#and i promise that it doesn’t hurt them at all

[whereisloe]

my angel ໒꒱

“come from way above” ❀ sevika x reader 𓆝. 𓆟

Got this idea while writing a Silco fic and realized not enough people are writing for this fine ass woman OHMYGOF

I miss my wife, tails. i miss her a lot.

“This doesn’t hurt, does it?” you’d ask as you treated Sevika’s wound, carefully watching every faint expression on her face as you did so. She only grunted in response before letting her head fall into her hand. Considering the positions you both assumed, the woman had been towering over you as you sat comfortably between her legs dressing her abdominal wound. “Aaw , we’re almost done. Just keep being good for me, yeah?” You’d tease with a passive pat to her thigh as you prepped yourself to wrap her waist.

“Shut up” She’d force through a wince as you applied pressure to the deep cut, wrapping it as you did so. “You talk too much”

Once you finished the wrap your hands were quick to roam. Snaking up her chest, and latching onto her neck as you pulled your lips onto her jaw. “Keep getting hurt like this and I might just have to give Silco a little visit for all the trouble he keeps putting you through” Sevika scoffed, half-amused at your wit as she leaned back into the chair. “That man would eat you alive, sweetheart” The petname came off more condescending than endearing as Sevika undermined your words, even brushing off the genuine concern behind the joke with a bittersweet smirk.

“Oh, you promise?” Now it was your turn to laugh as you watched that smirk wipe clean off her face when her expression grew darker. You ignored her very obvious mood change and continued cleaning up your gear. “Y’know, maybe I could get you that pay raise. What do you think?” You’d stand from your crouched position and slowly spin around, flaunting your body at the woman. You even grabbed her rugged hand and bring it to your hip as you knelt into the seat of the chair that had been exposed between her legs.

“Hilarious.” She wouldn’t even half mind you as her hand quickly replaced your hip with a cigar. You rolled your eyes at her passiveness before returning to the ground to clean up your mess. At some point you even walked away allowing Sevika to smoke in peace as you cleaned your equipment.

Once you reentered the room, you’d find Sevika casually reclined on your couch with an unlit cigar still hanging out the side of her mouth. As you got closer her eyes locked on to you, roaming you up and down but once they reached your face, they softened. Just two gentle, big eyes admiring from a distance as you admired back. You were snapped out of your trance when she threw a lighter at you. You caught the metal with ease and examined it. “You forgot to light me” She said plainly, attempting to hide the sentiment she held toward the action. It was reminiscent of the first time the two of you met outside a brothel. Long story short, Sevika was quick to describe you as a huge distraction to her mission that day despite your short interaction that even you barely remembered.

“How cruel of me” You knelt down in front of the couch, now back to admiring your partner from below as her half lidded eyes met your wide ones. Her hand, rough as it was, gently held your cheek as her thumb brushed over your bottom lip. You felt yourself melt into her warm palm as the contrast between her calloused hand and your plush skin sent chills down your skin. You sparked the lighter twice before bringing it to the end of Sevika’s cigar.

She watched you. Allowing the flame to illuminate your soft expressions, and in her eyes, manipulating your features. Making you resemble yourself that night many years ago. She wasn’t any less taken by your more aged features if anything she appreciated them. Glad to see you grow older alongside her than having to admire your beauty from an ageless photo. You would notice her unwavering stare once you tossed the lighter aside and decided to make brief conversation. “You know, I don’t remember much of the first time we met” Sevika took a puff of her cigar before nodding urging you to continue. “But I remember without a doubt the second time”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t” She chuckled under her breath as the memories came flooding in. You took note of her already flaking cigar as she held it between her two fingers. Quickly, you placed your ceramic tray gently to her stomach just in time to catch the ash. “That guy had a lot of nerve putting his hands on you, you’re lucky I was there. Otherwise, who knows the things he would’ve did—” Sevika cursed at the thought.

“Well, you were there and I am forever grateful for you,” your voice was low as you rub senseless shapes across her wrist with the pad of your thumb. “my angel” the words were hushed as you kissed the base of her palm, then her wrist, down her arm, and back up her shoulder until you reached her nape where you took a moment. In this time, you pushed yourself onto her, feeling her shift to a more seated position to accommodate for you, you straddle her hips as you tossed your arms carelessly over her shoulders. The ceramic tray had fallen out from under you meeting the concrete with a shattering sound as the shards dispersed. “Damn it” You sighed as you began shifting away from your partner only for her to rest a heavy hand on your waist.

“I’ll clean it, later” Sevika gently guided you back into herself only to latch onto your neck. A shaky breath left your agape lips as you laid helplessly above Sevika. The heat in your cheeks only spread as she shamelessly left those sticky love bites all over your neck.

The sounds that fell from your lips only further egged her on as she found herself getting lower and her hand higher as it slid up your stomach. Eventually, you grew fed up with her slow teasing and brought your fingertips to the seams of your shirt and watched as Sevika’s gaze grew harsh with anticipation. You were ready to lift the cloth but quickly felt your blood run cold as three heavy knocked fell against your front door. You practically jumped out your skin as Sevika scowled at the source of the noise. “Fuck, I’ll get it” You held a hand over your heart as your slowly opened the door, meeting the eyes of a man who seemed to be one of Silco’s goons.

“Sevika, boss needs ya” The man completely disregarded you. You huffed under your breath and glanced up noticing how she was already behind you, prying the door further open. “Gotchu, now get the hell out of here before somebody sees you” Sevika’s voice was cold and harsh as she talked with the man, her tone almost foreign to you as you waited behind the door for Sevika to finish. Once she did, the door was shut with a frustrated grunt as she leant up against the door contemplating her next move.

“You need me to kill him?” From behind, you brought both your arms around her, pressing your face against her shoulder, you felt her laugh. “I’m sure you could.” She turned around and pressed a brief kiss to your temple. “Drinks on me next date to make up for this”

“Drinks are always on you” Your thumbs rubbed anxiously against her waist as you become increasingly aware of how much you hated when she left.

“Guess I need to stop fucking up, then” She gave your cheek on last stroke before turning to leave only to be stopped when you grabbed her mech hand. “You’re off to a bad start if you’re just gonna leave like that” You pulled yourself into her chest, standing on your toes as your lips locked with hers. Moving in tandem, Sevika fell against the door as you cupped her face in your palms and grew warm as her hand fell on the small of your back. Toward the end of your kiss you felt that warm, genuine smile of hers form against your lips as you fell back onto your heels.

“Be sure to fly back home to me, my angel”

god punishes me by making my wives fictional :( also have yall read that hexstrap fic??? sevika please just the tip 🙏😩

[eu-nicola]

enemies

summary: the love-hate relationship between Rafe and you

warnings: small mention of violence

word counter: 4151

author's note: english is not my first language

The first time you met Rafe Cameron, you were barely six years old. You clearly remember how his stepmother, Rose, welcomed you into her home with a perfect smile, while your mother insisted that you play with him and Sarah so that you wouldn’t be alone. 

The Cameron house was as intimidating as its miniature owner. Rafe was nine years old and had an attitude that made him seem much older. He looked down at you from the top of the stairs as if you were an intruder, someone who didn’t deserve to be in his space. 

“She’s the Davies’ daughter?” he asked in that mocking tone that would become his trademark. 

“Yes, and I want you to be nice to her.” Rose ruffled his hair before turning to you, but Rafe’s gaze was already fixed on your shoes, which were muddy from playing outside before coming in. 

“I hope she doesn’t touch anything, Rose.” His voice was dry, as if he was already tired of you before he really met you. 

From that day on, your relationship with him was marked by constant clashes. Every visit to the Cameron house felt like a cold war disguised as childish games. He always found ways to make you feel out of place, like the time he took your doll from your hands while you were playing with Sarah and threw it across the garden.

“If you don’t know how to play well, don’t play.” That phrase of his stuck in your mind.

In adolescence, the gap between you grew wider. While Rafe became the most popular boy among the Kooks, you began to spend more time with the Pogues. Your visits to the Cameron house became less frequent, and when they coincided, things always ended badly.

“Look at you, you’re a Pogue now.” His tone was always hurtful, accompanied by that arrogant smile that got on your nerves.

“And you’re still the same idiot as always.” Your response was almost automatic, as if after so many years the discussions between you were a rehearsed routine.

But the real problem wasn't just his words. It was the way he always found a moment to annoy you. During a beach party hosted by Kooks, for example, Rafe made sure your drink ended up spilled all over your new dress.

But it wasn't all enmity, when the search for gold began, your world became more complicated. You spent your days with the Pogues, planning, looking for clues, and trying to avoid Rafe, who seemed willing to do anything to get the treasure. The tension between you, which was already high, skyrocketed. It wasn't just childish enmity now; it was real danger.

Rafe had no limits. His eyes were always filled with that spark of arrogance, but behind it was something darker, something that made him unpredictable. Despite that, you never imagined you'd find yourself in the position you found yourself in one afternoon in the dense woods surrounding the Outer Banks.

You were following a trail of marks on the trees along with JJ and Kiara when you heard a noise. You broke away from the group, promising them you’d be back quickly. What you found was Rafe, kneeling beside a steep slope, holding his leg in a wince of pain. The ground beneath him was wet, almost muddy, and it looked like he might slide down any second. 

You stopped dead in your tracks. Part of you wanted to turn on your heel and pretend you hadn’t seen him. After all, Rafe wouldn’t have done the same for you, would he? But another part, that part you always tried to stifle, knew you couldn’t just leave him there. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe snapped at you as you cautiously approached. His voice was heavy with distrust, but there was also a hint of relief he tried to hide. 

“I should be asking you the same thing. What happened?” You couldn’t keep the tone of your voice from being harsh. After all, he had done a lot of things that warranted your hatred. 

“I slipped. My leg… I can’t move it.” His face was pale, and his hands shook slightly as he tried to brush away the mud that covered his pants.

There was a long silence. You could have left him there. You could have turned and gone back to the Pogues. But something inside you wouldn’t let you.

“This doesn’t mean I owe you anything,” you said as you crouched down beside him.

Rafe looked at you in disbelief. “Are you helping me?”

“Shut up and don’t make it harder, Cameron.”

You offered him your arm and helped him up, leaning his weight on you as you slowly moved forward. It was an awkward process; his size made each step harder. But there was something odd about the silence you shared, a momentary truce amidst all the hostility.

When you finally dropped him off somewhere safe, away from danger, Rafe looked at you with a mix of wounded pride and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not going to thank you,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t expect you to,” you replied, wiping the sweat from your brow. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait.” His tone was softer than you’d heard before, almost vulnerable. You turned slowly to look at him.

“What?” you asked, tired.

“Did you see anything?” His question was direct, his gaze piercing.

You understood immediately. Rafe wasn’t just hurt; he was there for something related to gold. Maybe he’d found a lead, something he didn’t want the Pogues to know about. You could have told him the truth, that you’d noticed a map in his pocket when you helped him, but you chose to lie.

“No, I didn’t see anything.” Your voice was firm, although inside you felt a small knot of guilt.

Rafe seemed to relax a little, although he still looked at you with distrust.

Later, when the Pogues found a clue that fit too well with the area where you had seen Rafe, he understood what you had done. Someone, perhaps Sarah, told him that you were near the area when you separated from the group. It didn’t take much for him to put the pieces together.

The next time you saw him, his expression was completely different. There was no vulnerability or truce anymore, only fury.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he snapped at you, coming dangerously close.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to remain calm, although you knew exactly what he meant.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You lied to me. You took what was mine!” His voice was filled with rage, and though you knew it was unfair, there was something in his eyes that made you feel a pang of remorse.

“I don’t owe you anything, Rafe.” Your response was cold, though inside you felt more affected than you wanted to admit.

Rafe was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on you. Finally, he took a step back, but not before making his feelings clear.

“Don’t ever cross my path again, Pogue.”

That was the beginning of a new phase in your feud, more bitter and personal than ever.

Your relationship with Rafe Cameron had reached a point where hatred seemed to be the only thing that united you. After your “betrayal” during the search for gold, any vestige of truce between you vanished. Although you would never admit it, there was something inexplicable that brought you back to square one: an enmity filled with tension, resentment, and something deeper that neither of you understood.

One of the worst fights you had occurred during a rainy night in the Outer Banks. The Pogues had been following Rafe, convinced that they had found another important lead to the gold. The chase led them to an old abandoned port, where you finally confronted them face to face.

“Always after me, aren’t you?” Rafe looked at you from the shadow of a warehouse, his soaked hair sticking to his forehead. The sound of the rain beat hard against the metal roof, but nothing could drown out the intensity of his voice.

“You have no right to that gold, Cameron.” Your words came out loaded with defiance as you clenched your fists. You knew you were probably playing with fire by facing him, but something in you couldn’t stop.

“And you are?” he replied, taking a step towards you. His eyes, dark under the rain, were filled with rage. “What makes you think you’re better than me, Pogue?.”

“For starters, I don’t try to kill people for him.” Your words made him laugh, a dry, bitter laugh that made you feel a chill.

“You think so?” Rafe leaned a little towards you, his voice lowering to an almost whispering tone. “You know perfectly well that you would do anything to protect your own, too. We’re not that different, even if it pains you to admit it.”

The argument soon turned physical. He tried to take the map from you, and you fought back with all your might. It was as if you were both so consumed by rage that nothing else mattered. You fell to the ground, feeling the cold wetness of the cement against your back, as Rafe tried to hold you down.

“Let me go, you moron!” you screamed, kicking him in the stomach.

“Give me the damn map!” he roared, clinging to your wrist.

For a moment, you thought it would all end there, that one of you wouldn’t walk away from this fight. But something changed. Rafe looked you straight in the eyes, and for a moment, his grip softened. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t keep hurting you.

Finally, he let go of you and stood up, breathing heavily.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was barely a whisper, and it took you a few seconds to process what he had said.

“What…?” you were speechless, still lying on the ground.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, taking a few steps away from you.

“Go away. Take the damn map and go away.”

But not everything always ended in a truce. There was another time when it was you who had to decide between helping him or letting him face the consequences of his own actions. It was during a smuggling operation that Rafe had organized to finance his obsession with gold. You found him cornered in an alley, with a group of men who clearly did not have friendly intentions.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped at you when you appeared at the end of the alley. He was bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow, but he still maintained that defiant attitude.

“I saw your truck nearby.” You approached cautiously, analyzing the situation.

The men paid you no attention at first, but soon realized you could be a problem. One of them advanced towards you with a menacing smile.

“Another friend of yours, Cameron?” he said mockingly.

“Get out of here, Pogue. I don’t need your help.” Rafe’s voice was firm, but there was something in his gaze that made you stay.

Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t just leave him there. You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it hard at one of the men. It was enough to distract them and give Rafe a chance to fight back.

You helped him escape, though as soon as you turned the corner, Rafe turned to you, furious.

“Why do you keep butting into my business?” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Because I’m not like you, Rafe. I can't let someone die, even if they're an idiot like you.” Your answer made him let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn't say anything else.

In the end, it was always the same. They hurt each other, they hated each other, they betrayed each other... but they also always found a way to forgive each other. You didn't know why you did it. Maybe it was because you saw something in Rafe that others didn't see, or maybe it was because deep down you knew you weren't as different from him as you wanted to believe.

The only thing you knew for sure was that, no matter how hard you tried to hate him, something always made you go back to him. And the worst of all was that Rafe seemed to feel the same way.

Rafe Cameron drove you crazy in every possible way and that made you uncomfortable and annoyed, despite always finding gold on your path, you also found it on your path when you were calm, reminding yourself that you couldn't get rid of it even if you wanted to.

There were nights when the air was so thick that it was hard to breathe. The humidity was sticking your clothes to your skin, but it wasn't just the weather that made you feel this way; it was him.

Rafe Cameron always managed to find you, even when you didn't want to be found. His mere presence seemed to charge the atmosphere with an almost palpable tension, something that only existed between the two of you. Like that time on the dock, under the dim light of a broken streetlight. You were alone, waiting for JJ and Pope, when you heard their footsteps, firm, sure, approaching.

Your body tensed before you turned around. There he was, standing, with that arrogant posture that you detested so much. His messy hair and clenched jaw gave you every reason to hate him more than you already did. But as you looked at him, feeling his gaze sweep over every detail of you, there was something different, something that made you stop.

There was anger in his gaze, yes, but there was also something deeper, something dark that you recognized because you felt it too. Your hands clenched into fists, not because you wanted to hit him—though that was of course a tempting option—but because you wanted to stop the impulse that made you think about getting any closer than necessary.

It was a constant tug-of-war. One moment you wanted to push him into the water, make sure he disappeared from your life forever. But then, a part of you wanted to do the complete opposite, you wanted to get closer, erase the distance between you, and find out if that tension could transform into something more.

Rafe leaned against one of the dock posts, looking at you with a mix of defiance and curiosity. Everything about him seemed designed to provoke you. His gaze fixed, his shoulders relaxed but ready to move at the slightest hint of threat. It was so unbearably irritating, and yet, there was something you couldn’t ignore.

The wind blew hard, and you felt a chill run down your spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was that unmistakable feeling of being on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t control.

You wanted to kill him. For all the times he had made you feel less than, for every hurtful word, for every betrayal and fight. But at the same time, you wanted to get close enough to know if that spark you felt between you could catch fire.

But you didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you took a deep breath, ignoring how your heart was pounding. You turned your back on him, your steps firm on the wood of the dock as you walked away. You knew that if you stayed one more second, the line between hate and desire could blur forever. And you weren't ready to face what that meant.

You felt him stand still, watching you as you left. You didn't need to look back to know that that feeling would continue to haunt you, just as much as he did.

And you were right, a few days later that line blurred.

There was a storm that night, one of those that seemed to split the sky in two with each flash of lightning. The rain was pounding on the roof of the old abandoned cabin where you had taken shelter, trying to escape the chaos that the Pogues and Rafe had caused in the last gold hunt. Your hands were shaking with rage, not so much from the cold, but from the frustration of knowing that Rafe had, once again, gotten you into this situation.

You were alone, at least that's what you thought, until you heard the door slam open. You turned quickly, looking for something to defend yourself with, but seeing that unmistakable figure enter soaked to the bone, your heart stopped.

Rafe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you thought, although you didn't bother to say it out loud.

He slammed the door behind him hard, shaking off the water like a rabid dog. His dark hair, and his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, as if he had run a marathon. His gaze met yours almost immediately, filled with that mix of fury and something more that always seemed to burn between you.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t look away either. There was something about him that night, something different. It wasn’t just the usual anger you two shared, or even the constant tension that seemed to surround you like a force field. It was something rawer, more real.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the roar of the storm outside. You felt the air in the cabin grow thicker, charged with electricity, as if lightning was about to strike right there.

“What? Are you just going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?” You had crossed your arms, trying to hide the trembling that ran through your body.

He didn’t answer, but he took a step towards you, slow, deliberate. You could feel the intensity of his gaze fixed on you, as if he could see past the facade you always tried to maintain. Your heart began to beat faster, and you hated that he had that effect on you.

“Rafe, don’t start,” you warned yourself mentally, even though you weren’t sure what it was you wanted to avoid.

But he kept coming closer. You could see every detail of his face now: the raindrops sliding down his jaw, the way his lips were pressed together as if he were holding something back. His presence filled the small space between you, and suddenly, the hatred you’d always felt for him didn’t seem enough to explain what was happening.

You didn’t know who made the first move. Maybe it was you, maybe it was him, but in an instant, the distance disappeared. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer to him with a force that made you gasp. His mouth crashed into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, as if all that pent-up rage had finally found an outlet.

Your hands clutched at his wet shirt, trying to push him away and pull him in at the same time. The kiss wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t tender. It was an explosion of everything you had bottled up for years: the hatred, the frustration, the attraction that neither of you wanted to admit.

You felt his body press against yours, trapping you between him and the wall of the cabin. His breath was hot against your skin, mixing with the cold of the storm that continued to rage outside. His every move seemed to call out something you didn’t know you’d been holding back, and for a moment, you let yourself go.

But it was only a moment.

Suddenly, you pulled away, your hands on his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“This… can’t happen.” Your voice was barely a whisper, shaky but firm.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you said it all. There was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, something vulnerable that completely disarmed you.

The storm outside continued to rage, but inside the cabin, all was calm. Rafe didn’t try to come closer again, and you didn’t dare look him in the eye as you turned away, your heart pounding so hard you felt like it might explode.

After that night in the cabin, something changed, though you both tried to act like it hadn’t. That first time was an accident, you kept telling yourself, something driven by rage and storm. But what happened next made it clear that there was something more, something that went far beyond hatred or tension.

It wasn’t long before you met again. It was in one of the alleys behind The Wreck, where you had hidden yourself after a fight with Sarah and the others. Rafe appeared as if the universe was conspiring against you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with that mix of arrogance and determination that seemed to be part of his essence.

“You’re not here to worry about me, Cameron. What do you want?” you had snapped harshly, crossing your arms as if that physical barrier could protect you.

He didn’t answer right away, but the glint in his eyes made it clear that he knew exactly what he wanted. What followed was just as impulsive as the first time: his lips finding yours with a burning urgency, your hands clinging to his shirt as if the world could fall apart at that moment and you wouldn’t care.

Logic disappeared when you were with him. All you had left were pure emotions: desire, rage, need. In those moments, you didn't think about the past or what was coming next. You didn't think about the fights, the betrayals, or the reasons why you were supposed to hate him. There was only his hands on your skin, the sound of his breathing, and the way he managed to make you forget everything else.

But the next day, there was always something that reminded you why you hated him. Like that time you saw him bullying Pope at the dock, his overbearing attitude making it clear that the Rafe of last night and the Rafe of today were two sides of the same coin.

"You're an asshole," you had yelled at him later, when you faced him away from the others.

He shrugged, as if he didn't care, but his gaze searched yours, almost defiant.

"Don't expect me to change for you," he seemed to say without words.

You walked away furiously, promising yourself that this would be the last time. You couldn’t keep falling for that game, not when he was still the same cruel boy you’d known all your life.

But then, something always drew you back. Like when he found you after you were almost caught in one of John B’s crazy antics. He helped you escape, even covering for you when the Kooks passed by. It was an unexpected gesture, one that left you bewildered as you shared a moment of calm on an old boat hidden in the swamp.

“Thanks, I guess,” you’d told him, though your words were filled with skepticism.

He smirked, the kind of smile that always got on your nerves.

“Don’t think about it too much.”

But you thought about it. Every gesture of his, every glance, every clandestine kiss was etched into your memory, fueling a cycle you couldn’t break.

Of course, you had your part in that dynamic, too. There were times when your own actions infuriated him, like the time you stole information from him about the gold hunt and shared it with the Pogues. His reaction was explosive: he found you on the dock, his gaze filled with betrayal and fury.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

For a moment you thought he would leave you there, that this would be the end. But no. Even though you had betrayed him, even though you had defied him in every way possible, he always came back. Just like you came back to him.

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them —

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[adoresia]

── .✦ QUIET DEVOTION

⌗ PAIRING : Megumi Fushiguro x Black!femreader

⌗ SYNOPSIS : After a long day, Megumi waits for someone important to return from a mission. As exhaustion meets quiet affection, the night unfolds with unspoken care and fleeting vulnerability.

⌗ CW : fluff!, slight hurt/comfort tones, Mentions of fatigue.

⌗ SIA HERE ! : Was bored so I wrote this Lol, I have nothing else to say 😜

The dorm room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows over the walls. Megumi sat at his desk, his eyes skimming over a book, though he wasn’t really reading. His attention kept drifting to his phone, which he’d placed face-up on the table so he wouldn’t miss any notifications.

“I’ll come over after my mission, promise. It shouldn’t be too long.”

He had read that text at least twenty times now.

That was hours ago. He wasn’t worried about your safety—he knew you could handle yourself. It was more that a certain quiet anticipation had been eating at him all day. He’d never admit it outright, but he had wanted to see you the moment the morning started. He even debated texting you to come over earlier, but he settled for waiting. Megumi was used to waiting.

When the soft knock finally came at the door, Megumi was quick to his feet. He opened it to find you standing there, looking utterly exhausted, but still managing to give him a tired smile.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping inside.

“You’re late,” he said bluntly, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“Yeah, well, missions don’t exactly run on a schedule,” you shot back with a yawn, dropping your bag by the door and trudging toward his sofa. “Miss me?”

He rolled his eyes. “You look half-dead.”

“And yet, I’m still here,” you quipped, settling onto the sofa and stretching your legs out. “You’ve been waiting for me all day, haven’t you?”

“I wasn’t waiting.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, smirking as you caught the faintest flicker of annoyance in his expression. “Anyway, I’m here now. So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan,” he said, closing his book and standing, “was for you to get some rest, but clearly, you’re too stubborn for that.”

You shook your head, forcing your heavy eyelids open. “No way. I didn’t come all the way here just to sleep. We’re spending time together.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open.” He shook his head and sat down at his desk again, watching as you tried to sit up straight, clearly fighting your fatigue. “I told you to take it easy if the mission ran late.”

“I’m fine.” You sat up straighter, as if to prove your point, but the movement only made you sway slightly before you caught yourself. “See? Totally fine.”

Megumi sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk. “You’re going to pass out in the next five minutes.”

“I am not,” you insisted, though your voice wavered with exhaustion.

He arched an eyebrow. “Right. Because falling asleep mid-sentence would really make for quality time.”

“Megumi,” you groaned, rubbing at your face to stay awake. “I’m serious. I really wanted to see you today.”

His gaze softened, but his expression remained impassive. “You’re seeing me now. That doesn’t mean you have to push yourself.”

“I said I’d come over, and I meant it,” you said, your voice quieter now, as if the last of your energy was draining away. “I just… I missed you, okay?”

His arms uncrossed, his fingers twitching slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “…I missed you, too.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his honesty, and your lips curved into a sleepy smile. “See? That’s why I’m staying up. Who knows when I’ll get another confession like that out of you?”

He scoffed, walking over to the sofa and crouching down beside it. “If you think this counts as a ‘confession,’ you’re more delirious than I thought.”

“I’m not delirious,” you murmured, though your voice was muffled now as your head lolled to the side. “m’ just… happy to be here.”

“Sure you are.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, your eyes fluttering shut despite your best efforts to keep them open.

It wasn’t long before your head fell to the side, your breathing evening out. A faint snore escaped your lips, accompanied by a small trail of drool, your body finally giving in to exhaustion.

Megumi sighed quietly and stood, walking over to crouch beside the sofa. His dark eyes softened as he studied your face, taking in the way your features relaxed in sleep.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Megumi stayed crouched beside the sofa, his forearms resting on his knees as his eyes roamed over your sleeping face. Your features were soft in the dim light, peaceful in a way he rarely got to see. His gaze lingered on the curve of your cheek, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed, the faint smudge of drool that had collected at the corner of your mouth. He reached out and carefully wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

His eyes followed the strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead, Then, with the same cautious touch, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for a moment. His fingertips brushed against your temple. The movement was slow, almost reverent, as if he feared waking you.

Megumi’s expression softened further as his gaze traced the small details of your face—the faint shadows beneath your eyes from exhaustion, the way your lashes fanned out against your cheeks, the subtle twitch of your lips as you murmured something incoherent in your sleep.

He exhaled quietly, leaning in just enough to notice how your breaths fell in time with his. His dark eyes searched your face as though trying to commit every detail to memory: the slope of your nose, the delicate curve of your jawline, the way your expression remained so utterly serene, even when your day had clearly drained you.

In that moment, Megumi felt something deep and unspoken settle in his chest—a quiet kind of gratitude that you were there, safe and close, even if you had worn yourself out trying to keep your promise to him.

The door suddenly creaked open, and Gojo’s unmistakable voice filled the room. “Hey, Megumi, I saw y/n walk in here. I was just wondering—”

Megumi’s glare was instant and cutting. He raised a finger to his lips in a silent demand for quiet, his expression making it very clear he was not interested in waking you up.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you on the sofa and back to Megumi, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Ohhh, I see how it is. I’ll just—”

“Quiet.”

“Got it.” Gojo backed out of the room, shutting the door with exaggerated care.

Once the room was quiet again, Megumi sighed and slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other under your back, lifting you effortlessly. You stirred slightly, your head resting against his chest as he carried you to his bed.

“Megumi…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

“Shh,” he said softly, laying you down and pulling the blanket over you.

He slid in beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. For a moment, he simply lay there, watching your face in the dim light. Then, leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly he wasn’t even sure if he’d said it aloud.

You stirred again, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “I heard that.”

Megumi stiffened. “Go to sleep.”

“You said it first,” you teased, turning to face him with a sleepy smile.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice laced with exasperation but not a hint of regret. “I said it first. I love you. Now go back to sleep.”

“I love you, too,” you murmured, closing your eyes and nestling closer to him.

Megumi sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he closed his eyes. “Good. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. For someone who carried himself with such practiced indifference, who rarely expressed his feelings in words, he had just uttered the most vulnerable confession without hesitation. He huffed quietly, half-annoyed at himself and half-amused by how natural it felt with you. Maybe that’s what frustrated him most—you had a way of undoing all the walls he worked so hard to keep up.

— 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 @/𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 !!

( note : I got the animated divider things from @/valetoria)

[amphitriteswife]

Being the older itoshi sister

Tagging @zendersenders

Rin:

💙 Tsundere brother. He’s your littlest brother so bear with him okay, he’s the youngest. He doesn’t act like it though. He likes to think he’s way more mature for his age, which isn’t necessarily true as he has lots of mood swings and outbursts. Will never admit it, but he also sometimes has temper tantrums. But he finds them embarrassed and will deny ever having them.

💙 he said would trust you more than Sae, he’ll tell you his secrets and feelings. But only if you promise to not snitch it to Sae. He’ll sometimes cry, but he doesn’t find it as embarrassing since he’s with you.

💙 If you follow school abroad he’ll miss you dearly, he’s not one to text first or everyday but he will make time for it somewhere in his busy schedule. He’ll respond to your stories or just tell you things about his day

💙He’s more of a caller than texter. Or he’ll send voice messages to you. Half of the time you can hear him out of breath since he’ll probably sent the messages after soccer practice. He would probably walk home with his phone still open, hoping you’ll see it sooner or later since he doesn’t want to talk with you at home. Otherwise his parents are all nosy and up his business.

💙 ‘sister! *pant pant*’ ‘hey Rin, what’s up?’ ‘*pant* can you sent me money? I want to buy some snacks after practice.’ ‘Where are you now?’ ‘Its break time. Can you sent me money?’ ‘Sure! I’ll sent you 20 bucks.’ ‘Thank you!’

💙 He hopes you visit him a lot. Preferably more than Sae. But he also knows that the both of them are your brothers and doesn’t push in that regard, he will get jealous if you spent more time with Sae than him. He doesn’t want to be left out because you and Sae are both adults.

💙 you two probably share a playlist, and most of it are english songs. It will help him with his English. He probably listens to the neighborhood and chase Atlantic. He would 100% stress about concert tickets if they were coming to japan. Ofcourse hell but you one too.

💙 He will never admit it but it makes him happy if you go to his matches or practices. He sometimes searches the seats to see if he can spot you sitting in one of them, he hopes you’ll see his important matches bo matter what. Whether it’s in real life or on tv.

💙He hopes that you’ll see his matches before Sae’s. He knows that Sae is your brother too and that you love him but Rin wants to be your favorite and trustable brother. He feels as if he’s better than Sae if you love him more than him.

💙 He sometimes has his emo phases where he shuts down and doesn’t speak a lot, it’s mainly because of how he feels or it has to do with Sae. He’s not one to tell his feelings to you, most of the time he does but not always. Sometimes he cried, but at least now he doesn’t have to cry on his own, he can cry with you by his side. And that gives him some type of comfort.

💙 be ready to have a clingy and rather possessive Rin if he finds out you have a partner. Rin wants to know everything. Why them? Are they good for you? Will they treat you well? He wants to meet them. He’ll wait. And if he doesn’t approve he better not see them again. No scummy partner will ever enter your life.

💙 Sometimes Rin becomes emotional, very emotional. Whether it’s sadness or anger. He expresses them very intensely, that’s why he sometimes might say hurtful things or words. But at the end of the day he never means them. Doesn’t take away that they hurt though. He does feel a lot of guilt and might end up crying and apologizing to you for it.

💙 He’ll be your best friend. So please consider him yours. You’re his sister, the only sibling still talking to him. He doesn’t befriend others often nor does he talk to his parents. To him you’re currently the most important person in his life. He loves you a lot even if he doesn’t show it. No questions asked.

Sae:

❤️ Sae is around your age, and way more mature than Rin. He doesn’t really bother you because of that and because most of the time he’s in Spain. He also doesn’t talk much, like as if he’s always sleepy. No he does not lack sleep it’s just how he looks so no worries sister.

❤️ Sae isn’t the one who contacts you first nor tried to keep to conversation. He’s busy with a lot of things. It’s no question that he cares for you, there just is only so much time in one day. He has matches, interviews, contracts, practice and a lot more. He hopes you understand how busy he is and that it’s not intentional.

❤️ Unlike Rin, Sae isn’t emotional but rather rational. He keeps his cool and thinks straight and logical. He does have a sharp tongue, but swallows his words when it comes to you. You’re his elder sister and he respects you a lot, such words aren’t meant for you.

❤️ Sae would rather see you in person than on texts. He watched your stories and sees you��re online but will not sent a message until you sent one first. He’ll often leave you on read. It’s not meant to be offending, but rather that he’s busy or just doesn’t wish to engage in the conversation further. He’s tired okay? He hopes you understand.

❤️ it had been stated that Sae thinks that Rin is in his ‘rebellious’ phase. That caused him to be rather confused if Rin snaps at him, which causes Sae to come to you. He often talks to you about Rin as Rin hinself doesn’t even talk to Sae when he’s back in Japan.

❤️ As the older sister, you will have to deal with Sae not understanding what is up with Rin, and Rin hating Sae’s guts. This puts you in a rough spot. Both of them knows you love them very much. But in contrast to Rin, Sae doesn’t seem to mind you spending more time with Rin. After all, Rin is the youngest and needs to most attention because he’s needy. At least that’s what Sae thinks.

❤️ He does make an effort to see you. It might not always feel that way, but he does go on a plane and see you from time to time if his schedule is cooled off. To him the not everyday talking works great. That way the moment he sees you he has a lot to listen to and maybe talk back about some things happening in his life too.

❤️ Sae doesn’t mind you having a partner. He thinks your old enough to know whats best for you and trusts you in that too. Ofcourse if it doesn’t end up working he’ll always he there for you. Only thing he wants is that you keep an eye out for yourself and that your partner isn’t hurting you. He doesn’t necessarily need to meet them but if you insist he wouldn’t mind.

❤️ if you live abroad he’ll also visit you, but then he’s more willing to go out and explore where you live. It feels rather fresh to him when he’s somewhere different than Japan, as if he can breath. He will avoid public spaces a lot because he doesn’t want to be recognized. He might stay at your place for a few days before eventually going back to Spain.

❤️ He will give you random things from Spain, whether it’s a photo, a souvenir, typical spanish snacks or something else. He’ll always bring you something. It’s one of the rare moments he’ll text you and ask you what you want from Spain.

❤️ Unlike Rin, Sae doesn’t seem to mind if you don’t come to his matches. If you watch them on tv he’s happy. But if you don’t he doesn’t mind it. Seeing them irl is something he doesn’t expect. Especially if you live abroad or in Japan. Flights and Hotel costs are expensive. His tickets always get paid by the manager, he will try to get them to also pay yours. But he also understands if you don’t feel comfortable by it.

❤️ Sarcastic asf. It depends on how you take it but sometimes it just floops out. He doesn’t want to be mean but it’s in his system. It’s never curse words but more comments and he always seems to pause after he says it because he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He usually says that to others and can be seen as harsh or rather blunt. He tries to watch his tongue, he really does

❤️ Sae loves you without a doubt, the same goed for Rin even though he might not show it. He doesn’t see a need for friends or to actually regularly contact someone. But he’s happy that your the glue that sticks the bond with him and Rin. He knows you’re in a rough spot and tries to make it less harder for you. But he is grateful that you’re here to help him and tha babiest of brothers, Rin.

That’s all yall😜

[quintessenceofdust88]

perfect (it's not all it's cracked up to be)

Hello everyone! I promised you guys that the sequel for this prompt would be up by the weekend, right? Turns out I only sorta lied cause it's still Monday hehe. I hope you enjoy it!

When Tommy wakes up, it’s like his body is on fire and freezing at the same time; half of his body feels numb, and the other half is hurting like never before. Huh, maybe his father had a point and all queer freaks end up in hell. Then again, considering one of his last deeds on Earth was walking out on sunshine itself, maybe it’s not about his queerness after all; it’s about Tommy himself. 

He hears a heart monitor at his side, and that gives him pause; he doesn’t think the afterlife bothers with medical devices, so… So maybe he’s alive? If only opening his eyes didn’t feel like it would hurt so much, Tommy could try and find out (not that he knows what hell looks like; it could be like a hospital room, for all he knows). He tries it anyway, letting out a grunt as it, indeed, hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” A voice says to his right side, and yeah, now Tommy’s pretty sure he’s not in hell. Evan Buckley doesn’t belong in hell, not even as part of Tommy’s eternal torture. 

As his vision clears, Tommy sees Evan is on a chair by his side, and he looks… Rough. There’s stubble covering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s looking at Tommy with despair clearly written in his permanently wet eyes, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear if he looks away. And to Tommy, it’s still instinct to comfort Evan, to try and find something to say that’ll make him feel better.

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen the other guy, doc” He attempts to joke, and Evan’s scoff and the doctor’s exasperated look make it clear it wasn’t his best attempt. “So, let’s talk business, doc. Will I fly again?” Tommy asks, because that’s the question that matters the most. 

He realizes with a treacherous skip to his heart that Evan looks as interested in the answer as Tommy himself. During the whole time the doctor is talking to him about treatments and physical therapy and his perspective to get back to work, he stays by his side, nodding attentively at everything the doctor says (as if he’ll be involved in your treatment, a hopeful part of his brain that should have quieted down weeks ago supplies, and Tommy does his best not to listen to it, because it’ll hurt so bad when it’s not the case). 

When the doctor makes it clear that Tommy will not go back to the air for at least six months, Evan squeezes his hand and gives him a look of solidarity that goes a long way to make it not feel like the end of the world. And when the nurse comes to up Tommy’s dosage of morphine and redress his wounds, he doesn’t let go of his hand. Tommy wants to say something, anything, but he’s received a lot of information and the morphine running through his veins makes it difficult to put his thoughts into words. But he doesn’t want to fall asleep; he doesn’t want to let Evan go. 

“Sleep, Tommy” Evan tells him in a firm tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we’ll talk”

It sounds too good to be true; Tommy refuses to believe it. Evan would have every right to leave him to fend for himself; he wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to find an empty room when he wakes up.

But contrary to all expectations, when Tommy opens his eyes again, feeling slightly more like a person and less like a shapeless bruise, is to find Evan in the same chair, only with the black hoodie this time, and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

He’s impossibly handsome in black, Tommy thinks dazedly, taking advantage of the fact Evan’s looking down at his phone to take a good look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Tommy wonders if he’s been home at all. 

His heart does another one of those treacherous leaps, and Tommy is having a hard time keeping the hope from bubbling in his chest. Because if this man saw Tommy at his worst, physically and (especially) emotionally, and was willing to stay this long by his side, who’s to say he won’t stay longer? He was willing to; Tommy was the one who fled, thinking it was about the excitement of a new relationship, but staying by his side after a helicopter crash is something entirely different. Who’s to say he won’t just… stay?

Tommy has to be brave; hell, he’s been brave before, on that glorious night where he took a leap of faith and placed a kiss to the man who had maimed his best friend for Tommy’s attention. Evan had been brave, if a little misguided, when he invited Tommy to move in with him. He owes him some bravery right now. If nothing else, he owes him some honesty after everything.

“You were right” He blurts out, and Evan looks up from his phone, staring at him with widened blue eyes. 

“H-hey, you’re up! Do… Do you need anything? I can call the nurse…” He trails off when Tommy’s hand, the one which is less covered in scrapes and bruises, reaches out to lightly touch his.

“I just need you to listen to me. You… you were right, Evan. I was a coward. I am a coward. I… I don’t know how to be loved. I never was” He admits it, and hates himself for choking up as he says it. This isn’t a pity party; he’s just stating a fact: the sky is blue, alcohol is flammable, Thomas Kinard was never loved. He hates how it makes Evan’s whole demeanor soften, because Tommy doesn’t deserve it. 

“Then let me love you” Evan whispers, taking Tommy’s hand in both of his. “Let me teach you how it feels. It’s… It’s not like I’m an expert at it, ok? I… I haven’t always been loved either. But… but I love you. You broke my fucking heart, Tommy, and I still love you. Do… do you love me?”

“With all of my heart” Tommy whispers back, and he can’t keep a tear from running down his face. Hell, he almost died, he’s allowed to be emotional. “T-that’s why I had to leave, Evan. If… If you didn’t love me back… If you found out I wasn’t perfect…”

“I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But guess what? I love you anyway, you idiot” He says, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and a very tender one to his lips. “You… You always wanted me to see you as perfect. You barely let me in all the time we were together. But I saw it anyway, Tommy, and I still wanted you. I still want you”

“I… I was so afraid of being hurt that I didn’t think I’d be hurting you” Tommy admits with a sigh. “A-actually I didn’t think you’d be hurt. I… I thought you’d be okay. I’m sorry, Evan”

“Well, I wasn’t okay. Just ask all of my friends and the thousand loaves of bread in their pantries” He says with a chuckle, and then looks Tommy deeply in the eyes. “Next time, talk to me instead of doing a dramatic exit. And don’t wait till you almost die to let me know where my Christmas presents are”

Tommy chuckles, and squeezes Evan’s hand. He wishes he could sit up and kiss him within an inch of his life, but it  sounds a little out of his physical abilities right now. He’ll content himself, with a peck on the lips before Evan sits back down, still holding Tommy’s hand in his. 

“I promise Christmas will be perfect” He says, and Evan shakes his head.

“I don’t need perfect, Tommy. I just need you”

–

And Christmas is not perfect. Tommy’s still mostly on bed rest and his leg’s still in a cast. Buck’s staying at his place for now to help him around, but they decided to leave any serious conversations about moving in to after New Year’s. They haven’t really decorated (Tommy was too depressed to bother, and Buck didn’t really have the time between his shifts and taking care of Tommy) and their plans for the day mostly consist in staying in bed and alternating between cheesy rom-coms and documentaries. 

It’s not perfect. They are not perfect. But they’re together, and Tommy finds himself thanking any deity out there for his accident. That it brought Evan back to him, and more importantly, him back to Evan. 

Buck’s wearing his new burgundy hoodie, and he gives Tommy the airplane model that he stubbornly kept in the hood of the Jeep all this time. They assemble it together, and it’s not the best, because Tommy’s hands are still a little sore and Buck’s not very good at the whole arts and crafts thing, but Tommy puts in his nightstand with adoration anyway. 

And if there’s no tree, no Christmas dinner, no cheesy sweaters, well. They can always make up for it next Christmas.

--

Tag list: (let me know if you’d like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if you'd rather only be tagged on Little Blobs' verse, also let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter  @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie  

[gabessquishytum]

Just a concept I won’t write a proper fic for, but I thought you’d enjoy. Off anon because I’m putting in a specific detail I’m probably including in a fic I will write properly at some point, so might as well.

Hob works for a cleaning company. They give him the keys, the address, and have him go to town on the empty houses for however many days it takes. Yeah, days, because we’re not talking just any houses, but big fuckoff mansions that haven’t seen a duster in decades. You know, the sort of houses that might have loads of antique and/or expensive stuff in them. So much of it, even, that no one will notice if Hob takes home a few pieces (read: sells them to the best bidder).

Hob gets called to the Burgess house because the owner is going on a months-long business trip, and like the spoiled rich cunt he is he wants the house cleaner than he left it when he returns, but has no intentions of paying the regular staff while he’s away.

Honestly? The house doesn’t look promising. Hob has a look around as he cleans and there’s a lot of old books, but it’s hard to guess the value of those to begin with and this… is some pretty obscure stuff? Looks cult-y to Hob, and he’s not about to fuck with that. He does find a huge fucking ruby pendant, but he has a feeling Burgess will notice that missing. There is a locked basement, though. That’s promising.

The key to the basement is hard enough to find, which is also very promising, but when Hob unlocks the door he’s met with… a dingy, dark, damp basement, and is that a fucking moat? A hint of gold draws his eye, and that’s when he sees it.

A big glass and steel… container? Surrounded by a circle of golden lines and scribbles on the floor. Again, looks cult-y… no. Not a container. A cage. There’s something in there, something with tiny white pinpricks for eyes.

Too curious for his own good, Hob gets closer, using his lighter to illuminate the space. And what he sees is… a man. A beautiful, very naked, reed-thin yet muscular man, but a man. Except for the eyes, black as night with gleaming pupils. And only for a moment. He’s only a man for a moment, because when Hob gets close (in a hurry to free him, Hob’s not a saint, Hob’s fucked with human trafficking before but he’s bloody not doing that again-), the man transforms.

His shape doesn’t change much -prominent ribs, long limbs, lean muscles- but he does get bigger, taller. The shock of ink-black hair on his head spreads all over his body, short mostly with big longer tufts at his chest, groin, elbows and… ears. He has large cat-like ears now, and a long tail to match, and a carnivore’s teeth.

Something about the man stays so human, though. His expression, just something about him, that makes Hob not want to run.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He eyes up the creature, basically a were-panther? Were-feline of some sort? Anyway, an 8 feet tall big cat in human shape, and Hob ponders just how deeply he wants to fuck himself. He doesn’t care about losing his job, bugger that, but… “Will you kill me, if I get you out of this? I’d really like to get you out of this.”

There’s no answer, but there is a very human expression of surprise. Maybe he cannot speak. Hob remembers the books, though, and the scribbles on the floor. The glass is thick, but Hob is pretty damn strong, and smart enough to figure out the rest.

Turns out that Dream (that’s the man’s name) is a very powerful, very magical shapeshifter. He can speak, just not without air to breathe. And he’s very very grateful Hob freed him from a hell of loneliness, suffocation and starvation. He’s not open about his gratitude, at first, and haughty as hell about it later, but he really quite likes Hob. As he stays at Hob’s place (technically in-case-I’m-caught-robbing safehouse) he becomes quite affectionate and possessive with Hob, proprietary even… and Hob is not the type to turn down a beautiful man. Or a beautiful big cat, as it turns out.

Hob is especially delighted to find that the big “spines” on Dream’s huge feline cock aren’t sharp things like on a house cat, but rather cartilage not unlike on a human eartip, which bend this way and that and make Dream hiss in pleasure when Hob takes his cock in hand, and feel so so good inside Hob ❤

Ommggg my friend this is such a good concept, there are so many details that I love and appreciate! I really like the idea of Hob having a cleaning company that's a cover up to steal stuff. The idea of him rifling through antiques just really appeals to me. He enjoys the history of it all, as well as the money that he earns on those little trinkets!

And were-panther Dream!! I love him already. The idea of him basically deciding that Hob belongs to him now is so hot! Even in human form Dream is strong and tall, especially when he's no longer starving. He can pick Hob up and throw him around... and his paws in feline form feel incredible as they press against Hob’s chest and pin him to the bed. Dream growls softly against his ear, pants hot breath and against his neck and absolutely ravishes Hob until he can barely walk... and then he uses his big sensitive cat tongue to lick every drop of his seed from Hob’s body <3

So yeah. Big fan of this whole concept. Would LOVE to read more from you, dear friend! Thank you for sharing!

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

Only Star In The Sky - Jayvik

Viktor had never in his life met such a man as Jayce. Someone so strong and determined. Fascinated with breakthroughs and news discoveries. He really was a man after his own heart. 

But even still, he never really saw him. Days of Jayce working in the forge, or going out to give speeches. The times they get to spend most of together is the late nights in their lab when they should really be getting some sleep. Nothing but discoveries, machines, science, and Jayce. Viktor loves those nights.

But now.. Councilman Jayce? He scoffs lightly, nearly dropping his wrench. How will he balance the time? Scientist, working in the forge, councilman, and… Mel. And what about him? Where does he, Viktor, fit into that equation? This is why he just wishes he didn’t have to deal with these emotions. Emotions are just a hindrance upon humanity. He’s tried expressing those thoughts to Jayce, though, and he seemed rather perturbed by the idea. So maybe Viktor is the only one who believes that. 

“Viktor!” He jumps when Jayce explodes into the lab. He hasn’t stepped foot in here all week. 

“Jayce,” he responds, turning in his chair. 

“Sorry I haven’t been able to come in to help. Things have been busy. Mel, she uh-“

Viktor’s brain immediately started to ignore whatever it is that Jayce was saying as soon as he mentioned Mel. It’s not that he doesn’t like her. He really doesn’t. She’s confident and she gave them the chance to work on Hextech. She made them stars, not that that’s really what he wanted, but as long as he’s with Jayce, it’s not too bad. She’s not a bad person. But lately he just gets this.. exhausted feeling every time her name is brought up. A different kind of exhausted than he’s used to. 

Jayce takes a seat and rolls it over to Viktor’s side. “So, what are we working on?”

Viktor slowly raises his head. “Just fixing this one bit in the Hexgate.”

Jayce nods, eager to get back into working in the lab, leans over Viktor’s shoulder. “Need help with anything?”

“No..” Viktor says, shaking his head and Jayce nods. 

“Ok..” he says, moving a bit away from him. He thumps his pencil against the desk. “So, anything that I’ve missed?”

“No, not really.”

“No.. great discoveries?”

“No.”

“Ok,” Jayce says, leaning back in his chair. He could sense that there was something wrong with Viktor, but he couldn’t tell what. But whatever it was was making the room extremely stifling to be in. 

He tilts his head towards Viktor, looking at what he was working on. Days like these used to be some of his favorites. No words needed to really be spoken because they had their work and each other. But this was different. Jayce had no idea what the work was. He had no idea what Viktor was thinking. The room wasn’t comforting. 

Viktor worked deftly, and he always did. It’s what made him such a great partner. That and his brilliant thoughts, his ideas and presence. 

Seeing him work at his desk alone, though, was a strange sight. He felt like an outside observer. A person stargazing, rather than a star himself, with Viktor. 

“Viktor,” Jayce says. 

Viktor raises his head slightly. He looked so.. tired. But why wouldn’t he be? Working in the lab alone, plus his illness on top of it. 

“I just want to say, thanks for holding down the lab while I’ve been busy.”

Viktor stared at him with a neutral look before nodding a bit and looking back down at his work. “It’s no problem,” he says. 

Jayce frowns. “Well, it’s just that this means a lot. Seriously. Thanks, Viktor.”

Means a lot. Viktor almost scoffs. He wants to say how hurt he is, how mad he is. But when he looks up at Jayce, that hurt seems to just disappear. Affection. Affection is what’s holding him back. 

The door opens, followed by the clacking of heels. 

“Mel,” Jayce says. 

“You’re needed for a meeting, Jayce.” She turns toward Viktor and nods in greeting. Viktor does an awkward half wave before turning back. 

Jayce turns to his partner. “Um.. I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Of course,” Viktor says, knowing that ‘being back’ Will not be any time soon. 

He watches Jayce leave, about to put his arm around Mel’s shoulder, but stopping himself upon realizing it would be unprofessional to do during work. 

The doors close and the room seems to darken, leaving Viktor the dullest star in the world. 

Border by @enchanthings

[silluuuu]

Keep you safe and keep you dreaming

hi friends! wrote a quick lil sickfic for ficwip's 1000-word challenge (write a fic with exactly 1000 words) that doubles as a gift to my no-longer-sick friend @anxietybard!! thank u to @toweroftunes for the beta!! pls give it a read under the cut or on AO3 <3

She hates when he’s sick, and he can’t help feeling guilty about it.

Soul tosses another tissue into the trash-can heap, watching as it tumbles down the mound of bunched-up microbes and nestles itself against the rim. He lets out a sigh that is noisier than usual, mucus corroding the sides of the exhaust pipe that is his throat.

He understands the root of her discomfort, of course. It’s not so much the present cough and sniffles as it is the memories it brings back. It’s the past that eats at her soul, for lack of a better word. Because when he’s sick, she makes herself sick with her own consumption, her own acidic bile of regrets. He knows what she sees, when he’s lying in his own bed in the apartment: the Soul of ten years prior, bedridden and feverish in an infirmary cot, looking like the first cut into an ultra-rare steak.

He tries to remember this, to empathize with this, when she’s being the way she is now, three hours deep into a WebMD rabbit hole and shoving both remedies and conspiracies in his face.

“An orange is a perfectly reasonable thing to eat when you’re sick!” she’s saying from the foot of his bed, holding a plate with a full-on pyramid of them balanced in her left hand, the other hand defensive on her hip.

“S’not the idea of oranges that’s unreasonable, it’s the fact that you’re giving me twelve ,” he grits out. He wants to lie back dramatically, but he’s too clogged up to do so. 

Many moons ago, he would’ve thought of the orange onslaught as a thinly-veiled attempt to keep Blair out of his room, having heard way too many warnings and factoids about cats and their aversions to citrus over the years. As if on cue, Blair yells out a grateful “Thaaank you~!” from the living room, her keen nose having registered the oranges’ absence.

Years prior, Blair would have been way too happy to ‘play nurse’ for him in his vulnerable state - something that had always irked Maka, obviously. To be fair, he sort of feels like having someone lie in bed with him might be pretty helpful for his recuperations, though he has a strong first choice for this assignment, and it certainly has never been Blair.

“Twelve oranges might be good for you!” Maka insists, pinking in the cheeks at his mental suggestions. Their link is always more open when he’s sick; it takes too much effort to keep his walls up that he doesn’t want to expend, and all she usually hears is vague sniffling and doom-and-glooming, so. “Besides,” she adds, suddenly serious. “Scurvy’s making a comeback.”

“You think I have scurvy? ”

“I’m just saying that an orange or twelve couldn’t hurt!” she exclaims, moving to place the plate on his bedside table. He snatches his phone off its charger just in time to avoid death by Annoying Orange, and makes good use of it to pull up the symptoms for scurvy.

As he scrolls, he starts to grin. “Hah. Maybe I caught it from you.” At her curious glance, he adds: “Apparently one of the main symptoms of scurvy is being chronically irritable.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes at him as she exits. Guilt renewed, he sends out an apology on the airwaves, one that she meets with a brush of mental fingers.

M’not going anywhere, okay? he thinks, sending the words through the gap in the door, a love letter. Promise.

There’s a sound like a sigh in her soul, followed by a montage of emotions. An old, deep, burning fear. An undying flame, smothered by time, suddenly reborn. And then - relief. Comfort. And then… guilt of her own, for being the one who needs the comfort.

Go sleep s’more , she thinks back, voice growing weaker as she heads deeper into the house. I’ll be here when you wake up.

The reciprocal I promise that she tacks on is a mere whisper of a thought, but he hears it nonetheless. It’s an effective anesthetic, lulling him into a nap.

He dreams of orange peels and dark cathedrals, the old ache across his ribs tugging at something still-unhealed in his psyche.

When he awakes, it’s to a new smell - a bowl of chicken soup, steam rising and catching the late afternoon sunlight through his window. Next to it, a cascade of saltine crackers arcs along the accompanying plate. A mug of tea sits at its side, steaming slightly as well. The oranges are still there, moved slightly back. She’s left him a tiny space on the table for his phone to sit, which he sheepishly plugs in.

He reaches out for the soup and takes a sip, the ache in his chest slightly soothed. He smiles a little, savoring it, taking in the quiet of the room, the way the steam clears his head, opens his sinuses.

Once he’s almost done, the door clicks open - she’d felt him wake up, of course.

“Is it okay?” she asks.

“S’delicious,” he says, clearing his throat a little.

“Good,” she says, business-like, taking the empty bowl and placing it on the table. And then, slightly less businesslike: “Can I come in?”

He looks up at her, gaze soft as he takes in her embarrassment, as if they haven’t been doing this for years. “Duh.”

She lifts the comforter and clambers in, getting settled and resting her head on his chest.

“You sure you wanna stay?” he asks after a few minutes, poking at her shoulder. “Might get sick.” “S’worth it,” she mutters, ducking her head. “Besides. I’ve had plenty of vitamin C.”

“You sure?” he asks. “Got some oranges I could lend you.”

She scoffs in response, squeezing at his side. 

For the rest of the afternoon, they lie wrapped in each other, comforted by the fact that, amidst the steam and the scent of oranges and the promise of not going anywhere - that suddenly, it’s slightly easier to breathe.

[skzficstapes]

track 02: ghostin by ariana grande – a sequel to ghost of you

The room was dim, the soft orange glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. You sat up in bed, knees pulled to your chest, gazing out the window at the quiet city streets below. The stillness of the night was only broken by the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sound of Jisung’s breathing as he slept beside you.

You had thought it would get easier. You’d thought that time would dull the pain, that the weight of grief would lift and you’d finally be able to truly feel the love that Jisung was offering you. But tonight, like so many nights before, memories of Chan crept in, uninvited, relentless.

You wiped at your cheek, your fingers trembling as more tears began to spill, faster than you could stop them. You kept trying to stay quiet, to keep them from waking Jisung, but your shaky breaths betrayed you.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and groggy, cutting through the dark like a thread. The bed shifted as he sat up beside you, his eyes blurry with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly turned your face away, your heart hammering in your chest. “Nothing,” you whispered, voice breaking as you tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to break free.

Jisung wasn’t fooled. “You’re crying again,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. His hand brushed lightly over your arm, his touch warm and grounding in the cold emptiness of your heart. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but your voice cracked on the last word, the lie feeling like acid on your tongue. “Go back to sleep.”

But Jisung didn’t move. He never did when you were like this. Instead, he slid closer to you, his body pressing against yours in the dark, the warmth of his presence steadying your fraying nerves. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with an unspoken promise.

The weight of his kindness, of his understanding, hit you like a tidal wave, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The sobs broke free, harsh and jagged, as you buried your face in your hands. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words raw and pained, the guilt swallowing you whole.

Jisung said nothing at first. He simply wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His fingers threaded through your hair, his touch tender, unhurried. He didn’t push you to explain, didn’t ask for more than you could give. He was just there.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered after a while, his chin resting on top of your head, his breath warm against your scalp. “I know you miss him.”

“I hate this,” you whispered, the words muffled against his shirt. “I hate that I can’t let him go. That I’m still... holding onto him when you’re right here.”

Jisung’s arms tightened around you, a brief, fleeting hesitation before he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there, the touch gentle but filled with an ache that mirrored your own.

“You don’t have to apologize for how you feel,” he said, his voice steady despite the heaviness of the moment. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“But it’s not fair,” you said, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes. “To you. To us.”

Jisung’s gaze met yours, and in that moment, you saw the raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes—the hurt, the understanding, and something else. Something deeper. Something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before.

“Fair doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “What matters is that I love you. And I’ll take whatever you’re able to give me, even if it’s not all of you right now.”

His words hit you like a blow, the guilt twisting in your chest, making it hard to breathe. “You deserve more than that,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Jisung laughed softly, but it was bitter, touched with an emotion you didn’t quite recognize. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “You think I don’t see how much it hurts you to let me in? How much it hurts me to know I’ll never be him?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you reached for him, your hand trembling as it brushed against his. The guilt was suffocating, a constant weight on your chest that made it hard to breathe. You had never wanted to hurt him, but you were doing it anyway.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel worse,” he said softly, his tone suddenly tender. “I just... I want you to know that I get it. I know you’re still grieving him. And I know it’s going to take time. But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to.”

The tears came again, hot and unstoppable, as you reached for him, your hands trembling as you touched his face, desperate to feel the warmth of him. Jisung didn’t hesitate. He met you halfway, cupping your face gently in his hands. His lips found yours, slow and tentative, as if he were afraid you might pull away, that this would somehow break you more than you already were.

But you didn’t pull away. You clung to him instead, letting the kiss deepen, pouring all the gratitude, the apology, the guilt, and the love you felt for him into it. His lips were soft, warm against yours, and for a moment, the shadow of Chan seemed to fade just a little.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

“I dream about him sometimes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And when I wake up, it feels like I’m losing him all over again.”

Jisung’s eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening as he held you even closer. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with sorrow. “And it kills me that I can’t make it better for you.”

“You do,” you said quickly, your hands gripping his shirt as if you could ground yourself in the safety of him. “You do, Jisung. You’re the only reason I’m still standing.”

His eyes opened, and there was a mix of hope and pain in them. “Then let me keep standing with you,” he said quietly. “Let me help you carry this, even if it’s heavy. Even if it hurts.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your face in his chest. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could find a way to hold onto the past without losing the present.

“I love you,” Jisung whispered, his voice breaking just enough for you to feel the weight of his words.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, the truth of it settling into your chest like a bittersweet ache.

It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t what either of you had imagined for your future. But for now, it was enough.

And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, someday, it would be enough to heal.

[to-be-named-by-angel]

Think i’ve posted about this before but just in case I want to make sure everyone knows that i’m a professional at fixing stuffies/plushies etc that have been torn! I’ve fixed many for my youngest sibling over the years so I know my stuff!

And just to reassure anyone feeling guilty about their plushie getting torn, i just want to say that i promise your plushies are okay!! Think about it! You’ve loved them soo much that they’re bursting with even more love! So they just need a little help getting back together that’s all! I promise if you’ve ever damaged one of your plushies they’ve not been upset with you! They still love you! And it doesn’t hurt them!!

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Actually I’ve come to the conclusion that Cynthia would like Kingdom Hearts for the exact same reason she likes Graces f (the homoerotic tension,,,,,,)

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

tw: abuse discussion, intimate partner violence, grooming discussion, power and control. Trying to be vague here and not fly too close to the muse Sun

Re: red tv and the manuscript discourse, I wonder if people realize that it is actually possible to have abusive/toxic/harmful relationships with people your own age, too? Like even if Taylor and jg were 2 years apart, harm still could’ve occurred….? Like it was obviously not grooming bc that is a very specific set of experiences usually involving a child and a person in a position of trust/power like a parent or teacher or coach etc (I know this bc I lived it!!!). But like… that is not the only kind of harm that can happen to young people???? Her youth/naivety was definitely a factor in how fucked up the situation was but it was not the only element. Power dynamics do not begin and end at age. Adults can fuck each other up, too…

[binders-and-beanies]

.

[dilf-phoenix-rights]

Tbh ppl here are so weird about tiktok users