#It's like half seven in the morning and this seemed like a good idea

[factorialsotherfandoms]

(implied cannibalism, non-explicate suicidal thinking, discussions of murder, spoilers for tazercraft stream iiiiiiiiish, nobody has the right stick let alone the right end of it but they're running with it anyway. It's kinda dark oops all three of them forgot what rails are)

"What the fuck did you do to Pac?"

Cellbit knew he should have gone back to the fear room, but Roier had insisted on actually using their double bed, and after meeting Bobby again and the other eggs at all... After that...

Cellbit groans and turns over, to see Roier already half out of bed, knife in hand, and Fit leering over them with a bomb. It's not lit, and so Cellbit could honestly give less of a damn.

And, hey, Roier is getting out of bed with that knife, at which point getting hit would not be too terrible after all.

"Nothing!" Roier is yelling on his behalf. "He has been - been with me all night! The eggs! What the fuck Fit."

"Then why is he missing?" Fit yells back. "Where has he gone?!"

Roier continues the screaming match, and Cellbit is suddenly alert - not hearing what is being yelled between the two, but alert. Horror seeps through him, dread pooling in shaking limbs as he finally sits up and turns to the pair.

"Pac's missing?"

"Shhh, Guapito," Roier coos. "/Go back to sleep/."

Fit must see something, though, because he twists his... whatever the fuck that is from an aggressive stance to a defensive one.

"Yeah," Fit's voice is wary. "I said I'd meeting him tonight - protect him from /you/ - but he's gone."

"Did you check the island?" Cellbit asks, trying not to even think about the words as he drags himself out of bed.

He's too tired for this, far too tired for this, but even with the posters, even with the walls... Pac is obviously terrified of him and maybe he shouldn't chase the man but he's still family. He's still family, and what is he doing this for if not family?

But the fucking bear has taken Pac. Again. And Cellbit is going to enjoy eating its corpse.

All three of them's corpses.

He quite frankly doesn't give a damn.

"Did I check the island?" Fit sounds incredulous. "Of course I checked the island! It's where we were meeting. And Chume Labs, and the Order, and Tubbo's - fuck I even checked /Spreen's/ before I came here. He didn't want to think you'd kill him, but where the fuck else could he be?!"

"The bear took him," Cellbit's brain is running a thousand miles a minute, through every possibility, through every possible torture, through everything being done to Pac and through everything he's going to do to the bear. "That fucking bear! I knew I was going too slowly, I knew-!"

Roier grabs his hands, uncurls fingers he didn't even realise were digging into his palms, meets his eyes, "we'll kill him together, yes?"

"Roier..."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Fit is still standing there, calmer but less comfortable.

"Alright maybe it was presumptuous," he conceeds. "You'd have left some fucked up riddle. But you can't blame me. Hes terrified of you right now."

"I know," Cellbit hates himself for it, but he has to get his family safe - family that is now only Roier, and Felps, and Bagi. "But I have to. I have to get them safe."

"I get that," Fit puts away his whatever, and takes out his potato cannon instead. "He wants you to be two people, you know. One to be scared of, one to love."

Cellbit laughs - he isn't surprised - and finds he cannot stop. It spirals and spirals and spirals until he's sat on the bed, Roier wrapped around him, laughing so hard he cries into his bloody hands.

Fit does not flee the sight, instead meets the hysterical murderer in the eyes. He doesn't back down, doesn't stop.

"You're clearly not," Fit says. "Get moving, we've got someone to find. I'm down to shoot the fucks, but I'm not an investigator."

Cellbit tries to get up, to go, to find, to hunt.

Roier grabs his wrist.

"Sleep," he says. "They don't leave clues for a few days anyway."

"Oh we're not looking for clues," Fit twirls a keycard between his fingers. "We're just going to go to them."

Rover's lips move in a snarl; Cellbit's match. It's a stupid idea, but he gets the rest of the way up, tears and giggles still slightly escaping him as he pulls on a shirt, and gets his knife.

Cellbit watches the lax movement, and has no doubt that Fit has murdered before, and will do again. Neither, from what he hears, is there anything he wouldn't do for Pac.

Heh.

Maybe they're family after all, or at least they will be very soon. Fucked up little murder family, out for revenge.

"I like your idea," he says, murderer to murderer. "But if you wake my husband up again, it will be you next."

Roier grumbles about that being his line as he straps a fourth knife to his leg, and readies his own weapons.

It doesn't even rise to the threat, he just barks out half of a laugh and adjusts his stance.

"Emergencies about Pac or Mike only."

Cellbit grins wide enough to show off his teeth. "Exactly."

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter I: The Chain 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after leaving him, your inevitable reunion with your soon-to-be ex-husband Aemond isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, depictions of anxiety, allusions to smut

Word count: 3000

A/N: Edited and done, please enjoy 🩵 Thank you my love @theoneeyedprince for giving this a look-through for me 🫶

Breathe.

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. In. Hold three seconds. Out.

You haven’t been able to eat anything all morning, far too nauseous to keep even a piece of toast down.

The breathing exercise your therapist had taught you does little to help you calm down.

You’ve felt anxious before, but rarely this intense.

It’s so physical.

You feel it in your stomach turning, chest contracting, hands tingling, head spinning.

You knew you’d have to meet him sooner or later.

Afterall, you’d both decided to stay in the band. You’d just started to gain traction, embarking on your first ever tour across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

A once in a lifetime opportunity for an up-and-coming band.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to turn the handle of the door and walk into the studio.

Knowing he’ll be there.

You hadn’t seen your husband, Aemond, in over three months now.

Soon to be ex-husband.

You’d honestly expected the process to be speedier; you hadn’t demanded anything from him, the only thing important to you was that you kept all legal rights you had in relation to the band; the rights to your songs. And he hadn’t really given any conditions himself, yet his solicitors took ages contacting yours.

That’s all you’d heard from him over the summer. Updates from your legal advisers about his.

You’d blocked his number after leaving the divorce papers at your shared flat and moved out, tired of your phone overheating from the amount of times he’d tried calling you.

In the end, Alicent, your mother-in-law, had phoned you, begging you to please meet with her son and talk it out. You told her that you’d already talked plenty and there was no point in continuing indulging in pointless discussion. You’d always gotten along well with Alicent, so having her call you to do her son’s bidding felt so unbelievably awkward. He’d always been such a mama’s boy.

With one final, shaky exhale, you turn the handle of the door and push it open, stepping into the hallway.

With the door ajar, you can hear chatter from the studio.

Everyone’s already here.

Good, then you’d just have to suck it up and face them. Like ripping off a band-aid; only painful for a second.

You spot Helaena first. She gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and straightens up slightly.

You’d met her a few times in the last months; brainstorming song ideas and recording vocals together in the studio.

Besides playing the piano, she wrote songs and sang for the band, just like you and Aemond. She hadn’t asked you anything about him, which you were thankful for. You know she’s anxious about how the dynamic in the band will shift now that the two of you have separated. And her anxiety materialises in the way she starts picking at her nail beds as soon as she sees you emerge through the door.

Next to Helaena sits Jace, who plays bass for the band. He gives you a half-hearted smile, accompanied by tense shoulders and a murmured greeting.

Across the table from him is Erryk, drummer and the newest addition to the band. He seems to not sense the tension that hangs heavy in the room and smiles at you until his eyes crinkle.

His obliviousness almost makes you laugh. It nearly manages to cut through the uncomfortable tension, until your eyes travel to lock with the last person in the room.

You knew that Aemond wouldn’t cause a scene and act infuriatingly indifferent towards you.

You knew that he’d give you a nod and get straight down to business.

Still, you feel a sliver of satisfaction when your predictions turn out to be true.

“So, everyone’s done with recording their parts?”, he asks the room.

He’s already pulled out his laptop, quick fingers typing as he waits for confirmation.

Though the tense atmosphere never really leaves the room, you all collectively try to power through as you discuss how recording went and what else needs to be fixed before the album is ready.

Due to your and Aemond’s separation, and the tumultuous events leading up to it, the band had agreed that everyone would record their vocals and instruments separately; putting everything together in production later. This had slowed down the process significantly, resulting in you being far from done with the album your label wanted you to release at the end of the month.

“As you know, the label isn’t too pleased with the fact that we haven’t finished the album yet-”, Aemond says, eyes still on the screen of his laptop; both his seeing eye and the unmoving one covered by a layer of white mist,

“-But they’ve asked us if we’d be willing to perform some new songs during the tour, to boost sales and get the hype up”

His voice is stoic, every utterance straight to the point. You sit on his blind side, with Helaena between your chair and his, and you take the opportunity of knowing he can’t clearly see you to examine him, searching for any changes since you last laid eyes on him, when his knuckles were bloody and panic reflected in his lilac eye.

He looks exactly like he always does; infuriatingly handsome.

His long, silvery hair hangs loose over his shoulders. His long eyelashes cast down as he inspects the screen of his laptop. His aquiline nose slopes beautifully to meet his perfectly pouty lips, begging to be kissed-

Fuck, stop!

Truth be told, you’d put extra effort into looking your best today, spending an hour on doing your makeup and picking out the perfect outfit. Hopefully you’d succeeded in making it appear much less intentional than it was, suddenly feeling a flash of embarrassment wash over you.

Why do you care what he thinks anymore?

The meeting goes on for another hour. The band’s manager, Tyland Lannister, joins in after 20 minutes, briefing the band members on the upcoming tour. Opening night’s in one week, on Dragonstone, and you’ll all fly out the morning of the show.

As the members of the band prepare to leave the studio, the tension that had previously felt so crushing is now only lingering in the periphery.

Jace and Erryk talk excitedly about all the places they’ll visit during the tour; what they wanted to eat and what they wanted to see. For a second it almost feels like things are back to normal, like the last three months never happened.

As everyone makes their separate ways home, you spot Aemond walk up to a black car and quickly jump in the passenger seat.

Your stomach turns.

You only see a flash of her black hair before the car drives away. The mask of indifference you’d put on cracks slightly at the sight of them together.

You wanted the divorce, idiot.

It still hurts seeing him move on though. He’d done it so quickly; uncharacteristically so.

The first week after you’d left, he blew up your phone trying to get a hold of you.

Despite his inexcusable behaviour, there had been times when you felt guilty for leaving him so abruptly. Even though you knew he deserved it, you also knew that leaving him and refusing to talk to him would drive him insane. What you hadn’t expected was that he’d go and get a new girl a mere week after Alicent had called you.

Seeing them together in real life made you feel exactly as you did when your friend Alysanne had sent you the link to the 30 second video two and a half months ago.

Nauseous.

The video showed Aemond getting out of a taxi in front of a new and chic Braavosi bistro downtown. It was opening night and a few local news sources were there to report. One of the journalists had recognised Aemond, clearly intrigued by the fact that the still-married bandman rounded the taxi and offered his hand to a beautiful dark-haired woman stepping out. As they walked towards the entrance, the reporter chased them down, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.

“Aemond Targaryen? Already moving on after the separation I see?”, the reporter half-shouts behind Aemond to get his attention.

His date turns around in response to the comment, smiling as her emerald gaze observes the reporter. The news of your separation had been speculated on a few minor fansites after someone leaked an email from your solicitor's office, but neither you nor Aemond had made any statement about it.

He wasn’t planning on giving one now either, unimpressed eye giving the reporter a once-over before huffing in amusement and gesturing for his date to follow him inside.

The reporter, set on getting an answer from the rising star, chuckles before forcefully shoving the microphone in Aemond’s face,

“Women come and go, is that the case?”, he presses with a cheeky wink.

Aemond huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, something like that”, he says, wrapping his arm around his date’s shoulders as he leads her into the restaurant.

You’d later learn that the date from that night was his new manager, Alys Rivers.

Funny how he’d gotten a manager to handle his possible solo work.

Six months prior, when you’d been approached by a talent scout asking if you’d ever thought of doing solo stuff on the side, Aemond had been absolutely livid. After giving the agent a few well-chosen words, he had stormed off, leaving you upset and confused.

It was ultimately his jealousy and possessiveness that broke your marriage, getting to a point where you felt like you couldn’t be with him any longer. Neither as a lover nor a friend.

Now, the only place he can take in your life is as your bandmate; business partner, and nothing more.

You’d seriously considered leaving the band when you decided on leaving him. Still, somewhere deep inside you can’t shake this feeling that what your band has is something unique; something you won’t find anywhere else.

You and Aemond had started the band with Helaena right around the time you’d first met.

The three of you quickly bonded over your shared vision of what kind of music you’d like to make. On top of that, your voices sounded so good together, Aemond providing structure with his precision while you focused on conveying raw emotions.

So you decided to stick it out, work with your ex-husband in order to make the music that you wanted.

You’re an artist. All artists suffered for their art, right? You’d just have to suck this up and get on with it; continue to create art. And the pain would be worth it.

Besides, truth be told, you’d never met anyone quite as talented as Aemond. You’d never met anyone else who understood the music you wanted to create quite like he did.

When it came to music, you two almost had a telepathic connection. As someone who relies a lot on intuition and ‘that feeling in your gut’, you found it hard to describe music and your visions for it in general. But with Aemond you never needed to; he understood. Two minds wired the same.

Unfortunately, that wordless communication only stretched as far as music.

You think back to one of the last conversations you had before you left him.

You’d tried to confront him about his temper and inability to keep his jealousy in check, and he’d promptly ignored you; defaulting into shutting you out.

Exhausted, you resorted to the only solution you could come up with.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart, let things cool down a bit”, you try, purposefully making your voice as gentle as possible.

Aemond, who’d been staring out the window of your apartment in contemplative rage, quickly turns to face you, expression impassive but one eye furious.

“If you want some ‘time apart’ you might as well get on with it and leave”, he says, voice chilly. Sometimes when he’s angry, he sounds so hateful it hurts your heart.

“What do you want me to do Aemond?”, you reply, patience running thin as anger overcomes you, “You don’t allow me to live my life, you hinder any chance of growth I have-”,

“Growth!? What else do you need?”, he spits back. “Do you understand what it means to be married to someone? I do fucking everything for you, you’re my wife!”

“Sure, chain me to our marriage. Keep me shackled to you forever, that’s what you want, isn’t it? While you fuck around town, relishing in the freedom you never allow me”

Your agitated voice matches his. You know your words will hurt him.

Aemond exhales loudly. His jaw’s shut tight and misty gaze piercing. He has a tendency to shut down during fights, especially when he doesn't have a snide remark waiting at the back of his mind.

Aemond’s eyes, locking yours in a death stare, narrow,

“So you want out?”

The flight to Dragonstone goes by in a flash, and after a quick soundcheck at the venue, the five members of Dragon Dreamers start getting ready for the show. 

You and Helaena do your usual routine of getting ready together, checking each other’s makeup and hair.

As the venue starts to fill up, the band gathers backstage, quickly running through your set one last time. You try to shoot a covert glance at Aemond, but he immediately finds your eyes. As always, he looks impeccable.

“Since we’ve finished ‘The Chain’ in production, I suggest we play that as our opening number tonight. It’s fast-paced and will get the crowd moving”, Aemond states, looking at his bandmates for approval.

They all nod knowingly, catching you by surprise.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with ‘The Chain’”, you say, trying to sound neutral though you suspect he chose a song you don’t know on purpose.

“It’s the one you did some backup vocals on in the studio”, Aemond replies, throwing you a quick look, “Me and Helaena can sing the verses and you can join in during the chorus”, he offers, moving to pick up his guitar, signalling that he’s done with the conversation.

Great, first song on opening night and you’ll stand there like a deer in headlights.

You sigh quietly and grab your tambourine. If you’re not going to sing you’ll at least try to join in by jamming a bit to the beat. Only one thing echoes in your mind,

Don’t let him get to you!

‘The Chain’ starts playing. Steady drums beat in a slow rhythm as Aemond plays a bluesy melody on his guitar, and you realise that it is one of the songs that you and he had worked on when you were still together.

Last time you heard it, you had worked out the melody, but not really pinned down the lyrics. Aemond must’ve taken it upon himself to finish it, completely steering away from the direction you thought the song would take.

‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise’

Why haven't you heard anything about this new edit?

A chill runs down your spine.

Has he re-written it to be about you?

‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies’

Yes he has.

You and Aemond got married at sunrise by the Hightower summer house in Highgarden in June two years ago.

Aemond had proposed to you only five weeks prior, and being so in love that you couldn’t possibly imagine being separated for more than 15 minutes, you decided to tie the knot as quickly as possible.

You just wanted to be his.

That had been one of your fondest memories together; a small ceremony that was only yours.

Now, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Memories rotting from within.

You hate it. You don’t want to think about that now.

Damn him. Damn his love. Damn his lies.

‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again’

‘I can still hear you saying, “you would never break the chain”’

As he sings, he sounds so angry, his voice is almost foreign to you.

He usually tries to keep his emotions in check, even when performing. Probably too scared to be vulnerable enough to let people know he actually has feelings, you reckon.

You remember the song and the rapid pace it picks up. Trying to ignore what you think is Aemond staring at you from the side of the stage, you dance and sing to the song about your heartbreak.

You let the music consume you as you work the tambourine, dancing and spinning, trying to relish in the feeling of knowing your band had made a killer song.

The audience is loving it. You have never heard them this rowdy before, and you can see the entire venue dancing.

You keep going, trying to distract yourself so your gaze won’t travel to Aemond.

He had played a rough first version of the guitar solo he wanted to incorporate in the song for you when you were still together. It really was phenomenal, fitting perfectly with the climax of the song.

He’s an insanely skilled guitarist, never missing a note and always instinctively knowing exactly what melody will match the feel of a song.

The audience is loving it, screaming and dancing with you.

Feeling braver and with the adrenaline from the performance running through your veins, you come up to your mic and sing along with Aemond and Helaena, chanting in unison.

The three of you sound good, like you always do.

The realisation gives you comfort; there’s still hope for your band.

‘Chain, keep us together’

‘Running in the shadows’

You can do this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🫶

[flowerfreya]

First Day

This is Part 2 of an office / cooperate AU for poly!141

Here’s Part 1 / Part 3

Pairing 141 x you

Tw: mean bf ( not 141)

The 141 leaves at the same time , and when they get down to the lobby they see that you are still down there in the cafe with a cup that is for sure empty and a large smart water on your phone. They are all shocked to see you there and and John is pissed but tries to breathe through it.

“What are you still doing here?” ,He ask.

You look up and is a little startled when you are greeted by 4 large guys looming over you. Your startled a little bit, “huh?”, you tired and you know you haven’t done anything for seven hours but your still not at home and you wish you were.

“What are you still doing here, bird?” John pushes out , he has an ideas as to why but he wants to hear from you.

“Oh , I’m waiting on my boyfriend , he gets off in 4 more hours” you say brightly , faking it until you make it.

“Do you need a ride ?”, Soap interjects, “ I get great gas mileage.”

“Oh thank you for the offer, but I’m okay”. You know how your boyfriend can get when he thinks that you are entertaining other guys , which you would never do but he doesn’t seem to realize that.

“You sure?” he questions, you want to take him up on his offer but you know you can’t so just smile and shake your head.

~

Four and half hours later you are passenger side of the car and he doesn’t even ask how your interview went just wonders what for dinner.

You roll your eyes , you don't even like cooking but its your duty since you don’t work and still need to share the responsibilities.

“Probably chicken and rice”

“Anything other than that?” , that pisses you off because one: you haven’t made chicken and rice for a two weeks and two: you don’t like cooking so he should take what’s he gets.

“If you don’t like how about you cook” you snap back.

“Don’t be such a bitch” he says casually. You know you deserve better than this but you feel stuck, you’ve been with him for 8 years, he was you first everything and while they has been many breaks within your relationship you never strayed and hopefully he hasn’t either (he has break or not).

You get home , you make dinner you don’t really want to make , have a sex with a guy you don’t really want to have sex with and go to sleep in a bed you really don’t want to sleep in.

The call comes in the morning at 8:30 am sharp , your so excited you have an issue answering the phone so it take a couple of rings beofre the sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Hello”

“Good morning , this John Price from the interview yesterday” his voice sounds so nice and low over the phone and you honestly love and it take you second to remember to say something back.

“Yes, that’s me”

“We would like to offer you a position as receptionist associate”

“Yes!”

“Woah, bird slow down, you need to hear my offer and then ask some questions”

“Oh okay sure”. So you listen to him talk and do a spiel that sounds almost robotic. He ask if you want to negotiate for the salary. No you say. Honey, you should negotiate he says. So you ask for a dollar more than offered and he says that will be fine.

“When can you start ? “ he ask

“Immediately”

“Today?”

“Ummm I guess not immediately, my boyfriend has the car today”

“I’ll call you a car” he says easily.

“Oh sure, how long do I have”

“Can you be ready in 30 minutes” . No. You cannot, but you say, “Sure”, in the most preppy voice as possible, you can feel the aniexty ramping up.

When you get off the phone it’s a mad scramble to find an outfit , which of course nothing fit rights and everything is wrinkly. You do your hair but you need a reti and your hair is fuzzy so you just leave it down. Your make up is not turning out right and you forgot to powder your makeup so now it’s going to crease. And you didn’t have breakfast but still has coffee so now your going to have to go the bathroom in 20 minutes and it’s not going to be fun.

And your sweating. A lot.

You just finished with your routine by the time you get the text from the number that called you this morning

>>the car is here for you.

You thumbs up the message, rushing out the door with your tote bag.

You slide into the backseat of the car because you think it’s a rideshare.

“What are you doing back there? Sit up here with me”. You look up and see Soap looking at your through the rear view mirror and shoot him a smile slide out of the backseat and move to the front seat.

“I didnt know this is what Mr. John meant when he said he was going to send a car”

“Mr. John,eh”

“ I just want to be respectful,” you say with a laugh.

“Hen , he will love that”

~

By the time you get to the office you are a bundle of nerves , you hate being the new girl , you also hate not being good at your job. You know what happens when you get a new job but you can still hate it. You are picking at your cuticles which is a nervous tick that you have, you follow Johnny up the office space and sit on the sofa next to the reception and wait for John to call you into his office. You do the basic onboarding task with and thankfully Kyle which you now know as “Gaz” is HR and that’s why he’s in the annex. After you are done with John you get sent back there and complete the rest of the task and that when you get shown your desk at reception.

“You can decorate it however you want”

“Really” You’ve never had a cubicle or a desk that you can decorate however you want. You're so excited to go to TJ Maxx after work and spend the money you don’t have . You sit at the desk and get started with making your system to work. Making a new voicemail message, making a new email signature and distro list. You look after answering the phone and having to assign to a rep and see a tall man with a surgery mask staring back at. You remember when you got the tour of that being Simon Riley. You give him a big smile and wave nd then point to the phone and then to you then to him and nods once, you transfer the call hopefully to Simon but then you hear Johns phone ring and you internally cringe, already knowing that you transferred the call to the wrong office.

“This is Price , what can I do for ya?” you hear and want the floor to swallow you up. You look over at Simon and his eyes widening and then is followed by his shoulders shaking and great hes laughing at you.

“Hen, a word ? “ You look up and see John in doorway, leaning against in that sexy way that guys do and you stand up from your desk with you head down and head over. You squeeze by him to get into the office and he shuts the door behind you.

“Please have seat , do you know how to- “ You quickly cut him off and start to explain how your still getting used to transferring calls and that you know Simon sits next to Soap but Soap real name is John but also called Johnny and then everyone's name is blinking an-

“Your not in trouble … did anyone teach how to use the phones?” You shake your head, and then he teaches you, like actually teaches you how to do things, and its the best first day you ever had.

~

You forgot to tell your boyfriend you had to work, and when he got home without you being there he called you. Your phone was on silent. In your purse. He has your location.

The door slam opens with the blinds bouncing on the door causing you be look and be startled. “Where the hell have you been” he demands , you know hes mad , his face is red amd his hair look like he ran his hand through it multiple times and you know for a fact the car is park half haphazardly taking up two spots.

Your used to this attitude and you make sure you stay perfectly still but not too defensive because it will make it worse but you’ve never experienced it at work. You glance over to your coworkers: John standing up in his doorway, Soap moving towards your desk, and Simon watching from his desk , he’s alert and you can’t see his hands.

“I’ve been here, they wanted me to start today”, you smile hoping to pacify him. You start to get stuff ready already knowing that you are about to leave just so he won’t embarrass you anymore. “I’m sorry it was all so sudden, you know”, ending in a nervous laughter.

“I’m not fucking laughing”, he says your name with so much force , you lean back as if that will get you away from him.

“I know” , you say softly, moving around the desk and putting your jacket on.

You look around and thank them for such a good first day.

“You okay ?”, John ask you with a tilt of his head trying to look you in the eye.

“She fine”, your boyfriend answered for you. You know you have tears in your eyes and if you were lighter you would be flustered but all there is to show for it is sweaty armpits. You nod you head and smile at him.

“I will see you guys tomorrow , have a nice rest of your day” , just as your boyfriend grabs you by the arm and drags you out of there.

~

John glances at Soap and then Simon and nods his head towards annex. They need to have a little chat about the receptionist and her little boyfriend.

[sc0tters]

Misconceptions and Confrontations | Jack Hughes

summary: you and Jack had never gotten on with each other but as Quinn’s best friend you were always at the lake house. So what happens when Jack thinks that there is something going on with you and Trevor?

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, fingering, swearing, use of y/n once.

word count: 2.7k

authors note: I came up with this idea at like 3 in the morning so that’s when half of it was written. I wasn’t even halfway through writing this when someone requested a different Jack smut but I liked this way too much to delete it. So there’s another one coming soon!

pt 2 | pt 3

You wouldn't sleep with him if he was the last man on earth.

Jack had practically been your archenemy since you were seven and he was six. It was that moment that he yanked at your pigtail pulling you off of the swing on the playset that you two were destined to never get along.

Funnily enough it was that same moment when Quinn helped you up that set you two on the path to being best friends.

Now Jack was 22 and you were 23 and neither one of you seemed to have any intentions on beginning to like each other any time soon.

Your relationship didn't improve when you went off to college and he went off to the development team, in fact, it seemed that now Jack only getting the time you spent together during the summers his attempts at irritating you increased tenfold.

You didn't know how a family as amazing as the Hughes' could land up with the devils spawn as a child especially when the other two were good normal people. But nevertheless you always had to remain civil with the boy for the sake of your relationship with Quinn and for your mother's relationship with Ellen.

The two moms swore three years into their eldest children's friendship that the duo would get together. It took two months after the swing incident for you two to be practically attached by the hip. Everyone just assumed that Jack had a crush on you and that's why he was acting in that way to you, the real truth though was that he simply enjoyed pissing you off.

He loved the way he was almost always guaranteed a reaction from you, even if it was the smirk that you'd send him as you would watch Quinn shut his bedroom door in his brothers face.

The Hughes family lake house was the only place you willingly went each year even when you knew that Jack was going to be there too.

This year however and much to Jacks dismay you found yourself flirting with Trevor on more than one occasion.

Trevor had been notorious for flirting with you at the house throughout the years, but this was the first that you weren't telling him to find someone interested. He was dedicated you had to give him that much.

Jack used to love watching as you would turn him down but now he was just trying to refrain from letting the contents of his stomach from coming out of his mouth each time he would catch you two. At the start of the first week it was simple hand touching, you would run your fingers along a part of the Ducks players body. But now you were sitting on his lap and had even gone as far as feed him some watermelon at one point.

As childish as it may have sounded the boy wished that his brother would step in and separate them. Jack was surprised that Quinn was so calm at the cozy sight of you and Trevor.

Little did Jack know, the only reason why Quinn was so relaxed about it all was that he really didn't care who you dated. Sure he wanted him to be a good guy, and knowing where Trevor lived made it a lot easier if he ever needed to hurt him for hurting you.

The Devils player had been so caught up in his annoyance for what was going on the he didn't even realise that the one day when he walked past the room you were in and he heard the sounds of your moans Jack thought you were with his best friend. But if he had stayed in that hallway for a second or two longer, he would have realised that you were alone and it was your hand that was getting you off.

The final night at the lake house had quickly come upon the group and to celebrate you guys used Jack and Quinn's lake house to throw a party.

The event had been a total success, drinks were pouring, people were singing, even Quinn was dancing at one point in the night. But one thing you always noticed was the way that Jack just glared at Trevor. Even when the prettiest girl at the lake tried to talk to the middle Hughes boy his eyes didn't move.

You thought that it was childish from the devils player, somehow he had been able to avoid saying a single word to you the entire night yet he still managed to get under your skin.

So when Jack made his way upstairs presumably to the bathroom you followed wanting to give him a talking to "I'll be right back," you mumbled squeezing Trevor's thigh as you left your space on the couch on the tail of the forward.

The bathroom door almost shut but you were able to get you hand in the way of it "what the hell is your problem?" You asked clearly letting the alcohol that was in your system cloud your judgement.

Jacks eyes went wide as he looked at you "you're the one who walked in on me," he reminded her feeling like he wasn't the person who should have been receiving questions.

You grumbled something incoherent under your breath "you keep on glaring at Z when he's done nothing wrong!" You yelled at the younger boy as you shut the bathroom door behind you, making sure to lock it in the process.

You didn't want him to leave before the conversation ended "you're the one who's sleeping with him." The hockey player shot back as he began to pee not caring that you were still there.

If there had been about four shots less of vodka in your system maybe you would have left "I'm not sleeping with him," you furrowed your eyebrows at the accusation wondering where it could have possibly came from.

That announcement both made Jack feel lighter but also like he wanted to shove his head in the sand "you were the one I heard walk past!" You let out a gasp as he washed his hands.

The devils player had never been soft footed "you heard me?" He asked letting the soft fabric of the towel dry his hands.

You snickered to yourself as you leaned against the door "should have known it was you," your voice was soft as you shook your head "if it was Z he would have done something about it." The jab at him made him quickly close any distance between you two.

He pressed his lips into a fine line "Trevor is an action man, you aren't." You shrugged as you locked eyes with him seeing how his scowl hardened honestly made your knees buckle.

You knew that when you woke up in the next morning anything that happened from this moment on, you were blaming on the alcohol.

Jack ignored the alarm bells that rang in his head as his mouth watered at the sight of your lips "yeah I am," he pouted almost hurt by your statement.

It was this specific moment that you crossed the point of no return "prove it." And with those seven letters his lips were on yours, tongues clashed in a messy fight that against was going to be blamed on the alcohol.

He tapped your leg motioning for you to jump as he hooked his hands under your legs before he took you to the counter and let you sit in it "love this dress." He confessed as his hands ran up your thighs going dangerously close to your core.

You let out a moan as your stomach felt on fire “do something already.” You complained as your pulled away from him wanting to clench your legs together at the view of his now swollen lower lip.

Jack smirked as he ran his fingers through your hair “patience is a virtue sweetheart,” he repeated one of your favourite lines that you used to tell him when he would rush you to get out of the bathroom at the lake house.

Furrowing your eyebrows you sent him a glare “I’m sure Z would be happy to fu-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before Jack shoved two of his fingers into your mouth “suck,” he groaned at the sight of your lips wrapping around the two digits practically treating it like you were sucking a dick.

So you let your tongue swirl around the fingers as you contemplated all of your actions. But before you could continue his fingers were pulling from your mouth “fuck,” fell from his lips as he watched the trail of saliva break and land on your breasts.

The hockey player placed his other hand on your cheek “got warm you up for my cock okay?” When your head repeatedly nodded he took your lips into a kiss before he pulled your panties to the side easing his fingers into your core.

His were longer and thicker than yours so you were feeling things that you had never known that you could feel just from being fingered “shit.” Your head fell back giving the boy access to your neck where he peppered it in kissing.

Eyes screwed shut you knew that it was game over the second he placed his thumb on your clit. You were actually rather surprised that he not only knew where it was but also knew what to do with it. But the thoughts shit talking him quickly stopped when he placed the perfect amount of pressure on the little bud.

Jack smirked as he looked at the sight of you “what would Quinn say if he knew that you were up here about to get fucked?” He asked angling his fingers different as he hopped to make you feel a new type of sensations.

Most days you had a problem using your filter “he would probably think that it was Z doing it,” you matched the chuffed look that was on his face.

But that look quickly dropped when the boy pulled his fingers out of you “up,” he mumbled as he motioned to you to get off of the counter.

You face turned into one of confusing as you listened to him “you’re gonna watch yourself get fucked,” he explained as he raised your dress up to your stomach so that he could pull your panties down.

The lace hit the ground as Jack went to a black box that was in a drawer to get a condom “you knew you were gonna get fucked tonight huh?” You asked seeing his shorts fall down with his boxers to reveal his fully hardened cock.

Your mouth watered as you tried to remain calm “something tells me you’ve been wanting this,” the boy teased as he rolled the condom over his cock.

You gripped at the countertop in front of you “you wanna hurry up and do it then or what?” You grumbled growing impatient.

For what ever reason Jack just found this amusing “always had such a mouth on you,” he muttered placing a kiss on your neck before he locked eyes with you in the mirror “you sure you want this?” The boy ran his protected cock over your clit a few times “Jack if you don’t hurry up I swear to-” you were quickly cut off as he grounded his hips into yours.

Your head fell forward “god,” you groaned as he stopped moving giving you the time to adjust to his size.

He leaned forward “it’s just me honey,” he placed a warm kiss below your earlobe.

If he wasn’t currently deep inside of you, you would have rolled you eyes at him but you feared what it would cause him to do “just move please.” You begged as you were desperate to some form of a release today.

Jack nodded grabbing onto your hips as he began to slid in and out of you “you like getting fucked when all of your friends are downstairs?” He asked smirking as he watched your boobs bounce each time he thrusted inside of you as you had decided to forgo a bra with your dress.

Your mind was hazy “words or I stop honey,” the boy warned causing your eyes to snap open.

Met with the sight of his cock grounding you out repeatedly you couldn’t help it when you shuddered “you fuck me so good,” you called out not being able to take your eyes off of the mirror.

Without a single moment of care you were continuing to stroke his ego “like watching what it is like to be fucked good?” He sucked at your neck in an attempt to mark you that actually ended up causing you to clench around him “like this pussy was made for me.” Jack groaned as his head rested on the crook of your neck swearing that nobody could ever make him feel that good every again.

You were in this state of bliss as your legs began to wobble. You moved your one hand from the counter to your clit as you were desperate to feel some your orgasm fast “move your hand,” Jack warned but you never listened.

So he repeated himself again but this time making sure to softly tap your hand “move your hand before I fucking stop,” his tone was serious enough to cause you to listen letting your hand move back to the counter that it was once on.

Of course though the hockey player didn’t leave your clit unattended as his hand had taken over what you had been doing “you keep clenching around me like that and I’m gonna come,” he confessed not realising just how close you actually were.

You sucked at your teeth trying to come up with a way to say it “I’m gonna,” you announced cutting yourself off with a moan as you could feel the way that his dick throbbed inside of you.

The sound was like music to the boys ears “not yet,” he shook his head as he wanted to push you a little bit further.

Jack didn’t know when he would get another cause to do this so he wasn’t going to let the opportunity just roll past him “be a good girl and wait for me.” His tone was stern as he sped up his pace wanting to join you in that state.

It felt like mission impossible, you couldn’t hold on even if you tried “I can’t,” you now had tears welling in your eyes as you were teetering on the fine like between coming and not.

For the first time since he started fucking you, Jack had left your his alone as he had one hand on your clit and the other had just moved into your hair.

He tugged at it causing you head to rear against his shoulder. You two were now looking at each other directly, no mirror between you, no nothing. So he leaned down “come for me,” his words were soft and just as your mouth opened to let out a moan he captured your lips in a kiss. The hockey player fucked you through your orgasm and just as yours ended and you clenched around him for the longest time that you had yet, it spurred on his own orgasm.

You pulled away from him “Jack,” you whimpered out as the feeling of overstimulation was quickly approaching you.

It caused the boy to laugh as he slid out of you “enjoyed that?” He asked with a smirk as he placed you back on the bathroom counter when your legs began to act like jelly.

Before you could respond there was a knock at the door “Jack?” It was Quinn’s voice and it caused your eyes to go wide.

Jack almost forgot to respond as he was still taking in your post fuck look “yeah,” he groaned as you had kicked his knee.

Quinn had been searching for you for the last five minutes “you know where y/n is?” He asked desperately trying to find you.

You had to hold in a gasp as you were worried what the middle Hughes brother might say “haven’t seen her,” the Devils player lied as he sent you a smirk.

The look he sent you was silently saying you owe me.

So something made her realise that whatever this was with Jack wasn’t going to be over just yet.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. IX

tags- @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang

cw- mention of death

finally a longer one!

Eight full days passed without trouble. Daenys and Cregan slept close together each night, pointedly avoiding talking about it each morning. Though, it was clear to be a great comfort for both of them. Daenys found herself having seven more dreamless nights, grateful for each one, though slightly wishing she could be blessed with the type of dreams that others had every night. Even Cregan, who smiled sometimes in his sleep, seemed to have pleasant dreams.

They were only one more night away from The Wall. Then, they would reach it by the morrow's noon.

Daenys had taken well to hunting, setting near-expert traps and even making it something of a competition. Without needing words, they would both hold up their catches of the day, either laughing gleefully or scowling when they won or lost. All in good fun, they agreed.

Dusk had even taken to sleeping with Morningstar each night, instead of at the human's feet. The dragon had not made her displeasure known, so her tolerance said everything for her. The wolf was comically tiny against the massive wing, quite like a mother and her pup. Though, perhaps Dusk didn't get that idea. His infatuation with the dragon appeared to be some sort of puppy love.

Cregan had pointed that out days prior, snorting at his companion's simpering behavior. "He follows that dragon like a green boy follows a pretty whor-" He paused, stopping himself. "follows a courtesan." He coughed into his hand, cheeks pink at his own borish vocabulary.

Daenys rolled her eyes, snickering at his expression. "I am not so green myself, my Lord. I can handle a few less-than-kind words."

His eyes widened, turning to her on Red. "Do you mean...?"

She understood immediately, flushing pink herself now. "Heavens, no! I only mean I grew up with my vulgar uncles. They have never bothered to filter their words or bring their 'lady-friends' into the Red Keep. I can not do such things until I am wed, I understand by duties." Daenys informed him, slightly embarrassed that she called herself experienced when she was not.

"I would not fault you if you did. After all, a lord could sire a thousand bastard babes, before or after marriage, and not be reprimanded." He said.

That was true. Rhaenyra was forced into marriage immediately after her 'nightly activities' with Daemon were discovered. Aegon was actively still participating in such activities after his marriage but received turned heads and blind eyes.

"That is a truth I have come to resent." She huffed. "There are many of us—silver-haired—out on the streets of King's Landing. It is a great shame that mine own kin is suffering on the streets instead of in the Keep where they belong."

Many times, she thought of how unfair their circumstances were compared to hers. They shared their bastard blood, but only she and her brothers got the privilege of being legitimized and defended whilst the others starved and suffered.

He smiled sweetly at her, perhaps in understanding of her underlying words. "I can sympathize with that sentiment. My father was an honorable man until his death. His one sin was fathering my half-sister, though I do not resent Sara for it. It is a shame how only the children suffer for the parents' actions. I watched how she was treated her whole life compared to me, simply for having a different mother."

She hummed her agreement. For a moment, she slightly wished that her mother shared his opinion.

"I loved my father dearly. But, I would never repeat his actions. My wife's honor is as sacred as mine, to father a child that was not hers would be unforgivable."

"Your wife will be a lucky woman."

He eyed her, amused. "If you call that lucky, then I suppose so. I would call it being a husband."

"Most men do not take that so seriously. A wife is seen as the one who simply provides heirs and a dowry, and whores and paramours are the true lovers." She shrugged.

"Is that how Prince Daemon sees Queen Rhaenyra?" He asked, catching her off guard.

"No...he is perhaps the only one of her husbands to have no lover after they married. Their marriage is a special case, I believe. He has only wanted her for many years, even through his previous two marriages. Loyal, yes, but no less a greedy man."

Daenys didn't care for her mother's and Daemon's strange history. She would not personally wish to marry a man twice her age, but her mother loved him, so she tolerated it. She did grow to like Daemon, too, after a few years of living with him.

Cregan nodded beside her, taking in her words. "Ser Laenor was different?"

"I'm sure you've heard of my father's preferences from the gossip surrounding the court."

"I've told you before, my Lady, that those in the North do not care for menial gossip." He reminded her.

Daenys nodded, exhaling deeply. "He loved my mother, though not as Daemon does." Or Harwin did, she left out. "But he could not change his affinity for his...squire." She finished, glancing at his facial expression only to see it unchanged.

"What of Ser Harwin?" The question made her nervous, though she refused to show it. His question was merely curious, not accusing or backhanded. "Your mother's sworn protector must have been around quite a lot, in your young years. What was he like?"

"Ser Harwin was a kind man. Kinder than any other knights at the Keep. He was Lord Commander of the kingsguard, though he never acted untoward or mean, not even once. He watched over me, in a time when many of the young kids in the keep had started to act as my scourages." She smiled in reminisce. "You remind me of him, slightly."

"How so?"

"A protector. A pillar of strength against harsh winds."

Cregan chuckled, though not unkindly. "I am glad you are able to see me that way, Princess. Perhaps you are a poet, not a sailor."

She laughed, loud and clearly. "If only you could see me at my septa's lessons, you would change your mind in a heartbeat. I jumbled the words so badly that two—two!—septas gave up trying to teach me to sing and recite poetry and music."

Cregan grinned at the sound, pleased to hear her laugh. "That can't be so, I've heard you humming little songs in High Valyrion when you are with Morningstar."

Bashful, she asked. "You heard that?"

"Most times, yes." He said. "Though I enjoyed it. I can't understand the words, but I can piece together that no words were stumbled over."

"Mm. Perhaps it is my audience, then. In front of my septas, their stares were so intense that I nearly cried when practicing in front of them. My dragon does not judge as they do, she sings along."

"I hope to be a well-mannered audience for you." He said, tone raillery and light.

Daenys didn't mind if he heard.

Night came fast, as it seemed to for the past days. Their routine came automatically: setting the tent, cooking kills over the fire, eating, conversing, and then finally heading to bed. They found their routine with changing into night shifts, as well. Simply turning as they changed at the same time instead of waiting their turns outside of the tent. Cregan and Daenys settled closely, breaths steady and visible in the night air.

It had grown jarringly cold. Daenys believed it was cold in Winterfell, but near The Wall was another story. She pitied those who lived at The Wall and the wildlings who were trapped beyond it.

Her streak of dreamless sleep was broken that night. She could barely see, but she could hear. She wished desperately that she couldn't, that she could forget the sounds that tormented her.

Sawing.

Slow, squelching, sawing.

She was in the Red Keep. The torches in the nursery were dim. So dim, that faces were impossible to clearly make out. But she could recognize Helena anywhere. Her sweet, sisterly Aunt Helena, who had never hurt a soul in her life, was pleading for two men to take her jewlery, take her, instead of her babe.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, if she remembered correctly. She had met them once, at the family dinner the night before Viserys died. Helena showed them proudly to her niece, though her youthful face reminded Daenys of just how young she was when she was forced to have the twins. The thought made her feel ill, but she smiled and greeted the shy children anyway.

The men refused to take Helena, insisted they needed a boy to die. They forced the sweet mother to point out her son, to which she did with a pained and stunned look on her face. Daenys wanted to reach out, comfort her aunt, and protect her babes with her. But her feet remained glued to the floor, unable to be seen or heard by anyone in the room. It was not happening at that moment. Would it truly happen soon? It was war. Dirty tactics were used all the time without remourse. Surely they were not sent by Rhaenyra...right? She would never seek babes to be harmed, especially after Visenya was lost days ago. This must be a false dream. Daenys only needed to wait it out.

Sawing.

Sawing, squelching, thrashing. It felt like it went on forever.

Until it stopped. Daenys blinked her eyes open, glancing at the bed. Jaehaerys' head was gone from his body. Jaehaera was missing from her bed. Helena was gone. Daenys found herself running, finally able to move now from her planted spot. She ran out of the nursery as if the two men would chase her, too. She followed after Helena, who abruptly stopped at the bottom of the steps. She turned around, revealing her purple tear-filled eyes and Jaehaera clutched protectively in her arms. Helena looked Daenys right in her eyes.

"Stop him." She whispered as if she could see Daenys standing in the middle of the steps plain as day. She continued running, perhaps to guards, leaving Daenys stunned at her spot.

Daenys was awoken after that. No one had ever seen her during her dreams. Not Laena, not Luke, nor Harwin or Laenor. Helena had similar dreams, she knew. Waking dreams, mumbling to herself while she was wide awake. Helena and her always shared that, though never spoke on it. Daenys was torn. Would that become true? Would Helena's son truly be murdered in his bed?

She could not think on it alone anymore. She needed a distraction. Her first thought was to seek out Morningstar, to curl up under her warmth, and stay there until the visions stopped plaguing her mind ruthlessly. She didn't have her books to draw in or her journals to write in. She couldn't let out her thoughts any way but speaking.

"Cregan..." She whispered, leaning up on her elbow and facing the man. He looked to be having a happy dream, smiling slightly in his sleep.

"Cregan, please. I need you." She whimpered, cold tears falling onto his face as she leaned over him. She could feel guilty later, but for now, she needed him desperately.

He flinched unconsciously at the wetness falling onto his face, wiping it and blinking himself awake. His eyes finally met her tear-filled lilac ones, sitting up instantly. He held her shoulders gingerly, "what's the matter, sweet girl? Are you hurt?" He scanned her, wide awake now at the chance of a threat around. He found no blood, only her own crescented nail prints in her palms from them behind clenched so harshly in her sleep. He took her hands in his own, soothing over them while he waited for her response.

Daenys' chest heaved raggedly, trying to catch her own breath from her panic. He reached out, pulling her by her head to his chest, allowing her to clutch his shirt instead of her own palms and hair to ground herself.

He calmed slightly, figuring the distress was caused by her dreams instead of a physical threat. Recalling her Valyrion lullabies that she hummed to her dragon, Cregan mindlessly hummed into her ear, chest vibrating with the use of his vocals. He never hummed or sang, didn't care for it, and was never taught it. But, he would try anything to pacify Daenys' storming mind.

Eventually, after many sobs and mumbles that Cregan couldn't make out, Daenys stilled in his arms.

"He will die. I don't know who I have to stop, Cregan."

He looked down at her head, face still buried and half-mumbled by his neck. "Who will die?"

"My cousin. Helena's babe, Jaehaerys." She whispered, mind reeling still.

Cregan bit his cheek harshly. It would happen, at an unknown time to the both of them. Sometime in the future, or perhaps as they spoke now. He didn't doubt her vision for a moment.

"What do you mean by stop him, sweeting? He asked, rubbing small shapes onto her back.

"Helena told me so. She saw me. Actually saw me. No one ever has before. She held Jaehaera as she told me to 'stop him'." Daenys insisted almost hysterically.

He nodded, allowing her to mumble some more incoherently into his skin.

Stop who? How could she prevent a murder in King's Landing all the way in the North? Even on Dragonstone, she was too far away to help Helena. She could not fly her dragon to Helena to warn her, lest she be shot down by a scorpion's lance. She could not send a raven, either, knowing it would be intercepted, and Daenys would be accused of plotting to murder the heir.

Who was it? Who could she access? Helena knew, she would not ask it of her if she knew Daenys couldn't do it. Luke and Jace would be back at Dragonstone by now, and had no ill intent towards anyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon would be too focused on their council meetings. What grievance did any of them have to go after Jaehaerys? She could not think of any.

"Who is it?" She asked Cregan, then. "Who could order a babe to die in his bed?"

"I do not know, Princess. I'm sorry." He said painfully, wishing to help her more than anything at that moment.

They stayed like that until sunrise. Cregan and Daenys held each other. The only sound in the air was her mumblings and his comforting shushing and hums. He knew they could not waste time, The Lord Commander at Castle Black had long been expecting them.

He guided an exhausted Daenys to his own horse, not trusting her to be able to stay on Mylo. She sat behind him, head slumped to his shoulders as they rode on for the final few hours towards the castle. Mylo loyally walked behind, knowing his faithful food source could only come from the Lord in front of him.

As they reached the gates of Castle Black, Daenys found herself waking up in awe. The Wall, rumored to reach the skies, truly was taller than anything she had ever seen before. Seven hundred feet of pure ice lay in front of her, an impenetrable fortress that protected all that lie South of it.

Cregan chuckled at her gaping reaction. "I felt the same way when I saw The Wall for the first time, too. It is an even better view on top, my Lady." He assured her, glad to see her distracted from her perturbed mood.

She nodded, shifting in the saddle impaitiently. She hands were wrapped around his waist, though didn't quite meet in the middle. He patted her hand as they waited for the gate to open, reminding her to be patient.

As Cregan hopped off, he helped Daenys from Red, staying close to her as a stable boy led both horses to be fed and watered. "My Lord Stark." Bowed a young man, who seemed familiar with Cregan. "We are glad to see you here. Would you like for yourself and the Princess to be shown to the dining hall for a hot meal?" He nodded politely towards Daenys, bowing swiftly once more at her.

Cregan took her hand in his arm, eyeing the men who had gathered around, leaning to each other and grinning wolfishly at the sight of a pretty young woman at Castle Black. The only women they ever saw were the ones in the small town near The Wall, which only had a few women who sold their services to the many men of the Night's Watch, and none were as pretty as noblewomen were bred to be. Cregan knew this all too well, hungry eyes watching the Princess like she were prey. Daenys shifted uncomfortably, aware of the intense gazes, though in a different way than Cregan.

"Is Lord Commander Trant not here?" Cregan asked.

The young man shook his head. "He's been conducting business at Queen's Gate for the past few days. He'll be back shortly, he promised to return before the afternoon."

Cregan nodded, a tick in his jaw. "The Princess and I will be on top of The Wall, while we wait. Do not disturb us." He commanded, striding towards the crickity little iron cage that was embedding into the ice. Daenys paused, reluctant to step into the death trap.

"This will take us all the way up to the top?"

He smiled, guiding her gently by the small of her back to step inside. "Don't worry, it is used every day and hasn't failed the Watch yet." Daenys flinched as it whirred to life, bringing them up foot by foot. She watched the ground grow distance below her, usually an exciting sight on her dragon, but now a terrifying one. She held tight to his arm as if he could save them both if the contraption failed.

It took a few minutes to reach the top. Cregan stepped out first, allowing her to jump out swiftly. She sighed, glad to be on solid ground. If it could be counted as such. Though The Wall was pure ice, Daenys was pleasantly surprised at it not being slippery. Perhaps due to the soft layer of snoe on top of it for her boots to grip.

Cregan brought her to the edge of The Wall, many in the Watch bowing and gawking at the sight of the pair. All knew of the Princess' expected visit, but had not prepared for the sight of a Targaryen in their lifetime.

The sight on the edge was truly otherworldly. Miles of expansive snowy forests and deserts, all unclaimed by man or beast.

"It is more beautiful than you said, Cregan." She said, eyes glued to the view.

"It is." He smiled, though seemed to tense slightly when she turned to him. "Daenys. I promised you that we would speak of the number of bannermen I would send for the Queen. I have had plenty time to think it through on our journey over here. As of now, I have 2,000 greybeards ready to die for their Queen's war."

Daenys nodded, listening to him intently. "Greybeards, like old men?" She asked half-humorously.

He nodded. "Winter is coming, and I can not freely give a large portion of my young men without something in return."

"Return?" She asked, growing nervous. He had not mentioned such a thing in their entire time together.

"Do you like Winterfell, your highness?" Cregan asked, brows furrowed as he looked down at her.

"Of course–I have grown to love the North."

"Would you..." he trailed off, hesitating slightly. "Would you be willing to live in the North?"

"As in...a marriage offer?" Daenys asked.

"Indeed. If I could have your hand, Daenys, in marriage, the North would have a dragon and a Princess. They would be more willing to fight in a Southern war if their own Wardeness was who they fought for."

Daenys stood there, stunned. Had he brought her all the way to The Wall just to ask for her? Is that why he had been so warm to her, so friendly? Her face hardened, though that did not go unnoticed by Cregan.

"Daenys, please hear me out." The man pleaded, clutching both of her hands in his own and bringing them up to her chest.

"I would not ask something of you that would displease you. I wish to keep you safe. And if, after the war, you wish to never see me again, I will allow you to live at Dragonstone or the Red Keep with your family. I will never force anything on you, never ask for sons. All I want is you. I have wanted for you for a while now. Please do not mistake my genuine feelings for using you. Know that the last thing in this world that I want to see is your unhappiness." He spoke breathlessly.

"I love you, my sweet dreamer. It would truly kill me to see you at the mercy of some old and cruel Lord, who would keep you from happiness. If that makes me a selfish man, then so be it. But at least I am an honest one."

Daenys felt her chest swell with an unknown emotion, throat tight, and eyes glossing with tears. "Love me? How could you love me after all that you have seen from me, Cregan?" She whispered, voice taut with emotion.

He took her face into his hands, wiping away at her eyeline to ensure no tears fell from them. He kissed the spot between her brows with the utmost reverence, pulling away but not moving his hands. "How could I not? All I have seen, I adore. Do not simplify your entire being to your dreams–that is merely one part of you." He interrupted her, knowing exactly what she could argue against.

"Cregan..." she felt the warmth in his mismatching eyes fill her body with a soft heat, though they were surrounded by the winds so high up she barely even felt it.

Before she could finish, an older man came marching towards them.

"Lord Commander," the Stark greeted, though his irritation wasn't hidden. "I asked to be left alone until we returned."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, Princess." The man bowed his head twice in turn. "There has been a letter awaiting the Princess since you left Winterfell. It is dire."

Daenys' eyes widened, it must be from Rhaenyra. Was there an update on the war? Cregan took the scroll in his hands, unrolling it slowly. She watched as his face dropped before looking to Daenys with a sympathetic gleam in his eyes.

"What?" Her voice wavered. "What has happened?" She didn't want to know. She wanted to stay oblivious in the North forever, keeping time paused back at home.

The Lord Commander shifted his gaze down sadly, respectfully taking his leave to the rickity lift so the two could talk.

Cregan placed a hand on her bicep in a comforting way, but she shook her head, urging him on. "Tell me."

"Its about your brother, Lucerys." He said softly.

"Luke? What of him?" She already had her suspicion. She saw him that night, the night she stayed at Winterfell. Daenys was forced to watch the boy and his young dragon being chased through stormy skies by a much bigger, looming beast.

She saw him, and continued treating with Lord Stark. Daenys left her brother to the wolves—or more accurately the dragon. All for a few thousand men to fight in a useless, stupid war. For what? What is the use of sitting atop of the Iron Throne if all of your children will be dead. Is that mot Rhaenyra's legacy? Is Jacaerys next? Little, sweet Joff and the babes Viserys and Aegon? Is she next?

"He is dead. Aemond Targaryen killed him with Vhagar."

No.

He was not dead. Lucerys was playing a prank on her. This time, he just took it too far. He loved his pranks, especially on his eldest sister, who was so easy to fool.

Lucerys was alive and waiting for her shocked face to burst through Dragonstone's doors.

"He's not dead." She shook her head, stepping back from Cregan. "Luke is fine. That letter must be his idea of a jest, 'tis all." She nodded to herself, solidifying her own words.

"Daenys—"

"I will marry you upon my return to Winterfell, whenever the Queen allows me time. You can send a raven to Dragonstone with how many extra men my hand will bring her. Farewell, Lord Stark." She bid him, focusing on making her way to the lift. She entered it, being sent up just in time for her to be allowed down.

"Daenys!" He yelled, tugging her arm roughly to his chest. Cregan loosened his grip apologetically, but did not allow her out of his reach.

She faced him, face scrunched up in a furious glare. "Let go of me. It is treasonous to lay a hand on your Princess." She bit harshly.

Cregan pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her back and head, resting her head on his shoulder gently. "Don't go like this, Princess. It is dangerous to fly in such a state." He murmured into her hair, feeling her tense form shiver.

"What do you know of flying? Morningstar will get me to Dragonstone swiftly, she is the fastest of our dragons—" Daenys was cut off by her own sobs wracking her body violently.

If it were Morningstar sent to Storm's End, she could've outflown Vhagar. Little Arrax, with all his youthful pride, was the smallest yet of the three eldest children's dragons. He just barely started to be able to fly with Luke on his back. It had barely been a year since he'd grown big enough. They were both but mere babes in comparison to Vhagar and Aemond.

"It's not fair!" She yelled into his pelts. She could barely breathe, knees weak and unable to hold herself up. Cregan lowered them both to the floor, keeping her securely in his lap. "My boy, he's only a child. He should've stayed home, I should've kept him safe." She nearly screamed at herself. Her stupidity and foolishness.

How dare the Gods show her Luke's death but not Laenor's. How could they hate her so much? Hate her family? Did the gods hate bastards as much as their creations?

"It's not fair, I know. But you couldn't have done anything, my Lady." He cooed softly in her ear.

"I could, I have known for weeks and done nothing! Lived in obliviousness while my brother has been lost to the sea."

Living like a common whore, allowing herself to sleep next to a man that she was not married to. Allowing him to see her bare, and not being nearly as modest as a Lady should be. Alicent was right, she was always right. She was just like her mother. If she had stayed with Cregan in the wilderness for any longer, would she have allowed him to bed her, too? Would she father his bastard and be forced to cover it with a false marriage?

Daenys needed to leave.

But her legs did not obey her still.

Cregan gave her a pitying glance, one that she could not see in her own wallowing. Nothing he could say could truly get through to her. No one could comfort him for weeks after his own little brother passed. The guilt never leaves.

"Come, Princess. I will not send you off without first making sure you have food in your belly and warmer pelts around you." Cregan told her, but did not make her walk. Instead, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the dining hall, which he demanded be cleared for her privacy. She was despondent the whole time, silent and unmoving. It was only the Lord and Lady in the room, besides a young serving boy.

Daenys glanced up at him, finding kind brown eyes staring at her as the boy dropped stew in front of her. "M'sorry for your loss, M'Lady." He bowed his head low, brown curls shifting at the movement. Why was a boy jis age serving The Wall? Orphaned, most likely, or sold by his parents. She didn't know which fate was worse.

What she did know was that the boy was nearly a spitting image of Lucerys. She hung her head again, unable to look at the young boy. Cregan thanked him quietly, sending him on his way. Their stews began to grow cold in the silence, the both of them still as statues.

"You must eat, Daenys." Cregan urged.

"I will only throw it back up, I cannot stomach anything right now."

"Try, my Lady. Just a few bites. Half."

Sluggishly, she picked up the spoon and took slow bites. Chewing felt like it took ages, and swallowing was nearly painful. Her head spun, feelng nausea rising in her. Once she got through half, Cregan looked satisfied. Daenys stood, and he mirrored her action.

She led him to the iron gate, waiting for it to open. Outside of it, Morningstar was already crouched to allow her to leave. Cregan took off his brown pelts that she had been using as blankets for the past nights, pulling them snug over her shoulders.

"I already have a cloak on." She said tiredly, though did not fight his action.

"For my assurance, 'tis all." He said, fastening the direwolf clip around it. "Your flight home will be much colder than the one you took to Winterfell."

He paused a moment, clutching her hand in his. He placed a gentle kiss on her cold knuckles, lingering a moment longer. "I will send four thousand of my young soldiers to your mother's cause. That will be six thousand Northerners to fight for the Blacks. Return to me safely, Princess. That's all I ask of you."

They were officially bethrothed. Daenys wished it was under better circumstances, but this is the card she was dealt. Daenys nodded, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then she left.

Daenys stopped after a few minutes of flying, throwing up what little she ate into a thorned bush. One snagged on her cheek as she stood up straight, coughing slightly. How very like her to enjoy a meal while her family was waiting anxiously for her return. Daenys mounted Morningstar again, not looking back at The Wall before taking flight again. This time, she would not stop until she was home.

🗡

She could see King's Landing in the distance and had half a mind to burn it all down. Morningstar could easily do so. Even the small folk, along with all the peasant bastards that shared blood with her, would burn. She wouldn't care. As long as Aemond Targaryen would be dead at her feet, she would do it. Perhaps they all deserved it. Sin was the only thing able to survive and breed in King's Landing.

Morningstar was exhausted by the time they landed on the dragonpit's perch. Meleys and Caraxes were already in the pit, roaring to greet their kin excitedly. They, too, were being fed after clearly long flights. Patrols, she guessed. "Feed her." She demanded the Dragonkeepers as she passed them, who were too stunned at her sudden appearance to even bow or greet their Princess.

Daenys charged into the Painted Table room, seeing it lit with a bright orange glow as multiple men surrounded it. Rhaenyra wasn't there. Why where they holding a Queen's council without the Queen? Daemon was at the head, just as he had been when Rhaenyra was screaming in her chambers whilst giving birth to his daughter.

There was no one to announce Daenys. No one had expected her that evening, especially with no warning. There was no time for it, either, as Rhaenyra was announced by a guard. Daenys quickly moved aside when he spoke, shifting next to Jace, who squeezed her hand at the sight of her puffy face. She could not look him in the eye, nor Daemon, who kept his keen eye on her until Rhaenyra entered.

The Queen strided in, meeting Daemon in the middle. He whispered something to her, earning a solemn nod. Rhaenyra continued past him to the head of her table.

"Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace." Daemon bellowed for all to hear him clearly. Daenys only paid mind to her mother's dreadful state. Unkempt hair, ash covered face, hands sandy and clutching at some piece of cloth that Daenys could not figure out. "I will fly to Harrenhall at your command. Set our toehold in the Riverlands."

"Your Grace, my Lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's landing will soon be cut off."

The Queen did not respond to her aunt or husband. A great silence held the room until, "I want Aemond Targaryen." Was her command. She waited a mere moment, glancing at Daenys before leaving to her chambers to fix her state.

Daenys was led to her room by Jacerys, who insisted she get out of her heavy Northern attire now that she was in better temperatures. She cared little for the heat that the clothes engulfed her with now that they were quite useless on Dragonstone, but allowed her maids to change her anyway. She bathed, too, and had her hair done up more traditionally. She kept Cregan's personal furs on the wooden edge of her bed, carefully ensuring they were untouched.

Jacaerys waited outside the whole time, escorting her with an outstretched arm to their mother's chambers. "Are you okay, Dae?" He asked gently, as if she might crumble if he spoke in a normal tone.

She sniffed slightly, nodding. "I am fine. I will be well when Aemond is dead and burned."

The tone of her voice and her violent words shocked him, pausing his steps abruptly.

"Was...did something happen in the North? Besides the news?" He asked, dark brows knitting together.

"Nothing happened. Why do you ask?" She turned to him suspiciously, not wishing to share every detail of what happened. She did not wish to enlighten her family of her brutal killing. That would be between Daenys and Cregan until the day she died. And perhaps Rhaenyra, who might have the answers to her burning questions.

"I am merely concerned. Was he a borish man? I wish I could've gone to the North in your stead, sister. Lady Jeyne was kind enough, she would've liked you." Jace said, slowly meeting her steps once again.

"Lord Stark is not like the typical depiction of a northman. I handled him just fine." Was her vague answer. Truly, Daenys was happy to see her brother again. To be with her family again. But her joy was dulled by the missing presence in the halls. The one who was meant to greet her in the dragonpit. Jacaerys gave her a pitying look, opening Rhaenyra's chambers.

Their mother sat on a couch, meeting her children's eyes as they walked in and bowed. She looked more put together now that she received the same treatment as Daenys.

Rhaenyra stood, awaiting Daenys and Jacaerys to give their messages. Her chest heaved slightly, something that would have gone unnoticed by anyone but her children, who knew her too well. Jace started. "Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support. In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale." His voice shook. He had been home for two weeks, yet in Daemon's firm presence, he forced himself to be strong and hard. He had not seen his mother except for her quick visits to eat and feed Syrax.

Rhaenyra nodded encouragingly, eyes brimming red.

"Lord Cregan stark has pledged 2,000 greybeards to you. In exchange for my hand, he promises another 4,000 young men." Daenys stated firmly. She refused to waver even slightly. Even when she wished to be held in her mother's arms. She couldn't let herself be comforted by the woman who had lost her own child. Daenys was the one who must comfort her when her own husband was so useless at it. His biggest flaw.

Rhaenyra and Jace looked shocked at the news. "You gave him your hand?" Jacaerys asked, a worried look on his face. "But–"

"I gave Cregan Stark my hand in exchange for 4,000 men. It is a fair trade, Jacaerys." She told him, holding no grudge or sorrow for it. She didn't wish for her family to, either. "He is an honest man. He will send every last one to fight for you, my Queen."

"That is not his concern. The Starks keep their oaths, yes. But are you happy with the arrangement, my sweet girl?" Rhaenyra asked, cupping Daenys' cheeks in the way that always made Daenys melt. She didn't trust her voice, so she simply nodded. Rhaenyra took Jace and Daenys into her arms. She could feel the quiet sobs deep in their chest, both seeking comfort in the reunion. Daenys held them tightly, afraid to let go. She had her time to cry, in Cregan's arms, now it was her time to finally make herself useful.

The Targaryens and Velayrons stood outside on a tall hill of Dragonstone's rocky beaches. Rhaenyra placed Lucerys' red tunic, the one she had found with Arrax's wing, onto the pyre's stand, reluctantly stepping back once she did. Jacaerys, holding little Joff, placed one of Luke's blankets onto the pyre. Joffrey, who didn't quite understand the funeral and its meaning, tossed a wooden horse that Luke handed down to him into the pyre.

Daenys stepped up, glancing at Rhaena across the fire's glow, seeing her struggle to keep her composure. She mourned for their broken betrothal along with her cousin, knowing they would have made a very happy couple. She clutched onto Luke's favorite tunic. The one she gave him for his three and tenth name day. Even when it grew tighter on him each month during his growthspurt, he still insisted he wore it. It had an embroidered three-headed dragon on it, in the colors of House Velayron. A testament to his future station as Lord of the Tides and a Targaryen. She stitched it for days, ensuring it was perfect for him. Daenys tossed it into the pyre, stepping beside Jace and watching the fire burn out. Most left after a respectable amount of time. Rhaenyra and Daenys stayed until the fire stopped entirely.

Her mother rubbed her back soothingly, allowing Daenys to rest her head on her shoulder. "Mother, I have so many things to ask you. A lot has happened in the North..." She muttered.

"Let us go inside. After you rest, I will dedicate my morning only to you." Rhaenyra promised, kissing the crown of Daenys' head affectionately. Daenys nodded, watching her mother walk back inside to retire for the evening.

A boat's movement caught her eye. Her squinted, lifting her skirts to walk slightly further down the hill. An intruder? No, they were leaving the beach. Daenys thought for a moment, there were very few on the island, and even less who had a reason to leave in secret. Unless...was it true? Were Daemon and Rhaenyra plotting to take Aemond's life in the dead of night?

No. Daenys gasped, sprinting towards the entrance doors of the castle. She needed her own way of transportation to King's Landing.

She was able to find a man who reluctantly took her on his small fishingboat. She doned a dark cloak that she was able to scrounge up in her hurry. Daenys tossed a bag of coins into his awaiting palm, not caring to count what was in it. The boat ride felt excruciatingly long, anticipation rising in her every minute. The thought of being caught made her scared, but the thought of Daemon getting to Jaehaerys before she did scared her worse.

Finally, the man stopped at a discreet sandy part of King's Landings' side wall. There was an extrance nearby, as well as another anchored fishing boat. Daenys scowled. How long had Daemon been there ahead of her? "Stay here." She called behind her, sprinting towards the open entrance in the wall while holding her hood over her silver hair.

There were no guards at it, unsurprisingly. They had all grown lazy under Aegon's leniency. She wandered the dark and damp streets unti she found an iron gate with a hooded figure waiting at it. A guard was walking away from the gate, small purse of coins clutched in his meaty fist.

"Daemon!" Daenys whisper-yelled, grabbing her step-father by his cloak and yanking him back. He barely stumbled but still had the audacity to look shocked and angry at her.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"You fool! You didn't kill Aemond. Do you think that lazy, drunken, craven could kill him?"

"I ordered him to kill Aemond, of course he will. If not, I'll find a way in myself." Daemon scoffed. Daenys grabbed his arms tightly, shaking her head. "You killed Jaehaerys. You killed a babe!" She yelled, uncaring of who would hear now. Perhaps it was both of their karma to die in King's Landing for attempting to kill Helena's son. Maybe if they were caught, they would catch the two men before they cold. Rhaenyra could find two more riders for their dragons, somewhere.

Daemon covered her mouth, pulling her to a less lit corner of the street before anyone could recognize them. "Are you mad, girl? You will get us both killed—" She punched him in the face, not staying to watch him clutch his nose before running back to her boat in a flurry of black and silver.

Daenys rode back to Dragonstone in a silent mourning. Jaehaerys would die. She knew it this time. She followed her dreams, finally. But still lost to fate. Or lost to Daemon. That coward, sending a guard to kill the kinslayer. He should be challenging Vhagar and the One-eyed Prince himself.

They could take him together. If only he trusted her to fight. Morningstar was large and battle-ready. Her and Caraxes would surely dominate the fight, a son for a son.

Not a child for a child.

Daenys slipped into her chambers, waiting for the news to wake the castle up. It wouldn't be long.

🗡

dont mind me using morningstar and dusk as parallels for cregan and daenys 😋

changing the times between Jace and Rhaenyra arriving. Let's say Rhaenyra was coming and going for two weeks, only coming back when she had to eat and let syrax eat. Jace came back the day the raven came to bring the news, and has been ruling with Daemon in her place. Just to say Rhaenyra and Daenys came back officially at the same time to continue the plot forward with no gaps.

[francixoxoxo]

Angst/fluff

Where reader for some reason gets under billys skin even though she rly likes hum and is so super kind and one day hes had enough of her and snaps at her which really hurts her feelings and he feels sooo guilty and ends up going bsck to her for forgiveness whiche also entails him confessing feelings that hes developed for her

Foolish જ⁀➴ *.

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜; 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠!! 🫶

The Regulators had been surprisingly welcoming to you, a young girl out of Oklahoma with a dime and a six-shooter to her name. You supposed it was because every other man was just the same. The occasional questionable comment, a harmless pet name tacked onto a sentence— you didn’t mind it much. As far as you were concerned, you were accepted.

Apparently not by Billy, though. Something about you seemed to piss him off to no end. At first you had been upset about it. But eventually, you decided to lean into it, getting under his skin just to see his reaction. You relished in the way his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared when he was frustrated. Atleast it was a reaction. Where your facade often broke, your pure kindness shining through, his never did.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the feelings you had for him. You clearly ticked him off, but you couldn’t help constantly wanting to be beside him, constantly wanting his eyes on you. Your eyes were frequently on him— maybe that was another reason he was so irritated by you.

His expression was irritated now, too, as he hopped sloppily off his quarter horse. You hadn’t seen him and a handful of other men since the morning. He was holding his arm, you knew something was wrong long before he grunted to you, “Check it out f’me, quick.”

You sucked in a gasp, commotion beginning around you as other injured men came back to the Regulators’ camp. Billy sat with a wince on one of the picnic tables. “What happened?” You gawked, quickly unbuttoning his navy shirt to expose the bullet wound bleeding into the fabric. You grimaced at the sight, a fresh wound stifled with a useless black handkerchief on his upper arm.

“Shootout. Ran inta Seven Riv— fuck.” Billy grunted, clenching his jaw as you peeled the dirty bandana from the wound. You could tell it stung as the open air hit it.

You shook your head, inspecting the wound quickly. “Might be infected from the dirt on that bandana.”

“I didn’t know what else t’use.” Billy hissed, the irritation dripping from his words. You tried to shake it off— he was in pain.

“That’s quick fixes for you.” You shrug, taking your own handkerchief from your pocket. Atleast it was cleaner than his, yours hadn’t been subjected to as much dust and grime as that one. You looked around for a stray bottle of spirits and were infinitely grateful (and not much surprised) that there was one half-empty on the steps of the safe house. You snatched it, pouring a bit onto the handkerchief and dabbing Billy’s bullet wound.

He groaned in pain, when you glanced up his eyes were screwed shut. “Good news is that the bleeding isn’t that bad.” You offered, but he just shook his head and bared his teeth against the pain. You stuffed the handkerchief into the wound to staunch the blood flow, you were by no means a doctor. You weren’t even sure why Billy came to you with this. A quick glance around gave you the idea that he needed whoever wasn’t busy with the more serious wounds. One of the men was laid across the wooden picnic table, more blood on the outside of his person than probably what was inside.

“Couldja go any faster, please?” Billy gritted, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. You poured a bit more vodka onto the wound, making him squeeze his eyes shut again.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Billy hissed, opening his eyes and watching you intently. You huffed indignantly, grabbing his hand that was clutching onto his knee and putting it on the bloodying handkerchief.

“Hold it there, press down,” You ordered as you hurried to that table with the bleeding-out man. You snatched a strip of cloth and gauze from a shoddy medical kit they had. When you returned to Billy he was staring at you with buggy eyes, filled with some indescribable emotion. It was easier to write it off as pain or annoyance than dig any deeper.

You removed the handkerchief, tossing it onto the table and replacing it with gauze. It wasn’t as much as the bullet wound deserved, but a quick look over your shoulder made it clear that this was the best you could get. You wrapped the cloth around his arm tight, tying it off and desperately hoping that was enough. “D’you feel woozy?”

Billy shook his head, looking down at the shoddy bandages. He grimaced a bit, taking that dusty bandana of his and wiping up the blood that had trickled down to his forearm. Now you had a moment to register his bare chest, the sheen of sweat on his skin— stop it, you reminded yourself, meeting his azure eyes. He gave you a curt nod instead of saying thanks, pushing himself to his feet with his other arm and stumbling to the groaning, bloodied man. You couldn’t recognize him, you thought that he might’ve been a poor man caught in the crossfire.

You didn’t have time to wonder. Charlie barked out your name to grab the one tourniquet the gang owned. You were busy for the next hour, doing what you could to help. That man you didn’t know passed away. A few men wanted to go and bury him, but when you saw Billy saddling up his horse, you couldn’t stop your feet from moving.

“You can’t go.” You reached out to turn him by the shoulder. He hardly offered you a glance before turning back to his quarter horse and tightening her girth strap.

Billy shrugged softly. “You can’t stop me.” You stepped closer, back to his horse’s flank and forcing yourself into his space.

“You’re injured! You can’t just go out an hour after getting shot, Billy.” You huffed. Maybe you were being a pest, but you cared too much about him. Clearly he didn’t see that.

Billy sighed your name, rubbing his forehead with a palm as if you were giving him a headache. “I’m fine now.”

You scoffed at that. Billy shot you a glare, but you weren’t going to back down on this. “You’ll reopen it, probably make it worse. Why won’t you just listen to me?”

“Why can’t you get off my ass?” Billy snapped, turning from his horse and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes widened at the outburst, cheeks warming in embarrassment.

“I just want you to—“

“No. You’ve been a pain in my leg for a fuckin’ month, and m’just wonderin’ if ya get a kick outta it? You like pissin’ me off?” Billy’s nostrils flared in anger. You had an idea that you annoyed him sometimes, but you had been so determined to get him to like you. You didn’t realize just how much you irritated him.

You swallowed hard. “No.”

“Then why’re you ‘round every fuckin’ corner I turn? Like a damn puppy?” Billy hissed. Looking into his eyes, you suddenly felt so meek. How could he be so cruel? But he continued. “I ain’t your baby, and I ain’t your daddy. Get off my ass.”

You had to avert your gaze to your boots to hide the tears stinging at your eyes and blurring your vision. You just wanted to be friendly. That was just your personality. But now you felt like a kicked dog. “Sorry.” You muttered, clenching your jaw in a weak attempt to stifle some choice words.

Billy’s expression softened slightly, though you weren’t looking up to see it. He sighed heavily, a sense of regret creeping up on him. Why would he even say something like that to you, when it was all so incorrect? He breathed your name, fixing to apologize.

You looked up at him, wiping your eyes with your wrist and scowling. Sadness was quickly boiling over into hurt resentment. “I see you clear as day. I got it. Go.”

Billy opened his mouth to speak again, but you were already turning on your heel. He called your name after you. Fuck him, you thought, unable to tell if the hot years rolling down your cheeks were sad or angry. Maybe both. You’d never felt so humiliated in your life.

He tried approaching you at dinner, but you decided to turn in early. He stood outside your tent, calling to you that he wanted to talk, but you pretended to be asleep until he left. His words stung. And the last thing you wanted to do right now was shrug it off with a polite it’s okay, because it wasn’t okay. If your constant ‘pestering’ was annoying him so badly, you figured he wouldn’t mind missing it for a while. Forever, you’re not wanted to say, but it put a pit in your stomach. Because in all truth, you loved Billy. The thought that he hated you, well, it was enough to make you sick.

You willed the hurt to turn into anger. It didn’t come naturally to you. You wondered, as you laid in bed staring at the ceiling, if he was toiling with his words as much as you were— the thought that he wasn’t was enough motivation to be mad instead of miserable.

Billy didn’t bother you for a few days, gratefully. You caught his stares. A few men asked you about the awkwardness that had fell over the two of you, but you shooed them away before they could pry.

When you woke a few mornings later, you went straight to your Appaloosa. You gently pet her tan neck, free hand untying her for your morning ride while Charlie made breakfast for the camp— but you paused, realizing the present tucked in the leather as you tightened the leather girth. A bunch of wildflowers, stuck under the pommel of the saddle. You scoffed, knowing exactly who they were from. But you didn’t have the heart to stomp them underfoot. So you stuck a boot in the stirrup and slung a leg over.

You rode out to your usual spot— along a narrow stream, perhaps a mile or two out of Lincoln. You trotted leisurely along the length of it, watching the whimsical way the clear water trickled and washed over the stones in the stream. You couldn’t help appreciating the quiet beauty of it. Billy’s snapping at you weighed less heavily on your mind.

That was, until you heard the steady beat of hooves. you threw your head over your shoulder, the round curiosity of your eyes softening into mild annoyance as you recognized the man galloping close. You’d know even by the color of his horse’s snow-white coat. You turned your attention back to the running stream, clicking your tongue for your Appaloosa to tread a bit quicker.

Within a few moments, Billy was trotting beside you. Far enough for your peace of mind, but even three feet away felt too close right now. He said your name firmly, and you gave a lame hum of acknowledgment.

“I get why you’re avoidin’ me. I was a dick.” Billy admits, his pinched brow softening as his eyes land on the flowers still tucked under your saddle. “Y’like ‘em?”

You looked ahead of you, not daring to glance his way. “You were.” You agreed curtly, dropping a hand to rub a daisy petal twixt your fingers. “They’re all-right.” It was a white lie, you thought as you admired the flowers.

Billy pressed his lips and nodded, looking away for a moment. Mulling over his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to..”

“Don’t pity me. You said what you felt.” You snip at him him, finally looking his way. “If my company annoys you so badly, then why are you complaining that I’m leaving you alone?”

Billy shook his head firmly, scoffing. “I didn’t mean them. You— you’re a good person.” Now it was your turn to mirror his scoff, rolling your eyes and looking back to the stream. The glimmering light dancing over the water soothed you ever so slightly. “I mean it. You’re kind, and cheerful, and selfless. I just— it’s.. It was easier t’not like you than to...”

“To what?” You lifted your face again, meeting his tired eyes. Billy rubbed a hand over his mouth and stubbled chin, trying to gain some composure and some confidence.

“T’love you.”

Your eyes went buggy at the confession. Love? Suddenly you felt dizzy enough to fall right off your horse. You hardly realize that you were white-knuckling the reins until the Appaloosa slowed to a stop, and Billy did the same. His brow was furrowed again, his expression serious as death. As if this was morbid news.

“You what?”

“I was foolish. I didn’t.. I didn’t realize what I had ‘till I lost it. Didn’t realize how much I liked your… your presence. Not ‘till I looked ‘round and you weren’t there anymore.” Billy poured his heart out, as easy as breathing. He clearly wanted to make this up to you. He watched anxiously as you clicked your tongue to get your horse to shuffle closer to him.

“I know I’m stupid. Y’got every right t’smack me upside the head right now. But… I just thought you should know.”

“You just thought I should know.” You repeated daftly. Just a moment ago you couldn’t bare to meet his gaze, and now you couldn’t tear your eyes away. He nodded carefully.

“I was a fool.” Billy repeated in a murmur, lips parting. His expression was painfully raw.

You nervously thumbed the flower petals again, furrowing your brows. “You don’t think I’m annoying?”

“I think you’re perfect.” Billy said it factually. Like it was obvious, universally known. He even pinched his brows as if you were silly to even ask. “Dunno how I didn’t get it until now. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You felt the weight of the world dissipate from your heart. He had a look in his eyes like he could go on, and he most certainly would’ve, if you hadn’t reached for his hand on his thigh. He looked down at the infrastructure twixt your soft, gentle hands and his large, rough ones. He felt a strange sense that he didn’t deserve to touch you.

That sense was gone with the wind when you used that hand as leverage to lean over on one stirrup, pressing a little kiss to Billy’s cheek. He couldn’t resist the boyish smile splitting his features. “M’ I forgiven, then?”

You hummed thoughtfully, still leaning over the lessened gap twixt your horses but glancing over to the demurely flowing stream. You took a deep breath. “I forgive you.” You admit gently, unable to stifle a slight smirk as he tilts the brim of your hat up. His arm slips around your waist as he stares up at you.

“Y’sure?” Billy pried. You shook your head at his lingering worry, not hesitating for a moment to press a firm kiss to his lips. God, they were just as warm and soft as you’d imagined so many times before. He was reluctant to let you go, kissing you with all he had, but eventually you broke away.

“I trust you, whether I have reason to or not.” You breathed, furrowing your brow and looking twixt his eyes. He nodded slightly, letting you relax into your own saddle again.

Billy didn’t let your hand slip from his. He squeezed your fingers with all the might he could muster. “I’ll make it up t’you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but not sound came out for a moment. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I love you.”

A sugary sweet smile came to your lips, and he felt as though everything was all-right again. Your free hand rubbed the daisy petal twixt your fingers again, but not nervously any longer. The words rolled off your tongue like molasses, “I love you, Billy.”

Billy never let a cruel word to you slip again.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐌 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “That’s so fucking hot.” — Paired with Ghost on a 'drill' mission, you get to witness his sniping prowess first hand.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Utterly self-indulgent. Shy reader (because I fancied something different), firing guns, very vague power play, very light degradation (barely there but it’s there), fingering, cum eating (don’t know if this counts but I’ll put it anyway), Ghost is very skilled with a gun.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Easterly winds trace the curve of your cheek and gently waft your hair across your forehead. The pitch blackness that hangs in the nighttime desert air swallows you whole, your defensive spot illuminated only by the waning crescent moon. It's fucking freezing, you're tired, and you'd been staring down a sniper's scope for over six hours.

You’d already decided that whoever thought a sniper drill was a good idea was going to face your wrath in the morning.

Settled into the sand grains beside you is Ghost's hulking frame. His patience is remarkable, settled on his front with his finger fixed on the hairpin trigger of the HDR. He's not moved once since getting into position, the vaguest sign he was even alive being the blink of his eyelids. He doesn’t even need to practise, and you’re convinced he’s been paired with you simply because he pities you being a shit shot. 

"Do you not have pins and needles?" You grumble, the crosshair in your field of vision blurring into a shapeless mush after gazing at it for so long, "I swear I've got a dead leg."

"No." Simon's answer is definitive. You're unsure if you believe him at first, but he squeezes the trigger without warning. The gun cracks, firing its round, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break of silence. "What the fuck, Simo-"

Disbelief stalls your loud complaint, the image of a body-shaped target with a bullet hole dead centre of the cross in the inner circle's fixed point making your jaw drop. 

Simon settles back, shedding the shell casing from the HDR and effortlessly loading a second round. It's like breathing for him, the sniper rifle like a body part that worked as seamlessly as his arms or legs. 

It slips out, your inner dialogue somehow managing to worm its way out of your lips before you can swallow down the mortifying comment. 

"That's so fucking hot..."

Simon doesn't seem to respond at first, but your cheeks are already heating up in embarrassment as you try to backpedal. "I mean- I mean, I'm sure most girls at home would find that really hot! You must have so many girls asking you out when you go home- Half of Manchester, I bet!" 

You laugh awkwardly, holding your own sniper weapon in a death grip. You wish the sand would sink beneath you, dropping you into the depths below. 

"Not really," Simon's rumbling voice cuts through the desert silence. It makes your humiliation even worse, and you squeeze your eyes shut and plan to request a transfer with Captain Price the moment you return to base. Or even hand in your resignation letter. You'd never have to fear running into Simon on another team that way—

"Delta," Ghost's gruff voice cuts through your downward spiral. You open your eyes and glance over at him apprehensively. He's still staring down the scope of his rifle, mask concealing his expression from you. Undoubtedly he was enjoying making you feel stupid.

A heavy hand settles on the back of your thigh, and you suddenly exhale the oxygen in your lungs as though someone has popped the membrane with a pin. Ghost doesn't look up from the scope; his attention is focused on the target over seven-hundred meters away. 

"G-Ghost-" Your voice tremors, and you wish you could blame it on the chill in the desert air. Instead, it's Simon's palm slowly tracing up your thigh, palm squeezing gently at the globe of your ass. 

"Quiet," he orders, and you nod quickly, falling in line at the sound of his authoritative 'lieutenant voice'. He continues his advance, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of your khaki cargos at the small of your back. 

Simon hesitates. He offers you a chance to wave him off, but you can't think of anything worse— he's touching you, sparking your skin hot beneath his slow, deliberate touches. 

Breaching the waistband of your pants, he ensures that he inches his hand below your panties, too, fingertips tracing the naked curve of your ass as they continue their descent. You whimper softly, impatient, but the sound dies in your throat when you see Ghost's irises flick to you in a warning. 

Quiet, I said. 

Swallowing back any more noises of complaint, you spread your legs ever so slightly for him. A rumble of content sound from his chest, and Simon aims his sight down the scope of his rifle again. 

Simon's fingers sink into your fluttering cunt from behind. The stretch alone has you biting down on your knuckles in an attempt to smother the yelp that threatens to breach your mouth. 

What makes it worse is Simon's blatant nonchalance. He adjusts the positioning of his Sniper to mitigate the desert breeze with one hand. Meanwhile, his fingers sink deeper into you, easing in and out until you hear the slick sounds of your cunt swallowing his digits. 

It's pathetic. Ghost'll probably taunt you relentlessly for it, but you rock back onto his hand as his fingers tease your spasming walls. 

"O-Oh, fuck-" you choke out, breathless, as you lower your head and brace against the rising bliss in your abdomen. Again, Ghost's eyes flick over, cautioning you. 

"I'm tryin'a focus," he scolds you flatly, pushing his thumb into your clit harshly. You yelp at the sudden pressure, the arc of pleasure that whips up your spine. 

"W-What can you possibly be fo-ohh-" you moan out, losing your sentence as he slowly begins to circle your clit with his battle-calloused thumb. 

"On this," Simon hums, and again the crack of his sniper rifle jolts your body in shock. Fuck- but he keeps rubbing at your clit, sinking his fingers deeper into you as he searches for your g-spot. 

Your head whips up as your cunt flutters around his digits, looking down the scope. Again, Ghost has hit the target perfectly— slap bang in the middle of its forehead. 

Honestly, you could have cum from that alone, but Ghost's fingers are retreating just as your orgasm surges. You whine loudly, looking over your shoulder to see him remove his hands from your pants despite your protests and use his thumb to push the bottom of his ski mask over his mouth. 

Sinking his fingers into his mouth, he groans as he tastes you. It's the most sordid sound you've ever heard, the noise settling deep into your abdomen as you watch him lick his fingers clean. 

Simon knows what he's doing, knows he has you on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, but ignores your heavy breathing and desperate gaze to nod his head at the target. 

"Your turn. Best stop your hands from shaking, love. Get him between the eyes, and I might let you cum."

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[syrupfog]

Sanji who just wants a job as a sous chef but has yet to be hired, but has somehow managed to enter the world of being a private chef for extremely wealthy families. 

He hates them they remind him of childhood but he needs the cash. 

He starts working for Mihawk.

Mihawk who only eats odd, simple foods. Things that Sanji feels insulted to make. A LOT of toast with cream cheese and jam, honestly. 

Sanji’s bored out of his mind (he starts canning the fruit from Mihawk’s garden to pass the time)

Then one day, bursting through the front door come two people his own age, a woman with pink hair and a man with green, DEMANDING to know why Mihawk moved without TELLING THEM, HIS OWN CHILDREN

Sanji immediately pegs them for stuck up assholes. He’s grown to respect Mihawk, at least (he’s better than the Charlottes were). Spoiled rich adult kids who expect their lifestyles to be funded. Ugh. 

Mihawk blinks and says that he DID tell them.

There’s a lot more shouting as Sanji quietly pickles beets in the background. They come to some sort of truce around the idea that Zoro (the green haired one) lost his phone, and Perona (pink hair) blocked his number after Mihawk called at 2am about his yams.

They’re good yams, Sanji thinks. 

He also learns that they were on a “road trip of self discovery”. He’s not sure what that means. It sounds like rich kid speak for “spending spree”.

They integrate into the household though and, after being introduced to Sanji, Perona demands pink. Anything strawberry. 

Zoro says he’ll eat anything. Sanji doubts that. 

He tests it. 

He makes extravagant dishes. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to even notice, eating without complaint.

Honestly it’s good practice. He uses it as an excuse to get back into the hang of the fanciest things Zeff taught. 

But he still doesn’t like them. Rich assholes. Mihawk’s simple toasts get him a pass.

One thing about Zoro though is that he seems to spend all his time working out, so he comes looking for food at the ODDEST times. And SOMETIMES Sanji is ASLEEP. He’s got a room in the old servants’ quarters and Zoro will appear at any hour.

After the third time being awoken at 2am, Sanji snaps. 

“I’m preparing you a fucking shelf full of onigiri,” he says, pointing with a judgmental finger at Zoro’s chest. “That’s going to be your midnight snack from now on! Some of us need our beauty rest!”

Zoro blinks down at the finger. “Okay,” he says. “I mean. You clearly need it.” 

Sanji scoffs in outrage. He’s still half asleep. He aims a kick at Zoro’s head before he can process his one rule (“don’t hurt clients”). 

Zoro dodges. 

His face breaks out into a grin.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Curls,” he says. 

Sanji stumbles. He regains his footing and stomps down the hall, face aflame. 

He makes thirty onigiri. 

Zoro eats seven. 

“There, that’ll last you three more nights,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods. “So what time do I wake you up to get you to fight me again?” 

Sanji splutters. “No!!” He shrieks. “It’s three in the morning! I know you’re a rich fuck with nothing to do but some of us have jobs! I’m on call 24/7 here!” 

…he regrets it as soon as he says it.

Expects to be fired on the spot. 

Zoro frowns. He crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says, tersely. “Go to bed.” 

Sanji… does. He avoids turning his back on Zoro as he leaves the room, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

When he makes breakfast the next morning, he’s expecting to be fired as soon as Mihawk arrives, but Mihawk mentions nothing. 

Neither do Perona or Zoro when they appear, hours later. 

Sanji feels like he’s walking on eggshells until Zoro appears in his kitchen in early afternoon.

“Hey,” says Zoro. “I talked to my dad.” 

Sanji hangs his head. “So I’m fired?” He asks, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Fucking what? No, Jesus. I just said you should have a regular work shift. Only like, ten hours on call.” 

“So you docked my pay,” Sanji says flatly.

“Now you’re being an ass,” Zoro growls. “NO, you’re being paid the same, you’re just going to have time off when I can’t bug you. That cool?” 

Sanji frowns, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” He asks. 

Crossing his arms, Zoro scoffs. “Not getting yelled at at 2am, mostly.”

“You could’ve just not woken me up,” Sanji says. 

“You make it real hard to be nice to you, Cook,” Zoro says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to do something nice.” 

Sanji melts a little, but he’s not willing to give in entirely. “Well thanks,” he says. “For not firing me, too.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “We’ve all had shitty jobs where we want to yell at customers,” He says. 

“Now I KNOW you’re lying,” Sanji argues. “I know how rich you are. I know what Mihawk pays me.”

Zoro looks… funny at him. “Did he ever happen to mention that we’re adopted?” 

Sanji blinks. Thinks of Zeff. “Uh, no?” 

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Fucking Daddy Warbucks situation. I was seventeen. Trust me, I know customer service. Had to work to eat.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Sanji says. “Now I feel like a fucking ass.” 

“You ARE a fucking ass,” Zoro says. “Want to fight when you’re off work? Officially your shift ends at 6 now.” 

“Dinner is for seven so that won’t work.” Sanji says. “Shut up I have a chef’s integrity.”

“You’re not turning down fighting me?” Zoro asks, sounding oddly hopeful. 

“You spend all day working out so it’ll be unfair,” Sanji says. “But sure, I’ll kick your ass. Winner chooses what filling goes in your onigiri.” 

“Spicy salmon,” Zoro says. 

“Pickled plums,” muses Sanji.

They do end up fighting after dinner, out in Mihawk’s fancy topiary garden (he maintains it himself). 

Bruised and panting, they end up making out behind the large rabbit-shaped tree. 

It becomes A Thing.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter three “is this the life that lies ahead now?”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: drinking on an empty stomach (do not attempt in real life, but this is hell baby), allusions to poisoning, reader is hungover and has a poor appetite, uh oh art thou pining?, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.8k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

After getting some water you tried falling back asleep to no avail, tossing and turning for at least an hour before deciding to call it quits.

Leaving the hotel in the middle of the night wasn’t the best idea, but you felt like you’d start tearing at the wallpaper if you stayed in your room. Cliche as it was, fresh air had always helped you relax while you were living. You thought back to the family garden and sighed. You’d give anything to be able to sit there now.

Your thoughts drifted to your father as you changed out of your pajamas. Things had changed so much in your day-to-day after coming to the hotel that you realized you couldn’t remember the last time he had crossed your mind. You felt a tightness in your throat when you tried to remember what he looked like. It was hazy, but he was mostly there; strong with a brilliant smile. How long would it be before you couldn’t remember him at all? Even the way you heard his voice in your mind didn’t seem completely right, an imitation of a memory.

Was he doing okay? Was he still mourning you? Or did he think you were just missing? Did the money go through? Did he know what you did for him to get it? There was no way to know.

“Can’t sleep?” 

You jumped at the sound of Husker’s voice, so lost in thought and determined to get out of there that you hadn’t noticed him at the bar. It wasn’t surprising that he was still down here, though, being just before midnight. In fact, the real surprise was that he was here by himself. You decided to put leaving on pause and made your way over to him, taking advantage of the rare moment of privacy. Besides, what good would it do to dismiss Husker when he had been so discreet about this morning?

“More like slept too much,” you said, sighing as you took a seat across from him. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Husk jabbed amiably, turning to grab an empty glass. 

You groaned. “Well there goes my hope of looking better than I feel. I was thinking maybe a walk would help, but—” Husk gave you a look, rightly making you feel sheepish. 

“Didn’t go so hot this morning, huh? Thought you’d have better luck at night?” he said, half-joking, and passed you an amber-colored drink. The worry must’ve been showing on your face, as he cooly added, “Don’t worry, it’s been a ghost town in here for over an hour. It’s still only me and Angel who know about what happened.”

“Is he at work right now?” you asked, relaxing a little and took a casual look around. “I really don’t know how I can make it up to you both. This morning I…,” you sighed again and ran a hand through your hair, feeling the exhaustion seep back in. “I don’t know. Hopefully I’ll just forget about it, or convince myself it was a nightmare or something. But I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

You recalled your reflection in the mirror before you showered, unrecognizable to yourself under the layer of gore caked to your skin. 

Husk waved his hand, but the softness in his eyes felt like a rock in your stomach. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve both seen crazier shit in our time. But yeah, he’s been gone for most of the day. Said Valentino was having an ‘emergency’ but I have my doubts. He’s always pulling Angel in for dumb shit.”

You nodded and finally took a sip of your drink, shocked by how much you enjoyed it. A pleasant bitter taste lingered in your mouth, and you had to actively fight the urge to chug down the rest of it.

“Valentino’s his boss, right? Alastor’s done a pretty good job of keeping me preoccupied, but I think I’ve heard you guys talking about him before.”

“That’s the simplest thing to call him, I guess, though I prefer to call him an asshole,” Husk grumbled and you both shared a small laugh, the alcohol already making you feel lighter. 

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, Husk refilling your glass as you rested your head in your hand, gazing through the windows to the city below. Would you be able to pinpoint the alley if you concentrated hard enough? Someone had to have stumbled on him by now, right? Like his little sidekick… Did he ever go back for Donny? Something else clicked into place as you thought of him and the events of the morning: unless someone came after you for retribution, you would get away with it. That’s just how life is here.

No missing person report, no investigation, no forensics, no trial, no jail sentence. Weren’t you already “doing time��� by being here? It’s not like you could add on to it. Not that you intended to do it again, but it was a step in the right direction of making peace with yourself. Maybe you really would forget about it someday, maybe not. There were some things that stuck with you forever.

The image of your grandmother came to you then, the last time you had spoken with her. She was sitting in her favorite chair near the fireplace in the library, her face set in the ever-present scowl you resented so much. She really was such a miserable creature. You saw yourself place the tray of tea and almond shortbread cookies down on the dark-lacquered, antique coffee table between you, knowing it would the last thing she ever ate. And tried to fight the smile pulling at your lips.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“It occurred to me in the night that you still owe me something from the butcher,” Alastor said casually, his face buried in the newspaper. Irritation shot through you quick as lightning, but you prevailed against the urge to dump the coffee you were bringing him all over his lap. 

As the grandfather clock in Alastor’s room chimed the hour, the pulse in your head threatened to kill. Apparently hangovers were very real in Hell (because of course they were), and this one was a doozy. Husk had only given you three drinks, but since you had wrung yourself so dry it was  enough to leave you feeling like absolute shit. Beyond some water, the only thing you managed to ingest so far this morning was a piece of plain, burnt toast to try and soothe your aching stomach. It had taken all you had to keep it down. Needless to say, you weren’t starting the day in the best of moods.

Not that you ever thought Alastor would take it easy on you anyway. The look he gave you when you showed up in your new dress was so self-satisfied that it made you want to crawl under a rock. And when he said that you looked like death warmed over, you wanted to use said rock to knock his teeth in. It was the first you had seen of him since the incident in your room yesterday, though you tried not to dwell on the fact that he had returned at some point while you were asleep. In the grand scheme of his behavior you’ve been exposed to, that was really the least of your worries. 

Through the veil of annoyance you found yourself looking at the mug in his grasp, remembering the strength of his hand holding your chin. Your breath shallowed as he brought the rim up to his lips. Fuck. Tearing your eyes away, you did your best to swallow the lump in your throat. This couldn’t be happening.

He was just toying with you yesterday. Nothing new, you told yourself. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes how much he enjoys feeling superior. Not that you had ever seen him pull a stunt like that on anyone else, but who knows? It’s not like you were with him every second of the day. Even in this very moment, he was messing with you. 

Was it your fault that he had only grabbed his clothes off the filthy floor of that alley and left the other bag to rot? Of course he’d see it that way, and if your headache wasn’t as terrible as it was, you might have told him exactly that. Especially considering that you were already out money for the liver, and he was more than likely expecting you to pay again.

“I’ll head out after I’ve finished with your room, unless you’d prefer I go now and clean when I get back,” you answered smoothly, hoping he’d give you permission for the latter. How he had even managed to track in the dirt you saw on the area rug was a mystery. You just knew that it would keep you busy for a decent amount of time and you weren’t looking forward to more scrubbing on your hands and knees. “And if the clothes are ready to be picked up again, I can get those, too.”

Alastor peered over the newspaper, eyebrow raised, his eyes and smile alight with mischief. “My, someone’s eager to be in my good graces today! No need to bother with the laundry, but I hope you won’t mind if I join you going into town. I don’t feel like staying cooped up in the hotel. Go ahead and clean now, I’d hate for those stains on the rug to set. Besides, you know how I despise coming home to a mess.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

While he waited for you to return after freshening up, Alastor took a look around his room, admiring the results of your hard work. You were turning out to be much more resilient than he had anticipated. Though your expression was hardly ever enthusiastic, you’d never be able to tell by the way you cleaned. Someone taught you well, he thought to himself, breathing in the scent of cleaning products that nearly overpowered the floral almond you always left behind. So pleasant.

Though if he was being honest, he was starting to run out of ideas on how to keep you busy. He would mess up the bed, despite rarely sleeping in it, and leave his housecoat, shirts, and bowties draped over various pieces of furniture for you to pick up and put in their proper place. The mud and dirt on the rug had been a last-minute stroke of genius, but it wasn’t something he cared to repeat too often. God forbid he became predictable. 

There was part of his room you didn’t have access to, and Alastor doubted that he’d ever let you see it — nor anyone else, for that matter. It’s not like it was a space you’d be able to clean in a traditional sense, anyway. After the hotel was rebuilt he thought it would be a nice idea to separate his serene bayou from the rest of the living quarters. Remembering how Vaggie had so rudely barged in on him in the past, it wasn’t something he was keen on happening again. And it was comical to watch you glancing at the locked door, pondering what could be behind it. 

He knew he couldn’t keep you cooped up as his personal chambermaid forever though, unless he wanted to be hounded by Charlie and Vaggie about it. Which he decidedly did not want. And he could admit that this cleaning game was getting stale… How could he switch things up before he tired of you completely? How could he get you to show him another spectacle like yesterday?

A knock at the door snapped The Radio Demon out of his thoughts.

“Alastor? Can I come in?” Charlie said from the other side of the door. By the tone in her voice, he could tell she was here to discuss business. He sighed quietly to himself and went to the door, swinging it open with a charming smile. 

“Why of course, my dear! How may I be of service?” Alastor closed the door behind them and led her to one of the chairs by the fireplace, taking the one opposite her and crossed his legs, neatly folding his hands over one knee. “It’s just the two of us. Sylvie left to go spruce up before we head into town,” he said, noting how Charlie was glancing around the room.

“Oh, good!” she sighed, putting her hand over her chest in relief. “That’s, um, kind of what I came here to talk to you about. I know you’ve been…,” she paused, hands dancing as she searched for the right word, “…acclimating her to working here — and I don’t want to step on your toes — but I think it would be really nice if she could join in on daily activities. No one has really gotten a chance to get to know her yet, and I’d hate for her to keep missing out on opportunities to bond with everyone.”

He had jinxed himself, but at least it was only the princess he had to deal with.

What to do? It’s not like he could say that your cleaning skills needed improvement when evidence to the contrary surrounded them; the room was pristine. He could argue that it would be prudent to keep some level of permanent staff unless they wanted to be in a never-ending state of training new hires, but something told him that wouldn’t be the best approach. At least not for now. Alastor had no intention of letting any souls under his contract be taken from him, for redemption or otherwise. Still, seeing the others develop their relationships with each other had been fun to observe. How would little Sylvie fit into the dynamic?

“I suppose I’ve been a bit selfish with her, haven’t I? I’ll be sure to leave room in her schedule starting tomorrow, but I hope you’ll understand that mornings are sacrosanct,” Alastor said agreeably, straightening his coat as he stood up from the chair. “Unless there was anything else, I’ll go and tell her the good news.”

Charlie followed suit, grin wide and eyes sparkling as they made their way back to the door. “Of course! Oh, thank you Alastor, you have no idea how excited I am!” It was impossible not to. Her enthusiasm was nearly contagious. “Vaggie and I are thinking something up right now as a surprise for everyone, but the details haven’t been totally worked out yet. I’ll let you know as soon as possible though — gah! I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

Alastor merely smiled in response and they parted ways in the hall. He wasn’t thrilled to be losing his monopoly on you so soon, but knowing that he now had to be more intentional with his time was invigorating. Curious to see how you’ll react to being invited to group activities, he made his way to your room, already hard at work thinking of new ways to push your buttons.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You were surprised to see Alastor in the hall when you opened your door, since you had been instructed to return to his room when you were finished touching up. The quick jump-scare he caused sent a fresh wave of throbbing to your head and you hissed under your breath, unable to stop yourself from massaging your temple.

“You’re up to something,” you grumbled, walking past him to make your way to the elevators. 

He feigned offense, easily stepping into stride with you down the hall. “Chivalry is lost on you twenty-first-century souls! I don’t know why I bother.”

You glared at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the sardonic look on his face as you stepped into the elevator. It was best not to push your luck with him, considering you still had an entire outing in Cannibal Town to get through. You were about to say something when the elevator stopped after going down a couple floors, the doors opening to Angel Dust. He looked exhausted. 

When the two of you made eye contact, he glanced away, the air in the elevator quickly turning nervous as he walked in. Was it because of yesterday? Maybe Angel hadn’t been as comfortable with it as Husk made it seem… Suddenly he hit a button, stopping the elevator in its tracks. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, steeling himself. 

“Hey, so… you know how you came home lookin’ like fuckin’ Carrie yesterday?”

You felt Alastor’s static humming in the space between you; the first reaction he’s had since Angel came into the elevator. 

“I wanted to apologize sooner but—”

Angel waved his hands, cutting you off. “No, no, please, you don’t have to,” he said, a small laugh escaping him. “Look, uh… I’m only bringin’ it up cuz I just gotta know.” He was actively fighting a smile as he continued, “The trouble you ran into? His name wasn’t Donny, was it?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r

[thestalwartheart]

La la la-la la la la, he's a little bit Alexis Bond.

For Mads, who threw this idea into the universe like it wasn't the most cosmic-brained crossover of all time, and for @non-compos-mentis-nimbus who sent me the prompt "a particularly interesting/weird ringtone." (I'm so sorry if you've never watched Schitt's Creek!).

Fic behind the cut. It's nothing but crack, I must warn you! And yes, you can read this on AO3, though I'm not sure it needs to be preserved for the internet's eternity!

“Christ,” Q groaned, in the panic of a morning rush. “Where the hell is my phone?”

Beside him in bed, with a pillow bunched under his head, looking every inch the layabout, Bond smirked. “Well, you were so quick to shed your clothes last night, darling—”

Q held out a hand to shush him. He was disastrously hungover. He didn’t need to be subjected to this sort of insubordination at seven in the morning.

“If you have something useful to say, say it. Otherwise, be quiet.”

Bond tutted. While he sat up, he subjected Q to a lecture on manners. Perhaps Q had been born too late for elocution lessons to be the done thing in his childhood, he said, but that was no excuse for a lack of common courtesy, especially towards a man who only last night had acquiesced to every filthy thought—

Q stopped listening. He rummaged around in his bedside drawer.

“— to call it?”

“Hm?”

Bond let out a huff of amusement. “Your phone. Shall I call it for you?”

“Oh, yes. Fine. Thank you.”

It would be fair to say that Q wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Perhaps if he hadn’t missed his alarm or drunk quite so much gin last night—martinis were never a good decision, least of all ones made by James Bond—he might have taken precautions. As it were, he was bleary-eyed, a bit stressed and, frankly, exhausted from a long night of Bond pummelling him into the mattress.

Without warning, Bond pressed the call button on his phone.

La la la-la la la la—

“Oh, shit,” said Q. The ringtone came blasting from his rumpled suit, which had landed in the doorway sometime last night. Hours ago. Hours and hours and hours—

Q made a beeline for it, stumbling over the bedsheets and then himself.

“Q.”

His hand delved into the wrong trouser pocket. “Oh, balls!”

—hide your diamonds, hide your exes—

“Q.”

The other pocket was empty, too. Q nearly tore his jacket apart searching. Its two external pockets contained a pen, three folded post-it-notes, an Oyster card, the key to his work desk and an errant Percy Pig. But no phone.

I’m a Prada handbag—

No, his phone was in an internal pocket (the second one he checked, naturally — when did anything ever go smoothly in a crisis?), and Q grasped at it with the desperation of a found-out mistress, declining the call with a quick couple of taps on its side button.

“What was that I just heard?” asked Bond, seeming far more awake than he’d been five minutes ago. “A naughty elf?”

Q winced. His headache was suddenly the least painful thing in the room.

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Oh,” replied Bond with a dangerous, only half flirtatious glint in his eye. “I think I do.”

[httpswritings]

The Great War — Katie McCabe x Reader

Additional info: Story inspired Taylor Swift’s The Great War. I’m in my Katie era, but I’m also planning on writing about other players, especially Alexia, which I have like four ideas to write about. We’ll see. I also have a draft of Ruesha x Katie inspired in Moth to a flame by The Weeknd, but I’m doubting about posting it or not. Maybe in the future I’ll write a Caitlin x Katie fic, but I don't have a clear vision of them yet to properly write about them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, throwing up and therapy, sensitive topics overall, avoid reading if you find them triggering. Angsty Katie.

Word count: 1691

Right after Katie ended her relationship with Caitlin Foord, she met Y/N. After some time, they got into a relationship together. They enjoyed every single second of the magical connection they seemed to have. With the passing of time, Katie became more and more anxious about her relationship with Y/N. She doubted she could be what Y/N deserved, even though her girlfriend took her time every day to remind Katie that she's never been as happy in a relationship as she was with her.

«My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked»

Two heartbreaks in such a little time, with both her Ireland National Team's member Ruesha and girlfriend of seven years, and her Arsenal's teammate Caitlin Foord, who was her girlfriend during half a year, made the Irishwoman insecure about her ability to love, to trust, to have a happy fairytale ending. Katie knew these thoughts would damage her relationship with Y/N, but she couldn't help but to spend most of her day tracking every single detail that built her relationship to the obsessive point where she felt absolutely sick of herself.

«Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground»

When she reached her limit, she told Y/N about what was going on. Y/N responded well and helped Katie, and it started well. Really well. But after some time, Katie fell back into a cycle of doubt and anxiety, and those sensations kept growing when she noticed any change in Y/N's mood, as she took it too personally. This made her re-experience in her mind those moments of stress while she was with Ruesha or Caitlin.

«And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur»

Y/N tried to understand her, she tried and tried but eventually, she reached her limit.

“I want to help you. I really do. But I can't continue like this. I'm not Ruesha, nor I am Caitlin. I am aware that being in a new relationship it's difficult for you, so maybe we should take things a bit slower. I don't mean to take a break, but maybe I should go back to my flat. We will move on slower than we did before, but I do think it's the only way to work it out.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Sweet dream was over»

“Yeah, maybe you're right´”, that was Katie's only response. Y/N limited herself to sigh. That night, Katie slept alone in her bed. Her body reacting to the cold sheets and crying herself to sleep.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War»

Sweet morning messages from Y/N, “Good morning, baby. Do good at training today! Love you ;)”

Surprise visits from Y/N, lovely gifts, usually handmade ones, brought Katie to tears as she felt endlessly loved.

«Always remember

Tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie prayed for things to get back as they were during the first months of the relationship. The feeling of her not being a good girlfriend to Y/N haunted her even in her sleep.

«You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone»

Y/N suggested going to a therapist together, but Katie was unsure about that. She thought that if she couldn't quite open to her girlfriend about her feelings and thoughts, she wouldn't be able to talk about what was bothering her to a therapist. Such a huge contrast between the two parts of the relationship that drew them even more apart.

«You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it»

“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not doing this. I feel uncomfortable talking to a stranger about our issues.”

“I know, baby, I was just suggesting it. Let me explain you why. We are aware of having some problems in our relationship, but we don't really know how to get through it. We've tried and things keep getting worse. Maybe talking to someone who's out of our relationship can make this whole situation clearer for the both of us.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

The bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

The burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie took some weeks to meditate Y/N´s idea. She was terrified of being judged by the therapist they would talk to. Even more scared of Y/N realizing she didn't do any good to her. Eventually, she agreed.

“Maybe she's right. People attend therapy sessions. It's normal, Katie. It's normal”, she said to herself.

«It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed»

Katie was not new to getting help from a therapist. She was very open about her mental health in different areas of her life, whether that included football or not. The first time she attended a therapy session was when she was a teenager. It went well, so did the first sessions with Anna, Katie's and Y/N´s psychologist.

Making progress is not a linear process, and making mistakes is a part of the success. Mistakes are a victory in themselves, it means that you're still trying. One day, Katie had an individual session with Anna. Anna felt it was Katie's time to open about her two past relationships; a young adult romance that lasted for more than half a decade and a short but intense romance of one year after a breakup.

It was a slow conversation filled with many pauses from Katie.

“Are you gonna tell Y/N what I'm telling you?”

“No, Katie. This stays between me and you”, said Anna.

As Katie told her her experiences in love, she broke down.

The wall she had built, in order to avoid being hurt and judged, collapsed in that therapy room.

“Don't be afraid to cry. You have nothing to prove to me nor to Y/N. This is about you and your healing process. Y/N will help you and accompany you, but it's crucial for you to work on yourself, especially being a public figure.”

«Your finger on my hair pin triggers»

As Katie arrived home, she unlocked her phone and asked Y/N to come over.

“I've asked Anna, and she told me it was a good initiative and a great way of gaining some independence in our relationship, leaving her out of it for a while. Don't feel obliged to!”

“I am exhausted, baby. Work was something else today, and I’m a little bit irritated because of it, lol. Maybe another time? Love you.”

As Katie was about to spiral, she remembered Anna's advice. She breathed deeply. Y/N was setting her boundaries. She trusted Katie enough to tell her the truth and not to make any excuses. She felt tired from work. Y/N is not mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong. Everything’s okay.

«Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops»

The next day Katie woke up to a text from Y/N.

“Good morning, princess. I had a great sleep, what about you? How did you sleep? I’m up to seeing you today if you feel like it. Love you.”

Still slightly asleep, she smiled.

“I can't wait to see you today, beautiful girl. I had a good sleep, too. Good to have the bed all to myself ;))”

She frowned after sending the text with that joke at the end.

“Breath, Katie, let these useless thoughts pass. Both you and Y/N feel comfortable teasing each other”, said Katie to herself.

“Ha, ha, really funny. We both know you missed having me snoring next to you.”

“How do you know?!?!”

«That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you»

As Katie was preparing herself to go out with Y/N to have lunch, she remembered the night where Y/N left her house.

She doesn't freak out to the thought of it, but instead she does an exercise of introspection. She sees herself in her mind, almost throwing up, completely emotionally depending on her girlfriend while pushing her away and bottling up her feelings.

«We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

The worst was over»

Now she looks at herself in the mirror. She sees herself, Katie, as the woman who knows that she's loved, and she's deserving of being it. The woman who respects her girlfriend’s boundaries and doesn't freak out at the tiniest change that she perceives. The woman who's going to take her girlfriend out to have a good time having lunch, not worrying about anything but what order she's going to have.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

We're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I vowed I would always be yours»

As they arrived home back from the restaurant, Y/N walked towards Katie.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You did this. You are doing it every day. I’m so excited to see where our relationship leads us to.”

As Katie sobbed, she softly laughed, “It’s nice to cry sometimes. God, I feel so relieved. I’m so proud of myself, too, of us! Thank you for being there for me, Y/N, thank you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life as your girlfriend.”

“Even when you'll wake up to my snoring?”

“Especially when I'll wake up to your snoring.”

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Two - The Barista

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

I didn’t even test the DNA analysis module on the watch before I left my universe. Idiotic? Definitely, but I was so excited by the thought of seeing you again that I didn’t care. So I tested it when I got to the new universe, using the watch to scan one of your hairs and then using that data to track you down…I can't believe I found you again.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 5.4k

It was a morning like every other.

You opened your eyes to the sound of your alarm blaring next to you. You hit the snooze button, probably too harshly, before promptly burying your face in your palms. Sometimes you thought that if you just laid there long enough, all your responsibilities would disappear. A moment later, the alarm went off again, reminding you that it was time to get up, for real this time. After fantasizing about ripping it from the wall and breaking it into a thousand pieces, you turned it off and rolled out of bed.

You stepped out into the living room, smelling the coffee brewing in the pot already. Your step-sister, and roommate, Emily, was flipping through the channels on the tv in the living room.

“Mornin’,” you mumbled, grabbing the hot cup she’d left for you on the breakfast bar.

“Morning!” She turned around to face you while you sipped from your mug. “The ‘rents wanted to go out for dinner tonight, you in?”

You groaned, trudging over to the armchair in the living room and sitting down, taking another sip of your coffee. You stared at the television idly, not really taking any of it in. You thought about your impending workday. You sighed heavily, the idea of ending your long day by having dinner with your parents exhausting.

“I don’t really want to, I’m gonna be tired after work but…I guess I can pull myself together for a couple hours.”

“Thanks, I don’t really wanna go alone.” She sniffed out a laugh, “you should bring that guy you’ve been seeing, might be a good time for them to meet him.”

You gave her the look. The look that said, ‘no way in hell am I introducing him to our parents’.

“I’m not ready to subject him to that just yet.”

“Fair,” she said with a shrug, turning the volume up on the tv and thus ending the conversation.

You finished your coffee before getting yourself ready for the day. You looked in the mirror on your bedroom door, adjusting your nametag pinned through your apron next to the Moonbean Coffee logo. The company aprons felt so frumpy on your frame and you hated the shade of brown the owner had picked out, but you supposed it was better than not having a job to begin with.

“See ya later!” You said on your way out.

You arrived just before seven for your shift. Your co-workers, Stacy and Mira, were there already, baking sweets and brewing coffee for the morning rush. You flipped the “open” sign around and went behind the counter in preparation for the under-caffeinated stampede. Stacy always made some comment to you about ‘opening the floodgates’ whenever you came in, since that was always the moment customers started pouring in.

You were sweaty by the end of the rush. It felt to you like that was often the time that he seemed to make his appearance. You’d talked to him about it before, telling him to come in first thing with the other customers if he wanted you to look your best. ‘You always look your best, hermosa’, he’d say, suave as ever.

Miguel walked in. The smell of coffee hit him like a ton of bricks, but then so did your face. 

It had been a year and a half since he’d seen you. A fucking year and a half. His breath caught in his chest and his lips parted slightly. He felt like he was seeing you for the first time. In some weird way, he was seeing you for the first time. This version of you anyway.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come get your coffee?” You giggled and started making his usual cup.

There was that sound again.

He thought he’d never hear your laugh for the rest of his days. In his universe, he’d replayed videos of when you were alive over and over to take the edge off, but nothing compared to the real thing when it hit his ears. He watched you make his coffee. You’d made it wrong, but he’d expected that when traveling to another dimension things wouldn’t always be quite right. He didn’t care, as long as he found the universe where you lived; that’s all that mattered to him.

“Are you gonna say something or just stare at me?” You laughed at him nervously.

“I’m sorry I’m just…having a rough morning,” he held up his cup, “haven’t had my coffee yet,” he said jokingly.

You’d thought about Emily’s suggestion to have him join you and your parents for dinner, and figured she was right. You liked this guy. This impossibly tall, broad, and handsome physicist who seemed to be smitten with you no matter how gross you looked after a long shift at the coffee shop.

“I’ve been thinking, and no obligation if you don’t want to, I understand, but…my parents invited my step-sister and me out for dinner tonight and…” You trailed off, feeling nervous, “do you…would you wanna–”

“Yes, I’d love to,” he blurted out.

He felt like such an idiot. It wasn’t like him to get flustered like this, but something about you made him feel like the space between his ears was filled with nothing but hot air. He saw you press your lips together bashfully, and noticed the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you looked at him. You’d always told him that he was special to you; that he was different from other guys you’d dated, he’d just never paid attention to the small details like this back then.

“Great, it’s at the new steak place up the road from here. Six pm, please don’t be late,” you said in a pleading tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

There were customers coming in and he decided it was time for him to go. He had a dinner date to get ready for afterall. The fluttering in his stomach from seeing you wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, and he’d missed it. It was hard to break away, but he kissed the back of your hand and started to leave anyway.

“Hey!” You shouted.

He turned back around, “Hm?”

“No kiss?” You put your hands on your hips.

You…you wanted a…

He gulped. “S-sorry, thinking about work,” he lied.

He walked up to you and leaned over the counter and you took his face in your hands. 

You touched him. It had been so long since you’d touched him. 

You pressed your lips to his softly, and for a moment, he tensed. Once he relaxed, he leaned in, parting his lips and melting them against yours. He never thought he’d kiss you again. Miguel sighed with joyous relief when the kiss broke, choking back the tears that threatened to fall.

“See you later,” you said, patting his wide chest before watching him walk away.

As Miguel stepped outside and started down the sidewalk, he passed someone on his left. It didn’t hit him right away until he realized that the man was as unnaturally tall as himself. Miguel stopped dead in his tracks, looking back at the man as he headed toward the coffee shop he’d just walked out of. It was…oh no…

You looked up from the coffee cup you were putting someone’s name on to see Miguel come back inside. You smirked and let out a chuckle.

“Forget something?” You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure why he’d returned. He had a huge smile as he walked up to you and leaned against the counter.

“Hola, hermosa,” he said, “I’ll take my usual, if you don’t mind.”

“What…?” you felt uneasy.

Lots of people had memory problems right? You and Miguel had only been dating for a couple months, so you didn’t know all there was to know about him. Maybe he suffered from short term memory loss or something. Not to mention, you knew he was a scientist. It was possible he’d suffered some brain injury in the lab or something…right? You couldn’t be sure, but your intuition was telling you that something was off; stupidly, you ignored it.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, looking at you with concern.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, yes I’m fine.”

You faked a smile and made his coffee…again. When you handed it to him he smiled and sipped it. That’s when you realized he wasn’t wearing the same outfit he was wearing when he’d walked out of there just a moment earlier. Something wasn’t right. Were you losing your mind? Maybe he wasn’t the one with memory issues.

Miguel was a genius on paper. He could make a device that allowed him to travel the multiverse with only one minor flaw, but that didn’t mean he was immune to idiocy. He’d just watched that universe’s version of himself walk by and go right into the coffee shop where you worked. How could he be so stupid? If there was a version of you in every universe, then it was reasonable to assume that there would be a version of himself in every universe as well.

He had to do something about the doppelganger. Miguel couldn’t let him get in the way. He couldn’t let someone else, even if it was just an alternate version of himself, take you from him.

Later that evening, you were dressed and ready for dinner. You’d managed to shrug off the weird encounter you’d had with Miguel earlier, and decided that you would wait to bring it up after dinner with your parents, if at all. You really liked him, and didn’t want to mess it up over something as silly as his, or your own, forgetfulness.

You shook your head free of the thoughts that plagued you. It was just Miguel. Normal, loving, caring Miguel that you’d known and enjoyed spending time with over the last couple of months. With a sigh, you left, heading to the restaurant where your parents were already sitting with your step-sister. You decided to wait outside for him to arrive, having texted Emily earlier to let her know that you’d changed your mind about inviting Miguel after all.

God you looked beautiful.

Miguel felt a swell in his chest as he walked toward you on the sidewalk. You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were wearing a simple black dress that hugged your body nicely. You looked like you again. This was how you’d dressed in his universe when he would take you out somewhere nice. So fucking pretty.

When you finally noticed Miguel’s lingering gaze, you felt flustered. You tried to compose yourself as he approached, calming your fluttering stomach. You didn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot, not only in front of him, but in front of your parents too.

You cleared your throat when he got closer, “Ready?”

He nodded, looking down at you, “Oh you bet.”

“Oh! You’ve got something on your…” you furrowed your brow, eyes catching on a small red smear just below his ridiculously sharp cheek bone. “I’ll get it.”

You licked your thumb and wiped the mark off his face. He smirked until he saw your thumb covered in crimson. His mind flashed back to the events that had taken place over the last couple of hours…

Miguel was waiting silently behind a wall in the kitchen, having snuck into his alternate’s apartment, watching Miguel trying to decide what tie he was going to wear to dinner with your parents in a few hours. He felt bad for a second, knowing that if this man loved you even a fraction of the amount that he did, this would be disheartening when he realized he was going to die before he got to truly love you.

For someone normally so meticulous, Miguel hadn’t really thought this through. He’d rushed to follow the man home after his meeting with you at the coffee shop, and kept an eye on him throughout the day to get a feeling for his lifestyle so he could attempt to mimic it once he eliminated this universe’s version of himself.

The time had come for Miguel to kill his other self, and nothing could stop him now that he’d come this far. There was one perk to killing his alternate: even if someone discovered the body, or some poorly disposed of evidence, all the DNA would lead back to one person…himself. So it didn’t matter if he slit his own throat, snapped his own neck, or shot himself in the head. No one would ever know.

Miguel had never killed anyone before, but the more he thought about this other man - despite that ‘other man’ being himself - touching you, the angrier he got. He couldn’t bear the idea that you, his precious girl, might be giving someone else attention, and those thoughts alone were enough to fuel the fire that brought him to the brink of murder.

Miguel must’ve been so confused. For him it probably seemed like a normal evening at first. He probably had no idea he was about to die. He was going to shower, probably stress a little bit about how to impress your parents, and then start getting ready for the dinner date. It was all normal, until the shower curtain opened and he was greeted by his doppelganger who delivered several stab wounds to the man’s chest.

Miguel wondered what his other self was thinking in those last moments as the life faded from his eyes. 

Cleanup took a while, but not so long that he couldn’t make it in time for dinner. Now he was in a predicament. You were standing there with blood on your thumb and a curious look on your face.

“Must’ve nicked myself shaving,” he chucked, rubbing his hand over his jaw, “Thank you, mi vida.”

He leaned in and kissed you, and despite him calling you ‘mi vida’, something he’d never called you before, you kissed him back. Regardless of the red flags flying in your face, you took his hand, smiled and walked into the restaurant with him to meet your parents.

Charming as always, Miguel impressed them with ease. It was like he knew them. He acted as though he were meeting up with old friends rather than meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. It was so hard to find someone they actually liked so you threw every red flag of the day out the window and decided to move on. It was that simple. 

When you asked Miguel to go back to his place that evening, instead of going to your own apartment, he was thrilled. He didn’t even wait for you to get your shoes off before he had you lifted off the ground, legs around his thick torso and pinned against the wall. He hadn’t felt the wet heat of your cunt in well over a year and he was desperate.

You’d never heard him like this, so primal and hungry. His heaving breathing was almost like a low growl. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, large hands grabbing onto your hips while his mouth left heavy kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he was acting strangely, it felt so good that it didn’t matter.

He brought you to the bedroom and fell onto the mattress with you, hovering over your body while his hands continued their exploration. He was reveling in the delicious feeling of your soft skin; the skin he hadn’t touched in too long. He was loving the taste of you, it was almost the same…close enough anyway. He wanted to taste more of you.

He pulled down the strap of your dress and bra in one motion, exposing your breast. Miguel bit his lip and looked up at you, eyes full of a dark lust. You gasped when he brought his lips over the peak, rolling his tongue around the hardened, sensitive skin there. You brought both of your hands to his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, though you knew it probably felt like nothing to the overly muscular man. He flicked his tongue over you one more time before looking up again.

Miguel wanted to taste something else he hadn’t tasted in far too long, so he kept working his way down, lifting your skirt and hooking a finger under your delicate lace panties.

“You wore these just for me, didn’t you, hermosa?”

He used both hands to rip the thin fabric covering your already glistening, slick folds. He used one thick finger, sliding it through your slit and up, brushing over your clit gently. You gasped, throwing your head back. Miguel smirked, letting a dark chuckle escape. The other Miguel hadn’t been so giving with you, had he?

He hadn’t, and you noticed right away that Miguel was acting more focused on your body than before. But when you felt his mouth come down over your mound, warm and soft, you didn’t care. Whatever it was that made him act differently, you were living for it now. Red flags be damned.

“So sweet, mi vida,” he cooed, going back in for more like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You were delicious, but wasn’t quite the same. There was something a little more sweet about this version of you, but it was alright. He could live with it. You still sounded the same, and you still looked the same, more or less. You grabbed onto the back of his head which made him smile against your folds. The feeling of you touching him made Miguel all the more eager to please you.

Miguel brought one of his thick fingers to your entrance, sliding it in with ease and feeling your cunt flutter around him in response. You whined, arching your hips to take him deeper. One perk to finding this new version of you, was showing himself up in the bedroom. He loved that you were coming undone under him like never before. The original you had been so used to his catering in the bedroom, but this one seemed impressed, and he liked that.

“Mm, hermosa, think you can take another one?” He asked, sliding in another finger to meet the first.

As he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, he noticed how much your body twitched and writhed. So sensitive, this one. He flicked his tongue rapidly over your swollen, needy clit. You were crying out words of affirmation repetitively, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you did. Your legs were shaking against his cheeks.

“Tres?”

He added another finger, and you were a gasping mess at his mercy. Your hole ached with the sweet stretch as he pumped his digits in and out faster. You’ve never known Miguel to do anything like this, but you weren’t complaining. This was the best sex of your life and he was still just playing with you. He curled his fingers, and you cried out, throwing your head back.

“F-fuck! Miguel…!”

He kept going, feeling the way your legs tensed and hearing the way your breathing got even heavier. His eyes trailed over your mound, up your beautiful torso to meet with your heartstopping eyes. You grabbed his hair so tight that he winced, but he didn’t stop lapping over your folds, knowing that you were about to come for him for the first time in a long time.

You’d never had an orgasm so intense it made you go cross-eyed before before, but there you were, shaking so hard you rattled the headboard. Your cunt was gushing and clenching around his fingers while he curled and dragged them over your walls through your climax. You fell back, breathing heavily, but Miguel wasn’t done with you yet.

“Come here honey,” he said in a husky tone, grabbing your hips and pulling you toward him.

Your body was still shaking from your release, and now he was running his length along your folds, collecting your arousal to make it slick. You looked up and saw him biting his lip through your tear blurred vision. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance. He so fucking big.

“Oh baby f-fuck—“

Miguel’s voice was like gravel as he pushed into you slowly, feeling your walls shift to accommodate his size. It had been so long - too long - since he’d felt the vice grip your soft pussy had around his throbbing cock, milking it for every drop you could. You cried out again, the sound hitting his ears like a symphony. He grabbed around your throat, fingers almost touching around the back, pulling you up to sit on him.

“Mm, mi vida,” he mumbled into your sternum.

He spread your ass cheeks, with both large hands, fucking you over his cock with ease. He could hardly get the whole thing inside. Your poor legs were still shaking, struggling to stay up, but he was happy to do the work. Miguel was satisfied enough to just have you in his arms again, in any way he could.

“T-too much Miguel I–”

“Shh honey, sh, I’ve got you,” he cooed, lifting and lowering you with the movement of his hips.

You grabbed onto his shoulders tightly. Miguel had never been so commanding and attentive to you before. He was sliding in so fucking deep that you felt your brain short circuit with every pass. He felt bigger than before, but you knew that was impossible. Your nails dug into the muscle of shoulders, he groaned, voice rough with arousal. He looked up at you.

“Kiss me hermosa.”

You complied, grabbing the back of his head and tangling your fingers in his hair while melting your mouth into his. You started to feel the strength come back to the muscles in your legs so you took over, riding his cock while continuing to kiss him deeply. This wasn’t the first time you and Miguel had been intimate, but you wondered why he’d held back this passion for lovemaking for so long. This was not the same sex you’d had with him just a few nights ago.

Now that his hands were free, he could feel over your entire body, letting the pads of his fingers take in every detail of your skin. It felt so soft, like it always had, smooth and warm. You started moving your hips faster, taking his cock deeper. He could feel your walls fluttering around him again.

“Gonna give me another one already, baby? Hm?” He started nipping at your neck, making you whimper and whine louder.

“Yes, oh yes Miguel!”

He wrapped his arms around you, leaning forward so that you were underneath him. He held you down with his weight, fucking you harder than you could possibly have done if you were still on top. His teeth still continued marking your neck, forcing sharp cries from your perfect lips.

“Yes, that’s my girl, oh god…honey-I-f-fuck…ah!”

Miguel’s hips came to a stuttering halt, cock pumping his hot spend into your tightly clenched cunt. Your walls were crashing over him, squeezing his cum out around the sides of his length and letting it spill onto the bedding. He didn’t want to let go of you just yet, so he held you there while you both lay in your blissed out high for a while.

It wasn’t the same…it would never be the same…but it was close enough.

That was how Miguel had managed to slide - almost seamlessly - into your life. He noticed that this version of you was more different than he’d originally thought, right down to the way you liked to do your makeup. Still, he felt that as long as he could keep you alive, and keep you safe, he could overlook some of those things. You were similar enough that he felt happy again.

He still missed you sometimes though; the real you that he’d lost, and he still mourned for that version of you. But when he looked at you now, a few months into dating this you, in your little brown barista apron with a big grin on your face, kissing him on the cheeks like he was the most precious thing in the world to you, he felt warm. It was like putting a bandaid on the wound. It would never fully heal, but this made it better.

Everything was as perfect as it could be, until one morning felt unfortunately familiar. He woke up fast, realizing he’d been sleeping with his mouth wide open on your chest.

“Good morning, handsome,” you said, laughing and wiping a bit of spit from his stubbled cheek, “You were out. Having a good dream?”

He hadn’t forgotten a single detail about that day.

He looked up at you, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. In the last couple of months he’d learned a few things about this universe. Time still worked the same as it did in his universe, but the year was 2016. It was possible that time wasn’t even a relevant factor concerning your death, but he thought that perhaps if it was relevant, he might have a chance to save you before this day would be upon him.

He had also considered that perhaps his universe had an anomaly that the others didn’t, and that was why you’d died and perhaps you’d live in this one. Maybe it wasn’t canon for you to die every time, and he’d just been extremely unlucky to be born in the one dimension that he would lose you.

But if this universe did work exactly the same, he thought he would get to prepare for this. He thought he’d get more than a couple months with you before he lost you again. He gave you a soft smile and brought the back of your hand to his lips.

“What do you say you skip work today and we stay in bed, hm?” He asked, calm on the surface but screaming on the inside for you to agree.

“Well I have to go in, my rent isn’t going to pay itself.” You slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom, leaving Miguel lying there, staring at you with desperation as you walked away into the bathroom.

“I have a good job, mi vida, I can pay your rent, you don’t need to go to work,” he insisted, getting out of bed and standing in front of the bathroom doorway.

“Not a chance,” you said, undressing and closing the door in his face.

Maybe this morning would be different. If he recalled correctly, and he did recall correctly, this wasn’t how that morning had started originally. The fact that you weren’t married was already so different, it was just that…something felt so uncanny, so similar but so…not at the same time. He opened the door.

“Have to pee,” he grumbled, walking over to the toilet.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” you said, turning knobs on the shower, “I know we said we would do dinner tonight but a couple girls from work wanted to go out for drinks tonight so I think I’ll join them, that okay?” You stepped into the warm water and closed the curtain.

Miguel pulled his pants back up and froze.

“W-Who’s going?” He couldn’t stop his shaking hands from clenching into fists.

“Stacy and Mira.” You peeked your head out of the shower curtain, “I’m really sorry, I forgot all about–”

“No,” he said coldly.

Your heart caught in your chest at his words. All this time, Miguel had surprised you by proving to be the best guy you’d ever been with and suddenly, his firm tone sent a chill down your spine. He’d never spoken so bluntly to you before, and he’d certainly never looked at you with such a dark glare as he was in that moment.

“Baby, we can go out another night, it’s not often that Stacy can find a sitter and–”

“I said no,” he repeated harshly, “I won’t say it again.”

You turned off the shower and got out, grabbing your towel and covering yourself. He was so much taller than you, but you weren’t going to let someone talk to you like that, especially someone who was supposed to be your partner. You held up a scolding finger.

“Miguel, why the hell are you acting like this? You’re not my fucking dad, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t get to–”

He pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t know what else to do. You were angry, and you had every right to be. For all you knew, your normally loving and considerate boyfriend had taken a controlling and dark turn, and you were upset. He thought if he could just shut you up then you might forget about it and agree. Instead, you slapped him, forcing him to step back in shock, holding his cheek where the sting remained.

“Out,” you said firmly, “you’ve been acting like a weirdo ever since the day you met my parents. I looked past it because you still seemed like a nice guy, and those are hard to find, but you freak me out.”

Miguel’s heart fell into a million pieces all around him. He held his breath, trying to keep himself from losing his temper. His chest was heaving.

“Mi vida, I–”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your life. I’m just some girl you’ve been dating for a few months and sometimes things don’t work out. This…” you gestured between the two of you, “isn’t working out.”

Miguel would never hurt you. He would never hurt you, but in that moment he fantasized about breaking your fucking neck. It was delicate enough, he could hold it tight and make it snap with only one hand. He might even enjoy watching you writhe when he grabbed you. How dare you think you could just leave him like that.

But he didn’t have to do a thing, because he knew that you would die that day, and he wasn’t going to stop you. Not this time. Fuck this version of you.

“Fine,” he said with a malicious smirk.

After he left, you cried, but only for a short while as you finished getting ready for work. He wasn’t the first weirdo you’d dated, and you were certain he wouldn’t be the last. You were glad that Emily had stayed at her own boyfriend’s house the night before so she wouldn’t hear you and Miguel arguing that morning. The last thing you wanted to do was go to your older sibling with your tail between your legs in defeat over another loser.

Miguel watched you leave your apartment and start walking to work. He thought he might have to wait until 10:53pm to see you die, but it would seem his theory that time was completely irrelevant when it came to your canonical death was correct.

The car seemed to come out of nowhere, flying down the street without a care for who might be in its path. Some idiot was behind the wheel, texting and driving, not paying attention while you crossed. The interesting thing was, that the other two girls died too, like they had in the original universe. After hitting you, the car swerved into the storefront of the coffee shop, killing the two employees who were standing near the front door; looks like those stupid friends of yours were meant to die in every universe too.

Miguel shook his head in frustration. Of course a part of him felt sad seeing you choking on your own blood in the middle of the street while people surrounded you, as if there was anything they could do. He didn’t feel sad for you though, he felt sorrow only for himself, having wasted so much time trying to find out if you were the one he could replace you with. It would seem you were a faulty substitute, flawed in so many ways that he’d chosen to overlook, and it was time to find a new one, a better one.

And he wouldn’t stop looking until he found a sufficient replacement, the perfect one.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[withyouwithoutthem]

Eat, Sleep, Wake (Nothing But You) Ellie Williams

Modern College AU. Dealer!Ellie x F!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Ellie find themselves locked in a room together they’re forced to face the misunderstanding that occurred between them three years prior. Reader isn’t ready to let it go, but Ellie is willing to persuade her otherwise. 

WC: 9.5k Buckle up, it’s a long one.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!!! consumption of alcohol, smoking marijuana, brief description of reader’s outfit, mentions of divorced parents and foster care, ANGST, mutual pining, reader and ellie are both idiots, ellie being a little manipulative, SMUT, fingering and oral sex (r recieving)

A/N: i got super stoned last night and considered not posting this. second half is NOT proof read and feels a bit rushed. it's also very different from anything else i’ve written and i don’t know how i feel about it. initially i didn't intend for it to be this long (like 18 pages in gdocs, might be overkill) but it seems i don’t know how to write anything that’s not shakespearean in length, so sincere apologies. are people even into fics this long? i know i am but thats not the point. first time smut writer soooo that was fun! remember that feedback is always highly appreciated as well as like and reblogs! enjoy!!

You had dragged yourself to the party tonight in hopes of easing the heaviness that had settled in your stomach following the news delivered by your father that morning. It was hardly an appropriate conversation to have over the phone, yet your father could not give you the luxury of speaking about  it in person. His words had been pinging around in your head all day, so when your roommate and best friend, Dina, brought up the idea of going to a party— you jumped at it with no questions asked.

Getting ready had been a small distraction for the time being, the notion of getting all “prettied up” for the night seeming good enough. Pregaming with a couple shots of tequila each had you feeling a new kind of sexy as you did your makeup; black eyeshadow skillfully smudged around your eyes in a tasteful wing, a light layer of glitter swiped across your lids. You’d dressed yourself in your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that hugged your ass in the best way— and a black open back top. 

You and Dina were both a giggling mess on the bus ride over to the frat, earning a fair share of odd glances from a few of the other patrons. Had you not been buzzed already, you would have felt embarrassed and maybe even apologized to those around you, but alcohol was buzzing in your veins on the track to having a fun night out.

The music could be heard from outside the frat house, but as soon as the two set foot through the doorway, it pumped right through their chests, leaving them with a buzz different from the alcohol. Sweaty bodies packed together tightly throughout the main floor, spilling out into the backyard where the party continued. In the kitchen they found the counter littered with bottles of booze and plenty of snacks— which you had learned not to touch the hard way, when you caught a god-awful stomach bug during first year. 

Dina’s eyes scanned the labels, fingers dancing overtop the bottles as she searched for one in particular, “Aha!” She exclaimed, “This’ll do.”

“Dina, there’s like seven different bottles of whiskey. It’s all the same.”

“Nuh-uh,” Dina shook her head, pouring a shots worth into the two plastic cups you set out. “This is the good stuff, no wonder they had it at the back.”

You didn’t have a chance to see the label, and couldn’t find yourself caring about the brand as you clinked your cup against Dina’s, sending your friend a wink before throwing the shot back. Dina had been right, this was the good stuff; smooth but smokey, warming your chest on the way down yet still sent shivers up your spine. 

The pair were quick to down a second one, and it wasn’t long before the girls found themselves being joined by their friends Jesse and Kate. They celebrated their arrival with a third before mixing their fourth with some semi-flat ginger ale they’d found. Dina had managed to convince you, who wasn’t much of a dancer, to join her where the mass of sweaty bodies moved in tandem with the music pulsing through them. 

You stood behind Dina, a hand on her hip as she slightly swayed side to side. The girl in front of you seemed to let the music consume her, dancing back onto her friend unaware of the attention she attracted from those around them. A sheen layer of sweat began to perspire on your back, hair sticking to the exposed skin. The heat of the room and the alcohol bubbling in your veins had you loosening up, but as Dina encouraged her to dance more freely— you knew you’d need another drink to do so. 

“I’ll be back! Gonna get another drink.” you spoke into Dina’s ear, who smiled and turned to dance with Jesse and Kate.

Back in the kitchen, you grabbed a new cup and searched for the bottle of whiskey Dina had stashed away again. You were bumped from behind as you poured the shot, more of it ended up spilled on the counter than in the cup. You cursed and grabbed a rag from the sink to wipe it up. As you moved to bring the cup up to your mouth, you found yourself stopping once it touched your lips, catching sight of who stood just outside the sliding doors. 

Ellie Williams.

Dressed in black jeans and a white tank top with an unbuttoned red and brown flannel overtop, Ellie Williams stood with a small group on the back deck, occasionally smoking off a joint as it made its rounds. Even though Ellie no longer attended school, she was still the resident weed dealer on campus, and had quite the reputation for not only how good her stuff was, but also how quickly she made her way through the school's population of queer women. 

The two of you had been friends once, meeting through your mutual friend, Dina. You had developed a certain fondness for Ellie during the times you found yourselves together. Ellie’s quick witted responses and terrible jokes made you laugh even when nobody else found them funny. It was Ellie’s little touches here and there that had your skin buzzing with a fire that couldn’t be put out; grabbing your elbow to pull you back from crossing the street when you weren’t paying attention, interlocked fingers in crowded spaces, and a soothing hand on your back that time you emptied your stomach onto some poor ladies flower garden during homecoming week.

Ellie’s voice often had your stomach doing somersaults—low and raspy during morning classes, knowing the auburn haired girl had probably only rolled out of bed fifteen minutes prior. Silky smooth in the late hours of the night, where on occasion you found yourself sitting alone with Ellie in Dina’s living room long after she retired to bed. You would be buzzing with a high courtesy of Ellie’s weed paired with whatever alcohol you’d drank that night. Ellie would be speaking at no more than a murmur, flirty remarks falling past her lips that had you scooting to sit closer. Heart pounding in your chest at the feeling of Ellie’s body pressed against your side. Though, when it came to Ellie, it was hard to know whether or not the words coming out of her mouth held any merit. She was a serial flirt afterall. 

You two grew close, no longer needing Dina with them as an excuse to hangout. By then, your fondness for Ellie had grown into a full-blown crush. Ellie’s touchy side had become more apparent the more you hung out, always touching you in some way; whether it be a hand on your knee under the table while surrounded by friends, a hand in your back pocket while walking, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered. It had even gone so far as a heated makeout on your couch. Ellie had insisted on walking you home after leaving Dina’s apartment, it was late and upon arriving at your place the two of you realized they didn’t want the night to end. 

It was under the orange glow of streetlights that you admired each other for what felt like an eternity. You took notice that the scar in Ellie’s right eyebrow that she’d always hide with her bangs was out in the open for the world to see. The freckles that littered her cheeks and nose were more noticeable in your close proximity, and you could just make out a small fleck of brown in Ellie’s green eyes. Just as you opened your mouth to invite Ellie inside, hand reaching out to trace a finger along the scar in her eyebrow did the auburn-haired girl quickly surge forward, moulding your lips together in a gentle yet somewhat sloppy kiss. 

You were buzzing, alight with so many feelings that all you could do was grab at Ellie with greedy hands and fumble backwards into your apartment. Close was not close enough as Ellie led you blindly to your couch, shoes haphazardly strewn in the entryway, accompanied by long forgotten jackets as hands pulled one another tighter. 

This was it, you thought. Solid evidence that the feelings you had for Ellie weren’t one sided, every touch, every locked gaze from across a crowded room, and every sweet endearment shared between you meant something. 

Ellie’s hands were in your hair, tangled in the strands keeping your lips married to each other as you found your place seated in her lap. There was a fire ignited between you two as your hips canted downwards into Ellie for some much needed friction. Ellie gasps into the kiss and you take that as a moment to catch your breath. It’s all droopy eyes and kiss-swollen lips as your eyes meet, giggles falling from both of you at the other's appearance. You’re both filled with such giddiness from heavy makeout. 

You’re playing with the hair at the back of her neck when you smile. “I really like you Ellie.”

It stings to watch her face fall, head slowly reeling back as if to get a better look at you somehow. Too soon is Ellie lifting you off her lap to stand from the couch, placing a fleeting kiss on your cheek and calling out a quick goodnight over her shoulder as she turned and made her way home.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?”

She’s at the door in the blink of an eye, tugging on her sneakers and grabbing her jacket, “I uh. . . Just remembered that I needed to help Joel out with this super important, uh, thing. Like really early in the morning. Yeah. And it’s pretty late so I should probably head out.”

Your shoulders deflate with the disappointment twisting between your ribs. “Oh, okay. . .” 

Ellie’s wringing her jacket in both her hands, struggling to maintain eye contact with you before she’s turning around and making her exit out your front door. “See ya soon! Goodnight!” She calls out over her shoulder.

That was the last time you spoke to Ellie Williams. 

The next time you saw Ellie—over a week later— she was wrapped up in the tattoo covered arms of a girl with short black hair. Later, Dina informed you that the girl with Ellie was her new girlfriend, Cat.

You were left confused and hurt for a long time after seeing Ellie with Cat, not knowing where along the way things between you two may have gone wrong. Ellie had avoided you and if she wasn’t going to talk, you would do just the same, never seeking out more of an explanation. The hurt and confusion you initially felt had turned to some form of hatred along the way, every time you saw Ellie and Cat it seemed to take over another part of you. At least that’s what you tried convincing yourself, and for some time disguising the feelings of adoration as disgust and hatred did work.

But avoiding each other altogether would be difficult.

Even after Ellie didn’t return to school for second year, and sharing a mutual friend in Dina, you could not seem to shake yourself free of Ellie. It felt like wherever you turned Ellie happened to be close by; whether that be walking on campus, or attending a party like tonight. For Dina’s sake, when you found yourself within unavoidable close proximity to Ellie, you kept things civil despite the slow boil rising in your blood and the pain that festered in your chest.

Ellie and Cat broke up after almost a year of dating, and her other flings never seemed to work for more than a few weeks, at most a couple months which had only happened one other time. You doubted that Ellie had any idea of the humiliation and grief her rejection had caused you.

It was as if Ellie could feel your gaze boring a hole into the side of her head, because in an instant she was turning to look inside where she found you standing at the kitchen counter. Ellie sent a slight smirk your way, continuing conversation with the people standing around her, never once letting her eyes move away from you. The smell of the whiskey suddenly had your stomach twisting unpleasantly when Ellie shot a wink your way, a wave of nausea rolling through you saw the cup  discarded in search for the nearest bathroom.

You skipped trying to find one in the crowded space of the main floor, quickly making your way up the stairs and to the second floor where you found yourself knocking on closed doors in search of an empty room. You had no luck on the second floor either, and dreaded the idea of having to climb another flight of stairs to the third. The only empty room happened to be at the end of the hall, and while it wasn’t a bathroom, the air in the bedroom helped in quelling the nausea, no longer heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Breathing deeply through your nose and out your mouth, you sat on the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

You blamed your intoxicated state for the reaction that seemed to spur as a result of the interaction with Ellie from across the kitchen. You thought you’d metabolized the idea that Ellie’s flirting with you had meant nothing and moved on. Having had a fair share of face to face interactions since, but either Dina or Jesse had been there with you.

God, you felt like such an idiot. All you’d done was make eye contact with Ellie and it had you hurtling towards a downward spiral you tried your hardest to stay afloat in. You hadn’t realized the chokehold Ellie seemed to have over you for the three years you’d known each other, and in your drunken state it had not fared well. You’d figured the feeling that grew in your stomach any time you saw Ellie with a new girl had just been disgust. Disgust in not knowing how Ellie could feel good about herself when she rotated through women like they were a picture book. But now, you had some idea that the feeling washing over you had not been disgust on its own, but paired alongside something akin to hurt.

Ellie was the bandaid you hesitated to rip off. 

There was no scale to measure how frustrated she was with herself. No scale to measure her disdain for the Williams girl. Deep down, you knew that she still harboured some feelings for Ellie that couldn't be disguised as hatred.

You must have sat there for a good five minutes, willing yourself to get up and rejoin the party, enjoy yourself and not let Ellie get to you. But you found that something was stopping you from leaving, wanting to stay in the solitude of the bedroom just a little longer. Sending a text to Dina, letting her know you were alright, you laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. 

You were startled awake no longer than fifteen minutes later by the door opening, the sounds of the party filtering into the room for a moment before drowning out again as the door shut. The person's back was to you as they took a deep breath, but you recognized the flannel they wore immediately. Your groan had Ellie turning around to face you fully, lips tipping up into a slight smirk.

“Hey.” Ellie greeted slyly. Hearing your name fall from Ellie’s lips had a flame flickering in your stomach. “Finally found ya.”

Your eyes narrow in Ellie’s direction, annoyance hanging onto your furrowed brows. Standing from the bed, weight shifting from one foot to the other as you think on your next move. You had left downstairs over twenty minutes ago, meaning Ellie had to have run through whether following you was a good idea or not. “So, what? You were lurking, followed me up here.”

“I didn’t follow you. Ran into an ex and needed a breather.” Ellie clarifies, lazily gesturing around the room, “And here we are. . .”

“Yeah, well, I came up here to be alone. You being here is the opposite of that.” came your snarky reply. Ellie would not be spared your hostilities. 

Ellie laughed, brushing her side swept bangs out of her eyes, “I saw the look on your face down there, almost barfed on the poor freshman beside you.” she shrugs her shoulders, “Didn’t see you come back downstairs so I took my chances with all the doors, this was the only one unlocked. Thought you could use someone to hold your hair back.”

“You wanted to help me?” You were baffled. That hot, stuffy feeling begins to creep its way back up your neck the longer Ellie’s presence lingers by the door. The air of confidence that clings to Ellie is suffocating as she stands there, biceps bulging in her flannel as her arms cross over her chest, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Ellie’s green eyes are intense as they hold your gaze; half lidded and filled with something you can’t decipher. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I’m feeling much better now, so if you’ll excuse me.” Making way to the door that Ellie is standing in front of. You hope of being able to make it out of the room before choking on your words—not wanting to say something you’ll inevitably regret. 

Ellie moves in front of the door handle, blocking your seeking grip. You reel back, perplexed that Ellie blocked you. Trying again, you reach around the left of Ellie, but the auburn-haired girl moves with you. Move to the right. So does Ellie.

Stepping back in frustration, your stare is burning, “Move.” You grit.

Ellie lifts her gaze to the ceiling, eyes darting around playfully as she whistles a low tune, rocking back and forth on her feet. She’s messing with you and you know it. Always the jokester, Ellie is never one to take things too seriously.

“Ellie.” You refrain from stomping your foot. Ellie would only tease you relentlessly for acting like such a brat, “Ellie, let me leave.”

A low hum comes from Ellie’s throat, “What’s the magic word?”

No longer wanting to deal with her infuriating presence, you surge forward and push Ellie to the side enough that she’s out of the way. Wrapping your hands around the cool metal of the doorknob is your first lick at freedom, awaiting the moment you step through that door and go home to curl up in bed. You’ll likely wallow in self deprecation, unable to think of anything other than your first interaction alone with Ellie in a while.

Your hope is squashed when the door doesn’t budge. No, this cannot be happening. Twisting the handle again, you give it a good tug, hand slipping off the doorknob as you stumble back a few steps.

“Did you lock it?” You ask Ellie without looking at her.

“No.” Ellie replies, coming to stand closer to you. “Must be jammed.”

You groan, a string of expletives rushing past grit teeth while you jostle the doorknob with all the force as you can muster. You twist and tugs and rattle but the door stays solidly in place, sealing you and Ellie together in the room.

Kicking the door has a laugh slipping past Ellie’s lips. She can’t help but think of how cute you look when frustrated—the pout of lips she just wants to sink her teeth into. The glare from over your shoulder has Ellie coughing to cover her laugh, scratching at her neck and cheeks blazing red like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

You bang your fist against the door in hopes that someone may be able to hear her pleas for help. The chances of that happening in the secluded corner of the third floor is unlikely, but you’d rather take your chances than be stuck in a room with Ellie. “Oh, just fuck me right?” you mumbles to yourself.

Behind you, Ellie fights the urge to respond. 

“Are you gonna help?” you sigh heavily, gesturing towards the door in an exhausted manner.

Ellie’s nodding, eyes dancing around the room for something she can use to try picking the lock. She doesn’t see a screwdriver or a pair of scissors on the desk, and she doubts that the frat boy this room belongs to owns any bobby pins. Ellie moves towards the door in the far corner of the room, opening it to reveal the small ensuite she’d hoped it would be. 

Rummaging through the medicine cabinet is a dead end, as is the first drawer of the vanity. In the second drawer her mission is made successful—finding a small pair of scissors that she waves in the air triumphantly as she passes you.

“There was a bathroom here the whole time. . .” you mutter to yourself in disbelief. 

Ellie drops down to her knees in front of the door, eye level with the small keyhole as she tries jimmying the scissors around. Her tongue is poking out the side of her mouth, one eye squeezed shut in concentration as she tries to unlatch the lock's inner mechanism. Had the circumstance been different, you may have let yourself linger on the thought of how good Ellie looked down on her knees before you. 

Ellie thinks she might have gotten it, but mistakenly looks up at you hovering close by— brows furrowed expectantly, and lips pouted slightly— that she’s fumbling and dropping the scissors while thinking about how much she likes the sight of you above her. She grabs them hastily, returning to her previous task while reminding herself not to look back at your expectant gaze. 

“Have you picked a lock before?” you accuse.

“Uh. . . yeah.”

“Well you’re kinda shit at it.”

“Never said I was any good.” Ellie twists the doorknob just when she thinks she hears the lock click, but it still doesn’t give. 

Standing to her full height, Ellie forgoes trying to pick the lock with the scissors and puts all of her weight into pulling the door open. She grunts as her muscles strain, jostling the handle in the same way you had. Both girls are left wide eyed and stunned when Ellie suddenly staggers back, catching herself before she can fall. A loud and heavy thud draws your eyes to the floor; where the doorknob rolls around at your feet. 

A deafening silence settles over the room as both of you watch it stop rolling. Ellie is the one to bend down and grab it, staring at the broken metal doorknob in disbelief, while your hands shoot to grip your hair.

When both of you realize the gravity of the situation you've found yourselves in together, you’re quick to panic. The headache that blossoms was unrelated to the copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed up until that point, and more so due to being stuck in a room with a busted door alongside the one person you tried your hardest to avoid. You eyed the broken off doorknob in Ellie’s hand, tugging at fistfuls of your hair. Ellie groans, head tossed back and eyes shut in annoyance before sitting on the bed.

“Fuck,” Ellie let out a breathy laugh, beginning to toss the doorknob in the air like a baseball. “These old houses are something, huh? Practically falling apart.” 

Holding Ellie’s gaze for a moment as you pull out your phone has a spark of hope flickering, but the screen remains black. Great, stuck in a room with Ellie Williams and your only chance is dead. Tossing your phone on the bed you turn to Ellie. “Dead. What about yours?”

Ellie nods and reaches for where she kept her phone in her back pocket, only to be met with emptiness. She let out a nervous laugh under your intense stare, patting at all her pockets in search of her phone, “I don’t have it on me.”  

You scoff, “Fucking great. Do you think this guy has a charger?” Moving to check the bundle of cords at the single bedside table has you throwing it back onto the floor in frustration when you come up empty handed. “Android.”

“What is it that they say about guys who have Androids. . .” Ellie made an attempt at a joke, but was only met with a glare, watching as you made quick strides towards the window, unlatching the lock and yanking it open.

You looked around outside to see that it was a straight drop down to the ground from the third floor window, no lattice to climb down or shrubs to cushion a fall, “No roof access and it's too far up to jump,” you stated. “Maybe if we just—” you stuck your upper body out the window, flailing your arms, “Hey! Up here! We’re locked in can someone help—”

Ellie was quick to pull you back inside. “Hey, would you stop that? You could have fallen! Everyone outside is too drunk to hear you.”

“Well someone has to be at least partly sober.” Now it was your turn to sit on the bed, head in your hands in a clear display of frustration. Ellie was hesitant to move from where she stood by the window, the feeling of your presence was somewhat suffocating, and she didn’t know what might set you off. 

“Ya know,” Ellie started. “We’re probably gonna be stuck in here for a while, so we could always try to enjoy our time rather than pout our way through it.”

You turned to look at Ellie over your shoulder, weary of what the auburn-haired girl might try suggesting. “And what is it that you have in mind?”

Reaching into her jacket pocket, Ellie produced a bag of pre-rolled joints, shrugging her shoulders in a playful manner. You could only roll your eyes, annoyed over the fact that Ellie managed to keep hold of her weed stash but not her phone. Smoking with Ellie would mean breaking down part of the barrier you had put up between the two of you, something you weren't so sure you were ready to explore quite yet. But, neither of you knew how long you’d be cooped up in that frat boy’s bedroom together, and you found yourself caving.

“Oh fuck it, sure.”

Ellie smiled and walked over to sit beside you, grabbing a single pre-roll and stashing the rest away. She placed the joint between her lips as she fished through the tight front pocket of her black jeans for her lighter. Flicking the lighter a few times to get it going, Ellie inhaled deeply as the end of it began to burn a bright red. She pulled the joint away from her lips as she breathed out the ghosted smoke, holding it out to you. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t smoked in a while—not since dropping your plug for getting too handsy on more than one occasion—and had been too proud to swing by Ellie to make a deal. You knew first hand and from the inner mumblings throughout the student body of just how good Ellie’s stuff was, so whatever was smoked tonight would have you ripped.

Inhaling shortly on the joint, and letting the smoke settle in your lungs before taking another, longer drag. On your second exhale, you sputtered, coughing on the smoke and releasing it in a dense cloud. You continued to cough into the crook of your elbow while passing it back to Ellie whose lips were pulled up into a slight smile.

“Too much?” Ellie teased, taking an easy five second drag.

Shaking your head, you rub at your chest to soothe the mild burning in your lungs, a light laugh falls from you, “Just been a while.”

Ellie gives a nod of her head, leaning back on her right hand to get a better look at you, watching the way hair falls in front of your face as you look down at your lap, or the way you would lightly snap the hair tie around your wrist. 

“Sooo. . .” Ellie brushes her long bangs out of her eyes. “What had you drinking whiskey like it was water?”

You shrugged, seeming to not know what to do with fidgeting hands as you contemplated telling Ellie the truth. Had you been having this conversation in a sober setting, you would have quickly shut down Ellie’s question. But in a hazy state of mind, you find herself letting the words slip easily, “Got a call from my dad today telling me mom filed for divorce after she found out he was fucking the book keeper at work.” you nod at Ellie’s shocked expression, “Yeah. Tried playing the victim card before mom had a chance to tell me herself. She’s better off without him anyway. He was a dick.”

Letting out a loud groan, you’re rubbing at your eyes in frustration as the phone call from that morning replays on a loop. Ellie didn’t grow up in a two-parent household, rather making her way through the foster care system ever since she could remember. Her behavioural issues saw her never being in one place for very long. Instability was something she grew used to at an early age, but she’d often imagine what it would be like to have two functioning parents who loved and adored her. Though she has never experienced family in the way you did— at least, not until Joel had come around— she knew no matter the age, a drastic shift in family dynamic like that wasn’t easy.

“It’s just me and my dad,” Ellie finds herself offering in an attempt at comfort. “Well, he’s not actually my dad. Joel he’s my. . . Joel. Took me in a while back when I found myself in a boatload of trouble, and it’s been the two of us ever since. Oh, and his brother Tommy.”

“And does your. . . your Joel, know that you, ya know, deal drugs to college students?”

“Not just college students, I’ve got some middle aged customers— a lawyer too if you can believe it.” Ellie laughs, and you follow by hiding a smile behind your hand. “But yeah, he knows. Wasn’t too keen on it at first, but the money has helped us through some tough times.”

A stale silence falls over the room, and it has a bitter taste flooding your mouth, saliva gathering under your tongue unpleasantly. Ellie seems so at ease that you wonder if she ever thinks about how things ended. You sure do; though it's lessened over the years, you still hold Ellie on some tightrope of contempt, a terrible balancing act teetering between holding on and letting it all go once and for all.

“I hope you know this changes nothing.” you admit quietly, rolling the joints filter between your thumb and forefinger. “Still don’t like you.”

Ellie looks up at you for a moment and she can feel her heart clench as she takes in your rigid shoulders and determined eyes. Her hand motions for the joint as she nods solemnly, eyes downcast while she takes a long drag. “Yeah I. . . I kinda figured it didn’t.”

As the joint continued to be passed back and forth, you could feel the haziness cloud your mind, eyes glazing over and the only thing you could do was stare at Ellie’s hands. Watching as her nimble fingers grabbed the joint from you, thumb rolling over the filter after she toked off it. How when she wasn’t the one holding the joint, Ellie had to keep her hands busy; whether that be running them over the top of her thighs, playing with the bedding, or watching the tip of her pinky finger turn purple as she wrapped a stray piece of thread around it tightly.

You had been so zoned out watching Ellie you’d almost forgotten about holding the short joint, or that no smoke filled your lungs when trying to take a pull off of it. It wasn’t until Ellie’s hand reached out into focus to grab the joint from you did you snap to it.

“You let it go out. Here,” with the joint now in Ellie’s hands, you watched as she held it between her thumb and middle finger, running the flame of her lighter over the tip of the joint before bringing it up to take a haul, keeping it lit. “There you go, babe.” 

The word must have fallen out of Ellie’s mouth so naturally that she didn’t notice it, but you sure as hell did— brain just about short circuiting. With one last pull off the finished joint, you stand up and make your way to the attached bathroom, turning on the tap and running the smouldering end under water to extinguish it before tossing it in the trash. You bend down to the height of the sink, hands cupped to greedily drink down the cold water to soothe your dry throat. When you stand up to be greeted with your reflection in the mirror— eyes red and glazed over, lids slightly droopy when you’re not pretending that Ellie’s stuff didn’t hit you as hard as it did, cheeks flush from the drinks earlier in the night, you know you’re fucked.

Ellie is standing by the desk on the far wall when you lean on the bathroom doorway, head craned as she scans over the trophies and picture frames decorating the shelves above it. With Ellie facing away, you now have the chance to stare at her unabashedly. Eyes trailing over Ellie’s shoulders, broad yet slim, and muscular arms that flex under her flannel with even the smallest of movements. Down to her taught hips hidden behind her relaxed jeans. Her auburn hair sits in a half up half down bun, and you want nothing more than to run your fingers through the strands; braid it, twirl it, pull it. . .

Your cheeks are burning hot again, but this time the alcohol  can’t be blamed for your flushed appearance. With hands still cold from the running water, pressing them against your cheeks in an attempt to cool off works as well as you’d expect it.

When you catch Ellie’s gaze, you’re tearing your eyes away impossibly fast, busying yourself with making it look like the football poster on the wall is the coolest thing ever, “Ya know, for a frat boys room this is surprisingly well organized.” you comment.

“Yeah, this is Ryan’s room.” Ellie fixes a crooked trophy. “Pretty chill dude.”

Humming, you make herself comfortable on the bed, laying down on the soft pillows. As you adjust yourself, a crackling noise comes from underneath the pillow that has you shifting to reach under to grab it. The last thing you expected to pull out was a mens porn magazine, decked out with a raunchy cover of an oiled up man in a tiny speedo. You let out a yelp as you’re tossing it to the other side of the room, wiping your hand off on your pants.

The yelp catches the attention of Ellie, who whips around concerned, “What?” 

“That!” you exclaim, pointing towards the end of the bed where the magazine sits on the floor. Ellie bends down to pick it up, but you’re calling out in protest, “No, don’t touch it!”

“Oh wow,” Ellie lets out a loud laugh as she scans over the front cover, moving to flop down on the bed beside you.

“Ellie, gross put it down!” 

Ellie leans away from you who tries swatting it out of her grasp. “Hold your horses! I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

You groan, watching as Ellie flips through the pages. You don't think it can get any worse, but page after page proves to be more unpleasant when the next portrait of a man posing with nothing but a scrap of cloth to cover his junk comes up. Your lips are downturned in disgust, but your ears are in tune to the chuckles Ellie lets out at the pictures, and her dramatic reading of the explicitly detailed  little captions. 

The next page is folded in on itself a couple times, falling open when Ellie holds the magazine above your heads, “Oh man! How the hell does he even walk around with that thing?” She exclaims.

You turn your head away, fake gagging. “Dicks are so gross.”

Ellie snorts, “Don’t gotta tell me.” Eyeing your side profile from where your head is ducked into your hands, eyes shut. It’s then that Ellie decides to play a trick on you. “Uh. . .” she begins trailing off, ruffling the pages as if she were flipping through them, “Why are these pages all stuck together?”

Your head whips up to look at Ellie, “Gross!”

The laugh that Ellie lets out is straight from her belly, deep and contagious as she tosses the magazine away. “I’m just messing with you.”

When your eyes meet, Ellie’s hold their usual mischievous glint, slightly narrowed and crinkled at the corners where her smile pushes at them, and yours show nowhere near as much annoyance and malice that’s usually directed towards her. Ellie flips onto her back, hands going behind her head while you stay on your stomach. You’re still laughing quietly at the joke Ellie pulled on you, which has the smile on Ellie’s face pulling even higher as she looks at you, oblivious.

With you laying on your  stomach, Ellie was given a full view of your exposed back. It made the collar of her flannel suddenly feel itchy where it was rubbing against her neck. Ellie could feel the red hot flush that blossomed over her as she pictured teasing her fingers along your back. She could practically feel the shudder you’d let out, hear your complaints of being ticklish.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Ellie is snapped out of her daze when your voice cuts through. 

You’ve got your chin resting on your hand, leaning to the side to look up at Ellie who’s sitting taller. Your legs are bent at the knee, legs swaying in the air. The look in your eyes is smouldering; lids droopy as they buzz with something Ellie can only connect with so much need that it's beginning to overwhelm her.

“Like— like that! You’re giving me bedroom eyes.”

“Well,” Ellie sits up a little straighter on her elbows. “We are in a bedroom.”

Your forehead falls to lay on Ellie’s arm as you let out a howling laugh. Ellie’s skin burns through her flannel at the feeling of you on her. Ellie finds herself feeling reminiscent of a time three years ago when she might have found herself in such close proximity to you and it has her chest clenching with a raw ache, knowing she’d gone and fucked it all up.

“Hey,” Ellie begins with a laugh. “Remember that time your mom surprised you and caught you, me, and Dina all smoking—”

You remember in that instant why you’d been so determined to get out of being locked in a room with her. Although inebriated, it seemed that for a little while tonight you and Ellie had managed to slip back into something similar to that of your old friendship. As if you had almost looked past the last three years. Falling back into joking with each other like it was the most natural thing.

“No.” You’re firm, tone dripping with finality. “You don’t get to do this.” 

“Please—”

“Ellie. No.”

“I’m sorry.” 

It’s so quiet you almost don’t hear her. Ellie herself almost misses the words slipping past her lips, but she feels you go stiff, the sound of your sharp inhale rings in her ears. She can't help herself when her hand moves up to your head, brushing some of the strands behind your ear and twirling the ends.

Three years of waiting. Three years of wanting and avoiding, and the need to hear those words fall from her mouth, and all it took was getting locked in a room together and sharing a joint. You’d imagined the apology a few times. Ellie showing up on your doorstep, soaked to the bone in the rain, on her knees grovelling her apologies. Sending flowers. Some huge declaration of love.

But not in a frat boys bedroom, stoned with Ellie Williams.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Ellie continues when you don’t speak, still twirling your hair around her finger. “Homecoming freshman year. Dina said she had someone from her compsci class to introduce me to and I was ready to clam up because I’m terrible with new people. But then there you were—”

“Ellie—” you try cutting her off.

“—Vodka in your nalgene, and being around you just felt so easy. You were the prettiest girl I’d ever met. Even later that night when I held your hair as you puked all over that poor lady’s flower bush. She came out yelling and all you did was say something about fertilising her plants.” Ellie laughs as she recounts the day you two met.

Your headache from earlier is back as you pull away, your hair falling from Ellies fingers. Shutting your eyes in hopes to quell the splitting pain resting just between them, Ellie’s voice fades slightly to the background of your focus. God, you hoped to get out of there soon. It had already been long enough, and it had led to your guard being brought down.

Ellie’s still talking when your ears focus again,“—for the last three years I’ve been trying to work out how to apologize to you and make things right, but fuck, none of them are good enough. And I’m so incredibly sorry about how everything turned out.”

“Ellie.” you interject, sounding exhausted. “Please just stop.” 

She shakes her head, sitting up and moving closer to you, “No, please. If this is the only chance I get at this I need you to listen to me—”

“It won’t change anything, you know that. You still did what you did.” You rub at your eyes and shift away from her.

“And it was by far the worst thing I’ve ever done, and believe me there's been a lot of fuck ups on my part. If I could take it back and make it right I would. . . I will.” 

Ellie’s practically on her hands and knees begging you to hear her out for just a moment, but the hurt of her leaving you stings just as fresh as it had in the beginning. All you can do is shake your head and try putting some distance between the two of you, “Ellie, you’re being mean.” 

It seems that in your attempts at putting some much needed distance between you and Ellie, you failed to notice how close you were to the edge of the bed. You’re about to fall off when Ellie reaches out, her arm wrapping around you to keep you on the bed. The two of you are closer than ever before, her forehead is pressed against yours as she scoots back, bringing you further onto the bed with her arm still secure around you. Your breath stutters in your chest as Ellie’s eyes fall shut. 

“Baby just. . .” Ellie breathes out shakily, eyes opening again to meet yours. “I clammed up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You swallow down the lump that’s formed in your throat, voice just above a whisper as you speak, “Ellie why are you doing this?”

She shakes her head against yours, bringing the hand that she had around your back, up to cup your face, “I hope you��re willing to forgive me. . . or at least try to.”

To hear Ellie make this attempt after wanting nothing more for three years had your mind short circuiting in an electrifying blaze. You know that you shouldn’t give in to her, that this apology is probably no more than a half-assed attempt at easing whatever guilt she may hold. Why wait three years? Three years you had spent wondering what you had done wrong for her to throw away whatever it was you two shared.

Ellie watches your eyes glaze over slightly, and in what might be a lapse of judgement is quick to make her move while you’re still stunned, moving forward and kissing you. You grow stiff under the weight of Ellie’s lips on yours, eyes open and looking at Ellie’s shut eyes. With your face now sandwiched between both of Ellie’s hands, do your eyes fall shut and mind catches up to the fact that Ellie William’s is kissing you. 

You’re kissing Ellie Williams.

The kiss is all consuming, tasting of the tequila and whiskey on your tongue. It’s messy with the clashing of teeth, nipping of lips and hands tangled in hair. All rational thought is thrown out the window once you feel her body pressed against yours. Breathing is the last thing on either of your minds as one of Ellie’s hands splays out across your back to pull your body into hers solidly. The searing heat of Ellie’s hand on the exposed skin of your back has you shuddering,  arching into her to try moving away from the touch. 

Your lips stay moulded together as Ellie rolls onto her back, taking you with her, hands holding onto your hips. Ellie can’t get enough of you, her breathing is heavy as she pushes her lips a little harder against yours, a groan escaping the girl's throat as you fist at her flannel. You break apart for a moment so Ellie can shrug out of  her flannel, admiring the swirls of ink marking her right forearm before your lips are on her.

Your teeth are lightly nipping at the slim expanse of Ellie’s neck, hands wandering down the firm muscles of her arms. You’re sitting up together now, you seated in Ellie’s lap, legs on either side of her thighs. Your teeth are still working at Ellie’s neck, which you follow up with sloppy kisses to soothe the sting of making your mark. Ellie’s eyes fall shut at the feeling, but she has to stop before it gets too far. 

Tonight is all about you. 

Grabbing a fistful of hair and gently pulling your head out of her neck, Ellie leans into you, but doesn’t let her lips touch your skin, just letting her hot breath fan over you. Her nose is nudging the column of your throat up to the hook of your jaw. You’re whining, filled to the brim with impatience has you shifting in Ellie’s lap in the attempt to get closer, grinding your hips where the two of you meet.

Ellie groans, dropping her head fully into your neck, lips pressing firmly to your collarbone. Here, your perfume wafts up her nose, a sickly sweet and seductive twinge that has her mouthing at your neck in the same fashion done to her own. Lips dragging lazily up from collarbone to the pulsepoint where your heartbeat thumps erratically beneath the skin. 

With your head thrown back and hips starting a slow and steady drag, you’re all heavy pants and loose whines that never fully slip past your lips. The friction caused by your hips grinding down onto Ellie feels euphoric all the same as not being enough. One of her hands is still stationed on your hip, the other taking place at the small of your back to aid your movements against her. 

The breath in both yours and Ellie’s throats is choked out when the fabric of your jeans catches against your bundle of nerves in just the right way. It must feel just as good for Ellie as she’s grinding her hips up into you at the feeling, panting against your neck. 

“Ellie.” Her name slipping past your lips in a garbled mess of need, “Ellie, please. . .”

She only hums in response, finally kissing you again. It doesn't last as long as you’d have hoped as Ellie pulls away slightly to speak against you, “Mmh, what is it baby? C’mon.”

Your hips cant down into her again out of pure desperation as you pant out, “More.”

Suddenly, you’re being guided by Ellie’s capable hands to lay down on the bed. But in your still muddled mind it feels as if you’ve just gone down the slope of a rollercoaster, stomach dropping and heart in your throat. Ellie is situated above you, looking everything like a dream with her short hair falling around her face, eyes catching the light of the desk lamp and sparkling. She smiles down at you as you both take a moment, and your stomach somersaults, legs locked around her taught hips to pull her down closer to you. 

Dropping to her elbows, Ellie’s body is flush against you as she brings a hand up to grab your face, “What is it you need? Hmm, baby’s gone all needy on me.” The teasing lilt to her tone has you pushing your hips up against hers, lips searching for hers again. Ellie pulls back slightly, getting a better look at your flushed appearance, apples of your cheeks bursting a bright pink.  “Tell me what you want.”

“Need you to touch me.” You pant out.

A smirk pulls at her lips as she dips down to kiss your neck. “I am touching you baby.”

You groan, frustrated and needing for her to do something. “Want your mouth, your fingers. Anything. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

Ellie’s kisses trail down your neck to your still clothed chest, where she graces the swell of your breasts, followed by grazing her teeth over your nipples poking through the fabric. She continues her way down until she reaches the waistband of your jeans, eyes flickering up to yours for confirmation. When Ellie hears you breath out a wispy yes, she’s working at undoing your pants. You’re kicking off your shoes and aiding her in taking off your pants by lifting your hips, her fingers brush over the skin of your thighs in a hot trail.

Your pants and underwear are tossed to the ground with a dull thud, now laying before Ellie bare from the waist down. Her eyes are hungry, looking like a woman starved of everything she’s ever needed. The intensity of her eyes taking you in has you closing your legs self consciously, but Ellie tuts and spreads them open again, laying on her stomach between your legs.

“Look at you, so wet for me.” Ellie purrs, dragging her middle finger through your folds to collect some of your slick. You gasp at the touch, gaze locked on Ellie whose eyes roll back into her skull as she sucks your slick clean from her finger. “So fucking sweet baby, I knew it.”

“Ellie please. . .” you mewl, growing impatient.

Without another second wasted, Ellie’s head is level with your cunt as she licks a bold stripe from your hole up to your clit. Her mouth is hot against you, and even though you’ve just started the feeling is so overwhelming that your legs move to clamp around Ellie’s head. Her strong arms curl around your thighs, prying them away from her head, pinning them down against the bed as she moves your feet to rest over her shoulders. 

Something delightful burns in your stomach as Ellie’s tongue moves through your folds again, warm and wet. A pleasurable sigh leaves you, head thrown back and eyes shut. Your hands are trying to find hold of anything, one gripping at the bedspread and the other wrapped around Ellie’s forearm, feeling the ridges of muscle and tattoo beneath your fingers.

Ellie’s tongue passes through you a couple more times before she’s wrapping her lips around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth. “Mmm, tastes like heaven baby.”

You’re a needy, gasping mess beneath her. Your moans are music to her ears, and Ellie thinks they are the hottest thing she’s ever heard, encouraging her to keep going. Ellie releases your clit from her mouth with a pop, flicking her tongue over it has your hips bucking up into her face for more, “Fuck. . . right there Ellie.” 

Her groan vibrates through you, rustling the tightening coil that sits heavy in your belly. Ellie keeps giving you exactly what you wanted, working at your cunt like it’s her last meal. You pry your eyes open and the sight of Ellie between your legs pulls a loud moan from the back of your throat. Her pale veiny hands tighten their grip on your thighs, fingers pressing into your flesh deliciously. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt anything as good as this, with Ellie’s nose nudging at your clit as her mouth moves lower on your cunt, running her tongue along your entrance once, twice, before dipping in. She’s groaning into you, spurring you on. You release your grip on Ellie’s forearm to palm at your breasts, gaze locking with hers from over your mound. Ellie’s hand moves from your thigh to encase your hand with hers where you palm at yourself. 

Ellie takes this moment to catch a breath, leaning her head against your leg. The bottom half of her face is slick, glistening with your arousal that her tongue licks from her lips. She’s panting in a similar fashion to you. “Doing so good f’me baby.” The kiss she places to your inner thigh has you jostling into her touch. 

“Ellie. . . more, I need more.”

She smirks and moves the hand that was on yours back to your cunt, dragging her fingers through your folds and circling them around your clit lazily. It’s too soon that she’s abandoning her ministrations on your clit and moving down to your entrance, teasing her fingers along your opening before she’s pushing them into you.

They move in and out of you slowly at first, Ellie working them up to a steady pace, going as deep as she can,  “Oh god. . .”

“Nope, just Ellie, baby.” She sends you a wink that has you letting out a small chuckle, one that’s cut off by your own moan as her fingers curl against that sweet spot inside you. “My good girl. Lovin’ this, huh?”

You nod weakly, clenching around Ellie’s fingers. She knows you’re probably close, knows that soon, the coil that’s been building in your belly will snap. This has her leaning back down to kiss at your clit. Your hands leave your body and where it grips at the bed to thread through Ellie’s hair, moving the strands that have fallen in front of her face out of the way so you can see her fully. Ellie leaves a series of pecks on your clit before sucking it into her mouth, tongue flicking at it. 

The combined pleasure of having Ellie’s fingers buried deep inside your cunt and her mouth working your clit has the muscles in your legs clenching as you fight the urge to close your legs around her head once again. It’s all too much, your hips are rutting up into her mouth as she continues to lap at you, and you can feel your release hurdling towards you. 

“Ellie,” you whimper, head thrown back against the bed. Your chest is heaving erratically, but Ellie doesn’t let up. The feeling that’s been sitting so heavily in your belly finally lets up as your release hits you, thighs trembling. You twitch and moan as you fall apart against Ellie’s tongue and fingers. The room feels so unbearably warm as your fingers tighten in Ellie’s hair, eyes screwed shut as your mouth drops open in a loud moan. “Fuck! Oh god. . . fuck fuck fuck, Ellie!”

Ellie works you through it, lapping greedily at the arousal that gushes from you, fingers still working steadily as you clench tightly around them. The feeling of her flicking at your clit and fingers curling inside you becomes so overwhelming that you almost push Ellie away from you, but she’s pulling away on her own. 

Both of you are panting, your hands fall from her hair to brush back your own which you’re sure is an ugly tangled mess. You hiss at the loss of Ellie’s fingers as she pulls them out of you, breath  stuttering and catching in your chest as she maintains eye contact with you as she brings them up to her mouth like earlier. Ellie groans at the taste of you on her fingers, acting like a woman starved as if she wasn’t buried between your thighs just a moment ago. 

You hide behind your hands, slightly embarrassed as you let out a laugh. You feel the bed move and soon enough Ellie is above you again, moving your hands away from your face so she can see you properly. She’s smiling down at you, letting out a soft chuckle, “That what you wanted, pretty girl?”

The flush in your cheeks only deepens and you can’t find it in you to form any coherent words, only nodding in response. Ellie’s smile widens —as does yours— as her eyes dance around your face before she’s leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. This kiss is unlike the others you’ve shared tonight, this one is slow, lethargic and full of something you can’t name. 

It’s over quicker than it lasts, a loud banging on the door has you and Ellie pulling away from each other. “Hey, is there someone in ‘ere?” calls out a slurring voice.

In an instant, any and all euphoria mulling about in your body is swept away as you come to your senses. The sounds from the party that still rages on outside filter through the open window, no longer muffled by your cross-faded state. 

Quickly, you’re rolling out from under Ellie, standing up so fast you almost give yourself a head rush. You’re pulling your underwear and pants back on as fast as you can, shoving your shoes on as you ignore Ellie who calls out to you to hang on a second, and the sounds of the door jostling against the frame. 

You need to get out of here as soon as possible. The weight you’re feeling in your chest right now is worse than when the door knob broke and you realized you’d be stuck in here with Ellie for god knows how long. Now, you don’t know how long it's been, but certainly long enough to have landed you in such a sticky situation you don’t know how you’ll recover from this lapse in your judgement. 

Ellie is still trying to get you to calm down when the door swings open on its hinges and in stumbles the drunkest frat boy you’ve ever seen.

“Ellie, what’re you doin’ in ‘ere?” He slurs, using the door to hold himself upright. Suddenly, his eyes light up, “You got any weed?”

She hesitates for a moment, before nodding, “Uh. . . yeah I’ve got some.” Ellie’s shrugging on her flannel and wiping at her mouth with the sleeve, looking between you and who you assume is Ryan. She looks like she wants to say something, brows furrowed deeply, but you don’t give her the chance as you’re squeezing past Ryan.

“Gotta go.” you call out over your shoulder. You hold onto the railing as you hurriedly make your way down the stairs, chest aching with an Ellie sized hole as you wonder what the fuck just happened.

[bvckleyydiaz]

leap of faith - aaron hotchner

title: leap of faith

summary: sometimes, all you need to find true happiness is to take a leap of faith.

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 1668

warning(s): mention of haley and underage drinking

a/n: so the idea of this story came from the amazingly talented @greg-montgomery's scenario here. all credit for this idea goes to them. if you want some really good hotch fics, please go check them out! i thought it was so cute and just had to write it. hope you guys enjoy!

This is not how I pictured my Tuesday morning at the office going, you think to yourself as Penelope crosses out yet another name from her lists of your potential suitors. With the help of JJ and Emily, she had managed to compile thirty-two names, and more than half of them have already been scrapped. Before today, you had refused every time they had brought up the idea of setting you up on a blind date. That was before you realized that the feelings you held for your boss, Aaron, were far from friendly. You knew that nothing would come of what you were feeling, so you came to Penelope’s office and told her that you would agree to one date.

“What about this one?” Penelope asks as she swipes to the next picture. This guy was not bad-looking, by any means. He looked young, had hazel that glittered with mischief, and there was a boy-next-door charm to him. Something about him seemed so familiar, though. You couldn’t quite place it. “His name is Thomas, he’s twenty-seven, and he works in the Cyber Response department.”

“He looks like a younger version of Hotch,” Emily remarks from her place to your right.

Penelope tilts her head and seems to consider this. “Huh. Now that you point it out, I can’t unsee it.” She looks at you. “What do you think, Y/N?”

Truthfully, you could see the tiniest bit of a resemblance between the two of them, but you know that this man would never compare to Aaron—Hotch. But you know that nothing will happen between you and Hotch. So, you see this as the perfect opportunity to start moving on. “He’s cute,” you tell Penelope. “I’ll give him a chance.”

Letting out a giddy squeal, she scribbles down his number and hands it to you. You text him as soon you leave Penelope’s office, introducing yourself, telling him that your friend from the office had told you about him, and asking him if he wanted to go out sometime.

Sure. Thomas writes back after a few minutes, Does Friday at eight sound good to you? There is a new Mediterranean place a few blocks away from my office I want to take you to.

It’s a date! I love Mediterranean food. :)

--

Friday comes faster than you expect it to. You’d made sure to bring a change of clothes and a bag of your favorite makeup to save you the half-hour drive back to your apartment to get ready. The dress you’re wearing is a little red number, courtesy of Emily, with a slit up your both your thighs and tiny straps holding it to your body. The first time you tried it on, you didn’t think your body would fill the dress out as well as hers did, but it fit like a glove. You felt confident in the dress; you felt sexy. It was the motivation you needed to not back out of the date.

You’re touching up your lipstick when a voice brings out of your thoughts. “I thought you left hours ago.”

It’s Aaron. “Hotch.”

He tilts his head, and the cute little frown he wears when he’s confused appears. “What are you still doing here? You should be at home getting some rest.”

“I have a date tonight, and I didn’t want to drive the thirty minutes home to get ready when the restaurant is only a couple of blocks away,” you explain, and he nods. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know how I let the girls talk me into going. I mean, I trust them with my life, but…” You laugh quietly to yourself.

“They just want to see you have fun and not focus on work all the time. We all deserve time to ourselves every now and again.” A small smile of his own comes over his face, and it makes your heart stutter in your chest. “At least that’s what Penelope told me before she tried to set me up on a date of my own.”

Your quiet laugh turns into incessant giggles. “Oh, I would’ve loved to see how that went.”

He shakes his head fondly. “Penelope meant well, but the woman and I didn’t click. Plus, I think it was too soon after my divorce from Haley. I wasn’t ready to let myself date again.”

You nod. “I understand that.” You stand from your chair and smooth out your dress with your palms, looking up at your boss. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” Aaron tells you, but there’s something in his expression as he says it. You don’t know what to call it.

“Thank you.”

“I should let you get to your date. Have a good night, Y/N.” He turns and makes his way back to his office.

You are on your way out of the bullpen when—and you don’t know what compels you to do it, either—you look back at Hotch. The blinds to office are pulled open, but you notice a shift in his posture. His shoulders are drawn tight like a cord that’s about to snap, the expression void of the playfulness that was there not even two minutes ago.

You dig your phone out of your purse and text your date. Hey, Thomas! It’s Y/N. I’m sorry that this is so last minute, but something came up at the office. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. You walk up the stairs to Hotch’s office and knock on the door. “Y/N?” He asks when he opens the door. “Did you forget something?”

You shake your head. “No. My date cancelled on me.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s fine, it was only a date. I don’t think it would’ve worked out anyway.” You look past his shoulder into his office. “What are you still doing here?”

He lifts a file folder into your line of sight. “Paperwork for our most recent case. I wanted to start on it before we’re called on a new one.”

“Do I mind if I join you?”

He purses his lips in confusion. “Of course I don’t mind, but all I’d be doing is paperwork. You’d have more fun watching paint dry.”

“Well, since my night is now free, all I’d be doing is taking a shower and having a hot date with my couch and a bottle of wine.” You smile at your boss. “Besides, I wouldn’t be watching. I’d be helping.”

Hotch shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that—”

“Hotch, I mean this with every ounce of respect and admiration I have for you, which is a lot, but please just shut up and let me help you.” He lets out a laugh in surprise. “I know that I don’t have to help, but I want to. Please let me.”

He steps to the side to let you come into his office, and you take a seat on his couch. “So, what can I do, boss?”

He smiles at his place from behind his desk. “Will you read me my notes from the file next to you? I’d like to put them in the report.”

You nod. “Sure thing.” You pick up the file to your left and flip it open, Hotch’s notes scribbled onto post-it notes stuck to the paper. “You ready?”

--

“No way,” you exclaim through your fit laughter. “No way that happened!”

The table in front of you is littered with takeout boxes. You and Aaron sit next to each other on the small couch, your knees grazing. Aaron’s half-empty container of beef Lo Mein sits in his lap while you hold your nearly full container of veggie fried rice.

“Well, it did,” Aaron’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “I’m sure there’s still evidence of it lurking somewhere on the internet.”

“I just… I have a hard time believing that Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the FBI Behavioral Analysis, jumped off the roof of a two-story house into a pool.” You spoon more of your rice into your mouth.  “It’s so out of character for you.”

“In my defense, I was sixteen and thought I was invincible. I may also have been drunk.”

“Huh. Aaron the troublemaker? Never would have pegged you that way.”

He tries to hide his smile under a bite of his Lo Mein. “There are a lot of things about me that will surprise you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

Aaron tilts his head. “You know, now that I think about it, I never found out if that punch had been spiked or not.”

This causes you to dissolve into giggles.

--

“So, Y/N,” Emily asks as she walks through the bullpen the next morning with Penelope and JJ in tow, “how did it go last night?”

Penelope bumps her shoulder into yours. “Yeah. I want to know everything!”

Morgan looks up at the three of you from his desk, and Spencer does the same from his own. “What happened last night?”

“I was supposed to go on a date last, but it got cancelled last minute,” you tell them and then look between Penelope and Emily. “So, there’s nothing to tell.”

“That sucks,” JJ laments. You shrug and tell her that you weren’t really worried about it. There’s a lull in the conversation until you spot Aaron walking past the bullpen to his office.

You smile. “Morning, Aaron!”

He turns to you and returns your smile. “Morning, Y/N.”

Penelope, Emily, JJ, and Derek all turn to you once Aaron is out of earshot. “Aaron?” JJ asks, a tone of pleasant surprise coloring her voice.

You shrug nonchalantly, a small smile coming to your lips. “I’m solving a mystery,” you tell them before making your way to your desk.

The four of them share looks of bewilderment before Spencer speaks up. “You guys didn’t know? I could see it from a mile away.”

[boyfhee]

› HOW TO GET BACK WITH YOUR EX : five do's and don'ts

SYNOPSIS · You were all in for a new start; a new city, new apartment, new department and new colleagues— though, not under the best circumstances— you tried to make it through your early thirties while lost between whether to give up or go on, and then you meet Heeseung, who happens to be on the other end of the same street.

WC · 26.2K ( guys pls give this a chance )

GENRE · melodrama, angst, slice of life, romance, exes to ?

WARNINGS · lots of drinking, marriage talks, mentions of failed relationship and breakups; implications of sexual activity, very existential, mentions of suicidal thoughts, blood, lot's of tense changes ( since this transits between past and present a lot ) please read at your own discretion.

NOTE · i know i'm on hiatus but this was almost done and i had a sudden burst of motivation so here we are. my longest fic till date, i'm so proud of how this turned out. experimented a little with my writing style here, overall a fun experience. i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did, happy reading. ps the quote below is actually by john mark green, but let's assume it's written by hee for the sake of this fic. okay, good bye again, see you guys soon :›

playlist : tune in for better experience hehe

“ And if love may be madness, may I never find sanity again, ”

— Lee Heeseung, Red Wine

I.  Regret and Remorse

You don’t think you’ll ever become someone who’d look forward to the working experience that comes with job transfer. In fact, you don’t think you’d ever become someone who’d grow a liking to job transfer in the first place. 

Autumn of 2022 was supposed to be filled with vacation plans and a self-sobriety program in one of the many remote towns of Gangwon, away from the internet and daily complaints of your employer and family members. To put it simply— you’re tired of the life you’ve been living so far. Looking back, when you were a fresh graduate from one of the best universities of Incheon, life seemed to offer more opportunities than it does now. Your goals weren't any different from other people in the same age group as you, which majorly consisted of getting a job that pays well, maintaining financial security, getting into a good relationship, and perhaps visiting a few places on your travel list that you made in your first year of university. The idea of ‘ideal workplace’ leaves your mind the moment you step into the industry. Over time, you’ve realised that there’s no such thing as a job that fits to your liking and pays well, along with a hundred other benefits ranging from covering medical expenses to providing paid leaves. While that may apply to some, most of the crowd isn’t lucky enough to experience the luxuries of their dream job or workplace. Unfortunately, you happen to be just another person of that kind. 

You wake up, it’s the same old Monday morning— and no matter what day it is, it always feels like a Monday morning. You look through your same seven sets of office attires in your closet and pick one for the day; you go to the kitchen and find the same dish you had last night. You heat it up and eat the same for breakfast. Albeit, you find yourself at a cafe downstreet if you’re hoping for a change of scenery. You go to work, review the same old files, look at your same old colleagues and the same old boss who makes your blood boil. You aren’t the most sociable person and prefer to have lunch at the canteen, and coincidently, it’s the same old menu from four days ago. The day proceeds in the same old direction and you arrive at your apartment by six in the evening if your team leader doesn’t make you work overtime. You make dinner, sleep on the same old bed in the same old room with the same old feeling of dissatisfaction stuffing your stomach, and the same old cycle continues. 

Intellectually, there has been no progress— you've read scarcely half a dozen books, haven't made one new, exciting friend, haven't had a starling or unusual thought. Economically, things are no better— same old bills to pay, same old pay that hasn't been increased over years now. You get your paycheck and half of it goes into buying necessities. It's the same old job, same old routine of nine-to-five workdays, the cheese and ham salad for lunch, same dreary ride home. No change, nothing but routine, sameness, monotony— it's as if you're vegetating.

If you could go back in time and meet yourself when you were still a college freshman with high hopes and even higher aspirations, you would tell yourself to stop. Now that you’ve seen how the world works and have experienced the stagnancy of life, you wouldn’t want your young and carefree self to go through the pain of disappointment after encountering it yourself. You would instead tell yourself to switch fields since finance doesn’t seem to have a lot to offer. Instead, you would push your past self to go for liberal arts when you suddenly wanted to switch majors in the second year. Perhaps, in that case, your life would’ve been a tad bit better. 

Well, better than what it is now, at least, because currently, you’re sitting in the living room of your new apartment with a beer can in hand and tons of unpacked boxes around you. You’ve been thinking of unpacking for over an hour now, but every time your eyes land upon another beer, you’re back on the floor, chugging the drink down and regretting your life choices. Things would’ve been better if you had turned in your resignation instead of waiting till the last week of July for your pay; because now it’s August, and you’re in a new city with a new apartment, and the only thing you remember is the way to the nearest seven-eleven store from your apartment. You don’t want to think of this negatively, really, since you’ve been asking for a change, after all; and nothing is better than starting anew in a completely new location. However, you don’t want to work in the sales department when all you’ve ever worked about is finance. You don’t want to go through the pain of getting lost in the streets and chased by some dog, for you’re hitting thirty and you feel your bones cracking. You wanted a new start, however not in this field. A new start, for you, meant going on a vacation, detoxifying your mind off all the stress and tension, picking up a hobby, focusing on self-care— just anything that would help you change your views about life.   

Your silent remorseful session is interrupted by a knock on the door, and you’re certain you heard a doorbell, however you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol playing with your mind or whether someone is actually waiting at your doorstep. Forcing yourself to stand up, you stumble towards the door, the sudden decrease in blood pressure leaves a hint of dizziness as you step forward. Since you’ve just moved in, expecting anyone besides mails and landlord is pointless. While you remember having a friend living in the same city, you never told her your address so it’s unlikely for her to visit you either. You stand before the door, fixing your hair before moving down to the creases on your shirt as you unlock the door with a forced smile; and the time ceases to exist. 

“Hi,” Heeseung mumbles. 

You step aside to let him in, involuntarily— “Hi,” you breathe out before stressing your mind to come up with a reason for letting him inside. Could it be that you’re so lonely that now, you’re treating your ex as just someone you’ve been expecting to see? Maybe not, maybe it’s because you just moved in and despite the notes that you both ended on, it would be disrespectful to shut the door on someone who came with seemingly all good intentions. 

His steps are laced with hesitation. There’s a Château Margaux in his hands as you notice his fingers nervously tighten around the bottle before he turns around, albeit you avoid his gaze actively. “I heard someone moved in so I came to meet,” A pause, and then: “Didn’t know it was you.” 

He puts emphasis on the word as if it’s a bad thing. As if you’re an outsider trying to invade his peaceful life yet again, only to cause mayhem. However, the question is, had you known that Heeseung lives here, would you have moved in? Or, would you continue to live knowing Heeseung is your neighbour and that you would possibly see him for the rest of your life? You don’t know the answer to that one— not sure if you even want to find one, in fact. The last thing you need is to worry about bumping into an ex. You gesture at him to take a seat and to your surprise, he sits on the floor, exactly where you were having your drinking session before he came along. You grab the wine glasses from the kitchen before making your way back to the living room and sitting opposite to him. There’s a heavy tension in the air, one that is suffocating both of you, though you’re sure a major part of it is arising from you. After all, you let him inside as if he was an old friend, one that you were hoping to see, as if he isn’t your ex. 

Heeseung and you got together in your second year of university. You met him through a mutual friend on their birthday when they invited a few people from another department. You didn’t plan to go initially, you had presentations to make, but something inside of you prompted you to give in and had it not been for that day, you would’ve never come across Lee Heeseung in your life. The first time you met him at the bar, Heeseung seemed to be a heavy drinker— droopy eyes, messed up hair, a few things written on the palm of his hands— he didn’t even come across as someone who paid attention during lessons. However, much to your surprise, he excused himself early, sitting outside with a can of cold coffee he got from the vending machine in his hand while reading what seemed like economics notes compiled in pdf format. Perhaps, Heeseung knew he came off as a showoff when you found him chugging down his drink in an attempt to erase whatever effect alcohol could have on him. 

You sat next to him and all of a sudden, he started explaining how he doesn’t usually dip in the middle of gatherings with friends and step out to study. He simply happens to have a test the next day and his friends dragged him along. Simultaneously, you learnt that it was his first time drinking despite and he swore not to drink anything that wasn’t caffeine. It was nice, really; while Heeseung was busy worrying that you might dislike him for being such a show off, you were enjoying your time with him because in the end, you weren’t a big fan of drinking with your friends either. The two of you talked about wasted matters, complained about subjects and teachers, shared social media handles. It was fantastical, almost unreal, because you don’t remember the last time you clicked with someone so quickly. You didn’t have impressive social skills to initiate conversations, which consequently resulted in you being left out most of the time. It didn’t really matter since relationships and all were secondary at that time, for you had a set goal to work towards. You had always believed that people can make friends and fall in love anytime. However, life gives you just once chance to achieve your dreams. Disconnecting from the public didn't have any effect since you got your work done. While your friends wasted their nights at clubs, you spent it studying and completing assignments. You never felt the lack of friends and interactions eating you slowly. The loneliness didn’t hit you until you graduated with hands full of bills to pay and responsibilities to handle. 

After that night, you started seeing Heeseung more than usual. Despite being in different majors and completely different schedules, you saw him at the campus more often than you used to. It was as if he was always there, waiting for you to find him. Despite changing Twitter and Instagram handles, the two of you barely talked. There was no communication except interacting with each others’ posts, leaving a comment every now and then, tagging each other in stories. You would mutter a soft hello every time you’d bump into him and if fate allowed, you’d have a small conversation. There was no progress in your relationship until a few months after your first meeting, at one of the fests hosted by the Art Department. You had no one to visit with and Heeseung wasn’t interested until you came across him in the library, taking down notes of the lectures he had missed. He asked if you wanted to visit the fest, much to your surprise, and that was the first time you had hung out with Heeseung after knowing him for five months. 

“You seem excited for work,” It’s a question that leaves you confused until your eyes land upon the stacks of files and documents lying stray on the kitchen counter. The next thing you notice is that Heeseung’s voice has gotten a lot deeper, possessing all the necessary qualities of a voice a hiring manager would want to hear in interviews. 

“Do I?” You offer a rhetorical response, not knowing exactly what to say. For a brief second, you considered pouring yourself more drink and going off about your lethargic and unfruitful lifestyle. A chuckle falls off your lips as you stir the wine in its glass, feeling the weight shift from left to right before chugging the remaining liquid down. “I hate my job,”

You pour yourself another glass. Heeseung’s fingers flinch watching your hands reach for the bottle but he didn’t dare interrupt your actions. Another second passes in silence, another sip of wine hits your system. You feel fatigue fill your sinuses as you fight off sleep for another hit— another line of thoughts.  

You can go on for days, complaining about your job, despite knowing that looking down on your work and throwing shade on your boss isn’t going to get you anywhere in life. But at the end of the day, you have nothing else to talk about either. While your colleagues spent weekends drinking, going on dates, and watching movies, you worked your ass off to finish off a project and get a promotion; because promotions come with an increase in pay, and the thing you need the most at the moment is money. Even in school and universities, you used to spend your days and nights studying hard because in the end, the employers from big companies always look for candidates from the top universities, students who graduated with high honours and those who have a lot to offer to the market. Graduating from one of the best universities in Korea in your department should’ve helped you get a high paying job with several benefits. You didn’t lack knowledge, nor did you lack the brains to tackle the problems in finance. You graduated on top of your class so your educational qualifications weren’t below the bar either. If it comes down to experience, one can not expect a fresh graduate to have work experience. In the end, you’re left with the lack of information once again, not knowing why your life turned out this way when every step you took ensured success. 

“Then, why don’t you try doing something that you like?” Heeseung suggests, twirling the glass in his hand, unknowingly mirroring your actions. While he thinks he’s doing a good job at keeping the conversation going, Heeseung knows his advice isn’t worth a penny. Imagine telling a full-time employee to quit their job and do what they like! He thinks to himself, almost ready to take his words back, because he can’t even imagine himself doing the same thing for the sake of a better life. 

“You can’t depend on your likes and dislikes to make a living,” You chuckle yet again, voice laced with bitterness. Failure and disappointment were something you never had tasted until now. You remember the dissatisfaction you felt when your mother gave you sliced apples when you told her you were hungry. You refused to eat, but your mother said that when you’re starving, you don’t look for food that suits your taste. You just eat whatever you get; and thinking about it now, you think it applies to practical life as well. Survival in this world isn’t possible if you depend upon your preferences. Humans have the ability to adapt to various situations, and the key to adaptation is working under different circumstances, often that don’t suit your preferences. That is how you secure your position in the world. If things revolved around one’s likes and dislikes, you sure would’ve been a billionaire for you love to stay on your couch all day and dislike capsicums. 

“What about you?” You counter with the same question. “You look even more tired than how you were in university.” Now, your attention is on his dark circles and weary eyes. The Heeseung you remember from university was phenomenal, having an urge to do anything and everything. His eyes searched for opportunities, hands aching to work on something new. His never ending passion and a desire to know more made him an ideal figure for the juniors as well as someone who the seniors used to envy. However, the eyes of the Heeseung sitting in front of you are telling a whole nother story. They’re talking about the good times while his hands look tired from having a lot on his plate with no time for himself. 

“Work load,” Heeseung sighs, eyes fixed on his drink as he continues to twirl it around. Your gaze shifts to the corner of his lips, watching them curl into a faint smile. “Do you remember how we used to spent weekends hunting for part time—”

And then a pause. Your eyes avert to his’, meeting him in the line of contact; they resonate with just two emotions— regret and respect. You fail to decipher the meaning behind his gaze, you lost the ability to do so years ago. He presses his lips into a thin line, pressing his fingers against the glass in an attempt to suppress his emotions before looking away from you. The comforting silence suddenly weighs upon your shoulders with its hands around your neck, suffocating you to the point of breathlessness; and then you ask yourself— what am I doing? The clock strikes seven and it didn’t hit you how quickly the time flowed until everything dawned upon you. Once again, you’re left questioning your whats and whys about life, for after all, you didn’t expect to spend your evening drinking with your ex. You notice splatters of rain against your window pane as they blur the golden glow of the city scape behind. The rain falls louder, the room fills with the sound of clouds rumbling, you take another sip of wine— it takes you back to your days with Heeseung. 

You don’t know if it’s alcohol blurring your paths down the memory lane, but a part of job hunting with Heeseung also included applying for the same part-jobs and competing so see who gets hired. Although, both of you ended up receiving a polite rejection most of the time, it didn’t affect your relationship. Actually, you don’t think anything regarding job interviews or grades affected your relationship with him. It was a good, healthy race, one that allowed both of you to grow as individuals, for yourselves and for each other. There were days when you came home with the news about getting hired, only to know how his application was rejected or he was fired, and vice-versa. You both took your turns comforting each other— it didn’t feel like your life was any different from his. In fact, every second with Heeseung felt as if you both were living the same life. Watching him go through the exact same thing you went through a few weeks ago, or finding yourself in the same situation you found him merely a few nights ago; it was like watching just another version of yourself.  

Seconds catapult before you. Heeseung gets up and makes his way towards the door. No words are shared, the world is spinning too quickly, it gets harder and harder for you to retrace your steps to figure out how you ended up here. His name falls off your lips— it’s not louder than a soft whisper. You don’t know why you stopped him in his tracks. Is it intentional? Is it involuntary? Or is it because you were hoping for something else? You would never know, at least not now. Months expanded into years and the time when you dated Heeseung still feels like yesterday. It’s as if you woke up— there is his face next to you, the sunlight offering a soft golden glow to his eyes as they light up your whole words. His lips meet yours, a smile emerges under the tender kiss, Heeseung tells you he loves you and you couldn’t be happier. The day rolls by, your steps follow him everywhere he goes, breaths mingling into each other in secluded corners of streets, hidden from the world because it’s a love to be harboured in secrecy. Your hands intertwine with his. It’s two souls living as one, two hearts beating in synchrony. The night rolls by and you’re back in his arms, a little closer to heart, deeper into his mind. The moon sighs in admiration, night slips through his feather light touches as he traces every inch of your skin with love. The sun comes up— and suddenly you’re exes. You never had enough time to process his departure from your life, just the way you failed to process his impromptu arrival this evening. Heeseung is in front of you like the way he used to be. However, just like the first time, the universe agreed but the stars never aligned, and Heeseung is leaving once again as you fail to hold onto him one more time.

“Why don’t you resign if you don’t like your job?” Heeseung stops by his door, and you realise the words that leave his mouth are the same ones that people throw at you whenever they hear you complain about your work life.

“I was about to, but was transferred here. Thought I should give it a try before quitting.” While that doesn’t sound like the most convincing reason, it sure is a plausible one. You had been looking for a change— any change— and throwing away the chance to have one while it had been in your hand would be a bad decision, no matter how unfavourable it sounds at the moment.   

“Doesn’t that sound familiar? When I confessed, you said you weren’t sure about your feelings but would give it a try,” There’s a faint smile on his face, albeit you aren’t able to perceive the meaning behind his words. “I’m sure it’ll turn out better,” 

You take a step towards the door before shutting it completely. You don’t know why he said that, nor do you think you’ll ever get the chance to ask him. Perhaps you wouldn’t ask him willingly in the first place. You turn around, leaning against the door as a sigh escapes your lips. Heeseung has his own life, and so, his own views on different things. If he resents you, you’re in no position to try and change that for him. You don’t think you’re in a position to interfere with his life when you decided to walk out of it in the first place.

If regret was his part to play, then remorse was yours. 

II. Don’t be a ‘know it all’ 

Drinking with Heeseung feels like yesterday, when in fact, you haven’t seen him in four days. 

Life is busy, and it’s even busier for someone like Heeseung who works as a chartered accountant if your memories from last evening aren’t defying you. You can’t imagine yourself in that position, not like you want to in the first place. Excel sheets and tons of documents about taxes are all you could think of when you hear anything along the lines of accountancy, which is intolerable to you, given that you’ve majored in finance, ironically. 

A lot of things in your life are contradicting, actually. You don’t like to cook but cooking for close friends is something you’ve always loved. Examples follow, and at one point you realised that your life barely makes sense. Expectations from friends and relatives made you a try hard, so much that anything less than a perfect score made you feel suffocated. People had desires and interest in certain things, but you needed to be good at everything, and saying that it was for yourself would be a lie, because you had to set an example of an ideal person in front of your younger siblings. Your parents were strict to you and it didn’t feel unfair. You were ten when you saw your mother cry because of all the financial burden, but she had to be the perfect mother for her children, so you never saw her complain ever again. Fifteen year old you didn’t have a goal in mind but she knew that there’s a path ahead of her that leads her siblings on the right track, towards a better future, and so she took it— no aims and dreams of herself, just whatever she could’ve done for her brothers. It was hard at first but the formula to success was easy— hardwork and determination, and all you had to do was avoid distractions. Again, the reality didn’t hit you until you met Heeseung. 

It was as if you were both her two sides of the same coin. Persistence flowed in both of your veins, but every time you looked at him, you realised that he enjoyed everything he was doing. Heeseung enjoyed waking up at four, going out for a jog, attending classes, job hunting, staying up till two or simply not sleeping on some nights. Even on the darkest of the days and coldest of the nights, you would see Heeseung looking at you with a warm smile. He always managed to find a reason to smile, or make a situation humorous enough to make others smile as well. You don’t know how he did that, you never had the chance to ask, but you’re certain that even if he told you, you wouldn’t understand. Heeseung’s principles of living were beyond your comprehension— staying up late yet waking up right when dawn breaks, buying books but never really reading them, researching articles on topics that don’t concern your subjects even marginally— but that’s just his curiosity getting the best of him. 

Often, he’d find himself amidst a financial conflict like any other college student, but it never had an impact on his desires, and he used to say, ‘A sale wouldn’t wait for me to pay my bills so that I can buy my favourite shirt with the money left,’ as if his rent was going to pay itself. If someone asks about the biggest difference between him and you, it’s about desires. You suppress yours while Heeseung lives them like it’s the last time he could ever wish for something. You believe in the cause, while Heeseung did in curiosity, and that’s where it creates a line. Though lately, you’ve been hearing other things about him, new things, if you must say. 

The landlord told you about the Heeseung who’s quiet, who doesn’t leave his house until it’s about work, who eats the same menu for days until his system demands something new, who now has been prescribed actual specs because of his family history of hypermetropia. You find yourself smiling about it because back in university, Heeseung used to brag about his perfect vision, and you would say, ‘family health history is no joke. you take that shit down to your grave,’ and now when it has actually happened, you wonder what he has to say. Hearing stories about him made you realise that a lot of things changed, but Heeseung didn’t. Maybe, the situation demands him to live vegetatively, or maybe he’s saving up for a bigger plan. 

“They say you’re a loner,” You had said one time when you bumped into him on the lift. “That you never leave your apartment except for work,” 

Much to Heeseung’s surprise, a lot of things changed after he entered his thirties, the most prominent being his back pain, which may or may not have arisen from the lack of workout and constantly sitting in front of his desk for hours. He would smile at plants or sit by the balcony, watching the city being ever so lively and yet so monotonous. Afternoon naps became mandatory to continue proficiently for the rest of the day and before he realised, Heeseung became the old man of every highschool student’s imagination. Truthfully, he spent his first few months after graduation in his room, amidst sketching pencils and loose sheets. While other fresh graduates hunted for jobs or ways to fill their resume to fit the companies’ requirements, he spent his early months as an unemployed lad who graduated with top honours from one of the best universities in Korea. For the first time in life, he found himself looking at his ceiling and wondering, what’s next. Heeseung, who always had a plan for something despite seeming reckless, was about to step into adulthood with no plans to follow. 

“I guess I’ll be that,”

He was back in your apartment, same wine in his hand, same old complaints. It’s been quite a few weeks since you’ve moved in and Heeseung always finds himself in your living room at noons when he doesn’t sleep, making small talk about topics that usually stir a little interest. You haven’t had the time to go out with your colleagues and make new friends or explore the city, which gives you a perfect excuse to see Heeseung and call it socialising. Not to mention, you’ve been introducing him to your previous workmates as the ‘new friend’ you’ve made in the new place. 

“We both know you’re not that,” You continue, recalling all the reasons why Heeseung isn’t how people around describe him to be. 

“No one is the same after actually getting a life,” He replies while going through his emails, scrolling down with one hand before placing the wine glass by his side and proceeding to type something. “Look at yourself, for example,” 

You don’t know whether it’s a compliment or an insult. Perhaps the latter, albeit the chances of him noticing a good difference in you are low but never zero. Your eyes fix on his fingers, following them as he types something before clearing it all, and then typing all over again while mumbling the exact same words with an expression ranging from confusion to worry. You reconsider his words, he isn’t half wrong. 

Adulthood is climacteric. You think you’re an adult the moment you turn eighteen but in reality, you aren’t one until you’re in a position to make it through life profoundly, and ironically enough, you don’t think most people get a taste of adulthood until they hit their late twenties or enter their thirties. Your mind traces back to what he said— ‘yourself, for example,’ and suddenly, you become conscious of every single thing that has changed about you. You learnt piano but now your fingers don’t flow smoothly over the keys as they used to, given you haven’t played piano in years. You were a part of the science club in highschool and the student council president in your senior year. You wanted to go into aeronautics but seasons changed and one day, you looked in the mirror and saw the version of yourself who was about to graduate with honours in finance. Even after graduation you had a chance to switch fields but you didn’t, or rather, couldn’t. You were hired in the same year, which gave you even more reasons to continue since it would relieve your dad of the financial burden looming on his shoulders. Maybe, that’s what adulthood is supposed to do to you. You find yourself working in a field you have no interest or experience in and by the time you gain experience, you’re too old to grow an interest. 

Statistically, your school life was much better than college and onwards. You had, although little, but knowledge about all the subjects, a desire to know more, time to yield interest and a will to keep going on. To think, almost everyone in high school grows up under the same circumstances. They either have the opportunity or are given one to pursue what they want, taking it or not is up to them. For you, it was the former. You were given the chance to participate in the maths olympiad which you didn’t because of school exams. You were recommended to the best science institute in the country but you dropped out in just two months. Your music teacher offered you a chance to learn music professionally in Vienna but you never reached out to her on that again. You were given multiple chances to live how you wanted to but you simply discarded them and went with what proved to be the easiest way. 

That moment on a comparatively warm august afternoon, sitting next to him with wine, you went all the way back to all the instances and decisions that lead you to where you were right now. 

On the other hand, you shift your attention back to Heeseung, and even though you never got to know about his childhood or parents properly, you certainly knew that the way he experienced both of them was better than yours. Growing up as a single child gave him absolute control of things that he did and did not want. His decisions were not influenced by his parents, which could be classified as some sort of independence in regards to making his own choices from an early age, but neither did he have any siblings to set an example for. All his life, Heeseung has only lived for himself, and it reflects in his personality, if one tries hard enough to notice. While you had to give up one thing or other for your siblings, Heeseung got a taste of everything he wanted. He knows how it feels to not sleep all night but you never had the chance until much later because you were always thought to sleep on time and wake up early, whether or not you had anything to do. There may have been someone guiding him all along but most of the time, his experience gave him a clear insight and freedom to choose what he wants to do. 

To sum it up, you might be more qualified in terms of academics but Heeseung has more experience when it comes to diverse situations, and experience is all employers want these days in their employees. 

“Well, you still are the ideal candidate for marriage,” You chuckle, remembering what the lady told you a few days ago. You notice him marking a few emails before closing the app, picking the wine glass back up once again. It’s not a surprise to see someone like Heeseung being approached with several martial arrangements. He, despite being described as a loner by a few residents in the apartment, is still the guy with whom you would want to marry your daughter off. He works nine-to-five like any other family guy, is disciplined, comes from a good family and education background, and his looks work as cherry on top.  

“All they want is a guy with a stable job and salary,” He spat with a smile, chugging down the drink in his glass all at once. “That’s not who I want to be,” 

“Who do you want to be, Heeseung?” You ask above the silence lingering in the room, just loud enough to pique his interest. His phone screen lights up with a mail, but his eyes never leave your sight, not even for a second. 

People usually wouldn’t recommend talking to your ex, let alone sharing a deep, therapeutic session about life and self-development. If you say you’re starting as friends again, they would say it’s impossible because the bare minimum requirement to classify as a friend— the lack of romantic emotions— has already been violated. Even if you claim to be over Heeseung and treat him as just another one of your exes, you know there are unsaid feelings blooming in the air. You wouldn’t call Heeseung a friend, he never was one, actually. Heeseung was never there when you actually needed a friend but you never noticed his absence as your colleague, or as your boyfriend. Heeseung is terrible at being friends because he confessed to you the day he introduced you as ‘just a friend,’ to his friends. You wouldn’t consider being friends with your ex, yet you don’t think you could be anything more with him either. You started talking to him as a stranger but Heeseung has always been way too familiar to identity as a stranger. Too familiar for a stranger, too strange to be familiar, it’s another one of the things your life could be contradicting about. 

He looks at you, directing your question back to you as if you’re a better candidate to consult. ‘Who do I want to be?’ All your life, you’ve never done something that counts for yourself. Even your perfect sleeping schedule was meant to set an example for your brothers. Your achievements were never yours to begin with. You were good at piano, but that’s because your teacher taught you. You never composed a piece and simply played what has already been played. Even at work, you do what you’ve been told, and not what you want to. There’s no innovation, just flow of ideas from one level to the other, and it keeps being passed down to a level beyond which, it’s no longer fruitful. ‘Who do I want to be?’ You ask yourself over and over again, but it’s a question you don’t know how to approach. Rather, you would like to know, ‘Who am I right now?’

Just like that, October passes amidst wines and visits from Heeseung every other afternoon or evenings on weekends that weren’t swamped with work. For some reasons, workload increases as December approaches with his cold and calloused hands, which could be the reason why you’ve been seeing less of him lately. Occasionally, you would pour two glasses of wine and sit in the living room, but it would end up with you drinking yours in silence while his’ rests untouched. On nights you stay up till twelve or so, you could hear him unlock his doors in a hurry and shut it just as quickly. Maybe, that’s how a busy lifestyle is supposed to be. Consequently, you stopped waiting for him, coming in terms with reality once again. For a brief while, you considered flying back to your hometown and living with your family for a while, but the idea was dismissed as soon as the announcements about promotions emerged in your department. Once again, you found yourself working day and night with eyes set on no one but Heeseung to spend your upcoming Christmas with. 

Usually, you’re someone who prioritises family over work but a promotion is what you need the most at the moment. Time and patience, they say, but you have neither of those. You don’t have time to sit and rethink or start all over again, time to start from scratch, and patience was never one of your positive traits. At times, you would consider resigning and moving to a whole other country but it was too late to do that. You were no longer a stranger to society, you knew how things work and you had to make things work, with no time to try anything new. At thirty-two, no one wants to see you resign and fly to Maldives for a vacation, to live like you have no worries to worry about, not even yourself. See, that’s the pain of growing up. Parents would tell their children that they have their whole life to do what they like and just a few years to study and make something out of themselves, and it’s nothing but a lie. The truth is, you only have time when you’re young and, as you grow up, time starts slipping out of your hand. A kid is expected to be able to walk by the time they’re eighteen months old, or two years at most. Beyond that, it’s a problem and you have to consult a paediatrician, even if you don’t want to. A student is expected to graduate by the time they turn eighteen, people are expected to have a job by twenty-seven, you’re supposed to be in a relationship before thirty and married by thirty-five. As you grow old, the time to do something runs out and by the time you’re seventy or so, you realise you’re too old to do what you want. 

“I actually wanted to go back this time but, mom’s trying to convince me into getting married,” He said when you accidentally bumped into him this morning, signing off a delivery. Heeseung, in college, came off as someone who would be rather interested in marriages, someone who’d commit to a serious relationship in university and end up marrying them. You wanted to ask the reason but chose not to, maybe because you remind yourself that you’re exes and there are boundaries that should be maintained. 

“So, you just don’t want to get married,” It’s supposed to be a question, albeit it comes off as a statement. You lean against your doorframe, watching him carry his parcel inside and placing it next to his couch. Usually, you’d lend him a hand but today, you simply crossed your arms and waited for him to respond. 

“I don’t want to get married right now,” He replies between huffs. “I can barely take care of myself,” There’s a faint bit of fascination in his voice, a smile evident on his face that leaves you wondering if the slight humour was necessary or whether it’s supposed to be a facade for his rather unsatisfactory lifestyle. 

“Well, you are doing much better than me,” You counter with the same fascination, shifting your weight on both your feet equally in hopes to engage in a full fledged conversation instead of a small talk. “Besides, marriage is a two way street. Being the husband doesn’t mean you have to earn and be responsible for the whole family, or being the wife doesn’t mean she has to cook, there are no roles to play. Marriage is just, sharing what you do, good or bad, right or wrong, and helping each other become a better version of ourselves.” A string of silence follows, you notice his chest rise in an attempt to reply, but words never leave his mouth. You wonder if you said something wrong, but part of you knows you didn’t. Marriage is not as horrific and most of the people make it to be. We all need someone to hold onto, someone who you know will be there when the world isn’t— it’s similar to dating, except you’re committing to just one person, which is better than breaking up and living in vain for months before falling for someone and living the whole process all over again.  

“You seem to know a lot,” But Heeseung never replies and shuts the door, and it’s just you and the silence once again. 

You spend the next few weeks locked in your bedroom, in front of your laptop, making a presentation while living off noodles and beer. You sleep schedule has been in shambles, you’ve grown prominent dark circles, living the vicious cycle of working your ass off with little or no sleep to suffice for your constant workload. This is the most productive you’ve been in a while, especially after your transfer. You wouldn’t say your job pleases you and better, but being aware that this project could really end up with you getting a promotion and thus, a salary increase, is enough to keep you going. 

You were back where you had started a few years ago, reading reports and watching your laptop overheat from all the tabs and applications running at once. You knew what you were doing but everything felt so foreign. The excel sheets spread open with the pointer blinking for you to add an input but your fingers no longer dance above the keyboard like they used to in the first few months of your job. You consulted your seniors, talked to your team leader, watched conferences of qualified professors of your field, took notes, but it all led you to the same thing— deleting and rewriting the whole thing, or simply a blank document that would light up your room on  nights you chose not to sleep. You even considered talking to Heeseung at some point but after recalling the way he dismissed you the morning he was receiving the parcel, you choose not to. While most people wouldn’t mind taking ten minutes to offer a word of advice, you simply choose not to involve Heeseung with your personal issues. 

Taking half days from work using it as an excuse to work on your presentation gave you an opportunity to watch Heeseung leave and arrive at his apartment everyday. You’d sit on your balcony with beer, or tea, rarely, and your laptop on your lap, scrolling through emails and numerous files, and around seven every evening, you’d see him step out of the cab that drops him off right in front of the apartment. On mornings, you usually see him walk up to the intersection which you think is to compensate for the lack of exercise in his routine. Often, you find yourself peeking down from your railing to catch a glimpse of him as soon as the minute hand crosses seven twenty. When he doesn’t arrive by eight, you grab another can of beer and take rounds from your door to the balcony with a pacing that increases with every second that passes. One time, he came home at nine and you rushed to open your door before realising that you can’t tell him you’ve been waiting for him for the past two hours. Good thing is that you had your phone and continued on your way to the apartment garden, telling him that you have to make an important call. 

You met him as his ex and now you find yourself dropping everything and waiting for him as if he’s your first priority. That’s when you realised you needed to create a line, but for now, you don’t mind hanging out in the neighbourhood with Heeseung as his friend, according to how he now introduces you to people he knows. 

“You’re telling me you never went out and explored this place?” His mouth was agape, too shocked to say anything. There were days when your antics spilled out relentlessly, but living in a city for over almost four months and not knowing any of the routes besides the one to your workplace has to be the worst one of those. Even back in university, you preferred to spend weekends in your dorms instead of at some club or bar, like your friends did. It would be a stretch if Heeseung said you are a hopeless case because he was no better, but he wasn’t as bad either, in several ways. 

“Hm, well, work gave me a perfect excuse to not go out,” You say with your eyes glued to the data sheet on your phone and it reminds him of the day you saw him studying Economics outside the bar. These are a few of the similarities that Heeseung noticed between him and you, similarities that he likes to see but is too scared to address in words. “Besides, it would be a waste of time and fuel when you can get the exact same things at your doorsteps.” 

“Is that why you never went out in college either?” He asks finally after a long drawn silence, albeit it never hits you since you’ve been too busy going through the documents on your phone. “Hey,”

“Maybe, but that was more because of academic reasons,” A poke on your shoulder manages to draw a response out of you, but it doesn’t take Heeseung to realise that you’re no longer interested in his questions. “Should we get more beer?” 

Heeseung stares at you, wondering if you still want a response because you’re already picking up cans from the shelves and walking towards the counter for billing. Gradually, he realises that you don’t even remember asking him for his input because you’re simply paying the bills and thanking the woman for her service. Instead of a question, your words resonate more like a statement. As if, you are no longer asking for a third-party input, you don’t need it, you’re simply letting them know your next decision, disguising it as an action of. . . kindness? Soliticion? He doesn’t know.

Now that the sun is approaching the horizon, offering a purple hue to the ever so beautiful sky, Heeseung finally comes to terms with what he thinks about you. His mind traces back to the day you told him that he’s not who people make him out to be and for a brief second, he questions the credibility of your words. You claim to know him, but do you know that he has been living by the edge all this time, or that he has been fired thrice before getting a job in the bank he’s working right now, or that he tried to call you after you broke up with him, that he has been diagnosed with some sort of congenital heart condition? You didn’t lie when you said one’s family health history will follow them down to their grave. And just like you, he doesn’t know much about you either. Even though you’ve told him most of the things, ranging from your family to your current situation, Heeseung doesn’t know who you are. There’s an unfamiliar familiarity, or a familiar unfamiliarity, either works, he doesn’t have a better phrase to describe it. To think, while you consider yourself in a position to classify people’s thoughts on Heeseung as right or wrong, he doesn’t even consider himself in a position to pay for your food, and it’s probably because how you’ve been taking slow steps away from him, eyes still glued to your phone while you keep talking to him as if he’s right next to you, when actually, he’s twenty steps behind. The sun that has disappeared, leaving behind a sombre glow over the whole city, taught him something— that no matter how long you’ve known someone, you never know them enough. There are pieces of you that separate you from them, actions that tell you that no two people are mirrors for each other’s soul, for one’s body and mind knows how to differentiate between self and non self, and no one’s a ‘know it all,’ after all. 

“You’ve changed,” He mentions abruptly, and that’s when you finally look up in his direction, soaking in the awareness that Heeseung is no longer standing next to you. 

For some reason, the evening led you to a local restaurant and while you were busy on your phone again, Heeseung took his time reading the menu card. As he took his time ordering the drinks, your attention shifted to the view of busy streets on the other side of the glass window pane. You watched as the high schoolers had the time of their lives next to a vending machine, following the actions of the book store owner as he reopened his shop for the evening. You swear you heard Heeseung call out your name a couple of times, albeit it felt like a fever dream and you didn’t respond. 

Change, as he described you, you wonder what could’ve changed inside you. You don’t think there’s a lot. You still work like a maniac and refuse to go out. Your complaining nature never changed, but you still don’t voice your problems where you should. You still get terrible headaches and take a pill for every little inconvenience. In the end, you don’t think you’re very different from how you were when you met Heeseung. Except that your hard work barely pays off these days, you think you’re still the same, monotonic version of yourself that he fell in love with, the same you that dumped him on the day of graduation ceremony four years ago.

“You said I changed,” By the time your drinks had arrived, you were knee deep in the simulations that could’ve made Heeseung feel like you’ve changed. “In what aspects, if I may ask,” 

“Like, in general,” He replies with a nod. “I can’t point it out but something about you has changed— well, of course, your age aside,” Liar, he thinks. Heeseung, in fact, knows what has changed, but he doesn’t know how to put it in words. Well, I can’t say you’re no longer looking forward to my opinions on something. Because even though you met as neighbours, even though you’re in a restaurant with him, having a meal and sharing bits of your life’s stories with each other, even though Heeseung looks forward to seeing you everyday— he needs to remember that you started as exes. 

You manage to draw a long hum out of you, nodding cautiously as you take his every word into consideration. They don’t offer much insight about what he’s actually thinking, but again, you never know exactly what is going on inside someone’s head. However, you take your chance to try and get something out of him. “A good change or a bad change?” 

“That’s for you to figure out,” He says softly, tying his words with a long, silent pause that follows closely after. He shoots you a cheeky smile before digging in and you take your time examining his features under the yellow lights of the restaurant, noticing the way he cuts his steak, or the way his eyebrows perk up as soon as his phone rings. You watch him turn to his side as he picks up the call, putting hand on his mouth to minimise the sound, though it was loud enough for you to decipher it clearly. 

You read the slight changes in his expression and gradual curve of his lips swifting upwards. Amidst all, your phone rings as well, interrupting the decorum of the restaurant. You pick it up quickly when Heeseung sends you a displeasing look, though you believe it wasn’t intentional. You didn’t check the caller ID but the voice tells you that it’s your team leader and for some reason, you’re expecting something good. Call it a hunch or the change in scenery tonight but something tells you that there must be good news waiting for you in a secluded corner. While you try your best to focus on what is being informed to you from the other side of the line, you’re too busy analysing Heeseung’s grimace that now you’re mirroring the same smile that’s dancing on his face. He glances at you and his smile grows wider, making you do the same in return. You really hope your call isn’t about the presentation due tomorrow because if yes, then you’re going to mess up, for your attention is nowhere near your call. You’re so lost taking note of every single change in Heeseung’s expression that now, everything your team leader is telling you from the other side of the phone is a blur. It’s as if you’re in a crowded room and the only thing you’re able to perceive is him. You’re so busy indulging in his actions that the only thing you’re able to hear clearly from the phone is that you’ve been removed from the project.

‘I know that you’ve been working hard but the Chairman thinks you’re not skilled enough to collaborate with us on this project,’ You start paying attention to the conversation now, letting everything else around dissolve in the yellow glow of the restaurant. ‘To make sure your efforts aren’t wasted, you’re free to give us a brief view on what you had in mind and if we decide to include it, I’ll put in a word or two for you to the Chairman.’ 

‘Promotion,’ he mouths the word with a cheeky smile when your eyes focus back on him before getting back to his phone once again. You don’t put down your phone and pretend to be on a call to avoid hearing about his good news, or share the bad one from your side. You try to respond with the same smile but your lips feel like they’re frozen. No movements— you don’t know what to say, how to smile; numbness is all you could comprehend. For the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, a slight hint of envy intoxicates the air between you and Heeseung. You should be happy for him— you’ve always been. You’ve always been a part of his success despite falling to the rock bottom on your part. On days Heeseung called you to inform you about the awards he received in a particular competition, you’d invite him over for a celebratory drink even if you, yourself, lost terribly. It was a long drawn process of mutual development and self-care. What people thought of as a relationship written in the stars, was a selfish way of ensuring your well being in the most selfless ways ever. You stayed with Heeseung because he was the only person down to hang out with you in your apartment instead of forcing you to go out. You enjoyed his company because he motivated you to do better, to test your potential and go beyond your limits; and somewhere inside, you knew you were worth the same for Heeseung too. Watching him do well, isn’t that what you wanted? You should be happy for him— but you’re not.  

Heeseung excuses him outside the restaurant once his phone starts blowing up with texts and calls, giving you a chance to drop your facade and let the whole situation sink in. You lean back on your chair, phone on the table as its screen lights up with a message from your team leader, informing the team that you’ve decided to step down from the project— which is a lie but you assume it’s been told to save you for further embarrassment. You sniff, a chuckle falls off your lips, there’s no use of it at all, what’s done is done. On the other side of the glass pane, you could see Heeseung talking on his phone with a triumphant smile, making invincible patterns on the pavestone with the tip of his converses. It feels as if he’s shining against the busy streets behind him, as if he’s the centre of attention at the moment. It takes you exactly back to your graduation day— he was just as happy sharing the news about his graduation with his family. You were sitting inside a cafe and watched him talk for what felt like hours. Your heart was full of the same dissatisfaction, but now that you think about it, perhaps it was just jealousy back then too. While Heeseung was born smart, brimming with passion, you had to fight to get what you wanted. And despite being one of the brightest students in his class, Heeseung’s achievements never had a chance next to yours. You stood in the first three ranks of your school, first five all your college life, been recommended to prestigious schools, were given more opportunities, you were better than Heeseung in all the possible ways. 

You watch Heeseung come inside and pick up his fork, only to put it down and get back to typing once again. There’s a smile on his face and it tells you that you’re equally deserving of the happiness he’s experiencing, perhaps even more than him because life was way harder for you than anyone else you’ve known till date. For the first time in years, you think life is unfair to you because even after giving your best in everything, you’re met with nothing but failure and discontent. No matter how hard you try, your efforts never pay off and people start treating you like a pushover, thinking you would do everything they’d say because you need to put up a good image of yourself in your workplace. You walk hand in hand with failure and watch people succeed with their bare minimum effort. You look at him once again and think, why must it always be you who suffers the pain of failure and shame.

Why me, why not him? 

III. Remember why you broke up

By the time winters arrived and marked their peak, you barely got a view of your neighbour. A part of it could be because of his even busier work life that comes in with promotions. You took the weekend off, saying you have an annual health checkup scheduled at the City Hospital, even though it was a white lie and you never had an appointment with your physician to begin with. Those two days felt longer than usual with the four walls of your apartment making you feel suffocated in your own house. You paced around for hours on empty, rearranging things, cleaning rooms, cooking meals, moving furniture— just anything that would make you feel useful. Truthfully, being depressed over a promotion makes you feel even more stupid about yourself. It’s a part of life, something you involuntarily signed up for when you applied for your job and you can’t run away from it no matter how much you try. Being in the workforce comes with disappointment and pleasure, failures and success; it’s not your first time losing but it still feels like the burden of failure is occupying every little space in your room, making it harder and harder for you to breathe. 

You thought things would be better once you get back to work but everything starts caving in when you hear the team leader discuss details about the project. Initially, they would let you in their meeting, offering you a chance to share your ideas to see if they can cultivate anything better but it didn’t last long either. You started learning about their meetings after work from other colleagues and they started leaving you out of their discussions. On some days, you would sit by an empty table in the canteen and go back to every move you made, trying to track down the mistakes you could’ve made for them to push you away. You didn’t expect them to keep you updated on everything since you’re no longer on the project team, but it would’ve been better if they had simply said that you’re not needed anymore instead of watching you run around cluelessly before you caught a hint. Everything would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t have to drag yourself around to survive and make a living. On days like these, you would imagine Heeseung in his cabin with a complacent smile, laughing with his friends and receiving compliments. You don’t know why but at one point in time, you started picturing yourself in his shoes while idly resting in your apartment. 

Occasionally, you would hear his footsteps outside your door and stop everything you’d be doing to hear him unlock his door and walk in. Having Heeseung with you was slightly better than living alone and drowning in your overbearing thoughts, but you decided to maintain your distance. Heeseung— apart from being your ex— was someone capable of doing something, anything. You’ve known Heeseung for years and the once carefree young adult found a purpose in life. He had goals to achieve, perhaps a to-do list to complete; you didn’t want to disturb his decorum with your lethargic lifestyle. On some days, he would knock on your door and you’d pretend to be asleep. He would stand for a minute longer and knock again, you would focus on the sound of him tapping his shoes until they faded behind his doors. You started with leaving him on seen and stopped reading his texts altogether. For a few days, it felt refreshing— as if he was never a part of your life to begin with— but the loneliness didn’t hit you until he stopped dropping by your door. And you realised— you were never able to get him out of your life properly. After you broke up, you moved away, blocking all means of contact, but met him at a reunion, and something inside of you prompted to get his number, and so you did. Even though you never talked, you found yourself staring at his number with your fingers hovering over his caller ID. 

It took you years, but you think you’re coming to terms with the truth, that you can never get Heeseung out of your life, and it’s not because you can’t, but instead it’s because you don’t want to. Life without Heeseung felt like a maze, but with him it’s as if you’ve found a way, and you would never admit but having him next to you was so much better than living alone with alcohol. 

When his absence overwhelmed you, you would try burying yourself into stuff as a distraction. It started with books, then painting, followed by poetry, before you would slump on your couch again with no motivation to do anything. Job wasn’t any better or busier. People had little expectations from you and you had even less. At times, you would pace in your living room, trying to complete a presentation or prepare an excel sheet. The deja vu caved in when you’d hear Heeseung’s cab stop by the apartment entrance, except you no longer ran to your balcony to catch a glimpse. You no longer sat on the balcony with tea, waiting for him to arrive. As time passed, you stopped paying attention to the sound of him unlocking his door. His footsteps dissolved in the heavy silence, too miscible for you to perceive. Occasionally, you’d find yourself thinking about him in the shower or before bed, but the thought of him never lasted long enough for it to dawn upon you. Before you knew it, Heeseung became just another neighbour you had, another resident living in the fourteen floored apartment.  

One evening, you bumped into a woman who was standing in front of Heeseung’s apartment. You didn’t see her face, for you were standing behind her with grocery bags, but you could picture what she looked like. Your eyes settled upon her chiffon shirt and the way it complimented figure, her stilettos, a handbag from Lana Marks, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to her. The thoughts about her knowing or being related to Heeseung didn’t cross your mind until a few minutes later. She, despite being someone you never met, was the exact image of how your younger self had imagined herself in future. 

“Excuse me, does Lee Heeseung live on this floor? I just want to confirm,” And her voice is just as captivating. You find yourself staring at her face longer than you should, losing the sense of reality because of all the questions hurdling inside your mind. 

Who even are you?

“He does, but he’s at work right now,” You reply with a bitter smile.

Who are you to him?

“I see,” It seems like she’s about to say something, and you’re not up for a small talk with a stranger, or Heeseung’s girlfriend, or his ex-girlfriend, your ex’s other ex girlfriend, whichever fits the scenario better. Actually, you’re not half against the idea of him dating someone else, not like your refusal will mean anything either. Truthfully, the idea never crossed your mind. You spent your days working days and nights to get the degree you’ve been aiming for, apply for jobs, fueling your hunger for having more and more. 

Maybe, that’s why college is supposed to include one of the most youthful years because after all, it is the only time when you’re free from most of the worries. You didn’t have stress about attending classes regularly or having proper notes like you did in highschool, nor did you have to worry about fitting into the workforce and numerous interviews. College, for you, was the time you could see yourself falling in love, and you did, and now that you stand in your marginally empty living room with your gaze reaching up to the farthest of the buildings touching the sky line, you realise that you don’t see yourself falling for someone the way you did for Heeseung. Perhaps that’s why your conscience refused to imagine him with someone else. Maybe because he had such an impact on you that you don’t see yourself with someone else, you sort of hoped that the time he spent with you had half, if not the same, impact on him as well. 

The evening passed by with you sitting in front of your laptop, scrolling through the document your boss sent you the same noon. The beer cans lie stray on the tiles, right next to you as you shiver under your beige cardigan. You’ve been wanting to close the balcony for a while now, except you don’t want to get up from the cushion that has warmed up with you sitting on it for two hours now, especially in this cold weather. You’re not busy, but you’ve been trying to indulge yourself into little work here and there. Even if it’s just moving your furniture from one corner to another, or going through a file that you’ve already reviewed the previous evening, anything that could make you feel less lonely is welcomed. 

These are the moments when you zone out involuntarily, thinking about Heeseung, or more precisely, his work life. You picture him in his cabin with a cup of coffee, skipping lunch because he has files stacking up on his desk. You imagine him amidst his colleagues at a local bar after working hours, having his drink of relief that hits his system with a wave of satisfaction after a long and busy day. You think about him a little too often for someone who’s trying to forget him. Usually, the thoughts are laced with traces of envy. Today, they’re drowning in something between regret and jealousy. You take a sip from the can in your hand, and suddenly, the image of Heeseung with the lady from earlier pops inside your mind. You’re not sure if they dated, or if they are dating, but you do know that they’re more than friends. Perhaps, it’s just a hunch, an intuition that’s terribly wrong and is driving you to insanity because of all the stuff you’re thinking about. You know you should stop but you can’t help but picture them together. 

Now, you’re thinking about their life together as a couple, the stuff they’d do, the things they’d say. You feel like an intruder peeping into their lifestyles, someone who’s uninvited in their story, a third person. You think about them doing everything you and Heeseung did together, but again, neither of you had a lot of things in your hands to begin with. You had your problems, he had his part-time job, a sorry excuse of a college major that both of you found interesting, along with each other’s shoulders to cry on when needed. While your stories started off as any other tale of love with paths decorated with flowers, it was far from how they portrayed love life in universities in the media. In reality, you barely have time for each other and if somehow you do, you know in the back of your head that you’re missing out on other things. College is, actually, just a bunch of things to do with limited time, and the time is running out of your hands while you sit on your bed and contemplate life decisions, crushing over some person from one of your classes, thinking about the bartender from that cafe downstreet, making up for everything you didn’t get to do during highschool. 

You and Heeseung didn’t have a lot of time to offer each other. Texts were shared, he’d face time with you every morning and you’d call him if you couldn’t see him after classes. Hugs shared in hallways reduced to apologies at your shared apartments, you both went from making out in club rooms to barely getting a glimpse of each other on weekdays. Initially, when he would get back after extra classes, you would be at the door, waiting with your arms open. After sometime, you’d be in your room, busy with your work while he would be lost in his own world of things to tend to. At first, Heeseung’s presence made you feel better about yourself but later on, it didn’t matter if he was there or not. It all felt the same, and the worst part, neither of you tried to work on it. Both you and Heeseung started to get used to the lack of each other. 

Your fingers tighten around the can, your mind goes back to thinking about the lady. Maybe, the lack of affinity in your relationship gave Heeseung a reason to give up and move on. Perhaps, she was everything to him that you couldn’t be, maybe she keeps standing at her doorstep to welcome him after he returns from work, that the two of them seek for each other instead of getting used to whatever has been offered by the circumstances. Could be that every kiss meant as a thank you for being in each other’s life instead of a sorry for not being able to see each other for days and more. Maybe, he is happy with her and you have no right to be jealous because in the end, you gave him every reason to try to forget you. 

Another shot of beer down your throat, another can added to the emptied stacks, your senses start fading into nothing when you hear distant clicking of doors, or perhaps it’s the hangover blanketing the sound for you. With the last bits of energy and soberness left in your system, you get up and open your door. 

“Didn’t expect you to remember me after all this time that you’ve been ignoring me,” Heeseung snaps at you playfully, or maybe, with a hidden sense of disappointment. You have the answer to his question if he asks why you suddenly opened the door when he didn’t even ring the doorbell, or why you’re here standing at your doorstep with nothing but a thin cardigan in this chilling weather. You’re just hoping he won't ask you for the reason you refused to see him until now, because you don’t have an answer to that. 

“Someone came, looking for you,” You say, and meanwhile, in the back of your head, you think of reasons why you actually ran to see him the moment he arrived from work. You don’t want to admit it’s because of the woman from earlier today, you don’t think she’s the reason behind the sudden changes in your mannerisms in the first place. “Some lady,”

A pause, you notice realisation seeping through the cracks of his skin. A second passes, and then another, his eyes tell you that he knows who it could be. “Right,” 

And, Heeseung steps inside your apartment as if it’s yours, and you step aside, letting him in, as if he has always belonged there, and it feels as if the walls have started to fade out the moment he takes a seat on the couch, taking a sip from the bear can you offer him with eyes ever so indulged in him, as if he has returned home after months. Heeseung exhales deeply before letting the words fall off his lips. “We dated for a while,” 

You expected that much, judging from her mannerism and the way she took your name. You had expected them to be in a relationship, or had pictured them as exes who are planning to get back together, a luxury you could never afford. Consequently, you bury those thoughts deep inside, taking a seat next to him, and for some reason, you feel breathless in your own house, on your own couch, with your own bear intoxicating your systems. It’s something Heeseung has always done to you; making you feel out of place. 

You want to yell at him. 

Looking at Heeseung, you don’t know what exactly made you fall for him in the first place. For example, say, you can claim that he dislikes drinking out late with friends and is the type to study even during gatherings based on just one incident. You can sit back and claim to be almost, if not just as, similar to him, pointing out the similarities while completely ignoring the differences, crossing them out of your list of reasons why. But considering everything now, Heeseung has always been different, and a better different. He received good grades even after spending empty hours at your apartment, watching you study. You complained about having day long picnics with him, saying the two of you could use that time more efficiently. As a result, there were nights you could cry yourself to sleep because you were unable to look at your relationship from his point of view. You would kiss him but it’s an apology for the upcoming week that you wouldn’t be able to see him, and you would cancel dates just to study another chapter beforehand. Every single second spent next to him reminded you of all the sacrifices he made for you and every thing you did to disregard his efforts. No, you weren’t a bad partner, his timing was wrong, but saying that would be just another excuse to soothe your aching heart. Looking at him now, it takes you back to all the days you’ve spent together in pain and pleasure, between yes and no’s, do’s and don’ts, a choice between leaving and staying for a little bit longer; the memories are bittersweet like your favourite wine, or rather, they resemble a cold autumn breeze that makes you shut your doors and windows, keeping you from enjoying your favourite season. Time spent with him was short, though nice, but thinking of him makes you blue. You said you wouldn’t see him again but you’re still here, next to him, stuck in the past, still young, still making mistakes, still growing, not knowing if you’ll ever learn. 

“So, how was work today?” You ask, partially because you don’t want to think about him and partially because of the slight curiosity you have regarding his work life, about how it feels to do something he likes, something that doesn’t feel like a chore. 

“You’re not going to ask why we broke up?” He questions back. 

“I figured that it’s your private matter,” 

“She said I didn’t love her,” He says it factually, as if it’s something you’re supposed to know. “That I used her to pass time while waiting for someone else,” His words are unclear, insinuating towards something that you dare not assume, but his eyes are telling you that it’s your fault. 

And for once after you broke up with you, you wonder if Heeseung resents you for calling off your relationship. The thought of him hating you has never crossed your mind, be it your pride or habits to avoid taking the blame. You don’t resent him, he can’t either. You loved each other, you got over it, you broke up, that’s life. That’s the flow of the universe, to meet people and leave him to meet someone else and to keep meeting a new person until you find the one you could stay with. If he thinks you’re the reason why he hasn’t been able to move on, then he’s no different from you, for the thought of him dating someone else has been bugging you ever since the two of you had a drink together on the night you moved in. 

To you, love was inordinate. I love you, Heeseung would say, and you’d ask, how much— he wouldn’t find the words to answer you then. You can go on, pretending none of this ever happened, draping sheets over all the memories about everything you and Heeseung were, in the back of your mind, and fall in love with him all over again, living as all the things you could’ve been. You’ve put too much faith in your love for him, knowing that even after spending the sunsets alone, your mornings will always commence in his arms. There’s fear lurking around, you chose to ignore it. So resentment, in your relationship, was a bliss neither of you could have. For every day that you stood him up, Heeseung paid you back multiple folds. Every moment spent in his arms struck you back with arguments that seemed to get bigger, and none of you were ready to work things out. The pain was mutual, you both hurt each other, then why does it seem like only you’re in the wrong? 

“Turns out, I never gave you a congratulatory gift for your promotion. I should be having a bottle of wine if I’m not wrong,” You get up from your couch; a subtle attempt to change the topic and drive the atmosphere in any other direction except the one it was flowing into. 

Silence takes over, you’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, he’s on the couch, the sound of water dripping down your kitchen sink hits your ears as you get conscious of the periodic sounds of the clock ticking. Maybe, wine is just an excuse to get away from Heeseung and everything that his presence takes you back to. It feels like university all over again, where you could spend hours in silence next to each other, though this time, you’re apart, but still, under the same roof. The sense of something being terribly wrong looms in the air, but none of you could bring yourselves to say something, because you both need a shoulder to lean on. There are heavy untold words housing the back of your mind, unasked questions that haunt Heeseung in his sleep, suppressed emotions both of you know couldn’t be expressed so easily this time ‘round. 

There’s no wine at your place, but you put water to boil while preparing hangover soups for both of you. His exhausted grimace tells you he needs it, and you need it even more than him. You’re taken back to the days when either of you would have a run down to the nearest convenience store to the university to get beer and then spend the night before the test amidst alcohol and sheer stress weighing your shoulders. You would refuse to waste your time instead of studying but one look at Heeseung and you’d lose your composure. Blurred words about how both of you should be studying for exams would escape your lips between sips from your cans and, Heeseung would simply laugh at your failed efforts to pull yourself together. On days, you think about the possibility of you and him and you could’ve been if time had allowed, wondering if you could’ve made things right by attending the reunion last year instead of making excuses to pass just because Heeseung was going to be there. You consider every single scenario where he and you could’ve been together if time had allowed, and if either of you had taken a step towards making things right, then again, a voice from the back of your mind would tell you to give up. 

You hear Heeseung let out an exaggerated sigh. “I resigned,” 

“What?” And it feels like your lungs have collapsed. “I mean, you’ve been promoted then, why?” You don’t get it. Resigning from a job that had everything to offer seemed too incomprehensible in your knowledge. Had it been you— had it been anyone else— would think the same.

You’ve spent months in despair, searching for a purpose in the way you make money, a reason to keep going on between oceans of failure with pieces of your shattering will staying afloat. You’ve spent nights staying up, working on a presentation and giving it your everything to secure a better position in your department. Not a day has passed when you didn’t feel like you’ve lost the purpose of everything and yet, kept going with the flow of life to see if something good lies at the other end. And Heeseung would say, who cares about the standards of normal people, but recruiting managers don’t look for something out of the ordinary. They’re not looking for someone who would operate things based on whether it fits their sense of satisfaction, someone who would resign after getting a promotion when other employees struggle to get one. You would consider having a long talk about the choices he made and one he should’ve gone with, but instead, you sit in front of him on the cold winter tiles. 

“Promotions can make you feel good for a while, but they can’t satisfy you in the long run,” He says it easily, a little too carelessly for your comfort. “I just want to do something I like,” And once again, you come to the conclusion that these are the reasons why you and Heeseung wouldn’t have made it even if you had tried.

He’s too different. 

Heeseung has nothing to lose, never had to begin with. When you saw yourself for a whole month, doing everything in the same way, he was out enjoying his life. Now that you’ve managed to pull yourself together and learnt to handle your emotions, though not by a long shot, he shows up and tells you that he has resigned from his perfect job, or rather, a job that would’ve been perfect for you, at least. You would’ve been a better employee, you’re efficient, you don’t make decisions impulsively, have excellent qualifications, know how to separate work and private life, how to separate likes and dislikes from needs and necessities. You wouldn’t have resigned because if you did, you would’ve lost your only source of income, your last straw, something that has been keeping you from returning back to your stagnant lifestyle. You would’ve been a much better employee than Heeseung. 

You’ve seen him living like he has no worries. You’ve seen him switch clubs, change hobbies, drop subjects until he settled with something that satisfies him. Heeseung is about kissing his lovers between paintings at an art museum, promising forever, but he’s so quick to change his heart. Heeseung knows what’s important and what’s not a little too much, he knows what he needs and things that have no use for him anymore. Perhaps, it’s a sense of fearlessness that you acquire growing up the way he did, exquisitely happy and desperately carefree. You think it’s just a waste of time and resources for people like Heeseung because they don’t understand the value of certain things just because they’ve received it too easily. You wouldn’t disregard his efforts because you’ve seen him work hard to make ends in university. Even though things were a tad bit easier for him compared to you, you know it was the hardest time he had during university. You admire Heeseung for his consistency and passion, but you despise him for throwing away something you’ve seen people cry for; something that you’ve cried for, over a hundred times. While you may come to respect his choices when you wake up the next day, but right now, you wish that he was in your shoes, living life the way you’ve been living, suffering, struggling, suppressing. 

“People just don’t get by through society with their likes and dislikes,” There’s a touch of envy in your words, you hope it wouldn’t get past him. You grew up doing everything that would result in a secure future instead of something that satisfies you, to put it straight. The managers at interviews don’t look for candidates with most unique or extraordinary likes and hobbies, but rather they’re in search of someone with experience, ironically, and someone who can adapt to different circumstances without diminution of their efficiency. 

And you think, the childhood people have, or the way they grow up, what they go through and the circumstances they lived in, it really shapes their future selves. Growing up in a financially suboptimal family made you believe that money is everything, and people can try convincing you otherwise but their views wouldn’t alter the truth. Even if you wake up and try to think that money isn’t the most important thing, you would learn to believe otherwise the moment you open your empty refrigerator by the end of this month. You didn’t waste time having highschool romances and university love stories. You’ve had your fair share in having crushes and one night stands until you met Heeseung, and thinking about it now, a part of you knows it was a better decision to stay with him instead of hoping you had someone by your side on days when you didn’t feel like yourself. Perhaps, you did use him like a part of your conscience claims. Maybe at the end of day, away from all the concepts of love and lust, that’s what he was to you, a band aid that needed to be replaced before it infects the very wound it was healing. 

“You’re going to regret it,” It’s a breathy confession, a bitter truth. “Decisions made impulsively, they always leave heavy regrets,” You’ve been walking hand in hand with regrets. You’ve made decisions, many of which you thought would offer great results but instead, left with heavy regrets. You know better than giving up on the perfect job in search of something you’d enjoy doing, or walking in another direction knowing it’s the longer way home. Life has given you your fair share of events to think back to whenever you sit back, planning to do something new. Sometimes, you wonder why all of this only happens with you, and as an answer, you think that maybe, you’re the only one who would take life for its lessons and losses and still keep on going as if nothing ever happened. 

“Then, did you ever regret breaking up with me?” You see, Heeseung was never successful in comprehending the whole logic behind love. He was told it’s warm, but he knows love is the loneliest place a person could ever find themself in; he read that it’s kind, but Heeseung has spent nights spilling tears on his pillow, all because of love. It’s self contradicting; love is supposed to make you feel happy, but it stings. It gets under his skin, makes him unsteady, makes him question everything he has ever believed about love. He didn’t see it coming. Truthfully, Heeseung didn’t see you coming into his life. You were a boon and a blessing, the one who made him feel reckless and out of control; the one he is infuriatingly and inexplicably drawn to. Ironically enough, you’re not the one who tucks him in bed, but instead the reason why he cannot sleep at night. So, Heeseung needs to know if his presence made you feel the same way, or if he was really just another passerby in your melancholy. 

His question is the words you’ve been avoiding to notice ever since you called off your relationship with him. It has been hiding in the back of your head, popping up every once in a while when your heart aches for love and when your arms feel emptier than the streets after midnight. And amidst your heavy heart and cold tiles, your hands find their way to his. A faint apology falls off his lips, whispered in your ears. The moon watches you slip his shirt off his shoulders, your lips tracing along his neck while his hands find solace in your curves as if you’re the home they’ve been yearning for; an old spark ignites again, a beginning of something tragic. 

As the night dwells further into the darkness, the two of you are pulled back into the old cycle of healing and hurting, the give and take where both of you would be standing with your hands stained with losses by the time it ends. Your steps are heading towards actions you couldn’t reverse, and the very reason you broke up flashes in front of your eyes, though faded enough to have you ignore it. Guilt trickles through your fingertips, seeping through the cracks of his skin, his eyes gleam of remorse, and the moment your lips meet his’, fate decides to play into the hands of your history once again. 

IV. One step at a time

It didn’t feel right watching Heeseung being so busy even after resigning from his job. You always see him on his laptop, typing or reading something. Morning to evening, from noon to night, you’d see the lights in his apartment switched on, faint rumblings of furniture and numerous phone calls filtering through his walls and entering yours. He was busy, he was planning something huge, and you didn’t like the sound of it. 

You’ve come to a point in life where you can finally accept your pettiness and slash or, your jealousy. Maybe, it’s one of the few emotions you’ve been feeling over the past week, and now, you finally know the reason why. Waking up this morning, you imagined yourself in his shoes once again— without a job, without a secure financial flow, without a purpose or strong sense on what to do next, just as someone in the workforce who’s contributing to nothing. The furthest your imagination took you was to your terrace, you don’t know how you would live through a life like that. 

Some things about Heeseung have never made sense to you. While he might come off as someone who has plans prior to everything, you always see him as someone who lives his life based on a hit and trial concept. He does one thing, and if it doesn’t fit to his liking, he switches to other, and then other, and then he has a never ending cycle in his hands. You weren’t there when he got a job but you know how Heeseung looks when he is passionate about something. The evidence lies all the way back to university, or during the few months that you’ve witnessed him go to work before quitting abruptly. You’ve spent evenings trying to deduce a conclusion as to why he resigned, and every possibility leads you to the answer that it was a decision made in spur of the moment. A part of you thought about asking him for a reason if he ever had one, but you ultimately realised that a person like him doesn’t need a reason to choose something that he likes; no one does, except you. People don’t put a second thought when it comes to choosing what they like and what they don’t. They date their crushes, eat their favourite food, watch their favourite movies, attend concerts of their favourite artists; favourite, it’s a word that tends to solve most of the trivial problems that arise throughout one’s life. Perhaps, that’s another reason why you decided not to ask Heeseung about the night from two days ago. Even though you made the move, the most he can say about complying and giving in to your acts would be because he wanted to do so; no reason, no plans, nothing. 

Maybe, it was your fault. You could’ve taken one step at a time, starting from dinner, then something else— you don’t know what people do to get back with their exes. You’ve never done that, would have never if it wasn’t for Heeseung, because something about him has you gravitating in his direction. That’s why, you sit on his couch, the TV remote in your hands as a random show plays on the screen. Your eyes are rather focused on Heeseung, who sits by the kitchen counter, typing something on his laptop for the past hour. He has been busy with that lately. You pictured unemployment as lying on your bed all day, or pacing around your apartment uselessly, having the days feel longer and watching the time pass because you have nothing better to do. But, Heeseung is way too busy for someone who has recently resigned, he’s even busier than how he used to be. You asked him about it once, and he said it’s something he has been wanting to do for a while now. Heeseung never gave you the context, but you know he is putting his time into writing drafts for his book. 

Occasionally, you anticipate a small talk with him, but with no signs of Heeseung being interested in anything except his drafts, your eyes instead run all over his living room, taking a note of every single detail that exhibits his taste in interior decor that has changed over time. The wine coloured curtains are a little too vibrant to fit his choices of decors and furniture. You remember him planning out the living room layouts with you back in university when you were still together, when life was beautiful and you were impossibly happy. 

You find it amusing how quickly things change. It’s been years but if you’re being honest, it feels like just yesterday, you were accepted in the university you’ve been aiming for, as if just yesterday, you earned the scholarship, and just yesterday, you had met Heeseung. Your heart still picks up a pace at the sight of him.You’ve spent months thinking about the time you spent with him, regretting every move that led you to the decision to break up with him. You’ve had your fingers just centimetres above his caller ID, just impulses away from making a call, seconds away from asking him to get together back again, heartbeats away from giving into your desires. It started with your falling for him first, and you kept falling harder and harder until you realised that you were at the bottom of the pit and it was getting hard to breathe. You spent years trying to make your way up, step by step, and when you were finally by the edge, he came back and pushed you back to where you had started. You would say you hate him but a part of you wants to believe this could lead to something better than how it was last time, because things have started to feel a lot like love, and you’d like to take a chance with your broken fate yet again. 

“Heeseung,” You call once, voice low and quiet like a whisper, one that dissolves between the sound of television. You expect him to hear, but your words fly by his ears as if they’re of little to no importance. “Heeseung,” You say again, this time a little louder, eyes fixed in his direction, watching the seconds pass and waiting for a reply. For a second, you wonder if he’s pretending to not hear you deliberately, but you push yourself to sit up straight, hoping he’d hear you this time. “Hee,” 

And he whips his head in your direction. It was for a brief second, but you could see a hint of surprise in his eyes. You would’ve said you have accomplished something if Heeseung had spared you a little more attention, but his eyes go back to his laptop and before you know it, his fingers start dancing above the keys yet again. 

“What are we?” You ask, half hopeful, half defeated. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you are even asking it. Your heart isn’t hoping for a happily ever after romance, your mind isn’t looking for a redemption arc. You’re not hoping for a good response, you’ve learnt to keep your expectations low after everything that has unfolded in the past. You’re not hoping, you tell yourself, but your soul knows otherwise. 

A second passes, then another, your mind starts coming up with answers to your own questions. What could you be? To strangers, you’re neighbours; to your friends, you’re exes; to yourselves, it’s a broad question. You could tell your mind that you’re in a friends-with-benefit relationship that has a terrible lack of communication and get away with it, but your heart knows it was supposed to be something wrong. 

“You tell me,” A soft laugh falls off his lips, it makes him sound like he’s lost as well, just like you. You take it as a good enough response but Heeseung stands up from his chair, making way towards his bedroom as if you aren’t even there, as if your question holds no meaning. You would’ve assumed his response meant that even if you both are without labels at the moment, you could be something in the future. Maybe, your actions from two nights ago would’ve lead to something good if he was less busier, but for now, all they do is guide you to the answer to your own question: 

A temporary fix. 

That’s what you both are. It’s exactly how it was back in university, a sense of mutualism with no sense of responsibilities. Things were obligatory, dates were barely a show to the world for your sorry excuse of a relationship. It started off like a fairytale, as if you both were supposed to meet, meant to fall in love, made for each other. In the first few weeks or even months, having Heeseung next to you felt like a blessing. A luxury to come home to someone, to have someone you can vent to about that one professor who kept dismissing your essays, someone who you can talk about your endless project and seminar ideas and they would reply with the same enthusiasm, someone who could make you feel like you’re seeing the world just by staying within the four walls of your messy apartment. Dating Heeseung had you believing in all the romance tropes you’ve ever come across, so much that you forgot that you’ve been living in a painful reality. 

You tried not to ponder over it so much. You went back to work once the weekends passed, back to your old excel sheets and same old job. Occasionally, you would wish he stayed next to you until you finished your work just like he did back while you were still dating, but you knew it was too much to even hope for. You would say, you’re going crazy. Perhaps, you shouldn’t think so much about the one-night-stand sort of thing you had with your ex, your neighbour. You both are adults, one without a job and other without the will to do the job, both brimming with unsaid feelings, tied to loose ends, holding onto unasked questions for answers, troubled by old memories and the future that was about to come. He deserved an explanation, you had an excuse to share. Whatever happened, was bound to happen. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Heeseung thinks about it as much as you do. Memories from that night haunt your mind like spirits, making it hard for you to focus on anything and everything else, yearning to feel his touch one last time. There are evenings when you’d come home in hopes of having a conversation about what would happen to the two of you in near future, but then you’d see his eyes glued to his laptop screen the moment you enter his apartment and you’d realise that it has only been you all along. Watching Heeseung do well even after giving up his job no longer induces anger or jealousy. Instead, a sense of inferiority floods inside of you whenever your eyes fall upon his figure leaning over his laptop, typing relentlessly with a content smile on his face. And the reason, once again, lies in the concepts of too many similarities and even more differences. 

Months ago, when you were still in Incheon, still bound to your old apartment and old lifestyle, there was a point when you had seen yourself at your lowest. You used to drag yourself to work, force yourself to smile, push yourself to make it through everyday. You struggled to do the bare minimum that was necessary to survive. You wouldn’t say your situation was any better than Heeseung only because you still have a job while he doesn’t, because inside the four walls of his apartment, he’s doing better than any other unemployed person out there. He’s doing better than you while you still had your job, while you still had money in your hands to spend on useless things. You spent months pulling yourself through just to make sure you don’t lose your job, and Heeseung resigns from his’ a little too easily. You feared every second that passed because you didn’t know what the future would hold, and if you still had a future, but Heeseung is sitting on his couch and writing as if he has nothing to worry about. You saw yourself for months, doing the same thing, in the same way, and Heeseung is living every minute as if it offers him something amusing. 

Life was always easier for Heeseung, and you wonder if this is the reason why you’re standing by his door with your nails digging into the palm of your hands. Maybe, if this is why you don’t try to strike a conversation and instead, walk out of the door as if you accidentally walked into the wrong apartment and now that you’ve realised your mistake, you would make sure you don’t repeat it and end up in the same place ever again. 

The next few days pass by rather slowly. 

You’ve been trying to keep yourself busy with work. Though it’s a bit hard to focus when everything else is plaguing your mind, things have started to get into place once again. Additionally, you’ve also been busy trying to grow a liking for your job after getting an earful from your boss. The truth is, you don’t exactly hate your work life. Materialistically, it’s perfect— a good environment, impressive benefits, a considerably loaded paycheck— it’s wonderful, but intellectually, you feel you’re at the same place where you started from. You haven’t gotten a new project in a while ( was kicked off the one that kept you motivated ) not a single new thing about work except reviewing documents and passing them on for signatures. One could tell you to quit and look for something you prefer to do, but resigning and pursuing something that you like, unlike Heeseung, is a luxury you never had on your side. 

Before you realised, it had already been a week since what happened between you and Heeseung. You wanted to talk about it, hoped to, but he’s harder to see than the most. You could see him through your kitchen that faces his bedroom. You would see his shadow roaming behind the curtains, a notebook in his hand, or a laptop, rarely. Heeseung likes to scribble his thoughts on a paper before settling with one, it’s something you’ve noticed back in the university when he spent nights working on his projects while you sat still at the corner of your bed. You can still watch him on and on for hours, sitting on his couch and imagining him walking up and down his living room while working on his drafts. 

Watching Heeseung is one thing you will never get tired of. It’s a little discovery on its own. Every step he takes and every move he makes tells you something new, something you hadn’t known before. You remember sitting next to him in libraries late at night and watching him study. It was supposed to be a simple observation, perhaps an intention to catch onto his tricks and tips to study, and suddenly you see him biting his nails as if his pores are dripping with nervousness. It made you feel better knowing that someone like him has his moments where he’s nervous, even scared, maybe more. Watching Heeseung was something you had on your daily checklist because those moments reminded you that he’s not all strange, that there are similarities, and that he also falls weak, just like you. Watching him felt like watching yourself, as if he’s more you than you are. It felt like taking a look into the mirror and realising that whatever souls are made of, yours and his are the same. 

But mirrors for each other's soul has a cost: by the time they part from each other, the individuals have become indistinguishable. Before their merger, they each yearned for the other; as they part, they part from self. Maybe, that’s why leaving him felt like leaving pieces of yourself and meeting him again felt like you could breathe once again. 

You can hate him for all the reasons why he is better than you and for all justifications you could offer to prove otherwise. You can spend hours explaining why life has been unfair to both of you, yet still he gets to have the better end while you always fall back to the start even after all the times you’ve tried. You can go out and tell the world your tales of misery and braveness, how you didn’t give up even after life dragged you beyond what could possibly be the worst, and you can complain your heart out about how Heeseung, despite having everything you could ever ask for, gave up all because it didn’t fit to his liking. You can call him a coward in front of eight billion people and would still find yourself in front of his doorsteps at the end of the day, just like now, because after all, he’s the only person who would welcome you with open arms. 

“Have you ever tried painting?” You ask while taking a look at all the loose sheets lying around on the centre table in his living room. It comes off a surprise when you find that what he has been scribbling behind his beige curtains were sketches of characters of his novel, rough and messy, some drawn seemingly in love while others had patches of pain in their eyes. 

“As a kid, yeah. My parents made me try almost everything out there,” He replies on his way from the kitchen with two coffee mugs in his hands; and amusingly enough, it would be the first time you’d be having coffee with him ever since you moved, because every other conversation was accompanied with alcohol or wine. “But paint brushes aren’t my forte, really,” You take one of the cups, nodding in the process. Your childhood wasn’t any different, despite the financial shortcomings. You remember taking extracurricular classes at least four days a week, all for different fields, art being one of those. You wouldn’t say your painting skills are worth exhibiting, but they are better than his. Maybe, that’s why you briefly consider pointing out his mistakes, telling him that he could try fixing the body proportions to make the figures look more presentable but again, you refrain yourself from doing so. 

Instead, you take your time observing Heeseung, again. 

A sip of coffee hits your system, you sit on the couch, watching him arrange the sheets into one place. Earlier, it seemed as if Heeseung didn’t care about you seeing his living room in such a mess, as if it’s something you’re allowed to see because it’s you. You notice the way he’s holding onto the coffee mug, you’ve always loved how his fingers wrap around its perimeter completely. It’s one of the things about him that you find attractive. He sits on the opposite end of the couch and you’re sent thinking about the last time you both sat like this, having coffee over silent smiles. One second, you’re thinking about all the good times you’ve had and the next, your mind drifts back into the thoughts from a few nights ago. 

The coffee started tasting bitter or maybe, it’s just your thoughts. From thinking about his hands in yours to the smile that used to warm up your evening, nothing seems to cross your mind except the way you felt when his lips captured yours for the first time in years; nothing compares to that, not even close. You thought it’d be fine this time ‘round, people don’t make the same mistakes over and over again. Meeting Heeseung again was like falling back into the hole you’ve been climbing up, but hitting the bottom never hurt. You thought things would work out just fine because you’ve grown up. You’ve learnt things, you know what you did wrong back then and you know exactly what to do to make things right. All these things, they ran an imaginary conversation inside your head where everything went back to normal. There was a point where you couldn’t distinguish between daydreams and reality, and the truth didn’t hit you until you were sitting on the floor of your shower, hyperventilating his name into your hands; and you asked yourself— is it so bad for people to just use one another?  

Because friends with benefits is also a relationship based on convenience, you don’t get why loving someone the same way is deemed toxic or simply unacceptable. If things had worked that way, you wouldn’t have ever ended up on this turn of life. You and Heeseung would kiss but won’t be in love, sleep next to each other but won’t be a couple, share your secrets but won’t be friends. He would be someone you would’ve seeked on evenings you couldn’t stop crying and you would be someone he could hold onto on days that made him feel like he couldn’t go further. Not lovers, but not friends, just something, someone you could use and not feel guilty about, someone who could walk away a hundred times without hurting you, someone you didn’t feel obliged to focus on. You both could’ve been someone who didn’t feel like a chore to each other. If people could just use each other, perhaps, you and Heeseung would have lasted longer. 

Commitments are hard. Loving is hard, because a day comes where you run out of all the reasons to love. You become selfish, starting thinking about the give and receive, the shortfalls, the absence. The part of your lover that you fell for becomes the very reason why you fall out of love. Instead of appreciating the times spent together, you start complaining about all the minutes that went in waste, all the days they weren’t by your side. You take a step away from the commitment you swore upon and then one day, you start walking away before you even realise. So, loving is hard, and it’s even harder to fall in love again when you’ve walked away once and you’re afraid to do it again, not because you don’t want to hurt the person you love, but because you want to save yourself from hurting all over again.

“How are you doing?” You ask above the silence, voice no louder than a whisper. You’re hoping for a conversation none other than about what happened that night. It’s not because you want him to take responsibility because you’re just as responsible for it, perhaps more. You simply hate how you’re the only one still hung over it, you hate how he can go on with his life without worrying about the things he did that have shifted the ground beneath you. 

“Good,” He replies, just as quietly. A pause follows, you feel his eyes on your while yours are still fixed on the mug, fingertips running circles along its rim. “Great,” And, you find another reason for why you’ve been acting lately. The worst part about walking away isn’t the realisation that you have to leave everything that once made you happy, but instead, it’s the hope that follows you everywhere you go. You hope that they’ll run after you, that they’ll stop you and tell you not to leave, that they’ll beg you to say and tell you they need you, but they never do, Heeseung never did. 

You look at him after much consideration, there’s a certain look of inevitability in his eyes. It’s not welcoming but it’s not pushing you away either. It’s like he’s telling you there would be a moment when you would look at him in a certain way, and you both would cross the threshold from friendship into something so much more. Perhaps, it’s just the mood of time or your imagination that has you seeing things, but you feel a certain innuendo in his gaze and the way it traces every patch of your skin, from your eyes to down your hands, threatening to transverse further down below. It could be an innocent play of eyes, a harmless action that doesn’t mean anything more than. . . something. 

It’s how you begin, your mouth against his, and his fingers tracing along the back of your neck. It feels euphoric and equally sinful, the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. Heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. He’s pushing you back into the couch, your mind plays all the moments with him like a short film, it feels like a warning sign, but you’re far in too deep to pay attention to anything else except him. Every swivel of his head sends you down a spiral of pain and pleasure, you’re somewhere between pushing away and pulling in. You’re so lost, it feels like you’re on an island and Heeseung is the water. If you’re drawing, he’s the oxygen, if you’re falling, he’s gravity— his presence in your life is contradictory. He’s the reason you’re hurting, and the very reason you like every second of it. Heeseung pulls back, a gaze full of love, he whispers a sweet confession. 

“Date me,” he says. You don’t remember responding, and the next time those words flood back inside your mind is two days after the incident, when you’re laying on your living room floor with beer once again. 

You’re counting now, the amount of times you’ve ended up on the floor with beer, thinking about all your past actions and regretting. It kind of sounds funny to think about it, to think an adult can’t pull their life together and resorts to alcohol even at minute inconveniences. His words haunt your mind day and night, in sleep and when you’re awake, in happiness and in sorrow. It seems like you’re back to stage one, where all he ever did was look at you and all you ever could do was think about him for as long as possible. Focusing on work doesn’t help. You tried shifting your furniture from one corner to the other, avoided Heeseung for three days before he was at your door with the electricity bill that was accidentally given to him. Consequently, your alcohol intake has increased again, not that it ever went down, but frequent meetings at work gave you a reason to stay sober. As for now, you’ve been spending each day the same way, vegetatively, ever so stagnant, like water in an infected pond that is born to numerous parasitic diseases. Your refrigerator is getting emptier day by day, you feel too exhausted to buy groceries. Days transform into weeks, Heeseung leaves for Busan for a week. He didn’t tell you. You overheard it from the ladies in the elevator. Now, there’s a closed door in front of you everytime you open the door to your house. A door with letters and envelopes piling up, a plant that is drying up day by day because looking at it, you assume Heeseung had forgotten about it. When the energy to cook leaves your body, you resort to ordering takeouts. Missed calls from work are the only thing preventing your apartment from drowning in silence. When the last of your hope dies, you resign from work. 

You think you’re going crazy, because you get back to the cycles of standing in the balcony around the time Heeseung used to return from work. A part of you knows he doesn’t work anymore, heck, he isn’t even in the city, but you spend most of your day thinking about him. At times, you wonder the point of all this. You wake up, check your phone for any texts from Heeseung or simply anyone. Fifteen minutes pass and you drag yourself out of the bed, eat ramyeon, watch television, sit on the balcony with bear, watch the people come and go, eat ramyeon for lunch again, sleep, ramyeon for dinner— you needed someone else, something that would break you out of this vicious cycle. There are days when your own skin suffocates you, when the image in the mirror doesn’t feel like yourself but rather, a faceless person. You’ve spent hours sitting in the shower and letting the water prune your fingers. You let your tears wet the bed sheets. For some reason, it feels like you’re coming to terms with reality. 

As days pass by without Heeseung, you’re starting to realise your feelings, able to sort out things you want and don’t. You thought your dream was to live an average, normal life. Looking at it now, you don’t think it’s what you wanted, maybe you didn’t have a choice to begin with. You studied in a prestigious university, you had scholarships to support your tuition fee, you had a job that paid you well enough, you had everything any other person your age would desire, you had those things because you wanted to set an example. You lived for your siblings, you lived for your parents, you lived for the expectations that came with your intelligence and skills. Sitting in the bathtub as your mind revisits every decision you’ve ever made in life, not one was for yourself. Or maybe there was— loving Heeseung. 

Perhaps, at the end of the day, you wanted someone who would love you, someone who would watch you be selfish and slowly clap at the back of the theatre because you’re doing a good job, you’re choosing yourself above everyone else. Heeseung was the person, it’s the only thing you’re so sure about in your life. He was like a saviour in the apocalypse. He’d tell you to blather about your insecure mind that kept nagging you regarding all the things you couldn't do and, he’d explicate how exquisitely it told you lies that you believed. You thought you could reciprocate, but every moment spent next to him reminded you of things he was and things you could never be. You were scared he’d notice your insecurities, the voices tell you that you’re only worth abandoning. You guessed it wouldn’t be hard, you just had to hide your feelings, and years later, your decisions prove you wrong once again. You’re struggling to breathe under your skin, your heart desires for him, you’re falling in deep again, and you’re about to pack your bags. That’s how your life has always been, to avoid getting hurt, you hurt the people you love. 

Maybe, you need him after all. Heeseung was one thing you were certain of in your life— still is— but you had your pride ruling your life, and he had stars to reach. 

At some point during Heeseung’s trip, you pick up a paint brush. It’s a sudden decision, an impulsive move. You wake up one morning and your senses crave the smell of oil paints and brushes. You never had a talent for painting, not by a long shot. You attended classes back in middle school but had to drop out because of your family’s financial conditions. You think you’re trying to copy Heeseung. You both have unsaid words in the back of your mind, both need to convey their feelings one way or another. Heeseung picked a pen, you chose a paintbrush. It’s supposed to be therapeutic, you have heard about art therapy. There is no set subject, you draw whatever comes to your mind. Your first piece exhibits your kitchen. There are unwashed dishes, you used yellow to add a light glow except, you used a little too much of the colour. The second one, an apple from your fruit basket. Third, your ceiling— white, blank, empty, you’ve named it ‘My head’s ceiling,’ as lame as it sounds. Your fourth is the cat that roams the neighbourhood on most nights. You don’t know about anatomy, but you sure do see slight improvements with colouring. Your fifth and the last one is Heeseung from the night you met him for the first time after moving in, and then he finally arrives from his trip. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks you when you show up at his doors in a thin cardigan and a bottle of wine in your hands. Weather was never a problem, any place with Heeseung tends to feel warmer. You walk inside, eyes on the loose sheets lying all over his kitchen counter. You wonder how he will react after hearing about your resignation. 

“I missed drinking with you,” You may or may not have a motive behind your words, maybe you wanted to feel him against you once again, maybe the wine ends up being an excuse again, but the night doesn’t flow in that direction. You tell him about your resignation, he finds it funny after the ‘pep-talk’ you gave him when he resigned. You tell him about your newly found interest in art, he tells you to practise since you have plenty of time. His responses are short and specific, not a word more or less from what’s necessary. His eyes make their way to you once in a few minutes and the rest of the time, they’re on his laptop screen. There are so many things you want to talk about, you have so much to share, so much to do. You had plans for tonight, but all he offers you is a short talk. It’s as if you’re not important anymore, as if you’re the third person between him and his drafts, and he’s doing you a favour by not sending you back to your apartment. He’s being distant, it doesn’t surprise you anymore. Half of it is because of his drafts, the other half, his interest. Heeseung is passionate about what he does. Whatever he does, he sacrifices all of him, it’s about catching his interest. You pour yourself another glass, Heeseung asks you a few questions about his work in progress. You realise he’s losing interest in you, little by little. 

You sort of expected yourself to be better after his return, it turns out to be false. You’re still on your living room floor, hands and clothes having stains of reds and blues. You painted the wine bottle from last night. You haven’t got any sleep, the image of Heeseung pops up everytime you close your eyes. It feels like the world is giving you what you had given him long ago— all the pain and insufferable longing, all the reasons that made him believe that he deserved to be abandoned. When you got busy with studies and a job in your last year of university, ignoring Heeseung seemed to be the only way out of your hectic schedules. You had exams, a job to cater too, money was already a problem so you couldn’t afford giving him gifts on all the days they have made for couples. Heeseung used to show up with something new every single day and no matter how pretty it was, a part of you despised him because it made you feel inferior. Leaving Heeseung wasn’t an option, it was your only choice. He was the only thing you had that you could throw away. 

“Can we talk?” Heeseung shows up at your door on a Thursday morning with words that brushed away any traces of sleep in your eyes. It’s eleven, you woke up barely fifteen minutes ago, and you find him at your door; hands empty, no traces of his laptop or notepad. You think you’ve finally become one of his priorities, after all. 

“About what?” 

“Us,” He responded quickly, he came prepared. “I want to talk about us,” And there it is, confrontation knocking at your door. You’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now, for weeks and more, perhaps, and now that it’s in front of you, waiting for you to hold it’s hand and guide it inside, your body freezes under his gaze. It’s a game of push and pull, like a pendulum oscillating between two extremes. You want him to tell someone about you. The thought of you vanishing completely from his world is unbearable. You can’t stand the thought of being a silent tomb in his heart, you don’t want to be an inscription on the first page of his book. You want him to tell the world about you and promise you a forever, but a part of your heart gently reminds you of the impossibility of the kind of love you’re wishing for. It’s not Heeseung who you can’t trust, rather, it’s yourself. You’re scared of your demons. When things get happier, you get anxious because you might ruin it once again. 

“Do you want to come in for coffee?” And here you are again on your couch with mugs and words you’re busy burying inside. The situation feels oddly familiar, your eyes travel to him. There’s a look of dejection in his eyes. 

You join a wellness club a week after, and Heeseung is the first person to know about it. You saw the advertisement when you went to buy fruits two days ago. It didn’t interest you until you walked back home and found yourself in front of your mirror, thinking of what you were and what you’ve become. Your dark circles have grown prominent, your joints ache from the lack of movement. Walks with Heeseung after dinner are the only reason why you wake up everyday and eat your meals. You have your paint brush and wine, you have every reason to not live any longer. If it wasn't for him, you don’t think you would have been breathing at all. You look up the fitness club on Naver, take your time reading through the programmes they’re offering and the pricing. Maybe, this is the change you needed in your life. Not Heeseung, not money, not a job, but some time for yourself. A place to think about yourself and how you are doing, a place to be selfish without being ashamed of it. 

The first few days were nice, you met new people, saw new faces. One new thing in your life, apart from painting. The sessions mainly focus on meditations, you were never the most patient person in the crowd. Some sort of yoga follows before a break, and that is usually the worst part. You would sit on the wooden floor and watch others talk, their laughter and murmurs filling in the hall. It makes you feel like how you used to be in the university— in silence, by yourself. You had conversations with your mind, with your heart. You looked around and saw eyes looking at you. Every second felt like they were talking about you when in reality, the thought of you never crossed their mind. You were no one, despite being popular, it’s ironic, and you hate how the exact same thing started happening in the club. It would have hardly taken you five sessions to give up and get back to your routine of painting, drinking, and sleeping. When Heeseung asked, you excused it as boredom and unsatisfactory. Actually, you have started feeling better ever since Heeseung returned from his impromptu trip. With him next to you most of the day, you feel functional and sane. You feel like you could think again, you decide to get back to cooking your own food instead of ordering take outs or simply sleeping after drinking. You didn’t see the need to attend the wellness classes anymore until a few days before, when they texted about a trip in the groupchat. You tell Heeseung about it, he locks himself in his apartment for the following days to come. 

You don’t know how or why he made that decision. You spend hours everyday thinking about all the probable reasons, only to end up with nothing. After three days of consideration, you land onto the conclusion that you take too much of his time. It makes sense, of course, he’s busy, he’s working, he has a job, even if it’s basically sitting into his room all day and typing. You, on the other hand, don’t have anything. You have your issues that you project onto people, you have problems you try to ignore, you have indecisiveness and can’t decide what you actually want. You spend too much of your time thinking about if onlys and begging God for last chances. Days pass by without him, alcohol becomes your only solace. The voices in your head remind you of the consequences of your actions. They scream about the mistakes you make, laugh at your actions. They recite tales of how you tend to ruin the person you like, how you’re a parasite and Heeseung is a host, and how you feed on his blood to keep yourself alive. You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, you feel like wanting to scratch off your skin. At times, you want to run to Heeseung and profess your love to him, tell him how much you want him, how much you need him. You have always been aware of your feelings, of what you wanted, but deep down, you’re afraid that you might be a worthless person after all. And now, you are the worthless person who is trapped in their own empty life. 

You want to try living your life as a different person. A life where you’re not you, and all the things you have now aren’t yours, good or bad. An alternate reality where Heeseung isn’t someone you meet at your lowest, where he isn’t just a use and throw to you. You want to go to a place where nobody knows you and live as if you have no history at all, you want to know how it feels to live without having people expect something from you. A life where running away isn’t the only thing you’re good at. You haven’t talked to Heeseung in five days and you're already on the way to his apartment from the supermarket after getting some fruits. Perhaps, you just want to live a life where his presence and absence wouldn’t mean so much to you, where it wouldn’t cost you your life and pride. 

When Heeseung opens his door and invites you inside without asking any questions, you realise he has been expecting you anyway. Heeseung gets back to writing, you’re left alone in silence yet again. You envy Heeseung. As a writer, he has an inclination to step inside someone else’s shoes, to get under their skin and see the world through their eyes. It’s a blessing, you think, to be able to live as a thousand different characters and experience a thousand different emotions, to be able to express them so beautifully in words and actions. If you were him, you’d live as a different person everyday, in a skin that makes you feel comfortable. You could be a pianist pretending to be nervous, or a ballerina with her broken shoes. When Heeseung doesn’t say anything for the next few minutes, you pick up an apple from the grocery bag in your hand and enter his kitchen to grab a peeler. It’s an old tradition between you two, to say things with actions instead of words, to hug each other when sad, to offer fruits when you’re in pain, to sit in silence when you are sorry. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” You say abruptly, letting words fall off your lips without control. Heeseung’s hands stop in the midst of typing, hovering over his laptop. When the sound of keys stops, the air starts feeling emptier and heavier than ever, sending a wave of shiver down your spine. 

“What?” A soft gasp, a voice of disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me any time sooner?” 

“Well, I am telling you now,” 

“The night before you’re leaving,” 

“I would’ve told you sooner if you could take a break from whatever you’re writing,” A pause. You look at him, his shifts ghosts your sight and falls upon the apple in your hand. You’re looking at the document displaying on the screen, your eyes fall back on the fruit in your hand just a few seconds later. You wish for Heeseung to be more open with you, to yearn for you the way you do for him, to want so much that every moment without you feels like death’s hands around his throat. Maybe, he already does, maybe he wants to but couldn’t because the fear of you leaving yet again is eating him from inside. You have given him all the reasons to doubt himself and you as well, every reason to think thrice before knocking your door. Writing is an escape, you know he has his own problems, after all, how many times did someone pick and pen or and paint brush when they couldn’t pull the trigger? 

“When will you return?” He asks, a little unsure of the question, if he should even ask you. 

“One month,” And you respond, peeling the apples between your words. “It’s a paid trip from the wellness club I joined, some sort of detox, so I don’t think we’d get to talk much either,” Your thoughts aren’t sane, they’re all over the place, everywhere. It’s hard to walk, harder to crawl, it feels like you’re standing in a deep pit, the way out is in front of you but you don’t know how to reach up there. Calling it a detox sounds stupid, but you know you need it, it’s for you, for him, and for whatever the two of you are becoming. 

“It’s alright,” Liar. “It’s just one month,” 

Before you know it, you’re in his arms and you’re hugging him back. Perhaps, you missed the embrace, the warmth of loving and being loved. “Just one month,”

“I love you,” He smiles against your ear, arms pulling you closer. You’re stepping into happiness for the first time in months, you’re reminded of its previous betrayal. And you realise that the person you’ve been yearning for is the one you should step away from. 

V. Should you get back with your ex?

It’s been five years since Heeseung has heard from you. He has been waiting, but he doesn’t have time to sit back in his apartment while putting everything aside. He has been keeping himself busy with drafts and publishing, lost amidst plots and characters he created, living in a whole another universe as an escape from reality. It all makes him sound crazy, or rather, like someone who has been through severe grief. But, Heeseung has been busy thinking about all the new genres he can try and every single thing that he can include in his writing because no one can stop him, and his imagination means no bounds. After all, Lee Heeseung, after five years of waiting and working, has finally published his most awaited work. 

Heeseung isn’t used to distances. They drift people apart, as they once did the two of you, but he didn’t mind anything when it came to you. You were going to return within a month either way, and thus, he found solace in texts and calls while waiting for the days to pass. You’d send him pictures of the city while he’d forward you an image file of another blank document. For days, you both texted restlessly, between meetings, during meals, while taking a walk, before and after bed, it was as if you had returned all the way back to how your life was in university. On days you couldn’t make time to call him due to your busy schedule, he would leave voice notes regarding every single thing he has been up to. It was a small step towards forgetting the past since neither of you tried to talk about it. It was more of an attempt at ignoring your past mistakes and moving on, taking a mental note to not repeat them again. While the need to talk things out bugged both of you every night, you were just fine with whatever the two of you had at the moment. 

Things had started off good, but the two of you started hearing less of each other. His busy schedule or your lack of internet could be blamed. You really needed some time to yourself and it seemed to be the perfect excuse to not text him first, or even back. Days morphed into weeks, weeks into months, Heeseung was finished with the first draft for his next book. That was for you but Heeseung, again, isn’t used to distances. You would see his texts on the top of your notification bar, holding onto a fragile ray of hope that he’ll hear from you anytime soon. You’d see his missed calls, voice notes, emails, direct messages on social media, even a letter he sent once. You could feel guilt pool inside of you, realising that once again, you’re being the one to draw a line, to create distance and while you promised that they wouldn’t affect you both this time ‘round, you’re the very reason why they keep on increasing. But, Heeseung is good at these things, hoping, holding, waiting; he’s good at sad things. Perhaps, it’s just another thing he has come to learn because of you. 

When you didn’t contact him for another two months, he started reaching out to your friends and family. He called your friends and his friends, his family, even. It was like he was in a forest with a lantern, looking for treasure, and the flame went out. 

He used to think he could go a day without your presence. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back. Then, a day arrived when he found himself struggling to feel your presence but the next was harder. He knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and it wasn’t going to be okay for a very long time. 

Losing you wasn’t an occasion or an event. It didn’t happen once and instead, happened over and over again. Heeseung loses you every time he picks up your favourite coffee mug, whenever that one song plays on the radio, when he unconsciously scrolls all the down to the bottom of his messaging app, coming across your contact. He loses you every time he thinks of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. He goes to bed and loses you, when he wishes he could tell you about his day and everything that he has planned for the future; and in the morning, when he wakes up and reaches for the empty space across the sheets— Heeseung begins to lose you all over again. 

“What inspired you to write this book?” And now, he’s sitting at his book launch event, a faint smile on his face, a good of pride gleaming in his eyes. Through the years, Heeseung has released short stories and poems; poems that he wrote while looking out of his window at every flight that flies by, hoping you’d arrive one day, while sitting outside next to your apartment late at night, while drinking your favourite wine knowing you would’ve had the whole bottle to yourself if you were to join him. Heeseung would sit on the cold tiles of his living room and let his mind paint a picture of you. The image of you in his mind is blurry, but he feels every emotion you gave him to this day. 

“A friend, my neighbour,” His smile grows wider, a little more filled with sorrow, yearing oozing through the cracks of his skin. “My ex-girlfriend,” Calling you his ex doesn’t seem right since the two of you never broke up. You need to be in a relationship to break up, and Heeseung and you weren’t anything. 

His first poetry work, ‘Red Wine,’ was written in the first few weeks after you stopped contacting him. Those were some of Heeseung’s worst days of life, days he felt like doing nothing except lying down and staying still until his systems gave up due to the lack of movement. He has written about you drinking red wine on the floor just like you do, and on the other side it’s him, cold and bleeding. You’re looking at him— he pictures you as such, and you continue to sip on your wine, watching him bleed. Is there a possibility of you and I? Heeseung wouldn’t know, for you enjoyed your red wine while his blood pooled around your legs, and you wouldn’t flinch because you wouldn’t know if it’s blood or wine unless you taste it, and you wouldn’t know if he’s hurting for you’re too busy dwelling in your own mind.   

“Did you get back with her? Is that why the book is named ‘How to get back with your ex’?” Heeseung thinks the question is rhetoric. Anyone can tell if he and you are together or not after reading the book. Few seconds pass in silence, it’s not the question he’s running from, but the answer that lies around. Heeseung doesn’t know if there was ever a point when you considered taking him back into your life with labels, just as how it used to be back in university. You waited for him at odd hours but never admitted to missing him. He confessed, you never gave an answer, but you kissed him as if he was a part of you that went missing centuries ago. Your touch bled with yearning, love rolled down your cheeks, and you never accepted your feelings. You’re not his lover, he likes to keep you as his favourite incomplete fish. 

“No, actually, we’re not in touch anymore,” Heeseung isn’t familiar with loss. He doesn't have a lot to offer, not at all. Lee Heeseung, in fact, doesn't have anything to give or lose, his hands are empty. He has a mediocre job that he resigned from over a mediocre reason, and a mediocre life, a mediocre apartment with some mediocre flowers in the mediocre vase a friend gave him as a congratulatory gift on graduation day. He has the same mediocre thoughts and books, tropes and genres, no new thought in a while; Heeseung, actually, has more to accept than to lose. 

To think, he has always been on the receiving end of life. 

The first month was the hardest. He started hearing less of you, and then none. Losing you, it was like experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Heeseung would pace around, hours on empty, looking obsessively at his phone to catch a hint of you, just one text, one missed call, anything. His editor continued to call him, even show up at his place, telling him to write, to do his job, but words don’t flow when you’re not around, and the thought of you pains his heart inexplicably. He knows he’s always talking about second chances, how there is always a second shot at things that slipped out of your hands. The day you cut off all contact with him, Heeseung realised that it was probably his last chance with you. He cried the first time the news of Bus M4107 crash on its way back to Incheon. He ran back to his apartment, avoiding getting hit by a lorry only by a few minutes, vision getting blurry as his mind started coming up with all the worst scenarios possible. Heeseung went through all his contacts, looking for names familiar to the two of you and begged them to try to get in touch with you. He spent hours looking at his phone, his eyes were like a searchlight. How they looked at the sky with such longing, how they always turned towards the door hoping you’d walk in any moment. Heeseung doesn’t care if you’re with him, he doesn’t mind seeing you across the street while pretending to be strangers. He doesn’t mind not being able to hold you. Even after all these years, even when he’s Korea’s bestselling author, even when he has everything he has ever dreamt for, his life has voids that remind him of you, but it’s fine. Things were fine, you left him one Sunday morning with his cup half empty. It was supposed to be just a month, but five years later, Heeseung pads around his apartment following your presence that still lingers around. Outside, the rain is already falling, there are still pieces of you behind every door, he can live just fine. He can live knowing you’re here, in this world with him, amidst the eight billion people. It’s better than accepting the fact that you’ve left him alone, forever. 

Fifth month was a little easier, Heeseung published his first short story. He was doing good, and had work to stop himself from thinking of you. Friends and family kept him busy, book signing events occupied most of his days. You didn’t leave his mind, you just started residing less. He thought of it as a routine— every morning, you’d leave his mind as his schedules began. He pictures you floating over the city, over the busy markets and sublime lakesides. You visit sometime in between, when he’s resting on his bed or enjoying his tea. You walk back in and tell him about everything you’ve seen. You talk about the balloons stuck in the tree, about the girl running behind her school bus, and then you leave again and he sits to write. You walk down the streets through the sunset, the fragrance of sea-food spinning in the air. There’s a couple on their first date, a group of friends taking pictures outside a hotpot restaurant, a wife waiting for her husband, a mother picking up her son, a family going shopping, and then you’d come back right before he’s going to bed. You’d tell Heeseung about them, your voice ringing in his ears. You kiss him goodnight, he goes to sleep, your thoughts are like a lullaby. And the next morning, the cycle repeats again.

Around the twelfth month, Heeseung found himself at his lowest. It had been a year since you left, a year since you disappeared off the face of earth with no trace of you even after investigation. The case was closed, Heeseung felt the ghost of you leaving his mind bit by bit. Your empty apartment had been sold off to a woman in her forties, he didn’t like the idea of someone else occupying the place that had once belonged to you. In his mind, you still live there, and you still spend your days lying on the living room floor with wine. The renovation began soon after, Heeseung found himself standing in the living room of your apartment. With every inch of wall painted, the absence of you caved in on him closer. Every inch of brush stroke on the wall covered the evidence of your existence, painting white over the pieces of you that you left behind the closed doors. It felt like a sign to move on, as if the world was forgetting you and so, Heeseung was supposed to do the same. It boils his blood to this day, his heart aches inexplicably. The universe knows you as someone who disappeared off the face of Earth, it doesn’t know you like Heeseung does. It doesn’t know the impact you have on his life, it’s unaware of the little things you did that changed his view about things. People are moving on, the media forgot about all the people who died in the accident. He doesn’t understand how everyone continued with their lives as if nothing ever happened. Twelfth month was the hardest for Heeseung. Disappearing memories of you from his mind froze his mind, he wanted to die, if it meant he could see you again. 

You see, getting back your ex isn’t always about the romantic feelings you had for each other. You can be friends with your ex, or neighbours, co-workers, and it would still mean you got back with them, because getting back together means putting the past behind and working together to help each other become a better version of themselves. Isn’t that what we do even when we start dating our exes; being better than how you were with them in the past, not repeating the mistakes that drifted you apart in the first place? Heeseung doesn’t mind getting back with you even if you’re a stranger he sees at the supermarket. It’s fine even if you’re someone he sees once a week at the subway. If there is even a little chance that you’re here, Heeseung is okay living with just a glimpse of you. He has waited five years, he will wait for fifty more. 

“Do you still love her?” A journalist raises the question, and Heeseung could ask himself the same thing over and over again, always ending up with the same answer: he doesn’t know. Saying that he does would be an overstatement because Heeseung doesn’t know where his heart lies, and denying it would be a blatant lie. So, instead, he likes to think of you as just someone who came into his life and lost her way out of it. 

Just someone who he met one night by the bar, someone he warmed up to so quickly that every single neuron in his body went off with alarms, alerting him of all the possible consequences about how this would take a tragic turn. It happened like this : he met you, and for some reason, he felt more connected to a stranger than anyone else— closer to you than his closest family. Someone who taught him what loneliness is because before you, Heeseung was used to doing things alone, on his own. Someone who made him rethink every life decision, someone who, he knew, would turn his life upside down, and still he let you do it. You were someone he spent his happiest days crying about and saddest moments reminiscing over. Heeseung gave you love, and in return, you gave him an insight on life, an important lesson, and an answer to all his whys and hows. Your love was soft and tacit with all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. It was like a storm and he was walking into it straight. Heeseung is an explorer, you were a traveller. You both met at the intersection, the lights went red, the world stopped for a brief second. He saw love in your smile, he wishes he could see more of it. But you had a plane to catch and Heeseung, he was already home. 

Dedicated to my ex-girlfriend, the one I didn’t expect to meet after years of trying to move on, one who left and came back as if nothing ever happened and turned my life upside down. I think it was obvious that this was about you anyway. I hope you are happy, wherever you are. I hope you’re still here. Thank you for being someone I could rely upon, for being my muse, for being my one and only love. 

—

Thank you for reading, ‘How to get back with your ex’.

[rollingsins]

three's a crowd, part three

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten (epilogue)

summary: you hadn’t expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadn’t expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au. 

pairing: emma myers x reader, jenna ortega x reader

warnings: language.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: the love triangle continues to triangle. let me know your thoughts and what you want to see next!!

It’s awkward. The set is awkward. 

Everyone can sense something is going on. Emma isn’t speaking to you. Jenna’s avoiding you. They’re both avoiding each other. You’d try and fix it if you could. But you have no idea what to do, who to turn to. The closest relationships you’d made in the short time you were on set were the very two people who’d got you in this entire mess. 

Briefly, you consider calling your Mom. But you know there’s nothing she can tell you that you don’t already know. 

You can’t have both of them, she sing-songs in your head, you have to choose. 

It’s later that morning when Jenna ducks around the catering table to stop crossing paths with you, you see red. 

You wait until she’s in her chair, script in hand before marching over to her and giving her a piece of your mind. 

“Stop avoiding me.” You tell her, “It’s childish. You’re the one who told me you liked me. You don’t get to tell me that and then ignore me for days after. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Jenna blinks back at you. 

She swallows. 

“Alright.” She says, evenly, “That’s fair.” 

You sit down next to her, not really sure of what to say. She seems to be in a similar predicament. 

“Let’s not make things awkward.” She says, “Emma’s my friend, and so are you. I never should have said anything. We can just pretend like it never happened.” 

“Is that what you want?” You ask, “To pretend like it never happened?” 

“Yes.” She says, averting her gaze. 

You cross your arms. 

“Fine. It never happened.” 

“So we’re friends?” She says, looking at you carefully, “Only friends.”

“Only friends.” You say. Ignore the way your heart twists at the thought. 

And then you leave her sitting by herself to go shoot. Try to ignore her eyes on you, watching you go. 

Your scenes today are with Hunter, not Emma, thank god. If he can sense you want to crawl into a ball and let the earth swallow you whole, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he sits down in the chair next to you and offers you a Twizzler. He’s not hungover today, and seemingly very happy about it. Then he, not so subtly, tries to pry an answer out of you. 

“You and Jenna looked pretty cozy last night,” He says as he bites down into his candy, trying to sound non-committal, “Did something happen between you two?” 

Only friends plays through your mind. 

“No,” You lie.  

Hunter furrows his brow. 

“Huh,” He says, bites down on another twizzler, “Well, that’s good, because I think Emma really likes you.” 

The agony doesn’t let up for the rest of the day.

You have no idea what to do. There’s a part of you that wants to find Emma, kiss her, tell her you’ll never look twice at Jenna again. And then there’s a part of you that wants to find Jenna. Do the opposite. You feel awful. 

You don’t deserve either of them. 

When shooting wraps for the day, you have half a mind to go back to your apartment and wallow in your own self-loathing. Hunter has other ideas. 

“Let’s do dinner,” He says, arm around your shoulder, “Joy and I will cook. And no offense but you look like you could use a home-cooked meal.” 

He’s referring to the dark circles under your eyes from your sleepless night. 

“I don’t know.” You chew at your lip, uncertainly. 

“Come on,” He presses, “It’ll be fun. I promise.” 

What he didn't tell you, and you should have guessed it, is Emma is invited too. 

You’re halfway to Hunter’s door, bottle of wine in your hands when you see her.  

She sees you at the exact same moment. Freezes. Reluctance all over her face. You wonder briefly if she’ll bolt. 

“Hey,” You say, voice quiet. 

“Hey.” 

You swallow, not really sure what to say. 

“I’ll go if- if me being here makes you uncomfortable.”

She hesitates a moment. 

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want you to go.” 

So you don’t. 

Hunter plays the fool, dishes out the wine and leaves the two of you to talk while he no doubt goes to bother Joy in the kitchen. 

It’s silent for a while, the two of you just sitting there, sipping your wine, Frank Ocean blaring through the speakers.

You want to say something, anything, but every thought that pops into your mind will no doubt sink you deeper into your grave. The grave you dug for yourself. 

Finally, after a few painful minutes, Emma breaks the silence. 

“Are you going to like, date her?” She asks. She sounds weird, voice too high. Like she doesn’t really want to know the answer, “Jenna, that is.” 

You pause.

“I don’t think so.” 

The conversation you’d had earlier in the day flashes through your mind. It hurts you a little to say out loud. 

“But you like her?” She says, frowning slightly, as if she doesn’t see the issue, “And she likes you?” 

“I like you too.” You say, “That’s the problem.” 

She deflates a little, sags back into the couch. It isn’t the answer she’d wanted, you know that. She wants what you can’t give her. Certainty. 

“I didn’t expect this to be so complicated.” She admits, voice a little quiet. 

“Neither did I,” You say, “I’m sorry.”

You watch her a while, let the silence stew. She’s beautiful as ever, shoulder-length hair tied back behind her ears. Her pretty blue eyes missing some of their sparkle. 

“I really like you.” She says, after a while, fiddling with the rim of her wine glass. She doesn’t look at you as she says it. Like she's afraid of what you'll say back.

“I like you too.” 

At that she looks up. She bites her lip, scoots a little closer. 

“I like you, but I don’t want to be your second choice.” She says, now sounding a little more sure of herself. 

“You’re not-”

“Maybe we should just be friends,” She blurts out. You gaze at her, stare piercing. 

“Is that what you want?” You ask. This is a new record for you. Not one but two situationships ending in a matter of hours. You’re one more word from snatching the wine glass from her hands and downing it whole. 

“No.” She admits, voice soft. 

You bite your lip. Let the butterflies in the pit of your stomach fester. 

“Why don’t we- keep things casual.” You say, a little hesitant,  “See how we go, no commitments. It would take the pressure off, a little.” 

She shoots you a shrewd gaze, “Like friends with benefits?” 

“No,” You say hastily, “Like casual dating. We see each other and if you want you can see other people too-”

“-Meaning you can see Jenna whenever you want.” Emma interjects. 

“No. Nothing is going to happen between Jenna and I,” You say, “She made that very clear today. She- we both don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Too late.” She mumbles. 

It makes your heart hurt. It’s one thing to know it, another to hear it. 

“Emma-“ 

“It’s fine,” She says after a moment, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

You stare into your glass, not really sure what else to say. You’d take it back, if you could. You wish Jenna had never said anything. Kept it to herself. You were happy before, weren’t you? When it was just you and Emma and nothing else. 

No, you weren’t. It’s that little voice in the back of your head. You will it to shut up. 

“Let’s try it.” Emma says suddenly. Voice small, quiet, “Dating. Casual dating or whatever.” 

You look up, disbelief on your face. 

“Really?” 

She bites her lip. 

“Yeah. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Are you sure?” You stare back at her. You hadn’t expected her to say yes, the moment you’d suggested it. You weren’t even really sure what you were suggesting. What was causal dating anyway? You’d see other people. She’d see other people. The thought makes you want to sink your hand into your throat and rip your own heart out. You’re such a hypocrite.

But she’s looking back at you with shiny, determined eyes, nudges her hand ever so slightly against yours and it’s too late to back out now. 

“I’m sure.” 

-

As is now tradition, Georgie hosts the group's Friday night game session at his apartment. 

Emma’s at your side, her hands brushing yours every now and then like she wants to hold it. After the third time, you make the decision for her, link your hands together and entwine your fingers. You don’t miss the small smile that blooms on her face. 

“Are you guys a couple?” Joy asks, a few drinks in, eyes drawn to your connected hands. It’s just you, her and Emma, the others yet to arrive. Emma blushes. You purse your lips. 

“No.” You say together. Joys eyebrow quirks. 

“Oh. It’s just-“ 

“We’re seeing how things go.” Emma says, hurriedly, as if anything else will cause you to drop her hand. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand, soothingly. 

“Okay,” Joy says, as Georgie plops down into the seat next to her, “Good for you two.” 

“Good for who two?” Georgie asks, dealing out the first hand. You feel Emma shift beside you. 

“Those two. They’re seeing how things go.”  Joy says, a look on her face like she knows exactly how it’s going to go. 

Georgie looks between you, a little confused, “And what does that mean? What about Jenn-“

Joy nudges him between the ribs, hard. 

You clear your throat, “I’m going to get another drink.” You stand, drop Emma’s hand. You replace it with a soft touch to her shoulder, “Do you want another one?”  

The rest of the cast rolls in one by one. You’re fiddling with a bottle of Grey Goose when Hunter and Johnna arrive, Jenna not far behind them. 

You greet the former two with a hug, nod awkwardly at Jenna as she walks in, a little under the radar and sits next to Georgie. 

You’re friends. You agonize in the kitchen, trying to talk yourself into going back out there. You don’t want it to be so awkward. She doesn’t want it to be awkward. So stop being awkward. 

You sit down next to Emma, careful not to touch her, avoid Jenna’s eyes. Try to focus on the game. 

At first it's easy. You don't look at Jenna and she doesn't look at you. You touch Emma's hand under the table, not wanting to throw your coupling in Jenna's face. It works. It's fine.

And then Jenna has her first drink.

Whiskey and coke, a little too heavy on the whiskey.

When her glass is empty, she's gone from not looking at you at all to staring.

She watches as you draw your cards, lift your drink to your lips. She watches as you smile at Emma. She watches as Emma touches your knee. She watches like she doesn’t care if you notice. 

She watches and drinks. Drinks and watches. Three, four, five Whiskies, she's long abandoned the coke.

After a couple of hours of feeling like you’re under a microscope, it’s your turn to watch. She stands, off to pour herself another drink. You excuse yourself quietly, tell Emma you’ll be right back. 

Jenna's had so much to drink she barely notices as you sidle in next to her, so close your shoulders almost touch. 

“Stop it.” You say, under your breath. A laugh rings out from the table, the chatter loud enough you’re satisfied they can’t hear you. 

Jenna’s quiet a moment. She doesn’t look at you. 

“Stop what?” 

“Looking at me like that.” You say. You top your glass up with coke. Hesitate, then pour a little more Vodka, god knows you need it. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything.” 

“Yes you are,” You say, “We talked about this. We’re friends, remember?” 

“Friends can look at each other.” 

“Not like that.” 

“You’re still dating her then.” 

You feel like you have whiplash. Only yesterday you’d agreed to never speak about what happened at the club. She’d insisted you were friends, nothing more. 

“That’s not really any of your business.” You say. It comes out a little harsher than you intended. You pause, rephrase, “I just mean you and I agreed to only be friends.” 

“We did.” She says, voice clipped. 

“So stop looking at me like that.” 

She doesn’t, not for the rest of the night. Mournful, wide, brown eyes. Full of sorrow, longing, want. It gets worse the more she drinks. For an actor, she’s not great at hiding her emotions. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before. Since the day you met, she’s looked at you like this.

You grip Emma’s hand under the table and pray she doesn’t see it too. 

By the time the night is over, you’re exhausted. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. Like you’re leading some double life, with a wife, two kids and an extramarital affair on the side. 

You’re thankful when people start to filter out. 

You wave goodbye to Georgie, walk Emma back to her apartment, only two doors down. You’re holding hands again, trying to brush off the night. Feeling a little like a middle-schooler by the way the touch of her hand in your own makes your heart flutter. 

“Tonight was fun.” Emma says as you stop outside her door. Illuminated under the light of the complex, her eyes sparkle a pretty blue. She’s looking at you, coy, chewing at her own lip, a little shy. 

“It was,” You say, though it’s only half-true. 

The drinking was fun. The games were fun. Holding Emma’s hand is fun. 

The tide-wave of confliction in you at Jenna’s wanton looks is not so much. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your slight reservation. She’s tilting her head up to kiss your cheek. Her lips are soft, a little unsure. She blushes as she retracts. 

“See you tomorrow?” She asks, a little hopeful. 

You smile, “See you tomorrow.” 

The smile is gone the moment she shuts the door. You slip your hands into your pockets, the quiet hum of the night reverberating in your brain. You can’t do this every Friday night. Heck, you can’t do this any night. Hold Emma’s hand, walk her home, kiss her goodnight all the while your brain is afire with thoughts of another woman. Her best friend.  

You’ll withdraw from her, you reason with a heavy heart. You’ll avoid Jenna, give you both time to get over each other. And then, when this infatuation, this crush was over, you’d be too enraptured with Emma to think twice. 

It’s a decent plan, maybe the best you’ve come up with so far. You let your brain trick itself into thinking it will ever work. 

And then, you round the corner just as Jenna steps out of Georgie’s apartment. 

Great. 

She stumbles slightly, more than a little drunk, all but slams the door in her wake. 

You freeze, hoping she won’t see you. You don’t want to be alone with her, you don’t trust yourself to be alone with her. And she’s had a lot of Whiskey. Maybe she’ll breeze right past. Maybe her mind is playing similar tricks on her. 

No such luck. She spots you almost immediately. Tugs her purse higher around her shoulder. 

“I’m not following you,” She says as if that's what you're about to accuse her of, “I’m going this way too.” 

“I didn’t think you were.” You say. You contemplate turning back around, knocking on Emma’s door and asking for a nightcap. This seems like trouble. Something in you resists. You watch as she turns to the staircase and grasps at the railing. She wobbles slightly, unsteady. 

 “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” She says. You knew she was going too hard on the whiskey. You should have stopped her. You inch forward, press your hands to her back so she doesn’t slip. She jerks you off. 

“I don’t need help.” 

It stings a little. You retract your hands, swallowing. You don’t know what you’ve done to make her so mad at you. Except… everything. 

“Clearly.” 

She barely manages the stairs alone. You follow, not too far behind, not wanting her own stubbornness to result in her falling face first and breaking her neck. 

When she’s conquered the last of the stairs, she blinks up at the sky. Hovers, head tilted, swaying slightly on the spot. You peer up too, wonder what she’s looking at. The stars are out of focus, blurry. You blink, suddenly aware you may be just as inebriated as her. 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” You ask, before you can stop yourself. 

It’s not romantic, you tell yourself. Friends walk each other home all the time. You just wanted to make sure she got home safe, is all. A staircase is one thing, but Jenna lives a few blocks down from here. Anything could happen to her in this state. 

You stand in front of her, watch as she redirects her focus from the sky. Your stomach does somersaults as her dark eyes lock onto yours. 

“Where’s Emma?” 

“I walked her home,” You say. 

“Oh.” Jenna says, frowning a little, “You didn’t want to stay the night?” 

Your cheeks flame. 

“No,” You say. You don’t elaborate, not wanting to go there. 

She tilts her head, swaying again on the spot. She inches forward, perhaps more than she means to. Your shoulders brush. 

“So you haven’t slept with her yet?” She asks, voice low. 

You’d only kissed Emma, once, but Jenna doesn’t know that. Her eyes are flitting between your own, wide, curious, the whiskey in her system drowning her filter. 

“Jesus, Jenna-“

“Sorry.” She says, though she doesn’t sound it, “Was that inappropriate?” 

“Just a little.” 

You should leave. The stars, the whiskey, the look in Jenna’s eyes. Her questions betraying her intentions. It’s too much. It’s not friendship. 

And you’d promised Emma-

“I’m glad you haven’t.” Jenna draws you back to her, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you haven’t slept with her.” 

Her lips are wet. Plump, red. So kissable. You can’t help but look. She darts her tongue out, like she wants to keep your attention there. She’s so close now, you can feel the warmth from her body. You can smell the spice of her perfume. Apple, cinnamon, vanilla. You’re close enough to count the freckles dotted across her nose. 

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, her body language screams. 

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow once to get rid of it. It’s still there. This time it’s you who bites your lip. Watch as her eyes draw down to follow the movement. 

Stop it, you think, remember Emma.  

Emma and her shy smile. Emma and her pretty blue eyes. Emma and her jasmine-scented perfume, her blonde hair. 

Emma. Emma. Emma. 

You clear your throat. Try and snap yourself out of the Jenna-induced trance she’s put you in.

“Jenna. We’re friends. Friends don’t care about who’s dating who or who’s slept with who-“ 

“I don’t want to be friends.” She whispers. She’s given up all pretense of looking into your eyes. Her gaze is on your mouth, “You don’t want it either. I can see it. I can tell.” 

It’s the whiskey talking, you tell yourself. It has a grip on her. It has a grip on you, too. When the night’s over and it’s morning, she’ll go back to ignoring you and you’ll go back to wanting Emma. You try to tell her so. 

“We agreed-“ 

But she doesn't let you finish. 

One minute she’s staring at your lips, hungry look in her eyes. Like she’s starved, and the only thing that’ll satiate her is you. The next, there's a warm press against your mouth as her lips find yours.

Your eyes flutter closed. Butterflies erupt deep in your stomach, like they were caged and just set free. 

Her lips are soft, so soft, and you can feel her everywhere. The touch of her skin as her arm grazes yours. Her fingertips light as they ghost on the back of your neck. Then harder as they gripping the front of your shirt, pulling you down into her. 

Stop it, screams the voice in the back of your head, push her off, tell her to go home. 

But you can’t. 

She tastes like Jameson. Kissing her sets your entire body aflame. You feel it from your fingertips to the tips of your ears, burning hot with desire. You moan, brush your nose against hers as she deepens the kiss. Greedy, swollen lips against yours, hot tongue slipping into your mouth. 

Her kisses are nothing like Emma’s. Emma is all gentle, timid lips. The slight touch of a hand. Jenna kisses you like she’s sure. She pulls you into her, a little rough. She’s fierce, hard. She kisses you like she wants you desperately. You kiss her back like you want her just as bad. You do want her just as bad.

Emma’s face blurs to the back of your mind, Jenna's lips the only thing you're thinking of. 

You grip her hips, tug her to you. Cup her face and kiss her until your lips hurt and your brain goes foggy from the lack of oxygen.

Not moments later she’s pulling away.

You blink her back into view. Her eyes are closed, her lips red and swollen from yours. You brush her dark hair out of her face, press your noses together. Your heartbeat steadies. 

The parking lot light flickers, and you remember where you are. 

Reality comes crashing in. You swallow, retract slightly from her as you glance up to Emma’s apartment. Wonder if she can see you doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t. 

Jenna doesn’t let you go far. Her hands around your biceps, trying to keep you close. 

“Come home with me.” She murmurs. Her eyes are impossibly dark, so longing as she stares up into yours. 

You want to, so badly. But you can smell the booze on her breath. On yours too. And then you think of Emma. 

You retract slightly, voice low. 

“I can’t.” 

“Please. I want to take you home with me.” She begs. Her pupils are so wide you can’t even see the pretty brown of her chocolate-eske irises anymore. 

“I can’t. Emma.” Is all you say, pleading, like you’re begging her to understand. 

It jump-starts something in her. The humanity is back, the lust-crazed fog that had taken over lifting. Something shifts in her expression. Her pupils adjust, and she withdraws her vice-like grip on you. 

“Right.” She says, “Emma.” 

She shuffles back away from you, almost falling. You reach out for her, not wanting her to hit the pavement but she brushes you off. Not moments ago you were as close to her as you’d ever been. Now, it’s like your touch scalds her. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, and she sounds like she means it. She hangs a moment, like she wants to say something more. Her words fail her, “I’ve got to go.” 

And then she leaves you standing there in the parking lot alone, Emma on your mind and the ghost of Jenna's kiss on your lips.

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