you'll find it hiding in shadows (kate/jacob, pg-13)
Title: you'll find it hiding in shadows
Author: cloudytea
Characters/Parings: Kate/Jacob. Mentions of Mother, Jack, and Sawyer.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Warm fingertips glide across his ribs like clockwork. 446 words. For woodshavings.
Her breaths are stained with the very crimes she’s committed and yet he’s willing to give her a second chance -- the doctor couldn’t have said more perfectly: our pasts don’t matter here.
He can still remember the very words he had spoken her in that gas station all those years ago -- Be good, Katie. But there was no avoiding the path she will choose (had already chosen -- the harshness in the cashier’s voice revealed that may not have been her first time) and he allows fate to run its course until she would end up here, the very place she’s been destined to be entire life.
They go through this every night -- or at least, on the nights she can escape the lusty hands of James Ford and the desperate eyes of Jack Shepherd. It was so much easier when the former was battling sepsis on the other side of the island and the latter was too preoccupied with the Hatch; on those nights, her eagerness knew no bounds and she was determined to find a way out of the hole she’s seemed to dig herself into.
I want to go home. Her voice can melt the very fires of Hell and yet, he manages to hold his ground. Warm fingertips glide across his ribs like clockwork -- they’ve done this so many times before, and yet he likes to think this is different, that her motives have finally changed; when she repeats her words, he silently accepts her intentions. Let me go home, Jacob.
Her hands yank his white shirt over his head and touches every inch of skin revealed -- he welcomes her touch and takes in the cool nighttime air, breathing in the same, familiar breeze that he’s been breathing in for many years (too many years). Her face is youthful, but her hands are shaped by lock-picking and gun-handling -- she reminds him of a woman he’s known long ago, a woman whose bones are now nothing but dirt and dust. Her eyes tell a sad tale, while her lips whisper praises into his ear, just enough to secure a promise out of him. But he never gives into her, no matter the words that pass through her lips.
Kate Austen wants to go home -- he wants to tell her she’s already there.
Weeks later, he can hear the helicopter zoom overhead; with the piece of white chalk in his hand, Jacob crosses out her name. Katherine Austen’s time is done -- but he knows it is only just a matter of time until the tide is turned and she will understand the true meaning of home.
Author: cloudytea
Characters/Parings: Kate/Jacob. Mentions of Mother, Jack, and Sawyer.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Warm fingertips glide across his ribs like clockwork. 446 words. For woodshavings.
Her breaths are stained with the very crimes she’s committed and yet he’s willing to give her a second chance -- the doctor couldn’t have said more perfectly: our pasts don’t matter here.
He can still remember the very words he had spoken her in that gas station all those years ago -- Be good, Katie. But there was no avoiding the path she will choose (had already chosen -- the harshness in the cashier’s voice revealed that may not have been her first time) and he allows fate to run its course until she would end up here, the very place she’s been destined to be entire life.
They go through this every night -- or at least, on the nights she can escape the lusty hands of James Ford and the desperate eyes of Jack Shepherd. It was so much easier when the former was battling sepsis on the other side of the island and the latter was too preoccupied with the Hatch; on those nights, her eagerness knew no bounds and she was determined to find a way out of the hole she’s seemed to dig herself into.
I want to go home. Her voice can melt the very fires of Hell and yet, he manages to hold his ground. Warm fingertips glide across his ribs like clockwork -- they’ve done this so many times before, and yet he likes to think this is different, that her motives have finally changed; when she repeats her words, he silently accepts her intentions. Let me go home, Jacob.
Her hands yank his white shirt over his head and touches every inch of skin revealed -- he welcomes her touch and takes in the cool nighttime air, breathing in the same, familiar breeze that he’s been breathing in for many years (too many years). Her face is youthful, but her hands are shaped by lock-picking and gun-handling -- she reminds him of a woman he’s known long ago, a woman whose bones are now nothing but dirt and dust. Her eyes tell a sad tale, while her lips whisper praises into his ear, just enough to secure a promise out of him. But he never gives into her, no matter the words that pass through her lips.
Kate Austen wants to go home -- he wants to tell her she’s already there.
Weeks later, he can hear the helicopter zoom overhead; with the piece of white chalk in his hand, Jacob crosses out her name. Katherine Austen’s time is done -- but he knows it is only just a matter of time until the tide is turned and she will understand the true meaning of home.