#I will feel bad when I leave but I would feel worse if I stayed.

[honeyedfate]

kiss her you fool | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader

as if accidentally convincing both of your fans on several occasions that you two hate each other wasn’t enough, jake had to go ahead and mumble some sleepily ambiguous words on a weverse live and involve the whole internet. to salvage whatever shreds are left of the plan, you are to attend a baseball game together.

genre. fluff

a/n. the third & last part to loverboy is here!! sorry for the wait i wrote 4 different drafts until i settled on this one lol enjoy!! xx

[ › first part ] [ › second part ]

jake is a chill guy. he’s cool-headed, efficient, steady under pressure, always on the side of healthy optimism. that’s the story he sells to others—and to himself. but deep down, he knows he might be a bit of a fraud. worse, he can feel it.

his hands are drenched in sweat as they clench and unclench inside his pockets, chasing an old gum wrapper around to distract himself. the tag of his shirt pokes at his neck, making him want to barbarically tear off his clothes in front of thousands of baseball fans.

but instead, he dutifully follows you through row upon row of seats and keeps his gaze on the back of your head.

so, yes. jake is a very chill guy.

you keep glancing back at him, the lower half of your face obscured by a black mask. still, he knows you’re flashing him reassuring smiles, and he feels bad for how nervous he is. if he’s not staring at you, his eyes are darting around, scanning his surroundings like one of the baseball players warming up in the field might suddenly climb the walls and come for him.

“i think these are it,” you say, glancing at your tickets before sliding them into your back pocket.

jake wordlessly takes the seat next to you, adjusting his cap to shield as much of his face as possible. he knows it’s futile—staying hidden is the exact opposite of why he’s here, but habits die screaming, or something like that.

his shoulders tense for a split second at the touch of your hand on his thigh, and guilt gnaws at him when you pull away almost instantly. he meets your eyes and musters a smile. not that you can see it beneath his matching mask.

“we can leave any time,” you say in a soft tone, looking at him from under your lashes. “i don’t care what the plan is. if you’re uncomfortable, we can ditch this whole thing and get ramen at cu.”

jake’s heart swells, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that, but he knows it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place. well, for the most part. he can’t tell you that, though. he knows you will just dispute it until he starts believing it himself, and that would only prove to him once again that his backbone inevitably snaps in the face of a pretty girl.

no matter that it’s his pretty girl, and he’d do anything for you anyway. breaking his spine included. the fact remains—he ran his mouth on live, so now he’s got to face the consequences. 

swallowing the lump in his throat, he shakes his head and threads his fingers through yours, tucking both hands into the pocket of his jacket.

jake grins. “no, this is fun.” you send him a flat look, but he just nods towards the field. “i’ve never been to a baseball game. now we can take it off our bucket list.”

“sure,” you say, sounding wryly amused. “we don’t have a bucket list but at least now we’ve got something to cross off. i’ve also always wanted to be on the kiss cam. guess it’s our lucky day.”

“lucky us,” jake says, his lips curling as he feels your hand squeeze his. he casts a glance around, then leans forward, swiftly pulling both of your masks down with one hand. it’s a brief kiss, just a soft peck that’s a bit inconvenient since both of you are wearing hats, forcing him to tilt his head. but when he pulls back, he sees the way you’re chasing after his lips, eyes still closed, and goes just a little insane.

you look entirely too pretty to leave it at just one kiss. you deserve all the kisses in the world, actually, so he captures your lips again, tasting the cherry gloss he bought you last week because he likes it a little too much. it’s the same one you wore on your first date together.

jake’s lips brush against yours once more, deeper and a bit slower this time as if savouring the moment. you sigh into the kiss and pull back to catch your breath, your lips lingering just above his. your eyes are still closed, but jake doesn’t mind one bit, taking the moment to let his gaze wander over every single feature of yours that he knows by heart. and would you look at that? suddenly, he couldn’t care less that he’s sitting in a huge stadium.

you tear your gaze away from his lopsided grin. “let’s save some of this for later, yeah?” you say, and jake is not ashamed of the groan rumbling in the back of his throat as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder. how else is a man supposed to act when your lips look so plumb and kissable, and your voice sounds like that? hopeless.

you’re looking at him, a smile tugging at your lips when you notice an older lady a few rows down elbowing the person next to her, gesturing not-so-subtly at the two of you. under your breath, you mumble, “the ahjummas down there are looking at us.” 

jake leans back, glancing at them from the corner of his eye before lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “can you blame them? we’re not exactly hard to look at.”

“your modesty astonishes me,” you say, sounding unimpressed.

jake raises an eyebrow and leans forward on his knees, a smirk tugging at his lips. “we’d make beautiful babies, and you know it.”

you snort, shaking your head. “that’s what ni-ki said this morning. something about sacrificing himself for his future nephews and nieces because at least he knows they’ll be cute. i’m still not sure what he meant by that.”

jake cocks his head and pokes your side when you playfully mirror him. “he came down this morning when yuki was talking to us in the kitchen,” jake says, shifting in his seat.

he grimaces as he remembers the conversation with jungwon who was basically a zombie at that hour after having to stay up late as a consequence of jake’s faux pas on weverse. “ni-ki said he was going to take care of this for us. i didn’t know what he meant at first, but then sunghoon sent me a screenshot of what ni-ki posted on weverse. it was a selfie of him, facing the other way so his left side was showing.”

“wait, seriously?” your eyebrows shoot up, and jake nods, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“yep. he called himself a martyr in the group chat. said he was taking one for the team.”

you gasp dramatically, holding a hand to your chest. “a martyr? for us? what’s next, a shrine in the dorm?”

jake laughs, clearly entertained by your idea. “i mean, we could probably arrange one. heeseung’s room is big enough to fit ten.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “that’s… actually true. but did it work?”

jake bites his lip, glancing at his phone. “i haven’t checked yet, but sunoo sent me a text earlier. apparently, engenes are seeing right through it.”

“what are they saying?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“they’re saying belift gave up ni-ki for damage control,” jake chuckles.

before you can say anything in response, your phone vibrates, the sudden buzz pulling your attention away. you reach for it, ignoring jake’s whiny protests as you untangle your hand from his. “hello?”

jake pouts and scoots closer, pressing his ear against the backside of your phone. you roll your eyes and click the side button to turn the volume up, letting him hear the voice on the other end, your manager’s. “…are you in your seats?”

you hum and nod, nearly knocking jake’s hat off with the movement. “yea, we’re here. we got here a bit early, so there are still a few empty seats. but the game should be starting soon. what’s up? did something happen?”

“well,” your manager says, her tone uncertain, and jake’s heart drops. “about half an hour ago, minjun posted the dance challenge you and jake filmed for their tiktok. it…er, seemed to stir up a bit more of a reaction than we expected…again.”

you exchange a confused glance with jake. nothing about the videos seemed off—he’d double-checked, paranoid he might’ve accidentally done something ridiculous again, like giving you a lap dance or declaring his undying love on camera.

filming those two dance challenges had already been an ordeal. the pr team was relentless, adamant on pushing you and jake to drop as many microscopic hints as possible to suggest something was going on between you two, but it was so painfully awkward that you ended up with enough unusable footage to last a month.

jake had been a giggling mess the entire time, finding it all so silly, like he was on some overly scripted dating show. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop tripping over your own feet, bumping into him more times than he could count. at least you managed to do it on beat.

regardless, even though filming the final video had been a struggle, it was ready to go. jake had made sure of that.

it was just another dance challenge, he thinks to himself, trying to push aside the unease creeping up. whatever’s going on now, it’s gotta be grey sweater guy’s fault.

“what do you mean?” your voice brings him back, your curiosity clear. “we didn’t do anything…right?”

“well,” your manager says again, clearing her throat. “since we couldn’t really get any dance footage of you acting like, you know, an actual couple—” 

jake snorts.

“—minjun ended up keeping the last few seconds of a video when he posted it to the enhypen tiktok page. he didn’t give us a heads-up before doing it.”

your eyes widen as you send a quick look in jake’s way. “is he going to get in trouble?” you say into the phone, and jake pulls a funny face. is that what he was supposed to feel? concern? apparently, he likes the guy even less than he thought.

“that’s the thing,” your manager goes on. “everyone seems to like it?” she sounds quite surprised about it herself, and jake has to strain his neck to make sure he heard correctly. 

“everyone?” he echoes in disbelief, and you nudge him when he inches impossibly closer, practically climbing onto your lap.

“what do you mean everyone?” you ask as jake moves back a little. “what were we doing?”

your manager lets out a long sigh, as if hoping you wouldn’t ask. “after you left for the game, minju and some of the others decided to go through the videos again, hoping to find something a bit more exciting. they ended up finding one where you two were dancing really well—everything was clean, no one was falling or laughing, and the chemistry wasn’t too forced.”

she pauses, and you can hear her shifting slightly. “but then, right at the end, you trip over your feet and… well, you kind of just leave the frame.”

jake frowns, meeting your puzzled gaze. you had filmed so many different versions, they have all blended into a nightmarish concoction of blurred memories, making it hard to recall which one she means. “i leave the frame and then what?”

the silence stretches on for a beat, and jake feels a spark of irritation bubbling up at the theatrics. horrified, he starts to wonder if he’s accidentally flashed the whole world and didn’t even realise.

“the entire thing only lasts two seconds, but you stumble, jake rushes after you, and you both end up out of frame—but we can still see part of it because of the mirrors. jake has his arms around you as you both tumble to the floor, laughing.” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, then adds quietly, “minjun removed the music at the end, so you can hear the laughter.”

jake doesn’t even know how to respond. sure, the company can post whatever they want of him, but they usually don’t. there’s an unspoken rule of decency and respect among the team, and he’s at least asked before anything goes up. this? this is just wrong.

he doesn’t realise that you’re voicing his exact thoughts into the phone until a loud cheer ripples through the crowd. a woman he’s seen on tv before appears on the big screen over the baseball field. she’s offering some welcoming words, and jake figures the match must be starting soon.

“—he’s lucky people are receiving it well, but he has to know that it’s not okay to just post that without our knowledge or consent,” you say, your voice tinged with more disappointment than frustration.

“i know, trust me. yuki and i made sure any future genius moves from him go through us—and you two—first. i know you're not mad, just…" she sighs, papers shuffling. “look, almost 80% of the comments are positive, calling you a cute, good-looking couple and all that. the rest are either in denial or upset, but it doesn’t matter. more people are for it than against it, so just enjoy the game. you don’t have to go through with what we discussed if you don’t want to. things are looking good, y/n.”

jake doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation, having heard enough. he leans back, resting a hand on the back of your seat and absentmindedly draws circles onto your skin.

you mutter something into the phone and end the call, melting into jake’s side with a sigh. he coos, pulling you closer, and presses a kiss to the top of your hat while humming. “you know what?” he says quietly.

“what?” your voice is muffled as you rub a hand over your face, looking up at him.

he grins. "at least they’re also calling us a cute and good-looking couple. ni-ki will be a proud uncle to our gorgeous kids.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding your face in his chest and, at once, jake finds it hard to be bothered by anything happening on the internet or even outside this stadium. he has you in his arms and the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy a baseball game. what concerns could he possibly have?

soon after, the players file out onto the field, and the match begins. both of you end up having a lot more fun than expected, and jake briefly leaves to go grab some food and drinks.

he’s walking back up the stairs, looking for you and not even avoiding eye contact with people around like he did before. right now, he’s just a guy hugging two cups of soda and a pile of snacks to his chest, wandering the rows in search of his girlfriend. 

he must look as lost as he feels because someone suddenly taps him on the arm. looking down, he sees the two older women from before. they’re grinning up at him, and jake hesitantly returns the smile, realising a moment too late that they can’t see it due to his mask. 

“you’re three rows up, darling,” the woman on the left with the big, blue-framed glasses says, nodding over her shoulder and vaguely gesturing to where you’re sitting. his face lights up when your eyes meet, and you raise a hand to wave at him. he thanks them and makes to walk up the stairs when she stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

a small voice in the back of his head screams ‘stranger danger’ in capital letters at him, but he brushes it aside, trying to figure out what she could possibly want and whether that might be his kidney or one of the napkins he’s holding.

“you have a very beautiful girlfriend,” she says in that ambiguous, sage voice that the elderly have, and he’s caught off guard. not due to the voice, of course, but the mention of you. jake blinks, processing her words before nodding slowly.

“she’s not, erm, i mean, of course, she’s—”

the woman in the green cardigan laughs delightfully, eyes twinkling with amusement. “sweetie, breathe. we’re not the cia. you can talk about your girlfriend. in fact, you should. it keeps you both young.”

jake is too stunned to muster a reply. he eyes them carefully, wondering if this is a weird interaction or if he’s just never talked about you to anyone before. a second later, he realises—he really hasn’t. not to a stranger, not to anyone.

the thought repeats in his head, looping like a broken record. he’s never talked about you to anyone. and yet, it feels like praises about you live right on the tip of his tongue, like they’ve always been there, just waiting for an opening. so he tries it out. “her heart is even more beautiful,” he says shyly, testing the words, rolling them over like he’s trying to get a feel for them. “which is near impossible but she somehow makes it work.”

it feels weird, to be honest. like he’s revealing a well-buried national secret and endangering the country. the two women share a meaningful glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. his stomach twists. jake’s gaze flickers toward you, and an overwhelming wave of emotions crashes over him.

it’s more obvious now than ever. jake is stupidly in love with you. so much so that he has made an utter fool of himself time and time again in the name of keeping you a secret. like love could be something silent, something that exists in the shadows without growing restless. like it wouldn’t claw at the walls of his chest, begging to be let out.

he truly did think loving you quietly would make him feel better about everything. safer. less exposed. but now, faced with the weight of his own realisation, he sees how wrong he’d been. what was the point of all that caution if it only made him feel like this—like he’s been holding his breath for months, maybe even years?

now, he’s given the chance to do the complete opposite. and for the first time, he wants to take it. he wants to love you loudly, unapologetically. because it’s what you deserve. because it’s what he wants.

he exhales, glancing back at you. you’re focused on your phone, scrolling through something with a tiny crease between your brows. probably checking the responses to the tiktok, probably making sure minjun hasn’t ruined both your careers. always so careful, so thoughtful.

“she’s… incredible,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them. but they feel right, sitting on his tongue like they belong there. he doesn’t need to say more than that. doesn’t need to explain how you always make people feel comfortable, how you remember the smallest details about everyone you meet, how you laugh with your whole body like it’s the first time you’ve ever found something funny.

the women smile knowingly, and jake lets out a soft breath, something inside him settling.

“i’m very lucky.”

“she’s lucky, too,” the green cardigan woman says, her voice warm. “treat each other well, yes? a love like yours is rare. don’t do it the dishonour of keeping it in the shadows.”

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and amused. he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then nods—not just out of politeness, but because he hears her. really hears her.

the woman gives his arm a gentle pat before turning back to her friend, their conversation shifting elsewhere. jake exhales, then moves, crossing the distance between you in quick strides, taking the steps two at a time.

“should i be jealous?” you greet him with a teasing smile, taking the snacks from his arms.

he snorts. “they were just being nice. said you’re beautiful, by the way, and something about…” he hesitates, eyes flicking toward the field. “well, just… nice things.”

you watch him for a second, noticing the shift in his expression. but you don’t press, just shrugging it off and pulling down one side of your mask to take a bite of your corndog. your gaze drifts back to the cheer team as they work the crowd, the energy in the stadium picking up.

jake tries to focus, eyes darting to the blur of blue as cheerleaders and fans break into coordinated moves. but his mind keeps wandering back to what he’d just been told. normally, he’s not one to easily take anyone’s word as gospel, but this time, he can’t help it. it’s not just that he agrees—it’s the fact that he’s surprised by how much he does.

didn’t he spend all week trying to wrestle with this? he doesn’t want to put his relationship on display for everyone to pick apart—that’s the last thing he wants. but now, sitting here with you by his side in jamsil baseball stadium, he can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t matter.

he glances at you, completely unaware of his thoughts, and all he sees is his person. someone he never doubts. someone who loves him, and someone he loves in return. does anything else even matter?

occupied by his thoughts, jake doesn’t realise what’s happening around him until the clapping starts. he blinks, surprised, as you turn to face him, bright-eyed and joining in with the crowd. he looks around, confused for a moment, until his gaze lands on the jumbotron. instead of the game, it now shows a couple in the stands, both wearing the rival team’s merch. the man leans in and gives the woman a sweet kiss on the lips. her face turns red, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

it’s the kiss cam, jake realises, and reflexively claps with everyone else as the woman shyly hides her face behind his shoulder. the excitement echoes through the stadium, the chant growing louder.

he can’t help but smile as he watches them, their laughter infectious. “they’re adorable,” you comment, gaze still fixed ahead, oblivious to his smile. jake’s chest tightens, but the feeling isn’t quite discomfort. more like the recognition of something he hadn’t known he’d been longing for. something he now sees clearly.

your mask is hanging off your ear as you absentmindedly sip on your drink, and jake is so glad to see your lips again. it’s like running into an old friend he’s missed. sometimes, it feels like he spends more time missing them than actually getting to kiss them.

he’s about to reply when you suddenly choke, your back straightening in surprise. out of the corner of his eye, he sees people turning their heads, and even though the music is still blasting through the speakers, he’s sure he hears gasps rippling through the crowd.

without thinking, he shifts his attention away from you and glances up at the jumbotron for confirmation—and there it is. the two of you, front and centre, framed in a pink, sparkling heart.

his eyes flick to you as you glance around, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. it’s strange to see you so flustered when you’re usually the calm, collected one, especially in situations like this. but here you are, shifting awkwardly under the attention.

a voice from the crowd calls out, “kiss her, you fool!” followed by the sound of cameras clicking as everyone starts pulling out their phones. more voices join in, chanting in unison, and jake can see the tension in your body. you look uncomfortable, clearly not used to this sort of attention, and it’s hard to ignore.

he feels a wave of protectiveness, wanting to ease the situation and make you feel comfortable. seeing you out of your element like this—normally the one who knows how to handle everything—hits him differently. he’s already made up his mind, though.

this whole thing had been part of the plan from the start, and he’s not going to let it stress you out any longer. he wants to kiss you, right here, right now, because it feels right. it’s not about the spectacle, it’s about showing you how much he’s proud to have you by his side.

plus, you have quite literally already told him three times how being on the kiss cam was something you’ve always wanted to do before the game had even begun.

jake huffs a quiet laugh, his body moving on its own as he shifts in his seat. his gaze locks with yours, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of your panicked smile.

“guess we’re famous now?” you quip nervously, trying to make light of the situation. jake tries hard not to laugh, but the sound of it escapes before he can stop it.

he pulls down his mask, the crowd’s excitement swelling around you both.

he leans in, lowering his voice so only you can hear him. “what do you say?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “can i kiss you?”

he can see you thinking it over, your brows furrowing as nervousness peels away and you weigh your options. he already knows what you’ll say, but he still gives you the space to respond.

“we don’t have to do this, jake,” you whisper, the soft tone in your voice trying to make sure he’s comfortable too, even with thousands of eyes on you.

he smiles, the tenderness in your voice unfailingly melting him even more. “we don’t,” he agrees with a small shake of his head. “but i’ve never not wanted to kiss you, and i’m not starting now.”

your lips part slightly, eyes flickering up to his. the shift is almost imperceptible, but you feel it—his sudden insistence, the way he’s making this moment so much more than just a joke. the kiss cam, the crowd, all of it suddenly feels like less of a spectacle and more like something personal. something you didn’t expect but, deep down, have always wanted.

it’s strange, this feeling, and for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. the uncertainty that used to cling to you in moments like this is fading, replaced by something that feels surprisingly soft, sure. jake’s not just trying to make a spectacle of you; he’s actually trying to share this with you, to let you know that this is something he wants too.

your heart skips a beat. there’s no need for words, but you’re caught in the moment. a quiet nod is all you can muster, small but certain. “okay.”

his smile spreads before he even realises it. jake leans in, movements slow but purposeful, drawing it out just a moment longer. the kiss is tender, soft at first—he feels your breath mingle with his, the warmth of you close, the way you fit against him. it’s not rushed, not for the camera. it’s real. it’s something he’s wanted to do for so long, but this—this feels more like an act of love than just a kiss on a jumbotron.

you smile into it, and jake can’t help but grin too, the way your happiness settles deep in his chest. he knows the crowd is cheering, but all he can hear is the soft, breathy sound you make, the one that means you’re happy. the one that makes everything inside him flutter.

when he pulls away, the roar of the stadium hits him like a wave, but it feels distant, almost muted. you tuck yourself into his side, the sound of your laugh soft and light. there’s no turning back now. the world can know, and in this moment, jake couldn’t care less.

‘operation: no hate, just date’ has done its job.

he presses a quick, sneaky kiss to your temple, his grin still lingering, all warmth and love. he wraps his arm around you, pulling you just a little closer, the moment between the two of you nothing but pure joy.

alright. maybe jake is not the chill guy he thought he was. but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be.

all he’s ever wanted to be was a lover boy, and now it feels like he’s finally on the right track.

taglist: @jakeslvt @username-111222333444555 @pjselee

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. This kind of ran away from me. It was supposed to be quick and smutty but sweet, achy feels managed to sneak in, culminating into a pretty unhinged combination of tags. Don’t even ask. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

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For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“ Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Here's a horny headcanon for you. If Buck gets fucked regularly he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy's dick without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, you know? When there's a long break between sex though, Buck needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again. A warm bath to relax his muscles and get himself thoroughly clean, breathing exercises, Tommy needs to give him indulgent massages, first his entire body, then focusing on his hole. It's moments like these where Tommy likes to play with and finger at Buck's hole without ever entering it for a while. Instead he uses his fingers to tap, stroke, pulsate, circle, until it starts winking at him. Until it remembers him. You see, Buck has gone through his prep routine but now it's time for Tommy to go through his. Which involves tongue and finger fucking Buck until he's crying. Tommy partially drags things out out of genuine concern, to make sure Buck doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Another part wants to tease and chastise Buck's hole for having forgotten him.

oh my goodness anon... this is beautiful. i have no words, this is perfect, this is beautiful, this is everything.

i will love you forever and forever anon

[dalliancekay]

I have to go

So I was thinking this weekend about Good Omens (surprise surprise). And why I relate so much more to Aziraphale than to Crowley even if on paper, I'd have sworn Crowley is a lot more relatable.

And then I had a nightmare about my family and something clicked. Now look, my family is not awful. I mean not so awful anymore. My bully of a grandma died when I was 19 (20?) and my youngest brother was 9 and my alcoholic, often violent father left us and was never found until police came to confirm the body in a mortuary was his 6 years later. The rest of my family is a bit religious, a bit homophobic, full of body-shamers but nothing you would be particularly surprised by.

But anyway, I left them. I cannot vouch for how conscious a decision it was, back when I was fresh out of high school and announced I will go abroad for 6 months or a year (reader, it's been quite a bit longer than that). But I left.

And yep, I am made to feel guilty (and I do feel a bit guilty sometimes) about it when I visit once a year and I am asked to stay and consider my values and goals in life etc. SO ANYWAY

I guess I just feel like I relate to Aziraphale who was always aware that he was different, that he saw things differently, that he knew what was happening was not right and had no power to change it.

And he got the opportunity to leave and he did. Overtime, in many more ways than one.

And yet, when F15 happened, he was the one again who had to leave, to make a decision, to do something; a very hard decision but he had to go. And not to a place he loved. Rather quite the opposite. Somewhere he despised but had to choose over something worse (perhaps a specific threat, perhaps simply more uncertainty). Something that would hurt the only being he truly loves.

Angel!Crowley is an innocent with a lot questions when we see him in Before the Beginning. We don't know what happened during his Fall, we don't know how much he has changed by then, but we know he is changed now.

He was cast out, thrown out by the people who were supposed to love him, who were supposed to forgive. And they did not.

And I understand how many people relate to that. Coming out for who you are and being told you are wrong, bad, that you have to go go... and being thrown out.

And then the being you desperately love has to go too.

I think Crowley understands though. But I also understand how it hurts him.

And above all, I think Aziraphale is incredibly brave for making the decision to return and try to make a difference. Even if the difference was to be to make one more lonely angel like Muriel smile with his stories, I think he would have tried. But he will achieve a LOT more. And Crowley (and their love) will be indispensable to him when he does.

[beneathsilverstars]

people are wondering about loop in the au where the party stops siffrin from using the dagger in dormont and the ensuing conversation breaks the loops so let's see...

Siffrin would still want to go see Loop first thing afterwards, but everyone else would be verrry worried about him going off alone. He tries to inconspicuously wander off but Isabeau is immediately like, "Heyy buddy where are you off to? Mind if I come with?" Siffrin feels guilty for selfishly making everyone feel obligated to not leave him alone, and getting them all worried about an issue that isn't even what it looked like. So he's kinda hoping they won't be so worried about him now that they've beat the king and decided to stay together... but he's also afraid that if they stop worrying, they'll decide, okay, no need to stay together after all.

But luckily Siffrin doesn't have to sort all of that out right now, because they know Loop has complicated feelings about the party and doesn't want to see them, so they know they have to go by themself if they want a chance of talking to them.

They try to play it casual, "I'm just going to the favor tree, you don't have to come with me." But two can play at surface-level manners so Isabeau says "I want to, though, it's no trouble!" Siffrin doesn't want to refuse him point-blank, but they really want to talk to Loop... so they go back and forth another time or two before Isabeau's like "Look. You understand why I'm worried about you suddenly going off for no apparent reason, right? On your own, when you've been glued to my side for the last half hour? I... I don't want to stop you,'' (Does that mean that he wouldn't? Or that he would, but he'd be sorry about it?) "but I would feel a lot better about it if you brought someone with you? Doesn't have to be me. Or at least explained why you're going...? Sorry, I know it must be so annoying to have to explain your every move, but... it's been less than a day, since. y'know. And I'd be... I just want you to stay safe."

And oh, Siffrin hates that he's made Isabeau so upset, that he messed up so bad yesterday and that he's making it worse right now, that he's made him so concerned over nothing. So he hesitantly, carefully explains, "There's someone I want to talk to. at the favor tree. I... talked to them there yesterday? And. they might be there again today, but. they definitely won't talk to me if any of you are with me." And, okay, it's reassuring that Siffrin has a reason, and it doesn't even seem he's lying, but. Isabeau can't help but be worried anyway. Especially because this is apparently someone Siffrin talked to at right about the same time that he started acting weird, yesterday? What if this person made Siffrin feel worse, what if they did something that pushed Siffrin over the edge??

But he knows that's edging past reasonable concern into paranoia, so he just asks, "Would it be alright if I walked you to the edge of town at least? Since you're still kinda woozy, and, that way I'll be in earshot if you need me...?" And Siffrin agrees, very relieved to have found a compromise and actually glad for the continued company. And it occurs to them that Isabeau might be less worried about them if they didn't have their dagger on them, and, the day has already been saved... So he gives Isabeau his dagger, along with a promise that he's not gonna do that, and Isabeau does seem happier!

So off they go through Dormont. Isabeau stops farther back on the path just a bit before the bend, where he won't be able to see Siffrin or overhear casual conversation, but could definitely hear a shout and coming running. And Siffrin goes to the tree, and sees the coin, and... twohats ensues! The dialogue is somewhat different, though, because they never did entirely figure it out in the end, did they? They had started learning about wish craft, but Loop hadn't quite connected it yet and of course Siffrin refused to look at their own wish. And then, what a dramatic final loop!

So. More along the lines of, "That was it? Really? You just had to kill yourself in front of them to get everything you ever wanted? To break the loops? To never be alone again? To guilt them into staying forever, because they think you're going to slit your own blinding throat if they let you out of their sight? Sure! Whatever it takes! Never let anyone tell you suicide threats don't work~" and "Do you know how many times I killed myself? How many more times I died?? Did I just not do it right? Wrong time, wrong place? Did I not suffer enough? Was I not selfish enough? What did I do wrong!! Why do you get to escape and not me! I deserve this happy ending, not you!! Why do you get to stay with them and not me!!!"

But, hm. Loop was kinda really raising their voice there at the end, weren't they?

Loop's voice still sounds a bit odd — part inhuman form, part new habit, part intense emotion — but, they're not putting active effort into keeping up the mask right now. Not when they're this upset. Not when Siffrin already knows. And Isabeau hasn't seen Loop yet; he just heard their voice. And a couple of the things that voice said.

So Isabeau makes it around that corner while Loop is speaking more quietly. And then Loop says "STARS, killing you will make me SO HAPPY," and Siffrin reaches for their dagger and freezes as he realizes and remembers it's gone, and Isabeau speeds up, and Loop looks up and see him and freezes too.

And Isabeau says, "Sif?? I thought you promised you weren't going to kill yourself over here???"

Long story short, Loop panics and runs, Siffrin follows while shouting things trying to convince them to come back, so of course Isabeau follows too, and Siffrin almost collapses because they're still craft exhausted. Loop gives up and lets them catch up, and I do mean gives up, they just wanna lay down and die, if you can't go out with a bang there's nothing wrong with a whimper. But Siffrin and Isabeau refuse to leave them there, so they wait around and talk at them, and then run out of things to say and wait some more. Eventually Mirabelle finds them and she's very upset and glad they're okay, and at that point Loop gives up on giving up and quietly follows them back to Dormont, so Siffrin won't get himself more sick and all his friends more worried, staying out in the forest all night.

And so! The party knows who Loop is from the very start, but not anything about the time loops! Just that something very strange must have happened, to end up with two Siffrins and one of them a star.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SECOND; side a — for you - rita ora (ft. liam payne | s. reid x reader

w; nothing!!! besides it being a tad bit short. an; i had no idea what to write for this </3 i apologize 😔😔😔

mixtape here!

Valentine’s day — an excuse to wear something pretty, or to go out, or to simply just exchange and receive gifts before slipping into come cozy clothes and watching some cheesy comedy while eating pizza and eating yourself into a cookie coma. 

Though, yours is looking a bit…lonely. Even if you had dressed up, bought a new outfit and makeup, and did your hair, you’re at home. 

Waiting for Spencer. He had yet to call you to let you know if he was going to be late — so, at this moment, it feels as if he’d just dipped altogether. 

Although a better part of your mind knows that he would never — could never — forget about your plans, some distant part of your mind sets up that doubt and it starts to slowly bubble until you're in tears. 

It was late now — midnight — and you’re just now wiping off the makeup you’d taken your time with, and slip out of the new outfit you’d bought, to only slip into some pajamas and step into your kitchen to pour you a glass of white wine and grab the box of chocolates you’d gotten for both Spencer and yourself to share. 

Pressing play for ‘How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days’, you sit back and pull the covers over your legs as you take the first bite of chocolate just as your door quickly swings open. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer startles you, causing you to look over at him. He’s flushed, one of his cheeks is a bit more red than the other, yet still flushed. You look away then, remaining silent. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t forget, I just couldn’t make it,”

You think that makes you feel a bit worse than what he intended. You hear the door shut and the locks click before he walks over quickly, kneeling in front of you. 

“Try to understand, please. I was…I was dealing with Mom,” This catches your attention, your eyes drifting away from the television and landing on the man in front of you instead with heavy, tired eyes. “I couldn’t leave her in that kind of panicked state and I couldn’t get to my phone right away. I wanted to call you so bad, but—”

Moving the chocolates away from your lap, your hands immediately cup his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” You shake your head. You’d never truly stay mad at Spencer for long, and this time, you knew you really couldn’t blame him. “Breathe. I promise it’s okay.” You feel his head nod a bit in your grasp, his eyes slowly closing as he presses his own hand on top of your left one. 

You watch with a bit of worry, feeling your heart skip a beat when his lips press into your palm, lingering there. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone softly before leaning close and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

He pulls away slowly, yet staying close, allowing his nose to brush against yours as his eyes slowly open and looks into yours. You can see the beginning of when he starts to tear up, your heart clenching. 

“I’ll make up for it. I promise.” 

“Spence,” You shake your head, a small smile forming on your lips to reassure him. “I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t upset about it—”

“Because I would be able to tell.” He quickly adds. 

Your smile grows a bit as you nod. “Because you’d be able to tell,” You add. “But, I knew that there had to be something wrong for you not to call or anything. I also knew that you’d explain everything to me, even though you could just…not explain anything to me.” 

“But that’s what I’m supposed to do.” 

“Believe it or not, some guys don’t feel the need to explain why they never called or showed up. But you’re not some guy,” You tilt your head slightly. “You’re…you,” 

Before, that statement would feel Spencer with a sense of dread. He would never know if someone meant that in a good or bad way. But now, when you say it, he knows it’s something good. 

“You’re Spencer Reid. The kindest guy to ever exist,” You lean in close and feel his face heat between your palms, a smile spreading over your lips as they slightly brush his own. “And I’m the luckiest.” 

Sealing your lips against his finally, he lets out a small hum of content, eyes closing as his hand slips to your wrist instead. It’s a soft, sweet kiss that as him following after you when you pull away. 

“I love you.” You whisper. 

His eyes open and he looks at you. “I love you. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” You shake your head. 

“Okay. Sor—” Cutting his apology off with another kiss, you feel as his lips grow into a small smile against yours, his hands now moving to cup your face. Pulling away, he stares at you before pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Want me to stay?” 

“Would you?” 

“Of course,” He nods. Instead of squatting in front of you, he places himself next to you. He pulls you close, his fingers wrapped gently around your bicep. 

A small sigh leaves your lips when your head lays against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest and the moment he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, allowing them to linger there as his fingers drag up and down slowly along the side of your neck. 

“Spencer,” You whisper. He lets out a small noise to let you know he’s listening. “I hope you know you never have to explain anything you don’t want to,” His fingers stop their path. 

“Not until you’re ready, that is. You help a lot of people in a lot of ways — more than you know,” You nod. “That’s when I knew.” 

It remains silent, all besides the television playing slowly in the background. 

“Knew what?” Spencer finally whispers. 

“That I was in love with you.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @dearestjune — @sstar-ggirl

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, and feedback are welcomed and greatly appreciated!

[lilgarbitch]

For Better Or For Worse - Noah Sebastian

Beside You Pt. 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: more angst<3

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare

Y/N

It’s been about three years since that day, give or take. All I know is that time has passed and I’ve lost track. Things have changed, yet stayed the exact same. The pain has eased with time, but the love has yet to die. I’m still living in the old house, just changing as much of the interior as I could without feeling like I’ve lost too much. Because what else will be left when the hurt is gone? I now have a bed and sheets that have never touched his skin. A couch that didn’t home one or more of the boys in a time of need. The sad yellowing walls are now a light grey, with no sign of smoke stains or holes from bad decisions. Even I’ve changed. My hair is different, I’ve retired piercings, gotten new tattoos, and even changed my style. Things were different. Yet everytime I glanced into a room, I could see the memories replaying in my head like an old movie. Everytime I see the unclosed hole of my lip piercing, I’m reminded of Noah joining me for a last minute, impulsive decision. Everyday, I debate covering the tattoo that we got together when Nick started apprenticing, but then I see a photo of him on stage, singing with his arm raised, and I see that he still has his too. 

He’s changed too. Not to the point of losing recognition, but enough that I can tell he’s getting healthier out there. His voice has grown, his hair is shorter and choppy, and he’s fit into himself better than he ever has before. I don’t mean to look at pictures of him and the boys, but I could never unfollow their accounts. I could never pretend that my love died that day like they have. It’s an internal battle everytime I see him, debating if him leaving me behind was really what he needed to do.

But I know it wasn’t. Because in the days where I really miss him and really want to feel the grief of the past, I listen to their new music. It’s not hard to understand where the lyrics come from. I’ve known Noah for too long to ignore how he portrays his emotion through his music. But what I don’t understand is why. Why sing of regret? Why put yourself through all of this pain and misery when we could have lived a different way? Every time his voice rings through my home, all I can ask is would you have been there when I came home? Could you not have held on to another day, just for us to be together? I could have easily joined you in your journey, nothing else more important to me than you, so why make the decision for me? Especially when all it resulted in was the two of us living in regret? 

His regret being leaving. Of stupidly deciding that I was better off without him, even after years of me trying to prove that nothing could be worse than not having him by my side. Our lives may have never stopped that day, but I know, at least for me, that my will to try and make life worth living was gone the second he drove off. 

That leads to my regret. The regret of holding on for so long. To still be holding on. To the hope that one day, things can be okay again. Because I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll never see him again. Terrified that, one day, I’ll accept never seeing him again. Terrified that I won’t be okay again unless he comes back. Terrified that no matter the outcome, I won’t be happy again. And those are the days that I’ve lived for the past few years. In fear of losing someone I already lost. Because there was a day where I allowed him to pull me out of a dark and lonely place, only to allow him to push me back in, and still forgive him in hopes he’ll pull me out again. 

Noah

The days have become grueling again. I shoved my emotions into lyrics, pouring my rage and guilt into melodies, and it was a simple distraction…until tour started. And every song was another reminder of her. I didn’t even think. I was so focused on using my music as an outlet that I forgot it could bite me in the ass. That I’d be forced to travel back to Virginia, and sing these lyrics under the same sky. One we’d both be staring up at together again. 

I was more than grateful that Sumerian Records was able to get us an opening spot for Attila’s tour, but that meant within a month, I’d be back in Richmond and close to her again. Each night of the tour so far was painful, just counting down the seconds until the next day, because it was another day closer to home. And I don’t mean the home I grew up in, but the person I left behind. 

I had the whole world in my hands, and with one stupid decision, I gave it all away. What did I even think I would save? Life without her has been miserable. I thought I was helping both of us by leaving, but with every free moment I got over the last three years, all I could do was wish it was filled with her presence. I could’ve made it work, I just didn’t want to try. And I knew her long enough to know that she would’ve made it the easiest thing in the world. So this was my burden to take. Because I’m the only one to blame. I kept telling myself that she was so much better off without me. With nothing but the memories of my face. But now I know that, even if she was doing better, I wasn’t. Because I have no use now that she’s gone. 

I have no way of knowing how to deal with this. I knew better than anyone else that the decisions I made ruined things, but I couldn’t handle being back there and not trying. I knew the chances of me absolutely fucking everything up again by simply showing my face, but the risk was worth it. I couldn’t have a chance like this and not take it. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least see if there was a possibility to have her again. This could either destroy both of us completely, or finally be a second chance at being happy again. I had to take it. I had to do this, because I was running out of faith. 

TO BE CONTINUED

[thegoldenavenger]

musings about nyy's relationship to sqq and why i think one of the most interesting lenses to look at it is thru one where sqq did not explicitly abuse her the way he is accused of

so nyy who loves sqq because he's a source of stability and safety for her. nyy is the only female disciple (donghua only) (in any case the most important girl on the peak by a long shot) on a peak who's lord is capricious, aloof and rumoured lascivous who encourages his disciples to emulate him. being sqq's favored disciple carries with it safety and some privilege, perhaps financially but definitely socially on qing jing

sqq dotes on nyy by his standards. sy successfully argues that it is in character for sqq to help lbh (who he hates) on the basis that it will make nyy happy. this implies that there are instances where sqq gives nyy favors even when it makes lbh's life better (incidentally, mirroring qjl giving sj favors when qht wants it even though that ends up making sj's life worse later). the mission wasn't in pidw, we only know that og!sqq didn't put lbh in his carriage (or else it would've been important enough to include in the pidw text) but it is likely that nyy spoke up the same way in PIDW and sqq just handled it differently (perhaps letting lbh on nyy's horse and letting nyy ride in the carriage). (also, obviously, sqq picks up another disciple bc nyy asked for one once recreating the cycle of giving basically a dress up doll to a sheltered girl)

regardless, this shows that sqq does favor nyy in tangible ways and she isn't projecting the relationship. however, sqq does Not reciprocate or provide for nyy in typically paternal fashion. for example, the system says that it is in character for sqq to stay inside instead of accompany nyy to the market enough so it makes him tell her to ask literally anyone else (including lbh who he doesnt trust or see as competant) to walk around town while a murderer of young girls is on the loose.

i love interpeting this as some kind of terrible codependancy where sqq is using nyy to mirror and fix or overcome his past traumas by projecting qht upon her and replacing qjl as himself. now he holds all the power. and nyy imprinted on him, feeling the closest to him compared to her shixiong, as well as herself being likely isolated by sqq's favor, which leaves him as her closest relationship prior to lbh.

the thing with children is that, even for adults it's very hard to reconcile a person being nice to you, and then being mean to someone else. so for nyy whose whole safety system is sqq, and whose closest relationship was with sqq before lbh, it's no wonder she has a terrible time believing that lbh's treatment is cruel and unusual. besides the genre conventions of the premise and corporeal punishment perhaps (not confirmed) being accepted, nyy's own experiences help blind her to the reality of lbh's circumstances. because sqq treats her fairly, and she sees lbh failing at cultivating, being late to class (bc of extra chores or whatever), and she doesn't always see first hand him being punished or bullied, she automatically assumes the treatment lbh recieves at sqq's hands is deserved. this is compounded by lbh literally telling her to her face that sqq and his shixiongs are doing him a kindness aklsjfslka when she DOES try to help him

(obviously not his fault, her help often gets him into more trouble that she isnt there to see but it does help keep her believing the narrative that it's lbh's fault for making sqq mad or disappointed to the point of punishment.)

so we have nyy who things sqq isnt doing anything bad to lbh except that sometimes it makes her sad when lbh is hurt. we have lbh who turns to nyy for comfort even though that comfort often returns to him worse later. and sqq who is purpetuating cycles.

i also think, it would be very interesting if, to add to the weird ambiguous nature of sqq's and nyy's relationship, would be if sqq used her to help regulate his own emotions. i believe in the novel mf informs nyy when lbh gets punished by sqq (i am not sure if that's something im making up, sorry i dont have access to the novels rn) but regardless, i like to think it's because sqq is repeating behaviors he learned in the past, specifically, finding a calm in a girl nearby after letting himself go off on lbh for whatever reason. i like this reading for several reasons. the first: it adds another layer onto nyy and sqq's relationship that continues to make it suspicious and odd to outside viewers. the second: it reinforces nyy's believe in sqq's perspective of the narrative because she'd see sqq's aftermath before lbhs (due to cultivation and lbh's nature, giving him time to recover before nyy sees him). and third: it creates an unstable surface for nyy to stand upon.

sqq is her safety net but she is not unaware that he has lines that can be crossed that result in punishment. being a girl and sqq's favorite shields her from having to excel in swordsmanship and cultivation, but it can't shield her from everything and her closest friend being lbh who she knows is working hard but still gets punished all the time has to instil some sort of uncertainty upon her that if she steps wrong sqq may turn on her. she IS unaware that she could never cross sqq's line though, what with being a girl and sqq not believing that women have agency or are, like. people.

(RE sqq's benign misogyny: i believe that just doesn't. see women as fully realised complex human beings. i think his past as a slave really imprinted him the helplessness that girls are subjected to and even (to his perspective) foster. like? the girls he grew up with were taken advantage of, and then qht was so naive that she couldnt comprehend that sj's life might actually be a little bit bad when she wasn't looking. i think women, to him, are creatures to be pitied that cant actually harm him. he doesnt, as far as i remember, ever blame qht for her participation in his trauma. nor blame nyy for her participation in his trial whether her accusations were true or not. if he blames anyone it is the men he sees as manipulating them when he cannot be that man himself. so, there's that)

and then. the lingxi caves and the demon invasion arc. sqq murders liu qingge and fails to murder lbh. (allegedly)

i think it is heavily implied in the novel if not outright stated that the invasion arc was the turning point in lbh's views on sqq. previous to this he was holding onto the belief that he was doing something wrong and if he was just good enough sqq would praise him. that his shixiongs were mean but he'd become stronger for it. but after winning an impossible duel and his peers on the sect praising him, but sqq still hating him finally proves to him that sqq hates him and nothing can change that. that all this time sqq had just been cruel to him for no reason. (also, meng mo's influence upon him cementing that truth to him)

and on top of this we and liu mingyan, who sees lbh win and sqq's disdain of him and then finds out her only remaining family has been murdered in a cave by someone who should have been able to be trusted. AND. then watch as that murderer is pardoned by everyone.

so i think this is the point lmy starts hanging out with lbh and nyy. lmy and lbh bonding over sqq being a pos and lqg's murder and how unjust cang qiong is. i think it is possibly lmy that helps lbh see that it's not just sqq that's rotten, that the entire sect is aiding and abetting him. when sy wakes up in sqq's body and asks where lbh is yqy already knows sqq had him strung up in the shed. why? bc yqy was the one to find them and didnt do any thing about lbh? or someone reported that sqq qi deviated while punishing lbh and made the conscious decision not to tell anyone to let lbh down? whatever way it's obvious yqy has deferred to his shidi's decisions on his peak and seeings as yqy also did not pursue sqq for lqg's murder lmy would have reason to dislike him just as much as lbh, and perhaps help lbh see the dissonance between sect leader and his favoritism

so nyy's best friend lbh is now friends with a cooler, older girl who keeps talking shit about sqq. and i think, nyy could respond one of two ways. 1) distance herself from lbh and lmy and cling to sqq even harder. or 2) start becoming a little rebellious. lmy, raised on a peak of women for women who already is suspicious of and hates sqq, whose own brother talked about sqq's presence at brothels, would obviously be concerned about nyy's closeness with sqq. i think, either out of genuine worry and comeraderie or calculation, she could start pressing on nyy's relationship with sqq, with lbh helping

the thing is, i think both lbh and lmy could have genuine worry for nyy but i also think theyre both absolutely capable of manipulating nyy as well. just depends on the story youd like to tell. they both can be true at once, even.

anyways, nyy is jealous and in a precarious position, wants to keep her place as lbh's best friend and maybe be cool in her shimei's eyes as well, so i think it is very very plausible that she lets them talk her into also being a bit worried about her relationship with sqq. she's already living with the uncertainty of knowing sqq can be cruel, and now her two closest peers being suspicious of him all coalescing into unstable footing for nyy

THEN we have the immortal alliance conference and lbh's presumed death.

five years where nyy has to wonder if sqq killed her best friend and lmy is there to tell her, well. he killed my brother and hated lbh who would have stopped him? c:

five years of nyy wrestling with her grief as sqq spits on lbh's memory and lmy is there to comfort and grieve with her and protect her from sqq.

and then lbh comes back and nyy and lmy are there to be his inside sources at cqms (besides sqh who is. you know, another thing this isnt about him)

lbh comes back and can tell nyy to her face that sqq tried to murder him, that means of course he murdered liu qingge and this just. has to recontextualise everything for nyy. (at this point, lbh has also canonically dragged nyy into his dreams so, there is a fun additional element where lbh could have influence nyy's perception and memories through that)

by the time qiu haitang is added, and lmy and lbh can build an entire trial around her story, nyy is in the perfect place to join that testimony. she cannot refuse that lbh was mistreated, that lmy's quest for revenge is unfounded, she no longer can hide behind her doubts. :3 and qht, she's an older nyy isn't she? she was the innocent young lady who's entire world was turned upside down by sqq. she knows what nyy is feeling, her grief, the inability to believe sqq is capable of something like this! but he is! and she's there to help her.

so nyy, filled with guilt and not able to 100% trust her own memories, and still filled with a childish sense of justice… that's how she decides to testify against a man who has shaped her childhood regardless of whether he was, personally, intentionally, abusive of her. (though i do think even at his most charitable he was neglectful of her needs)

and i'm so ENCHANTED by the idea that she does this to help her friends lbh and lmy, and this stranger who she comes to know qht, get justice and then is shocked and horrified and betrayed when this leads to the razing of cqms, that this leads to sqq's prolongued and disproportionate torture. and i am ENCHANTED by the concept that she still loves lbh and cant blame him bc he's earnest and open and she remembers him as this sweet boy who came to her to hide from bullies and she still cannot rectify that a person can be two things at once, or, that she cant overcompensate for the difference bc look at what happened to sqq when she did that so she still loves him and closes her eyes to all his faults. he's kind to her.

this may be. my own bias but i like to think she blames lmy because everything was fine before she started hanging out with lbh and talking about how sqq killed her brother! maybe, if she hadn't convinced lbh that sqq hated him, lbh would have been a better disciple and sqq would never have tried to kill him and they could all be a happy family on qing jing peak. :)

and that's how nyy and lmy nasty hatefuck

uh addendum is how sqq gives lbh his view on women. that they're pitiable creatures who can't ever truly hurt him. by recreating the cycle that traumatised him, sqq also perpetuated his own view about the passivity of women, teaching lbh that. the way sqq never blamed qht for her complicity in his trauma, is the way lbh never blames a woman for hurting him and abusing him, instead folding them into his harem. lbh doesn't conceptualise women as real people, merely objects that have been acted upon by men and he should be the man who helps them. but that's a different essay i think?

[mouserthefirst]

sevika fluff for @sapph0ediva! if this isn't quite what you wanted, feel free to lmk :) this is my first time writing sevika so i hope you enjoy <3

word count: 819 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When Sevika woke up from losing her fucking arm, she was expecting…well, maybe not an apology from Silco, but maybe a few day’s leave or something. Maybe a get well soon card from one of Silco’s henchmen which they would be predictably too scared to give to Sevika. She was certainly not expecting the Eye of Zaun himself to have adopted a goddamn child.

     But a child is what she finds sitting in Silco’s office, face covered in snot, hair in a ratty braid. Sevika’s still a little off-balance – losing an arm will do that to you, asshole – but she feels like falling over when she sees this snotty, raggedy little kid wearing Silco’s jacket around her thin shoulders, sniffling into the collar.  

     “The hell is this?” she rasps. God, she needs a cigarette. It’s too early in the day to deal with more of Silco’s bullshit.

     The kid looks up, eyes giant and glassy with tears. “I-I—”

     Sevika moves to put her hands on her hips, and when only one actually does so, she feels a pang of annoyance. It’s going to take a while to get used to this. “I just lost my arm, kid. Don’t make me lose my patience too.”    

     That seems to make the kid even worse. “I’m, sniff, sorry.”

     Sevika rolls her eyes and stalks past the kid to the cigar box on the desk. She intends to ignore it until the kid’s watery eyes on her back get too annoying to overlook. “Look, if you want to stare at someone, go bother somebody else.”   

     The kid just lets out a little sob.

     Sevika’s fingers tighten around her cigar. She’s been on her last straw for a while now, but this takes the cake in terms of the shit she lets Silco get up to. Still, there’s something in her, something she’d never admit exists, that wants to comfort the kid. She’s sure it’s nothing. “What’s your name then, kid?”

     “Pow – Jinx,” the kid says quietly, then repeats a little firmer, “it’s Jinx.”

     “’Kay then,” says Sevika. Weird ass name, but who’s she to judge? “Jinx. What’re you doing here?” 

     “S-Silco found me,” Jinx sniffles. “He said I could stay.”

     Sevika scoffs and shakes her head as she lights up. “Of course.”

     “Did I say something wrong?” Jinx asks, eyes big.

     “Nah, it’s not you,” Sevika says. “Just…fucking bosses, y’know?”

     “Not really,” Jinx snivels.

     Sevika shrugs – the kid’s probably got a point, what would she know about bosses? – but before she can think of what to say next, Jinx is back to crying.  

     The kid’s covered in snot and looks like she hasn’t slept or washed up in a few days. Sevika’s seen some nasty stuff in her time, but seeing a kid like this never brings her pleasure. “Listen, I’m sure everything’s gonna be fine. Always is.”

     Jinx lets out a muffled sob and before Sevika can blink, the kid’s throwing her small body across the room at her. Thin arms wrap around her waist and Jinx’s head leans against Sevika’s stomach as she cries. Sevika awkwardly reaches up to pat the kid’s blue hair, hand running over her short, stubby little braid. Her sobs make Sevika feel a flash of pity, just for a second.

     “Hey, what did I say?” she says gruffly. “Everything’s good. I’ve just gotta clean up Silco’s messes like always. And you’ll, uh, do whatever you do. Just like always, yeah?”

     The kid’s arms tighten around her waist. She can’t be older than twelve, but she’s got some strength in her, somewhere in that little body.

     They stay like that for a while, and Sevika swears she’s gonna rip Silco a new one for this. But when Jinx falls asleep on the couch, some ratty toy bunny in her thin arms, Sevika can’t help but let a bit of her anger go. It’s not that she likes the kid – in fact, Jinx is really goddamn annoying – but a part of her feels sort of bad for her. She hates to see it, but she can see why Silco decided to keep her. He probably sees a piece of himself in the girl or something dramatic like that. 

     After that, Sevika sort of takes care of Jinx. She swears she’s just doing her job, and they both hate each other equally, but she’d be lying if she said a part of her doesn’t feel like the kid is someone she’s supposed to protect. She’s fought out of obligation her whole life – it feels sort of nice to be fighting for someone just because she wants to.

     And sure, they don’t have anything in common. Sevika’d rather turn bluebelly than spend an hour with Jinx, and she’s pretty sure the kid feels the same way. But that doesn’t mean Sevika privately thinks Jinx isn’t too bad at all – it’s just that she’d never tell a soul about it.

[msfantasy]

Ouija Boards are Something Else

Ghost x Reader

Summary: Your friends Victor, Emma and Sophia are over and think it’s a good idea to play with a Ouija board

Part 3

“Is it true you have a ghost in the house?” Emma asks, leaning in and grinning at your feigning reaction.

“Um… if you believe in that stuff.” You do, you totally do and after all, you’ve been allowing him play with your body- never quite escalating to sex but always helping you get off. But you do not dare to admit such a thing to your friends out of fear of sounding insane.

“Good- because I had a great idea!” Emma exclaims excitedly, pulling out an Ouija board much to your horror.

“Girl stop playin” Victor deadpans, unamused with Emma’s antics.

“Don’t be such a scaredy cat Victor! Aren’t you curious about who he is and why he’s here?” Sophia eggs you on, pushing the board at you- as if you really had a say in the matter.

“I-don’t know guys.” You were curious. Of course you want to get to know your supposed lover, but you were nervous that the cat would escape the bag.

Ever since you let him touch your body. The eerie feeling of being watched evolved to a constant state, regardless of if you’re running around doing chores or sitting on the couch- you feel the sensation of someone near. You even started to catch glimpses of a male figure right out the corner of your eye. It’s become so frequent, you don’t even spare a second glance anymore. Knowing it’s just the ghost in your house.

After consulting a haunted forum for advice, you tried to ignore him, but it only seemed to get worse. Your cash, keys, or purse and so on would go missing, and would often stay missing until you beg the house ghost to return your possessions to its rightful place. Beyond the eeriness of being observed, catching glimpses and having your belongings moved, it’s really not a bother to have a ghost. Especially when he takes care of your needs so well.

Though it’s apparent you two will be stuck together for quite sometime…

“Come on- what’s the worst that could happen?” Sophia encourages making Victor roll his eyes. As if acknowledging the ghost wasn’t bad enough, you might as well taunt it to do its worse.

“I ain’ touching this foolishness, but do what you want.” Victor states, patting his hair down nervously.

Emma giddly begins to set up the Ouija board, placing tea candles around to enhance the spooky aesthetics.

Sophia, Emma and you place your hands lightly on the planchet and move it to ‘Hello’. As soon as the circle hovers over the greeting the fuse box blows out and all the lights switch off leaving nothing but the candles to provide some light.

“Oh my god!” Victor exclaims taking a deep breath in to calm his frazzled nerves. “Oh dear Jesus!” He exclaims once again, placing his hand over his heart. “Look at what y’all made me do! Y’all making me pray to Jesus!”

You couldn’t have been more grateful to have Victor with you- his terror filled scolding only pulling away your fright with his humours antics. “Relax Victor- he likes you remember.” You taunt wiggling your eyebrows making Victor to suck on his teeth in irritation.

“What’s your name?” Sophia asks, the planchet moved immediately.

J. A. C. K.

Sophia begins to grin at you. “Jack, are you the one haunting Y/n?”

The planchet slides to ‘Yes’

“Do you like Y/n?” Emma asks and the planchet circles and lands back on Yes.

“Will you hurt Y/n?” Victor asks and the planchet flys out from under the girls hands and lands on ‘no’

Leaving you behind with the Ouija board - the two girls scurry backwards into Victor, huddling together like baby birds in a nest, all holding each others hands in solidarity.

“What do you want?” You ask and the planchet slides.

Y. O. U.

The planchet slides off the table and all of the power switches on, lighting up the whole house. The old radio sitting in the corner switches on, a static sound blaring before the song ‘I’ll make love to you’ by Boys II Men begins to play. Your breath hitches in shock at the very brazen want expressed. You look over at Victor unsure on what to say, but he just shrugs his shoulders indifferently.

“You got yourself a lil ghost boyfriend.” He says with a little shimmy of the chest, immediately removing all of your stresses again. “Jay Jay, if you hurt my bestie we will exorcise this house.” He says.

The radio booms a static sound as the radio hums a new song ‘Never gonna let you down, Never gonna run around and desert you’ Victor sucks his teeth again.

“This bitch just Rick rolled me.” He says indignantly, immediately breaking all the tension hanging in the air, all three girls burst out laughing, returning back to the Ouija board.

“Guys- i don’t want to spell shit all night. Let’s download an EVP app so Jack can just talk.” Emma suggests pulling out her phone already tapping away at the App Store. She places the phone on top of the Ouija board, prompting Victor to ask his burning question.

“Why are you haunting Y/n?”

“Lonely.” Jack answers. Your heart just about jumps out of your throat. It’s not hard to imagine being stuck in the veil, watching the living go about life, not acknowledging you would be… torture. “I was wondering how much longer you were going to ignore me.” A shiver goes up your spine, knowing you were indeed trying to ignore Jack, hoping he will leave you alone.

“How’d you die?” Sophia asked, receiving slap to the arm from Emma. “Oh sorry, is that rude to ask?”

“I’m not actually dead, but I’m not alive either~” Jack answers ambiguously leaving you all to pass odd looks to each other. “Let’s just say, that witch craft was all the rage in the 90s and to never date a witch. Lesson. Learnt.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock.

You weren’t sure what you were more horrified by. The fact that Jack is becoming more coherent the longer you all engage him or by the fact that he’s the way he is because of… witch craft. The idea that you could be cursed in such a way was more terrifying than the idea of just dying and becoming a ghost.

“Can you show yourself?” You ask, causing Victor to place a death grip on your hand. “Just close your eyes Victor.” You say, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

You, Emma and Sophia, sit there with baited breaths, waiting for a creepy figure to appear before their eyes, and sure enough. Jacks misty ghost figure appears before your eyes, slowly he’s becoming more and more discernible. Emma and Sophia gasping in shock- causing Victor to almost crush your hand.

“What’s with that frowny face?” Jack coos, making your cheeks warm in embarrassment.

“I just thought I might get to see you.” You whisper, feeling his cold hand rake through your hair. Slowly, the transparent soul becomes more opaque, his body clad with baggy cargos and a baggy hoodie which is pulled up showing nothing but a black void. “Where’s your face?” You ask, reaching up to touch where his face should be, but Jack catches your wrists and holds your hand.

“Can’t show that to you boo - seeing a ghosts face means certain death for humans.” Your skin grows goose bumps. Hearing Jacks voice directly from the source, rather than through an EVP.

Jack leans in and whispers in your ear. “The more you acknowledge me- the more energy I get. Offerings and prayers will replenish my spirit.”

And just like that Jack disappeared.

Leaving your friends in shock at what they had witnessed.

[that-crippling-urge-to-run]

I imagine freedom as a sort of foreign concept sometimes and not something I can gain.

It is as simple as running away, disappearing through the cracks of society. It is not having a home beneath a wildfire of plagues.

If freedom was a drink, it would be tea. All natural and sour and bitter but unaltered and delicious.

I think freedom would taste like dandelion tea, bitter and hard to manage but delicious yet. I think it is sweeter than the current acorn.

It would be drinking dandelion tea, looking to the sky.

It would be wonderful, for everyday to be started with a sky not diluted with light pollution or smog. To see the sun in its fullest, purest form instead of seeing it with a layer of filth over it.

It would be lovely, to see the sky through the canopy.

It can be beautiful, to sleep in trees. Cold, lightless nights gentled by the sound of the night, and broken by an early dawn. It would be beautiful, to be full of twigs and leaves instead of concrete and rebar.

When I look at the forests, I do not see a beautiful landscape, I see home.

I am rational, I will not run but I know in my narrow that the moment I have no obligations to society anymore I will leave, and I will return for only three things.

One day I will be in a tree and that is enough for now.

[brown-little-robin]

I think I'm in the "conscious incompetence" stage of being a social animal in the real world and it sucks so majorly. bro what do you do after you realize you're bad at socializing and then in-person interaction gets harder because you know you're failing at it now.

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍

[solace-seekers]

screaming into the void <3

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[batemanofficial]

.