but you've got to admit that this is getting out of hand. You've gained like a hundred pounds in the last year or so, and when you started this you were worried about how big you already were."

"But when I started this, I was also deeply insecure about the idea of even showing my body in public. Now I have people in my life who are genuinely excited about me doing the things I love the most and are happy to see me be me."

"I'm not sure this is you guiding you along. Feels a little more like the tail wagging the dog. "

"Brandon, you know my life better than anyone at this point. I want you to think back to my videos. Have you ever seen me this happy in my life?"

"No. I want to say I have, but I haven't."

"Exactly. Believe me when I tell you that I'm okay. I'm enjoying myself. I'm in control of the situation. I wouldn't still be doing this if I didn't like it."

"Okay, but I think you should know you're starting to get to the deep end of all this stuff. I'm not going to be able to help you so much as you keep growing."

Jamie didn't take that as a warning at the time. He was more than content to catch up on Brandon's life while he ate. He had dessert after dinner and a midnight snack. Jamie kept on, knocking back gainer shakes like it was water. The only thing that gave him pause came while he was on the watch out to hit 500. Jamie went to his manager after his desk chair broke in a second place in one month. It had been a bit of a fight to get them to give him a big and tall chair in the first place back when he was cresting 300 and breaking it was not going to lead to a pleasant conversation.

"Look, I understand that we live in a body positive society now and the company is really trying to work on being more inclusive, but this is too much. We can't keep doing this. It might be easier to swallow the fact that you are now too big for a big and tall chair if it wasn't clear to everyone that you're also spending more time eating in your work day than actually working. Every paper that crosses your desk leaves with crumbs and grease stains and your numbers are slipping to the point that you're now last in the division. It's time for you to go."

Suddenly, Jamie was back in a crisis all over again. This time, though, he already had a lifeline. Donations had reached a fever pitch in the past few weeks and it was only going to keep increasing. The only real problem was that Brandon wasn't going to be able to help him find a new avenue to expand his business. Jamie turned to his followers, telling them all of his woes with the hope a savior would emerge.

He got another warning in his direct messages from another gainer. "Be careful what you wish for. The bigger you get, the more you're going to find people who are serious about this. The dark end of this community will drag you in if you're not prepared to handle it. There are guys who will keep pitching in with a meal or two, and guys who will take over your life."

That was what we had in mind when he met with Tom. Tom was a slender man who wore a dark suit and a sly smile. Tom had watched his videos since the very beginning. The bigger he got, the more active he had become in the comments.

"It's such a pleasure to get to meet you in person. I wish it was under different circumstances."

'Well these don't have to be sad either.”

“I didn’t say they were sad; I only wish they were different. I think every man of your… stature should be excited by the prospect of leaving your job to spend the rest of your days eating and having a good time.”

“Well I don’t know if it’ll be the rest of my days.”

“I can’t imagine after this little experiment you’ll be begging to be back working a 9 to 5.”

“I can’t imagine I’ll enjoy being unemployed.”

“It’ll help when you stop thinking of yourself as unemployed and more as a full-time content creator.”

“Right…what's the catch?”

A few months later, Jamie was living in the lap of luxury. Tom hired someone to come around every day to take care of chores and get him whatever food he wanted. (Tom had also hired him to ensure that food was now always within arms reach and Jamie did as little physical labor as possible.He would get a bonus ever time he could sneak in appetite stimulant or weight gain shakes into his diet) Jamie spent the first couple weeks just testing his new helper on the lengths they would go for his every craving. He never found something he wanted that wouldn’t show up for him in multiple greasy bags ready to be devoured. Catering pans filled with burritos or lasagna would show up whenever he wanted.

Jamie was glad for the extra hands around the house because it meant he could devote all his time to his favorite hobbies. He could binge watch shows and play video games for days. The internet would graciously supply him with any kind of entertainment to keep his mind distracted while giant bags of chips disappeared into his maw.

The best part, Jamie thought, was having Tom around. All the nagging voices of his coworkers were replaced with Tom’s. He would come over when he got a break or after work, usually toting a bag filled with Jamie’s favorite treats. While Jamie shamelessly licked his fingers and the bag for every morsel, Tom would whisper into his ears how sexy he found him. He would tell Jamie how proud he was every time he found fresh fat and stretch marks while he caressed his body. Whenever Jamie got nervous and embarrassed about outgrowing clothes, Tom would celebrate and order in the finest meals he could find. Tom had transformed unemployment into being the best thing that ever happened to him.

Time slipped away and pounds piled on. The bubble of indulgence burst when Brandon paid Jamie a surprise visit. The helper opened the door slightly and Brandon barged in.

“Jamie, I think there’s something you should- dear Lord! What the hell?” Brandon took in the full extent of Jamie’s new level of obesity. He would check in on videos occasionally, but months had passed since he last saw him in person. “The camera really doesn’t do justice on how big you look.”

“That’s what Tim says too. He says I’ll waste away if I’m not careful.” Jamie let out a nervous chuckle that shook his bean bag sized belly.

“Brandon, do you know how much Tim is keeping from you? Do you even know how much you weigh?”

“Well I got fired around 500 and we just did a milestone video not too long ago, so I figure I should be in the early 600s.”

“That milestone video was for 700 and that was six months ago.”

“Well time sort of gets away from you when you don’t have to be at work five days a week. But I’m making the best out of the situation. I’ve got great TV and these delicious snacks that honestly taste like butter and sugar.”

“It probably is just lard and sugar,” Jamie said. “And this isn’t raising any red flags for you? Aren’t you worried about fitting through doors anymore?”

“Not since we widened them all. I had a few incidents where I got stuck.”

“A few?”

“Well the first time, I thought it was a freak accident, but then it kept happening and each time it was harder for me to get out. There was one time Tim was going to grease me up to get me out the door with some butter, but I had already eaten it all during a feeding session.”

“And again, you’re okay with all this? A man just emerges from the internet and you let him feed you off a cliff?”

“Honestly, it didn’t take as much convincing as you might think. Tim has this belief that just some people were born to be fat and that’s it. That being fat is our role to play in the world. And like I probably could’ve gone into the job market and fought for another boring job I don’t even like just to make ends meet, but my other option was to be perfectly fine doing exactly what I want to do. I enjoy eating and lounging around all day and the more I do it, the bigger I get, the more money I make to spend on food and fun stuff. Outgrowing clothes, furniture, my car- it’s all just a part of my life at this size. It’s been a part of my life for years now, decades almost. And the price to pay- the stuff that my doctors used to say to scare me- I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve spent too much trying to be scared by it already. One more cake isn’t going to make the difference.”

“Give up, he’s already made up his mind.” Tim said, emerging without warning. “This is who he is now. He’s settled completely into a life of being fed and pampered. Now all he wants in life is to keep growing for me and his subscribers. That strong-willed guy you used to know is gone. He’s accepted life as a fat boy. .’

The doorbell rang. The caretaker opened the door and in came a man in a polo with a gigantic grease stained brown paper bag. The smell of all kinds of food filled the house. Jamie looked at Brandon who was licking his lips. Brandon couldn’t contain his excitement. Brandon said, stunned, “This is really your life now. This is what fills your life with happiness. Do you even have any of your mobility left?”

“Of course I do. Look, I’ll go fetch my mid-afternoon snack from the kitchen myself.”

“Snack?”

Brandon rocked back and forth, trying to get some momentum. For a brief second, he made it off the chair. Then the momentum switched directions. The weight of a family of four slammed into the sofa. The wooden frame underneath let out a scream before the whole left side broke into pieces.

“Are you okay?” Tim yelled out.

“Let me help you back up.” Jamie stretched out his hands.

“No, I can get up by myself.” Brandon tried the trick again. He rocked back and forth and hauled himself up with a mighty groan. Breathlessly, he said, “I told you I could do it.”

Brandon waddled slowly towards the kitchen. Every thunderous step shook the house, rattling anything not nailed down. It was hypnotizing watching the dimpled folds of his body pillow-sized thighs brush past each other. His gut swung like a pendulum back and forth out of the bottom of his shirt. Every movement made his shirt slide further up his belly until it was blocked by his chest. The sound of his panting was hard to ignore as it grew louder. It didn’t seem like a long distance from the sofa to the kitchen counter, but when Brandon got there, it was like he had completed a marathon. Everyone was stunned by the sight, except for Brandon.

“All of this is for me, right?” Brandon said, catching his breath, “I’ve been hungry since I finished my second round of lunch an hour ago.” Brandon tore apart the bag and stuffed a fistful of seasoned fries into his mouth while he rifled through the containers.

#gainer story #gainer fiction #gay gainer #wg story #bhm #encourager #glorifying obesity #death feederism

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intotheseas · 18 days

Text

so I know this is primarily a HL blog but I do have a Stardew Valley fic in the works and wanted to post a little excerpt of the first chapter. CW: Drug use referenced, abuse, catcalling. Story takes place around 2006.

Sage is fucking soaked. Her t-shirt clings to her slight frame and her teeth chatter. A chilly February rain hammers Zuzu City. And as if Joja needed to give her any more “fuck yous”, someone stole her umbrella during her shift. The downpour drenched her as soon as she left the dingy mid-rise building.

So here she is, sodden, freezing, and miserable. Her back aches from hunching over a computer all day. But Yoba’s not done fucking with Sage yet. A car speeds by, honking. Tosses a wave of filthy water over her jeans, soaking into her sneakers. Super cool, she thinks. The air stinks of exhaust fumes, piss, and wet dog. Skyscrapers tower around her, like predators closing in.

“Hey baby! You wanna have a good time? That shirt would look better on the ground!” Two men call to her from a dark alley. They’re much older, balding, with guts that hang out of their stained shirts. Hard hats and safety vests over top. Construction workers, but they’re not doing a lot of working. Keep walking, she tells herself. Look like you’re on a mission. Ignore them. The men jeer after her as she walks past, head held high. “Ehh, you’re not worth it, anyway! Be that way, bitch!” Sage runs across a crosswalk, dodging cars. The voices fade.

It’s payday, which should cheer her up. But her already skimpy paycheck doesn’t stretch far. Rent’s due, and so are bills. After that, she’s left with around $100 for food for the next couple of weeks. She’s got a small savings squirreled away, one her parents don't know about, but that's reserved for emergencies.

Sage’s shoes squelch against concrete as she steps into her apartment building. From one shoddy mid-rise to another. Chips cover the brick exterior. The inside’s no better. Old, stained wallpaper, probably from the 60s at the latest, peels in the corners of the mailroom. Stinks of dirty shoes and smoke. The dark red carpet’s threadbare under her feet. She climbs the creaking stairs to her apartment, two floors up.

The door’s stuck again. Something the landlord promised to fix. Years ago. She slams her hip against it, forces it open. Sage toes off her sodden shoes. Her stomach’s screaming at her, but there’s nothing in the fridge but a container of baking soda and some expired soy sauce. The cupboards are even emptier. She sighs. Does that a lot, especially lately. The lights are dim in the living room. She glances in, scowls at the scene waiting for her. Like rag dolls, Sage’s parents drape over the ratty couch. Passed out, like usual.

Shattered bottles litter the scuffed wooden floor. A dark bruise blooms around her mother's eye, but she’s too out of it to respond when Sage asks if she’s okay. She already knows what happened. It’s the same old story. Her parents took too much of their drug of the day. Her father always gets violent when he’s drunk or high. She’s been at the receiving end enough times to know by now.

Used needles lay with the bits of glass, carelessly discarded. Plates of half-eaten food litter the old coffee table. Flies buzz around them. The stench washes over her like a wave. Sage holds her wet shirt over her nose. Her stomach roils. Nothing new at home. This is how it’s been since Sage turned 14 and her parents decided work was less important than drugs. She’s supported them since then.

It was disgustingly easy to find a corporation to hire an obvious 14-year-old lying about her age. And that’s how the past eleven years have passed. Sage considers herself lucky - she at least graduated from high school. Not everyone who lives in this part of Zuzu has that privilege. It got easier after that, after she didn’t have to balance both work and studies. So here she is again. Same shit, different day.

She tiptoes into her room, eases the door shut. She’ll mail the rent check while she goes back out to find food. Sage digs around in the drawers of her desk, looking for some spare bills and change. An envelope catches her eye. Old birthday card? She grabs it. Maybe there’s money inside. A letter falls out. The handwriting is flowery, meticulous in its tidiness.

Sage,

There may come a time when the world is too much for you. If that happens, use this.

I know your life isn’t easy. If you’re ready to start over, I’ve left my farm in Pelican Town to you. Use it as you see fit.

I love you,

Grandpa Charlie

Sage stares at the letter, hazy memories coming into focus. Her grandpa died about three years ago. She didn’t even go to his funeral, couldn’t get time off of work. Couldn’t afford to lose her job. They were never close, but she remembers visiting him on his farm a few times as a kid. Before the drugs completely took over her parents’ lives. She frowns. How could she have forgotten this? Inside the envelope is a deed, signed with her name.

Minutes pass as Sage stares at the paper. You know what? Fuck this. She grabs her bag, tucks the papers into it. Scrounges up a few dollars in cash. She tiptoes back into the living room. Her father snores softly. Sage pries open the front door and takes the steps down two at a time.

Outside, the rain’s let up a little. It’s a light mist now, little droplets hovering in the air. Still stinks of piss and fumes. Sage jogs a few blocks down the sidewalk and hails a left, ducking into the library. She walks to a computer and types in the address from the deed into Google. Pelican Town is a few hours away by bus. There’s even a website. It’s quaint. Looks like someone made it in the mid nineties and hasn’t updated it since. There’s a phone number for a “Mayor Lewis” at the bottom of the webpage. Sage punches it into her phone and leaves the library, presses the call button. It rings for almost a minute. She’s about to hang up when a gruff voice answers.

“This is Lewis. Who am I speaking to?”

She almost drops the phone. Her hands tremble. Adrenaline’s coursing through her. “Uh, hi. My name is Sage. Sage Sandoval. I found your number on your website. Um, I have a deed to a farm outside your town? It belonged to Charles Sandoval. He left it to me in his will.”

Lewis grunts. “Ah! Old Charlie. Was awful sad when he passed. Well, if you have the deed, the land’s yours. Are you looking to sell it?”

“No! Er, no. I want to live there. Is the house still standing?” Sage drums her fingers on the back of her phone. She can remember bits and pieces of the farmhouse. It’s simple, one room with a large bay window and a kitchen and bathroom. But it’s away from here.

Lewis clears his throat. “It is, though not in the best condition. The land’s pretty overgrown, too. Are you sure you want to live there?”

“Yes. When’s the soonest I can arrive?” She shifts from one foot to the other, glancing around the litter-filled streets.

There’s a pause. “Tomorrow, I suppose. I can send our resident carpenter over the day after to make sure the wiring is still sound.”

Sage lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Great, thanks. I’ll arrive tomorrow by bus. I’ll call you when I’m close.” She snaps her phone shut. This is happening. She’s getting the fuck out of Zuzu City.

On her way back, she grabs an energy drink and bag of chips from a vending machine. Her fingers twitch against the can as she downs her paltry meal. She’s never done something like this before. Run away. It feels kind of silly to think of it like that. She’s twenty-five, after all. If not for her miserable excuses for parents, she would have had a place of her own years ago.

Sage almost feels like a kid again, about to walk into trouble as she steps back into the dingy apartment. Her parents haven’t moved a bit since she left. They’re out cold, probably will be for the rest of the night. Good. She begins to pack.

I won't flood this blog with updates, just wanted to post a quick WIP! It'll be farmerxSebastian focused, but also a story of moving on, healing from trauma, and learning to love and connect with people. Each chapter will also be titled after an indie song from the era - music will have a central theme through the story, sometimes overtly, sometimes more behind the scenes. :)

#stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #sdv sebastian #stardew sebastian #sebastian x farmer #writeblr #creative writing #stardew farmer

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jarenka · 1 year

Photo

I finally translated a first part of my post-potj au into English. Well, machine translated it and @a1essie and @erlenwein helped me to edit it. I hope it’s readable.

I drew a quick pic for it. Don’t worry Anakin will get his vitamin D later. They are on their first mission after Anakin left the hospital.

"The training room is vacant," Anakin said. “You promised me sparring”.

Obi-Wan turned around. Anakin interrupted his conversation with Lieutenant Labal. They were in a break room, cluttered with furniture. Orange evening sunlight flooded it through the large transplasteel windows.

“Wait a bit, I am almost finished.”

Anakin sat on the empty chair in the corner and watched Obi-Wan and his companion from under half-closed eyelids. He couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone of the voices was soft and friendly, and at the end of the conversation Obi-Wan patted Lieutenant Labal on the shoulder. After that, he turned around and sauntered over to Anakin.

“Are you interrupting my conversations with pretty women again? I thought you gave up that habit when you were sixteen.”

“Sorry, I didn't think you were flirting with a woman who is young enough to be your granddaughter.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Get up, let's go.”

Anakin stood up. He still subconsciously expected pain from every sudden movement, even though it had been many months since he felt it.

Obi-Wan had already left the conference room.

The training room was located at the end of a long, gut-like corridor. At first, Obi-Wan walked ahead, but Anakin quickly caught up with him, and they walked side by side, automatically adjusting to each other's pace like in the old days.

For Anakin, training was one of the few amusements here, on Carati, where they had been stuck for several months, helping rebels from the neighboring planet Surra. Obi-Wan and Anakin's group was providing supplies: they brought equipment, weapons and medicines, took away the wounded and refugees. This mission, part military, part humanitarian, tested Anakin's patience. He wanted a fight with imperial forces, to destroy patrol ships but they had to lay low if they wanted to continue their mission.

Between trips to Surra once a week they barely have anything to do. Obi-Wan, the head of the mission, allowed his men to visit cities of Carati on their official leaves but all other free time they were spending on the military base. Anakin didn’t go outside even during his leaves and hardly talked to anyone. He was either training, or fixing something in the hangar, or sitting in his spacious bedroom watching holodrams from local holonet. He didn't like to appear in common areas: the dining room, the recreation room, the meeting room. People looked at him strangely.

Obi-Wan was also stared at, but in a completely different way. Just like before, when Anakin was a boy, they would go into the cantina together, and the women — and some men — would start to smile at Obi-Wan seductively and become too polite to him. Anakin didn't complain then: he often got a free dessert because the owner of the cantina or the waitress tried to impress the "uncle" with a young "nephew". He wanted to complain now. It was annoying.

It was hot in the training room, despite the air conditioning. Evening sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Obi-Wan pulled off his shirt, remaining in his pants and undershirt, Anakin took off the hooded cape he usually wore over his shirt, and mechanically smoothed his hair. He needed to do something with it. Here, in the humid tropical climate of Carati, his hair curled more than usual and was constantly sweaty under the hood.

Several people came into the training room and settled on a bench in the corner. Anakin could have kicked them out, but he didn't. He did not want to quarrel with the locals over mundane things, he forced himself to behave. Just like he forced himself to take medications on schedule and go to a physiotherapist before. He didn’t want Luke and Ahsoka to regret their trust in him. He didn’t want them to listen to all these "we told you that this asshole is not capable of behaving normally! If you stop controlling him, he will strangle coworkers simply because he can." Luke had already suffered enough because of Anakin.

Obi-Wan and Anakin activated their swords and moved away from each other. Anakin looked around the room. The four rebels on the bench sat down as if they had come to the theater.

“I wonder what attracted them here: the battle or Obi-Wan in an undershirt?”

“Attack," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan didn't answer, he didn't even nod. Anakin barely had time to raise his sword and parry the first blow.

Obi-Wan's attacks followed one after another, giving Anakin no break. He had to grab the hilt with both hands to ward off another blow — so strong that it made Anakin's hands ache in the place where the living tissue connected to the prostheses. Obi-Wan flipped in the air and landed on the floor behind Anakin. It was hard to repel another attack.

Each of their sparring caused huge amounts of annoyance to Anakin. Obi-Wan returned from the dead healthy, able to fight at his full strength, Anakin had to adjust his style to the new limitations of his body for the second time in a row. Now he moved faster and more freely than in Darth Vader's armor, but he could no longer hit with the same strength, exhausting the opponent. He had to be more careful and attentive, more defensive than attacking.

He was used to looking for a gap in the enemy's defense with sharp blows from all sides. Obi-Wan barely had any gaps in his defense. When Anakin managed to attack, Obi-Wan stopped his sword, as if he knew in advance what move Anakin would choose.

Deceptive techniques wouldn’t help, because Obi-Wan was the one who taught Anakin them.

"You couldn't beat him up even when you were young and healthy, what do you want now?"

He wanted to win, of course. Obi-Wan, unlike Ahsoka, never succumbed to him. Anakin, still weak after treatment and too stubborn to admit it, almost instantly found himself on the floor, without his lightsaber. Ahsoka even reproached Obi-Wan for mocking Anakin.

"Does Anakin want me to succumb to him?"

"Of course, I don’t," Anakin replied.

Ahsoka looked at them and rolled her eyes.

And yet, despite the endless losses — it would take many months of intense training before he could fight on a par with Obi-Wan — he liked sparring. He could just fight. For fun. Without excruciating pain in his body. Without the constant expectation for the Master—the other one—to punish him for his weakness.

Anakin focused on the fight again.

No distractions. Obi-Wan would definitely take advantage of his mistake, which he would make inevitably. Anakin felt that the fight was coming to an end. He was already tired, he couldn't keep up the same pace. He needed a break.

And finally, Anakin didn't have time to react. He barely had time to notice the blue blade of the lightsaber rushing towards his hand. At the last moment, Obi-Wan turned off the sword, and only the silver hilt crashed into Anakin's wrist.

This blow shouldn't have worked, artificial hands don't hurt, but Anakin's new prosthetic was much more sensitive than the old one, and he, stunned by a wave of sensations — not quite pain—unclenched his fingers. The sword fell off.

Anakin was breathing heavily. His lungs recovered, but they were still not enough for a serious lightsaber fight. It will pass eventually.

"You're too focused on not losing, and you should pay attention to technique," Obi-Wan said sternly.

“Are you going to lecture me again?” Anakin snapped.

He ran his palm over his forehead, wiping the beads of sweat.

"Should I just sprawl you on the floor without any commentary next time?”

Anakin grunted vaguely. He didn't like being lectured by Obi-Wan and he wouldn't have liked it even more if Obi-Wan said nothing.

“You've never been good at losing a battle, Anakin," Obi-Wan continued. — “You should have learned it already at your age”.

“It's easy for you to say,” Anakin wanted to answer. "There's nothing wrong with you."

He didn't say it out loud, knowing that any of his excuses would sound ridiculous now. He needed training and asked Obi-Wan to spar himself.

“Shall we repeat it?” he asked instead.

“Let's rest first," Obi-Wan said much more gently. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan didn't need to rest, and this respite was just for him. He sat down on another bench against the wall, where no one else was sitting, and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan soon joined him with two glasses of water from the vending machine. He handed one of them to Anakin.

“Thank you," he replied with a weak smile.

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obikin #post-ROTJ AU #my art

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redfoxwritesstuff · 6 days

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Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 22

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, allusions to attempted sexual assault, mentions of physical assault and Las Vegas' mafia past. Our flashback includes more discussion of condoms (wrap it before you tap it kids!) and some light shaft handling. Drunk sexual contact, please remember kids consent is murky at best when you're this intoxicated!

AN: Oh, and as a side note- fuck you to the rude anon in my inbox. That's all the attention I'm giving you *right now*. Posted early because fuck it, I've got my shit together this week! (I don't but I got *this* together at least)

Masterlist Kofi AO3

~~~~~<3

Tom hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss they shared. They hadn’t done anything else, just a series of searingly hot kisses that left him desperate for more but terrified to even suggest it followed by painful awkwardness that twisted at his guts.

Mia had slept most of Thursday before she had to get to work, exhaustion paired with a melatonin pill ensured she had a quick fall to dreamland. He had felt like a fool hovering nearby, fluttering in and out of the room for no reason other than to make sure she was still there. It was illogical, she couldn’t leave without walking through the living space where he was spending the time with Sally. It wasn’t like she was going to disappear into thin air.

Never in his life was he so unsure how to say ‘good bye’ to someone when the time came though. His arms felt awkward as he wrapped her in them at the door, desperate to know if he had woken her during any of his trips into the room but terrified to ask. He wanted to kiss her goodbye as she lingered in his arms, looking up at him with a sweet smile but he didn’t.

Coward. Yep, he was being a coward. He just needed a little more time to pull himself back together.

Tom had texted Mia throughout the night, checking that most of his plans for Sally’s birthday were alright. He made a few calls and found a bakery that was able to make a small birthday cake in time. It cost extra to have it delivered in a cooler to keep it from melting in the desert heat but he didn’t care. The rest of his plans fell into place, one confirmation after the other, most approved in concept at least by Mia.

Ashley had to work and wouldn’t be able to make tomorrow’s birthday party but stopped by earlier to drop off a few wrapped gifts. She had made it very clear that she still was unsure about Tom’s presence in their lives but this time went a little better.

Sally eager to show off her new bear which helped. Ashley took her time as Tom made the child’s lunch to listen to everything she had been doing with her New Friend Tommy. They had played games together. Tom had been crowned as a certified Master of Pretend.

Tom couldn’t fault Ashley’s weariness even after Sally’s tales. She had every reason to question him, though she did swing from hot to cold from what Mia had said. On one hand, she would scream for Mia to ‘get it’ and on the other hand, she was ready to stab Tom’s eyes out in a heartbeat if he crossed a line in her eyes.

He could understand it though, he’d do the same for his sisters.

~~~~~<3

Mia pulled into her parking spot at half past three in the morning. In the residential areas, the city fell into a peaceful sleep at night just as any other. Stepping out of the car, the day’s heat radiated up off the pavement, balanced by the ever so slight cool breeze the air carried. It had cooled significantly during the night but in just a few hours the sun would raise again and the sun will bring renewed heat.

She expected to come home to a dark, silent apartment and that was alright. At least she didn’t have to pick up Sally form the sitter’s house and try to get her back to bed. At least there would be the comfort of another body in her bed. Maybe she would even indulge in cuddling up to his sleeping form for a moment before settling a respectable distance from him to go to sleep.

She had gifts wrapped and in the back of her car ready for Sally, purchased on her lunch break. The Las Vegas strip was known for a lot of things but the one thing she always thankful for was the variety of shops. It made for a convenient place to work with good food along with endless options of shops everywhere.

She hated working these extreme late night shifts though. The tips were rarely worth it but everyone did their time on them. It was almost always the broke guests and the addicts that were on the casino floor after one in the morning. At least she didn’t need the tips to afford groceries anymore.

Mia opened the door to a dimly lit apartment. Tom was sitting at the counter with a book in his hand. He looked up at her and smiled softly at her wide eyes.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” Mia kept her voice low as she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I wanted to,” Tom set his book face down and Mia cringed for it’s spine as he got up. “How was work?”

“Shitty,” Mia answered as she pulled off her heels. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed.

“Did something happen or was it normal shitty?” Tom wrapped her up in his arms before he had a chance to second guess it.

She was too tired to fight him, to try to deny him in order to protect her heart. All she wanted in the world was to take shelter in the arms of a man who cared for her, to be cared for. It had been so long since she could find safety in an embrace.

Her eyes burned and at first she thought it was just exhaustion. Then she realized it was tears, threatening to spill over. Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him, fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt as they dug into his back. Shaking breaths shuttered through her as she tried to will herself not to cry.

“What’s wrong, Darling?”

Pulling away, she wiped her hands down her face. Make up probably smeared but she didn’t care. She was too tired to care. All she wanted to do was wipe away the evidence of how close she had come to tears.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something,” Tom insisted, holding her hand in his as she stepped away from him. Worry was etched onto his face. “You can talk to me about it.”

“Just some drunk guy,” She tried to wave it off. It didn’t matter. Occupational hazard. It was just another drunk guy in Las Vegas. “Got a little handsy. Security kicked him out, probably kicked his ass. They don’t like it when people mess with us.”

“Nothing more?” Tom asked carefully. He didn’t want to invalidate her feelings but something in his heart told him it was worse than she was letting on. “Does that happen often?”

“More often than I’d like but not so often.” Mia swayed on her feet a little. “I want to take a quick shower than I need to sleep.”

“Have you eaten?” Tom asked as he led her toward the bedroom. Their bedroom.

“It’s fine. I just want to sleep.”

~~~~~<3

The fan whirled above her. Still the steam was thick as she mechanically washed herself, washing away the feeling of hands that didn’t belong. Makeup, perfume and smoke went down the drain along with her tears.

Hot water ran over her as she replayed the last hour of her night again and again.

~~~~~<3 ~~~~~<3

Mia’s feet hurt and she was ready to be done with the night. The floor was mostly dead, full of duds who would not be tipping and more often than not would take a break to get their own drink from the bar than have her fetch it and have to avoid eye contact when they failed to tip.

Still, she did her job.

The man she approached reeked of cigarette smoke. That was her least favorite part about the job, if she was honest. She, like many of the girls, would shower at the end of her shift before going home to avoid taking the stink into their personal cars whenever they could.

“Can I get you a drink?” She asked sweetly. Usually she’d lean into the question but she didn’t want to be any closer to him than she had to be. Something was off about him.

“I’d like a drink of you.” The man’s words were slurred, though he had no glasses around him. Likely he was high on some other substance. That wasn’t an uncommon or unique line.

Mia laughed politely and kept her smile fixed on her face. “That’s not on the menu.”

She walked away, not waiting to see if he was interested in some actual drink. The last thing she wanted was some man pawing at her or giving her his best complements. His complements would never match the complement of having Tom’s eyes on her.

Thankfully, the shift was about done. Mia’s heels made soft thumps as she made her way down the hallway toward the employee lounge. She would shower, toss her dress in the steam cleaner while she did and be done with the night.

“What about what’s on the secret menu?” The slurred words made her blood run cold.

“We don’t have a secret menu.” Turning around, she glued the smile to her face.

He was closer than she had expected. Looking down the hallway, she hoped for someone, anyone who could help her. There was none.

“Don’t be like that, Baby.” The man grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the wall. “This is Vegas. Everything’s on the menu in Vegas.”

“Let go of me,” She screamed as he grabbed her breast.

Thrashing and kicking, she tried to get away. Instead of putting distance between them, it just made the man angrier and drew him closer. His hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling her cries.

It all happened so quickly, spanning just a few short seconds in reality before security was on him. He was ripped off of her harshly. Without his pressure against her body, she fell in a heap to the floor.

Security had certain limitations as to what amount of force they could use during any given situation. Every single one of those limitations went out the window when one of ‘their girls’ was messed with.

It was moments like this that anyone working on the strip could see beyond the shiny lights and legitimate face to what had once been a mafia institution. While the mafia had lost their grips on the glittering city a long time ago, some things were ingrained in the very existence of the city.

One of those things was the simple rule- if you touched one of their girls outside of their job description and without their consent you would, without hesitation, get your ass beat.

This man learned that you could never truly take the Mafia out of Las Vegas.

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Knocking on the bathroom door brought her out of her head. “Mia?”

“I’m okay.” Answering like that wouldn’t do anything but raise suspicion but the words were out before she could stop them.

“I hope I didn’t overstep but I’ve brought you some clothes to sleep in.” Tom hesitated for a moment. “I can set them just inside, on the counter with my eyes closed or if you’d rather, I can set them outside the door for you.”

“The counter is fine.” Mia was too tired to care if he closed his eyes or not.

The door opened slowly and she watched Tom’s long arm reach in, gripping a oversized tee shirt and a pair of soft pants from the clean laundry pile she hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet.

“I’ve got a can of soup heating on the stove, in case you change your mind about eating.” Tom was quite for a moment before speaking up again. “I think maybe it’s a bit worse than someone grabbing your arse. You don’t have to tell me but I want yo- need you to know that you didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t right, whatever happened.”

The door clicked shut again and she was alone. “Stop doing that.” She whispered in the steamy room. “Stop making it hard not to love you.”

That was a thought she needed to spend more time with. Right now she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on it though.

Shutting off the water, she quickly dried and dressed. She couldn’t think about falling in love with Tom.. It was enough that he was there right now when she needed him.

~~~~~<3

She had insisted that she wasn’t hungry but when the steaming bowl of canned soup was placed in front of her, she couldn’t deny it. Both her and Tom’s bowls were shallow, the meal being more meant as a single serving than to be shared but that was okay.

Mia needed to eat, she couldn’t argue that but she had no desire to. Robotically, she ate the soup one bite at a time. Tom kept his hand resting high on her back, ready to catch her if she fell over but being careful to not cross any boundaries she may have put up.

Tom took the bowls and rinsed them once they were empty. Standing from her stool, she wobbled on her feet. The mental and emotional exhaustion had stolen from her all the preparation they had put in the night before.

He was quick to her side, clearly worried that she would just fall over where she stood. “Let me carry you?”

“I can walk.” She was so goddamn tired.

“Yes, you can. But let me carry you.” She leaned against him rather than argue. Tom swept her up in his arms rather than argue with her anymore about it.

His heart hurt for her. It had happened quickly but he cared deeply for her already. Knowing she had gone through something that left her hurt to her core shook him. She was a strong, vibrant flower who could withstand anything. Yet tonight, she came home wilted.

He wanted to tell her to quit her job right that night but Tom knew she wouldn’t agree to it. And if he was honest, he also knew that he wasn’t prepared to support two households single handedly. He had made a nice sum with Thor but his current contract for The Avengers was still in the final stages of negotiations.

He had worked a lot during this year and was expecting that to continue through the following year but the idea of counting on money he hadn’t had in his pocket just yet made him nervous.

He could do it, he could make it work. It would be tight and he’d be looking at ways to earn a little extra to ensure he wouldn’t step into debt to cover an unexpected expense or trip. Now wasn’t the right time to make the suggestion again though, he knew that.

In this moment his wife didn’t need him to try and change her life, she needed her husband to offer her strength and support.

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Tom groped in his nightstand for a condom. Focus was hard to come by as she caressed his member, hand soft and warm. He knew he had a condom in the nightstand somewhere, he had them just in case, though he hadn’t planned on needing them.

“Found it.” He was reckless as he ripped it open.

She took it from him and rolled the thin plastic sleeve down his shaft slowly. They needed to hurry, he wasn’t in a position to take his time. Stamina was never something he had really need to worry about before but with how drunk he was, he knew his ability to perform could die at any moment.

Tom rolled over onto her swiftly, kissing her as if she had the secrets of the world hidden in her mouth. Reaching down between them, he ran his fingers up and down her slit.

She was soaking wet and ready for him. That was good, he didn’t have much reason to wait than.

“My darling Sunflower, are you ready for me?”

~~~~~<3

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#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddelson x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston rpf

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dojunie · 1 year

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MISDIAL; LJN [CH3] LIKE A MORNING CALL

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

info;

lee jeno x fem!reader

college au

chaptered

slow burn

genre; not-quite-friends to lovers, older brother mark lee, brothers best friend lee jeno, light angst, eventual smut, yn is a menace to society, story/character driven

warnings for this chapter; alcohol mentions

chapter wc: 11.4k (i'm sorry ;-P)/ comment on this post for taglist!

taglist: @hibernatinghamster @jenoxygen @eaglesnotravens @donutswithjaminthemiddle @jvjsssnaa @huangrenhyucks @luvenshiti @shiningdery @jaeminsbebu @aliceinwhateverland @bebsky@gem-gem @jkjkseo @jenosbliss @pewpewpwe00 @ti--red @philanarose @softbbyg0rl @aaasteroidsky @carelessshootanonymous @en-boyz @jlsavyy @roseymerrie @bangchanisemo @skuezk @jaehyuns-adorable-dimples @ourbeautifulaffair@jeonnyread @jvjsssnaa @episkeyjeno @bockhyun @jenojammin @zarastrawberry @peachie-bear @itadaramaterasu @alymii @cuteejeno @episkeyjeno

unable to tag: @nohunlee @ooojisoo @luv4jeno @not-clemb @jydivrs @pinkysinnerbaby @jenojenoyes

[a/n]: i dont even have an explanation for why this took so long besides the fact that work is kicking my ass rn LOL, but i'm so excited about this fic that ive been glued to my laptop every hour that i'm free. enjoy, chapter three, my friends

THE APARTMENTS HOUSED INSIDE OF THE PALISADES TOWER ARE MYTHICAL FOR GOOD REASON, because the penthouse in which Jeon Somi lives is easily something out of a melodrama. Cleancut modern black and gray, polished gold metals, and endlessly high ceilings with windows so large that it was easy to forget there was even glass there at all (which, when you’re so high up, is a pretty freaky feeling).

If this wasn’t your hundredth time being here you’d probably be just as awed as the guys behind you are. Their eyes are wide as they shuffle out of their shoes in the entranceway, faces slack at the absolutely bonkers state of her home— but as it stands, you don’t even bat an eye. You just fling your sneakers in the front closet and slap the living room light switch on, the weight of this disastrous day settling on your shoulders all at once.

“I’m going to go and wash my face,” you announce, forcing a pleasant smile and turning to face the guys in the foyer. “If you have any questions—” Donghyuck nods, already opening his mouth to interrupt you, “— Somi dearest will answer them.”

He pouts. You can feel Jeno’s eyes on you, but you avoid looking in his direction like the plague.

What he must think of you after all this, huh? The second time he’s spoken to you in years and here you are yet again— embarrassed half to death and terribly out of your element, floundering in his presence like you did when you were fifteen and had no concept of confidence or coolness.

You were so sure that the night of the Nabi Bar incident was going to be a one time thing, and yet here you were again. Wasn’t last week supposed to be a once in a lifetime event? Something that you’d think of in a few months and laugh about— reminiscing over that time the guy you’d once been stupidly in love with came running out of the dark to save you, scooping you away from danger and patching your bruises up like some kind of romance novel prince? But now?

Now it was starting to look like nothing about this, nothing about him was shaping up to be temporary.

Things you hadn’t felt in years were starting to pick at your insides. You’d felt it that night when he’d dropped you off and you couldn’t sleep because your mind was racing so much. The cloying scent of his cologne was stuck in your nose and every brush against your bruised knuckles reminded you of how close you’d been in his bathroom, the sickeningly familiar feeling in your chest— Fluttering, fluttering, fluttering— And you’d felt it again in the car just now, an actual swoosh in your gut when you caught how he looked at you after Somi mentioned the Aegon competition.

His gaze was soft.

Knowing, almost, if you wanted to get completely delusional about it. As if he’s always understood something about you that everyone else didn’t.

(…Knowing, like the look he’s giving you right now as you take a step towards the other end of the penthouse and make the mistake of catching his eye. God. There’s no way he doesn’t know you’re just trying to get the hell out of here; It feels like he’s seeing right through you.)

“Right,” you say to no one in particular. “Then I’m off.”

Somi— who’d wound up in the kitchen somehow during all this— whines your name along with something about the jajangmyeon when she sees you leaving, but you don’t even stop in your stride out of the foyer. “Jaemin will help you, Som, he knows how to cook better than I do. You’ll help her won’t you, Na? You wouldn’t leave a tipsy, defenseless maiden alone in a space full of danger and sharp things and fire, right?”

You hear the distant click of the stovetop turning on as you’re walking away, quickly followed by a bunch of clattering, like someone throwing around a few metal pots. You hear no response or movement and flick a warning look over your shoulder.

“I’m not kidding. If you don’t want this place to catch on fire you’d better help her quickly.”

“What?” Jaemin finally splutters, “You’re serious? You’re really going to just leave us alone out here with— Hey, hey, wait! Somi, you don’t need a knife that big to cut up scallions!”

He darts out of your sight. Okay. One out of three, occupied.

You snatch up the television remote from the couch and turn it on, the giant flatscreen instantly lighting up the two remaining guys in the foyer as they stare after you. “You guys are into basketball, right? Knock yourselves out.”

“You’re… Cocomelon-ing us?” asks Donghyuck indignantly. “You think you can just put on ESPN and you’ll be absolved from helping cook? Do you think we’re five years old?!”

“Not five. Maybe like… eleven, or twelve? You strike me as more of a preteen.”

All that follows this is stunned silence. Great. That’s good enough of a reply for you. You toss the remote back onto the couch and continue farther into the rest of the house, face falling into a quiet grimace as you try to figure out just how you’re going to get through this night alone.

You feel it goes without saying that you do not only wash your face. You scrub everything above your neck, wash your hands, clean and cut your nails, pilfer through Somi’s extensive skincare shelf to rub some sort of moisture back into your now dry skin, comb your hair (and comb your eyebrows), worry at a speck of dirt on the shoulder of your top, take your socks off when you realize they’re a bit askew and then put slowly them back on, all in an attempt to drag out the time before you have to go back out there… only to look at your phone when you’re all done and realize only six minutes have passed since you’d first step foot in the bathroom.

With a shameful sigh, you stop pilfering.

What is your actual game plan to get through this night in one piece? Because the awkward way you’ve started this surely isn’t going to cut it, if this sad stint in the bathroom means anything. Could acting normal be your ticket? Everyone else is already pretending that the rest of the night didn’t happen, like this is really just some sleepover— the echo of Donghyuck’s laughter out in the living room proves that he’s at least having a swell time— so why can’t you pretend this is all normal too? You could just act your ass off. (What is it they say? Fake it ‘till you make it?)

Normal, normal, normal. You can do that.

So normal in fact, that when you wander back out into the house, eyes down and lazily picking at your nails (like a normal person would do), you don’t notice right away that you have no audience.

Jeno and Donghyuck aren’t on the couch where you’d left them. A laugh from the other side of the living room drags your eyes over until you’re staring into the kitchen where Donghyuck now is, apparently roped into helping by the looks of it, sleeves of his sweater pulled up his forearms and dutifully scrubbing at a handful of baby carrots in the sink. Slightly surprised, your gaze drifts over to the other movements happening behind him; a bedraggled-looking Jaemin following behind Somi as she wanders around her kitchen with a knife in each hand. His suggestions of safety seem to be going in one of her ears and out the other.

You spot movement on the balcony right as you think to wonder where the last boy has disappeared to.

The glass door leading to the overlook is cracked open an inch. The shadow of one gray flannel is briefly illuminated by the flash of lightning a few miles away, and with it comes the cool scent of rain into the house that you only notice now. The balcony is more like a porch with the size of it, nearly a full wraparound, and the figure blends in so well that it’s no wonder you didn’t see him out there at first. He’s leaning lazily on the railing, safe and dry from the retractable awning Somi always leaves out.

Of course. Figures he’d be out admiring the weather during a thunderstorm advisory warning.

Your stomach swirls a little bit at the sight of him, and you briefly consider leaving him alone and going to, like… help wash carrots or something, but your body knows you better. You’re wandering across the room before you can even think about moving.

“Having fun?”

If Jeno flinches from your intrusion he covers it very well. When he turns halfway to greet you he’s nothing but an easy smile, face just barely illuminated in the warm yellow light from inside. He beckons you outside with a small head nod and you, a little surprised he actually wants company, push the door open a little wider.

“Having fun,” he confirms as you wander up beside him. “You’re back?”

“I suppose so. Why are you out here by yourself?”

“Wasn’t really my choice,” he says, laughing, albeit a little sheepish.

“It wasn’t your choice? To come out here?”

“I offered to help cook, but Jaemin said I’d just take up space since I apparently take fifteen minutes to rinse a single potato. He banned me from touching anything.”

Oh. Is he notoriously slow in the kitchen? The most you’ve ever seen him make is burgers on your parents grill, but that was just flipping them every minute because Jaemin and Mark had done all the preparation. “Does it take you fifteen minutes to rinse a potato?”

“I like to be thorough when I wash produce. They come from the dirt, you know.”

Oops. You hit a nerve. He sounds slightly miffed by the humor in your voice. Maybe your smile is still too obvious, because he squints when he catches the line of your mouth.

“Right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Forgot you’re the type who eats grapes out of the bag in grocery stores.”

“What— Why did you say it like that? I wipe them off first!”

“Yeah, you wipe them off onto your clothes. Do you know how many different surfaces your shirt will rub up against in a day? At that point aren’t you just swapping germs?”

He’s not wrong, but you’re a little caught off guard by the fact he remembers that so clearly. It seemed like every grocery trip he used to tag along to when your family would go shopping, he would catch you slipping something into your mouth as you pushed the cart— a stray grape or cherry, otherwise small and easily sneakable fruit. He’d always just smile, looking away like he didn’t see anything at all, but you always had a feeling he’d known what you were doing; and this was just confirmation that not only had he seen you, but he’d also permanently catalogued it into his memory. Ugh.

You cross your arms over the railing, turning away with a small huff. “Didn’t know you’d become a cleanfreak while I was gone. Slowpoke.”

The rain continues to pour.

After the grape conversation the silence stretches on for so long that you think that’s going to be it, that you’ll both just stand out here and exist in the chilly air, the wind occasionally whipping a flurry of tiny droplets onto the sleeves of your clothes— but he hums right as you’re about to suggest going back inside.

"Even with the storm, the view up here is insane. I’ve never been this high up without glass in the way. That's Namsan over there, isn't it?"

"Namsan?" you echo, a little annoyed by how quickly your body turns to the sound of his voice, "Uh. Probably… not? Namsan Tower is completely east from here, almost a literal ninety degree angle from this side of the building. You might be seeing something else."

"You didn't even look,” he says. “How can you be so sure?"

"Because it should be impossible to see it from here. This is an inlay. Unless Palisades is skewed like, one degree south, there shouldn't be any way—"

"Okay, wise girl, what's that light I'm seeing over there then? Since you're so smart."

You scowl at him, clicking your tongue at the pleased squint of his eyes, and ignore how he laughs when you all but shove him out of the way to get a better look. You're squished into the very corner of the balcony railing in the attempt to see what damn light he's talking about— forgetting, like you did at his apartment last week, that you’re not close, and that you probably shouldn’t be so comfortable around with him like this— craning your neck almost painfully towards downtown.

"There’s nothing there. Do you not have your contacts in or something?"

"I got Lasik a few years back, so I'd bet money my vision is better than yours. How are you not seeing it?"

Lasik? This is news to you. If you weren't still trying to find this dot he's talking about you'd whip around, staring deep into his pupils like Lasik would have somehow left a mark that confirms what he's saying, a brand of some sort, but you keep your gaze sharp on the horizon of this fabled Namsan.

You do end up speaking out loud though, absentmindedly. "I guess that’s not super surprising.”

"What?"

"It’s not surprising that you got Lasik. You used to talk about it a lot in highschool."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you used to complain about those big goggles they'd make you use during your games. And that putting in contacts every morning was annoying and took forever, but how you hated using glasses too, cause the glass was so thick that they made your eyes look funny."

You’re not paying attention to how odd it might be that you just... remember all that stuff. Especially because he'd never really been talking to you when he said these things. You'd just overheard by chance, during the myriad of times you’d wind up in the same place as him somehow; whether it was the kitchen before school whenever he’d drop by a little too early and your mom forced him to eat breakfast with you and Mark, or when you’d hide on the stairs and eavesdrop on all of your brothers friends when they’d come over after basketball games.

"But I never really got it," you add, "’Cause to me you always looked pretty either way. Glasses and Goggles and whatnot. They were cute.”

You squint at a blinking red speck hovering right on the edge, near the corner of the building.

“Christ, is that seriously it, Lee? That tiny red thing all the way over there? How the hell did you even see that through all these clouds?”

He says nothing. Another few moments go by as you try to confirm if that's really what you're seeing, and you think it is Namsan Tower, there’s even a few more little white lights you hadn’t paid attention to at first because you’d thought they were just very persistent stars. Shit. His vision is better than yours.

What a normal person would do now is turn around and relent— because, you remember belatedly, you’re still attempting to be normal— and tell him you’d miraculously been wrong, maybe rib him a little for his bionic eyes cheating for him, something friendly and nice and casual, but you don’t get the chance.

Why? Because when you turn, there’s less than two feet of space between you both.

As if Jeno had also been trying to look for the tower, he is now crowding you against the corner of the balcony— arm still curled around the railing, but now limp as he stares down at you instead. Which means, since you've turned around, you're practically face to face.

And he looks... surprised.

"What?" you blurt quickly, “What happened?”

He blinks hard and then looks away altogether, back into the black night of rain. His mouth is pursed into a very thin line, like he’s trying not to either laugh or frown.

"You thought I was pretty?" he asks.

Oh? Oh. “What?”

You stare at him for a very long moment, completely not following, and his lip only twitches in response.

Is he… smiling?

And then it hits you like a sack of bricks. You thought I was pretty?

Oh, God. Instantly, your expression sours— you almost want to hit him when you finally realize what that dumb, pleased look on his face is for (although it’s definitely more out of embarrassment at your own slip up because shit, did you really say that? Outloud?)

"You’ve got to be kidding,” you groan. “That’s what you’re looking all shellshocked for? Like that's something you need to hear from me, when you hear it all the time!”

You’d have thought you called him ugly with how Jeno’s smile suddenly vanishes. "All the time?"

Your mouth opens quickly to respond, already indignant, but when you catch the look on his face no sound comes out. His expression has turned into something much more curious than teasing now, eyebrows furrowed as you say nothing— He speaks again before you can figure out how to answer, yet another question, soft enough that it’s nearly lost in the thundering of the rain over the awning.

"And what makes you think that’s something I wouldn’t want to hear from you?"

You hear it loud and clear, yes, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth you’re still positive you’ve misheard him.

Is he insinuating that he would’ve wanted to know you thought he was pretty? No. There’s no way that’s what he said. Are you still drunk? (Or has Lee Jeno’s presence in your life just been so brain-breaking lately that your mind is starting to pull illusions on you? Because why… Why would Lee Jeno ever give a shit what you thought about him?)

"I mean, it's— It’s not like it's a secret that you look like this," you eventually force out, both audibly and visibly flustered, which you hate yourself for. “I thought it was a given, that you know…. You’re obviously…”

“That I’m what?”

Hot, your traitorous brain supplies quickly. Cute? Pretty, attractive, stunning, chiseled from marble and yet soft and warm like watercolor, annoyingly beautiful—

You glance away from him. "You know what.”

You’re embarrassed. Your voice has hardened a little with it, almost petulant, which is immediately annoying for multiple reasons, the biggest being that he’s even able to affect you like this at all after one stupid question. All those guys flirting with you at Wooyoung’s party a few hours ago and you’d brushed it off with ease, but Lee Jeno only looks at you and you can’t even meet his eyes? When did you become so uncool?

After a few awkwardly intense seconds you see him shift like he’s finally going to say something, and it’s merely a gift from the heavens that Jaemin’s voice rings out just then. It careens right through the crack in the balcony door, a sing-songy “Jeeeeno!” that shatters the atmosphere like tempered glass— quickly followed by, "And you too, Rockstar! Food is ready, come and get it before we eat it all! You’ll both catch a cold out there!”, and with the sudden reminder that, oh, yeah, you’re actually not alone in this house, you regain some of your lost composure.

You blast Jeno with a smile wide enough to signal airplanes and take one large step away from him. “Right. Food. Food! You’re hungry, right?”

Needless to say you do not wait for an answer. With haste you maneuver back into the house, quickly finding your way to the coffee table that Jaemin is in the middle of setting with plates and dishes, plastering a (hopefully) convincing look of wonder on your face. Your cheeks are already aching from the pull. How much faking have you had to do today?

“Smells great!” you say saccharinely, “Which one is mine?”

“The one with the extra sauce and chives,” Jaemin replies as you sit down, but peeks over his shoulder in his walk back to the kitchen to fix you with a warning glare. (He remembered that you like extra greens. Nice.) “But don’t you dare start eating before I get back with the sides, I know how you get. Sit and wait.”

“Wait? What do you mean wait? I thought you said it was done—”

“Sit and wait!”

Frowning, you abide by his scolding, still too scattered to argue.

Donghyuck stirs when you plop down beside him. “I helped too,” he says to you proudly. Somi is on his other side, splayed out on the ground swiping away at her phone, one foot crossed lazily over his legs. He doesn’t seem to care (or realize) that they’re there. Huh. You’re pleased that they seem to be getting along well, but they’re both pretty much the most outgoing people you know so it’s not earth-shattering that in the few hours they’ve become acquaintances they’ve also somehow already evolved to getting touchy. Jeno is sitting at the metaphorical head of the coffee table on your left, and Jaemin’s steaming bowl is directly across from yours.

“All I saw you do was wash a baby carrot.”

“All of the baby carrots. And the chives, which was way more difficult to do after Somi already cut them up into microscopic pieces. I boiled the eggs and fried the onions, too. You love eggs, so when you eat them and your face falls off with how good they taste, I’m definitely taking credit for that.”

You and Donghyuck used to argue a lot when you were younger. He was the loudest of your brother's friends and loved to rile you up just as much as you loved to prove him wrong, especially during those rare afternoons spent in his presence when you’d been in too good of a mood to pretend Mark’s commune were the bane of your existence. A handful of times, you spared an hour or two to watch TV with them or steal some of their food. (They always happily offered you some, but it made you feel better about avoiding them when you assumed they were feeding you begrudgingly.)

“I used to love eggs,” you tell Donghyuck snootily, that old squabbling-habit kicking in full force. “Who says I still do?”

“It’s not hard to tell, though,” Jeno pipes up. The last person you’re expecting to speak right now is him and it shows pretty obviously in how your head whips around. “Mark has been buying eggs like crazy because you eat through them so fast, which makes it obvious because Mark hates eggs. Every time I come over there’s a whole new box in the fridge. You’re like Dwane The Rock Johnson. That guy eats a carton of raw eggs a day.”

Silence.

Your mouth opens, then closes. Dwayne the rock…?

“Busted! Looks like you’re not as opaque as you think, Rockstar—”

Perfect. An outlet. You whirl back around and sock Donghyuck in the shoulder the second the last word leaves his lips, and his dumb grin is immediately replaced with a grimace as he squeals and jolts. “Stop calling me that.”

“Right! Right, got it, fuck,” he groans. “Christ, I swear your punches didn’t hurt this bad before! Have you taken up Muay Thai or something recently…?!”

Muay Thai? You look down at your first for some reason like the answer will just be laying there across your skin, but all that happens is you see the faded remnants of the scratches on your knuckles from your unfortunate meeting behind Nabi Bar.

Oh.

…Nabi Bar. Nabi bar. Right. The night of Nabi Bar. Jeno’s quick how-to-punch lesson. Apparently, it’s had some effect.

“I didn’t do anything special. I was just like, sixteen the last time I hit you. A lot can change in four years.”

“Liar!” Somi suddenly blurts from the ground, startling both of you. If she wasn’t so hidden behind Donghyuck you’d instantly reach over to pinch her mouth closed. “She works out now. Got a hell of a kick, too, you should see her on those little sandbag things at the gym. Piss her off a little more an’ she’ll show you, I bet, ‘cause— Oh my god, there was this guy once a few weeks ago who got it good when he—”

“Food first,” a voice exclaims.

Jaemin appears from behind you like a ghost holding a tray of little bowls and plates, and oh, you could kiss him for cutting that conversation short. “You will be free to display whatever sadistic desires you please after we eat, okay? Now. Who wants dumplings?”

Somi senses the food and sits up straight, forgetting momentarily about reminiscing, thank god, and you, already famished and now reeling to change the subject, waste no time picking up your utensils to shovel noodles into your mouth.

Midnight Dinner goes relatively peacefully after this. Jaemin and Hyuck argue about some basketball thing you don’t care to tune into, and later Somi cheerily informs the group that half the people at Wooyoung's party got stuck at the airBnB overnight when the weather advisory warning went out and that it’s chaos over there— people allegedly sleeping on the dancefloor and holing up in pantry closets. Thankfully (because your group chat probably would have been awash with death threats from Ryujin if not), Lia managed to get all of your girlfriends the hell out of there in time, and they were now safe and sound at Lia’s place a few blocks away from the party.

However. When the food is eventually finished and Somi’s mouth is no longer occupied, life becomes difficult once again.

Foolishly, you thought you were in the clear. In your head the night’s end would have come like this: you’d peacefully tidy up the table, using your last bit of hospitality to do the dishes while Somi showed the guests their rooms like the good host she is— and while they were off doing that, you’d sneak into the room you always slept in when you were staying over, jump into the shower for just long enough for everyone else to forget about you and go to bed, proceed to go to bed yourself, and finish this seemingly endless fucking day underneath a fluffy, ten-thousand-count threaded duvet, never (or at least for a few hours before they inevitably showed up at Mark’s apartment tomorrow) to see Donghyuck, Jaemin and Jeno, ever again. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. Who could stop you, right?

Netflix could.

Right as you were about to put your plan into action and suggest cleaning up, Hyuck gasped so loudly at your side that you startled and choked on your own spit.

“Did you guys know that all of the Paranormal Activity movies dropped on Netflix tonight at midnight?” he exclaimed, “Like, all of them?”

And that had been the single nail in your perfect plan’s coffin. Whether he already knew that Somi happened to be a horror movie freak or if his outburst was pure coincidence, it didn’t matter. All it took for your friend to catch her second wind of energy was the mention of this fabled ‘Paranormal Activity’, and you watched your plan drift away into Valhalla as Somi insisted that after everyone clean up, you all finish the sleepover with a movie.

It wasn’t the type of insistence that one could simply deny. Somi brought out the puppy-dog eyes. She used her trump card, and it worked. Donghyuck agreed immediately, the adrenaline junkie he is, and none of the rest of you objected either— even though you could even see it in Jaemin’s face that he wasn’t super enthusiastic about a horror movie right before bed, but what was he going to do? Say no to Somi? Who could charm the rosary off of a priest?

So it was with a heavy heart that you trudged through cleaning up, and trudged into your room to shower, and trudged into your duffel to put the pajamas on that you’d brought along (which, thank god, you’d decided to go with a pair of basketball shorts and an old highschool hoodie this time instead of only the big t-shirts you usually just brought to her house), and finally trudged back outside to throw yourself down onto the couch, exhausted and feeling very unlucky.

But at least you get to close your eyes for a little bit before everyone else comes out, right? Right. You bask in the beautiful, dark, ambient living room for… seven entire seconds before a voice rings out above your head.

“Is her brother a bodybuilder?”

God damn it. You crack your eyes open.

Jeno is standing over you with a small frown on his face as he looks at his hands— or where his hands would be, if the sleeves of Somi’s brother's crewneck weren't completely covering them. He’s upside down when you look at him this way, but you can’t be bothered to roll over, so you just tilt your head up (or down?) until you can see him a little better.

“Her brother is a gym rat, yes. But he’s actually not that big. He’s not that much taller than you, actually.”

“He’s not that much taller than me? How is that possible? I look like a kid in this.”

A kid? This causes you to perk up a little bit. You turn slightly, just enough to get a right-side-up idea of what Jeno is talking about— and immediately have to press your lips into a line to keep from laughing. Or coo-ing. Whichever sound would escape first.

He wasn’t wrong about looking like a kid; the black crewneck almost reaches his thighs it’s so long, hanging loosely over his body like he got tangled in a windsail, the sleeves of which folding easily over his hands in what may be the most effective sweater-paws of all time. The sweatpants he’s got on aren’t helping either since they’re dragging on the floor under his socked feet, Jeno’s legs absolutely undistinguishable from cloth as he stands there and… scowls at you?

“What?” you blurt. But as the word comes out, you know exactly why he’s frowning. You’re smiling. He knows you’re trying not to crack up. Oops.

“I knew you were going to laugh,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound as salty about it as you’d have thought from his glare. “I look stupid. Somi didn’t have anything else, you know. I asked.”

“Why are you explaining yourself to me?” you snicker, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

Jeno sounded so petulant that you almost felt a little bad for him, but then he folded his arms, adorably haughty, the movement of which making the little sweater-paws comically flop over each other, and the pity is instantaneously obliterated by the intense urge to squish him into a ball and put him in your pocket. Holy shit. Could he get cuter than this? Thankfully, your restraint doesn’t have to last long (you’re pretty sure a vein is about to pop out of your forehead from the sheer force of not trying to cackle) because a sudden booming thud from the guest bedroom hallway snaps both of your attention to the other side of the house.

“No fucking way,” Donghyuck howls. And then all of a sudden he’s here. That’s the thumping— he’s… running? “No way!”

No time to take full note of what he’s wearing (another gigantic hoodie and sweatpants combo) because he’s looking so frantic that his fashion takes the backburner.

“You’re… overreacting,” you hear Jaemin say, following not soon after him, but for some reason not even he sounds sure about his own words. What the hell?

“Why didn’t you tell me— Why— Traitor! Traitor in my own home!”

It’s only when his wide eyes find yours that you realize he’s yelling at you.

“I— I’ve never been to your house,” you attempt quickly, stunned. Unsure, you glance at Jeno, but he seems just as alarmed as you do.

Jaemin grimaces. His steps make no sound because the fabric of his borrowed flannel pajama pants are so long that you actually can't see his feet at all. “Ignore him,” he says. “He… Somi just…”

“I told him who’s clothes he’s wearing,” Somi interrupts casually, coming from the same hallway they’d just come from, most likely her own bathroom. She’s the only one with clothes that fit, obviously; the usual pajama set you’re used to seeing her in, fuzzy and pink, blonde hair tied up into a bun on the very top of her head. It takes you a second to put her words together, the meaning of ‘who’s clothes’, before all of this hubbub makes sense.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Oh. Yeah. Big Jeon. Jeongguk.”

“Jeon Jeongguk!?” Donghyuck wails in exasperation. “Does that make sense?! Grammy award winning soloist Jeon Jeongguk!? Are you crazy! That man is my profile picture on SoundCloud and you didn’t think to tell me that your best friend is his little sister?!”

“I didn’t know you liked him that much,” you hazard lightly, rising to your knees on the couch.

This is a lie. You knew how much Donghyuck idolized Somi’s brother. It was kind of hard not to know when Hyuck had the man’s entire discography memorized. But being that you weren’t really in the business of exposing celebrities (and the fact that never in a million years would you have thought you’d end up in a situation like this) you’d never had the incentive to, you know, tell him.

Which may have been a mistake, because now Donghyuck looks crazed.

He makes a staggered lurch to the couch and you tense, holding your hands out like he might try to tackle you or something, but the fight seems to leave him all at once. He completely bypasses your outstretched arms to flop into the space you’d just occupied on the cushion. The ripple causes you to stumble back into sitting, and you stare down at him. “I’m wearing Jeon Jeongguk’s clothes…”

“Your shoes are in his entryway,” you tell him, just to rub it in. “And you ate his food, and sat on his furniture. You showered with Jeon Jeongguk’s soap. Does that normalize it for you?”

Donghyuck makes a weak sound, like he’s drifting away, all the air being pressed out of a blow-up mattress, and you snicker a little bit. For some reason, you pat his head— it’s instinctual, a soothing gesture you’d express to any friend— but he’s not your friend. And you realize this almost immediately after your hand makes contact with his (surprisingly soft) hair.

So why are you continuing to pat his head?

“Right,” Jaemin says with a sigh, pinching fruitlessly at his nose bridge. “Bomb defused. Or… Bomb exploded, technically. Let’s get this slumber party tied up nicely, yeah?”

You look up, nodding in agreement, and immediately make eye contact with Jeno. It feels like he’d already been looking at you, but he then proceeds to act like he wasn’t when you catch his gaze.

…Okay. Weird. You stop petting Donghyuck’s head. Somi bounds towards the couch, reinvigorated with the mention of the movie, and you try not to side-eye Jeno too much when he plops down onto the couch next to you— at a considerable distance, might you add, like he hadn’t just been on top of you on the balcony an hour ago, but you instantly feel stupid for making that connection and whip your eyes away, once again agitated for some indiscernible reason.

The movie starts normally enough. With an entire couch-full of people and Donghyuck’s warmth at your side, since he’d never really moved from his dent next to you— if anything, sidling up closer once the oh-so-spooky-door-slammings started to happen in the film, because even if he likes to play coy, he’s really a big baby— it was pretty easy to stay grounded and not get too scared by the jumps and bumps on the screen.

Too easy, maybe. Because at one point you swear you were just going to rest your eyes for a little, just take a tiny little break during a slow point in the plot…

And the next time you opened them, everything was dark.

It’s quiet. The TV is off. And you’re… alone? You’re alone.

Groggily, you try to sit up from where you’ve apparently laid down, and your neck aches like you’ve been stuck in this position for hours, but no way it’s been hours, right? You didn’t seriously fall asleep?

However. The more you look around, the more signs point to the fact that, yeah, you totally blitzed it. You fell asleep. During a horror movie, no less. And it seems like everyone else made it through the film, as there’s not a single other person still out here on the couch. (So they couldn’t wake you up when they went to bed? Bastards.)

Once your eyes focus you glare across the house into the kitchen, and spy the time on the oven clock. 5:35AM.

Too early for you to have risen by yourself. You usually won’t wake up even if someone is banging pots and pans together outside of your bedroom door, so what… and why is it so cold in here? Your toes are freezing. The rest of you, not quite as much, because there’s a blanket draped over you that you don’t remember being there when you fell asleep. You sit up all the way, rubbing the crusties from your eyes and looking around again once your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and find the answer to all of your questions in one look over to the source of the chill.

The balcony door is open again, and somebody is out there. Somebody in a big dark sweater, dwarfing their shape behind the fabric, but you’d recognize that pretty profile pretty much anywhere.

Lee Jeno. Again.

“Why are you awake,” you mutter nasally, throat still not completely woken up. This time he does jump at your intrusion— the big eyes and jolt would be funny if it weren’t so chilly out here. The blanket you wrapped around your head and body is doing well to deter the cold, but your feet and face aren’t happy.

“Did I wake you up?” Jeno asks, turning around fully. The black of his hair is just barely distinguishable from the dark blue of early morning.

You stand stiffly in the doorway again, not as confident to join him by the railing as you’d been last night.

“I don’t know. How long have you been out here?”

“Give or take fifteen minutes.”

You shrug. “Then probably not. Fifteen minutes, though? Out here? You must be trying to get sick for real.”

You’re squinting for no good reason other than the fact that you can’t quite open your eyes all the way yet. “And old people don’t fare well with colds, you know.”

He cracks a smile at this, bigger than you’re expecting for that weak of a joke. Before he can respond though, you surprise yourself by speaking first.

“Do you want to share my blanket?”

A beat of silence. It takes a second for your words to catch up with your obviously quite lagging brain, but when they do, you’re hit with a jolt of surprise that almost wakes you up fully. Shit! Again, saying things before you think— this is what got you in hot water last night!

“Actually— Sorry, you probably want to be alone right? Right, I’ll—”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing,” Jeno interrupts with a small smile, and you freeze. “It’s colder out here than I thought it would be. You might as well watch the sunrise with me, right? You’re already up.”

“Sunrise?”

“Yep. Should pop over the horizon any minute now.”

Oh. Your spine de-rigifies.

That is… actually, a very Jeno thing to do. Waking up at the crack of dawn just to see the sunrise.

Now you feel a little dumb for that not being one of the first things you assumed when you first saw him out here. Another second passes before you build the courage to step out again, right back into the spot you’d been last night— but this time, you shrug the edge of the (thankfully) rather large blanket open, and fling it wantonly over Jeno’s head, unsure how this has become your life. Highschool You would be crying tears of blood. (From envy or pride, you’re not sure.)

“Do it so no air gets in,” you instruct, and he obeys easily.

Soon enough you’re two peas in a blanket pod, only your faces poking out, but you’re… closer than you’d anticipated. Even with the size of the blanket. You can feel the fabric of his sweatpants brushing against your leg. If you look up too fast, you might headbutt him.

“This was a good idea,” Jeno murmurs suddenly, and you actually almost do heatbutt him when you jump at how close his voice is. “I forgot you burn like a furnace. I feel like there’s a space heater in here with me.”

You only nod. Anything more than that feels obscene with how quiet it is.

For a few minutes neither of you say anything, silent while the sky slowly blues, purples, and then turns the slightest shade of pink around the edges, a tiny little ray of sunlight peeking through the streets but not quite reaching through the skyscrapers yet. And this is… fine. Just two people watching the sunrise, alone. Acquaintances. Sharing a blanket to detract from the chill morning wind of September, just like regular people do.

“Do you remember Mark’s twentieth birthday?” Jeno asks, out of nowhere.

“His… twentieth?” you echo. “You mean the one you and him had to spend in the ER, because of that longboard Donghyuck got him?”

“That one was also pretty funny,” Jeno smiles, and you roll your eyes. Boys. Of course he’d think getting a matching broken arm cast with Mark Lee would be funny. “But no, that was eighteen. I’m talking about when you and I accidentally locked ourselves out of your house trying to sneak his cake inside. When we had to wait in your old treehouse for an hour for him to come home, in the dark, in the middle of a monsoon?”

Once he mentions the treehouse, the memory hits you like a punch to the gut.

That birthday. Jeez… yeah, how could you forget that? Jeno might as well have just said, ‘Remember the day you realized you had more than just a crush on me?’

With the caliber of feelings you’d had for him at that point, being stuck in that small space had been the highlight of your whole month, forget the fact that you’d torn a hole in your favorite shirt from clamoring up the wooden ladder and your toes had gotten so wet and pruney in your shoes that they bled. If you’d asked highschool you though, if you’d relive all of that bullshit— sprinting across the backyard while a torrential downpour hailed from the sky, laughing at how his glasses fogged completely over by the time you collapsed into the only marginally more sheltered treehouse, the hour you spent in there pressed against his side while you waited for your brother to get home— Yeah, you’d have done it again.

Splinters in your palms, cobwebs and leaves in your hair, the ruined pair of sneakers, all of it. A hundred times over. Just because you were with him, and that was all that ever mattered back then.

Your stomach twists at the recollection, an unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere under your skin. God. How lame, huh? You’d really been head over heels.

“That was the first time I realized you doubled as a human fireplace,” Jeno says finally, snapping you out of it, and only then do you understand where this is coming from. “I was soaked to the bone, and yet I felt like I was sweating because I was sitting so close to you.”

“You caught the cold so badly the next day that we all genuinely thought you were going to die,” you remind with a short, weak laugh. “If I was supposed to be keeping you warm, I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.”

He hums softly. “You’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

It’s here where you make the first of many mistakes.

Without thinking, you look up at him. The sun has crested over the horizon now, orange rays of sunlight fully peeking through the buildings, and the glow of it is lighting Jeno up a blurred golden, filtering through his black hair and turning it bronze as he smiles off into the distance. It’s such a pretty picture that your thoughts, admittedly, falter quite hard at the sight— and it doesn’t help that when he senses your eyes on him, he glances down.

And again. You’re huddled up under the same blanket. You are very close. Close enough to feel his arm brushing up against yours, and to see the pools of honey brown in the eyes that had looked like such an intense, endless black last night.

(Maybe you’d reminisced too hard. Maybe the memory of that night in the treehouse pulled some feelings up from the long forgotten pit in your chest, the same place that used to flutter when you’d hear Lee Jeno’s name and pound like crazy in the rare times he’d call yours, the place that you’d thought died when he graduated and was never going to bother you again. The place you thought died. Because after what you say next? The only explanation for it is that your pit of love-struck stupidity is still thriving and fucking well.)

“We had an emergency key taped under the porch swing,” you blurt thoughtlessly.

Jeno blinks a few times in quick succession, like those had been the last words he was expecting you to mutter after staring at him so fiercely. “You… What?”

“A key to the front door. I remembered that it was there about fifteen minutes after we climbed into the treehouse.”

Self-preservation finally shows up to the word-vomit party, belatedly locking the key to your mouth so no other stupid confessions can escape— But it’s too late. Despite the intense confusion on his face, it’s clear that he heard you perfectly. You don’t have to be looking at him to feel how hard he’s thinking either; putting the pieces together, trying to understand what exactly you’re telling him— and after what feels like half an hour, Jeno finally speaks.

“So we could have gone inside before Mark got home?”

You cringe a little bit. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me on purpose?”

“...Yes.”

“Well. Okay,” Jeno eventually says, sounding thankfully only slightly bewildered, and not mad like he’d be well within his rights to be. “Can I ask why you’re telling me this now? Guilty conscience?”

“I don’t… know,” you tell him honestly. “Maybe. You reminded me of it when you brought it up and I guess my brain realized I’d never told you about that. I wasn’t really thinking when I mentioned it. It’s— It’s still very early, I’m not functioning all the way yet. Sorry.”

“Sorry for your brain trying to get you in trouble, or sorry for trapping us in the rain for an hour and a half because you were too embarrassed to tell me that you forgot about the spare key?”

This gets you to look up. What?

“Embarrassed?”

“I mean, after we’d already been soaked through, I don’t think I’d want to bring up the spare either. Why else wouldn’t you say anything?”

Jeno is simply smiling at you again, eyes shaped into those little knowing crescents you used to daydream about, but you can’t stop to admire them right now. That’s why he thought you didn’t tell him?

When you analyze the emotions swirling in your chest you realize that you’re oddly… disappointed. Because you were embarrassed? It wasn’t like you didn’t know Jeno was humble (or just dense, as Donghuck would say), but come on. Is that really the first thing his mind would come to for why a girl would willingly stay up in some wet, old, gross treehouse with a guy when she obviously had the means to go back into her own home? Is it so impossible to guess that it was him you were there for?

Why you’re so disgruntled by his response is unclear, and it seems Jeno has caught on to your displeasure.

“Why are you frowning at me like that?”

“Like what?” you reply hastily. “I’m not frowning at you.”

He squints, and you glance away from his suddenly very analytical stare. “...You are, though. You’re frowning at me right now. You said you weren’t frowning at me while you were frowning. Did I miss something?”

Yeah. You missed everything apparently. The last six years, even.

“No.”

“That’s a lie,” he says immediately. You’re so surprised by the certainty in his voice that you almost forget that you’re trying not to look at him. “You’re doing that thing. With your forehead.”

“Excuse me? I’m not doing anything with my—”

Jeno raises one finger to press right between your eyebrows, relaying the tension you’d unknowingly been holding there, and your words pretty much die in your throat alongside the memory of why you’re even pissy in the first place. “This thing,” he says. “When you lie, your eyebrows get all raised and angry looking. You have a pretty bad poker-face, Rockstar.”

“Stop calling me that,” you mutter automatically, but it has no real heat behind it. God damn it. Could you be more lame? Losing your fight and ire just because he put his finger on your forehead? “And stop stabbing me.”

He takes his finger back. “Are you going to tell me why you didn’t say anything about the key?”

“You answered your own question. I was embarrassed.”

“Liar. Your forehead—” You slap a hand over your eyebrows, and Jeno actually laughs. “... actually isn’t doing anything this time, but now because you did that I know you’re lying anyway. Got you.”

Fuck! Ripping your hand away from your skin, you scowl at him, embarrassed that he figured you out so easily. “Why do you even give a shit, Jeno?”

“I mean, I didn’t until your forehead started telling me differently.”

“My forehead is not— I don't—”

Jeno snickers at your indignance, smiling deviously like he’s enjoying teasing you more than he’s letting on, and your stress worsens.

“You’re the one who brought it up, you know—”

“I know,” you bark, “It’s just—”

“Did you think I’d be mad?”

“No! I— God, is it so hard to believe that I did it because I liked you?”

The words are out before you even realize what you’re saying. Or what you’re doing, should you say which is completely destroying six years of secrecy in one fell, sleep deficient, Forehead-Poking-Fueled haze.

You stare at him, breathing a little hard at both the outburst and in shock, and Jeno stares right back, no longer looking quite as amused. There’s such a long beat of silence at first that you, in your stupor, have the gall to wonder if he didn’t hear you— like that would be possible when you’d basically shouted your half-baked confession in his face— but then Jeno shifts, blinking hard, and all of a sudden the silence did not last long enough.

“You liked me?”

God, it sounds even more delusional out loud. Damage control, Gremlin Brain spits, Damage control! Backtrack, now! Your only saving grace, the only reason you’re not currently trying to find a way to throw yourself off of this balcony, is because he doesn’t sound completely disgusted with you. You force the most indifferent mask you can muster onto your face, attempting to blink the panic out of your expression.

“Liked you? So, maybe— Maybe it was a little, small thing. A kiddie crush, really, nothing to be… talked about…”

“Back then?” Jeno clarifies, sounding… Well, you’re not sure how he sounds and that’s so much worse. “You felt that way in the treehouse? When you were a junior?”

“Yes? Yeah, I mean. Yes. It was a little thing. A tiny thing. Listen—”

“But I thought you stopped liking me after Sungchan asked you out?”

Those twelve words are the equivalent of getting splashed in the face with a cup of ice water.

(Jeno frowns, lips thinning as he thinks. “Or was his name Seunghan?”)

For the first time in probably your entire life, you actually ignore what Lee Jeno is saying to you. As he mumbles to himself about the prospective name of this alleged ‘date’, his previous words echo in your head over and over again like someone replaying the same three-second stretch on a vinyl record— And with each iteration, your skin warms another degree. By the time you finally collect yourself enough to speak, paralyzed with shock, your face is burning so warm with something— disbelief, surprise, straight up fear, you’re not sure yet— that you’re positive that steam is curling out of your pores.

But I thought you stopped liking me after Sungchan asked you out?

(“I swear it was something with an S...”)

Jeno is looking elsewhere as he thinks— Until the incredulity in your voice brings his attention back to the present.

“You… knew?”

“Knew?” His lips twitch with a small smile. Seemingly still not grasping the severity of the shitstorm occuring in your mind, Jeno laughs softly, bashful. “About how you felt? Well. Yeah? You've never really been that subtle about… anything, you know.”

You can’t move. It’s actually beginning to get a little unbearable under this blanket with the sun starting to beam down on you and the added heat from your own ebbing horror, but you can’t move.

You’re being hit with every glaringly obvious cue you've probably ever given him, a rolling tape of embarrassing memories. It’s an attempt happening completely in vain, as trying to find the one that tipped him off is impossible; sifting through years worth of moony-eyes you thought were hidden by your undetectable stealth, the times you’d ‘randomly’ maneuver yourself sitting near him when the chance arose, all the times he’s probably caught you just staring and known exactly why while you thought he was none the wiser.

Holy shit. So the last six years of your life, the two years you’d stopped being obsessed with him included, have been a complete and utter show? A clown show, with you as the main act? Horror overtakes you. Fuck, what you’d give to go back a few minutes and stop yourself from even coming out here in the first place, to keep living in ignorance— he’d known. He’d known! Jeno knew about the giant, stupid crush you had on him, which probably meant that every single time you got flustered or clammed up or been weird around him recently he knew why, and…

Wait. You freeze, current freak-out taken over by another thought that bursts into your mind.

I thought you stopped liking me after Sungchan asked you out?

Sungchan? You rack your brain. Sungchan, the classmate you’d become fast friends with during the first semester of junior year, your sky-scraper tall, smartass of a deskmate for the few months before he grew the courage to ask you out. You’d both tried it out for a few days before realizing that maybe the dating life wasn’t the best avenue for your relationship and amicably returned to being friends, still close even when he ended up transferring to another highschool a few cities away over the summer. Even now you still kept in touch, sending the occasional ‘this deer looks like u’ and ‘omg i just found this polaroid in my old notebook, look at how babie u were’ texts to one another, but that had really been it.

You dated Sungchan for about four and a half days in the grand scheme of things. Not nearly long enough to even dent the ocean of unresolved feelings you’d had about Lee Jeno. Those feelings would continue to haunt you until the ripe old age of eighteen, up until when he and your brother graduated— But if Jeno thought that you completely stopped liking him after Sungchan that meant he didn’t have a clue about the years you still idolized him after that, didn’t it?

For a second you almost feel ill.

(Of course, however. Of course, right as your failing mask of indifference hits its weakest point, that’s when your luck would have Jeno belatedly notice that you are not having nearly as good a time reminiscing about this as he is.)

He finally reads the look on your face, the tightness of your lips and the unmistakable mortification, and his eyes widen so quickly with understanding that you would have laughed if you could release your mouth from its grimace.

“There wasn’t anything wrong with that though,” he blurts, backpedaling, “I mean— It was nice to be thought of so highly by someone like you. It was cute.”

Your smile tightens further.

You know he’s trying. Very hard. To rectify what he must see as him unknowingly upsetting you or something. But his words do exactly the opposite, and the second after he calls it that— the nearly five years you’d spent falling over yourself over someone, who you are now being told, has always just thought your feelings were ‘cute’— something splinters a little bitterly in your chest.

Jeno, to his credit, realizes immediately that he’s misspoken.

You can practically see it in his expression, the wince when you take a step back. It causes the blanket to fall away from you completely, now left hanging lopsidedly on Jeno’s shoulders— the movement of which seems to concern him more than you’re expecting.

“Wait,” he says quickly. “That didn’t come out properly. Y/N—”

Nope. No. You take another step back.

Time to go. What a perfect moment this could be to go back inside. Yep! A convincing yawn here, a shiver, a thanks for the sunset-watching-invitation, and then you can abscond back into the house to the comforting loneliness of your bedroom to immediately and until further notice pretend you never came out here and that none of this ever—

“I would’ve taken you seriously,” Jeno finishes in one short breath, like the words are escaping his mouth without the permission of his brain, “If I could’ve. You know that, right?”

Record scratch.

His mouth opens and closes when you freeze, visibly struggling to find the words to explain what he’s just said (or dropped on you, it feels more like), and you just stare at him, uncomprehending.

“No, I… I don’t know? If you could have? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You— You’re my best friend's baby sister,” he grinds out quietly, like it’s somehow supposed to explain everything, but you’re only left more confused. Confused and, suddenly, at the random mention of Mark at a time like this, on edge. “Not to mention you were like, sixteen—”

“I’m only one year under you though,” you interrupt.

“You skipped a grade in elementary school, I’m aware, but that doesn't make you any older. Two years is a big difference.”

“It really isn’t? Especially not when both people involved are adults, and did you forget about Yooa? The girl who confessed to you when you were a senior, that you dated, who was definitely only a few months older than me?”

Jeno’s eyebrows furrow like you’d just asked him if he remembered the eye color of somebody he met when he was five. He frowns like he’s trying to recall exactly who you’re talking about, this girl who’s entire name, history, and zodiac sign you’d had emblazoned into your mind because when she first started dating Jeno you’d cried for an hour straight and then proceeded to cyber-investigate the girl’s twitter to torture yourself a little more.

“So unless four or five months really makes all the difference to you, I’m calling bullshit on the age thing, which now begs the question— what the hell does ‘taking me seriously’ have to do with my brother?”

“It has everything to do with your brother,” Jeno replies eventually, voice taut. “And you and I both know you and Mark don’t always see eye to eye, so I really think it would be best if we just dropped—

“Did he say something to you?” you mutter, accusatory. “About me?”

“He—It’s not that easy, Y/N. Mark wasn’t—”

You scoff, boiling over. “Mark didn’t this, Mark doesn’t that, does being ‘best friends’ also mean that you’re obligated to be his lapdog? What is it with you guys and deferring to his every whim?”

Jeno’s words cut short. You’re pushing it, even for someone as controlled and notoriously difficult-to-rile as Jeno, and the burgeoning tick in his jaw is telling you as much, but you’ve never really been one to heed warnings. And now you’re pissed, so the tense pull between his eyebrows is peas to you. “Or are you going to be a big boy and tell me what he—”

“Mark didn’t tell me anything,” Jeno finally relents, sharper than you’re used to, but you hold your ground when he takes a step forward. “I acted like I didn’t know how you felt on my own, because what else was I supposed to do when Mark only ever spoke about you like you put the stars in the sky? Once I met you he started telling me about your grades. He’d get so excited to tell me how you were doing in dance, or what new music you were blasting in your room, or whatever new achievement you got and thought he didn’t notice, and after a while I found myself thinking about you when I wasn't even with him and that scared the shit out of me. Why? Because he's my best friend. Do you think I didn’t already know exactly how he felt about anyone that even so much as looked at you?”

And so the dam breaks. These are the most words you think he’s ever spoken in one setting and stunned by the intensity in his voice, you can only listen.

“Not to mention that by the time I figured out whatever I was feeling, there were only a few weeks left before I moved to Seoul for university. So I left it alone.”

He blinks, hard. “And eventually you got over me. So it’s—"

“If you say it’s alright, Lee Jeno, I’ll deck you.”

You don’t know where the fury comes from. Maybe it’s not anger at all. Maybe it’s the wave of disappointment, regret, resignation, and sadness from what could have been, all rolled into one. But it comes out as rage, the flare in your eyes and the resentful edge to your words.

“Have you ever wondered why Mark and I don’t see ‘eye to eye’, Jeno?”

His lips part, but no sound comes out. Whether it’s because he knows better than to answer right now or because he genuinely doesn’t know, you’re not aware.

“Because of this,” you mutter, “Because of this. Did you know that there was a point in my childhood where the feeling was mutual? A point where Mark was my favorite person in the entire world? I couldn’t imagine a single day where I’d want to be anywhere but with him. He was my brother, my friend— but then, as most people do, I got older. And when I got older and ceased to be the little thing that followed his every suggestion, when I stopped wanting to do everything the same safe way he did it, he stopped seeing me as that friend and started treating me like something he needed to protect. Instead of being brave, I became reckless. Everything I wanted to do became dangerous. Everyone I hung out with was a bad influence, every place I went was unsafe. He stopped trusting me.”

The laugh between your words is humorless.

“And for years, I thought it was my fault. That I did something to make him lose so much faith in me. Do you know what that feels like?”

The crack in your voice makes Jeno look away sharply. It’s quick, as though the sound had physically grabbed him, and the movement is what snaps you back to the painful present.

You take a step back, hastily blinking the very unwelcome burn from your eyes— It’s 7AM on a Saturday morning and you’re yelling at Lee Jeno on your best friend's balcony. When did your life get to this point?

“For the better part of four years, all I looked for was you. But because I’m your best friend's little sister, even though you knew, you did nothing, right? Because Mark said so?”

Jeno bristles again. “Mark didn’t say—”

“He didn’t have to say it!” you shout. “Mark doesn’t trust me to make my own decisions and somehow that ended up making the only boy I’ve ever loved keep his mouth shut when he could’ve liked me back. Does that make sense?”

Jeno’s eyes fly back to your face. If you thought he’d been surprised when you told him you liked him, then the look on his face right now would be one to snap a picture of. Oops. Guess you weren’t supposed to let that word slip— only four letters and yet such a big, big difference. But it probably doesn’t matter since you’ve already gone and fucked it all up by accidentally confessing.

You gather what little boldness you have left and look him right in the eyes.

"I’m only going to ask you this now,” your voice is wavering, but you ignore it, “Because a younger me used to lose sleep wondering what your answer would be.”

He must know what’s coming. You watch his eyes flash a million things, none of them decipherable.

“Am I only ever going to be Mark's little sister to you? No matter what?"

One beat.

Two beats.

His lips part as though to speak,

Three.

But nothing comes out.

A car honks down on the street below. A strong breeze sends goosebumps rising across your skin. A song goes off somewhere inside the house, a sudden singing twinkle; Jaemin’s alarm. You’re able to recognize it from the dozens of times he’s slept over at Mark’s place. He’d said something last night about having to leave super early, swim team practice or the like; he must’ve left his phone out in the living room somewhere, but the guy has ears like a hawk and has no doubt heard the tune from whatever blanket he’s under. He’ll come out to turn it off any second now, and you don’t want to be out here when he does.

“At least you’re honest,” you tell a very troubled-looking Jeno with a small, plastic smile.

You don’t wait for an answer, and you don’t turn back for the entirety of the walk back inside— and then, once you’re out of eyesight, the glazed over stumble— to your guest room. You slowly take out the extra duvet from the closet, wrap it around yourself like the world's saddest burrito, collapse onto the bed, and try your damndest not to cry.

(Safe to say that after about ten seconds, you lose that fight terribly.)

[♥︎]: and there it is, folks! please leave a like if you enjoyed! it REALLY gives me the motivation to work on this faster! [chapter edited & updated on 12/20/23!]

[MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

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nentofus · 8 months

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okay to like / reblog / tag / save / whatever!

thought i should pop my personal prompt list for this year's OC-tober here! for ease of reading, the prompt list is as follows:

The Introduction Week 1. Newest OC 2. Your favourite OC 3. OC who gets the most love 4. OC who needs a little more love 5. Show some Pride 🏳️‍🌈 6. Your favourite ship (romantic, platonic, found family, any relationship!) 7. Draw over an IRL picture - Alternate option: OC you'd most want to meet IRL

Appearance Week 8. Extra appendages (like extra limbs, eyes, etc.) 9. New hairstyle / New outfit 10. Gloves or socks? 11. Swimsuit 12. Mascot costume / Cursed outfit 13. Crossdressing 14. Wearing something from your culture!

Aesthetics Week 15. Cyberpunk - Alternate option: Vapourwave 16. Cottagecore - Alternate option: Lolita 17. Galaxy - Alternate option: Ocean / Forest 18. Monochrome / Noir - Alternate option: Light academia / Dark academia 19. Neon / Eyestrain - Alternate option: 2000s scene kid / Hot Topic emo 20. Rockabilly / 50s - Alternate option: Ah Beng / Ah Lian (lol) 21. Your favourite aesthetic - Alternate option: Your least favourite aesthetic

Fun Week 22. Song redraw 23. Collab cafe item 24. Limited palette 25. Family Feud 26. Idol / Band subunit 27. Fake screenshot 28. Barbenheimer

The End Half-Week 29. Your OC with a canon character 30. Your comfort zone / comfort character 31. Halloween costume dressup - Alternate option: Guts & glory / Free day!

I'll be putting the explanations for a couple of these under a read-more so that those who aren't interested can skip the rest of my blathering! Feel free to ask questions if y'all like! My ask box + the replies on this post are always open :D

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General - I wanted to make another self-indulgent prompt list this year for OC-tober so I did :3 - If you do feel like following along, remember that your health, comfort and motivation come first! Do as much as you want or as little as you want, or feel free to mix up the order or skip the prompts you don't like! - The alternate options were added because 1. I'm indecisive and 2. If a certain prompt doesn't appeal to you, then there's another choice! - I always have OCs on the brain so if you want to mention/tag me in your posts please do! I'll be responding under my main blog @complementary-oxymorons due to the interaction limitations of side blogs + wanting to keep my art blog as my personal art archive.

About the prompts - I understand that some prompts can be a bit confusing so I'll try to preemptively explain some! - Day 7: Draw over an IRL picture - For some ideas, it could be like drawing your OCs on a picture of a beach as if they're there having fun! Or maybe you could draw little chibis of your OCs sitting on your shoulder / messing with your hand while you draw :D (please do be mindful about the risks that come with uploading IRL photos though!). If you're concerned about privacy but still want to involve your "IRL self" in the piece, a possibility is to fully re-draw / trace over the reference photo you took! - Day 10: Gloves or socks - Yeah this is just me finding an excuse to draw my OCs who wear gloves or draw them in some super cute socks / stockings. Which team are you on? - Day 20 alternate: Ah Beng / Ah Lian - I thought it'd be funny because someone put it on Aesthetics Wiki (link). To those who have ah beng in ur neighbourhood just put portable speaker escooter tattoo slipper can liao also if yall know the typical ah beng spotify songs can tell me pls ok xiexie i only know 小幸运 and heng ong huat - Day 22: Song redraw - Some ideas could be redrawing your OCs on album art, or adapting them into the visuals of a song as if they're covering it! (Like how vtubers do hehe) - Day 23: Collab cafe item - Create a food or drink item that represents your OC! Some IPs (anime, games, etc.) collaborate with IRL cafes to create a themed menu which runs for a limited time only. The items on the menu tend to be references to the IP and its characters (e.g. an orange-haired character in the game gets a menu item that's an orange soda with decorative sprinkles, or a character who loves curry gets a menu item that's a special curry dish, something like that). If you're still unsure, google stuff like "collab cafe"! - Day 25: Family Feud - Feel free to redraw your favourite Family Feud clip as your OCs because there are a lot of strong contenders kekdog - Day 28: Barbenheimer - Exactly what it is! Feel free to draw your OCs dressing up to go to either movie or something. - Day 31 alternate: Guts & glory - This one's for those who prefer a more bloody Halloween :D Feel free to gore it up in any way you like. Plush, candy, flower, extra visceral... get those guts some air!!!

#prompts #oc-tober #oc-tober 2023 #little chats

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stubblesandwich · 6 months

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Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

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Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised.

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life.

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts.

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could.

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit.

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.)

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start.

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something.

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents.

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile. “I would have had three months off to be here with you!”

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?”

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...”

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily.

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.”

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area.

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay.

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right?

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point).

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote.

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response.

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.”

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.”

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced.

“What if you slip and fall?”

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?”

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden.

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday.

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months. The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress.

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open.

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower.

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.”

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach.

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.”

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“David—”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.”

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?”

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink.

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations.

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table.

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression.

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful.

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her.

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.”

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her.

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them.

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate. “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.”

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing.

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.”

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs.

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added.

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.”

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David.

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life.

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could.

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston.

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall.

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting.

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore.

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him.

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history.

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough.

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring.

And now what was he, without her?

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction.

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places.

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning.

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry.

She was a lovely person.

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed.

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME."

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once.

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife.

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything.

+++++++

One Year Later

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away.

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain.

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory.

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself.

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill.

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet.

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief.

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone.

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”.

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently.

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA.

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of.

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame.

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved.

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented.

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him.

How did people live like this?

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test.

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity.

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah. And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too.

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand.

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without.

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him.

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water.

=========

gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #return to me

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triscribeaucollection · 27 days

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New installment of my PJO Trade AU in the works:

So, apparently demigods didn’t get sick very often.

But when they did?

Hoooo boy did they pull out all the stops.

Thalia readjusted the thick cloth tied around her face and tucked into her shirt collar, before hefting up her latest pair of buckets filled with ice water. Almost made her wistful for the invisible spirit servants on Ogygia, honestly.

As best they’d been able to figure, it started in the Hermes cabin. Three separate new arrivals had come in the week before and been shuffled into the catch-all cabin, though only one stayed there as an unclaimed demigod, the other two heading off to Apollo and Demeter’s cabins, respectively. But regardless, at least one of them came in with some kind of nasty bug without showing any symptoms, and the Hermes kids were the first to get taken out.

Luke wasn’t the senior half blood by any means, but when the Head of the cabin went down puking her guts out, he took charge pretty quick. As soon as he realized more kids than not were dealing with the dizzy spells that preceded the sniffling and then vomit, Thalia’s best friend closed up shop, turning the whole cabin into a quarantine zone. Unfortunately, that practically guaranteed any camper inside who hadn’t caught the bug yet was screwed, but they all obeyed Luke’s orders, reluctantly agreeing to it for the greater good.

Then a daughter of Dionysus collapsed in the dining pavilion, and everything went downhill from there.

Twelve cabins housed all of Camp Half Blood’s demigod population. Three stood empty most if not all of the time (Artemis, Zeus, and Hera); that left nine full of teenagers ripe for infection. Five filled up with feverish groans fairly quickly. The Athena kids tried to close up shop before any of their members could get sick, but missed the mark, and within two days more than half of them were bedridden, including Annabeth. Thalia didn’t dare set foot inside, but she’d at least spoken to the younger girl a little through a closed window, and promised something special once Annabeth felt better.

“But if you die, I get to keep it,” she warned, only to laugh when the eleven year old petulantly stuck out her tongue.

The Apollo campers, gods love ‘em, emptied out the Big House infirmary and went mobile. Those who fell ill were banished back to their cabin, but the rest maintained the closest they could get to hospital protective gear and delivered soup, drinks, and other necessities to everyone else. Kids caught in the spiked fever phase were wiped down repeatedly with cold wet washcloths, while those wracked by dry heaving got the same pressed firmly against the backs of their necks.

But that meant a lot of cold wet cloth constantly warming up and drying out, which meant a fresh supply of ice water was badly needed.

Hence Thalia, decked out like a background extra in a post apocalypse film, lugging heavy buckets up to the cabins again and again and again. She wasn’t the only one by any means; the magical beings employed by Chiron as security and cleaning crew and whatnot were all pitching in too, since they couldn’t get sick like demigods. But that meant Thalia needed to dodge around other folks and their buckets on her back-and-forth trips, which felt progressively trickier as the fourth day of Camp versus Plague dragged on and warmed up.

At some point in the early afternoon, as she set down her empty buckets for another refill, an Apollo kid decked out in yellow vinyl gloves and an actual medical facemask came scurrying up to try and shove two wrapped sandwiches into her hands. “I just need one, thanks,” Thalia told him. Her stomach twisted; maybe make that only half of one.

But the kid shook their head. “The other’s for Percy.”

“Yeah, no, that’s gotta wait, I don’t set foot in our cabin until the end of the day, after I’ve scrubbed my skin down to the cellular level.” Like Tartarus was Thalia tracking germs home to infect her little cousin.

Above the line of their mask, the Apollo kid’s eyes scrunched. “But he’s not at the Poseidon cabin?”

“...what.”

“I saw him helping with laundry, just a little while ago. Looked like he was past ready for a break, too. Like you,” the kid added pointedly, before they successfully maneuvered the sandwiches into Thalia’s unresistant grasp. She only blinked as the twerp took off again, before tipping her head back with a groan.

Percy, helping out with laundry. When Thalia specifically ordered him to stay put in their cabin, away from fevers and vomit and all the camp-wide nastiness. For a moment she idly wondered if losing Poseidon’s favor would be worth strangling the self-sacrificing idiot.

...nah. Probably not.

Sighing, Thalia abandoned her buckets and went to find Percy.

If only so she could throw him headfirst into the lake.

#pjo #the trade au #think I'm gonna title this one #hidden depths #>:3

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bawltongue · 11 months

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ROOMMATES - Pt 1

(jonathan davis x stealth transmasc reader <on t, post op top surgery>. takes place in early 90s, very beginning of korn. reader gets notice by landlord that they will have to share their space with a new roommate- that being jd. despite the readers initial lack of excitement, they get to know each other and develop a mutual liking)

18+ !!!!!!!

warning: substance use, lots of swearing, slurs, brief mention of the film 'cannibal holocaust'

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Fucking shit!” You sputtered out, woken up from a deep sleep due to your obnoxious alarm. You had the day off, but had forgotten to turn it off the evening prior. You sighed, feeling defeated already. Another day where you’ve been yanked out of slumber nearly suffering a heart attack at 8 AM.

“Great, there goes sleeping in today.”

Getting up from your bed, you groggily stumbled into the kitchen. Might as well prepare a decent breakfast, since you actually have time rather then having to rush to work. You opened up the fridge to scan various ingredients, trying to decide on what you were going to make. You had meant to go grocery shopping a few days ago, but your consistent exhaustion has kept you nothing but work and homebound. The fridge was basically barren and despite your rumbling gut, nothing looked appetizing.

Well, nothing except for your trusty old bong sitting on the counter where you had left it the night before. It still had some ash and weed inside the bowl; even a bit of green still sprinkled in there. You sighed picking it up, mildly disappointed in yourself over how happy the thought of lighting it up made you. Walking out onto your tiny haven of a balcony, you plopped down in one of the plastic yard chairs and picked up the lighter left lying on the ground. Inhaling the comforting smoke, you sat wondering what you could do to postpone going to the grocery store for as long as possible.

“Damn, this is some good ass shit.” You coughed out, already feeling high after a couple hits. Your dealer knew you back in high school as the weird, quiet, androgynous kid. When you had first linked up about a year ago inquiring about buying from him, he thought your transition was ‘cool and interesting’. He always made sure to give you his best product; sometimes he’ll even slide you some free edibles to try.

Finishing up what was left in the bowl, you made your way back inside to fill it back up and get fucked up for the day; only to be inturupted by a knock at your door.

“Shit shit shit.” You anxiously jumped up, racing to shove your bong under the kitchen sink and lighting a candle on your coffee table. You weren’t expecting any visitors, and you had already paid rent for the month a week and a half ago; what’s the fucking deal?

Another impatient sounding knock at the door.

“Coming, I-I’m coming!” You stumbled over to the door, opening it without even thinking to look through the peephole. Lo and behold, your landlord, Lily, was waiting with a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have to remind you for like, the billionth time that you can’t be smoking? You’re gonna get me in trouble, Y/N.” She said half seriously, half nonchalantly. You’ve had this conversation so many times, all she can really do at this point is wag her finger and pretend to care.

“Shit, you can smell it?”

“Not this time, but your eyes give it away.” She snickered, gesturing at your face. “Anyways, that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I have news, and you’re either gonna be excited or pissed at me. Probably pissed. Either way, it’ll be your problem, not mine.” She crossed her arms and took a step closer.

“You’re scaring me, Lily. Like, that just made me so anxious. Just give it to me straight.” You braced yourself, crossing your arms in front of your chest and holding onto your shoulders. You honestly didn’t know what to expect at this point. You’ve been residing in the same complex for close to 2 years now, so aside from the occasional drama from the room above you or malfunctioning of appliances; surprises weren’t something that occurred often at all. You were almost hoping for her to say something a little outlandish. Life had felt so redundant lately.

“Alright. You want it straight? I’ll give to ya. Finances are… rough, to say the least. I can’t keep up with what I’m charging you for rent. So I’m raising it-“

“What? Are you kidding? You know I’m in a shitty situation myself, I can barely afford an eighth of grass. I’m paying for my hrt, come on, dont do this to m-“

“Y/N, chill. You ain’t even let me finish my sentence. Why would I mention you’d be excited if I was just gonna double the rent on you? You think I’m a monster?” She looked mildly offended. Her assurance made you relax your shoulders a bit.

“Anyways; I’m raising the rent and you’re going to be splitting it with a new roommate. I think he’ll be a perfect match for you, he’s your age, a bit quiet, but-“

“Aw shit… please tell me you’re joking. I don’t mesh well with other people. Especially strangers. Plus, you know my ‘thing’. What if I get hatecrimed? What do you even know about this guy?”

“Enough to be sure he won’t slaughter you. I dunno, he might be a little… you know… queer himself even. Not my business.” She flashed a limp wrist to emphasize her point. It would’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t so disappointed and taken off guard. “Be prepared for your new friend tonight. I already told him he’d probably have to take the foldout couch to sleep in.”

“Whatever.”

“You know, maybe you should be excited or something. You’re always alone, getting stoned by yourself and shuffling around here like a hobbit. Your life is your life, but you have a shot at making a friend. You’re gonna have to get used to it anyways, because I need money, and you need a place to live. Once I get his payment, I may even be able to fix your hot water problem.” She winked cartoonishly and took a step back. “That’s all I had to say. If you can afford it, go buy some eyedrops.” She said before walking away, unbothered.

You made a disgusted expression at her back before slamming the door shut and pacing to your bedroom to put some normal clothes on. In that moment, you had decided you’d tidy things up a little bit. Sure, you were pissed off and unhappy that you’d have to be sharing your space with a total stranger all of a sudden, but you didn’t wanna feel embarrassed about a mess on top of that. Wasn��t worth fighting fire with fire.

Time felt like no object as you cleaned up; throwing laundry into your crummy little dryer, spraying down the mirror in the bathroom, vacuuming up the ash and crumbs scattered throughout the apartment floor. Before you knew it, you had looked at the clock and it was 4 PM. You had done a damn thorough job sanitizing and tidying.

Damn, I’ve been cleaning all fucking day for some dude I don’t even know. I deserve a medal for hospitality or something.

You looked over at the little coffee table, spotting your lighter.

Or maybe a couple bong rips would suffice.

Packing up the bowl tight with a nice fluffy bunch of weed, you situated yourself outside with a glass of water and got ready to get fucked. Your anxiety was starting to eat at you now that you weren’t occupied cleaning; and what better way to rid yourself of that nagging feeling then to smoke it away?

Time dragged on as you smoked an unforeseen amount of bud. Your eyelids got progressively heavier until they fell and your body gave in to much needed sleep. A sleep that would once again be crudely interrupted, as the slamming of something hitting the floor of your apartment pulled you to your feet in fear. With bloodshot, sleepy eyes you yanked the door from your balcony open and staggered inside.

“The fuck?” Your voice cracked with apparent concern and confusion. In front of the doorway of your abode stood a lanky, and clearly startled man about your age. He had dark dreads, silver eyebrow piercings, and a uniquely handsome face. You scanned him tentatively, trying to figure out in your stoned state of mind if he was a threat or not.

“Sorry, I uh, Lily gave me a key and I didn’t wanna knock in case you were asleep. I didn’t mean to scare ya like that.” He awkwardly fumbled, putting the key in his pocket before outstretching his hand. “I’m Jonathan.”

You exhaled in relief and reached your hand out to shake his. He seemed polite enough, and the fact that he was clearly nervous as well made you feel a bit better.

“Names’ Y/N. It’s cool to meet you, man.” He gripped your hand with more strength then expected. You couldn’t control your eyes. Your gaze went from up his hand to his face and down his body. Taking in his features and clothing choices the best you could. You noticed his dark, friendly eyes. There looked to be a lot of soul behind them. His decrepit black sweater and sweatpants that looked like they’ve been through purgatory. You wanted to keep staring, but didn’t wanna seem weird.

“This is a really nice place, you do a good job keeping it clean I can see.” Jonathan smiled, trying to ease the tension, earning a soft smile back. His crooked teeth caught your eye.

“Thanks. To be honest, I really don’t. I cleaned it all today, went fucking nuts with it.”

“Aww, what? Already trying to impress me and we just met, huh?” He playfully responded, making you blush a bit. Fortunately for you, it was just dim enough so that he couldn’t tell.

“Man whatever.” You laughed tiredly. “Can I help you with anything? You look like you might be strugglin’ a bit.” You looked over to his bags that had fallen all over the floor. One had busted open and his clothes had come flooding out. You noticed a pair of thigh high striped socks and garters. Interesting.

He looked behind him and sighed softly, turning back to you. “Nah, nah… Well… I hate to make this kind of first impression, but would you maybe have sumthin’ to eat? I’m fuckin’ starving.”

You nearly facepalmed. Fuck. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today.

“Shit man, I wish I could say yes. I haven’t eaten all day. I’m hungry m’self.”

“Oh fuck, well… can I buy you something to eat then? It’s like almost midnight but I can get us something from the Kwik Stop across the street.”

You smiled, a bit surprised at the offer. You would’ve said no out of courtesy since you normally don’t like when people buy things for you; but because he was moving into your space, you graciously took him up on the offer. Before leaving, you both moved his bags onto the couch and went on your way. It was pitch black outside. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been out for until he mentioned it was about midnight. Time felt weird.

The Kwik Stop was just across the road from your complex, which was empty due to the odd time of evening. On the brief walk there, you had partaken in some small talk; learning that he had come from Bakersfield, that he enjoyed music, that you both really liked The Cure. He had a very soft spoken and gentle cadence to his voice. Although you weren’t excited by any means to have to embrace a new roommate, it didn’t seem like it’d be necessarily hard to get along. In fact, you found yourself kind of attracted to him which threw you off a bit.

“Feel free to grab whatever you want, It’s on me.” He winked at you and walked off, going straight for the beers in the back. Once you both got what you wanted, you left to run back across the street. The sidelights lit your faces up dully as you waited for cars to cease passing by. "I really appreciate you getting me something to eat."

"Don't worry about it. I really appreciate you being so cool about me staying at your place. I probably would've beaten the shit out of me the way I showed up earlier." He chuckled softly. Jon's gaze was soft, his eyes looked like black holes reflecting the small amount of light emanating from the street. You met his fixed look with your own causing him to nervously glance at his feet.

"I gotta be cool with it, right? We're roommates now. If anything, I'm surprised you didn't peace out when my stoned ass came bumbling through the door at you. Was kinda embarrassing."

"Naw, it was sorta endearing." You didn't even have a moment to respond before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the street. "C'mon, let's head out." He kept your wrist in his grasp as the two of you speedwalked across the road. You had been caught up staring at Jon's face rather than paying attention to the cars. He let go of you once you reached the other side. "Whew, let's fuckin' eat."

You walked up the stairs and unlocked the door to your apartment, letting you both in. Jon plopped down on the couch and instantly started ripping apart the wings he had bought. He looked up at you with full cheeks and patted the space next to him. You sat down somewhat guardedly, slurping at the slushy you got. As you both ate and drank your respective food and engaged in chitchat, it was easy to tell that sleepiness was becoming palpable. Your eyes kept fluttering closed as Jon would try to continue engaging in conversation. You had been sitting and talking for over an hour now.

"Y/N, you oughtta go to sleep." He snickered staring at you, his head in his hand. "I can tell you're exhausted."

Your eyes peeled open, dark circles encompassing them. "I guess I should. Fuck, I'm so tired. I'm sorry. I wanted to try and vibe a bit more but-"

"Go to bed. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow. I just like your company, it's why I won't shut the fuck up." A sleepy smile plastered on his face. You groggily got up and made your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth before passing out on your bed. Too tired to change out of your day clothes, but not too tired to unplug your alarm clock.

As the next couple days and weeks passed, you and Jonathan got to know each other better. Developing a friendship where you could be both serious when necessary, but poke fun at each other as well. You took space when you needed it but found that you both enjoyed each other's energy. Jon became more talkative as the days went on, and the two of you found it easy to intently listen to each other. He had told you about the band he was in and how they're working on their first album; even invited you to their next rehearsal. You were becoming somewhat close pretty fast. It'd been a bit difficult to continue suppressing the full on crush you developed on him throughout your time together. You kept covering it up by teasing and making fun of him in subtle, friendly ways. He did the same, but you assumed it was his way of being friendly.

In the midst of a pretty serious conversation about childhood and the lyricism behind the songs Jon had been working on with his bandmates; you ended up disclosing the fact that you're trans to him. You had gathered from multiple discussions and his experience with being perceived as queer that he wouldn't be distasteful about it. Fortunately, you were right. He found it to be very interesting and admirable. You were the first trans person he'd met. He was very open to being educated on the subject. Every now and then a new question will pop into his mind that he'll ask you; some a bit invasive, but all in a genuine attempt to better understand and sympathize with you. You came to learn he was a very open minded individual. After you came out to him, he insisted on giving you an almost uncomfortably long hug. Almost, but more than anything it was a very meaningful gesture. Ever since then, you found yourselves embracing and having sentimental moments a little more often. It was nice to finally have somebody to confide in about your personal life and vice versa. Friends, dates, socializing in general hadn't exactly been a tangible thing since you moved away from home.

At this point, it had been about a couple weeks since he had initially moved in. At the end of a very long workday, you had planned to head over to the Kwik Stop together and grab slushies. This time, on you. Work hadn't ended until 9:30, which left you getting back to the apartment around 10 PM. Jonathan was waiting eagerly when you got back. The moment you opened up the door, he sprung up from the couch and walked over to you. “Let’s get outta here!” He pushed past you, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. He got into the habit of dragging you places by your wrist like that. You didn’t get the chance to even say hello, let alone change out of your work clothes.

After picking out your ridiculous sized slushies, you headed back to the apartment and finally had the opportunity to change into something more comfortable. You grabbed a random oversized t-shirt and pair of sweats from the dryer, swiftly throwing them on before exiting your room to join Jon on the couch. Looking up at him, you noticed a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You sneered, raising an eyebrow. "What's your damage?"

"Nothing. You're just wearing my shit." He pointed a finger at you, still smirking. He proceeded to take an obnoxiously loud sip from his drink, not breaking eye contact. You looked down at the clothes you had mindlessly tossed on to find he was right.

"Oh, uh, shit. My bad. I thought-I didn't even realize. I'll go change real quick."

"You shouldn't. It looks good on you." He very obviously scanned you up and down. A hot blush spread rapidly across your face. You both locked eyes for a few silent moments before he spoke again. "You're turning red."

"Man shut the fuck up." You sputtered out, flustered and unable to hide the smile on your face. "That's gay as hell." You were never very good at accepting compliments.

"That ain't a problem with me." Jon snickered and bit his lip looking quite satisfied with himself. You plopped next to him on the couch and flipped the television on. Out of the corner of your eye while channel surfing, he was making it pretty apparent that he was gawking at you. You had your gaze fixated on the tv and tried to play it cool; despite your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. Jonathan interrupted your aimless search for something to watch by letting you know he had a VHS tape he wanted to show you. You hesitantly agreed as he sprung up and grabbed it from one of his bags, popping it into the player.

"It's called Cannibal Holocaust." He casually sat back down, a little closer to you then before.

"Jonathan, what the actual fuck are you making me watch right now?"

"Don't worry, it's all fake. Mostly. If you get scared, I'll protect you." He playfully patted your head and chuckled, turning his face towards the screen. Every time he touched you, whether it was a tiny tap, a hug, a fist bump, a gentle hand on your waist to get by you; it always made butterflies arise in your stomach. As the movie played on, you found yourself progressively more disturbed and unsettled. Every now and then, Jon would turn his head toward you to check your reactions. You thought it was pretty cute, but with him doing so, felt compelled to try and force a stone-faced expression. That was, until a particular scene involving a turtle shocked your system.

"OH SHIT!" You jumped in disgust and fear, spilling your giant, now melted slushie all over the couch. Jon couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You fucking weirdo, where are you gonna sleep tonight now?" you snapped in a mildly annoyed tone. He wiped a tear from his eye from laughter, glancing down at the sticky mess.

"Damn... Guess I'll curl up on the floor?" He got up to go grab paper towels from the counter. You took a deep breath and got up to turn the VHS player off. You felt a little bad for raising your voice at him.

"Nah, nah. I'm sorry, that was totally my fault. You can sleep in my bed... I-I wouldn't mind."

He gladly accepted as you both proceeded to get ready to go to sleep. Brushing your teeth, setting up his one pillow and bracing yourself for what you hoped to be a casual, non awkward evening. He walked into your room from the bathroom with nothing but a pair of dramatically short, tattered boxers on. You couldn't help but gawk at his figure; he was so much hairier than you imagined. Almost made your mouth water. He excitedly crawled under the covers next to you and faced you, a cheesy grin on his face.

"Taking it to the next level now, are we?" He winked.

"You're dumb." You laughed tiredly. Your faces were inches away, causing you both to subtly turn red. "You've been acting so gay lately."

"Yeah yeah, haw haw, Imma fag... Can you blame me? We've been spending so much time together. I'm starting to like- well I dunno. Nevermind. We gotta sleep." He closed his eyes and began cartoonishly snoring. 'Honk shoo, honk shoo'. It made you snicker.

"No, you can't do that, Jon. Tell me what you were gonna say. I promise I won't be a douchebag about it." You inched closer, getting in his face. Your mutual sleepiness causing your walls to come down a bit. He opened one eye, lips curling into a smile seeing you so close to him.

"I don't wanna make things weird, Y/N. We're sleeping in the same bed tonight." The anticipation of waiting for him to say what you thought he was going to was killing you. You were both sweating. A brief stretch of silent thought ensued until you interjected.

"You have a crush on me or something?" You tried to keep a casual, somewhat playful tone, but your voice came out shaky. His eyes bulged a bit, looking away from you. He sighed dramatically.

"You know, I played that movie kinda hoping that you'd get scared and like, grab my hand or want me to put my arm around you or something. I didn't expect you to dump liquid diabetes all over the couch... and now we're laying in the same bed... and I feel more awkward about telling you this then I thought I would..." He trailed off hesitantly. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath since he started talking.

"Just say it." You impatiently spat out. His eyes fixed back onto yours, both of you using the blanket to cover your faces from the nose down.

He laughed awkwardly; "Peer pressure... I think I've made it obvious enough, right?... I really like you. Like, I'm crushin' on you a fuckton. I think you're really fuckin' cute, Y/N." He almost whispered out. Your smile stretched across your face so wide that your eyes squinted almost completely. You saw the smile in his eyes as well, as you both remained stuck in each other's gazes. You couldn't come up with a response due to your surprise and the surgency of emotions. Time seemed to stretch on forever as you affectionately stared into one another's gazes. Jon hummed thoughtfully to himself, debating on whether or not to interject the silence.

"Can I kiss you?" Jon softly asked. You nodded your head enthusiastically, prompting him to scoot closer to you until your lips weren't even a centimeter apart. He placed a gentle hand on the side of your face and leaned in, placing a tender, somewhat quick kiss on your lips. You couldn't hold back your childish giggle.

"So I take it I didn't make things weird?" He chuckled, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"No, no. I'm actually really happy you said something. I'm kinda surprised. I uh, I like you too. A lot. If that wasn't apparent... and yeah, I also think you're cute. Very cute." You made the bold, sleep deprived decision to move your hand onto his bare waist, making him slightly twitch in pleasant surprise.

"Careful now. You're gonna give me a boner."

"Man you're so fucking dumb." The both of you laughed as you gave him a light, playful slap on the cheek. The rest of the night was spent sprinkling soft kisses on each other's faces and lazily making out. The romantic tension that had been building finally burst with your mutual confessions. Jon kept trying to spoon you throughout the evening, but in your exhausted state, you couldn't help but toss and turn. Every now and then, you'd feel a kiss on the back of your neck, or his hand resting on your waist. You could tell already that touch was his love language. Before you finally fell asleep, you ended up having to accept your nightly fate of being swallowed up in his arms. His chest hair tickled the back of your neck as he kept you pressed up against him. It was a much safer and cozy feeling then you were expecting. You had never felt so comfortable with the touch of another person before. It was one of the most restful, satisfying nights' sleep you had since you could remember.

#jonathan davis x reader #jonathan davis x transmasc reader #jonathan davis x ftm reader #jonathan davis fic #jonathan davis #korn fic #bawltongue writes #roommates #fic

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