#he always was willing to make sacrifices for the good of their relationship

[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

#𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 ♡ #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru x y/n #gojo arranged marriage #jjk arranged marriage #gojo fluff #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru fluff #satoru fluff #jjk fluff

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

Thinking a lot about how Moiraine and Lan in Season 2 is essentially an exploration of the “does the bond chafe” scene from The Great Hunt, and how it turned something I disliked in the books into something I really love.

While there is a lot going on for Moiraine in this scene in the book, a core part of it is that she’s worried about Lan feeling compelled to abandon their mission both because she is worried she will die and he will freak out and because she is worried he will come to care more about Nynaeve than their battle against the Shadow. I get where this scene is coming from, both in emphasizing that Lan and Nynaeve are made for each other and in giving us insight into Moiraine’s calculating nature and the amount she is willing to sacrifice goodness for rightness, but I feel like this does Lan and Moiraine both a disservice, as well as their bond. Despite 20 years together, it feels like she doesn’t fully trust him. It also doesn’t quite make sense to me how they could have a conversation like that if they can feel each other’s emotions - it reads to me as blunt but not honest, and I’ve always assumed a core tenant of Moiraine and Lan’s relationship is deep honesty since they’re each feeling the other person reacting on a gut level in real time to every sentence said. Anyway, the scene landed poorly for me on my first read through and I still don’t love it even with a far better understanding of each of these characters on a reread.

So I really appreciate how the show flips this on its head and makes it about Moiraine doubting herself, not doubting Lan. In Season 2, Moiraine is embarrassed and insecure that the thing that made her who she is and that connected her to Lan has been taken away without her consent. You can extrapolate from this that she could also be worried or sad or insecure because she fears Lan might want to be Nynaeve's warder instead now that Moiraine is (in her eyes) useless in their quest, but there’s no indication that Nynaeve as she stands on her own is a primary motivation for Moiraine’s worrying about Lan. Moiraine’s callous actions towards Lan are so clearly rooted in Moiraine’s own fear, and not in Lan’s behavior. And then we get the final scene where Lan asks to be let back in to their bond. He has his out right there, he could go off and find Nynaeve and he chooses not to. Yes, this is because he is a man of his word and he took an oath, but it's also because he is devoted to Moiraine as a person, for who she is and their shared dedication. We aren’t left with Moiraine wondering when Lan will ask Moiraine to release him from his bond, but instead with him doing just the opposite and asking affirmatively to be rebonded. I find it really beautiful and it just speaks to this core of each of their characters that feels really authentic to me. And I think it will strengthen Lan and Nynaeve’s eventual relationship because it will feel like a very purposeful choice he’s making to enter into it, instead of something he’s pushing against. (It will also make the red door that much worse helpp.)

#the one thing I LOVE about the ‘does the bond chafe’ chapter tho #is the note that moiraine had never thought of lan as an object of jealousy #or indeed thought of any man that way #it can’t say any person bc in new spring she is so obviously jealous of siuan kissing boys to get intel!! #reminds me of that post circulating with the excerpt about siuan charming women all the way to salidar #these ladies are so gay I’m sorry it’s a crime they BOTH end up with men #wheel of time #wot book spoilers #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran #dril reads wot (again)

[cryscendo]

kurt hummel in every performance

3x02 - I Am Unicorn

Something’s Coming - Blaine Anderson

#glee #kurt hummel #my stuff #kurt hummel in every performance #episode: i am unicorn #song: something’s coming #this boy is so in love #i’ll never understand the people who think that kurt is anything other than unbelievably in love with blaine #like this boy literally bowed out of wss with so much grace and poise AND gave his bf flowers to congratulate him on his role #he always was willing to make sacrifices for the good of their relationship #bc as he says later in the show #i win for one of them is a win for both of them #bc they’re a pair #always have been always will be #trade baby queues for wide-eyed browns #new q tag!!! #the last time i made a new q tag was when manu’s had come out #it was ‘queue are the sun and i am just the planets’ #which i loved but i needed something fresh

[pucksandpower]

Theories of Relativity

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you don’t need TikTok theories to prove that your relationship is a dream come to life, but it doesn’t hurt when your boyfriend passes all of them with flying colors

The Olive Theory

When you love someone, you have to be willing to make sacrifices and compromises for them (even if those sacrifices are something small like pretending to hate olives just so you can give them to your olive-loving partner instead)

You sit across from Charles at the long dinner table, smiling as he animatedly recounts the race from last weekend. His hands wave through the air, punctuating his story as he describes the final lap battle with Max down to the last corner. You’re only half listening though, too distracted by how handsome he looks in his dinner jacket, his tanned skin glowing in the low light of the restaurant.

As Charles pauses to take a sip of wine, you lean in and whisper, “I wasn’t really watching the race, I only had eyes for you.”

Charles chuckles, his nose crinkling adorably. “Oh really? So you missed all the action then?"

You shrug, trailing a finger down his arm. “What can I say, I find you far more interesting than the other cars going around in circles.”

Charles opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a mechanic sitting a little way down from you. “Oi Charles, why do you keep picking all the olives out of your salad?"

You look down, noticing the small pile of olives Charles has stacked onto the edge of his plate.

Charles glances at you, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. “Oh, um, I’m not a huge fan of olives.”

The mechanic frowns in confusion. “But I’ve seen you eat olives before. You always get them on your pizza.”

“I, uh ...” Charles stammers, clearly flustered.

Under the table, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. Charles looks at you and you give him a small nod.

“Well, the truth is,” Charles says, turning back to the mechanic. “I actually love olives. But Y/N loves them even more than I do. So I pick them out of my food to give to her.”

You smile softly at Charles, warmed by his thoughtfulness. The mechanic chuckles and shakes his head. “You two are so cute it’s almost gross.”

Charles just grins and pops an olive into your mouth. “Anything for mon amour.”

You crunch the olive happily, then lean in to give Charles a quick kiss on the lips. “People who say chivalry is dead have simply never met you.”

The conversation moves on, flowing from racing to travel and everything in between. Under the table, your fingers stay intertwined with Charles’ the whole time.

After dinner, you all head outside into the cool night air. Charles’ team members head off towards their own cars, calling out goodbyes.

You snuggle into Charles’ side as you walk towards where his Ferrari is parked. “Thank you for the olives,” you say. “But you really don’t have to deprive yourself on my account.”

Charles wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “I want to though. I like making you happy.”

You stop next to the car, turning to face him. Running a hand down his chest you say, “You know what would really make me happy right now?"

“Hmm?" Charles murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You grin mischievously. “A stop for gelato on the way home.”

Charles laughs and opens the car door for you. “Anything for you, mon cœur.”

The Bird Test

If you say something that could be deemed insignificant and your partner responds with genuine curiosity, that’s a really good sign that your relationship will last a long time

The Brazilian sun beats down as you wander hand-in-hand with Charles along the edges of the Interlagos circuit. It’s the day before qualifying, and Charles brought you out to the track in São Paulo to share the grid walk with you.

You stroll slowly, enjoying a rare private moment together during the hectic race weekend. Charles points out details along the track — the tricky off-camber Turn 3, the sharp left-right complex at Turns 5 and 6, the long full throttle blast down the back straight.

You love seeing him so in his element here, his passion for racing evident in his voice and gestures.

As you round Turn 12, heading down the home straight, a flash of bright blue in the trees catches your eye. Gasping in excitement, you grab Charles’ arm and point.

“Look, a hyacinth macaw!”

Charles follows your gaze to the large, vividly colored parrot perched in the branches. “Wow, that’s amazing! I’ve never seen one outside of a zoo.”

You bounce on your toes, thrilled at the sighting. “Aren’t they gorgeous? That bright blue is unreal. Macaws are pretty rare around here, I can’t believe we spotted one!”

Charles smiles at your obvious delight, then turns back to observe the macaw with curiosity. “What do they eat?" He asks. “Fruit, like other parrots?"

“Yes exactly!” You reply eagerly. “Mostly palm nuts and acai berries. And they need a huge range of territory, something like 80 square kilometers.”

As you chat more facts about the brilliant bird, Charles listens attentively, asking more questions and commenting on its beauty. His genuine interest and engagement makes your heart flutter happily.

Eventually the macaw takes flight, its bright wings flashing blue against the trees as it disappears into the forest.

“Incredible,” Charles murmurs, watching it go. “What an amazing thing to see.”

He turns back to you, eyes shining. “Thank you for pointing it out, I never would have spotted it myself. I love seeing you so excited teaching me about something you’re passionate about.”

You step closer, looping your arms around his neck. “And I love that you always listen and want to know more, even if it’s not about racing.”

Charles wraps his arms around your waist, smiling tenderly. “Of course, your passions are my passions now too. I want to know everything that sparks that beautiful light in your eyes.”

The Orange Peel Theory

A partner’s willingness to perform small acts of service is indicative of a healthy relationship

Early morning sun filters into the kitchen as you sip your coffee, still wearing the oversized Ferrari shirt you slept in. Charles stands at the counter across from you, freshly showered and humming to himself as he browses his phone.

Setting your mug down, you grab an orange from the fruit bowl and start to peel it. Or at least you try. The tough rind puts up a stubborn fight, your nails scraping uselessly against it.

“Ugh, I hate peeling oranges,” you grumble after a minute. “Whose idea was it to make the peel so impossible?"

Charles glances up with a sympathetic smile. “Here, let me.”

He takes the orange from your hands and deftly digs his thumb into the top, effortlessly tearing the peel away in one long curl.

You watch in admiration as he strips the rest of the orange until it’s completely naked and ready to eat.

“Voila,” Charles presents it with a flourish. “One perfectly peeled orange for mon ange.”

“My hero,” you grin. You go to take it from him but Charles playfully keeps it out of reach.

“Ah ah, allow me,” he says. Holding your gaze, he gently pulls apart one glistening segment and brings it to your lips.

Happiness bubbles up in you at this sweet, unexpected gesture. You let Charles pop the orange slice into your mouth, savoring the bright citrus burst.

“Delicious,” you murmur. Charles smiles and leans in to kiss you softly, his thumb brushing a drop of juice from your lower lip.

One by one he continues to peel the segments and feed them to you, interspersing each with tender kisses that taste of orange and love.

You close your eyes blissfully, letting the sensual ritual relax you. Charles takes his time, not rushing. He knows this is your favorite part of the morning, stealing these private moments together before the busy day sweeps you both up.

When the last segment is gone, Charles kisses you again, deeper this time. You loop your arms around his neck, melting against him.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” you whisper when you finally separate.

Charles nuzzles your nose with his. “You may have said it once or twice. But I never get tired of hearing it.”

You lean into him contentedly. As always, his thoughtfulness and care warms you from the inside out.

Peeling an orange is such a small act but the meaning behind it speaks volumes. Charles knows your quirks and preferences, and cherishes these little opportunities to make your day brighter.

The little things that mean everything.

You’re still musing dreamily about this when Charles tips your chin up. “Where’d you go just now?” He asks with a curious smile.

You shake your head, focusing back on him. “Just thinking about us. And how perfectly you peel my oranges.”

Charles laughs. “Well I’m glad to be of service. I know how you hate getting orange string stuck under your nails.”

He kisses your fingertips one by one. “Can’t have anything marring these beautiful hands.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Oh yes, I need to keep my hands soft and dainty in case a prince comes along to propose.”

Charles squawks in protest and tackles you against the counter, fingers digging into your sides to tickle you mercilessly. You dissolve into helpless giggles, swatting him away.

“No no, stop! I take it back!” You gasp.

Charles relents, holding you close and nuzzling into your hair. “Too late, you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

You snuggle into him contentedly. No fantasy prince could ever compete with the reality of Charles.

The Invisible String Theory

An invisible string connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance (the string may stretch or tangle but it will never break)

The living room is filled with laughter and happy chatter as you and Charles sit surrounded by both your families. Your wedding is only two days away, and his mother suggested gathering everyone together one night for reminiscing and quality time.

Looking through old photo albums is proving to be hilarious and heartwarming. Baby pictures, school plays, family vacations — memories preserved to embroider the story of your lives before fate brought you together.

Charles smiles wistfully as Lorenzo shows an album from their childhood. “I wish my godfather and father could have met you,” he says softly. “They would have loved you so much.”

You take his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder. His lost loved ones are always close to his heart.

Your mother passes an album to you with a smile. “Oh this one is from our trip to France when you were five! So many cute little Y/N photos.”

You roll your eyes but obligingly open the album, Charles peering over your shoulder. You flip through pictures of your younger self building sandcastles on the beach, wearing a hilariously large sun hat, beaming gappily with missing front teeth.

Charles grins down at you. “Adorable. I can’t wait for our kids to-”

He stops abruptly, staring down at the page. You follow his gaze to a photo of your family in Nice, taken in front of the Le Negresco hotel. And there in the background, almost out of frame — four familiar figures walking down the promenade.

A young Charles holds the hand of a teenage boy you immediately recognize as Jules. On Charles’ other side, his father Hervé carries a toddler Arthur.

Your breath catches sharply. The families fall silent around you. Charles’ fingers tremble slightly as they trace over the image.

“Of course we went to Nice often,” he whispers. “I had no idea ...” His voice trails off, thick with emotion.

Arthur cranes his head to see. “Is that us? With Papa and Jules?" He looks between you and Charles with wide eyes.

“Almost twenty years ago,” Lorenzo marvels. “And your paths were already crossing.”

Pascale wipes at her eyes, grasping Charles’ other hand tightly. “It was meant to be. Some invisible string tying you together even then.”

Charles’ fingers tremble as they trace over the image. For one brief, impossible moment, it feels like you’re all together — you, Charles, Jules, Hervé. Preserved in time, intersecting at the crossroads of past and future.

Though you never met in life, somehow you were all bound in that instant, tied by invisible strings of destiny. Strings that would one day guide you and Charles to each other.

It’s only a photo, yet looking at it you feel Jules and Hervé’s presence like a bittersweet embrace. As if across the years, they’re saying we know you. We love you. We’re so happy for you both.

You stare down at it, this captured moment of impossible synchronicity. A glimpse of the thread that wove itself silently through your lives until the day it finally drew you together.

Charles meets your eyes, his own shimmering with tears. Without words, you know he feels it too. The impossible link stretching back through time. Proof you were always meant to find each other.

He pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. “I believe that with all my heart, we’ve always been connected somehow.”

“Soulmates,” you whisper.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with certainty. Through accidents of time and geography, missteps and milestones, your story was always guiding you here.

Meant for each other. Destined, even then.

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[pearlywritings]

'Mom' to his 'Dad'

synopsis: just a collective bulleted drabble of all the thoughts I had about raising Yanqing together with Jing Yuan (yet somehow not being married (yet))

pairing: Jing Yuan x fem!reader

tw: fluff, domestic fluff, modern AU, CEO!Jing Yuan (because why not), dad!Jing Yuan, adopted son!Yanqing, from co-parenting to dating, from friends to lovers

word count: 1.8k+ words

CEO!Jing Yuan who looks hella fine in any clothes, but especially good in gray and carmine red suits. Who absolutely hates wearing ties, but has zero complaint when you, after staying the night before, wrap one around his neck. He feels soft when you lecture him, but in the end say he looks good, smoothing the lapels of his jacket, making sure his appearance is intact before turning around and hurrying to check on Yanqing’s preparations for school.

CEO!Jing Yuan who is a great leader, a nice boss and obviously a great catch, but who also hasn’t shown any interest in any suitor who’s attempted to woo him in the last decade. And he is 33 already. There have been many gossips swirling in the company, most potent about you and him, rumored to be in a secret relationship and raising a kid together. Well… they are not wrong on the second part.

CEO!Jing Yuan who after the passing of his two friends took their eight-year old son under his wing. Who had never dealt with children, especially this young, but who was lucky enough to have you - a dear friend since university, now a coworker, understanding and compassionate enough to leave your house at 3am to drive all the way to his residence after just one frantic call.

CEO!Jing Yuan who will never forget that night - you, running into the house after he let you in, with hair still messy and clearly first clothes you dug from the closet thrown on you. You looked like a cute ruffled sparrow, which quickly transformed into a mother hen when he better explained his troubles about a little kid - now his adopted son - and how he couldn’t get him to fall asleep at the new place. You too didn’t know much about handling children, but you were willing to try and the white-haired man couldn’t ask for more. Both called off work the next day.

CEO!Jing Yuan who since then has a room in his house that belongs to you - over the years it got filled with your personal things, redesigned (twice!) to your tastes, and has been occupied over the years for almost half of each passing week.

CEO!Jing Yuan who adores Yanqing - the boy proved to be feisty, but at the same time he was very sweet and nice to have around. Jing Yuan didn’t think twice about adopting the little guy the moment he learnt of his friends’ passing, turning from a godfather to just a father. He, obviously, didn’t force Yanqing to call him dad, making up his mind that even if it never happens - it’s totally fine. Due to the age the boy could understand why his parents weren’t there and Jing Yuan was making all he could to give him a good life, a normal life. He was so lucky that you tugged along.

CEO!Jing Yuan who almost cried when Yanqing absentmindedly called him ‘dad’. The ten-year old didn’t even notice it, but to the man it meant the world. He spammed you with messages, all in caps and with weeping emojis, and felt his heart about to combust when you sent him a response full of excitement, congratulating him. And then messaged about how you wished to hear the boy call him dad the next time you were around. Damn, he wished so too.

CEO!Jing Yuan, who loves having you around. He melts when he returns to the living room after going to refill the snack bowl only to see Yanqing cuddled closely to you, staring at the screen with his head tucked under your chin. His lips tug into a wide smile when the boy asks you if you can be the one to get him from school tomorrow instead of Jing Yuan’s personal driver (and you always say ‘yes’, even if it means you’ll sacrifice your lunch break). A pleasant shiver runs down both his and the boy’s backs when you walk into Yanqing’s room to check on the two doing homework and gently scratch their heads. Jing Yuan loves the domestic life the two of you created.

CEO!Jing Yuan, who encouraged his son when a couple of years later he wondered if it’s okay if he started calling you ‘mom’. The man told him to approach you the next time you were staying over and ask your opinion on the matter. Which the boy did, shyly reaching out for your hand and when you gave it to him with a smile, dropped a bomb. Jing Yuan remembers the slight hesitation flashing in your eyes, how you lifted him and got him into your lap to be on the same eye level with him.

“Baby, are you sure?”

“Mhm. You’ve always been there. You raise me. And I really love you and want you to be my mom.”

“Even if I am not your father’s wife?”

“Maybe you should become her? But either way, yes.”

CEO!Jing Yuan who now can’t get the boy’s words out of his head. Yanqing is right - you’ve always been there. For them both. His, no, your son is thirteen now - meaning that for five years you’ve helped your friend raise the boy - you were not obligated to be there for his special events, you weren’t paid to take days off and sit with him when he was sick, no one asked you to kiss his forehead and tuck him into bed, there were no rules that said that you have to share his hobbies… Yet, you did. Always. And the man has always been very aware of that, but only his son’s words seem to open his eyes - both of you are his parents. Maybe it’s a shame you are not spouses.

CEO!Jing Yuan who feels kind of bad - you’ve spent 5 years of your life being a family to Yanqing and, admittedly, the man himself. You’ve given up searching for a partner, starting a family of your own just to make sure that the kid who has no relation to you grows healthy and happy. He can’t help but love and appreciate you.

CEO!Jing Yuan who finds out that you’ve been having similar thoughts about him after that conversation with your son. He really didn’t mean to overhear, he just wanted to drop by your office at the beginning of the break and offer to go get lunch together, only to stop at the mention of his name that passed through the door. Apparently, you sought advice from Yukong - the head of the logistics department, a fellow mother and one of the few who knew what your family dynamic was really like. You are concerned that you took the place that wasn’t meant to you - you worry that Yanqing got attached to you so strongly that should Jing Yuan start seeing someone, the boy would be too stubborn to accept.

CEO!Jing Yuan, whose heart skips a beat, when the teal-haired woman asks you, why you are not entertaining the possibility that you can be the one the man seeks a relationship with. The same heart drops into his stomach when you sigh and tell her of him never showing interest. Things seem platonic to you. Well, not to your coworkers, it appears.

CEO!Jing Yuan and you, who freeze in your seats, when at the end of the meeting a new secretary of the man asks if ‘Mrs Jing will also attend the event’ hosted by one of the company’s biggest clients. Confused, you look at your friend, who's equally stunned (but secretly, realizing what kind of mistake it is, fights back a tiny spark of delight). It turns out that the secretary thought the two of you were husband and wife and for that reason gave you the man’s last name. If it’s not the sign, then what is?

CEO!Jing Yuan who goes clothes shopping with you - because you both indeed are going to be at the event and the man insists the two of you buy something matching. When you ask why, he slyly smiles and promises that it’s his way of ‘showing interest’. At first you don’t get it. But when your cheeks heat up he knows the message is clear to you. You do call him a scoundrel and he heartily laughs at that, but you still reach out to his hand and he readily interlocks your fingers.

CEO!Jing Yuan who notices you getting flirtier, one time in particular not leaving his mind. He was comfortably sitting on the sofa, having everything he needed to push through the last bits of work he had decided to take home (‘everything’ being just his laptop and a mug of steaming tea). That’s when you approached him from the back, laying your palms on top of his shoulders, gently kneading the tense muscles, working a low appreciative grunt out of his throat.

“Yuan?”

“Mmm?”

“You look stressed,” fingers dug a little rougher into his flesh and the man groaned, shoulder flinching. Only for his whole body to go rigid when your voice fanned right against his ear, ”I know how to fix it.”

And then you innocently proposed to go to the gym together once he’d be done. Honestly? For a stunt like that Jing Yuan wanted to bite you.

CEO!Jing Yuan who does get his teeth onto you as you are trying to escape the trap of his arms after waking up from the cute cuddling session with Yanqing. Only for the boy to be gone upon your awakening (and you hear some shuffling in the kitchen) and a very hot man - your friend? boss?? unofficial-but-everyone-thinks-you-are-together lover??? - pressing your back into his chest with arms firmly circling your waist. When you attempt to move away, he suddenly surges forward and clamps his mouth onto the exposed juncture between your neck and shoulder. And nibbles.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Hufshf,” he mumbles into your skin, before releasing it and burying his face into your neck. “Don’t shout, you’ll alert Yanqing, and I want some more time with you.”

“...why?”

“Why?” He muses, and you feel a smile pressed to the back of your neck. “Because I think we’d make great as a couple.”

CEO!Jing Yuan who comes to an agreement with you that for the longest time it felt like the two of you were indeed a married couple. You share a place, you do most domestic things together, you go to places together, you raise a son together. And together you come to a conclusion that courting is due.

CEO!Jing Yuan who absolutely shares Yanqing’s sweet anticipation for when you will be able to legally adopt him. Which means - marrying his father (just let this man put a ring on your finger already).

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x fem!reader #jing yuan #dad!jing yuan #hsr fluff #hsr modern au

[harryslittlefreakk]

arrogant s.o.b

summary: based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

warnings: angst

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this request!! 🥰💖 sorry it took me a while to get around to it. please let me know if this isn’t quite what you wanted, i don’t know if I’m 100% happy with it so im more than willing to tweak and rewrite!!!

my masterlist!! please feel free to send me more requests 💓 happy reading

“I miss you, Harry.”

You knew you were pushing it, he was already working himself to breaking point. But you couldn’t help it, you missed your boyfriend. His break was meant to be about finding time for himself again, spending time with his loved ones. And you thought that meant being with you, not spending every day confined to the four walls of a recording studio.

“I can’t delay my entire album because you miss me.”

“I’m not asking you to delay the entire album. Just take a day off, just once.”

“Why?! For what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Now you were both pissed off. You didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t just slow down. You’d only been able to see him in Italy for a few days, your work schedule unexpectedly busy. Part of you thought he was ‘punishing’ you for that, the sane part of you knew that his summer in Italy was his rest, and now he was back in London he needed to work. Harry’s work ethic was one of the things you admired most about him, and now you were arguing with him over it.

“Clearly it does matter.” He was stood by the door, keys in his hand, a dark scowl printed on his face.

“It’s fine, just go. Have a good day.” The hurt was evident in your voice, but you didn’t even want Harry to stay now with the atmosphere you’d created.

He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. Finally, he sighed and turned to walk out the door without another word. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the silent room, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank into the sofa. You’d pushed him away when all you wanted was for him to stay. You knew you’d always come second to his career, he prioritised you over almost everything in his life but his music was so important to him. But once he finished recording, there would be interviews and appearances, then a tour, and then you’d be back here again. It was constant, unrelenting, and if he couldn’t even sacrifice one day for you, how could you expect him to slow down?

—

Harry stood frozen on the other side of the door, still stuck between needing to come back in and wanting to go. It never usually got to this point, one of you would back down before someone got hurt. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it worked for you. He hated fighting, hated seeing you upset. But he was only now realising that it was usually you that compromised. He knew you well, and for you to actually speak up and ask him to stay despite knowing how important his work is to him? He’d fucked up.

He leaned against the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly as he closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. Guilt washed over him as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He knew he needed to find a balance between his work and his relationship, but it was easier said than done.

His hand fell from the door handle as he turned on his heel, dragging his feet away from the house. If he was going to make it right, he needed to be armed with all of your favourite things.

—

Harry replayed the morning in his head the entire time he was out. You’d woken up to his alarm as always, rolling over in his arms to wake him up with soft kisses. “Why do you set alarms if you know you can’t wake up for them?” you laughed, tapping at his nose as his eyes fluttered open. “Because you wake up and I get morning kisses,” he smiled, pulling you tighter to his chest.

He remembered how the morning light hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your puffy eyes and blushed cheeks. He’d caught himself wishing he could have five more minutes in bed with you, time to savour waking up next to his love. But he’d rolled out of bed in the same way as always, slipping out from under you just as you tried to curl your body around his.

You’d followed him to the bathroom silently, lingering in the doorway as you rubbed your tired eyes. “Wish I got to see you more,” you’d mumbled, eyes following his through the mirror. “You see me every day, kitten,” he’d replied, poking his tongue out when he saw you watching. He’d noticed your face fall slightly, a misty kind of sadness replace the natural glint in your eye. He cringed as he thought back, but he’d purposely ignored it to save himself the trouble.

“I see you when I wake up and just before bed,” you’d pouted, eyes glued to your suddenly fidgety hands. “I cant help that right now, pet. You know I can’t,” he’d tried to reason with you, and looking back, Harry thought maybe he was trying to convince himself. “Just a morning or an afternoon at home would be nice. Not even a full day,” you’d told him, voice cracking as you looked back up at him.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” he’d muttered, kicking at the door until it swung closed in front of you.

And there he was now, heart struck with guilt at the thought of how badly he had neglected you.

—

As he heard your keys jingle outside the door, Harry finished rearranging his purchases across the bed. He gave one final look to the flowers on your windowsill, the beautiful blush pink roses he knew you loved. It was perfect, he just hoped it would be enough.

“Hi darling,” he smiled sheepishly as he walked down the stairs.

“Hi, H,” you replied, brows knitted as you stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” Harry murmured, reaching out a hand for you to take. You dropped your bag by door and took it, fingers tangling with his as he lead you back to the bedroom.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, pulling you into his arms. “M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “Didn’t think about what it’s like for you. I need time with you just as much as you need it w’me.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, cuddling into his chest. “Nothing to be sorry for, pet.”

“Shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” you murmured, eyes closed as you breathed in his musky aftershave.

“Gave me the push I needed. M’not good at taking time off.”

“Don’t have to tell me that,” you laughed, stepping away from him as he turned to open the bedroom door.

“Got you your perfect day,” he smiled, stepping out of the way so you could see his creation.

All your favourite snacks were laid out on the bed, your matching pyjamas folded on the corner. The most beautiful flowers you’d ever seen in your favourite vase on the windowsill, candles lit on your nightstand and a cheesy rom com loaded on the tv.

“You did all of this?” you cooed, a grin spreading across your face as your gaze turned to Harry. He nodded, pulling his t-shirt off.

“Nuh uh,” you swatted his hand away as he reached to pick up the pyjama top. “Only my perfect day if you’re topless,” you smirked, quickly peeling your clothes off to throw the pyjamas on.

You climbed into bed next to Harry, pulling the duvet up to your chin before wrapping your body around his, your head at home on his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, arms wrapped right around you.

“Made a few calls. Gonna start only doing three days at a time in the studio, then three days off,” he whispered, grinning when you immediately whipped round to look at him. “Don’t have to do that for me baby,” you gasped, brows furrowed.

“It’s the right call. Just gonna be longer days but worth it all if it means more time with you,” Harry winked, his hand caressing the curve of your waist.

You shifted upwards, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you smiled. “And congratulations.”

Harry returned your kiss, his lips lingering just a second longer than yours had. His touch and his kisses felt like home to you, his smile your lifeblood. “To me? For what?”

“To us. For our first fight,” you giggled, holding out a hand to high-five Harry. He grabbed a hold of your hand, using it to pull you even closer to him, until your faces were only centimetres apart.

“Here’s to our first and last fight,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. His teeth latched onto your bottom lip as he went in for another kiss, the rocky waves in your stomach turning to butterflies as his tongue moved around yours.

You pulled away after a minute, settling back into his arms with a smile so bright it could have lit up the room.

“Can’t believe we started the day with you thinking your album is more important than me,” you mumbled, a mischievous sparkle in your eye as you tangled your fingers between Harry’s.

“Millions of adoring fans who’d do anything for me versus one woman? I know who I’m picking,” he teased, laughing as you smacked his thigh with your free hand.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, peering up at him.

“Hm?”

“About you being an arrogant son of a bitch.”

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#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #Harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harryslittlefreakk

[cumikering]

Ex bf John Price x reader

1.6k | angst Price was back in Liverpool (part 2)

“John?”

That voice was definite. It couldn't be, but there you stood when he turned.

A soft smile spread across your lips. “I recognised the beanie.”

It was your gift from all those years ago, dark grey with his initials, JMFP, embroidered on the bottom.

He chuckled, the kind that made his eyes crinkle.

“How long has it been? 5 years?”

He shifted his weight. “Thereabouts.” Has it really been that long?

The last time you saw each other was when he dropped you off the train station, three years’ worth of your relationship dragged behind in your luggage. It was much heavier than it looked.

You stood in front of the train, your back to him, unmoving. His heart had been in his throat since the night before, ever since you started packing, when ‘our apartment’ became simply ‘John’s’. His nails dug into his palms, wishing you’d turn around. There were still a few seconds for you to change your mind. You boarded - your one-way trip back to Liverpool.

“I didn’t expect you to still have it.”

He felt exposed. He wished he didn't wear the beanie, but it was always his favourite.

“You alright?

“Never better.” His cheeks ached, or was it his chest? “You?”

He didn’t need to ask. It was easy to see. Your eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the weather. You looked as good as the day he met you.

In his worn fleece button down, he was suddenly self-conscious of how he was still the same at best, but who was he kidding - the years hadn’t been kind to him. Nowadays his scruff was an excuse to not have to shave so often.

You weren’t supposed to meet again, and not there of all places, but it was funny really. It was the same place you first met. The memories flooded in.

It was no secret that people could only pick one: military or family. Well, most of them anyway, some lucky bastards got to have both. John didn’t care about having to choose when he walked down this path in life. He never had plans for relationships, and the disinterest served him well, allowing him to excel over his peers. Until you came along.

Still a lieutenant then, he was back home in Liverpool browsing the beer aisle at the nearest supermarket. Next to him, your first summer after uni, you were in charge of the drinks for your brother’s birthday BBQ. You asked if he could help you with the overwhelming selection. When he carried the purchase back to your car, you invited him to the party instead.

You were inseparable the rest of summer. Each touch seared his skin and he felt 10 years younger. Despite the circumstances, the both of you were unwilling to leave the fire behind. Between deployments, you always made time to visit each other, connection unwavering.

Seeing you now felt surreal. He stood there with knees that didn’t work like they used to, his head constantly thumping. He’d taken a beating and the years between you suddenly felt further. You were unforgettable, but the air around you made you feel foreign. You didn’t look at him like you used to. Maybe that’s what happened if he wasn’t your muse anymore.

You would have followed him to the end of the world. He knew it – you did it. After a year, you dropped all you knew. Your family, life-long friends, the job you were after the whole of uni. You started all over for him.

With you, he was on top of the world, the luckiest man defying the odds. Life fell into a comfortable rhythm. You made do; got yourself a decent job, far from perfect but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

On track to becoming a captain, he always felt a sliver of guilt when he left you for weeks on end, but the kisses grew sweeter the longer he went, and your grateful smile at the door told him it was alright. He could have both you and the SAS.

“I got my dream job a few months ago.”

Of course you did. It was you.

“I heard you got shot in the leg this year. Hope you’re doing better.”

John chuckled. “Who told you?”

“Your mum. She calls sometimes.”

He let out a small sigh. “She always loved you.”

“The 141 doing alright?”

He hung his head and gave a weak nod. He preferred you to not ask.

Death was the soulmate of war. It was the harsh reality how countless comrades of his fell, some you knew personally - their wives and kids and how the horrors haunted even years after.

Distant worry swirled into a dark cloud. Suddenly, someone else was in the relationship. The reaper loomed as she went down her list and it couldn’t help but feel like John was willingly waiting for his turn.

At first, he was optimistic. When the thoughts consumed, he calmed you down with a few days at home, never leaving your side.  Over time, it was evident he couldn’t – you couldn’t. Him working overtime didn’t make you miss him more, coming home after weeks apart no longer felt sweet.

Each day ate at you, knowing it could very well be one of his last. This was going nowhere but straight into a singular outcome. With each name scratched out, you were haunted by progressively worse nightmares. It was unhealthy - he could see it on you.

You loved rings. He got you one for each anniversary. When he gave you his family heirloom, thinking the commitment would quiet your consuming thoughts, you gave it back to him. No ring could unearth the dread in your chest. Nothing would change how this was going to play out.

The rest of the evening was tense, and when you jerked awake later that night, the lump in your throat only swelled. Your whole body begged you to run. He could taste it in your hasty kisses, your touches fleeting.

The fear in your eyes had morphed into guilt. That’s when he knew it was over.

When he came back from his next mission, you told him you were leaving, tears down your cheeks. He knew it was coming, but it hurt all the same.

How could he hate you, even if you left? Even after you dropped everything to be with him. It was always too good to be true. He always felt it in the chill of the night, in the beautiful dawn sky of empty deserts, in the howl of the wind. He’d done more than enough terrible things to be denied of the niceties of the world. You were the best thing in his, but it was much too late.

You always said you were both too young, that when you decided to be together, you didn’t fully understand what a relationship with him entailed. You said you didn’t want to make him choose, that he didn’t deserve to be forced to choose. You said he was excellent at what he did, and you weren’t going to take that away.

That night before you left, you kissed for the last time. You forced a smile through the tears as he looked at you with gut-wrenching longing. He wanted to remember forever the way your skin felt, the gasps you let out when he touched you, the way your eyes shut, his name tumbling out of your lips as your back arched.

John wasn’t a crier, but the unshed tears stung. He chanted ‘I love you’ against every inch of you. Maybe if he said it enough you’d change your mind. He wasn’t in his body when he started sobbing. You held each other until sleep took over, and he thought he wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t wake again.

Perhaps you were right. How far he’d come could only be credited to the undying drive in him. It was a blessing and a curse as it cost him you. So he devoted the rest of him into work. It was the only thing he had, the only thing left to do to make losing you worth it, but nothing softened the blow.

When you left, it felt like his world capsized, drained. It took him over a year to put the pieces back together, but he could have sworn you’d taken some with you. You’d awoken a desire in him that never got satiated again. You left him high and dry with a bleeding chest.

You were more than just someone, more than just a partner. You were the one he was going to settle down for, even if he never could figure out how to reconcile the idea.

John closed his eyes. Was this a sick joke the world was playing on him? In the midst of uncertainty, in his unending sorrow where the fantasy of giving it all up had budded, why now?

With you in front of him, he could almost hear you say ‘we should have tried harder’. He knew he would. I just need you to ask. Ask and I’m yours in a heartbeat.

“Nice seeing you, John. Merry Christmas. Take care, okay?”

He let out an unsteady sigh. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many what ifs and the parallel universes he'd ventured out to, he knew this was for the best.

At least you looked happier. That's the most he could get, as a man with sins too heavy to carry.  Maybe he’d get another chance when the world ran out of bad guys. Maybe in another life.

He smiled and you turned.

He pretended not to notice the glint of gold on your left hand.

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @shadofireshinobi @tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @caramlizedtomatoes @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats

#codholiday2023 #call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #john price #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #call of duty x you #cod angst #call of duty angst #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price angst

[vasiktomis]

Loophole (Zayne x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Zayne has an Evol flare-up while you’re visiting Snowcrest. You’re a good friend, so you help him out.

It doesn't mean anything if you don't move, right?

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~6800. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Reader is MC, Caretaking, Friends to Lovers, Inappropriate Doctor/Patient Relationship, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Cock Warming, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Photography, Unsafe Sex, Porn with Feelings, Switching. Post-chapter 4 spoilers. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“Let’s get you inside.”

The cold weather poses something of a threat to Zayne, you've realised.

He'd never admit such a thing, of course, but if he hadn't wanted you to make such an observation, he shouldn't have made it his responsibility to impose such an unexpectedly strong presence in your life.

A year ago, you barely knew him. To say he kept you at arms' length was an understatement, but with everything that's occurred in recent months — with such a void left in your life from the loss of Caleb and Grandma — and the ugly mysteries eclipsing once-happy memories — your doctor, of all people, is the one dedicating almost every minute of his time outside of work to trying to fill that void. It's not like he talks your ear off — he's Zayne, after all — but he makes a noticeable effort to make himself accessible to you whenever he can.

He's been a good friend to you at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

In the seven months that have passed since the explosion, you've had more exposure to Zayne than you've had any of your other friends. He rarely strays from his quiet stoicism, but it's far easier to read him. These days, you can't believe you once thought him intimidating. The softer aspects of his personality aren't offered willingly, but accidentally. A slip of the tongue here, a too-long stare at a community cat there, a smile he doesn't think you notice. He masks his requests for you to visit him in his overtime hours as nagging reminders for you to water the plants. He never asks you to bring him dinner, but there's always an extra seat pulled up at his desk when you arrive with it unannounced.

You’re sure he likes it well enough; getting to know you after all these years. You’re just not sold on how fond he is of you knowing him.

It shows stark on his typically taciturn features. Streetlamp light bounces off fluffy snow at all angles in the little village laneway, illuminating the man with an almost healthy glow as he walks stiffly beside you, right hand clutched against his side and his left doing all it can to keep from crushing the bones in yours.

“I’m fine.” He insists while you lead him up to the cabin, grimacing at a sudden chill of wind passing over the porch. There's a certain tone he uses when he's putting on the bedside manner. As a patient, you'd be soothed. As a friend, your patience wanes. He's not fine.

”I’ll get a fire going.” You mutter, ushering him inside. He tries amidst obvious pain to be gentlemanly, waiting for you to enter first, but a scowl on your part has him conceding defeat and ambling through the door. “Get in the shower. Can you turn it on by yourself?”

There’s no more warm light from the street in here. Dr. Noah likely would have fallen asleep hours ago, shortly after you’d left for dinner. Still, even in the dark, you can sense the irritation in him.

“You act like I’m frozen solid.” He retorts on his way to the bathroom, knowing better than to stick around despite the attempt to uphold his pride.

”Get your butt in the shower before I throw you in there myself.”

The warmer months gave you no initial reason to suspect anything, but as the weather worsened and temperatures dropped, Zayne began to feel more on-edge. You’d bore witness to his attacks in the past, but he was no more willing to share his condition with you beyond the odd occasion of being unable to switch it off after a battle. You knew what it looked like when his Evol was acting up. It almost caused a fight, the first time you asked about it. Then, when it became clear you weren’t simply going to leave him to his own devices whenever he was displaying the signs, Zayne steadily, reluctantly, began to let you assist. He couldn’t stand it — he still can’t, you’re sure — not playing caretaker for once, but the two of you found a rhythm; keeping an eye on his temperature, steering clear of fluctuations, little remedies that help him bounce back quicker when his Evol gets the better of him. It became second nature to you, like carrying an Epipen for a loved one at risk of anaphylaxis.

You won’t lie, though. It pisses you off. He’s a constant nag when it comes to your health regarding your heart condition, but there was no allowable mention of his  condition when he brought you to Dr. Noah. Not that your opinion counts for anything, apparently, but what idiot cashes out his annual leave for an extended stay in a tundra when he's so prone to such reactions?

It had shocked you even more when your friend declared he’d be staying back for the foreseeable future, conducting research for the old man on a solo expedition on Mt. Eternal. Your friend — the one who'd taken it upon himself to be a stand-in for your lost family — alone, in the worst possible place he could be in his condition.

It was unthinkable.

Four weeks was your breaking point after you’d returned home without him.

Sure, he responded to your texts within seconds. Reception wasn’t good enough for calls, but he made sure to give you no logical reason to worry about him. It didn’t help. Once your dreams started to take the shape of him disappearing into the mountains, you cut your losses and decided to visit for the weekend.

Just as well, considering he’d been massaging his wrist in your periphery for the entirety of your first day. Still, he'd insisted on showing you around Snowcrest, spending as much time away from Dr. Noah's cabin as possible. You knew his tells. He was bordering on a flare-up and hiding it from you. Had he mentioned it and agreed to stay in tonight, you might not of had to drag him home with frost seeping out of his clothes and a foul mood. Instead, he chose to be proud about it.

Idiot.

God knows what could have happened to him if he hadn't come down from the mountain to spend the weekend with you.

He’d never let you get away with such stupidity, and it’s hard not to hold it against him. You came here out of worry in the first place, and the visit isn’t doing a thing to set your mind at ease.

You tend to rekindling the dimming embers in the fireplace, content to mind your business once you hear the shower turn on. At least he’s doing what he’s told.

The living room heats up steadily. New flames settle into a longer-lived glow. You get yourself changed into more suitable bed wear; a commandeered hoodie from your doctor’s medical school era, large enough to reach halfway to your knees. The frayed cuffs have since lost their elasticity and there are a few choice stains, and most condemning, the drawstrings have been chewed to tassels — but god, if it isn’t comfy. Time stretches on, and while the worry gnaws at the back of your mind, you leave Zayne to his privacy. So long as you don’t hear a thump, you’re content to imagine he’s probably just in there being mad at himself over not being the sensible one for once.

Zayne keeps himself locked away for the better part of an hour, in the end. Even Pie pads out into the living room to investigate what you’re doing up alone in the middle of the night before a scritch sends the fox on its way back to bed.

You’ve slid most of the way off the couch by the time the man emerges from his room in fresh pajamas. With your back to the rug, you watch him approach stiffly, slowing to a halt upside-down. He’s still rubbing at that wrist, you note.

“You’re still up.” He mutters, brow knitted in discomfort.

There’s frost on his neck. His lips are blue. It wasn’t even this bad when you were outside. A pit forms in your stomach.

Then, his wake hits you. Cold air, chilling you to the bone, and you sit up in a flash.  

“Zayne—“

He silences you with a little hand motion, stepping around you to seat himself as close as he can to the fireplace.

“You’re half-frozen.” You continue when he offers you nothing else. Crawling onto the couch beside him, you reach up to tug at the collar of his sweater, trying to inspect the severity of the attack. “God, you should have said  something.”

“I thought you were asleep.” He replies quietly. “I’ve seen — how much it takes to wake you-“

Zayne flinches from your touch when your fingertip skims his neck. The most aggressive warning to stay back that he can risk without waking his mentor. You ignore him, of course. You always do. Sitting close, you press yourself to his side on the couch, guiding his right arm between your thighs. Your fingers lace between his from both sides, covering as much surface area as possible as you use your body to fend off the cold.

A moment is all it takes to see some of the tension in his face disappear. He breathes through the pain, eyes closed, and you shift your gaze to the fireplace to give him his privacy with it.

”You’re in so much trouble when this passes.”

A short, sharp chuckle slips through Zayne’s teeth. He nods once. “I know.”

You sit together like this for a long while, letting him sap the heat from your body to combat the flare-up. If not for the fire, you’d be shivering. It takes time, but eventually Zayne’s breathing evens out. His face relaxes, bit by bit. His half-frozen arm feels just a little cold to the touch.

Neither of you part. Not just yet. There’s too much left unsaid, and Zayne takes far too much solace in quiet to make the first move.

You let your temple drop to his shoulder. “Snow village dates are nice, but most girls would say yes to ‘Go Fish’  and hot cocoa if it means their date makes it through the night.”

After a second, Zayne rests his head against yours.

He inhales.

He pauses.

Then…

“I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t think it through.”

…God, he’s such a sweet man. It’s not wonder he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

There’s such a sense of finality to the way he says it. You suppose it’s not necessarily a wrong way to think of it, but it’s not his fault. Sure, it’s your last night together for what may amount to months, and he was stupid enough to think he could get away with poking the bear, but you’d rather have him come home alive and well. Not a victim to his own Evol.

It doesn’t sit right with you to let it end like this. The moment he’s recovered, he’s going to insist you both go to sleep. You’ll take the guest bed, and he’ll take the pull-out trundle, and he’ll remain there, soundless with his back to you. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, and that will be that. The next time you see him will probably be for a check-up, and he’ll spend the entirety of the ECG acting like you’re mere acquaintances again.

No, you’re not losing momentum.

You’re not sure if it’s warmth in general, or if it’s a reaction specific to you — through trust, or the Aether core — there’s just no telling. Zayne keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to ever be sure, but you do know for certain that you hold the quickest remedy. If it’s just warmth, he never lets anyone but you get close enough to supply it. If it’s trust, likewise. The Aether core? You’re the only one.

“What are you—“

Zayne stiffens when you climb into his lap. He winces in discontentment; at such an intimidate proximity, at the physical danger he still poses, at the feeling of your thighs astride his. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but still, his knees shift together, offering you a more comfortable perch on which to explain yourself.

You can feel the cold still radiating from him, fighting his body to keep from regulating its own temperature. It’s unpleasant, the way the chill claws at you, reaching across the expanse of your front. The joints in your hands already ache just from holding his arm to your chest. It’s imaginable, what it must be like to host such an Evol. What it must be like to have your own flesh freeze from the inside-out on a whim.

“Not done keeping you warm.” You answer simply, making a conscious effort to keep your teeth from chattering for his sake. He’s exercising enormous restraint not flinging you off of him already. You shouldn’t push your luck by sending him into any more of a panic.

“It’s not safe for you to be this close.” Zayne protests.

“Then I’m making you safe.”

This time, a growl escapes him. Pain cuts his patience with your impudence short. “You’re going to get yourself hurt—“

Zayne’s words die in his throat when you drape yourself over him, chest to chest, arms languidly curling over his shoulders. He goes completely silent.

“Aren’t you always telling me you can control it, anyway?” You muse, relaxing into him, moulding yourself to his body. The white frost that blooms beneath his skin begins to fade from his throat, unable to contend with the warmth of your breath. “If you didn’t want me doing this you shouldn’t have shown me how well it works.”

“That was after the aid of a hot shower.” Zayne argues. His logic might apply for that aborted attempt at an early-morning hike, but it falls flat tonight. “I was trying to warm up after the shower.”

Yeah, look how well that turned out. He’s as bad at lying as you are.

“So you’re saying I ought to have—“

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If it’s not helping, Zayne, tell me.”

“…It’s helping.” He mutters.

You declare your victory with a hum, tucking your face into the collar of his sweater.

Even his scent is cold, somehow.

Beneath you, Zayne shifts, conceding defeat. You feel his lips ghost the side of your head. Considering — then retreating from a kiss — opting instead to rest his chin on you. His affected arm remains wedged between you, while his free hand comes to rest on your waist.

Minutes pass. Zayne’s breathing steadies to a resting rhythm. Eventually, the ice retreats into his flesh, disappearing with only a lingering chill. It shifts, marking the man’s return to normal, but he doesn’t announce anything. Instead, he tugs his arm out, only to wrap around you, surrendering to the moment.

“Do you have plans, while I’m away?” He asks.

“Tara’s been looking at the blank spots on my calendar, so I’ve probably got things on without knowing, yet.”

“Blank spots.”

”Yeah. Some of us have those.”

”Sounds like you don’t know what to do with yourself without me.”

“Please. I won’t have to worry about you bullying me. Maybe, y’know, I’ll do just fine without you.”

A chuckle escapes him. Tentatively, he toys with the fabric of your hoodie. “You’re not going to wash this at all, are you.”

Heat climbs up your neck at the suggestion. Of all the night clothes you had to bring, why did it have to be something you’d stolen from him?

You’re no coward. You rise to challenge. “Can’t miss you when it feels like I’ve got you with me.”

“I know  you’ll miss me,” Zayne retorts, and wow, he’s really  angling for a comeback after having you subject him to being taken care of, “But that’s no excuse for poor hygiene.”

“Poor hygiene—!”

You lean back to glower at the man, only to find him smirking up at you.

“I’ve half a mind to expect to find you asleep on the platform when the train pulls in, simply because you were too excited to wait at home for me to drop by.”

Your ears are positively scalding. You feel yourself shrinking, suddenly not so confident taking up as much space in the room. How does he have you so well figured out? Are you really that much of an open book? Compared to him, sure, but you’d hoped you carried a little more mystery about you than sitting on a station platform for a quasi-boyfriend-without-benefits  like a dog.

Even if that is  the case — does he really have to rub it in your face?

He can’t get away with this.

Speaking plainly, Zayne’s warmed up plenty. There’s no real reason for either of you to remain this close, and yet — despite lauding himself as the rational half of this friendship, his arms almost keep you from moving any further away.

His expression doesn’t falter with your silence, remaining ever-undisturbed. It unnerves you. His smiles never last more than a second, and you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked you in the eye with a pleasant face on. He’s on a power trip. If you don’t cut him down right this second he’ll go nuclear. He’ll leave you hanging with a ‘goodnight’  and a kiss on the forehead and you’ll both never speak of tonight again.

This is it. This is the last straw. Tonight, you leave him  hanging. 

“You want me to miss you so fucking bad, huh?” You accuse him, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretend to wonder. His eyebrow ticks. “Is that what you’re into? Man, you medical staff are all so power hungry.”

Zayne looks thoughtful for a moment. A thumb idly traces back and forth along your skin, barely tucked beneath your hoodie. It’s such a cautious touch. You wish  he wasn’t just all talk. “Perhaps you’re easier to deal with when one considers you might actually like getting bossed around.”

There’s no hiding the erection that sits wedged between you. There’s no ignoring the heat that pools in your core every time it strains against your cunt, blocked only by his sweatpants and your underwear.

There’s no way he can’t feel your heart beat throbbing against him.

And yet — he pretends not to be taking part in any of it.

You think about it for a moment.

Then, you roll your hips forward, slowly, gently. Your nerves spark as your clit finds the pressure it needs against the underside of his cock.

It takes everything in your power to keep from doing it again.

A tiny shiver makes its way out of Zayne. Frustration, perhaps. You angle a knowing little smile at him, and his throat bobs. He knows he’s been caught.

Checkmate.

“Doctor Zayne, are you getting off on this?” You ask, and his face flushes scarlet. His eyes widen, caught off-guard by you finally crossing the threshold.

”I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answers lamely, pointedly avoiding looking down.

“You are!”

“Not so loud. It’s n-… it’s nothing.” He insists in a hushed voice, shooting a look over your shoulder before he’s satisfied that the coast is clear of anyone who might be privy to what the two of you are doing. “Just a biological reaction to stimuli.”

“Which stimuli?” You ask, feigning curiosity. “The cuddling, or this?”

To stress your point, you do it again, biting back the swell of enjoyment at the way his lips part of their own accord. A little hum spills forth, and his own hips chase the motion, just for a second, before he halts.

“Please.” Zayne murmurs, moving to hold you still. Inching you back onto his thighs, condemning himself to reveal two little damp patches. One where the grey fleece of his sweatpants pulls most taut. The other a little lower, where you’ve been rubbing your cunt along his clothed shaft.

“You need to learn when you’ve teased enough.”

What — fall back? Now? When all your nerves are alight?

Your tongue wets your lips as you take in the sight of him. Well on his way to wrecked, but not quite there. His expression remains otherwise impassive, but his pupils are far too blown to help him maintain the facade.

“You’re one to talk. Can’t hack it when it’s not you in charge?” You challenge him. “You’re not usually one to shy away from uncharted territory.”

You can’t help but reach out, itching to touch him. Fingertips smooth along his length, feather-light from the bottom up. His cock twitches when you reach the tip, begging for more.

“Ah—“ Long fingers snatch at your wrist, holding you fast. “Try no man’s land.”

“It’s nothing.” You assure him. “You said it yourself.”

Nothing. No different to how he so often strays into treating you, with all his dates and touches. Nothing, midday naps and linking your pinky-fingers as you walk together. Nothing, like the spare clothes you both reserve a drawer for.

“Just warming you up. That’s all.”

Zayne’s chest expands. His gaze fixes on your fingertips curling insistently at his waistband despite his grip keeping you at bay. “That’s all.”

Disbelief? Determination? Disappointment? You’re not familiar enough with how each of these sound in his throat to properly identify it, but Zayne’s grip on your wrist releases nonetheless. He opts to help you make more comfortable work of his track pants, pushing them down just a little to allow you easier access. There’s no presence of approval at how greedy you are about it, pawing and snatching at your prize while he tries to remain nonchalant.

You do try to give him the dignity of privacy by not looking down when he settles and you finally wrap both hands around his cock. He’s already indignant as it is, and the rumble that vibrates deep in his chest as your fingers close around him isn’t helping.

Oh — maybe just a little tease.

“Hey.” You chide, grinning. His eyes crack open, just enough to narrow at you. “Don’t make it weird. I’m a professional.”

It earns you a scoff. Zayne’s fingers, settled on your thighs, give a retaliatory squeeze, thumbs pressing just hard enough into your adductors to skirt on discomfort. He watches you tense at the feeling, and sensing an opportunity to shift the attention back off himself, decides to squeeze harder.

You finally flinch with an “Ow!”, and the man smiles to himself. Mission accomplished. He lets go.

”You’re the professional? How many surgeries have you performed?”

”How many have you  performed?”

”…A lot, genius.”

“Didn’t you tell me that some of your worst patients are doctors themselves?”

“Your point being?”

There’s no point — at least not in arguing with him. He’s only trying to distract you. You shift over him, and his attitude dissolves. He leans back, maintaining as much distance as he can — or perhaps to watch, as you tug your underwear to the side — line yourself up — and sink down onto his cock.

Zayne’s chest expands, but he makes no noise. His eyes close. His lips part. A minor crease forms between his eyebrows. It might as well be a sob. You’d use such a reaction against him if you weren’t more concerned with suppressing your own, lest he catch you out. Your cunt burns from the sudden, full intrusion, and his diverted attention gives you the moment you need to grow accustomed to it.

Once you’ve gotten over the initial shock of the feeling, you brush any intrusive thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of your oldest and closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s your doctor. You were already squarely planted in conflict-of-interest territory the moment he took you on as a patient.

You try to ignore your own desire. Your body catches up with your actions quickly, igniting touch-starved nerves that you’ve long-fantasised him satisfying. Heat builds inside you at a nervous system realising you’re finally giving it what it wants, and it only screams for more. Of course you’ve wanted Zayne. You adore him, but he’s not the kind of man who could balance a friendship with benefits; if anything, he finds a way to be the inverse of such a thing. He gives you everything in the way of a relationship except sex, and with him steering so clear of crossing that boundary with you, you have to tread carefully.

As much as you want to, this is delicate.

“My point is: zip it and let me take care of you.” You manage.

Besides, its not like you’re actually having sex with him. He’s continually pushing the boundaries of platonic with all his touches and hugs anyway. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to protest what sitting on his cock might mean for your relationship. Hell, this isn’t even the first time he’s been hard when you’ve had his hips pinned down with your own.

If anything, you’re doing the guy a favour by taking the responsibility off him to go this far.

Zayne doesn’t bounce back as quickly as you do. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his core engaged beneath your palms as you brace your weight to settle into a more comfortable position in his lap. He looks worried. Apprehensive.

“Doctor Zayne?” Concern begins to creep in, just a little. “Okay, you can say something now.”

“Please,” He grits between his teeth, and relief floods your body as some semblance of calm returns to his expression, “Don’t call me that — like this.”

“Like what? I’m just warming you up, remember?” You offer a smile when he opens one eye, mood shifting to quizzical.

“You’re so immature. And for the record, this constitutes malpractice. You’re a terrible doctor.”

”Trust the process.”

”Fine. What’s the course of treatment?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but chuckle at such quiet outrage. It’s getting easier to read him. Relaxing against his front, you ignore a little gasp on his part to loop your arms around his neck again. Dishonest pretences be damned, this really is doing the trick. “All you need to do is stay still.”

Zayne weighs up his options for only a moment before giving in. His arms slip around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder, just barely nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s breathing in your scent, and the following exhale into your skin has you stifling a shiver.

Then, there’s a flex within you.

“Hey!” You choke, “I said stay still back there!”

“Quiet down. It was only a reflex.” Zayne defends, a little too cavalier to fly under the radar. “Besides, I’m not the one squirming.”

“I’m just getting comfortable. Your hips are pointy.”

Zayne’s hips slot up into yours, and the feel of him nudging just a little deeper has your eyes stinging. You fail to stifle a little squeak, and you’re shushed for it immediately.

“Just getting comfortable.” Zayne’s words lick at your ear, and the sound of him sends shivers through you, pooling between your legs, pleading with you to satisfy the ever-nagging want to start riding him. “You’re like a vice.”

He has to know how much of an effect he has on you. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You don’t respond to his attitude — however, the condemning, responding, constricting  of your insides around his cock surely doesn’t go unnoticed, and with a hollow breath, he lifts you, just a little, enough to draw back and push back in. He’s slow about it; infuriatingly so, almost like if he inches in and out at enough of creeping pace you’ll either not bother to be strict with him, or you’ll simply abandon your own rules in favour of crossing the boundary he’s silently begging you to cross for him.

No. He’s not getting the upper hand here. Not when he gets to pretend all his little actions are forgettable. Platonic. Accidental. Misunderstood. There’s only so many times a guy can subtly grind on someone during a spooning session and claim ignorance when called out about it.

You lock your feet beneath his knees, and sink down onto him, hard. Pleasure blooms. Your cunt aches for more. A sharp breath escapes Zayne, threatening to blossom into an appreciative groan that would only serve to tempt you without your hand clapping over his mouth and a ‘shh!’.

“You can keep still, or this stops.” You announce in a whisper, and he watches you defiantly from behind your hand.

Zayne’s gaze eventually breaks away from yours. Conceding. For now, at least. You lower your hand from his mouth, and relax, reaching across the cushion to pluck your phone from the couch and check your messages.

Already, he’s bothered by your lack of undivided attention.

“You’re on your phone.”  He huffs.

“I’m not rewarding your behaviour.” You reply simply.

“You’re not implying that behaving differently would warrant a reward, are you?”

That’s for him to figure out.

You shift your weight maybe just a little more than you need to, indulging in the feeling of his cock shift with you, within you, pressing insistently against that one spot that almost has your constitution coming apart at the seams. Zayne trembles momentarily beneath you, swallowing hard. He’s keeping his cool well enough, but as you settle into the new angle, no longer moving, his frustration makes itself known with another twitch inside you.

If he keeps doing that, you’re not sure you can hold out.

“You really  think this is helping?” He asks, voice tight.

“You don’t believe me?” You pout, tapping your home screen and opening your camera app. “Fine, let the expert see for himself.”

Switching to selfie cam, you watch as the man glances at his image on the screen for half a second, before tearing his gaze away. Not a shocker, you reason. He’s probably never seen himself with a hair out of place. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils? You might as well have shown him a traffic collision.

“Aw, come on. Look how much colour’s come back to your face.”

Zayne musters the courage to look up, but not at the phone. His eyes narrow at you. Accusatory. “I’m not interested in giving you blackmail material.”

“What? Get real. There’s nothing incriminating going on. Especially not when you angle it like this.” You switch on a filter and lean down into the man. “See?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and his head tilts to get a better look at whatever scheme you’re cooking up. On the screen, both your flushed faces smooth out, blushing perfectly. Cat ears and whiskers. Cheek to cheek. Just another one of your countless selfies with completely platonic friends.

You take the shot. The shutter clicks.

“Cute.” Zayne mutters drily.

“You think so?”

“Only how much fun you seem to be having of it.”

Your brow knits. “Oh yeah? All right, stick in the mud, you take over.”

He gives too much away at that response. His long fingers immediately slip over your hips. He’s readying to flip you onto your back before he notices you’re holding the phone out to him. Then, knowing he’s shown his hand, he has no choice but to recover his pride.

Much to your chagrin, Zayne plucks the phone from your hand, aborting whatever miraculous step he’d been about to take. A corner of his mouth ticks, minutely. He angles your phone away from you, tapping and swiping. His own phone buzzes. Then, he casts the device at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. “I think it’s getting a bit late for screens.” He murmurs. Fingers smooth up and over the swell of your hips. His long arms uncoil from your waist, releasing you as he leans back. Leaving you with a lonesome chill.  “And you ought to be going to bed.”

Is that…rejection? Has he just been humouring you up until this point?

You tilt your head. “I’m sorry. Is this not okay?”

“This is fine.”

He looks at the fireplace. Stoic as ever.

“Then what?” You frown.

He doesn’t respond.

Your throat runs dry. Dread creeps up through your heart.

“Hey. Talk to me.” You urge, smoothing your fingers along his jaw, and he leans into your palm.

Seconds pass. Zayne finally regards you again. There’s an acknowledging incline of his head — almost a polite bow. A pre-emptive apology for what he’s about to say. 

“What happens after this?” He asks. “Do we part ways at the train station in the morning and the next time we see each other, it’ll be as doctor and patient?”

Oh.

“Is that what we are to you?” You ask, not entirely sure if you want to know.

He dodges the question the best way he knows how: with rationality. “I feel that if that scenario is what you want, we should say goodnight. My understanding of our relationship won’t change, I promise you, but if this goes further, at least one of us is going to feel differently. It would be better if there were no misunderstandings between us.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and lovely all the same, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a tipping point, at least before saying goodbye. Trust Zayne, of course, to turn to smoke and mirrors when it comes to a confession of feelings, but you’ve known him long enough to see how far out of his comfort zone all of this is.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You ask, aborting an attempt on his part to avert his gaze with a finger beneath his chin.

His expression remains inexplicable. Then, there’s that little tilt of his head. The quirk of an eyebrow. “Your assumption is correct.”

The apprehension that’s been building in the back of your mind disperses the moment he says it. Your resolve all but disappears.  “My understanding,” You begin, reaching up to cup your hand over the other side of his face, “is that I’ve wanted you ever since I walked into that restaurant last year.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a heartbeat. Previously unsure hands pull you against him, locking you in his embrace. He’s so awfully gentle about it all despite your combined strength. Such a gentleman. It comes as no surprise that he shudders at the intrusion of your tongue past his lips — what does surprise you is how quickly he catches up to your pace. Inviting you in. Slipping an arm lower to brace your weight, and you feel yourself being pulled up off of his cock, just until only the head remains at your entrance. 

The loss of him has you incensed. He keeps you from sinking back down, and your protesting whines are suffocated with another kiss. All he’s left you with to express yourself is your hands, and you seize the opportunity, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, just slightly at the roots.

He breaks away with a little noise. Not pained, but shocked. Another one of his spots, you reason, and he’s just as displeased that you’ve found it. 

“You don’t know when to quit.” Zayne pants. His fringe dusts your forehead. “What — what were we saying about bad behaviour going unrewarded?”

You’re too mindless right now to play any games. There’s no more thrill of the build that you can handle. Not after this long. 

You break, instantly. 

“Please —“ You whimper, almost trembling in his grip, trying in vain to take him back in again. “Zayne, I need it — please—“

Zayne relents right away. He gives you what you want, lowering you, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then he lifts you again, building into a steady rhythm.

”You’re so — you’re so frustrating.” He manages between kisses. “Should’ve told me this is all it takes for you to do as you’re told.”

More. You need more. Heavenly as it is, it’s not enough, just having him in you. You push back, and Zayne takes the hint. He’s said his piece. He lets you take the lead again without a fight, admiring the view as you roll onto the balls of your feet, gripping the back of the couch to keep yourself stable. The new angle feels deeper, each stroke rolling drifting sharply over your nerves as he brushes that spot inside you. It takes a moment for Zayne to kick into gear, brain short-circuiting as he watches you squat on his cock, taking what you need from him. Then, he leaves you to support your own weight. Fingers wrench at the front of your hoodie, yanking it up to your sternum, and his tongue sweeps a nipple. In the time it takes for you to react, his other hand has snaked between you, between your legs. His thumb rolls over your clit just as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. The keen barely escapes your lips before Zayne’s hand claps over your mouth, continuing his assault. 

It goes from too little to too much. It creeps up on you so fast, so suddenly, and there’s nothing you can do but ride through it. A muffled hum is all the warning you can give him. Your pace staggers as the burn in your thighs catches up to you, but Zayne only goes faster, rubbing merciless little circles into your nerves. His hips roll up into you, compensating as best he can for your loss of control. Finally, the band snaps, and you sob against his hand, spasming around him, tears pricking at your eyes with the intensity of it all. You go positively boneless, and Zayne breaks away just enough to let you collapse into his chest as he carries you through it, breaths quickening as the lingering spasms of your orgasm invoke his own. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ He barely stammers, releasing you only to coil his arms around your torso again, readying to pull out.

“Not going anywhere.” You promise, clinging to him. Your fingers comb through his hair, tugging again, and a whimper dies in Zayne’s throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. His hips roll up into you once, twice, thrice more, and then he goes still. Buried in you to the hilt as he tips into oblivion.

He’s so subtle about it that you barely even realise he’s coming. Maybe it’s the effort not to wake Dr. Noah. Maybe it’s like this every time. Having him hold you with such desperate reverence while he does his best not to judder in stark contrast to to the feeling of him pulsing within you, you reason you’d like to find out. He hides his face from you throughout, only pulling his forehead from your clavicle when the aftershocks have come and gone.

Zayne looks lovelier than ever like this — coming out of a blissful haze, gazing up at you with cautious adoration. His focus flickers between your eyes and your lips. His chest expands and collapses like he’s like a 5-miler, but his breaths are smooth.

Even now, he’s trying to maintain a cool composure.

“Forgive me.” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

Your head tilts. Chasing him. “Huh? Why?”

“I exercised poor judgement. That was rotten of me. I should have known better, given I’ve never prescribed birth control to you.”

“You really think I’d come to you for birth control?” You snort.

Zayne’s brow creases. An incredulous look totally undermined by how positively wrecked he looks right now. “I am  your physician. Or has your other doctor friend decided to become real after all?”

Your fingers comb through his hair again. Despite a pleasant sigh on his part at the sensation, his expression remains steeled.

“Hey.” You finally manage to capture his gaze, only for any tells to evaporate. “Could you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Are you more jealous that I might have had sex with someone who wasn’t you, or that I might have gone to another doctor?”

Zayne considers his answer for a long moment. His head tilts in that particular way it does when he has to make a decision, eyeing you expectantly. Punishment for daring to push him out of his comfort zone.

He presses a hand to your forehead. 

A thoughtful hum escapes him.

“Curious. Your temperature’s dropping. On second thought, you should stay another day so I can observe you.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Here. I’ll keep you warm. You can install those camera filters on my phone to pass the time.”

#zayne love and deepspace #li shen #zayne x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #vas fics

[cntloup]

Love Is Not Enough

Fem!Reader angst, hurt/no comfort

Part 1 | Part 2

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside and the beams of sunshine reaching the soft skin of your cheeks through the white linen curtains.

You stretch your body, let out a shaky sigh and place your feet on the warm parquet, making your way towards the sound of shuffling and rattling of plates in the kitchen.

“Good morning, lovie.” he greets with a faint smile. “G’morning, Si.” you mumble, lost in your mind. There's a heavy weight on your chest and you ponder on how to bring up the issue.

He narrows his eyes with concern, “Is there something wrong?” he questions. You hum, not totally present, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

A few moments pass, until you can’t take it anymore, “Si, we need to talk.” you finally blurt out. “I need to tell you something first." he says, guilt and shame filling up his heart.

You nod, "I talked to Price about the vacation leave, and I can’t take it right now. I'm so sorry. But I promise I will. Soon.” he speaks apologetically, ashamed to have disappointed you.

“What?” you ask with disbelief, feeling disheartened. “But you said...” your lips wobble and a lump forms in your throat. Even though you weren't sure it would fix everything, but you were hoping it would help just a little.

How naive of you to believe he would put you before his work just once. But you chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. And he broke your heart yet again.

“Si, you’ve been working and working the past year. You don’t spend time with me anymore. We're falling apart. Am I the only one who feels it? Or you think last night solved it? Sex doesn’t fix everything, Simon!” you shout, finally taking out your anger and frustration.

“I know that. But I never thought- what do you mean we’re falling apart? No! We can work through this!” he tries to reassure you, his heart crumbling in his chest at the thought of losing you.

"How, Simon? You thought you can put everything on hold? Put me on hold? And come back whenever you wanted?" you yell at him, frustrated.

"I just need some time." he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Simon, you had plenty of time. Nothing will change. You won’t change. You're not willing to put in even the slightest bit of effort. I'm the only one constantly fighting for this relationship to work." you argue.

"You knew what you got yourself into when you married me. What do you want? You want me to leave my work? I can't fuckin' do that! Maybe you're not mature enough for this relationship!" he finally snaps, raising his voice higher with each word.

You scoff at his words, "So I'm the only one who should make sacrifices? Simon, that's not how relationships work!" you shout back.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, "Your work always comes first. I know that now." you say, defeated expression written on your face as you finally give up fighting this futile fight.

You walk away towards the bedroom. Moments later, you come back with the papers and place them on the counter.

"What are these?" he asks, "Divorce papers." you reply coldly. “What?” his mouth hangs open and his eyes widen, immediately regretting his previous words as he sees how serious you are.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I want a divorce. I think it’s for the best.” you mention calmly and he looks at you as though he sees a different person.

He can't believe the words that just came out of your mouth and how calm you are about it. What he doesn't know is that your heart is being torn apart as you speak the words.

“No! No fuckin' way!” he responds firmly. “What do you mean no? You can’t just say no!” you retort. “No! I won’t divorce you! You're my wife! I won’t...” he shuts his eyes and lets out a sigh, “Give me some time, please!” he pleads with tears in his eyes and you nearly give in at the sight of him.

"I did. Countless times. I can't take it anymore. Deal with a cold and empty home, frightened out of my mind about your safety. I think you should think this through, Simon. There's no other way.” you say, gently touching his arm, trying so hard to keep yourself from breaking down right in front of him.

He stands there, heartbroken and bewildered, trying to digest what just happened, silent tears dampening his cheeks.

You make your way to your shared bedroom and start packing your stuff, shedding tears as the memories flash before your eyes and you weep, mourning your marriage with the man whom you will always love.

"Wait! Where are you going?" he walks up to you, standing in the doorframe, preventing you from passing. "Simon, let me go please." you plead, hoping he wouldn't, hoping for him to take a step towards you for once.

"I love you. We can fix this. Please!" he implores, sobbing. "How?" you ask, desperately hoping for an answer.

But there is none as it dawns on him. There's no other way. And it's not fair to you to go on like this.

You hold his face in your hands, caressing the scars on his cheeks and upper lip, "I love you, Simon. But that’s not enough, is it?"

Years have passed and he still can’t forgive himself for what he has done, cursing himself for pushing you away to the point of entirely leaving his life and for not fighting for you harder.

He still ponders on what he could’ve done differently as his head hangs low, sitting on the sofa, holding a glass of whiskey, fidgeting with the ring in his hand, wondering if you kept yours too.

He wishes he could forget you, the sound of your beautiful voice, your heavenly features and your delicate touch, but you're the only one there is for him, his whole mind and soul immersed in you. He belongs to you and you belong to him. 

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

@preeyansha

@icouldntthinkofanythingclever

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare

[craisinsensation1029]

A Simple Request

Toji Fushiguro

AO3 :)

just toji being soft and clingy, thats all (๑>◡<๑)

3k

SFW but minors shoo

“Did you ask?”

“Not yet,” you mumble.

“Ask her now.”

“I’m doing something,” you answer. “Plus, it’s late.”

“So?” he questions. “She’ll answer when she sees it, who cares what time you ask.”

“Toji, it’s like, midnight. It’s the principle.” 

It’s a rare Friday night where everything just seemed to align. Not only did he finish work on time, but he even got off early, picking up Megumi from baseball practice and swinging by to get you from work as well. A smile sat on your face the entire car ride home as you listened to Megumi talk excitedly about the sleepover he’s having at his best friend’s house this weekend while Toji’s hand rested on your thigh, squeezing gently at random intervals. 

Toji stayed by your side every step of the way while you prepared dinner; standing next to you as you chopped up the vegetables, hands around your waist as you stirred the pot. Megumi ran into the kitchen with his little duffel bag all packed to go, parading around excitedly that he was glad he was going to be eating dinner at Yuji’s instead. Toji still never quite understood where the strong hatred of spaghetti and meatballs came from, but he was hoping it was just going to be a phase.

Once Yuji’s father came to pick up Megumi, you and Toji ate dinner. Usually whatever Megumi was watching would serve was background noise, but none was needed as you two idly talked about your days. As much as you enjoy your planned date nights, getting all dolled up, hearing him shower you with more compliments than he already does, nights in together are just as sentimental. Make no mistake, you love seeing Toji dressed up (he even irons his shirts for date nights, it’s a pretty big deal to him) but there’s something about seeing him when he’s comfortable that’s even more charming.

Sure, you don’t mind ogling the way dress shirts stretch across his chest and the way chinos sit on his waist, but it’s even more endearing (and okay, maybe just as drool inducing) to see him shirtless with flannel pajama pants on. Not to mention, you have a lot of matching pants, thank goodness for sales.

There’s nothing that can replicate the simplicity of just being in the same shared space as him, letting all the strain dissolve away as you stare into his eyes, wishing nothing more than to have your relationship continue to flourish and grow into a picturesque garden of admiration and affections.

He started rinsing off the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher while you got in the shower. Of course he did it at lightning speed, peeling back the shower curtain with a sheepish smile and a towel wrapped around his waist. “Enter at your own risk, I’m not adjusting the temperature.”

Toji still couldn’t quite grasp how blisters didn’t form on your skin, meanwhile he was constantly hissing and panting like a dog, but it was always a sacrifice he was willing to make. He was sure one of these days—and hopefully it would be sooner and not later—he would have more than just a tolerance, but would develop the same heat resistance you seemed to have. Still, he couldn’t deny himself the chance to be close to you, soaping your skin while you did the same for him after.

The bedroom was the next stop for the night, leading to where you are right now with his arms that are wrapped around your midsection as your back rests against his firm chest. “Come on,” he insists, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. It’s as comforting as it always is, being in his arms while his chin is on your shoulder, but when he’s nagging like this you’d prefer if he just stayed quiet, actually. “It’s only going to take you a minute to ask,” he adds. “Less than that, actually. Just a few seconds.”

“Toji,” you grumble, continuing to scroll through Pinterest on your phone.

“Look.” His finger points at the time in the corner of the screen. “It’s only quarter to eleven.”

“Same difference.”

“Fifteen minutes is a lot of time.”

A huff leaves your lips, but you continue scrolling through the screen anyway. “You aren’t even helping me like you said you would.”

“I’ll help you after you ask her.”

Tilting your head up slightly, you meet his gaze. “Really?”

He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk dancing over his lips. “Really.”

This time you groan slightly, returning your attention to all of the nails on your screen. It only makes him chuckle slightly as he feels the vibration against his chest. 

When it comes to your nails, you’ve always been a bit indecisive. When it came to the shape the choice wasn’t as hard, but the designs and the color were always another story. Sometimes you would try to align it with the season, choosing deep, rich reds and greens in autumn and baby blue and pinks for the warm summer season. Other times though, making a choice made you so restless you always ended up telling your nail tech whatever she was in the mood to do was fine. 

Toji would always compliment your nails, but a pout lined his lips the first time you got them done after he officially became your husband boyfriend. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. That wasn’t the case at all. Not that he had a degree in cosmetology or anything, but he knew they looked magnificent. The acrylic wasn't bumpy, all the nails were shaped nicely and filed down to the same size, the color wasn’t streaky, your tech definitely used quality polish and put the appropriate amount of coats. 

He just… thought you would want some of his input. That shouldn’t be a crime. “I can help, you know,” he sulked.

Even though most of his ‘help’ consisted of him saying almost any design and color would be nice, the satisfaction on his face when you would come home, nails adorned with something he helped you decide on, always made your heart thump.

Only now, helping you decide isn’t enough. He wants to be there with you. With your upcoming nail appointment, he’s been asking nearly all week if you’ve asked your nail tech if he could come with you.

Honestly, you never even considered if you could bring someone with you, it’s always been a solo activity. You already know that some nail techs have strict no guest policies, you just don’t know if yours falls into the category as well. By no means were you avidly avoiding the question, the week just ended up being more hectic than you anticipated, and the last thing on your mind was asking that question. 

If Toji had her number, he would just ask himself. Hell, if he had more time himself this week he would have driven down to her shop and asked himself if he would be able to accompany you. 

“I’ll text her in the morning, alright?” you resign, tapping your thumb against the screen vehemently. “Now help me.”

One of his hands moves up to cup your face, thumb and index fingers squeezing your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker. “Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” The answer comes out only slightly muffled with the grip he has on your cheeks, but he just leans down to press a kiss to your lips after, eventually helping you narrow down the choices.

It looks like it’s going to be a lilac coffin shaped set this time around.

“Hey.” The sound of Toji’s voice slowly brings you out of your hazy stupor. Pressed chest to chest, his fingers trace lazy circles onto your lower back. “Slept good?”

“Always,” you mumble, not quite conscious enough yet to say anything more than a word.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You gonna ask her now?”

Sleep’s gentle embrace is snatched away from you the instant you register the question, your eyes opening and narrowing at him. “Really?”

“You did say that you would ask in the morning.” All he does is smirk in response, the corner of his lip with the scar turning upwards slightly. 

“You know damn well I didn’t mean the moment I opened my eyes,” you groan, attempting to face away from him. It’s futile, his arm only wrapping tighter around your lower back while light laughter escapes from him.

“Early bird gets the worm, right?”

“Let me at least get my phone.” How he expects you to ask this woman a question when he has you in one of his nearly suffocating holds is a complete mystery.

He doesn't relent, just stretching over you instead to reach for your phone sitting on one of the nightstands. Once it’s in his grasp, he gives you a mere millimeter of space so your hand has room to text—not comfortably, but just enough.

He watches you with laser focus as you go to the thread with your nail tech, composing a simple text that reads, Good morning, I was wondering if my boyfriend would be able to come with me to my appointment tomorrow morning?

“There, happy?” you ask as you hit send on the message. 

“You should have said your husband,” he remarks with a tsk.

With the sliver of space he has so graciously allowed you to have, you pluck his nose. In response he only closes the space again, arm wrapped even more tightly around your back. “So… how long do you think it’s going to take her to answer?”

“Leave me alone.”

With the question asked, all there’s left to do is wait and see what she says. With Megumi over at Yuji’s house, and you and Toji both having the day off, it’s a lazier morning than usual. By now one of you would usually be up and making breakfast, but the bed has too strong of a hold. It beckons you both to stay, continue embracing each other while the sun’s ray filtering in through the curtains warms your skin.

At some point you drift back to sleep, and Toji can’t help but appreciate the tranquility of moments like this, when all there is to do is feel the rise and fall of your body that’s pressed so closely to his. Even with his stomach yearning for food, he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not right now.

Eventually you do wake up again, greeted by his lips pressing to your forehead. It’s just shy of noon now, the sounds of birds chirping now replaced by the laughter of some of the neighborhood children playing games outside. 

The later time does nothing to disrupt everything you would normally do in your morning routine. Once the fog of sleep has fully evaporated and with Toji in tow, you brush your teeth and cleanse your face. 

He decides to prepare breakfast, blueberry pancakes—his specialty (a.k.a., the only thing he can make successfully without the smoke detector blaring to all hell). As he does you’re right behind him, head pressed against the scarred skin of his back, arms wrapping around his trim waist, fingers grazing over the hair of his happy trail. Despite his cold exterior he’s the warmest person you know, on the inside and outside.

How the two of you never seem to run out of things to talk about is a mystery as you sit down at the dining table to eat. 

“Did she answer yet?” he asks immediately after he finished unloading the dishwasher from last night, deciding to wash the few dishes he used to prepare for breakfast by hand.

Playfully, you roll your eyes. It isn’t as if you expected him to forget, but you didn’t think he would be this antsy about it either. Without a word you make your way back to the bedroom to check for any response.

No problem at all love, see u at 10am! :) <3

“To—oh!”

After knowing Toji for some time you surmised he had some kind of agreement with the ground. Contrary to every piece of furniture audibly protesting Toji’s weight, he possesses the stealth of a panther, every one of his steps incredibly light. 

He’s already behind you when you turn to head back to the living room with your phone in hand. He bypasses the surprise painted on your face to ask, “Is it good news?”

With your hand over your chest trying to reel in your shock and quell the rapid beating of your heart, you simply turn your phone so he can read the screen for himself. His eyes quickly scan the words of the message before the corners of his lip rise. Patience really is a virtue.

“Should I bring water?”

“If you want to.” You shrug.

“Do I need to bring a charger?”

Your brow furrows. “Uh, I’m sure your phone is charged more than enough right now.” Toji religiously charges his phone overnight, always claiming that you never know what could happen. Whatever that means.

Toji nods. “Should I bring snacks?���

“Toji.” You pause rifling through the dresser for a shirt to put on to face him, debating on whether or not you should tell him that the questions he’s asking is making him sound like Megumi. The genuine concern of his face makes you decide against it. “It’s a nail appointment, not a road trip. Just bring yourself, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“How would I have known?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Not like someone asked me to come with them before.”

Without looking, you reach into the dresser and ball up one of the shirts to throw at him. He catches it easily. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He throws the shirt back at you before rising from where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”

After coming to a decision with a shirt, you two share a short breakfast before hopping in the car. He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure your seatbelt is buckled before getting in himself. Once you connect your phone to the bluetooth, he takes off.

The salon your nail tech’s booth is in isn’t far, only about fifteen minutes away, maybe even less if you don’t get caught at too many red lights. Toji’s pushing all his jitters down, the last thing he wants happening is his nerves getting the best of him and he can’t even make it to the destination safely. He just doesn’t know what to expect, there should be a guide for these kinds of things. 

He gets a parking spot right in front, getting out first so he can open your door for you. His hand rests on the small of your back as he reaches for the handle of the door. 

It’s a pristine space with shining white floors and nail art on pretty much every single wall. A friendly looking woman at the front asks for your name and appointment time, directing you right to a booth in the back where a woman who he assumes to be your nail tech greets you fondly.

“And this is my boyfriend, Toji,” you introduce warmly, gesturing to him proudly with a wave of your hand.

“Nice to meet you!” the woman greets in response.

“Nice to meet you as well, thanks for… ” He gestures to her booth that’s set up. “Letting me be here and all.”

“Oh, no problem!” She points to a chair leaning against a wall. “You can just pull that one up next to hers.”

He does just that, gracefully picking up the chair and placing it next to the one you take a seat in. After confirming with Toji again on the color and design, you show the tech the inspiration photo and explain what you want. She finds the appropriate colors and starts to get to work.

Toji likes to think he can do anything himself, but he’s glad he never tried to tell you that he could do your nails. He doesn’t even think he could glue the nails on, let alone apply the layers of polish so delicately. The tech works efficiently and with precision, obviously an expert at work.

When she’s done, she looks at Toji first with a raised brow. “What do you think?”

He takes your hand in his, admiring the artistry on your nails. The lilac color compliments your skin perfectly and the small rhinestones glint in the light. He’s sure the glint is just as bright as your smile. He brings your palm to his lips, letting his thumb graze over the spot after. “You never fail to make her nails look amazing.”

“You might have a keeper here,” the tech jokes. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He usually pays for your nails, so he fishes out the amount that he usually gives you that’s enough to cover for a tip as well. “Ah, definitely got a keeper here.”

She puts away the money and bids you adieu, yelling behind you that she’ll see you in a few weeks.

Toji grips your hands again once you’re securely in the car, more satisfied than he thought he would be at getting to see the process. 

“So what’s going to happen if my appointment falls on a day when you have work?”

“Let me know when you schedule it so I can make myself available,” he answers matter of factly.

“And if it's a weekend when Megumi isn’t at a sleepover?” you follow up with, the faintest hint of snark lacing your answer. 

He freezes, dopping your hand and quickly reaching for the handle of the door. “I’ll be right back!” he shouts.

“Wha—” Quickly, you roll down the window to yell, “What are you doing?”

“I have to ask her if she allows kids as guests!”

It seems like you’ve created a monster now. 

No less than a minute later he emerges from the building, raising his fist in the air and flashing you a thumbs-up.

It looks like you really are going to have to pack those snacks for next time. 

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fluff #jjk fluff #domestic fluff #ebs writes

[thirteenducks]

rest for the weary

(neuvillette x fem!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to as 'girl'), no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.9k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic? sort of?, mild hurt/comfort, gentle and tender Neuvillette, being overworked, fainting, neuvillette is sexy in a paramedic kind of way, crimes against gloves, almost-crimes against pastries, "you will be taken care of So Help Me" neuvillette, very self indulgent, can you tell i'm a college student

༻❁༺ author’s note: blame my mutuals for putting talk about neuvillette being gentlemanly and kind on my twitter feed. this is their fault and also the four glasses of sangria i drank before i wrote this

Neuvillette would like to believe he understands human behavior quite well by now. What he does not understand is their tendency to be self-sacrificial to the point of exhaustion. When your stress reaches a fever pitch, he steps in.

You don’t remember if it was the fatigue or the hunger that you noticed first. Both have been on the fringes of your consciousness since you left your bed early this morning. Right now, they’re kept at bay only by a lingering headache that worsens as you step out into the clear day.

The beautiful azure of the morning sky above. The flocks of pigeons that dapple the steps of the Palais Mermonia like sunlight through leaves. The hum of the Court of Fontaine as coffee sales begin for the morning. All are lost on you as you forge ahead, feet barely clearing the cobblestone below them.

The papers on your desk, stacked high and demanding attention, are all that your bleary eyes register at the moment. Anything else is secondary.

As much as your conscience would contend it, your current predicament isn’t entirely your fault. Sure, you had procrastinated a bit when the pile of records was first assigned to you, and maybe hadn’t chipped away at it the way you could’ve if you planned ahead. 

For a gestionnaire, though, it’s also just that time of year when the clouds pour rain daily and the opera house sees a never-ending rotation of cases.

So if that means some sacrifices on your side are required, you’re willing to make them for the good of the Court. You’re certainly not the only one, either. The circles under the Chief Justice’s eyes always grow darker during the rainy season; you hope he’s taking better care of himself than you are.

Once you’ve gotten rid of this batch of paperwork, you’ll be free to rest for a while, you tell yourself. You can take a break. Maybe you could walk to that cafe down the street with the nice cashier and get yourself breakfast, if the rain isn't too bad by midmorning.

Your knees waver under you as you carry the precarious stack of records to the threshold of your office. On second thought, maybe you should ask if they offer delivery.

The low murmur of a familiar voice, a pleasant bass melody, reaches you as you step out into the plush carpet of the hallway. It floats through your dizzy head like syrup.

Good. You won’t have to walk far to give these to Neuvillette, then. You’re not sure your feet would carry you all the way to his office anyway, and you’d rather not field any uncomfortable questions about your health from such an esteemed man. 

Assuming what you hope is a pleasant expression, you approach the Iudex and Sedene as he bends at the waist to inspect a bump on her antler. 

There’s a very becoming look of concern on his face, you notice. It must be nice to be the focus of such care.

The unfazed voice of a Melusine comes from somewhere below you: “I promise it’s just a mosquito bite, Monsieur. I must’ve stood around the docks for too long this morning.” 

“Even so... I would administer some anti-inflammatory soon, Sedene. Please don’t neglect your health,” he chides as he pats her head affectionately.

Neuvillette rises again to his full height, catching your eye as you draw near to him.

A fetching smile upturns the corners of his mouth. He greets you with a stately nod, holding out his right hand for your stack of records. Your gaze flits to his other hand, currently engaged by an apple turnover.

Ah. A gift from a Melusine, no doubt. You hope he enjoys it, even if a part of your brain wants you to snatch it for yourself.

If Neuvillette catches the way your eyes linger on his breakfast, he doesn’t mention it. What he does is quirk his head to the left in a silent question as he continues to stand with his hand outstretched.

Oh, archons. How long have you been standing in front of him with a blank look on your face? Too long to be appropriate, certainly.

Clearing your throat and forcing a smile, you take a step forward to hand off your pile of papers to him. Only, instead of making contact with the floor of the hallway, your shoe falls into thin air as your other knee buckles and your back falls towards the carpet.

As your consciousness slips, you feel a cool hand snake around your waist.

Your head goes limp, bouncing a bit with the impact until the pastry drops to the carpet and Neuvillette’s other gloved hand comes to cradle the back of your neck.

He’s caught you. He wishes you were awake to instruct him what to do next.

He lowers you to the ground softly, brow creased with worry. Sedene stands next to him with a similar expression, holding the turnover she saved as it fell. 

“Sedene. Bring me a pillow from the sofa in my office, please. Quickly.”

The Melusine salutes and she darts off. His eyes never leave your face as he kneels, large frame bent over you protectively.

Releasing your waist, he brings a hand up to his teeth and tugs off the glove in a smooth motion before resting his bare fingers against your forehead. A curse in a tongue unknown to all but him breaks the quiet air and his brows knit together. Humans and their damned self-sacrificial nature.

Sedene returns holding a cushion. He eases it under your head with care, ensuring your neck is supported before he retracts the hand underneath.

There in the Palais hallway, the Iudex of Fontaine strips himself of his judge’s coat, uncaring of decorum at the moment. Gentle hands graze your bare skin as he wraps the garment around your shoulders. Were you conscious, you would feel the softness of the silk lining against your cheek and the scent of the ocean it carries with it.

He knows from his extensive observations of human behavior that you’ve probably only collapsed from fatigue, not sickness. And yet… and yet he cannot keep himself from stroking your forehead, cool fingertips resting there as he meditates.

Another moment passes before he makes up his mind. Your body rises from the carpeted hallway floor into strong arms, seldom-seen muscles flexing under his white undershirt. 

The change in altitude brings you halfway out of your daze. Through hazy vision, you catch the sight of pale skin moving above you. His slit eyes meet yours and you don't manage more than a small sound of confusion before you’re pulled back under by sleep.

With a brief nod to Sedene, Neuvillette carries you to his office in a few quick strides. The door slides shut behind him.

Your hands unconsciously tug on his lapels and you curl your body closer to the warmth of his chest, making his ears burn.

Every time he thinks he understands your species, something like this happens. 

He had certainly noticed your energy waning over the last few days, but he worried about the propriety of mentioning such a thing to you. Would you resent him for asking about something so personal? Should he send someone closer to you to step in before you hurt yourself?

In the end, he had settled for bringing you breakfast from a nearby cafe. He glances at the turnover, now sitting innocently on his coffee table courtesy of Sedene. It taunts him.

The silence in his office is deafening as Neuvillette lays you carefully on the sofa next to his desk. He runs through the list of human vitals in his head.

You’re breathing quite deeply. Your pulse is healthy and strong as his fingers press against the side of your throat. The color in your face is returning to its normal shade. Surely all you lack is a good meal, which he can certainly provide, and some rest. 

Then why do his hands shake as he pours tea into a cup on the table before you?

Why can he not keep his eyes from you as you sleep, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm? 

Why does he find it impossible to return to the paperwork that calls his name just a few feet away?

A clap of thunder shakes the building.

He doesn’t realize how long his eyes have been trained on yours until you’re staring back at him through lowered lids, awakened by the noise.

It takes about a half second for you to remember the circumstances of a few minutes prior and gasp, sitting up with a speed that makes Neuvillette reach towards you in concern. His coat falls from where it was draped across you and you stare at it, unblinking. 

Your gaze flits to Neuvillette, bare to the wrist. He watches silently as you register the sofa you’re laid upon and the lavish office around you.

The Chief Justice makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you rush to stand up, face burning. Your head spins - whether from fatigue or embarrassment, you’re not sure. A million apologies threaten to spill from your mouth at once.

With your head bowed and your feet unsteady below you, you don’t see the hand rising to your face until a cool sensation spreads over your flushed forehead. The surprise of it shuts you up immediately. When you do dare to raise your eyes, you hardly trust what you see in front of you.

There is no anger in the face of the Iudex, in the downturned curve of his mouth or the crease of his brow. Only tender concern presents itself as he addresses you.

“You appear to be feverish. Please, sit back down. I won’t have you fainting again if I can help it.” He removes his hand from your skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that you can't attribute to a fever.

“Mon- Monsieur?”

He tuts, raising the cup of tea to your hand and folding it into your grasp. “Drink, please,” he murmurs, face etched with care. 

You blink a few times, sipping the drink as if compelled by magic. It's sweeter than you’re expecting.

“Good girl.” 

You nearly choke on it.

If possible, Neuvillette looks even more distressed by your sudden coughing fit. “You’re far redder than when you awoke. The fever reducer in this blend should help with that, but in the meantime, please take some of this…”

The minutes pass quietly. Periodically, Neuvillette instructs you in a gentle tone to drink your tea or eat a bit of pastry. He absolutely forbids you to stand after the second time you attempt to excuse yourself.

When he's been assured that you're comfortable, he speaks again.

“May I ask why you believe those papers you were attempting to bring me were worth working yourself to exhaustion over?” 

His words are authoritative, but his voice carries such softness that you can’t help but be honest with him.

“I’m so very sorry, Monsieur. It won’t happen again. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this week.”

Neuvillette's violet eyes are melancholy as they meet yours. “Of course. It’s a busy time of year for us all,” he says, shifting his gaze to the steady rain outside. “I do hope you know, however, that I would far rather your work be late than your health to fail on my account.”

You duck your head. “...I understand, Monsieur.”

The man’s stately expression fades into something unreadable at that.

“...Please, call me Neuvillette.”

You were unaware that his voice, so commanding in the courtroom, could sound so tender directed at you.

Your gaze darts up from the floor. The Iudex is not meeting your eyes. His are fixed instead on the light drizzle pattering the windowpane. A faint swathe of color decorates his lofty cheekbones.

As you smile and nod your head, pronouncing his name with a few words of thanks, the morning sun streams into the room behind you.

It’s getting to be quite the lovely day outside.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x fem!reader #fem!reader #:3c #this was fun to write and even more fun to see my beta readers react to #shout out to tender and honey btw love you guys #have i mentioned how much i love gentle men recently #if i haven't here's 2k words to remind you

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 10

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of Billy groping reader, Billy saying gross things about reader (as always), mentions of weed and alcohol, Steve’s pov!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve learns how to move on from the past and give the love he wanted a second try.

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: @mysticmunson thank you for helping me with ideas and being a huge inspiration as always, I love u!! 🫶🏻

series masterlist

-

Winter break is almost over and 1984 has passed in a blur. So much has happened, things that Steve didn’t think would happen. Had someone told him that he would start a new year without you, a year back, he would call them crazy. You had always been there, walking into every year with him.

This time you are not here. You weren’t the one to kiss him at midnight. You aren’t the one he will go home with. He can’t help but wonder if you kissed him at midnight. If you think about him the way he thinks about you, right now.

He shouldn’t be. He should be thinking about her. Nancy who is willing to stay with him even after he confessed to her that he still loves you. The day after you left him standing in your driveway, he told her everything. He told her about the kiss that almost happened if you hadn’t pushed him away. He told her about the fight you two have had. He told her about the party. He came clean about everything. He promised himself that he wouldn’t lie or keep any secrets anymore. He wants to be better.

She didn’t get angry at him like he thought she would. She seemed to understand it but she was hurt and she was ready to end things. He was too. 

He didn’t see a point in keeping the relationship going. Why should he? You are the one for him, you are the one he wants, you are the one he loves. 

They had talked about breaking up but he hated the thought of being alone, he hated the feeling of being unneeded and unloved. He thought about your words – She is the one for you. You should be with her. I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.

You had always been the selfless one, the one who would sacrifice her feelings to save someone else's. You saw something in him with Nancy, something that you didn’t see in him when he was still with you and he couldn’t help but think that maybe you were right. 

Maybe she is the one for him, after all.

Maybe he just really has to let you go so he can let her in. Maybe he can be good for her, the way he could never be good for you. Maybe he can be a better boyfriend for her. Maybe he can change. Maybe he can learn. Maybe he can learn how to stop loving you. Maybe he can be happy with her. Maybe he can make her happy. Maybe he can get you back someday. Maybe. 

They didn’t break up. He didn’t leave and she didn’t leave him but they settled on a break. 

On Christmas night, he went on a walk and passed by your house. He saw you with him and the sight of you standing under the falling snow, smiling up at him as though he is the only good thing in this world made him feel sick. He didn’t stick around long enough to see that you had never kissed him, that you simply went back to throwing snowballs at each other.

He went back to Nancy the next day and asked for a second chance, a fresh start. He didn’t question why she hesitated, he didn’t question the guilty look in her eyes. She said yes and that’s all it mattered. 

She is all that matters now. 

Steve might never let you go but he is willing to try. 

You don’t want him anymore and the look in your eyes showed him that you won’t ever give him a second chance again. It’s over.

You are moving on. 

And so should he. 

And he tries, he really tries. But when school starts and he sees you again, he can’t ignore the pain in his chest when you walk past him like you are nothing but strangers. 

When he left you, you pretended that he didn’t exist. You didn’t acknowledge his presence, you always acted like he wasn’t there, like he was a ghost. 

But now, after you talked things out and you were the one to leave, this time, things are different. You don’t pretend that he doesn’t exist, you do acknowledge his presence now and you don’t act like he isn’t there. You see him and you don’t pretend to not see him when you walk past him. Your eyes lock when you see each other in the hallway or in the parking lot but the look in your eyes that he was used to, is long gone. There is nothing in your eyes when you look at him. There is no love, no happiness, no excitement, no warmth, no longing. All these things are long gone. The way you look at him now, is the way you look at a stranger you pass by. He has become a stranger to you and that hurts so much more than being ignored by you. 

You don’t see him as your friend anymore, you don’t see him as your past lover anymore, you don’t see him as anything good in your life. 

Every time he thinks that it can’t hit him any harder, it hits him even harder. The realization that he is nothing but a stranger to you now, broke his heart all over again and took everything in him not to break down in the school's hallway. 

A month had passed since the night you had become strangers and while you seem to have a great time, Steve is trying his hardest to keep himself together, to be a good boyfriend for her. 

Billy’s laughter pulls him out of his thoughts, he narrows his eyes at the blond, who pushes Tommy back so he can look at himself in the mirror. 

The smell of the locker room makes Steve feel sick and he can’t wait to get out. A cloud of cologne mixed with sweat and the fog from the showers hangs over the room. He looks into the mirror as he dries his hair with the towel. Drops of water dribble down his chest. Steve looks at Eddie through the mirror. He is surprised to see him here. Usually, he skips gym class. His friend Jeff is standing next to him as he puts his shirt on, laughing at something Eddie had whispered to him. 

Eddie is still shirtless, his jeans hang low on his hips, the chain jingles as he fastens his belt. Steve can’t help but compare himself to Eddie. His hair is darker and longer and so are his eyes. He has tattoos, on his arms and on his chest – something that he doesn’t have. He wears rings and chains, clothes that Steve would never wear. 

Is Eddie your type? Is he the kind of guy you go for now?

“Hey Munson!” 

Steve glances at Tommy, who is already wearing a smirk on his face as he looks the metalhead up and down. 

Eddie turns around to face the jock. 

“I never seen you in P.E., are you trying to impress someone?” 

“Yeah, your mom.” Eddie smirks and turns back around to put his shirt on.

Billy snorts, licking his lips, he glances at Steve, “nah, he’s trying to impress someone else.” 

Tommy notices the smirk on Billy’s face. A laugh falls from his lips, “aw, is the freak trying to impress the queen?”

Jeff rolls his eyes and looks down as he puts his shoes on. He already knows what’s coming next.

“I don’t think you can impress her with your shitty car and your dirty trailer, Munson.”

Jeff notices the way Eddie clenches jaw, the way his eyes fill with anger. 

Steve narrows his eyes at Billy and Tommy. 

“Yeah. I mean going from a rich kid to some lowlife trailer trash–” 

“Shut the hell up, Tommy,” Steve snaps at his old friend. “Leave him alone.”

Everyone in the locker room, including Eddie, turns to look at Steve in shock. Never has Steve ever stood up for anyone, let alone someone like Eddie. 

Steve is sick of the cruel words he hears daily, they may not be directed at him but he still can’t stand them. He doesn’t like him but Eddie doesn’t deserve this. He helped him and made sure he got home safe when he got drunk at the Hideout, he owes this to him. 

He glares at his old friend and steps towards him. 

“Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of here, man. I’m sick of you assholes.” 

Tommy laughs in surprise. 

“Wheeler is turning you into a pussy, Steve.” Billy says as he looks at him over Tommy’s shoulder.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he clenches his jaw. 

Tommy chuckles to himself and shakes his head, “he was always a pussy.”

Eddie looks at Steve, waiting for him to react. To his surprise, he turns around and continues to put on his clothes. 

“Says a guy who runs after balls and his cheating girlfriend.”

Jeff snaps his head up to look at his friend, he holds his fist up to his mouth as he tries to keep himself from laughing.

Steve looks at Eddie in surprise and narrows his eyes at Tommy, whose face gets redder each passing second. His breathing picks up and he clenches his fists. 

“What did you just say?” Tommy mumbles as he walks towards Eddie, who smirks at him. 

It’s no secret that Carol is cheating on Tommy, she’s been caught with a few too many basketball players behind the bleachers and even tried to make a move on Billy, in front of Tommy.  

“You heard me,” Eddie says, smirking. He isn’t afraid of Tommy or any of the other guys that try to give him a hard time. He isn’t immune to the cruel words or the bullying but he is good at hitting them back with harsh words, not caring that he might get hit with something more than a few words. Eddie put on armor and a front that keeps people like Tommy away from him, they always make sure to keep their distance – too afraid of the freak who worships the devil.

Billy looks at Eddie, he raises his brows. 

“You’re getting a little bit too comfortable back there, freak.”

“Just speaking the truth,” Eddie shrugs, snorting at Tommy who tries to intimidate him with a glare. He doesn’t step close enough to be able to even throw a punch, he keeps a safe distance, as always. 

“Careful there, Hagans. Or you might get sacrificed to the devil tonight.” Billy smirks.

Tommy finally backs away, shaking his head. 

Steve sighs to himself, he grabs his backpack and walks towards the door. He wonders how he could ever be friends with someone like Tommy. 

Why didn’t he listen to you when you told him that he was no real friend? 

Why didn’t he listen to you when you told him how awful he was?

Why didn’t he care when you told him how much you hated how he acted when he was around Tommy and Carol? 

How couldn’t he see how awful they were when he was still with you? 

Would things be different if he dropped them earlier on? 

Would things be different if he dated her first?

Steve steps out into the hallway. It’s quiet and no one is around after the last period, no one except for you. 

His breath gets caught in his throat.

You are here, leaning against the wall, looking down at the book in your hand. You are wearing your cheer uniform, you let your hair loose, the green scrunchie is around your wrist. The dark denim jacket is thrown over your shoulders. 

You haven’t seen him yet, you are too absorbed in the book you are reading. 

Another deja vu. 

This moment takes him back to all the times you waited for him after cheer practice. He would walk out of the locker room to find you waiting for him, sitting on the floor, reading a book or drawing in your notebook. 

The door shuts behind him and you look up, finally noticing him. 

He waits for something, he doesn’t know what but he waits to see that look in your eyes. 

The longing, the sadness, the love. 

He doesn’t. 

There’s nothing in your eyes, nothing except for disappointment because he is not the one you have been waiting for. You look over his shoulder before your eyes meet his again, you give him a tight lipped smile, the way you would give to a stranger. It hurts. 

“Hi,” he mumbles with a slight, sad smile on his face. 

“Hey,” you mumble before you look back down at the book in your hand. 

The door opens behind him and he steps to the side. Eddie and Jeff walk out, glancing at him as they step into the hallway. 

“Y/n, you didn’t have to wait for me,” Jeff jokes, putting his hand over his heart.

You giggle. 

Eddie nods at Steve before he turns away to look at you. 

Steve watches the way you greet Eddie, the way your eyes light up and a huge smile takes over your face when you look at him. He watches the way you wrap your arms around him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t skip,” you grin and squeeze his shoulder. 

Eddie rolls his eyes but he smiles at you, “I’m trying to graduate.” 

You put the book in your backpack and pick it up, throwing it over your shoulders. You hook your arm around Eddie’s and grin at him, “mhmm, you’re doing good.”

You are helping him graduate, the way you wanted to help him. Steve looks at you but you don’t spare him a second glance. Your attention is elsewhere. 

He watches you leave. He watches the way Eddie throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into him, ruffling your hair playfully. 

Steve looks down, he swallows the lump in his throat and turns around to leave.

-

February, 14th 1985 

Steve looks down at the note in his hand, a smile is tugging at his lips. His heart skips a beat when he looks at the red flowers in his other hand. For the first time in a while, he is excited. 

It’s Valentine’s day. 

He is taking Nancy out on a date. He had planned it all weeks ago. First, he will take her out to dinner at Enzo’s and then he will take her home where he had prepared a surprise for her. 

He looks at the note she had left in his jacket this morning. He puts it back in his pocket and walks towards the cash register, greeting the old man behind it. He places the flowers and the chocolate on the counter and reaches for his wallet. 

A love song is playing on the radio, the store is decorated with pink paper hearts. 

“Going on a date?” The old man asks, smiling at Steve. 

“Yeah, I’m taking my girlfriend out to dinner.”

The doors slide open and as he hears the sound of your voice, his smile instantly falls. He can’t help but look. 

You’re not alone, of course you are with him and you look so beautiful but different. You are wearing a skirt, one that is certainly too short for this weather, the fishnet tights do nothing to protect your skin from the cold. You are wearing platform boots and a short leather coat – dark colors, dark nails, red lips, curls and bangs. You are starting to look like the female version of him. 

He wonders if your personality had changed as much as your appearance has.

“This is gonna be the best night ever.” Steve hears Eddie say. 

“I know it will be,” you giggle, “I still got the credit card my dad gave me, we can book a hotel room afterwards.”

Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you, playfully. 

You disappear in the snack aisle, your voices fade away and so does the excited look on Steve’s face. 

“That’ll be $9.80.” 

It’s very clear to him that you are on a date. With Eddie. And that’s okay, right? It’s okay that you are on a date with someone else. It’s okay that you make yourself look pretty for someone else. It’s okay that you have moved on. 

He should be happy for you, right? 

He should be happy to know that you are not in pain anymore. 

But then why does it hurt so bad?

He shakes his head and looks back at the cashier, he places a ten dollar bill on the counter, he takes the flowers and the chocolate and leaves, not wanting to risk running into you.

-

Living in a small town, means running into the same people, all the time. People you don’t want to see, people you want to avoid, people you don’t like, people you wish you wouldn’t think about anymore. 

Steve had a hard time getting over you, it took him weeks to accept the fact that you and him, will never be a thing again – platonic or romantic. You are a part of his past, a part that he can never get back. So he let you go or he convinced himself that he did. 

While things may not be ideal, he feels content with the way his life is now. He is happy. He has a girlfriend, a group of rowdy kids that had become a huge part of his life, he will graduate soon and he is in love. 

He let go of the past that he kept pining after.

It’s still weird to see you and not be with you but it’s okay now. He can walk past you and not feel his heart breaking when you don’t acknowledge him anymore. He can hear your voice and not long to hear you talk to him. He can look at you and not feel himself yearn for you. 

He prefers not to see you, which has become one of his biggest challenges in the past few months. Everywhere he goes, he sees you, and every single time, you are with Eddie. Well, maybe not every single time. Sometimes you are with Heather and Chrissy or your new friend, Robin Buckley. Steve knows her from Mrs. Click’s class, she is nice but he doesn’t know much about her, except that she is in the school band and your newest friend.

You look happier than ever. Your eyes are shining with happiness every time he sees you, your skin is glowing and you seem to have a constant smile on your face, especially when you are with Eddie. 

It’s been three months ever since you had gone separate ways and you changed, a lot. Your hair is longer now, your clothes are different, your music taste has changed, you are learning how to play guitar, you write songs with Eddie and you work at the record store three times a week after school – he only knows that because Max Mayfield told him, who apparently is your number one fan now. You are her english tutor and ‘the much cooler older friend’. She loves to brag about you to the boys and to him. Steve likes her and she somehow became a little sister figure in his life but he hates the smug look on her face whenever she tells him stories about you. 

He doesn’t want to think about you, he doesn’t want to talk about you, he doesn’t want to see you. 

But it’s almost impossible to leave the house and not run into you. Whether it’s the school’s hallway, the classroom, the grocery store, the movies, some house party, the cafe downtown – he always runs into you. Tonight, it’s the diner. 

He didn’t even see you at first when he walked in. He was in a good mood all night, after a long day of studying with Nancy, he went to Benny’s Burgers to get some takeout for them. He placed his order and waited by the counter when he heard your laughter over the 70s music from the jukebox. 

Now he can’t take his eyes off of you. You are sitting in a booth with Eddie, his arm is behind you, his fingertips linger on your shoulder. You are both laughing. Your hair is a little messy, just like his. 

You are giggling, a lot. 

You must be drunk, Steve thinks. Or maybe, you are just this happy around him. 

Eddie dips the fries into the milkshake and feeds them to you which makes both of you laugh when the milkshake dripples down your chin. Steve forces himself to look away when Eddie catches it with his thumb, though he can’t keep his eyes away for too long. 

Steve wonders what the two of you are. With the way you are around each other all the time, you must be a couple by now. It looks like you are one. Steve doesn’t even notice that he is clenching his jaw and his fists when he watches how Eddie cups your cheeks and pulls you closer to kiss your cheek loudly, in the most obnoxious way. Steve can’t help but roll his eyes. 

He drums his fingers against the counter and narrows his eyes at you. You giggle at Eddie and grab his face, pulling him closer to you and try to kiss his cheek the way he kissed yours but your movements are sloppy and you end up kissing the corner of his mouth instead which for some reason, makes you both laugh harder. Now he is certain that you are both drunk or high or both. 

“Here’s your order, kid.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you and Eddie. He reaches for his wallet and turns to look at the waitress, placing the bills on the table and giving her tight lipped smile before he grabs the bag and turns around to leave without looking at you again. 

He doesn’t see or feel your eyes on him. 

-

It’s the last game of the season and Steve’s last game, altogether. He can’t believe that this will be all over soon. High school, basketball practice, games, lunch breaks with his girlfriend, studying. 

He feels anxious about his future. He decided to take the year off after he will graduate. And hopefully, he will go to college with Nancy, next fall. Deep down he knows it won’t happen, he can’t see himself going to college, he barely made it through senior year. 

He doesn’t know what will happen to him and his relationship with her when she goes off to college next year. 

He tries not to think about it too much. He tries to enjoy his remaining days at school and his last game. He bounces on his feet as he watches the cheerleaders perform. You are in the front, as always. 

“One has to be a real fucking idiot to dump someone with that ass.” 

An instant rush of anger rippels through him. Billy’s voice will never not make his blood boil. 

Billy smirks as he watches you bend down, his eyes flicker over to Eddie who surprisingly came to the game, probably just to watch you dance in your tiny cheerleader uniform. 

“She wouldn’t even look at the freak after I’d fuck her dumb.”

“Shut up, Hargrove.” Steve mumbles under his breath. 

Billy chuckles, he steps up beside him, narrowing his eyes at Steve. 

“Her taste has changed a lot,” he says, smirking. “Did you know that she listens to heavy metal now?” 

Steve scrunches his face up. He hates heavy metal. 

“She supports Munson’s shitty band and goes to concerts with him. Do you think they fuck in his shitty van?” 

Steve opens his mouth but Billy cuts him off again. 

“I bet they do. I bet she’s a little freak, that’s why she’s with him now.” 

Steve clenches his jaw, his eyes find Eddie who stands in the crowd, grinning at you. 

“That’s why she never looked happy with you, you didn’t fuck her good enough. The freak seems to do it better.” 

Maybe he is right. Steve never took care of you the way you always took care of him. You always made sure that he felt good, he never did the same for you and he feels ashamed about it. 

“I could still fuck her better though.”

“Shut the fuck up, man. She is not interested in you, she never was,” Steve snaps at him, ignoring the prying eyes of the other guys from the basketball team. 

Steve had realized that you were never interested in him when it was far too late to apologize for accusing you of things you never did. You didn’t care about Billy or any other guy but he didn’t trust you back then even though you never gave him a reason not to. He always waited for you to give him one though, he waited for you to hurt him, he waited for you to cheat on him, he waited for you to leave him for someone else, he waited for you to fail. But you never did.

You loved him, only him. You wanted him. You were good and loyal, you were an amazing girlfriend and you never deserved the things he did to you. 

He is angry at himself for how he treated you. He hates himself for how much he hurt you. He hates how he didn’t protect you from Billy, he hates how angry he got after he had touched you after you had pushed him off once, already. 

“Are you sure about that?” Billy smirks, “then why did she let me fuc–”

Steve grabs him by the collars of his shirt, he slams him against the wall. Finally, he has had enough of him. 

“She never let you do anything, you piece of shit,” Steve says, angrily. “You touched her without her permission, you made shit up about her. We both know that she would never touch you.”

Billy laughs at his words but Steve can see the anger flashing in his eyes. 

“But she did, she’s a little sl–”

Before Billy can even react, Steve throws a punch, slamming his fist into his jaw. 

“Dude!” Tommy yells. 

Some of the guys around him gasp, the others laugh. 

Billy doesn’t take long to recover, he ducks when Steve tries to throw another punch and hits him in the stomach before he throws a punch at his face. Steve stumbles back and almost falls to the ground if it wasn’t for Chase steadying him. 

“Guys, this is not the right moment!” Jason yells, holding his hands up as he tries to get in between them, “we’re supposed to go out there and fight the other team, not each oth–”

“Shut the fuck up, Carver!” Billy yells, “I’m sick of your motivation speeches.”

Jason clenches his jaw and steps back. 

Steve wipes the blood from under his nose, he breathes heavily as he stares Billy down. The guys look between them as they slowly inch towards each other, everyone tenses up, looking around to see if anyone is willing to get in between them. 

“You really wanna do this, asshole?” Billy asks, licking his lips. 

“I should’ve done that a long time ago, Hargrove.”

“Seriously?” Jason exclaims, throwing his hands up. “The game is about to start!” 

Billy walks towards Steve, he is never one to back down from a fight. He had been waiting for a reason to beat the shit out of Steve but so did Steve. He should have kicked his ass a long time ago but he always directed his anger at you, instead of the guy that tried to come in between you and him – the guy who made you uncomfortable. 

Steve feels the need to make things right, he knows that this won’t fix anything. It won’t take back all his actions but he still wants to hurt him. 

The tension is high and both Steve and Billy are glaring at each other. The guys look between them, anxiously. The music inside the gym is still playing, the cheerleaders are still dancing, unaware to the little fight that broke out behind the doors. 

Before any of them can throw any more punches, the coach walks in, taking away the chance for a fight to break out again. 

Billy glares at Steve, he wipes his chin and turns away from him but the look in his eyes tells him that they aren’t done yet. 

Steve scoffs, he is not done with him either. He tears his eyes away from him. He clenches his jaw. He feels so angry. He notices the way the others sigh in relief, the way they instantly relax when Steve and Billy back away from each other. 

When it’s time to walk out into the gym, Steve is at the very front. He forces a smile onto his face and waves at the people on the bleachers, his eyes lock with Nancy’s, they smile at each other. She doesn’t notice how tense he is, she doesn’t even notice the remains of blood under his nose or how red his knuckles are, how angry he still looks but you notice it. 

He looks at you, your eyes lock and for the first time in a while, there is no emptiness in your eyes when you look at him. You continue to clap your hands, still gripping the pompons tightly. The smile on your face begins to fade the longer you look at him. He sees the way you eye him up and down, the way you look at his knuckles and his nose that is still bleeding. He sees the way your eyes move over to Billy before you look back at him. Your brows furrow, your eyes flash with confusion and concern. It doesn’t take you long to figure out what happened. 

He doesn’t want to look at you but he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. For a moment, you stare at each other. 

It feels like forever but the moment only last for a few seconds. Though it doesn’t go unnoticed by a few other people. 

Chrissy nudges your shoulder and you finally tear your eyes away from him. He ignores the feeling in his chest, he ignores the ache when you look away and smile again. He looks at you for another long second before he turns away too and looks back at the girl he loves. 

He smiles at her, he is happy that she is here. 

He is happy. 

He is. 

next chapter

-

tagging friends & mutuals only!

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can @screammunson @hellfire--cult @taintedcigs @sherrylyn628 @xxhellfiregirlxx @nemesis729

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things angst

[gav-san]

Cursed | Sukuna x reader

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna / Fem Reader

Length: One-Shot

Summary: The greatest punishment in this life wasn't your brother Gojo Satoru embarrassing you into leaving Sorcery.

It was what happened when he was gone.

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Sexual Violence, Inferred Violence, Inferred Assault

You remember the day Gojo told you that you would never make it as a sorcerer.

The day you graduated from Jujutsu High School your arrogant older brother wrapped a hand over your shoulder and told you that you had less talent than the first years, and he wouldn’t allow you to be anything more than a third-grade sorcerer.

Of course, he did it at the podium, in front of everyone there.

You had ripped off the slim golden necklace he and Geto had bought you, but you could never bear to trash it entirely. 

That was also the day you refused to speak to him again. But you soon found he was good as his word, and any attempt to do any sorcery was blocked at every angle. After all, who would openly disagree with the master of the Six Eyes and Infinity?

You were more or less exiled from the entire society of arrogant jujitsu sorcerers, forced to go to the nearby college and turn into a glorified secretary for the high school. He tried to rebuild your relationship, but it was never the same.

It took you years to understand why he would hurt his only sibling that deeply. It wasn’t until he was dead that you understood how much he was willing to sacrifice for your well-being.

You were the number one target of all Satoru Gojo’s enemies, and revenge came swiftly.

The clinking of the chains could almost sound like that piece of jewelry, lost in the rubble of your apartment if you imagined hard enough.

And all you had was time to try and imagine that you were anywhere but here, locked to the throne at the feet of the King of Curses. 

You could hardly bear to watch as people were brought in, some more chained than you, dangerous perhaps. You wondered if their collars had been crafted to deaden cursed energy as yours had. Not that Sukuna thought you were any threat, but he disliked ‘swatting at flies’.

When you had first been captured, after everything had gone to hell, you had hoped that there was someone, anyone, who had the power and strength to end Sukuna, but nothing came close to his power.

Even Gojo Satoru had fallen, taking hope with him.

Now Men, Women, and children, all met the same fate if they did not kneel and give reverence to the great Ryomen Sukuna. 

And even that was not always enough.

Blood spattered the marble floors of the shrine, and you swear that over time it’s taken on a pink hue. The room fills with lesser curses who clean the blood with their grotesque mouths, and Urame carts away choice bits for Sukuna's later pleasure.

You screwed your mouth shut as people cried to you, mistaking your position as something other than a slave for Sukuna to torture.

As the last of the Gojo line, you weren't above holding you responsible for a century-long grudge. Any pleading from your lips only made his rampage worse.

Any attempt to flee into your head was met with a violent tug on your throat.

There was no turning away, not when your master held the deceptively delicate chain around your neck, yanking whenever he thought you weren’t paying enough attention.

He loved to see you cry in pain, and you hadn’t the ability to stop, especially for those young ones who were cut down.

And it was almost certain that after witnessing another moment of terrible brutality you’d somehow forget your head, turning upon him and glaring like a feral animal, yanking the chain away so you could hurt him, just once.

But you would only be met with the face of the wolf.

His teeth clenched in a wide smile, he’d return a smirk so vile, that he specifically reserved for the moments you spit venom. He loved to see you struggle, but trying to bite back always ended poorly. 

Ryomen Sukuna was not a kind master.

And though he certainly thought of you like a pet, he wasn’t below forcing your head under his foot, smushing your entire face in the remains of corpses. If you dared throw up, you still stayed and were unable to leave until you wiped it up with your ragged robes that had gone thin from wear.

But that was better than his other punishment, on days where you felt a terrifying hardness as Sukuna held your face between his legs, using a single finger to paint fresh blood, using you as a macabre canvas as he painted.

Those days he would have Urame fetch a mirror, and both would cackle as they examined his work. Often, it was lewd words and signs, but other times it was as if he was painting his marks on you.

Bastard.

After a long, cruel day, you dared to critique his work, sneering at his lack of finesse.

With a snap of his fingers, he had Urame strap you down, leering over you as he assembled his petty revenge.

A curse user was summoned, bringing along the tools of his trade; a short bamboo pole with a needle attached and a jar of thick onyx ink.

If that hadn’t been enough, Sukuna cut his wrist, pouring black blood to mix into the lot.

He instructed the curse user to tattoo you exactly like him, with no imperfections else his head be separated from his body.

You endured unbearable pain for nearly a week, stripped down under the gaze of Sukuna, a reminder to watch your tongue. And after, when the tattoos were done, he commemorated it with a new kimono and a portrait of you at his feet. A wretched ugly thing, as you now were.

He loved it, and let the painter live.

The recovery took twice as long, as your master hardly let you rest, or even leave his side. And as the days passed, you felt less and less like a human. 

Forced to accompany him almost daily, you had an unfortunate insight into the casual cruelty of the Cursed King who knew nothing of kindness. 

You eat less, hardly sleep and the whole blood-shed thing was sort of muffled, probably thanks to the sheer amount witnessed. You figure terror is the only thing keeping you alive.

Day in and out you followed the creature, just waiting for the day he tires of you. 

And that day doesn’t come.

It’s still a surprise that you’re alive, you muse too often, laying on a cushion at the entrance to his rooms. Though he did take off your left arm the day he took you, he claimed it was an accident, and fixed it. 

You’d rather that happen again than to be forced to enter his rooms.

At least your position at his shrine was more or less a pet, or when he was gone, Urame’s.

And despite your treatment, the concubines were in a far worse condition. The way Sukuna treated other women was abhorrent. Some days, bored, would reap the land looking for fresh, beautiful blood, and when he found some, he’d bring them back. Some girls even offered up to him, in hopes he’d show mercy.

Wide-eyed women, much like yourself, you realized as you watched them enter one day. But you felt these were much prettier, much more docile than you. Some even fawned over him, though their manners probably rang as fake as your docility. Were they trying to secure a safe place by him, or just trying not to be killed was hard to say. You didn’t blame either. Humanity was no longer civil.

It didn’t matter. They all get dragged into that black hole of his room, sometimes four at a time, and their screaming often lasts for hours. 

Women who entered his rooms never exited alive, thankfully Urame thought your time could be much better spent working than sitting at the door, listening in.

Yeah, it was much preferable to be a tortured slave to Sukuna than to be seen as a woman.

“You’ve been quiet this last week, pet.” Sharp nails dig into your head, turning you to look at the man sitting on the throne above. “Perhaps you no longer find my pastimes so alarming.”

Meaning, his pastime of killing and eating humans.

Something shared by the court of curses below him, warily watching for what next he commands and desires. 

Unfortunately, that was you. You despised the looks raked over your chained form, the greedy mouths that drooled, awaiting the day the master turned tired of the remaining Gojo, and hoped to have their turn for revenge.

If they couldn’t have Satoru Gojo, you’d do.

“Apologies… master.” You said, tension forming at the back of your neck as he tugged harshly on your head. Even so, your words remained smooth. “I find it hard to do anything but serve with your foot on my back.”

His dark chuckle was an answer in itself. 

“Such a mouth, even when disguising your words so pretty.” Sukuna let go of your hair, amused enough today to let your words pass. You drop your head, but only enough to quell the pain. “It was such a shame for your kin to have died so easily, but it seems my desire for entertainment continues to be fulfilled by you.”

You hated him so much.

You clench your mouth, but the insult escapes before you can stop it.

“Bastard.”

You go stiff, but Sukuna merely pauses.

“Oh?” A single finger of his lifts your chin up again, before moving to your lips. And without warning, he pushes it inside your mouth. 

“I thought I may torture you for a while, then be rid of you, but…” 

You will yourself not to bite down on his finger, as he probably wanted an excuse to bite you back. But you don’t, and after a moment he pops it out with a small sound before another hand grabs your shoulder.

“Leave.” 

For a moment you think he’s speaking to you, but the tension in your throat holds, and you see him looking at everyone else.

“My lord?” You question but his eyes flash down in warning.

All the curses and curse-users who attend minor tasks in the shrine are gone in moments. Urame is the last, shitting the door and ensuring the desired privacy, which means, something horrible is about to happen.

The moment the ornate handle clicks, Sukuna picks you up with a third hand. You can’t help but exhale as he sets you down on his knee. The finger that had been in your mouth returns, and you gag as this time it delves in, choking you.

“Not a very good reflex, but it can be worked on,” Sukuna says with an almost bored drawl, tugging his finger back out, and you wonder if he just sent everyone out because he wanted to do just that. 

You cough, hands rising to hold your face, and don’t ask. 

Sukuna laughs, clearly happy with annoying you, like a child. You so badly want to lash out but the fear of retaliation is far more effective than any shackle. 

He has killed villages for less.

“See, this is why I didn’t kill you when I got rid of the rest of the scum!” He jokes, tilting his head to gaze with all four of his penetrating red eyes. “Such pleasing reactions!” 

Friends, you think darkly. Those scum were your friends who were more like family. Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Nobara, Yuuta, Yuuji and so many others. 

Tears fill your eyes as a soft voice seems to be at the back of your mind.

Megumi. 

Though Sukuna was fully transformed, pain filled you thinking that Megumi might be in that monstrous body, trapped and unable to escape.

His knee shifts up, causing a terrible feeling of butterflies and cockroaches to churn in your stomach from the feel. The move was far too personal, and you tried to shift so he wasn’t pressed so intimately against your rear.

Even trying to fall off would be preferable. But your throat is raised, thanks to the gold chain in Sukuna’s hand that pulls up as he twists.

The benefit of having four arms is he can manhandle you as he pleases.

His thick hand raised your chin and refused to let you turn an inch as you gazed hatefully into his eyes

“What a beautiful sight. You know, from the first moment I saw you, I knew you were special.” Another hand moves to pull back some stray hair behind your ear. 

“I hate you.”

Your hands shake, clenched in fists. 

“I know.” He says with a smirk. “You know why I keep you around, pet?”

You have nothing to say and don’t even care to know. But that won’t stop him.

He strokes your face, his thumb holding you in a position others might think lovers would use.

“The first time I gazed upon you, I felt a most unique heat in my chest that has persisted till this day. Love, perhaps.” He mocks.

“Disgusting.” You spit out, but he doesn’t pause.

“From the moment we crossed paths your fate was set, but only recently have I understood the extent of what you mean to me.” Sukuna seems to be smug, revealing this, and you think he’s probably just messing with your head again. 

The grip on your chin is starting to hurt.

Your chin shakes, and you grab the giant hand holding your face, digging in your fingers. You are certain he is going to kill you now. But you won’t cry or beg for mercy.

No, as a Gojo you would face down death and spit in his face.

So you do, hitting Sukuna right under his lower left eye.

“Go to hell, monster.” You growled, despite feeling the creak of bones in your face. 

And for a moment the world is deathly quiet.

Until Sukuna throws back his head, startling you with a loud howl as he releases your face to laugh. In pain and confusion, you are tongue-tied as he tilts his head, the look on his face almost fond.

“I could kill you, but I have a better plan. I think you would make a very interesting wife.”

You would have fallen off his leg had he not quickly placed a palm on the small of your back.

“I despise you.” You reply, seeing as there isn’t anything else to say. But Sukuna doesn’t get mad at you for speaking out. Instead, he grins, which is much worse. “I’ll never be yours.”

But his mouth grows wide, and he tugs you forward, pushing you against his chest. Your lack of elegant words doesn’t bother Sukuna.

“Not as a human. I recently acquired a certain cursed spirit on my travels, and by imbuing you with her powers, your transformation should be complete. Rika would suit you well. You’re already halfway there, thanks to those marks suing my blood.”

You had been eating less, not hardly sleeping and the whole blood-shed thing was sort of muffled…

You gape, twisting to try and escape or even to move enough to allow your brain to function.

What?

He gives you a long look that you don’t know how to interpret. “You've lost enough of that wretched humanity that your body won’t break when you bear my children.”

You straighten, horrified, reeling back, but stopped. 

Oh gods, there wasn’t anything more ridiculous than Sukuna talking about reproducing with you? 

“No-“ He waves off your rejection, like a wisp of wind. You don’t remember starting to shake so hard, but it seems like you can see yourself from above, trembling a leaf in a storm.

“Of course, pet. You didn’t think I’d keep a stupid thing like you around to look nice? I even practiced on those pathetic humans.” 

You dig your fingers into his chest, ripping it open with fury alone. 

“I’ll kill you.” You say, “I’ll kill myself-“

Sukuna chuckles as blood pours from his chest, but the wound heals faster than you can dig. Sukuna's hand shoves your head into his blood, and iron fills your mouth.

“Heh, brat. Look at you, a Gojo doomed to be the queen of curses. A fitting end to that cursed line.”

“Someday, the chance will come, and one day, I’ll kill you.” You swear, teeth dripping in red. 

“Women like you never leave their brats, so I’ll breed you till you have no escape,” Sukuna says, bending down and giving a soft kiss to your painted lips. 

As he pulls away, his tongue licks away the blood. “Of course, if you try, I’ll kill them and breed you again. Isn’t that what husbands do?”

#notromance #jjk sukuna #sukuna x yn #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #one-shot #dark #dovedove? #probably qualified for all Sukuna content #Hurrah second season! #jjk #jjk x reader #Gojo!Reader

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Okay we all know that Leo loves his brothers more than anything, he has literally tried to sacrifice himself for his brothers multiple times & we were all there for the ‘I’m nothing without them’ line

But I feel like we also should acknowledge the part of Leo’s relationship with his brothers that is just, Leo’s brother’s annoying him until he nearly gets a migraine. 

Everyone always places Leo as the annoying sibling but Rise Leo has to deal with his brothers raising his blood pressure just as much as any other Leo does.

Raph: Good thing we didn’t do Leo’s idea of being afraid of spiders! Ha!

Leo: I don’t know I still don’t trust her!

Raph: HA! In your face!

Raph: HA! In your face! And yours! And yours! And yours again!

Yes Raph loves his brothers very much, he takes care of them & looks out for them ect He also teases & makes fun of them relentlessly & Leo is his primary target for said teasing. In the traditional Raph VS Leo fashion Raph has made countless jokes at Leo’s expense & when he’s teasing his brothers in the episode Sidekick Ahoy! He literally rubs getting the Jupiter Jim sidekick position in Leo’s face twice.

Leo: Then give us ice for our horribly mangled bodies!

Donnie: ... It melted

Donnie: Sheldon needs time to recharge before firing his anti- turtle ray

Leo: Why is that a ray Donnie!?

Leo: You turned a cuddly animatronic bear into a psychotic robot bent on destroying us? No? Got April fired? Hmm? Nothing?

Donnie: That does not sound like me

I’m pretty sure that Leo is a vast majority of Donnie’s impulse control there are countless times when Donnie’s first instinct is over the top violence & Leo is the first one to pull him back but if that wasn’t enough to deal with Donnie has a tendency for trying to avoid admitting wrong doing as well just deciding he’s going to make Leo’s day a bit more difficult sometimes.

Leo: So when she kept growing that wasn’t a clue to stop screaming?

Mikey: Sorry, but hopefully Raph heard me

Leo: Astronauts heard you!

Leo: This is not a compatition!

Mikey: Says the guy with zero unicorns.

 Leo loves Mikey, he’s probably Mikey’s biggest supporter & Mikey loves & looks up to Leo so much but as emotionally mature as Mikey can be sometimes, Mikey is still the youngest of his brothers which means there are times where he acts immature & either doesn’t read the situation correctly & puts himself & his brothers in danger or he doesn’t take the situation seriously & makes things more difficult. Either way it gives Leo a lot of stress to deal with.

Leo: Come on! Come on! Come on! Help us fight these guys!

Mikey: No! I want a refill on my coconut!

Raph:  Take us back to Tahiti!

Donnie: More Tahiti!

Leo loves his brothers, he is literally willing to give his life for them on multiple occasions & they are the people he trusts & believes in most but in a true sibling fashion they are also a constant source of stress for Leo. Just because Leo isn’t the oldest in Rise does not mean that his brothers aren’t constantly raising his blood pressure. 

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo hamato #michelangelo hamato #raphael hamato #donatello hamato #rottmnt #tmnt

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Safe and Sound

Jack Harlow Masterlist

Request: I really like the idea that Jack always leaves his girl in the "care" of one of his inner circle whenever he gets pulled away at an event. Like he's gotta go on stage or go to another area of the venue and she can't come, so gets his good luck kiss and when he says bye to Like Clay or Urban, he just whispers in his ear "keep an eye on her" or "keep her close" or "watch out for my girl". Like she probably doesn't even know that he does it, and that's kinda what makes it all the more heart warming. Like yes, the area is private and there's probably security around, but the fact that when he can't physically be there to protect her, he turns to his best friend or brother to keep the most important person in his life safe.

Warnings: language

For as long as Jack could remember, the only thing he wanted to be was a rapper. He ate, slept, and breathed music for over a decade trying to make a name for himself, and while it took a while, everything he poured into himself and his career came back to him tenfold, and sometimes he couldn't believe how lucky he was. The good: amazing fans, financial security, and getting to live his dream definitely outweighed the bad, so he took everything in stride.

There were definitely times where he wished he could leave the house without being recognized, or didn't have a security team on his heels wherever he went, but that was the name of the game, and he'd make the sacrifice over and over again to be where he is now.

He didn't hold the same expectations for the ones that he loved, though.

While his friends and family understood that Jack Harlow was no longer just a kid from Louisville, and their lives were going to change along with his, Jack wasn't willing to put them in harms way for his sake. He could deal with the crazy fans, the big crowds of people, and the lack of privacy, because that's what he signed up for, but his people were off limits.

It also meant that the circle of people that he could trust was incredibly small, and honestly, he liked it that way. He knew that he could count on the people that stood to the left and the right of him, and that made all of the craziness a lot easier to deal with.

When you and Jack started dating, you were so caught up in the whirlwind of being in a relationship with someone you respected and cared for so much, you hardly noticed how much your life was changing. You'd never been with someone famous, let alone someone as famous as Jack, and while you were still getting used to the security team who accompanied you on some of your dates, waiting in the wings while you ate dinner or watched a movie, for the most part, your life was surprisingly normal. You were always a very headstrong person who valued their independence, and you were glad that your relationship allowed you to hold onto a semblance of control or Jack's lifestyle might have sent you running for the hills.

You thought it was a testament to the type of person Jack was and the life he led, down to earth and understated, but you had no idea how creative he had to get to keep you safe.

"What do you think of this top?" You twirled in front of your phone that you had propped up on your dresser, with Jack on FaceTime. He let out a long yawn before he narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the sheer blouse you were holding up to your form. "Looks good", he mumbled out, throwing himself on his hotel bed. It was only 8:15PM in Louisville, but 1:15AM in London where Jack currently was for work, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open while the two of you caught up on your days.

"Only good?", you asked as you gave it a second look in your mirror, a frown on your face. "I don't want to just look good tonight."

Jack ran a hand down his face as he let out a deep chuckle. "Ok, you look very good. Was that more convincing?"

"No", you answered curtly, tossing the top onto your bed before going back into your closet. You came back out wear a simple black sweater. "What about this one?"

"Uh, maybe just lift the bottom up a little bit." Jack directed you with his hand in an upward motion, and you lifted the shirt up around your belly button in a makeshift crop top. "Just a little more." You pulled the shirt over your bra, not quite understanding. "Jack, what are you doing?"

"Just a little bit more." You pulled it up over your head, your arms held up in the air. "Good now take it all the way off so I can see you without anything on." You let out a huff when you caught onto his joke, flipping him off in the camera. "You're an ass, you know that?" Jack could barely hear you over the roar of his own laughter, tickled with his own joke. "Where are you going anyway? I thought you were staying in tonight?" You could hear the apprehension in Jack's tone.

"Please, Jack, don't start." You let out a huff, knowing where he was going with this. "I'm going out with a couple of friends to a bar to celebrate Gigi's birthday, and then coming home, okay?" You had a run in with a crazed fan while out one night a couple of weeks ago, and while you were shaken up in the moment, the incident was long forgotten, in your mind at least. Jack was away from work, and the fact that he wasn't there to protect you, and you had no security around made his stomach turn.

"I can call Dave and he can be at your apartment in like 10 minutes. I'd feel a lot better if you let my security team go with you." Jack was trying his best not to be overprotective, but he couldn't help it when it came to you.

"And I'd feel a lot better if you trusted me." You gave him a pouty lip and he folded immediately, letting out a exasperated sigh. "Fine, but please text me when you get there and get back home, okay? Even if I don't answer right away."

"Okay promise. I love you, babe." You threw on a graphic tee and leather jacket before blowing a kiss to Jack, hanging up with him, and grabbing your purse to head out the door.

The bar was packed for a Thursday night, pop music blasting over the speakers as you made your way through the crowd, finding a table at the back of the room. You weren't scared to run into another fanatic, but you also wanted to play it safe, knowing it would give you and Jack piece of mind. You snapped a selfie of you and your friends and sent it off to Jack as confirmation you made it safe.

"Well look who it is!' You lowered your phone to see Urban and Clay smiling back at you, beers in both of their hands.

"What are you two doing here?", the inflection in your voice signifying your genuine confusion to see Jack's best friend and brother standing in front of you. You were very surprised to see them here, considering that a dive bar was neither of theirs scene.

"Can't two people enjoy a couple drinks at a bar on a Thursday night?" Urban slid into the booth next to you, wringling into his spot, Clay following in behind him.

"Two people, yes, you two, no. If I remember it correctly, you said "bars like this are contributing to the collapse of Louisville's culture." You held up your fingers in quotations. Urban went on a very long rant during dinner last month when you asked him if he knew of any knew any new places to go out downtown, and you hadn't brought it up since.

"I made him come out with me", Clay cut in, knowing you'd get the truth out of Urban sooner or later, "I was going stir crazy at home." He avoided eye contact with you, taking a swig of his drink.

You narrowed your eyes at both of them and they squirmed under your scrutiny, awkwardly shifting in place. You were incredibly intuitive and knew something else was going on, and Jack definitely had something to do with it. Something was off, and while you wanted to get to the bottom of it, this night wasn't about you, so you put it to the side until later, letting Urban and Clay join your group for the night.

Jack came home from London a couple days later, but was so wrapped up in prepping for his performance in New York, you didn't get the opportunity to ask him why his best friends just happened to be at the same location you were last week. You didn't want to assume he was sending his friends to check in with you, instead of just trusting you to be careful on your own, but it was just too much of a coincidence.

The night of the show you hung around the greenroom for a couple of hours while Jack was doing soundcheck and and running through last minute changes with his team. Jack had security posted at the door of his dressing room and didn't let anyone pass through the hallway where he was getting ready, but you didn't think much of it because that was protocol for him and his team's safety.

Clay and Urban found Jack as he was walking off the stage, Jack adjusting his in ear as he went through the motions of his performance in his head. The crowd was roaring behind them, growing impatient for the show to start.

"How did last week go?" Jack asked as soon as he spotted them.

"I don't know why you asked Urban to check in with Y/N, he's a terrible liar", Clay scoffed, earning an eye roll from the blonde. "I'm a terrible liar? Mr. "I can't make eye contact with her", Urban mocked Clay with exaggerated motions.

"Can you two stop it? I asked you to make sure she was safe, discreetly, but its obvious the two of you don't know what that means. What the hell am I paying you for?" Jack pulled at the collar of his shirt, the air around him stifling. Your safety was the only thing on his mind lately, and he couldn't focus on anything else.

"First of all, you're not paying us at all", Urban retorted, but Jack just sighed, pushing past them to go back to the dressing room. "And second of all, she's smart, man, its only a matter of time before she figures out you've got us going undercover. You should just hire a security team for her."

Jack leaned against the wall, letting a few crew members walk by before continuing. "I've tried that, but she is so damn stubborn, says she doesn't need security. She doesn't realize how important all of this is, the crazy fan approaching her was just the tip of the iceberg. You guys have seen how wild people can be." Urban and Clay nodded in agreement, but it did nothing to calm Jack's nerves.

"Dude, just talk to her. Tell her how important the security team is, I'm sure she'll understand." Jack stroked at his jawline, watching as Neelam came rushing down the hallway. "Five minutes, Jack." You got up from your chair at the announcement to give Jack a good luck hug and kiss before he went on stage.

Jack lowered his voice to Urban and Clay so you couldn't hear him. "The two of you keep an eye on her tonight, okay? Don't let her out of your sight. I can't have anything happen to her."

Jack trusted his friend and brother with his life and knew they'd never let anything happen to you. He grabbed your hand as he pressed a kiss to your temple and you followed him out to the side stage.

Most of the way though the show, you could feel your voice start to go from yelling and cheering for Jack over the music. Urban was in the crowd getting some action shots, which left Clay to watch over you. He glanced over at where you were posted all night, as you started to walk back to the greenroom to grab a bottle of water. He intercepted you before you got past the curtain, stopping you in your tracks. "What's up? Going somewhere?"

"Just gonna grab some water really quick." You motioned to your dry throat.

"Uh, I'll have someone get it for you." He looked around for a PA.

"Clay, its fine, I can get my own water", you chuckled, gently pushing past him. "Cool, cool! I'll join you, I could use some water too."

"Okay, you're being weird. Everything okay?" You crossed your arms over your chest as the two of you walked backstage. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized, you and Jack have been dating for a while and we never really got a chance to get to know each other."

You grabbed a bottle from the craft services table, looking over your shoulder at him. "And tonight seemed like a good time to do that?"

"Yeah, tell me about your childhood. Did you wet the bed?" He wasn't sure how he got to that line of questioning, palming his face in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to ask you that." He plopped down on the couch, letting out a deep breath. "This is harder than I thought it was going to be."

"What is? What the hell is going on, Clay? You, Urban, and Jack for that matter, have been acting so strange lately." You sat down next to him, taking a big gulp of water.

"He doesn't want to overstep, but you're a lot harder to keep track of then we thought you would be."

You gave him an incredulous look. "Is this about Jack and the whole security thing? I told him I was fine." Clay nodded, shifting to sit up and face you.

"I know how much he cares about you, Y/N, and that whole fan interaction scared the shit out of him, even if it didn't bother you." You tightened the grip on your water bottle as Clay spoke, the plastic cracking in your hand. You were so caught up in how you felt, Jack's feelings didn't even cross your mind. "He just wants to make sure you're safe, but since you won't take the security team, he had to take matters into his own hand."

"I knew you two showing up a the bar last Thursday wasn't a coincidence? How did you two figure out where I was anyway?"

Clay ran a hand over his buzzcut hair. "Jack texted us that night and told us to get our asses over there. You wouldn't take Dave, so we had to improvise."

"So he sent Dumb and Dumber to look after me, huh?", you said in jest, playfully shoving Clay in the shoulder. "We prefer Scooby and Shaggy, but whatever", he shrugged, making you giggle.

"I guess I can let Dave follow me around every once and a while." The thought of a 6'5", 300 pound man standing in the corner of your pilates class was kind of funny.

"Listen, I know that your life has changed so much since you met Jack, trust me, if anyone knows its me, and if you know my brother at all, you know he does not play about the people he loves." You nodded, smiling to yourself. Jack loved his family and friends so deeply and openly, it was honestly refreshing to witness it first hand. You could tell how much he cared about everyone, and wanted to see them succeed. It was one of the things you loved the most about him.

Clay smiled, jumping to his feet and extending a hand to help you up. "C'mon, lets watch the end of the show."

"Wait, who's Shaggy in this duo?", you asked, grabbing the offered hand. "Obviously Urban", Clay answered. "Shaggy gives off major stoner vibes."

You stood off to the side of the stage as the show ended, and Jack ran down the stairs, immediately searching the backstage crowd for you. You watched on as his team surrounded him and helped him get unhooked from the sound equipment, as Clay gave him a quick rundown of your conversation, Jack's gaze never leaving your face.

He slowly approached you, half expecting you to be pissed, but you just wrapped him up in a tight hug, your cheek rubbing against his scraggly beard. "Everything okay?", he chuckled, nuzzling into your hair. "Yeah, everything's fine." You pulled away with a smile, grabbing his hand to walk back to his dressing room and away from everyone else. You turned to him as he shut the door, giving the two of you privacy.

"Did something happen?" You were quiet, and that made him uncomfortable. He hooked his eyebrow as he searched your face to try to gauge your reaction. "Look, I know that Clay told you everything, and I know you asked me to trust you, and I promise I do, but-". You stopped him with an abrupt kiss to the lips, your chests colliding with each other. You were the first to break to take a breath, Jack pulling you in tightly to his body so you couldn't walk away. "What was that for?", he asked with a giddy grin.

"I owe you a thank you, baby. I was fighting you so hard on this security thing because I didn't want my life to change anymore, but I know now you were just worried about me, and I appreciate that so much." You reassuringly ran your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your palms at your touch.

"I just love you so much", Jack explained, grabbing your hands and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "and I can't do what I have to do unless I know you're safe. I know its a lot, but I need you to do this for me."

You nodded, giving him a small smile. "I know, just give me some time to get used to it. I'll come around to the whole idea that my boyfriend is an celebrity, eventually." You drug out the last word sarcastically.

"So that's a yes to the security team?" Jack ducked down to make eye contact with you. "Uh, no, not a whole security team, just two bodyguards." You motioned over to the door, and Jack turned around to see Urban and Clay standing in the threshold. "These two dumb asses?" Jack threw a lazy thumb their way with a disappointed look.

You both chuckled at the rumble of objections that came from the two of them. "Hey! Is that any way to talk about your girlfriend's security team?" Urban threw an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in for a side hug. "Yeah, these two will blend in a little better than your security team, plus they are a very good time."

"Yeah, you hear that? We're a good time." Clay threw his arm over your shoulder as well, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"Whatever." Jack threw his hands up in surrender with a smile. "You should know that a twelve year old girl beat him up when he was a freshman in high school." You stiffled a laugh as you looked at Clay, who was visibly upset.

"She was really big for a twelve year old!", Clay bit back as everyone in the room burst into laughter.

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[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Nine: The Pomegranate Theory

Summary: Jakes still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening with your health. Doctor Ignatii oversteps? And you settle in while Jake helps you write some of your newest book.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Word Count: 4.3K

Author Note: My birthday present to you all is a new chapter of Was It Over. Once again I just wanted to say thank-you all so very much for all the love and support you have given me throughout this series. It truly means the world to me.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet, sweet flesh. 

When rushed, there is failure to collect all the seeds. Many men sacrifice the collection of its entirety for the sake of saving time. They'd rather risk the loss of a percentage of the fruit for immediate gratification. What we often fail to consider is that there may be a reason for the  dissimilarities between men and women. We tend to point out that the majority of men don't have the same attention to detail that women do instead of focusing on our individual strengths, and how they can balance and support each other. 

Instead, you chose, for the longest of times, to consider that your husband was willing to learn something that perhaps didn't come instinctively to him as it did to you. It's the energy you put into cutting and deseeding the metaphorical pomegranate that represented your marriage, but Jake never seemed to want to learn how to carefully harvest all those beautiful seeds. 

You and Jake both collectively brought so much to your marriage, you both had something to learn from one another in order to grow. But choosing resentment when you decided to step away from the man you loved more than life itself was never an option. 

Because resentment always leads to isolation: 

“Okay small steps for me Y/n.” Doctor Ignatii asked as he held your arms and stood before you. Everything hurt, everything felt wrong. Everything was stiff and out of place, but the sooner you were up and walking even if it was only a few steps here and there–the quicker your recovery would be. Having a stroke wasn't exactly defined as a step in your cancer treatment plan. No, it came right out of the left field and took you, your mother and your doctors by total surprise. “That's it, small steps.” 

“I don't think I should keep going, it feels wrong.” Your body didn't feel like your own, the ground underneath your no-slip socks felt uneven. Your feet felt like lead–heavy and weak at the same time. Your head had maintained a dull ache since you woke up post surgery that hadn’t gone away. Overall you just didn't feel like yourself and it showed. 

“Your neurological pathways need time to re-adjust to normal.” Doctor Ignatii was hopeful you'd have a pretty smooth recovery, his worry about any deficits post stroke was at a pretty low concern level just based on how quickly they were able to react to the stroke itself. “Give yourself some time, I'll touch base with the plastics department and oncology to discuss your pre-op notes prior to your mastectomy.” Doctor Ignatii explained as Jake watched with crossed arms off to the side as you took a few uneasy steps around the room littered with Christmas lights and decorations for the holiday seasons. “It's gonna be a slow but steady recovery, we just wanna make sure prior to your mastectomy that your body can handle the additional stress it's placed under while in surgery. The fact you're taking baby steps right now is a really good sign.” 

“Can I have a shower soon by any chance?” All you wanted was to not feel sticky and gross. “Is that in the realm of possibility any time soon?” 

“Only if you try to walk to the bathroom.” Doctor Ignittii replied with a quick wit you appreciated, he wasn't treating you like a sudden gust of a strong wind your be knocked on your sare and you truly appreciated the vote of confidence from your doctor. “But sure, I don't have any problem with you showering, maybe ask for some help?” Doctor Ignatii gestured over to where Jake stood just watching over you. He kept his respective distance but his eyes never left yours. He’s yet to leave your side for more than twenty minutes to grab something to eat, drink and take a deep breath. He was still trying to process how quickly things had changed. 

“Happy to help.” Jake teased as he sent you a wink, the half sided smirk was prevalent across his flustered but composed face. “Respectfully.” 

“Respectfully–” You replied as you stood on your own, Doctor Ignatti had stepped aside to let you take the lead. “You need to call our children and let them know you haven't abandoned them at their grandmother's house.”

“I should do that, shouldn't I?” Jake sighed, he'd been avoiding the call all together. With it being Christmas Eve Eve and your surgery still going ahead as planned, it was a call Jake wasn't looking forward to making. 

“I think it might be a good idea–” You slowly but surely sat down on the edge of your hospital bed, the IV poll you were gripping for dear life pumped against the side before Jake stepped a little closer to fix the tangled wires and cords. “Thanks.” You smiled softly as you watched him work.

“I'll let you know how our pre-op meeting goes, Mrs Seresin.” Doctor Ignatti interrupted with a quick tight lipped smile. “And–” Jake raised an eyebrow as your doctor paused in his tracks. “Although probably unsolicited, I've seen too many families come through these halls to know time is a fickle thing, if your kids aren't aware of your current situation, I favour the side of full transparency, no matter the age.” 

You didn't know how to respond so you said nothing and settled on a simple nod with kind eyes to match. Jake however, wasn't as graceful with his snarky growl. He was the very embodiment of a protective German Shepherd with his guard up.

“It's a good thing we didn't ask for your opinion then isn't it.” Jake snapped, he didn't mean to take his insecurities out on the man who had if nothing else saved your life.he was still trying to figure out who this Jensen guy was. But he did and it made you frown with shock horror that such a snarky comment would come from your husband's mouth.

“You’re right, I overstepped.” Doctor Ignatti held it hands up as if to say he was sorry. “I apologise, I'll be back later with an update for you.” You said nothing, you simply chose to remain silent until your doctor had left the room and silence had once again fallen over you and Jake. 

“I didn't mean–” Jake wanted to say he didn't mean to be so snappy. That he really didn't mean to bite the hand that saved his wife, But you 

“You meant it.” The tone you used broke right through the exterior of Jake's hardened shell. Despite his inability to make it known that all Jake was trying to do in that very moment was show a united front on your decision to keep your family, your husband and subsequently your children in the dark about your current situation—he still helped you back into bed, tucked your legs under the Blau and fixed your pillows. “And he’s right you know, whether we want to hear it or not the kids probably need to know why you left so abruptly.” Jake's phone had been ringing off the hook since he left his mother's house. Jasmine was persistent regardless if Jake was answering or not. Constant texts, missed calls, updates on the kids she knew he was thankful for despite his missing in action status. 

“You wanna tell the kids what’s going on?” You and Jake hadn’t really discussed it, he was following your lead on this one. Jake didn’t want to overstep any boundaries you’d set he wasn’t aware of, or had unintentionally forgotten about. He was holding off on everything, telling his sister what the hell was going on, telling his mother more than she ever deserved to know, telling the kids their mum was a little sick. 

“No—no, I wanna tell the kids, for now, that I’m just a little sick and that’s why I needed you here more than they needed you over the next few days.” You explained your view. “I don't want them panicking about me, they're young, too young to need to know the severity of the situation.” 

“Not telling them doesn't make the truth any less real, Honey–what if we tell them and–“ Jake never got a chance to finish his sentence, he never got a chance to say that if you didn’t want to tell your kids he’d support your decision regardless if he agreed or not before you interrupted to explain where you were coming from. 

“They don't need to know Jake, I can't tell them, I can't tell my children that I might be dying alright I just can't.” You were a little more harsh than need be, but the emotional weight of the situation was taking a toll on you. “But I wasn’t about to bite my brain surgeon's head off for offering a valid opinion on a rough situation.” 

“You know what?” Jake cooed as he reached out to touch your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your soft skin. The gentle touch brought you a solace you'd never truly understand as Jake's emerald eyes swirled with all the love and admiration in the world. “You’re right.” Jake didn't want to argue, not now, not when he could tell your emotions were running high and life seemed like it was against you. You needed him in your corner, for better or worse. “I’ll call Jas, I'll tell her what's going on, full God's honest truth and then we’ll tell the kids that you're just a little sick.” 

“Just a little–” You replied with tears in your eyes, they were pooling at your lower lash line, ready to spill and open the flood gates. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” Jake listened as the pad of his thumb worked to catch the falling tears that cascaded down your cheek. “I should have–you needed to know.”

“I understand why you didn't.” Jake sighed as he sat by your bed side. “I wasn't–” he began to explain but shortly after changed what he was about to say. “I put myself in a position where I could lose you, and I shouldn't have, you and me and whatever our marriage is right now isn't the priority so just know I'm not saying this to fix that.” Jake cooed as he felt his eyes watering. “Right now all that matters is that we focus on you and your health and making sure you are the only priority.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“I got you one of those pant by numbers kits and some lego flowers I thought you might be able to do to fill the time.” Your mother wore a fake smile so painfully obvious that it made your heart want to burst inside your chest. This wasn't and hadn't been easy on her, carrying the burden of being the only one who knew about your diagnosis. Now, as Jake sat by your bedside, your mother wanted nothing more than to tell him how thankful she was that she now had someone else to carry the weight with. 

But Mary wasn't about to do that, no. She wouldn't make the situation about her. But watching her little girl go through something she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy was brutal. 

“That's really nice of you mum, you didn't have to do that.” Jake frowned momentarily when he heard you say that go to line. ‘You didn't have to do that.’ It was a sentence he hadn’t heard in a long time. You always used to say it, Jake just wasn't sure when you had stopped saying it to him. There wasn’t an awful lot of things he was going out of his way to do that would earn him a bashful or somewhat self deprecating response like that. 

“I know, but I saw them at Target and thought they might keep you occupied.” Your mothers smile faded just slightly as she placed your presents under the small christmas tree that sat on the top of the small cupboard that could be used to house clothing and personal items patients brought with them. You hadn't paid much mind to unpacking, all you had managed was your toiletries. But your mother had gone above and beyond to make the space you were taking up residency in a little more homie. “How’re you feeling anyway?” 

“I'm alright, a little stiff but Doctor Ignatii said that's to be expected, he’ll be back soon to help with the first few steps.” You knew your mother wasn't really prying about a health update, but more about a romantic one. Her eyes quickly darted to where Jake still sat holding your hand in his. He was afraid that if he let go that you'd disappear. Or worse. “A little shocked to find out my children are still in Texas but I'm sure given the circumstances I'll manage.” 

“Well at least they're supervised and with family, that's all that matters.” Your mother replied as she pushed a little of your hair behind your ear. “Have you given any more thought about cutting your hair?” 

“You were thinking about cutting your hair?” Jake finally managed the courage to jump into the conversation, he still felt like an intruder of some sort. He was still trying to process everything, the very idea that you were battling an aggressive form of breast cancer along with the fact you'd suffered a very recent stroke was all too much for his brain to comprehend. 

“I'm gonna lose it all anyway.” You shrugged as you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “May as well get ahead of the curve and shave it all off before it falls out.” Hair holds memories, in some cultures it's even considered sacred. In some religions women cover their hair after marriage for only their husbands to see, others keep theirs pure and untreated by dyes. Some women of colour from countries across the world prefer to wear their hair in protective styles that give their hair longevity and life. 

But you? You were losing yours. The keratin in your follicles had stopped reproducing, your follicles were dying off and snapping. It was a hard pill to swallow if you were being completely honest, but if shaving your hair off before you were subjected to looking like your daughters weird barbie doll was something that could help you maintain whatever dignity you had left, you were going to do it, regardless if you were slightly worried about your head being an odd shape. It beats you know, dying after all. 

“Doctor Ignatii already took a pretty big chunk anyway from the surgery.” Your mother added. “Besides, it's a little more empowering to shave it yourself than losing it over time.” Jake understood, so he didn't argue. It was your choice at the end of the day. “Now, I'm not staying for too long, I thought I'd head back to yours, tidy up, make sure the house is in order for when you're able to go home.” Before you had a chance to argue or say she didn't have to, Jake was advocating on your behalf. 

“Thanks Maz, that's perfect.” He smiled softly as the pad of his thumb rubbed against your hand. All you did was nod along in agreement, it did sound nice. Unnecessary in your humble opinion, but nice. 

It wasn't long after that your mother was saying her goodbyes to the both of you for the day, being along with Jake wasn't awkward, but it did feel a little uneasy with so much still left to discuss. All the potential what if’s and could be’s. 

“Can you please pass me my laptop?” You were the first one to break the silence that had fallen between the two of you, only the steady threthem of monitors could be heard amongst the thick silence. 

“You still working on that book?” Jake asked rather tentatively, it was a touchy subject. If you said yes then that meant you hadn't had time to finish it before your due date. Jake knew he played more of a role in that then he’d like to admit, but the idea you were still working on the same book meant the separation truly hadnt boded well in your favour to focus on your career. For Jake however, it had opened up another career advancement. The Daggers. 

“Uh yeah actually I am.” You sat up a little straighter in your bed and fixed up the blanket covering your legs. “I shelved it there for a little while.” The explanation truly was just that, you hadn't really had all that much time to work on a new publication while trying to raise three children on your own. “I picked it up again around August, just haven't made much progress with it with everything that's been going on.” 

“Do you feel like sharing some exclusive details with your number one fan?” Jake was almost unashamed in his attempt at breaking down your walls. “Who knows, I might be able to inspire some creativity.” 

“Oh you're my number one fan now are you?” You chuckled softly as you watched Jake reached into the drawer your mother had put your laptop and charger in. “And there isn't much creative freedom when it comes to writing a bibliography for true crime, unless you count ghoulish overkill and an absurd use of dark humour to cover up the truly graphic details of the world's most notorious crimes.” Jake smiled back at you as he held your laptop in one hand, the rose gold Mac with stickers randomly pleased all over the lid. 

“Don't be fooled by the good looks Honey, I can read a sentence or two without stuttering.” 

“Could've fooled me.” You fired back without hesitation as Jake faked a shot to the heart. “You really want me to read some to you?” Jake hadn't asked about your work in months. You'd stopped wondering if he cared about your career path before you decided to walk away from your marriage to focus on yourself. At the end of it all you left believing Jake had stopped caring about the things that made you simply you. 

“Yeah, of course, I mean–it would be nice to read some new material, after all–the copies I have back in North Island are pretty much falling apart from how much I tend to flick through them.” Jake had never been a big true crime fan, that was until you published your first book. 

“Wait, you have my books? Which ones?” The revelation made your heart skip a beat inside your chest, so much so that Jake saw it on the monitor. It made his cheeks flush a crimson red at the very thought he could still make you this flustered. 

“Uh–” Jake started as he came back down to sit beside you, opening up your laptop and placing it on the small but practical table that could go over your legs. “I have all five.” Jake would read the dedication every night before he went to bed and every morning before he went to work. They were all slightly different but the sentiment remained the same. His favourite one to read was:

“Dedicated to the man who loves me so, thank you for your service, I love you with all my heart.” 

Jake knew deep down, after all the two of you had gone through, after all the hurt he’d unintentionally caused with his emotional disconnect, that the dedication in your newest book wouldn't be for him. It would be for your children. 

“You've never told me this before?” Jake should have told you, he should have been more open, more honest about his feelings. He shouldn't have lost sight of what was truly important to him and it definitely shouldn't have taken losing you to realise how important you were. Jake had never known female rage until he dealt and fought with a woman who was feeling undervalued, unappreciated and unwanted. 

“I should have, I know that now.” It was only a small gesture at the bottom of Everest itself but Jake knew now was the time he had to really put the effort in, to show you he truly cared, that he really did love you in sickness and in health. “I'd really like to sit here and maybe I can read what you've written so far out loud so you can just rest–and if there's anything you wanna change, I can do it for you.” 

“Oh you don’t have to—“ Your sentence trailed off into nothing as you looked into your husband’s eyes, searching for an ounce of hesitation or burden in them. But all you saw were those emerald green eyes staring back at you with all the love and warmth in the world. Jake wanted to do this, truly. “Sure, yeah if uh—I’d really like that.” 

It felt nice to be taken care of, to be valued and loved. But it wasn’t enough to undo the damage that Jake had unintentionally caused. He was going to have to put the work in, fight for you as much as you had to fight for your life. 

“Okay.” Jake smiled as he cleared his throat and turned the laptop his way. “Alright Honey, let’s go from the top shall we?”

“Take it away Mr. Ghost Writer.” You cooed as you settled into your hospital bed and found a comfortable position, if anything you were feeling rather tired. Maybe you’d be able to get some more sleep soon—that wasn’t such a bad idea. 

“In the early hours of January 1996, after an evening spent celebrating at Club Bayview in the Perth suburb of Claremonth, 18-year-old Sarah Spiers called a taxi to nearby Mosman Park. But when the cab arrived, she’d already gone. Sarah was never seen again.” Jake read out loud as you listened and laid there wondering if this was all some Lavender Haze to mask the reality that your marriage was over: 

 Or really how Jake wanted the two of you to be. Together again, in sickness and in health. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Just tilt your head a little.” Jake was being as gentle as he ever could be. “Let me know if I'm hurtin’ you.” The steam from the shower filled the bathroom as you sat on the little shower stool. The hot water cascaded down your naked self taking all the grimy sticky remanence from surgery away with it. 

“Feels perfect.” You sighed in relief at the feeling of being clean once again, Jake stood behind you washing your body with a small lofa in soft circular motions. Under the water with you. It wasn't awkward to see each other so exposed, however, given the circumstances, you felt incredibly vulnerable. “Can you get my neck a little more?” Jake obliged to your request and moved the soap free suds around your next. It felt surreal, otherworldly even after the last few days. You let the silence fall around you as you reveled in the sensation of Jake's hands roaming your naked body in a not so sexual way. It felt nice to be touched in such a way that made you feel safe. 

“Jake–?” Your voice sounded softer than it did just a few moments ago, your eyes lingered over to the sink where in the corner of your eye, you could see the clippers you’d bought with you to the hospital in preparation for this very moment. Originally you were going to do it yourself, then, you thought perhaps you could ask your mother–but now, sitting under the stream of steady warm water with Jake helping to cleanse your weakened body post surgery– you knew you had to ask him. 

“Yeah Honey?” Jake cooed as he washed your body, being ever so careful to not knock and bump the cords and wires that were still attached to your arms. Doctor Ignatii had assured Jake they could get wet–but he was still sus.  

“Will–will you shave my head?” The silence that followed as deafening as you felt Jake's hands nearly came to a complete stop. “I just–I dont think I'm strong enough to do it myself.” Again, Jake's silence was all consuming. “You don't have to if you don't want to, I uh–i understand if it’s too big of an ask–I can always ask mu–” Before you could go off on a tangent, Jake was interrupting as he came around to kneel before you. 

“No, no Honey, of course I'll help you.” Jake made sure to clarify. “It's just–it's just no one ever prepares you for your wife to ask you to do something like this.” You saw the sadness in Jake's eyes, the understanding and compassion. “But of course, yes, I'll do whatever you need me to and if being your barber is something you need then consider me the best in the biz.” 

Your heart couldn't contain itself inside your chest as you reached out to caress Jake's scruffed cheek. For whatever reason, you couldn't stop the worlds from escaping your lips. 

“I love you–” The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet flesh. 

Jake knew it was the environment, the situation and the fear of being slowly taken by disease, but he couldn't help but to lean in, cup your face and kiss you like he’d missed you everyday since you left him back in January. The slow pull of desire ached in Jake's chest as your tongue danced with his: and as he pulled away to let his forehead rest against yours? He allowed himself just a single moment of reprieve: 

“I love you so much Honey–oh so much.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

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