Forgotten Words

she/her | 26 | bi drowning in a sea of self indulgence

[mffnlrd]

a lil intro post

hiii i’m mffn!

i write purely for my own enjoyment, but i post them because there can never be enough fics in the world lol — feedback is welcomed and appreciated but pls be nice 🥹

unless otherwise stated, my requests are always open (link)

currently into:

the pitt

trinity santos 💖

frank langdon 💖

dennis whitaker

jack abbot

john shen

baran al-hashimi

gen v

jordan li 💖

cate dunlap

emma meyer

sam riordan

[mffnlrd]

thinking about writing some gen v smaus 🤔🤔

[mffnlrd]

Hiii, I hope your day is going well!

I have a request for Jordan Li, it’s kind of a long one so I’m sorry for all the yapping😭

So basically the premise is, it’s freshman year at Godolkin for the whole group. Cate, Andre, Luke, Jordan, and fem!reader all met on their first day and now they are all a close friend group.

A few months into the year, Jordan has fallen hard for the reader and has a crush on her that is painfully obvious to everyone except her. Reader is very inexperienced romantically and has never been in a healthy relationship or a physically intimate one.

The reader is very physically affectionate with Jordan when they’re in their female form, like hugs and closeness and everything, but has never actually initiated any physical contact when Jordan is in their male form. Jordan thinks that maybe she is just only into their female form, but then realizes that she has the same amount of affection with Cate. Jordan starts to think that the reader isn’t interested in them romantically at all, and is devastated.

In their heartbreak, Jordan fails to notice that the reader never has any physical contact with the other boys in the group either. She doesn’t hug Luke or Andre, didn’t even shake their hands when she met them. Turns out, reader just has a really bad past with men and has only told Cate about it. Cate notices Jordan moping, confronts Jordan, Jordan is adamant about not saying anything to the reader, so Cate gets Andre and Luke to help her convince Jordan. Eventually that tactic works and Jordan confesses their feelings to the reader.

Hiii thank you so much for this request!

I’m sorry it took so long, I’ve spent the past month writing and rewriting this story so many times and every time I read it again I’m like “I can do better” LOL

But now it’s finally done and posted here:

just a friend - j.l.

I hope you enjoy it!

[mffnlrd]

just a friend - j.l.

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader

cw: mention of rape/sexual assault, proceed carefully

wc: 3.3k

a/n: based on this request from anon. reader’s power is cholorokinesis (plant manipulation). no summary bc im a lil brain dead rn. as always, all pronouns used for jordan.

It’s the spring break of your first year at Godolkin University.

You should be living it up in Cancun or Punta Cana like other college students. Feel the sun blazing on your skin for the first time since last October. Go to the sandy beach. Step into the pleasantly warm ocean and let the tides take you anywhere.

But no.

Far from being on a tropical vacation, you and your friends are stuck on campus thanks to a stupid weaponology class.

In place of a written midterm, your professor had assigned a group project—a 20 minute presentation on any weapons-related topic of your choosing—which would’ve been nice if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s due the week right after break.

You look around the room. Luke’s room.

His dorm has become the group’s default hangout spot ever since he and Cate started dating a few months ago. A natural development, considering Golden Boy lives in a single that’s almost the size of a quad, complete with a shower/tub en-suite.

Everyone’s situated in their usual spot right now with their laptops open in front of them. You and Jordan are sprawled out on the couch, so close to each other that your arms and thighs touch. Andre is nestled in the plush beanbag chair across from you while the lovebirds are sitting side by side on the queen-sized bed with their backs against the wall.

“Ugh, I knew I should’ve dropped this class.” Cate slams her laptop shut so forcefully that you’re surprised the screen didn’t shatter. “It won’t even count towards my core curriculum once I switch to the hero management major next semester.”

She closes her eyes and pinches her nose. “…Is it too late to withdraw?”

“Cate, babe, you know I love you.” You say while pushing yourself off the couch.

Jordan pauses her typing when she no longer feels your touch. Her focus shifts from the screen in front of her to your back as you make your way towards Cate.

Within a few steps, you’re standing next to the blonde with a hand on her shoulder. “…But if you leave us to finish this project by ourselves, you will never know peace again for the rest of our lives.”

The physical contact is intentional. Your thoughts flow into Cate’s mind, letting her know just how serious you are. The corners of your lips curl into a cold smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Meanwhile, Jordan’s eyes land exactly where your hand is touching Cate’s bare skin. Something like irritation flickers across their face for a split second, but they quickly force it back to neutrality.

While you remain clueless to Jordan’s shift in demeanor, Andre catches on. He makes eye contact with them and flashes a knowing smirk. Jordan scowls in response, lifting their middle finger at him.

With an exaggerated grin still on his face, Andre turns to you. “And what are you gonna do, Poison Ivy? Trip Cate every time she walks on grass?”

“That. And more. You don’t know everything my vines are capable of.” You display a proud yet devious smile of your own.

Cate swallows in mild horror. She looks up at Luke, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. “You’ll protect me, right babe?”

A dramatic gasp escapes your lips before Luke can even open his mouth to respond.

“Riordan, you will stay far, far away from my plant babies!” You point your finger at him, the glare on your face landing somewhere between serious and playful.

Unbothered, he shrugs. “Tell your precious babies to leave my girlfriend alone then.”

“It’s so not fair that your power basically hard counters mine,” you huff before stomping back to your seat on the couch.

You snuggle up next to Jordan and wrap one of your arms around her slender waist. “You’ll be on my side if war ever breaks out between me and Luke, right?”

“Only if you’re winning,” Jordan teases.

A laugh escapes from Andre. “If a day comes where Jordie here isn’t on your side, it might be a sign that the world is ending.”

“Fuck off,” Jordan spits out, throwing up both middle fingers this time.

“It’s because they know I’m always in the right,” you say smugly.

Jordan lets out a defeated sigh before shifting into their male form. The transformation chisels out their round face and broadens their shoulders. The curve of their waist disappears, replaced by two firm, straight lines.

That’s when your arm drops back to your side and you retreat a few inches. You’re not aware of your own actions, but Jordan notices.

They always do.

Jordan’s mouth parts as if he’s about to say something, but then he closes it without ever making a sound.

“—Alright, I think that’s enough distractions.” Cate claps her gloved hands together. “Let’s just get back to work so we can actually make it to the party tonight, yeah?” She says with a certain level of artificial sweetness as she opens her laptop once more.

You roll your eyes, holding yourself back from pointing out the fact that she was the one who initiated the sidetracking in the first place.

—

Six hours later, you—along with every other soul unfortunate enough to still be staying on campus during spring break—are at Dusty’s party.

As is the norm at these parties, the air is thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and clashing colognes. Track after track of electronic dance beats blast out of the shitty speakers in the corner, their bass levels turned all the way up.

At some point, you find yourself sitting alone in the living room. Andre and Luke are in the study, defending their title as the duo champions of beer pong. Jordan left to grab a drink a while ago and never returned. Then Cate left too, saying she would go bring them back, but that was almost 10 minutes ago.

Just when you’re about to go looking for your friends, a group of drunk girls—some of which you recognize from different classes—wave you over to join them in dancing. Being a bit tipsy yourself, you oblige.

Moving your body rhythmically, you dance along to loud, obnoxious music that you’ll only ever be able to tolerate within the confines of a party.

During that same time, Cate enters the kitchen in search of Jordan. She stumbles upon them sitting alone on the floor with their knees bent and feet planted flat on the ground, clearly a little distressed in some way.

Parking herself on the ground next to them, she crosses her outstretched legs at the ankles and rests her quarter-full cup on her thigh.

“What are you doing in here alone?” Cate nudges his arm playfully with her elbow. “You know your girl is literally less than 50 feet away.”

Her teasing grin falls when Jordan only replies with an unenthused groan.

She raises a single eyebrow. “What’s the matter with you?”

Jordan runs a hand through his jet black hair, messing up the meticulously gelled style that had taken him almost 15 minutes in front of the bathroom mirror earlier tonight.

“She’s not my girl, Cate, that’s the problem.” Jordan’s voice comes out in a grumble. “She doesn’t like me like that. Not this version of me, at least.” He gestures vaguely to himself.

“Which version of you?”

“…The one with a dick.”

Cate frowns. “You don’t really think she cares about that, do you?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Jordan lifts their head while to their female form. “Whenever I’m like this, everything is fine. She’s touchy and flirty and it makes me fucking flustered as hell—”

She transforms again, now back to the same male appearance they started in. “—then I turn into this, and all of a sudden she wants nothing to do with me.”

Finally understanding their frustration, Cate gazes at Jordan sympathetically.

The truth is that she knows exactly why you are the way you are. Why you do the things you do. But in order to explain it to Jordan, she would have to reveal to him what you had previously told her about your past in confidence, and Cate would sooner die than to ever consider betraying your trust.

“Just so you know, there’s a reason for that—the whole ‘not touching you when you’re a guy’ thing. It’s not really about you per se.”

“Then what is it about?”

Her face contorts into a grimace. “It’s…not my place to say.”

“Fucking great. Thanks, Cate, that’s really fucking helpful,” Jordan mutters under his breath.

“Hey, watch your tone,” she gives him a stern warning. “Besides, you wouldn’t need me to tell you anything in the first place if you’d just grow the fuck up and confess to her.”

Her harsh words succeed in shutting him up.

As Jordan quietly fidgets with the empty plastic cup in his hands, in step Andre and Luke, who had just finished wiping the floor in the impromptu beer pong tournament.

“Perfect timing, guys.” Cate lifts herself up. “Do me a favor please and tell Jordan they’re being a wuss.”

Andre laughs out loud and looks down at Jordan, who’s still glued to the floor. “You know I’m always down to give this one a hard time, but what are we talking about specifically?”

“What else other than their totally obvious crush that they refuse to do anything about.” Cate crosses her arms, glaring at Jordan with impatience.

The corner of Andre’s mouth ticks up. “In that case, yeah. You’re absolutely being a giant pussy, Jordan. Just go ask her out already.”

“Look, she doesn’t fucking like me, okay?” In his frustration, Jordan raises his voice unintentionally. He casts a worried glance towards the living room, exhaling in relief when it’s clear that you’re too preoccupied with dancing to notice this little gathering in the kitchen.

“…I’m not gonna risk ruining our friendship just so I can confess my stupid one-sided feelings.” He says in a hushed tone, afraid that you’d overhear somehow even though the chance of that happening is practically zero.

Luke, who had just remained a silent observer until now, suddenly chimes in. “How would you know for sure that they’re one-sided if you never ask her?”

“I just do,” Jordan insists.

“Well, I don’t.” Luke replies nonchalantly.

“Okay, but what if you’re wrong and she does like you?” Andre asks.

Jordan doesn’t answer.

The thought has certainly crossed their mind before. What if you do like them back? What if all the seemingly-mindless physical contact and affectionate banter was actually you flirting with them?

But then they’d remember the way you react to their maleness—a vital part of who they are—and it becomes that much easier to convince themselves that you can’t possibly reciprocate their feelings.

“Look, Jordan.” Passing her drink off to Luke, Cate crouches to be eye level with Jordan. She places her gloved hand on his knee. “Even if she doesn’t feel the same way about you, wouldn’t you rather just like, know for sure? Instead of doing whatever it is you’re doing right now?”

Jordan doesn’t answer, but he’s clearly shaken.

“Plus, she would never stop being friends with you. I know that and you know that, so what the fuck are you so afraid of?” Cate adds.

The gears in Jordan’s brain turn for a solid minute before he exhales.

“Fuck,” he admits before finally picking himself up and off the floor.

That’s when you finally walk through the doorway, your cheeks completely flushed from all the dancing.

Your face lights up when you notice everyone.

“I wasn’t aware that the kitchen was where the party’s at!” Laughing, you joke.

The tipsiness you’d felt earlier in the night had mostly subsided, so you figured that you would come into the kitchen and pour another drink for yourself, only to find all your missing friends here.

“Round of shots?” You grab the bottle on the counter and pour its contents into five glasses before anyone has the chance to object.

Once you gulping down your shot, Jordan approaches you with a small cup of cranberry juice to chase with.

They’re normally not great with details, so it’s amazing that they somehow always remember little ones about you, including the scrunched up face you make after every drink that betrays just how much you hate the taste of alcohol.

“Thanks, Jordan,” You grin, happy to get the aftertaste of vodka out of your mouth. “You’re the best, y’know?”

“I know.” he smiles, standing a comfortable distance from you. “Hey, can we maybe talk for a bit? Privately?”

You nod.

No matter how dense you are, you can sense Jordan’s blatant nervousness. So you follow closely behind as he walks out the sliding glass door and into the backyard.

March in upstate New York means that the night breeze is still nippy and will remain so for about two more months. You had arrived at the party wearing a jacket, but it’s currently hanging in the coat closet inside, next to the front door.

When Jordan notices the goosebumps on your exposed arms, he wastes no time sliding off his cherished blue&white varsity jacket and draping it over your shoulder.

You smile. “Like I said, the best.”

With very little grace, you plop yourself down on the nearby leather sofa. Then you lightly pat the empty spot next to you, signaling for Jordan to sit as well. They shift into their feminine form before lowering themselves into the seat.

You lean back with your full weight as you start to feel the buzz from the shot. “So, what’d you wanna talk about?”

Jordan takes a deep breath in preparation.

“Look, I’m bad at stuff like this, so let me just come out and say it. I like you. Like, really fucking like you. And I know you don’t feel the same way and that’s okay—well actually, it’s fucking devastating, but whatever. I just… I need you to just reject me because the uncertainty really fucking blows.”

You straighten your back as Jordan concludes their ramble, your mouth sitting slightly agape from the shock of being confessed to. Not to mention, by the one person that’s been on your mind since the day you met.

Then the second part of their confession finally registers in your brain, and it makes your brows furrow instinctively.

“—Wait, what makes you think I don’t feel the same way about you?”

“I mean, you only think of me as a girl friend, right? As in a friend who’s a girl? That’s why you only play-flirt with me when I’m feminine and why you always withdraw from me every time I shift. It’s ‘cause you don’t like me as a man.”

Their words have you stunned.

You bite hard at your lip, trying to think back to every time Jordan has shifted in your presence and how you reacted, but your mind blanks.

“Jordan, that’s not true,” you whisper.

“…So it doesn’t bother you that I’m not just a woman?” She asks, uncertainty evident in the slight trembling of her voice.

“No!” You gaze into her eyes with as much sincerity as you can muster. “No way. Please don’t ever think that.”

You take her hand in yours.

“I like you too, Jordan. A lot. And not just when you’re a woman.”

“…Then why do you get so distant whenever I’m a man?”

You hold your breath at the coming of the inevitable.

“Cate’s the only one in this school I’ve ever told. I’ll tell you if you really want to know, but first you have to know that it’s not a fun story.”

“I’m listening.” Jordan’s tone is soft and warm.

You nod.

“In junior year, I had this boyfriend. We’d been dating for like three months when we went to this party at his friend’s house together. I don’t remember exactly how much I drank, I just know I got really fucking drunk. Towards the end of the night he took me to the bedroom and he…” You trail off, the hazy memory of what happened that night bringing tears to your eyes.

In the quiet, you feel Jordan lightly squeeze your hand, letting you know that you’re in control and have the option of stopping whenever. You make the choice to continue instead.

“…I remember saying no, but he was so insistent. And heavy. When I confronted him about it the next morning, he argued that I’d wanted it too but his face told me that he knew exactly what he did. I broke up with him on the spot and that was that. I didn’t tell anyone because I knew it would eventually come down to his word against mine, and it didn’t look good for me. I willingly went to the party, got myself shitfaced, and—”

“And you didn’t do anything wrong. That cunt took advantage of you. He deserves to rot in hell.”

Jordan’s jaws are clenched, her anger visible from the slightly protruding vein on her neck. The hand that isn’t holding yours is balled up into a tight fist in her lap. It brings you comfort, knowing how much Jordan cares about you.

“Yeah, that’s what Cate said too.” You say softly. “…Anyway, for like five whole months after that, I couldn’t have any physical contact with men without completely freaking out. It got better over time, but I guess maybe it just morphed into something else entirely.”

You know that the trauma of being assaulted had affected you deeply back then, but you never thought that, even two years after the fact, it would still play such a significant role in how you interact with the world around you.

“What’s the douchebag’s name?”

Your eyebrow ticks upward at Jordan’s question as a smile appears on your face.

“I know you’re only asking so you can go find him and beat him up. Don’t bother. He died last year. Tried to drive home from a party drunk as fuck, veered off the road, and that was it.”

“Oh,” Jordan whispers with slight disappointment.

“I was glad he died back then because it meant I didn’t have to see him in school around anymore, but now I kind of wish he was still alive so that I could kill him myself. Is that really fucked up?”

“Maybe,” Jordan shrugs, “but I support it. Maybe we can go piss on his grave together?”

That elicits genuine laughter from you.

“…I’m really sorry I made you feel like I only cared about a part of you, Jordan,” you say, looking into their eyes. “I need you to know that I like you fully as you are. Both genders.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who misunderstood things all on my own.”

Jordan studies you closely for a second.

“Would it be okay…if I shift? Like, right now?”

“Please.” It’s your turn to give their hand a reassuring squeeze.

As they shift, you make it a point to take note of exactly what does and does not change about them. While they become physically larger and sharper, the timid way they smile remains the same. A smile that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of.

You pull him into a tight hug, the distance between you disappearing as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He freezes for a second before tenderly placing his hands on your back and beginning to move them back and forth in a comforting rhythm.

As one of the strongest supes in school, Jordan could easily overpower you in two seconds flat. You’re fully aware of that fact and yet you’re not scared in the slightest.

You trust them. Perhaps more than you’ve ever trusted anyone else before.

When you finally pull apart, there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“So,” you flash him a crooked grin, “you ‘really fucking like’ me, huh?”

Jordan rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance on his face. “You’re probably the last person on campus to know that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly a good actor. It’s honestly a little impressive how oblivious you are.”

“There’s no way. You’re just messing with me.”

Jordan just shakes his head at your disbelief before hopping off the couch and then reaching his arms out to help you up as well. His hand continues to hold onto yours as you both head back inside.

You step into the kitchen where your friends had just been standing around, watching the entire situation play out. Jordan slides the door closed behind them.

“Fucking finally,” Cate approaches, a grin on her face that only gets wider when she looks down and sees your interlocking hands. “It was honestly getting super tiring constantly hearing your thoughts about how much you like each other.”

With a smug look, Andre puts his arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Nice work, Jordie, but I do have to point out that I was right and you were wrong.”

“Even Andre knew?” You turn to Jordan. “Shit. You really weren’t kidding, were you?”

“Told you.”

[in-my-feels-probably]

The Great Divide (SMAU) - Frank Langdon

“You know I think about you all the time, and my deep misunderstanding of your life. And how bad it must have been for you back then, and how hard it is to keep it all inside.”

Ten months after Langdon’s addiction and drug abuse was exposed, he’s returned to the Pitt to face the consequences. After a rocky divorce and too many severed ties to stomach, he’s in desperate need of a friend. He’d love that person to be you. But after blowing the friendship up the night of PittFest, would you want the same? Either way, he has to find out.

1. My Man On Willpower

“He fell in love with self restraint, and now it’s getting out of hand. He used to be literally obsessed with me, suddenly I’m the least sought after girl in the land. My man on willpower is something I don’t understand.”

You can find the masterlist to this ongoing series here.

This is canon divergent from season 2, aspects will be kept and referenced, but this is largely set in a fictitious season 2.5 or so. Keep that in mind if you notice differences!

If you see a typo, no you don’t. Please pretend it’s not there, I’m not going back to find and fix it. Your girl is too tired.

Comment or message me if you want to join the taglist :)

[814519]

and it'll survive without you

[doodooyu]

Still here.

Still thinking about them.

[a-fellow-animaniac]

I won't lie, as much as I wish someone like Annie or even Butcher to be the one to do Firecracker in, I think I like way the show handled it better. Mainly for the symbolic reasons.

We have the supposedly devout Christian literally and metaphorically throwing her faith away so that she can prop up Homelander as a false idol. Only for her to meet her end at the hands of the devil she sold her soul to.

Then there's the extra symbolism of having a character who is obsessed with all things America bleeding out on a symbol of America.

But it's also a great contrast with how A-Train died at the start of the season. One died bravely laughing at the face of death to sacrifice himself for the greater good. While the latter died pitifully and timidly, begging for her life while she stood for nothing but her own gain. One figuratively saw the light, the other embraced darkness and died alone. It's not at all subtle, but it is fitting.

Kudos to Valorie Curry for playing such a loathsome yet pitiful character. Her sendoff was beautiful and I hope she gets noticed more after this.

[soldierboys]

THE BOYS 5.08 Blood and Bone

[mrnotsosilent]

you deserved better our gen v characters

[robertfagden]

at some point The Character stops being a character and starts being a close personal friend

[sadmortician]

(don't) look up to me

[merpinglilac]

[electric-stardvst]

So if you need a hero, just look in the mirror.

No one’s gonna save you now, so you better save yourself!

[molabuddy]

i Really love when two characters are really quite similar but in such a way that they just hate eachother onsight.. dog barking at a mirror type beef

[sillyuhhh]

it's them your honor

[mffnlrd]

Positive Engagements - j.l.

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader

tags: roommates to lovers; smoking weed; mentions of death; all pronouns used for jordan; no use of y/n; not proofread lol sorry

wc: 2.5k

a/n: i have tried to make this post like 3 separate times and got fucked by tumblr mobile each time. anyway not me making each fic longer than the last lmaoo but i had lots of fun writing this one. it might even have the potential to become a multi-part fic 😌

Refrain from the taking of life unless doing so would promote greater good positive engagement.

Sitting at your desk, you ponder over this sentence that you had jotted down in your notebook two year ago in Freshman Hero Ethics.

“Greater good” were the words printed in the textbook. Professor Brinkerhoff had written it out across the entire white board then made a whole show of striking it out. He’d said that for young, rising Supes like your class, “positive engagement” was infinitely more crucial than some bizarro concept of good that may not even be attainable in the first place.

Brink died last week. Killed by the top ranked senior and your friend, Luke Riordan.

Godolkin’s official statement was that Luke had simply snapped like a rubber band under the immense pressure of being at the top of the school. They said that he was a flaming Golden Boy who—ironically—couldn’t take the heat, so he murdered his professor and then committed suicide himself.

But thanks to Jordan, who had returned to your shared dorm that evening with more wounds than you’d ever seen on them before, you were able to learn the truth of the situation.

“Holy shit, Jordan. What happened to you?” You’d questioned as Jordan walked through the door. Your eyes were glued to the gauze on her forehead and the bandages wrapped around her arms.

She simply stared at you for several moments before suddenly pulling you into a tight embrace. You froze, then lifted your arms half a second later and hugged her back.

“Some really fucked up shit happened today…”

As you look back down at your notes, you wonder what greater good Luke might have been trying to achieve in his final moments, because he certainly didn’t light Brink up just for some positive engagement.

Or any engagement, really.

After his fight with Jordan, Luke had apparently launched himself high into the sky and then proceeded to explode like a human firework.

Videos of the incident are still circulating around campus, each featuring a different closeup angle of his brutal death. You can’t bring yourself to even think about it without feeling sick to your stomach.

You were never Luke’s best friend—nor was he yours—but if anyone had asked, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say that you were on good terms with each other. You’d frequently exchanged warm greetings in the hallways and had, standing side by side, taken the most disgusting shots together at frat parties. Maybe you weren’t good friends, but you were friends nonetheless.

Your mind takes you back to last semester, when Luke had pulled you aside to ask why you and Jordan weren’t dating despite, according to him, “copious amounts of sucking face.” He’d jokingly booed and threw you a thumbs down when you told him that you were just roommates who sometimes hooked up if the situation was right. The knowing smile that he’d given you at the time suggested that he knew you might have liked Jordan more than you’d let on.

Now that you think about it, with the way that Luke used to behave—full of unnatural cheerfulness, maturity unbefitting of his age, and slight hints of anxiety—it was always pretty clear to you that he had some sort of past, that he was carrying some baggage he could never seem to shed. But then again, who isn’t at this fucking school?

The only difference with Luke is that he’s dead now.

Super dead. Like, if someone looked hard enough they could maybe still find literal bits of him in the flowerbed dead.

—

A loud slam of the door jolts you out of your head. You turn around in your chair to see Jordan angrily tossing their backpack onto their bed before plopping themselves down on the couch and burying their face in their hands.

Jordan’s been a little distant in the past few days. Not that you blame them, after everything they’ve been through recently. So you do your best to give them space while still remaining close enough to provide them with your support if needed.

You sense that support is exactly what this current situation requires.

“…You okay?”

The moment that sentence leaves your mouth, you internally curse your own thoughtlessness. Jordan had lost a fight last week against their good friend who was unfortunately very naked and whose dick was very much ablaze—their words, not yours—after that same friend had burnt their beloved mentor to a crisp for reasons unknown.

Things probably couldn’t get worse for Jordan right now, and they are definitely not okay. So much so that you wouldn’t even blame them if they got up and started beating the shit out of you for asking something so stupid.

“Fuck—sorry, scratch that. What’s going on?”

“Check the fucking rankings.”

Uh oh.

Jordan has had a…complicated relationship with the ranking system for as long as you’ve known them, which was since day one of school. Their rank serves as their greatest source of pride or despair, depending on the day.

Back when you were still freshmen, their goal had just been to make it into the top ten. Once they achieved that, the goal became to break into the top five. Spoiler alert—that probably took them even less time. As Jordan kept climbing in rank, so did their ambition.

They’ve been sitting comfortably in second place for a while now, and Luke’s death meant that they finally had a real shot at taking first, but you doubt even that would bring them genuine satisfaction in the end.

You whip out your phone from your back pocket and tap on Godolkin’s proprietary ranking app. There, you immediately see the first row pop up with the name Andre Anderson, accompanied by his student ID photo.

“…What the fuck?” You whisper under your breath.

Then you scroll down, expecting to at least see Jordan’s name in second, but that doesn’t happen either. You keep scanning the rows to find that they don’t appear until the fifth row.

Rank five.

You stand corrected. Turns out things could—and did—get worse for Jordan.

“This has got to be a fucking joke.” You scoff.

“You’re telling me.” Jordan let out a sardonic chuckle.

“No, seriously, Jordan.” You look up at her. “This bullshit wasn't your fault. You just got fucked over by this godforsaken school like always. You know that, right?”

Her eyes soften and she nods, offering you a slight smile. You can tell that she’s not fully convinced.

Leaning back, you take in the sight of the Jordan sitting before you. Frustrated. Aggrieved. Miserable.

“Alright.” You shoot out of your seat and beeline towards your closet. “I have just the thing to make this better.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Feeling her gaze on your back, you reach the closet and pull on the second drawer from the bottom. The one in which you keep all your intimates.

“Why the fuck are you opening your underwear drawer right now?”

“Why do you know that this is my underwear drawer?” You tease, knowing full well that Jordan has lived with you for too long to not know the contents of each of your drawers.

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink.

You confidently push aside the bras and panties, reaching your hand into the very back of the compartment until you feel the familiar texture of a plastic baggie.

“Aha!” You yank the baggie out and wave it at Jordan. A smile appears on her face as her eyes lock onto its contents.

In the ziplock bag was nearly a quarter ounce of premium devil’s lettuce, a small grinder, and a lighter. You reach back into the drawer and pull out a corresponding tiny glass bong.

“Tada!” You smugly place both the baggie and the bong down on your desk.

Jordan raises an eyebrow at you. “You keep that in your underwear drawer?”

“Well, yeah. It’s good stuff. Can’t have the RA confiscating it. I’ve been saving this for a particularly rough day, but I think you need it more than I do right now. Only condition: you do the work.”

She doesn’t hesitate to grab the bag.

Jordan takes a decent sized bud and breaks it up into smaller pieces with her hands before placing them in the grinder. Then she twists it with so much force that you’re afraid the weed might turn straight to powder. Once she’s done, she packs some into the bowl with swift precision.

“Here.” You pass her the lighter.

As soon as Jordan takes the first hit, her shoulders relax a little and the metaphorical storm cloud around her begins to dissipate. She goes back for a second hit, holding the smoke in her lungs for a good while before exhaling. Then she repacks the bowl and passes the bong to you.

“Fuck, I definitely needed this,” she sighs.

You grin and take a couple hits yourself until you feel that familiar sense of contentment.

Suddenly feeling much lighter, you crawl from your spot on the floor onto the couch, settling in right next to Jordan. She rests her head on your shoulder. In turn, you rest your head on hers. You stay quiet, giving them total control over anything they might want to say or do.

“…God, I’m so fucking selfish,” Jordan confesses after a few minutes of silence. “Luke and Brink are fucking dead and all I’m worried about is how I dropped from second to fifth.”

While thinking of a response, you place your hand over hers. She turns so that you’re now palm to palm and interlocks your fingers. The corners of your mouth curl up unconsciously.

“…You do know you can be upset about the whole Luke/Brink situation and your rank at the same time, right? They don’t have to be exclusive, Jords.”

“But one is way more consequential than the other,” Jordan argues.

“Yeah, and one is a fresher wound than the other, but there’s really no need to compare the two.”

She pauses to think about what you just said. Then, when it clicks, she begins to shake her head, chuckling in defeat.

“How the fuck do you always know what to say to make me feel better? Is this a power you have that I didn’t know about?”

She nudges you playfully with her shoulder.

“Nah, probably just my years of experience in intense therapy?” You shrug as a laugh escapes from Jordan’s lips.

They shift into their male form before pulling you into their lap. You nestle yourself between his legs and lean against his firm body, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He picks up the bong and casually takes another hit. You do the same.

He tilts his head back so that he’s looking up at the ceiling. “Life’s so fucking unpredictable, isn’t it?”

You nod, not quite sure yet what Jordan’s trying to get at.

“…And everything can change in a matter of seconds,” he adds.

You’re not sure if it’s the weed or something else, but you’re officially confused. So you narrow your eyes and slowly raise your head, only to find him already looking down at you with his beautiful dark brown—albeit bloodshot—eyes.

There’s a tension in the air that you can’t name, but it feels a little different from your usual interactions. He raises his hand and places it on your cheeks, his thumb caressing back and forth. You hope he doesn’t notice the heat creeping onto your face through his fingers.

“I’ve been thinking a lot the past couple of days,” Jordan states.

“About what?”

“About life—how stupidly fragile it is.”

“Mm.”

“And about us.”

“…Us?”

That word alone is enough to trip you up and send your heart into overdrive. You hadn’t been aware of any “us” between the two of you.

Jordan has never participated in anything other than casual flings and meaningless sex. Being their roommate as well as their occasional partner in bed, you were painfully aware of the “no feelings” rule, and not once have you ever dared to hope that you could be the exception. You knew how quick Jordan was to draw the line. You would never want to cross it one day and find yourself on the other side of that line.

“Yeah. Us. Me and you.” Jordan spells it out.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not dumb, dipshit. I know what the word means.”

“Well, you were looking at me like I’ve got three heads, so forgive me for thinking that maybe you’re so high you forgot basic English.”

Jordan’s playful grin turns into a wince as you press your pointer finger into one of the lingering bruises on his torso.

“Fuckin’ ow—stop!”

“What about ‘us’, Jordan?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” he yields. “I want us to be, like, a real thing. No more hooking up and pretending like nothing happened the next day.”

Jordan continues when you don’t respond. “I’ve had the thought before, but it was easy enough to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist. Then all that… shit happened the other day and coming home to you felt weirdly… right. And today, you made me realize I’m just not capable of pushing those thoughts aside anymore.”

“…Because I shared my expensive weed with you?”

The wrinkles between your brow deepen as your brain struggles to keep up with the situation.

“Don’t be an idiot.” There’s affection in Jordan’s voice.

“You’ve never flinched when I shift, no matter when or where. You call me out when I’m being an asshole. You make me laugh even when I don’t want to. You know pretty much everything there is to know about me and you’re still fucking here.” He swallows.

“So yes, I’m asking you out because you’re sharing your expensive weed with me, but also because if I died tomorrow, I would really regret not making you my girlfriend today.”

You stare at him wide-eyed, not believing that what you’re hearing is real. After all, this is the same Jordan who used to claim that anyone who falls in love is just plain stupid.

Maybe Luke was some sort of psychic. Or maybe his weird look at the time was actually because he saw something in you and Jordan’s relationship that neither of you did. Either way, you wish you could tell him he was right.

Jordan’s smile falters as you still remain quiet. The adrenaline of the confession wears off and his nerves begin to take over.

“…Is that a n—“

Before he can finish, you wrap your arms around his neck and crash your lips into his with a sense of urgency that you’ve never felt before.

The kiss starts off soft, but quickly deepens into something that’s both familiar and new at the same time. You’ve kissed countless times before, and yet never with so much emotion behind it. You feel him smiling against you as your lips glide over each other with practiced smoothness. You thread your fingers into his soft, black hair. Jordan’s hands move to your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

When the two of you finally pull apart, you press your foreheads together in perfect sync. Your breaths mingle as you both take in the fact that you’ve just stepped into a new chapter of your lives. You place your hand on Jordan’s chest to feel his heart pounding at the exact same speed as yours.

“…Yes, Jordan, all the fucking way. BUT.”

You look into his eyes and see a flash of panic. You can’t help the giggle that comes out of your mouth.

“…Only if you promise not to die tomorrow,” you smirk, “cause I’d really hate to have to tell people I once had a sub-24-hour relationship.”

[mffnlrd]

Emergency Contact - j.l.

genre: hurt/comfort

pairing: jordan li x reader

wc: 2.1k (!)

summary: after jordan walks out on you during an argument and then proceeds to avoid you for two weeks, you do everything you can to distract yourself—until it lands you in the campus medical center.

a/n: reader has ice powers, think elsa lol. all pronouns used for jordan. established relationship. i’m such a sucker for h/c.

Seven days.

A whole week.

That’s how long it’s been since Jordan walked out on you in the middle of an argument. One that had started in the first place because you were sick of them constantly shutting you out.

It’s almost ironic that, for a supe with ice powers, you were always getting iced out by Jordan and not the other way around.

All you had ever wanted was to be there for them. You weren’t asking for them to lay themselves bare to you or to reveal to you their deepest, darkest secrets. You just wanted to know that they were okay. Maybe even that was too much to ask for, because instead of pushing you away this time, they simply chose to leave.

“—You know what? I don’t fucking need this,” she had uttered under her breath before storming out, slamming the door right in your face.

If that’s how they’re gonna be, then fine—is what you think to yourself when the second week rolls around and there’s still no sign of Jordan anywhere, not even in the one class that you share with them.

During lunch with Andre one day, you learn that Jordan still goes to their other classes, just not the one with you in it. You weren’t really expecting anything different, but it does bother you to know that they can go about their day business-as-usual even when you’re not around.

In desperate need of a distraction, you throw yourself into training. You sign up for every extra combat training session available without ever considering if your body can handle it. After all, every second that you’re on that mat is one less second for you to ruminate on where it all went wrong.

Your friends obviously disapprove of your coping mechanism, but they’ve also been friends with you long enough to know that there’s nothing they can do to stop you, whose stubbornness when angry is probably the strongest in this group chock full of stubborn people.

Every night you return battered and bruised to the dorm room that you share with Cate, dismissing her frowns and nags as you conjure up fresh ice packs for yourself.

By the end of the second week, every muscle in your body is screaming in pain. You’ve barely eaten anything this week, and it’s finally starting to catch up to you.

You wake up in the morning to a pounding headache on top of your usual soreness, but you just dry-swallow some painkillers and drag yourself to training anyway.

It’s only after a light spar that you realize something might really be wrong. Your reflexes weren’t as sharp as they should’ve been, your attacks weren’t as accurate, and your ice melted too quick. Add to that the fact that you’re now struggling to catch your breath from a mere warmup match.

So you decide to leave early and, for once, heed Cate’s advice to take a break.

Except as soon as you step out of the building to return to your dorm, your vision grows fuzzy and your ears begin to ring. One second you’re conscious, and the next second you’re gone, falling to the ground with a loud thud as your head makes direct contact with concrete.

The steady beeping of the bedside monitor is the first thing you hear when you regain consciousness. With your eyes still closed, you sense pressure from something wrapped around your head—bandages. Then you feel a warm hand on top of your perpetually cool ones.

Your eyelids flutter open, and you find yourself face to face with none other than Jordan.

Sitting so far forward in the medical recliner next to your bed that it might be more accurate to say they’re hovering over the edge instead, Jordan is holding your hand.

He looks tired. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than you remember. His dark hair isn’t as sleek as usual and the ends are missing their signature curve. You wonder if maybe the past two weeks haven’t been so business-as-usual for them after all.

“…You’re awake,” he observes with relief.

“Yeah.” You withdraw your hand. “What are you doing here?” Displeasure is evident in your voice. You pretend not to notice the corners of his mouth drop.

“Med center called me. Emergency contact, remember?”

That’s when you recall.

It was the winter of freshman year. You and Jordan’s friendship had just been starting to blossom into something more.

You were filling out administrative paperwork in their room together when you stumbled across a section that neither of you really knew how to complete: emergency contact.

There were many things in common between you and Jordan—both in the top ten, both incredibly headstrong, and both grew up with very shitty parents. Ones who, for whatever reason, were incapable of loving their children the way they were supposed to.

Paul and Kayla Li cared greatly for Jordan. And yet somehow they still managed to fixate on all the wrong things—grades, ranks, gender. Paul refused to accept that Jordan was his daughter as much as they were his son. Kayla lacked the backbone required to stand up to her husband for Jordan. Both hurt them deeply.

You, on the other hand, didn’t remember the last time your parents gave a single shit about you. In fact, you weren’t sure they ever did at all.

When your powers had first manifested, you’d accidentally turned your room into an industrial freezer. Your parents came home, took one look at your panicked, sobbing face, and simply said that it was time for you to move to the guesthouse.

The day after you first arrived to GodU was the day they had finally abandoned you for good. They stopped answering your calls. In time, you stopped calling.

“Fuck parents,” Jordan declared, staring at the blank paperwork. Then they turned to you and proposed a solution: what if you were each other’s emergency contact instead?

You accepted.

That night, the two of you had promised to be each other’s family. Look out for each other no matter what.

Some things that neither of you had considered at the time were that 1) Jordan’s damn near indestructible and 2) you’re so proficient at controlling your powers—courtesy of the supe training camps your parents dumped you at every summer—that you’re never too badly hurt. Thus, your emergency contacts sat unaccessed in the system for years.

Until today.

“Doctor said you passed out from a combination of exhaustion, mild dehydration, AND low blood sugar,” Jordan begins to explain. “IV should do the trick for those, but they’re still gonna keep you overnight for observation since you definitely have a concussion from hitting your head when you fell.”

You groan internally.

“Thanks.” As upsetting as this whole situation is, you still have manners. “You can go now. I’ll call Emma.”

But Jordan’s feet stay planted and he doesn’t move a single inch.

“Can we talk?” His tone makes it clear to you that he’s not really asking. You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“About?”

He pinches his nose bridge and proceeds to let out a deep breath. “Maybe we start with what you were thinking, doing this to yourself?”

“…Guess I just felt like taking a page from your book on being guarded and self-destructive,” you scorn. “Thanks, by the way, you’ve been a real great example.”

While you’re aware that sarcasm is not very conducive to healthy communication, you can never seem to help yourself when Jordan gets under your skin.

His frown deepens and his nostrils flare just slightly, but it doesn’t take long for him to fix his expression.

“When was the last time you had an actual meal?” He continues to press as if he didn’t hear what you’d just said. “Or the last time you slept more than three hours a night?”

Jordan’s relentless interrogation finally pushes you over the edge.

They’re the one who chose to distance themselves from you. Now they have the audacity to show up in front of you like nothing happened and judge you for how you dealt with their absence? No, they don’t get to do that. They lost that privilege the moment they walked out on you.

Your face scrunches up.

“Oh, why don’t you go fuck yourself, Jordan?” Your fists are clenched so tight that if your nails were any longer you would’ve surely broken skin. “You’ve been gone for two weeks. What I did during that time is really none of your fucking busi—”

Before you even finish the sentence, Jordan becomes their female version. Her gaze becomes razor-thin, pure exasperation radiating from her now smaller frame.

Ever since that one time you angrily called them out mid-dispute for using their male form to dominate over you, Jordan has been careful to stay in female form during arguments.

“It is my fucking business,” she seethes. “Especially when you’re lying on a hospital bed and I’m the one they call.”

You scoff in response. “If that’s what you’re so worried about, I’ll have them change it as soon as I get out of here. Then I’ll be out of your hair forever like you want.”

At this point, you start to feel tears forming and pricking at your eyes, so you turn towards the window instead. If this truly is the end of you and Jordan’s relationship, the last thing you want is for them to notice how heartbroken you are underneath all that bitterness and resentment.

“You’ll be free from me. Congratulations.”

“What the hell are you talking ab—” Jordan cuts herself off as she realizes the meaning behind your words. She suddenly slumps back into the recliner and brings her hands up to her face.

When she resumes talking, the edge in her voice is softer. Less guarded. “That wasn’t what I meant,” she says.

With some hesitation, Jordan carefully places her hand over yours again. You don’t pull away this time, but your eyes remain locked on the view outside the window.

“Please look at me?” She pleads.

With the back of your free hand, you wipe away a stray tear. When you finally turn back around to face Jordan, you’re surprised to find that her eyes are just as damp as yours.

She gives your hand a firm squeeze.

“…When they called, they only told me that you were unconscious. The entire way over here all I could think about was what I said to you and how much I regretted it and how, despite that, I still avoided you like a coward because I was so afraid of losing you—god, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

They shift forms again, signaling their surrender in this fight. Jordan’s hand, still holding on to yours, grows in size but remains just as warm.

“I’m so sorry.” He swallows, choking back his tears. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

It pains you to see Jordan this way.

Here they are, finally telling you how they feel, but you aren’t quite ready to forgive them yet. Not without speaking your piece, at least.

“…I tried so hard to give you space, Jordan, I really did. But the more space I gave you, the more it felt like you were drifting away from me.”

You clench the thin blanket in your hands and force yourself to continue as frost begins to appear at your fingertips. You try your best to rein the ice back in.

“You just wouldn’t talk to me, and sometimes it felt like it was my fault. Like if I were better somehow, then you might’ve been more compelled to open up.”

Jordan’s eyes widen as he shakes his head. “No. No! It was never—and will never be— about you not being enough. I’m the fucked up one.”

“That’s not true,” you assert. “You are not fucked up. Not more so than any of us, at least.”

Jordan cracks a small smile at that. He then brings his other hand up to caress your cheek. You nuzzle his palm, melting into his heat like it’s your second nature.

The two of you gaze into each other's eyes, exchanging many unspoken words.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper after a while. “For pushing you too hard before you were ready.”

“Don’t be.” They offer an understanding smile. “I don’t think I’d ever be ready if you weren’t there to nudge me.”

With their lips pressed against your forehead, they say, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever push you away again, but I swear I’ll try my best.”

You nod, because that was all you had ever wanted in the first place anyway.

Leaning towards Jordan, you wrap your arms around their torso. You feel the tension in their body dissolve as they return your embrace. They put one hand on your back and the other on your head, smoothing out your hair while still being careful not to disturb the bandages.

“Don’t you ever walk out on me like that again, Jordan Li.”

“I won’t.” They chuckle at your use of their full name. “And don’t you ever think about taking me off your emergency contact again.”

“Deal.”

[mffnlrd]

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