#but at the end of the day that doesn’t really matter

[no-144444]

(more of)the grid: no nut Novemeber!

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Featuring: jenson button, mark webber, fernando alonso, nico hulkenberg, kevin magnussen, valterri bottas, zhou gunayu, kimi raikkonen, sebastain vettel

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Jenson Button: lowkey would really want to win but would just fall short 

Like yes… he could last like 15 or 20 days but… nah. Not one whole ass month. 

He would so make it a rivalry between him and Mark or something 

He would be so fucking proud of himself that he outlasted fernando. 

Weirdly into it all… like… bro calm down

He definitely set it up.

Definitely a bit grumpy during the month… like very grumpy

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Mark Webber: him and jenson should just kiss already

Mf would not SHUT UP about the rivalry between him and jenson 

At that point they should just kiss each other 

Anyway, he makes it a big deal and announces he’s doing it 

You dont gaf and he takes that personally

He is a little bit grumpy

Only cares about beating jenson 

When Jenson admits he lost he fucks you silly. 

I mean hours on end. No breaks. Insanity. 

Freaky freaky gal. 

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Fernando Alonso: does not even participate 

No.

He will not. 

He does not care. 

He won’t, end of story. 

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Nico Hulkenberg: winner!

If he can’t get a podium or a win now, he’s winning a dumb challenge to make himself feel better! 

He knows it's dumb but he’s so disciplined about it that you start to wonder if he knows how dumb it is. 

He feels very accomplished when he wins 

Also very much enjoys the prize money

ALSO fucks u silly at the end of the month to ‘make up for it’. 

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Kevin Magnussen: …prolly not

This freaky gal enjoys a challenge, but genuinely thinks they are all insane for doing this. 

I mean come on… he had a child nine months after his pole position in Brazil…

No, you’re his wife, he can fuck you when you two want to.

No bet is worth giving that privilege up. 

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Valterri Bottas: winner?

So doesn’t join in, but just does it for fun? 

No matter what he just doesn’t fuck you all month

Then he makes up for that

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Zhou Guanyu: he tried…?

Didn’t try at all

Gave up

He does not think it’s worth it at all.

He does get teased a lot. 

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Kimi Raikonen: no. 

Hahahahahhaha ur funny.

He isn’t giving shit up for a month, especially fucking you. 

He is a freak, and he doesn’t care who tf knows it. 

He would send in a video of yall fucking to their gc (with your permission ofc) with the money transfer. 

Unapologetic. 

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Sebastian Vettel: freaky freaky gal.

He would rather shit in his hand and clap than give up fucking you for a month. 

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk!

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your boss at The Last Drop

content: this fic is another multi-chapter work! i hope you enjoy.

content warning for this fic: depiction of sa (this chapter only), blood, slight gore/fight scenes, cursing, sexually explicit content. pretty heavy topics to be honest, it makes a lot of commentary on how it's like to live in Zaun. since this chapter has an sa scene (very lightly detailed scene but still hints to it), if you would like to skip that part, there will be three asterisks (***) that indicate when the scene begins and when it stops so that you can do what's safer for you. sa will not be talked about alot in depth for the rest of the chapters, and i will give a content warning to chapters that hint or reference it.

word count: 3k

thanks for reading!

Part One

When you are first hired at the Last Drop, it only takes 4 hours for Sevika’s name to circulate the building and make its way towards you. 

The first time you spot her, she is brushing through a crowd of drunkards, seemingly not wanting to be approached with an expression as hard as stone. The tall woman, attractive and large as she may be, is intimidating. Her figure, although only in your line of vision for a few seconds, is something made of pure muscle and height. You know that she could easily tower over you if she wanted. 

Despite her quick and fast entrance, it only takes your first day to realize that Sevika isn’t someone that you fuck around with. And based on the way that your coworkers and supervisors tense at the mere mention of her name, it’s obvious that she’s someone important here.

Throughout your first month at the Last Drop, any other appearances of Sevika is no different. Her steel cold stare could freeze anyone to death. You’ve seen her drag people upstairs only for them to never come back down (who knows what she or Silco did with the body?). You’ve seen the way she dominates the deadliest men–how she doesn't let them silence her. 

How she challenges them…

You've also seen the way that your coworkers have gotten their heart broken, hoping to be the one-night-stand turned lover that changes Sevika’s promiscuous ways. And every time, your coworkers end up heartbroken. Gender doesn’t really seem to matter with Sevika. She’s ruthless with everyone. She’s mean.

And, God, you really hate how much you like mean women.

At first, you thought it was amusing to be pining after her. It isn’t surprising, since you've had your fair share of passionate romances (and heartbreaks) with people similar to Sevika. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from them.

But now it’s been over a month and you can't help but wonder when the crush will dissipate. At this point, it's entirely inconvenient.

You've managed to keep yourself out of the limelight for the majority of your time at the Drop. You’ve found your rhythm by staying in the kitchen, away from the wandering eyes of questionable strangers. Away from Sevika.

But that only lasts for so long.

Amy, your boss, manages to shatter your Switzerland bubble on a Thursday evening at noon. It’s exactly the last thing you want to hear: “I need you to swap schedules with Janessa,” Amy barks.

It isn’t a suggestion or question. It’s a demand. 

Your mouth opens to object, already feeling that familiar pang of agitation within you. But Amy doesn’t hang around long enough to hear. 

“Thanks!�� She calls over her shoulder, briskly walking behind the counter and towards the kitchen.

Your teeth grind and your jaw clenches. With balling fists, you stand there for a few more minutes. Trying to simmer down. Trying not to get fired.

You cook. You make new recipes. You may even help the dishwashers every once in a while (especially on nights that are packed). 

But you don’t buss and you don’t wait. That’s Janessa’s ballpark. She’s known as one of the best waiters in town. Her reputation followed her as she hopped in between different restaurants before landing at The Last Drop for good. She’s usually quick, efficient, polite but not too polite (no one ever could be considering the kind of people that this job attracts). 

The idea of Janessa swapping places with you in order to cook an overwhelming amount of food under the pressure of constant verbal abuse? That doesn’t sound right. 

Well, it doesn’t sound like something she would willingly do.

“I tried to help you out,” Max, your coworker, whispers. He clicks his tongue while washing down the countertop of the bar. You forgot that you were holding a conversation with him before Amy interrupted. “I overheard her talking to Nessa about it and offered the swap.” Max blinks through his thick lashes, which are covered with clumps of purple mascara, before he makes eye contact with you. “The bitch told me I wasn't qualified. Can you believe it?”

You snort underneath your breath, nearly choking at the idea of such a conversation happening.

Max—a petite curly-haired himbo with stunning hazel eyes and nails long enough to claw your heart out—most certainly isn't a popular bartender due to his skills. He has charisma, a charming personality and a smile that can make anyone stop in their tracks. He’s willing to listen to anyone that needs a shoulder to cry on (which is almost always every regular that comes here),  and he doesn’t mind sucking up to Amy as long as it means that he has full control of the bar. He’s been employed here long before Amy’s time, which you truly believe is his saving grace.

He knows the history, the neighborhood— the business very well.

But mixing drinks? Not his strong suit.

Seeing him out on the level ground with numerous tables to handle would be comical. A train wreck for sure, but definitely comical.

“Did she say why Nessa was swapping?” Self consciously, you peer at the rest of the pub over your shoulder. Everyone is seemingly out of earshot but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

Max’s shoulders tense. He stops his scrubbing, right hand still holding onto his soaked disinfecting cloth as he sends you a sidelong glance. “Not my place to tell.”

The hairs stand up on your arms as you register his reply.

The sound of the entrance door opening is what shatters your reverie. Just like that, Max’s shoulders relax. A smile spreads across his face, this time not quite reaching his eyes, as he looks towards the door. “Welcome to The Last Drop!” He says, voice dipping into that flirtatious cadence you know all too well.

That is all he is going to say on the matter. You know Max doesn’t like gossiping about people’s shit. And your coworkers definitely have a lot of messy situations throughout their employment here. He wants no relation to any of it. 

You pick up on the hint, instead swallowing your curiosity and looking at the incoming customer. It’s one of the workers from the brothel across the street. She’s a leggy brunette with towering stilettos and a resting bitch face as cold as stone. She’s just as unapproachable as the last time you saw her. But there’s a spark in her eye when she regards Max. Based on her last few visits, you’ve grown to learn that she’s taking a liking to him.

“Well, that's my cue. I’ll leave you to…do your thing,” You mumble, fighting off a smirk. Max peers at you with a quizzical expression as you gesture vaguely to the bar around you. “Or whatever nonsense you do up here…”

“Hmph,” He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn't you be back there making shepherd's pie or something?”

“You mean working? Something you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

“With a face card like this? I’m too fabulous to work.” He winks before gesturing towards his face. “A reality you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

A laugh erupts out of you as you click your tongue. You’re walking towards the kitchen, ready to clock out for the day and finally rest, when you hear the lady of the night approach the bar. You believe her name to be Scarlett, and her voice is a low and silky murmur while she addresses Max.

When you glance over your shoulder, you can't help but notice the way her cleavage spills over her frilly corset top. Her braids are pulled into a bun on top of her head, eyes alluring as she peers at Max through thick long lashes.

Too caught up in all the glamor that Scarlett is, you walk right into a nearby wall (because that is unfortunately what happens whenever beautiful women are near you). 

Max and Scarlett immediately glance at you. Max, with that all-knowing smirk, and Scarlett's raised eyebrow is enough to make you want to dig yourself a grave.

But you don't. Instead, you clear your throat, apologize and shuffle to the kitchen with haste.

The air is thick with cigarette smoke.

That’s one of the reasons why you hate waiting. 

You don’t mind occasionally working in such an atmosphere. After all, you are one of the few chefs that regularly make an appearance everyday. So you’ve grown accustomed to walking through the boisterous crowds of smokers and drunken belligerents before and after your shifts.

But then, for the rest of the shit, you usually find solace in the kitchen—swallowed by plates and dishes and food and ingredients—which is more your forte.

“Hey pretty lady,” A bald, greasy buff man grumbles. His eyes are set on you yet simultaneously far away. Out of focus. “I’m getting hungry. Why don't you come over here and serve me?” Then he winks with a shit-eating grin that makes you queasy.

“You're not in my section,” You reply dryly with a shrug. “But I'll let Dylan know that you're ready to order.” 

“I don't want Dylan,” His eyes linger on your chest, before trailing down your entire physique. It's almost as if he allows his entire train of thought to become visible for everyone to read. 

Your teeth grind as you quickly scan the room once more. Dylan said that he was stepping out for a 5 minute smoke break 40 minutes ago. 

There's a part of you that doesn't want to give in. You don't mind being the one coworker that won't take on more tables than absolutely necessary. Especially when you were voluntold to switch job roles with someone you barely even know, and without even being told why.

If it wasn't so hard to find a job lately, you're pretty sure Amy’s management within itself would be enough encouragement for you to quit. But you really, really need the money. Despite the toxic work environment and occasional harassment from drunk citizens, this is the closest you've come to financial stability in years. You can’t afford to fuck it up.

A heavy exhale leaves you as you shift your feet. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu?” You ask, eying the man with distaste.

His grin widens. “No. What do you suggest?”

“Well, we offer a lot of stuff really. If you're in the mood for something more fulfilling, we have different stew dumplings. I'm not sure about your allergies though, most of the stews here are made with—”

“Surprise me,” Then he gives you another once over.

There is a part of you, a small part, that's tempted to reach across the table and rip out his eyes. You hate the feeling you experience when men unabashedly undress you with their eyes; especially when it’s from creepy old men. 

Even more so when said men don't know how to respect boundaries.

But you ignore the idea of doing such a thing. Instead, you turn on your heels and walk away.

Or, at least, you try to walk away. 

***

A tight grip wraps around your wrist, pulling so abruptly that you nearly fall over. It happens so fast that you barely register it. A breath, hot and pungent with liquor, travels across the base of your neck before meeting your nose. “You didn't ask me if I wanted anything to drink.” The man adds, voice low and gravelly.

Then more is happening...

And that's what makes you snap. 

Within seconds, you're reaching for your knife, which you had previously placed inside the pocket of your apron. 

A fire courses through your veins as you retract the blade.

“What the fuck!” The man yells, letting go of your wrist. He presses a palm against his right cheek, which now has a wide gash that is gushing with blood.

***

You don't give him time to say anything else. Your elbow comes in contact with his throat, jabbing his windpipe with as much force as possible. He staggers from the impact, landing with his back on top of the table behind him as he gasps for air.

Your knife, now dripping with his blood, digs into his chest. You hold it there, watching him wince when you apply pressure.

“If you ever so much as breathe in my direction again,” You mutter darkly. He’s squirming uncomfortably, a pool of blood soaking through his shirt as your knife continues to pierce his chest.

The pub has grown eerily silent and the heavy weight of countless eyes begins to register.

“I…I-I,” The man underneath splutters in shock. Beads of sweat gather around his forehead as he peers up at you through a cloud of fear. Thirty minutes ago, you’d have been surprised to find him roughed up by someone half his size, especially considering how large his biceps are. 

But then again, The Last Drop seems to be filling up with tons of useless goons nowadays.

“We’ll deal with him.” The voice that breaks your reverie is unrecognizable—feminine and raspy. 

That's when your head snaps up and you realize just how tense the atmosphere has become. Many citizens watch you silently, some mouths ajar while others look ready to egg you on. It's never really a typical Friday night at this place without people trying to drunkenly fight each other.

It's rare, though, that  employees become the main culprit.

Something moves closer to you—a person. “Hey, it's alright. I-”

Still on edge, you're quick to react. You inhale sharply, grip tightening around your knife with reflexes that feel like second nature.

A low growl fills the air, the sound of metal colliding with metal following soon after. Then your blade is being knocked out of your hand, something powerful grabbing both of your arms.

A flash of grey, the smell of cigarillo. Warmth. Undeniable warmth.

“Woah, it's just me." The voice is so close, yet so far away.

"Look-" Then... "Maxwell, I need you to come and help." The voice speaks again. This time even firmer. A woman’s voice. 

When your vision adjusts, you lock gazes with a pair of stormy grey irises. They're merely inches from yours, peering down at you with a gaze that is steady. 

That's when you realize that you can't move because she's practically towering over you. Holding you.

It’s Sevika.

You must have tried to attack her, clearly caught off guard. Surely, you hadn't meant to. For a split second, you lost it and now here she comes, seemingly out of nowhere. It was merely a reflex—a fight or flight response.

“It's me. Sevika," She announces, voice sharp as if she's trying to to speak through a wall. "I'm having them take him upstairs. He’ll be dealt with,” She repeats, almost as if it's a promise. She searches your eyes, grip loosening around your arms, “I’ll make sure of it.” She adds. Despite her expression being made of steel, there's something that flickers in her eyes. It appears only for a millisecond but it's glaring enough to somehow recenter you.

Her shoulders appear to relax when you start to feel present in the room again.

She waits for you to reply. And waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Then, “I can handle myself,” Is all that you manage to say. 

She stares at you for longer. You can see the gears in her brain shifting, but you aren't exactly sure of what to anticipate next, or even how to accept the fact that you just tried to attack your boss with a pocket knife.

“I’ve got her,” This time, the source is coming from someone familiar. Max. “It's okay,” He whispers, drawing closer. You feel him before you see him. The tips of his claw-like nails brush against your shoulders as he gingerly grabs a hold of you. 

Only then is when Sevika breaks your gaze, this time turning to Max. “Staff lounge.” The brute woman orders. 

“I’m fine.” You counter. 

The edge in your voice says otherwise.

“...Then I need you to grab Amy,” She continues, completely disregarding you. “I would like to know why we have a chef waiting tables during the busiest rush of the week—”

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” You press, voice raising a few decibels.

Sevika jaw’s clenches, icy eyes flickering towards you. “You nearly decapitated someone. You—”

“...I have four hours left. I will leave when my shift is complete.”

Her nose flares. “Lounge. Now.”

Before you can reply, she’s turning on her heels and walking away.

Unfortunately, Max agrees with Sevika.

It’s apparent in the way he immediately grabs your shoulders after her departure. Every citizen seems to be watching the entire escapade because this is the quietest you’ve ever heard the pub be during a rush hour.

“I’m fine!” You hiss, frustrated by the whole ordeal. You are perfectly capable of defending yourself. You don't need staff members to coddle you. “Seriously.”

Max doesn’t reply, merely huffing underneath his breath as he guides you past the bar and towards a back hallway that leads to another room. 

When the two of you have reached the lounge, he finally says, “You're shaking.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He leans forward, grabbing both of your hands,“ You're shaking.” He repeats, looking at you dead in the eyes. That's when he lets go and you peer down at your palms.

A frown spreads across your lips at the sight of your trembling fingers.

“You nearly killed the guy,” Max continues. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“It was only self-defense.”

“I'm not saying you were in the wrong,” A flicker of worry meets Max’s eyes. “That asshole deserves everything you did to him, probably more, But,” He winces. His gaze trails off to a distant place behind you. “Chef’s don’t usually do what you just did.”

Before you can reply to Max, the door flings open. In walks the petite redhead that you instantly knew to be Amy. She’s light on her feet, eyes alert and face flushed. At first, you’re surprised to see her in such a state. 

Shortly, though, Sevika enters the room. Then it all makes sense.

Sevika’s domineering in all aspects and has a ferocious air about her that can make anyone feel...tense. 

You thought she was the last of it, but another pair of footsteps walk-in behind her. 

“S-Sorry,” The person stammers, side stepping so they can scurry around Sevika and find a chair to sit in. The person is Dylan.

“This won't take long,” Sevika announces. She seems annoyed, not even looking at anyone else in the room. “Starting tomorrow, nothing about tonight will be brought up again. Now, Amy.” She turns to Amy, who instantly shrinks in her chair. “Why wasn't Janessa on the floor tonight?”

There's a beat of hesitation before, “She's working the kitchen now.”

Sevika’s nose flares. “If you moved her because of last week, I want you to think over your explanation very carefully.”

Another beat drags. Amy blinks. She gapes. She blinks once more. Her cheeks are tomato red at this point. “I-”

Sevika presses on. “Did Silco somehow change his mind?” 

“...No.”

“So you deliberately went against Silco’s orders and switched Janessa to the kitchen. Meanwhile,” Sevika’s eyes flicker to you. Your stomach lurches. “You make our only competent chef work the floor, after I told you that she isn't up for debate. And you expect me to show you mercy?”

Amy doesn't answer. She's on the verge of tears, which shocks you.

Amy is a bitch.

She’s known for brutally reaming people for simply breathing wrong. She doesn’t hold back and she doesn’t mind doing it in front of customers either. You know her to be stone cold. Heartless. Void of compassion and depth.

You never thought that you’d see the day where she’d get her ass handed to her.

Sevika turns to you, face filled with hard lines and calculating orbs. She stares at you for a few moments. You don't quite understand if she’s sizing you up or mentally chastising you. But you wait for her to fully collect her thoughts.

“If anyone touches you like that again,” She slowly begins, voice low. “You do what needs to be done. Whatever that means to you. Do you understand?” 

Your muscles freeze at her words.

No questioning? No reprimands?

“You aren't mad?” You clear your throat.

You were fully expected to get reamed for tonight.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, “Do you want me to be?”

Heat spreads across your body. You don't answer her question, deciding to move on. “Does Silco know about tonight?”

She grows more perplexed, “Do you want Silco to know?”

In the corner of your eye, you watch how stiff the rest of the staff members become. The room is so quiet that you nearly hear a pin drop.

It’s obvious that Silco finding out about this would cause a shit show.

Sevika takes your silence as an answer. 

“None of this will be mentioned again after tonight.” She breaks eye contact and turns to the rest of the room. “Is that clear?”

Everyone nods.

“And Dylan?”

Dylan jumps at the sound of his name. “Huh? I mean, yes? Y-Yes, ma’am?”

“If you disappear for that long again, you won't have a job to come back to.”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I mean,” Dylan blinks with swimming eyes. “Sorry.”

Sevika chooses then to shove her human hand into her pocket, glancing at you once more. When she retracts it, you notice that there is something shiny and silver that she's holding.

Your knife.

Silently, she holds it towards you. 

When your feet stay planted—brain struggling to process everything that's happening—she exhales heavily, evidently becoming impatient.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to close the distance. You grab your knife, knuckles grazing her palm, which ignites a static shock. Your fingers jump away from her instantly. If the skin contact startled her, her face doesn’t give it away.

“Thank you,” Is all that you say. You hate how vulnerable you sound.

She merely nods. Then, “He's upstairs, by the way. Definitely suffering from what you did to him but not harmed any further." She pauses, rubbing her lips together. "Did you want to come upstairs? It's your call on how you would like him to be handled."

You eyes widen at the realization.

She took him upstairs to do god know what (everyone knows that if Sevika takes you upstairs for any other reason than discussing business, then you probably aren't coming back down). You'd never thought she would include employees in such a thing.

Even with a matter such as this.

"I'll give you ten minutes to think about it," She continues on. "If you decide to come upstairs, he'll be waiting. Otherwise, go home. Tomorrow you'll return to the kitchen.” Then she turns on her heels, adding, “Amy, I expect your desk to be cleaned out by midnight.” Before she walks away. 

In the midst of her departure, your eyes begin to burn. 

Max and Dylan are already stepping out of the room, completely shaken up by the entire situation.

Being reprimanded by Sevika is never on anyone’s bucket list.

You idle there for a while, letting all of the events replay in your mind as your muscles start to unspool. Fidgeting with your knife, you allow the blade to extend. That’s when you notice that his blood has been cleaned off and your blade sharpened.

Amy wails pathetically while curling into herself. 

Her cries are nothing more than brown noise at this point. You're too preoccupied by the hammering of your heart, and the way that Sevika’s words have tattooed themselves onto your hippocampus:

If anyone touches you like that again, you do what needs to be done.

[girlfromflor]

56 DAYS (sjy) | PART TWO (FINAL)

pairing: enemie!jake x fem!reader | read the prequel and part one

summary: after your best friend jay made you share an apartment with jake – “the guy you don’t like” –, you have to decide whether you should or not give into the feelings he makes you experience, something possibly pleasant and definitely memorable.

genres: "enemies" (reader is in denial) to lovers, accidental roommates, summer love, also has a bit of angst, smut

warnings: read the first parts otherwise the story won't make much sense, swearing, cliché guys i’m sorry, this is very domestic, they act like an old married couple, jake is in love y’all, lots of tension, some crying, reader likes to be alone, they tease the fuck out of each other (not sexually), they thirst over each other a lot (very, very sexually), they bond over music and food, mentions of two piece bikini, its implied that jake is taller than reader, they overthink a bit, but mostly just lots of fluff, and smut (so MDNI) that includes: sex dream mentions, dirty talk, sub!reader, dom!jake, unprotected sex (y’all know better, this is fiction), praising, biting, slapping, pain kink?, slight degradation, begging, marking, spitting, brief fingering, hair pulling and choking

wc: 15.273 | playlist: 56 days.

a/n: can't believe this is finally out, it took me so long omfg. each part is named after a song in the playlist. anyways, hope you guys like it<3 | taglist: @manuosorioh @tunafishyfishylike

DAY 1 - Do You Like Me?

56 days. it was too much. that was no way you could both get out of this whole thing alive, everyone knew that. you will end up killing jake and then yourself. jay always said that it was going to be fine, because he knew you enough to be aware that the strongest thing between you just wasn’t mutual dislike. when he bid you two goodbye earlier this morning he just asked – really affectionately – for you to be nice to each other, with a knowing look and a teasing smile. you reminisced the moment already missing him and jake, as he drove you two back to your apartment, thought the same.

the ride back home was very quiet, jake didn’t say a word about how you both were going to be very alone together for the next few weeks and you didn’t either. you thought it was best to keep at least some of the good mood of jay’s constant yapper as much as you could, since soon enough all you two would have is each other's company – and that’s a big no-no for you. jake thought – in all his honesty – that no time alone with you was enough. he just couldn’t wait to have you all to himself and, as soon as you step inside the comforting surroundings of your home, jake doesn’t shut up. he spends all day talking your ear off about every single thing there is to talk about, anything he could use as an excuse to chat with you – he even went so far as to chase you around the house so you’d keep listening to his yapping.

it’s day one without jay and you’re already arguing. over what? you didn’t even know anymore. it kind of started because he didn't leave you alone since eight in the morning when you two got home, then he didn’t clean the mess he made in the kitchen while cooking and then he accused you of taking forever to shower – which shouldn’t really matter because he has his own fucking bathroom –, and now you’re just competing over who’s choosing the movie you're gonna watch.

“i got here first, i’ll choose it.” he says, shoving you on the other end of the couch, his big hand locking you in place by your shoulder. he’s trying really hard not to laugh to keep a serious facade, but it’s almost impossible with the way you're so shamelessly throwing a tantrum right now – he wouldn’t imagine you’d actually want to watch a movie with him.

“but you’ll choose something i won't like, on purpose,” you reply, pouting. giving up on trying to sit up and just comically laying there, your arms falling from the cushion – and jake thought you never looked cuter. you didn’t even want to fight, but it seemed like getting on your nerves was his goal for the evening.

“now, that’s simply not true. don’t you like horror movies?” he asks as he skips all netflix suggestions to search for a specific movie he heard you talk one too many times with jay, finally letting go of your arm, alternating his glance between you and the tv as he watched you switch positions and rest your back on the couch’s backrest.

“i do, but–” you pause, there was no way he knew that from you, so how did he know you're fond of horror movies anyways? you ignored your traitor thoughts – the ones that told you he paid true attention to you –, choosing to keep talking, “yes, but i still feel kinda scared sometimes.”

he cooed, like you were a cute child. “well, nothing to worry about then,” he says, and leans a bit closer, arm resting on the couch's backrest right behind you. as he winks at you, flirty ways never quite leaving him, he completes “i’m right by your side.”

you huff, sinking further into the couch, knowing him, there's no way you’d win this fight anyway. but your attitude did nothing to distract him from your flustered face and shy demeanor. “whatever, jake. just choose it already,” you mutter, arms crossed and knees to your chest making it all very entertaining for jake to watch.

the movie he chose was coincidentally your favorite horror movie. you loved it because, even though you knew it all by heart, you couldn’t help but flinch at most jumpscares. it was just so good you always got in a trance while watching it. still, it seemed like it wasn't going to happen tonight. you’d catch jake looking at you side eyed and it both intrigued and angered you. you always asked “what?” genuinely curious to know why he couldn’t just focus on the damn movie, but he brushed you off everytime, making it seem like you were just overthinking.

being completely unaware that jake have paid the movie little to no attention, you keep your eyes on the screen. jake uses this moment to appreciate your presence a little. making an effort to not look at you and distract you from your favorite horror show yet again, he becomes more aware of your presence. he then realizes you didn’t move away from him when he put his arm to rest behind you. you were just sitting there, so naturally – like it happens all the time. does this mean you’re comfortable? it has to be it, right? the thought itself catches him off guard, and he doesn’t want to move even for an inch, if that means you won’t move either. by the time the movie ends his body is a bit sore from trying so hard to stay in the same position – he thought it was kind of ridiculous, but that’s just how love is. 

not wanting it all to end just yet he asks you, “do you want to watch another one? we can make popcorn this time…” his eyes pleading, almost like it would physically sting him if you said no.

you look at him with a puzzled look, but nod in agreement regardless. it’s summer break, you don’t have class tomorrow and nothing else to worry about – also, the night sky outside is just begging for another round of spine-chilling story. making your way to the kitchen to make some popcorn for you two, you say “i’ll make popcorn, do you want to choose the next movie too?” giving him the opportunity to do it felt slightly out of character for you, but you can’t deny that his first one was a good choice – not that you’d let him know that, of course.

“no, you can choose now, pretty girl,” he winks at you as he answers, “but thanks, that’s sweet of you.” 

you roll your eyes, thinking you shouldn’t have said anything. “shut up, jake,” is your reply and you feel a bit disappointed by the fact that you couldn’t think of something else – mind unfocusing, wrapped around the way he had just called you a pretty girl. you try to shake it off and once the popcorn is ready you come back to the living room, settling down on the couch’s end by jake’s left side and pressing play in a thriller you’ve been dying to watch. 

he silently hates that you’re not by his side anymore, but he focuses on the movie. mid-way through it jake’s already on edge, his whole body tense as the movie goes on. he hates the suspense more, he thinks. nevertheless, as soon as he looks at you he almost completely forgets about it, mesmerized by how pretty you look right now – just like always. your hair is not covering your face, so he can see all of it – marvel at all of it. but what really catches his attention is the single piece of popcorn you are holding against your lips – that are slightly parted to accommodate it –, probably too lost in the movie’s story to notice you’re still holding it. your eyes are wide and almost puppy-like while looking at the screen and he wonders just how much inner strength he’s using right now to keep himself from kissing you. because, god, you look so kissable and you’re not even doing anything. it’s insufferable. he shakes his head and gets back to watching the movie, trying to get rid of the tension in his body – one that was not really from the thriller’s suspense anymore.

you sense him shifting on the other end of the couch and decide to look over, only to be greeted by a frown and a clenched jaw. he’s not looking at you – must be entranced by the film’s plot and is caught up in stress from wanting it to come to an end, you think –, but he’s looking way too good for your liking. the slight frown in his brows makes you want to soothe it somehow. maybe with a kiss, while you hold his clenched jaw until it’s not there anymore. your eyes snap back to the screen, what are you thinking? 

the rest of the movie is pure torture, for both of you. the tension that fills both your bodies starts to overflow, spilling all over the living room. it’s nearly tangible, really. it forms a dense atmosphere between you, that has nothing to do with the movie and when it is finally over none of you make comments on it – since you both lost the most important parts while exchanging sneaky looks – just whispering goodnight to each other swiftly, before going to bed. once you’re both in your designated rooms, you take a deep breath – may this be the last time you feel so goddamn tempted by him.

DAY 5 - Rock Your Body

as much as you felt like it would never happen again, it did. it’s been 4 days since your movie night and today was supposed to be the day you’d peacefully deep clean your apartment, according to your schedule. but neither you nor jake wanted to face each other, opting to not live the awkward tension all over again. you did it because you didn’t want to even entertain the idea of getting that close to jake ever, he did it because it was all too much for his poor in love heart to handle.

today was hot, to say the least. the blue sky had no clouds to shield you from the sun’s unforgivable brightness and even though you and jake are in the comfort of your home, the white walls of your apartment do nothing to suppress the impending heat that clings into your bodies. you thanked summer for its magical vibes, sure, but not really when you’re trapped at home doing house chores all morning. cleaning your apartment is usually fun since you used the time to just distract your mind from your current problems and just tidy everything up. but it’d be impossible to do it normally, since your major problem of the moment had a first name, last name and lived in the same place as you.

though it would be an annoying task, jake decided to use the day to try and bring his antics to a stop – just for one day – and, as a way to wave a white flag for you, he started by cleaning his own room, and you took the opportunity to clean yours. but as you finished and went for the next spot you both realized that you’d end up together at some point. ignoring that thought, you just kept doing your designated house chores and everything else you needed to, until you both found yourselves in the kitchen. you had already cleaned everything else, the only things missing were the dishes from breakfast and cleaning the counter – both which were completely simple. you took the dishes, while jake was supposed to clean the counter. but he couldn’t concentrate if his life depended on it.

jake freaked out the minute he saw you walk in. why would you choose to wear such revealing clothes today, he couldn’t take his eyes from you – which he tried, because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. the way your shorts hugged your thighs was a sin itself, but your basically see-through white shirt was what made him fold, the fact that even then his imagination couldn’t possibly feel accurate in the slightest made him weak, he wanted more than just the hint of what’s underneath the fabric. he felt like he needed to do something to leave the losing side – he was feeling like he was falling deeper in a world he wouldn’t survive by himself. so he uses the roasting summer day as an excuse to take his shirt off, wondering why he didn’t do it sooner. the relief was immediate, of course, the sweat that enveloped his skin didn’t have nowhere to stick anymore, and it was a pleasant sensation. but he loved the moment especially because, as soon as he took off his shirt, he heard a cup slide from your hands and hit the sink, softly like you tried really hard to keep it from falling. the smile that adorned his lips was involuntary, but filled with a sense of confidence that extended itself to every other move he made.

you feel all the words that you could possibly say turn into mush at the sight. your mind would be completely empty, if it wasn’t already filled to the brim with thoughts of jake – shirtless, sweaty and fucking hot. he was always handsome, you knew that much, and with his constant work out routine you would imagine that his body was somewhat nicely built, but you fooled yourself into thinking that he’d be average looking. you couldn’t help but stare, completely forgetting your task at hand. why did he take his shirt off? 

you didn’t want him to notice you ogling him so you decided to say something, anything. “ew, jake. put your shirt back on,” was all you could think of, but you didn’t really want him to. the urge to rub your thighs together was getting harder to ignore, so you decided to get back to doing the dishes. jake, on the other hand, was completely amused by your lack of effort in trying to be discreet with your staring, catching you side-eyeing him every five seconds – or maybe, he thought, maybe you just couldn’t help it. the idea of having this kind of effect on you makes him feel like he was responsible for the summer day, the heat spreading on his body and gathering in his abdomen, the sensation just as if he had several butterflies moving in his stomach.

“oh yeah, ‘cause you really want me to cover up, right?” he laughs and turns on his back to resume his own task, but still talking, “pretend all you want, i know that you’d love me walking around shirtless all day.”

“oh my god, you just never know when to shut up, do you?” you say, annoyed that he was pointing it out so matter-of-factly. to remain at least a bit of your composure you decide to put your earphones on and ignore his existence. though, nothing could take you away from the fact that he was you getting all hot and bothered and he was only standing there and looking good – much more than he should, for his own fucking good.

but jake’s unable to let you grasp the peace of mind you crave so much, and decides to throw through the window all thoughts he had earlier about ‘bringing his antics to a stop’, “what are you listening to?” he asks, actually curious. to know what’s your taste in music is to know you better, and he is all for it

“justin timberlake…” you saying, trying to keep your distance. you were already half-way done with your task, doing it as quickly as you could to go to your room. you’re in much need of a shower to cool the fuck down.

“are you serious?” he chuckles, what kind of person listens to JT to clean the house? he doesn’t ask that though, instead he asks, “which song?” pointing to your earphones. “take them off, so i can judge you properly.”

“what makes you think i’m gonna let you talk shit about my music choices?” but you were already taking it off your ears and disconnecting it from your phone – nonchalantly like you weren’t just contracting him –, replaying the song so he could listen to it from the start. your body moving automatically, the desire to please him taking over.

“really? ‘rock your body’?” he shakes his head, but even you could see that he was joking. he loved the song, he had danced to it many times with a drunk jay in their parties. but, instead of dropping the act, he uses it to tease you more, “i would understand if it were ‘mirrors’ or something, but ‘rock your body’ is just a biased choice, really.”

you can’t hold your laughter to save your life. “what the fuck? what does that even mean?” and when you turn to him, you lose it. he had a serious expression on his face and his lips were pressed in a thin line, like it was the most serious topic on the earth. you really don’t know if it is the sum of everything or if he’s just really funny, but your laughter increases. you bend over the sink slightly, trying to find the balance you lost from your cackles. jake tries his best to keep a straight face but then he sees you and gives in, laughing too – it was impossible not to, you looked so chill at the moment he didn’t want to miss it. and it stays like that for what feels like many minutes, you two laughing and trying your hardest to catch your breath – but failing miserably.

once you calm down, a small smile on both your faces and your chest heaving from the lack of oxygen, you resume your tasks. almost forgetting that you were thirsting over each other just moments ago, the silence that falls between you two is comfortable. but jake didn’t want to keep it that way, so he sighs comically and says, “didn’t know it was that easy to have you laughing like that.”

“it’s not easy, you’re just a complete idiot and i can’t help but find it amusing,” you say, chuckling softly.

as he finishes cleaning the counter, which really shouldn't have taken this long, he smirks at you sentence. “oh, so i amuse you, huh?” his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. 

you had just finished the dishes as well and were drying your hands in the dishtowel, but the moment you heard his words you threw it at jake’s direction with no second thought. he catches it effortlessly and starts to walk in your direction. “you should really learn when to be quiet…” you say, and you meant it to be harsh, but your voice is wavering. his tall and broad frame was closer than you were used to and the fact that he was still shirtless wasn’t helping your situation at all. suddenly, you were hyperconscious of the extremely hot day and how it made you body warm – and possibly his too, and you wanted very much to know just how much –, the way lips parted as he looked at you, the way he towered over you and the way his eyes seemed darker now, up close – the way his chest stuttered when he finally trapped you in your position, leaning in the sink counter.

“you always say that, but i never see you make any effort to shut me up,” he says, but his voice is low, like he’s sharing a secret – a dark and seductive one. “isn’t that what you want, princess? to shut me up?”

your heart is racing, but your mind is rather calm. even though you want to deny it, you know what he was hinting at, and you want it. you crave it. “yes…” you say, voice just like a whisper, a plea.

“yeah?” he says, and closes the distance between you, clearly affected by your small, but important, confession. his warm body – warmer than yours, you notice – presses into yours ever so slightly, like he didn’t want to startle you – like you were in a dream and neither of you wanted to wake up. his right hand moved to cup your cheek, holding your face with all the worship he has ever known in life, eyes filled – overflowing – with yearning. “you can do it, baby. ”

but he wasn’t proposing, it wasn’t a suggestion. he was encouraging you to do it – egging you to go ahead and fucking kiss him, challenging you to give in. your pout comes involuntarily, the movement small but attracting his eyes to your lips – your pretty and really fucking temptable lips. knowing you can’t refuse it – knowing you don’t want to –, you tilt your head up. his reply comes immediately, coming down to brush your lips together eagerly. your voice can barely be called a whisper when you speak, “shit, jake… you know i want to.”

the way his name leaves your lips so beautifully – so appealing – makes his knees buckle. he suppresses a moan, mind going overdrive at the fact you just so openly confessed your wish – because he knew what it meant, how much it meant. then his left hand pulls you closer by your waist, as he does it he swears you can listen to the way his heart beats desperately in his chest. and you are so engrossed in the moment, so wrapped up in the suffocating tension between you that when your phone buzzes and starts ringing on the counter next to you, you both jolt. the sound sharp, cutting through whatever you two were just sharing and it takes you a moment to come to your senses.

picking your phone up, you hardly have the strength to talk, but you voice it regardless, “it’s jay…” and jake only nods, saving all words of disappointment for when he gets his turn to talk to jay, privately. you pick the video call up and wait for jay to greet you, not bothering to go to your room. jake barely moves an inch, he wants to know if you’ll try to push him away once jay sees you two. oddly enough, you don’t do it.

“hey! how’re you doing? is that jake next to you? great, i wanted to talk with you both! have you had lunch yet?” jay’s voice sounds like a rap song. he was so excited to talk to you after four whole days of not listening to your voice.

and as the conversation goes on and both you and jake catch up with a very observant jay, you come to terms that maybe – just maybe – you were eager for the next opportunity you’d get to have jake so close – maybe to finally kiss him, even if you’re interrupted.

DAY 11 - Baby Blue Movie

you didn't think this day would come, but you couldn't wait to get home. ever since the day you almost kissed jake, you decided to go out more – alone preferably. but not even then you could escape him completely. sometimes he was a better company than people you were related to. after spending an afternoon at your mother's house, your energy was completely drained. sure, you loved your family, but you can't ignore disrespect. your mother's childhood was completely different from yours and it's obvious that it would have repercussions in your adulthood, considering that she always voiced that she knew – within maternal standards – what was best for you. and it gets tiring, you lost count of how many times you tried to make her understand your point of view and now you just ignored her complaints – usually successfully, but today it unfortunately didn’t happen.

as you unlock the door, you pray that jake isn't in his playful mode. it would be extremely hard to deal with it today, but when you enter the house and take off your shoes, you can't fool yourself. he was already leaning against the wall that separated the entrance of the house from the living room, a tiny smile on his face and a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. you mentally prepare yourself not to explode at him. after all, he wasn't to blame for anything – he couldn’t possibly be aware of the horrible day you just had. you don’t even greet him as you try to make your way to your room. but he doesn’t move an inch. with lack of something else in mind, you stop in front of him, waiting for him to say whatever lame joke he thought, already thinking of a possible retort. the whole time he watches you – your pretty face contorted in a serious expression he's not usually used to – he thinks that, maybe, you’re mad at him, but he can’t think of something he could have done to make you angry like that. he doesn’t want to overthink anything, so he decides to break the silence. "did… something happen?" voice silent, soothing, like you would bleed if he sounded hostile – or even indifferent, actually. 

and, god, you wanted to yell at him. scream with all the pent up stress you endured all day, because how dare he speak to you like that? like you are fragile, like you need to be taken care of – like he needs to take care of you. the thought of being the object of his tenderness infuriates you. to be seem like you lack affection to the point you’d accept his nice words and gentle eyes. because you would never do that, no. you wouldn’t just give in because he was being kind to you for the first time since you met. but, god, did you want to. with jay’s absence you had no one else – which was kind of depressing, but you didn’t really mind – and with jake’s constant attempts in making you open up to him, it got increasingly harder to not let your guard down. because god knows how hard you’ve been trying to keep your distance, but after today’s stressful events you just wanted some sort of display of affection – something to remind you that you matter and that you are deserving of love just like anyone else is – and the fact that you received it with no second thought apparent from jake made you weak. it made you want to fight him to remain some sort of composure but also apologize for ever misjudging him – apologize for thinking he wouldn’t comfort you at all. but you didn’t do either of those. instead, you look down at your feet taking a deep, shaky breath, murmuring an almost inaudible “yeah… it did, actually.”

nothing could have prepared him for that. he genuinely thought you would brush him off and go to your room. he could have even been fine if a mean, snarky remark came out of your mouth, like it usually happens. but, you didn’t – why didn’t you? why would you answer him honestly and looking so goddamn helpless, like you were in much need of a hug. and for a second, that was precisely what he went to do. however, giving in to those impulses felt like overstepping a boundary, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, especially now that you were letting him see you vulnerable – even if it’s barely. so he tried to not look so terrified of this new territory and went with what felt most secure, wanting to reassure you somehow. “do you want to talk about it?” his voice is casual and steady, like it happens every week and he can perfectly deal with it – except it doesn’t and he can’t, the thought of you allowing him any close to you emotionally makes him dizzy, eager and feeling rather protective.

“shit…” you chuckle inevitably. he was supposed to drop the subject and yet here he is, still trying to get to you. but you try to keep yourself grounded, all your anger and stress has dissipated into pure sadness so far, if he pushes any further you’ll cry. and as you look for a way to put out what is going on in your mind, he wonders what had happened, considering he never saw you like that before. he was ready to hunt down to the gates of hell whoever dragged you to that state. “uh, no,” you sigh. “actually, it would be– yeah. well– ” you stumble over words, another frustrated sigh leaves your mouth and your hands come to face, hiding the obvious emotion written all over it. when you look back at him your eyes are already teary, your hands shake a little as you bring them down, your lips wobbly. you manage to let out a broken “i don’t know, jake…” but by the time you sniffle, about to let your tears stream down your face, jake is right on you. 

his left arm circling your middle pulling you towards him, his right hand on the back of your head tucking your face in his chest and, as he tightly hugs you for a few seconds, he keeps on saying “it’s fine, okay? it doesn’t matter, princess.” so lovingly, it does the job of distracting you from your little meltdown. you notice the way the hug feels so intimate, like it was a forbidden thing to do and you two created a bubble to hide from the world and savour the moment. and it made sense you felt that way, because jake was actually hugging you right now. and you were crying. you were crying in front of jake sim – being comforted by him – and you didn’t care at all. actually, now that you have done all the things you said you weren’t going to, what’s another one, right? that’s what’s in your mind as your arms come to his waist, not to push him away but to further drown yourself in his embrace, taking in his scent. 

and as you two stand there, the dream-like golden beams of light due to the sunset passing through the curtain’s delicate material, your arms around him so willingly and your crying coming down to a halt, jake doesn’t think he could be more content. his heart hurting in his chest knowing that you’re not okay, but also beating as fast as ever before since you’re right there. just so, so close to him, in a way he never thought you'd allow him to. and then he laughs, just a bit, but he can’t help it. and you laugh too, wholeheartedly. because you cannot deny yourself the fact that you too felt content, even though you’re crying and he’s doing that just for the sake of comforting you. but that's precisely what makes it so important – is his effort in doing so the best way he can.

DAY 18 - WA-R-R

you woke up feeling great. it has been so nice to actually have a full break from college, you have time to do all the things you like without worrying about anything. well, almost anything. it’s been a week since the crying incident happened and you two never brought it up again. jake was okay with it. he thought you didn’t want to talk about any of it, since once you felt lighter you just quietly apologized for crying on him like you did and went to your room. but you didn’t know that, and you were starting to feel like a burden. you needed to properly thank him for comforting you, but you had no idea how.

it was currently a quarter past three in the afternoon and you were boiling on your couch from the heat. jake had left for the gym right after lunch and you had nothing to do, beginning to feel unsettled from the boredom. deciding on doing something productive, you take a shower and get dressed to go to the supermarket. you were out of a few things and it would be nice to leave the house and enjoy the weather, despite the fact that you’d much rather go to the beach. once ready, you go to the kitchen to check if you weren’t forgetting anything so you could add to the list, that’s when you hear the front door opening. jake walks in just a few seconds later, eyes roaming over your figure as he immediately catches the scent of your favorite perfume – are you going somewhere? 

his black fit – sleeveless compression shirt and loose dri-fit shorts – knocked the air out of your lungs, but you didn’t have time for that. “i’m going grocery shopping, do you want something?” you ask, pretending to still check the cupboards.

“yeah, actually. but i think it’s best if i go with you…” he says casually, like he wasn’t dying to have a domestic day with you – going to the market, choosing what you’re going to do for dinner, helping you carry the grocery bags. “you know…? so you won’t buy anything wrong.”

you scoff, turning to look at him. “you’re projecting, you know i wouldn’t mistake your protein bars or whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes and propping yourself on the counter. you glance at him for a moment, taking in his appearance. faking a mix of disgust and judgment on your face, you point towards his clothes. “are you going like that?”

he checks himself, like he didn’t know what could be wrong with his outfit, and with a confused look on his face he says, “well, yes. why wouldn’t i?”

you arch your brows mockingly, shrugging. “i don’t know. you tell me, jake,” and then you chuckle from your teasing.

he rolls his eyes, feeling dumb for not realizing sooner that you were just messing with him – like always. “you’re so annoying, what the hell…” he murmurs, suppressing an amused laugh and completes, “come on, let’s go in my car.”

his car smelled like him, the woody perfume he would usually wear was everywhere – you failed to notice that the first time you rode with him. as you put the seatbelt on and he starts the car, he says “do you want to put some music on?” giving you his phone and driving off your apartment’s garage.

“sure, what do you wanna listen to?” you ask, rolling through his playlist. the ride to the store was actually short, but a little music is always nice to have. 

“whatever, you can press play on random,” he answers, eyes locked on the streets ahead. just as he finished speaking, he heard the soft beat of a korean r&b melody starting to play very lowly. he went to turn up the volume, only for his hand to bump into yours – you were going to turn the volume up a bit as well, after resting his phone on your thighs. 

a beat of awkward silence passes by and you two sneak a glance between each other. after laughing a bit embarrassed you softly say, “sorry, i was just gonna turn it up a bit.” moving your hand back to your lap.

he chuckles, without really knowing what to do he turns the volume up himself, saying “no, it’s okay. i was going to do the same.”

the song takes over the silence, its nicely tuned vocals filling the space, and you can’t help but share, “i love this song…” your voice is peaceful as you speak.

jake loves the comment, loves that you’re the one starting the small talk. “really? i thought you were more of a 2000s pop type of girl…” he says, bringing back that fact that you were listening to justin timberlake a few days ago.

you smile, “yeah, that too. but there’s nothing quite like korean r&b,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders. and it felt so nice to be comfortable around him, to talk like you do with jay – like you’ve known him for years.

“i mean, you’re right. but i’m suspicious, i was born in korea, so…” he trails off, and as you two feed the conversation more and more with small details of your life, he can only thank his complete genius idea of following you everywhere – it in fact did pay off, eventually.

when you get to the supermarket, the whole shopping process is actually very quick, you buy the essentials and all the things that were in your list, jake buys a lot of barley tea bottles and you two decide that italian food was the best option for dinner today, so you buy everything you need to make pasta – you also have to decide which bottle of wine you were going to buy and that itself takes most of your time, both finding joy in fake disagreeing with each other. after getting to the checkout and paying for your purchases, you and jake walk back to the car and settle everything to ride back home. 

once at home you ask jake to put some music on the TV so you could unpack the groceries and start cooking dinner. surprised that you were offering to make dinner – knowing that usually he’s the one to make dinner and you make lunch – he asks, “why are you so willing saying that you’re gonna make our dinner today?” his voice accusing and wary, like you about to prank him. approaching you after putting on the same playlist that was playing in the car, he starts to help you unpack the grocery bags that were scattered on the counter. 

“can’t a girl feel like cooking twice in a day?” you say, purely to tease him, because after letting out a little laugh you add up almost instantly, “i just wanted to, i don’t know, thank you for being so nice to me the other day.”

“the other day? which day?” he was confused, it was pretty visible by his frown and inquiring voice.

you sigh, not wanting to extend the subject, but clarifying anyway, mumbling “the day that i cried in front of you…”

his realization comes quickly, a soft “ah!” leaving his lips. nevertheless, he didn’t want you to think that it was anything other than the bare minimum – you didn’t have to make him a meal just because you felt like you needed to pay him back. both of you knew that he had no second intentions when he comforted you. “you know, you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“i know, i know. but i really want to,” you say, voice steady like you practiced the speech all week – which you did, but that was nothing but a small detail, he didn’t have to know. “i want to show that i’m grateful somehow, so just let me.”

he just nods, pleased that your communication was improving. dinner time was really nice, you two shared a bottle of wine, talked a lot about how your music taste was actually similar and how cooking can be a fun activity once you grow comfortable with it – you were both kind of tipsy at that point.

as he helps you tidy up the kitchen, he cherished the evening you had. it was nice to know that you started to share a bond now, even if you still tried to keep your distance somehow. “thanks, for the dinner,” he says, cheeks flushed both from the alcohol and from the way you were so close to him, drying the dishes as he washed them.

you hummed, feeling sleepy from the alcohol and tired from the day. you lay your head on his shoulder – as much as you can with the height difference – and answer, “it was nice, right? we should do it again some day.”

jake can only laugh as he shakes his head – you were just too cute. “yeah… we should.”

DAY 23 - Let Go

you couldn’t be happier, today was finally the day you were going to the beach. as you got your things ready, you talked to jake about how dumb it was for you to have delayed this for so many days. jake has the idea of making some snacks and you help him do everything. throughout all the time that it takes for you and jake to make sandwiches and pack your beach bag and his backpack with everything you were going to need, you were talking nonstop. it was inevitable with the way you started to get along the past few days since your dinner together, honestly. you were also much more at ease in his presence, so you started to share a few more wholesome moments. still, he judges your choices for two piece bikinis and you say it was best if he didn’t take his shirt off – to save people’s sanity – and you fight over which snacks you were going to take in your little trip. it was all really fun, you could never try to deny that. once everything was ready, you two got ready to go.

the ride to the beach was rather calm. the music in the background was soothing and the beach you chose to go to wasn't far from your place, so jake drove you there and in less than an hour you were in the sand, sitting on your beach mat. the day was summery just like the others that have passed, only this time you could sunbathe and swim – a perfect day, you would say. jake was sitting by your side, watching you put on sunscreen – admiring you, that was more like it.

when you’re done, he points towards the sunscreen bottle on your hand and doesn't think twice before asking, “can you do my face and back?” he watches your concentrated face, but it doesn't change a bit, you stay expressionless. he tries again, “please…?”

you grimace, and move to sit face to face with him. “what? you can’t do it?” you ask, but it’s not really a criticism.

he laughs, and flicks your forehead. “of course i can, you brat. it’s just better if you do it,” he says, like it’s so obvious and you fake a look of disgust. he adds, “i can’t miss a chance to have your hands all over me, baby,” and winks.

you roll your eyes, but start to apply some sunscreen on his face, answering, “shut up and close your eyes, loverboy.” you use the moment to take in his appearance, closed eyes and parted lips from his talking. he was always so beautiful for you, you wished you could let him know in a way that didn’t felt like you were putting your heart in his hands – which was impossible, because that was the only kind of fondness you knew with him, devotion.

he does what you tell him, closing his eyes, but he keeps on talking – a smile on his face all throughout it. “you can’t push me away, princess. i know how your mind works by now,” his voice filled with enjoyment.

“yeah, yeah. i know, jake, you say that everyday,” you reply, but you're smiling too. finding joy in his words, but oblivious to how evident his feelings were. “okay, face done. now i’m gonna put it on your back, turn around for me, please.”

he turns around, his eyes glinting with unmistakable affection from your disponibility to do it for him – the way you ask him ‘please’ sticks to his mind a little more than it's considered healthy. once you’re done he gets up on his feet and holds your hand. “come on, we’re going in the sea.”

“woah there, loverboy. i know you need me to do everything with you, but at least wait until the sunscreen soaks in.” you say, and use the fact that he was still holding your hand to push him down to sit by your side once again.

he complies, his thigh brushing against your as he settles down next to you. you both take in the view. the sea is rather calm, the waves seem to crash slowly. the sun is unforgiving, but in a pleasant way, and the eventual breeze that hits your bodies is a nice way to recover from the heat. you don’t realize that you’re still holding hands, but jake is very aware of the act. so much so he fights the urge to stroke his thumb along your hand, so that you won’t grow annoyed from his display of affection. it’s not until an old lady passes by, selling handmade bracelets, that you notice just how close you guys are to each other.

the woman stops by you two and asks, very fondly, “oh, hello, young man. would you want to buy a bracelet for your girlfriend?” she’s pointing at you, and oddly enough you don’t feel like correcting her. in fact, you don’t say anything, you just smile at the lady and turn to look at jake, waiting to see what he’ll do.

“oh, yes! do you have matching ones?” he asks her, paying you no attention. his response comes immediately, and you’re caught off guard at just how natural it came to him – like you were actually boyfriend and girlfriend, like it wasn’t even a thing to consider in the first place.

they get into a conversation about her process of making the bracelets and how much they cost, eventually he buys two – only then he lets go of hand, because he needed to pay the old woman – and she thanks your attention as both of you wave her goodbye.

your head snaps in his direction. giving him a quizzed look, you don’t even have to say anything for him to speak, “look, it wasn’t going to change anything in her life if we said we weren’t together. if anything we’d just make her ashamed of her mistake…” his voice is quiet, like you’d argue with him for what he did. 

but you don’t. in fact, you just say, “i’m surprised by how easily you played along, but i’m not gonna kill you. relax,” you’re chuckling, and you add “i didn’t get to see which ones you bought…”

he stares at you, dumbfounded. “what?” he asks, wondering if he heard you wrong. were you just letting that slide? like he just didn’t pretend you were his girlfriend to a total stranger? weren’t you the one who refused to let him close? “did you enjoy being my girlfriend, is that it?” he teases, but he’s not joking. he actually wants to know this time, he needs the rest it’ll provide him.

you cough, choking a bit. what should you do? did you enjoy it? you’re not sure, but for some reason you didn’t want him to think you didn’t. not only because upsetting him felt so mean of you, but because you realized that you weren’t opposed to the idea of dating him. “god, don’t make it weird and let me see the bracelets…” you say, changing the subject. but decided to mumble in addition,  “if i didn’t say anything, it means that i didn’t mind.”

he smiles, and it outshines the sun. jake wasn’t one to be pessimistic, but he often opted for a more realistic approach when it came to you, so to see you opening up like that – letting him genuinely see you and understand you �� made his body shiver with anticipation of what you’d share next. he senses your will to not deep dive into the matter so he gives into your wishes to see the bracelets. “here, give me your hand so i can put it on you…” he says, but he can barely control his excitement. he ties the bracelet in your wrist and asks for you to do the same for him, both of you admiring the colorful object that now was a reminder of a thing only you two shared. you fall into a nice, comfortable silence. the unspoken feelings surrounding you but not in a scary way, the sounds of the waves crashing doing nothing to drown your rapid heartbeats. in moments like these you question just how much you should try to keep jake away, only for you to choose not to do it at all – you were just letting it flow, it would pain you more to pretend you didn’t like what was growing between you. 

and that’s just how the day goes. you swim in the sea and share your snacks, it truly feels like a beach episode from your favorite anime. once you get back home, the tiredness from the long day – even though it was fun and uplifting – sinks in. after you and jake have straightened things up and showered, you both decide to settle on the couch.

you were hardly registering the movie that was playing on the screen. jake had his hand on your head, fingers mindlessly scratching your scalp, a loving gesture that only pushed you closer to sleep. as you started to drift off, your head found its way to jake’s shoulder, face hiding on his neck. jake gasped at the proximity, but after a few seconds he adjusted you on his body, hugging your waist. before either of you could realize, the two of you had already fallen asleep.

DAY 35 - All Mine

when jake wakes up, he’s a mess. he feels his hair sticking on his forehead due to his sweat. his legs feel shaky, his boxers sticky and his heart is hammering in his ribcage. it takes him a few moments to realize that he’s laying in his bed, having fallen asleep with you the night before while you two played cards late at night. the next thing he realizes is that you’re no longer with him. he checks his phone, it’s half past eight in the morning. he slumps back on the mattress, right hand coming down to palm the evident erection on his sleeping shorts, cock still hard despite the fact that he had clearly cummed during his sleep. he had woken up from a very messy, very erotic dream, his breath was calming down as he took in his surroundings, but his mind was still in a haze from the vivid memories from his dream – where you and him did all the things he craved to do to you. his right hand’s grip tightens around his clothed girth, his arousal growing while he feeds his imagination, thinking just how cute you’d look with your eyes tight such and your mouth hanging open as your lips let out the most beautiful sounds of his name, while he’s buried inside–.

he sits up, instantly. he couldn’t act like he lived alone, and even though he very much wanted to get off right now, he wouldn’t want to have you walk in on him – well, he wouldn’t mind if he felt like you would be okay with it, but he couldn’t know if that was the case. the past few days were wonderful, he loved every second of it. you and him were growing closer and closer, to the point you did everything together. after the day you spent on the beach, both of you decided to start hanging out more often. you did all sorts of things – you even did go back to the beach, going to a drive-in that was happening nearby – and it was starting to get hard to avoid the inevitable. jake was beginning to break, the time you’ve been spending together only further pushing him to his darkest, most lust-filled thoughts. he wondered if you felt the same, or if he was just another homie to you. if you want him the way he wants you it shouldn’t be hard to notice, right? he thinks that he should pay more attention to your body language, to see if you give him any opening to tumble over the edge of the hanging tension. but then he wonders, where are you anyway? intrigued, he leaves his room to look for you, only to find an empty house. you weren’t anywhere to be found, neither in the kitchen nor in your room. he sits on the couch, and as he was about to text you to know your whereabouts he hears the clicking of the keys on the front door. he sits back, checking his bulge briefly – that had subsided considerably – and waits for you to show up, fingers interlaced, his hands resting on his lap.

you had woken up pretty early and decided to buy strawberry cheesecake for breakfast at a bakery nearby and some coffee at your favorite coffee shop, choosing to not text jake because you thought you’d be back before he woke up – which clearly did not happen. when you see him sitting on the couch you stop, standing comically – awkwardly – at the hall that separates the living room from the kitchen.

“hi, you’re up,” you state, looking at him – eyes roaming over his figure, he seemed sus. not waiting for his answer you turn left, walking towards the kitchen counter to settle what you bought for breakfast.

jake is hot on your tail, replying, “where have you been, huh?” his tone is playful, but you can tell he’s actually curious to know.

“uh… i don’t see how it concerns you?” you answer, teasingly. your smile the most genuine it could ever be, since jake with his ‘recently woken up’ look was the cutest. then you add, “i bought coffee, and cheesecake.”

“oh god, yes! love me some sweets in the morning,” he says, settling down at the counter while eyeing your figure – the fabric of your jeans shorts seemingly sinfully pretty around your thighs, your baby blue crop top making him want to ogle your breasts. were you always this hot? “uh, thanks for bringing coffee for me too…”

“don’t mention it,” you say, at last. sitting down on his side you two start to eat, then you remember something. “hey, how did you sleep? i woke up in the middle of the night and went to my room. sorry, if i woke you.”

jake feels relief wash over his entire figure to know you weren’t there if he made any suggestive sounds during his sleep. “actually, i’m a heavy sleeper, so you wouldn’t wake me like that,” he answers and after pausing for a few seconds he finishes, “i slept ok, without crazy dreams or whatever.”

you laugh, his words seeming rushed for you and oddly explanatory, which was out of character of him – especially since he was so slow in the mornings. was he nervous? “ok, jake. if you say so…” you say, just for the sake of getting on his nerves – and maybe to get him to say something about what really happened.

“yah! what are you suggesting? i slept like a baby, ok? with baby dreams…” he states, defensively. and you laugh harder, your hand coming to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle at least some of it – which didn’t happen.

in between your gasps for air, you say, “oh, so you dreamed of unicorns and princesses then.” your teasing sentence only half well delivered, since you were still trying to recover from your fit of laughter.

jake’s mind was racing while he nervously tried to change the subject. however, in between his thoughts of his not exactly baby-like dream, he lets out the first thing that comes to his mind, “if you’d call yourself princess, then i guess you could say that, yeah…” he says, his voice sounding playful. you stall, confusion written all over your face.

“wait, does that mean you- did you dream about me?” you ask, incredulous. you brows coming together to emphasize the chaos that was your mind at his statement. he laughs, shaking his head, truly amazed at how easily he gave himself in. knowing that there was no denying what he said just now, he only nods, taking yet another slice of the cheesecake you were sharing. but you had long forgotten how to eat, in fact you don’t think you can do anything else at the moment. 

letting your curiosity speak louder you decide to try your luck. “what… did you dream about?” you ask, voice small despite its certainty. you decide to not look at him, eyeing the plate in front of you as he ate the last piece of the cheesecake. you take a sip of your coffee.

“you, duh,” he says matter-of-factly, and laughs like you weren’t dying from not knowing. “why do you want to know, anyway? does it matter that much, princess?” his tongue brushes the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress the smirk threatening to take place in his lips. the situation’s much more entertaining than he initially thought it would be. 

“oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you huff and get up, making your way to the sink to wash the dishes you just used. he stares at you, amused at the tantrum your throwing over something he thought you’d just brush off, probably just making a comment about how in love he’s in with you – jokingly, of course.

“okay, okay. i’ll tell you, alright?” he says, bringing his hands up as if surrendering to you. you stop what you’re doing just to turn your head to him slightly. you eye him, an unreadable expression in your face and he chuckles a bit – he really does like you. at last, he says “i dreamed i got hurt in a zombie apocalypse and you left me behind…” his voice is obviously playful, but you fail to realize he was being ironic.

so you only sigh, your lips forming an involuntary pout as you hummed in acknowledgement, turning back to dry your hands after you finished your task. his answer breaks your expectations, leaving you confused as to why you thought he’d say something else – why you wanted him to say something else. maybe it was the way he was staring at you since you arrived, or the way he seemed so nervous talking about his dream, you thought maybe it meant he saw you in a way that wasn’t just ‘his roommate’. but, maybe it was all in your head anyways.

he comes behind, not touching you whatsoever, his hands finding their place at the counter in front of you the same time you finish your task – and he realizes he’s feeling oddly familiar with the situation, like a deja vu. he whispers then, voice seductive and full of intentions, “did you want me to say that i had a erotic dream?” his question catches you off guard, you use your now free hands to support yourself at the edge of the sink. you head falls to your shoulder, eyes closing as a sigh passes your lips. fuck, why is he dirty talking to you all of sudden? why do you like it? you decide that all your doubts and worries are for the future you to deal with, right now you just want to know how far this can go. still, you can help the nervousness that gets a hold of your demeanor. shaking your head, you start, “n-no, that’s not it, why would you–”

but jake was not having it. he cuts you off mid-sentence, face coming closer to your ear, lips brushing over it ever so slightly while he whispers lowly – as if you were in a room filled with people and he only wanted you to hear –, “are you really going to lie to me like that, baby?” and just like that you’re speechless, but that doesn’t matter one bit, because jake keeps on talking, “i dreamed you were underneath me doing all sort of cute noises while i fucked you on my bed. is that what you expected me to say? or was that pout on your pretty lips for another reason, princess?”

“w-what…?” you utter, confused. he’s getting to you too damn fast for your liking – your panties growing damp at the thought of him having a wet dream about you. you speak your mind, “what the fuck, jake? how can you say things like that…”

“like what? so directly? you know i’m not one to play games, princess,” he says and uses the little switch of topic to spin you around. his hands find your waist to urge you to face him and you comply, but you don’t look into his eyes yet, embarrassment having a tight grip around you. so his right hand comes to your face and you barely feel his fingers as he tilts your chin up softly, bringing you to face him so he can lock eyes with you, his hand falling to your waist a second after. his gaze is intense, filled with emotion – one you’re yet to allow yourself to admit aloud you reciprocate. the silence starts to grow bothersome so you decide to voice your thoughts once again, not really expecting this moment to turn into a heart to heart conversation – but honestly, you love that jake provides this for you.

“i know. but, you’re making me nervous,” you confide in a mumble, fidgeting fingers on your back but you don’t break eye contact – your puppy eyes fucking jake’s mind up. he knows what you mean, you’ve talked about this before. you’re not one to let people in, so to have him so casually stripping you out of your comfort zone can be really stressing – it doesn’t mean you don’t want him to, though.

jake cuckles, he does think you’re adorable from time to time – everyday – and he’s determined to make you comfortable with what you want – well, that being him – so he makes a point of saying, “that’s cute, princess. you’re only nervous because you keep refraining yourself from doing what you want…” he says, almost melodically. “and i know very well that you want me.”

there’s a knowing glint in his eyes and you know he knows, that’s what your relationship was always about – he’s been obvious about his desires, you were the one who poorly attempted to deny it. so you sigh defeated, as you watch his pretty eyes and easy smile. you touch his arms, hands traveling up to his cheeks where you leave a soft squeeze with your palms, squishing them together. you both let out a giggle, then your fingers intertwin on his nape, your body closing the distance between you and him. 

jake is not surprised that you took the initiative, but he couldn’t believe that it was actually happening. his heart is beating unforgivingly in his chest, it aches the best kind of pain and he lets out a sound of relief, pleasure and pure fulfillment. his hands grips your waist harder trying to ground himself, but nothing is enough – he is losing all self control and he couldn’t care less. because your hands were on his neck, nails scratching lovingly the back of his head, your chest pressed on his and your lips passionately kissing him – having you on his hands for him to touch and hold was messing with his head. the kiss that takes place is outstanding, it makes both you and him breathless way too quickly. you pull away first, your teeth prodding your bottom lip for a moment before jake is on you again.

this kiss is much more devastating than the first one, when your tongues meet you can hardly contain the whine that tries to leave your lips, but maybe it’s the way jake shoves you against the counter behind you that knocks the air out of your lungs. none of you know how long you stay making out, your fingers interlace on jake’s locks and he anticipates the moment you will pull it, but you don’t. he grows impatient, hands sliding from your waist to your hips, where he squeezes hard, then he pushes himself from you, interrupting the kiss in the middle. you’re panting, chest heaving and lips red and swollen from the kissing, the sight making heat spread all over his body and his arousal only increases, the bulge on his pants begging to be simulated and he wonders how affected you are by all of this. despite the hot feeling of your hasty breath, nothing really gives away your inner state. and you try to keep it that way, but your mind is foggy and you can barely form coherent thoughts aside from the burning lust, that’s all you can discern. you thought you could be stronger when it came to your sexual desires, but jake fucks up all your attempts in keeping a composed attitude. because you wanted nothing more than to let go and be led, to allow him to do whatever he wanted to. that’s how much you trusted him, how much you craved him.

you’re so lost in your submissive reverie that you fail to realize that jake actually said something. it isn’t until his hands cups your cheeks that your attention turns to him.

“hm…?” you hum and it’s supposed to be a question, but you can really say something else. he understands, though, slowly catching on to what your behaviour meant. 

testing the waters, he asks “do you want to go upstairs, baby?” softly, trying not to sound like you had to. you nod, eagerly so, making him smile, tilting his head to the side. “you’re much too quiet, princess,” he says, his smile fading to a smirk as continued, “go on, use your words.”

the way he says it is borderline condescending. the patronizing superiority twists your insides and your heart rate speeds up, a familiar feeling making its way to your stomach like butterflies. you curse every cell in your body for being so responsive. you focus on the fact that it’s a simple question, one he already knows the answer to. “yes…” you voice out, not without stuttering and jake is amazed. 

he pushes further, wanting to strip every layer of this newfound trait of yours. “huh? yes what, princess?” and it’s a trap, because he’s not expecting anything specific, you may or may not know what to answer, it doesn’t matter because jake is doing it with the sole purpose of teasing you.

but you don’t know that, and even if everything in you is telling you to address him with a respectful honorific, you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning that so easily, so you do what’s best, you play innocent. “yes, i wanna go upstairs,” your voice sounding much more controlled and with barely any sides of your emerging submissiveness.

jake laughs at your answer, eyes scanning you with unmistaken amusement. he shakes his head, grabbing your hand as he speaks, “you’re impossible.”

he uses your intertwined fingers to pull you with him, all the way until you’re passing through his bedroom door. once inside, he sits on the end of his bed, hands coming to your hips as he looks up at you. that’s when everything sinks in. nothing could’ve prepared you for the devastating reality that you’re a moment away from letting jake undress you – letting him fuck you. his alluring presence drowns your senses, you want nothing else than to please him. 

he sees it in your eyes, so he feels obligated to act on it. “come sit, princess,” he says and pulls you to his lap. you fall right after, thighs finding their place on his sides as your hands touch his chest. “you’re so pretty,” his hands are caressing your waist under the fabric of your shirt. “so, so pretty,” he adds, placing kisses on your cheeks, and then your neck. “makes me want to ruin you all the time,” he pulls you even closer, the motion making your hips collide with his. his dick impossibly hard underneath you, you fists his shirt at the feeling. he started to leave hickeys on your skin, his path well marked as he love bites his way to the valley of your breasts. you can feel the smirk on his lips as he trails kisses on your skin, but you are engrossed in the intoxicating feeling of his hands traveling up your body. when you realize, he’s already taking your top off, eyes shamelessly falling to your naked torso. “you always leave the house without a bra on?” he asks, not really accusing you of anything, his hands instantly coming to grope them, thumbs tenderly flicking your nipples and your response is almost embarrassingly quick. you’re taken by surprise, a soft moan slips past your lips and your hips grind on him. he appreciates the sound, his dick twitching in his sleeping shorts as he squeezes your boobs harder. 

you answer him, voice coming weaker than you expected as you speak, “no… not really.” you have your hands sliding under his shirt, pulling the fabric with you as you feel the warm skin of his chest on your palms, you want to see him too. “can you… take your shirt off too?”

“look at you, being so well mannered…” he says and you roll your eyes, his praise makes your panties grow wetter by the minute. he keeps talking though, making no move to remove his shirt just yet. “although, i think that there’s one word missing, princess…”

you understand him immediately, the words coming out easily, “please…? can you take your shirt off, please?” you rephrase, and jake’s mind goes over drive. he already wants you begging for him.

is almost funny, to know that you two are living the moment he has been anticipating ever since he was first trapped with you in that bathroom in a random college party. he’s lightheaded from the unceasing sensations he experiences with you and his smile is the perfect display of it, breathtaking and contagious. he lifts his arms for you to finish taking the shirt off his torso, you drop it on the floor. his hands settle back on you, falling on your thighs with a smack on which one, as he gets back to trailing kisses down your neck, until his tongue envelops your nipple. he’s still smiling when you moan from the sudden stimulation, but he moans with you after you grind down on him at a specific hard bite he delivers. “you’re into pain or something?” he asks you, moving to your other boob, teeth grazing the skin before he bites it, softer than he wanted, just to test his theory.

you right hand tangles in his hair, fingers gripping the locks but not really pulling at it – which he really wants you to –, your left hand splayed on his chest, nails threatening to dig on his skin. he laughs in disbelief, biting harder – not enough to leave a mark, yet –  and your hips move involuntarily on his, humping his throbbing dick, desperate for a real form of stimulation between your legs. “oh god, you are into it.” he states, and delivers another slap on your thigh.

you bite your lip, and say “you do realize how sadistic this makes you look, right?” in defiance, but your affected tone makes no effect whatsoever. 

his answer is instant, “and you do realize how much of a masochist i think you are now, right?” his mocking tone getting to your and further wetting your panties, that must be completely destroyed by now. he continues his assault in your chest, that already has some red and purple marks blooming here and there.

“i-i’m not…” you start, both hips and voice stuttering from his movements, the fabric of your jeans starting to make you uncomfortable as you rub yourself harder on his erection, jake’s hands groping your skin from the stimulation, the rhythm of your movements torturously slow for his liking. “i’m not a masochist,” you manage to say, and jake laughs from your little act. 

“no, just a painslut...” he says, and your muffled whine is enough of an answer for him. “but don’t worry, baby. you make such a pretty slut for me.”

“fuck…” is all you can mumble, pussy clenching around nothing as you keep grinding on his bulge, dry humping him for all your worth. but jake had enough of that, he wants more – he needs more. so he grabs one of your thighs’ underside with one hand, the other going to your waist as he moves you on the bed. in a second you're laying on your back on the mattress, but you don’t have time to be surprised. jake touches your knee in an attempt to get you to open your legs and you comply, slowly moving them apart to accommodate his hips.

his hands travel to undo the button of your shorts, fingers pulling the zipper down all the way but he doesn’t slide the fabric off your legs. instead, he stuffs his hand inside of it, fingers gliding over your dripping wet slit. “shit, you’re fucking soaked, princess…” he almost growls, forehead resting on your shoulder. “want to fuck you till we pass out,” it’s just a harmless confession, one he doesn’t truly mean, but you don’t care.

“so do it,” you sound desperate, his index and middle finger teasing your entrance while his thumb presses on your clit. he wasn’t moving, and it was driving you insane. you thrust your hips forward, trying to get him to do something, but he doesn’t.

he chuckles, his smirk hidden from your eyes, but you could feel it when he pressed his lips to your ear, leaving an openmouthed kiss in it. “so soon? where’s the fun in that?” he says rhetorically, he has been dying to bury himself inside you, but he still wants to play with you some more. “need to prep you first, baby.”

your moan is music to his ears when he inserts his fingers in you with a quick motion, pleasure running through your veins. but it wasn’t enough. you didn’t want that, you wanted his dick inside you. “f-fuck, jake… jake, please,” is the first glimpse of a plea, and jake is relishing on it. he quickens his movements, fingers working on your walls like magic. he brings his thumb back to your clit, drawing little imaginary circles in it and your head falls back, back arching as you push your hips forward again. “jake, j-jake… please, fuck me. wanna cum on your cock.”

although he really wanted to, he couldn’t resist your plea. he doesn’t need to be told twice, taking his fingers out slowly and helping you out of your shorts and underwear. he takes his shorts off along his boxers right after, his dick slapping his stomach as he does so.

once he’s between your thighs there isn’t much to be said, he’s already guiding his dick to your entrance when your legs wrap around his waist. you both moan at the intrusion, the stretch making your mind go blank as your head falls to the side, right hand finding support on his back as your left hands tangled on his locks. you’re both panting and you barely started, his thrusts are sharp, he reaches so deep in you. your closed eyes and open mouth are better to watch than jake could ever imagine, he wishes he could have this everyday. “oh my god, fuck–” he swears, hand gripping you jaw to give you a kiss. it’s messy, your tongues meet more outside than inside your mouths. when he pulls away there’s a string of saliva connecting you two. his weight is supported on his forearms as he moves to mark your neck mumbling, “y-you feel so good princess, so goddamn good.”

the room smells like sex, your hands try desperately to somehow steady yourself in that moment that didn't seem like reality at all. jake pressed his hips into yours harder and harder with each kiss he left on your neck, his mouth brought you little by little closer to heaven and you let a specific loud whine escape your lips. you could feel his smile as he raised his head so he could kiss your mouth with unquestionable desire once again. you use your legs to pull him closer and his eyes roll back under his eyelids. you arch your back slightly, your chest pressing against his and your fingers – finally – pulling on his strands. jake brokes the kiss to moan and looks at you in that surrendered way he always does. he just couldn't help himself, he needed to ruin you just a little bit more.

“so beautiful, my princess.” his possessive tone making you clench around him, his hand moves from your side to your neck, where he gives it a light squeeze, and then he grabs your cheeks with one hand. not too hard, but enough to make you lift your face. “open your mouth for me, love.” and you comply. your mouth parted slightly and your eyes glued to his, but he’s too lost watching you run the tip of your tongue between your lips to notice. he uses his thumb to open your mouth even wider, naturally salivating at the thought of what he would do next.

when his spit meets your tongue and you swallow without protest, he is gone. the moan he fails to contain comes out muffled as he presses his face back into your neck. the hand that was previously on your cheek goes down to your thigh where he delivers a harsh squeeze. “fuck…” he whispers, inevitably moving his hips to fuck you harder, faster. he was too lost in the feeling, and so were you. 

the intoxication sensation of your orgasm comes quickly, and it’s devastating. jake takes notice of the way your nails run down his back, the other pulling on his hair and your legs impossibly tight around his waist. “would look at that– ah–, you’re going to cum, baby?” he asks, voice low and wavering, “are you?”

you hum, your moans impossible to suppress. you drool on the fabric of the mattress – you were so, so close. jake has other plans, though. “oh, c-come on now, princess… we’ve– ah– talked about it a-already,” he says, hand coming to your neck, adding some pressure – just enough for your eyes to roll back on your closed eyelids. he loves to watch it, his own release coming fast and unforgiving. “use your words.”

“i– fuck– can i cum, jake? p-please…” you start, eyes opening to lock with his as best as you can. “please! jake, ah– i can’t hold it a-anymore…” you cry out, head lolling back once more. “f-feels so good, so good.”

jake can’t hold it back any longer too, hips unrelenting at your begging. “go ahead, baby. cum for me.” he whispers, and it feels like you fall over the edge immediately. the unceasing clenching of your walls only pushing him to his orgasm too, thick ropes painting your inner thigh as he pulls out. the wave of pleasure that overtakes you both is devastatingly good, you can barely discern what's happening as whispered “thank you’s” fall from your lips. when you both fall back to reality you’re sweaty and breathless. he drops his weight on you, arms caging your body as his head finds the comfort of your chest. you giggle and hug his shoulders, eyes too heavy from tiredness to keep them open. you fall asleep before the both of you can say anything. jake senses your calming breath, choosing to clean himself and you up before giving into the temptation of sleep as well. he dresses you on his shirt that was on the floor after putting on his boxers, hugging you from behind whispering sweet nothings to you, lulling himself to sleep.

DAY 37 - Fool For You

you’ve never been one to give in to awkwardness. you pride yourself on being quite a light presence, always funny or trying to make everyone feel comfortable. but it wasn’t until you had sex with jake that it changed. because, sadly, now you’re just always nervous around him. it had been two days since he claimed you for himself – two days and you still haven’t really faced him. what could you do, really? pretend it never happened? act like the big deal it was and possibly ruin everything? acknowledge what happened but act like it's not going to destroy every single wall you've built around yourself?

you felt hopeless and you missed him – so much. because after what you two shared, there was no room for doubt, no room for hiding the undeniable truth. you were deeply, madly and uncontrollably in love with jake. so much so it hurted you. so much so you could tell everyone and you would never feel ashamed of it. but, what about him? how could you ask him if you didn’t even know how to allow yourself to be vulnerable like that? to let him in like he was always there –  although it felt like he had always been part of you, you also couldn’t help but overthink it. you felt like he understood you even if no words were spoken, but would it really be enough for him to know that you loved him? would you be enough for him? did he feel the same? god, did he even like you at all? and as you torture yourself – feeling like you could actually feel a physical discomfort from all the thinking and loving and wanting you had trapped inside you –, jake was losing his mind.

he was in complete despair, like he’ll never have you. all of the time it took for him to get to know you, to get close to you – it felt meaningless –, and now you were slipping right through his fingers all over again. it wasn’t fair. he knew you felt something for him. and it was driving him insane, because if you felt even just a little bit of what he feels, then it was enough for forever. even if you feel just five percent of what he feels for you, you would make it until the end of the world. but it didn't matter, because you hadn’t talked to him yet. he was feeling like he was left to die of starvation, your absence making him hallucinate. making him question just how much he wouldn’t do for you – only so he could finally have you. because he was feeling like he could do it all, but he needed you to come to him. to allow him to truly see you, to truly feel you. so he decided to wait. wait for you to come to terms with the reality you seemed so against living and then he’d do everything – anything to keep you by his side.

even if you weren’t sure about how things would turn out, you know it was you who had to make the first move and when you decide to get your shit together, you walk straight to his room. looking calm on the exterior, but completely wrecked on the inside, yet it’s kinda funny for you. you have nothing to fear anyway, expect for, well, a rejection – but it wasn't really going to stop you. when you get to his door you take a few deep breaths, gathering the courage that was just a few seconds ago all over you but seemed to suddenly vanish. you grow eager, as if it was all coming to realization. it feels so fucking right you could cry, you decide to knock before it all becomes too much. doing it softly, you wait for him to answer, cleaning your sweaty palms on the sides of your sleeping shorts.

jake’s listening to some random “songs for studying” playlist on youtube while scrolling through his media when he hears the soft knock on his door. he freezes, what was happening? he jumps out of bed, looking around checking if anything needed replacing. when he sees everything’s fine he walks to the door, but remembers he had changed into his sleeping clothes, so he goes back to check himself in the mirror, only for him to run a hand through his hair and get right back to the door. once there he doesn’t think twice, swinging the door open. “hi!”

you get startled by the sudden movement. jake looks like he has the energy to run a marathon and is hardly holding himself from doing so. it’s cute. you look at his puppy-like eyes, his lips slightly parted and his hair falling in his brows. you almost say right then and there, but you hold it – waiting for a more appropriate moment. instead, you say “uh, hi.” and then you giggle, looking down to your feet and then back at him. “what are you doing right now?”

he lets out a giggle himself, a bit more at ease now that he knows you’re not there bringing bad news. then he answers, “honestly? nothing,” and he laughs at his own sentence.

“good, can i come in then?” you ask, but before he could even answer you’re already explaining yourself, “it’s just– uh, i want to talk to you…”

he smiles nervously, stepping aside so you can come in. after you walk in, he guides you to his bed by your shoulder and then he lays on his side, propped on his left arm. “tell me all about it, baby.”

the nickname makes goosebumps raise all over your body, but maybe it was the fact that you had acknowledged you want this whole thing so much – maybe it was burning in you all along just waiting for an excuse to be freed. “i… so, i wanted to–” you stutter, growing a bit nervous.

“hey,” he grabs your hands that were in your lap. “relax! you’re kinda freaking me out, you know?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. he could see what you wanted to say was serious but he also didn’t want you to get anxious over it. “i feel like you’re gonna say you're a murderer or something.”

you can only laugh, because he’s such a fucking idiot and you love him so bad it’s kind of pathetic. “god, that’s such an idiotic thing to say…” you pause, looking at him playing with your bracelet mindlessly. then you realized there was no way he went for all the trouble to fuck you if he didn’t have any feelings for you. it was so dumb of you to assume that in the first place. and it felt so right in that moment – almost dream-like –, you didn’t want to waste it. the words left your mouth by impulse, but they all fell so naturally out of it too, it barely felt like it was the first time you were saying them, “i love you, jake.”

jake feels his whole world stop. what did you just say? he couldn’t voice it out better, muttering, “what?”

“yep…” you say comically popping the ‘p’, head nodding dramatically, lips pressed in a thin line and brows furrowed in fake apprehension. because, deep down, you’re sure it was going to work out just fine. “guess that’s worse than a murder, huh?”

jake’s going crazy, he wasn’t expecting you to ever say it like that, so easily. “do–” he gasped, choking a bit. he was a mess by this point, his hands pulling you closer by your wrists until your face was close enough, to the point he could feel your warm breath on his nose. his voice cracking with obvious emotion, but he really couldn’t care less, “do you really?”

and your eyes water, voice faltering just as much, “of course i do, jake… ” you press your forehead to his, eyes closing but you can feel his hands shaking where they hold you and you wanted nothing but to make him feel all of the love he made you feel.

“oh my god,” he uttered, voice completely drowned in emotion as his breath hitches and he sobs, but that doesn't stop him from keep talking, “oh my god, baby, i love you too,” he states, like it wasn’t obvious by the way the tears left his eyes and stained your shirt. he’s a blabbering mess, but you love it. “i love you so much.”

and there, in between tears, smiles and sweet words, jake’s certain that he’d do everything all over again, just to have you. and you know you found the one.

DAY 38 - Apocalypse

you wake up in your bed with a startle, out of breath and with tears blurring your vision, threatening to fall from your eyes. your heart was filled with so much love you could never possibly keep to yourself only, so look to the side to reach jake. only, he isn’t there. you sit up, confusion knocks on your poor sleepy brain and you stumble out of bed. you remember very vividly you had fallen asleep with jake the night before, after you so happily declared your love for each other. as you reach for your doorknob you pause, what if it was a dream? because you remember you were in jake's room last night, not yours. were you so sleep drunk you couldn’t tell if it all happened or not? you rush to open the door and walk towards jake’s room, but he wasn’t there either. so you decide to go to the kitchen, not yet ready to give up, even if your heart was squeezing like you had lost the only love you ever had known.

as you reach the kitchen you hear some noises and your body fills with excitement as you eye jake’s broad figure – but, wait. is that a Seattle Mariners shirt?

“oh my god, jake. why are you wearing jay’s shirt?” your voice competing with your laughter, trying to imagine what would be jay’s reaction if he saw his favorite shirt in jake’s body – his very nice, very doable body. “i’ll tell jay.”

“don’t you dare, pretty,” he says, like it’s a threat – that has no effect, whatsoever – as he drops whatever he was doing to come hug you. “it isn’t jay’s, he gave me this one on my birthday last year,” he gave your forehead a kiss, then the top of your head and kept going, “how did you sleep? i put you in your room ‘cause mine’s closer to the kitchen and i wanted to make breakfast. did i wake you?” but you almost don’t hear it, his voice being drowned since he talked while his lips were pressed to the top of your head. 

“you didn’t wake me, love,” and the way you say it makes jake’s heart melt. “but i woke up crying and for some weird reason i thought yesterday was a dream…” you add, hugging him back and taking in his scent.

“i left for 15 minutes and you were already crying from missing me? that’s cute, princess,” he laughs after speaking, moving you to sit at the counter. “well, it’s good it wasn’t a dream then, huh?”

you give an disgusted look to his little joke, but you’re smiling when you brush your lips to his, “i don’t know… i’m starting to regret it.”

“you’re so mean,” he replies, but he’s also smiling. he gives you a brief kiss on the lips, then one on your cheek. he looks at you for a bit and says, “i think i should make us breakfast…”

you both laugh, knowing what he’s hinting at. you get off the counter and help him, being so filled with contentment and love as you watch him make a mess in the kitchen just like always,

“i love you.”

a/n: it was supposed to be all a dream in the end, bit i couldn't do it. let me know what you think<33

[sunnie-angel]

Part 13: The Coworker

part 12 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a strange holding pattern develops where nothing really happens and all you can do is bury yourself in work while jason keeps hiding things from you

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: more of a set up chapter before the next big plotty thing happens. umm don't throw tomatoes at me?

Jason Todd is lying to you. Or at the very least he’s keeping things – important things – from you. Knowing that, being unable to close your eyes and turn the other way anymore, it fractures you a little more in ways you had thought you were long past. Still, stupidly, you love him. You keep waiting for the day when it gets easier to breath and your stomach stops swooping anytime Jason Todd is in sight. Hope rises and falls. His kindness mixed with cruelty burns but you can’t stop drinking it down as though you’ve been days in the desert.

In some ways, not being around Jason and the friends you share is easier, not having to wonder with every stilted interaction what there is left to hold you together. Much easier then, to bury yourself in work, in school. Lose yourself to distractions until the fear and paranoia dogging your every step fade into the background with the hum of routine and the mindless chattering of people who don’t know you well enough to hurt you with their well meaning questions.

It feels silly to plan for your future when it might very well come to an end in an alley, but the thought of a next month, a next year, a next moment keeps you clinging to sanity like a life preserver. So you put your head down and work, fingers crossed that all your effort will pay off with the summer research position currently being dangled over the heads of all the English department interns. A stepping stone, maybe, to being able to work your way through grad school that certainly no one else but you and your student loan from Gotham Trust will be paying for. For 15 hours a week you can tune out the present, get lost in the daydreams and the work of building that future which rests just hazily out of your reach, beyond the taint of murderers creeping in the dark and a love that seeps like poison.

Something close to regret always passes over you when the work day ends and Jason stands at the door waiting for you. Maybe even something ugly, a twisted up anger, jagged and sharp, that buries itself under your breastbone. Your life is held together with duct tape and sticky glue, balanced precariously on one wobbly leg, but no matter what happens to you, Jason will be fine as always. In a few months he’ll have his degree and a family that apparently doesn’t hate him as much as he’s implied and he’ll go swanning back off to wherever the fuck he mysteriously appeared from. After graduation, who’s to say that you’ll stay friends at all? That he won’t move on with his life and maybe, occasionally, he’ll think fondly of the girl he was friends with for less than a year while he’s off saving the world, saving the Alley, from yet another idiot villain. The future is yours, shining and pristine, but yours alone. A shining knife that’s lodged itself in your chest and twists in anticipation of the moment when he’ll let you go.

You don’t let any of those thoughts show on your face though. Don’t want to ruin any of the dwindling moments you have left and so you bury it down inside, pack the soil down on top hard and cross your fingers that it won’t grow any poisonous fruit.

The first time you stay late, you’re apologetic when you ask Jason to come back in a few hours but there’s none of the usual claustrophobic sensation. Jaimie had asked for help and you had volunteered to give it to her, any excuse not to go home and sit in your tiny apartment and flinch at the wind outside. It’s the first time you stay late but not the last.

Really you had never intended to be so distant from the other research interns but when all the seniors are competing really for the same opportunity, one that would make or break your future plans, it’s not hard to see everyone else as competition. People to be polite and helpful to, but not people to get close to in the eventuality that they break your heart by getting the position or you break theirs. But in searching for more and more reasons to stay distracted, to prolong the moment just before you see Jason again, before you fall into his arms again begging for scraps, it’s hard not to get to know them better.

There’s sweet Jaimie with her bottle thick glasses who only started this semester, Amira with her nearly magical knowledge of the library’s cataloguing systems, and Louisa whose German accent only comes through when she gets annoyed. Stoic Miguel that never really says much but doesn’t have to in order to get his point across and Ian whose charm has even crabby Dr. Duvall smiling broadly. They’re friends, all of them, or at least on friendly terms. It’s hard not to thaw towards them when suddenly you’re making a point to spend so much time with them.

Probably, you should be on your guard. Probably, you should listen to the paranoia whispering at the back of your mind about strangers and hidden motives. But with all the lights turned on in the tucked away office for interns, the space heater warming the old bricks and mild laughter and offers of help freely given, it feels safe in a way. That this space makes them safe even if you couldn’t name their birthdays at gunpoint (you really hope you’ll never have to do that). Here you can leave all of your messy emotions at the door, all the bagging and sleepless nights forgotten in the face of people that don’t know you.

Three weeks and never once does Jason complain about the hours stretching later and later. He never mentions how your feet seem to trudge slower and slower to him where he waits at the door. How the lightness seems to leave you as you hit the cold night air. Three weeks until his patience hits its limit.

“Seems like you’ve been working more than last semester,” he drops leadingly into conversation one morning as he rolls out of the side of your bed he’s claimed for himself.

“Seems like it,” you reply as you struggle to get your bra hooked on right. He comes up behind and does the clasp for you, hovers like he wants something more he’s not sure he’ll be allowed in the bright light of day.

“I just worry about you, yeah? Don’t want you to work yourself sick with— with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Well don’t,” you tell him, harsh words that drip with your frustration as you dig through your drawers for a sweater. Dannika and Lina have already been on your case about all your overtime hours, not to mention Rei’s quiet concern. “Don’t worry about this, okay” You say more gently, turning back to him as you tug the sweater over your head. “Work’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with—” you gesture expansively “—all of this.” Quickly you register the way his eyes go blank and shuttered. “With the fear, I mean. No time for serial killers when I’m trying to collate lists of possible sources for Dr. Higuchi’s next book.” He nods, and then doesn’t bring it up again. 

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s only you, Amira, and Miguel working. The office is quiet without Jaimie’s constant questions and Ian’s little asides but its a cosy kind of quiet. Slowly the quality of the light changes as the sun creeps below the skyline and eventually you have to admit that there’s nothing more to keep you there for the day. You pack up simultaneously, Amira bumping your elbow with her overstuffed satchel as she swings it onto her shoulder.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t ding you too hard did I?” She apologizes. It was a pretty solid hit, the several hardcovers in her bag as good as bricks but she didn’t mean anything by it and so you don’t take it personally.

“No harm done,” you let her know, shouldering your own bag as you do.

“Any plans for tonight?” Amira asks.

“Just tackling some readings for class, nothing interesting,” you reply with the conspiratorial tiredness that all students have by this time of the year.

“Hmmm okay, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday? Why?” You ask, a tightness to your spine. She’s never asked, none of them have ever asked before. There’s been the usual how was your weekends and have a good nights but never anything this direct.

“Well most of us sneak into the grad student bar on Thursday for their trivia night and you need five people for a team only Louisa’s got that paper due Friday and probably won’t come. So, if you’re free, would you want to join us?”

“I— uhm I’d have to check?” You tell her, suddenly panicked because this wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. Yes, you’d been getting on with your coworkers better but you hadn’t thought that you’d been getting on well enough to be invited to their plans outside of work. And yes, technically a Thursday should be fine, should be safe, no one’s gone missing on a Thursday. But to meet? Outside of the office, outside of the place you’d neatly marked as ‘safe’ with people that you barely know? “When does it— when does it usually end?” You ask instead. “Just with everything going on I usually have a friend—” the word catches in your throat “—walk me home at night.”

“Hmmm like eleven or so?” She cocks her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t even think of that. It’s so scary and I don’t even look like a potential victim.” Amira smiles at you pityingly and you can already feel the sympathy curdling in your stomach. “You know what, why don’t you bring them along? The teams only have to be a minimum of five but they can go all the way up to ten.”

“I’ll see if he’s free but I’ll let you know?” It’s pathetic at how easily just the thought of Jason’s presence makes you breath easier, feel more up to accepting what’s probably a genuine invitation. Amira happily gives you a number to contact and you part ways. Jason’s waiting, like always but it takes you a while to figure out exactly how to phrase your request to take up his time with something so trivial.

“I got invited out by my coworkers today,” you tell him, staring out the bus window as you speak. He’s folded himself into the aisle seat beside you, something you’d snorted about earlier and muttered about a clown car until he’d scowled from swallowing his laughter.

“Do I know any of them?” He asks, grumbling as he tries to find a position kinder to his knees.

“Maybe I introduced you to Jaimie?” You rack your brains thinking back. “Anyway, the point is they invited me to trivia night with them and when I was worried about making you wait for so long to walk me home they invited you too,” you say in a rush.

“When?” He cranes his neck to check the next stop as he asks.

“Thursday, ends around 11.”

He sighs through his nose. “If it was any other day I’d say no problem, yeah? But I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, a thing,” he evades.  The two of you get off at the stop, the bus kicking up dirty slush in its wake.

“You should go, have a good time,” Jason tells you in front of your building. “I’ll make sure to be there at 11 and I’ll still make sure you get home. But you should have some fun, yeah?”

He’s hiding something again, isn’t he?

It’s silly to be so distracted by a maybe but you can’t stop thinking about it. You miss a very obvious trick question on the publication of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, though Ian smiles very kindly when he changes the original date you had written to the date the book was first published under the author’s real name. Even without doing anything at all Jason still manages to knock you off balance. You don’t regret it, coming out with your coworkers, even if the bar starts to get more rowdy as the night goes on. That sense of safety, of oh these people won’t hurt me, isn’t restricted just to the office it would seem. Miguel still doesn’t speak very much but he smiles more and Jaimie is strikingly confident when she isn’t wrestling with spreadsheets. It’s almost, almost enough to distract you from thoughts of Jason by the time the evening is wrapping up.

You’re laughing freely at a sly joke from Amira you wish Dannika was there to hear too when you finally spot him. He’s leaning against the wall outside the building, phone still cupped to his ear when you run up to him, the snow muffling the sound of your foot steps. Even in the low lighting of the bar’s neon sign he still looks beautiful and you’re loath to disturb the moment. He’s just ending the call as you get closer, fat snowflakes catching in your hair.

“...yeah, yeah love you too Barbie.”

Oh.

a/n: on the other line, barbara's threatening to castrate jason for making dick sad

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[ponderingmoonlight]

And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

 “Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

 “But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

[splishfish]

Toys (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: PiV, Use of Vibrator, Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex, Pre-Established Relationship, Slight Dacryphilia

WC: 1.5k

"C’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

Sex with Tomura is amazing. Truly, it really is! Although he can be very rough in bed, he’ll always make sure your comfortable and enjoying yourself. If you ask him to change positions, he’ll always shuffle around just for you, even if he’s grumbling under his breath about how needy you are.

He’s an amazing partner in bed. Really…it’s just that…

More than half the time, he can never make you cun during sex.

That doesn’t mean the sex isn't good! No, of course not! It’s amazing! His cock curves so sweetly into your hot cunny, rubbing up into that squishy spot just a few inches deep inside you. And he loves to pound into you like his life depends on it, his heavy balls slapping against your ass / clit depending on your position, and his fingers so tenderly rub against your aching clit, causing your sweet little pussy to clench around him…

But it’s never enough

In the end, once he finishes, he’d have to use his long slender fingers to plunge inside you, desperately finger fucking you into oblivion until you cum. He doesn’t care if you cry and sob against his fingers, begging ‘Please! No more! ‘s too much!’  with your sweet little voice, he’s determined to make you cum.

Whenever you fail to cum during sex, he always seems so grumpy. So mad and upset at himself for failing you. It’s gotten so bad that he’d even end up scratching at his poor neck until it bleeds, beating himself up for disappointing you. All of this makes your heart ache, and eventually, you bring up the prospect of using toys during the bedroom.

When you first bring this up, he stays silent during the conversation, his mind whirring with different thoughts.

Were you seriously thinking of replacing him for some silicone dick? Was he not enough? Were you that unhappy with your sex lives? Would you break up with him? How fucking dare you try and replace him?! He was going to fucking kill-

Before his thoughts delved deeper into hatred and despair you quickly explained to him that no, this wasn’t a way to replace him, and that you were happy with your sex life. The conversation lasted a long time, the both of you sharing your opinions and thoughts on the matter.

Tomura was blunt about his thoughts on the matter. He refused to let you bring any dildo’s or toys that would require any sort of insertion into the bedroom. No, that was his job, only he belonged deep inside your weeping cunt, not some plastic toy.

He also didn’t want any toys to be used on him either. He was already upset about bringing in toys to begin with, so even bringing up using toys on him would cause him to start scratching his neck.

Eventually, the both of you reached a conclusion. You’d go out together, and buy whatever toy would suit his merit and your needs. 

When the day finally came to go shopping, you were absolutely buzzing with excitement! Not only would you be able to go shopping for something for your sex lives, but also you’d be able to spend time and help Tomura understand your needs.

Entering the sex shop hand in hand, you dragged Tomura towards the first few toys you saw, holding them up and explaining their function to him. At first, he didn’t really pay attention, his eyes darting throughout the store, his body stiff and his hands constantly coming up to tug the black hoodie further down his face.

You weren’t too sure if he was embarrassed, or maybe paranoid of being recognized, but eventually he managed to calm down enough to actually help you browse throughout the store. He scowled at every dildo or phallic item you passed, and he even spent a few seconds gazing at the wall of monster dildos in the corner.

For a moment, he imagined you struggling to take such a monstrous cock, and how your pretty little cunny would squelch and cry at such a big size. But he quickly pushed those thoughts away.

Eventually, after spending around an hour or so of browsing, you both decided on what you thought was the most basic purchase, yet best item you could have gotten. A hitachi wand.

As you two warped back, you spent the first few hours unpacking and letting the wand charge completely. Once it was finished, you took it back to Tomura’s room, holding it up like a prized possession as you spoke.

“Let’s try it out now!”

As you laid on your back, your legs spread wide as Tomura stood between them, his cock sliding between your puffy folds. Your slick mixed with his pre, your body buzzing with lust and excitement. Tomura grabbed the base of his cock, slowly sliding it down your slit until the tip of his cock nudged your eager hole.

You sighed in relief as he slowly pushed in, the head of his cock sliding in with a small squelch as you reached over the bed to grab the vibrator. You could see his lips twitch into a small frown, but he didn’t comment on your actions as he bottomed out.

Once you felt the familiar slide of his cock moving inside you, you turned on the vibrator, the buzzing noise causing his hips to stutter as he pulled back far enough to watch you place the bulbous head against your clit.

Instantly, a breathy curse escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked up in response to the intense vibrations against your needy bud. You could hear Tomura whimper from above you, his hips beginning to move as he spoke.

“Oh fuck…I-I can feel it even when i’m inside you…”

From above, Tomura felt chills of pleasure run down his spine. Everytime he moved, he could feel his cock buzzing from the pleasure, and everytime he pulled out far enough, the force of the vibrations would go straight to his tip. He groaned, his cock twitching as he moved faster, your slick causing his light blue pubes to stick together, a small string connecting the both of your bodies every time he moved away.

You could feel your pussy begin to drool, your tits bouncing with every hard thrust of his hips. His grunts became louder from above you, his hands coming up to grip at your thighs, the plush flesh pooling out of his fingers as he rammed himself deeper into you.

“Fuck…you feel so fuckin’ good…hah…so tight, you gonna cum already?”

You didn’t even notice the way your cunt so desperately clung to his cock, the coil in your stomach forming so quickly you could only babble a whiny ‘yes’ as you pressed the vibrating head even harder against your clit.

Your throat burned as you screamed out in pleasure, your orgasm ripping through you in multiple waves, both the vibrator and his cock drawing it out until you were nearly crying. You pulled the vibrator away from your overstimulated clit, gasping out as he grasped your wrist and forced the toy back against your nub.

You yelped, a searing pain that felt way too good suddenly coursing through you, your body squirming under him as you sobbed in response to his actions.

“No! Aagh! Tom-Tomura! W-wait wait wait! It's too much!”

He giggled from above you, a breathy moan escaping him as his hand pressed the toy against you even harder as he spoke in a dark tone, his hips stuttering against your pulsing cunny.

“Fuckk…feels so good baby…I can feel the vibrator against my cock-shit! Oh god…mhn…just a bit more..!”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling from your face, your clit burning from overstimulation and pain. It felt so painful but with every second the vibrator was held firm on your clit the more you could feel another tight coil forming, ready to burst once again.

But this one was different.

Your legs began to tremble involuntarily, loud sobs escaping your throat as your cunny began pulsing against his cock in an almost painful vice. You didn’t even notice the sudden gush of liquid that squirted out of you, hitting Tomura’s pelvis and forcing his cock out of your gushing hole due to the intense pleasure of your second orgasm.

Tomura groaned in surprise as a sudden force caused his cock to pull away, watching as your sweet little cunny quivered and pulsed as you squirted against him, the strong yet short stream eventually dying down to a dribble, falling onto a pool of your fluids beneath you.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, and only after a few moments of staring, laughter began to bubble up in his chest, leaving his mouth in small manic giggles as he trailed his eyes back to your face.

Oh, what a beautiful sight you were. All sweaty, flushed and wrecked. Fat salty tears escaping your eyes as you shook, small pretty sobs escaping your lips as you laid out all blissed out and messy.

He leaned down to lick the salty tears off your face, his cock pulsing and throbbing with eagerness as he grinded against your sloppy pussy.

“Oh fuck…that was so fucking hot…holy shit..eheh…c’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

Did you enjoy this? Check out my Masterlist for more!

Requests are open!

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ kinda like a rom-com! ]❜

ft. scott summers x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ watching a horror movie is the perfect set-up for romance, but unfortunately for the xmen, scott’s a bit of a dumbass┊1.4k words

contains: ooc scott probably, he’s the biggest dumbass ever, i thought this was cute, anyways, fluff, the entire x mansion ships it, descriptions of horror movies, the title & ending probably doesn’t make sense because i don’t actually watch rom-coms but i think it fits because it’s romantic comedy shortened, written before october started

➤ author's note: do people even want scott content?

it’s adorable, really, how a mutant who has faced countless dangers throughout your entire life and bravely battled adversaries head-on was now cowering by his side and covering your eyes with your hands, fingers slightly parted to still allow you to peer at the screen to satiate your curiosity of what would happen next.

“i didn’t think you would be this terrified,” he chuckles.

“i didn’t think we would be watching a horror movie tonight!” you hissed in return. “we usually watch superhero movies, why are we suddenly putting on supernatural stuff when october hasn’t even started yet?”

movie nights were pretty commonplace in the mansion, one of many activities hosted to encourage bonding between the inhabitants just in case being mutants on its own wasn’t enough to do the trick. scott loved these nights, because not only was it a nice break from being a professor who would have just spent this night grading papers, it also let him grow closer to you as you always find yourself in his company one way or another whether it was simply sitting next to each other or happening to hide in the same spot to catch a break from all the screaming children with unpredictable powers. 

little did you know that all of these coincidences were a result of careful planning by your co-workers in hopes that a confession would bring itself closer to the present. from ororo making it rain on the way home to force the two of you to share an umbrella, to jean nudging him during the best times to talk to you after reading your mind and helping him pick out personalized gifts you would love— hell, even logan let him steal two bottles of beers so that he could help comfort you after a bad day (although, it might have just been because he wouldn’t stop begging and shut up until he handed some of his stash over. he brings it up every time they bicker to get a leg up on him).

it seemed everyone aside from you knew about this, like an inside joke you missed out on because even the students had the tendency to giggle when seeing you two interact. the only reason scott hasn’t confessed first was simply due to your obliviousness to your own feelings which would likely end in a rejection. it’s not in vanity where he believes this, but in fact when the redhead telepath informed him that you just hadn’t realized what you felt for him wasn’t platonic. realization was inevitable and bound to hit you like a ton of bricks, and after some squealing from embarrassment in your room, it would only be a matter of time before you sought him out to confess. except, no one has the patience to wait for you to do so organically, hence the constant match-matching that has become so common that they don’t even think before doing so sometimes. everyone plays the part of wingman except for charles who thinks they should wait until you’re ready, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find it highly amusing. 

it was actually the wolverine who suggested picking out a scary movie for tonight as he claimed it was “one of the best ways to get a girl all over ya.” scott didn’t quite believe him at first because it sounded too much like something straight out of a cheesy teen drama, but he now realizes that he shouldn’t question the two-hundred-year-old guy who has more experience with such things than he could imagine.

you tightly gripped on his bicep, not even realizing that your nails were starting to dig into his skin, staring wide-eyed at the projector image as another character died in a rather gruesome way. really, these movies always overdid the blood and gore, but criticizing it was the last thing on his mind because you were currently holding onto him with a vice and he needed to plot his next move.

his eyes began to wander around the dark room to find nearly everyone focused on the film playing in front of them and a couple of students asleep, turning his head subtly to look around behind his red-lensed glasses until he spotted the white-haired weather manipulator doing the same thing because she was bored out of her mind. (isn’t it funny how some people were so uninterested in the movie that they are falling asleep or counting how many heads are in the room while you’re unable to tear your eyes away despite looking like you’re about to cry? you’re so damn cute.)

she mouthed something to him while tilting her head in your general direction, completely inaudible in order not to attract attention. unfortunately for her, scott was an idiot who didn’t know how to read lips even though everyone around him assumes that he’s blind and most of the time he might as well be. she rolled her eyes in frustration, wrapping her arm around jean’s waist (who was understandably a bit confused at first but then did the same) and highlighting the action with a simple motion of her hand— signaling to him that he should do the same.

it looked like a fucking lightbulb went off in his head or something when he mutter a silent “oh” before following her example and pulling you close, resting your head on the side of his chest as if to soothe your fears. it worked like a charm, you buried your face into him and held on for dear life as you braced yourself for another jumpscare, trying to focus on his hand patting your back instead of trembling like crazy. 

“it’s not even that scary, chill out—”

“no! don’t say that!”

scott stopped mid-statement, trying to figure out what the fuck that was until he realized it was jean’s voice in his head. “how did you even hear me from where you’re sitting?”

she ignored his question, so he wasn’t sure if he was just being too loud or if she was already reading his mind to make sure he didn’t fuck up. “don’t finish that sentence, she’ll think you’re making fun of her for being more sensitive towards these things. the poor thing is petrified, how about you take her up to her room instead? i don’t think she’ll be able to stomach the ending of this movie.”

he hummed and nodded in agreement, remembering that everyone dies at the end, pulling on your arm to grab your attention and whispering, “come on, let’s get you out of here.”

you nodded weakly and swallowed, not letting go of him for even a moment as he escorted you out of the living room and up the stairs. “thanks, i didn’t think that the movie would be that terrifying… and we’re showing that to kids?”

“just the older kids, all the younger ones are already in bed.”

“and i’m about to join them,” you shuddered, opening the door of your dark room and cringing at the sound of the hinges squeaking. you lingered at the doorway before turning to look at scott, “could you come hang out in my room with me for a bit?”

“what, you want me to check for monsters under your bed?” he laughed.

“s-shut up! i’ll just go look for logan then!”

“no-no-no, don’t do that, i’ll go with you! i’m much better company than that old man— we can watch some rom-coms until you fall asleep and forget about that stupid movie.”

“i didn’t know you were a fan of rom-coms,” you said, turning on the lights and looking noticeably less afraid as the shadows disappeared. 

“well, i think my life right now is kinda like a rom-com…” he slipped, admiring how your bed had so many stuffed animals meticulously stacked so that none of them would fall off. your room was just like you— cute.

“really? how?”

“i’ll, uh, tell you eventually… it’s a… whole thing, i don’t feel like getting into it tonight— anyway,” he quickly diverted the conversation, digging through your stack of dvds before picking one out. “i haven’t seen this one yet— ‘someone like you’— i’ve heard good things about it— the male lead kinda looks like logan if he took care of himself.”

he’ll tell you soon when he finally hears your confession, or if he goes crazy before then because he has to spend one more day without being able to call you “his.” whichever comes first.

[halfwayhearted]

Maps — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: Noticing the not-so-subtle stares of the man you wanted but couldn’t have was something you despised.

Word Count: 775+

Disclaimer/s — Slight angst-ish… argument, that’s it.

A/N: The idea I originally had for this like, left my mind in the middle of writing so the ending is so ohr… rushed… hey. Hey!

Why couldn’t he make up his mind? Did he want you? Did he not? It was like holding a flower and delicately picking off the petals, playing the game of ‘he loves me,’ ‘he loves me not.’ It was tiring.

You didn’t know, nor could you tell. It was enough to make you lose it. Spending seconds, minutes, and hours on the situation only to push it aside. Telling yourself not to keep this going. But how could you do that when he always made you feel like you could actually mean something to him?

It pissed you off more than you cared to admit.

What pissed you off even more was the fact that Jobe was staring at you from across the room, his fingers running over his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed while the guy you were speaking to let out a laugh at something you had said. Seriously?

You told yourself that you were fine, you could do this. Don’t let him get to you. He wasn’t worth it.

Maybe you would have listened to your own advice if the man in front of you hadn’t stiffened and asked, “You know who that is over there?”

Already knowing who he was referring to, you refrain from sighing and instead excuse yourself. Wasting no time, you stride toward the man who slowly smirks up at you. Oh, you hated him.

“What the hell are you trying to accomplish?” You snap, your gaze never leaving his even when he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not trying to ‘accomplish’ anything.” Oh boy, he was insufferable! You couldn’t stand him at all.

Yet you still couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away when he gently grasps your forearms and guides you to a secluded area outside, thinking it was because your voice was raising and he didn’t want anyone to focus their attention on the both of you.

The second you’re aware that it’s just the two of you, you inhale sharply. “If you think you can just ghost me for days on end and then stare at anybody who’s even an inch in my vicinity the way you’re staring, then you’re wrong,” you snap, hands clenching. “Is it really that hard to make up your mind? I don’t—I don’t get you at all, Jobe!”

When he opens his mouth to speak, you quickly continue, “I will not wait for someone who doesn’t know what or who they want. I just won’t.”

After a few seconds pass, Jobe just simply stares at you, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, as if he’s contemplating how to handle the situation.

“Of course,” you scoff. “Whatever—I’m done.” Turning around, you’re about to walk away when he lets out a sigh and tugs you back toward him, making you roll your eyes and take a step back.

The man wets his lips, “I do know what I want.”

“Do you? Then tell me, what is it that you want?”

“You,” he responds almost instantly, making you suck in a breath. But you won’t give in that easily.

“Your way of showing it could use a little work.”

Taking a step toward you, he speaks once again, “Listen—I was… stupid before. I’m sure now.”

“You say you can’t be with me. Then you say that you won’t be able to be with me. Now I’m who you want? I don’t need you playing in my face.”

How did he go about this? You wouldn’t believe him. Rightfully so. Now that he was finally here and able to admit how he felt, he couldn’t help but feel that he was too late. Was he too late?

“What can I do?” He questions, his tone of voice quiet and soft. “Tell me what I can do; I’ll do it.”

Your eyes narrow. He was telling the truth, indeed he was. It didn’t even matter to you. Not anymore.

That’s what you kept telling yourself, but his next words changed your mind in an instant: “Will you have dinner with me? Let me just prove it to you.”

Let me prove it to you. All the resolve you had mustered up disintegrated into thin air and you found yourself letting out a sigh, “One dinner.”

“One dinner?” He echoes. “That’s—okay. Deal.”

Right, deal. You give Jobe one last look before walking past him. Once he’s alone, he starts coming up with different plans for your dinner. This is his one chance to prove to you that he’s, well, sorry and that you’re the one he wants.

And the man will make sure to prove both to you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @spidybaby + @iovepoem + @sakashq + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ

[sol-iscus]

Ekko.....Amanda needs to count her days. That boy got put through a psychological wringer this season. The poor bastard has to fight his way out of the Arcane both physically and psychologically, just to get transported to an alternate timeline where he had everything he ever wanted. Then his sense of morality just had to kick in the moment he experiences the slightest smidgen of joy, so he goes back to his own timeline, only to have to talk a suicidal Jinx out of blowing both him and her up (five plus times in a row,by the way). Then on top of all that, he has to go be a child soldier in a war that had exactly fuck all to do with him.

If Ekko snapped after this season, I don't blame him at all. That's a child going through all that. Alone. No parents. No siblings. No partner. No actual friends (the Firelights don't count). Vi essentially abandoned him this season because she was so wrapped up in Caitlyn. He lost everything and everyone that mattered to him. And he's expected to just be strong and soldier on and rebuild by himself (with the knowledge of how different and better things were in the alternate timeline) after all of his fresh trauma. We all know Vi wasn't going back to Zaun the second she shacked up with Caitlyn,so he can't even lean on her either.

The fact Ekko's trauma was never really explored either...... Losing your adoptive father and uncle back to back is crazy work for an adult,much less a child to respond to. Yet he never gets a moment to really sit with his feelings because he's got work to do. I also haven't missed the fact that Jinx was heralded as the Zaunite revolutionary......as if Ekko didn't lay the foundation for a revolution by creating the Firelights. Or a scientific revolution with the Z-Drive. Like, damn, this teenager did so much with so little. And he gets no credit for it.

(Ekko,I'm sorry. This show really did you so dirty.)

FACTS. FACTS. STRAIGHT FACTS. Ekko literally recreated tech from scratch in the alternate timeline because it didn’t exist, to save a timeline that is practically in ashes. That’s how intelligent the guy is. Then he comes back and has….nobody to lean on whatsoever, like you said. It’s gut wrenching and I’m getting angry thinking about it.

Saves EVERYONE and yet no one he truly cares about is even alive or doesn’t even take a moment to show up at the end of it all to hug him. The state of the firelights tree is unknown. I can only presume with Viktor gone, the tree is okay now? We’ll never know.

As Ekko is gone, Piltover has a the audacity to attempt to recruit Zaunites to essentially die for them. It’s disgusting. He would not stand for this.

The current state of Zaun is worse than it was in season 1 and I hope that he at least still has the firelights hideout. It’s disheartening, the way things went.

[pawpaws-paralegal]

This projected such a vivid image into my mind that I had to write it:

“I’m almost to twenty-five patches now. If I get thirty by the end of the year I get to be a level three Green Scout, so I really need to get more patches,” Bev mused, perusing the Green Scout handbook from the floor of his bedroom.

“That’s so cool, dude. I just got to level two and you’re already ahead of me,” Erlin responded from Bev’s telescope.

“I know you’ll get there soon. We’ll work together to get a ton of patches at the Jamboreen,” Bev said, still looking through the boo. As his eyes passed over one of the patches, he frowned.

“What’s that one? Scoutmaster Denny hasn’t told us about it.”

“I don’t know dude. I think Egwene has that one, but she didn’t tell me what it is.”

Beverly frowned further.

The next day at school, he ran up to Egwene brandishing his handbook. “Egwene! Hi! What’s this patch? Erlin told me you have it.”

She looked at him like he was crazy (even more crazy than usual). “Um, that’s a pride patch? For, like, when you’re gay?”

“What’s gay?” Beverly asked, innocent as can be.

Egwene usually had a quick retort in situations like this, but the kid’s honest, wide-eyed naïveté caught her completely off guard. “It’s like, when you’re a boy and like boys, or a girl and like girls, or like both boys and girls.”

“I like boys. Does that mean I get that patch?”

Egwene pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. I mean, like, want to kiss. Now let me go, doofus.”

As she walked away, she could see the wheels in Bev’s head turning. She chose not to ponder the implications of that interaction.

Later on, as Bev and Erlin were walking to the green teens meeting, Bev turned to Erlin. “I know how to get the rainbow patch we saw yesterday. Egwene told me.”

“Really, dude?” Erlin replied, eyes lighting up. “How?”

“I have to kiss you and that means I’m gay and can get the patch,” Beverly replied matter-of-factly. “I think you can get the patch too then, if you also kiss me.”

Erlin stopped. “Dude. What?”

Beverly also stopped. “If we kiss, we both get patches. And I know Cran doesn’t have this one, so we’d even be ahead of her.” He paused. “Can I kiss you? You know, for the patch?”

Erlin was still standing there, stupefied. “Uh. Sure, dude? I guess?”

Beverly put his hands on his hips, surveying Erlin. Then, quickly, he stepped forward and pecked Erlin on the mouth. He then turned and ran towards Scoutmaster Denny, who was walking a little down the road, shouting, “Scoutmaster Denny! I kissed Erlin! Can I get the gay patch now?”

Later that night at dinner, Bev noticed his parents are looking at each other, then at him, then back at each other a lot. His mom whispered something to his dad, and then his dad sighed. “So, kid. I heard you got a new patch today?” he asked, in a tone that indicated he felt very awkward having this conversation.

Beverly, thankfully, did not pick up on this tone at all, and kept shoveling his green beans into his mouth. “Yeah. I kissed Erlin and got a new patch, so I’m even closer to level three!”

Beverly Sr. nearly choked. “And, uh,” he asked between coughs, “do you want to kiss boys? Other than to get the patch?”

Beverly stopped, looked pensively into his green beans, and thought for a second. He looked up, responding. “Maybe. I think yeah if it’s Erlin.” And without a second thought and without noticing his parents’ dumbfounded expressions, he finished his green beans.

The next Green Scouts meeting, Beverly noticed Erlin wearing the rainbow patch too.

i like when people give bev's sash a little pride flag patch partly because it's cute and partly because it could imply the green teens organization has a Being Gay Patch which would be really funny since bev was a patch completionist early on

[taebaelee]

Posted this on a small subreddit, but wanted to post here as well. For the new game, while part of me enjoyed playing some of it, I do really think it's such a disservice to be able to really call it a Dragon Age game when the writers stripped away any nuances by trying to make everything black or white; everything feels very basic and borderline cartoonish at points.

Anything morally gray is non-existent and you have no real influence in the game. No matter what you do, you are forced as the player to play a super friendly (or chaotic-good) at best protagonist with no opinions on the world of Thedas. This is what makes this not feel like a Dragon Age game to me.

This isn't super long, but there are spoilers under the cut as to why I feel this way. I do speak very critically about the new game, so please do not read if you think it may offend you as that is not my intention; this is more of a therapeutic rant for me and fellow DA lovers who feel disappointed about the writing.

While people can argue on how the previous games handle the situations involving anti/pro mages, templars, elves, the chantry, etc-- you can't even talk/argue about literally ANYTHING in the world with anyone as these ideas simply do not exist in the game OR are introduced but with a narrative already framed around it by the writers ideals.

- Factions/groups you work with are too virtuous. We could have had such deep and complex dynamics with the factions and how their backgrounds change your relationship with the characters in the world, or how the party members interacted with each other. Instead, none of it really matters as the game sanitizes the world around the groups to make the party members and factions palatable to the masses. A literal criminal organization, the Threads, is shown in a more positive light because while they commit other crimes, they don't deal in slavery? The Lords of Fortune (who are mainly mercenaries) would return cultural artifacts to the ethnic group they belong to-- they loot and steal, but are morally conscious enough to not steal from other cultures? The Antivan Crows who canonly bought and enslaved children, who made said children prove themselves through gruesome tests that sometimes included killing their own peers, are now played out like they're justice fighters. The the closet the game gets to showing any of the truth is small party banter you may miss with Lucanis saying his training was like torture, but it is to never be discussed again.

- The characters all get along way too well. Rook can't ask a character's opinion on the other factions, races, classes, religions, etc-- let alone reply back with their own thoughts that may go against the members views as we don’t really even get to see their opinions on them. Whenever the disapproval bubble pops up, which it rarely does, it does not change anything and it is not brought up again. There seems to be no consequences with your party members based on your choices, which makes the characters likeness towards you feel unearned as they seem to have no agency of their own. In DAI, if Cassandra has low approval then you can get a scene where you call her pathetic as she's stumbling over drunk and yells at you for ‘coddling mages’ or in high approval she can have a scene where she says something along the line 'while she doesn’t agree with everything you have done, she admires you.’ or in DAO Zevran can either betray you and go back with Taliesen/Crows or he can tell Taliesen he is not going back. Even something as small as the characters greetings change based on approval status when you visit them at skyhold. There are tons of examples I could give from previous games, but not a single cut scene seems to change with your companions outside of the final decision you make for them at the end of their companion quests. And to add on top of this, the party members all get along perfectly. If they disagree it is quickly resolved and moved on. Where are my Fenris and Anders fights or Vivienne and Solas sassy quips towards one another?

- No religious themes in the new game feels so out of place as this game literally changes the fundamentals of religious beliefs in the world of Thedas and could cause for a complete uproar with those that believe in the Maker and Chantry. The first game opens with an excerpt from the Chant of Light explaining the origins of the Blight and the Chantrys version of the truth and the whole mage/templar battle which is such a major theme (especially in DA2) in this series is due to the Chantry and this new info shows that the Chantry is wrong (or partially) and this can actually be completely missed behind a side-quest? Also, are we supposed to believe that all the Dalish just know Solas is better than Elgar'nan now? Strife say something along the lines that while Solas may be a bastard he is better than the other Evunaris" WHEN WAS THIS ESTABLISHED? Solas directly talks about how when he tried to tell the Dalish his identity they either didn't believe him or attacked him for being the God of Lies and Trickery. Yes, it has been a few years, and more may know the truth now... but how many as according to the old games the Dalish WORSHIPPED the ground Elgar'nan walked. If so many like Solas now from knowing the truth suddenly, where are all the followers for the Dreadwolf? Not only do we not have any missions regarding the agents of Fen'harel, we don't run into any at all.

- This sounds bad out of context, but where is the slavery/racism? I know a lot of people wanted them to tone some of it down, but for it to be completely removed just does no feel right when Tevinter is canonly known to be the worst place for slavery when it is openly practiced and legal... Also, playing as an elf feels very out of place during an undercover quest with the Venatori, but they already had them working for Elgar'nan which doesn't really add up either; so I guess they are just fine with Evles now after thousands of years...

- None of the previous games matter. While fundamentally, each game has their own story, I liked seeing the cameos of characters reflect past choices. One, of many examples, would be that we got to see Alistair either become a drunk in DA2 and forgotten by the narrative; or have him become a King or Grey Warden in DAI where you can even ask him about the Hero of Ferelden and his answers are different depending on how you played the game! Now we have some characters return but as a blank slate as the writers did not want to invalidate previous choices, but essentially let the characters' cameos fall flat because of this. What is the point of a character returning if they don’t reflect the character I know and helped them become what they are today through my choices?

I know I have a lot of negatives even when I said I liked part of the game, but it is a huge disappointment as the reasons above are what made me LOVE the series with it being so enriched with its environment and now it feels like a hollow shell of itself.

[eerna]

Hiii I have some thought contributions to the Arcane symposium if you'll have me!

I see people understandably angry at how Arcane handles who is or isn’t a villain and I suppose my two cents is that I didn’t have any hope of them handling it right in the first place, even back in s1 there were always parallels made, always some “both cities have good and bad” nuance when one city doesn’t have air to breathe and is colonized by the other. If anything the beginning of s2 was more consistent in that the second Caitlyn is personally inconvenienced she goes full chemical warfare and mass institutional violence

Personally I thought it unlikely that they suddenly change narrative tones and resolve the plot in a way that was satisfying to me, and I knew the pacifist “choose love not hate <3 zaun and piltover arms in arms” both-sides ending was inevitable, so I’m glad they at least had that whole thing with Viktor and Jayce and the timelines to distract me from it

“they shouldn’t have made Viktor, a Zaunite, the villain” but Arcane always made the villain a Zaunite! Before Viktor there was Silco, Piltover chooses peace but Jinx blows the council up and now they have to do a whole “look what you made us do” arc. This was my beef with Arcane from day 1 (it wasn't emphasized enough, IMO, that the villain is Piltover's oppression and marginalization of Zaun, and that this context renders null any "both cities" comparison)

Also Vi was written so poorly this season what's up with that

All that being said I suppose it’s more complicated to discern “writer’s intent” from that kinda show than it would be in a book or an indie project where there are fewer people involved in the plot writing and less interference. Like one deleted scene or one line of dialogue omitted radically changes the message. But well, there's the intended message and there's the manifest message and as the audience we are allowed to criticize both

Of course we shall, step to the podium~ Truly, the "writer's intent" is truly so complicated here, because anti-capitalist messaging in mainstream art powered by capitalism is always a nightmare to get through.

Oh yes it's a good take, I remember the discussions from s1 era well! However, I still don't think the "both sides have good and bad" thing is a red flag in stories, simply because it's true IRL. A ton of people have trouble committing to a side in a conflict because neither is totally morally pure, which completely blinds them to the truth that NOTHING is morally pure and choosing the lesser evil is the way to go. Silco was a brilliant villain to me because he was an oppressor himself, as people in power are rarely anything else, but that didn't mean that Zaunite ideals were worth any less! After all, Ekko held the same anti-Piltover ideals, but he is morally pure and thus unable to become an influential politician. He can support a small society, but not a large one, because no one really can do that without resorting to some bad shit. Just because Silco dreamed of being the same as Piltover's elite and became a class traitor by forcing his citizens into another toxic work culture, except this time they made HIM rich instead of Piltover, doesn't mean we should just give up on trying to make things better. Zaun during Silco's reign is just as worthy of freedom and equality as Zaun during Vander's reign. It doesn't matter that there are terrorists living there now - that doesn't excuse Piltover's violent actions. And s1 seemed to be aware of that, considering how the Enforcers were depicted, and in the end it's the Piltover council who are forced to give up instead of the Undercity. And the choice of peace wasn't as morally pure as it sounds: the council opposed it and was forced into it by Jayce and Mel's combined power, even Jayce was resistant to the terms at first, AND it still left the Undercity in Silco's hands, fixing absolutely none of the sins they committed there. It wasn't an evil terrorist blowing up a bunch of hippies, it was a hurt Undercity girl setting in motion an event that has been brewing for a long, long time, against a system which gave too little, too late.

So yeah, in short, I don't interpret s1 as ever trying to question whether Zaun was right to demand more from Piltover by saying "well both sides are bad so nothing should change". It simply showed the ugly truth to any revolution: leaders are practically never good people, and those who get too close to it are doomed to very cursed lives. And yet, giving up isn't an option, because the system IS bad and the system HAS to be changed, and if that isn't gonna happen by the way of peace, then you can't help but sympathize with those who were wronged when they do something horrible.

That's why it only worked when it focused on individual characters - that way you can understand why everyone is acting the way they are acting, and you avoid falling into broad strokes. S2 instead focuses on the aesthetic of revolution and war and the characters get lost in the big picture, which absolutely sucks and completely negates everything I've been typing about here. In fact, who knows, maybe my opinion changes too after I sit with s2 for a while and contextualize s1 within it. Maybe I was just wishfully thinking and misinterpreting this whole time. I already feel like a clown for defending this show, so I can totally accept that I could probably be wrong here. But I just wanted to write it all out in the name of discussion and interpretation!

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Ned would just passively accept it too 😭 So long as Brandon and Catelyn get married then House Stark’s bloodline will continue, so it’s fine, right? But they’ll end up fostering Mya Stone and Eric Storm so they can have their own little family

Since the marriage most likely wouldn’t even really be seen as a real marriage in Westeros Himbo!Baratheon!Reader really tries to make it right with Ned feeling like he completely screwed up his life. Himbo!Baratheon!Reader is so apologetic for dragging Ned into this that he tells him that he can go off and be with Ashara and be happy with her in Starfall and they don’t have to be anything akin to a married couple whatsoever.

But Ned is fully committed to this marriage no matter what. And he’s gonna stay loyal to his man.

Meanwhile Lyanna is absolutely envious that her brother ended up with her man. Rhaegar is on the verge of a mental breakdown and crashing out. Aerys has had about a hundred full breakdowns if not more. Rhaella is even more lonely than she already was and desperately misses Himbo!Baratheon!Reader and his comfort. Robert is a rollercoaster of emotions. Stannis is honestly perplexed and at a loss for words at everything that’s transpired. Renly is barely hanging on. Cersei is out for blood. Jaime doesn’t know what the fuck is going on anymore and is totally not reeling from the loss of having Himbo!Baratheon!Reader’s presence to annoy him throughout the day anymore. Tywin is stewing and plotting. Brandon is a little jealous but also totally hyping Ned up for not only pulling Ashara Dayne but being able to snag Himbo!Baratheon!Reader too. And Ashara is more than happy to take both of them and live happily in Starfall together.

[qyuubu]

homicipher human au hcs part 2 (the other humans that live in town):

mr. machete

he’s a skater boy, see ya later boy. he navigates the streets pretty fast because he’s always on his board.

his machete takes the form of an electric guitar. he’s the personification of what boomers believe the ‘disturbed youth’ looks like.

he’s perpetually shirtless, if you don’t count the countless bandages and bandaids on his body as clothing. he gets nicked often. if not because of fights, because of skating.

he also wears a backwards baseball cap and tinted shades to look cool. if he’s not feeling it, he’ll wear a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes. weirdly enough, the bandana also covers his eyes a bit. but even if you do get close enough to see his eyes, you get whopped by his guitar so quick that whatever you remember from his face just comes up as a blur.

all anyone remembers is his wicked smile. he always smiles. it’s a little disturbing, to be honest.

he’s a goddamn rebel. always making a mess of things and is just itching for an entertaining fight.

he’s notorious around town for ending up in gruesome squabbles, which he wins.

he hasn’t lost yet, not because he’s infallible, but bc he doesn’t fight if he knows he’ll lose. some people call it cowardly but if you live his lifestyle, it’s more about self preservation.

doesn’t care about the rumors surrounding the abandoned apartments and the monsters in it, but whatever is in there, he hopes is a good fighter.

he won’t go in. he minds his own business like that. but when the mc so happens to stumble into his territory at the skate park, all bets are off.

he’s throwing hands.

mr. hood

he’s the town’s community safety volunteer.

though, he opted to take the most difficult shift, which is night shifts. he’s especially active during the rain. he believes he isn’t really needed when the sun is out and the weather is well. but he’s eager to help when times are tough.

he’s always sporting a big hoodie that’s all brown and dirtied up for fetching cats in trees and finding lost items in the rainy night.

he also wears a face mask for safety, and googles to protect his eyes from the rain. no one knows what his face looks like. his entire body is armed with black protective gear so he can perform tasks safely, especially in dangerous weather.

when he sees a frantic girl wearing a white rain coat, clutching onto her clear umbrella and running in the slippery streets during a heavy rain, he insists on helping her out.

once he sees she is safe, he will promptly take his leave.

he has no idea who she is and why she was running, but what matters is that she’s safe. he will keep an eye on her though, just in case she needs his help during a rainy storm once more.

mr. gap

he’s a runaway. he lives in abandoned buildings is known around town as the unconventional beggar.

he asks for anything you have on hand: food, clothes, even your trash so he can sell it. people are initially scared of him, but he never takes anything without consent.

he may not be a thief but he is sort of a creep… while he doesn’t have a lot of ill intentions, he’s always just… staring.

if you catch his reflection, best believe his eyes will be staring right back at yours.

if you pass by his abandoned building, he’s probably looking at you through the sunken-in hole in the wall.

he’s helpful sometimes too! as long as you give him something in return. he does fulfill his promises. if you think about it, he’s kinda like an odd jobs establishment.

for entertainment, he looks through garbage and takes back the things he likes. maybe an old magazine or a broken trinket.

one day, he picks up a discarded paranormal magazine and reads up about the white coat wearing monster that murders all sorts of people in town.

he’s pretty intrigued! a few days later, he meets her as she walks by his abandoned building to get to hers.

he asks for the bloody hand she’s carrying in her plastic bag, in exchange for the information he found about her in that magazine.

part 1:

other homicipher human hcs: