#I have decided not to fully torture his soul

[soullessjack]

there’s so much love for how insanely-ruthlessly protective Cas is but the same is never given to jack when he’s the one being insanely ruthless about his family….it’s a cryin’ shame, i say

[bonbonly]

need a continuation of college au Charles actually taking away your panties because you’re so wet all the time fully knowing it’s because of him. Maybe he’ll plug your pussy up instead telling you that it’s just a treatment but the entire day (or days he plugs you) you’re squirming with every step not able to think about anything else. When you’re back with him for a check he plays with the plug a little making you so wet that he decides he needs to ‘drain’ you making you squirt

i actually started crying out loud reading this, anon, im actually so down bad now for college au charles leclerc and im not even a leclerc girlie pLEASE bon thoughts (18+)

poor you. you listened to collegeau!charles leclerc during the inspection and told yourself to not get wet. it was wrong! but every night when you went back to your dorm, all you could do was think about his fingers inside you, or his big cock bullying your cunt. he told you it was part of the procedure, but why did you want more?

charles is extremely cocky now that he knows he's the reason you keep drenching your panties, and he decides to tease you further. he knows you'll come back for him, so he doesn't have to worry too much about being safe with the boundaries and whatnot. besides, you promised to keep your pretty mouth shut and never tell a soul about what happens in the exam room. after all, both of you had a reptutation to maintain!

he takes your panties, telling you to never wear one from now on and to only ever wear skirts so that if you ever bend over in the library, everyone should see how your cunt is crying to be filled up, but no one would be allowed to touch. only he had that privilege. you nod your head at whatever he says, trusting him completely. he was the inspector, of course he knew better than you! he pulls out a small plug from his bag, and brings up to your mouth asking you to suck on it like you would to a lollipop. you nervously do so, looking at him to make sure you were doing it properly and once its wet enough he shoves it inside you, loving the way your back was arching already.

"whats this for?" you ask, furrowing your brows.

"just a check, really. you'll have to wear it until i see you next time, though. don't take it off at all, mon ange," charles instructs you.

the next time that you see him, you're whining and fussing. you're being a bit of a brat, squirming in your seat and begging him to take the plug out of you,

"i hate it! i hate it! it just feels so.... ugh," you whine out loud, bucking your hips in the air. you were chasing after something but you didn't know what. charles takes his gloves off, chucking them in a trash can nearby and rolls his chair over to where you're sitting. he taps your thighs, signaling for you to spread your legs under that miniskirt you were wearing and he's delighted to see that a) you weren't wearing panties and b) your cunt was squeezing that plug, your juices dripping down like a thunderstorm. he pulls the plug out just a few millimeters before shoving it back in you, and you're actually sobbing now,

"charles, no, no, no, please! please!"

"please what?" charles asks, and you shake your head,

"i... i dunno," you reply, your head falling back onto the bed with a thud as tears flow down your cheeks. he glances at the door behind him, making sure the room was locked before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off of him.

"there's just too much, chérie, you're just too wet," he whispers against your cunt, toying more with the plug. your cunt keeps clenching around the toy, begging to have some relief because the torture you went through in a week was just too much for your poor little brain. charles takes the plug out for good, listening to your whimpers. he watch your hole pucker up at the cold air and he smiles, draping your legs over his shoulders. just the touch of his warm skin against yours makes you moan, wishing he'd do something about your aching pussy, that couldn't be normal right? he had to have some procedure for this!

"i might have to drain you out," charles looks up slightly to meet your eyes, and you're nodding your head,

"yes, yes, anything, charles, just do something!"

he's smirking at your reaction, mumbling to himself how desperate you were but it doesn't reach your ears because his tongue is licking long stripes against your folds. you moan out loud, bucking your hips up but charles holds you down against the table as his licks grow deeper, deeper into your hole. his nose rubs against your clit, and the small stubble he has on his chin prickles the inside of your thighs, making you jolt at each move of his head.

"i should've done the taste test weeks ago," he grunts, sucking your clit before flicking it with his tongue, "oh you taste divine, you taste amazing."

his tongue dances down to your entrance, and he bobs his head as he does so, watching you writhe above him as he adds two fingers. he's hell bent on seeing you come undone for good. he's picking up his pace, adding a third finger and pumping them faster inside you. he moves his head away to get a good look at your reactions, mouth wide open as your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. he has a thumb rubbing hard circles on your clit as he's curling his fingers right where you need him the most.

"c-charles! w-wait, oh my!" you're shrieking, feeling something grow inside of you that you didn't even think was possible. it was different than the feeling like last time, but this felt more intense. charles didn't stop his relentless assault and instead went right back to harshly sucking your clit as his fingers danced inside you.

and with a large scream, you're squirting all over his fingers, watching his mouth chase after your liquids, lapping at whatever he could taste as his fingers kept going. you look down to see his face covered in your juices, some of them dribbling down his bare chest. his lips are parted ever so slightly and he's licking them and biting the inside of his cheek, "I think we can do one more, right chérie?"

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-four - a little of me, warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..

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You had woken up feeling awful. It doesn’t really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.

You were so wrong.

Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you weren’t just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it �� given his love to announce everyone’s news like they’re his own.

So, it didn’t take you long to figure out there’s definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.

And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you can’t seem to cough. It’s torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.

“Jesus. You look awful.” Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.

“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?” Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence guys.” You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.

You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.

“Do you even have makeup on?” Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way it’s directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.

“Yeah. I have concealer on.”

“Yikes.” Sunghoon coughs.

“Maybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circles” Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.

“Are you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?”

“Your makeup. Duh.” Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.

You think you’re aware that you don’t look your best. Although to be quite honest you’re not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You don’t get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isn’t very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.

You’re really praying to every fucking god that exists you’re not actually falling sick.

You’ll be fine though – or at least that’s what you think. That’s what you keep praying for -

Please god please please please!!

At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon aren’t gonna bother you too much.

However, it does get to you when you’re face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You don’t think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.

“Oh, you look...” he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be “not every good.” He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. You’re not very sure of anything anymore.

“For fuck’s sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!” you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.

“Aww yn. Don’t mind these silly boys. They’re just being dumb.” Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.

“Like always.” She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words. 

“Are you sick?” She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing. 

You don’t think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that you’ve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).

“I think I’m just a little tired.” you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry. 

“You don’t look a little tired though.” She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver “thankfully, you don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I do have a bit of a headache.” You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.

“Maybe you should head home.” She rubs your shoulder soothingly.

“And do what?”

“Rest.” Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.

“Oh, I’ll be fine don’t worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- “Soojin doesn’t even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. It’s warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is. 

“Jay, does yn have anything urgent today?” 

“Not really. Jake’s schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.” The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.

“Great!” she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and it’s somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun “I’m getting you an uber and you’re going home to rest!”

“Soojin I’m fine seriously. “Once again, she doesn’t give room for you to argue, your words – or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.

“You owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?” she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness “we need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.”

“Okay.” You sigh and she smiles “If I feel worse then I’ll leave!-“ you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.

“Jay.” She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat “call jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.” Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.

As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesn’t seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they aren’t as aware of.

“Ivy’s the boss here. whatever she says, happens.” He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe it’s the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.

But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while you’re still attempting to fight the decisions already made, you’d think you’re somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.

“That guy is whipped for you.” you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.

“No, he’s not.” Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head “He’s that way with everyone.” She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.

“He doesn’t even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.” your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members “and she’s his actual boss!” you whisper yell. 

“Shut up your uber is almost here.” She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.

“Why does he call you Ivy anyway?”

“It’s my English name.”

“That’s cute. You must be special.” You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.

“Very cute. Now go rest and if you need anything don’t hesitate to text me.” She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.

Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.

“Thank you.” you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows you’re about to cry so in the next moment she’s slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.

“I can’t hear you!” her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and it’s more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.

On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when you’re inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize you’re not sure what to do if you’re not working.

You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but it’s been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when it’s light outside, when your body knows you should be working.

That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.

Niki.

Jake

Niki

Jake

Niki.

You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then you’re taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.

“Thick or regular?” Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.

“Uh-“ you blink at the black screen of your tv “What are we talking about exactly?”

“Soy sauce.” He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.

“I didn’t even know there’s such thing as thick soy sauce.”

“Apparently thickness is taking over the world. That’s why bbls are a thing yn.” you snort.

“Maybe you should consider getting one.” A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.

“Okay I’m surrounded by soy sauce and you’re talking about how flat my ass is I’m so overwhelmed right now.” The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter “It’s not like I’m getting backshots soon.” He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you aren’t careful enough.

“I will be the one doing backshots,” you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.

“Okay moving on from you and your shots.” You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified “Are you at the supermarket?” you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.

“Yeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.”

“You seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?” you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.

“What’s up with you? you sound like shit.” He asks after a few beats of silence.

“Thanks, I only heard that like ten times today.”

“Are you sick?”

“Probably. I’m really overwhelmed right now too.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.

“I’m honestly still really worried about Niki.” You mumble.

“What did that fucker do?” The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.

“Nothing. I’m just worried about him. I know he said he’s gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.” You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder “Never. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I can’t help but worry about him.” You add.

“Yeah I know – hold on-“ there’s shuffling on the other line. Heeseung’s voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear “Hey can you stop being a little bitch?” The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of what’s going on.

“Or go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.” He adds and then there’s an unsettling silence. It doesn’t last long, and it’s interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing “MOM!!”

“Kids these days am I right?” Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.

“Heeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?”

“Yeah. Anyways back to Niki,” you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then you’re shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives it’s little that surprises you with him.

“Yeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.”

“Not really. He’s been acting the same too.” He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry “If you’re that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.” He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded “I don’t know if he’ll be happy about it though.”

You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.

“Hold on,” you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch “What do you mean shifts? He’s been working at the restaurant?”

“Shit yeah. it’s been a while now. You didn't know?”

“What the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body can’t handle it.” you berate, frustration woven in your tone.

“I don’t fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.”

“Did he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.” You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you aren’t sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.

“I really don’t know yn.” Heeseung sighs on the other line “But either way I’ll talk to him when he comes into work later. Don’t worry.”

“That would be good, thank you.” you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.

“Of course.”

“I’ll talk to him about everything properly once I’m over this cold or whatever it is. I don’t want him to get sick.” You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.

“Yeah, you better rest for now. I’ll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like they’re taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didn’t feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadn’t noticed?

The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasn’t moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath

Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You aren’t sure how long you slept. It’s long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.

The only reason that’s strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think it’s a part of your dream but you’re picking apples and they’re crispy red and shiny but there’s a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?

You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then it’s nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.

Your doorbell rings again and this time it’s repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost don’t recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.

You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags he’s carrying.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.

“Yn.” he exhales as if he’s relieved, he’s not stumbling upon your corpse and instead you’re alive “Jay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh – “ he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps that’s why it feels like you don’t understand anything he’s saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.

You must be really sick or still dreaming.

“Anyways are you okay?” He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.

He tells himself he shouldn’t be this panicked – this nervous. Shouldn’t let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuck’s sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and there’s embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.

And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. It’s solely why you don’t say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.

“Yn.” Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again “Bunny.”

You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands it’s not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadn’t spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, what’s best for you. he doesn’t touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.

“Bunny what’s wrong? Are you dizzy?” his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.

“Can you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?” He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why can’t his hand be as gentle “Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Mhm?” he suggests once again.

“My head hurts so bad.” You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. It’s the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.

“Okay.” He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and he’s looking around as if he’s trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair “Painkillers. I’ll get you some painkillers.” And then he’s walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.

“Fucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?” He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. “Do you have any painkillers?” He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if it’s something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesn’t last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and there’s a glass of water in his hand.

“This will make you feel better. Come on bunny.”

He’s standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.

“I’m really nauseous and I don’t feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.” You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if you’re about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. It’s uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if there’s no way for him not to feel you.

You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine he’s fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.

But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.” He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.

You’re unsure if you’re dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because he’s suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and it’s been so long since he touched you.

“Is there anything else that’s hurting you?” He asks – whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.

“My body hurts too.” You reply – whisper back just as delicately - and you can’t fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, you’d be cringing at how dramatic you’re acting.

“Thankfully you don’t seem to be having a fever.” The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly “You’ll be okay.” He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you aren’t sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

“I have you.” it’s a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you don’t want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.

“Do you promise?” you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.

“I promise.” He replies and you sigh because you don’t know if he means that you’ll be okay or that he’s got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.

It’s only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“Do you think you could try taking the painkiller now?”

“Yeah.” you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.

Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and it’s only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.

“For troubling you. Being a burden. I don’t know.” you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.

“You’re not a burden bunny.” You can sense there’s more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait “I’m here because I was worried about you.” he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.

“Does your body still hurt?” He asks when you’re quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didn’t feel his face burning up at his confession.

“A bit.” You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat “Can you hand me my laptop, please?” you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.

“For what?”

“There’s a couple of stuff I need to get done.”

“Like what? What’s so important that you need to do now?”

“Bills. Rent is due soon and there’s Yeonjun’s car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.” You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.

“Car fees?” he questions and you nod as if he’s supposed to understand “yeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.” You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you don’t get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.

You wish he wouldn’t kneel so easily, as if he won’t swallow your heart up and flee.

“Are they urgent?” He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isn’t enough room for your breaths to leave.

“No but I have to do them right now.” You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.

“Shh, you don’t need to do anything right now, okay?” he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you aren’t sure if it’s because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you aren’t sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.

I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.

“You’re on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.” His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours “You can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?” you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.

“Okay.” You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.

“Good.” He grins, overtaken by triumphant.

Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you don’t think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldn’t cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.

You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. You’re so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.

“How about I run you a bath?” He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.

“No.”

“Why not? It will help you feel better.”

“I don’t really wanna move right now.” As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.

And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise – his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when he’s everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.

“Weren’t you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?”

“That’s different.” You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.

“It will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.” He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe it’s you.

“My ache is fine actually, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?” he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if they’re claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, haven’t realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.

“That’s because I’m cold.”

Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didn’t know you could miss someone when they’re right in front of you and you didn’t quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him – where touching him isn’t forbidden and looking at him comes easily – without threats for your words to spill.

“What about you?” you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.

“I can handle the cold just fine.” He retorts “You know what would help you warm up though? A bath.”

“I’m gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.”

“I’ll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness you’re gonna feel.” He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. You’re quiet, as if you’re contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere – he misses you.

“What if the water is too hot it burns my skin?” you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again – as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isn’t sure how to deal with it.

The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.

“I’ll make sure nothing like that happens to you.” he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And it’s unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.

“How about this,” he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and you’re envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features “I’ll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you don’t want to go in, you don’t have to, okay?”

You don’t think you’re brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home – within your soul.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges – hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because you’re scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys. 

“I’ll be back.” He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.

Your house – a small apartment is the complete opposite of his. He never was into the intricacies of home décor. Hence why the space of his home remains plain and simple. His own touches of life lacking and the only thing close to boisterous are his forget me nots and the painting that somehow managed to lead back to you.

You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.

He’s gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.

“Changed your mind?” He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.

“The thought of a bath didn’t seem so bad after all.” You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.

The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.

“This smells just like you.”

“It is my bodywash after all.”

“I like it.” He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you don’t.

When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and there’s a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when he’s leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.

“Y-You don’t have to do this Jake.” You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.

“I know.” He looks up at you “I want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He questions throwing your socks to the side. You’re left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.

“No.” you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.

“Can I?” He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.

Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.

And it stays even when you’re finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.

“Just call for me if you need anything, alright?”

Suddenly you’re inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.

“Alright, bunny?” He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then you’re shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.

“What if I need something but I can’t call for you?” stupid, stupid yearning.

Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before – not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, he’d rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.

“I’ll just stay then.” He tells you, tender and you’re shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.

You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace that’s always there.

It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And it’s him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace – his – remains around your neck even when you’re bare. It’s like you’re wearing him, and he likes to think he’s woven into the fabric of your soul.

He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God – you’re breathtaking.

“I just had a stupid thought.” He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.

“Tell me.” you say, and he thinks you’re too tangled in his soul.

“It just feels like it’s been a while since we looked at each other.” He says softly “But we see each other every day so it’s stupid.” He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.

“It’s not stupid.” you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul “I have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.”

“They’re extraordinary, I wouldn’t call them stupid.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying I’m stupid.” You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.

“Shut up you’re not stupid.” He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.

You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and it’s vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything you’ve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe it’s been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesn’t feel like that. It’s akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.

“You’re the last person I expected it to see today if I’m being honest.” You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.

“What would have you done if I wasn’t here?” He doesn’t ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.

“Probably become one with my couch until I felt better.” You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself you’re growing too hot and that’s it.

“I wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.” He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you aren’t sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” There’s no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.

Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?

But Jake hasn’t been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, it’s evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like there’s room for him. He touched you like he wasn’t made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but they’re all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.

“I’m here now.” He says, I’m here to take care of you, you hear.

The enormity of his desire disgusts him, it’s a craving beyond his flesh and it’s unjust. I’ll shape myself into something that’s worth taking care of you, he means.

“You have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.” He adds when you’re quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, they’re pink and the sky is gray.

He’s unworthy but it’s a great honor to think he’s the reason why.

“Tell that to my boss.” You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.

“I actually heard your boss is super nice,”

“Did you now?”

“Uh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.” He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.

“Who’s feeding you these lies? Jay?”

“So, you don’t agree that I’m handsome?”

“Beauty is subjective.”

“Is that a no?” a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you can’t help it.

A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.

“In all seriousness,” he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isn’t provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, they’re soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.

“You’re doing a good job, bunny.” Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment – the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;

You have managed to stumble on a lost star – he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.

“You’re doing a good job too, Jake.” He smiles and your mind careens.

“Tell that to my assistant.”

This time it’s you who splashes him with water and this time it’s him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you don’t tell him that you didn’t let the water get to him on purpose, and you don’t show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.

“Shall I help you wash your hair?” He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.

“You don’t have to.”

At your answer he’s already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When he’s behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. It’s foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you don’t remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And there’s unavoidable loneliness at the thought, there’s melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.

No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through – none of them are yours.

“Bunny I can’t wash your hair if you’re leaning that far off.” Jake comments with a chuckle.

You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you aren’t sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.

Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks you’re stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks you’re teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and it’s a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You don’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.

His hands aren’t soft against your skin, they’re rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you haven’t been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness – unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.

It’s another stupid thought – but maybe there’s room for something to belong to you.

When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.

You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.

“You okay?” He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.

“Just a little tired.” You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering – perhaps for days – how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.

In his dreams, his heart isn’t as filthy and merging into you isn’t as fearful.

In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Mhm.” You lean your head back onto his chest when he’s standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.

“Not yet.” He inhales you.

“We’ll need to get some food in your system, yeah?” He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair “We’ll also need to do something about your hair – can’t have you getting sicker.”

“I don’t feel like doing anything.” You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.

“I’ll do it for you.” He replies with an amused grin at the way you’re acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.

You aren’t sure what he means by that – however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. He’s extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you don’t even provide for your own hair. And there’s a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.

“I never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.” You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.

“My mum taught me.” he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair “I used to braid her hair for her all the time.”

“That’s really sweet.” You reply with a lowered tone – a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.

“I vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.” His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. It’s an image that still glides throughout his reality.

“She always joked that it’s better this way. That it’s easier for me to braid.” He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant – longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.

I’m sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but you’re well aware that’s not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It won’t ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness – anger. You’re well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when he’s dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.

What is he like when his anger isn’t restrained – what is he like when he’s not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You don’t give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know it’s not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.

“She sounds like a lively woman.”

“She is.” He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair “She was.” He corrects in a fleeting second “She was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.”

Jake’s lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. There’s softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. It’s a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesn’t know why he tells you all this and doesn’t know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours there’s not a single cell of regret in his body.

You don’t look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like it’s just – him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But you’re there, in the midst of it all and you’re not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isn’t made of prickling thorns.

“I’m sure she’s still watching over you, proudly.” You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldn’t shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he can’t say anything back to you. You don’t look at him as shame or grief and he can’t let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.         

Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies – his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesn’t find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that it’s not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.

“All done.”

“Wow! it’s really well done actually.” You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and it’s peculiar to feel like you’re holding a piece of him so delicately.

“it’s just one of my many talents.” He quips and you giggle slightly.

You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than he’d like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.

“My mom,” you speak suddenly and then you’re looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face “my mom never really taught me anything.” You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, they’re raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.

It’s bitter and doesn’t belong in you.

“You still turned out wonderful.” He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be – he wonders if there’s room for him to linger around.

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m sick.” You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.

“No.” you answer, and you think you can’t slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.

You realize it then – how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything that’s coming your way.

And he realizes it then – that there’s so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadn’t given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.

You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. It’s an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.

Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.

“Sorry,” you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.

“Is everything okay?” he asks at your lingering worry.

“Yeah um,” your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him “Niki is here?” you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No,” you lock your phone and stand up “I told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.” You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.

The sound of your door unlocking has Jake’s eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?

“Anyways it probably won’t be long so just stay here.” You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .

“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asks eyes trailing over your figure.

“Yeah, why?”

“You have been complaining about being cold all day and now you’re wearing shorts? Do you want to die?” you blink at him slowly “Change. Wear something warm.” He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, it’s slightly amusing  and it has your lips twitching upwards.

“Yes boss.” You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, it’s adorned with affection.

After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.

“What the fuck yn?”

To be continued....

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[bowieandqueen11]

Sanji With A Clingy Reader Would Include...

Request: OH BABY telling about one piece is like unlocking a whole second heart of mine i have fully for that anime and manga and live action. and so, if you ever decided of course, you writing something similar to something you did on marvel once and sanji with reader that has no personal space and is touchy would be amazing. but also... kissing zoro is great to, if you ever decided? anyway! HOPE YOU LOVE IT (one piece i mean), and if not ignore me UwU

Ooh yess babes this is so SWEET!! :3 I LOVED IT omg hello to my latest obsession not me ordering the first collection of the manga

This was really sweet and fun to do, but I did stay up all night writing it so all comments are much appreciated!

Warning: slightly spicy, some mentions of fighting!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fanpageknight.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look at this man. Seriously, look at this man with his little bottom lip bite and eyes like the sun shines heavily out of them and tell me he would be anything less than absolutely madly, heart wrenchingly, soul crushingly enthralled with a clingy reader??? That's right you can't take the l on this one.

It all started that day when the three of you ended up shipwrecked on that sad sack excuse of a rock. When you and Sanji huddled on one side of the forsaken isle to stay away from the terrifying Pirate Zeff. His hands had shaken as he drew them up to his chest, but he mustered the nerves to string open the sack Zeff had thrown at his feet. Once he had counted out the cans, he offered all the food to you.

He wanted you to stay alive far more than himself. Ever since you had landed on his ship he had been smitten, and his weary heart would beat its last under this smothering sun as long as you would live on for the both of them.

To keep him calm: to stop his gasping, tortured heaves as he tried his best not to writhe in panic at the thought of never stepping back on safe land again, you would spent most of those 85 days sitting over the cragged edges. Sanji couldn't tear his eyes away from peering down at the gushing shards of stone below that seemed to rip up in tides and tear for his swinging feet; to try and distract him from sniffling any longer, your hand would tentatively creep over the rock until it landed flatly, and unceremoniously on top of his own. His fingers flexed beneath your own, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he folded them upwards, giving your hand a shaking squeeze: a dutiful promise, a flitting confession of love, that you just happened not to feel in your ruminations of the circumstances.

In fact, he asked you that night, in an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful voice, if you would keep his nightmares away by holding him like his mother used to. You felt terrible: you were so stunned that for a moment you stood with the last piece of mouldy bread you had in your hand in shocked silence. Poor Sanji thought you were about to reject him outright: throw what little he had left of his heart - that he had so carefully lifted out and placed in his hands to offer to you, only to have it thrown back to his feet in the usual ridicule he got for his love. His bottom lip began to tremble, until you nearly knocked him onto his bottom with how fast you dropped everything and flew over to lock him in a tight hug, not minding the fact that your shoulder was growing wetter and wetter despite the brewing rain each time Sanji buried his snivelling head against it.

So you would let him rest safely in the bracket of your arms: his left cheek resting in the warm stretch between your collar bone and your neck, his right hand draped leisurely around your waist as you told him stories of pirates and treasure: of the Deep Blue and tropical fish that shone like bursts of fragmented starlight every time their fins graced the water. Although he would groan any time you removed your hand from where you were stroking the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead, it was quickly replaced with wonderment as you would point up at a cluster of stars and whisper excitedly: 'look, there's some now!'

He had never been afraid of nights ever since that moment, not when the stars were still out and he could trace with the butt of his cigarettes the fish you had drawn specially for him in the skies. It was like a secret message: a lover's reminder that he was never alone. That you were always with him. That your beauty - your light, it shone everywhere, no matter where he was.

It was the first time he had kissed you, two forgotten children lost underneath the dripping crevice of your little hideaway. As your belly began to rise and fall underneath his elbow, and he believed you had exhausted yourself out after trying to make him feel better, he dared to dart up from your shoulder and press his lips firmly against your cheek. It had been quick, almost gliding past time like a dolphin leaping up out of the water, but it had meant so much to him that he curled up into a ball in your side and flushed a bright cerise, having to shove his fist into his mouth to stop his manic giggling from waking you up.

But you weren't asleep, and as Sanji settled back into your neck with a smile bright enough to rival the shine of buttercup petals, you swore as he began to drift off in the first peaceful dream he had had in years that one day you would return the favour, but in full.

The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, to the point where Zeff became so distracted by your antics that he often tried to separate the two of you by making you work the floor and Sanji either in the kitchens, or off fishing at the docks. Ten seconds later though, he'd be kicking through the kitchen doors again to find you leaning on the kitchen counter next to an eager faced Sanji, whose to busy to register Zeff's shouting. Instead he places the spoon to your lips, having spent half of lunch service prep cooking you a brand new recipe he had spent the whole night creating out of a medley of your favourite foods. He subconsciously licks his bottom lip, the tension in the room felt by the other chefs who try to carry on washing pans and cutting vegetables enough to put everyone on edge as Sanji refused to look anywhere but your lips. Holding his hand under your chin, his dipped eyes were broken by a sudden grin as a loud 'mmhhh' left your mouth and you chewed in sweet bliss.

Still ignoring Zeff's increasingly erratic rant, as Sanji goes to start cleaning up his pan you slide down to stand behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around your back and jutting your chin into his shoulder blade like a baby koala. You can tell he's laughing silently by the way his shoulders shake against you, but all he does is pull up your hand from his belly button to press sweet, dainty kisses up and down the lengths of your fingers, before dropping it down to press your palm flatly against his heart.

'I think that might be your greatest dish yet, buttercup!'

'From you, that means everything my precious heart.'

'Why do you call me that?', you murmur, refusing to lift your lips from his shirt.

'Well my sweet love, why do you call me buttercup? I mean, I always know I smell of butter and the likes-'.

He's distracted by your snort against the side of his neck, but the two of you are too love-strikingly embarrassed to say anything again. Even if neither of you could see the warm peach rushing up both your cheeks, Zeff could. He could also hear the padding thuds of Sanji's heart as he gripped his fingers that almost imperceptibly bit tighter around your hand, and he found himself sighing at how oblivious you two idiots were.

Sanji is definitely just as clingy as you, if not more so. You've definitely met your match in this man. I mean, any time you're out on the floor, handing out bread to tables and scanning the room to check if there were any patrons you may have to throw out by the scuff of their collars later, his eyes are trained on yours. He leans against the banisters, not even trying to remotely hide how obviously he's tracing your path with a dumbstruck, lit up smile. If you're in the kitchens, desperately trying to bite your tongue and not tear Zeff a new one as he chops his hands together and rushes you to plate up? He's sliding up to your side in an instant, throwing scathing looks at the man while trying to help you spoon thyme onto your bass, nuzzling the side of his head into yours encouragingly. If you have any free time at all? Sanji is fast on your heels, darting after you like someone's firing shots at his dress shoes, as if you have his heart tied to a string on your wrist as he seeks out whatever nook you're going to relax in. It doesn't matter if you're at the bar, watching the docks, or trying to hide from Zeff in one of the cupboards in the pantry: Sanji is squatting down and grunting as he shoves himself in right next to you. He sits criss cross, only satisfied when at least one of his knees is resting heavily over yours, and he has full access to watch what you're reading over the side of your neck.

He only fully settles, though, if you touch him in some way. He genuinely will begin mewling once your hand reaches over to brush your knuckles over his jawline, or your hand finds itself guided to bunch itself up in his hair. One time, he guided your hand into his lap, and you began to absentmindedly stroke your pointer finger along the seam of his inner thigh. Thank goodness you had your head buried in a book one of the pirate crews had come to swap some dried meats with you for, because it took every muscle in Sanji's body twitching: every finger clenching and unclenching into his knee until he drew blood not to knock you flat right there and then and kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

He gets a MASSIVE nosebleed - so gushing, in fact, that he tries to reassure you he's fine as you hold him by the elbows and lead his tilted back head and pinched nose down to Zeff for some help.

It becomes a very major recurring issue every time he looks at you. He makes sure to carry a handkerchief in his breast pocket from then on.

God, if he didn't love you more than anything in all the seas. If you weren't the only one that he let see past his charming nature: if you weren't the only person left in his life that truly could recognise the young boy left in his eyes, in his gait, in his smile, in his dreams. That little kid on that great big ship, the one who had found you stowed away behind one of the barrels of rum, and instead of calling for the crew had taken your trembling hand and led you into the kitchens, introducing you as his newest sous chef. That same kid, who stood beside you and held your hand so gently, so heartbreakingly gently under his as he guided you through lessons of chopping onions and sautéing garlic, breaking out into long strings of rushed, praising French every time you got it right. The same one, who would frown as if he were the one who had been hurt any time you burnt your hands or sliced your fingers. Who would unravel the knot at the back of his apron, and tug it over his head to carefully place it over yours.

'This always brings me luck', he would say as his fingers daintily tucked the strings underneath your shirt collar. 'But I don't need it anymore, because you've brought me all the luck and happiness a man could ever dream of, my cherie.'

The same kid who would tip toe out of his bed to sneak down to your hammock, crawling in and burying himself underneath your blankets where you slept in the brig, telling you fantastical stories about his mother until you fell sound asleep. He would watch you from where he lay on his side, hands folded by your head, as if you had hung every star in the wide skies. He would brush his fingers over the edge of your cheek and curl up beside you, wishing that every minute of every day of the rest of his life could be spent with you.

Yeah, smitten wasn't enough to cover it. Only destiny could be raw enough to draw the two of you to each other, Sanji always thought.

As teenagers, you would end every shift outside, sitting on the wonky boards of one of the jutted docks. Just sitting side by side, as you always wanted to be, pretending you weren't playing a game of chicken as the two of you teased and pressed and glanced your fingers over each other's, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Sanji always appreciated the better chance it gave him: shrouded in naught by wisps of moonlight and the rare flashing neon of ship string lights, to take you in as much as he could. You didn't mind the fact that he spent the whole time staring over at you. In fact, if you hadn't been so lovestruck, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that always seemed to pour out of his eyes and beam only on you. It always felt like warm sunlight, sitting next to him, and so you finally dared a chance at grabbing his fingers and intertwining them between your own, pretending it was because of the sea chill spraying a fine mist over your legs.

Again, the squeeze he gave your hand was almost, almost imperceptible, but you felt it this time. And you could feel the look of enduring devotion he pierced into your skin, a warm tingle washing like a spring tide through your tired body.

He always knew. He always knew that if he had stayed on that rock, he would have been content to. Happy, even. Because he would have been with you.

'I love you', he said without words. He gave your hand another squeeze. 'I'm going to love you forever. No matter how many lifetimes. No matter who I am. I'm always going to find you, and I'm always going to love you.'

His voice nearly made you jump, surprising you at how it started with his usual buttery smoothness, before cracking with a thick gulp as his words trailed of. 'Never leave without me.'

'I promise, as long as you don't leave without me.'

He shakes his head. 'You never leave me. Not even for a moment.'

Sometimes, when the two of you are older, he still comes stealing into your room at night, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as his lips wobble into a frightened frown. Turns out, as he draws the covers back and comes reaching in for you, he had another nightmare that pirates had come to steal you away from him again. With an aching sigh for how stricken he looked, how desolate, you let him claw at your shirt and bury his head into the side of your neck until the rest of the world melted away.

He kissed you again, that night. When the feel of his legs strewn familiarly between your own began to burn against his skin, and the weight of hand perched over his thrumming heart became too heavy to bear in secret. With nothing but the light streaming like shards of pearly stars through the porthole to betray a moment so special, so longed for, Sanji let his eyelashes flutter close as he slowly... slowly pressed his lips against your cheek again.

This time, his eyes widened in shock as the feeling of your hand gripping at his jaw and turning his face straight on to your own. Before he can even open his mouth in confusion, the sweet pressure of your lips pressed against his top one. For a moment, Sanji doesn't move an inch: doesn't even breath, not even processing that the thing he’s spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he found you on that boat was actually happening, right here right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own.

When he finally pulls away, he lets out a loud 'OW' as he pinches his arm.

'What did you do that for!?'

'I had to double check this wasn't a dream, my sweets!'

And then he's on you again, like a ravished man gasping for air. God, he wasn't sure if soulmates were real, but when your top lip pulled down against his, and he could feel the thud of your heart synch against his own beneath the tips of his fingers, if he didn't know that he was yours.

He stays in your room a lot more often after that, using it as an excuse for you to help him button up his shirt during sleepy mornings, smiling at the feel of your fingers as they knocked against the muscles of his chest. It was also his favourite part of the day - the good morning kiss the two of you shared before you raced down to be at your shifts before Zeff decided to knock your heads together.

One time you forgot to give him one, too distracted by one of the sous chefs busting into your room with a bloodied nose and a chipped front tooth, whistling through the gap as he begged you to come down to the main foyer and help him break out a fist fight that had started between two gangs of rival pirates. The pout on Sanji's face that day was enough to make even the most bounty-heavy pirate's knees tremble. Every other chef steered way clear of his station, watching the arch of his back and the jaw in his muscle jump as he busied himself by frying his steak of tuna, so gutted at the loss of just one kiss. Not angry, no: just grief stricken, because this man seriously just adores you that much.

When you finally get your lunch break, the first thing you do is throw your napkin down on the kitchen ground and grab Sanji by his suit collar, enjoying the surprise tilt of his head as he drops his spoon onto his serving tray and allows you to lead his feet backwards to the fire exit. As soon as he's outside, you slam him gently against the wooden beams of the Baratie restaurant, and kissed him silly to make up for it. His look of trusting confusion suddenly melt into jumping heart eyes when your knee slides up between his thighs to try and pin him in place. His breathing comes out in harsh, shallow gasps between ferocious kisses, and you have to press him back against the wall every time he comes arching forward to follow your head for even more kisses. No, this was about you making him feel good. And by goodness, as your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and tentatively ran over his front teeth, if he wasn't two seconds away from falling to his knees right there and then.

When you let him go, he slides down the wall like putty until he's sitting with legs stretched out and both his suit and hair a ruffled mess. He's literally never been more deliriously happy in his whole life.

Your favourite time of the day is when the restaurant closes, and the two of you finally have the kitchens to yourselves. Once you've tossed your aprons back onto the rack with a tired sigh, the only thing that can cheer you up is the sound of Sanji kicking his chair back with the toe of his shoe, and the sight of him beckoning you over to him with that tilted head and pearly beam of his. Mmh, how safe you feel, how loved as you collapse down to sit on his knees, and he tucks you in between the brackets of his arms in a vice so tight it could match any Marine knot.

You take one of his hands off the pen he was holding, turning his palm round to face you so you could fiddle with the rings he was wearing. You draw one up, curling his finger before your eyes, before slotting one off and sliding it onto your own ring finger. It was the one his father had given him: one he so loathed to wear, and yet felt guilt bore down too heavily on his conscious to ever take it off. You turned the one on top of it, one you know Zeff had given him after his first day working at the Baratie, and you smiled at the memory.

'You know', you start, still fiddling with his hand, feeling him shift his thighs as you pressed a gentle kiss on the pointer finger you were currently grasping onto. 'I may just have to keep this one.'

'Oh yeah?', he says dreamily, and you could feel his grin growing as he hid his burning face in the nape of your neck. 'Don't worry sweetheart. One day, once I find the perfect one, I'll give you a ring of your own.'

The two of you sneak out and share cigarettes out the back door a lot, where Sanji steps forward and kisses you like a man possessed every time you pinch the stub from out of his mouth and draw it along your bottom lip teasingly. When you try to get him to go back in, he just wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around to stop you from leaving him alone. Laughing, you try to shove him off, swatting at the hands that form a tight clasp over your belly button, until his large fingers finally slide down to hold your waist. You glance behind you, smirking at the way his eyes are tightly shut in euphoria as ducks down, chest nearly enveloping in his desperation to reach your face again. His kisses become sloppier: smoke stained as they leave wet trails up your jaw, before he finally gives in and tries to make you laugh one last time by nibbling at the lobe of your ear.

Whenever he has a fight with Zeff, you have to hold him afterwards. The feel of your fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck, or rubbing soothing circles into the sore muscles of his shoulders stops the furious darts of air from flaring his nostrils almost immediately.

Man has blaring heart eyes 100% whenever he's in a fight with rowdy customers, and you get to kick the flashy knife out of the last one's hand before the pirate could launch straight for Sanji's neck. He tilts his head at you with those amazed eyes, a gentle smile growing almost shyly on his face like a secret wink, before he throws his now empty plate at the pirate trying to sneak up behind your back. The crash echoes out through the booth area, a cry so furious: so full of rage that anyone would try and dare hurt you, that it makes all the remaining pirate crews crawl out towards the door on their hands and knees.

Stitching each other up afterwards is a motherfcking mess though, that Zeff straight up just abandons all hope of being able to use his kitchen. With a defeated rub of his pounding temples, he lets the door slam shut on his heel because he just can't deal with the two of you. He'd much rather pick up a brush and start sweeping bits of crushed and splattered asparagus off the floors than have to watch you to battle it out in a stiff competition of who could be more sickeningly, maddingly in love with the other. Between you standing between Sanji's entrapping thighs, closing you in tighter so you could have full access to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple as you use a rag to swipe bits of dry sauce off his neck, and him throwing his head back and whimpering, Zeff was going to go insane. Even worse, as soon as you're finished, Sanji's reaching between your fingers to lick split consomme off your nose.

The two of you are literally insufferable, and if every one apart from Zeff doesn't find it the cutest thing I-

When Luffy comes and wrangles Sanji into joining his crew, the chef's first thought is to be distraught. He seeks you out straight away, nearly breaking some poor fisherman's pole as he tries to hurdle over it and grip onto your shoulders, making you drop the barrel of dried meats you were carrying from Luffy onto the planks and watching Luffy nearly dangle off the edge of his ship to stop it from rolling into the ocean.

'Y/n- I- I can't go!'

'You're hardly scared!'

'I'm not scared of going, I'm terrified of going without you!'

You let him pour his heart out for a moment, before stopping his rambling, near sobbing mess of a sentence by bopping the tip of his nose. You giggle, swiping some hair from his forehead. 'Sanji, Luffy asked me to come first. I promised I wouldn't go without you, and I meant it.'

You manage to unlatch his twitching hand from your left shoulder, and give it an almost imperceptible squeeze. The tears that threatened to fall from his eyes finally cascade down, although he's so relieved that he's smiling through the blurriness. You swipe them away with your free thumb, finally, after all these years, feeling the squeeze of your hand that Sanji gives you back, before he envelops you in a breath taking hug.

'Awww, you guys are so sweet!', Luffy calls out from where he's hanging by his sandal off the railing of his ship. 'But could someone give me a hand before my hat falls into the waves? That would not be very cool.'

The first thing the two of you do once you're on The Going Merry is to find your bunk. Sanji isn't very subtle when he kicks your door shut with his heel, and comes scampering towards you like an upended sand crab, pinching for you until he's hefted you up over his shoulder and has unceremoniously landed you in your shared hammock. He's quick to jump in, straddling you as the hammock sways back and forth with the commotion.

He nearly starts crying again when he sees a flash of silver poke out from underneath your neckline; he grazes his hand over the chain, recognising it as his father's ring you had taken months ago. The one he had hated so much. The one you had tried to save him from. A small piece of him. A weight you tried to bear for him. A reminder of how much he was loved.

A confused Zoro, not realising there are new crew members on board, follows the sound of Sanji's voice crooning out how much he adores you, and how he loves you more than every star in the sky, down past the window on your bedroom door. Let's just say, he's not very impressed when he catches sight of the hammock swinging wildly from side to side, and an array of clothes thrown out and discarded in a mess around it.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩

Pairings: Alastor x gn reader Summary: In which you are an annoying simp and Alastor regrets claiming your soul. Warnings/Tags: gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, really, it gets uncomfortable, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, Alastor questions his sanity, reader is annoying af, Alastor being Alastor, trash-fic Wordcount: 3.6k A/N: I had this idea for months but watching the latest Helluva Boss short made me actually want to write it. I hope you like this trash fic. I have many more ideas for funny (and uncomfortable) moments between Alastor and our simping reader. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Spin-off: 'Curiosity Killed the Demon'

Masterlist

   Alastor was a man who never felt regret because every move he made was precisely calculated, every action driven by a purpose only he fully understood. He always had an ulterior motive in mind, ensuring that he was the one who came out on top. His every decision was meticulously planned, and every word carefully chosen to keep his game running flawlessly and his grip on control unyielding. He was a mastermind at the top of Hell's food chain. One of the most powerful and feared overlords, a dealmaker at heart, with hundreds – no, thousands – of souls bound to him, all following his every command, terrified of what might happen if they disobeyed. None of them ever dared to challenge their loyalty, always doing as he said. But one in particular stood out: you.

   Some might say you were just another sinner in his vast collection of pawns, but you were different. You followed him like a dog that didn’t even need a leash. When he called, you came. When he gave an order, you were already carrying it out by the time he finished speaking. You were completely, utterly devoted to him. And oh, Satan, were you irritating.

   Alastor remembered the day he met you as if it were yesterday. How could he forget? It was a memory that had burned itself into his mind like a brand on the hind flank of a horse. While most souls came to him begging for help, trading their essence for a taste of power or security, you practically threw yourself at him. Your eyes had been wide as saucers, lips pursed with desperate eagerness, and a strange gleam of excitement had nearly brought tears to your eyes.

   “Please, please, please! I’ll do anything for you!” you had begged, your eyes so wide it seemed like they might pop out of your head.

   Alastor had narrowed his eyes, the static around him crackling with an intensity that made your hairs stand up on your neck. “Anything...?” he had replied with a slow drawl, his grin turning sharp and menacing as he leaned in closer, towering over you. His sharp canines bared in a predatory smile that would make most people flinch, but you… you only seemed more excited.

   Had he known just how annoying you’d become, he might have killed and eaten you right then and there in that dark alleyway. Alastor was a patient man. At least, that's what he let others believe. But you often pushed him to the brink of madness, testing his limits as if you secretly anticipated getting double-killed. Had he considered featuring your squeaky voice on his infamous radio broadcast? More than a few times. The idea alone was deliciously tempting. He often fantasized about the sound of your screams if he ever decided to torture you. Yet, a deep-seated uncertainty always held him back. Some kind of deeply rooted fear that you might actually enjoy it. You were so wildly unpredictable that he couldn’t even tell if you would cry in agony or, disturbingly, moan in pleasure.

   The thought alone horrified him.

   No, he wouldn’t subject himself to that humiliation. If he weren’t already plagued by nightmares, the prospect of you enjoying your torment would certainly give him some. You were already haunting him in his waking life; he couldn’t bear the thought of you invading his rare moments of sleep, too.

   Your existence felt like a cruel joke. A fucked up twist of fate or perhaps the true eternal punishment Hell had in store for him. You were utterly infuriating, a disruptive presence in Hell's chaotic tranquility. And yet, he couldn’t deny that he found some guilty pleasure in your antics. As irritating and nerve-wracking as you were, you were the most entertaining thing he’d encountered in eons. Watching you embarrass yourself without even realizing it, witnessing your clumsiness, your stupidity, and being the object of your obsessive attention, the center of your world, was better than every drug advertised in Pentagram City’s most run-down district. As uncomfortable as you made him feel, Alastor had to admit that he secretly reveled in your desperate need for attention, your never-ending search for his affection and your unwavering, completely blind, loyalty.

   You followed him everywhere he went. Like a lost puppy you’d trail after him with an enthusiastic skip in your step, hopping around like a deer on a wide open field. Alastor didn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know you were there, because you always were. You followed him everywhere. To the bar, to the kitchen, to the hotel’s parlor or his outings. You’d probably even follow him to the bathroom, if you could. You were always there – eyes gleaming with devotion, your adoration conspicuous and radiating around you like the static in Alastor’s presence.

   It was suffocating.

   And he couldn’t even tell what was more terrifying: that you were so focused on him he could always feel your gaze burning through the back of his coat, or that your steps were so silent he couldn’t even hear them despite his almost preternatural hearing. Only an occasional squeak that made you sound like an excited guinea pig actually proved your presence, causing his ears to perk up and twitch in overstimulation.

   “Alastor!” your squeaky voice warbled through the corridors of the Hazbin Hotel and Alastor stopped in tracks, holding his breath in annoyance and his smile twisting into an uncomfortable grimace. With a silent sigh he turned around and tilted his head unnaturally to the side, his red and black hair swinging with the movement like a curtain.

   “Yes, my dear?” he retorted with exaggerated joy, the strain in his voice betraying the forced politeness and tinged with anything but patience. Today was one of those days he found himself regretting his decision to ever put that collar around your neck. He just wanted to be left in peace, not having the nerve to handle your exhausting presence.

   You grinned at him proudly and Alastor could feel his stomach twist, nausea creeping through his guts at the recognition of the lovestruck gleam in your eyes. When you didn’t respond instantly, he narrowed his eyes, his voice losing any of that faked patience, “What is it?”

   You shrugged your shoulders, though your grin didn’t waver. “Nothing!” you exclaimed enthusiastically, “I just wanted you to wait for me!”

   “Ah,” Alastor retorted, unimpressed, the uncomfortable feeling inside his guts increasing. “You know, you don’t have to follow me around everywhere I go,” he said, a subtle hint of irritation in his tone, hoping you'd understand that he wanted to be left alone.

   Your expression didn’t falter. In fact, it became even more eager, the gleam in your eyes so intense that Alastor could see his entire reflection in those dark orbs of yours. “But I want to be present whenever you need my assistance!” you exclaimed, interlacing your fingers in a gesture that resembled a pleading prayer.

   “I can always summon you, if that's the case,” Alastor quickly explained, still not convinced by your flimsy excuse for clinging to him like a parasite.

   “Oh, but I want to be close just in case you forget, my sweet Radio Demon!” you chirped, batting your eyelashes with saccharine devotion.

   Alastor cringed inwardly. Why exactly did he do this to himself again? Oh, yeah, right… He hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to wring your neck or keep you around for entertainment.

   “Well, that's very thoughtful of you,” he replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. Before he could say more, you let out another joyful squeak. Alastor's ears flattened against his head as the high-pitched noise pierced his eardrums. He saw your eyes widen with delight and silently cursed himself for even attempting to sound polite – even if his words were more of a mocking jab than a genuine compliment. Yet, you seemed to take it as one. You trembled with excitement, your knees bouncing like a jackhammer. It was a wonder your vibrations didn’t send seismic waves rippling through the floor, cracking the occasional brick.

   Alastor let out a sigh. “My dear,” he said, his voice smooth as honey, “your… enthusiasm is truly unmatched. But don’t you have anything better to do than… following me around all the time?”

   You immediately shook your head. “No, Alastor-kun. I’ve devoted myself to being your servant,” you declared with unwavering certainty. “Besides, nothing’s better than being by your side!” You looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes, the adoration in your gaze both unsettling and pathetic. “I want to see everything you do, learn from you, be close to you. You’re just so… incredible!”

   Alastor let out yet another sigh. Although he found your flattery grating, he couldn’t deny the subtle boost to his ego from your words. He knew he was exceptional, but hearing it so explicitly was an indulgence he couldn’t resist. No matter how much you grated on his nerves. “Incredible, you say?” he repeated, and you nodded with such fervor that it was clear you genuinely believed what you were saying, rather than simply using your words to flatter him. “And what, pray tell, do you find so ‘incredible’ about me?”

   You blinked, obviously surprised by the question and took a moment to ponder an answer.

   Alastor chuckled softly. If you were already venturing into this territory, he might as well use it to his advantage and coax you into showering him with even more compliments. It was amusing how effortlessly he could manipulate you into praising him as if he were a deity, a god deserving to be worshiped. And it took barely any effort at all. You were so completely infatuated with him that he imagined you might even write a song for him – if only your singing voice didn't sound like a saw on the verge of breaking.

   “Well,” you mused aloud before gushing, “Everything!” You began to enumerate, counting on your fingers as you spoke, “Your power! Your elegance, your wit, your charisma! The way you command everyone’s attention with just your presence… How people are captivated by you… Your style, your old-fashioned charm, your impeccable sense of humor…”

   Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he listened, struggling to keep up with the torrent of words spilling from your mouth. He stared at you, on the verge of zoning out as he tried to manage the relentless flow of praise. Did you ever need to pause for breath? How could you talk so much without gasping for air?! It was almost impressive…

   “…like I said, everything, Alastor-kun. I mean, you’re the Radio Demon! You’re… absolutely remarkable! And I’d follow you to the end of Hell and back!” you concluded, your endless monologue finally coming to an end. Alastor’s grin widened, not from the sheer volume of praise you’ve just thrown at him, but from the amusement of your desperate eagerness to win his attention. From the moment you met him in that dark alleyway, you had craved his affection. It wasn’t that he had found you helpless – no, you had actively sought him out. Why? He had no idea. He would never understand your obsession nor the full extent of your feelings for him.

   “Why, thank you, my dear…” he forced out between clenched teeth, his jaw tightening without him even realizing it. “It’s always nice to hear how much you admire me, but… let’s not linger on it any longer…” he added, his voice betraying the discomfort that always crept in whenever you were near.

  You stared at him, your confusion practically palpable. “Why?” you asked, genuinely confused and a bit taken aback by his abrupt change in tone. “You asked me what I think of you. I’m just being honest!”

   Indeed, he had. But he hadn’t expected you to gush on endlessly like the Niagara Falls – even though, by now, he should’ve known better. Why did he even ask, knowing full well you were unpredictable and always found a way to annoy him further? Was your presence really so irritating that he tended to forget his usual caution? Alastor was a polite man after all and he valued manners above all else. 

   Manners.

   Manners, manners, manners.

   He prided himself on manners. But you? You weren't worth any of them. He needed to remember that.

   “Oh, my dear, I’m only concerned that your little brain might overheat from thinking too hard. We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself and get a headache, would we?” he replied, his tone thick with mockery, every word dripping with sarcasm. He could see your eyes widen and your pupils dilating.

   “Aww, Alastor-kun, you're so considerate!” you cooed, entirely missing the veiled insult.

   Alastor chuckled, his lips curling into an exaggerated smile while his eyes narrowed, feigning a semblance of care. Your delusion was almost painful to watch, though there was a certain dark humor to it.

   “Why, I'm simply concerned about your well-being! After all, too much... admiration could lead to a most unfortunate accident,” he continued, flashing his sharp teeth in a menacing grin, a predatory glint in his eyes. His pupils shifted to radio dials for a quick second and the static around him crackled in a dangerous intensity. The threat in his words was clear, but knowing you, you’d probably overlook it entirely, twisting it into yet another misguided belief that he cared about you. Which he didn’t. Alastor cared for very few people, and you were certainly not one of them.

   A strange sound – something akin to a dying hamster’s squeak – escaped your lips and ripped him out of his reverie as you started bouncing up and down again. Alastor couldn’t help but wonder, for a second time, how the floor beneath you didn’t give way and send you tumbling several floors down, far away from him and into a dark, twisted corner of Hell where you would never bother him again. Or maybe you would just break enough of your limbs to keep you from trailing after him for at least the next six weeks... Either way, the image in his head was delightfully hilarious, and he nearly chuckled, wishing to some kind of higher being to let this tiny mishap come true.

   “Aww, you’re so thoughtful! You really do care about me, Alastor-kun!” you chirped, and Alastor’s eye twitched. There it was – your joyful exclamation of utter delusion. Yikes.

   Alastor took a deep breath, his grip tightening around his cane. “Oh, yes… care…” he drawled. “Your well-being is... of utmost importance... so, considering you’ve been trailing after me all day… and the days before… and the weeks… and months…” he continued, his voice growing weaker with each word, “how about you take a break? Leave the hotel, spend some time with yourself, explore the streets of Pentagram City...” and hopefully never return… he finished in his head. His smile was sharp, his face settling into that same threatening expression as before.

   You waved a dismissive hand, grinning with a wide, toothy smile. “Don’t worry about me! I always feel so good around you!” you exclaimed with fervor, and Alastor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. There it was again – that relentless, infuriating optimism that clung to you like a bad stench, no matter how much he tried to wash it away. How were you always so blissfully unaware of his disdain?

   “My, my! Such dedication... I’m almost flattered. But… have you ever considered, oh, I don’t know… finding a hobby? Far, far away from me, perhaps?” he said through clenched teeth, realizing yet again that he was still being far too kind. Why couldn’t he just scare you away? Were you really so pathetic that he couldn’t bring himself to be outright rude? Your antics must have really been some kind of messed up guilty pleasure for him…

   You tilted your head and straightened your back, gazing up at him with those unsettlingly large eyes. “Oh, but you are my hobby, Alastor-kun! My absolute favorite! Watching you, learning from you, serving you – it’s all I ever want to do! You’re my senpai, Alastor! My favorite deer boy!”

   Alastor’s eyes widened, and his grin began to falter, teetering on the edge of a frown, his expression one of sheer disbelief. Your... ‘senpai’? What in all seven circles of Hell was a ‘senpai’?! He might have considered asking Angel Dust the next time he saw that spider if he weren’t already convinced that the explanation would just traumatize him further. And did you really just call him ‘deer boy’?!

   His eye twitched once more, and then something inside him snapped.

   Alastor’s eyes darkened, the crimson on the verge of turning black again, the static increasing around him, crackling with charged malevolence. “Careful, my dear,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his sharp claws scratching the top of his cane with a metallic screech. “You’re walking on dangerous territory.” He stepped closer, looming over you like a tower of deep red and black, intimidating and far from pleased. He slowly got furious, the discomfort slowly turning into something he should’ve felt much earlier. Through narrowed eyes, he watched you flinch, though you didn’t step back. Instead, you straightened your back and tilted your head to look up at him, your mouth moving in a way that indicated that you were nervously biting your lip.

   Alastor’s smile widened at the sight, his yellow teeth flashing in the dim corridor, and the lights began to flicker around you, their energy drawn off by the crackling static around him. One blink, and his eyes turned black again, ticking radio dials replacing his irises, blood-red and dangerous as the demon himself. It took him only a flick of his hand to conjure the leash around your neck, its invisible form taking shape and turning solid glowing green.

   “If you insist on being a loyal little shadow, then perhaps I should teach you some manners,” he hissed, leaning down slightly, his grin stretching unnervingly wide. The collar tightened around your neck, a cold, burning sensation seeping through your bones as his words dug into your skin like jagged glass, a painful reminder of his control. He tugged on the leash, and you stumbled forward, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat.

   “My, my…” he continued, flicking his tongue with a repeated motion that created a smacking sound, both unsettling and provocative. “If you truly want to serve me, you’ll need to learn some boundaries, my dear. I've been far too forgiving with you, but even I have my limits.” He pulled you closer until there were mere inches between you, his breath icy against your skin. You visibly shivered as his voice dropped to a low whisper, each word laced with sweet yet deadly venom. “After all, it would be such a shame if I had to... discipline you. And believe me, I can be quite imaginative when it comes to punishment.”

   For a moment, you just stared at him, and Alastor’s broad grin relaxed into a pleased smile, satisfaction blooming in his chest. For once, your reaction was exactly what he had anticipated. You were silent.

   Frightened.

   Oh, what a wonderful sight after enduring your incessant chatter for the past several minutes – months, actually. But he also knew this calm wouldn’t last long. A brief respite before the cycle began anew, and he found himself caught once more between annoyance and amusement.

   Perhaps, in some twisted way, he was a bit of a masochist. Because despite his power, his ruthlessness, his terrifying reputation as the Radio Demon, he continued to endure your presence and insufferable behavior if it meant he could find that brief moment of satisfaction when he saw that flicker of fear in your eyes. When he could finally silence that ceaseless admiration. When he so blatantly humiliated you with his words, degraded you with his passive aggression, yet you still met him with unyielding enthusiasm, somehow convinced he was speaking to you sweetly, when in reality, all he did was use his power over you to eventually put you in your place, reminding you of who he was and what he was capable of. 

   It was a game of control, an endless cycle where he used his dominance to break you down, only to watch you build yourself back up with even more deluded devotion. And while it should have irritated him beyond measure, there was something oddly gratifying about it – about toying with the boundaries of your blind infatuation and making you dance on the edge of dread and reverence.

   Seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like minutes, and you eventually took a deep breath, releasing it in a long, shaky sigh. You blinked, once, twice, eyes still wide and pupils constricted. You shivered under his control, slight goosebumps rising on your skin. Alastor took in the sight, his satisfaction evident in the effect he had on you.

   You took another deep breath, then whispered in a low, breathless tone, “Fuck…”

   Alastor blinked and tilted his head, caught off-guard by the unexpected reaction. Confusion spread across his face, but before he could even formulate a response, you interrupted.

   “That was hot.”

   One second passed.

   Two.

   Three.

   Then, Alastor released your leash, hastily retreating as if he had just burned himself on a hot surface. His grayish skin turned pale, and his grin faltered into an expression of utter mortification. Within moments, his shadows enveloped him, and he seeped into the floor, leaving you behind in the hallway, bewildered and flustered.

   Maybe he should actually consider featuring you in his broadcast. Because that was the most horrifyingly unsettling response he had ever encountered. Some demons hid their cruelty behind a facade, blending seamlessly into their surroundings. And you? You were undoubtedly among the most insidiously malevolent of them all.

I had so many ideas for this fic but most of them didn't fit into the plot. So stay tuned for more Alastor x Emberlynn-coded reader content...

[kiame-sama]

Who wants to meet my TWST AU Hades Shroud? Too bad, I decided for you. (I know I said I'd do Azul next, but I just got smacked with inspiration, so here he is. Technically, if I was going by TWST cannon, his name would be Pluto as they use the Roman Pantheon names instead of the Greek Pantheon via the titans hating Jupiter)

Hades is about 50ft (15.24m) tall in his regular form, his limbs are similar to Idia's in that his limbs are long and gangly compared to the rest of his body. In his 'small' form, he is around 10ft (304.8cm). He is over 5000 years old and has seen ages go by from his home, the Isle of Woe. As King of the Shinigami, many souls pass through his halls and it is his job to ensure all dead are lain to rest. Shinigami do not die of old age as they were never really living, but they can be killed and usually their soul does not remain after their actual death.

His face is stained by the tears he has shed for his lost humans, forever marked by his own sorrow and heartbreak. He did love Humans and all of their intelligence. Humans were never pets to the ancient Shinigami, they were smart and plucky and had beautiful hearts. Every Human that died, on or off of the Isle, returned to Hades. Those that passed peacefully were happy to see their friend and benefactor again on their way to rest. Most did not pass peacefully. Most returned broken and screaming souls, tortured and tormented by their last moments to the point of insanity, only able to scream and sob even when reunited with Hades.

His shawl was formed out of his sorrow and the grief he felt every time another Human soul came back to him broken. He has not fully removed the shawl since the death of the last Human in Twisted Wonderland. It is said every sparkle and star seen in his wings, shawl, and tear-stains are all meant to represent a Human soul. He has thousands on his figure and he remembers the name of each one. The larger stars are the Humans he remembers most fondly, the smaller stars are Humans he didn't get to form very close bonds with as they left or died before he could truly bond with them. Usually it covers his entire body and can be pulled up as a hood over his head, but he tied it up for the first time in centuries for his meeting with this new Human of Night Raven College.

His heart was shattered when his Humans died and he has been in true deep mourning for 500 years, hence why his tears have permanently stained his face. Of all the Great Seven, only Maleficent comes close to how much he respected and loved Humans. Others loved Humans, sure, but few respected them the way the God of Death did. The sheer will of Humans to defy death and live in a world they did not really belong in truly spoke to the Shinigami in ways he never expected. He will fight and give up his own ancient life to save this last Human the same wailing and terrified death almost every other suffered from.

He does hope this new Human will allow him to study their womb to try and make an artificial womb to bring more Humans back to Twisted Wonderland. He has a fairly large store of Human eggs and sperm he has never been able to grow into full Humans, so the research he could do on this Last Human could help him bring Humans back from extinction. If the Human is willing, the best way for him to research the creation of a Human and carrying it to term would be best done by implanting a frozen embryo into the Human and letting it grow to term. He would never do such a thing unless the Human was absolutely certain and willing in this research.

Ortho is the baby of the Shroud family and Hades absolutely adores Ortho. He feels partially responsible for Ortho's injuries and has done what he can to aid Idia in making new limbs for Ortho. The entire Shroud family calls Hades 'Papa Hades' as he is their ancestor and he is the eldest of the family. Even his Humans called him Papa Hades. It would likely begin to heal some deeply broken part of his heart to hear this Last Human call him by that title as well. If they ever do call him Papa Hades, he will pledge everything he has left in him to their protection and safety.

[ellecdc]

L 😭 im a mess i cant stop listening to this song [https://youtu.be/4ELTaMB41OQ?si=7PCNCUQenoJsLQNC] and the only thing in my head is Regulus playing piano w reader 😭😭😭 like i imagine ofc the black parents forcing their children to learn art and music and french shit and playing piano stuck with Reggie bc it helps him kind of turn his mind off for a bit and just let his fingers do their thing 😭 then reader comes along not knowing how to but always loving to listen to reg play 🧍‍♀️ good bye

🩷

omg aweeee yes I see this - I totally see Reg as an artsy guy, both with instruments, painting/sketching, and maybe poetry (tortured souls, right?) this was so cute - and the song too! I've never heard it before so thanks for sharing!

Regulus Black x GN!reader CW: mentions of past family/parental abuse, sibling relationships

You weren't at all surprised to find him here. He'd gone quiet at dinner and excused himself as early as politely possible.

You leaned against the doorframe as Regulus' fingers skirted across the keys of the grand piano in the living room, murmuring soft lyrics you couldn't make out from this distance. The chance of the song being a cover or an original equally as likely.

Dinner's with his brother could sometimes be hard for Regulus - both parties feeling different levels of guilt over their respective treatment of the other. Living in a house with abusive parents meant you either adapted, or you died. Sometimes the boys would stick together - power in numbers and a sense of camaraderie. And sometimes, life was a little bit easier for you if it was your brother who was the object of your parents' attention.

That kind of environment didn't exactly support or foster a healthy sibling relationship.

It only grew worse after Sirius ran away.

All this to say - though the boys have done a lot of work on their relationship and reconciliation, sometimes memories were brought up in conversation that neither boy has had the chance to process fully, and they had to deal with that as it came.

Which brings you back to the living room after having cleared the table, washing the dishes and putting the left overs away.

You were friends with Sirius too - and you couldn't help but chuckle at how different the two boys ended up.

For example, you knew Sirius would rather sit naked on a hot grill than return to the seat of a piano; you supposed having your hands smacked with a ruler until the bled for messing up your scales could do that to a person. But somehow, Regulus seemed to find peace in the thoughtlessness of letting his fingers find their notes along the instrument he knew inside and out; the quiet of his mind gave him the chance to process his feelings.

You decided to stop being a creep from the edge of the room and join Reg quietly on the piano bench. He must have known you were there, because he never faltered or surprised at your appearance.

"Sorry I left." He murmured quietly. "I'll clean up later, I promise."

You leaned your head on his shoulder as you watched his fingers work, shaking your head. "I've already done the washing, don't worry about it."

He made a tsking sound as he leaned his head atop yours. "I didn't mean to leave that up to you, mon chéri."

"I was happy to do it."

"I'll make it up to you, hm? What would you like?" He offered as he kissed your head, the keys and their notes never faltering under his hands.

"Play me a song."

And he did.

[armandisdaddy]

Santa Baby 🎄🎁

[ModernAu!Aemond Targaryen x Spoiled Sugar Baby Reader ]

[Summary: He’s come to find out how nice or naughty you’ve been. ]

[Content/Warning: 18+, Slight bondage, spanking, roleplaying, head giving, overstimulation, hair pulling, p in v penetration, fingering, pussy slapping and brat-taming. ]

Twas’ the night before Christmas and not a soul was stirring within this residential home. Y/N was fast asleep when the faint tip toes of someone in her living room woke her up. She wasn’t expecting anyone in fact she was rather upset that she hadn’t seen Aemond or heard from him at all today and she made it quite clear with the many vulgar texts messages and voicemails she left for him. She sat up in her bed and silently went to see who could’ve possibly been in her house. And there he was…Santa? Hunched over putting presents under the tree her and Aemond put up together. She tripped over own feet alerting the intruder that the jig was up and he turned to look at her and immediately she knew who it was but it seemed he wished to play a little game. A deep voice bellowed from his chest. “What are you doing up, baby girl? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” She was a bit nervous knowing he would probably be punishing her for the way she spoke to him earlier today. “You woke me up, Santa.” He approached her quickly staring down into her eyes she was barely wearing anything and that excited him but he had to stay in character. “I was contemplating even coming to your house little one. You see you’ve been very naughty the past couple of days. But I decided maybe you could redeem yourself before midnight and Santa will give you everything you want, yes.” She nodded hesitantly knowing he had plenty in store for her tonight.

“Good girl.” The sound of the word rumbled deep within his stomach and it made her pussy twitch and pool into her panties with anticipation. He circled around her pulled a crimson ribbon from his pocket and tightly wrapping it around her wrists behind her back. In that moment she knew just how much trouble she was in bondage was something he only used when he needed to keep her just where he wanted her. “Wait Santa, I’ve been a good girl I promise.” She pleaded with him and he chuckled not even fully acknowledging her pleas. “Tsk, tsk…now we’re lying…this is going to be a long night I see.” He sat down in a chair within the corner and pulled her into his lap. He swatted her inner thighs demanding her to open them wide. She spread them across each arm rest and he smiled at her compliance. “Such a good girl…” she shivered from his breath hitting the nape of her neck. He was wearing dark brown leather gloves and he slowly pushed her panties to the side exposing that beautiful mound between her legs. He noticed the cream that settled in the crotch of her panties and groaned lowly. “You were waiting for Santa weren’t you baby?” She cooed and nodded “Mhmm.” She answered quietly as two fingers circled around her swollen clit before he smacked her pussy causing her to whimper. “So I’ll ask you again. Have you been nice or naughty, baby?” He rubbed her clit again before laying another smack against her puffy clit. “I’ve been naughty, Santa.” He praised her softly and slowly dipped one of his fingers into her cunt letting his free hand pinch her nipples. “Good girl….now how are we going to fix that, Y/N? Do you think you can show me just how good you’ll be for me?” She writhed in his lap feeling his cock pressing against her ass while he fingered her cunt. “Yes…” He swatted her cunt one last time before pushing another finger inside her. He curled his fingers against her sweet spot and tortured her until she released uncontrollably all over his lap. He smiled at how she soaked his pants. He continued to toy with her pussy while he pulled his cock out she felt the warmth from it as it pressed against her back. Placing her on her knees he slapped her face with his cock a few times. “Open up.” She obliged and did as he said while he slowly pushed his cock into her wet mouth. He groaned leaning his head back as she began bobbing her head slowly. Taking him almost down her throat. He let his hand rest on the back of her hair and soon he was bucking his hips up while those big brown eyes gazed up at him. He had to lean back and escape those eyes or he would’ve spilled his seed right then and there. He fucked her throat for a while pulling away to let her breathe every now and then while he laid hard smacks against her bare ass. He smiled at his red her bottom looked and he soothed the stinging pain with his large hand kneeding her ass like dough. “That’s a good girl…I think at this rate you’re back on the nice list..but we have to finish what we started.”

He laid her down on back and untie her wrists by this time his white beard and mustache were turnt damn near side ways and it caused Y/N to laugh he chuckled trying to get back into character but at this point who cared. “Fuck this I’m hot baby girl..but don’t you ever talk to me like that again understand?” He leaned forward looking into her eyes before his lips crashed into hers and he lined his cock up to her sticky entrance. He slowly began to fill her up that familiar warmth wrapped itself around him and he sighed in relief. He started to pump slowly he didn’t want to get too excited. He held himself pressing her knees to her chest and soon they were in a mating press. His balls smacking against her ass with each thrust her moans filling the living room along with his growling and moaning. He trembled feeling her walls clenching around him pulsating and throbbing. He couldn’t hold it much longer and soon he spilled inside of her not giving a damn about the consequences. She held onto him her nails already had left evidence behind on his back. They both huffed in the ambiance of sex as he laid on top of her still pumping slowly. “You know it still isn’t midnight..let’s go again.”

[666writingcafe]

Conspiracy

Simeon

This is wrong. How is any of this deemed acceptable?

Ever since my and Luke's return to the Celestial Realm following the announcement of an indefinite postponement of the opening ceremony for Diavolo's school, these thoughts have been constant in my head.

You see, Father feels like the brothers haven't been punished sufficiently enough for defying Him. It's not enough for them to merely be cast down to the Devildom. In His eyes, they don't deserve the opportunity to live a happy life down there. He'd much prefer to personally torture them for the next millennia or so before casting their souls down in Cocytus for all of eternity.

So, He gave Michael permission to do whatever it takes to get the brothers back up here. Michael decided that the easiest way to convince them to leave the Devildom would be by telling them that we're willing to pardon them for their digressions. And since Michael's presence down there would make the brothers highly suspicious, he's planning on taking on the form of Raphael during his trip. After all, most of the brothers are scared of Raphael, so they'd do anything to avoid his wrath.

And guess whose responsibility is it to make sure that Michael's impression of Raphael is pretty much perfect?

Fucking Raphael. How dare he put this on my plate?

I've been disgusted with myself this entire time. Father is literally having us break one of His commandments for what? Petty revenge? What happened to "love thy neighbor"? Did Lucifer wound His pride so severely that He's forgotten how to act?

And the worst thing about all this is that I am powerless to stop it. As it is, if anyone found out I was questioning His will, I might as well be joining the brothers in Cocytus. I'm already on thin ice as it is due to me keeping vital information about the brothers from Him before and during the war.

And somebody has to take care of Luke. I don't trust the others to keep him from harm's way. They'd exploit his innocence for their own selfish needs, and I won't allow that to happen.

So I've kept my objections to myself. Through Michael's training, through my return to the Devildom to deliver the message to Diavolo about "Raphael's" arrival, and through this stupid meeting in the prince's home office. In His eyes, I'm behaving like the perfect angel, blindly doing what I'm told.

And then I made the mistake of making eye contact with Zephyr. It's only momentary, and yet time seems to slow down to a crawl.

I can't have them disappointed in me. We didn't talk a whole lot during my initial visit, but I know that they have a strong moral compass. They'd reject me if they found out that I kept this from them.

Before I can question my emotions too much, the meeting ends, and the six of us--Michael, Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos, Zephyr, and myself--walk out of the office and make our way down the hallway. Zephyr and I trail behind the others.

I have to move quickly. Before I change my mind and before anyone notices.

There's a nearby door that's slightly ajar. Perfect.

I quickly grab Zephyr and drag them inside the room, making sure to reposition the door back to where it was as to not cause suspicion. The second they make noise, I cover their mouth with my hand. Their eyes widen as I begin listening for returning footsteps.

Thankfully, no one comes to investigate.

"Will you remain quiet if I remove my hand?" I whisper urgently. Zephyr nods their head. Sure enough, they don't begin screaming for help when I let go.

"Good sheep," I murmur, mentally smacking myself when I fully register what left my mouth. Zephyr remains silent. This room is rather small. Did I shove the two of us in a closet?

Oh, this isn't good. I can already feel myself begin heating up, and I'm pretty sure it's not just due to the cramped space we're in.

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to be able to say this once," I quietly tell them. Another nod. "It's a trap. They're not getting pardoned. You have to do everything in your power to convince them to stay here." Zephyr tilts their head and looks contemplatively at me. Are they questioning my intentions?

A moment later, they softly smile at me.

"Don't doubt yourself," they whisper softly. "You're doing the right thing." They gently push the door open again, allowing me to leave the room first.

I needed to hear that.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

[nanabansama]

119 Thoughts

The recent chapter was... good!! Great, even!! We got a lot of answers and the new developments felt straightforward enough to follow. Still not fully comfortable with my interpretation yet, but honestly I'm just happy to be along for the ride.

Anyway, I wanted to write my thoughts down just to make sure I have everything straight going forward. There's a lot going on and some of my older theories have been debunked!

First, I'd like to point out what I think is pretty obvious and say that Kou must be possessed right now. The specifics are unclear but in my head this is still Kou, he's just being manipulated by the Red House or something. One thing I find interesting though is that he's overall really innocent... he doesn't do anything to put Nene in danger that she doesn't do herself. Nene is the one who decides to risk it all and talk to Amane, after all. The only thing I can say Kou did bad is separate her from the group and take her to Amane. Whatever is controlling Kou might be aware that Nene would drop her defenses around Amane and use that to their advantage.

Mitsuba's part in all of this is still a mystery, but I have to wonder if he will try to trick the Akane/Aoi/Teru trio whenever we jump back to them. I'm suspecting that they won't convene with Nene right away, though I have no idea how Nene will fare in the next chapter... (could she join Mitsuba and Kou and become the Red House's puppet!? I could easily see her tricking Aoi!)

Anyway, moving onto Yugi-sensei, I loved the glimpse into his headspace we got in this chapter. It seems like he's under the delusion everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is happier in this timeline, which is quite interesting. It almost makes me wonder if the Clock Keepers made him like this to ensure the timeline stayed this way. They told Baby Amane that the future changed, after all, which is... honestly quite disturbing. While I think it was foolish for the Clock Keepers' goal to be to get rid of Tsukasa in the first place, I don't think they'd make such a big mistake by telling Amane the future changed and traumatizing him. The possibility that the Clock Keepers made Amane this way for the good of the world would be a thrilling twist, I think!

I also think this could explain his other curious behavior. Many have wondered why Amane spreads rumors about Tsukasa-kun and why he smirks when school kids summon Tsukasa-kun, and it seems the reason is because he thinks Tsukasa is happy this way. The fact that this Tsukasa is the age Tsukasa disappeared, too, probably helps with this because Amane might still be under the assumption that the Tsukasa who came back after their 4th birthday was a fake. Now obviously, this Amane doesn't have all his memories yet, but it's extremely likely they're just buried inside of him and--unbeknownst to him--influencing his current actions. Either way, I think it's clear that Amane is under the delusion that Tsukasa is happy torturing kids at school. (...and who's to say whether he is or isn't!!!)

All of the souls trapped in the Red House might be in a similar situation, where Amane is under the delusion he's making them happy. I wonder if his parents are part of them...? I'm just thinking that Kou's cheerfulness this chapter is really relevant. He's so happy to just be with Nene and seems to have zero worries at all. It's honestly kinda creepy, when you consider how he was in the previous chapter!

Now hear me out. I'm not usually one to wish harm on Nene, but it would be interesting if Nene got captured and got to meet Amane's parents, assuming they got trapped in the Red House too. I proposed the theory that Kou has just been brainwashed but it could very well be a fake Kou, and if she got to team up with Kou and Mitsuba I think that'd make for an amusing trio. Especially since we have another trio in the house right now with Akane, Teru and Aoi. We could have Nene trapped and trying to escape while a fake evil Nene tries to trick them... that could be so fun!!! (Writing fanfiction at this point lol)

If we go along with the theory that Kou is fake, perhaps the souls trapped in the Red House also have fake body doubles? You'll notice that they are very obviously not happy, considering the way they urged Mitsuba to run away and escape. But I really cannot think for another explanation for Kou's behavior in this chapter. Amane's ominous line about everyone being happy plus Kou being so cheerful just feel so connected! Perhaps the happiness once instilled in the poor souls trapped in the Red House eventually wore off, proving how fake their happiness was in the first place. (Or perhaps I've gone off the deep end.)

In any case, I really wonder what the point of oddly cheerful fake/brainwashed Kou is. I can only assume it's to try and trick Nene into thinking this new world is better. The motives don't seem very malicious, despite all the harm it's bringing. Amane genuinely wants people to be happy, and I think the Red House is working with him to make his dreams a disturbing reality.

I just wonder where Tsukasa is... is he trapped in the Red House, too? Or is he trapped inside the school, inside Tsukasa-kun? What if he's trapped as a child, unable to grow up, because the innocent little brother that left Amane on their birthday is the only true Tsukasa in Amane's eyes? How well did the Clock Keepers do at getting rid of Tsukasa, anyway...? He can't really be gone, can he!?

Ahh, but anyway!!! Thanks for reading if you got this far. And if Amane really prefers Baby Tsukasa then I suppose I can't complain. I mean, just look at him!!

He is so freakin' CUTE!!!! Grahhh!!!! ♡♡♡♡

[ellestra]

Lifecycles of Disposable Beings

One of the things I really hoped for in the Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3 movie that it would remember that Rocket and Nebula were for five years the only surviving Guardians. That they became heroes and helped save the Universe and defeat Thanos twice. Not only for the friendship they developed but also because this movie has shown how similar they really are and how important it must’ve been to have each other. And I got my wish in such a perfect way.

Neither of them expresses emotions easily so it’s there in a little things. It first shows a bit when she gets him Bucky’s arm for Christmas and he made her her new one that she then uses to stab and ward off his attacker. The way Nebula fights for him from the start unwilling to let him die and pulling all of her family – including Gamora she kept from away from Guardians all this time. The subtle ways she looks devastated both by his injury and then by what she discovers when she reads his implants and then his history. The way she is the first person Rocket asks about when he wakes up (sure she was hailing but he noticed). How he instantly agrees to help save the kids. And of course the big one is her breaking down in tears when she hears his voice. Mantis has too speak for her because she is so overwhelmed by relief.

They were both remade to be of use to others without their consent and for purposes not their own. They lost the family that meant everything to them along the way but they got through the worst of it together and I was so happy to see them be there for each other.

And I loved so much that Nebula gets to use her extensions to save Rocket (and people in general). Throughout all the movies so far we saw the changes Thanos implemented in her through the lens of the pain and suffering it caused her. We see it used against her and against those she holds dear (in Infinity War it’s her torture when being taken apart again that brakes Gamora and leads to her death, in Endgame Nebula her own mind is used against her will – she doesn’t even own her memories because her father took even that). But now she finally owns it all and can use it as she wants. She can choose her own modifications – get rid of her face implants and get a new arm. She can use the fact that her body can fix itself and she can connect to databases with her mind for the benefit of her friends. She decides how to be and who she becomes.

And this too is mirrored in Rocket. High Evolutionary can consider him proprietary technology and think he owns his mind but he never did. He only gave Rocket parts but all the true advancements Rocket built himself with a little help from his friends. All the real sparks of invention were really Rocket’s all along and he was always perfect in all his imperfections. There was always love and generosity there that he even tried to extend to the High Evolutionary but there was nothing in that man that could appreciate it. But there were people who cherished it and helped it grow until Rocket too could accept all the parts of himself and fully embrace his past and create his own future.

In defiance of another a bad father (because what would MCU be without them and Guardians certainly have the worst - Thanos, Ego, High Evolutionary – you cannot pick a worst bunch). But as bad as Thanos and Ego were we only really watched them through the eyes of the adults they damaged. We see what Thanos’ “love” did to Nebula and Gamora in the scars on their bodies and souls but we never see their childhood pain directly. We experience their fear and hate and lashing out at others and each other but we are spared the gore of what happened (at east on screen). And we only see the remains of the countless lives Ego destroyed on his quest to become a God with capital G. The children he discarded when they didn’t fulfil his expectations. The lives he deemed unworthy once he realized they were of no use to him.

High Evolutionary combines both of them and we get to see it close and personal. This one shows us how it looked from the start when Rocket was too new to know how little he mattered to the one who created to him. Oh, Rocket knew he didn’t care about his pain and the callousness he treated the ones he deemed failure and how easily the anger and abuse came. This is why he stole the parts whenever he could. But P13 still had hope that if he’s useful enough he and his friends would get a reward and be allowed to live under the sky instead of the filthy cage in some dark storage room. He hoped for a better future until he was told he was only parts. That his friends were only mistakes. That there was no future for them.

And what could he do but to disagree and fight back? But even that rightful anger ended in tragedy. Standing up to injustice doesn’t guarantee success. Those he tried to save died and he lost everything. No wonder he’s so scared to try again through out the first two Guardians movies. But his new family allows him space to try and when he loses them Nebula is there to help get him through that loss again. He doesn't end up all alone this time.

It was so heartbreaking to see the casual cruelty of the High Evolutionary – from the big picture to the small details. The little things like dirty, unkempt cages where they are left while their wounds mend. And the cruelty of the whole uplifting process that only cares about the perfection as the end result but never troubles itself with pain of its subjects. Creating perfection to keep it imprisoned and forever subservient – even when they are allowed to be a civilization, they are never free and, like the Sovereign or Counter-Earth, still can be destroyed anytime. And it always will be because perfect creation is nothing but a lie High Evolutionary tells himself.

High Evolutionary could’ve never accepted a creation that would really be what he strives for because that he would have to set them free and he could never relinquish control. He would also have to accept that there would be someone greater than him and he cannot abide that. He spends so much time chasing Rocket to see what made him creative but even if he found it in Rocket’s brain he could never use it. He can’t stand Rocket being smarter than him and seeing the solution he missed. High Evolutionary always needs to be in control and to keep that he could never let anyone be better than him at anything. This is really why batch 89 had to die. He couldn’t stand someone surpassing him at anything. Especially not someone he considered so inferior.

So he is constantly disappointed by his creations and destroys them whenever he makes something newer and shinier. The Counter-Earth is destroyed with all its animal hybrid inhabitants – including the nice bat family Peter charmed into helping them and we barely have time to notice. At least with Rocket’s friends we have time to be properly horrified by High Evolutionary’s cruelty and he at least gets punished for it. But a whole planet of sentient creatures gets lost in explosions and the only one given a moment is Ayesha – everyone else is lost while we only think of saving Rocket. And then saving Nebula, Drax and Mantis.

And it’s horrifying because we learn that all that High Evolutionary’s creations really needed is care and time. We see it with batch 89 and with all the others. The kids they save might've not been creative enough just after he made them but look at Phyla in the New Guardians being her own person. Adam Warlock was naïve and dumb but he was awakened too early and after that he clearly learns fast. He even learnt empathy in 2 days - something High Evolutionary hasn’t managed in centuries. And Sovereign probably can learn too once free of High Evolutionary’s toxic ideas of perfection. There was more to the Counter-Earth than crime and they too could’ve been great once not trapped in the 1980s hellscape High Evolutionary put them in. High Evolutionary’s real failure is not seeing any of that.

All of them needed just time and love and High Evolutionary didn’t have it for any of them. Not for Warlock in his cocoon. Not for 89P13 who fixed his process. There was always the next shiny thing and the last one was left rotting in filth until it was incinerated.

This is all explains Rocket we know from the movies so well. This why he is kleptomaniac with compulsive need to collect technology – it saved him and you should be wary of those who hoard it. It also explains why was so self-sabotaging with his new family. Letting himself love them meant hurt if he lost them and he lost them all. The devastation of the Snap hits even harder now. But this time he at least had Nebula. He had someone who could really understand how deep that pain was even without the details.

Outside of High Evolutionary’s control Rocket has grown into someone who could weather the loss and came and save his new family and have them save him in return. Then they saved everyone they could from the High Evolutionary because he didn’t deserve any of his creations. They were all too good for him.

In the end we see the new Guardians of the Galaxy combining Rocket’s different families. They are made of people who were like Rocket made by High Evolutionary and the ones who joined the Guardians in previous instalments. He started with nothing and too afraid to try this friends and family thing again and look at him now – leader of this team. Working well with others. All of them getting the best of their second chances. And saving the Galaxy along the way.

And somewhere out there on Knowhere Nebula and Drax make sure they all always have a home to come back to.

[cats-obsessions]

There’s been a lot of discussion around Gortash in particular showing no devotion for Bane beyond that which furthers his own interests, and Bane doing very little to help him. While that’s a very Banite thing to do, offering your Bhaalspawn babe true equality is not. There’s so many beautiful theories out there, but I offer my own: the goal of the Absolute was never to glorify Bane or Bhaal.

We know Durge and Gortash have a long history, spanning back before Gortash was even the chosen of Bane. They started out as essentially, two people robbing shit together- ancestral torture racks and all. In letters, we find both of them had proposed plans that involve each other. I like to think they got very attached before deciding to rule the world. But what would come of serving their gods? Durge would kill the world, Gortash would have to rule alone. In the end, failure or victory, their lives and souls would go separate ways, and one of them would have to fail, earning eternal torture.

But Enver doesn’t offer Durge servitude to Bhaal or mass murder or even Banes plan when they show up tadpoled to Wyrms Rock. He offers godhood- through the absolute, sure, but such an act would certainly deserve ascension. They could become actual gods. Maybe to him, that was the plan all along. Achieving true godhood together would be the only way to ensure their souls would be safe and together. Forever.

I like to think somewhere along the way he saw how doomed they were, how few options Durge has for personal autonomy, and he put his mind to finding a way. Maybe the implications of their plan weren’t fully discussed, or maybe promises of godhood were only whispered in private. Maybe Durge won’t admit the reality, but maybe part of them hopes for it.

[keeksandgigz]

one breath in, three breaths out

eddie munson x reader

March 1989: the third anniversary of the March '86 happenings is getting closer, and the past seems impossible to move on from.

cw: 1.5k words, eddie isn't dead, PTSD, mention of what happened in the UD, screaming, crying, overall very sad, angst, teeny bit of fluff

AN: This is literally an experiment I have never posted fanfiction before I am scared.

You decide to let him sleep. The night terrors had been coming back in full force.

It was that time of year again.

Screaming and thrashing, horrors behind his lids and on his mind, between the hours of 3 and 5 AM all you could do is stare at Eddie's tortured face. His pinched eyebrows laden with cold sweat as you wrestled with the idea of waking him up, too worried you might worsen the nightmares that were keeping him trapped. Only when the light had already begun to peek through the thin blinds of the room you would feel him breathe again, and with him, you'd feel yourself exhale.

Only you don't let yourself sleep any longer, staring intently, listening to his heartbeat as his every breath, every twitch becomes the object of your attention. His screams would haunt you during the day, with only a few hours of sleep behind you, working at the library became incredibly difficult. The light touch of the spine of a book would remind you of his skin. Cold, clammy and rough as you held him down, quietly comforting him with gentle caresses on his pale, scarred arms as he jolted and screamed nonsense, quietly shushing him, unsure if he was able to hear you, trapped in whatever remote place of his labyrinthian mind he was in.

So you let him sleep, coffee dripping into your mug as you quietly munch on a piece of toast. Walking on eggshells, trying to not make any noise. He needs this. He needs rest.

If you could open his mind and pick at his brain to remove all the bad things he'd seen and been through you would do it. For the past three years, you both had attempted to rebuild a life, go back to normal. But like clockwork, the end of March always comes back. With its dark stormy clouds, like a hurricane, destroying in its wake everything you both had worked towards for the past year. Destroying what you had helped Eddie rebuild, his broken soul and mind like a broken piece of china put together by a thin layer of gold.

But not even his layer of gold was able to hold him together now. You felt useless as you watched him crumble, the delicate china chipping bit by bit as he became a shadow of himself, watching the dark, unforgiving spring rain pour down outside the window. Watching as he became a ghost.

You let yourself slide down to the floor, the few inches between you and the couch are unbearable for your feet to reach, suddenly feeling heavy. The lack of sleep fully hitting you as a sense of helplessness suddenly washes over your half- lidded eyes. A choked sob escapes, deep down from your chest. You quickly go to cover your mouth, overwhelmed by the waterfall of tears that began streaming all over your face. Unable to hold back the hiccups as you hold your breath, not wanting to wake him up, not wanting him to hear you.

This time of year is hard on him, so you have put your doubts, fears and issues on the back burner to focus on him, on his broken mind, letting yours crumble to bits. It is hard on you, too, but you'd never admit that out loud. It didn't matter, really, you would have done anything to help him, even if it meant not helping yourself.

Even to this day, what he had gone through was incomprehensible to your mind, as much as you had tried to envision it, put yourself in his shoes. You could not even fathom what it had been like for him, and it killed you. Feeling left out from his own mind, when he was with his friends they'd get together and on those rare occasions someone felt brave enough to bring it up, discuss what happened. The mutual understanding that you were not allowed to be privy to, because you weren't there.

So you silently sob on the cold kitchen floor, biting your sleeve to muffle the sobs and gasps that come from deep within your chest, where your heart is aching, filled with guilt, hatred, for whatever entity up in the sky that had let such horrible things happen to him, your boyfriend, who had never done anything in his life, except being born in the circumstances he was in.

You cannot not help the hiccup that escapes you, holding your breath to make as little noise as possible. The noise of bare feet on the tile go unnoticed to you, as your face stays hidden in your hands, soaking the sleeves of your sweater.

When Eddie enters the kitchen, his stomach drops.

"Oh shit." He rushes over by your side, kneeling and caressing your knee with one hand, gently moving your hands from your face with the other. His breath hitched and labored.

"What's wrong, hun? Talk to me." His voice is still sore from sleep, it startles you.

You take in a deep breath, as you had done before with him. One long breath in, three short breaths out. Helps you stabilize your gasps and sobs as his hand that wasn't on your knee gently rubs your knuckles, in a weak attempt at comfort.

When the violent sobs have stopped you are able to speak again. "I'm so sorry Ed. So incredibly sorry I can't help you." a fresh set of tears spilling out of the bottoms of your eyes, loud sobs escapes your throat as you bury your face on his shoulder. He catches your face before you can.

"Hun, where's all this coming from? You've been such help every year when, you know..." He doesn't want to say it. Not after the night he'd just had. Bats and bites and the cold suffocating air from that hellish place all came back to haunt him. The feeling of the creatures pulling at his skin with their teeth, every tendon and every vessel being chewed and mangled and bitten, and in his dreams, he was going through it all over again. Kind of like a Prometheus punished for stealing fire, Eddie was punished for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I just- I just have no idea what you've- you've been through." you sniffle, finally settling down with your breathing. One in, three out. "I see you screaming and kicking and thrashing in your sleep and I don't know what to do. I spend hours watching you after it's over. I don't sleep, Ed. I'm always scared I'm not gonna be awake to help you if it gets really bad. What if it gets really bad? I dunno what to do, I'm so scared" you let out an exasperated sob at that, struggling to keep your glassy eyes from spilling again.

"Are you scared of me?" He says with an uncertainty that breaks your heart. You could never be scared of him. You shake your head and swallow at a newly formed knot in your throat.

"I- I could never, Ed." you swallow again, "I don't know what you've seen, I have no clue how to be there for you."

He pulls you in a hug, tight against his chest, the smell of sleep still on him "Honey, what you do is enough. I don't know if you'll ever be able to see what I've seen- God, I hope you never do, baby. But I feel you, when I sleep, I feel your voice. I try to reach you, but I'm stuck." He swallows, eyes going a bit glassy "What I'm trying to say is, I see how hard this is for you, too. And I appreciate you, God I don't know how many times I'd have to say it for me to actually repay you for what you've done."

You stare at him for a moment, as if he'd said the thing that you had been looking to hear from him, and then he breaks down. Finally letting himself feel all the terror and the turmoil that he has been put through for the past week. The kitchen floor becomes a mess of spilled coffee and two tightly wound bodies sobbing into each other. Letting go of the pain, even just for a moment, the world going still, except for the rain pitter pattering outside the window.

When you both have calmed down, Eddie looks around and his gaze falls on the abandoned mug, tipped on the floor, coffee spilled from it. He huffs a weak laugh.

"Look at what we did" he offers you a teary eyed smile and a kiss to your temple.

"Shit, let me clean it up before it stains," you laugh. It's quiet and weak, but it's everything Eddie needs to hear right now.

He needs to hear happiness and joy, even for just a moment in time, where he is not being haunted by bats and the past three years. And even as he's watching you clean the coffee stain, laughing at the mess you made he can't help but try and stabilize his breath. It's been harder for him to keep account of his breathing since he came back from hell, but you've helped him.

One breath in, Three breaths out.

[base-and-co]

During a round of late night thinking, I encountered an intriguing idea about Deathbit and how we can play with it. (I blame Woodkid - To Ashes and Blood for making me think at all) (Arcane why do you do this to us writers)

TLDR: Gambit is not brainwashed and is working for Apocalypse willingly.

We all know about the "came back wrong" idea, it being the main one in the fandom as I see it right now - after an unreasonable amount of torture from Apocalypse because of course there's torture like the boy hasn't suffered enough already (HE BURNED ALIVE). But you know, what would've been even more interesting?

If he came back right.

With all his smiles and accent and powers - just boosted - and he still calls X-men his "amis" and laughs like it's just one big training session in the Danger Room and like his hair isn't white and like his skin isn't ashy gray and like there's no Apocalypse who gives him orders. Moreover, he reacts to those orders with another round of wits and jokes - like it's no ancient and probably the most powerful mutant in history but just Scott or Chuck. And when shit hits the fan and he needs to kill someone, X-men see that he doesn't want to but he does go for the kill. They stop him and it looks like he let himself be stopped but then he knocks them out and flees.

And he still wears his smile like it's the only mask he has and there are tears in his eyes and they see it's HIM it's GAMBIT and they can't understand why doesn't he just stop completely and go with them and let them help.

And for a while they think that he's brainwashed or mind controlled but it's painfully obvious he isn't and X-men just don't know what to do. They think maybe it's some kind of sick trick of his, maybe it's his revenge for letting him die, for not preventing Genosha or accepting Magneto into the team (he jokes about that fuck up of theirs during fights more than once) or something else.

And when the team inevitably get him cornered and maybe even collared, he panics. Not because they might hurt or kill him - and they actually might, at this point Death/Gambit caused a pretty big amount of injuries, but none of them were more than they could handle and that alone is suspicious - and they DEMAND to explain what's happening, he's borderline having a panic attack and he pleads to let him go. It's out of character for him more than they can think and they press further and further until he screams

"REMY TRY TO PROTECT YOU!"

at the top of his lungs and he's scared and everyone are dead sure he's not scared of them.

And they ask again (probably Storm), this time calmer, trying to see if Gambit is even aware of where he is and what is happening - and he is. He's damn sure of where he is and what he's doing and he hates himself for it, but

"it be de only way t' keep him away from you."

And he looks up at them and tells them that he made a deal with a Devil. As long as Remy serve him - loyally, consciously, fully understanding what is wanted from him - Apocalypse won't touch the X-men. Unless they bother him too much, that is. He tells them that Apocalypse wanted to get his hands on Storm and Wolverine and Rogue and for some reason he decided to ressurect Gambit first and Remy couldn't let his friends and loved ones become Apocalypse's pawns. And Remy's been doing his best to keep them occupied so that they'd not meet with his 'master' as well as keeping tabs on Apocalypse's work at the same time. He had no chance to do anything with it because he was scared about what his interference may cause. And Death is afraid of Apocalypse shitless. Yet he keeps working for him - "it's not de first time Remy sold his soul. Der's nothing to sell anymore. Just let him do this for you so you don't have to."

We know that when Gambit died, he didn't see his sacrifice as anything heroic. He never called himself a hero - at least being serious - and that he full on believed he was the worst amongst X-men (well before Erik showed up). And this would be him bargaining himself again.

There is actually so much intresting dialogues and scenes and the sheer confusion and dramedy is amazing. Let me know if you have any thoughts on that (comments or smth).

[poppystheories]

Komui is a character that goes a little unappreciated, I think.

But he is fucking amazing.

A secret militant organization takes his little sister away. And he couldn't do a thing to stop it. He is this girl's only guardian and she's going to be a soldier in a hopeless war to save all of humanity and there's nothing he can do to protect her.

It is a parent's worst nightmare. It is the cruel reality of how powerless individuals can be in the face of governing structures.

But what did Komui do, in the face of it?

He decided to fucking be the leader of that same organization???

Komui seriously decided, if there was nothing he could do for Lenalee as her big brother, then he'd just have to become someone with the power to help her.

The sheer emotional tenacity and hardwork it must have took is insane to imagine.

And then there's this moment that we see from Lenalee's perspective. It is incredibly touching: a shining light of hope, a great reunion.

But imagine how this must have looked from Komui's perspective. The first time he gets to see his sister in three years: three years working relentlessly to reach her within a power structure he must have already despised, probably fully aware that she could die at any point and that’s she’s basically being tortured in the meantime, and when he finally gets to her, he finds her tied down to a bed by his now coworkers, her finger nails broken from clawing at everything she could reach, her wrists bloody under her restraints.

Can you imagine the hatred he must have felt for the Order, in this moment?

But he smiles. For Lenalee's sake.

We see later on that the Black Order can really be divided into two ages: Before Komui and After Komui. Komui not only takes over the Black Order HQ for Lenalee's sake, but he takes the entire HQ staff under his wing. He changes the entire culture of the organization, and assumes responsibility for not just Lenalee, not just all the exorcists like her, but every human fighting this war.

Honestly, in a series full of incredible character moments, I think Komui's off screen journey is by far the most impressive.

In many ways, Komui is the Black Order: its heart and soul. His Black Order is the one that becomes our protagonist's home, the Order we come to love. He took what must have been the thing he hated most in the world and remade it with love.

Hence the absolutely gorgeous volume cover yet to come:

[zootopiathingz]

Genuine question: Why do you ship Radiobelle? I've seen a lot of people doing it, and I'm curious as to what the appeal is!

The real question is, why do people ship anything? Why do we all see two or sometimes more characters interact with each other and imagine how cool it would be if they both had deep-seated romantic feelings for the other?

Answer: cuz we can!😌

Idk about the rest of you, but I don’t exactly have much control over what I ship and don’t ship😅 I just see the characters together and my brain randomly decides either “yes I want them to make out” or “nooo I don’t really see it”

But as for Radiobelle specifically, there’s just something about them that my silly fangirl heart can’t resist. While I am fairly new to the HH fandom, I did watch the pilot around the time it came out and a small part of me did ship them back then. But I never really allowed myself to indulge in it and I just wasn’t that into the show anyway so I didn’t bother. Now, after actually watching the episodes and engaging in fandom content, I finally embraced the cringe to the full extent and let myself be consumed by the radio demon and his charming demon belle! :P

Now I’m aware that the majority of people don’t like Radiobelle, or even full-on hate it for multiple reasons. Sure, whatever. You don’t have to like every ship, nor does anyone expect you to! I can understand it’s not for everybody. The main thing that bugs me, though, is when people try to start arguments about why it’ll never be canon and why you shouldn’t ship it. “Charlie is with Vaggie and Alastor is aro/ace!” People ship Alastor with a multitude of other characters and nobody bats an eye,, why is it only when you see him being drawn with Charlie that you lose your shit and get offended about his sexuality being ‘erased’? (That’s a topic for a whole other post tbh). And people can ship Charlie with other people. Hell, they DO! I’ve seen numerous art of her and other characters.

Then there’s also the “Alastor thinks of her as his daughter!” See, I want everybody to actually watch episode 5 again and come back to me on this. No, he fucking does not. The only reason he was saying any of that was to get under Lucifer’s skin. That’s it. That was his whole intention. He doesn’t like Lucifer and wanted to rub it in his face that he has been a lousy father to his daughter, in comparison to all the ways he has helped her, with the hotel and whatever else.

Phew, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way! Onto why Radiobelle has stolen my heart!

I just love their dynamic and it all really started with the pilot. Alastor—this mysterious force of nature who can kill anyone and anything, is capable of unimaginable power and torture—randomly showing up on the doorstep of a hotel to help out. And literally no one else trusts him (reasonably so) but Charlie, the good-hearted soul she is, lets him in. She’s cautious, of course, but she’s giving him the chance to do some good because that’s what her dream is all about!

Now while I do wish they had some more interactions in the actual show, what we have so far is scrumptious✨ Alastor may have been giving an abundance of praise to Charlie to piss off her dad, but I don’t think he was lying. Deep down I’m sure he is enjoying the time they’ve spent together—even if he doesn’t fully realize it. Charlie defends Al’s sadistic behavior to her dad because he was doing it to defend the hotel (and bc he’s a cocky mf lol but it’s endearing to her in a way).

Oh and don’t even get me STARTED on episode 7 bro,, omfg the content!! The way he’s extra touchy with her even after they’ve made their deal. Her being nervous and stressed out but he encourages her anyway and verbally admits that he had faith in her the whole time. Him giving her his microphone—which is likely the main source of his power as shown in episode 8 (where he let her use his mic AGAIN!!!) which just shows how much he actually trusts her,, UGH it’s just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻 give me more!!

Now, do I expect Radiobelle to become canon? No. Would it be fucking awesome if it did? Oh absolutely. But I know it won’t, and I don’t care! I’m having the time of my life shipping these two hell-dwelling idiots and I don’t care what anyone says about it!😋