#and second...perhaps you all could answer a question I have in mind!

[aviiarie]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ SUBSTITUTE BIG BROTHER. platonic pm!dazai & reader !

synopsis. dazai is reduced to his lowest form: babysitter for chuuya's sibling. contents. PLATONIC. chuuya's younger sibling!reader. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. fluff. 1.9k words. notes. dazai gets some fluff, as a treat. and as an apology for the amount of pain i am putting him through with the next thing in my drafts. ALSO this is an old, completed draft and was my first time writing dazai so apologies for any mischaracterization.

“You’re kidding me.” Dazai said dryly, staring at the kid before him. They met his gaze with a fiery glare, daring him to continue.

“Do you have something to say?” they snapped. Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Go on, spit it out.”

“I’m only wondering how that yappy little dog’s precious sibling managed to escape their kennel,” Dazai hummed, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards as they began to protest. They sounded just as furious as their brother; the resemblance amused him immensely. “Aren’t you supposed to be… anywhere but here?”

The question was out of courtesy more than anything; Dazai knew the answer very well. Chuuya was tight-lipped about almost every aspect of his life that wasn’t intertwined with the Port Mafia, but his sibling was one detail that Dazai had managed to squeeze out. It wasn’t voluntary, mind you. It was more that Chuuya was explaining his life before the Mafia to Kouyou during one of their evenings drinking tea together, and Dazai had started eavesdropping at the right moment.

When he casually dropped their name during a conversation a week later, Chuuya has gone still for only a moment, before shoving him against the nearest wall and holding a knife to his throat.

“How the fuck do you know about them?” Chuuya had hissed.

Dazai wheezed, for once caught off guard. He’d been expecting Chuuya to react emotionally, but the idea that he would resort to murder within seconds had somehow slipped his mind. “Perhaps Chuuya shouldn’t leave the door open if he doesn’t want his conversations being overheard. I’m sure Ane-san would agree, it was her conversation too.”

Chuuya turned white. His grip loosened, and Dazai slipped away from his grasp. “Shit.”

“Mhm!” Dazai said in a singsong voice, readjusting his collar. “So, tell me about them. How old are they?”

“I’m not talking to you about them, you bastard.” Chuuya tucked his knife away, shoving past Dazai with far more force than was necessary.

“Oh, come on,” Dazai whined childishly, but there was a dark glint in his eyes. “Would you prefer to talk to Boss about them?”

Chuuya’s face turned the prettiest shade of red. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Of course, Chuuya wouldn’t keep such a key detail of his life hidden away for no reason.” Dazai interrupted. “And maybe I could find it in myself to omit said detail when the Boss questions me about where he’s been disappearing to, for a price, of course—”

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” Chuuya scoffed. “Fine. I’ll owe you a favour, and in exchange you do not breathe a word of their existence to anyone. They don’t exist to you, got it?”

Even when trying to appear confident, there was still a note of anxiety in his tone. The mere mention of his sibling was enough to rattle him, it seemed. Dazai paused for a moment, letting Chuuya stew in his restlessness.

“Well? Do we have a deal, asshole?”

He agreed. He wouldn’t tell a soul about [Name], and Chuuya would postpone smothering him in his sleep until he had reasonable cause. Their little secret, Dazai called it—as if anything could stay secret from the Boss for long.

One of the prerequisites for making sure the Port Mafia never knew of their existence, was ensuring that they took careful steps to prevent contact with members of said Port Mafia. An easy way for that to be guaranteed was to avoid any and all places associated with the Mafia, to minimise the chances of bumping into any unsavoury types that might consider their relation to Chuuya to be a weakness to exploit.

All this to say: the last place they should be was right in the middle of Port Mafia territory.

Dazai sighed. “Chuuya will be mad that you’re here, you know.”

“Who even are you?” they asked, in lieu of an answer.

“I’m hurt!” he gasped, grasping at the front of his shirt like a Victorian woman clutching her pearls. “Is Chuuya so cruel that he never mentions his own partner?”

“Are you Dazai?” they asked, wrinkling their nose at him. “Chuuya won’t shut up about you. He thinks you’re really annoying.”

“Oh, the feeling is mutual.” He laughed. “What else does he say about me? Does he tell you about how I can shoot a gun better than he ever will? How one touch from me renders his ability useless? How I’ve beat him in every round of arcade games we have ever played together?”

“He actually said you were big-headed, but I think I could have gathered that myself.” They said dryly.

“Tch. Such a mean dog, spreading lies about me.” Dazai complained, but his mind was elsewhere. He eyed the rumpled state of their clothes and dark circles around their eyes. If they were desperate enough to ignore their brother’s warning to keep away while he was working, the matter must be urgent, and Dazai knew Chuuya would bite his head off if he left them alone in such a dangerous place.

“Why don’t we wait for your brother somewhere nicer than here?” Dazai suggested. “I know a place that isn’t too far, that we both frequent.”

“Am I being kidnapped?” They asked warily.

“Why would I want to kidnap someone as unpleasant as you?” Dazai scrunched his nose up at the thought. “Besides, I’m supposed to be helping keep your existence on the downlow. That becomes difficult if everyone in the Port Mafia catches wind of a strange young person asking for Chuuya.”

“They won’t,” they said, but their voice was doubtful.

Dazai turned, tucking his hands in his pockets and walking back the way he’d come. “Come on. It’s not a long walk.”

The lights and sounds of the arcade were a dull comfort on Dazai’s senses. A chime of the bell above the door greeted them both when they entered, the cashier looked up and gave them a nod.

“Have you been here before?” Dazai asked, and they shook their head. “Excellent! As your benevolent guide, I will be happy to show you around.”

“I thought we were waiting for my brother?” They squint at him suspiciously.

“Of course, but we might as well have fun while we're at it.” Dazai steered them over to the corner to the best machine in the arcade, the game that him and Chuuya had a running bet on who could beat.

It was a basic side-scrolling hack-and-slash game, with only four controls and very simple graphics. What made it stand out was not the game itself, but how infamously hard it was. The first few levels were easy, but once the game deemed the player had an adequate understanding of the controls and how the game worked, it would increase in difficulty until the player was left in an aggravatingly high-speed bullet hell that took an inhuman amount of dexterity to defeat.

There were 100 levels in total. Dazai—who had his initials permanently at the top of the high score board—had only manged to get past level 96.

“This is the best test of skill that this arcade offers.” Dazai slid a token into the machine and he was met with a title screen he had seen many times before. The tinny music came out of the speakers, cheerfully announcing the name of the game. The player character appeared—a little red and black silhouette of a person—as well as the first enemy.

“It's deceptively simple—”

Jump. Punch. Slide. Dodge.

It was a pattern, muscle memory that had settled into his fingers. His movements were precise and measured and not a second off the mark.

“—But it gets difficult.”

Jump. Dodge. Punch. Slide.

He was close. So close.

“If you just—”

Dodge. Punch. Slide. Dodge.

Level 97 appeared across the screen—the highest he’d ever gotten before.

“—Keep going...”

Dodge. Dodge. Slide. Punch—

Game over.

“...Ugh.”

Dazai slumped in his seat, miserably entering his initials into the high score again. Chuuya would be cursing his name if he knew that he had managed to once again overtake him, but he could hardly savour the thought when he wasn't there to witness it.

With a sigh, Dazai glanced over to [Name] beside him. They were watching the screen, but their foot was tapping against the ground in an uneven rhythm, and they were picking at the edges of their nails without even seeming to realize it.

The anxiousness had set in again, it seemed. Dazai cleared his throat. “Do you want to try?”

“...Alright.”

Somewhere between the first and twelfth round of games, he’d sent a short message to the contact in his phone labelled ‘Slug’.

come to the arcade. i have a surprise :P

And when that message was left on read, Dazai decided to clarify further with a second.

the surprise is [name] by the way.

By the time their thirteenth round finished and [Name] left to use the restroom, the doors were slamming open and a familiar person with red hair and wild eyes burst in. He scanned the room, locating Dazai’s bandaged self easily heading straight for him.

“Where are they?” he hissed, turning back and forth like they would appear beside him when he wasn’t looking.

“Who? I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about?” Dazai asked innocently, as if he had done anything innocent in a long time.

“Don’t mess around! Where the fuck is—”

“Chuuya.” A voice dripping with relief cut right through Chuuya’s rising yell. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“[Name]!” Chuuya spun around, the tension melting from his stance as he saw them. “Where were you? I got home and you weren’t there.”

“I was looking for you.” They glanced over to Dazai, and lowered their voice. The rest of their exchange was muffled under the sounds of beeping and chimes from the arcade machine. Throughout it, Dazai stood frozen watching the pair.t

“We’re leaving,” Chuuya said, after what felt like hours of whispering. “…Thank you for looking out for them today.”

“You thank me like I did it out of the goodness of my heart,” Dazai said with a laugh. “That’s one more favour Chuuya owes me now.”

“Bastard. See if I ever thank you for anything again.” Chuuya growled, turning on his heel and pulling his sibling along with him.

Dazai watched the pair leave, his eyes lingering on their retreating forms. It was unsettling how easily they molded to fit the other’s company; the way Chuuya unconsciously matched his steps to theirs, the way the tension melted from their shoulders the moment they laid eyes on him. Even the tone of Chuuya’s voice softened when he addressed them, which was a sight that Dazai didn’t think he was capable of.

Was this family? Did Dazai act this way long ago when he had a relatives of his own? He could hardly fathom reaching such a closeness with anyone, let alone a family. Was he even capable of such a thing, being the broken, shell of a being he was?

Dazai shook his head, ridding himself of the trivial thoughts clouding his mind. When he left, he left alone.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[amorgansgal]

A Bitter Pill to Swallow

In which Gale is getting a bit distracted by the reader and has to face his feelings. It's a sequel to Practice Makes Perfect, but you don't have to have read that to get what's going on in this one... should be fairly obvious!

Fat Female Reader x Gale

CW: Sexual content, mentions of oral sex, mentions of virginity, masturbation

He isn’t concentrating and he should be. He keeps trying to make notes and listen to what the professor is saying, but every time he looks up his eyes seem to drift over to you. You’re paying attention, your eyes are focused on the board or the professor and dutifully you scratch notes onto parchment and occasionally raise your hand to ask or answer questions. 

But Gale barely even hears what you say or what the professor says or what anyone else in the class says, because his attention is fixed on you. A tendril of your hair drifts lazily against your neck and he’d very much like to twist that little strand around his finger and then kiss your neck. You’ve nervously bitten your lower lip while thinking of an answer and gods, that has just killed him. He remembers your face when you came, how blissful and pleasured you had looked. How first you had bitten your lip to hold back your cry, but it had come unbidden and beautifully loud and unabashed as you had tumbled over the edge. 

He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, grateful for the required uniform of robes that can hide how hard he is. Your robe is open at the collar and pulled back over your shoulders, and the blouse you wear is a little too tight over your chest, the corset pushing up your breasts under the fabric and it’s all he can do not to leap over the desks and rip the flimsy material off you. He regrets not playing with your tits more, teasing the nipples into hard little buds, sucking on them. Your skirt is somewhat tight on your hips and thighs too, and while he’s sure that’s more to do with the poor quality of the uniforms, he’s glad of it. The sweet, intoxicating scent of you had driven him crazy when he was between your thighs and he’s replayed the event so many times in his mind that he feels like he could recall every detail! He loved the way your thighs clenched tightly around his head and how soft they felt, so much soft weight to you. He’d fantasised at night about you riding his face, being entirely at the mercy of your warm, wet-

‘Master Dekarios,’ the professor’s voice rips him from the daydream and every eye in the classroom is upon him.

‘Uh, what?’ Gale asks, not his usual eloquent self. A few titters spring up in the class, he imagines because he’s usually the one answering all the questions and being a bit of a know-it-all, and perhaps his classmates are a little pleased he is not doing well today!

‘I asked what school would this particular spell fall under? Perhaps we can see if you’ve been paying attention at all during this lesson!’

Gale hunts around for a clue. He looks at his classmate’s faces, the professor’s, on the blackboard at the front of the class - which is all about fire magic, but it could be any spell. He decides to take a guess, most of the fire spells are Evocation based. ‘Evocation, sir.’

The professor tuts and shakes his head, more giggles from his classmates follow. ‘Dear, oh dear, Master Dekarios. No, wrong, flaming sphere is not an Evocation spell. Anyone care to offer a suggestion if they’ve been paying attention?’

He’s still feeling that prickle of embarrassment and irritation with himself, but when your hand raises and your eyes finally look at him once more every thought rushes out of Gale’s head. 

‘Yes?’ the professor gestures at you so you can answer.

‘Flaming sphere is a conjuration spell.’ Your eyes flick to Gale and he sees the slightest, smallest smile play at the corner of your lips. He finds himself smiling in turn, you like besting him for once. Your eyes lower slightly, so you’re just looking under your lashes and Gale is about two seconds away from fucking you right on your desk!

'Correct, I’m glad someone has been paying attention!’ the professor says.

He can’t wait any longer. Usually, if they want another go, the women come to him and ask, though he’s not below requesting it himself. But you, he has to ask you, he needs you. Needs to feel your plump thighs around him again, feel your soft belly under his fingers, your full breasts in his hands. If he doesn’t, he’s going to go mad at best, and at worst fail all his classes! He needs to get you out of his head.

When class is over he jolts up out of his seat, quickly packing his bag and hurrying to the door, so he can wait there for you. He shifts from foot to foot nervously. Gods, where the hell are you? Why are you taking so long? Do you usually take this long? And then finally you appear, talking with Nira, oblivious to everything he is going through and looking utterly divine.

‘Y/N!’ he says, desperately, almost breathlessly, causing you to look up in surprise. ‘Could I talk to you for a bit?’

You gaze at him and he wonders if his desperation is all too clear on his face, whether he looks a mess. He has run his hand several times through his hair, so undoubtedly it’s all over the place. You glance at Nira, then back at him.

‘Uh… yes, of course,’ you say, standing there and waiting. Nira is waiting too, looking at him quizzically, brow arched. And while he usually does like Nira very much, right now she is a gods damn devil who is ruining things just by being here! He swallows tightly.

‘Could you… would you mind coming to my room, there’s some alchemy work that it would be good if you could look over, if you have a chance,’ he says.

‘Oh!’ you seem surprised, and perhaps he is too, given that’s not what he truly wants or cares about, but he can’t think of a reason to ask Nira to leave! ‘Sure, I can help with that. But I do need to go to the library and work on a transmutation essay, so can I come by later?’

‘NO!’ his brain screams. But instead of vocalising that he manages a carefree, easy going smile. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you later.’

You nod, give him a delightful, warm smile and then head on down the corridor with Nira, who still glances over her shoulder to give Gale a keen stare as though she’s trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with him.

***

He’s pacing back and forth in his room. He’s tried to distract himself, with books, with an essay he’s meant to write and has thus far managed: ‘Druid magic is considered…’ which has been crossed out savagely. Tara has slunk away somewhere. What is wrong with him? He’s used his tongue on so many women around the school and none of them had lingered long in his memory. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, otherwise he wouldn’t do it. But it’s one thing that is such a fantastic turn on for him that for days after he’ll pleasure himself with just the thought of the recipients. Lucia had a rather lovely gasping moan and Hortense had a nice tight grip on his hair, but you… gods he couldn’t even conjure all the ways you had been the best. And it was haunting him and if he didn’t know you well he’d assume you cast some sort of spell over him. Maybe your pussy was cursed in the best way possible. Even he snorts with laughter as the thought scurries through his brain. He’s being absurd, utterly ridiculous. He’s going mad.

The soft knock on the door makes him jump and he flies over, yanking open the door, beaming on seeing you and then feeling bad for your slightly fearful, apprehensive look. ‘Hello, good afternoon, come in, come in,’ he babbles and you tentatively step over the threshold. 

You brought along your alchemy textbooks and gingerly place them down on the desk, as though he might bite you any second. ‘Gale… are you… are you alright? You look a bit flushed and… um… stressed.’

‘Me? Stressed? No! No, not at all. I’m fine!’ 

‘Oh… alright,’ you say and stand nervously in the room, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. ‘Well where’s your essay?’

Ah! The consequence of his little lie. He has written an alchemy essay, but he thinks it’s actually fine. A few little edits needed here and there, but it wasn’t worth the bother of bringing you to his room. And yet he’s pulling open the drawer on the desk, taking out the essay and giving it to you. He could scream at his brain. What is he doing? Why is he wasting precious time on a near complete essay?

‘Why don’t we sit on the bed?’ he suggests quickly. ‘It’s more comfortable.’

‘Oh, sure,’ you reply, placing his pen and ink pot on the bedside table. You wait for him to fluff up the pillows before taking your seat and he sits next to you while you begin to read the essay.

***

This was a stupid, horrible, tortuous idea! He’s sitting next to you, smelling your scent, feeling your thigh press against his leg and how many times are you going to bite your gods damn lip in thought? He’s in his own personally curated hell and he just wants to rip the essay from your hands and kiss you for all your worth and bury his cock inside you. Sometimes it has subsided, but then you’d shift your weight, brush your hand against his leg or your breast against his arm as you lifted yourself up a little and the blood would rush right back to his cock.

Finally you finish with the last page, having written a few comments throughout the essay and scratching out a couple of lines, but you put the pen back in the ink pot and give him a smile. ‘It’s good, I don’t see why you’d need me to read it, think it’s basically perfect,’ your eyes glimmer with mischief and you poke him in the ribs. ‘Though I’m sure your head doesn’t need to get any bigger with my praise!’

It’s now or never. He takes the pages from your hands. ‘Thank you,’ he says and tosses them on the ground. You look delightfully confused. 

‘Gale, what on earth-?’ you begin to say, but he straddles you and kisses you. You gasp so sweetly and for a fearful moment he thinks you might push him off, but instead you wrap your arms around his back and pull him close. Your hands tighten in his hair and he groans into your mouth as he explores it with his tongue. Gods you’re good.

He lifts his head, taking a moment to try and breathe and calm down a little. He rests his forehead against yours. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all week,’ he admits. ‘Morning, noon and night, you’re driving me mad.’

‘Sorry,’ you murmur in reply and he laughs. ‘Do you get a bit obsessed with your latest conquest in the weeks after?’ you ask.

The phrase doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s somehow battling and winning all these women, it does make it feel a bit like he’s just adding notches to his belt for the hell of it, rather than enjoying oral and hopefully helping his classmates out. But especially because you’ve been the only one to turn his head and make him want more.

‘No, not usually,’ he says. He lifts his head to look into your eyes, gods they’re beautiful and the way you blink in some confusion… he groans and kisses you again. He wants to admit to wanting to fuck you, he wants to pound you into the mattress, hear your moans and you begging for him, see his cock disappear into your sweet pussy. He realises shamefully he’s grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your mound.

‘I want to have you,’ he pants out. ‘I need you. I need to be inside you. I want all of you.’

You whimper as he grinds into you, your back arching as he does so and he’s so close to scrabbling with your clothes, tugging down your skirt and ripping open your shirt so he can at least have access to your breasts. He’ll pay for your blouse to be repaired, but his head is running hot with blood. His hands go to your skirt. He could bite off the laces at this rate! But your hands are suddenly on his chest and pushing him back. He’s disappointed but obliges and pulls back. You scoot up the bed again and sit with your legs hanging off the side.

‘Gale…’ you breathe, evidently a bit flustered by his display, but you manage to get your breath back. ‘I really like you and I liked our time together, but… well…’ you look away, embarrassment all too clear on your face and he wants to reach out to reassure you, but he thinks better of it. ‘I’m… I haven’t had sex with anyone, except for that time you used your tongue, and I don’t want to rush things or for it to not be someone I don’t love and trust entirely. I do trust and like you a lot, but… well… yes, that’s it.’

Can the gods really be so cruel? Can they really deny him at a time like this? He could scream, but that would probably make this whole situation a hell of a lot worse than it already is! He manages a laugh that sounds strained and a little hysterical, but he thinks he’s just managed to not look entirely insane.

‘Well… yes, that’s a good idea. Wise… uh… honourable…’ the fuck is he even saying? ‘And I’m not saying this to convince you here and now, but do you think… maybe… I could be that person, in the future? At some point? We could court! I could woo you, properly!’

You smile politely and clasp your hands together. ‘I… uh… I don’t know, you’ve been with quite a lot of our classmates and I’d be worried I’d get jealous.’

‘You’ve nothing to be jealous of!’ he cries.

‘Well… I’ll think about it…’ you say, inching closer to the door.

He swallows uncomfortably and nods. What else can he say? He cannot think of anything anyway, when he hears the door open and closes and he looks up, but you’re already gone. He clenches his fists and brings them to his head, groaning. What the hell was he thinking? You’d probably be running off to Baldur’s Gate come first light, he’d terrified you! He throws himself onto the bed and grunts at the contact of the firm mattress against his still achingly hard cock. Fuck it! He needs relief.

He quickly casts a spell at the door to lock it, tosses off his shirt and breeches, and then grabs his pillows. He bundles them up in the middle of the bed and once he’s straddled them, he begins to thrust into them. It makes for a poor approximation of you, but there’s no time for drawing things out or making himself last long, he’s too wound up and desperate for that. He imagines your thick thighs wrapped around him, the softness of your belly bouncing against his hips, the way your breasts would move every time he’d thrust into you. Fuck, you’d look so good, so beautiful, there’d be so much for him to touch and hold onto. He imagines gripping your hips so tightly, his nails digging into your flesh, he’d leave little half moons all over your skin and the thought nearly blinds him. He replays your little moans and whimpers when he’d licked your cunt, thinking about how you’d make the same noises with his cock buried inside of you, fucking you deeper and harder, pressing you down into the mattress… he cums, hot ropes of it messily on the pillows and over the bedsheets.

‘That’s it, my good, sweet girl,’ he mumbles to himself. ‘Going to paint your thighs with my cum, going to make a mess of you,’ he breathes heavily, enjoying the last little shivers of pleasure that course through him, until he comes to a rest and collapses onto his side. He wishes you were here, wishes you had actually accepted his offer. He would’ve been gentle if he knew it was your first time, not like that, he wouldn’t be a selfish prick, but he would… Gale sighs, you’d already made it very clear he was not boyfriend material and it hurt, surprisingly so. He thought… well you had said you would consider it… but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get much of a thought. Fuck. He’s been mindlessly enjoying himself and no one had been bothered by him eating pussy whenever with anyone and everyone, but now, now he’s gone and fucked himself! And not in a good way. And you've said you'd think about it, but it's probably going to be a no if you're that committed to your morals! He flops back down on the bed and covers his face with his arm. Shit! Why hadn't he thought about this?

He sits up. No, he’s Gale Dekarios. He’s not going to just give up at the first hurdle! He has to prove to you that he’s a worthy contender of your affection, has to prove he can be a good choice when it comes to a relationship and has to prove he can love you like no other. He won’t be a blockhead, if he’s really not your type and you don’t want him at all, then he doesn’t need to be told a dozen times like some men! But he wants to give it a shot at the very least. He smiles to himself. Shit, when had that happened? When had he fallen for you? Strangely, he felt like it might have happened before he ate you out, though when exactly he can’t quite place. He cleans up the room, cleans up himself and unlocks the door. It’s time to woo you like you’ve never been wooed before!

[thequeenofsastiel]

Rewatching season 1 and I'm STILL furious that they not only had Lestat almost kill Louis, but they ruined their first flight together. For those who haven't read the books, it's at the end of Queen of the Damned. Lestat had only just acquired the power, and had never flown of his own power before. He chose to have his first flight with Louis. I'll transcribe it, for those who want to read it:

I kissed him suddenly, thrilled by the warmth of him, the soft pliant feel of his near human skin. God, how I hated the whiteness of my fingers touching him, fingers that could have crushed him now effortlessly. I wondered if he even guessed.

There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him. Yet I couldn't find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could have ever wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it.

"Do you love me now?" I asked.

He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. "Yes," he said.

"Want to go on a little adventure?" My heart was thudding suddenly. It would be so grand if--"Want to break the new rules?"

"What in the world do you mean?" he whispered.

I started laughing, in a low feverish fashion; it felt so good. Laughing and watching the subtle little changes in his face. I really had him worried now. And the truth was, I didn't know if I could do it. Without her. What if I plunged like Icarus--?

"Oh, come now, Louis," I said. "Just a little adventure. I promise, I have no designs this time on Western civilization, or even on the attentions of two million rock music fans. I was thinking of something small, really. Something, well, a little mischievous. And rather elegant. I mean, I've been awfully good for the last two months, don't you think?"

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Are you with me or not?"

He gave another little shake of his head again. But it wasn't a No. He was pondering. He ran his fingers back through his hair. Such fine black hair. The first thing I'd ever noticed about him--well, after his green eyes, that is--was his black hair. No, all that's a lie. It was his expression; the passion and the innocence and the delicacy of conscience. I just loved it!

"When does this little adventure begin?"

"Now," I said. "You have four seconds to make up your mind."

"Lestat, it's almost dawn."

"It's almost dawn here," I answered.

"What do you mean?"

"Louis, put yourself in my hands. Look, if I can't pull it off, you won't really be hurt. Well, not that much. Game? Make up your mind, I want to be off now."

He didn't say anything. He was looking at me, and so affectionately that I could hardly stand it.

"Yes or no."

"I'm probably going to regret this, but...."

"Agreed then." I reached out and placed my hands firmly on his arms and I lifted him high off his feet. He was flabbergasted, looking down at me. It was as if he weighed nothing. I set him down.

"Mon dieu," he whispered.

Well, what was I waiting for? If I didn't try it, I'd never find out. There came a dark, dull moment of pain again; of remembering her; of us rising together. I let it slowly slip away.

I swung my arm around his waist. Upwards now. I lifted my right hand, but that wasn't even necessary. We were climbing on the wind that fast.

The cemetery was spinning down there, a tiny sprawling toy of itself with little bits of white scattered all over under the dark trees.

I could hear his astonished gasp in my ear.

"Lestat!"

"Put your arm around my neck," I said. "Hold on tight. We're going west, of course, and then north, and we're going a very long distance, and maybe we'll drift for a while. The sun won't set where we're going for some time."

The wind was ice cold. I should have thought of that, that he'd suffer from it; but he gave no sign. He was merely gazing upwards as we pierced the great snowy mist of the clouds.

When he saw the stars, I felt him tense against me; his face was perfectly smooth and serene; and if he was weeping the wind was carrying it away. Whatever fear he'd felt was gone now, utterly; he was lost as he looked upward; as the dome of heaven came down around us, and the moon shone full on the endless thickening plain of whiteness below.

No need to tell him what to observe, or what to remember. He always knew such things. Years ago, when I'd done the dark magic on him, I hadn't had to tell him anything; he had savored the smallest aspects of it all on his own. And later he'd said I'd failed to guide him. Didn't he know how unnecessary that had always been?

But I was drifting now, mentally and physically; feeling him a snug yet weightless thing against me; just the pure presence of Louis, Louis belonging to me, and with me. And no burden at all.

That's one of my favorite scenes in the whole series, and I just wanted to share it. I hope y'all got as much enjoyment out of it as I did.

[aebeism]

it's time to go — bada lee

synopsis : stress takes over your brain, to the point where you wander through a world you can’t remember much about. while your memories are gone, bada, love and sadness are the only things you carry with you for a while — as well as your limitations in having and offering each.

wc : 2.1k

warnings : angst, ex!bada, reader suffers from temporary memory loss, homophobia, clichés, mention of reader as y/n, lowercase intended. inspired by paris, texas by lana del rey.

'how long would it take for you to forget me?' you would ask. 'a lifetime wouldn't be enough' bada would always say, without fail. it's been months since you last saw your ex. or smiled. and you're back in the country, nervous to see her again, when she insists on taking you for a walk, which seems to be going smoothly . . until she gets weirded out by all your questions and the fact you seem genuinely lost at everything.

but, even though you're not together anymore, she cares a lot for you, enough that she doesn't mind retelling bibles and bibles of the endless moments you spent together. that is, until your eyes light up at the map you come across on her phone case.

"we've been to france before, haven't we?" your voice echoes through the place you're in, the moonlight shining through bada's blonde strands as she seems to glow softly, as a whole.

she only seems to be able to whisper, as if that’d keep her feelings suppressed well enough. "we have. paris, with barely anything but a suitcase" she slightly smiles at the memory. "i'd take you there again, if i could."

silence floods the air around you.

"why can't you?" you stare at her face, intensely, waiting for her answer as you clench your hand into a fist.

"you know why" she says, and your heart aches at the familiarity of her look. "because i loved you, so i can't anymore. and you remember i hardly ever change my mind, don't you?"

“i do” you nod, even more confused, eyes stuck on the map that she had let you take from her hand. the tiny map tucked inside her phone case is covered in doodles — lines and hearts mark so many places. "why does spain have a heart?"

"that's where we performed together for the first time" she sounds happy until you question further.

"you still love me, right?" your voice is soft, you don't raise your tone, nor did you try to force the sentence into her head. yet, bada seems like she was struck by a thunder right next to her ears.

it's no surprise that bada was caught off guard, her head tilted from an angle that would make her eyes stare at yours directly. "why ask that?" she says, her voice a bit shaky.

"hm . . you said that in the past. and you still keep this thing, with hearts on both countries."

"ah. yeah" bada shifts her attention back to the paper, her eyes slowly direct themselves to your shaky hands and your shivering body, and it makes her question why you're shaking so much even though what surrounds you is a warm summer breeze. she gives you a look, her eyes taking a peek at your face as she slowly says the next sentence. "for the memories. i don’t know about now. people never really understood our love, y/n. all of my friends could show off their lovers, and some were more loved by people than others, but you always had to be my secret just because we're both women. . and i hated that."

you don't seem to recall that, you can't seem to remember what she's talking about. yet, for some reason, as painful as a heart-wrenching breakup could be . . it still burns all over your chest; the pain seems to spin, and twist your insides, in flames. perhaps, the pain was made from acid and was turned into acid as it burns your whole body. your eyes water for a second, and you frown. your expression shows that you're a bit too lost by your own emotions.

"the more they knew, the worse it got. we've been over this, y/n, don't cry" bada's words seems to pierce your heart, they make your stomach churn as you stare intensely down to the ground beneath you.

the new sentence only adds to your confusion, and although you understand every single word, you don't even know why you're here anymore, or why it hurts so much, why a woman so pretty remains by your side. it feels like your brain is trying to reconnect to reality in the middle of the night but can't catch up on anything.

“this isn’t funny” you mumble, your hands shaking, and your jaw closes up as you furrows your brows. your brain tries to work to its max as you try as hard as you can to figure out what's going on.

"it really isn’t. i proposed to you here, in venice, not long after you joined our team. and we broke up in california, remember?" she shows you the circle around italy and a small dot in the united states. "it was sweet while it lasted, though, wasn't it? our friends would get drunk on any shit they could get their hands on and pass out, and you'd just be talking and dancing with me. my memories of you are really pure, y/n."

her tone is warm, her words are just as lovely, her eyes still sparkle whenever they glance at you. but there's something so heavy behind all of that, that knowing her, you can feel it even though you can't tell what it is.

"but it really was time to let you go" bada says, a deep sigh leaves her mouth as she shifts her gaze up to look at the sky, and you think you can see the corner of her eyes starting to turn red as her eyes sparkle so brightly.

while your mind remains empty, malfunctioning even, you stare and stare as it starts to get a bit too hazy. bada's mind, in another case . . is running through all the flashbacks of the flight you two took together back home, the time when you had to leave as you two were breaking up, the many times she agonized as she wanted to call you but knew she shouldn't, she let herself sink into her own loneliness . . everything burns behind her eyes. and staring at the pain she possessed hurts you just as badly.

if you could remember all the good things she did to you right now, at this moment, you think you wouldn't be able to live with yourself anymore.

. . but, in reality, you really can't live with yourself. because you do remember.

that's why life's been so stressful. that's why suddenly your memory has a gap.

"i hope you can forgive me for that" bada says, her tone ever so softly as she still looks up at the sky. her face lights up a smile, so, so bitterly.

your brain unwires slowly as she speaks and you're met again with that look on her face, one that could make your heart ache and your stomach churn from the pain it feels. bada's watered eyes make your cheeks wet unintentionally as you dodn't realize how a cheeky tear softly rolls down the surface of your skin.

"and i'd rather you didn't ask me about love anymore, if you could" bada speaks up again. this time, she turns her head to look into your eyes, and you feel like she's begging you with how intense her gaze is.

"but our love is so sweet, why wouldn't i?" you say, your hand raises up to wipe the tears that are waiting to sneakily roll down your cheeks once again before you clench your hands into a fist, as an attempt to hold your tears back. "people don't understand it, but does that really even matter if we understand each other?" your voice is yet again so soft, unlike how determined bada sounds like when she asks you to stop asking about your relationship. you don't know why you clenched your hands, or why you cried, you don't even know why you asked bada that question, but you eagerly wait for her answer, like a puppy waiting for a treat.

the bitterness in bada's stomach feels like it's climbing up her throat and staying stuck in the middle of its way, her eyes are burning as they bore into yours, and perhaps the pain she's feeling has taken its toll on you as you can feel your heart drop for a split second. you never really want to know why you're feeling her pain, you just always do.

. . but you're content with feeling that pain, because that's the closest you can get to her heart now.

"didn't you just hear me?" bada says, her voice cracking as her eyes water once again. it's as if she's taking all her will power to hold back the tears in her eyes. it's as if she could breakdown at any moment if she let her guard down.

yet, it seems like everything suddenly goes away; you can't recall why bada is crying, and a confuse look displays on your face.

"not sure i did" you blink, your head tilted as you see the map in your hands once again, a glimpse of a memory brings you back as you quickly say . .

"oh, that's cute. we've been to france before, haven't we?"

“i just told you, y/n” bada's voice is shaking as she stares at you, her brows furrow as she starts to think that this is some kind of joke; a sick joke that you thought of to make her feel embarrassed, to remind her of how sweet you two were, and how she can never achieve what she had always wanted with you.

bada stares intensely into your eyes, she tries to get pass your facade. she wants to rip off that mask, that unfunny joke that you're trying to make. she wants to scream to your face that this isn't funny. yet ,your innocent look and your sweet smile catch her off-guard as you still wait for her answer. you even have a confuse look on your face, as if you don't understand a single word she's saying.

. . as if . . she's the mad one.

"you really don't . . know?" bada asks, worried. "do you even remember what we are?"

you nod, a weak smile on your lips as you sound way happier than you should, even though tears stream down your face just because they're streaming down on bada's face. "girlfriends."

even when bada's panicking slightly, her pretty presence still glows, and it's distracting enough. she rushes to get you in her car and you don't understand a thing, yet you let her do whatever she wants. and that's how your first hanging out in months ends.

while you're in the passenger seat, your eyes scan her whole being. and your chest does flips as you stare at her form.

"why are you so worried?" you ask. "where are we going?"

"we need to get you checked out, y/n."

you go quiet for a moment, not enjoying the concerned look on bada's face, not enjoying something despite not being able to tell what it is. you feel uncomfortable, your head's light as a feather, and the pain is spreading and slowly taking over your whole body on its own will. "ah, maybe. maybe . . everything feels . . fuzzy" you mumble. her hands grip the steering wheel harder as she speeds up. "don't worry, though. it's fine. i'm fine" you reassure bada, a weak smile shows up on your face as you hold your head.

that reminds her of how she died a little inside every time you'd say that, whenever she'd see your suffering. it doesn't help how you'd say that so many times whenever you'd both be upset about how others seemed to hate seeing you together, and the way you're saying it now only reminds her once again that her heart still aches for your words.

it reminds her that she can't put you through anything as heartbreaking again, it doesn't matter if she still cares enough to keep you alive in her memory.

letting you go was the right thing to do, and when she's right, she's right. even when she's wrong.

and she feels at home when she's alone, anyway.

© aebeism 2024

[aur0raaura]

im still blown away from the support im having with the previous art I've done related to the AU! as thanks, I'll share a wip of what i'm doing next as a continuation to this piece...hehe!

[screampied]

can you do soft sukuna after an argument vegas for fluff pretty please i think we deserve it after all you've done to us

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ MAYBE I’M THE PROBLEM﹒⺡ SUKUNA RYŌMEN. ’

sum. gn! reader, angst with c-comfort, he’s a softie at heart, fluff, petnames, ty lucy for beta'ing <3

“what’s with you today?” sukuna furrows his eyebrows, and he lightly grabs your wrist. you face him only to briefly look away with a stubborn scowl. “you didn’t have to do that. i can take care of myself.”

he was referring to earlier…how careless you were, at least from his perspective. throwing yourself in danger just for sukuna. perhaps it was stupid, but at that particular moment—you didn’t have a thought that crossed your mind.

“well, i did,” you mumble, and sukuna bites his tongue from the inside of his cheek. his nostrils flare before he grabs your shoulders.

“what are you not getting? and if you died trying to protect me, then what?” and for a brief moment, it was dead silence. you stared at sukuna, and you can’t remember a time he looked like this. sukuna was … scared. the more you looked into his dark eyes, once full of arrogance and wit — instead, his pupils dilated and widened. his thumbs gently pressed into your skin, and then he continues to speak. “how can you even be calm about something like that?”

“i wouldn’t have to do things like that if you’d just be more careful,” you chastise, a sudden wave of gloom spraying over you. sukuna kept pausing every few seconds, as if he was carefully thinking of what to reply with.

sukuna’s almost got a glare before he sighs. “i told you. i can take care of myse—”

“no, you can’t sukuna. you know how many times you’ve almost died? the countless days where i’d be worried sick about you. if anyone’s reckless, it’s you. and you wonder why i act like this, it’s because i’m in love with you, you idiot.”

you don’t even register your words, it’s as if you’ve been yearning to get that out for ages.

sukuna grows mute, trying to figure if he actually heard what he’d just heard. you…you were in love with someone like him?

the awkward silence was deafening, a single tear strolls down your cheek before sukuna’s face suddenly softens.

he brings a thumb up to your cheek, swiping the tear aside before muttering in a raspy, “you love me?”

“i thought it was pretty obvious,” you grumble, avoiding his eye contact. your heart ached, never in your life have you felt this vulnerable. saying it out loud only made you flustered immensely quick. a soft smile goes against his lips — you didn’t answer his question, but he knew the answer. you loved sukuna. “but whatever.”

“oi. don’t ‘whatever’ me,” sukuna mutters, cupping both sides of your face. he has you stare right into his eyes, the eyes where most see a cruel villainous person, you see the softest eyes imaginable. reserved only for you. “look at me,” and you finally meet his gaze, a smug grin slowly tugs against the corners of his mouth. “you’re in love with me.”

a weird tingly feeling crept up inside your stomach, and you give sukuna a glare. “you know,” he keeps speaking, a soft finger stroking your cheek. “instead of almost dying for me, you could have been normal and just said, ‘i love you’.”

“…shut up,” you grouse, entirely abashed. he found it cute seeing you like this. in the midst of your mini tantrum - sukuna hums to himself, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“hmpf. well, i suppose i love you too, brat,” he utters, watching your face briefly light up at his words. sukuna saying it back couldn’t have made your heart swoon even more, but it did. “and i’m sorry for being so careless.”

you felt butterflies collide inside your tummy before you blink, ears perking at his first initial words and you pout. “you suppose?”

sukuna looks down at you before he awkwardly pats your head. “i … love you,” his voice was a mere soft rasp. studying his stare, sukuna started to grow a tad bit embarrassed. even more than you. as his fingers softly roam through your hair, he leans up close to your face and scoffs. “happy now?”

“i love you more,” you smile, feeling more relieved. he’s taken aback once you hug him. sukuna’s always been so stiff at something as simple as a hug. your frame held his waist tightly, and he’d never admit it but it was adorable.

sukuna scowls. “…. you’re squishing me.”

“shut up and hug me back.” you sigh, only taking this as an opportunity to squeeze him tighter. he was so warm.

usually…sukuna wouldn’t let anyone get this close, yet alone do this. a simple affectionate hug.

he groans, slowly wrapping his arms around you. “you’re so annoying,” and as your head rests against his chest — you look up at him, a soft smile goes against your lips. “pain in my damn ass.”

“talking about your ass isn’t romantic, ‘kuna.” you raise your brows . . . obviously kidding, but he groans.

with an eye roll, sukuna does the unexpected and pulls you up close towards his face. with a perplexed grin, you watch as he grabs you into a chaste kiss. it takes you by surprise, your hands remain flat and still before you wrap your arms around him. sukuna’s soft with you, you made him soft—and he hated it, but a tiny part of him secretly loved it too.

abruptly, he pulls the kiss away before glaring at you. “i love you.”

“i love you too, kuku.”

“…..call me that again and see what happens.”

[earthtooz]

in which: a moment of impulsivity has ratio knocking on your door at 3 am with a grand confession.

There is a great cloud of curiosity that surrounds Dr. Ratio.

His intelligence is far beyond the average person’s comprehension, mind working at insurmountable speeds to reach conclusions and answers that no others have come to before. Mediocrity and Ratio could never stand to be in the same room, intelligence and reputation as an academic preceding him.

When people find out that you have been in a long-term relationship with the scholar, you can almost see the question mark above their heads. How did you meet? When did you start dating? How did you start dating? How do you put up with him? (You always answer that with ‘I’m still trying to find out myself’. He always rolls his eyes when you say that, but it’s nothing a kiss to the cheek can’t solve.) 

Only your closest friends know the story of how you started dating, but it’s always one you love recounting, much to the dismay of Veritas. 

For the decades that he has lived for, there have been few moments he regrets, always critically scrutinising every move six steps before he makes them. No one has ever seen him messy, uncertain, or dishevelled- except you. 

Towards the end of your university years, with an urgent final assignment due soon, you’re rudely awoken one night by frantic knocks on your dorm’s door. You notice the clock reads 3 am, and since the knocks only got louder by the second, you throw your covers off with a groan.

Who could be at your door at 3 am? Perhaps a drunk dormmate who forgot their keys? Or someone knocking thinking it was their room?

Looking through the peephole, you’re stunned to see a certain violet-haired friend on the other side, trouble etched deeply into his features. His hair was messy, falling haphazardly around his face, and his usual accessory of a laurel wreath was discarded, flamboyant outfit discarded for something more comfortable. 

It’s clear that he’s troubled by something, but you have half a mind to leave him outside until he goes away (that’s what he’d do to you, or so you think).

Opening the door, you begin by scolding him. “You better have a good reason to show up at this godforsaken time or otherwise-”

“-I’m in love with you.” 

Perhaps if it were a normal hour of the day, and if you hadn’t just been rudely awaken from your sleep, you would have processed his words faster. Instead, you blink at him once, twice, three times, fatigue weighing heavily on your features as you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

“What?” You murmur, shaking your head as if that would clear up the mental blockage.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, firmer this time. 

You grab his wrist and drag him inside your dorm, blinded by the harshness of the hallway lights illuminating the outline of his figure. Turning on the softer light on your desk, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, gazing down at your hands. Veritas, however, stays near your door, annoyingly muscular arms flexed over his chest.

“I have so many questions,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes. “Why are you awake? You’re always asleep by 11 to get your ass up at 6 to exercise, or whatever.” 

“Are you avoiding the main point, or just stupid?” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes. “I love you.” 

“Excuse me! You were banging bullets on my dorm room, I’m disorientated right now, not stupid- what?”

It’s almost like his statement from earlier only pierces through your brain now with the way you freeze, eyes morphing into something akin to disbelief and shock. He sees all the changes in your expression in the dimness of the room, nervously biting his cheek with every subtle shift.

“Did… I hear that right?” You whisper after what feels like an eternity. “You love me?”

He nods. “For a few years now.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Am I not doing so in this very moment?” 

Tonight has been nothing but agitating for him. First, he was kept awake by the pounding of his heart and the burning desire to see you, significantly delaying his sleep until Veritas decided to cast all caution into the wind, running to your dorm all the way on the other side of the University. Now, he is trying to pour his heart onto your hands, all because of a moment of impulsivity and bull-headed stubbornness, and a secret he cannot keep to himself any longer.

He may be stubborn (as are all geniuses), but Veritas is never impulsive. All truths will come to light eventually, no matter how hard he tries to hide them. 

“While I accept that my feelings may not be reciprocated, can you at least say something rather than stare at me blankly?” There’s an unfamiliar look of concern in his eyes, contrasting the usual pride and arrogance he always wears.

What happened to the Veritas Ratio you know? Who is this man by your feet?

“No- that’s not. I… I love you too, I have for a while now, but everything about this is… just… unbelievable.”

“Why?” 

“You’re aeons out of my league, Veritas. I never once considered you would return my feelings.”

He stifles back a laugh, dropping his large hands off your shoulders and clutching the mattress on either side of you. You won’t forget about the way the sheets crumple beneath his grip, or the way his head hangs, bangs tickling your legs.

Bravely, you raise a hand to his hair, running through it. Seemed like he could use the comfort.

“You make me too damn nervous,” he breathes, a hand coming to clutch at his chest. 

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you admit you get nervous.” 

“Why’s that?”

“The only thing bigger than your brain is your ego.”

His confession, and everything about that night, was unorthodox, never predicting that you’d end the day curled up next to Veritas, or the long relationship that would follow.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[keerysfreckles]

I saw you asked for luke requests so basically here i am😭😭

Luke x daughter of Apollo reader, who is just so unbelievably sweet and sunny and awesome and Luke who is genuinely head over heels for this girl he’s barely even talked to. Perhaps Annabeth utilizing forced proximity??

daylight — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, kissing, percabeth!!!

a/n: did i steal the jackie x cole kiss from my life with the walter boys as reader and lukes kiss..? .......no...

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

y/n wasn't sure what attracted her to luke castellan. maybe it was his charm, especially how charming he was when she first arrived to camp. maybe it was his looks. y/n always thought luke was way better looking than his siblings (don't let him find that out). or was it how she always felt giddy around him? she never felt this way around other campers, so what made luke so special?

the apollo girl was trying to figure it out on the way to breakfast, when a pair of hands clapped down on her shoulders. it brought her out of her trance.

the culprit was the hermes boy she couldn't get out of her head. luke castellan. along with annabeth beside him. y/n was confused once percy wasn't there. wherever annabeth went, percy followed.

"you've been so lost in thought recently, you okay?" y/n could tell luke was sincere while asking.

she only shrugs, "just have a lot on my mind i guess," she sends a smile to the pair before rejoining her own siblings at the apollo table.

annabeth simply shrugs towards luke, who's clearly just as confused by y/n's actions.

all throughout breakfast, luke couldn't keep his gaze away from y/n. her thoughts from earlier must have vanished. luke watched as she smiled brightly with her siblings. a smile that could light up the whole room, luke thought.

as cliche as it sounds, the way the sun was rising shined against y/n's hair perfectly. it was as if there was a halo surrounding her, securing the fact that she embodied sunlight.

when campers talked to y/n, they always left with a smile. luke was a victim to that as well.

as annabeth was walking back to her own table, with her second round of breakfast on her plate, she caught lule staring at y/n.

annabeth leaned down to luke, and the action made the boy jump, only making annabeth laugh. "and we're dreamily looking at y/n why?"

"damn annabeth, why don't you just restart my heart while you're at it."

"you didn't answer my question."

"i doubt i have a chance with her," luke sighs.

"you mean as in a relationship?"

luke nods, and annabeth sits beside him, not caring about the table rules in this very moment.

"why do you think she may not like you back?" annabeth questions.

"do you see her?" annabeth nods, choosing to ignore luke's grand hand gestures towards you. "she's the literal sun. everything about her is so pure, and positive, and perfect. what would she even like about me?"

"well, have you talked to her about this?"

luke looked at annabeth as if she had three heads and each one had smoke blowing out of it's ears.

"why on earth would i tell her? do i want to be made fun of by the most breath-taking girl at camp?" he said it if it were obvious.

without a word, annabeth left. this only confused luke. annabeth always had to have the last word in the conversation. luke knew she was planning something. he just wasn't sure what.

—

"why would there be a dolphin in the library of your cabin?"

to say y/n was beyond confused would be an understatement.

less than five minutes ago, annabeth informed her of a rabid dolphin placed in the middle of her library in athena cabin. y/n couldn't even get a thought out before annabeth started dragging her out of her own cabin.

"probably percy's idea. i don't know i haven't asked him yet." annabeth was still dragging y/n by her wrist.

"why don't you ask your little boyfriend about it and not me?" y/n offers. she sees annabeth become flustered as her grip loosens only for a moment, before the two girls end up outside the library door of athena cabin.

y/n pointed to the closed door, "and what exactly do you think i'm going to be able to do about a rabid dolphin?"

"you'll know," annabeth simply states, before pushing y/n inside quite aggressively. y/n hears the door lock.

"did you get the deranged raccoon story too?"

y/n turns to see luke looking through some of the books. she soon realized annabeth's little plan she had going on.

"no, not raccoons," y/n laughs, "a rabid dolphin actually."

"at least yours seems cooler," luke jokes.

y/n leans back against a wall and crosses her arms, already hating the slight awkward tension of the room.

"why would annabeth even trap us in here together? we barely know each other."

luke shrugs, "maybe that's what she wanted. for us to get to know each other better."

"i'm sorry, but doesn't annabeth, daughter of athena, goddess of wisdom, have something better to do with her time than trap two camp counselors in her library?"

luke couldn't help but laugh at the girl's response. she did have a point.

simply with the desk lamp light glowing towards y/n, luke still thought she looked like a human version of the sun.

"you're staring."

luke didn't even realize a few minutes have passed.

y/n only giggles at his flushed appearance, and walks over to stand beside him at the desk. a few books are opened. probably from annabeth doing more research about gods-knows-what. luke was now turned towards the books, and he felt y/n lean her chin upon his shoulder.

"do i make you nervous castellan?" she teases, jokingly at first. until she realizes he just tensed up at her phrase.

she slaps his upper arm, "oh my gods, i do make you nervous!" she exclaims.

luke rolls his eyes, "yeah, yeah, rub it in."

"am i dreaming right now? or does the luke castellan get nervous around me? and not some aphrodite camper?"

"aphordite's daughters have nothing on you," luke doesn't dare to make eye contact with the girl, but he's well aware of her staring. "you're literally a walking ray of sunshine. what can't i like about you?"

y/n involuntarily blushes at the compliment. she then places her chin back on luke's shoulder. finally, the taller boy looks at her. he swore he saw golden flakes dancing around her pupils.

there was a sudden change in atmosphere. neither of them could pin point why, but they weren't opposed to it.

"when i first got to camp, you made me nervous," y/n admits.

luke's eyebrows raise, "really?"

she simply nods, "the cool guy hermes camper wanted to talk to me more than his own brothers? of course you made me nervous."

both of them laugh at y/n's words, knowing they're nothing but true.

"why didn't you tell me before?" y/n asks, referring to luke's confession moments ago.

"i was worried you'd find it odd. and maybe you wouldn't want to talk to me, it's dumb i know," luke cuts himself off from his own rambling.

"it's definitely not odd," y/n reassures, "it's kinda cute, like you."

luke wasn't sure if he heard that last part right. maybe he just imagined it in his head, as something he wanted to hear. but he turned his head to face y/n. he was met with her staring back up at him, with worry filling her eyes as he didn't respond back.

"i like you luke, probably a lot more than i should," y/n moves her body away from luke's as she begins to walk towards the other side of the library.

however before she can even walk three steps away from the boy, his hand grabs at her wrist, halting her moments.

silence fills the room. not an uncomfortable one, but a steady silence.

luke pulls at y/n's wrist, making her hand collide with his chest. because of their height difference, now y/n had to look up at him. she gulped quietly, scared of what luke was going to say, or do to her.

the next event only confused y/n more.

luke leaned down and kissed y/n on the lips. she closed her eyes and savored the short but sweet feeling. in fact, it was too short for her liking. she broke her arm away from luke's grasp and he thought he was done for right then and there when she grabbed the back of his neck to bring his lips to hers again.

this time the kiss was much more passionate. months or maybe years of pent up emotions spilling out into it.

the two were too caught up in the moment as a muffled voice from behind the door became louder, and the door opened with the same voice following.

"do you really have a dolphin- OH MY GODS,"

y/n and luke turn to see percy standing in the doorway, with annabeth running up behind him.

"i tried to tell him," annabeth defended. "come on seaweed brain, let them have their moment."

"right sorry," percy then closed the door, before opening it again, "leave enough space for jesus between you two. i mean it!"

[stylesispunk]

"You're the loss of my life"

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

part 2 here

summary: you and Joel went from one kiss to getting married to becoming strangers.

w.c: 5k>

Warnings: angst, implications of cheating, mentions miscarriage. Perhaps some grammar mistakes because no proofreading oops!

a/n: I know everything I write is angst but is what it fits in my mind right now. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The day you killed yourself, you woke up. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why. 

You didn't want to talk, even less to answer the pitiful comments from people who thought they had a say on all this.

You remember the fall. You remember Joel running to Sophie to save her life instead of yours, instead of both. You and the baby who was inside you. The one who wasn't there anymore because of its tiny form didn't resist the impact of your fall.

What a tragedy.

Sadness overcame you in the aftermath. In a world like this, treating your wounded body wasn't as hard as treating your heart, which became a frozen glass shell.

The days that followed were a blur, each moment blending into the next, a never-ending cycle of grief and numbness. You avoided mirrors, hating the reflection of a person you no longer recognized. The hollow eyes, the lifeless expression—they belonged to a ghost, not to you.

Joel tried to talk to you, his words a constant hum in the background. "I'm sorry," he'd say. "I didn't know what to do." But his apologies were meaningless, lost in the chasm that had formed between you. He perhaps saved Sophie because he loved her more, because in that split second, she was the one who mattered.

Not you anymore.

You spent hours in the nursery, the room you had so carefully prepared. The crib, the tiny clothes, the stuffed animals—all mocking reminders of what could have been. Your hands would linger on the soft blankets, tears falling silently onto the fabric. It was in that room that you felt the closest to the baby you had lost—a place where the field of dreams you had died.

One night, as you sat in the dark, the pain was too much to bear, and you decided you couldn't go on. The world was too cruel, too indifferent to people's suffering. You wrote a letter, your final words, to those who might wonder why. It was brief—just a few sentences explaining the unbearable weight of your grief and the unending ache in your heart. Meeting your family and beloved ones in heaven sounded better than keeping yourself prisoner in a world that would never be a safe place for anyone.

You took the pills, each one a step closer to peace. As you drifted off, you felt a strange sense of calm, a release from the torment that had consumed you. You hoped that in death, you would find the solace that eluded you in life.

But then you woke up again. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why.

Waking up again felt like a cruel joke. You were back in the same world, with the same pain. But something was different. Joel was there, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He took your hand, his touch hesitant and afraid.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice breaking.

You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. The wound was still too fresh, and the betrayal was still too raw to face them.

Joel's gaze burned in your back, and the smell of death was in the room. You held your breath for a moment. You wanted to smell the flowers and the baby smell of the little head of your baby, which you would never get to meet.

"Why?" he questioned, and for the first time, his voice did soothe your wounds; instead, it caused your blood to boil inside you and irritated you.

"I want Ellie here, not you."

"Baby- “

"Go." Your voice could slice Joel’s skin.

He recoiled as if struck, his face crumpling with pain. He stood there for a moment, looking lost and broken. "Please, don't push me away," he pleaded, but you couldn't hear him through the rage and grief that consumed you.

"Leave," you repeated, your voice cold and final.

Joel's shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was suffocating, a void that threatened to swallow you whole. You curled into a ball, the tears flowing freely now—a torrent of pain and loss.

“Go to Sophie,” you whispered to the void, allowing yourself to cry.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment; your sobs were the only sound in the quiet room. You didn't know how long you lay there, but eventually, you heard a soft knock on the door.

Ellie's voice was hesitant when she called out your name, filled with a mix of anger and concern. "Can I come in?"

You didn't answer, but she opened the door anyway, slipping inside and closing it behind her. She looked at you, her expression torn between fury and sadness.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Why did you try to leave me too?"

You looked up at her, seeing the pain in her eyes and mirroring your own. "I... I didn't think I could handle it anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I lost everything, Ellie. I lost you, I lost Joel, and I lost the baby. I didn't know how to go on."

Ellie walked over to you, her steps hesitant. "You didn't lose me. I'm still here," she said, her voice softening. "But you almost did. And I'm so mad at Joel. He should have saved you both. He should have done more."

“Do you think Joel doesn’t love me anymore?” you sobbed.  The pain in your voice broke Ellie’s heart.

She kneeled beside you, taking your hands in hers. "I don’t know what’s on his mind now," she admitted, her voice trembling. "But I do know he loves you. He's just... broken too. We're all broken."

You pulled her into a tight embrace, both of you crying together, sharing the weight of your grief. “I lost my baby because of him.”

Ellie held you tighter, her own tears mingling with yours. "Cry,” she said softly. "Blaming him won't bring the baby back. It won't help us heal. We have to find a way to forgive and move forward."

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, finding strange solace in each other’s arms. The pain was still there, raw and overwhelming.

You were standing in the small kitchen of your home in Jackson, the dilapidated walls a far cry from the security of the life you once knew. But for a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of something better. Your hands trembled slightly as you held the small, worn piece of paper—a positive pregnancy test, a symbol of new life in a world consumed by death.

Joel walked in, weary from a long day of patrol. His eyes lit up when he saw you, but they quickly clouded with concern as he noticed the look on your face.

"What's going on?" he asked, setting down his backpack and walking over to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Joel, I have something to tell you,” you began, your voice shaking. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, there was silence. Joel's expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to something darker—fear and maybe even anger.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "In this world? How could you be so irresponsible?"

The words hit you like a physical blow, your earlier excitement and hope crumbling into dust. "Irresponsible?" you echoed, your own voice rising defensively. "It takes two people to do this, you know.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You know what it’s like out there! Every day is a fight for survival. We can barely keep ourselves alive, and now you want to bring a baby into this?”

“I know this is not the best way, but what do you want me to do?” 

“You know what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought them back, unwilling to show weakness at his suggestion. "I know it's dangerous, Joel. But it's also a chance for us to have a future. To have a reason to keep going."

Joel's face softened for a moment, but then the hard lines returned. "And what if we can't protect it? What if we lose it? Bringing a baby into this world... it's a death sentence."

You turned away, unable to look at him. "I thought you'd be happy," you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I thought this would be something good for us."

He reached out, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, but the damage was done. "I just... I can't see how this can work."

You clutched the pregnancy test to your chest, tainted by doubt and fear. “Are you mad because of the baby, or what would Sophie think of this?" you questioned quietly.

Joel's expression faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet your gaze. The mention of Sophie seemed to strike a chord, bringing a new layer of tension to the room.

"Sophie has nothing to do with this," he muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

"Doesn't she?" You pressed, your voice rising. "She's always in the back of your mind, Joel. Every decision you make, every risk you take, it's always about protecting her."

"She's my partner in patrol,” he shot back, his voice growing louder. "I’m just as protective as I am with everyone here! I can't fail her, or you. But this world... it's no place for a child."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I know you're scared, Joel. So am I. But we can't live our lives in fear. This baby is a chance for us to have something real, something good. Don't you see that?"

Joel's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "I do see it," he admitted quietly. "But it doesn't change the reality we live in. I just... I don't know if I can take that risk."

The room fell silent, the tension hanging thick in the air. You turned away from him, your heart heavy with a mixture of hope and despair. "I'm going to do everything I can to protect this baby," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "With or without you."

Joel looked at you, pain and conflict warring in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it, shaking his head. He turned and walked out, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, your heart breaking as the small symbol of hope in your hand seemed to grow heavier by the second.

The “I do” and vows seemed so foreign in the back of your mind now.

A week had passed since your almost-death. The days were a blur of grief and small steps toward recovery. Ellie remained close; her presence was a constant reminder that there was still something worth fighting for. In your head, you felt guilt and pity, not strong enough to keep believing you were the same woman who arrived here. You were the gosh of a lively fighter who became a lifeless frame.

Maria approached you in the cafeteria, where you were trying to busy yourself. She had always been a pillar of strength in Jackson and a calming presence for you since the day you, Joel, and Ellie arrived.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle. "How are you holding up?"

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. Maria sighed, pulling up a chair beside you. "I know it's hard. But you need to take things slow. You can't rush healing."

You nodded, though her words felt distant. The weight of your grief was a constant presence, making everything seem surreal. "I just... I don't know how to keep going. I don’t know how to do this again," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as Sarah’s lifeless frame came to your mind.

You had lost another child.

Maria reached out, squeezing your hand. "One day at a time," she said. "And remember, it's okay to lean on others. You don't have to do this alone."

You wanted to believe her, but the pain was too fresh and overwhelming. As the days turned into a week, you forced yourself to go through the motions, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. One afternoon, you found yourself in the cafeteria of Jackson. The noise and bustle were a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Maria was there, talking to a few people, and she caught your eye, giving you an encouraging smile. You tried to smile back, but it felt forced. The weight of your loss was a constant shadow, making everything seem heavier.

As you moved through the line, Maria came over, her expression concerned. "Hey, remember what I said. Take it slow. You don't have to do everything at once."

Something inside you snapped. The pressure, the grief, the guilt—it all came crashing down. "Take it slow?" you repeated, your voice rising. "How am I supposed to take it slow when everything is falling apart? How am I supposed to keep going when I not only lost my baby but also my husband?!”

The cafeteria fell silent, all eyes turning towards you. You could feel the weight of their stares, the shock, and the pity. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the enormity of your outburst sank in.

Maria reached out, but you recoiled, your emotions spiraling out of control. "I don't need to take it slow!" you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "I need... I need..." You didn't even know what you needed; the pain was too overwhelming to articulate.

Joel was there in an instant, his face etched with worry. "Hey, hey," he said softly, reaching out to you. "It's okay. You're okay."

But you weren't okay. You felt like you were drowning, the weight of your grief pulling you under. You shook your head, backing away from him. "Don't touch me for fuck's sake! I don't want your dirty hands on me!”

Joel’s eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the best of the man you had married ten years ago.

Joel's eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the ghost of the man you had married ten years ago.

He froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The cafeteria's silence deepened, the tension thickening. You saw the pain in his eyes, a reflection of your own turmoil, but it did nothing to quell the anger and sorrow boiling inside you.

"I can't do this," you said, your voice breaking as you took a step back, your chest heaving with sobs. "I can't keep pretending that everything is going to be okay. Because it's not! Nothing is okay!"

Ellie pushed through the crowd, her face pale but determined. "Mom," she said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We're here. We're all here. We'll get through this."

Joel looked helplessly at Ellie, then back at you. "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just let us help."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your rock, now just a shadow of the person you had relied on. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but Ellie’s presence brought a flicker of something else—a reminder of why you needed to keep fighting.

Ellie wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as you sobbed into her shoulder. The room remained silent; the weight of your grief was palpable. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope—a reminder that you weren’t alone and that you had people who loved you and who were willing to help you carry the burden.

Joel stepped closer, his hand hovering uncertainly at your back, not daring to touch you without permission. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "For everything. I’m so, so sorry."

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "You killed him," you snapped, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I can’t forgive you.”

Joel's face crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him like a physical blow. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side. The silence in the room grew heavier, and the tension was palpable.

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible. "I know I can never undo what I've done. I live with that guilt every day."

Your anger burned hot and fierce, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. "You killed him," you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "And you expect me to just forgive you? To move on like nothing happened?"

Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. "No," he said softly. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I can forgive myself. But I want to try. I want to make things right as much as I can."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your partner, your confidant, now a stranger in the wreckage of your shattered life. The anger still burned hot within you, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—pain, sorrow, and a desperate longing for the life you had lost.

"I don't know if I can do this," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know if I have the strength to forgive you."

Ellie's arms remained wrapped around you, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. She gently guided you away from the cafeteria, her touch reassuring as you stumbled through the hallways of Jackson. The weight of your grief felt heavier with each step, but Ellie's presence gave you a glimmer of strength.

As you reached the door, Ellie helped you inside, guiding you to the small couch in the living area. She sat beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, the tears still streaming down your face. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to deal with all of this."

Ellie reached out, taking your hand in hers. "We'll figure it out together," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I promise."

You squeezed her hand tightly, grateful for her unwavering support. "Thank you, Ellie," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

She leaned in, wrapping you in a tight hug. "I love you, Mom," she said softly. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you hugged her back, her words echoing in your mind. "I love you too, Ellie," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

As you and Ellie held each other close, the weight of her love and support was a balm to your wounded soul. But amidst the embrace, a knock on the door interrupted the moment, causing both of you to startle.

Ellie pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours with concern. "Should I... Should I get that?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

You shook your head, wiping away your tears as you tried to compose yourself. "No, it's okay," you said, your voice still shaky. "I'll go."

Ellie nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before standing up from the couch. "I'll be in my room if you need me," she said softly, giving you a lingering look before leaving the living area.

As Ellie disappeared down the hallway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With trembling hands, you made your way to the door and opened it, revealing Joel standing on the other side.

His expression was a mix of worry and remorse as he looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea for forgiveness. "Can we talk?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, the memories of your outburst in the cafeteria still fresh in your mind. But despite the anger and pain, there was a part of you that longed for closure, for a chance to understand.

"Okay," you said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

Joel entered the house, his footsteps hesitant as he crossed the threshold. The living room felt suffocatingly small as you both stood there, the weight of your shared grief hanging heavy in the air.

"I... I don't even know where to start," Joel said, his voice strained with emotion.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I just... I need to understand," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need to know why you did what you did."

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the abandoned streets of the city. You and Joel had been scavenging for supplies, your footsteps echoing in the eerie silence that seemed to permeate every corner of the world.

You had felt uneasy all day, a knot of jealousy and insecurity twisting in your stomach at the sight of Sophie, her laughter ringing in your ears like a taunt.

You had implored Joel to come. You just wanted to feel as worthy and important to him as you used to, even in your state. But despite your misgivings, you had pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable and worthy of Joel's love and attention.

And then it happened.

If Joel had been more careful, he wouldn’t have allowed you to come. But he didn’t want to make you feel worthless.

A horde of infected had descended upon you, their snarls and growls a chilling symphony of death and despair. You had frozen; your mind was unable to comprehend the danger until it was too late.

But Joel had acted, his movements swift and sure as he pulled you away from the oncoming onslaught, his grip firm and unyielding.

And then he had seen her.

Sophie was trapped beneath the rubble, her screams echoing in the chaos as the infected closed in, their hunger insatiable.

And in that moment, something inside Joel shifted.

He had hesitated, torn between saving you and saving her, his eyes flickering with indecision, before he made his choice.

He had chosen Sophie.

He jumped off the horse, leaving you alone. You had watched in horror as he raced towards her, leaving you behind, your heart shattering into a million jagged pieces as the truth of his betrayal washed over you like a tidal wave.

You had screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of the chaos, your tears mingling with the blood and dust that coated your skin.

And then the world went dark.

You fell from the horse, hitting the cobblestones hard. The pain was sharp and intense, searing through your body like a white-hot flame. You could hear the distant sound of screams and growls, the world around you spinning in a haze of confusion and agony.

Through the haze, you could dimly make out Joel's voice, calling out your name in desperation. But his words felt distant, a mere echo in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos subsided, leaving behind a heavy silence that pressed down on you like a weight. You tried to move, to call out, but your body felt numb and unresponsive. Your world went black.

"I need to know why, Joel," you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you choose her over us? Why did you leave me behind?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you waited for his answer, the weight of his betrayal still fresh in your mind, a wound that refused to heal.

Joel's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his guilt. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I panicked. I made a mistake."

Anger surged within you at his words, a fiery rage that threatened to consume you. "A mistake?" you repeated, your voice rising with indignation. "You left me to die, Joel. You left our child to die. How could you call that a mistake?"

Joel flinched at your words, the pain in his eyes mirroring your own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry. You were my wife; I should.”

"Were you my wife?” You sobbed, “Since when is that in the past, Joel?”

Joel's words hung in the air like a heavy weight, his admission of guilt and regret piercing through the veil of anger and pain that enveloped you. But amidst the turmoil, there was a flicker of something else—a longing for understanding, for closure, for a chance to heal.

"You are my wife," Joel repeated clearly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have protected you. I should have been there for you. But I failed. I failed both of you."

His words stirred something deep within you—a wellspring of grief and longing that threatened to overwhelm you. "And now?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "What am I to you, Joel?"

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. Not uttering a word.

“Do you have feelings for Sophie?” You asked, fear creeping to your bones, not wanting to hear the answer.

Joel's silence spoke volumes; his hesitation was a weighty presence in the air between you. You held your breath, afraid of what his answer might be and of the truth that lay hidden in the depths of his gaze.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Joel spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his words heavy with uncertainty. "

“You love her,” you stated. “That’s why you chose her.”

Joel's silence in response to your accusation only confirmed your worst fears, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a heavy ache in your chest. The truth hung in the air, stark and undeniable, like a shadow cast by the setting sun.

Tears stung your eyes as you struggled to process the betrayal, the pain of Joel's admission cutting through you like a knife. The realization that he might love Sophie and might have chosen her over you and your unborn child was a blow that threatened to shatter you completely.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice barely more than a broken plea. "I can't stay here, knowing... knowing that I'll never be enough for you. Living in a world like this is already hell, but you made it even worse. You made me feel disgusted by myself, worthless, and ashamed," you shouted. "You're a fucking coward."

Joel flinched at your words, the truth of your accusations cutting through him like a knife. For a moment, it seemed as though he might speak, might try to defend himself, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Hate me; I'll wait. Until you forgive," he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to find the words to express the depth of your pain. "Forgive you?" you chuckled bitterly. "I won't."

There are two types of grievances. The one who met the spirits in death and the one who met with the ghosts of someone who should have died in front of you. You still couldn't comprehend which one was worse. Both were painful, and both watered your eyes. But having the ghost of someone who brought you warm, freezing your aura while slipping from your grasp, leaving you crying to yourself till your head tired up and there wasn't anything left that fell into the voiceless world of sleeping, where in your dreams, you were still the same woman in the white dress, marrying the love of your life.

"I needed my husband! I need him now! And the worst thing is, I still need you, but you're just a fucking phantom."

"I'm still here," he exclaimed.

"No, you're not.".

"It wasn't even born!" Joel said.

The silence met souls leaving the lovers's bodies.

You were left speechless, tears ricocheting. Your heart was clenched in pain, and your throat felt like it was being torn apart by a monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Save it," you spat. You were exhausted, and your heart hurt so much that you couldn't even feel it beating anymore. "Sorry if grieving my baby was such a burden to you."

As you turned back to face Joel, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the gaping chasm of loss that lay between you.

"Let me remind you of something, Joel," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Losing Sarah was the worst thing that happened to us, and just imagine how it is for me to know I carried her and this baby just to lose them both."

Joel's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features as he looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I know," he said softly, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"I'll move out," Joel said suddenly, his voice tinged with resignation. "So you can bring your new lover here and make all the babies you want."

His words cut through you like a knife, a painful reminder of the irreparable rift that had formed between you. "You know what really broke me?" you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "You... you're the biggest loss of my life, but as much as I love you, I despise you the same. You're the loss of my life I will be yours. There's no way back from this, Joel."

As the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, you reached for the wedding band adorning your finger, a symbol of a love that had once been unbreakable but now lay shattered at your feet.

With trembling hands, you removed the ring, feeling its weight in your palm as you stared at it, the memories of happier times flashing before your eyes like a cruel mockery of the present.

Without a second thought, you flung the ring towards Joel, watching as it spun through the air before landing at his feet with a soft thud.

"There," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "Take it. Take everything that remains of us."

Joel looked down at the ring, his expression unreadable as he reached out to pick it up and his fingers trembling as he held it in his palm.

"I don't want this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

But you shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you stared at him, the pain of his betrayal a raw wound that refused to heal. "I don't want it either," you said, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. "But it's all we have left."

And with that, you turned away, unable to bear the weight of his presence any longer. The wounds he had inflicted upon you ran deep, a festering wound that refused to heal.

[harmonysanreads]

Idée Fixe

yandere!lyney x reader

cw(s) : yandere, lyney, written before fontaine release

wc : 2.6k+

two dorks psychoanalyze each other. might kiss out of spite.

“For as many hearts as you steal, how many do you keep?”

The smooth texture from designed cards is felt across the tips of your fingers, your eyes capture the patterns printed on them through the filter of silvery moonlight and the sound of steps falling in sync with yours assure you of the verity of this encounter.

You don't even need to look up to picture the twinkling amethysts, the widening curve of lips that never convey anything concrete and a sudden bounce in the magician's steps ; the visage painted in your subconscious like the motifs on the cards your fingers fiddle with in intrigue.

The chilly night breeze are but twirls of playful edge,“You make it sound like something else,”

If you cared to look up, you would've noticed the subtle dance of his brows. Lyney begins to walk a step ahead of you in the midst of his short speech, through prolonged scrutiny that'd rival that of the most skilled jeweler's ; you've associated this change of pace to either be in preparation for his usual trickery — or, in the few sparse occasions that go as soon as they come, a casual introduction of another subject to eliminate the previous one. While one could accuse you of reading too much into things, you've long since learned that when it concerns the eccentric magician, the tell-tale details will reveal what he will not.

“Oh really? Perhaps it's your mind imagining insinuations that do not exist, you do have a creative brain.”

“Ouch, only you could insult and praise me in the same sentence.” Lyney places a hand over his heart to cradle it from the jab, though his choice of words should indicate offense, the delivery makes it clear he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Why, thank you, though you're gravely mistaken if you think that will change the subject.” with a swivel of his cape, Lyney spins to walk facing you, his strides (albeit backwards) unchanging in confidence and only when your lift your head to lock eyes, does his expression lighten.

“Well, to answer your question, the ones that are worth keeping, of course.”

The magician chuckles at your eye-roll, “Don't play coy, you know precisely how I meant that question.”

Lyney hums in pretend contemplation, gaze still fixated on your moonlit form, the beat of both of your steps grazing against the pavement and making it seem like a strange parade. Your question holds substance unknown to the rest of the world, but translucent to the magician.

It is both his frustration and delight that you're never bent by his charming words and theatrics. Your firm stare and insistence on the topic confirm his suspicions that you're searching for something particular, something uprooted from the very depths of his soul and he could bet his entire career that you won't stop until you've wrung it out. The answer you seek is nothing he can't give, it'd be simple as well, but precisely due to this knowledge the magician opts instead to test the limitations of your patience.

Truth be told, Lyney never likes it easy and neither do you.

For a miniscule lapse in the boundless confines of time, it's as though both of your world has separated from the existing one. For an amount that'd otherwise be uncomfortable, all exchange is made through your locked eyes. Like a secret shared between no other soul — despite your better judgement, the realization sends a jolt of thrill through your veins and you cannot help but wonder if the magician feels the same.

Seemingly out of thin air, Lyney twirls his magic wand in a wanton pattern, small sparks of light clash with the moon's glow before waltzing past your hair — you pause for not a second, knowing their goal lies in catching you off-guard. If Lyney was given the chance, he'd spend the rest of the night in determining whether you looking back to the cards in your hands was merely an expression of boredom or a brag of how accustomed you are to his theatrics.

Lyney dabbles between the lines of reality and illusion as a profession, blurring them without his audience's notice to make them believe a miracle. It's a simple trick he's succeeded in transforming into an art, so he was confident you'd be privy to the delusion as well. Whether it's due to you doing the same as him or the opposite entirely, Lyney's persistence in solving the puzzle piece named you only grows more tenacious day-by-day.

Sensing the magician's uncharacteristic quietude, you abandon the cards to his backwards marching form and the cheeky grin plastered on his face has you wishing you hadn't at all.

“Ah, but you see, the information you seek is confidential and I fear for prying ears. How about you come a little closer, and I'll tell you the amount?”

Lyney's face is a perfect replica of the grin-malkin cat he adores using as prop, a cloud obscures the moon's vision from seeing the act down earth and the shimmer of Lyney's eyes become pronounced in contrast to the shadow. In comparison, your visage that'd scream ‘preposterous!’ if it could looks nothing short of a circus.

Your steps come to a halt in unison, a breathy chuckle echoes throughout the dead of the night, “Aw, why that face? I don't bite~”

You blink in surprise and suddenly the magician's presence is way too closer than you recall ; he bows down to your ear and the heat of his breath almost makes a shiver run down your spine.

“... but, I might nibble.”

You catch his impish smirk from the corner of your eye and if Lyney notices how you choke in the formation of words, he could snag an award for acting like he didn't.

“Are you that fixated on creating a scandal? Must you always be so shameless?”

At that, Lyney leans away with a pout, hands folded behind his back and swaying back and forth on the heels of his shoes like a reprimanded child.

“Come on now, don't be such a killjoy. I went through all that trouble to whisk you from that boring party and this is how I'm thanked?”

The magician's words are a drawl, each one competing to be more irritating than the last. You have to take a deep breath and hold your tongue from reminding him that the escapade had been without your choice. The world places limitations on all sorts of things and you're not morbidly curious enough tonight to know the extent of the magician's good graces. A beat of tense silence passes, Lyney takes note of your averted gaze and it positively irks him.

Lack of eye-contact means a number of things ; nervousness, insecurity, hesitancy, guilt. For a performer like him whose pride resides in keeping his audience's eyes hooked on his every move, such a gesture is bitter tasting. But when it concerns you, it pricks and wounds his very soul. Lyney's sigh is one of weight and it inclines you to raise your head.

“By asking how many hearts I keep, you hope to know how many matters to me.”

The magician takes his hat off and moves forward to place it atop your head, his speech is not an assumption, nor an inquiry, but a statement. You straighten your posture when you notice the absence of a smile on his face, the sight so alien it has you on edge. While his gesture may be plain to an inexperienced eye, you know that he does it as an extension of his affection. For all the valued items he keeps dangling by the rim of that hat, he surrenders it all to you in a heartbeat.

But you still hold your breath and as expected, the solemn expression of his proves to be transient. Just before the hat grazes your locks, he tips it back, gives the vacancy of its inside an inspecting look and does an emptying gesture as if to prove its.. well, emptiness. There's a flicker in his eyes you're not given the time to catch as he brings his hat just above your head and does the same depleting motion again ; the scent of fresh roses engulf your senses as a thousand petals cascade down from the hat. As if on cue, the winds pick up and waltz them down upon your form.

Here's the thing ; while you may pride yourself in being experienced in discerning Lyney's tricks, it becomes a task to maintain a straight face as he never repeats his previous sleight of hand. What you can try to do instead is search for patterns, patterns reveal genres and genres reveal intentions. Lyney is a celebrated magician of the Court, his capabilities lie far from simple card tricks, so for him to resort to elementary jugglery instead of some grand spectacle, it can only mean he's trying to distract you yet again.

You feel the weight of his hat on your head at last, shifting all the cards on your left hand, you raise your right to adjust its position slightly.

Your encouragement for him to elaborate comes in the form of confirmation, “That'd be correct,”

The magician's lips curve up in fondness, a playful hum escapes him as you resume your walk, him returning to stride facing you again. It's a skill he's mastered in the duration of your acquaintance, for the purpose of stunts apparently. You have your suspicions — but then again, who doesn't when it concerns Lyney?

“Very well. You accuse me of being such a thief, yet, I think you are the guiltier one between us two.” the errant strands of the magician's hair sway, his eyes keep you captive.

He takes the inquisitive tilt of your head as incentive to conclude, “On the topic of hearts and all, I must ask first, when do you intend to return mine?”

The night winds pause, your brain processes Lyney's question until it blanks upon realization. Your eyes dart across his face that is void of all teasing cues, his eyes glazed over and you can tell he's holding his breath. Any consideration of his behavior aligning with trickery is eliminated just as quickly, because if anyone were to want to understand Lyney as intricately as you, they'd first need to learn to be able to distinguish his flirtation from fact.

“... Do I have to?”

You find yourself half concerned and half entertained as the magician narrowly avoids being hit by a pole, him having to maneuver to regain his footing. Both of your steps come to a halt as your laugh echoes throughout the dead of the night. Lyney sheepishly places a hand on the back of his neck but that sight is all too evanescent. The signature smirk of his returns with enthusiasm.

“Not at all,” he purrs, eyes flickering towards your restless ones that have settled on his magic cards again.

“In fact, mold it to your will, toss it to your whim and hold it captive as though it's a supplement of your own, if you may.”

Your ears hang onto each of Lyney's words but your eyes find no courage to look at the mirth that you're certain is plastered on his face, you take the moment to properly inspect the motifs on the cards with some distraction from the shadows of the night : the grin-malkin cat, a miniature Lyney sticking out his tongue, a tea cup, a penguin and—

You're left stupified as the card is abruptly snatched from your grasp, Lyney bounces back a few steps and confirms to be the culprit. You brisk walk to reach the magician and that turns out to be your biggest mistake.

The card is at first held between two of Lyney's fingers, him shaking it left and right in provocation and in the spur of the moment, you take a leap. You feel the wind of the card being propelled upward, the magician holding it out of your reach. Your desire to obtain the piece of paper exceeds your awareness of the sudden decrease in proximity between you both. You shift to your tiptoes and feel the surface of the card, one look through your peripheral at the magician's smile and you realize a little too late that you've fallen right into his trap.

“Now, let's see, the question that started this all : the number of hearts this magician holds dear is the answer to this riddle—”

You expected Lyney to make the card disappear or shift higher if possible, but instead his hand wraps around yours and you find yourself twirled a full circle. The motion catches you off-guard but the magician stabilizes you by placing a firm hand on your waist and pulling you to his eye-level. You find yourself out-of-breath and unable to look away as the moon shines its light on you two again.

“—Placed above, it makes greater things small. Placed beside, it makes small things greater. ” the magician tilts your chin up in his preferred angle with the card, the cool temperature of its margin contradicting the heat of your skin.

“In matters that count, it always comes first.”

The faint rustle of your garbs against his is resounding, your own reflection stares back through amethyst lenses.

Lyney's voice is but a whisper against your cheek as he concludes, “Where others increase, it keeps all things the same. What is it?”

Your frenzied mind momentarily dreads the scenario wherein someone catches you two in the midst of this rendezvous, from incipiency to this apparent climax ; it's built up to be nothing short of scandalous. But the magician has no care for that outcome, inching closer, closer and closer. As if sensing the new wave of worries that fill your mind, he halts but makes no attempt to lean back, his eyes regain their usual shine.

“Quite easy, don't you think? But, if you believe it to be so, you'll be mislead. After all, that is how the simplest magic bewilders the audience. Blink, and you might miss it.”

The magician dives in and your breath hitches. Your eyes are forced open when you feel yourself stumble forward. The first second is wasted with no action, the second one you register that you have the card in your hand — pressed to your lips, on the third you notice the absence of Lyney's presence and the forth brings down all the embarrassment crashing down on your poor heart.

You pull away the condemned card from your lips, heavens know what anyone would think if they saw you kissing a piece of paper in the middle of nowhere. Your face flushes in the lovely shades of pink, heart hammering against your ribcage.

I could've sworn that I felt...!

The magic card crumbles slightly by the edges because of your grip, the prickle of its corners remind you to take deep breaths and calm your raging thoughts. You shake your head with vigour, but you're unsure if it's to recollect the memory or to brush it off. You're left alone to ruminate the aftermath of the bizarre encounter in the cold winds of midnight and you almost want to drown yourself in the darkest depths of the sea as recollections of your reactions rapidly pass through your mind — you can practically hear Lyney's snickers in your head.

Your attention is then grabbed by the catalyst of your current predicament, you turn over the card and finally inspect the motif printed on the card ; two hearts, bounded by a shackle and a lock. You trace your thumb across the hearts and your mind retraces Lyney's cryptic words. If all interactions, encounters and memories you share with the eccentric magician of Fontaine would form a pinnacle for you to see the truth from ; you'd know that behind the veneer of charisma and humor, Lyney hides something far less innocent. And yet, regardless of the foreboding creeping up your spine, you find yourself unable to snap the tether of connection.

Because as it is, that which is mysterious, captivates us all.

may all lyney wanters be lyney havers<3

[pomefioredove]

You know what would be sad? If you/Yuu breaks up with Vil (or vice versa) and then runs to Rook afterwards. I wonder if Vil is going to feel betrayed again? If you could do a little scenario for this, that’d be great!

this is such a good prompt, I love rebound scenarios omg. needed this today. and here comes rook with the steel chair!!!

summary: getting dumped by vil schoenheit type of post: long fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, established relationship, vil breaks up with reader, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda angsty, hahhhh, my god

"It's not personal. I just don't think it's fair to you," Vil says.

He doesn't fidget. Maintains perfect eye contact. He doesn't even try to act sorry, which, perhaps, is what stings the most.

He's supposed to be an actor, after all.

That's what this is all about.

"You must have always known this was a possibility," he says. "My schedule is getting busier, I simply don't... want to push you away."

Each word is spoken with a honeyed softness, as if he's trying to cushion the blows. It doesn't help.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your eyes burn. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced. You would take a thousand overblots over this. Any day.

What a bitter sentiment.

"You don't mean to push me away. What is this, then?"

A look of guilt finally crosses Vil's face, cracking the mask of professionalism he'd been hiding behind. It offers little comfort.

His brow furrows, and he sighs. "A preventative measure. It would hurt more if I'd waited,"

A million questions fly through your mind, faster than you can catch them. You want to shout, to tell him exactly how he's making you feel, to ask him who he thinks he is- but all you can manage is a stare.

He frowns, extending a hand as if to caress your face, but you turn on your heels and leave before he has the chance.

You wouldn't sit there and let him make a fool of you any longer.

You had become comfortable with the Pomefiore dorm in the past few months, but today, its elegance feels suffocating. The white and gold decor seems to mock you, every vase of perfect flowers laughing at your imperfection as you pass them by.

It hurts.

Stings, burns, makes you feel like you're drowning in a sea of perfume, choking on lilac and rose. Has the air here always been so sickeningly sweet?

There's still a lingering part of you that wants to run back to him, to beg, to negotiate, but you know he's right. You hate that he's right.

This... whatever it was... wouldn't last.

And you'd always known it.

---

How does one recover from being dumped by Vil Schoenheit?

Short answer: you can't.

You can wallow all you want, drowning yourself in the unhealthy foods he forbade you from eating, skipping the classes he'd so encouraged you to excel in, and using cheap tissues on your formerly-perfect skin, but that doesn't change a thing.

Perhaps if it hadn't been so public, you might have pulled yourself together sooner. But the very second all of your pictures were gone from his profile, everyone knew.

On some nights, you'd torture yourself by reading the thirsty comments from desperate fans under his latest posts, all of them pointing out his recent singleness. You would wonder to yourself if you had sounded that pathetic when you were dating Vil.

Just another hopeless, desperate fan, hoping for a piece of him.

People on campus avoided you. Not out of fear, but pity, a lack of knowing what to say. How do you even comfort someone after this?

It was like having an open wound on full display. No matter how you tried to bandage it, it kept bleeding through.

Even Grim was keeping his distance.

What little comfort came in the form of an anonymous knight in shining armor. Roses left at your doorstep, letters of love and encouragement on your assigned seats, little baskets full of your favorite foods and trinkets on your kitchen table...

You would have questioned it if you were not so consumed by your grief. At least the mystery offered a distraction.

"Another one," Ace comments, pulling a letter off your chair before you can sit on it. "Whoever this guy is, he's slick."

He hands you the letter, which you gracefully accept.

Deuce watches cautiously. "And you're sure it's not just... some kinda of prank, right? I've known my fair share of nasty types, this could be a trick."

"Too much effort," you shake your head. "I mean, whoever this is is spending a lot of time and money cheering me up. Not to mention... I've tried looking up some of these poems, and no matches. They're originals."

You wave around the letter in hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Though, I'm sure whoever's doing it is just being nice,"

"Nice. Right," Ace rolls his eyes. "Cause I know like, a million teenage boys who are just dying to write poetry for their friends."

Even Deuce snickers at that. You roll your eyes.

"Point taken. I guess I just can't believe that anyone would want me after..." you pause. There's no pleasant way to put it, so you let Ace and Deuce fill in the blanks.

"Hey, Vil is a jerk. He doesn't deserve you," Deuce says. "And trust me, if I ever catch him disrespecting you again-"

Ace scoffs. "Woah, there, tiger. Calm down. Vil could kick your ass and we all know it,"

"He really was something, wasn't he?" you sigh, slumping in your seat. Ace and Deuce give each other a panicked look.

"We didn't mean-"

"No, I get it," you say, reaching down to the floor in an attempt to touch your toes. Vil had told you that little exercises help calm the nerves. You hate how you still need his advice.

"Oh, hey, look," you sit back up, another pink envelope in hand. "Another one."

---

There's something about these gifts that doesn't sit right with you.

Each one is arranged to perfection, obviously crafted by a very thoughtful individual, just personal enough to suit your tastes but distant all the same.

It's almost as if the sender is holding something back.

But, not today.

You're greeted by a trail of rose petals leading up to Ramshackle's front door, which itself is ajar. Not uncommon, considering Grim's inability to take care of the makeshift dorm, but with the scent of roses and the candlelight inside, you know it's something more.

You walk in, setting your things aside, and continue following the path of petals into the kitchen, where a rickety wooden table has been set for two.

You, however, are the only one in the room.

"Hello?" you ask, turning in circles. The space is empty, save for a small letter on one of the chairs.

Beautiful,

A little bird told me you doubt the intentions of my admiration. I must amend that immediately, and I see no better way than to say it myself.

Yours truly.

"Trickster," a familiar voice comes from the doorway behind you, and you whirl around to face your admirer.

"Rook!" you gasp, clutching the letter to your chest.

He beams in response. "Oui, c'est moi. Though I was so enjoying the mystery, I feel it's time I made my intentions clear. Sit, please,"

You don't hesitate to follow his suggestion (the surprise left your knees feeling weak, anyway), and he joins you in the adjacent seat.

"But what-"

"Please," he says, holding a finger to your lips to shush you. "Let me start. I first want to say that I have meant every single word, in song and ink, that I have given to you. My heart is true."

Your mind is overflowing with questions, none of which he seems keen on answering in full just yet.

"I have spent the past several months allowing our Beautiful Vil to woo you. I have so enjoyed watching your love blossom from afar, despite my own feelings towards you. But things have changed," Rook says.

"For as much as I love him, this was his own doing. He has made a fatal mistake, one which cannot be undone- he has wounded you, mon amour, in a most vulnerable fashion. Months ago, when we both realized our feelings for you, I willingly stepped aside," he says. "I thought Vil would be the best option for you. I thought I was not ready to commit myself. Now I see what a mistake that was, and I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive me..."

You can only stare back. "Rook..."

"I cannot resent our Roi du Poison for his choice, for it's his to make. But he hurt you dearly, and in the process, he has relinquished his claim on you. I know your wound is still fresh. But, please, Mon Trickster, mon véritable amour, be mine?"

You're silent for a moment, processing every detail of what he said, what he's offering...

He's right. The wound Vil created is still open, and despite the weeks of "recovery", had yet to improve.

If you kept waiting for it to heal, perhaps it never would.

You nod. "Okay. Okay! But-! Let's take it slow, okay?"

Rook just barely manages to stop himself from leaping across the table to take your hands into his, and he reaffirms your request with a nod.

"Of course, mon cœur. What is a hunter if not patient?"

---

Pomefiore is beautiful again.

There are still times where you swear you can see Vil staring at the two of you, a look of discontent on his face, from across the room.

He doesn't utter a word about the way Rook has his arm over your shoulder, or the many terms of endearment he uses on you, though he doesn't have to. The lingering guilt and regret has made a home for itself in Vil Schoenheit.

You're sure Rook has noticed by now, too, although this isn't the first time he's pulled something like this on the housewarden without a second thought, and it likely won't be the last.

Perhaps it's for the better.

[rosie-writings]

Back to Eden

Request: ✨anon—You and the gang investigate a haunted mansion and the reader is targeted after a joke is made that she looks like the wife in old photos. Medium/Doppleganger trope as well.

Summary: Something about Colby caught your attention, and it’s confirmed when you all learn too much about the afterlife when he brings you to investigate a murder at a haunted estate. How hard can a soul bond love?

Warnings: Murder, Vomiting, Reincarnation, Mediums, Ouija Board use, Light Angst, Soulmates trope, Colby x Reader smut, Unprotected sex, very light Dom/Sub dynamic, and Possessive Romantic Relationship/behavior

Words: 13.5k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘Take Me Back to Eden’ by Sleep Token

It started the day we met.

There was no room in my head to even question whether it was strange or not. Every crevice of my mind filled with him. It was fine. That was it; fine. I didn’t allow myself anything more than a skip of a heartbeat here and a blush there. Nothing more. 

Only once did I allow myself to think of him as I fell asleep, but that was because we literally fell asleep hip to hip. It wasn’t anything more than necessary though. It was during an investigation and there were two beds for the five of us to sleep on unless we slept on the floor. Due to complications, we lost our second room that night, and we were too afraid to sleep separated anyway. I was on the edge of the bed, Colby in the middle, and Sam on his other side while Nate and Seth were in the other one. 

And if I woke up curled around his arm and he woke up facing me sharing a pillow, we didn’t say anything about it. 

I didn’t know what it was. The only logical answer was that we easily clicked. We got along fluently, and the first time we met in person, we talked about everything and cried laughing by the end of the night. I couldn’t shake this feeling, though. And it was a dangerous one.

When I looked him in the eyes the first time, it felt like I knew him.

I chalked it up to him simply being who he was. In every way, he was my type—if I even had one—so technically, anyone who looked like him could have given me these feelings. However, I knew people and had friends who looked similar to him. None of them ever made me feel a fraction of how he did.

Perhaps the morality of cognitive dissonance could have an exception. 

Colby, four days ago while I coincidentally was at a tattoo appointment, messaged me: 

What are you doing next week?

So, naturally, I responded:

Wow I said no more snaps and you still send selfies

He sent a rolling eyes emoji. And then:

See, the problem with no snaps is now you don’t send photos back

So I said:

Maybe that isn’t the problem but the entire point smh

What do you want from me next week?

Your appearance in a video, he replied.

Perhaps

Perhaps?

I have a lot going on

Lmao no you don’t

Excuse me? Yes I do

What are you doing in four days?

You’ve given me so much room to creatively respond to that

Bitch, what plans do you have?

To make sure I can still walk by the end of this week

???

Ten minutes later, he followed up the question marks with:

What does that mean?

What a concerning thing to say and then leave me on read, he sent. 

Finally when my tattoo was finished, I sent him a selfie back.

Impatient much?

Ohhhh, he replied.

Jfc did you purposely get it in one of the most painful places?

Yes now what do you want from me next week?

We’re going to a haunted estate in Texas and we want you to come

Oh? Where in Texas?

Outside of Austin

My heart skipped at the thought. That was where we first met. I was from Texas, and there was a party for content creators I was invited to despite being smaller. I met Sam and Colby and a lot of their friends. I still remembered not minding the humid summer night as much as I typically did.

Oh okay so you want me to come

I mean yeah, we all did

Mhm sure

What are you talking about?

Funny how you’re going to Austin and you want me to come

Funny how you’re making a it a big deal

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold down my smile. I sat in my car, and even though the back of my knee ached with pain, it was almost numbed by the words staring back at me.

Aw if you wanted me to come with you guys on an investigation to the city we met in of course I’d say yes, how sweet

Nvm. Fuck you

I sent a heart emoji back.

He sent a middle finger emoji.

Buy me a plane ticket.

‘Colby Liked your message’

I went home with jittery hands and a beat in my step. I didn’t even have coffee yet.

It happened simultaneously. After my career took off a couple months after the party in Austin, I moved to Los Angeles to be with my best friends. Sam and Colby, two weeks prior, moved to Las Vegas. I gave them so much shit for it, but everyone knew that the girls I lived with were my main priority. 

I never planned to live with anyone; I liked my own private space. But somehow these freaks changed my mind.

As I packed my bag—my flight was in a little over an hour and I hadn’t packed yet, how on brand for me—Tara lounged in my bed.

”Don’t you have your own shit to do?” I asked.

”Maybe,” she sighed pathetically. “But your bed is so comfy and your room is so clean.”

”Yeah my bed is comfy because I don’t have a bunch of shit on it.” She gasped.

”That was mean.”

”How many pairs of shoes did you sleep with last night?” She gave me the finger. “There’s your answer.”

”I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a bunch of boys.”

”Same,” I sighed. “But you know how fun these trips are to me.”

”Yeah. Sometimes I forget how much of a freak you are.”

”Uh, I’m not a freak. A spiritual nerd? Perhaps. But not a freak.” She laughed and lay back against the pillows. 

“You met them in Austin, right?”

”Yes,” I said cautiously.

”And Colby asked you to come with them back to Austin?”

”Yes,” I exasperated now. “What’s wrong with that?”

”Nothing,” she shrugged. “I was just wondering when you and Colby were going on a date.”

”Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes as I zipped my suitcase before standing it up. “God forbid a woman be close friends with a man without wanting to fuck him.” 

“And you have you lying eyes on.”

”My lying—Bitch, these are just my eyes!”

”And they’re fucking lying.”

”You’re an idiot. I need to go.”

”At least tell me when you guys get together.”

Finally, it was my turn to give someone the finger.

I sent Colby a selfie without a message. He quickly responded:

Now who’s sending me selfies not on snap

I wish I could unsend texts

We’re leaving soon, he said after reacting to my last message.

I didn’t respond.

There was nothing better than taking a flight home especially when my headphones were on and I was alone in my aisle. As I looked out the window and watched as we descended from the puffy winter clouds, I realized that this was one of those moments that I was ever grateful for my job. During the quiet moments, the moments alone, and the ones I get to go home with headphones on and friends waiting for me on the other side, 

Something leapt within me at the thought of meeting my friends in my home city; the one where I saw them for the first time. And maybe I thought about one of the four more than the rest, but I didn’t let my brain trail too far away from me. I needed to keep my senses about me to get through this week. 

Colby said it would be a big one.

Before each investigation, of course they researched the locations. He didn’t tell me anything; I wondered if it was that interesting or if he had a feeling. I had a feeling, but I always did before investigating with them.

I choked the feeling down when my Uber from the airport dropped me off at the hotel we were sharing for tonight. Well, tonight we were sleeping at the estate we were investigating and we would probably sleep through the rest of the afternoon before checkout to get to our next flight. I couldn’t decide if I was excited for it or not. 

Maybe we wouldn’t sleep but wait until sunrise then hurry out to debrief in a safe diner.

Sam and Colby scheduled it so that they would be at the hotel first. 

I couldn’t shake this feeling inside of me especially when the hotel room door opened and I saw Sam’s smiling face. 

“Hello!”

”Sam hi!” My arms were around his neck as the door closed. 

“It’s been so long since we’ve last seen you.” He led me into the room. It was work to swallow with such a dry tongue.

”I know! Didn’t mean for it to be so long.” My words died in my throat when I came around the corner and saw Colby. He sat on the bed with his phone in his hand. When he looked up at me, I could have passed out. Seeing him in person for the first time in months almost made me drop dead; my vision narrowed and I didn’t know exactly what to do with my body.

”Oh so you did decide to come after all—“

”Hey stupid,” I laughed. My heart stopped when he got off the bed. “How could I miss another opportunity of both of you running, crying, screaming, throwing up because of a little ghost hunt—“

”You’re an idiot,” Colby said as he pulled me into a hug.

”Of course that’s why you’d come back,” Sam jeered. “At least laugh at Nate and Seth too.”

”Oh no,” I scoffed as I pulled from Colby. “There will be plenty of teasing to go around.”

After, when Nate and Seth arrived and we had dinner and settled after traveling, it was time for us to make our way to the estate. It was only 20 minutes from our hotel, and the entire time, the boys bickered and told jokes while trying to introduce the viewers to the history of the estate. 

“They say that Miss Johnson was a medium, and that due to the religion that was prominent in this area at the time, she was forced to be silent about her craft or be excommunicated from the city,” Sam began.

”But,” Colby took over. “Because it was one of the two ways she made a living and because she believed in it as firmly as she did, she left the community she was in. On top of being a medium, she worked as a seamstress and was very good at her job. In 1886, she was hired by the lady of the estate to make clothes for everyone who lived in it. During her time at the estate, though, it was reported that she would sneak personal belongings into the dressing rooms to communicate with spirits of the house and also keep herself cleansed from bringing any back to her guest house that was on the property. She said there were three that were most active and always made sure that guests knew that they were present even if they were new to the estate.”

”The most active spirit claimed to be Ada who was the First Lady of the estate a generation before,” Sam started again. “Apparently she died of natural causes on the estate, but before her, her husband, William, passed away from a virus he caught while traveling.”

”The weird thing about the whole story,” Colby went on. “Is that it says that Ada’s death was from natural causes, but she only lived for 48 years. That doesn’t add up unless she had an underlying disease or something that was never recorded.”

”Maybe she was saying fuck ya’ll to all the damn men she had to live with,” Nate scoffed with a sassy flick of the wrist. I rolled my eyes and looked out my window. I sat behind Sam who drove, and Nate sat in between Seth and I.

”We don’t know how she died,” Sam laughed. “Okay, back to the medium. Her story is very interesting because while she worked at the estate, she reported three ghosts even though only two people—Will and Ava—were claimed to have died there since they were the first generation to live in the estate. She claimed to have communicated with a woman ghost and a child ghost, not so much the ghost of a man.”

”Two months after Miss Johnson started gossiping with the other servants of the estate that there was a child ghost living on property, she was brutally murdered in the dressing room,” Colby said. “So the rumor is that maybe there was a child in the estate but they passed and someone wanted to cover up the death?”

”Or maybe someone wanted to cover up that the child existed in the first place,” Seth suggested.

”Which opens a lot of other question,” I quickly replied.

”Right,” Colby agreed. “So there’s a lot of nuance and sketchy things going on behind the scenes.”

”I’m not sure why Miss Johnson would have been murdered in such a violent way, though,” Sam said. “If it wasn’t to cover up whatever ghost politics she was talking about, then what was it? Because a murder that gruesome must be an act of passion, but who did she piss off that badly?”

”I guess we will find out more information when we go on that tour.”

It wasn’t the tour that intrigued me, no. Immediately when we drove on property, the hair on my arms raised. I looked over my shoulder. I watched through my window intently. 

The boys goofed as we grabbed the supplies and made an intro to Sam and Colby’s video, but I tried my best to remain silent and calm.

It was like the ash trees had eyes.

”Hello!” Our tour guide greeted us as we entered the house. “Welcome to the Bateman estates, I’m Angie the current owner.”

The floorboards under my feet felt ten feet away from me. 

I stepped through the threshold behind her as Sam followed me and the rest of the boys followed him. My eyes latched on to every object of the room. The cream wallpaper filled the top two thirds of the walls while dark wood paneled the bottom third. The crystal chandelier in the foyer matched the crystal and gold wall lamps on the sides of the entrances of other room. A wide wooden staircase lengthened up either side of the walls of the foyer and met together at a wide plateau where various hallways branched off. The yellow lighting rained down on us gently, and for the first time since walking up to Sam and Colby that night at the party, a sweet fragrance made itself home in the back of my throat.

Familiarity.

I looked through the left threshold. It led to a sitting area full of furnishings and a bay window that overlooked the fields to the left of the house. I looked to the right, and I looked in between Nate and Colby to see the white and clack checkered flooring. It must have been the kitchen.

“We have had numerous visitors tell us that this was the house that made them believe in the paranormal,” Angie continued. My eyes pulled into focus from the kitchen, and when they landed on the person my gaze dodged, I met eyes with Colby who already looked directly at me.

Another glance shared between us a good four seconds too long. I looked back at Angie.

”Does anyone ever say that these are good or evil spirits? Or do they feel anything weird at all?” Sam asked. I was glad someone in this house had a level head on their shoulders because mine certainly was not.

”Not at all!” Angie exclaimed. “We’ve never had an evil spirit. There’s been freaky movement though, and a few people have reported there being a trickster or sorts here, but nothing pure evil by any means.”

”That’s good that they’re nice then,” Seth said. Angie nodded.

”I’ve made my way around working at plenty of haunted hotels, houses, and such, and there’s a reason that this was the property I invested in. I’ve never felt such good and light spirits before.”

”That actually helps a lot,” Nate laughed. I looked at Colby again.

He was already smiling in my direction.

”William and Ada Bateman first moved to this estate after his job took off. They lived in the city beforehand but he needed to get out because of some issues with this job. Apparently guests who have visited this house say that there’s a woman spirit here who makes her presence very much so known by playing with hair, moving things, or making noises. Sometimes people can see a woman with a white or pink dress in the corner of their eyes.”

”Oh shit, that means she has a lot of power to make herself that known,” Nate said. Angie nodded.

”If it’s Ada, yes. She has the most power in this house.”

We continued the tour. 

“This room,” the guide started slowly. We knew what lay on the other side of the door. She had already led us through the downstairs and multiple rooms upstairs. By tone of voice, we knew what happened in this one. Colby entered first behind her then Sam, Seth, me and Nate. “This room is the dressing room where Miss Johnson was murdered.” I subconsciously bit the inside of my cheek as I looked around. 

There was absolutely nothing ominous about it. 

I didn't anticipate the house being so open, warm, and homey. The orange glow of the lights illuminated the faded yellow and pink floral wallpaper, and the plush intricately designed yellow, cream, and red rug under us swallowed my feet whole even through my shoes. It felt like I could curl up comfortably in this room and lull to sleep by the brush of the trees below. 

“Do you know why she was murdered?” Sam asked. 

“They say it was because she communicated with the ghosts and made a big deal about it through the house. Apparently some of the other servants were religious and didn't like the way she tried to communicate with spirits. That's some motive, but apparently her death was never avenged.”

“Wait, they never found out who killed her?” Colby asked. Angie shook her head. 

“No. They couldn't find evidence among the servants and they didn't have visitors during the time of her death. It was like it was sudden.”

“Is there a child ghost here?” My mouth ran before I could catch it, and I confidently held Angie's eye contact as the boys shot looks at me. 

“Well, that was a part of the story too, we think.” We all stood silent waiting for more. “Apparently two maids especially hated Miss Johnson for bringing children into her gossip about the spirits. She started saying that a child ghost also lived in this estate even though no children had lived here. It raised suspicions among the servants. Some would spread rumors believing that there had to be a child ghost and further investigating whose baby it was and then others would not believe her and make fun of Miss Johnson.

“Two maids specifically, though, were the oldest servants of the house. They were Ada’s personal maids, and they especially did not appreciate the gossiping about children ghosts. They tried to get Miss Johnson to shut up about it and suddenly a couple months later, she was found dead.” I gawked at Annie's story. 

“Wait, you're saying that the two servants who personally knew Ada and were close to her were the ones who didn't like the stories about the child ghost?” Sam gasped. Angie nodded. 

“That's right.”

“What if Ada had a baby and it died when it was young? Why would they want to cover it up? Was it with another man?” Seth asked. 

“There are no records of a baby ever being born here. Except for one photo.” My stomach dropped at the thought. “There's a photo of Ada and a baby in the lord and lady’s room playing with the baby. The thing is, Will is behind them sitting and watching happily. The only record we have of the baby is one where both parents seem happy that they have her.

“Now, there's no evidence for this and I usually don't talk about this because I'm not on one to stir the pot really, but apparently there were political issues behind the scenes of William’s work. There was a lot of tension especially since the Civil War had ended, and William was against slavery the entire time, so when it was abolished, there were a lot of people who held a grudge with him because of where they lived. It kind of made him a target considering his business was also quite successful so he had money and power too.”

”Do you think someone killed the baby then to get back at him?” Sam asked.

”The politics in his work were brutal. It was either that or someone didn’t want him having an heir.”

“Can we see photos?” I asked.

”Yeah,” Angie said as she led us from the room. “We were headed there next.”

The next room was the primary bedroom. Seth followed Angie and Sam and Nate followed him. I was at Colby’s side, and when it was our turn to walk through the door, I went in front of him.

The second I took a step towards the door, my heart raced, clammy sweat rose to my hairline, and a chill swept through me.

”Holy shit—“ My eyes widened in fear and I froze in my place at the scared tone of Colby’s voice.

”What?” Sam gasped when he heard that tone as well and he turned to look at us. “Oh fuck!” 

“What?” I cried. “Everyone’s looking at me and freaking out—”

”There’s a strand of your hair that’s literally raising up by itself like someone is lifting it—Oh.” Right as Colby pointed it out, the hair dropped like whoever it was that held my hair walked away.

”What the fuck was that?” Seth cried.

“Probably Ada.” My eyes widened. Makes her presence very much so known by playing with hair, was what Angie just told us downstairs.

”No way!” Colby laughed as we entered the rest of the way in. “Wait, that's crazy, did you feel it?” I shook my head.

”No, not at all.”

”She’s never violent. In fact, a lot of times, she’s so gentle with the things she does that sometimes we can’t tell if it’s her or not.”

I looked around the room and blinked furiously. 

The chill didn’t leave me. 

The sweat didn’t leave. 

Welcome back.

”Wait,” I gasped. Then all eyes were on me. In a panic, as I returned to myself for a minute, I cowered in and turned to Colby.

”What’s wrong?” Sam asked. I gave Colby a look.

”No-No, keep going it’s fine,” he said. 

When I heard Angie’s voice again, I started telling him.

”Did you hear that?” I asked him so quietly that my mouth made more sound than my voice. His eyes widened.

”No? What—“

”I don’t think I heard it audibly, but you know when a voice just comes in your head and it isn’t your own and it’s so sure of itself that it has to be something else?”

”Actually yeah,” he gasped. “Wait, you have that too?” I nodded furiously.

”Yes! All the damn time, it’s annoying.”

”Sam said he hadn’t had that before.”

”Anyway,” I sighed and swallowed tightly. “When we walked in, I had a cold chill, I was sweating, and then I heard it in my head like that, something that said ‘welcome back’ and—“ Colby’s eyes widened in fear as he stared at me then he looked at Sam who already analyzed us on the other side of the room. “And I could just be making things up or something, but I swear to god—“

”You feel like you’ve been here before?” Hesitantly, I nodded. “Alright. I do to, I didn’t tell them that though.”

”What?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you?”

”Why didn’t you?” My silence answered the question. “Yeah that’s what I thought.”

”What’s happening?” Sam finally broke his silence. 

“We’ll talk about it in a little,” Colby determined with finality, and we tuned in to the rest of the tour.

”These are all the photos we have left that were taken at this estate,” Angie said, and on the left wall of the room, between two large windows that overlooked the field and the lake, were almost two dozen photos on the wall. At first it was hard to see. The sun nearly set, and these were west facing windows, so orange bands of bright light shot through the room.

My only thought was to curl up in the middle of the bed.

It looked incredibly soft with the layers of intricately stitched cream blankets and pillows; I could take the hardest nap nestled in the middle of it. The plush rug under my feet nearly lulled me to sleep like the last room as I made my way over to the photos. The boys followed, and Angie began speaking about the significant ones.

”This is William, that’s Ada, and those are some of the servants, and that was taken in the fields with the dogs—“

I couldn’t remember the rest of what she said. My eyes never left William’s photo. I wasn’t sure I was breathing anymore, not when a familiar feeling washed over me.

Not when the same feeling I had when I looked at Colby in the eyes rained down on me the moment I looked at this photo in the eyes.

”Oh my god,” Seth laughed. “Wait, look at this one. It looks so stupid; looks like you,” he called out my name and it snapped my attention back to him. I glared at him as he laughed.

”Whatever, asshole,” I said. I looked at the photo lower on the wall. It must have been Ada. She was in the garden with what looked to be her maids, but she relaxed with them and smiled and made silly faces. My heart skipped again.

”Wait,” Colby said ever so quietly. My heart skipped again. I looked at him. His eyes never let the photo in front of him. I followed his gaze, it was Ada’s photo. “You do look like her, don’t you?” I really looked at Ada now.

”I—“ I stumbled over my words. I was about to mock him, but the thoughts died in my throat when I realized that I did, in fact, look similar to her. 

“Oh my god, she does!” Sam said.

”Ada is most active in this room,” Angie said from behind us. “People also report hearing voices and a baby’s cry, and also seeing apparitions here or down the hallway coming in this direction.”

”Oh, so people have seen figures too?” Seth asked. 

“They have,” Angie said. “People say that places where frequent birth and death are the most active for spirits, and since this is the room that’s most active, we suspect that Ada passed in this room, probably gave birth in this room. But a lot of the exact details and history of this estate are hidden.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the bed. When Colby’s hand gently held onto my elbow to lead me out of the room with everyone else, goosebumps trailed over my skin in the wake of his touch. What was wrong with me?

”So,” Angie began the end of the tour as we entered the foyer again. “If you are wanting to get as in touch with the spirits of the house as possible, I recommend doing your thing in the kitchen, the dressing room, and the primary bedroom, but, of course, everywhere has a chance of activity.”

”Thank you so much!” Sam told her, and after our final goodbyes, the five of us were left in the house alone.

”Alright,” Sam spoke to the camera. “We’re going to have to leave a music box in the hallway upstairs outside of the primary room.”

”Definitely,” Seth agreed. 

“Maybe, if you guys are up for it, we can do a little bit of a seance in the dressing room or primary room?”

”Jesus Christ, I knew you were going to fucking say that,” Nate groaned.

”Of all places, it’s the safest to do it here. Have you felt the demons? There are none!” 

That, of all things, was true. Not an ounce of dark energy or fear intimidated me through the entire tour, and the rest must have agreed because we planned a seance in the primary room at three am.

”I think I’m going to volunteer Seth to do the Estes method,” Colby said as he fished supplies out of his backpack.

”Why am I always the Estes method bait?” He whined.

“Because the ghosts like you,” Colby sighed as he tossed Seth headphones. “You should be thankful. They don’t like me as much. Let’s get the rem pod and ask spirits some questions first.”

Immediately as the rem pod turned on, it lit up.

”Is it messed up?” Colby asked. Sam recalibrated it. It continued the beeping and flashing of lights even as Sam got up and stood next to us. “Damn, maybe not.”

”If there’s a spirit here with us could you possibly walk away from the lights? It’s our device to communicate—“

The rem pod turned off.

I looked at Sam with bright eyes as he turned to me as well.

”Thank you, and to make sure you’re actually listening and can hear us, can you step close to the red device again?”

Immediately the lights turned on. My heart pounded as my eyes fixated on the empty space around the pod.

”Thank you so much, I’m Sam and these are my friends. We wanted to ask the spirits in this house some questions, light up the device for yes or turn it off for no, would that be alright?”

The lights didn’t end.

”Awesome, hi I’m Seth. Is this Ada?”

The lights turned off.

”No,” he gasped. “Is this William?” They didn’t turn on. “Is this Miss Johnson?”

The rem pod shrilled to life. I gasped and looked at the others.

”Hi Miss Johnson,” he said.

”This is so freaky, how is it so exact?” I whispered to Colby who stood on the other side of me.

”I don’t fucking know,” he laughed.

”We were wondering if you were willing to tell us a bit about the house?” The lights stayed on. “Perfect. You’re really active, is there something you want to tell us eventually tonight?”

The lights still stayed on. It must have been an accident.

”Ask a controlled question just in case,” I mumbled.

”Did you work as a chef in the house?” Colby asked. The lights turned off.

”Well shit,” Sam laughed. “Were you the gardener?” Still no lights.

”Were you the seamstress?” I asked and the rem pod woke to life again. 

“People say that you were a medium as well, is that true?” The rem pod stayed on after Sam’s question. “Is that the reason you’re so active?” The lights didn’t turn off.

”Do Will and Ada live here still?” The rem pod stopped then started again. Colby shot Sam a confused look.

”Do they sometimes live here?” Yes. “Do you mean that they can come and go as they please?” Also yes. “No way,” Sam gasped as he turned back to Colby. “That means there’s a vortex or a hotspot or something in this house.”

”We should find it and ask questions there,” Nate said. 

“Thanks for talking to us, Miss Johnson. You can follow us around the house tonight if you’d like.” 

And Sam turned off the rem pod.

”First one to find the vortex has to do the Estes method in it,” Colby said.

”Bitch, you’re saying that like it’s a reward,” Nate snapped back.

”Someone’s bound to find it—“

”Found it.” We spun on our heels and noticed that Seth was missing. 

“Seth?” Sam called.

”Over here.” We followed the voice around the corner of the kitchen and walked back into the foyer. He stood in between the two staircases and on the walls across from each other, there were two mirrors.

”Wow, it’s almost as if the house chose you to do the Estes method,” I jeered.

”Fuck ya’ll, I was actually trying to look for it unlike you bums who stood around bickering about not doing it.”

”It was literally right in front of us,” Sam sighed before he reached for the spirit box in his backpack. “Alright, someone go get a chair.”

A minute later, Colby came back with a chair and placed it in between the mirrors.

”I hate you guys, for the record.”

”We figured the hate hadn’t left since the Conjuring house.” Seth gave Sam the finger as he pulled the blindfold over his eyes.

”If there’s any spirit in the house, you’re welcome to come talk to Seth through the spirit box,” Colby called loudly. 

“Loud,” Seth immediately said in that monotone voice. We all whirled our gazes to him.

”What’s loud?”

”Colby.” The room froze.

”You said my name,” Colby said. “Do you know me?”

”Know you.”

”Do you know all of us?” Silence. I could almost make out the flipping of channels under the noise canceling headphones. 

“Come.”

”Where do you want us to go?”

”Follow me.”

“Who are we talking—“

A loud noise from upstairs cut Colby off. 

Then the music box started playing. I looked up the stairs immediately, but saw nothing as the chilling music sang down to us. We all gawked at each other in silence.

”Was-Was that in the dressing room?” 

“It was!” Sam gasped quietly at Nate’s faint question.

”Are you in the dressing room?”

”Maybe.”

”What’s your name?”

”Come find out.”

”Uh,” Sam said as he slowly turned to Colby. “I thought there weren’t evil spirits here. Why does this feel weird?” Colby shook his head.

”I mean, a full on murder happened in this house so like, there has to be some kind of residual negative energy,” Colby replied.

”Could just be a trickster, though, like she said,” I intervened.

”That’s true,” Sam said. “Maybe we should go where it’s asking us to go to—“

”Bedroom.” Seth’s single word cut our conversation short.

”Get him out,” Sam said as he looked back at Colby. “We’re going to the primary room.”

I sat at the foot of the bed. My right foot rested on the bed in front of me, and I messed with the shoelaces. My hands were busy; they needed something for my brain to stay grounded.

I watched as the boys set up the Estes method again for Seth and also placed the rem pod in the middle of the room. The bedroom door was open so that we could hear the music box. 

“Alright,” Sam sighed as he sat in the middle of the rug between the rem pod and Seth who sat in the chair. His bright eyes looked up at Seth expectantly. “It’s really not weird here, is it?” He asked. Seth shook his head.

”No, it isn’t, actually,” Colby said.

”I really don’t think it’s evil. If there’s any spirits in the house who would like to—“

The rem pod shrilled to life.

“Alright then, let’s go,” Colby said, and Seth pulled on the blindfold.

“Are you Miss Johnson?” The rem pod didn’t turn off. “Are you Ada?” The rem pod stopped.

”Here,” Seth said. Sam looked at Colby quickly.

”There could be more than one; maybe everyone’s here.” 

“We came.”

”Oh, yeah I did call you guys.”

”You,” Seth’s monotone voice responded to Colby.

”Me? Or who—“

”Colby.” The room fell still as we stared back and forth between each other.

”You-You said my name—Did any of you say my name since being here?” Colby asked as he turned to each of us.

“It’s been hours, I’m not sure,” I said slowly. 

“You,” Seth repeated.

”I know,” Colby said. “What about me?”

“Not quite what… I didn’t get the rest of that.”

”Not quite, what?” Sam asked. ”Miss Johnson, you said you were a medium, was there something about the Bateman’s you found out but shouldn’t have known about?” A few beats of silence passed.

”I’m sorry to say,” Seth cut the silence.

”What did you find out that you were sorry about?” 

“I’m not mad at all about it. Holy shit, that was a full sentence.”

“What are you not mad about?” Colby asked.

“You were sick.” My eyebrows rose in question, and I turned to the three to see what they thought that meant.

”Who was sick? Who do you mean by you?” Sam asked.

”I told you.”

”Colby?” He clarified. “Are you talking about last year?”

”Not quite what… It was the same sentence I missed before.”

“Not quite…” Sam mumbled in thought. “I’m confused.”

”Is there a child ghost here?” I asked.

“Certainly.” 

“No way,” Nate gasped. “Literally answered that immediately.” 

I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye.

And then the music box. 

I leapt, though, before the music box went off, and the boys also jumped as I scared them. 

“What the fuck was that?” Colby asked me. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked to where I saw the shadow run by.

It would have been child height in the hallway running past the door. 

The music box turned off.

”I-I—It’s okay—”

”No, what was it?” Colby pushed on. I looked up at him, and I supposed that my wide eyes and pale face was enough proof for him to believe me.

”There-There was—I saw a shadow run by. How did you not see it? You would have seen it perfectly from where you are.”

”I didn’t see anything.”

”She literally jumped before the music box went off,” Nate confirmed.

”What was—”

”Child.”

”That was the child?” Sam gasped.

”Yes.”

”Who else is here? Miss Johnson, the child, Will and Ada?”

”There’s more.”

”More?” Colby gasped, and Sam looked up at him with wide fearful eyes.

”Who else?”

”Visitors.”

”No, no,” Colby gasped as the pieces fit together. He stood away from where he leaned against the bed next to me and pointed at Sam. “That’s what it told us; there’s a vortex and they can go and come as they please. I bet spirits can travel to this house and leave it.”

”You’re totally right,” Sam said. “Can you tell us who—“

”It doesn't matter.”

”Why doesn’t it matter?”

”Because… Because—I didn’t catch that—welcome back.”

My vision pounded to black and my heart fell out of my ass,

”Welcome—Who are you welcoming back?”

”Colby.” The three of us looked at Colby with wide eyes.

”I’ve not been here before.”

”Before.”

”Before what?”

The room was silent for a while. 

Nate sucked in a breath to say something, but Seth cut him off.

”Death.”

”What?” Sam gasped. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It said-It said you were here before death, is that what it said?” Nate asked. 

At that point, my heart tied in my throat, and I couldn’t dare look in Colby’s direction. I knew he looked at me.

”Um, when was I here—“

”Long time ago.”

“To a ghost, a long time ago could mean a lot different than what it means to us,” Sam said.

”It’s you.”

”Who’s you?” 

Seth said my name.

No, the spirit box said my name; it was so vivid and loud in the headphones, that I caught the unmistakable syllables of the word. I wondered if I passed out because I didn’t remember much of the Estes method after that. 

There was no other explanation for how this ghost knew my name. Perhaps Sam and Colby’s names were familiar with the ghosts, but not mine. 

“Get him out.”

It was over before I could process what happened.

”Why did it say her name though?” Sam asked and Colby looked back at him with no answers.

“And why the fuck did it say ‘it’s you?’ What an ominous thing to say,” Nate said.

”Just before it said that Colby had been here before death. What does that mean?” Sam’s voice raised and I flinched. I turned from them. 

There was an ache.

An ache that cut so deep in my chest, I wondered if the bone cracked. Tears welled in my eyes.

”What-What’s wrong?” I heard Colby’s voice. I took a step away from them.

And when I accidentally let out a sob, I heard Colby push Seth away.

”Cut the cameras.”

I didn’t like that tone in his voice.

He knew.

It sounded like he was about to cry as well.

”What is it?” He asked as I left the room, he was on my heels. I shook my head as I wiped the few tears that fell.

”Colby,” I said with a tense jaw. He stopped.

We stood alone on the plateau that overlooked the foyer. I slowly turned to him. I looked at him.

He looked at me.

We didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t think of the words to say, and I visibly saw the softness of realization in his eyes—or something adjacent to that—and he swallowed tightly.

”I remember this.”

”Colby?” I heard my name next. I looked past Colby as Sam came up slowly. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Those weren’t the questions I had, no.

I wondered, what did Colby remember?

Did he taste the familiarity in the air like I did?

Did he feel the cathartic peacefulness like I did?

Did he see the extra presence like I did?

We gathered our things and went into the dressing room to prepare for our three am seance.

”I’m thinking we could start soon,” Sam said softly. I checked my phone. 2:30am. “I know it’s early, but it’s already been so damn active. I bet Miss Johnson is with—“

The spirit box in his backpack turned on by itself.

”Yeah, she’s here,” Seth sighed, to which Colby burst out laughing. 

The lights were off. 

Five candles were around us as we placed the ouija board in the middle. A ring of salt encompassed us all. Colby sat nearly across from me; Sam in between us with Nate to my left and Seth in between him and Colby.

”The devices you guys have been playing with all night are around the room,” Sam announced. “You can mess with them if you’d like, but we would really appreciate communicating directly with one of you with this board.” He looked at us and we each put our fingers on the planchette. ”Did a spirit follow us in here?”

It took a few seconds, but the planchette moved to yes.

”Is this spirit Miss Johnson still?”

It didn’t move.

”Hi Miss Johnson, thanks for talking to us all night. Sorry if we’re being redundant—“

The planchette began to circle around the yes.

”Okay,” he laughed, and I couldn’t tell if he thought it was funny or he was intimidated. “We want to know more about the exact history of what went down in this room. Were you murdered in this room?” The planchette stayed on yes.

But then it drifted away. It slowly moved without motive.

“Do you know why you were murdered?” The planchette circled back to yes. “Were you murdered because the people in this house did not like that you were a medium?”

”Look—“ Nate said, and we watched as the planchette made its way to the letters.

S

I tried to rationalize if this was happening, because I absolutely wasn’t moving the wood. I looked at Colby. He looked at me from already examining Nate. I couldn’t look away from him. What a time to—

“T,” Sam mumbled.

What a time to fawn over him, how he looked under the dim candlelight, when I was supposed to be spooked from the presence of ghosts. I looked back at the board. My mouth went dry as it went to the third letter.

O

”Sam,” Colby mumbled in caution.

P

”It said stop.”

”Do you want us to close off this session?” Sam asked.

The planchette slowly made its way over to No.

”No?” He asked. “Do you want us to ask other questions…” His voice trailed off as the planchette moved on it’s own towards the letters again.

”I never asked,” Colby grumbled in frustration. “Is there a message you have for us?” The planchette went back to Yes.

We were quiet.

W E L C O—

“Are you spelling welcome?” Sam asked. The planchette went to Yes.

B A—

“Are you telling us ‘welcome back’ again?” The planchette pointed to No. “Who are you saying…”

C

Not this again. My tears burned my eyes this time, and they were glossy when I blinked.

O

What did it mean? What did welcome back mean? This spirit said Colby was here before death and then told me—

L

”Are you telling Colby, ‘welcome back?’”

The plachette landed on Yes, and I almost broke the rules and yanked my fingers from the board.

Then it started to spell out my name.

”No, no, no; don’t do that,” I cried. 

“Stay on,” Sam said sweetly. “It’s okay—We—I think we’re done here. I…”

S

O

”What the hell is it spelling now?” Seth asked.

”Are you giving us another name?” Sam asked. 

U

The planchette was determined to finish this word.

”Are you going to spell the name of the person who murdered you?” He pressed on.

L

T

”I…” Colby mumbled. I looked up and watched the words die in his throat. He, too, looked all too pale, and with the red and blue rem lights on him, they reflected his glassy eyes. I watched his throat; it was work for him to swallow.

Was he actually going to cry?

I

E

”Is someone remembering—“

”I know what it’s spelling,” Colby choked out. That was when Sam shut up and examined his best friend. 

S

“Soul-ties,” Seth whispered. It was like realization settled in for him as well, becasue the way his eyes widened and darted between Colby and I made me wish for the ground to swallow me up whole.

The planchette circled three times on the board for us.

“It—The ghosts just called you two soul-ties.”

Our fingers were off of it.

”Thank you for—“

”Colby,” I mumbled as he shot up. Sam closed out the seance just as Colby left the safety of our circle. I followed him out of the salt line and into the dimly lit hallway. “Colby.” He ignored me as he hesitantly made his way down the stairs. ”Colby,” I repeated firmer. “Colby, don’t leave me,” I choked. He stopped and looked up to where I was at the top of the stairs.

I walked down to him, and I swore, another life flashed before my eyes.

I didn’t know the man who stood in front of me, but I knew his eyes.

I didn’t know the blue dress on my body, but it was my body.

I looked back at Colby as I made it to the first floor. He didn’t take his gaze off of me for a second.

”Oh my god,” Seth gasped as he ran a hand through his hair. “Before death, you were here. The ghost welcomed her back. “She—Miss Johnson literally just called you two soul-ties! It’s—oh my god—is reincarnation real?”

The daunting, jarring, death defying truth hung over us like a black cloud. The five of us looked at each other.

”What the fuck are we going to put in the video? Have you even been recording Sam?” Sam checked his camera even thoguh he looked so far from himself. 

“Yes,” he stuttered. “I-I have no idea what we’re going to say.”

”We can’t just tell them that reincarnation is real because we literally went to the house our best friend's owned in their past lives—“

“Shut up,” Colby burst out. “Just stop. Let us-Let us think for a second. Don’t say shit like that.” I looked at him. Offense must have been prevalent. “We-We need to fucking talk or something, I know-I know the whole reincarnation thing is insane, but this-this is still our fucking lives too.”

”Yeah, no,” Seth sighed. “Totally. I know. Maybe we should pause for the night and chill out. Maybe we can take naps and order food.”

”You think they DoorDash here?” Sam scoffed at Nate. 

“I mean we can try.”

”I’m probably going to have to go pick it—“

I appreciated Sam diverting the attention from me and Colby, and he led the other two towards the kitchen. Colby didn’t take his eyes off of me.

”How believable is this for you?” I whispered. He only swallowed, blinked quickly. I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my sleeve, and then I paused when I noticed tear tracks on Colby’s face as well. “Let’s…” I started cautiously. Colby’s eyes slowly widened, but he didn’t stop me when I raised my hand to his face and wiped the last tears away. “Let’s just finish this investigation. Debrief, and we can sort things out later. We don’t want this video to go to waste.” He nodded but didn’t pull away from me. I couldn’t stop touching him either.

Forty minutes later, Sam and Colby came back with the food they picked up. 

Seth offered to go with Sam, but Colby pressed that he could do it. Seth didn’t fight it; we all knew. I would have done anything to be a fly on the wall of that car. What did they talk about? They had so much time to be alone. 

“I’m sorry for how this night turned out if it freaked you out or anything,” Seth said as he sat next to me on the sofa. I shook my head.

”No, I mean, yeah it’s weird. I’m not upset or anything,” I rushed. It felt nice that one of them started the conversation. Nate came into the room with bottles of water and gave one to each of us as well. He sat in the chair to my right. “I feel like I’m at the point now where I’m gaslighting myself. Like did it actually happen or there has to be some kind of explanation.” Nate nodded in agreement.

”Yeah, that seriously hits us hard everytime we finish an investigation, but then we pull out the footage and it’s like reliving it a second time. The moments that literally have no other explanation are a lot more easy to believe when it’s watched back because it’s like reconfirming in your head that it was real, you did see it, and you know it wasn’t staged or anything,” he said.

”I just feel like this is different,” I muttered.

”It really is,” Seth agreed. “I know it’s a lot more personal for you and Colby, but imagine if the Estes method session and the seance we did really was real; what does that have to say for the rest of the world? If it was real and we were talking to the real ghost of Miss Johnson, and she literally called you and Colby out by name and basically told you that you two lived here in your past lives; what the fuck does that mean for the rest of us?”

”Reincarnation could literally be real!” Nate gasped. “That’s such an insane thing to claim in a video! Wars literally start over religion.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m just fucking relieved that I’m not the one who has to edit this post it.” We laughed at his joke because that was very much so fair. But my smile slowly fell.

Nate was right; he didn’t have to edit this footage. Sam and Colby would have to. 

Colby would edit this footage and he would be the one to ultimately decide what to do or say. That terrified me. I felt bad for him, because clearly both he and Sam were stressed as hell if they took an hour break by themselves. Sure, they picked up food for all of us, but they still went off alone and during a tense time.

What did they talk about?

Over dinner—or a 4am breakfast, I wasn’t quite sure anymore—we discussed what to do next. Maybe we got information about reincarnation and soul ties, but that wasn’t what we were here for.

”I just know we haven’t gotten anything about the murder,” I said in between bites. 

“That’s true,” Seth said. “Are you guys up to trying more?” He looked up at Sam and Colby, but his gaze lingered on Colby more.

”I am,” he said and then looked around. 

“Yeah, we definitely should try again to see if we can find out who killed her,” I said. Colby looked me in the eyes for the first time since the car ride with Sam.

A gentleness was in his eyes, and it replaced the fear and frantic thoughts. I needed to know what was said. Later. We would figure it out later.

”Awesome, would you guys be up for trying it in the dressing room again or should we try something down here?”

”Let’s try down here,” Seth answered Sam. “Clearly Miss Johnson is very active in the dressing room and she didn’t have much else to say other than what she already has. Maybe we can try to get another spirit.”

”But she’s the one who would know who killed her,” Colby said.

”I mean, they might have ghost meetings or something, I don’t fucking know. Also we’re close to the portal so maybe we can talk to another ghost not attached to the house.”

”Seth, if you want to go flirt with demons again, you could just say it,” Nate jeered.

”Shut the fuck up.”

It was settled. 

We placed the music box in the vortex and the rem pod on the other side of the house in between the sitting room and the back door. We left the backdoor open. The winter chill brushed in, and the clean air filtered that scent of familiarity lodged in my palate if only for a moment. 

It happened quickly. 

Since Miss Johnson was a medium, it was easy for her to communicate with us with each method. Within 30 minutes, we talked to multiple ghosts and narrowed down a few names that Angie talked to us about before. We all believed it was one of the maids close to Ada who murdered Miss Johnson for speaking about the baby. 

The maid knew that William and Ada had a baby too early; there wasn’t enough time in between their wedding and when the baby was born, so everyone would have known they would have had her before getting married. On top of that, due to the dangerous position he was in at his job, it made them a target. Because of everything, they kept the baby a secret and safe in the house. Even though she was presumably safe in the house, she was still murdered by someone. 

Miss Johnson told us that Ada believed it was someone in the house, but not too long after the child passed, William did as well. There wasn’t enough time between either death; she couldn’t figure out who did it, so she fired all of the servants in the house aside for her closest and personal maid. She wasn’t a part of the scheming.

When Miss Johnson came to work at the estate, it had been 20 years after William and the baby passed. They did a good job covering up the fact that they had a child and the fact that she was murdered under their own roof. Until Miss Johnson arrived.

”You’re telling me,” Seth started with a deep laugh of disbelief laced in his tone. He leaned forward in his seat. I sat on the sofa next to Nate who had his head leaned back on the rest, eyes closed, and arms folded—we couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not but we didn’t disturb him—and Sam and Colby did the Estes method in the middle of the sitting room. “That she literally outed a secret they had to keep in order to not lose everything they had? And she didn’t know?”

“Someone poisoned Will too; that’s what had to have happened. There were too many suspicious things happening for us to not rule that out,” Colby said.

“Ada was still alive and the maid still worked there,” Seth went on. “Which means that unless it was someone outside of the house, which looks very unlikely, it was the maid.”

”Or Ada herself,” Colby said quietly. His eyes were on me. My throat went dry. 

“Ada…” Seth said. Nate was suddenly awake.

”Ada herself killed Miss Johnson?” Sam asked. He still wiped the tears from his eyes from coming out of the headphones and blindfold.

The rem pod and the music box shilled to life.

I was pushed too far, worn too thin. The bathroom was too far. I was out of my seat and down the wooden stairs of the patio out back before I could blink. By the time I finished getting sick, Colby was behind me. I saw a flash of Sam on the patio before my tear filled eyes looked up at Colby. 

He didn’t blink. There was no real expression on his face aside from his attentive eyes. Then he slowly nodded. Tongue dampened his lips in thought

“Ada stabbed Miss Johnson 36 times because…” His words faded. I wondered how I looked. I could feel how pale I was.

”Inside—Come inside guys,” Sam rushed with a nervous shake in his voice. It was freezing out here. Colby didn’t even flinch.

The words went unsaid but not unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

”No, no,” Colby said gently to Sam as he turned back to the house. The grass poked my ankles over my vans and my socks soaked up the early morning dew. My eyes scanned the fields. The water over a hundred yards from us was still as a mirror; the faded starlight bounced off. The sky already reflected a lighter blue. “It’s not you at all. Hold on a second.”

Sam went back into the house. They left the door open. Colby turned to me.

”Reincarnation isn’t real, Colby,” I muttered roughly. An eyebrow shot up.

”Yeah,” he scoffed. “You believe it isn’t real now but only because you think you wouldn’t murder anyone.” 

“It-It wasn’t me—“

”Maybe, but in this lifetime, your daughter wasn’t murdered in front of you.” Chills fell down my body like a cold rain when he spoke those words. I couldn’t look away from him even as the tears broke. “And your husband wasn’t poisoned right after.”

“Fuck,” I gasped breathlessly. “This is real, isn’t it?” Colby swallowed. His eyes scanned the expanse of land around us. It took a while, and the more seconds that passed, the more I knew it confirmed my statement.

”Do you not remember running across this grass and jumping in the lake?” 

Like a train engine, the memory crashed into me and I almost fell off my feet. The hot Texas summer sun burned my skin, but I kept my eyes on… a man. Colby; his eyes looked back at me, and before I could drown in them, we broke the surface of the water. 

I looked at Colby in front of me. Moonlight reflected in his expectant eyes.

The seconds ticked by. I could feel them in the warming wind, in the dimming stars.

”Who’s going to believe us?”

That morning, as we met in a diner with coffees and a basket of fries since we weren’t hungry enough for a full meal yet, I tried my hardest to debrief and be in the conversations with the boys. But how could I? Information was revealed and things happened with no other explanation tonight, and Colby’s silence was telling. Did he believe it? Or did he not want to?

The others must have felt the tension and thank god they didn’t feel awkward and carried the conversation easily. 

I wasn’t ready for confrontation. Thinking about where I stood with Colby by myself in my own head was enough confrontation. Of course Sam didn’t realize. Or maybe he did and that was why when we got back to the hotel—when the sunlight shot across the awakening city and burned our night infested eyes—he finally mentioned the elephant in the room.

”Honestly,” he mumbled as we neared the elevator. Nate and Seth were ahead of us speaking quietly. Colby slowly looked at him, and I avoided his gaze because it was too serious. All knowing. “I’ll stay with Nate and Seth tonight.”

I wanted to scream no please don’t leave me but another terrifying feeling pulled my other arm.

”Okay,” Colby simply said and that was that. 

A well of excitement and fear and curiosity overflowed within me.

The three boys got off first and thank the heavens the other two didn’t mention Sam getting off with them. The elevator doors shut, and before they sealed, I stole one more glance at Sam who looked back at me already. His comforting eyes warmed my entire body and then Colby and I were alone.

I wasn’t breaking the silence until he did.

We left the elevator—only two floors from the other three—and I decided it was the longest elevator ride I had ever taken. My vision pounded with anticipation as we neared our room. He unlocked the door and led me inside.

I recoiled at the ever soft gleam in his eyes. I tried to forget that it looked like it was work for him to turn away from me.

“Let’s-Let’s just relax first.” I nodded. Maybe I couldn’t break the silence. At least I knew that he wanted to have the conversation with me.

I washed my makeup off. Colby brushed his teeth. We both stood at the double sinks. It took everything within me to not glance at his reflection. I saw the tension under his skin. Maybe he fought the feeling as well. Or maybe he felt my tension. He couldn’t be uncomfortable alone with me, no. He would have told Sam not to leave. 

My throat tangled within itself when Colby walked from the bathroom into the bedroom and took his shirt off at the same time. I looked back at my reflection and thank god he continued around the corner to his luggage so that he wouldn’t see my wide eyes glaze over.

Either the universe is out for blood or Colby sent a message with that move.

After I braided my hair, I too left the bathroom and flicked off the lights. The silence was comfortable but it wasn’t peaceful. Intangible questions netted between us, I knew that much, and from the way his eyes narrowed on the things he messed with in his backpack as I took off my clothes, I wondered how much speaking we could get done tonight. Unless we could communicate without words. Maybe I got ahead of myself. 

I didn’t even think about facing him at all. Everyone changed in front of each other—at least just shirts and pants—like it was a regular thing. It was a regular thing for us, but this was substantially above that. The intimacy shook my breath and I hoped he didn’t hear the way my breath hitched as I pulled on an oversized shirt to sleep in. 

He charged camera batteries while replacing them with new batteries and SD cards. He didn’t go over footage with me like he typically did. When was this ever a typical night though? 

I stood on my side of the bed after plugging in my phone, and I must have felt him turn towards me because I too faced him. He was on the other side of the bed. As badly as I wanted to look away from his eyes—as badly as I wanted to gaze down the rest of his body—I kept my focus on the way his eyes didn’t defocus from mine.

“How do you feel?” I could curl up in his voice forever if he always spoke that way to me. I nodded my head before I replied.

”Fine, I’m-I’m fine.” He nodded.

”Tonight was a lot.” I nodded again.

”It was.”

”Are you upset?” I shook my head. I wished I could speak. I wanted to, so badly, but not a constructive word came to me. “I—I had no idea—“

”It’s okay,” I rushed out. “Are you upset?’

”No,” he quickly said. “Not at all.”

My heart leapt.

“Every time you spoke, the ghosts in the house freaked out. You were like-like a beacon for me, or something.” I recounted the events that took place. It was true. When I spoke, noises happened. Ada touched my hair. When I spoke, the devices were loud.

With him, I wondered what would happen in the future. Who else could aid him like I could?

”Come here.” I walked over to his side of the bed. His eyes were on my body, I felt the heaviness, but I didn’t look up to him. I would have fallen. Then I looked up to him and stood there. He looked back at me but didn’t say anything. 

When his hand reached up and touched my face, I needed to make sure he wouldn’t panic and pull away so I leaned into it. He released a heavy breath.

“I…” He stopped himself. 

Then he said my name.

”Say whatever you want,” I told him. I needed him to say it. Say anything at all; I didn’t care how cut-throat it was. I needed everything aired out.

“I didn’t,” he shook his head. “I thought I was crazy for feeling like I already knew you when I met you for the first time.”

The walls crumbled around me. I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t like how much time I wasted and left his words alone in the air. 

“Colby—“

”You don’t—I know—you don’t have to feel—”

”No, Colby, that’s—I was trying to ignore it all this time.” Realization washed over him and I couldn’t stop from smiling.

”You-You feel the same way then?” I nodded quickly. 

“Did you think I would have reacted the way I did when that board said we were soultied? You remembered the memory I had of us in the lake, right? Why do you think I’m on the verge of believing it?” An uneven breath escaped from his mouth as if he held onto it for too long. 

With a shake of the head, he grabbed my face, and kissed me. The intensity of it all was unbearable. I couldn’t hold my ground, not when it felt like all our pieces fit together for the first time.

My hands grabbed him. It was so hard to hold onto him when he didn’t wear a shirt. I wanted him in every way, and I knew he wanted me, but how fast was too fast? So I wrapped my arms around his neck. If I grabbed him anywhere else, I knew it would be the end.

It would be a death wish because after he touched me once, only death could separate us.

“Do you even know?” His voice—a quiet breath that sent chills across my heated skin—knocked the wind out of me. How was the room so silent? The pounding of my heart could have filled its walls. “You know how hard it was for me to not kiss you everytime I just—god—I just fucking looked at you?” I swallowed tightly at the confession. His hands on my face held me, and he still pressed kisses to my mouth, across my face. It was hard to stay still. How could we when this realization was bone deep?

Even if I didn’t know whether or not I believed in reincarnation, the desperation in my fascia was evident enough.

”And even if it would have ruined what we had already, it would have been worth it.” 

“How do you know I didn’t want you back?” I gasped when his lips slipped down my throat. He laughed.

”I thought you could have, but I definitely didn’t want to risk it.” I kissed him this time, and he gasped with the amount of force I used against him. His arms fell down my body and held me so tightly he lifted me.

”I didn’t realize I needed you,” I gasped.

“I need you too. You think I’ll be able to continue doing what we do without you? You—We literally share the share the same soul. You’re the part of me that I’m not.”

“So you’re the part of me I’m not?” My voice broke when he let go of me.

”Come on.” I could have collapsed into that dark tone. He spun around so that his back was to the bed and he pulled me onto his lap. His eyes were wide and beckoning; I rested my arms around his neck, and I couldn’t even lean in to kiss him. I sat there as his hands raced up my back without even pulling me. 

He must have seen it too; something in me that was similar to what I saw in him.

He kissed me first, but I pushed him down. I needed him so close to me that I probably wouldn't be satisfied until the laws of physics were broken. The first time I rolled my hips into his, he left out a satisfied hum, and his hands moved to my hips and guided them back and forth gently. 

I knew we still had clothes on, so how did it feel this good? I tried to kiss him but I couldn’t. My hand was still on his face, thumb linked under his chin now, and I couldn’t help myself. My other hand slipped down his skin and touched every inch of it that was exposed. My legs were so weak I should have fallen to my front already, but he held me up. As much as I moved, and as much as I touched him, he had control. He held me, moved me, kissed me, tasted me, and let me have my fun.

Or maybe he was as stretched thin as I. Maybe he needed this like I did, and maybe no one had the control or the fun. I didn’t do anything except follow his lead just as he followed mine. When I kissed him, he kissed back. When I pulled his pants off, my shirt hit the floor with them. 

My body vibrated above him. It wasn’t a secret. Now that I was fully uncovered aside from my underwear, he could see it, not just feel it. I didn’t think twice about not wearing a bra to sleep even if I shared a room with the boys because never in their lives have they given me a reason to distrust them or doubt them. But now, a heated blush fell down my face and neck as I sat above him exposed. 

“Here—“ His breathless voice made my heart jump again. His hand lowered in between my legs, and my eyes closed quickly or else he would have seen them roll back. “Does it feel good, baby?” 

“Colby,” I moaned. He closed his eyes, and again, his body tensed under his skin. I didn’t realize how much of an effect I had on him. “You-You really want to do this? Now?” Then his eyes snapped open with caution.

”Do you not want to?” I shook my head quickly.

”No, I do. I really want to. I just didn’t know if it was too fast.”

”It’s not too fast for me. I’ve wanted you for so long. If it’s too fast for you then we don’t—“

”No, it’s not.” He smiled; eyebrows twinged with confusion.

”Then why did you say that?” 

“I’m not sure.” His eyes fell down my body. Fingers played with my braid that now loosely hung over my shoulder.

”Did someone say something?”

”No,” I gasped. Because it slowly crept up on me. “I think-I think I’m so scared.” His eyes snapped back up to mine.

”Of what?”

”How much I feel for you. I need you, Colby, and if either of us fucks this up I—I don’t know what I’d do.” He shook his head.

”I can’t—There’s no doubt in my mind that we won’t work out.” 

“How can you be so sure?” He hesitated. Wetted his lips.

”Did you not see how much I believed it as well? I didn’t even question it.” My eyes widened. He was the only thing in the room. Everything around us faded to black; only him. “Did you-Did you not feel the same way I did in that house?” I shook my head quickly.

”No-No, I did. I felt—I didn’t think you did.”

”Fuck,” he gasped, I forgot I still grinded down on him. “I-I felt it immediately when we walked in.”

”Me too.”

I broke eye contact first. And it was an accident. I couldn’t simply be on top of him like this, both of us half naked, and not take in his appearance. His hands replaced themselves on my hips as my hands dragged across his skin. 

“Fuck—“ I heard him gasp and I looked back at him. His eyes closed and lips parted with pleasure. So of course I thrusted my hips again and again. I would do anything to see that face as long as possible. 

“Need to feel you,” I whined as my fingers pushed past the band of his underwear.

”You already can.” I glared at him. A stupid smile pulled at his dark lips.

”I want you in me.” He couldn’t joke anymore. That smile fell and he didn’t break eye contact as we pulled his underwear off. I said I needed to see that face as much as possible.

He gasped and moaned my name sweetly as his head tipped back. I stroked him slowly and watched every expression across his face. I couldn’t look away; at that point, it became an addiction.

”Come on,” he moaned. He lifted himself up again. “Take—Let me take this off.” His hands were rougher. This time my body tensed when he touched me. His hands yanked down my underwear and he quickly tugged me back on his lap.

He stayed sitting still and his hands held my hips in place.

”Want you to ride me baby, can you do that?”

“Yes—“ I didn’t mean to whine, to sound so out of it already, but I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe it had gotten to this point; that this was our reality now. He was my reality now, and nothing could tear him from it.

My arms rested around his neck as he looked up at me. I was glad I could hold myself up; his hands found my hips and moved my body because I was so far gone from myself. The second I felt him against me, I pulled my hips back so that I could grind on him and not let him slip inside yet. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped as his eyes closed in surprise. My moans mixed with his as he guided me against him. Everytime he tried to take me further, I pulled away. I knew it was mean, maybe a little fun to tease him, but it felt too good to not drag it out for a little while. “Come on,” he whispered.

”Impatient?” I asked. He glared up at me.

”Could you imagine if this was all real for a second?” I tried. But then he went on: “If it is true and we’re soul tied and reincarnation is real, that means I haven’t fucked you for like 160 years or something—“

”Oh my god!” I burst out laughing. “Not you trying to use the soul tie to get inside me—Colby!” 

It felt like the wind was knocked out of me when he pulled me down on him. My hands held onto him, neck and arm, as he filled me to the brim. His eyes carefully watched my face even as I writhed with pleasure. 

“Oh my god, holy fuck—“ The words poured out of me laced with my moans, and he moaned loudly as he grabbed my hips and moved me up and down with him. I held his face with my hands so that he couldn’t look away, and I had no capacity to kiss him, so my thumb pulled at his bottom lip. He looked up at me like he was glued to me; completely hexed in my gaze. 

Finally coming to my senses again, I rolled my hips against him, and his eyes rolled back.

”Baby,” he sighed. “You feel so damn good,” his moan broke into uneven laughs.

”You feel better,” I whispered. “Look so good.” 

“Fuck, I need you.”

”I know,” I whined. “I need you harder.”

The words were hardly off my tongue when he flipped me over. I squealed when my back hit the bedding. He stood to the floor and pressed my knees back. Fire spread through my body when he thrusted against me. I tried to look down and watch when he drenched his tip through my fluids and teased me to hell and back.

”No, please inside—“

”Are you so impatient? It feels so good, doesn’t it?” Humiliation welled in my stomach at the disgustingly sweet tone in his voice. His fingers gouged into the flesh of my legs, and I held onto the blankets below me.

”Please, need you—”

”You sound so sweet for me, baby,” he teased with a light tone. “Did you not just do this to me?”

”Now am I supposed to tell you that I’ve waited for a hundred years for you to be inside—“ The wind was knocked out of me again when he thrusted inside of me, as deep as he could. “Colby,” I whispered his name. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t moan or say anything at all.

”Oh my—“ his eyes rolled back and he gasped another moan. Maybe his fingers left bruises in between my thighs, and maybe they even bled into crescent moons, but I didn’t care. The pain grounded me and reminded me that he was real. He was here for me, with me, in me; something inside of me screamed finally.

”Mine,” I gasped. I didn't know where it came from. A kind of primal possession washed over me when I looked at him. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

”What?” He gasped. “Mine? You think I’m yours, baby?”

”Yes—“ I coughed. “I’m yours.” He breathlessly moaned and leaned over me.

”Yeah, you’re mine too,” he groaned and kissed me bitterly. His teeth, his tongue, his lips burned as I bit back. And his hand found my throat. It was so difficult for both of us at this angle, and with a frustrated groan, he pulled back, grabbed me by the thighs again and lifted me to lay back on the pillows normally. 

I gasped as I hit the bed, my hands still holding onto him. One of my legs hooked over his arm as his other hand held my throat again. It didn’t hurt, I could still breathe and see; it was to anchor my gaze on his. 

“Mine,” he whispered. “You’re so mine, mine forever.” 

He didn’t stop. It built and built under my skin until I had to close my eyes. My fingers made marks in his skin everywhere I touched him. I needed to curl up under his skin, I needed to be closer even if it was impossible. 

“Yeah, are you baby?” I didn’t even realize I moaned still. It wound up inside of me, and he undid me faster than I could hold onto. “Want to come with me?”

”Please—“ I gasped and my eyes opened. He kissed me, his lips breaking skin below my chin, down my neck. “Close,” I said. It must have been a repeat.

”Oh my god, I’m going to,” he warned, and my hands found his neck, his hair again. I looked down between us, and his hand grabbed onto my waist. I was suffocated with the view of our bodies together, and I couldn’t even blink as he lost himself inside of me.

”Colby—“ I gasped, and so powerfully, my climax also came over me. He gasped and hesitated at the pressure, and he held me down to keep himself up. “No,” I somehow whined through my pleasure. I grabbed him and brought him down on me. I needed him close. 

And he slowed. 

My nails tore across the skin of his back, not enough to leave marks anymore, but enough for us to feel. Then, when he caught his breath, he left gentle kisses across my skin. I gasped as he slowly pulled out of me.

He grabbed a towel from the bathroom before he sat in between my legs.

”Colby—“ I went to stop him, but as he cleaned me, he kissed down my thigh. I hummed with satisfaction as he touched me, loved me.

”I’m still unsure if this is real or not,” he said when he raised to his knees again.

”Yeah,” I sighed a heavy breath. “Me too. If,” I let my mind wander. “If we’re soul tied, what does that mean for us? How easy for us will it be to communicate with spirits, then?” His eyes clicked up to me.

“That’s-That’s really interesting, actually. We need to test it out. As far as I saw today, though, when you were there, you like ushered in the most activity.”

“It could just be because I shared the same spirit with one of the ghosts there.” His eyes brows relaxed in thought. Then, they drifted back up to me.

”If it is real and we aren’t insane, then that means you brutally murdered a woman for me and our baby.” My eyes relaxed and glazed over. I watched him and my heart skipped a hot beat in my chest. 

Him, our baby.

”And I’d do it again.”

✧˖*°࿐

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[kaciebello]

Not even the addressee

Masterlist Badger express ★ Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff ! reader (fem) Summary: When Theodore's name gets misspelled he's not happy about it.  Warnings: no use of y/n, cigerets Authors note: Haiya! This is a sequel series to the whole delivery one. This one is gonna focus on the boys separately! hope you enjoy it! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) word count: 1.1k Song: Up to You - PRETTYMUCH, NCT Dream

Mr Theodore Nott was one of his kind. Or he liked to think so, when one of the Ravenclaw girls could not remember his name he was baffled. How dare she. She went through his whole friend group before she came to something resembling his name. He would understand if he was some kind of low-muggle-born. But he was part of what was essentially a royalty. Now, it did occur to him that she might have done it intentionally. He is not dumb, he very much knows all the mind tricks and hacks. And although it was supposed to get his yearning to make her remember his name, he was just mad. Mad is not enghou, he was pissed.

Sitting down and zoned out, he kept playing with the note in his hand. He did not even notice the Hufflepuff girl standing before him with a concerned look. He registered her only when she waved her hand in front of him. He jumped a bit and looked at her. Her yellow bow adorned her hair. Her usual uniform was covered in a long fluffy yellow sweater. Her arms were now retracted to her body.

It was not unusual to see her in the Slytherin common room. He wouldn't even bat an eye if he saw her in the boy's bathroom, or the chamber of secrets. To see her in his room was questionable. He may have asked a question, be it not his mood right now. He was just going to assume she was here to get something for Enzo.

“You okay?” She asked, still a bit startled by his quick movements. He just sighs and reaches over to his bedside table for a pack of cigarettes. He lights one up and offers the other one to her. The girl declines and waves her hand around to get the smoke away from her face. He shrugs and puts them into his pocket. He exhales the smoke and stares at the wall for a minute before speaking.

“You know my name right?” The girl looks at him even more puzzled. Of course, she knew his name, they had been friends for a few months now. Granted sometimes she calls him Theo and both he and Mattheo turn around, but that hardly seems like her fault. She was hesitant to answer.

“Have you changed it?” She asks. She does not mean to offend him if he perhaps decides to go by Denim or something like that. He just gives her a side eye before getting up to fetch the ashtray. She took a few tiny steps to get out of his way. When he passed her back, he gave her the note. She took a look at it. It was a love note alright, Theodore's name was misspelled in all the ways possible. Not even his last name was spelled right, missing one t at the end. The girl was starting to frown and Theodore could see she was getting mad. Finally, someone who understood him.

“Oh hell no!” She yelped. Theodores smiled in bliss, he knew he could count on the Hufflepuffs when it came to empathy. She took a few steps to him and grabbed his face so he could look at her. 

“Who gave you this and how dare they steal my business.” His smile instantly dropped. She was mad but not for the same reason. looking up at her caged in her arms. For a second he thought it didn't matter if she did not know his name. But then he remembered that the Ravenclaw girls pretended to not know and he was pissed again.

“Is that what you're mad about?”

“YES!? What else?

“LOOK AT MY NAME!” Her eyebrows scrunched together and she took another look at the note. She read his name over and over again. Deep down she knew it was supposed to be his name, but it looked like a poor attempt by a kindergartener. Her lips twitched to a smile and her eyes kept flying between him and the note. She was trying to keep her giggles down, he knew it, and she was doing a horrible job at it. He was starting to lighten up.

“Who the fuck is Thieodor.” She laughed out loud. He hung his head in defeat. Debating whether or not to change it. Whether or not to change his whole identity. He however snapped when the girl in front of him placed her hand on his shoulder and wheezed at the fact that his last name is not written as Nott, but as Noot. His hands reach to the base of her neck. He stands up now towering over her. 

She looked at him dazed, eyes full of tears from laughing, seemingly not releasing the position they were in. He's very close to her face, even closer than that one time she was forced to count his eyelashes as a dare. He leaned closer to her, only stopping by her ear. Her breaths were now quick and sharp.

“Theo?” She asked, her voice very weak and quiet. He liked it like that. He liked that she said his name, he liked that she knew his name. If she were to say it again, he swears his knees would bend and he would not be responsible for what was happening after that. He wanted to beg, he would never, but he wanted to. He didn’t answer her, rather he leaned in even closer. She could feel his breath on her neck.

“Say it again, please say my name again.” He whispered. He was so close. One little move and he would kiss her neck and take their friendship on a different boat. He just needed to hear the magic words. He should have known something was wrong when she giggled first before speaking.

“Noot.” She says softly and starts laughing. He shoots up to his full height looking at her in disbelief. He pushes her away with a grimace as she continues laughing.

“Go fuck yourself.” He murmurs and lights up another cigarette. She was now on the floor clutching her stomach. There was nothing he could do but watch her. He waited till she was done. It took her a good 10 minutes. When she was done, she got up, her legs a little bit wobbly. She could not look at his face without smiling excessively but Theodore decided that it was enough for him.

“Let's go, we need to find the others.”

“Okay, Noot Noot.”

“Stop.”

Tag list @daisiesformylove , @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @anyam444 , @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet , @iwishigotswallowed , @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @bunnyhopsstuff , @deluluassapocalypse

[captainsophiestark]

Picture Perfect

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict's childhood best friend, who he's recently started courting, notices he's been a bit off lately and decides to see if there's anything she can do to help.

Word Count: 3,045

Category: Fluff, a little bit of Angst

A/N: It's been a minute since I rewatched season 2, so I may have the timing wrong a bit. For the purposes of this fic, though, Benedict finds out that Anthony paid to make sure he got into art school at the same time that they're all at the Bridgerton's country estate.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Something was wrong with my best friend.

I could tell from the minute I saw him, as his mind was clearly somewhere else. He also gave his brother Anthony a colder shoulder than usual, which I knew Anthony likely deserved, but that Benedict rarely gave him. It must've been something pretty bad.

A few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to drag Benedict somewhere and get some answers out of him, followed by doing whatever I could to cheer him up. But unfortunately for the both of us, despite having grown up together, now that we were both adults in society and he had recently started courting me, we were no longer technically allowed to be alone together. Things were usually a bit looser when it was just the Bridgertons and I, but while I'd joined them for a trip to their country estate, another family had joined us as well, tying my hands more than usual.

Still, I managed to corner him slightly away from the rest of the group after dinner that night, when I'd first noticed something off. He'd been on his way upstairs, rather than joining the rest of us in the parlor after dinner, and I managed to get in front of him quickly enough to make him stop in the hallway.

"Benedict," I said, trying to keep my voice low. He let out a long, deep sigh, but didn't move to step past me, instead fixing me with a tired stare. I frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's... nothing."

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Benedict Bridgerton, I have known you since the age of five. There is no chance of that terrible lie convincing me of anything, besides perhaps that I made the right decision about checking on you."

He sighed again, this time even heavier, and when he met my gaze again it was with an empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You remeber I shared my excitement with you about being accepted into art school?"

"Of course! Don't tell me something went wrong..."

He shook his head. "The opposite. Apparently my dear brother took it upon himself to make sure I got in, offering a bribe to secure my acceptance. Yet again, I fail to step out of my family's shadow and generate an accomplishment of my own, without their name and money securing it for me."

I frowned and reached out to touch his arm, but Eloise's voice from the other room promising to find where I'd wandered off to broke the moment. Benedict mustered that hollow smile again, then finally stepped around me.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Don't worry about me. Just go enjoy the rest of your evening."

I frowned after him, but he didn't look back as he climbed the stairs and disappeared onto the second floor. I briefly debated following him, but Eloise's hand on my elbow broke me from that thought.

"Y/N, what on earth are you doing out here? You're missing Kate and Anthony sparring over something trivial again."

I forced a smile onto my face that was hopefully more convincing than Benedict's and turned to face Eloise.

"Well, that's certainly something I don't want to miss. Let's go."

Eloise still looked like she had questions, but I didn't give her room to ask them as I joined the rest of our group in the parlor. Benedict stayed on my mind for the rest of the night, although I tried to hide my worry. Hopefully he'd been right about himself, and would be feeling better in the morning.

*****************

Benedict clearly wasn't feeling better in the morning. I was witnessing the man I loved having an existential crisis, and by the afternoon, I decided I couldn't sit by an watch anymore, society and the Ton and the gossips be damned.

I spent the next hour gathering and setting up the things I'd need, then went to find Benedict. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the house, so I asked Eloise, who directed me to his bedroom.

I'd been in his bedroom before, of course, since we'd practically grown up together. But now that we'd started on the path to being something else to each other, with my heart registsering significantly more romantic feelings for the man Benedict had become, I found myself slightly nerovous as I stood outside his door. Still, I forced myself to ignore the nerves as best I could. Benedict was hurting, so everything else had to be put on hold while I helped him.

I knocked on his door, pretending my faster-than-normal heartbeat didn't exist as I waited for a response. That became much harder to accomplish when Benedict opened the door, his shirt far more open than normal and without anything over it, hair looking a rumpled mess. My heart did backflips, despite me mentally telling it to calm down.

"Y/N! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. I must look a mess-"

"No, not at all!" I said much too quickly. "You look, uh... very nice."

The familiar lopsided smile I loved so much appeared on Benedict's face as he leaned on the doorframe before me. He raised an eyebrow, the familiar spark of mischief that I loved so dearly igniting in his eyes, and for the first time in more than a day, he looked to be slightly back to himself.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear you think so. What brings you to my door, then?"

"You haven't seemed to be doing very well since you got the news about Anthony. And don't try to deny it, I know you too well. So, I thought I'd come find you and try to help cheer you up."

Benedict's eyebrow rose again as he crossed his arms.

"And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'll show you. But we're going to have to be a bit sneaky about leaving."

Benedict's mood lifted the moment he found out we were going to sneak out of the house together. We'd been regular trouble makers as children, sneaking out for adventures at least once a week, but since we'd both grown up that had basically come to a stop. Now, as I took his hand and dragged him along behind me and we ran through the countryside and left Bridgerton House in our wake, I couldn't stop a wild laugh from bubbling out of my chest. I'd missed this much more than I'd wanted to admit.

"Where are we going?" Benedict called, his own voice breathy and laced with laughter as we ran. I just shot him a grin back over my shoulder.

"You'll see!"

He huffed, but didn't protest as he followed after me. Finally, after winding through the woods and climbing a rather steep hill, we reached the spot I'd spent so long making nice this morning.

This hilltop looked out over the countryside stretching beautifully below us, even better now as the sun had started to get a bit lower in the sky. Waiting for us was a picnic blanket spread out in the grass with all of our favorite foods, wine, and an easel with art supplies set up right next to it. I dropped Benedict's hand as we came to a stop, instead turning to face him with a grin.

"Well? What do you think?"

He stared at everything I'd laid out, mouth open slightly in shock. His brow furrowed when he saw the canvas, and he turned back to me.

"What is all this?"

"It's a picnic, for the two of us," I said. "To watch the scenery and the sunset together without the pressures of society or being a Bridgerton to bring us down. The easel is optional–we can pack it away right now if you want to. But you told me you think Anthony's the reason you got into art school, and I don't agree. I've seen your work, and I know just how good it is. You got in on merit, Benedict. But I know I can't just say that and have you believe it, so I brought some supplies here so you can prove it, if you want to. Paint this moment for the two of us, and I'll swear on our relationship and everything I hold dear to be honest about what I think. Completely, totally, brutally honest."

Benedict's eyebrow quirked again.

"Well, I don't know if brutal is completely necessary..."

"I mean it, Ben. I hate to see you like this, doubting yourself. So if there's something I can do to counter Anthony's idiotic meddling, I'd like to."

"And what if..." He cleared his throat, emotion swirling in his gorgeous brown eyes as he met my gaze. "What if the truth would only serve to enforce what I know? That Anthony's meddling and money is the only reason I've gotten where I am."

I shook my head. "That won't happen-"

"Y/N." I stopped, biting my lip and forcing myself to meet Ben's stare again. He took a few steps forward until we were right in front of each other, then took my hands gently in his own. "What if it does?"

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Then I will keep my word and tell you so. One way or another, I will tell you the truth, even if it may not be what I want to tell you. I swear it, Ben."

He nodded slowly, eyes scanning my face. We stayed like that for a few long moments, and briefly, I thought Benedict might make a move to do something I never though he'd do with the Ton hovering over both our shoulders whenever we were together. But then he sighed, a smile returning to his face as he stepped away.

"Alright then. I believe you, and I value your opinion. And since you went to all the trouble to drag these supplies up here in the first place... I may as well get started."

I beamed at him. "I'll pour us some wine."

"Please."

When Benedict first sat down at his canvas, he kept fidgeting nervously, his hands hovering and twitching over various paints and brushes as he second-guessed his decisions. But slowly, as I kept up a stream of conversataion, supplying him with food and drink for fuel as he needed it, I noticed him beginning to relax.

"This is nice," I mused, leaning back on the picnic blanket and looking out at the scenery as Benedict worked. The sun had gotten much lower in the sky than when we'd left, which Benedict had grumbled about as it impacted his painting. Still, the golden light, soft breeze, and warm, fresh air felt like heaven to me.

"I agree," he said, not taking his eyes away from his easel. "I missed running off on adventures with you at the drop of a hat."

"So did I. But, hopefully... we may be able to get back to that again sometime soon."

Benedict looked over at me from his easel, a rougish grin on his face.

"If I didn't know better, Lady Y/L/N, I would think you were boardering on making me a marriage proposal."

I faced forward and closed my eyes under the guise of feeling the sun, trying to ignore my heart pumping frantically in my chest.

"Well. Fortunately for us both, you do know better. And it's not as if you're some strange man I met at court. You're... Ben. My best friend."

"I never said I wouldn't like it, did I? It would be an honor to be proposed to by you."

I cracked one eye open, turning my head to face Benedict with a grin. He wasn't looking at me, his stare focused on his canvas, his face completely serious. My heart stopped threatening to explode out of my chest, and instead settled into the unique, glowing warmth of love I felt whenever Benedict and I were together.

"I love you, Ben," I said, my voice soft and quiet. He stopped his work completely to turn and look at me, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you too. Very, very much." We held each others' stares for a moment, soaking in the comfort and joy of being together, and then Benedict's smile turned into a more edged grin. "It's a good thing we feel so strongly, since we may just be forced into an earlier marriage than planned to avoid a scandal after disappearing for an entire afternoon and evening together."

I huffed and waved him off. "Fortunately, I predict your brother will be accidentally helping us and making up for causing this crisis of confidence in the first place. He and Miss Kate Sharma are so ridiculous and dramatic together, I highly doubt anyone will notice we're gone."

Benedict chuckled, turning back to his work to scan it one last time before finally setting down his paintbrush. He took a deep breath, then stood and offered a hand to me.

"I've finished," he announced as I took his hand. He pulled my to my feet, but instead of looking at the painting, my eyes stayed fixed on him. We were almost chest to chest, and I could tell from his furrowed brows and darting eyes just how nervous he was about my verdict. "Remember, you promised me honesty."

"And honesty you will get."

Finally, I turned from Benedict to the canvas he'd been working on all afternoon. I'd resisted peeking before now at his request, so I wouldn't have any bias from watching his process. Fortunately, just as I'd predicted, his work was magnificent.

"Benedict..." I breathed as I took in the soft lines and vibrant colors before me. It perfectly captured how I felt looking out at the valley before us; it captured the gorgeous scenery, yes, but it also infused everything with a bit of magic that I only felt in this space with him. "This is absolutely incredible."

Benedict came around to stand next to me, arms crossed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shaking his head.

"Now please don't forget, you promised me honesty."

"I am being honest! Benedict, this is fantastic. The way you capture the myriad of different shades of the light shining across the valley, the seamless lines giving the world a slightly hazy, dreamlike look, and the way you've left the paint a bit messier with the clouds, to make it look like they're moving? It's all perfect, Ben. And masterful. It's a picture of the valley, yes, but it looks like it's alive. And you somehow managed to capture what it feels like to be here in the moment together, the sun on our faces, with each other even when we're not supposed to be, in a truly special way. You're an incredibly talented artist, and I'd be saying that even if you were a complete stranger that I didn't particularly like."

He snorted, then after a second, wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. I leaned into him immediately, sighing a bit as he leaned his head against mine.

"I have a hard time believing you'd say all that to a stranger you didn't like."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the stomach, and he laughed without letting me go. A smile spread on my own face despite myself.

"Alright, maybe I wouldn't say all that to a stranger I didn't like. But I'd say it about their work when they couldn't hear me, probably to you. My point stands, Ben. You are a very skilled and talented artist. Anthony isn't the reason you got into that school. You are."

His chest rose and fell with a long, deep breath, and then finally, I felt him nod.

"Thank you. I can't promise it will always be easy for me to always believe it, but... I'll try to remember your words, and not my brother's, from now on."

"Good. And if you feel down again, you can always come to me. I'll always be there for you, Benedict, whenever you need me."

"And I you, my love," he said, moving down to whisper the words in my ear as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, too. He kissed my cheek, and I leaned back into his chest for a moment before turning around in his arms to face him.

The beautiful, kind smile I'd fallen in love with stared back at me, along with his warm brown eyes. I smiled too, then finally stopped ignoring my racing heart and decided to continue the theme of ignoring the Ton and what they might say.

I leaned into Benedict, closing the distance between us with a glance at his lips before meeting his eyes again. Both of his eyebrows shot up, but he didn't pull away.

"Y/N... if anyone found out..."

I smiled. "They won't. Besides, they'd just make us follow through on something we're already planning, anyway."

Benedict huffed a laugh, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real. Then, his arms tightened around my waist, and he leaned in even closer. I closed my eyes, feeling Benedict stop just a hair's breadth away from my lips.

"Are you sure-"

I closed the distance myself before he could continue. Benedict smiled into the kiss a moment later, pulling me closer to him, the two of us locked in each others' embrace as the sun set in the hills behind us. Truly, I didn't think anyone would be able to find out about how we'd spent our afternoon, but I also truly didn't care. I loved Benedict, and even though it was technically early in our courtship, I'd known him for most of my life. I knew we were meant to spend our lives together, and I knew he felt the same way as I did. Sooner or later, we'd make it official with an engagement and marriage, and be able to disappear together whenever we wanted without the Ton batting an eyelash. But, in the meantime, I didn't mind sneaking away for private moments like this one bit. No matter what had led to it in the first place.

****************

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[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple. 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

-

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

-

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

-

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat. 

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

-

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks - 

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

-

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit. 

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

-

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

-

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

-

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

-

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

-

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck. 

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

-

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

-

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

-

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

-

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

-

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

-

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

-

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

-

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

-

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

-

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

-

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist. 

The absolute fucking prick.

-

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same. 

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

-

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

-

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

[lxvebun]

A millennium of unsaid I love you's

Synopsis: love is the most twisted curse of all. Yuuji wonders if it's twisted enough to have even Sukuna in its grip.

Content: Sukuna x gender neutral reader. Fluff+little angst. Lovesick!sukuna, I repeat, Lovesick!Sukuna he's so in love with you it shows in everything he does!! Mentions of character death but its open for you to decide. Slight mention of canon violence. Around 1k words♡ eng is not my first language, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡♡

"Have you ever been in love?" Yuuji wonders out loud, not necessarily expecting a serious answer. It's a little past midnight if he's reading the blurry red numbers on the digital clock correctly, and despite sleep clouding over his eyes, he can't seem to find rest. Blankets are carelessly kicked to the edge of the bed in an effort to relieve himself from the summer heat but it doesn't do much to help him ease into that sleepy state either.

(Talking to Sukuna seemed a lot more interesting than counting sheep)

The question hangs in the air for a moment, silence twists around it like a vine, and just before it completely swallows it up, the answer floats across his mind similar to a thought but eerily spoken in a different voice.

"Yes"

It's said quietly, almost as if trying to maintain the tranquility of the summer night, but this is Sukuna we're talking about. He doesn't take others into consideration. There's something else that keeps him from voicing his answers out loud.

(Perhaps it's the way he can't talk about you without sounding like a love-sick devotee)

"How!?" Yuuji blurts out before thinking, not realizing the question is rather rude until a sharp flash of pain surges through his body, a little corrective behavior sent from Sukuna, no doubt. "Sorry, sorry. I just didn't expect it, that's all.

It's quiet for a bit. Yuuji takes the time to admire the stars and moonlight shining through the sliver of the curtains. It feels like the moon is extra radiant tonight as it spills a wonderful illuminative light across the room. 

"I don't know"

There's not much he doesn't know, but to this day it's still a miracle to him that you weaved yourself so effortlessly into his very being. Managing to do so without an ounce of resistance from him. Partly believing you were some kind of heavenly punishment sent to bring the king of curses to his knees. To rid the world of a darkness that never should have existed in the first place.

(He'd let you)

"I just was"

There's another part of him that theorizes that maybe you were something that remained of his human self. A soulmate to complete his when his soul wasn't half as dark and twisted as it is now. Born from the same star, hearts carved from the same moon. A red string binds you to him, regardless of the form he takes. How cruel of fate to tie you to a monster and keep it that way.

Quietness tunes back in as Yuuji's thoughts drift elsewhere. For a second, Sukuna thinks he's done with his late-night interrogation.

"What were they like?"

He's not indulging Yuuji, really. But his heart beats back a little warmth into his soul every time he thinks of you. Every time he thinks of your voice, how his name sounded so syrupy and sweet falling from your lips, a stark contrast to how it's usually uttered.

Every time he thinks of your touch, how you always handled him with a gentleness he probably doesn't deserve. As if under all the scars and cursed markings he was made of the most delicate porcelain. Even when you were angry, it never bled violence into your touch.

Gods, your entire being shined so brightly he could pick you out from among the stars. You dug yourself into his chest, ripped out his darkened heart oh so deliciously, and buried yourself in its place. As if you always belonged there.

Just thinking of you stains his mouth all too sweetly, a millennium of unsaid I love you's building up in the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

"They were beautiful" he speaks aloud this time, voice booming around the room. Yuuji flinches a little at the intrusion "And that's enough of your questions tonight, brat"

"Just one more, please"

.....

Yuuji takes the silence as compliance.

"Are they gone?" He puts it into softer terms. Sukuna's a little annoyed at the consideration.

He doesn't know... and he's not sure what hurts more, being oblivious to your fate, or assuming that you have passed. Surely, Uraume would have taken care of you. Then again, are they even around still? A dullness grows in his chest, splinters its way through his ribs, and weighs down into his lungs suffocatingly so at the uneasiness of not knowing.

Looking through Yuuji's eyes, he catches a glint of a star beaming down into the split in the curtain. Shining an ethereal light so brightly he has to avert his gaze.

( he could pick you out amongst the stars. He refuses to believe it's you)

The ache lessens again as the starlight seems to clear his head. You're bound to him by a string of fate, there's not a single universe out there where you're not with him. Even if it's cruel of fate to do so, even if those thousand years apart have turned him into someone almost unrecognizable. You'll be together again. Perhaps your soul is just waiting for the right moment to appear.

"they'll be back" is all he says, and the finality in his tone urges Yuuji to keep his mouth shut despite the whirlwind of questions still racing through his mind. Memories that don't belong to him flicker through Yuujis's mind as Sukuna seems to dream off. They're blurry and foggy and disappear all too quickly for him to make sense of what he's seeing, but he can feel the overwhelming presence of love dripping from the edges. He doesn't question why his heart starts to race too.

Sukuna has been a rot in his side from day one. but if there ever exists an opportunity to save everyone, if he could give him his happy ending should you come back, he thinks he'll grant it to him.

Thank you for reading angels!!♡ i had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you enjoyed this too!