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#quick quick slow burn: the fic
mortifyingideal · 1 year
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Hi Mort! Are we allowed to get excited about LB again? I mean, I am also very happy just to see the art again and simply be reminded of that wonderful story. I'll take it gladly, no pressure. :)
hello lovely!
you are always allowed to get excited about LB! we have been talking about it a lot recently and how we both have much more time now than we did when we first needed to go on hiatus so CONTINUE TO WATCH THIS SPACE. KEEP DANCING ET CETERA AD NAUSEAM. just maybe don’t hold your breath i take 0 responsibility for any sort of loosely ballroom related fainting incidents
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strangersteddierthings · 11 months
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Porcelain Steve - Part 6
Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine
Even though he's expecting company, Eddie still jumps and yelps when his front door flies open without so much as a knock, revealing Dustin and Will.
"I know I said to let yourselves in, but a warning knock would have been nice," Eddie shoots them a glare, not bothering to stand from the couch where he'd been pretending to watch whatever terrible daytime movie was playing.
"Sorry," Will apologizes sheepishly while Dustin just laughs.
"Which of your moms dropped you off? If it's Claudia, I'm filing a complaint about how you were raised."
"Har har," Dustin says, swinging his backpack off and knelling down to unzip and dig into it. "We biked here."
"Lucky you, then. The complaint will wait."
Dustin wrestles a blanket from his backpack. Unwrapping it reveals Steve, hair rumpled but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Delivered safely. We gotta go meet El and Mike now but we'll see you on Saturday, right?"
Eddie sets Steve on the couch, angled towards the TV. "Yeah. I get the feeling if I don't show for the barbeque that Joyce will show up here and drag me there by my ear."
"She would," Will confirms with an easy shrug. The boys turn to leave before Will exclaims, "Oh! Almost forgot!" before digging into his pocket for something, turning around to give it to Eddie.
"What?"
"El and Steve spoke again. He had a lot of things to say. I spent a good portion of the last three days writing down everything as El repeated it to me. This is your letter," he says, having successfully pulled out what looked to be a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.
"Oh," Eddie takes it, and realizes it's not just one folded piece of paper, but three. "Wow."
"Seems you are Steve's second favorite," Dustin grins at him from the doorway.
"You are first, I assume?"
"No. Robin is. She got five pages."
That tracks, actually. Eddie's not surprised Robin got the most pages.
Soon enough, the boys are off and Eddie returns to the couch, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross. "Alright, Stevie, let's see what you have to say."
He unfolds the pages completely and is met with Will's now familiar penmanship scrawled across the sheets of wide rule paper that has clearly been ripped from a composition notebook. He's seen Will's handwriting plenty over this last year, quickly scribbling notes during DnD sessions and on the little item cards Will makes himself to hand out when he DMs.
Will's handwriting isn't always the neatest, but this looks like Will took time, wanted his writing to be legible. Flipping through the papers he sees it is two pages, front and back, of a letter, and the third page is a list of questions in a different, neater handwriting. He gets the feeling that Will probably didn't paraphrase anything. How many people got letters? How much of Will and El's time was devoted to doing just this?
Eddie feels emotional over this, misty-eyed and a lump in his throat, and he hasn't even read the damn letter yet.
"Shit, Stevie, do you even realize how loved you are?" Eddie asks out loud, turning to look at Porcelain Steve like he might answer him this time. Blank hazel eyes stare forward. Eddie shakes his head, to clear away his thoughts, and gets to reading. Not out loud, because he doesn't want Steve to hear how wet his voice will sound.
Eddie,
I guess the first thing I want to say is thank you. I was kind of freaking out when I first woke up like this. It was calming, that day on the lawn, after Robin and Nancy found me. You were so chill and just chatted my ear off like you would have if I were, like, there. I mean, there there and not like, doll-there, if you get what I mean.
Shit, man, being stuck like this would have been a hell of a lot worse without you, I'm certain. Everyone's been great, of course, and, like, no offense meant, Will and El, but you act most normal. Helps me feel, well, I don't know how, exactly. Describing emotions is not something I'm like, good at. Robin's great, too, but she catastrophizes, you know? And since I can't speak back, she can get herself pretty worked up about this and I hate that. Hate that I can't do anything to help her.
Shit. This isn't your issue. Don't include that. No, wait, do. Sorry, El. (It is here, off in the margin, that Will has added 'I wrote everything word for word. Enjoy the asides to El and me.) Hanging out with you helps her, I think. She seems less anxious on days we spend with you. So, I guess, I also want to thank you for that. For being there for Robin when I can't.
Eddie has to pause there because he had no idea. Robin has been a grounding force for him this whole time. He had no idea he was doing the same for her. She never said, or let on... well, that was probably her goal and now Steve's spilled the beans.
This is getting easier to say, even if I still don't know how to feel about the other two people who are going to be privy to everything said, or I guess from your end, written here. (Here, Will has transcribed a conversation they seemed to have had in the middle of writing this up.) Oh. He means us. - El Yes. Don't worry Steve, we'll do our best to forget everything you've said once it's written down. - Will Steve laughed and says thanks. - El I appreciate that but- well, being honest there's some things I want to say but I don't want anyone else to hear. Those conversations are better left face to face, anyway. So, uhh, what else did I want to say?
Oh! Yeah, I told Robin she could drive around the Bimmer, so she can have a car while I'm- so she doesn't have to bike everywhere but knowing her she probably won't take me up on that offer. Maybe you can talk her into it? Or, maybe she'll be willing to drive your van around and you can take the bimmer.
"Jesus, Stevie, can't you just be okay with existing?" Eddie says it under his breath and tenses instantly. For a moment, he forgot that Steve was right there on the couch with him, could hear him. Now he has to explain himself because Steve's already heard, and without the context of how Eddie really means those words, they can sound judgmental. "Shit. Sorry. I just read the part about your car and, dude, you just don't know how to not try and be helpful, huh? I bet it's destroying you on the inside that you can't do anything. But Steve, you gotta know, we don't care about you because you're useful."
Steve, of course, can't reply, so Eddie goes back to the letter.
Uh, what else was there? Oh! Yeah! I don't get migraines here. Or, in this body? Or, whatever it is. I haven't had one since this happened. Also, no hearing issues. Though I find myself wishing to be completely deaf sometimes. I get that Max can listen to Kate Bush for a week straight, but I'd like a little variety. God, what I wouldn't give to listen to the Top 40 again. Don't say anything, Munson. I can already see your judgmental face at my music taste. Unlike you, I have the ability to like multiple types of music. The Top 40 AND that one song from, uhh, shit. Might not have migraines or hearing issues at the moment, but the memory is still as it was. Which means it is shit. That one song by that metal band where their name sounds like it's metal? You know who I mean. (In the margin, Will has just written five little question marks in a row ?????)
"The band you were thinking of, it's Metallica," Eddie says.
Not important. But, uh, the reason for telling you this. I was hoping you might smuggle me to a show the next time your band plays at the Hideout? Last time I tried to go it was too loud and gave me a migraine, you remember, but I think that I could listen to your whole show like this. We might as well take advantage of the perks of this shit situation, right? So, uh, I wouldn't mind if you did that. Or, like, had Robin or someone else bring me. Whichever.
Actually, wait, I lied, I do care which way. I've already had them pen down Robin's letter, so you'll have to pass this on, but I want Robin to take me. So, I can also watch the show, not just listen. That was the part I liked most, when I went last time, before I had to leave. Wait. Scratch that. Ask Argyle. Other than you, he seems like the only person willing to be caught holding me in public, mostly because I don't think he even knows how to be embarrassed. Jesus that was such a weird sentence to say. Holding me in public. Such a weird thing to experience, too.
Uh, anyway, I think that's it for now. Thanks for everything, Eddie.
"I think you're handling this loss of bodily autonomy rather well, Steve. This letter is a lot more positive than the one I would have written if our roles were reversed," Eddie says with a sigh. He can't help but wonder what Steve would have said in this letter if it hadn't had to be filtered through two teenagers first.
He looks to the last page, the list of questions, and is surprised to see that, mixed in with questions about which sports team is winning (he is not going to watch Sportsball for Steve. There has to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it. He will ask Wayne about it later and hate the glee he sees in his uncle's eyes because now he's going to have to pretend to like sports for the unforeseeable future) and for honest updates about their friends are questions about Eddie's campaign that he's rambled on about since Steve can't escape. Steve wants spoilers, wants to know what Eddie has planned.
Steve has actually been listening. He'd been operating on the assumption Steve just tunes him out when he gets going, unable to stop his brain to mouth filter when it comes to talking about Dungeons and Dragons and his current campaign.
"I'm at your list of questions now. I can't answer anything about sports, and don't think I'm unaware of how you asked me and not Lucas. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to fall for it. So, your first non-sportsball question here; How is Dustin doing, really? Well, that's a whole thing but overall, okay."
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enbyfox · 1 year
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figured out the words to a new fic pet peeve: when the story ends at or immediately after the climax
like. where the fuck is the come down? the falling action? the resolution?
you can't just end at the feelings confession, what the fuck happens after?
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samsspambox · 1 year
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yk this kiki/vincent fic is making me realize:
a. how bitchless i am and
b. how demisexual i am
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solomons-poison · 2 years
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The more I read over my Solomon fic WIP, the more I dislike my writing lmao. I know its just the gremlin in my brain, and I couldn’t escape this with drawing either, and I really really really want to finish this fic because I’ve got such good progress in it. But I’m just. a little unsatisfied. Mostly from my super rusty writing skills. Good news is that, while I suffer over that fic, I’m able to start cracking down on my other WIPs (such as neighbor!Toji part 2.........)
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simpjaes · 3 months
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FRENZY  ៸៸៸ part one
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Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 
៸៸៸  part two here ៸៸៸ you must read both parts to get the full story
 ៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 
 ៸៸៸ minors dni
 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 33k (part two: 14.2k)
 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut
 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 
 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.
 ៸៸៸ a/n: this was way way way longer than I anticipated it to be but i mean…….it’s slow burn so take it or leave it. anyway, huge shout out to @drunkhazed for not only encouraging me to write this every time I lost steam for it, but even helping me work out some of the details. i hope this fic was worth the wait even tho tumblr is forcing me to post it in two parts.
៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut
៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It’s been days since he left his apartment. The skin around his fingernails have been chewed up, his eyes are red and heavy with sleep, and he still can’t bring himself to move from this spot. Disgusting as it may be, he loves it. It wasn’t like this before but that doesn’t matter too much to him right now.
The spot in front of his window has become his home within the apartment, a place where he can feel weightless and deserving of life’s pleasures. The sun is more bearable like this, the moon is prettier, even the rain sounds better now. The windowsill is lined with empty cans and food wrappers, a pile of laundry has been sitting in the corner since he started settling in this chair, and it’s gotten to the point now that nothing else in this apartment is of interest to him. Sleep comes easy in this chair too, so why move if he doesn’t have to?
He knows his last load of laundry is slowly molding over from not moving them into the dryer days ago, he knows his food is slowly going expired, and he’s aware now that bothering to wear clothes is pointless, they’ll just make the laundry pile bigger. He needs no distractions from this view, save for a quick bathroom trip and sprint to the front door to pick up his food orders. Each moment spent away from this space after five in the afternoon is a waste to him. 
How did he get here? How did he get to this point in his life? You. You’re how he got here. It’s your fault for moving into the apartment next door, your fault for accepting a space within view of his bedroom window, and it’s your fault he waits all day for you to come home, learning your schedule day by day. 
It started the day he forced himself out of bed. A Saturday afternoon. It was the first time he had the energy to do it after a month of barely moving, given that his recent breakup rendered him a shell of his former self. Recent to him anyway, it had been a year since she moved out, a year was like a day to him though. Time blurs when you’re shifting between resentment and numbness, and he really would have figured he'd have gotten over that breakup by then but he wasn’t. The words she last said to him resonated every minute of the day in his head, “he’s my brother!”, “you broke my phone?!”, “you’re fucking insane, Jake!”
It was a surprise to him that the man in her call log actually was her brother, but still a man at that and he didn’t like it. She was to be loyal to one man. Him. Only him. And she wasn’t, but none of that mattered to him after he got out of bed that Saturday afternoon. 
When he stood to his feet and began to dig through his closet for a shirt that didn’t smell like stale depression, it was much the same as any other day when he had the energy to do this. This time though, he opened his blinds and nearly fell on his ass at the warm sun boring through his window at him. He stood there feeling the warmth for a moment before his eyes adjusted enough to look around at the lively streets below. 
Even through his displeased huff, he stayed looking. If anyone cared to notice, this would be a good sign coming from him. One that shows that maybe he’s thinking about going out for once. Maybe he wants to call up an old friend that he hasn’t spoken to in almost a year and catch up on those lively streets. And you know, maybe that could have happened if it weren’t for the fact that something else catches his eye. 
Directly across the street sits a much nicer apartment building, and in his direct line of sight is a large window with opened blinds. Inside, stood you. He didn’t know you at the time, of course he didn’t, but at that moment he instantly knew that he had to know you. It was like slow motion, a rush of euphoria streaming in his veins as he looked at you for the first time. After so long in a slump, resenting and vibrating hate toward an ex, seeing you was like a glass of cold water during a drought. Even from so far away he knew you had a pretty face. Even from here, he knew you’d want to meet him too.
An immediate attachment he felt, to a stranger across the street unknowing of his existence.
 And that’s how he got to this point, growing so fond of watching you through that window day after day. It’s been weeks now since he started, and only the past two days have rendered him unable to move from the spot. He’s lucky his parents fund this apartment for him under the guise of him getting a degree that he no longer attends classes for. Because, well, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment with you. He’s growing so planted to this uncomfortable computer chair and barely caring because when you come home at five in the evening every day, this chair becomes much more comfortable to him. Almost as if it doesn’t exist, hell, he’s practically floating when he watches you. 
It’s your own fault he’s like this. It’s your fault you leave those blinds open, it’s your fault for walking around in close to nothing within the safety of your own home. If you didn’t want him to watch you do it, surely you would have closed the blinds by now. 
You’re practically inviting him.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It’s a given that within those weeks of watching you his obsession hit peak insanity by the time he ended up planted in place by the window. Now though, he’s making plans in his head, because he knows it’s not healthy to just watch. He knows he deserves more than just feeling himself up as he imagines being in that spacious apartment across the street with you. By now, the relief his hand offers pisses him off. He wonders more and more every day what you smell like, what you feel like, how warm you must be. He deserves to know. 
Such a pretty girl all alone over there, maybe you need some protecting from the other strange men probably watching you too. Jake isn’t strange though, he just likes you. A lot. Enough now to leave this chair in front of the window when he knows you’ll be at work. Enough to actually get up and shower, enough to start working out again in front of that window just in case you arrive home early. Enough to know your schedule like the back of his hand. Enough to clean his apartment, to throw out his building piles of trash, to shave and touch up his grown out hair. 
Enough to follow you to the grocery store and purchase the exact things you purchase, cooking later what he presumed to be your dinner and eating it with you there at the window. 
It’s gotten to that point, where his confidence is high and he feels as though it’s time. It’s time to stop waiting around but he needs to know more about you before meeting you officially. That’s the only road block by this time and he can only think of one way to do this. After all, he doesn’t even know your name in order to look you up online. 
So, its early Monday morning and he knows you’ve got work for at least eight hours and, well, he’s got a fucking need. 
He watches you in the window before you leave for work, his room now dramatically different than before. Clean. He looks in the mirror, proud of the way he looks now with his stylishly messy hair and skin moisturized. You’d like him better like this, right? 
He doesn’t even grab a bag to bring with him, because he knows if he forgets anything he brings, you’d take note of someone being there. You might become hyper aware, you might find out it was him in the future. There are too many risks in that. So, he just brings himself, which should be enough.
Going outside was an experience as it always was for him. He always feels so out of place and so entirely alone when he walks near other people. Always wondering if they see him too much or not at all. Thankfully, your apartment is just across the street and it’s a quick trip to get inside of the building. He knew the security here is trash, after all, he’s watched this building door for so long by now, that even if he were to be stopped, he’d know how to get inside anyway. He sees the side doors, the ladder in the alley way, all of it. 
When he steps inside, part of him almost wants to turn back and purchase a small camera to hide in your apartment. He slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking of that sooner, but he’s already here so he might just have to take note of that for later. 
With a polite smile he nods to a single security guard and receives a stern nod back. His insides are crawling with energy at how easy this is, and he feels fucking giddy. As he works his way up, entering wrong floor after wrong floor, he finally lands his feet on your floor. He can tell because he double checks, and then triple checks by looking out of the big hallway windows and finding his own apartment straight across the way. 
He smiles wide at the apartment doors, noting the lack of code entry locks and finding simple turn-key locks. This is perfect, because he practiced a skill for this specific purpose. Lock-picking. He hopes it comes in handy as he pulls out his miniature tools. 
That practice did come in handy, and he smiles to himself with a near sob of happiness at the sound of what he presumed to be your apartment door unlocking. Intelligent, that’s what he is. 
He steps inside and instantly he is dizzy. He was right, he was fucking spot on. This is your apartment, and he can’t help but stand in the doorway frozen at the very thought that he fucking did it. He made it in and now your apartment is his for the next few hours if he so wishes.
The first thing he does is go to your window and gaze across the street. Seeing his own window from here felt surreal, thinking back to all of those nights he came undone to the thought of standing in this exact spot. His body reacts quickly to the space, twitching in his pants at the adrenaline he feels. 
If there is anywhere in the world he could be right now, this would be the exact spot. He hasn’t felt this excited in a long time, even compared to when he first saw you and his heart went from rotting to filling with love. It’s hard at this moment for him to turn around and look somewhere other than his view of that all-too-familiar window of his, but he manages. He’s slow to turn around, taking in each breath with intention, every glance burning into his memory. From the open curtains, to the open blinds just behind them, to the dull color of the paint on your walls. 
He smiles as he notes that your apartment is clean, almost obsessively so. It’s also much nicer compared to his own even when it was brand new. You seem to like candles, apple and sugar cookie scented candles. He can tell from the amount littered around the open living room and kitchen. The dull scent dragging his senses into euphoria. You also seem to like plants, you like shoes, you like plushies. 
He nods as he takes note of everything in your apartment before sauntering out of the living space and toward the hallway. There, he enters the bathroom first.
Clean still, save for a pile of dirty clothes thrown carelessly into the corner. Before he focuses too much on that pile of clothing though, he stares at your shower, taking note of the other scents you’re drawn to before trailing his fingers along the shower wall. Still damp from your morning shower, he presumes. He lets himself feel the sensation of the droplets soaking his fingertips, running it along several areas of the wall before pulling his hand back. He looks at his glistening fingers for a few moments, preparing himself for a new sensation as he places his fingers to his lips. Sucking in the remnants of your shower and humming. Then, ecstatic with the taste, it’s easy for him to balance himself against the wall and bring his face close to a few more unbothered droplets, licking them into his mouth and relishing in the feeling of the cold shower wall against his tongue. His cheeks dampen through the act, and even when he pulls back for a moment, he can’t bear to wipe away the condensation. 
It tastes like water, but it’s your water. And as he continues to suckle against the wall, he finally pulls back and places his fingers back into his mouth to suck off any last remaining droplets. His eyes now flick to that pile of laundry. Based on your cleanliness in the rest of the apartment, he assumes you’ll probably wash these later, which is a fucking waste. He confirms in his head the loss it would be not to take something, and so, he plans to. 
Fingers still in his mouth, he fumbles with his other hand to shove each piece of clothing up to his face, inhaling the scent of your sleep because these were clearly the pajamas he saw you wearing last night. The scent is dull but he swears he can smell your skin on this fabric and it’s enough to cause another twitch in his pants. His cock already growing heavy and sensitive in the confines of his pants. 
Finally, the pair of panties. Worn, crumpled on the floor in a presentation too beautiful to resist. He drops your shorts carelessly to grab at them, his fingers leaving his mouth just to smear across the seat of the garments before instantly he’s sighing out in a soft moan. Nuzzling his lips and nose into them, inhaling for an even longer time compared to the other articles of clothing. It’s as if he’s inhaling a deep hit from a blunt, the scent making him dizzy and entirely hot in the face. He could cry, honestly, as he dips his tongue out just for a moment to taste. Heightening his sensations of you. It was euphoric feeling them in his hand, against his face, in his mouth. Even more so with the scent of them, worn from the day and clearly needing a wash. It was relieving to him in some way, fondling the panties seems to push him further from the reality he’s in, sending his mind into colorful image after image of what these must have looked like clinging to your pussy. 
He’s quick to stuff them into his pocket after he gets his fill, forgetting only for a moment that there’s more to explore and that he can’t just sit here all day and jerk off to a single pair of panties. He’s sure you have more for him somewhere. And with that, he moves his eyes to your bathroom counter. 
Gazing at your toothbrush momentarily, he fights off the idea of taking that too. Ultimately deciding that you’d definitely think something was off if that went missing.This doesn’t prevent him from touching though, as he reaches forward and runs his fingers along the bristles. Just as suspected, it’s still damp too from your morning routine. The sensation of the bristles along his fingers is somehow more arousing than anything else right now, and it’s hard for him to hold back. His cock is now heavy in his pants, leaking against his zipper and begging to be let out. He holds back still though, even as he brings the toothbrush up to his lips much like your other items. He takes in a deep breath first before licking along the handle up to the bristles. Still tastes like toothpaste, and the taste is far too overpowering to be able to taste you. Still, his hips lunge forward against the counter as he tastes another part of you. 
He stays like that for a while, hips pressing forward every few seconds in search of the friction his zipper offers, and your toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he rummages around your drawers and cabinets. 
By the time he has searched every inch of your bathroom, he finally places your toothbrush back into its place and stares at it for a moment longer. If you continue to use it, it’s like you’re kissing him. He hopes you like it as much as he does. And just like that, his interest in the bathroom is gone. Excitement bubbles up yet again, knowing that he still has more of your space to explore for his own pleasure. He adjusts his length in his pants and sighs with a dazed smile and leaves the bathroom almost exactly as you left it.
Quietly, he goes further down the hallway. There's only one other room and he just knows that it’s your bedroom, that much is clear. You always keep these blinds closed but sometimes he can see your shadow when you turn on your light at night. This is where he wants to be right now, and upon opening that door, he’s immediately hit with another new scent. Home. 
He doesn’t waste his time indulging himself here, throwing himself forward onto your bed, face down, and instantly groaning at the feeling of his sore cock hitting your mattress under his own weight. By this point, it’s weeping with pre-cum and staining his jeans with a large dampened spot. The feeling is so much to handle as he lays there trying to breathe through the raw feeling of how badly he wants to fuck something. How badly he wants to fuck you. 
He laughs to himself in the bliss of your scent as he tears up, gripping your duvet and covering his face with it. He breathes heavily as his gleefully aroused tears begin to soak into the fabric. Then, because of course he would, he gags himself by stuffing that very same duvet past his lips. He closes his eyes now, imagining that you let him in, you’re here with him, you’re here under him. The scent of apples and cookies would be drenching the air, your panties would be wet and begging to be off of you. Fuck, he wants to consume these sheets the same way he wants to consume you. 
Immediately, he sucks on the fabric with a lift to the corner of his lips, smiling as he tastes the closest thing in this apartment to your body save for the panties in his pocket. He feels like he’s floating right now, and he would be a fool to hold off any longer. He wants to have his way here, hoping that you don’t notice the stains he plans to leave behind. Hoping you sleep on them, hoping you sit your bare pussy against the same spot he intends to fuck as hard as he would fuck you. 
He slides a hand down between his body and the mattress and dips into his pants with a visible shiver, finally offering himself relief. Long and slender fingers making their way around his length and instantly he’s unable to keep quiet. His eyebrows lift in relief at the feeling, rubbing his tongue raw against your duvet with his muffled moans, writhing wildly as he begins to fuck forward. His ears are ringing, his finger tips are burning against his own arousal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so fucking happy in his life than he is right now. 
As he continues, his wrist is being rubbed raw much like the head of his cock and his tongue. So many sensations come from the fabric you provide and, god, he loves it. He can’t help it when he aggressively shoves his pants down, allowing his pre-cum to spurt out of him, instantly staining your sheets and causing him to pick up the pace. Fucking against his hand and humping with no real rhythm. 
His moans come out in short, muffled whimpers. Your blanket in his mouth makes the sound more pathetic than it already would have been, but he loves the way the sounds echo off of your walls. It’s like he was meant to be in this room doing this. Like this is the only room he should be intimate in, whether it be with himself or you. He wants to moan like this not just because of you but, for you. He wants you to play with him, he wants you to fucking destroy him, mocking his overly sensitive cock until he’s crying. 
His mind is spinning as he fucks forward with these images in his head, the scent of you only drives him further and further from the reality at hand. He sobs only a little when he pushes the duvet out of his mouth, quickly replacing that with your pillow. He buries his face into it so hard that he nearly can’t breathe. The lack of oxygen hitting him second by second until he’s gasping for the same warm air that’s being trapped by the plush pillow, his orgasm bubbles up quickly with each jerk of his body. 
Faster and faster he fucks into his palm, paying no mind to the burn on the under side of his cock that repeatedly rubs against the sheets. His muffled breath now comes out in short cries of laughter as he feels his release approaching. He chases it aggressively, violently. He wants his cock to fucking ache for you.
And it does, a mixture of searing heat and release hitting him all at once. He can’t breathe as his body stutters against your sheets, his pathetic cock continuously releasing a greedy amount just for you to sleep soundly in later. 
Then he just lays there, feeling every last drop leave him and make a home within your sheets and mattress. All he can do is grin as he tries to catch his breath, rolling over and feeling his already-spent cock pulse at the cold air that hits it. He lifts his head to look down at it, noting how red it is even as it softens up. Again, he’s floating right now. He can’t believe he managed to get inside, he can’t believe he has your panties, he can’t believe he’s even tasted you. 
Through his blissed out state, his eyes begin to travel around your room as he comes down from his high. Heart pounding still, he realizes he didn’t comprehend a single corner of this room the second he saw your bed. It was like he cared about nothing, it was like he died and went to heaven, and he wouldn’t have it any other way save for you being on this bed with him. 
Then, his eyes land on your dresser and he’s careful when he stands up to balance himself, tucking his length half back into his pants and wincing at the sensitivity. Jackpot. Jake’s attention is solely focused on your dresser now, wobbling over and trying to pretend that his body isn’t still shaking from his recent orgasm.
He’s in a world of euphoria again, immediately after having gotten off so quickly within the sheets of your bed, and now as he rifles through your panty drawer, his sensitive cock is twitching with embarrassing interest. He laughs at himself and the way he could probably fuck you repeatedly for hours at this point. Never has he been so ready to come again a mere minute and a half after already having done it once. He holds off though, pocketing a few more pairs of your panties before turning his attention to your closet.
There, he notes the fashion you like, the shoes you have hidden probably for nights out, and…oh. 
Sex toys. 
He glares at them for a moment, wondering if you only have these because you’ve yet to realize how badly you’d want him to do it for you. This leads him to believe that you must be desperate for touch, for love, and surely he could make you feel better than a piece of soft rubber, surely you wouldn’t need these if you have him, right? 
He grabs one with a huff and inspects it for use. Upon realizing this has been well loved by you, he removes the batteries and pockets those too, solely because he refuses any competition when it comes to you. Another mental note to find any and every battery in this apartment so that this toy becomes useless to you and your pussy. After all, you’re his now and it’s only a matter of time before you realize it.
He shakes his head in disappointment at his findings before tossing the toy back into the space he found it and turning his attention to your desk. After all, he’s lost all interest in this closet simply for containing items that offer you pleasure. At least at your desk, he might find some deeper information about you.
And God, it’s like you knew he was going to be here. He smiles, his heart swelling at your kindness of leaving your journal right here in the open for him. Inside is a page bookmarked with what he assumes to be junk mail. 
There’s your full name though, glistening in the dark space of his brain that was dying to be filled with information about you. He whispers it to himself, loving the way the tip of his tongue tingles at the act of saying it out loud for the first time. His heart flutters as he runs his fingers along the plastic window of the envelope, repeating your name several times, as if to conjure your spirit up right here, right now, to bask in his post-orgasm glory of love for you.
He’s almost got all of the information he needs with this simple envelope. He knows exactly where you live obviously, your full name, what you like, your favorite scents, and now all he needs is– 
He pauses as his eyes fall to the page marked in your journal, damn. It seems to be your most recent entry, and you really let it all out in these pages. His own ex-therapist suggested he start keeping journals too, but fuck no. That’s too much work for him. He doesn’t like giving himself that type of attention either, but thank god you keep one.
Your self written bible, with all the information in the world about you coming from your own hand, your own brain, is right here in the palm of his hand and it’s not hard for him to decide what to do with it. 
Just like that, an hour passes as he starts from the beginning and works through your thoughts starting from early last year. Right around the time his ex-girlfriend left him, the bitch. 
The deeper into this journal he goes, the more he learns. Intimate things, fucked up things. He almost laughs at your pain, how silly of you to love someone when he was here all along. You had your heart broken, met someone who fixed you, then he destroyed you even more than the first man. Silly you, choosing the wrong people and letting yourself be hurt enough to write about it. 
It’s not until he reads what your recent ex did to you that he starts to really feel something. Anger. So much fucking anger that a man touched you like that. He hurt you like that, then left you feeling torn apart and, as you wrote, “dead inside”. The anger is so strong as he grips your journal and nearly crumples the page. He wants to rip it out, to erase it from your life so you forget it ever even happened. You wouldn’t need to remember all of this if you’d let him in.
But he can’t just rip this page from your life, because you’d notice. These are your deepest secrets, surely you’d be on high alert if something like this were to go missing. So, he opts to read it again, and again, and again, searing it into his memory like a mantra of you and your life. A mantra of why you need him, and why the universe is putting you in front of him. 
Now, the further and further he reads, the pages are filled by this man who hurt you. He can practically smell the tears you shed when writing these shaky words. Detailing each painful touch, each emotion and moment of dissociation that happened to you during that time. There’s something about the way you write your pain that arouses him just as much as everything else you do. 
Perhaps it's the anger of you being taken advantage of in that way, or perhaps it’s because he’s reading each fine detail and wishing he was you, and you were the ex. He wants you to hurt him the way you’ve been hurt, the thought alone is enough to make him fall deeper, and harder in love with you. He wants to feel everything you’ve felt.
In his mind, you’re doing this to him. He wants you to hurt him that way so badly. He wants you to have him broken and crying, with all the power in the world because it’s what you deserve. Because of him, you will forget what happened to you. He will fix you, and you will break him. 
The more he reads, the more he fantasizes. It’s not your pain, it’s his now, except he would never tell you to stop. He’d be begging for more, more, more. In his head, yes, you’re on top of him and gagging him with your fingers so he can’t cry out. You’re the one hitting him and taking him for all he’s worth. You’re the one calling him dirty names and forcing a painful orgasm through his body.
The image in his head right now is so beautiful, and it’s all you. The man no longer exists in his thoughts as he stares down at your words, another flash of a smile crossing his lips as he snakes his hand down his pants for the second time, because this time he can’t resist it. The words appear more like an erotic novel rather than your own painful trauma. He finds it easy when he checks out of reality, each drag of his palm up his cock sending waves of warmth through his body with each new word he reads. 
He likes the way you write “fuck”, he loves the way you write, “I deserved better.” He adores you so much, he wants you to say those things to him. Even if he would never hurt you, he would be more than willing to let you hurt him, to let you be the aggressor, to ruin him and make him bleed. 
His fingers squeeze around his length harder as he feels his legs attempt to buckle. He allows himself to fall to his knees on your floor, gripping the journal like it’s his last life line in this world. 
His eyes shoot across the paper and he’s biting against his bottom lip so hard that he can taste the metallic flavor of blood as he takes in every pen stroke. That taste of blood only becomes more obvious to him when he begins to whine at his own grip against his cock. It’s not enough, and it will never be enough until you’re the one ruining him. He grips tighter, bouncing up on his knees to chase the feeling as he works himself up, only briefly losing the ability to read when he rolls his eyes back at the desperate feeling of needing you here with him to hold onto. His entire body is burning up, pulsing aggressively, and yet, still shivering at the cold and lonely air within your apartment. 
Then his eyes are right back down on your journal, his hips continuing to chase. He’s not alone, you’re here with him, you are surrounding him entirely right now. This is the air you breathe into, and the gasps he takes with the realization are deep and intentional as he swallows up the air in this room until it feels suffocating. 
“Part of me wishes I wanted it, It would have hurt less, I think.” You had written one day last week.
He groans at your boldness, poking his tongue to his cheek with a frustrated moan. 
“At least I left the city. Mom told me to change my number too, but I haven't done that yet. I hope he can never find me again.” 
Jake smiles with a clenched jaw, because that man won’t ever find you again. Not with him by your side. He will protect you, he will make damn sure that any man who wants you can’t have you. 
He edges himself for a bit this time, after having gotten off so quickly before. He wants this one to be drawn out, he wants it to fucking hurt, and it does already. His sensitive length is twitching against the pre-dampened denim it’s being restricted by, his knuckles are red and raw from hitting the zipper of his pants, and the inside of his lip is still bleeding. Finally, he skews his pants down just enough to let his length spring free. 
The suffocating air of your apartment wraps around him so beautifully, and once again he’s shivering and letting out a chuckle. It feels so good. It feels so much better when he’s here and not stuck in his apartment. It feels amazing reading your words of pain, putting himself in your position and wishing so much for you to take this frustration out on him. 
He edges, and edges. Fucking up, then strangling the base of his cock to prevent orgasm. God, it feels so hot, so good that it becomes harder each time he does it. Again and again, until the shadows of your curtains shift in position, until he feels like his head might explode, and that’s when he realizes he has been reading, sometimes the same page over and over again, for hours and at least an hour more fucking himself.
Surely you’ll be getting off from work soon, but he’s so close. He’s so, so, fucking close to you right now and he can’t bare to end it just yet. The images of your past burns in his gut, and despite being in your space, he truly is so far away. He cannot imagine your face up close, and only imagines the silhouette of you, the shape of you that he’s seen so many times before. Every image is from a street away, and still it’s so unfathomably arousing to think you could use him as your diary. You could whisper your painful little thoughts into his mouth and let him swallow them up, let him erase them from your life. 
Take this rage out on him. Hit him. Make him suffer the way you did, he would love that. Giving you such an outlet, and loving it more and more each time. 
He fucks up once, hard, and for the last time he squeezes against his weeping cock so tightly as if to prevent himself from releasing. His body can’t take it anymore though, he loses all control even through his tightened grip at the base of his cock. Still, he manages to focus his eyes down at your journal, placing it directly against the underside of his cock, and there, he lets go. Strings of white shooting out past the journal and onto your carpet, seeping in almost instantly as he lets out a long and choked out moan. Raspy and raw, he can barely recognize his own voice. 
The sweat on his brow drips down as he shakes through the most intense orgasm he thinks he’s ever had, vibrating moans coming out as pained whimpers as he continues to pump himself empty against the pages of your trauma. Then, he pulls your journal up to his lips in a last attempt to show how desperate he is at this moment. He closes it, licking up the spine of the book before dropping it to the floor in exhaustion.
His mind and body has never been so stimulated by another person. Despite you not even being in this room to physically do it for him, he feels as though he’s just professed a profound love for you and you accepted it. He’s left himself all over your space, marking you, marking his territory, swearing to his shaking soul that he will never let another person touch you. 
The only pain you should ever feel again is when your palms sting from swelling his skin before kissing it better. 
As he sits, coming back to himself, still trembling from pleasure and overwhelming adoration, his eyes scan further around your room and note all of the little trinkets of personality you like to show to yourself. 
A list of movies you’ve watched dangles, pinned on a cork board by your tv, and next to that is a list of movies you haven’t gotten to watch yet. On the other side of him is a bookshelf, containing a variety of novels, manga, magazines, cds, and even a few little figurines of characters that must bring you comfort. 
All of these things, the scents you like, the colors you like, the books, movies, shows, music. It burns into his memory the same way you did when he first saw you. 
It doesn’t matter that his body feels weak at this moment, his mind will never be calm when he’s thinking of you. These forms of entertainment are now his favorite things. His fingers struggle to pull out his phone, and struggle more to find his notes app. 
There, he stays for an hour more. Typing and retyping everything he can see, smell, and touch. Every single movie, every single music disk, every single manga, magazine, and book. He will love them as much as he loves you, and he will be the person you seem to need so badly in your life. 
And then, as he glances up to the tiny, bastard of a digital block on his phone, reality sets in. He needs to leave now.
Thankfully enough, you’re right on schedule as usual. He’s crossing the street to his own apartment when he catches the scent of you carried by the wind, and right there, he glances. For the first time seeing you a little closer than usual. 
He doesn’t know if you look happy, sad, or exhausted, all he knows is that you’re truly a feast for his eyes as he stares a few moments too long and you make eye contact with him.
Then….you smile. 
You smile at him, with a small wave as you walk through the building’s doors with not a clue in the world that the kind faced, handsome, stranger you just made eye contact with was worshiping the very air you breathe.
For him, that smile managed to ignite something else in him that he didn’t even know he had. Perhaps a feeling of confirmation? No, maybe it was validation? Either way, the pep in his step is at least an inch higher than it’s ever been as he makes his way up to his home, and finds himself right back at the window. 
He feels satisfied, happy, and maybe even a bit sleepy as he watches you from across the street. Standing where he just stood, disappearing to what he now knows is the bathroom. 
With all the new information, surely it won’t be the last or only time he’ll be in that room with or without you. Now, he can meet you as the best version of himself. The best version of the person you would love. 
Perhaps now, he can accidentally run into you enough times that you’ll have no choice but to face an introduction, and right then and there, he will be the perfect man for you. You’ll invite him in, you’ll share all of those secrets with him, and you will love him. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Buying a camera was easy, and setting it up against his window so that he never had to risk missing a single second with you was even easier. Especially because now he had studying to do. 
Movies, shows, music, books, all of it. He delved in for days, living the lives of other people through the media you seemed to love so much. Through all of it, he paid most attention to the romantic aspect of each bit of entertainment you seem to enjoy the most in your free time. 
He learns how these men kiss their significant others, he studies how they look at each other and express their emotions. In the music, he listens and anticipates that he can make you feel better than these songs do. In the books, even the horror related ones, he focuses on the emotional aspect and forces himself to learn these expressions. 
Love and hate aren’t the only two emotions he should be feeling, but they are for the most part. Save for things like jealousy, arousal, and entitlement. He needs to learn sympathy. Empathy, passion, contentedness, melancholy. There is a vast array of emotions he needs to master, and he can’t help but feel like that’ll just take far too long. 
As he is, he loves you. As you are, he loves you. You should love him the same, and you will love him the same. After all, he already loves the same movies, books, and music. What else could you possibly ask for from him, outside of a burning loyalty driven by passion? Outside of never laying a hand on you, nor letting another person within ten feet of you if you so much as blink at him lovingly?
It’s as if weeks passed when he started watching you through the recorded footage. Really though, it’s only been a week because he can still smell the scent of you on those dainty little panties each time he wraps them around his sore cock. They satisfy him plenty when he uses your other, cleaner garments that he took from your dresser against his lips. 
Each night since he was in your apartment, he’s fucked into these panties, remembering the taste of your shower water and toothpaste, and each night he grows more and more weary of when he can have more.
Still, these panties are getting him through this difficult period of down time, the anticipation that soon enough, you’ll smile at him again is enough to not jump for the opportunity to get back into your apartment just yet. Because soon, you’ll probably invite him in next time too, maybe even let him taste you rather than a simple remnant of you. 
Even your social media drives him to learn quicker. It’s private, of course, and all he has to go off of is that pixelated image of you, your interests, the burning images of your trauma, your name, age, address, and used panties. Sure, he’s satisfied for the time being but he knows for a fact that this “content” feeling will only continue to fade away and be replaced with the intense need to just fucking meet you. 
He knows you’re hiding from someone, and that someone just so happens to not be him. So, he’s the one man in the world you could ever hope to meet anyway. A protector, a lover, a fierce defender and an outlet for all of your pain. 
And oh, what great news is it that just a mere two days later that content feeling does, indeed, run out! Not only does he feel well equipped to be your forever soulmate, but when he looks at himself in the mirror, still fond of now trimming and taking care of himself, he’s gotta say that he plays the part well on both fronts. 
It’s another Saturday afternoon, this time he takes the time to sit by the window and watch the shadow of you through that closed bedroom curtain. He wonders how often you wash your sheets, or clean your carpet, or lose your batteries to your stupid fucking sex toys. 
Surely the remnants of him are still there, surely you’re used to his scent by now. You won’t be afraid when he steps out around the same time you do. You definitely won’t think it’s strange that he just so happens to be grocery shopping too, or that he’s needing the same ingredients you are needing. Maybe you’ll like it when he brushes his hand against yours when going for the same tomato. 
He’s confident, and he’s ready. That’s for sure. 
What he wasn’t ready for though, is how outgoing you are. 
Naturally, he smells you before he sees you. Hyper aware that every person on the street that isn’t you just ends up invisible to him anyway. He doesn’t intentionally walk into you, acting as if he’s going the opposite way. Except he does. 
The first touch of your body to his is nothing but a mere “accident”. The soft padding of your jacket collides with his hoodie, and still he swears he could feel the blood pumping through your veins at that moment. His entire body erupts in goosebumps at the first touch, he sighs out at the intentional mishap, not yet making eye contact with you. 
He falls back only slightly, raising his hands in defense and mock apology. Right there on the street, not even a block from the two buildings both of you call home. 
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even–” He goes to say, mind blanking the moment he does look at you, and you look back at him.
You’re right there. He can feel your energy hit him in the chest, as if that little collision was nothing less than a car hitting him at full speed. His breath is caught in his throat as he takes in your image up close for the first time. 
You look….frail. Not like a sickly-frail, but the kind of frail that only comes with emotional baggage. You look sleepy, with your cold cheeks and watering eyes from the icy wind hitting them. So badly does he want to grip you and pull you into his chest. He wants to hold you, he wants to keep you warm, he wants to kiss those shivering lips and hold those shaking hands. 
You’re a mere foot away from him and his heart is already exploding. Standing in awe, oblivious to the fact that he has lost his ability to control the situation upon looking at you, because now all he can think about is giving you everything in the world.
Then, you glance away from him and speak. 
“No, no.” You look to the ground after that brief eye contact and seem to shy away from the interaction. “I shouldn’t have been looking at my phone.” You continue to stare at the ground, gripping your bag close to you out of instinct rather than fear or anxiety. 
“Likewise.” Jake smiles, trying to refrain composure and softening his voice. Still, he burns the image of you into his corneas and memorizes the pitch of your voice. “Hey…” He adds, trailing off a bit and dipping his head to draw your eyes up to him in a friendly way. 
“I think I’ve seen you before, do you live around here?” 
You pause. He’s just a friendly stranger with a tender voice but the brief glimpse you had of him did seem familiar. 
“You seem kind of familiar too?” You question, easing your tense body and looking up at him with another smile, this time more awkward. Mostly because you definitely avoided his question. 
“Huh, small world.” He shrugs, offering little to no context to that statement before shifting the balance on his feet and stiffening at the harsh wind that picks up.
This is the moment in which any normal person would say their goodbyes, last apologies, and be on their way. Jake is too in love to comprehend what normal people would do though. 
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I forgot my wallet at home and was running back to grab it before the market gets packed with college kids trying to buy all of their weekend alcohol. I really didn’t mean to run into you like that.” 
God, he feels like a robot saying it. He did mean to run into you, and he didn’t forget his wallet. 
“Oh! I’m actually on my way to the store.” You admit, trying to appreciate his explanation and press the idea of forgiving and forgetting. “So you live close by then?” You add, feeling better asking him where he lives rather than stating your own place of residence. 
“Yeah, I live over there.” He points at the building across from yours, silently taking a step closer. 
The chill in the air is harsh, but the way you don’t move back from him is much softer and easier to swallow as a man on a mission. 
When you perk up at recognizing his apartment building, it’s very telling. Well, to him it is, but to anyone else he could assume they wouldn’t have picked up on that slight blink of surprise he caught. 
“Huh,” You state casually. “Well, I’m going to go pick up some groceries too. I walk this same way back, do you want me to spot you on your groceries as my own apology for not paying attention?”
Partially, you do this because you want to be alone, and upon meeting this man who is running the same errand as you, you think you may feel too awkward to go through your daily plan running into him again. Plus, he lives right across from you, and you find yourself not wanting him to know where you live. 
To him though, outgoing may be an understatement. You’re offering to not only shop for him, but to drop it off at the desk? You’re inviting yourself into his space?! 
“Don’t be silly, I’ll just run and grab my wallet and I’ll be right back out. I can help you carry your things. It’s not safe for a lady to be walking alone on a Saturday anyway.” He assures you, stiffening up his shoulders in the wind and smiling at you.
You don’t know how to reject his offer, as awkward as it is, and somehow as comforting as it is. Solely because he just confirmed your silent anxieties about being in this city alone. You do this walk to the market every weekend, and despite you slowly becoming accustomed to the area, you never truly feel safe doing it alone. 
Should you reject the offer and go back home? You have enough snacks to last you the night and you can just go to the market tomorrow. And even with those thoughts in your head, you wonder why you nod to him, and you wonder why you step back toward the building behind you and lean against it as if you’ll wait for him. 
You shiver at the wind as he nods to you and jogs to the very same building he pointed out before disappearing inside of it, and all you can do is internally panic at how pathetic you are. You should not be inviting this random man to walk with you, or to carry your things for you. He’s going to know where you live. What if your ex set this up? You wouldn’t put it past him for a second.
Then you think a little deeper…perhaps you’re comforted by this man’s calm and somewhat genuine kindness. You’re not amazing at reading people, clearly, but he seems to be kind. Still, you’re too afraid to tell another person “no” these days out of fear that they will be angry.
 You’re now hyper aware of your surroundings, wondering if the threat looms elsewhere, or if you just invited the threat to walk you to the supermarket. 
You have no choice but to take the chance though, with the way he mentioned that you shouldn’t be walking alone on a weekend. You’d be paranoid with or without a stranger escorting you, especially after returning home from work last week and swearing your apartment felt different. Your anxiety regarding your ex is at an all time high. 
Should you even want to reject this small situation of possible safety? It’s still known, to you at least, that your ex hasn’t been able to find you, nor has he texted or called you since your first week of living in this city. 
Finally, you decide to just try and relax. If you show your fear, perhaps this man will turn on a dime and take advantage like everyone tends to do with you. Even if you don’t remember leaving your apartment door unlocked last week, even if you don’t remember misplacing your batteries for a particular item in your closet.
You can’t just assume every new, kind, and handsome face is working with your ex. You can’t just let your fear continue to control your life. 
At least with this new face, and the security in your building being well aware of your safety concerns, you nor your personal space could be violated inside of your own home at the very least. 
Outside though? On the streets with dozens of others? The risk is high, and you aren’t even sure if you have the capability to run fast enough or react fast enough with the little safety keychain you keep in your hand, buried in your puffy jacket pocket. 
By this point, you’re more afraid to walk alone than you are to walk with this nameless man. Saying no to him would only result in another evening walk full of paranoia, then again, walking with him still brings a whole different type of paranoia. That is, until he comes running back up to you with that same warm smile, hands tucked into his hoodie, and the promise of some sort of protection at least for this grocery run. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“So,” Jake starts after several long minutes of walking with you in silence. “Do you always walk alone at night?”
You nod to him quietly, about to say something before he sighs and shakes his head.
“That’s brave. You must be new to this side of town because it’s not exactly the safest for you to just be wandering around by yourself.” 
It’s obvious to Jake that this is only a half truth, but he knows what you’re running from by being here and he can’t help but ensure future endeavors with you, even if just to have you need him each time you leave your apartment. He would gladly walk you to the moon and back if you so much as considered it an option. 
“Oh, really?” You respond with slight distress. “I moved here because of the safety ratings. I wasn’t aware that it was an actual concern outside of me just worrying too much.” 
He picks up on it. 
“Every city is dangerous if you think about it. You know where my building is if you need it though. Just let me know if you ever need someone to usher you back and forth.”
You scoff almost, laughing at the implication that you’d consider that an option. 
“Please, that would be so inconvenient and inconsiderate for me to do. Besides, I have this nifty little keychain!” You smile, trying to make light of the situation and the anxiety his words of your bravery are bringing to you. 
“That is pretty nifty,” He laughs, eyeing your keychain and watching you put it back into your pocket. “Can’t imagine that keychain would stop anyone though.” He adds with a light and casual tone, only because he knows that the keychain couldn’t stop him. “Plus, it’s not inconsiderate. I’m much more effective than that keychain of yours.”
There is a deep fear instilled in you at his words, ones that make you curl in on yourself internally. Maybe you really couldn’t protect yourself without someone next to you. You slow your pace for a moment and consider his words. Pepper spray, a seatbelt cutter, taser, and a pair of pointy claws won’t do a damn thing for you if you end up frozen on the spot at a threat. Which is something you know yourself to do when danger rises. Perhaps this stranger is right about that, and if he’s offering, maybe it won’t be so embarrassing to actually follow up on that, especially if he proves to simply be a kind and concerned neighbor. 
Then again, maybe he’s just being nice and doesn’t want you to genuinely expect that from him. 
“Can I know the name of the person willing to escort me to and fro?” You try to play it off as a joke with a sweet and calm tone to your voice, thankful that you’ve become an expert at hiding your fear by now, but he stutters in response. Stopping in his tracks and deadpan staring at you.
“Oh my god, how rude of me.” The same smile, the same soft voice, and now– and extended hand to you. “I’m Jake, and I fully expect you to require my assistance at any time, any day, when you feel it may not be safe for you to be out here alone.” 
“What the fuck?” You comment without full intent, reaching for his hand and gripping it in yours. 
It’s…delightfully warm. 
“Hm?” He perks up a brow. “What was that?”
“It’s like you can read my mind or something.” You laugh, now releasing his hand and feeling far more comfortable walking with him, and possibly accepting his offer. 
“I’ve been told that before, you know.” 
Good fucking lord, the feeling of you gripping his hand was something that could have sent him straight to an asylum. Cold hands, warm smile, a reluctant tone in your voice– he sees you size him up, and god, fuck, did he see you just accept him for all that he is at this moment. He broke past your first wall, he could see it in your eyes when they flickered for just a moment. 
“I bet you have.” You confirm for him, now giving him your name and looking up at him. The dim streetlights and remnants of the setting sun sure do put this moment on a pedestal in your head for some reason. 
Your first friend in this city. Surprisingly it’s a man, and even more surprisingly, he seems to be entirely in tune with every single anxiety you have about life right now without even fucking knowing it. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The immediate night after you willingly led a kind stranger to the front of your apartment building, seemingly right across the street from his own, was the moment you realized that for the first time in years, you really did feel safe. 
Jake, this new person who appeared out of thin air walking right into you and somehow, into your life as well, is safe. With the well-bleached hair peeking from his hoodie, tired eyes, and the blushed cold air on his face doing nothing more than highlighting his features, you didn’t want to admit the immediate attraction to him.
In fact, those feelings of instant attraction are what got you into that mess with your ex. It’s what you’re running from now, and what you were intending to avoid. It’s in your nature to want to be around an attractive person, sure, but is it so strange to lean in so quickly when said attractive person lives across the street and offers you convenient means to feel even safer? You’re not jumping into an immediate relationship or anything by feeling safe around him. You don’t know him well enough, but for some reason, all you need to know to satisfy you is that he’s not out to take from you. He didn’t seem to need or want more, even in those long moments of silence standing beside him in the supermarket.
If anything, Jake, himself, is a new safety measure you intend to use for yourself, even as a last resort. Not because his smile is charming, or his voice is soft. Definitely not because his fashion sense seems to be well thought out, and his clothes hang against his body as if he had a real life filter consistently maintaining that every angle of his face and body remains perfect. 
It’s because he offered it. Point. Blank. Period. You, unfortunately, are not in any position to deny that it’s what you need either. You know for a fact that your ex is still asking around for you and trying to figure out where you live. Not to get back together, but just to let you know that he’s around, and he always will be for as long as you live. 
So, Naturally, the days leading up to running into this man was a whirlwind of paranoia for you. Nothing that even your heavy doses of medication could calm, yet, he managed to do it on that simple fifteen minute walk to the grocery store, and that somehow quicker fifteen minute walk back home.
That happy shocked sigh he let out at learning you live right across from him, was weirdly comforting too. As if he was just as relieved as you were that he knew he could at least keep an eye on you if you needed him to. Like he would be willing to call you at three in the morning if he so much as saw suspicious activity outside of your building. Plus, you were debating at the time lying to him about where you live just to comfort yourself, and you’re glad you didn’t.
It caught your attention, and you find yourself longingly looking out of your window today, scanning the building across from you and wondering which one of those rooms would be the most safe for you. Your mother’s voice muffled through your phone as your eyes wander, and a smile forms at her words.
“Don’t you think it’s too soon to be putting your trust into a complete stranger? Honey, I don’t want to watch–”
“I know, Mom. Really, it’s not like that. I barely know the guy but don’t you think it’s a good thing that I have a neighbor now? One that’s willing to walk with me so I’m not alone out here?”
There’s silence on your mother’s end for a few moments before she sighs. 
“It does make me feel at ease, I admit,” She starts, sounding as if she’s going to cry. “I just want you to be careful. And– I want you to tell me things if anything were to happen. I don’t want you to keep anything from me anymore.” 
You sigh now, more in a defeated and sad way as your eyes trail down to the door of Jake’s building and notice him stepping out and heading down the street. 
“I won’t hide anything anymore. The last thing I want is to go through that again, but I’m healing. Really, every day feels a little better, a little safer.” You back up from your window and smile again, grabbing your coat and slipping on your shoes. “I gotta go though. I love you, Mom.” 
You don’t hang up until you hear her say it back, and then you’re out the door to catch up to him. Unsure of why you’re doing it, and ultimately choosing to ignore the fact that you were staring at his building. 
Jake, on the other hand, has been reeling for days. Though, more careful now when he watches you. He even moved his camera slightly, hiding it better since he’s caught you staring out the window at his building multiple times.
It’s confirmation that, at the very least, you think about him. 
“Hey!” 
At first, he thought that voice was his imagination like always. He ignores it, relishing in how well he managed to remember that little rasp you have sometimes when the wind blows like this. Given, he’s only walked with you once to and from the grocery store, the weather was much the same, and your voice cracked a few times in your words to him. 
“Jake, Wait up!” 
He hears it closer now, followed by the sound of foot steps and….fuck. It’s you. You’re really running after him as he makes his way to the local mall, all to buy the next book on his list from your bedroom. 
“Hey?!” He turns to you, unable to control his glee at the turn of events. 
For once, after all this time of him watching you, you’re approaching him without prompting and it only took one official meeting. 
So naive. You do need protection. 
“What’re you doing here looking so warm?” Jake adds, outstretching his arms and watching you pause at the invitation for a hug. “Too soon?” He lets his arms fall before stuffing his hands back in his pocket. 
You panic only for a moment, realizing you definitely need an excuse to be chasing him down like this solely because you crave that short instance of safety he offered you once before. Sadly, you have no excuse. You had nowhere to be today, nor any plans to leave your apartment at all and yet, here you are, avoiding his hug and yet still wanting to stand in front of him.
“Oh,” You instantly come up with a lie. “I was running out to the market again because I forgot to buy something.” 
Jake perks up even more at the idea that he could walk you to and from the market, and possibly even offer that you come with him to the mall. Maybe this is the perfect time to bring up the book you’ve already read, that he, apparently, so desperately wants to read too.
“What did you forget?” He asks playfully, noting in his head that maybe you’re a forgetful person. Which is kind of cute. 
“Uh–” You pause, breaking eye contact and blurting out a random item. “Milk.”
Well, that was a lie and he definitely knows it. He carried that jug of milk that was not forgotten back to your apartment for you. In fact, he hadn’t worked out his arms in a while due to his focus on his abs and stomach that he even felt a little sore due to how long he was carrying it, all while the wind was freezing his fingers to ice for you. 
“Ah, should we go grab you some milk then?”
You don’t think twice before you nod, sighing in relief that the lie was taken at face value and not realizing for a moment that you just impeded on whatever plan he had prior to you interrupting him. 
“Okay, can we stop somewhere else first? If you want?” He eases into the question, studying your expression and loving every moment of it. Craving to be close to you, even just to stare. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I can always just grab milk on my way home and drop it.”
Oh, you were being rude. Only now realizing how you eagerly transformed his errand into your errand. 
“My god, I’m sorry. You’re clearly busy today, it’s okay. I can grab milk later!” You say in a rushed huff, already backing away and trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment. 
You really do cling. Your ex was right about that, and it makes you uncomfortable.
“Wait, no!” He panics, fumbling in a step toward you to close the distance again, feeling far too uncomfortable with how you step away from him. “I’m just headed to the mall real quick to grab a book I’ve been wanting to read. Just a quick in and out, then we can grab your milk. I’ve been wanting to see you again anyway!” 
Jake thinks that may have been too forward for any normal person to say outright, but it’s true. He so desperately wanted to see you again. Up close. He needed to see you again. 
You pause your step, turning back to face him and unintentionally scanning his outfit that day. He’s somehow even more handsome than he was the night you met him, nose slightly red from the cold weather and shoulders stiffened as if he’s trying to hide from the open wind. 
He takes intense note of the way your eyes scan him, and there is an unintentional twitch in his pants at the way you don’t grimace at him. He knew you wouldn’t, after all, he does all of this for you. He’s clean shaved and dressing better because of you. 
“Book? What book?” You ask delightfully, being an avid reader yourself. Of course you’re interested in connecting on a level that isn’t just safety with him. 
“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it but it’s called ‘[redacted]’.” He side eyes only slightly at the anticipated response from you. It was…a bit different than he expected.
You laugh at him. Genuinely, you’re laughing at him, with a snort and all. A laugh that he would argue is cute if it weren’t for the fact that he feels like this could be the first time he fucks up with you. He doesn’t want you to laugh at him for reading this book. He wants you to love that he wants to read it. Its one you wrote on your list, why are you laughing?
“Wait, you’re serious?” You deadpan, standing stiff and shocked. “Even I wouldn’t admit to having already read that very book…” Your eyes trail off before you smile. 
You sense that he’s gone rigid not from the weather, but from your mocking and you lighten up instantly. 
“I just didn’t expect to meet such a handsome guy who reads about a woman who…well, you know.” 
It’s like you could do no wrong as Jake’s eyes tune into yours and you see a sense of sparkle in them. You’d never understand how that simple, off-hand compliment to him is making his heart spiral up, down, and all over behind his ribcage. 
Physically, he can feel his body react to you addressing him as handsome. As if he doesn’t react the same way any time you look at him, or speak to him, or come near him at all. You think he’s handsome. You just admitted it, and he can’t help but already feel high, like he’s on top of the world over it. You must like to look at him, much like how he loves to watch you.
Still, he knows he needs to play it cool despite how in love with you he is right now. You’re the one who seems eager, which means he’s done his part for now, and your chase for him is just beginning. If he comments on your compliment, you’d think of him as too eager. Too ready. As if he had some underlying reason to continue speaking with you. 
Plus, Jake actually has no idea what the book is about, but he was very willing to find out today when he got home. You, however, seem to be keen on discussing it.
“Know what? I only want to read it because it was recommended to me by someone.” He lies.
Your face falters. 
“Oh, was this someone a girl?” You don’t look up, nor do you realize that the two of you have started walking toward the mall regardless of the insecure conversation at hand. 
“Ah, well, maybe.” Jake chuckles. 
He’s in love with you, he’s so in love with that disappointed sound in your voice when you asked him that. He could even, perhaps, sense a bit of jealousy. So soon too? Already? He knew he was right, he was made for you and he couldn’t be happier knowing that you’re picking up on it. 
“A girlfriend?” You pry unintentionally, noting how that book is generally geared toward a female audience who would only ever read a few passages to a man if they were, well, into that sort of dynamic. 
“Why do you ask?” Jake encourages you to boost his ego even more, unable to stop himself from smiling. 
“The book is about a woman who kind of, kills men and eats them, among…other things.”
Oh, wow. He loves you so much right now, even if you spoiled the story for him. 
“Interesting. What makes you think my girlfriend would ask me to read that?” 
“It certainly wouldn’t be a brother or best dude friend recommending it to you, let’s be real.” 
Jake raises his hands in mock defense, ready to see if this makes you like him even more.
“Alright, I’ll admit. I knew what it was about–” He’s lying. “No one actually recommended it to me, I just didn’t expect you to have already read the book, nor did I expect to have to explain myself why I want to read it.” 
“Explain away, Jakey, we got a bit of a walk ahead.”
A nickname?! Already? You're entirely naive and in need of him being beside you. God, what would have happened if some other cunning liar appeared to walk into you and offer to escort you back and forth? You would have swooned the same fucking way! Anyone with eyes can see that you’re flirting, and anyone with a dick can see that he’s eating it up faster than you’re able to put it out for him. 
Regardless of if you seem too quick to trust, he’s proud that it’s him who got to you first, because now no one else will ever get the chance to even consider it. 
“Oh, I’ve got a nickname now? That must mean you like me.” He offers you a sort of drunken dopey smile, only because he feels drunk. Like a lost puppy just invited into a warm and caring pair of arms, really. 
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re the one going to fulfill your fantasies about–” You try to joke as if he’s one of your best friends from highschool. You remember when you were able to freely have a sense of humor, but before you can finish your joke, you pause, realizing that despite mocking the book and his interest in it, you still don’t know him on a level to do this. Nor should you have given him a nickname so soon. God, how stupid could you be? “Nevermind, I actually have the book if you want to borrow it.” 
You have issues getting too close, too fast. You’re already clinging, watching his building without full intention, and chasing after him down the street simply to speak to him. You don’t know where this feeling inside of you comes from but you can argue that it’s solely due to the comfort he brings to you. You don’t know anyone else in this fucking city save for a few co-workers. When you moved here, you promised that you’d keep to yourself until you heal and feel safe on your own again.
Yet, here you are. Clinging to the handsome man who lives across the street. Clinging to a fucking man. Again.
And you know, even though the two of you are already halfway to the mall by now, he doesn’t mind that you didn’t bring up borrowing the book until now. He was prepared to buy it, and even more prepared to see where your eye wandered just to learn about more of your interests within the rows of books.
“Really?” He smiles and tilts his head at you, turning both of you around with a gentle touch to your arm, very nearly wanting to snake his hand into your pocket and hold your fingers against his. “That’s great, let’s go get you some milk then!” 
And you know, when he waited in the lobby of your apartment, you almost invited him upstairs to your actual space. You didn’t though. And when you handed him the book, and he handed you that milk, only then did you realize that one of the jugs of milk in your possession will have to spoil…and it sure as fuck won’t be the one he just handed to you.
Why? Because you create silly little attachments to the rare moments in your life when you’re happy. This jug of milk is a representation of a lie he accepted, as well as him accepting you and your silly ways of making it through the day. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The panties. 
The scent is dull as he reads and rereads passages of a book that many would consider improper for anyone to even write, let alone publish. Every victim is him, and everyone, everything else is you. 
It’s hard not to be aroused when you so readily invited yourself to be around him that day. Even now having your number, the self control he needs to not frantically text you that he’s in love with you is eating him from the inside out. 
The panties. Still offering the most private part of you but no longer being enough. The camera, offering glimpses of your alone time within a space you don’t quite realize has been shared with him. The taste of your shower wall, your toothbrush, the smell of your clothes, the softness of your sheets, and the trauma within your written words— none of it is enough anymore.
And now, the book, offering plenty to the imagination, turning the pages as if he were playing with your skin, still not enough to satiate him any longer. Nothing could ever satiate the need within him to love you to his full extent or to have you love him back. Especially after having already met you, after feeling your hand against his in that brief handshake, after hearing your sweet voice say words for him to hear and him alone. 
Has he not waited long enough for more? He’s seen you up close and personal, he knows all of your interests that you display, he knows your voice, knows your footsteps— still, he can’t get the feeling out of his mind. What it felt like to stand in the spot within your apartment that ultimately led to his even deeper love for you. His confirmation that he loves you, even.
And now? Texting is easy when he feels this desperate to get to you again. He doesn’t care to be overwhelming to you because he is overwhelmed. You’re the one who approached him last time too, so if anything, the universe is on his side and he fucking knows it. He can feel it in the air with each little breeze that flows past that little crack in his window. He can smell your shampoo with each cold gust of wintery air, and see your reflection in each little snowflake that falls. 
He wants you to chase him again, so bad. Only so that he knows he can chase you harder now.
Jake: hey so i read the book, are you free today?
The way you immediately respond is telling.
You: what did you think? insane story, right?
Jake: not sure if you wanna have this conversation over text…
You: it’s ok, i figured you had some freaky fantasies if you wanted to read that, im not gonna blackmail you or anything
Jake smiles, he’d let you blackmail him any day of the week.
Jake: hmmm what does that say about you then?
You: anyway, im a bit busy today but maybe we can catch up tomorrow? 
No, no no. Tomorrow is centuries away. He knows you’re home, he can fucking see you over there, he can smell you, he can sense you. Not to mention, he’s not an idiot, he can see the way you avoid certain conversations and steer the direction despite making the same joke yourself. 
Silly, silly girl, thinking he can’t read you. If anything, he’d think by now that if you’re really so afraid of the world, or him, or anyone else, you’d have closed those fucking blinds by now. You haven’t though, have you? 
Maybe you know people watch you. Maybe you love it, hoping that he’s the one doing it. Maybe you’re some sort of exhibitionist. Maybe that’s the reason you read that fucking book. Maybe that’s why you were trapped in your relationship before.
There has to be a reason for it at the end of the day, and he hopes that it’s him. You love his jokes, and your avoidance is only further proof that he’s breaking past your little sad and pathetically thin walls. You’d probably love to know he watches you, that he protects you even when you don’t think he’s around. 
And yet, you’re busy today? 
Guess he will be busy too, then, as he stands to his feet and begins to dress himself while texting you.
Jake: Oh, you’re busy? That sucks, i guess i’ll find somethin else to do today then
You: I know :( ill make it up to you soon, promise! 
The buzzing in his brain and need for you is too strong to stay away. That little promise means the world to him, especially because you’ll be making it up to him sooner than you anticipate. You can be busy all you want, but that’s not to say he can’t accidentally end up at the same place as you, right?
Besides, what if your ex comes around? What if some guy gives you unwanted attention and there’s no one there to defend you? After all, his body reacts with euphoria each time he has gotten the chance to be with you, and he craves that feeling once again. You’re going to give it to him, not anyone else.
Jake: alright, be safe today...
You: always am! 
Jake: text me when you make it home safe
You freeze as you read his words, feeling something in your stomach flip. You can’t tell if it’s butterflies or anxiety. Still, you find yourself smiling and your face feeling a bit fuzzy.
He wants you to be safe. That’s more than you could ever ask from someone, because god knows you’ve always managed to find yourself in the most unsafe situations with very little effort. 
You: ok!!! ill text you when i get home so you know I didn’t get run over or something
Jake: it’s more just to make sure someone doesnt kidnap and take advantage of you lol
You freeze again, this time fully aware of the anxiety in your belly. 
Jake: pretty girls like you gotta be more careful, so don’t stay out too late or ill worry
For a second, you almost wanted to cancel your plans. For just a second, you felt good today. You felt safer than usual. 
You: i’ll come home before sundown….thanks
Jake smiles, hoping you recognize the risk you put yourself in each time you leave your apartment without him beside you. Thankfully though, you will never be without him again if he can stand it. 
Besides, you suck at safety. Following you around is far too easy, and popping up when you least expect it is even easier. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Spotted you. 
There you are, with that same puffy jacket he’s grown used to seeing you in considering he only ever really gets to see you outside and on a cold day. In that puffy jacket, you’re walking into a local coffee shop and his eyes sharpen at the image of you through the window. 
The barista takes your order with too much interest, in his opinion. He can see you not take notice on how everyone in this city wants to take you from him. He wants you to notice so bad, he wants you to only want his eyes on you, and to only want his voice in your ear. 
He breathes in the icy air, bottom lip shivering only a little bit at the idea that other people look at you the same way he does, even more so the fact that you might be here to meet someone that isn’t him. You might have friends, and he knows better than anyone that you do not need friends. They’re always out to get you anyway, you should be here with him, not someone else. 
He breathes a sigh of relief followed by a heavy shiver when he sees you take a seat alone, and he dips away slightly when you glance out of the window as if you’re trying to be aware of your surroundings. 
With him around, you don’t need to pay attention to the things around you, he’s hyper aware for you. He could tell your coffee was finished before your name was even called to alert you. 
Honestly, he’s so hyper aware of each person who walks into that coffee shop after you. He sets themself up for failure in his head. Each person gets a stare of daggers, because what if they’re here to meet you? What if you’re trying to make friends? What if you’re trying to date? After all, this little errand must be important to you considering you told him you were too busy to see him.
His eyes continue to fall back on the barista though, staring at the line of sight this man offers to you every few moments. As if he wants to catch you looking at him too, as if he wants you to give him a reason to talk to you, as if he is a better option than Jake himself could be. 
There is a hate within him at this moment as he seethes outside of the cafe window, staring down his competition. He almost completely forgot to look at you until he felt a rush of air push past him and he notes two people walking into the cafe now. 
As he comes back to reality and leaves his little realm of hate for the handsome barista at the counter, his worst nightmares are confirmed. Not only a woman walks in and takes a seat at your table, but a man too. You hug them. You hug him.
Why is everyone all over his girl today? His heart drops. His quivering bottom lip intensifies with the wind, the temperature mimicking the feeling in his heart as he watches you touch other people, and spend time with them. He really, really, needs to know who these people are and why they’re close enough to hug you like that. 
He pats his chest through his hoodie with a breath in an attempt to rid himself of the stress weighing on him, and then straightens out his back before taking one last deep breath and making his way inside of the cafe, straight up to the counter.
There, he tries to balance his breathing as he makes eye contact with the very same barista that keeps pushing dangerously close to a boundary line. His name tag states the name “Jay”, and Jake can’t help but grimace and roll his eyes at how similar their names are. 
He grimaces more at hearing the man speak to him, as if he has all the right in the world to exist on the other side of that counter after staring at you the way he did. 
“Sir? Can I–” The barista repeats himself for a third time, feeling small under the gaze of the customer in front of him. 
“Just a shot of espresso.” Jake dead-pans, still glaring at the man. 
The barista nods awkwardly, shifting his eyes to you on instinct now that he’s done it probably a million times since you’ve walked in. He’s noticed you for weeks, he can’t help it. 
Jake, on the other hand lets out a deep and angry sigh from his nose as he tosses his card onto the counter, clearing his throat at the barista. 
“You seem to have an eye for girls.” Jake lightens up, holding up the short line of one person behind him. 
“Oh–” The barista laughs shyly, “am I that obvious?” he adds, dipping his head down as he slides the card through the machine and turns the screen back to his customer. 
“Unfortunately.” Jake narrows his eyes at him, intentionally and violently clicking the number 0 for this asshole’s tip. “and I’d suggest you contain yourself, because that’s my girlfriend you’re drooling over.” 
And then he walks away, ignoring the way the presumed “Jay” looks at him in embarrassment. He can tell he wants to apologize, and rightfully so. Jake does deserve an apology for how shameless this idiot was, but he doesn’t let him as he makes his way down the counter leans against it with his palms, facing away from you and pretending he can’t sense your warmth from here. 
And then he starts counting in his head. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven…..Thirteen….Twenty si-
“Jake?” 
His heart immediately swells at the way you’d recognize him anywhere, even if he’s facing away from you and he makes sure to make eye contact with the barista when they both perk up at your voice calling out a name. He watches the confirmation in Jay’s eyes click, the confirmation that he is never to look at you again. 
And still, Jake’s heart swells even more in this instance because he could recognize you too, even if you’re faced away from him. Still, he has to keep his cool. One, to make sure he doesn’t appear too eager to see you, as if he definitely followed you here. Two, so the barista doesn’t see his lie. And three, so he doesn’t snap right here, right now over the fact that you hugged someone that isn’t him. Two someones that aren’t him.
 He doesn’t want to interrogate you so immediately, he wants you to give him the answers yourself as to who these people are. 
He pretends to not hear you as he stands facing away from you and grabbing his espresso from the barista who avoids eye contact.
Jake gives a small and fake nod to the barista, as if to show you that he didn’t say anything out of pocket to him. As if to show you that he definitely didn’t just claim you as his girlfriend so the freak behind the counter doesn’t try anything with you.
Then he turns to eye the room, looking for an empty seat, avoiding the corner where you’re blatantly staring at him.
“Jake!” You wave your hands to get his attention, standing up half way as if to stand out from the crowd of puffy jackets and warmed cheeks. 
His eyes land on you, where they rightfully belong and he notes the smile on your face upon seeing him.
Oh, so you did want to see him today. You didn’t smile like that at the barista, or to the people in front of you. There’s another confirmation within him in reaction to this, that soon enough, what he said to the barista won’t be a lie. In fact, it gives him the confidence to push for it now more than ever. 
He raises a brow in mock-surprise to see you before shooting you a half wave, moving his eyes to other areas as if to imply he doesn’t want to intrude. As if to say he isn’t here with you intentionally. 
And then you wave again, raising your voice a bit and saying his name yet again. His eyes land back on you, and the way you pat the seat next to you.
Perfect. Yes, invite him. Prove to everyone who you belong to. Prove who it is you want to see right now, who you want to sit by, who you want to look at. And then, tell him who the fuck these people are. Explain why you hugged them, and why they’re somehow more important than he is.
As he heads over, bowing politely to the man and woman sitting across from you, he seats himself next you to closely. So close that he can feel the friction of your jacket against his hoodie, and immediately his skin is raised in goosebumps as he looks at you and your bright eyes. 
He wants to lay claim to you so badly. He wants everyone to know that you are his, and he is yours. 
“Such a huge city and still we manage to run into each other–” Jake chuckles playfully, looking at you with a soft and gentle smile before glancing at these strangers across from him. “If we keep meeting like this I might just have to ask you on a date.” 
He says it like it’s final, like he’s laying that claim he wants so badly. As he says it, he looks the man that you’re with dead in the eye with exuding charm and confidence. Still, the way you shift awkwardly next to him doesn’t go unnoticed as he turns back to you and takes a sip of his drink. 
“Would that be something you’d be interested in?” He whispers gleefully to you, saying it as if it’s a joke because the people across from him lend you both a smile and a laugh at his blatant and forward words. 
“Jake, this is my mom.” You finally speak out to avoid his question, watching him attach his lips to the hot cup of espresso he ordered, as if to only breathe in the warmth of it. “And this is my uncle.”
Jake immediately stands and bows politely. He appears panicked, embarrassed, to everyone else in the room. He’s not though. Not at all. He is relieved to know that now is his chance to make some sort of impression, now is when he should show his best side. All worry of who these people in front of you are is thrown out the window for the time being, actually. He feels like he’s on top of the world, killing two birds with one stone almost. Or three, if you count Jay. 
If he can get your family to like him the same way he got you to like him, maybe you’d be more inclined to circle back around to his half-joke of taking you on a date. 
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He stutters, not looking the two in the eyes. “I must have sounded so rude just now, I didn’t mean to intrude–” He continued, only to be cut off by your mother. 
“Don’t mind us, Jake, is it?” She says kindly, glancing to you and then back at Jake. “You must be the boy with the pretty smile who she mentioned the other day.”
Jake does take note of your mother’s reluctance to accept him immediately, and given your past, he guesses that would make sense. Her kind words and smile does not match her eyes when she speaks to him initially, but he’s going to change that now.
Besides, his heart just grew four sizes bigger at your mother outing you to him. You said you like his smile? You said it’s pretty? Fuck, he’ll show you pretty. 
“I can only hope so.” He responds, turning to you and smiling even bigger, noting the way you curl in on yourself in discomfort at the awkward situation. “Always so shy, don’t worry, I think your smile is even prettier.” 
And then Jake trails his eyes to your uncle, proud of the way he felt you shiver at his words.
The man simply judges him, then looks at you with a raised brow. 
“Jake helped me carry my groceries, he lives across the street from me.” You say, feeling stupid and small in the way your mother just fucking embarrassed you in front of the only person you like being around in this city. Still, that judgment from your uncle is called for, you think, and you’ve got to calm his worry for you somehow. 
“Couldn’t just let her carry all that back herself, afterall.” Jake shrugs. “I was raised to know better.” 
Both your mother and uncle nod, going silent for a few moments. 
Then, as if Jake isn’t even here, your mother prompts the conversation that the three of you must have been having before Jake came over. 
“So, have you decided yet?” Your mother asks with no context for Jake to pick up on. 
“Yeah, actually–” You look down, then slightly press your leg against him from under the table. 
As much as you’d prefer this rather telling conversation not to happen in front of Jake, you reluctantly speak in a way that gives little to no context. 
His heart explodes at that simple touch though, ears going deaf from any words you’re saying anyway, and he very nearly shoves his hand under the table to place upon that very same leg. 
Somehow, he holds back, his hand shaking inches above your leg before forcing it back into his own hoodie pocket. 
“I’d like to stay here.” You say confidently now, looking at both your mother and uncle. 
Your mother nods with a smile, your uncle following her reaction. 
“I think I feel safe enough for now.” 
Jake wants so bad to confirm that you’re safe with him, despite knowing exactly what you’re talking about within an instant when he definitely shouldn’t know. 
“Well, you know there’s always a room at home for you if you need to come back–” Your mother seems reluctant to say too much, looking over to Jake with a smile that becomes more genuine. “Keep an eye on her, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
He knows you’d appreciate it and he has gone above and beyond in terms of keeping an eye on you. It’s like, he’s fucking perfect for you. 
Jake nods to her. 
“I’ll do my best.” Jake smiles, now shifting his body up and standing back to his feet. “Well, I’ll leave you guys alone.” He continues, now looking at you. “Text me when you get home safe.” 
And as he walks away with a triumphant and hidden smile, your mother immediately smiles at you in the same way. Seemingly lightening up about Jake as a whole, briefly anyway. 
“Text him when you get home safe, huh?” Your mother pries, kicking you gently under the table and watching you squirm and release the blushing mess that you’ve tried to hold within you for the past few minutes. 
“Ah, yeah, um–” You try to speak, unable to explain the safe feeling you feel around Jake. You’re not sure if it’s a crush, or if it’s just you taking advantage of someone who is being kind. “He’s kind of already been watching out for me, so that's partially why I’m choosing to stay here.”
Your mother nods.
“I can admit that he’s cute–” 
You nod to yourself at those words before your uncle interrupts.
“And polite.” he adds, sipping his strong coffee and offering a look of possible approval.
You dead-pan stare at both of them, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. 
“He likes you.” Your mother continues shortly, looking away from you and not allowing you to hush her of the motherly-instinct. “I’m just saying, honey, please be careful. I know he’s cute, and polite, and seemingly safe. But I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
You look down with internal confirmation. 
“It’s okay to live a little, go on that date with him, but go somewhere public first.” She continues. “Don’t move too fast, you’re still–” 
Everything is overwhelming in this moment. Especially when the truth is put into words and offered to you by the two people you trust most. 
“Healing.” You look down at the table as you finish her sentence for her, thinking of how close Jake was sitting next to you. Wishing he was still next to you because somehow, you felt more safe with him than you do your own family right now.
“Don’t sit there and act like I don’t know how you act when you’re being shy about a boy…” Your mom adds to the silence, quirking a brow and looking to her brother. “You’ve still got your pepper spray if you need to use it.”
“It’s not that I’m worried he would like, be like him.” You interject. “ I just don’t know if I’m ready to act on a stupid crush so quickly.” 
“That’s good, and I’m glad he makes you feel safe. Just please hold onto that feeling, don’t rush just because a cute boy is carrying your groceries.”  Your mother starts again, only to be cut off. 
“Okay, okay. Can we talk about something else now?” You roll your eyes.
Your mother keeps to herself after this, and all you have in your head is wondering how and why your mother seems to partially advocate for this man after a mere ten minutes of meeting him. You can see her try to keep you safe despite her distance from this city, yet she seems to be hoping that Jake is a legitimate defense system for you too. It’s as if she’s looking for comfort in him as well. 
She’s never been one to approve of your crushes either, but somehow, this time is different. And these days? You trust her intuition better than your own.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You: i made it home safe
Jake: good, im really glad. sorry for accidentally ruining your plans today
God, if there’s anything Jake should be sorry for, it’s not that. 
You: it’s ok, i was happy to see you. 
You: my mom seemed to like you
Jake’s cheeks burn reading that as he goes from staring out his window to looking at the screen of his phone. He can tell that as soon as you got home, you headed for your bathroom and you must be in there right now readying yourself for your evening routine, possibly even naked before a shower to text him.
It’s not strange at all that he knows you’re over there all alone, texting him. His body reacts like it always does, and he’s already snaking a hand down his pants just to rub against himself to satiate his body and keep it under control for a bit longer. 
Jake: woah really? how so? 
You type to him almost immediately after each of his responses.
You: idk, they commented on how you asked me on a date or whatever, thinking it was serious. 
Jake: i was serious
You pause, standing at your bathroom sink with your toothbrush in your mouth when a smile creeps across your face. It feels like the first time you ever got asked on a date in highschool, and that little dance of happiness would have been fucking embarrassing if he were to see it. 
Even worse than your reaction to that, your mother would be terrified to know how you shift entirely when you’re alone and talking to Jake. She would faint knowing that you intend to immediately go on a date with him, and she would immediately wake up and faint again knowing that you find yourself letting your guard down entirely around him as well. 
It’s safe to say that, maybe you definitely have a crush on him. Why else would you react this way to how forward he is? Why else are you somehow so willing to go on a date with him despite wanting to stay as far away from relationships as possible?
Why is he so fucking irresistible? Why is he making you feel this way?
You: you were?
Jake: yea, what are you doing rn? 
He’s typing with one hand, legs spread wide while he slouches in his chair and skews his head  to stare through your empty window. He thinks back to the day he stood in your living room looking down at his own window. You could come into your living room now and watch his body jerk with each movement of his palm against himself, phone in hand as he texts you and know exactly what you do to him. 
Each passing moment between his last text to now doesn’t bother him as he works himself up, chewing on his bottom lip and focusing even more on that lit up room across the street, feeling the familiar arousal bubble in his belly as he rips his hand away to grab that same pair of panties he stole from you. There, he shoves them down his pants along with his hand, groaning at the fabric stretching around him like they always do. 
So soft, so gentle.
As for you though, you’re feeling the panic flow through you as you stare in the mirror at your reflection. Right now? He wants to go right now? You just washed your face, and you were about to take a shower. 
You: bout to take a shower, why? 
He groans more at your typed words, remembering the taste of that shower wall, imagining your pretty face with little droplets of water running down it. Imagining droplets of other things running down it. God, his confidence is so high, he’s so fucking horny right now, and he still manages to text you with that one shaking hand. 
Jake: ill come get you right now, i want to go on a date with you
Jake: can i?
His persistence shows his interest in you and it’s so attractive to you right now. Immediately you find yourself spitting, rinsing your toothbrush, and wiping your mouth clean before opening your makeup box again. 
You: right now? 
Jake: right now. 
You: can you give me like twenty minutes? 
There are explosions surrounding him right now, or rather, a very intense orgasm. He scored a date with you and he feels the confirmation run straight through his body and out the head of his cock, all over your panties, his hand, and his pants. And god, he’s a little frustrated that he spent so long trying not to get his own cum on your panties, solely to keep more of that scent of you, but he fucking got a date.
Who cares? He can surely just snatch another pair, possibly right off your legs.
After all, you asked for twenty minutes surely to try and look nice for him. Fuck, that means you want him to look at you the way he always has been. He wonders if you’ll do something different with your makeup, or if you’ll put on a different kind of outfit. All for him.
Finally for him. For him. For him. 
Jake: of course, text me when you’re ready
And then, he just watches as his body makes an attempt to relax. The way you wisp back and forth like a ghost through your apartment, rushing to find something to put on. Even from here he can see you smiling. Running around in a bra and panties, he moans slightly, almost considering fucking his cum into your panties again but ultimately choosing to stand and change him. Mostly because he sees you think hard about your outfit. The way you throw on a shirt only to take it off and slip on a dress instead, despite the cold weather. 
He’s going to give you that same effort, eyes glued to his window as he blindly searches his closet by touch alone. 
He wants to text you again after you run your hands down your stomach in that dress you put on, he wants to tell you to keep it on. He wants to tell you how pretty your matching pair of bra and panties look under it. He wants to say so much, do so much, and containing it is so fucking hard. 
Yet, still, he manages. 
When you stand in your living room, that same dress still on, he watches you throw a jacket over it, he can’t help but wonder if you could sense his hope that you’d wear that. He wants to have a reason to keep you warm, a reason to put his palms on your legs to warm them up, a reason to be close to you. After all, this is a date, you’re inviting him to be close to you, right?
And then his phone buzzes and he struggles to tear his eyes from the image of you standing there with your phone in your hand. 
You: okay, im ready! 
Jake immediately sighs, staring up at the ceiling to get his body to calm down. His dick is twitching wildly in his pants again, his hands are sweating, his entire body is vibrating. It’s finally happening. 
You’re going on a date with him, and he’s had the perfect place planned and in his mind since the first day he met you from your window. 
He’s quick to throw on an outfit, slip on his shoes, and run out his door. 
Jake: on my way outside now, meet me in your lobby in 5
You’re fucking beaming. For the first time in a long time feeling like you may be the luckiest person in the world. There is no pain within you as your butterflies overtake every amount of angst you had about meeting someone under circumstances of dating. 
You’re here to get away from your ex, not to fucking ban yourself from having a good time. You want to have fun. You want to stop being afraid. 
And god, Jake is like, the perfect guy for it. 
You enter the lobby to find him standing proudly against the wall, propped up in a lazy way and already looking at you with a dopey grin. He looks flushed, proud, and happy. Arguably, he’s even more attractive now than you ever thought he was before and instantly, you’re ten times more shy than you’ve ever been. 
“There she is,” He smiles, spreading his arms out to invite you into a hug like he tried to do before, and he’s shocked that you step into his grasp. “was starting to worry I was too forward.” He adds, immediately burying his face against your neck. 
You smile against his chest in the hug, feeling so warm for the first time in your life. A warmth that comes from something other than rage or tears. Already, you can feel your body shiver at the way his arms wrap tightly around you in a hug that doesn’t feel condemning. 
You don’t feel trapped against another person, and it’s a welcome change. 
“You definitely were a bit too forward but–” You pause, stepping out of his grasp and feeling the empty air replace his arms. “It made me feel better about liking it.”
Jake gives a reassuring smile before lending his hand to you and instantly intertwining his fingers with yours, shoving them into his hoodie pocket, and dragging you close to him before leading you out of the building. He’s reeling from the hug, feeling the way your breasts pressed up against him, the way you sighed against him, and the way you smelled while you did it. 
God damn. 
In his head, that hug from you felt better than any sex he’s ever had to date. His entire body reacted as to be expected, to the point he was thankful that you weren’t as close in the hug from the waist down as he wished you would have been. You would have felt that reaction, you would know how you wake his entire body up. 
Thankfully, the cold air outside lends him a hand in taming his lower half, and also lends your hand to him to keep warm. 
“Where are we going?” You ask out, voice gentle in the night air, unaware of how the man next to you is buzzing from his feet to the top of his ears. 
He’s struggling not to lose his mind. 
He can see your breath, and wants to swallow it. Each huff and puff, each word, he can visually see it in this icy night, and he knows it has to be warm despite the minty toothpaste he can smell on you.
God, he knows what your mouth tastes like, the smell sending shivers down his spine at the reminder of how he sucked your essence off of the bristles you must have used just minutes before now. He wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss your breath, he wants to devour the air and aura that surrounds you when you’re next to him. 
Honestly, the cold weather does not freeze his bones. He feels entirely hot, leading you to his favorite place in the city. 
“Nothing big, I assume you ate with your family so I figured we could skip the regular date stuff. I want to take you somewhere quiet and pretty.” He looks over at you, hoping you see how much he adores you. 
Somehow, you do notice something in his eye. A shine, a glint. It’s something you’ve never seen in any pair of eyes that looked at you. His pupils seem to be dilated and his eyes almost look black, still, that smile reaches those same dark eyes, indicating to you that he is happy. 
He looks happy to be with you right now. 
And on any other day, a man you barely know saying he’s taking you somewhere “quiet” would scare you. But….you’re not scared. You’re looking forward to it, actually. 
He gives your fingers a squeeze as he waits for you to speak back to him, leading you easily through the city streets. 
“Quiet and pretty?” You say, looking up at him. “Does this place happen to have a heater?”
It doesn’t. But that’s what he’s for. 
“Unfortunately, no, but–” He goes to say, and you stop walking for a second. “I was going to say I could keep you warm, I mean, if you want. If not, I can take you somewhere else.”
You look down, weighing the options on whether you want to be that close to him so immediately, or if you’d rather follow the general rule of dates. Dinner, movie, goodnight kiss. You already hugged him, and you can admit to liking the way his arms hugged you. Maybe you’re not entirely against the idea, despite feeling alarm bells deep in your brain go off, telling you that you’re moving too fast. 
And then you wonder why you start walking again, and why you’re imagining him holding you close, huddling your body against his to keep you from shaking. Intimacy. You’re thinking of intimacy. 
Why does it feel good? Why does the thought excite you? 
“You’ll keep me warm?” You reluctantly ask, your fingers twitching in his within that hoodie pocket. 
“Yeah, I mean, if you’re comfortable with that. I don’t want to seem too forward–” His fingers squeeze yours tighter, as if to comfort you. 
You sigh, chuckling. 
“Like I said, I like that you’re forward— just, no funny business okay? This is a date, not a hookup.”
Jake pauses, glancing away.
As much as he’d love to lay you down against cold, moon-lit grass and taste the entirety of your body. As much as he wants to hear you call out to him, feel you react to him, he knows what’s inside of your head better than you do, he knows he needs to tame that need for now. The fact alone that you even imagined it for a second, just to find out if you want that now, just to tell him that you don’t want it yet, is enough to satisfy him. 
It won't be long until you’re asking for it anyway. 
Plus, he would never do anything to you without your consent. If he’s allowed to keep you warm tonight, that alone is better than anything he could ask to experience. 
“No funny business.” He uses his other hand to hold out a pinky to you. “Jesus, what kind of guy do you think I am?”
Suddenly, you feel guilty as you take his pinky into your own and seal those words into a promise. Jake picks up on the way your face falls.
“I haven’t been on a date in over a year. Been avoiding it if I’m being honest,” He starts to explain as a way to soothe you, guiding you gently through a large gate. As if to connect with you on your level of discomfort. “My last relationship ended pretty badly, I didn’t think I’d ever want to date again.”
You perk up at his words, looking at him as he guides the two of you through a dark and grassy area. You can still tell his eyes are shining as he shares this with you, making you feel special and….not alone in your anxieties about this. 
“I don’t know what it is about you, or why I immediately want to skip all of the casual shit when it comes to dates but, this is where I wanted to bring you.” He smiles when he stops you, standing in front of you and grabbing your other hand, holding it, and shoving it into his hoodie pocket alongside the other. “Not because I was trying to come onto you. If I was going to do that, I would've asked you to come home with me.” 
You feel his icy knuckles and squeeze his hand hard to try and warm it up. Maybe to comfort him, or to thank him? 
“I didn’t even bring my ex here. I actually came here to get away from her sometimes.”
You look away when the blood rushes to your cheeks at the way he’s talking to you. He’s acting like the two of you have been on at least ten dates by now, but it’s only been one.
Somehow, some way, you lean into it. Into him. 
“My last relationship wasn’t very good either. Was so bad that I actually find it hard to believe that I’m on a date with someone right now, I still don’t even know if I’d know how to love again.”
You pause, closing your lips tightly and feeling awkward for saying the L word so fast like that. Implying that you don’t know if you could love Jake.
“Would you feel better knowing that I’m not asking you to think of the future?” He offers, slowly lowering himself and pulling you to the bare ground with him. 
The dirt is cold, but Jake is warm. 
“Just worry about how you feel today, when you’re with me. If you’re enjoying it, there’s no reason to worry about what you might feel–” He reaches for you to turn you around and drag you onto his lap before quickly enveloping you into his arms. “Or what you might not feel.” He pauses with a squeeze against you. “Is this okay?”
You don’t understand why it’s okay that he’s being so touchy, but he is warm, and any shiver that threatened to hit you now only comes in the form of butterflies seeping out of every pore on your body. He’s pulled you into his lap as if to keep you from having to sit on a blanket-less ground, and his arms are around you as if to remind you that blankets only exist for people who don’t have him.
It takes so much self control not to pull away when you feel his chest breathing against your back, but it takes even more self control to not turn around and cling onto him in the same way. You’ve wanted to feel safe so badly, for so long. You wanted to feel this way on your own though, without the need to lean on someone else. 
You’ve never wanted to be a damsel in distress, but goddamn are you fucking distressed. Your trust issues run deep, so fucking deep. Anyone can see that you are a broken person, but not everyone would accept you for it. 
Jake, right behind you, right under you, holding you so close like this the moment you’d let him? He accepts you entirely, and it’s so enticing to you. You can’t turn away from it, you’d only fail yourself. 
You’re so fucking drawn to him, no matter how forward or blatant he is. 
“This is a bit overwhelming,” You start, pulling away from him slightly and turning to look at him. But then you see his face, and how sincere he looks. “But I’ll try to appreciate how I feel right now.”
“Does that mean you’re okay with this?” Jake whispers, pulling you back against him and pressing his face against your shoulder, breathing in deep to get that scent of you into his lungs. 
You don’t notice the way he does it when you nod in response, and the way he’s entirely enamored with you at this moment. He wouldn’t be able to let you go if you asked him to, not when your body is relaxing against him and you’re letting out a small hum of cautious approval. 
“Are you warm?” He continues, shifting his legs only slightly from under you, mostly to make sure you’re coat is offering enough padding under you to keep from feeling the blood pumping in his pants right now. And then, his hands move from his hug down to your legs, big warm palms not moving from the expanse just above your knees, instantly warming you.
He can feel your shivers calm, and your regret for wearing this dress die. 
You nod again, still cautious but also wanting to fight the fear within you so that you can really just enjoy this moment of closeness with someone else. Even if you just met him. Even if you’re afraid. His hands feel like they belong there, as you stare at the way he doesn’t move them higher or lower. They’re really just there to keep you warm, and surprisingly, you don’t know if you could ever feel cold around him at this point. 
“I'm scared of this, you know?” You comment into the night after a few moments of silence, reluctantly holding onto his wrist, pushing them down your leg a bit as if to imply he should rub them. 
He follows your movement, wincing from behind you in a hidden attempt to contain the fact that he very much wanted to moan at that. Feeling your legs against his palm feels so….igniting to him. 
“I know.” Jake says in a matter of fact tone, confident in his words as he bores holes into the revealed skin of your leg when he moves his hands back and forth. 
“You do?” You lift to turn and look at him, but his hands instantly move to your shoulders as he turns you away from him, forcing you back against him in a tight hug. 
Mostly because you do not need to see his face right now, he knows he looks fucking gone. 
“Anyone can see that you’re terrified.” He comments seriously now, placing his head on your shoulder and pressing his cheek against yours. “It’s no wonder I feel the need to protect you.”
You’re shocked that you don’t flinch at feeling his cheek against yours, noting that his lips are just inches from yours. You try to erase the images of kissing him so soon, you’re too weak right now. He makes you feel so weak. 
Instead, you try to think hard about his words. Trying to ignore the way you felt his jaw move against you. Trying to ignore your immense attraction to the closeness he’s giving you. Are you really that obvious? Are you really this desperate to be close to someone? Anyone? 
“Hoping that someday you’ll tell me what it is that makes you so afraid, but for now? Just know that I’d never do anything to make you feel like that.” 
You think harder. 
Much, much harder.
An uncanny feeling in your gut wonders how he finds words that are so meaningful to you. It’s like he can read your mind. It’s like your life is a book that he’s read a thousand times. 
But that’s impossible. You haven’t known him for long, maybe he’s just….a really good person. Maybe you’re just lucky to have bumped into him that day. Maybe it’s lucky that your ex instilled a fear into you so deep that you found yourself living next door to the man holding you right now. 
“How do you do that?” You comment quietly, feeling warmer than you ever could have expected to on a night like this. 
“Do what?” He smiles, now loosening his grip on you, pulling his face back, and spreading his legs so that you’re now sitting between them, rather than on him. 
After all, if he had kept you there, you would have felt what was happening in his pants by now. The way you don’t run away from him, the way you let him touch you has him reacting for more than he ever knew he could. Even after releasing his arousal just before the date, he can already feel the ache. The need to crawl into you, the need to make you fucking love him. 
“It’s like you tell me exactly what I need to hear. It’s fucking weird.” You continue through his movement, scooting back as if to huddle yourself against his warm chest, in turn bumping his pathetically hard cock against your back. 
You try to hide that you’re a little disappointed that you’re no longer on his lap, and the back of your thighs are now freezing against the grass. He, on the other hand, is so fucking thankful that you still manage to not feel what his body is trying to show you right now. His arms immediately wrap back around you, holding you against him much like before.
You really don’t know why you wore this fucking dress, without tights no less. 
“It’s weird?” He questions. “It’s weird that I wouldn’t do anything bad to you if you gave me a chance?”
You look down, feeling those words hit you in the gut. It is weird, but then again, you’ve never really had a relationship with a person who wouldn’t bring harm to you. 
“I–” You pause, thinking as hard as you can without oversharing, hands reaching up to grip his forearms, pressing them tighter against you as if you want him to save you from…well, him. “I have my reasons. I’m not trying to call you weird. It’s just weird how you show up in my life at a time where I think I needed this the most.”
He smiles. 
“Well, you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to get rid of me at this point.”
You smile back.
“Likewise.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Three more dates have taken place since that first night in the empty park. Each date that followed took place in the same spot, with the same weather, and the same offered warmth. 
By now, you find yourself unable to avoid thoughts of him. Thoughts of how badly you like him after learning of his interests, after seeing how he carries himself, and how he treats you over all. The way he seems so in tune with everything you could ever want or need, filling you with only safe care rather than horrifying uncertainty.
Jake likes the same books, tv shows, music, movies. All of them line up near perfect to your own favorites and suddenly you believe that the red string of fate exists. Jake is careful when he touches you, never pushing and only offering, suddenly, that red string of fate is attached firmly to your pinky. Jake looks at you like he sees one of the world's wonders, which was uncomfortable at first for you, but you think that maybe the other end of this little invisible red string is tied to his other pinky. 
Your entire life of fucking horror led to this point, where the universe finally gave you the person you’d want to be with for real. Any other man would make you feel cautious, Jake though? Jake does nothing but make you feel like, for the first time, you don’t need to have a guard up. The fact that he managed to do this so fast is a bit telling on your end, that perhaps you put too much faith in people, but goddamn, it looks like he works so hard to show you that you’re not wrong about him.
On your last date, he even tried to kiss you. You panicked, backed away, and felt so fucking embarrased, until he texted you a mere fifteen minutes after parting ways and apologizing, stating that he didn’t know what came over him. 
He apologized to you. He didn’t take what he wanted despite your fear, he didn’t push or pull, he simply allowed you to exist beside him, in front of him, even behind him if it’s what you wanted at the time.
God, you should have kissed him. You should have kissed him hard enough for him to realize that you’re trying. 
You’re trying to be a person again, for yourself, for Jake, for your mom and uncle. Still though, he doesn’t know the shit you’ve gone through, or the shit you’re running from. You feel so dissociated at times, wondering how strange or odd you must react towards him during the dates he takes you on. Yet, he doesn’t falter. He doesn’t question. He doesn’t force you to feel like you need to apologize at all.
And this is all you can think about now. About Jake. About what he’s doing, about how he must be feeling today, about how he wears his hair, and how his alternating hoodies always offer warmth on a cold night when the two of you are sitting closely together on the ground just…talking.
The thoughts of him don’t stop and it’s kind of nice. Having your fears so loud in your ears every day, anxieties of your ex eating you alive, and fear of being alone in a big city can get quite loud and exhausting after so long of not being able to escape. Thoughts of him are the only thing that calms your mind lately, so you probably wouldn’t stop thinking of him even if you had the choice.
Unfortunately, that choice is made for you today, once again, just two days after that third date with Jake. 
A single text from an unknown number that shifts your brain into a fuzzy focus of terror. Your mother told you to change your number, and you really should have done it by now. You have no excuse as to why you haven’t, but you have the reason as to why you should have done it shining brightly in your notifications center. 
The unknown number is just that, unknown, but you know who it is already. 
Your fingers shake when you tap the screen and your eyes go dead upon the message. This confirms that your body will always know when he is around, you will always have to feel this way for as long as he’s thinking about you. 
Unknown Number: heard you got a job over at [redacted company name], mind if we have lunch?
You don’t know who told him, you don’t know how he found out where you are, or where you work. All you know is that now, the buzzing thoughts of Jake fizzle out and are quickly replaced with that of searing reminders of what happened, and what will likely happen if your ex is really trying to get to you already.
It’s the fact that the police did nothing. It’s the reality that they wouldn’t let you procure a restraining order. It’s the fact that he got away with everything he did to you, and wants to get away with more. You’re just a girl, alone in a city who thought this was the best course of action. 
You can’t even bring yourself to tell anyone that he texted you. Your mother would scold you for not changing your number fast enough, despite already knowing you haven’t done it yet. It would somehow be your fault that he found you despite his insistent attempts to keep you as his, as if you belong on a chain tied to a tree in his backyard. 
You call out of work, explaining the situation. Your managers are already aware of your safety concerns and the situation at hand, and you’re lucky that they really do live up to the promises they made when you took the job. 
All three sick days can be used right now if you need them but after those three days, you have to either work from home and be willing to come into the office if you are needed, or you need to put in your notice and leave. 
Naturally, you take the sick days, and you intend to work from home. 
Despite not feeling safe here, considering the few items in your apartment that went missing not too long ago, it’s safer than walking to and from work. It’s safer with Jake just next door. It���s safer with the security guard in your building’s lobby. 
You’ll be okay. This will pass.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake is at a loss, nearly ripping his hair out day by day when you don’t text him back. 
When he looks to your window, the lights stay off consistently, the curains are fucking closed. You haven’t left your apartment for work, you haven’t texted nor have you called. 
It’s been six days, nine hours, thirty eight minutes, and nine seconds since he last saw you and the only thing he can think of is that he fucked up. 
He tried to kiss you, and you eased him into a rejection by pretending everything was fine until you felt comfortable enough to stop talking to him. For three days now, you haven’t responded to him.
Three days without any hint of you, and six days without feeling you in his arms. 
He’s going insane and not even jerking off helps calm him down like it normally would. He feels like he could lose it at any moment as he paces his apartment with a buzzing non-stop energy within him, stopping at his bedroom window to stare for hours only to see no movement in your apartment. Only to still see the lights remaining off. Only to see the blinds locking him away from you.
Sure, he’s got the grainy footage of you from weeks past, the footage from the day you got dressed for your first date with him, and the footage from each date after that but he doesn’t have you. The last two days contain footage of blinds swaying, that’s it.
He was so close, he really thought he was. He thought he had you, he thought you were almost ready to let him move to the next level. He thought you would accept if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend, he thought you would let him kiss you, and let him into your apartment, and let him exist within the air you breathe. 
But you left. 
So, naturally, he works up the courage to grab his camera and hook it into his pc. Obsessively searching for any sign of you within the footage from last night. He tries not to think about missing a glimpse of you as he is away from his window, seeing as how you must not be home. You must have left days ago just to get away from him.
Until…as he fast forwards all of the footage, he sees a light flicker on. 
The timestamp reads four in the morning, and the light stays on for a mere minute and a half before turning off again. 
One thought floods his mind. 
Did you find out that he watches you? 
Then another thought.
Are you hiding from him? 
And one last thought. 
How can he explain and still get you back?
And as he continuously paces his apartment, unable to focus on anything other than knowing you’re in your bedroom hiding, nothing on this earth could calm his frantic brain.
Should he go over? Should he come see you? Should he text you again? Should he–
Pacing the same path in his apartment for far too long, nearly ripping his own hair out, he stops in his tracks at the sound of his phone. He knows that vibration like his own mother tongue by now. That’s you. You’re finally texting him back.
You: are you mad at me?
The relief is instant and near orgasmic. The first contact in what felt like an eternity for him in his head, he takes a deep and calming breath. His eyes flick back to your window, where your apartment still appears to be hidden from his view. 
Jake: never, i was just worried since you stopped talking to me. 
You stare at your phone, scrolling up the some fifty text messages Jake sent you over the last several days and feel awful for not once checking your phone. To be fair, you’re afraid that every message is from your ex and you eventually just ended up turning your phone off. 
After all, you remember what happened the last time you blocked him. That wasn’t even an option for you at this point if he really knows where you are. 
The fear inside of you is so strong by this point that you can’t help but want Jake to be with you. Even inside of your apartment, where you’ve yet to invite anyone aside from family. You just want one single day of calm, one single moment of feeling okay. The past three days have been nothing but a paranoid delusion for you. 
Each sway of your curtains in front of your blinds is a person who isn’t meant to be inside of your space. Each footstep in the hallway outside of your apartment isn’t other residents, it’s someone trying to get inside. Those missing batteries from weeks ago? It was him. Your missing panties? He has them. 
Just like Jake, though unknowing to you, you have been pacing much like he has. You’ve been on the verge of ripping your hair out too.
You: i think we need to talk
Jake’s relief turns to curiosity, to confusion, to horror, to excitement.
Jake: of course, love
Jake: do you want to go to the park again tonight? 
You shake your head as you text back with a firm “no”, wanting so badly to explain to him why you’re acting the way you are, and why you’ve always acted so defensively. You need him to understand so that he doesn’t leave. You need him solely because he is all you’ve got right now. 
You: no
You: ill explain everything but can you like…
Jake’s ears twitch as if he can hear your words, with your pretty voice, and that cute pitch it has when you talk to him. 
You: i don’t like to invite people to my apartment but I'd really just rather you come over. 
In less than a second Jake’s heart threatens his health. Yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. After days of festering in love rot for you, months actually, you’re finally inviting him. All forms of negativity towards your lack of speaking to him lately is laid to rest instantly as he jumps to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom to clean up. 
Jake: just tell me when, you know I’m here when you need me. 
It’s a shame that he said that, really, because you take it to heart. You need him now and will probably need him far past his ability to give to you. He will grow so tired so fast, surely, but you can’t deny nor can you avoid that you need him. 
You need his comfort, his safety, his smile, his dilated pupils each time he looks at you, and his careful hands reluctant to hurt you. 
You: can you come now?
Jake is already out the door, following the same path he took the first time he went to your apartment. Honestly, it’s quick enough to remind you that he’s just next door. 
Jake: im in the lobby, where do I go?
You pause, briefly realizing that you’re inviting a man into your apartment just so you can feel safe from another man you once invited into your life the same way. You were so enamored with your ex, never thought he could have done what he did to you, but he did. He shattered you from the inside out through years of meticulous work, and he’s still doing it now, all because you trusted him.
It’s driving you to act as recklessly as you once did, and it’s like you’re compelled to do it. You feel forced to trust Jake, despite none of the force coming from him. It’s coming from deep within yourself. Your brain is repeating whispers of “do it, do it, do it.” when it comes to him. 
You can’t resist it. 
You don’t want to resist it. 
You’re fast when you text him your floor and room number, and somehow still find yourself shocked at how quickly there is a knock on your door. 
Jake didn’t need your informational text though, he knew exactly where to go. He knows where he belongs, and the excitement within him to have an explanation from you is one thing. The excitement of standing inside of your apartment with you is another. 
His thoughts remain on that camera he placed back into his window, knowing that he will finally see himself in the footage with you, in the very spot he thinks about the most. He’s worked so hard for this, so hard. 
And his hands are shaking when you open the door, his heart is shaking when he takes in the scent he remembered from before, his legs shake as he takes a step in with a face of somewhat genuine concern for you, simply to hide the way his entire body is fluttering in euphoria. 
“Hey,” You start, trying to be nonchalant, trying to ignore that you look like shit. “Sorry for the mess.” You add, gesturing to not only your apartment, but at yourself as well.
“Aw,” Jake coos, poking out his bottom lip before opening his arms wide as he hears the door fall closed behind him. “Come here.”
Instantly you do, and instantly your face is hot. 
Searing. On fire.
Jake freezes, feeling the warmth against his chest paired with the death grip your arms instantly lock him into. This grip on him is painfully heavy and seeped with emotion, he can feel your hot tears soaking into his hoodie and it raises goosebumps across his skin. 
This is where he belongs. 
“I’m sorry–” You hiccup, feeling stupid for instantly crying at the touch of another person. “This must seem so annoying to you.” 
“Sorry for what?” He asks gently, finally managing to come back to your reality to hug you and hold you there, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. “Is everything okay?”
He can’t bear to let you pull away, so he holds you tighter against him, willing those salty sweet tears to seep through both layers of his clothing to his skin. Somehow, you still manage to make him fall harder for you. He’s so fucking in love with you. The way you cling to him like this? You’re everything he’s ever wanted and more. 
You try to pull back though. Once, twice, and by the third time he finally relents and lets you back away. 
You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze for just a moment and seeing the concern in his eyes. Pupils still dilated like they always are, but brows knitted together, with a small tilt to his head to offer a silent question.
You turn away from him to hide your face. You feel so seen, so vulnerable, and so stupid for involving him in this. 
“It’s–” You pause, catching your breath and wiping your cheek as you try to make your way back to your safe space. Your bedroom. “It’s a long story.” You finally mutter out. 
Jake notes where you’re headed and doesn’t want that. He needs his camera to get this, he needs to look back on this moment later, he needs to remember the smell of your tears, the feeling of your pain, the suffocating atmosphere within this apartment. 
So, he takes a seat on your couch, blatantly ignoring how your voice fades before getting closer again. 
You look at him when you go back to the living room, confused as to why he doesn’t follow you. 
“You mentioned not inviting people into your apartment, don’t you think it would be best if I stay here for now?” He offers, giving you instant comfort in the way he doesn’t try to invade your space. “Come over here.” He continues, patting the couch cushion next to him and glancing to your window for a moment. 
You watch him continue his own train of thought, shifting to reach for the blinds and open them. “It’s so dark in here, let me see you, love.”  He offers again, going back to patting the couch after letting the sun in and making it seem, somehow, more enticing. “Please?” 
You listen, quietly making your way to him and sitting closely against him. 
“I thought I scared you away because I–um,” He gazes at you as he speaks, seemingly studying the emotional baggage under your eyes. “tried to kiss you.” He trails off, very much wanting to kiss you again. 
“That didn’t scare me.” You shake your head, still trying to avoid his eye now that you know the sun is allowing him a true view at how destroyed you must look. “It’s just, we’ve been on a few dates now and I like you– alot.” You say more to yourself than to him, as if you’re confirming internally that you need to explain some things to him before giving him the option to run away. “I feel like I–”
“I like you.” He interrupts you. “Alot.” He continues, becoming hyper-aware of everything in the universe. He can feel the hairs on his head grow, he can hear the birds a country away, he can taste the sunlight spilling against your watery eyes. 
You like him, and he likes you. 
And he takes intense note of the way you dip your head, a small smile curling up on the permanent frown you previously had. 
“But Jake,” You say, letting your face fall again. “I think we need to talk about some things before, like, you decide if you really like me.”
That’s silly. He knows everything about you already. He’s in love with you, nothing you could say or do will ever change that. He wishes you could see it, he wishes you knew that he was made for you. 
“There is nothing you could say to change my mind,” He says sternly, turning towards you and attempting to make you look at him by grabbing your chin gently between his pointer finger and thumb, “Hey, look at me.” He urges you, pleased in the way you do turn to look at him. 
He’s stunned. The whites of your eyes are red, your eyelids are puffy, you appear to be so tired, and still you are so beautiful to him.
For a moment, you take note of the way he looks at you and wonder how he could genuinely think that way and show it so blatantly. Are you the one who is acting recklessly here, or is it him? Somehow, it brings you comfort, even if you feel the need to force your eyes away from him. 
He doesn’t let you, and you let him not let you. 
Your eyes stay on his. 
“I don’t think you realize how much I want to be with you.” He admits blatantly, forcing you to forget your train of thought for a total of three seconds before your eyes really lock onto his. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize that.” He continues. 
“Jake,” You mutter out, feeling so full of emotion that you weren’t quite prepared to accept yet. “Please,” You mutter again, continuously losing your thoughts, only to gain them back moments later, and then lose them again when his eyes stare through you. “Please, let me explain something before you say that.” 
He pulls his eyes away now, closing them and pinching the bridge of his nose out of frustration before breathing out and adjusting his eyes to you again. 
He nods reluctantly, relaxing against your couch and throwing his arm around the back of you, pulling you to lean against him, where you can instantly hear the way his heart is beating. 
It’s beating fast. So fast that it’s almost distracting to you if you think too hard about it. So, you don’t. You try to ignore the way it beats against the top of your head just so you can finally give him some insight on why you haven’t texted him, on why you didn’t let him kiss you, on why you’re so reluctant. 
“Remember how we were talking about our last relationships?” You finally say, feeling his hand on your shoulder rub little shapes against your shirt in a comforting way.
He hums, continuing to trace his own name against your sleeve as he confirms your words. Because of fucking course he does. He remembers everything about you. 
“Mine was bad.” You pause, willing the emotion to say in your throat. “Really bad.”
“How bad?” Jake encourages you instantly, already knowing the answer. 
To be fair though, he’s been waiting to hear the words from your own mouth. He’s been pretending to not know this entire time, holding in his rage when he’s in front of you, seeing how it affected you, feeling what he did to you through your lack of trust and affection. 
“I think you could probably guess, considering I didn’t let you kiss me.” You try to say without going too deep into it. “Considering I’m afraid to let you touch me.”
“But you did.” He says calmly, running the hand on your shoulder down to your waist to pull you in closer. “You did let me touch you.” 
You recoil internally. 
“I let you hug me, and I let you keep me warm.” You admit. “I don’t know why I let you though. I wasn’t afraid when it was with you.” 
Jake knows exactly what you’re trying to say to him, and loves that you admit that he’s different. He is different because of you and for you. His stomach flutters at the fact that you know that, and you accept it.
“Because I wouldn’t hurt you.” He continues to echo his words to you, seemingly giving you a final answer to a question in your head that you have yet to find an answer to. “Because I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you.”
God, the warmth that floods your body is what you’ve been wanting. This is why you wanted him to come over. This is why you need him. You can’t do this alone, you want him here with you.
“I think, deep down, you know that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you again.” He continues, talking for you, talking as if he is inside of your head. 
“I can make an assumption on what he did to you and I don’t need to know how far it went, but it’s not going to keep me away from you.” He takes in a sigh, releasing his next words with a breathy chuckle. “I have always wanted to be with you, and I still do.” 
He feels the way your breathing evens out as you listen to him. 
“Did you stop talking to me because of this?” He finally asks, letting the question hang in the air before his hand grips your waist tightly, holding you so close against him that you’re nearly on top of him. “Did you think I wouldn’t fight to have you?” 
The words are brash and hard to swallow, but that’s not why.
If you could, you would have gone the rest of your life without telling another person what happened to you. You don’t want it to define you, and you don’t want Jake to ever feel like he needs to fight for you. 
You shake your head.
“No.” You say sternly, now wrapping your own arm around his middle and hugging him as tightly as he does to you. Your head dips below his chest, up against his ribs as you curl yourself into him entirely, preparing to tell him. “I moved here to get away from him–” You start, feeling your body shiver in each spot your ex hurt you from before. “And I think he found me.”
You feel it before Jake realizes it himself, but it’s like all of the warmth left his body within seconds. He stiffens, his grip on you loosens, and he trembles for just long enough for it to be noticeable. 
“What?” He says, breathing in through his nose and staring straight ahead, seemingly out of it. 
“He texted me a few days ago, mentioning he knows where I work, asking if I want to have lunch with him.” You try to explain. “I freaked out, I called in, and I haven’t left my apartment since.”
“He what?” Jake repeats, now slowly turning to you.
For the first time when you meet his eye, you see his pupils constrict. They’re not dilated, in fact, they’re tiny. Horrifically tiny. And if you look hard enough, it’s almost like they’re vibrating against the pretty brown color of his iris. The simple act of watching them change like that felt uncanny. You pull back from him, shocked at the expression and not quite recognizing him compared to moments before. 
And then, he realizes your reaction to him and is immediately pulling himself back to you. He pushes that shocked rage back for now. Just for now. His pupils fall back into their permanent dilated state. His face softens, his body relaxes, and then he’s holding you again. 
“No one can hurt you when I’m here.” He finally whispers out, trying to keep his voice even and warm to calm you down. “So, he found you? So what?” He continues, letting his confidence take over. “I already told you, he can’t touch you.”
For some reason, his initial reaction sinks into the back of your mind as he holds you like this and says things like that. Why? Because you believe him. 
Somehow, you believe him. 
“Can you promise me that?” You ask reluctantly, taking everything you can get from Jake at this moment in an attempt to feel safe, to feel better. 
He nods instantly, and keeps nodding as he shifts his head to look down at you. This prompts you to look up at him, making direct eye contact and holy fuck. It hurts him not to dip down and make you forget that anyone else in this world exists aside from him. 
From this angle, as you look up to him with a promise swirling around the two of you, he knows he’s got you. You’ve never looked at him like this. There is no hint of doubt, curiosity, confusion, or fear in your eyes as you wait for him to answer. 
All he can do is stare at you, breath caught in his throat at the constant realization that he’s here. You’re against him, you’re talking to him, you’re looking at him, you’re–fuck, you’re everything he’s ever wanted or needed in life. 
“I can promise you that, and more.” He finally whispers out to you, knowing you can feel his words spread across your forehead. “I think I’d do just about anything for you.” 
You nod, keeping eye contact with him for a moment more before lying your head back against him and breathing a big sigh of relief. 
“I guess I’m yours then.” You sigh out, feeling comfortable saying the words. 
And oh. 
Oh, the fucking joy that rattles every bone in his body. The immense amount of love, adoration, and wonderstruck devotion he feels for you fills his body from the core, he can feel it seep out of him with each breath, each tear that reaches his eye, each goosebump, all of it. 
You’re his. You said it. With your own voice, your own words, your own thoughts, right up by his heartbeat, you fucking said it.
“Yeah,” He says in his own shaking breath, blinking away the first tear he’s felt in his eye for years, wanting to squeeze you so tight that you go numb. “You are.” He continues, swooping down just slightly and prompting you to look at him again.
Those dark eyes are dazed, and once again you feel like he sees you as the only other breathing person on this planet with him. It’s….so nice.
Silence hangs in the air as you look at each other, seemingly confirming a relationship that feels more uncertain to you than it does to him, but you know you’ll try. You want to be his safety too, you want to give him everything you have. 
And then he says it. 
“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” 
It hurts you when you hear the way he says it. So uncertain and reluctant to cross a boundary. You’re trying to confirm his feelings for you, the feelings that you feel so lucky to receive. You’re trying to make him understand that he’s the only person you’re comfortable with. He’s the only one you’d ever let kiss you. 
You’ve made him hold back so much, you can imagine. 
You nod to him first, watching him almost immediately close in to do just that, but you pull back on instinct. 
“Just–” You raise a hand in front of him, putting your fingers to his lips to halt him. “Let’s go slow.” You say, already knowing he will accept it. He will go slow for you. 
“Love, you really just don’t get it.” Jake smiles, averting his lips and landing a kiss to your forehead, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his lips for the first time. “I have enough patience for both of us.”
And if only you knew how true that statement is. For him, he’s already been waiting for this moment since before you knew he existed. Despite his small moments of losing control, needing more, he could have waited even longer for this moment with you. All of it is worth it in the end if he gets to hear you call yourself his again. 
You are his. You have always been his. 
And you decide at that moment that he is right. He’s been nothing but patient with you, and has done nothing to make you feel otherwise. 
A kiss wouldn’t hurt, a few kisses wouldn’t hurt. 
So, you lift your head just a bit more, closing your eyes softly and waiting for him to do it. Waiting for him to kiss you, waiting for him to–
“Little more,” He encourages you, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. “Just a little closer.” 
And you do. The least you can do is close the distance for him, especially after what he just learned about you. He probably wants you to be the one to approach him, he probably doesn’t want to cross a boundary, or scare you. 
For Jake, the way you listen without a hint of hesitation is…well. It scares him. It scares him how every assumption he had about you was right. Given, he knew he would be, but experiencing it right here, right now, is amazing to him. 
He keeps his eyes open through all of it, seeing your heavy eyes stay closed as you place your lips on his. 
It’s so soft. Your lips are plush when they’re puckered against his own, soft, so fucking soft. He chokes back a relieved sob at finally getting this from you, hiding it with a thick swallow and his hands rushing up to cup both of your cheeks in his hands as he lets himself feel you like this.
He’s thought about it so much. Just these few seconds of feeling you kiss him already exceeds his expectations. He can feel your eyelashes flutter on the tips of his fingers, and it only makes him tilt his head just a bit to slot his lips against yours in a more comfortable position.
He doesn’t move after that, nor do you. Both of you just feel it. 
It’s the first time you’ve kissed anyone since your ex and even he didn’t hold your face against his like this, despite swearing he loved you more than life itself. You can feel the burn at the corner of your eyes, and you breathe out through your nose to try and keep them in. 
You don’t even notice the tears that escape until Jake is tasting them, relishing in what you’ve chosen to give to him. Never realizing how good pain can taste until it comes from you, and then he pulls back just slightly.
It was nothing but a long and drawn out act of lying lips against each other. There was no tongue, there were no frantic movements. It was just…a first kiss, that lasted what felt like years to you, and only a split second for Jake.
He blinks down at you, noting the beads of tears bunching up in your bottom lashes and uses his thumb to swipe just under your eye. That view alone of seeing his hand do it was enough to confirm for him that he is no longer chasing. You are his, and never will another person get the chance to look at you as closely as he does. 
“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” Jake smiles when he says it, feeling your tears nourish his body. 
You nod, still blinking up at him. 
“In passing, on dates. Never like this though.” You admit in a small voice, feeling a bit shy with the way you feel entirely new when he’s with you. 
“I’ll tell you every day.” He says, leaning down to connect his lips with yours once again solely because he can’t choose between staring at you or kissing you now. 
All of his senses are in overdrive. Kissing you, looking at you, sitting on your couch in your apartment, none of it will ever satiate his need for more, more, fucking more of you. And all of it is happening right there, in front of his camera. 
He can relive this time and time again for the moments he can’t be with you. 
You stay silent after that, alternating between the same long and simple kisses and staring at each other until you can see the sun shift positions in the sky. Sometimes he will say things during this time, sweet and passionate words that only make you feel safer and safer in your own space.
Up until you feel his body shift and his hands pull back to his own body.
You look at him as if he just interrupted a very important moment in your life, and in a way, he did. You could sit with him like this for three hours more if he allowed it, but unfortunately, nature does tend to call. 
“I’ll be back–” He whispers right up against your lips, knowing that you’re already growing familiar with how they feel against you. Smiling when your lips chase him as he stands up. He lends you one more. A quick kiss, one that reminds you that he isn’t leaving you. “Just a second.” He adds in an even smaller voice, heading straight for your bathroom.
You’re still so in awe at how slow the night feels with him, loving every warm second of it. You’re not thinking about anything but him and the way his lips feel. Hell, you haven’t even gotten a full glimpse of him since that first kiss. 
So, of course you don’t notice how he somehow knew which door held your bathroom behind it, or how long he stayed in there. You weren’t paying attention at all as you flop back and do your very best not to kick your legs out of happiness at this moment. 
You finally feel comfortable, even while a threat looms just outside of these walls. You have a boyfriend now, one that appears to be willing to stay beside you through all of it. 
You’re happy. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
All good things come to an end but at least this time, it’s temporary. 
The night with Jake felt much needed on both accounts, but it became one sided when your discomfort kicked in. It’s not that you didn’t want him to stay, above all you almost needed him to. 
He was so willing to stay, you could tell just by looking at him sitting next to you with kissed lips and dazed eyes, far too late in the night to excuse what you eventually made happen. He had to go back home.
Again, it’s not because you didn’t want him to stay, it’s because you felt better. You felt so much better that you didn’t think even for a second that Jake wouldn’t come running back over if you so much as hinted through a text that you needed him. Not to mention, upon your anxieties calming, your rational thoughts took back over and reminded you that this was enough. You don’t need him to coddle you more, or to worry for you. 
You’re not entirely ready to let a man sleep in your home, despite very much loving the time you spent with him here. 
After all, you interrupted his day already by asking for him to cater to you. Cater he did, and you wanted to do the same for him. Kissing him one more time with an apologetic look, stating that it’s best if he goes back home for the night. 
You still remember the look on his face when you walked him to the lobby. Reluctance, confusion, even a bit of panic. He needed another kiss, and another kiss you gave. 
His shoulders relaxed at that, and you watched him turn on his heel and head back home to presumably sleep without you. 
And while you slept well that night, thinking of him and how you somehow found a boyfriend amidst all of your fears, Jake was wide awake and reeling from the conversations he shared with you, the kisses, the cuddling, the smell. Fuck, it was so much to face by the time he made it back into his cold and dreary apartment. 
He doesn’t belong in this space, he belongs just across the street with you. But, for your sake…he will continue the patience he promised you. After all, he could see in your eyes that briefly, you considered letting him stay. 
And throughout the night, his calm overtakes him as he rethinks, staring down his camera and trying to decide if he should watch it back until you eventually text him after you wake up. 
He ultimately decides to watch, checking that your lights are off one last time before moving to his PC and plugging in the camera. The first thing he does is fast forward to your first kiss, and then the second, third, fourth…
He rewinds it to watch again, almost feeling that you’re still against him when he presses play a bit too far back in the footage. 
You pull away from him in that moment and suddenly he remembers why.
Before the blissful moments he spent with you, there was a moment of intense and uncontrollable rage within him. When you told him the less-than-detailed story of what your ex did to you, he was expecting it. He knew how to act surprised, he knew how to comfort you, he knew how to make you understand that your past wouldn’t scare him away.
What he wasn’t prepared for was to find out that your fears that he read in your journal were very real. Learning that your ex texted you and that he knew where you were was one thing, but hearing your voice crack upon telling him that he wants to meet with you is another. 
Jake couldn’t have prepared a reaction for that even if he tried. Not one that wouldn’t have scared you, at least. And now, this night of reliving the hours in which it took for him to make you his girlfriend once and for all turned into a night of internet sleuthing. 
Finding the man on social media can’t be that hard. All he had to do was search your name to find your family, which he has done probably a thousand times by now. He knew that within the public posts of your family, this guy had to have been associated somewhere. 
And after three hours of finding nothing, a little hint of who this man is reveals itself. 
So far into his searches, intense googling, and even yearbook studying, he finds an older facebook account of your mother and he slaps himself in the forehead for not double checking the profiles sooner, he could have saved at least two hours if he had found this earlier. 
She must have made a new account after the divorce that she clearly had and shared with the world. It only takes a single scroll with his mouse wheel to find an image of her, another woman, you, and…that man. 
Jake sits and stares at the old image, noting that it’s over four years old. Indicating that you must have been with this guy for a long time. You look happy in the photo, with his arm snaked around your waist and gripping you tight.
Jake, above anyone else, knows that grip he’s got on you. It’s the same one he had on you just hours ago but he tries not to think too hard, prying his eyes away from a happy you with that piece of shit. If he ruminates on this image of you with another man, he very well may resent you for ever letting another man be with you in the first place.
Instead, he has to force his eyes from the younger college version of you and look at the reactions of the photo. 
Of course your mother is the type to have hundreds and hundreds of friends, most that she doesn’t even know in real life surely. The image has seventy three likes, and he goes through each and every single one until he finally recognizes the account of the very man in that photo, holding you, as if it’s his rightful place beside you.
God, safety concerns be damned. He cannot believe that your mother never deleted this account. Your ex probably looks at this photo all the time, he probably gets off on it too. Like he must think that because he had you once, he could win you over again. No.  Jake will see blood before he ever lets that happen. 
Jake rolls his eyes, giving himself a mental note to find a way to tell you that your mother should really watch her online presence if her own daughter’s safety is in danger, and then he continues his snooping on your ex.
One simple google of his name and city and Jake’s got a workplace address. Come Monday morning, you’ll never have to worry about this guy again.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Every. single. day. 
Every day you have texted him since the night he left your apartment, and every day he hopes that you force him to be patient with you. Why? Because for the first time, he needs to stay distant for now. 
He kept his promise. Maybe he even overdid it a little bit. 
Given, he knows you’d probably be happy in knowing what happened, he just thinks it would be best not to tell you about it. For now, at least, he doesn’t want you to see the mark above his eye because if you find out what happened, perhaps you’d stop needing him for comfort. Maybe you’d even break up with him since you’d no longer need him. 
He’s going to ensure that you are safe, and he’s going to keep you. 
Unfortunately, Jake is awful at telling you no, awful at living up to his patience, and fucking horrible at staying away from you. When you text him this morning, just two days after he met with your ex, it’s not your usual greeting. 
You: they need me to go to the office today…
God, has he no shame? No. He doesn’t. Never in his life could he even imagine being ashamed to instantly come at your beck and call. Though you have nothing to be afraid of anymore. 
Jake: I’ll walk you there. 
You smile at his immediate act of protection of you. 
You: It’s okay, my manager is already on her way to pick me up. she knows about everything so i’m still safe!
He pauses, trying to look at the bright side of not seeing you. He’s not in fear of your safety like you are, because he definitely took care of the matter, but…under the guise of you still needing it, he doesn’t like that you’re letting someone else protect you on your trip to work. 
Jake: oh
You stare at your phone, feeling bad that you haven't offered him much since he was last at your apartment. You don’t want him to think you’re avoiding him again, or to think that you don’t want to see him but…your manager has a car. If you were to let him walk you to work, you’d just be paranoid of being on the street. 
You’d just feel bad for him to have to walk back home alone. And you’d feel even worse knowing he’d make the same trip to walk you back home. 
You: i don’t want to have to walk to work, even if I know you’d be there with me. It’s just a huge inconvenience for you and a big safety concern for me…
He reads your text and scoffs. Do you still not understand that it’s what he lives for? He would walk across the fucking country if you so much as suggested there was a leaf on the ground that you wanted to look at. It’s not an inconvenience. 
The inconvenience is you giving someone else the right to what he is supposed to be doing for you. 
Jake: it’s ok love, just text me when you get there safe
You pause, unable to shake the feeling of guilt that’s threatening your brain right now. It feels awkward, it feels weird. You’re more than aware to know that he probably wants to prove something to you, especially with such a new relationship but you can’t help but feel like you’re the only person who needs to prove something. 
You need his protection, but you don’t want to exhaust him. That is your biggest fear, even over the idea of your ex finding you. The idea of being wanted by someone you hate hurts far less than the idea of being unwanted by the man who is seemingly upset with you over not getting to walk you to work.
So, you’ll prove to him that this isn’t because he isn’t capable of protecting you. You’ll prove to him that you do want to see him. 
You: Can I see you after i get home? I miss you.
His reactions are always so immediate as he slams his phone against his chest, sighing out of relief that you want to see him tonight. So what if he has a blatant and obvious bruise on his face? He will proudly present it to you, with a lie of course, solely because he knows it’s proof that he would do anything for you. 
Jake: I miss you too :) just tell me when she’s bringing you back to me and i’ll be waiting in the lobby for you. 
For some reason, those little typed words of “bringing you back to me” hits you hard in the chest. It makes you feel warm, happy even, as you head out of your apartment and straight for your manager’s car.
Sure, you might not be walking to work when they need you to come in for a while, but you’ll sure as hell be certain to make it up to Jake every single time. You can practically feel his excitement through his quickly sent texts, and you can’t help but thrive off of it. 
Now, even as you’re worried that you’ll be at work, in a place where he can find you, you feel excited. You’re looking forward to getting to go back home, and looking forward to hugging Jake, and talking to him, and seeing his pretty face. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
  You don’t recall your work days going by this slowly, as you fiddle around your desk wondering why they called you here today in the first place. “For a meeting” Your manager had said. Well that’s all fine and dandy if it weren’t for the fact that the meeting isn’t scheduled until four thirty in the afternoon, the end of the fucking day. 
You could have worked from home and just came in for the meeting if that was the case, but you’re already here and mostly just annoyed that you had to come at all.
You scroll your phone, do some paperwork, scroll some more, more paperwork, and then, just as you open your messages so you can complain to Jake about how stupid this work day is, you pause.
Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of everything and everyone around you, and all you can do is sit at your desk and pretend that you don’t see the man across the large room filled with fifty other cubicles, eyes scanning for you. 
The only thing you know how to do is drop to the floor upon seeing that familiar smile. You’re not ashamed when you text your manager, telling her who security just led to your floor. You’re even less ashamed in the way you quickly rush to the back, around a corner, and out the fire escape.
You came to work today to miss not one meeting, but two, apparently. The only reason you even feel safe enough to power-walk back to your apartment is because you know exactly where your stupid handsome ex is, and you know exactly why he’s there.
He’s not following you right now, you’re sure of it. You told your manager exactly who he was before, and she knows exactly where he is now. Surely they’re distracting him, because your manager, bless her, already texted you that she would take care of it and that you should get home quickly.
Insane scenario, really. You should have just called the police, but it’s not like he fucking did anything within these city limits outside of take an elevator to your floor. 
God, how did he even know you were going to be at work today? 
And as you rush into your apartment building, not even knowing how long or how short it took you to get there, you feel your phone vibrate before you even get in the building’s front door.
Jake: why are you home so early, and why did you walk alone? 
Instantly you call him, not thinking even for a second that it’s strange that he saw you come in. If anything, it was probably just a coincidence. He just happened to look outside and you just happened to be panic-walking inside. 
“Come over.” You say, out of breath into the speaker. 
Jake doesn’t even respond, he just hangs up and is immediately rushing to your building as quickly as his feet can carry him, for the first time unsure of what’s going on with you. 
He thinks this may actually be his record time of getting to you even, considering you’re walking up to your door as soon as he steps out of the elevator and rushing up to you.
“What’s wrong!?” You hear his panicked voice from behind you as you unlock your door, stepping inside and grabbing him by the shirt, not even looking at him before pulling him inside. 
“I missed you.” You say, desperate to feel safe again and running entirely on adrenaline as you lift up and kiss him harder than you ever have before.
Jake freezes, feeling your grip on his shirt and your hardened pucker against his lips. He doesn’t relax into it at all, in fact, the way you just grabbed him runs straight between his legs and all he can do is grab your shirt back, pulling you up more, kissing you twice as hard. 
He knew you could be forceful, and somehow this is the last thing he was expecting. Did you rush home alone and call him with that desperate voice because you needed him? Did you finally give in? Does he mean this much to you already?
There are no words in this breathless moment as you let yourself spiral into a void with Jake. Feeling only safe when he’s with you, on you, holding you, touching you. You really should have let him walk you to work. You should have let him stay with you there, you shouldn’t ever let him leave your side. 
You only feel calm when he’s with you, and god you almost hope your ex followed you here so that he can walk in and find you kissing someone else. Someone better.
“What happened?” Jake groans out his words between the harsh kisses that are quickly turning heated. Your grip on his shirt only tightens, and you stumble back to pull him with you. 
You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to explain, you just want to…do this. You need him to give you that brain fog that makes you forget about anything else. 
And it’s the first time he’s ever felt your tongue. So desperate to part his lips, so frantic, so sweet. The new feeling is more than he ever could have imagined, he feels like he’s almost forgotten how to kiss you back at this point. He lets you do all of the work right now, tasting inside of his mouth and fluttering your lashes against his cheek bone when you skew your head just a little bit to kiss him deeper. 
He’s feeling everything at once, and the fact that he’s finally back in your apartment only makes this worse for him. Or maybe, better? He isn’t sure, but what he does know is that if you keep doing this, he won’t be able to hold back. How could he? You’re pulling him, nearly tripping over your own feet just to pull him deeper into the room– right there in front of that same fucking window. 
Your tight grip on his shirt warms him along with knowing this is being recorded, right up from the brief amount of cold air that hit him on his run over. It was freezing, and he left without even throwing on his hoodie. Which is nice and detrimental to his health. It’s like you’re closer than you’ve ever been to him without two layers of clothing on, just this shirt keeping you from gripping his skin instead. 
And he would let you, he would let you grip and claw through his chest to pull him further into your space. If you missed him so much, perhaps he wouldn’t need to hold back. Your kisses are bruising, and the little breaths you take with each tilt to your head drives his heart to tremble in his chest, he’s sure you may not want him to hold it in any longer. 
He’s tasting you right now and only because you’re tasting him first. 
Safe to say, he’s in shock and entirely turned on right now with the way you try to overpower him. He lets you. Yes, yes, yes. Why wouldn’t he? You’re not being shy and your defenses are entirely down for him. 
You continue to stumble back with him, up until your legs hit your couch and he very nearly falls on top of you, but instead he holds steady, watching you fall from the close proximity against his lips with a huff after you hit the soft cushions.
He felt his shirt slip from your fingers in the descent and can do nothing but look at you in pure awe. You look like you want him right now, you look up at him the same way he looks at you.
Your pupils are dilated, your chest is heaving, and you’re just staring up at him with each breath. 
“Jake?” You mutter in a slight whisper and furrow your brows at your findings upon finally looking at him. In your rush to kiss him and to have him as close to you as possible, you nearly missed it. 
You reach a hand out and see him immediately take it, your gaze still trained on the bruise above his eye. You pull him to you instantly, landing your lips just below his right brow. “Why is there a bruise?”
He pauses to feel your breath hit his brow, entirely forgetting that he is a human being with flesh that can be marked by another. Forgetting that pain exists, solely because the kiss you just landed against that swollen spot felt good. So good.
“Ah–” He chuckles slyly, feeling you repeatedly kiss the area, bruising it more by the force behind your lips. “Dropped my phone on my face a few nights ago while texting you.” 
You smile against it, finding the image endearing before pulling back and taking note of the way he hovers above you, not letting a single part of his body touch you without you prompting it. 
“You should be more careful,” You smile, pulling him down more, until he is forced to use his arms on the back of your couch to steady himself. “Stay like this.” 
He notes how you look so small under him, and he would want nothing more than to stay like this for you. 
“On top of you?” He asks gently, allowing his hungry eyes to fall to a half-lidded stare, he tilts his head and inches back to your lips as he says it, entirely drunk on the image of you against the couch and totally barred from the outside world by his body.
“Yeah,” You sigh at how pretty he is close up, dark eyes taking you in with that deep stare. “Feels like nothing could ever get to me if you’re like this.” 
He nods confirmation. 
“You were scared of being alone today, weren’t you?” He asks gently, pulling back from the almost-kiss and now adjusting you to lay down on your couch, all so he can more comfortably fulfill the request you just asked of him. “Don’t go anywhere without me again, and I'll stay like this for as long as you need me to.” 
You stare up at him and his words as he crawls onto the couch with you, over you. He nudges himself between your legs and only now do you understand what it must feel like to want someone to love. You never imagined you’d let a man be with you like this again, and yet there’s so much truth in his facial expression after he said those words. You can’t help but feel like you were stupid to ever think you could do any of this alone. 
You never could do it alone to begin with.
“I won’t,” You confirm for him, lifting your hand to move a strand of hair that hangs over that darkened bruise above his eye. “So, stay like this.”
And he does, eyes lost as they glance at every part of your face, only closing his eyes to feel your fingers in his hair for that short moment. He lets out a long sigh, trying to keep his lower half from losing control, both understanding and not comprehending that he’s on top of you right now. 
Only now, with his mind racing and skin reacting does he dip back down.
“Alright.” He whispers just before the kiss, intentionally relaxing his lower half and allowing you to feel exactly what you’re doing to him. 
He feels you shift when you feel it, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he presses forward a bit more with his hips, making sure you feel his love for you in its entirety. 
And when your hands find their way into his hair and you hum against his tongue, that’s when he pulls back.
“Sorry,” He admits, looking away from you. “Didn’t know you were going to just– grab me like that and kiss me.”
All you can do is smile at him, refusing to question why you don’t recoil at the idea of a man being turned on. If anything, you give in to the feeling of pleasure yourself. Especially after so long of not only denying it to yourself, but fearing it.
And the two of you just lay there, shifting from time to time to get more comfortable and to ease numb limbs. Just kissing. Just making out. 
Hot, wet, warm kissing. To the point of being out of breath but not yet pulling back. Never wanting to be the first one to break the contact, but always wanting to be the first to dip back in. You feel his excitement throughout all of it, and you feel his patience as well.
He doesn’t even chase when your body arches into his intense kisses, he doesn’t ask for more, and ultimately, it doesn’t matter that your ex showed up at your workplace today. Because you’ve got Jake right here, on you, shielding you, holding you. 
No one can get to you right now. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake holds you as you sleep, as tight as he can manage without waking you up. Thinking in his head over and over again about how pretty you are, how perfect you are, how utterly infatuated with you he is. 
He wasn’t expecting you to fall asleep like that, gentle fingers scratching the back of his neck and holding him just as tightly. Whispering to him that you don’t want him to leave this time.
Muttering that you want him to stay. 
He remembers so well how pretty your half-asleep voice sounded, with your half-asleep eyes, and half-asleep legs tangled in his own.
He didn’t sleep. 
No, no. He couldn’t have. He didn’t want to miss a single breath or twitch of your brow as you dreamt. And he really didn’t miss a single one either.
The sun is long gone in the sky by the time his own heavy eyes force him to blink. It’s so dark in the room but you brighten it up for him just fine, with that pretty breath and sleeping face. His gaze falls upon the window as he smiles, hugging you even closer to him just to feel you nuzzle your nose up and against his neck.
He has yet to set foot into your bedroom since the first time he’s been here but that doesn’t bother him. You both fit perfectly on this couch. Forced proximity really lives up to its name in this city, apparently. You haven’t ever been without him, and you never will be. 
He’s more than delighted to–
His thoughts shake the same way your phone does. A vibration sending his mind into a spiral at who could possibly be texting you at this hour if not him. 
The phone lights up the room and he’s very careful to reach for it, smiling when your sleepy brain tells you that he’s reaching over you to hug you closer again, not to grab at your phone that you left forgotten on the table.
He’s so quiet, so careful. 
The screen lights up his face, causing his dry eyes to water until they adjust to the notification. 
A text message.
From an unknown number. 
His eyes fall to you as he tries to remember the patterns of numbers you’ve typed into your phone, only to fail a total of three times before gently shaking you. 
“Love,” He whispers, lying his lips against your forehead. “What’s your passcode?”
“Hmm?” You mumble against him, his shirt bunched up against your own lips. 
“Your passcode,” He repeats in a more gentle voice, trying to keep from waking you entirely. “I forgot my phone at home, and I want to set an alarm.” 
Your sleepy brain barely registers his words, or the fact that he’s lying. You felt his phone in his pocket when he was lying on top of you all night. 
“Ah,” You sigh out, clearing the sleep from your throat as you whisper out the numbers to him, slurring out the last one as you fall right back into your deep slumber 
Jake smiles, dumbfounded yet again by how adorable you are for him. 
Now, with one hand unlocking your phone and the other tracing his name, once again, onto the fabric of your back, he swipes to your messages.
Rage.
Unknown number: so who is the new guy
Unknown number: get me banned from your work then you send him? fought like a bitch
Unknown number: i’ll be seeing you soon babe
Empty threats, he knows they have to be. Blatant lies and empty fucking threats. This idiot can’t do shit considering how battered he managed to leave him. 
He thinks hard about the pain against his knuckles and even harder about how you didn’t note that they’re just as bruised as his eye. Thankfully, you were too enveloped in kissing him to take note of his bruised hands, or the lie about dropping his phone. 
Jake easily deletes the texts and blocks the number, understanding that this little problem of yours is his problem to solve. And the worst part is that he knows exactly why this man wants you back. He hates that he understands the thought process from the root, knowing that if he, himself, couldn’t have you, he’d have to take desperate measures too. As if he hasn’t already. 
He’s similar to your ex, who was far more handsome with blood on his face, and you can never know that. As similar as he is, mirroring the love and abundant weakness he has for you, he would never. fucking. hurt. you. Infact, Jake would set himself aflame before even imagining you crying for him to leave you alone. 
Why would he set himself up for you to fear him? Your ex is a royally vacuous man, at least Jake has the smarts to treat you well. 
Still, he gets it. 
Who wouldn’t want you all to themself anyway? 
You’re Jake’s though. You belong to him and only him, you always have, and that’s the only reason, he thinks, that you’re in this mess. Had you not tried to love someone before him, perhaps you wouldn’t have that little journal filled to the brim with night terrors and body shakes. 
And as he ruminates on whether or not he should pay your ex another visit, this time without holding back, he searches the rest of your messages simply because he is entitled to it. 
Every text you have is from your family and him. Good. 
Your photos. 
Most of you and your family, one specific photo of you. Deep within your camera roll, pressing your tits together, hand grabbing one of them, panties sitting prettily on your hips. 
Who did you send that to? It’s old, your hair is different, but he’d like to hope it wasn’t to the man whose blood he’s currently craving. Still, he feels discomfort in knowing this photo was taken long before he loved you, and long before you loved him. Meaning, whether it was to your ex or not, it wasn’t for him.
His length stirs immediately still, so turned on by the image of you, the feeling of you currently against him, and the internal future promise to feel your ex’s teeth break against his fists. All of it is making his dick ache, as he chews the inside of his bottom lip and easily sends the nude to himself before deleting it from your phone forever. He’d better be the last to see this image of you, and the last to ever feel you hug against him like this. Then, he removes the sent message from your phone to hide the traces of it entirely.
You shift against him at this moment and he pulls back slightly to look at you, quickly closing out your apps, locking your phone, and tossing it to the floor. There, he wraps both arms around you, hugging you so tightly that you do wake up this time. 
“You’re so cute,” Jake mumbles against the top of your head. “Wake up so I can kiss you.”
You smile against him, shifting your head up and finding his lips within the dark room. It’s soft at first, and you assume he’s going to pull back, satisfied with it, but he doesn’t. 
It’s a quick movement, one that causes your sleepy groan to come out as a surprised yelp. He easily moves on top of you again, using his knees to spread your legs so he can lay between them, and his fingers locking into yours, pressing them into the cushion above your head. 
“Sorry,” He pouts, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.” He continues, kissing down to your jaw, and just below your ear. “I’ve been so turned on all day, please.”
You chuckle, feeling the tickle of his plush bottom lip meeting the sensitive pulse point of your neck. Pleased with how much he wants you, and even more pleased that you kind of…want this too. But, you’re not entirely ready. Even in this perfect atmosphere with the perfect man. Room shielded entirely by night, warm lips kissing you, strong arms holding you…
You’re still not ready. 
“Mm, Jake.” You hum, catching his attention and feeling him move his head back to look at you. “Not yet.”
And then you hear him let out a nervous chuckle, a sigh, and a whisper. 
“Alright, baby.” He pouts again. 
He moves back to your side and hugs you against him, trying not to seem as disappointed as he really is right now before you hear him speak again. You barely hear it, and you barely comprehend it within the comfort of his hug, but you do think you’ll remember it. 
“Then when?” 
Even as you fall back to sleep, you think about it. The fact that he’s already been so patient with you and that you knew it would run out eventually. You’ll lose him at this rate, and these soft arms vowing to protect you.
If anything, Jake has given you everything and you’ve given him nothing. If he finds out that you’ve already spotted your ex at work, he might really run away knowing that no matter what he does, you may never be ready to give him intimacy on a deeper level as long as said ex is around.
You felt how much he wanted you today right up against you. If you were any other woman, you wouldn’t have been able to pretend it wasn’t there. You would have touched him, you would have given yourself to him. 
And god, you want him so badly at the same time. The only thing holding you back is the fear of it hurting. The fear of regression, of dissociation. 
Yet, still, your dream state forces you to promise. You’ll be everything that Jake needs you to be in time, and he will be the only person able to teach you how to love again, the only man that will touch you in a way that feels good.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
part two
taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs
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astraystayyh · 6 months
Text
Volcano
pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.
summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.
"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."
cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.
word count : 13.2k
a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3
skz quotes series masterlist.
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You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.
There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.
It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.
But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?
You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.
☄༄
You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.
The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.
You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul. 
So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.
But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.
Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.
"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."
Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.
 "I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.
"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.
"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."
"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.
He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.
He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you. 
You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.
"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."
Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"
"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."
You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.
Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.
"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"
Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.
You've had enough.
"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."
"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.
"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"
Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."
"That’s not true-"
"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"
"Yn, I-"
"Save it."
Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.
☄༄
For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.
You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.
Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.
You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.
What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?
But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.
That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.
Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?
"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.
"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.
"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.
"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.
Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.
"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.
"I miss him too."
"Then you'll be okay."
You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.
And you unravel at the sight.
You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.
"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"
"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."
"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”
“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.
"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.
"Get out, yn."
"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.
"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."
And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.
Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.
"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."
"You don't have to."
"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."
"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.
The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.
That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.
Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.
It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.
"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.
"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."
"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"
"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."
You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.
☄༄
One month later
If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.
Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.
You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.
Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.
Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.
Your need to flee has never been this strong.
You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.
"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.
It doesn’t.
"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.
"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."
"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond. 
"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.
"Yes," you both reply at the same time.
"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."
"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.
"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.
"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.
"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.
"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.
"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"
"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.
It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.
Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode. 
It’s Han.
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”
“Have you tried being silent?”
"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."
You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.
"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."
“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”
“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”
"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.
"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."
An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."
"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"
"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.
"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."
The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.
"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”
"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."
Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"
"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."
"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"
"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."
“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”
Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"
"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."
"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”
"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."
"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.
You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."
"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."
"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.
He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."
"Yes, ma'am."
An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.
"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."
"I didn't have signal."
"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.
"You... Are standing next to one another."
"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.
"We aren't."
"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.
"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."
"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.
Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.
You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.
☄༄
Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.
Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.
Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.
This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.
There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.
The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.
The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.
Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that. 
A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.
Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.
The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes. 
Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.
Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.
Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.
They fall on deaf ears.
You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.
"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed. 
"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.
Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.
"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.
"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."
"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.
"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."
"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.
"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.
"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."
"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.
"It is sincere."
"Good."
You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.
"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.
"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."
A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"
"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.
"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.
"Thank you for coming."
"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.
"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"
"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance. 
☄༄
The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.
Except this time, you were joined by Han.
Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.
You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.
But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.
"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?
Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.
Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.
This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?
"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.
"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.
"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.
"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."
"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"
"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."
"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."
"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."
The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.
"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"
"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.
"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."
"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."
"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"
"Okay."
"Okay?" he repeats.
"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."
"Actually?"
"Yes."
"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."
"Can we hug it out?"
"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.
"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."
"You won't make any comments?"
"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.
"Okay. I'm in."
.☄༄
Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.
You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.
But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.
The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.
2:56 a.m.
An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.
You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.
And then, you plummet. 
You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.
You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber. 
Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.
"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.
"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.
"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.
Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.
"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.
"It's nothing, don't worry."
"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.
"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.
"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.
Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-
"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"
"Okay," you simply nod.
He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"
"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."
Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.
"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.
"Nightmare."
"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.
"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.
"It passed. You're okay now."
"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.
"Is it a recurring dream?"
"Mm. It tires me out."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"
"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."
"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.
"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."
"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."
You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.
"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.
"And?"
"Should we test it out?"
"Test what?"
"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.
"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"
"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.
"Yes!"
"Okay, let's go!"
You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free. 
"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.
"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.
"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."
"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"
"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.
You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.
"Okay, I'm ready!"
"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.
"You looked insane!"
"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself. 
"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down. 
"Okay, will you count down for me?" 
"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.
"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.
You've never felt this free before.
The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future. 
As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.
"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han. 
He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.
You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song. 
Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.
Ooh, let the light in
Its light shines on you alone.
Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.
You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.
Look at us, you and I back at it again
Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.
Cause I love to love to love to love you
I hate to hate to hate to hate you
Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.
Cause I want to want to want to want you
You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.
I need to need to need to need you
Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.
Ooh, let the light in
You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.
Ooh, turn your light on
He thinks he might, if the light is you.
5:22 a.m
"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.
"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.
"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.
"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.
"It's okay."
"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."
"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.
"Come closer."
You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head. 
Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?
"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.
"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."
"I can't control it."
In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words. 
"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.
"That's the goal. You need to rest."
"You should sleep too."
"I will."
"Okay. Good night, Han."
"Good night, Yn."
You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."
"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse. 
"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.
"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."
His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."
"I hope you'll dream of it instead."
☄༄
Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing. 
You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them. 
"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.
“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.
"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"
"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.
"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."
You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.
"I'm coming"
As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.
“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”
“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.
You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.
"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.
You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.
"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.
"Have you taken any medicine?"
"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."
"Why didn't you tell the boys?"
"Didn't want to be a burden."
"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."
"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.
"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.
Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.
"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.
"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."
"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed. 
"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.
His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.
You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.
"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.
"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.
"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"
The floodgate opens.
A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.
"You're sick. Let me take care of you."
"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.
"I will do it."
As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out. 
"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.
"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.
"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."
You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.
"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.
"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.
"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."
"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.
"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."
"What if the tunnel is closed?"
"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.
"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones. 
"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck. 
There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.
☄༄
Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.
Yet, here you are now.
A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.
You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.
He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.
You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.
You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.
That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."
You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.
"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.
"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."
"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.
"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.
"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"
"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.
"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."
"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.
"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.
"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.
"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.
"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.
"Try harder."
"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.
You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.
"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.
"You did well," you whisper back.
"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.
"Yeah, ours."
Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.
"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.
"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"
"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."
"I can, as your husband."
"Since when are we married?"
"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.
"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"
"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.
"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.
"Will you stay, please?"
"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.
"You can sleep here. We've done it before."
"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."
"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.
"Are you now?"
"Very much so."
"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."
"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.
"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."
You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.
At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.
So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.
"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.
You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses. 
"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."
"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.
"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.
"Like a secret secret."
"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.
"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.
"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"
"A little."
"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.
"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness. 
"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.
You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.
Right now, it's for Han.
☄༄
The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.
Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks. 
That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.
Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.
"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.
"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."
"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.
"Snacks."
"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.
"And my eternal gratitude of course."
"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.
A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you. 
"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.
"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."
"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"
"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.
You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.
"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.
"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.
"What are you talking about?"
"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."
"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.
"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."
"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.
"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.
"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."
He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"
He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?
"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.
"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"
A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.
"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."
"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han. 
Two months later
You have 3 new messages from: hannie
"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"
"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."
"Volcano.mp3."
Light.
3K notes · View notes
cu7ie · 9 months
Text
ა˚₊﹕take your time. ⊹
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cw: virgin reader, gn!reader, don't even ask me what dimension this miguel is from. miguel being a good partner, unintentional teasing, reader is just shy! an: first miguel fic! woo!!! totally dedicated to @buttress atp
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You still can't look at him.
-
You've been dating Miguel for months at this point. You're not moved in together (yet), but see each other as often as possible, spending nights in his apartment, folded under his arm and leg tucked between his.
He's very familiar with you, perhaps more so than you are him. Knows what you look like when you're positively elated, seen those so hard smiles that afterward you're complaining your cheeks hurt. 
He's seen utter devastation, too. You'd mourned the loss of your dear departed cat in his arms, sobbing and snotty and cloyingly tender. Must've cried all the water out of your body that day, soaked the whole front of his shirt (the one time he chose to wear white) before dying off into the most pitiful whine. You'd grown too small to support yourself.
So he helped.  Reassured you gently with the strokes of his hand along your back, getting you water, making sure you ate, spending the night at your house …
And you two have been dating for a while now. You've seen his highs and lows too.
Hardly this kind of low though. 
-
He's seen you naked before. Not enough for this lifetime, but definitely on more than one occasion. 
You're still so bashful.
When he joins you in the shower you can barely meet his eye, washing the front of his chest tentatively while he gently massages shampoo into your hair.
You get flustered when he catches you changing, covering your chest with your shorts and risking a friction burn with how fast you force your jeans past your thighs. 
Your affections usually stop at kissing. It's clear to him you're interested, but you always seem unsure to start. You're a little self conscious, nervous about the space between you two - and right when it starts feeling better than just good, you pull away. 
It's kind of like edging, bordering on torture, but Miguel knows how to be patient. 
Eventually, you come back to him.
-
Before he found himself two fingers deep in you, you had ask him to fuck you once before. 
Almost verbatim.
"Fuck me."
and, regardless of the fact that his cock jumps a little as you whisper it so close to his lips, 
It sounds so strange falling from your lips like that. Abrupt and sudden like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and his eyebrows shoot up - as quick as residual lightning.
Maybe the look on his face was what faltered you. The way his pupils constrict then dilate like he's really looking at you, into your depth, and probing for your intention with a breathy, "You sure?" 
And you nod, a little slow.
"Y-yeah. Certain."  Miguel arches his brow skeptically, lips quirking into a half-smirk as he turns his body to face you, his head leaning to the side as he looks you up and down slow enough to make you second guess. "Of course, Cariño - as you wish." And admittedly he's a little cruel, enjoys the way you curl in on yourself, imagines the heat burrowing into the apples of your cheeks, watching your breath catch in your chest as you stare him down. The moment lingers.
"Show me then."  He props his arm onto the couch as his posture relaxes, his expression no greater than his polite smile, which still feels goading, in a way. "Show me how badly you want me to fuck you." 
He knows right away you got a little too facey. You're a shih tzu glaring down a rottweiler and you've forgotten how to bark. It always gets caught up in you, desire tangled up in a net of worry, doubt. Can see it in your eyes, the way your lip dips down before you tuck it beneath a tooth, the aura of your gaze becoming more shadowed, more sensual.
"I'll… I'll show you."
"Mhm. 'Course you will." 
Your finger hops up a little. You don't know where to put your hands so his thighs serve as a placeholder as you push yourself into his lap, the supple flesh of your lips meeting his, and,
 ooh, his chapstick is lemon flavored.
Your kiss is so dear to him. It's dainty, lightens his heart because you're too shy for tongue kisses at first. 
Or maybe you just don't know how. Still,
You slowly build yourself up to it that night.
Cautiously, your mouth parts a little more, ushered into a new sensation as your tongue maps out the roof of his mouth, the ridges of his teeth, slowly feeling him rise to the occasion, raising your chin and humming pleasantly into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, your arms coming up to wrap around the back of a pleasantly surprised Miguel's neck, and he moves to settle you in his lap.
Miguel's skin feels smooth to the touch.
He’s moved you to the bedroom, urged you to wrap your legs around his hips as he took the liberty of digging his fingers into your soft ass, irritatingly thin shorts keeping him from getting to feel you for real. You're convincing him well enough so far, your skin rippling hot wrought iron left in the sun, and the burn on his skin is delicious - so when he's ready to eat,
When he's spreading you out on the bed and has your shorts around your thighs,
He notices you're not looking. Your breaths are shaky and fast, eyes welded shut, cheek turned and smushing into your pillow. You're still apart from the light tremble in your thighs, your legs dangling over the side of the bed as he adjusts his position on his knees, face partially curtained by your thighs as his arms curl up under them to tug your sex closer to his waiting lips.
"Ay." He gives your leg a healthy shake, jolting you out of your stupor. "Still want me to fuck you?" There's amusement bleeding into him again, but his eye is measured, patient. You blink an eye open, look down at him, his head between your legs,
The predatory, slow lick of his lips makes your hair stand on end, and you buck up, propping yourself up on shaky elbows. “Miguel…” 
“Hm?” He breathes so close to you that blood doesn’t know where to rush, to your head or between your legs. The dull throb of arousal that lances through you excites and terrifies, a nervous whine wheedling its way from between your lips, makes MIguel stop again. He feels your knees shake a little, still only one eye open. 
On the inside, budding frustration. There are two wolves - the desire to be cool, calm, and reassuring clashes with its twin, the overwhelming desire to have what he wants and do as he pleases. He sighs, and represses the second urge.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.” 
“Really?” 
“Yes, really.” You breathe in good for once, a relieved sigh as he pulls your underwear back up and pats your thigh, maintaining a pleasant expression while on the inside the mourns what should have been, imagines the feeling of you stretched around his cock - the tightness of your warmth, fucking in and out of you and hearing you squeal as he rolls his hips, adjusts his pace.
Tucks his fantasy away till it's only remnant is the hard-on he's trying to will away as you beckon him to join you under the sheets.
But he’s patient above all. Joins you on the bed and holds you close, burrowing his head into your shoulder as your wrap your arms around his back, 
And he leaves it alone.
-
'Could blue balls kill a man?'
He's not proud of his Google search history -
But it's been a couple weeks since he managed to get that far with you, and his hand hasn't been cutting it for a while now. And Miguel can sure as hell pretend he's not feeling as carnal as he is - that the chip on his shoulder is his increasing responsibility at Alchemax, the diminishing of his free time, lack of sleep …
But he feels no rage more potent than after he's came into his hand for the 5th time in two days, holding a shirt or a pair of your underwear up to his nose and huffing like it's paint. He's never been a junkie, but sometimes he's shaking he's so mad, that there's not more of you, enough of you, none of the soft, real parts of you.
And it's not your fault. You'll be ready when you're ready, and he just has to accept he might not make it to see that day.
But fast forward to right before bed that night. Yellow lampshade that turns the warm light dim, moonlight pressing through murky clouds and filtering into the window above the bed you two share. 
You still take showers together, but now you linger behind to wash properly while he settles into his normal routine, playing with his balls and turning his head into your pillow. 
He sighs to the sound of the creaking door, dripping water falling softly to the floor as you, towel wrapped around your naked body, step closer toward the bed.
You move from the front of the room, to the foot of the bed, til you're hovering over his side of the bed, this look in your eye like you've made up your mind about something. "What?" He flicks his head up, drowsy but not yet asleep.
"I think m'ready." Miguel blinks the tired out of his eyes and looks up, confused.
"What? Whaddaya mean you're ready?" 
"I mean," the towel falls, and he sees your bare body - your skin still dewy from your shower, glistening in the light. "I'm ready to fuck you. For real this time."
"Oh? So you're fucking me now?" He sizes you up a second, before you're crawling over him, straddling his hips as your bare intimates are flush against his groin, your butt pressing softly into his cock as he gets a half chub, not wanting to fully commit yet, but you're not letting up …
And that's how he got here. Two crooked fingers deep, up to the second knuckle, scissoring your hole open and hearing all these new noises - ones he's never had the chance to hear until now. You're accepting of his touch, but seem unwilling to fully express how bad he's got you - your wrist folded over your mouth, every moan sludging itself in your throat because you won't let it be free. You won't let him hear it.
Your back’s on the bed and he’s laying on his side next to you, over top of you, and he has the perfect view of your cute face and ditzy expression, your eyes pinched shut as you mutter something behind your hand, cut short as he curves his finger inside. “Miguel!”
“What is it querido? I’m a little busy here…”  Two fingers deep and you’re not as resistant as he’s expecting, so he feeds you a third promptly and it does not go unmissed how you clamp down on him tighter, your shuddering groan so lewd it almost beats the rational thought of preparing you out of his head. 
The only thing keeping him from mounting you then and there is your inexperience. Laid bare for him in this moment, he rubs his erection against your side brazenly, distinctly unashamed with letting you know how badly he wants you.
“Have you been touching yourself, carino? You’ve been preparing yourself for me?” You inhale shakily, and Miguel slows his pace so you don't have an excuse, any reason to not answer. You're so adorable when you're embarrassed. A little wetness in your eye, and usually you get all pouty like you might cry,
But he's doing something alien to you, pressing up into your sensitive walls, eliciting a brand new reaction he's sure he quite likes. 
You sniffle and answer slow. "A little… I was j-just practicing!" Your voice pitches up again, and instead of making his way further in, or adding a fourth finger, he stops. 
So abruptly you whine, arch your back in irritation and only then do you look at him, see the shadows that have settled over his face,
and isn't he feeling a might slick, having reduced you to jerking limbs and whimpering and moaning in what felt like a few minutes, though he doesn't have it in him to feel smug. 
Just hungry. 
"...Miguel." Barely a whisper. Only because it's you does he hear it. "Be gentle with me, please."
"Yeah." The single syllable is drawn out, curving into a growl, husky and deep unlike any noise a man ought to make.  "Right. Gentle."
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metalbuckaroo · 3 months
Text
The Chase
Summary// "we had a deal, my dove. You promised."
AU// WinterSoldier!Bucky x F!Reader
Warnings// chasing kink, unprotected sex, smut, a yank to the hair, cursing, use of petnames- dove, dovey
Note// I think I'm a little rusty, but I'm also beyond tired rn so it could also be that ehsudienaua. This is a part two to the Black Mail fic I did for kinktober many moons ago
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"Who is he?" He was everywhere. His gruff voice echoing through the trees, surrounding you as you frantically looked around. Trying to find a way out of this situation. "I don't share, dove."
He was right behind you, your legs working before your mind to carry you in the opposite direction. Lungs burning from the cold night air as his dark chuckle faded in the distance.
But, he was quick and quiet. Moving just as fast as you could look over your shoulder before slamming into what could only be described as a wall of pure muscle, sending you falling back onto the leaf covered ground.
"Please- James, please. I'm sorry." You pleaded, tears stinging your eyes as he stood over you. The same mask Hydra forced him to wear covering the lower portion of his face.
He kneeled down, denim blues dark with something you couldn't place. "I won't ask again. Who. Is. He."
"Your way out! Please, just let me go. I still have a week!" The metal of his left hand gleamed in the moonlight as he reached his hand out to grasp your chin. Pupils blown and touch gentle.
"I'll give you a headstart. You have three minutes, dovey." You just stared at him wide eyed, chest heaving and heart hammering against your ribcage. "Run."
As if on instinct, you scrambled to your feet, trying to find your footing to dart back into the darkness the trees provided.
You knew you couldn't go much longer, your aching muscles sending pains through your legs each time your feet would hit the ground. There was no use in running anyways, he'd always win.
"We had a deal, my dove. You promised." You swore you could hear the grit of his teeth when you'd stopped, so close to giving in as you leaned your forehead against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Fingers curving against the wood. "You're just like them."
"No, I'm not." You heaved, trying to take a moment to catch your breath.
"I saw you with him at that diner. You're suppose to be mine."
His voice was getting closer, making you bite down on the inside of your cheeks to take some of the attention away from the burning in your legs before taking off again.
Though, you didn't make it far before fingers curled in the back of your hair. Crying out when he barely yanked to make you stop.
"I was doing what I was told. You want out, I have to find someone who can do that." You tried to reason, words not coming easy from the way he had your head craned back. His warm right arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him.
"Lies." He seethed, calloused fingers slipping under your shirt. "I've dreamt of you. Craved you. Now I finally have you again. I've been so cold without you my sweet dove."
Your body gave in the moment nimble fingers flicked the button of your pants open.
There was something twisted inside of you that liked the chase, the constant looming feeling you'd had over the weeks since you'd last seen him- like he was just lying in wait for the right moment.
It was hard to think of much else than the last time you'd saw him. The drag of his fingers against your skin, the way his lips seared kisses to your throat- much like now, cold and warm hands dragging against your sides as your fingers worked at the tactical belt that kept you from what you were truly after.
The ground freezing against your bare back not slowing you from getting what you craved.
It seemed to take ages for James to notice your struggle, his hands replacing your own to easily pull open the buckle as yours went to unclip the mask. Carelessly tossing it into the leaves to pull his lips to yours.
The hunger behind his kiss fueled you, your fingers weaving through his long locks and legs going around his waist to pull him closer. Swallowing breaths and quiet grunts as his hand fumbled to grasp his shaft.
The shudder that rolled through your body as he pressed into you was enough to send your mind reeling, everything else around you fading away and your senses overwhelmed by only him as he found his pace. Short, hard thrusts rocking your body- sending shocks of pure pleasure shooting down your legs.
You'd missed how full he made you feel. An emptiness left behind in his absence, his touch electric as he groped at your chest and left sloppy kisses along your throat. Deep moans vibrating against the skin, mixing with your whines in the cold night air.
"Can feel you milking me, dovey. Make a mess, show me who I belong to." James panted, drinking in the pleasure drunk scrunch of your face as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
Wedging his arm under you for a better angle, he didn't change his pace. Taking the opportunity to slot his lips over yours when you cried out in bliss, swallowing the sultry sound as your cunt clamped around him. His hips jerked forward at the feeling, the swirling sensation at his base building until he couldn't take it anymore- spilling into you with a huffed grunt.
The warmth of his body was quickly replaced with the night air, goosebumps prickling your skin as you whined in response. The dull ring in your ears making it hard to focus as you found your jeans to redress.
"One more week, dove. Better hurry."
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diejager · 5 months
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I love your Only Human fics 😭😭 I can’t help but think what Monster AU 141/Kortac would do if their only human got hurt during a mission….
A continuation maybe please?
Only Human pt3
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Pairing: Monster 141 + König + Horangi x reader
CW: blood, injury, canon-typical violence, gun violence, flash grenade go boom boom, explosion, tell me off I missed any. wc: 2.4k
Only Human masterlist
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previous
They fucked up, they really flicked up. It was a simple mission, simple enough that you were sent with only three operators. Alejandro with his witness, slinked between enemy lines, shooting up and creating chaos once he shifted, his large body ripping through enemy lines like a hot knife through butter. Gaz with his aerial insights, flew over trees and spotted the soldiers you were shooting through and giving pointers to where they split up and where they collected. And finally, Horangi, stalking between the buildings, jumping from shadow to shadow with a slow sway of his tail, pouncing on his prey with the stealth of a tiger. 
Laswell had promised that it was a quick in-and-out op, slipping through the village at night and taking out the leading figure of this hastily-made gang that was blocking the transport route between two important, allied towns. The shared intel was that it was a gang of ragtag rebels, raiding police stations within the mass, overwhelming the officers with their vast numbers of followers. They stole police equipment, vests, guns, batons, and ammunition, using them to power through the lines of officers and breaking through blockades built by the townsfolk. 
While they weren’t trained in military warfare or had prior training with specialised weapons, they had the advantage of numbers, overwhelming any joint forces with their vast numbers of rebels. It was nearly astounding how many people were being paid and supported by Russia's wealthy Ultranationalists wanting to disrupt the trading routes and hurt the opposing team by prying them of a source of gas and material. 
The few joint forces had slimmed down their numbers, leaving Task Force 141 to clean it up and take over their base of operation within the region. You were told that their numbers rounded a skeleton crew of twenty men, twenty-five at most. That’s why Price sent you four for quick and efficient disposal of the enemy. 
That’s what Laswell gave you, the information burned into your mind from habitual memorization to ensure that your team would be prepared, and yet the data was wrong. Gaz had reported twice the promised number, not as well armed as you were warned but their number brought a changing tide to your mission. You wanted to turn back, to regroup and form another plan, but everyone was already in place and calling them back could be as much of a risk of being caught as storming in. 
Perhaps that’s why you were all so careful and conscious of the dangers, moving in two, Alejandro and Horangi in one part and you walking under Gaz’s protective shadow. The initial plan was to box them in, working through both exits to snuff out any runaways and once you entered the compound, Gaz would drop down and lead ahead. 
That was the plan, until, of course, all hell broke loose. It was chaotic, they were trigger-happy and within untrained hands, their guns were as leather as a trained one with how quickly they spent their magazine, cycling through one and spraying the wall you used for hiding. Soap’s wild clean-up would’ve been extremely helpful in a time like this; Ghost’s hungry haze would’ve swallowed them all up, opening up a way for you to pass; and König’s reckless and unpredictable shift that sent him into a wild frenzy while he tore through the base. 
Unfortunately, they were back home, the little base they called their own when you first joined, yet you still had experienced and protective soldiers by your side, all special forces. Gaz led you with a strong hand and clear head, stopping at every corner to look at all sides before moving forward and you watched his back, looking out for any enemy rounding back. 
Your situation would be - at best - organised chaos, made from what you were given at the moment, faced with a group over a dozen times and without backup waiting behind. There were hushed orders and observations sent back and forth between your groups, cautious warnings on your side and growls from the other. Nick had been informed in case of any immediate evacuation and Laswell, of the sudden change in the plan. You did your best with what you had, leaving bleeding corpses in your wake, slumped over the bloodied floor and against the stained walls, but you hadn’t expected the rapid change of shift in the enemy. They weren’t such men with guns and knives, they were trained - albeit sloppy - in ferality and ruthlessness, jumping at you and Gaz without a second thought.
Every lunge was met with a bullet, rifles firing at the advancing numbers holding a gun, a knife or both, leaving you with a graze or scrape, the skin under your clothes bristled and bleeding. They flooded like moths to a flame, one taking the place of a fallen, and two other taking his place. You were pushed back to back, Gaz’s wings fluttering in stress between you, fighting the need to cover you in a protective shield of muscle and feather. 
“We’re compromised,” Gaz hissed into the mic, sending the message to any open coms on your connected line. “Victor-01, moving your way.”
“Copy,” Alejandro huffed.
Gaz tried leading you away, feet moving fast and steady around the halls you had to memorise for this Op. He tried to lead you safely, but they swarmed you like flies, appearing from every corner in an unending flood of shouting, thumping and firing. Gaz was bound to get hit at this rate, with his big wings and broader shoulders. It worried you that he’d take a bullet for you - you knew he would, as would the others - and get dangerously hurt. Through one door was a group waiting for you, gun trained forwards and ready to fire, but they were slow, sloppy, and they lacked the training and reflexes of a specialist. 
You had time to push Gaz through a door and into a room, you hid on both sides, hiding from the straight line of fire. You unclipped a flash from your belt, waving it at him to catch his attention. It did and his lips broke into a grin, wild and electric at your idea. You had him count down the seconds, his fingers lowering until he balled his fist, shaking it as you pulled the pin out and threw it down the hall. Veering away from the door, eyes closed tightly and hands around your ears, the flash grenade blew up with a loud, ear-piercing screech. It sent them into a blind panic, weapons falling from their hands to rub the burning pain in their cornea, ears deaf to your quick-moving steps towards them, down they went, like those behind you. 
Adrenaline pumped erratically through your veins, bubbling and warming your body to an uncomfortable heat that had you sweating under your gear. You turned another corner and you were closer to Alejandro and Horangi’s location, meeting up with them was your current objective, to regroup and take over the base in one group. They were just down the path, behind the sprinting men in jeans and t-shirts holding guns like it was a big, heavy toy. You could see their tense shoulders relax when they caught sight of you, guard still up and cautious, but glad that you were safe. 
“Hunter,” Horangi hissed, his figure trembling as his nose twitched under his mask. He stared at your shoulder, the damp jacket stained with your blood. “You broken?”
“No, the adrenaline’s keeping me going,” you nodded back, trying to soothe his worry. Being the 141’s medic, you knew the benefits of adrenaline, it numbed the pain, the cold and the burns, but once you calmed down, you’d feel every little scratch.
You limped out of the building, body leaning against Horangi for support, his tail curled around your thigh and body tense in a possessive mood. He kept glancing your way, his golden eyes swirling with worry, pupils small and attentive to every wince you made. He moved according to your pain, urging you to put more weight on him when you walked on your bad leg, where a bullet shot straight through your thigh, bleeding through the quickly put gauze you covered it with and wrapped tightly in bandages. You promised them that you’d properly patch yourself up in the helicopter while they watched before you worked on them. 
With your body riding off the adrenaline that kept you going for the past fifteen minutes, you jerked and winced when you walked on your left leg, the white bandage around your thigh staining red on the side. You were sure Horangi and Alejandro could smell your blood, or they'd been able to smell it before you even saw them, the irony tang wafting around them like a haze of their failure. The failure to let you get hurt and unable to properly protect you, you could feel the tenseness in their shoulders, their lowered head at your smile and the jerky movement when they moved around, seemingly pulling themselves back from doing something. 
Nikolai waved at your group, ushering you in from his seat, strapped safely with his headset on and communication clear between everyone. With a short affirm from Alejandro, Nik took off, the bird curving to the left when he turned west, towards the UK. You waited until the flight was stable, flying through the air softly and steadily before you opened up your pack, searching for items to clean and reward your wound until you returned to the infirmary. You checked your tourniquet, tightening it when you saw that it was slightly loose, ripping open the wrapping around your leg, you reapplied the gauze, adding pressure to it to stop it from bleeding even more. 
You winced and hissed under their watchful eyes, between Alejandro and Horangi, their tails swaying and occasionally curling around your forearm. Gaz, however much he’d like to sit beside you, to fuss and worry openly about your wounds, sat across from you, strapped in with his wings spread wide across the seats. 
“Looks rough, Охотник,” Nik called to the back, light glinting off his glasses. 
“Nothing new, Nik, you know that,” you replied through the coms, a lop-sided smile curling the corners of your lips.
He cackled, a full-belly laugh that had all of you smiling in your own ways. Nikolai was rambunctious, loyal and a big bear of a man. He was human, the other human in the Task Force apart from you (Laswell might’ve been the one sending you across the earth and gathering information, but she - regrettably - wasn’t truly a member.). 
“Да! I do!”
When you landed, the rest of the TF was already waiting outside, arms crossed and shoulders tense. It seemed they got the news of your Op, showing their displeasure with deep frowns and deeper glares, none directed at you or the hybrids, it was some sort of self-hatred and anger at the person that gave Laswell the intel, their promise of it being factual and not sending them any updates on the case. Laswell, herself, was fairly mad, her stressed face pulled sombrely down. 
Soap and Rudy rushed to you, voices low and tones raspy, they hovered near your group, fussing about the blood that caked Alejandro’s forehead, a slight graze from a rifle’s butt and other bruises from slamming into obstacles; Gaz’s slight pinch in the back from being slammed into a wall by a bulldozing enemy when he ran out of ammo; Horangi’s ripped sleeves, gashes bleeding lightly from attempts at slashing and stabbing knives by inexperienced hands; but what worried them the most was you, limping and hanging from Horangi’s shoulders. 
Your eyes were hooded, equal parts exhausted and blood lost, placing all of your weight on the Haetae hybrid. While your upper half was unscathed - apart from the slight bruises forming on your skin - your leg, wrapped tightly in a tourniquet and bandages drowned in red. The amount of red would’ve been worrying if they hadn’t known you, but you’ve survived far more dangerous and life-threatening wounds, bouncing back with revenge. As truthful as it was, it didn’t stop them from worrying. You might’ve been more resilient than most - hybrids credited their resilience to their human parent - you didn’t have the healing ability of hybrids or the immortality of spectres. 
“ ‘m fine, Rudy,” you smiled, so bright and reassuring when you were the wounded one. “Nothing a few stitches and rest won’t heal.”
“Si, but-”
“Doesn’t mean we’re not worried, love.”
Like his callsign, he walked in on your little group silently, peering over Rudolfo’s shoulders, his warm, brown hues meeting yours. His voice was strained with concern, croakier than when you left this morning, waving at them. Rodolfo moved over when Ghost brought his hand forward, Horangi passed you to him with careful and tender hands so that you could be brought to the infirmary without having to walk. You hooked your arms around Ghost’s neck, arms crossed lazily over his back and chin propped up on his shoulder. He held you against his chest, one arm under your ass and another carefully tucked under your knees, watching your wounded leg without touching it. 
You looked at Price and Laswell from your perch, their hushed discussion with shrugging shoulders and crossed arms, but neither looked pleased with the outcome of your mission. You blinked owlishly when you couldn’t find König beside them, head turning from side to side to find the 6 '10 Austrian hybrid, but you still couldn’t find him. Just as you were going to ask Ghost where König was, a hand reached out to grip your forearm, thick fingers softly rubbing your strained muscle. You were met with a veiled face when you turned, brilliant, red eyes stared at your wounded thigh in distaste, his mind throwing him into the scene of the moment, turning and ripping the men that dared harm you to pieces, bloodied and unrecognisable parts of a human. 
“Hey, König,” you called out, pulling him back from his violent daydream where his eyes turned crimson, glazed with bloodlust and rage, promising doom. “Do you want to come with us?”
“Ja,” he replied moments later, snapping to your face with blank eyes, now his regular, ice-blue colour. “To the infirmary first and mess all later. You need to eat and rest well to heal quickly, Schnucki.”
“What about the-”
“You need to rest, lovie. Let them deal with the debrief,” Ghost’s voice was stern and commanding, ending whatever protests you had. 
As if to prove his point, he turned to face Price, his head nudging you to look at your captain, the imposing and dominating figure of Price’s horned head, thick, swaying tail and powerful wing. Price replied with a quick nod, curt in a way that shut down any voice, landing the hammer on the gravel with a resounding boom. You sighed, grumbling lowly about them worrying too much about a flesh wound, exaggerating your condition (in your mind) and threatening them with insubordination that had your commanding officers glare your way.
next
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luvyeni · 6 months
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Yay okay can I please request an Anton fic Where he’s a virgin and he tells reader that he wants her to take his virginity but he’s really shy so y/n suggests they start off slow so she starts making out with him and dry humping him but then he tells her he wants to cum in her hand so she jerks him off that way and he does it all over her and it gets everywhere and it’s just messy and-
Tell me you understand my vison user luvyeni on Tumblr 🤭🤭?? Anyways that’s my request 😜
❛GOOD BOY❜ ( l. anton )
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p. nerd!anton x popular!reader wc. 1.4k
warnings? dry humping, handjob, cumming w/o penetration
— 𖦹 ( helping out your shy boyfriend ) !
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anton often truly wondered what he had done in his past life for him to been able to get a girlfriend as wonderful as you. you were incredibly smart, probably even smart as him always on top of your classes. not only were you smart, but you were also one of the popular girls, but you weren’t like the stereotypical mean bully mean girl; you were kind to everyone, never saying anything bad about everyone, even a loner nerd like him.
you guys met actually because you came to his rescue – one of the football players, who also happened to be your boyfriend at the time and his other friends would often come and corner the boy, stealing his money, throwing his things to the floor. you saw what happened, quickly coming to his defense, breaking up with the boy in front of everyone, quick guiding the boy away from danger, holding his books.
soon a cute little friendship formed, you’d leave all your friends and people who’d crowded around you, just to walk over to his table to sit with him and eat your lunch.
anyone would fall for a girl like you, anton included – and now that you were showing him all this affection, he’d fallen head over heels for you. but crazy enough, you beat him to it, you were actually the one who asked him on a date – you were even the one to ask him to be your boyfriend, which he of course said yes.
if anton could change one thing about himself, it would be how shy he would get around you, he wished he could voice what he wanted to you whenever he wanted – especially when it came to sex. he was a virgin obviously, the only thing he’d done was a few make out sessions, and that was with you.
he knew you were much more experienced than he was, and he could never satisfy you, but what would he be if he didn’t try. but even now, you were laying on his bed, your skirt riding up exposing your thighs, his pants growing tight, he still was too shy to speak up.
“anton?” you snapped your fingers in his face. “love, what’s wrong?” you said now sitting on your knees in front of him. “n-nothing, i’m fine.” his soft voice making you smile. “you don’t seem fine, what’s going on in that head of yours?” you placed your hand on his thigh, right below his growing cock, his breath hitched, he prayed you didn’t hear him. “i-i’m fine.”
you sighed, bringing your other hand to his forehead. “are you sick? do you need medicine?” you questioned, his face was now beat red, your hand was centimeters away from his bulge. “you’re burning up.”
you didn’t know what you were doing, you genuinely were concerned about him, but he didn’t know how much longer he could take it before his voice betrayed him. “anton just tell me, i won’t judge you love.” your hand came from his forehead to his cheek, caressing it.
he gulped, now was the time to man up. “i -um- iwantyoutotakemyvirginity.” he spoke so fast, his voice was still hushed, but you heard everything he said. “i know it’s embarrassing, but– no it’s not baby.” you reassured him. “i’ve told you, you will never embarrass me.” you kissed his lips, pulling away with a smile.
“it’s okay to be a virgin anton, let’s just take it slow, okay?” he nodded, he couldn’t look you in the eyes. “hey.” you called, climbing into his lap – this wasn’t new, but it still always shocked him. “you’re already hard.” you cocked your head to the side. “i-i’m sorry, i couldn’t hmph.” you shut him up with another kiss.
“stop apologizing for stuff that’s normal, look let’s just take it slow, okay?” you said softly ran your hands through his hair. “let’s start with what we know.” he nodded, you grabbed the sides of his face, kissing him, taking the lead like you always did, slipping your tongue into his mouth.
he kept his hands at his side, gripping the sheets in attempts to calm himself down, but with the way you were sitting directly on his cock, it was getting hard to control himself. you pulled away, grabbing his hands, placing them high on your thighs, under your skirt. “it’s okay, you can touch me.”
he let out a whimper, his cock was now painfully hard, he felt like he was gonna cum just from this – just from you sitting on him while kissing. you smiled against his lips, pulling away, he chased your lips, you giggled, wiping the spit from his lips. “so cute.”
“i-i…” he stopped, unable to speak. “what is it baby, tell me what you want.” you said. “c-can you move, it hurts.” whimpered out again. “of course, i can, such a good boy for speaking up.” you began to move your hips, he moaned – the feeling of the material from his underwear rubbing against his cock had him feeling dizzy.
not only that, but you were also moaning, your shirt unbuttoned revealing your bra, your boobs peaking from from the top – thinking about what he wanted to do to them had him about to cum, but he didn’t want to cum like this, he wanted more. “m-more.”
you stopped moving, your hands placed on his shoulders to keep yourself up. “you want more, pretty boy.” he whimpered at the name, nodding. “pl-please.” he said looking up at you with his wide doe eyes. “okay, i’ll give you more.”
you climbed off his lap, he looked at you confused. “i told you, we’re taking it slow.” you sat on the side of him, unbuckling his pants. “next time you’ll be able to fuck me, let’s not overwhelm you too much.” he nodded, you smiled. “good boy, lift your hips up for me.” you pulled his pants down enough to pull his cock from its confinements, he was average sized, a little bit on the thinner side, but you believed it would be enough to satisfy you once he learned to use it right. “such a pretty cock.” you praised; his ears turned red. “d-don’t say that.” you chuckled.
“but it is.” you ran your finger down the base of his length, he hissed, his cock twitching below your fingernail. “gonna jerk your pretty cock off, okay?” truth be told, you would love to fuck him, he looked so cute, and you were extremely horny, but you knew he wasn’t gonna last long, and you didn’t want him to feel self-conscious about cumming before you did. “w-what about you?” you wrapped your hand around his cock. “fu-fuck.” he cursed, surprising you both, he hardly used those words, unless he was really frustrated. “don’t worry about me love.” you began to stroke his cock slowly. “this is about you.”
his head was thrown back against the headboard, eyes sealed as you began to move your hand faster. “you’re doing so well for me, can you look at me please.” you cooed, he forced his eyes opened, making eye contact with your soft ones. “you feeling good?” you questioned, he moaned nodding. “i-it f-feels good, really g-good.”
“good that all that matters, you gonna cum?” he nodded, he could feel it, he wanted to last longer, but you were squeezing his base, and praising him – he could no longer hold it. “gonna cum.” you stroke him faster, his legs began to twitch, he could feel the cum filling up in his balls, ready to be released.
“i-i’m cu-cu…” he was speechless, he could barely get the words out before it was too late, white fluid came shoot out from his tip, getting everywhere, he came so much. it was all over your hands, some landing on your uncovered chest, on his shirt, even a little bit landed on your chin. ��i-i’m sorry, i did–.” you kissed him. “so cute, you came so much.” you praised. “good boy.”
you cleaned yourself up, helping the boy clean himself up. “you feeling okay?” he shyly nodded. “th-thank you for that.” he spoke. “i’m sorry i couldn’t do the same for you.” he frowned, you grabbed his hand in reinsurance. “it’s fine anton, really we have all the time in the world to have sex okay?” you kissed his cheek. “o-okay.”
“good boy”
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©️LUVYENI
1K notes · View notes
forlix · 6 months
Text
𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.
— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.
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words・7.7k
pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader
genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math
warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl
playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6
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a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you
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One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.
Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.
And now, there is him.
“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”
His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?
And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.
You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.
But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.
“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.
Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.
That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.
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Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.
You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.
“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.
“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.
When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying? 
“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.
“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile. 
“Wanna take a walk?”
“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”
This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.
“As long as you need me,” you say.
You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.
There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.
Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.
The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)
By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.
“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”
“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”
Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.
You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.
How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.
“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”
And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.
“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”
You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.
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Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.
You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.
But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.
When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.
From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH
You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.
From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)
Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.
From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES.  From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two
Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.
Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.
Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket. 
There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.
Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."
But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.
“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”
There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.
And then he moves.
“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.
Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.
“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?
“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”
At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)
The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.
Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!
When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.
From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?
And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.
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Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.
“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”
A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.
“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”
The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge. 
“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.
The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.
Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.
In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.
Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.
The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.
You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."
“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”
“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”
Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.
“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”
“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.
Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.
“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”
“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.
You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.
To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him
A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.
From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP
You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.
“What's up?” You answer.
“I think I’m...stuck.”
Now what the hell does that mean?
“Can I come in?”
“Mhm.”
You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.
“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.
“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”
Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.
He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.
“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”
“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”
For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.
“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.
You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.
“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”
In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.
Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.
Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.
But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.
You reach your conclusion a second after he does.
Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.
A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.
Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.
“I love you,” he whispers.
A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.
But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.
An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.
You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.
But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.
You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.
And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.
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Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.
“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”
“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”
“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”
Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.
When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.
But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”
With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.
“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”
“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."
(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)
“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”
“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."
He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.
A month has passed since that night.
You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.
You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.
Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.
You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.
“We’re here,” Felix says.
The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.
Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.
“Not bad, huh?”
“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”
“C’mon.”
Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.
(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)
“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”
“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”
Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.
“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”
Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.
Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.
You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.
When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"
And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.
“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.
Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.
“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”
“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”
You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.
“Okay.” And the stage is yours.
You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.
It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being. 
So you take a deep breath.
“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.
“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”
You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.
“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”
Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.
“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.
“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”
You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.
“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”
Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.
“—please.”
And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.
When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair. 
The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.
And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.
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One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.
It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.
You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.
You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.
Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.
Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.
This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.
Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.
A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.
There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each. 
You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.
The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.
Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.
When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.
The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.
“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.
“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”
And so you do.
You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.
“Hey, Lix—"
When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.
“—I love you.”
Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.
Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”
He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”
“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”
Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
2K notes · View notes
abbyromanoff · 5 months
Note
Hey love ur fics so muchhh was wondering if u could write a fic about g!p wanda and innocent fem reader, corruption kink ofcc. Reader hasn't even had her first kiss and Wanda teaches her how to tongue kiss and so much more(just v penetration no anal). Heavy breeding kink as well plsss
FOLLOW MY LEAD
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PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader
WORD COUNT: 3,750
WARNINGS: smut, corruption kink, older!Wanda, innocence kink, breeding kink, Wanda has a dick, making out, kinda slow burn, age gap (legal), best friends mom!Wanda, sex in a pool, degrading, praise kink, cunnilingus, Mommy (W), mentions of masturbation and failed masturbation, some angst and fluff, think that’s all :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
Wanda watched with a smile as you licked the icing off of the cupcake she had given you. She had been inviting you over for weeks now and it’s been getting all the more difficult to ignore you. You were best friends with her twin boys and had been for a few years so them leaving for college wasn’t easy. They were both traveling across the state to study while you chose to stay back in your home region, Wanda couldn’t have been happier with your choice. You didn’t have many friends to spend time with in your lonely hours and the mother next door pitied you for it, or at least that’s what you thought.
In reality, she had been harboring a growing attraction towards you for months now. You never really saw her beforehand, she was often times on business trips or working at her home office during her children’s teen years. But you didn’t mind, she wasn’t the reason you spent so much time with Tommy and Billy, but now she was the only reason you had to visit the house you called home for so many years.
“The oven will be going off in just a moment, do you mind taking it out while I head to the bathroom?” You complied and she sent you a grateful smile along with a quick peck to your head that caused redness to paint your cheeks. Ever since your friends left you, you’ve been forced to notice all the moments you shared with the woman. She was beautiful, that was a fact. But not only did she bless you with her looks, she also was the only one who ever made you feel so safe and welcome. You couldn’t understand what you felt towards her, after all, she’s a woman, and you’ve never felt this way for the same gender.
All your life you were told to marry a man someday, to love him dearly and bear his children, but the more time you spent with her the more you realized that wasn’t what you wanted. You spent nights dreaming of her in many ways you wished you didn’t. There were times you’d be woken to a dampness on your panties when your consciousness blessed you with the images of her on top of you, kissing down your body before it ended. You just wanted to know what would happen next, and you were often left daydreaming about how it would go. It only brought a further amount of aching, but you didn’t know how to get rid of it. You were too afraid to do research so you suffered alone, praying that it would go away soon enough but it never did. No amount of praying or hoping could stop your needs.
Wanda was just as bad, only she knew ways to ease the ache. Nights were spent in her bed, alone, wishing you were next to her. She imagined waking up next to you, kissing across your face to wake you up. You’d toss and turn just a bit before opening your eyes and shining your adorable smile in her face. She’d kiss you with love before it became deeper, then she’d go just a bit lower and kiss your neck. She’d relish in your soft moans that nobody had ever had the privilege of hearing besides her. Then she’d drag her hand down your body delicately, teasing your hardened nipples before dipping lower and reaching the waistband of your pajamas. She’d dip her fingertips inside after hearing your small pleads and would gently rub your clit in small circles, letting you feel her length against your thigh. She would be aching, her tip drooling as she used one hand to stroke herself slowly, allowing both of your sounds of pleasure to echo throughout the room. You’d beg around her, feeling her fingers reach that soft spot deep inside of you and focusing on the tightness in your stomach. She’d pull your shorts lower along with hers, giving you permission to let go as she rubbed her cock against your folds, releasing her cum across your skin. You’d beg for more in that sweet tone, and she’d have no choice but to say yes.
Her thoughts of you plagued her mind throughout the day and with no one else to help her, she was stuck taking care of her needs alone. Her hand would wrap around her length, stroking slowly just like she did in her dreams, only this time it was you doing it. She’d call out your name while picturing you beneath her on your knees, staring up at her with a gentle gaze as she instructed you on what to do. She knew you were all alone as well, no one to help ease your wetness in the ways she wished to do. Only if you’d give in, only if you’d notice her lingering gazes and finally leaned up when she kissed your forehead, causing her lips to join yours. If only she had you in all the ways she wanted.
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Wanda washed her hands in the sink before dabbing the water onto her face, looking at herself through the mirror with shame. You were still so young, so naive, it would be wrong to take that from you, but she wanted to so badly. She wanted to be the reason you smiled, the reason you could genuinely be yourself. She wanted to be the one who listened to your rambles about what others found stupid, but she could never think such a thing. Anyone would be lucky even to be blessed by your presence, she wasn’t going to lose that. She knew she had to make a move soon or she’d risk the chance of losing you without even having you.
She looked down, noticing her slightly hardened length was peaking through her jeans. She cursed to herself and tried to adjust it well enough to hide. Usually, she could keep it hidden from you, but this pair of pants seemed to not want to work with her. She was hoping you wouldn’t notice, but the moment she stepped into the kitchen and saw your gaze fall for a split second, she knew you knew. She could sense it from the small gulp you let out, your back instantly turning to face her as you made the excuse of mixing more icing. You were celebrating the return of the twins for the summer and she asked for your help, knowing how much you loved baking especially with her. She also used it as an excuse to see you again, just like she did every time she saw you.
She gained the courage to step behind you, lightly brushing her crotch against your bottom as she leaned over you. She sniffed the air filled with the smell of funfetti mix, it had always been the boy's favorite even well into their teen years.
“Well, doesn’t that smell absolutely divine?” She leaned her chin on top of your head as you hummed, too afraid to talk as you knew you’d let out something embarrassing with the way she felt against you. Your hands trembled ever so slightly as she placed her hand on your waist, using it as a hold as she reached for the spatula not far away.
“Did you bring your bathing suit, sweetheart?” She asked, receiving a small nod from your end as you reached for the object in her hand.
“Good girl. The pool is finally all cleaned thanks to your help, it’s only fair you get to be the first to test it out with me.” With her. Meaning she’d also be in a bathing suit, showing off her curves that you found so enticing. You feared how you’d act around her, even if you thought you were well at hiding it.
“Uhm, yeah. Yeah, sure.”
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The decorating process continued to flow easily with much teasing from Wanda’s end, curse her body language. She was a very touchy person, that was well-known to you. You didn’t think it was all that special, until you noticed the fact that she’d only ever share a handshake between her closest friends. Was there something different about you?
You worried she just saw you as a daughter figure knowing how you were often neglected by your own parents. You didn’t want her to see you as a child anymore because you weren’t, you were a nineteen-year-old who was more than capable of handling things on their own. But what if she didn’t think that? What if she saw you in the ways everyone else around you did?
“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” She called out, breaking you out of your trance as you blinked a few times. You were met with her soft smile in return, the same one that brought butterflies to your stomach.
“Is everything alright, dear? You looked a little sad there.” You sighed before giving a small nod, only ending up in an even deeper frown from the older woman. She was now dressed in her bathing suit, a bikini top along with swim shorts, even the simplest outfit sent you in spirals. You were currently covering yourself with a towel, your legs and shoulders being the only thing Wanda was able to see, but even that was enough to send her thoughts to places she wished they wouldn’t go.
“Oh, I’m fine, Miss. You- you look really beautiful.” You wanted to slap yourself for letting those words out, but it brought a blush to her cheeks, that was all you could’ve hoped for.
“First off, there’s no need to call me Miss, I believe we’re way past that point. And second of all, I appreciate it, dear, I haven’t worn these in years so I’m surprised they still fit.” She chuckled and looked down, hearing small sounds of your feet colliding with the floor as you came closer.
“Well, maybe you should wear it more often, I’m sure you’d catch a lot of attention.” But she wanted yours. She only wanted your attention, she couldn’t care about anyone else’s. Not when you stood there so perfectly without even realizing it. She’d make you see it. She’d make you see the beauty that shined throughout you.
“And why is that?”
“Like I said, you’re very beautiful, Wanda. Pregnancies affect all bodies, even years after. But, personally, I see them as signs of life. I wouldn’t have my best friends if it wasn’t for you, so I find every sign of that very, very pretty. I just wish everyone saw it that way, especially you.” You trailed off with a shrug, seeing her eyes light up with every sentence. You were never good at giving compliments, but with her, it seemed to flow with ease. You knew she deserved to hear them as you could tell no one spoke so highly of her often. You didn’t understand how, one glance from her could send anyone to their knees, but everyone seemed to be too afraid to say it to the highly-ranked businesswoman. Even you were nervous to say it around her, but her response always helped release that fear.
“I- thank you, Y/N. Nobody has ever spoken so highly of me.” She felt so vulnerable in the moment, where did things change? Only minutes ago she was teasing you relentlessly, now here she was with her heart swarming from your welcoming smile.
“You don’t need to thank me for being honest.” She nodded softly, wishing she could cling onto this moment forever. You were only feeding into her lust, forcing her to want more when she didn’t believe that was possible.
“What do you say about some lemonade, yeah? You can head outside and I’ll be out in just a minute with our drinks.” You complied and opened the screen door, giving one last glance before removing the towel placed over your shoulders. Wanda bit her lip as she eyed your figure, her gaze falling onto your bottoms. You wore a bikini, showing off every curve you stored that she had dreamed of. You were even more pleasing to the eye than she knew of.
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“Here you are, darling,” She handed you the cold glass as you swam to the edge of the pool, your sunglasses resting on top of your head and tangling with your wet hair.
“How’s the water?”
“It’s good, pretty warm which I expected.” She gasped lowly as the wetness came higher up on her body. You swam over to her, grabbing both of her hands and pulling her in further. She let out a small yelp as you caught her, your faces sharing low proximity to the point you could feel her breath on yours.
“Uh, sorry-” You tried to pull away but were quickly stopped by her hands on your lower back. She brought you impossibly closer and you could feel her length pleading to be freed. In all honesty, she had been trying to disguise it since the moment you let your skin be shown. You were like a goddess, entrancing everyone possible and forcing their heartbeat to rise.
“I want to kiss you so bad right now, but I’m only going to if you want me to.” Your lips parted in shock as your eyes widened, your expression was starting to worry the older woman. She was ready to pull away until you stopped her, making the first move as you planted a meaningful peck onto her mouth. She felt her muscles tension start to die down while her hands held you tightly, traveling down to the exposing clothing you wore and squeezing your ass. You gasped lightly, allowing her tongue to move further and enter your mouth. She pressed your body against the wall, letting her fingertips toy with the waistband of your bikini bottoms before hiking your thigh against her waist, giving her easier access to trail it down your legs.
“You’re an even better kisser than I imagined.” You chuckled at her words, biting your lip as you felt her teasing your folds.
“You’ve- you’ve imagined kissing me?” A small whimper made way from your vocal cords and Wanda nearly came from the sound alone. She needed you so badly, there was no way she’d be able to stop now.
“Oh, I’ve imagined doing so many things to you, baby.” The recollection brought a new sense of arousal to her. The nights she’d stay up, moans bouncing off the walls as her mind went wild.
“I think of you too, Wanda.” You shyly, remarked, looking down as you spotted your legs opening more on their own. It was as if they were on their own accord, chasing after the high you’ve been wanting for months now.
“Yeah? Tell me, do you touch yourself when you think of Mommy, hm?” The nickname nearly brought a shake to your legs, your eyes traveling to the back of your head as you released a weak moan.
“I’ve- I’ve never-” She clicked her tongue loudly and for a quick second you felt her still and your body wanted to disagree, but the shame you held was too much. Maybe you really were too innocent or young for her, so naive to think you had a chance.
“I’m the first to touch this sweet, sweet pussy? Oh, baby girl, you have no idea how happy that makes Mommy to hear.” Your hands came up to her shoulders as you held yourself up, trying your best to not let her see your weakness. But Wanda saw everything, she always knew.
“Mommy’s got you, little one, she’s not going anywhere.” You could tell she was holding back slightly as she continued to rub your clit in small, gentle circles. You didn’t want her to hold back, you wanted to satisfy her needs correctly.
“Please, Mommy, I don’t want you to be gentle.” Your pout could’ve easily sent her to heaven, but she chose to remain calm and guide you to sit on the edge of the wall. Up to your knees were chilled with the water while the rest of your body soaked in the heat of the sun. Wanda instantly separated your legs and placed soft, yet bruising kisses on your thighs. She wanted to leave a mark. She wanted you to go home tonight and be forced to remember your previous activities, she wanted you to suffer so badly until you needed to see her again. She wanted to be your only escape, she wanted that hold over you that no one else could have.
Her tongue collided with your weeping cunt, giving you no preparation as she instantly caused the tightening in your stomach to worsen. Months and months of edging was catching up to you, but you didn’t want to fail her so quickly.
“You taste fucking amazing, princess.” She was sloppy with her movements, holding absolutely no care or shame as she only focused on your flavor. You were like her favorite fruit that she couldn’t quite get enough of, always reaching for more and telling herself it’ll be the last one, only the last one never came.
“M-Mommy-” She pulled away for a quick moment, leaving a small peck to your pulsing clit as her eyes landed on yours, guiding you into continuing.
“I feel funny.” You expressed, leading her to smirk in response.
“Oh, my poor baby, can you tell me more about how you’re feeling?” She fauxed a frown before continuing, her tongue sliding in and out of your tight hole as her moans vibrated against you. Your breath sped up, your chest heaving as tears pricked your eyes.
“It f-feels weird…in my stomach. I- ah! I-I kept feeling like this for..months!” You gasped when she sucked harshly on your clit. You’ve never felt so ecstatic, so small.
“I’d think of y-you, Mommy, and then my- my head would get f-fuzzy and it would feel all tingly down below.” You choked on your words, trying to manage out some sort of evidence that you were still in control of your body, but deep down you wanted to give her all sorts of power.
“Mhm, and how would you help those tingly feelings?” You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt your hips starting to move on their own against her face, your body begging for more.
“I don’t know, I- sometimes, I-I’d rub my thighs t-together, but I never knew what to- what to do.” She was so engrossed in your words and the way you were clenching around nothing, her cock was nearly drooling as she failed to satisfy herself. Now that she had you, she wasn’t going to waste the chance of getting a taste of your sweet cunt.
“Mhm, and it felt like this, right?” It never felt nearly as good, but you nodded anyway.
“Do you think you can do something for me, pretty girl?” Once again, you nodded, this time a whimper following as your hand fell to your breast. You tweaked your hardened nipples as instinct, you didn’t even realize what you were doing until you noticed her watching your movements.
“I want you to hold it, just for a few more minutes, okay? I know you can do it, you’re my strong girl!” She climbed out of the water, letting you lay down as she settled over you. The towel was warm due to the sun but her hot kisses were even warmer. She placed them against your neck, smiling into them as she noticed the forming visible marks.
“Mommy’s gonna go in now, is that alright?”
“Okay, Mommy.” You nearly squeaked when her tip entered you, the small amount already seeming to stretch your walls to the max. You grappled onto her chest for support, unable to stop yourself as your lips followed. She moaned lowly at the contact, her hips jutting forward just enough to cause a weak whine.
“Mommy, it hurts.” You ushered out, your teeth grazing against her sensitive skin and resulting in a groan.
“Fuck, Mommy’s so close, baby. C’mon, be a good little slut and I’ll let you cum with me.” You nervously brought a hand down to cup her balls, using your thumb to gently rub the skin as she bit her lip to suppress any sounds.
“Pl- please, Mommy, I wanna hear you.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, letting go of her lip as her mouth parted. Her pace quickened enough to have you mumbling incoherent sentences.
“Kiss me, darlin’,” She muttered before grasping the back of your neck and guiding you into her. Your mouth’s connected in a searing kiss, one that brought further ache to your core. Her tongue ran over your lips as she begged for you to let her in, which you quickly did. She explored your mouth as if a traveler on a conquest, only stopping when she gasped as liquids spurted onto her crotch. She looked down at you, eyes blown out and full of lust while holding shame and guilt.
“‘M sorry, I-I tried-” She shushed you quickly, stuffing her head in your neck as she sniffed your scent. You were so unbelievably intoxicating, that she couldn’t get enough.
“Oh, sweetie, Mommy’s so proud of you.” She praised. “So much so that I’m gonna give you a little gift,” Her sloppy thrusts stilled as you felt warm juices invading your tight hole. She was painting your walls with her cum, pressing even deeper as she watched droplets escape you.
“Oh, fuck! I’ve been wanting to fill this cunt for too fucking long, baby girl, you have no idea how badly I need this.” You clawed her back, leaving hints of red marks as you drew lines with your nails. They weren’t very long, but the pleasure became too much and you quickly found yourself digging into her skin.
“You’re going to look so perfect carrying my babies. And when you go back to college, or when you walk around town, all the judgful looks will remind you of how much of a slut you are for your Mommy.” Suddenly, you remembered the two boys who were meant to be arriving in only a few hour's time. Your eyes shot open, your body trying to move from hers as she only continued to hold you tightly.
“No, love. They won’t be here for a while, and I’m going to spend every second I have left fucking you.”
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jnkgrnde · 3 months
Text
— flaws and all, clarisse la rue, pjo
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summary — in which, clarisse is feeling insecure about herself after a meeting with her dad. you want her to know you love her, flaws and all.
pairings — clarisse x black!fem!reader (daughter of poseidon)
authors note — this was stolen from a miles fic i had sitting in the drafts lmao. this is a short one cs i didn’t know where i was going w this 😭
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the doors to your cabin slammed open, a frustrated and teary eyes clarisse walking through them. the blue in your cabin glimmered in the light that she cut through as she made her way to you.
“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you asked her. you were quick to get up before she could make it to your bed and stopped her. she frantically searched your eyes, her racing heart starting to slow down.
“do you love me?” you blinked. “of course i do— where is this coming from?” you questioned. tears were on the verge of falling from her eyes, so you led her to your bed.
“he- he came..” clarisse choked out. she sniffled, “he said he was disappointed in me. said he should’ve had a son.” you could hear your heart shatter into pieces like hers probably did when she heard her father say that.
you couldn’t stand ares. whenever someone brought him up, clarisse tensed up. he’d always degraded her, breaking her down into nothing. it was a large part of why she is the way she is.
“oh, baby.” you put your hand on the back of her head and let her cry into your neck. usually, she’d bottle this up and take her frustration out in sparring, but this was different. you whispered sweet nothings into her ear as you rubbed her back, kissing the side of her head.
“would you have loved me better if i was a son?”
“i love you, as you are, sweet girl. you know that,” you told her. “i’d burn the world for you.” she hummed.
“and you know how we have those plans, y’know, maybe after all this, when we grow older, we can leave him behind. you’ll have me. you might deal with him occasionally, and if you do, i’ll be here.” you promised.
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vivalabunbun · 9 months
Text
As You Are, I Am Too
Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?
Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy
Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.
Side Note: Here is a continuation
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Do you believe in soulmates?
It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.
Who doesn’t want to experience that? 
To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.
To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own. 
The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.
Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database. 
What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.
So much so, there was no reason not to use it. 
Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.
That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone. 
But do you believe in soulmates?
“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.
“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.
“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.
“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.
“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.” 
“Huh?” 
“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.
“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.
“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.
Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.
He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.
“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.
“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines. 
“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.” 
“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass. 
Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.
Still, the great mystery remains. 
“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool. 
“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.
———————————————————————————
Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.
Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.
The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.
“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room. 
Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.
Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door. 
It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.
However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean. 
Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.
Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek. 
“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him. 
“No, just heading to bed.” 
“Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.
Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends. 
Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin. 
Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.
It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view. 
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“I don’t believe in soulmates.”
The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips. 
Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a  meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict. 
After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say,  “What a coincidence, neither do I.”
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So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.
Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden. 
Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.
The circumstances had aligned. 
And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre -  maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.
He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.
Although, he could learn to launder better. 
Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.
The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose. 
Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.
The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness. 
It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment. 
“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise. 
Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.
Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment. 
“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full. 
“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.
This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves. 
Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.
Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind. 
The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life. 
Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.
The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.
‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.
A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct. 
Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips. 
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The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.
With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better. 
“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen. 
A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.
Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner. 
“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice. 
“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud. 
“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”
“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even.  “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table. 
“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.
“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.
Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip. 
“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?” 
“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.
From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”. 
“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.” 
He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.
“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?” 
A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood. 
“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.
Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner. 
You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips. 
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“...” 
The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.
Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet. 
The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.
Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.
You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.
A fickle and potent-smelling flower. 
A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses. 
“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose. 
“Is something the matter?” 
“The smell is giving me a headache.” 
A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.
Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue. 
“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in. 
Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off. 
In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.
As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin. 
Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.
———————————————————————————
“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table. 
“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots. 
“You can have some.” 
You return your gaze  back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer. 
Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter. 
Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness. 
Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner. 
“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin. 
“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused. 
“They’re just not to my taste.” 
“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task. 
Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.
Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate. 
———————————————————————————
“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway. 
You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that,  gaze questioning his intentions. 
“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper. 
As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive. 
“Sure.”
You could get out of the house a little more. 
It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.
And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets. 
“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag. 
Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system. 
The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.
It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.
His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours. 
Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.
His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away. 
Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.
Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater. 
They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.
Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room. 
With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.
You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie. 
“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side. 
Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips. 
“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat. 
“Oh.”
Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.
Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book. 
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“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.” 
“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”
“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”
Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.
Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay. 
Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now. 
You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films. 
Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.
A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity. 
A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.
It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame. 
Oh. He should’ve knocked.
You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him. 
Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.
Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction. 
“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy. 
“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder. 
“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”
“Okay.” 
Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears. 
———————————————————————————
“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him. 
A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand. 
“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it. 
There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.
 The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.
It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves. 
“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering. 
With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.
An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it. 
Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood. 
———————————————————————————
“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway. 
Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back. 
“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.
Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon. 
“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain. 
Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency. 
“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected. 
Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss. 
“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen. 
The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.
Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head. 
You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly. 
Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.
However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time. 
Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.
Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts. 
Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger. 
How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home. 
The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.
  
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Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.
You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.
The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.
A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on. 
Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?
There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.
It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward. 
Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?
He never asked, you never told.
No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls. 
Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband. 
A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years. 
Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.
Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star. 
———————————————————————————
Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.
You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning. 
Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.
A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response. 
———————————————————————————
In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles. 
Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.
If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?
However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you. 
To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution. 
He read it after you. 
———————————————————————————
Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.
Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd. 
Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.
But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money. 
On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store. 
“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you. 
“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”
“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs. 
“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”
“For my husband.”
“Oh? What does he like?”
You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding. 
“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences. 
“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”
What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought. 
That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.
However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions. 
The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.
He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills. 
Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun. 
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Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught. 
The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?
Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home. 
Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office. 
Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.
With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.
You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.
 The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer. 
Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.
Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe. 
From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.
Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home. 
Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs. 
Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore. 
It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.
Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess. 
Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain. 
However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.
When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.
A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.
————————
“Hey, kiddo.” 
Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.
You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air. 
The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.
Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone. 
“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay. 
“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor. 
“Too bad the high can only last three years.”
Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.
Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors. 
A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer. 
“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling. 
The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal. 
Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall. 
“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls. 
————————
Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar. 
This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d  hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are. 
How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.
So blindsided by it.
The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.
How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.
No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies. 
Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.
Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?
You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be. 
It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.
Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.
Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.
Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did. 
An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away. 
It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone. 
Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen. 
Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again. 
It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.
It’s a silent death. 
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For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.
A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention. 
“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you. 
Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.
As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”
“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer. 
 Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.
That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents. 
So you accept the vile glass.
Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor. 
“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused. 
Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.
Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.
“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more. 
Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more. 
Maybe you should’ve just stayed home. 
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“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm. 
“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret. 
Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.
“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address. 
Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger. 
“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze. 
———————————————————————————
A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.
The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’. 
There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.
Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.
You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.
Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention. 
The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.
A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.
The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed. 
————————
The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door. 
Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.
It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.
Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.
A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru. 
The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor. 
For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.
His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute. 
Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam. 
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A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.
The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours. 
Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.
You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.  
To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.
Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.
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The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.
The dinner must have ended.
Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.
His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door. 
Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.
Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps. 
Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.
The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak. 
“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.
Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.
A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.
“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.
Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face. 
“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair. 
“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral. 
Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.
Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours. 
“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries. 
It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.
You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning. 
“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home. 
Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.
Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor. 
After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.
Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.
What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months. 
As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass. 
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop. 
“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet. 
“Oh? It sure looks like you did.” 
Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing. 
“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be. 
“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you. 
“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.” 
“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.” 
Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.
So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all. 
“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words. 
“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair. 
“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room. 
At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.
The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?
You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.
“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears. 
“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.
“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.
There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.
There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath. 
“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other. 
“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips. 
“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl. 
“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.” 
Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. 
“Strip,” he commands.
“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold. 
“Yes, furious even.” 
It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.
The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed. 
With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only? 
Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.
Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs. 
‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.
‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard. 
Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined. 
However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him. 
“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face. 
“Go to hell,” you spat out. 
And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?
“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.
Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air.  Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.
 However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience. 
You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.
“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off. 
You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit. 
“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit. 
“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side. 
“I need to confirm it.”
With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds. 
“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again. 
You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.
Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans. 
Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.
Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.  
Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions. 
Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself. 
Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt. 
“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was. 
In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.
Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.
Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.
“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt. 
Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.
You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds. 
“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers. 
A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.
You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent. 
Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had. 
Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.
With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.
Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-
Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.
His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy. 
“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied. 
“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away. 
Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.
Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.
“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you. 
Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.
“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.
Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.
“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours. 
Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.
Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.
Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours. 
However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was. 
Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you. 
“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips. 
Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough. 
What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you. 
Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.
How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure. 
A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.
Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.
Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed. 
Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.
All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness. 
The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.
There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan. 
He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.
He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.
As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.
The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger. 
Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.
Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.
“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!” 
The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin. 
“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences. 
 It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.
Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.
Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls. 
Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.
“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm. 
“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear. 
Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.
Bed frame pushed to its limits.
Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.
There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub. 
“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.
Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did. 
“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?
Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.  
“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub. 
The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.
“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.
Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night. 
“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now. 
Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.
“A bastard.” 
Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face. 
The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.
Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.
Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure. 
A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow. 
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Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.
Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim. 
“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body. 
Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.
So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?
You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.
Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands. 
A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence. 
“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces. 
Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues. 
“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down. 
“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion. 
“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference. 
A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.
Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal. 
“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue. 
“I never-”
“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs. 
Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.
You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door. 
Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march. 
“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices. 
You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.
Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before? 
“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again. 
“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare. 
“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.” 
“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest. 
“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his. 
“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states. 
You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.
“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.
“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.
“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”
“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20. 
 “Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.” 
“417 left.”
Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face. 
“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.
“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge. 
“26 left.”  You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his. 
“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.
As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations. 
“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop. 
Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body. 
“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.
“ 0.543,” You blurted out.
A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.
Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures. 
Each time the same number came back: half a person. 
“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail? 
“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state. 
“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use. 
No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood. 
“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame. 
It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.
How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?
Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.
All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess. 
“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue. 
“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth. 
Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.
“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you. 
You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes. 
Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.
All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.
So, why is your chest aching?
The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away. 
Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises. 
“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”
“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.
The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?
Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love. 
“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.
Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips. 
A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.
No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house. 
Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.
However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error. 
A  good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.
“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses. 
Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean. 
Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.
Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else. 
Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.
He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn’t recall one fact from those pages.
One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.
When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.
“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.
“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.
You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth. 
“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.
A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale. 
“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes. 
“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight. 
With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.
So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.
Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls. 
But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love. 
~Fin
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 
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heavenbarnes · 25 days
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Can we please get a blurb of big dick Hotch (who knows it’s big) making it fit? Reader thinks they can’t take it but Hotch just knoooows they can. Hehe thank you!
You say it’s big but you take it
Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader
Warnings/contains: reader is gender neutral with no mentions of genitals, oral sex, edging, penetrative sex, no protection, finger sucking, swearing, dirty talk, light face slapping, probably a size kink
I’m so grateful for this ask because I only explored this a little in my last Hotch fic and it deserved more
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He’d had his mouth between your legs for the better part of an hour, his tongue working over your entrance as his fingers gently worked their way in.
That, that was already doing your head in. His thick fingers stretched you enough to have your toes curling, fingers threading into his hair.
You’d been on the precipice of an orgasm from the beginning too, every time you’d get close enough he’d slow you right back down to work you up again.
Pathetic. You looked truly pathetic, utterly debauched and completely fucked out- already.
Stripped naked, Hotch had pulled every last article of clothing off you before he’d pushed you back on the bed. Of course, he’d only shed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt but he was still nearly entirely covered.
That was another way he commanded total power over you. Leaving you so exposed to him whilst you had to fight for a glimpse at him.
Drove you fucking crazy.
You couldn’t help the whimpering as you felt him move away from you, hands stretching out to catch him but he quieted you quickly.
“Stop it- you’re being greedy.”
Lip jutting out, pouting like a child- he was completely correct but you made no effort to stop. “I need you.”
Kneeling back, you watched his big hands start to loosen his belt, pulling down his pants and briefs just enough to free himself.
“You’ll get me, when have I ever let you down?”
He had a point, you couldn’t imagine a world where Hotch didn’t leave you satisfied. But he was right, you were greedy and your patience was wearing thin.
You watched through hooded eyes as he reached into his boxers, pulling out his cock before giving it a languid stroke. It nearly made your eyes roll back, not even his large palm dwarfing the size of it.
He placed that same palm in front of you, giving you a quick nod that you understood immediately. Tilting your head, you spat into his hand before he wrapped it back around himself.
As he slowly jerked himself off before you, his other hand came back to keep rubbing the wetness from his mouth around your entrance.
His eyes flickered to yours, knowing he was being watched. He knew you well enough to know what you’d say next.
“It’s so big.”
It wasn’t even to stroke his ego, and the way you whined when you said it painted it more as a protest. Aaron Hotchner was hung, there was no denying it.
Every time with him felt like the first.
That’s why the prep went for so long, that’s why there was very seldom a quickie, that’s why you always woke with a burn between your legs.
“I know it’s big, sweetheart,” He cooed, rubbing his hand over the tip. “But you always take it so well, yeah?”
Your mouth dropped open with a cry, bucking your hips into the touch of his fingers. This was how it went, he’d work it into you with a lot of patience and a heap of praise.
The blunt tip was nudging against you, breaching the tight grasp of you as he slowly slid himself in. Your eyes screwed up tight until you felt Hotch grasping your chin, four fingers and thumb on either side as your lips puckered.
“Watch me,” His breath was clipped as he continued to ease his hips. “Watch it go in.”
His grip tightened slightly as he tilted your head down, eyes falling on the sight before you. His thick cock, stretching you around him as another inch of him disappeared.
“Fuck- s’too big-“
His grip loosened enough to lay a quick and gentle slap to your cheek, shutting you up in an instant.
“I don’t want to hear you unless you’re telling me to fuck you harder.”
Your stomach tightened up, a surge of pleasure hitting your straight on as he spoke. The burn was beginning to ease the closer he got to being hip deep.
Once he’s fully sunk in, he stilled enough for you to get fully adjusted. The moment he heard a deep moan from the pit of your chest, he knew that was his sign to start moving.
“That’s it, so good for me,” His fingers slipped across your lip before he dipped his thumb in your mouth. “We’ll always make it fit.”
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