#so what the FUCK else is wrong with me???

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[alchemistc]

Harry twirls a lock of dark curls between his fingers. Tips his chin against Tommy's head and stares up at the ceiling. He considers not asking, this time.

The sex is good, and Tommy's funny, and if he closes his eyes he could imagine there could be something - Tommy twitches and shifts his hand lower like he might be gearing up for another round, and it breaks the fantasy. That's new.

"Tell me about him," Harry says, and Tommy's eyes tip up to glare at Harry.

"Making an assumption, there," Tommy warns, but Harry just raises an eyebrow. Six years of this and Harry knows better than to expect Tommy would show up at his door for any reason other than to get his mind off of something - someone else.

"So we're both asses," Harry intones. He needs to call the super, see what they'll do about the water stain on his ceiling. "Tell me about him."

Tommy sighs. Twists, drifts away to the second pillow, and Harry's done this enough times not to mourn the loss, exactly. It's not like he's ever told Tommy -

"He's too young. Impulsive. New."

Harry fails to hold in his snort. "Okay."

Tommy at 34 had been a fucking hurricane. Newly out, no holds barred, he'd jumped right into the deep end and let the storm whirl him around. They'd been friends, for the first six months, Harry a watchful presence while Tommy made it his mission to be more than the guy in the dark corner getting a risky blowie fifteen minutes before last call. To be out - not loud, that wasn't Tommy's style - but to at least be himself.

He'd lasted two months in a real, actual relationship before he'd shown up at Harry's door with a six pack and a box of condoms.

"He looks at me and sees this - cool suave guy -" Harry shifts, nearly interrupts because that guy is exactly what Tommy projects, even if he doesn't mean to. Fucking Scorpios. "- and I was falling for him."

Yeah. Harry can extrapolate from that. Tommy fell ass over tea kettle and then got spooked.

"He's just so fucking open with himself. No brainworm goes untouched, and he can't hide his emotions for shit, and he's so goddamn stubborn and so goddamn ready to bulldoze through every hurdle ahead without looking back at the damage, and..." Tommy trails off. One hand shifts down to hitch the duvet up over his hips, and Harry adds the duvet cover to his list of laundry. "I gave him too many chances to slow down on his own."

"What, did the kid ask you to marry him or something?"

"He's the Himbo," Tommy retorts, and it takes Harry a moment to make the connection. He whistles through his teeth just to watch the scowl fall into place on Tommy's face. "And the connection freaked him out so much he asked me to move in. To his bachelor pad loft." Harry waits. "It has two balconies, Harry. Two."

"...he knows you have a mortgage, right?"

Tommy shoves at his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. We're just - the timing wasn't right."

"Did you want it to be?"

That's always the thing he ends up hung up on, in Harry's experience. Tommy's scared out of his mind to be the right person at the wrong time. Always has been. There's probably some mommy or daddy issues hidden in there somewhere he hasn't explored. Tommy's eyes drift up to the water stain. "Don't these apartments all have the same layout?"

This is the shove-off. This is his hint not to push. "Yes, and I really don't want to ask how the upstairs neighbor flooded their bedroom. Back to the guy." He's never been one for acknowledging unspoken cues.

"Buck," Tommy says, and the name sounds harsh in his mouth.

"Buck," Harry repeats, and pictures Tommy's usual type - tall, light-eyed, more smiles than common sense. There was always something distinctive, too - freckles, a scar, weird shaped ears.

"I miss him."

It doesn't hurt the way it had those first few years, when Harry was convinced that eventually Tommy would see him as more than a friend to blow off steam with. Still. There's a twinge there, beneath his rib cage.

"So stop missing him. That's an option, isn't it?"

And Tommy does that thing - that frustrating, enchanting thing, where his whole body seems to hold the emotion flickering across his face. "I walked out on him. I dug the damn knife in just to make sure he wouldn't try to convince me to stay."

"Would you have? Stayed?"

Tommy's quiet. The sweat has cooled on his skin, and the lights coming in through his window dance across the skin of his shoulder, his chest, that stupid thick neck of his.

The phone he left on the bedside table is dark, but that doesn't stop Tommy's gaze flicking to it.

"Cards on the table, Tommy?" Harry sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose. "Once upon a time, I convinced myself you were it for me. That I'd be satisfied with what you gave me, and I wouldn't ask for more. I cut you out of my life for eight months when I realized how fucking dumb that was."

Tommy frowns. Harry hadn't really ever expected him to notice.

"I've seen you through shitty relationships, and one sided ones. I've heard all the bullshit you and Greg put each other through. I've been there for every fucking heartache."

And he'd offered up his body like it was absolution for always being fucking thrilled when a relationship ended.

"You called me Evan," Harry murmurs, and Tommy's eyes go wide. That's never fucking happened before. This thing wouldn't have lasted nearly as long if he'd ever heard another man's name in his bed before. "You should shower. Go home. Take a day or two, if you need it. But I know for a fact you wait this shit out, justify coming to me with time and space from whatever guy has you strung out. I know it's been a minute already, and I know you've never sounded so unsure about cutting someone loose."

Tommy's gaze flicks to him.

"Whatever it is that's got you so scared of this guy, figure it the fuck out. Because it sounds to me like you fell fast and hard and hit a fucking wall before you ever thought to tap the brakes. That's not fair to you or him. Call him. Text him. Show up at his door with a bouquet or an industrial size bottle of lube and figure your shit out. Together."

Tommy stares at him for a long, long time in silence.

"Them's the brakes, huh?"

Harry hates that he knows exactly what Tommy means. Still, he clarifies. "This is your forever guy." Six years of watching him flail and learn and grow and hurt and love and fuck. He knows a thing or two about Tommy and his flights of romance. Knows this lonely man has never sounded quite so lonely before. "You don't need me, anymore."

He's quiet as his eyes drift back up to the stain. "I'm not his forever guy." Harry can't actually refute that, considering he's never met the guy. But he knows Tommy. Knows exactly how captivating he can be. Knows Tommy's a sucker for that starry-eyed look that so often has meant not love, as Tommy reads it, but idolization. "What if I'm not his forever guy?"

Harry digs toes into the spot in the duvet where Tommy's knees should be. He shifts Tommy about half a millimeter. "He has a nickname you don't call him except when you're punishing yourself. He dated Abby and that shared history didn't scare him off. You'd never let yourself fall for a guy that wasn't throwing clear signs that it was serious. I'd put my odds on him doing something weird and wholesome every time he thinks about you until his entire two balcony loft is filled with trinkets or treats and he still can't get you off his mind."

Harry's never seen Tommy's face do that before. Not in the throes of a honeymoon phase and not in the worst of a bad breakup. It's some awful mixture between unbridled hope and abject despair.

Harry thinks it's probably fair to hate him a little, for that face. He's earned the right.

"If he kicks you to the curb, I'll take you to one of those expensive wine tastings you pretend to hate, and I'll let you drink all my samples too." It's not an idle promise. Tommy may pretend to hate it but Harry fucking loves wine tastings. "If he doesn't..." Harry shoots him a fond look, "...knowing your type I'm not invited to the wedding anyway, so I guess then I'd been seeing you around."

Something shadows his gaze for a moment, but he's quick to hide it, to smack Harry on the chest like they've just had a good game, to shift out of bed and into his briefs before Harry can blink. He doesn't love Tommy. Not the way he'd have liked to, years and years ago. Still, when Tommy shoots him the dorkiest finger guns known to man and scoops up the rest of his clothes to take to the bathroom with him, Harry still wonders what it's like to have him enough to love him fully.

---

The name catches him off guard every time he hears it. 'Evan' isn't hard to filter - Evan had been a popular enough name to immediately write it off but Buck wasn't white noise of a name

Buck was a character in a movie, an old grizzled war vet, a dog. The name Buck wasn't popular enough not to hear it every time it was so much as whispered in his direction.

The coffee shop isn't crowded, but it's not dead either. When the girl at the counter calls out an order for Buck, sliding three cups down the counter, Harry can't help but look up.

A tall broad shouldered hulk of a man smiles a dimpled smile at the barista, and Harry watches him palm two cups and grab the third one in one practiced move. He's cute, Harry thinks. Maybe his grandpa ordered, Harry thinks, a little harder, and then caves, following his path through the three-tops littering the lobby.

Harry catches sight of him without being noticed. He's grinning, one of those rare earnest ones that make his ears rise and his face crinkle like a Shar Pei, hand spread out over something lying open on the table. The little girl on the seat to his right is a surprise, but Harry hasn't spoken to Tommy in two years. Maybe he's had enough time to get his mind around the idea that he's nothing like his father. The girl responds to something Tommy says by palming at as much of his face as she can reach and turning to the man now approaching their table.

"Uncle Buck!" he catches, another firm tug at the part of his brain that's been stuck on this for too long. The man barely gets all three drinks on the table before the girl is launching herself up into his arms, and it's too late for Harry to turn away without notice. Tommy's gaze shifts across the room and lands right on him.

He looks like he might wave Harry over, and Harry would rather die than know whether Tommy would introduce him as an old friend, or by name like Buck should know it. He tips a smile Tommy's way. Raises a brow at the man - Buck - and gets lips being sucked behind teeth in response, and then a slow, subtle head tilt.

Good. Good for him. Harry's never wanted anything for Tommy but to see him incandescently happy.

Witnessing it from a distance is better.

Buck twirls his - niece? - flops her back down on the bench seat next to Tommy and bends to say something that includes a pinky promise. He's got a wine-dark stain just above his brow, and Harry can't quite hide the tip of his smile.

Harry's name rings in his ears as he picks up his drink, and he's halfway to the door, feeling proud of himself for not turning back, when he hears the chorus of three laughs erupting from the corner where he'd taken his last good look.

He'd seen the ring on insta, a week and a half ago. Just an uncaptioned picture of two bands balanced one over the other on a rock, a killer sunset sky blurry behind them. No tags. 102 likes and counting.

Harry pushes through the doors and only glances through the window to watch Tommy tip his head back in laughter for a second, before he's cleared the coffee shop and rounded the corner back to his office.

[rafeysangelbaby]

How Bambi!reader met Rafe...

trigger warnings!!: religious trauma, parent death, rafe just being a perv in general, innocence kink, coercion, i think thats all but please message me if there is more!!

at least your truck beats walkin'...

You meet Rafe in mid-october, the sun shining through the patterns of trees as you rode down the dirt path towards the old Angels oak tree. It had been your favorite place since you were little. you had fond memories of mama bringing you down here for lunch on days where your father got real busy with work. Now, with momma gone, it was your favorite place to read your bible and get away.

The beaten pages of your bible flap in the wind, and if you had been paying attention you would have noticed the weird way it was sitting in the basket. you were distracted, the dream you had the night before bombarded your brain with images of abandoned churches, and fire, it felt so real you swore you could feel the smoke burning your lungs when you woke up.

you hit a bump in the road, you had driven over it a million times, however, you watch with a gasp as your old bible launches into the air, flying several feet behind you.

you stop the bike quickly, leaving it in the middle of the road as you panic over potential distress to your bible. you’d had it for awhile and it was worn from how frequently your mother had read it to you, instilling the verses into your brain, but it was still yours and you felt guilty that you’d dropped it.

you look around frantically, so distraught that you don't even notice the car hurdling down the road towards you, clearly holding no intention to stop. you grip the cross hanging from your neck, muttering a prayer for forgiveness as you rush towards it. you bend down to grab it before hearing a loud crash from behind you. you let out a shriek at the noise, practically jumping five feet back as you pop back up. you had never seen cars on this road, or anyone else for that matter, how were you supposed to know there would be one now?

the door to the sleek black truck is quickly thrown open, the prettiest man you had ever seen hops out of it, slamming it behind him. he walks forward to assess the damage with an annoyed scoff before whipping his head towards you.

"the fucks wrong with you, huh?"

your big eyes are all he sees at first, how innocent and delicate you seemed. he watches as your pretty mouth opens in closes silently before setting into the plump pout.

"your bikes fucking wrecked, n' my trucks all scratched up, i mean, what are you even doin'?"

the man stares back at you, taking in your wide-eyed expression. "i-" you stutter, your whole body freezing up as you try to find the words, your doe eyes boring into his. his eyebrows furrow as he studies your startled expression.

"dont talk much, do ya'?"

his voice makes you feel strange, not terrified, but warm. your mothers words flash through your mind, "im sorry...im not ‘posed to talk to strangers...specially boys." a wide smirk spreads on his face as you slowly started to back up. you were fidgety, nervous, and timid like prey, he liked that.

"hey hey hey-" he says, holding out his hands in attempt to calm you. "you dont need to be scared, im just trying to get this figured out...okay?" he says, trying to get you to nod with him. you nod slowly with a soft, "okay" before slowly walking toward him.

"good, thats good." the condescending smirk that decorates his face makes your tummy flutter, wide eyes meeting his. "alright so, you wanna tell me what happened here?" he says as his big hand comes to grip the back of your neck, shoulders scrunching up under his hold before slowly relaxing.

you fidget with the hem of your dress, nerves causing your hands to shake, before you finally mutter out, "i dropped my bible..." he looks down at you, brows furrowing as he tongues his cheek.

"see, what i dont understand is why you left your fucking bike in the middle of the road...?" you pout, pretty glossed lips catching the light. rafe smirks, what he would give to have those wrapped around his-

"i had to go back and get it..." you hum, your pretty voice interrupting his nasty thoughts. he would return to them later, for now he was gonna play with you a little more.

"yeah...im still not getting why you didn’t move your bike out of the way, bambi..."

your cheeks flush at the nickname, you'd never had a boy call you anything like that...in fact really, you'd never had a boy call you much of anything before. Rafe smirks, pleased with himself for making you flush so easily, it certainly was a pretty sight.

"i-...i wasnt thinking about it" your voice is soft, almost angelic, a chill ripples down his spine as he thinks of what you'd sound like with your legs thrown over his shoulders, crying out his name. he smirks, grabbing the back of your head to force you to look up at him.

"yeah? well look at what happens when you dont think, you get yourself into trouble." he condescends, his rude nasally tone sending sparks to your tummy. you whine, realization washing over you as your eyes finally settle on your bike. he was right, it was totaled. he walks towards it, your lip settling between your teeth as you watch his big arms flexing as he pulls your bike out from under the front of his truck.

"looks like youre gonna have to catch a ride with me, doll." he hums with a tsk before walking around to throw your bike in the back. you look up at him, frantic, waiting with baited breath for him to come back around.

'i- no im not supposed to get in the car with strangers." you say while firmly shaking your head, and to your surprise his smirk grows wider. you were innocent, which meant you would be easy to mold. he holds out his hands again in surrender.

"im not gonna hurt you, here, my names Rafe, okay?"

you nod, pausing as he comes closer to you, your heart beating in your ears.

"you gonna tell me your name, bambi?" he says softly, his voice soothed you, making you let out the breath you didnt know you were holding, though for some reason your body was still on alert.

"its y/n" you meet his eyes, getting lost in the false sense of security his pretty blues offered. "alright, how about this, you go get your bible, alright? then ill take you home." you frown, unsure if you should. you didnt really have a reason not to, you knew his name and your bike was totally messed up, which meant you had no other way to get home. you could walk, but it was getting late and honestly, you didnt really want to. reluctantly, your head moves in a soft nod, your pretty doe eyes meeting his as you seek his approval.

"good girl, you go get it and then ill help you into the truck." you flush, your stomach doing summersaults at the praise. you'd never received much of that growing up, having this beautiful boy say that to you so easily, had your pretty panties all sticky.

you pad over to your bible, grabbing it with haste before returning back to him, staring at his pretty face as he helps you into the seat.

"there we go, dollface..." he says before strapping the seatbelt over you. he closes the door gently, as if not to scare you, before he walks back around to the other side. he takes of quick, wondering to himself why he'd never seen you before, silence filling the car as he thinks.

"where do you live bambi..." he suddenly speaks up, bringing you out of the trance you had been in as you watched the trees go by. "umm i live on the cut...not too far from here." you hum softly, and as you speak he nods, smirking as it clicks. you were a pogue, which made things simultaneously easy and hard. easy because tracking and watching over you would be a piece of cake, hard because asking people around him for information about you would be useless.

you go back to watching through the window, your gentle voice breaking the silence as you direct him where to turn and which ways to go. he's mostly silent for the rest of the ride, mulling over things in his head. you were so innocent, he couldn't have anyone getting to you before he did. he watches as you fidget with the hem of your dress, the short material riding up to reveal a bit more of your plush thighs, causing rafe to smirk to himself.

"you nervous bambi?" his voice cuts through what had been a peaceful silence, you had been zoned out as you thought about nothing, off in your own world. you couldn't lie, you were a bit nervous. you felt pressure, the lords presence lingering in the back of your mind as it always did, making you feel sick with guilt. you were gonna have to pray extra hard tonight.

you nod, biting your lip as you bring your knees up to your chest. "yeah...just a little bit" you say as you look over at him, waiting for his reaction. he hums, looking over at you as he pulls onto your street

"you dont need to be nervous angel...just wanted to make sure you got home safe." you nod, reaching over to your car door to climb out, watching as he does so as well. you lean against the truck as he grabs your bike and sets it against the wall of your house. you pout up at him, the face of innocence. god, he was gonna have fun with you.

"thank you rafe...i really appreciate it." he nods, looking you up and down with a smirk. "don't worry about it, y/n, just be more careful next time, okay?" you nod, watching as he gets back into his truck, before padding to your front door. he watches as you bend over to grab the mail, clearly unaware his eyes were on you. he lets out a breathy, "fuck-" as he sees the way your baby pink panties press up against your puffy lips, damp and sticky from the interaction. he snaps a quick picture on his phone before pulling out of your driveway. a smile taking over his face as he puts your address in his notes app as he drives away.

yeah, he was definitely going to have fun with you.

authors note!!: i hope you guys like it!! it took me so long to write the whole fic and lowkey i think its not great but we will see...

tags!!: @nemesyaaa @starkeysprincess @sematarygirls @gibson-g1rl @sirlovel @chloeisbunny @everinlove @meowgirl1 @chrisfortheblackgirls

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

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

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

You were so wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.

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

“Yeah. I have concealer on.”

“Yikes.” Sunghoon coughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please god please please please!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And do what?”

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

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

“Jay, does yn have anything urgent today?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why does he call you Ivy anyway?”

“It’s my English name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Niki.

Jake

Niki

Jake

Niki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You must be really sick or still dreaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.” He grins, overtaken by triumphant.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My ache is fine actually, thank you.”

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

“That’s because I’m cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.

“This smells just like you.”

“It is my bodywash after all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I actually heard your boss is super nice,”

“Did you now?”

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

“Who’s feeding you these lies? Jay?”

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

“Beauty is subjective.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell that to my assistant.”

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

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

“You don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you eaten yet?”

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

“Not yet.” He inhales you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sounds like a lively woman.”

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

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

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

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

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

“All done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you know he was coming?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, why?”

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

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

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

“What the fuck yn?”

To be continued....

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[crimson-rots]

I MISSED THIS REBLOG ??. i don’t want to take credit for my dear friend’s story, but. thomas cody you will always be famous to me..

@event-horizon06 <- you are a genius and amazing.

so. so. you’re on a spaceship, and your crew is dead, and the guilt is eating you alive. you’ve been pur in charge — you, an ensign — and you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’re the last one who can do it. your parents’ hometown is wiped off the map. every step feels weighted with the expectations of the remaining third of your ship, and you can’t help but try your best, fucking with the only information you’ve been given. home is a year away, at best. you don’t have the rations to survive that long.

you’re being chased.

and so you do the best you can. you try, because there’s nothing else you can do. but your best isn’t good enough. it isn’t your fault (it feels like it is) (the guilt at this memory will be eating you alive for years to come).

so the crew revolts against your captain, claim that the decision to put you in charge was the wrong one. you watch as your mentor locks your captain in the bridge. you watch as his gun clears right through her chest. but before that, before you can save her, she shoves you in an escape pod. it’s barely working. it’s wrong. it’s faulty.

your crew marches up the bridge toward you. they will kill you. so she shoves you in and pleads, survive.

the door locks you in there.

she dies. there’s nothing you can do.

and you rocket into space, slumped against the wall, hopelessly drifting. you have no controls. no nothing. just an anomaly you think will kill you, drawing you into its glinting purple light, shuddering and warping, soft and cold.

your shift drifts away from you. she is swallowed by space. you know (or, you think) you will never see her again.

you will never see anyone again, you think. and you close your eyes and wait.

…

and then you don’t die.

you live. it’s worse.

you wake up in the future, 250 years displaced. your crew is lost to time. your ship is lost to space. no one knows anything, and you’re in the middle of it all, fumbling your way through a second chance you don’t want, good at what you know but feeling like everything you know is useless in this unfamiliar world. it feels like you have to learn to breathe again; to talk, to walk, to fight.

you have no surviving family. no friends. no home.

you’re so tired. fighting feels like led in your bones.

you do it anyway, because there’s nothing else you know how to do.

i don’t know how to keep going, because this story divulges in about a million ways, all of them so close to my heart. in all stories, in all existences, thomas cody is a man displaced from home, fighting for his home to be remembered. everything he knows had been lost to that void of space, and records of his crew — real records, not professional ones — are few and far between.

you are the only one who remembers. you are the only one who fights to find your ship, your home, in search for some peace that you haven’t felt in centuries. your lifeline; the idea that maybe you can make up for it.

ggh. ghah. fuck. just. fuck. thomas fucking cody. you will always be famous to me.

being a fan of a friend's ocs is actually so humiliating....... like yes my favourite character rn is tragically doomed and a pillar of humanity who i think is relevant to the current world. you can find information about them on discord dot com and sometimes in late-night conversations with this guy i know. what the fuck

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: jealousy, angst, pining

word count: 3.1k

tw: alcohol use, swearing

a/n: hii my lovely’s! i honestly dk how i feel about this chapter, but i hope u guys enjoy it regardless. also please ignore the shift from past to present tense 😭 i realized i fucked it up like mid way thru but oh well! the movies i mentioned are also so good GO WATCH EM. and if u cant tell i love blushing i find it so cutesy. ALSO ONE SHOT IDEAS PLEASEEEEE. anyway, enjoy and hope y’all have a good week!

CHAPTER THREE

paige has a problem. it wasn’t that her aim was off, causing her to miss shot after shot. it wasn’t that her coach was yelling at her to get her head in the game. no, it wasn’t any of that. it was the fact paige couldn’t stop thinking about the curly brunette, even if her life depended on it.

ever since practice a few days ago, when azzi’s body was flush against hers, azzi had owned paige’s mind. and since her head is elsewhere, she failed to focus on everything else, especially basketball.

“what’s wrong with you?” nika asks paige, confused as to why her game was off, which is extremely rare for her.

without basketball, paige had nothing. basketball gave paige life, ever since a young age. even after trying other sports, her heart was always set on basketball. so when paige’s game had been acting up, it made her teammates, as well as coaches, confused.

paige glances at nika, “what? nothing.”

nika gave paige a don’t bullshit me look, “paige, cmon. you’ve been missing shots all day. something’s gotta be up.”

paige didn’t, wouldn’t tell nika about paige’s tiny issue. “i don’t know. bad day, i guess.”

“well get your shit together. we need you for tomorrow’s game.”

paige looks over at azzi, who was on the opposite side of the gym with caroline, “don’t worry, i will.”

later that night, paige was already laying in bed when her phone buzzes. it was a text from aubrey, asking the team group chat if anyone wanted to hang.

dorka, paige’s roommate, was already quietly sleeping on the opposite side of the room. paige looks at the time, 9:41 pm; she figured hanging out with her friends wasn’t the worst idea.

paige soon arrives at aubrey’s dorm. she opens the door to find a variety of her teammates; nika was seated on aubrey’s bed along with aubrey, lou was on the floor, while azzi and caroline were on jana’s bed, who wasn’t present.

fuck. of course azzi would show up, despite it being late at night. it was as if azzi somehow knew paige had been thinking about her- appearing just to torment her.

the two met eyes, paige held eye contact a tad longer than she normally would. heat creeped up azzi’s neck.

since there wasn’t much room on either beds, paige slumps against the bed azzi was sitting on.

“so what were y’all doing before i came in?” paige questions her teammates.

“trying to decide on a movie, but nobody is agreeing,” nika replies, annoyance in her voice.

“i say we watch she’s the man, but everyone here doesn’t have good taste, so nobody agrees with me,” aubrey says, rolling her eyes.

paige turns her head up to azzi, “what was your suggestion?”

azzi was caught off guard by paige’s question, “uh, i said about time.”

“oh my god, i love that movie. i agree with azzi,” paige announces.

azzi was shocked, to say the least. she never imagined a world where paige would agree with her.

they settle on about time. nika grabbed a few snacks and passed them around, while lou brought a few drinks in from the tiny kitchen.

a couple minutes into the film, paige grew uncomfortable with her spot on the ground. azzi noticed it by the constant shifting she had been doing. azzi reaches down to tap paige’s shoulder.

“you can come up here if you’re uncomfortable,” azzi whispers so the others wouldn’t be disturbed, while softly patting the spot next to her on the bed.

paige notices that her and carol had already shifted down, making room for paige. her lips curled into a small smile.

without a second thought, paige lifts from the floor and gently sets herself next to azzi, thighs nearly touching.

“thanks,” paige whispers. azzi simply nodded her head.

throughout the movie, paige’s thigh would occasionally graze azzi’s, sending butterflies to her stomach. there was a spark between the two, surely azzi felt it too.

caroline passes a bag of popcorn over to azzi, who instantly begins consuming it.

“can i have some?” paige questions lightly so she didn’t cause distractions for the others.

“of course,” azzi smiles, placing the popcorn in the middle of them.

their hands would graze while both going for the popcorn, paige let her touch linger longer than she should. she knew better. but her secret azzi fudd obsession got the better of her.

“sorry,” paige mutters, pulling her hand away after embarrassment covered her features.

“i don’t mind,” azzi looks at paige, a soft expression on her face.

paige had always been beautiful to azzi, but in this lighting, in aubrey’s small dorm, sitting on the same bed, mere inches apart, paige looked unreal. her blonde hair was the perfect kind of messy, lips were light pink, eyes so blue that they were practically transparent. paige’s cheeks flush at azzi’s eyes solely focused on her.

“okay guys! i’m exhausted, i’ll see y’all tomorrow,” nika jumps up from her spot, causing heads to look over at her.

paige and azzi took their attention away from each other, despite it being the hardest thing paige had to do.

“yeah, i should go too,” azzi agrees, beginning to move off the bed.

“same,” paige says, also moving from her spot.

the three say their goodbyes before leaving out aubrey’s dorm door. during the short walk down the hallway, the girls discuss their excitement for the first game of the season. they came to the end of the hall, where they could go either left, right, or continue straight. nika headed straight, off to her room. paige was going left, while azzi was going right. but both didn’t make any hints to move yet.

paige leans against the wall, azzi mimics her by doing the same on the opposite wall. a small smile crept onto her lips.

“you ready for tomorrow’s game?” paige questions the younger girl.

“beyond ready,” azzi’s smile only grows. she’s been waiting for this moment since before she could remember; her very first game in college basketball.

“you better be. i’m definitely gonna need you,” paige says without thinking. her eyes widen at her use of i’m. “we, i mean.”

azzi’s cheeks redden at paige’s comment about her needing azzi. not the team- her, accident or not.

“are you ready? you seemed kinda distracted at practice,” azzi brings up.

“i’m fine,” paige says harsher than she meant.

not wanting to deal with paige’s attitude, azzi sighs, “alright. see you tomorrow.”

paige desperately wanted azzi to stay with her. she wanted to grab her by the hand and pull her close; but she knew she couldn’t do that.

“yeah, see ya.”

the next morning, paige immediately shuts down any azzi thoughts from the previous day. she needs to focus on the game. it was the first of the season, and she eagerly wanted to make it a good one.

she brushes her teeth, washes her face, dresses herself, as dorka did the same.

“ready for this, p?” dorka smiles, excitement buzzing off her tall frame.

“always,” she matches her smile.

the two girls grab their bags and head down to the dining hall to grab some breakfast. nika, aubrey, jana, lou, carol and azzi were already seated and eating away.

paige prepares her meal before taking the spot besides jana, directly across from none other than azzi. they quickly lock eyes before looking away equally as quickly.

the team discusses plays they wanted to run in the upcoming game, all participating and giving suggestions. they soon finish eating before heading down to the gym for some smaller workouts, to get somewhat warmed up.

paige was still struggling to make her shots that she’d normally be making. when azzi notices, she casually walks over.

“can i suggest something?” azzi asks.

paige looks over at her, “hm?”

azzi strolls closer to the older girl, close enough to where paige felt her breath on

the back of her neck.

“what are you doing?” paige asks, breathlessly.

azzi places her hand on paige’s, adjusting it to where she liked. she then moves her elbow, “fixing your form.”

once azzi was done, paige shoots the ball, and is surprised to see it actually go through the basket.

“thanks, i guess,” paige grins.

the two girls continue shooting, getting their reps in when the time came to begin actual warm ups.

the game was about to begin; paige, nika, aubrey, azzi and jana were the starting 5. azzi feels an intense amount of pressure to do well, since she’s the only freshmen starting tonight.

the five girls huddle together, wide grins on their smiles, beyond ready to get this season going. paige speaks words of encouragement to her teammates as they all get into position.

uconn was up by 31 points, azzi having 19 while paige has 21.

paige runs the ball up the court, eyeing each teammate of hers. she passes the ball over to nika, who throws it over to azzi. she effortlessly makes the open 3, causing loud roars from the uconn student section.

the team was on a 9-0 run in the third quarter when paige sprints near half court and collides with a member from the other team.

azzi watches it happen and rushes over a little too quickly, for someone who claimed to hate her. azzi appears in front of the older girl, who was lying on the floor face up, and gently places her hands on her knees.

“are you okay?” azzi asks, worry laced in her tone.

paige was silent for a moment, still dazed by the impact. but when she glanced up at the brunette, a sense of calm quickly washed over her.

“yeah,” she answers, grabbing azzi’s hands that were being held out to her.

their hands held onto one another’s a moment too long. their bodies were slightly touching; neither made any movements.

it wasn’t until coach auriemma yelled at them did either of the girls make a move. paige was substituted for ashlynn to rest, and eventually, azzi was also subbed out for caroline to give other players a chance to play, as they were dominating the opposing team.

azzi settles down next to paige, the only spot open on the bench. their thighs were full on touching since the seats were so tight.

azzi rests her elbows on her knees before turning to paige, “you sure you’re okay? that fall looked like it hurt.”

paige smiles at azzi’s worry, “why? do you care or something?” she teases.

azzi’s face lit up with red, “um, no. of course not.”

paige lets out a soft chuckle before playfully pushing the brunette’s face, who who responds with a wide grin, dimples and all.

paige matches her smile with one of her own. god. she was otherworldly.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” paige mumbles, barely audible for azzi to hear, while dropping her heads, wrapping her arms under.

“sorry, what’d you say?”

“nothing,” paige replies, definitely not repeating her words.

the game ends, the teams high five one another before heading to the locker rooms.

“guys, since we played so well today, we should definitely celebrate,” jana suggests.

“what are you thinking?” nika asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

“ted’s, of course,” she laughs, “is everyone good with 7?”

each team member agree to meet at ted’s, the bar most uconn students attended, around 7. paige was buzzing at the idea of a dirty shirley temple, desperately needing one to get her mind off someone.

paige showered, applied light makeup, and picked out a comfortable but nice outfit.

around 6:55, paige leaves her apartment with dorka at her side, heading to ted’s.

the bar was absolutely packed with uconn students as well as the women’s basketball team. nika was talking to the bartender, aubrey was laughing at something jana said, while azzi was throwing back a shot.

the air seemed to shift when paige’s gaze lands on the young brunette. her heart instantly quickens as she took in her outfit. a light purple tank top that fit her in all the right places, paired with jean shorts that were doing wonders for her ass. her curls were down, slightly messy but in the most beautiful way possible.

making eye contact with paige causes azzi’s breath to hitch. heat floods her cheeks as she remembers the moments between them from earlier today.

stepping closer to the bar, paige lowers herself into an open seat, directly across from azzi who was completely surrounded by teammates. dorka took the spot next to her while lou made herself over to the two girls.

“dorka! p!” lou greets them, clearly already drunk.

“hey lou lou,” dorka smiles at her friend.

paige waves over the bartender, “can i please have a dirty shirley temple?”

the bartender nods, immediately reaching for a glass. paige was dying for a drink in her hand to take her mind off everything and everyone.

the shirley burns her throat as she took several gulps, downing nearly half the glass.

“calm down there, p,” dorka laughs at paige’s urgency to consume the drink as fast as possible.

“just thirsty,” paige replies.

after finishing her second shirley temple is when she noticed a tall man talking to azzi. her azzi. her fists clench at her sides as she throws a glare their way.

the man then lowers himself into the open seat next to her while casually shifting close, making their faces mere inches apart. azzi fidgets with her fingers, suddenly nervous from the attention.

paige presses her lips in a line to hold back her growing anger that was screaming to come out. all she wanted to do was walk over there and take what’s hers.

paige orders several more drinks, shots, whatever she could to hopefully get rid of the scene in front of her.

when a piece of azzi’s hair falls in front of her face, the man reaches out and brushes it behind her ear. his hand lingers for a moment too long, only causing paige to become more aggravated.

azzi laughs at something he said and paige decides she’s had enough. although she was completely aware she shouldn’t be doing this, she was supposed to hate azzi, she couldn’t help herself. she clutches her drink tightly in her grasp, a idea trickling in her head, and marches over there.

azzi almost instantly spots the blonde moving towards her at a rapid pace. her eyes widen when paige accidentally trips, spilling her drink all over the man.

satisfaction covered paige’s features, proud of her doing.

“jesus fucking christ!” he yelps, quickly jumping up from his position next to azzi.

“i am so sorry,” paige pretends to be genuine and concerned, even though herself and azzi knew it was complete bullshit.

the man grabs napkins, desperately trying to pat himself down, but ultimately failing. he walks away without as much as a glance back at the curly brunette, who continues to remain silent.

“did you seriously have to do that?” azzi questions paige, annoyance on her face.

“it was an accident, azzi,” paige sighs.

“sure it was,” azzi mutters as she grips her drink.

“it was,” paige replies defensively.

paige allows herself to sit where the man once was, feeling the air grow electric with the two being so close. azzi looks almost shaken by their close proximity, her eyes roaming paige’s body.

“paigey!” nika slurs, suddenly grabbing paige’s shoulders.

paige turns to her friend who was beaming, “what’s up nik?”

“oh my goodness, you totally missed it…” nika rants on and on about the hot bartender who was totally checking her out.

“i’ll be back,” nika grins as she jogs off to talk with the bartender once again.

“at least she’s getting some action,” azzi says, rolling her eyes.

“oh my god, i am so sorry i ruined the two minute conversation you had with some idiot. if you’re so interested in him, then be my guest; go find the fucker.”

“maybe i will,” azzi bites out, getting up from her spot and taking off towards the crowd.

it shocks paige that azzi actually went through with it- disappoints her, too. did she genuinely like the guy?

regretting her words, paige follows azzi’s trail, quickly catching up to the freshmen. she grabs her arm, making her twist around to face her.

“please, wait,” paige slurs in her drunken state.

“what do you want?” azzi questions, desperate to know paige’s intentions.

“you,” paige whispers, so quietly azzi can barely make it out.

“speak up, paige,” azzi replies, annoyed.

“please don’t go after him.”

azzi’s eyes crinkle, “and why not? you’re not my keeper.”

paige rests her hands on either one of azzi’s hips, uncontrollably pulling the younger girl closer.

“i know. i know,” she whispers, “just stay. stay here with me.”

azzi was taken aback from paige’s soft tone and sweet words. it was unlike paige to be like this to azzi, so azzi pieced together she must be drunk out of her mind.

“you’re drunk, paige,” azzi says.

“i’m sober enough,” paige’s lips turn up as she moves her hands to azzi’s face.

with her face in her hands, paige rests her forehead against the curly brunette’s, while her gaze drops down to her full, pink lips.

“what are you doing, paige?”

paige closes her eyes, not wanting to think about everything wrong with what she was doing and how it’d be like tomorrow.

“i don’t know. fuck, i don’t know. i just want to be close to you,” she whispers.

azzi gently places her hands on paige’s waist, pulling the older girl impossibly closer.

“fuck, az,” paige mutters, “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

paige was all azzi could hear, despite the loud crowd and blasting music around her. and her words meant everything.

“no matter how hard i try, you’re always there. you with your perfect curls and cute ass dimples,” paige smiles, twisting with a singular curl with her finger.

“oh yeah?” azzi matches the grin.

“yeah,” paige says, gaze focused on her lips.

right as paige leans in, azzi suddenly jerks back, her eyes wide with panic.

“p- paige, no. you’re drunk. you’ll regret it tomorrow,” she stutters, frantically stepping out of paige’s touch.

paige reaches out for azzi’s frame, “no i won’t.”

practically tripping over herself, azzi rushes over to her previous seat with paige right on her heels. she grabs her belongings before giving a lone glance back at the blonde; she was breathing hard, hands slightly shaking, with a disappointed yet shameful expression on her face.

azzi turns away and is gone before paige had the time to blink.

“god fucking dammit,” paige mutters to herself, ashamed of her actions that caused azzi to run off.

paige finds an open spot at the bar and orders yet another round of shots, not caring about the concerned looks she was receiving from her teammates.

paige swallows shot after shot, trying to drown her sorrows and any lingering thoughts of azzi. of course she had to ruin whatever was happening between them. of course.

“paige, don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?” aubrey cautiously questions her friend.

paige drunkenly chuckles, “not even close,” throwing back another burning shot.

[burningarsenic]

GET OUT OF MY HEADDDDDDD

I read the Perseverance fanfic and its stuck in my head now congratulations

Idk whats going on with this man idk if hes the harbinger from the symbol and at this point im too scared to find out, but hey no ones ever gonna stop me from putting a halo over a possible cult messiah

GO READ PERSEVERANCE NOWWWWWWWWWWW NOW NOW NOW

Version without all the visual bullshit i added:

Perseverance AU and fanfic by @pastelaspirations

Turns out inspiration struck way quicker than i thought it would. I thoroughly enjoyed reading your masterpiece :)

[sasusc]

I think we need more stories out like this. People telling other people it's okay to feel like this or have a relationship like this...that's different than what's in the mainstream. Maybe people would be more comfortable...more happy in their relationships when they aren't comparing it to others and thinking something might be wrong with them.

Because I can relate to OP...thinking there's something wrong with me when it comes to sex. All the stories I read, all the movies and TV shows I watch, girl talks with my friends...I can't relate those sexual experiences to my own... I can't be all like "I want dick!" or "Oh fuck I want to ride him!". I'm more like "I love my hubby, but why is this taking so long?". I only really want sex for the intimacy it brings.

I need more people telling me it's okay to feel like this. zhell, it was only recently that I started talking to people to realize that this is normal for people and not everyone experiences sex and love and relationships the same.

Maybe I'm asexual...maybe I'm something else. I'm not even sure. But some of these terms and how others experience things aren't being discussed enough around people you need to hear it. They might not even know what they need to search for to help them figure things out. I just know I'm not "normal" and I just need more people being braving and speaking up.

I don’t think it’s right for you to be asexual and married. It just doesn’t seem fair to your husband. He didn’t sign up to be in a sexless marriage? How do you make sure his needs are still met?

i trapped him in a jar like he’s a little bug and i throw some non-sexual intimacy in every once and a while so he has enrichment in his enclosure

[hitomisuzuya]

hi again suzu !!! could you do like really mean and harsh smut with obsessed scaramouche who kidnaps reader; and reader is actually obsessed with him aswell; if that makes sense 😞

you can make it kinky too; but that’s completely your choice!

- 🎧

yandere!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. obsessive/possessive behavior. kidnap. drugging. blowjob. harsh degradation. degrading praise. creampie. mean!scara. if any of these themes make you uncomfortable, DNI.

scara really enjoys himself in this 😳

today was the day. scaramouche knew today was the day. the world was encroaching too much, too fast around you. because you are so strong, it would be too much for you. that's exactly why you need him to protect you.

life wasn't going to dig it's hideous claws into you like it had done to him. he absolutely wasn't going to let that happen.

he has everything all prepared, even a new bed with a soft mattress and softer pillows. various things that would make you happy and comfortable. it was easy for him to acquire the sedative he would use, which is also something he considered carefully. something mellow and soft that would make you instantly drowsy and fall right to sleep. you wouldn't feel a thing.

scaramouche knew your schedule inside and out. you didn't have any idea he was following right behind you the entire time, having made promises to meet up for a date later. you, being so easily trusting of him, would walk right into his plans.

you are just way too kind. way too naive. far too sweet. all too much for your own good. but that is okay. he is here now.

absolutely nothing would go wrong. he would successfully retrieve you, and snatch you up away from the world. keep you hidden and at his side. where you belong. after all, you already look at him with such devotion, love and adoration.

he swooped in the moment you inevitably stopped walking to check your phone. you'd been keeping such an eye on the weather all day.

your breath hitched in your throat, startled as scaramouche came up behind you. "ssh, it's okay," he cooed, gently cupping a hand over your mouth, "you won't feel a thing, i promise. this is for your own good," your eyes widened a little feeling the pin prick on your neck, but you didn't panic. you'd heard the sound of scaramouche's voice, that let you know not to be scared.

he shivered seeing your body relax even before he sedated you. you trusted him that much that he didn't scare you. you really are amazing. he picked up as you slumped against him.

that was how you ended up on your knees, naked in front him, his hand stroking your hair lovingly before grasping it firmly. "go on, slut. use that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what you told me shortly after you woke up," he narrowed his eyes in a glare down at you, sending a shiver straight to your throbbing clit.

he brought your mouth close to his cock. you look up at him so sweetly, your soft little tongue darting out to kitten lick the head of his leaking cock. "you are all i ever think about, scara," he groaned softly as your tongue danced on the precum gathering in his slit.

incidentally, scaramouche only asked you to repeat yourself. it was you who insisted on sucking and licking his cock while you elaborated. it made his ego stretch as much as his cock aches. "i love you. my heart only ever belonged to you. i didn't want to give it to anyone else but you," you continued, wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping your hand as you scooped his cock head into your mouth to suck on.

scaramouche moaned, his cock pulsing on your velvety warm tongue. he pushed your mouth down onto his cock. "good girl, you know your place. on your knees. sucking my cock like a fucking slut," you muffled a moan on his cock, sucking obediently as pumped his thick length in and out of your mouth.

fuck you look so breathtaking, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth while he ruined your throat. "you look adorable with my cock stuffed in your mouth. i can fucking feel your throat enjoying me," his hand tightened on your hair, holding your head in place.

he let out a loud, husky moan as he pushed his cock into your throat. you coughed, your throat convulsing and spasming in a heavenly way on his cock. "as good as using your throat feels, it would be such a shame to not cum inside you first," he took your mouth off his cock, enjoying the way you were submitting and letting him essentially manhandle you.

the look in your eyes only deepened with further adoration for him.

"on the bed, and spread your legs," he commanded, his cock straining harder watching you spread your legs, your little fingers parting your folds for him. he feasted his eyes on your creamy cunt, all his for the taking.

crawling on top of you, scaramouche wasted no time putting his cock between your drooling folds. he slowly grinded his cock over your clit, hissing in pleasure feeling your juices soak his length.

you mewled, your legs shaking and your hips rocking up to grind back against him. "please, i am begging you to stretch me apart," you pleaded, spreading your legs more.

"needy, pathetic whore," he hissed, adruptly bullying his cock inside of you. "you are all mine," he bottomed out all at once, tearing the sweetest cry of pleasure from you. "do you understand?" his cock was shiny with your slick as he pulled halfway out of you.

he wanted to fuck his cock back inside of you at the exact moment you said you understood.

"i'm all yours, scara!" you cried out, your hips jerking up to help him fuck his cock deep back inside of you. your walls clenched tight from his harsh degradation, your cheeks flushed as you squirmed with need.

need that was all for him.

scaramouche lost control then.

he possessively held you down, his hips smacking into yours. his grip was bruising on your thighs as he held them apart. you could barely keep up with the intense pleasure of his cock driving into your sweet spot. your fingers shook as you reached down to rub your throbbing clit, your ministrations tinging your shameless moans with whimpers.

"what a whore. what a good girl," he groaned, his cock on the cusps of emptying inside of you. the wet warmth of your pussy sucking him in was almost too much for him. "fall apart faster for me," his eyes followed the motion of your hand on your clit.

you shook underneath him, your orgasm washing over you in dizzying proportions. scaramouche couldn't get enough of your cries of pleasure while you creamed on his cock.

"keep crying just like that for me," his cock squelched wetter in and out of your pussy, ribboning ropes of cum inside of you. you wrapped a leg around him, happy to let him fuck his cock deeper into you as he chased his high.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Retail Rictus; “the one where omegaverse fucks up Red Hood’s life”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I’m so sorry, little wing, I’m sorry,” Dick mumbles dizzily, and doesn’t sound all the way there, and still smells like–still smells like–“M’here now, alright? I found you. I came for you. And so will our pack. I swear.” 

That lie actually hurts too much to even sob over, after everything else and all the goddamn–all the fucking heat pheromones, and–and– 

And Dick smells like–

“Not for me,” Jason chokes, and doesn’t let himself think about what Dick smells like, because it’s a lie, or he’s wrong, or he’s fucking deluded, or– 

( Dick smells like he smelled that time when Jason was fourteen and Dick's rut had come early when he was crashing at the manor after that fucking bullshit case went to fucking shit, except also a fucking THOUSAND times better, and–and– )

He’s presented now, some part of Jason’s fucked-up, frantic mess of a brain thinks; some part that sounds like a name that isn’t his anymore. He’s presented now, so–so Dick smells better to him. 

So maybe he smells better to Dick, too. Maybe he–

Jason doesn’t think about it. 

“Not ever,” he says, and it still comes out choked. “None of you’d ever–” 

Dick grabs his jaw and leans back just enough to make him look at him, and Jason knows that face better than maybe anyone’s but his mom’s or Alfred’s or–or Bruce’s. He knows every little thing it does and every little lie it smiles and–and–

And Dick isn’t smiling right now.

[dadvans]

wip wednesday

bucktommy mpreg :: buck finds out he's pregnant after tommy breaks up with him and they make a mess of the boundaries

Tommy comes up the stairs two at a time when he doesn’t find Buck downstairs.

Think of it, Buck tells himself: Tommy bringing over another guy he knows who can fuck his mouth as good as Tommy can fuck his ass. It drives him right to the brink, and Buck promises himself, he can make it through the finish line and fake a sweaty, heaving nightmare by the time Tommy finds him.

He doesn’t.

“Buck?” Tommy says again, and then he sees Buck like a slug furled out in his sheets writhing and chasing the orgasm that just won’t come, so then he takes that awful one step back down, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh.”

Buck finally stops fucking his fist and slams his good hand palm flat into the mattress beside him. “Shit! No, I am. I am. Please don’t go. Give me a second. Fuck.”

“Buck,” Tommy says from the stairwell, deeper now, like he’s been weighted down by despair. Buck twists to look at him, but he can’t even see Tommy’s face.

“Sorry, I thought I could,” Buck continues unthinkingly, “I thought I could finish before you came up here. I’ve just been— the hormones are making me crazy. I wasn’t trying to—“

“You told me to come over when our calendars synced up to discuss a birth plan, and—“

“—Yeah, yeah, I absolutely said that and I meant it, and maybe I hoped you would have called or texted first—“

“—I called—“

“—Shit! Sorry, fuck. Have you ever heard of pregnancy brain?” He feels delirious. Too horny and trying to find the one branch on his way down that will bear his weight. His dick is throbbing, even when its only half-hard now. There’s this ugly need to get off roiling through him like a hot pot of water left on a stove too long, ready to boil into nothing at all if left alone. “It’s that, I swear. I’m so fucking horny right now I wish I knew what’s right and what’s wrong. I thought I could fake it, get off and whoever came in, no one would know, but I heard your voice, and, fuck, Tommy, please.”

“Buck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your call.” He looks away, chin tilting back up to the ceiling as he slides his flat palm down the underside of his hard dick and thrusts against it, dry grooves and all. “It could’ve been my fucking mom, I wouldn’t have known.”

Buck hears Tommy breathe in and out from so far away, the same measured, shaky rhythm as his hand, slow and cruel, keeping every last ugly feeling alive.

“Want me to meet you outside, what, ten minutes?” Tommy asks. “Twenty?”

He should say yes, sorry, yes, please, he’s so fucking sorry. It’s these goddamn hormones, it’s this goddamn oops baby, he’ll get his shit together, buttoned up and on schedule, regular, as soon as he can.

But then there’s the thought of Tommy, two fingers in his ass, gritty with lube and slow as anything, them rocking together in the same spot he’s in now. There’s Tommy picking him up behind the thighs to get the back of Buck’s knees cradling his shoulders, driving into him so deep that Buck could taste him, right in this bed, moaning shaky into the same pillow he’s already sweating into like the walls would’ve fallen down around them. There’s Tommy, voice honey warm, saying, “There you go, baby, take it, take it all.” A ledger of things that would make his breaker box burst if he were an old home.

He closes his eyes, grinds his teeth together. “These hormones are just over-riding everything else in my brain, okay. And it doesn’t have to mean anything, but it would be a lot quicker if you came up here instead and helped.”

He expects Tommy to say no. He expects Tommy to say, in the best case scenario, “You know I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” He expects Tommy to say, in the worst case scenario, “Go fuck yourself.”

The tiniest hope, the ugliest hope that lives too deep down for Buck to think about, bursts hot and heavy when Tommy sighs and takes the few steps back upstairs.

[silverjirachi]

Ok so all last year I was following news on this one particular lost media song because it was a fucking BANGER. Here is the original snippet:

There were a ton of circulating theories, people convinced it was a hoax etc especially bc the guy who originally posted asking about the snippet just disappeared off the face of the earth after more people got involved. Turns out this is probably because he actually knew where it was from.. and it was porn. This snippet is perfectly cut so you dont hear MOANS. Full (sexy) audio after it was found:

It turns out this song was recorded by the Booth brothers not necessarily for a porno, but it ended up in one. The film was called Angels of Passion and it was about a bunch of sexy angels who come to earth to teach a guy how to have killer sex. Now please forgive me if im wrong because I have not actually watched this porn movie (shocking) but from what I understand this song plays when somebody else is fucking this poor incompetent guy’s wife/partner/etc who was crying to these sexy angels and the explosion sound at the end is a literal explosion because the world blows up. This is as far as I understand or at least the plot I have pieced together without actually watching the movie.

Anyways the artists were super surprised everyone was into this song of theirs and so they released a new version of it with no moans:

But yeah anyways this post reminded me of it bc the plot of the porn really seems to be about this sad pathetic guy who cant please his wife in bed getting schooled by literal angels about his dick. And the song shreds.

Guy who didnt satisfy his partner during sex cryign and punching himself in the balls going STUPID STUPID STUPID!!

[cursedextrovert]

People comparing CaitVi dynamic season 1 and 2, are we watching two different shows or y'all just forgot what happened in the middle. There was literally a war going on, Cait's mom fucking died like are they just gonna be lovey dovey with all these politics going on? And then one moment they leave everything to just be with each other in that jail cell you are also mad like wdyw?

Also people who say their sex scene is not necessary and/or a bad representation.

Firstly, JayceMel also got a sex scene in season 1 so its not like they invented sex just for these two lesbians.

Secondly, they didnt just fuck. Vi was beating herself up thinking she made the wrong decision and fucking things up like always and Cait told her that she actually let the guards go so Vi can do that exact thing she wanted. Ultimately saying a) she trusted Vi when she said Jinx has changed and wanted Vi to let the girl out b) she wanted Vi to be happy more than she wanted revenge even tho just some months ago she was the opposite.

Thirdly, we see the detail, Cait hesitates when she sees the bandage where she used to hit Vi. We see Cait taking off her clothes and showing her all, being vulnerable because Vi deserves that much from her.

Fuck. I get it, ok? This is a rare time we got a wlw relationship where both are main characters, and in a big show like this so you want it to be perfect and deprive of all flaws. But wouldnt you rather have two well-written characters where they relationship is tangled with the core of who they are than just a wlw couple with no conflict, no personal development no nothing? Hows that a good representation? Their relationship doesnt solve the conflict between them and their politics but is the reason why they were intertwined in the first place.

And dont come at me about systematic problems as well like Im a poc myself living in a white country and a sociology graduate. I understand Caitlyn did terrible things and is a war criminal herself with how she stands aside letting Ambessa did the thing she did and for gasing Zaun just to seek revenge. But she, just like everyone is a product of her sociocultural surroundings, shes a human affected by their beliefs and emotions. Isnt that the point of the show?

I dont think she got her happy ending just because she lives, I think being alive is her purnishment. She has her whole life to make up for what she did and I believe she will. What other fate you think she deserves? Her death will not undo her crimes, so is prison, they will also prevent her from actually fixing what she caused and ultimately using her priviledge for good(which shes doing, you can read my post about it). And Im not about to start the whole ethic debate on prison. How does one define a purnishment worthy? How do one define what a person deserves?

Finally, you know who else was a war criminal and walked away with what he wanted? Singed. Reality is like that, not black and white. People dont get what we think they deserve, ever.

[abearinthewoods]

This last post here is so clearly an example of whats wrong with feminism's way of looking at men. How quick it is to ascribe some malicious intent onto the actions of men.

>Do I vocally object to the slur? To the objectification? To the very premise of the question? This was obviously set up to be bait, to catch me out somehow, to "trigger" me, to gauge where my ideological loyalties were - he didn't really care about my response, he cared about how I worded it, which things I objected to, where my lines in the sand were. He didn't like that I was "the quiet guy." He needed material to pick on me with, and I didn't want to give it to him.

Protip: these trade guys don't consider tranny a slur. it is just the name they heard somebody else refer to them. Its why they tend to call generics by specifics (coke or pepsi for soda in general). Their use of speech is not that complicated.

Anywho, yes, this was setup to bait you, the whole point is no answer is free from mockery. You won by not being effected by this and just answering matter of factly. Being cagey or timid would have been what actually lead to mockery. The other path to "victory" is taking the "brave" or unsafe path and defending it with confidence. You could have answered that "i don't care if shes got a penis or used to be a man, if she looks like that any hole's a goal if you know what I mean" and if you passed the confidence check you'd be treated like a manly man. If they pushed back "you telling me you would turn down those lips around your dick?" and now they have failed the masculinity test.

The only truly unacceptable answer would have been to call it out as objectification. This would have lead to becoming the quiet outcast nobody interacted with.

Women have the same kind of discussions about rather or not they want fuck male celebrities. It doesn't all of the sudden become problematic just because its men doing it.

Anyways, back to the point in my opening sentence. So many assumptions are being made about this coworker's intentions. And almost every single one of them proven to be untrue by the dude's reaction at the end to op's answer, yet his post doesn't even realize this. OP got praised for not being held up by chromosomal ideals around sex and gender but still treats the entire interaction like an example of transphobia. Too blinded by the othering of his coworker as a cis gendered straight tradesmen to even see what actually happened in this interaction.

I'm this close to just sending that trans inclusive radical misogynist post, the one about how there's loads of guys who'll go "oh, you're a man now, great, come shit talk women with us" to every blog insisting that trans men can't have male privilege and it's transandrophobia to say they do. Not every trans man has this experience but it's actually pretty common even for out trans men to be seen as, if not "real" men depending on who you ask, certainly non-women, and encouraged to perform misogyny as part of their social transition.

[walks-the-ages]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but regurgitating Radical Feminism talking point of

"Men are all Inherently Evil, Physically Superior, and Predatory to Women"

does not, in fact, do anything for Actual Feminism where the main talking point is

"We are all Human Beings and we're not Intrinsically Different based on the gender some random doctors decided on at birth"

and you're not doing anything for Queer Solidarity either when you go around proclaiming that all men, including trans men, are these evil oppressive monsters who have advantages in life based purely on their gender (even if they are trans men who are not out of the closet yet, apparently) , and I'm not sure why on earth the new crop of Trans-Inclusive Rad Fems think that being 'proud misandrists' is going to save them from being targeted by cis transphobes??? You can't win protection from transphobes by throwing your fellow trans community under the bus, and when you go around saying that all men are disgusting oppressive predators who have never done anything for the queer community ever and have never experienced any true oppression ever its like. ....

.... what the fuck is wrong with you?

Did you forget the AIDs crisis exists?

Did you forget the gay and bi men exist?

Did you forget that Black men exist??

The world's oppression does not begin and end with trans women, and if you're happy to throw the rest of the trans community under the bus so you can feel superior, I don't know who the heck you expect to have your back when you need help, because everyone else has already been run the fuck over, because you fucking threw them in the road because you somehow still think Respectability Politics is gonna save you instead of leaving your Exclusionist Bubble the community that ends up alone and isolated.

Trust me. Life is a lot more bearable and hopeful when you don't go around insisting an entire 50% of humanity is evil based on their gender. Try talking to your fellow trans men, trans mascs, nonbinary people and intersex people before you make another post about how """theyfabs have it so easy and trans men are inherently privalaged and evil because they're men and they shouldn't talk about reproductive health or the need for safe abortions because that's just speaking over women""" 🤦🤦🤦

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I can't fucking stand the double standards of this fandom. Everytime I see someone bitch about how the Targaryens are "colonizers" I want to bash my brains out. And these posts always include the op talking about how great the Starks are and how they do no fucking wrong.

Like where are these people's media comprehension???? Do they know the basic definitions of things? Add to that the fact that most of these people also constantly call Dany a "white savior". Like literally read a dictionary and try actually reading the books!

I just saw a post where someone was saying that they hate the idea of Dany being the Prince that was Promised because her ancestors were colonizers and she's a white savior.

Instead, they wanted Jon Snow, who, you know, doesn't have any colonizer ancestry. Because the Starks were perfect angels, who took control of the North by asking nicely. And the First Men were gifted Westeros by the Children of the Forest when they arrived because they were all such good friends.

Literally anyone who read ASOIAF (and has the smallest bit of media comprehension) knows that that's the farthest thing from the truth.

The First Men were colonizers who waged outright war with the CotF for thousands of years and desecrated their sacred places. Yes, eventually they made the Pact, but that only resulted in the CotF being slowly pushed out of Westeros completely and they were eventually fully walled out of their ancestral land. They're literally dying out now, as Leaf explains to Bran in ADWD.

Now, doesn't that sound familiar? To me, that sounds an awful lot like what the European colonies did to the Indigenous peoples of the Americas. Of course it's similar, GRRM is heavily inspired by history.

The Targaryens are conquerors, not colonizers. By the time of the Conquest, they have lived in Westeros for hundreds of years. The Conquerors, their parents, and grandparents were all born and raised on Dragonstone in Westeros.

The Targaryens are a Westerosi house, just like the Starks, Martells, and Hightowers. The only difference between all these houses is the timing of their arrival in Westeros. What exactly are the implications of this belief?

And obviously Dany isn't a white savior. Essos is a very diverse continent, so is their slave system. It's class based, not race based. A large portion of the Essosi slaves looked like Dany because they were of Valyrian descent. The slaves span every ethnicity, why is that so difficult to understand? Not only do the books themselves describe the ethnicity of many of the slaves, GRRM himself came out and debunked this interpretation!

I understand not being comfortable with this kind of story to an extent. The concept of liberation efforts has been tainted by the white savior trope. However, one's personal preferences don't equal the actual content of the story!

I think the thing that pisses me off the most about people who take these stances in the ASOIAF fandom is their pseudo-intellectualism.

Each person who writes these posts believes they have better media comprehension and even superior morality than everyone else. They misapply definitions of extremely damaging ideas so smugly. They believe they are correcting the views of other readers and GRRM himself, and as such, refuse to see how gravely mistaken they are. It's as concerning as it is infuriating.