#black notion headers

[hyperdoll]

black detail notion headers

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[limerlove]

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY

feat. contractor!abby x exgf!reader

content warning. eighteen+, smut, angst, some fluff sprinkled in, devastating dykes, nickname for reader (cherry), jealousy, long lost love trope, hazel (spoiler alert, she’s a cunt), just an emotional ass fic.

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY, she was the healing in a world that struck so much pain, a life you would like to forget, but can you truly forget just how much you loved her?

rayray sesh. been working on this baby for over a month and i’m very happy to post it on time! happy birthday, pookie — @sinstear ♡ this is my special crafted gift i wrote just for you on a day to celebrate just how amazing you are. erenboo, you deserve all the love in the world. i hope you enjoy this as much as i took joy in writing it for you. my love, sweat, tears, and cum are laced in it. special delivery. i love you so much, bub. always and forever.

✶ special shoutout to @hypnagogics aka my co-yap captain. thank you for proofreading my bigger projects. you are a godsend. my nonsensical typos would surely make it if it wasn’t for you. mwahmwah! you’re the sweetest, ily ♡

✶ header heavily inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners

word count, 14k.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 ❞

The more you try to hide from it, the harder it’ll be when you face it — at least those are the words Abby had heard from her old man for as long as she could remember. Suddenly, nearly thirty-years later, they reverberated in her mind like a ring of a bell. A vibrating reminder of how her life remained the same, your love having limitations, requirements she never could have been aware of at the ripe age of eighteen. 

All she needed was more time, more understanding, and a patient heart that was never reciprocated. On a day like today, she’s reminded of 

In Jacksonville, there wasn’t much going on, and talk travels faster than the speed of lightning. Murmurs of your return started the moment Dina found out, then it spread like wildfire. All of it feels just like yesterday but the spring of her youth is a far cry away, just dust and bones to be found on the ashes of adolescence.  

If the world was perfect, Abby could avoid all of this. 

Maybe if her life had turned out the way she envisioned. 

But it didn’t and neither did yours. Not as of late. Although Abby had to be tightlipped about it, business and pleasure entangled, all of that nonsense floating around her pretty head. A voice she once thought she had forgotten comes back with a violent need to be recognized, a calming notion before it punches her in the gut. 

Not to mention, she just had to be on your father’s payroll, had to face the person she was never good enough for. All of it feels nauseating. Excruciating. 

Reminder of a wound she’s never recovered from. Memories high and low come flooding, and with you in her line of vision, it only gets worse. 

Way fucking worse. 

“What is she doing back?” 

“As if anyone would want her here.” 

“Abby, was she even supposed to be here?” 

The questions pile along with the bile collecting in the back of Abby’s throat. The pit in her stomach manifests a black hole, feeling herself succumb to the spin of everyone’s empty threats spilling from her friends to you. Abby can tell just by the way you’re downing the glass of champagne and picking up the next, coming here wasn’t your choice.

If you could have helped it, you would have never come back in such a public setting.  

“Abby, are you listening?” She sighs, but still unable to take her eyes off you. 

“Do I need to rea—” 

“Yeah yeah, all of you hate them. I get it.” 

“It’s not that simple. They aren’t good for you.”

There’d been murmurs through the small town of your return. That’s what happens when your mom gets sick, you come home and that you did. The anniversary of your parents, forty years strong, is the first public appearance. The absence of your brother’s appearance isn’t talked about, it’s brushed over, just like everything else, just like you. 

“Yep, I got it.” 

“I’m just looking out for you. They don’t appreciate you and—” Abby shoots her a knowing glare, annoyed with the intrusion of everyone thinking they knew best instead of herself. 

“Yeah, like I said, I hear you, but you don’t fucking know her. Neither do I, certainly not anymore.” 

Running a hand through her blonde-glistening locks, the sunset saturates her golden as she ignores Hazel, taking a sip of her beer as she takes you in. Everyone always has shit to say about you. Your parents, her friends, Abby’s parents, but no one really knows you. 

It’s not easy for you to let people in, you seem as harsh as can be to others, but Abby knows you’re quite the opposite. 

Different from everyone in the room, a polished cream suit and open collared button up shirt with your delectable collarbones exposed, your rings twinkle as you pet the husky, one you don't know belongs to Abby. If you did, your hand might feel repelled. 

It’s what you always wanted. A life out of here, out of the small town where you’ve always felt judged, persecuted, even ostracized when you came out — and you succeeded — leaving Abby behind in the process. Even if you didn’t intend to, it sort of just…happens. We leave the ones we love behind, even if it’s our last possible intention. 

Goodbye notions simmer and we forget about the love we once had. 

“Hazel, Dina was asking for you, she mentioned needing some help finding JJ’s pacifier?” 

“On it!” Abby chuckles as the cherry-haired girl flees into the other direction as Ellie laughs harder when she’s gone. 

“You’re welcome. She's like a dog with a bone when it comes to your beautiful ex-girlfriend.” 

“Watch it. Calling another woman beautiful, Dina might just skin you alive.” 

“Nope. She loves me too much.” 

Ellie chuckles as they watch you down another glass of champagne. Freeing your hair from the tight bun, your hair springs to life as it falls around your shoulders, framing your jawline as piercing eyes find the weeds poking through the freshly cut grass. 

A few people had offered up a sloppy introduction, a grievance of pity, before returning to their groups. Anxiously, you tear at the loose thread on the cuff of your sleeve. It gets longer and longer, avoiding everyone watching you. 

Pretending you don’t exist. You never do. Not in this wretched town where all dreams get sucked into a bottomless pit, where believers go to die. 

Abby nods, the feeling builds in the pit of her stomach as she yearns to get closer to you. Even after all the hurtful insults thrown her way years back, she’s conflicted. A missile is thrown into her life with your arrival and all of her friends, besides Ellie, tell her not to fall back into old patterns. Not to fall for your charm, not to be a victim to reckless love. 

The kind that left her empty for years. Abby knew the moment she fell, from the very first time they met, if you ever left her she’d never be the same again. You don't forget a love like this. It tears a hole within you before you even get a chance to think about it, their presence consuming your entirety, an empty promise of endless salvation dies on the tip of your tongue. 

Impossible shoes to ever be filled. 

Truly, Abby thought she had been in love before you, but she wasn’t. The feeling she’s been chasing for the rest of her life returns when she looks at you. Those bright eyes when you play with the pup, the gentle hand as your scrap his chin with the crescent of your blunt nails. 

She feels more looking at you for one moment than anyone she’s dated after you. 

It’s sickening. 

Still, her friends ridicule her any chance they get. Telling her of what you’re like, how you hurt her, what you’ll do when your claws sink into Abby. It falls on a hyper fixated heart. She can’t think of anything when all the blood comes rushing to her head, how beautiful you look when she sees you anxiously biting your bottom lip, something you do when you’re attempting to stop the tears from spilling. 

None of them knew what it meant to look in your eyes and wonder how someone so good couldn’t recognize the purity in your eyes, the love you give out when the world feels like it’s crumbling around you. They didn’t see the years of torture, the family that wasn’t so perfect, the anger you held wound so tight. You didn’t have anywhere to put it. Never could. Not when the image of the perfect daughter is meant to be upheld. 

Not a soul knows the information Abby does. There’s nothing more you love than to hide in the shadows, hoping to be forgotten, how you nearly crave to be eaten alive if it means an end to your misery. It isn’t lost on her how much she wants to shield you from it all. 

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” 

Ellie points the glass of wine she’s been nursing to you, watching as you excuse yourself into the empty guest house. Your body is still viewable through the tall glass windows, your body disappearing from the common area of the small home. The exact one she’s been renovating per your mother’s request. 

“She’ll just—” Absentmindedly, Abby kicks the dirt with the toe of her boot, rooting her heel in the ground as she bites the wall of her gums, trying to center herself. Attempting to not let her mind wander into what if’s, what could have been. 

“What? Figure out you’re scared?” 

“I’m not scared.” Sighing into the palm of her hands as she can’t help but bite into Ellie’s comment, “It’s been years. For all I know, Cherry hates my guts. Not that it fucking matters, but I’m the last person they want to talk to. Plus, when she’s upset the last thing they want is to talk.”  

“You’ll do just fine, can’t be too bad. They were always sweet on you.” 

“It’s been years, Hazel’s right, in some sense I—” 

“Please, even you know the only thing she wants is to get in your pants. That part is lost on me, you’re too beefy for my taste.”

“Some people like that, dick.” 

“Your girlfriend sure did.” 

“Ex-girlfriend.” 

The rest of the night Abby avoids all of her friends, especially the meddling junkie, Hazel; fucking hazel. She wouldn’t let her rest. They never had done more than share a friendly hug and for some reason she always looked at Abby like she hung all the stars spreading across the galaxy. 

“Are you going to let Hazel think she has a chance forever?” 

Abby just shakes her head in omission. 

“There’s no chance, I’m not—” 

“Abby! I got you a glass of lemonade. Sweet with just a few cubes of ice, just the way you like it!” Ellie wiggles her eyebrows at Abby as if she has proved her point. 

As soon as Hazel turns around, Ellie goes right back to the pitch of her ex-girlfriend, trying to sell Abby on the past. The only woman Dina and her had liked in her mess of a dating scene. A long line of hookups, one serious relationship that ended so horrifically the cops had to be called, and then there was Hazel. A naive girl who had been harboring a crush for nearly a year, the time Dina had adopted her into their little makeshift family. 

You walk out of the guest house more comfortably. A pair of dark denim and a black graphic tee with the sleeves cut off. Abby smiles at how much you look like the woman she fell in love with, the youthful ache she still feels with every beat of her heart. The one you crushed in the palm of her hands without thinking twice. 

Abby’s throat constricts when you catch her staring, quickly looking away, biting at your fingernails before your father introduces you to the new neighbors. 

“What’s so important, Hazel?” Ellie bites. 

Hazel ignores her. All she can see is Abby looking right at you. 

Abby had realized she completely zoned out, her energy and focus harbored on you. Five minutes within your arrival and her head was already feeling the rapid hum of her heartbeat caught in the bottom of her throat as you looked at her again, just for a second longer before you turned the other direction, away from her gaze. 

“Abby—” 

Abby hums absentmindedly with you on her mind, infecting her thoughts like a former addict getting their first fix for years. The high. It feels even better than her mind could remember. The curious gaze in bright eyes feels intoxicating, too good to be true, and the fall feels higher than it ever was to begin with. 

“Yeah?” 

“She’s coming over here.” 

It only takes a few minutes before Abby takes a swig at her beer, wipes the sweat collecting on the palm of her hands. When you get closer, she notices the engraving of A.A. engraved on a glimmering silver ring. 

Did you keep it after all this time? 

“Tell her to leave—” 

“Hazel, for the love of god, would you shut your mouth?” Ellie barks as you make your way over to Abby. 

Abby tries to make her resolve hard, icy even, but it’s not. Her electrified blue eyes are warm, full of curiosity and wonder, her freckled cheeks are flushed from the heat of the sun and her barely there grin has you offering one of your own. 

“Abigail, hey.” 

Abby is surprised you hug her and she doesn't want to accept but it feels too rude not to. But the second her arms envelop around your body you fit perfectly into her. Just like all those years ago, you’re everything she loves. Like no time has passed, as if you didn’t rip her heart and stump out the love it once held. 

“It’s just Abby now.” Hazel interjects. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know, Abby, right.” 

“How could you? You’d have to be around—” 

Ellie gently elbows Hazel in the stomach, trying to silence her best efforts to scare you away from the treasury stock of a blonde she believes to be hers. 

“Abby, sorry. I’m just—” 

“You’ve always called me, Abigail. It’s alright. Promise.”

There she is. 

The charm that makes you fall when you don’t need to. It’s laughable that Abigail can make years of therapy, years of dating other people to get over her seem like a dream, as if it’d only just been the two of you all of this time. Like nothing had changed. 

But everything has. 

“Um, do you mind if we talk in private?” 

Abigail follows your lead into the empty house, the party rages outside as the two of you sit in the living room, neither of you knowing what way to take your best foot forward. 

“Sorry if I made things awkward with you and your girlfriend—” 

“Oh, uh, she’s not….we’re not dating or anything.” 

Shit. 

You wish she was. 

Abby doesn’t know what to think when the expression on your face wasn’t instant relief but instead turmoil within yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed as if you expected her to be in a relationship. It would leave you to escape from the overflow of feelings you had rushing through your core. 

“You look shocked.” 

“I just—” You bite your lip, looking anywhere but her, trying to put your best foot forward, like your father says, he’s the whole reason this conversation is even happening. “I can’t lie, it would have made this…easier? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” 

“What are you trying to do?” Abby has a bubbly laugh threatening to burst but she swallows it for the sake of your dignity. 

“Okay, well that’s not nice.” 

“Do you want me to be?” 

“Well, my dad he just thought that—” 

“Wait, you’re talking to me because of your dad?” Abby stands up from the couch, rubbing her hands over her flushed face. “Not even because it’s been years, but because — well, why?” 

“He was just encouraging me. I’m nervous, isn’t that fucking obvious? I can’t even look at you without feeling like I’m eighteen again.” 

She’s standing at her tall height, looking down at you as you begin to cry. 

Well shit. 

“Hey, hey—” Abby sinks to the floor on her knees, her body between your legs. “C’mon, there’s no need for all of that.” 

“I hate that you haven’t changed.” 

“Did you want me to?” 

No, you say just to yourself. Not trusting the waver of your voice to give her the truth. There’s always so much on the line with her. Everything feels heavy, final, an anchor to hold you down but also drag everything you are, tangled with her sweet, honey-filled baby blues. 

“Can’t you be mean to me or something? Even the playing field a little bit.” 

“Not even a little, sweetheart. We both know I never could.” Her fingertips trace your forearm, a shiver courses throughout your body, “I will admit, everyone says I should.” 

“They’re right. I deserve it.” 

“If we all got what we deserved, well, that would be such an ugly world, wouldn’t it? Just because you did something hurtful doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you human.” 

“But I do deserve the cruelty.” 

“Fine, I hate you.” Abby says with a smirk on her face, wiping away a stray tear, looking too fondly on the woman who broke her heart. She’s too kind for her own good. 

The giggle Abby omits rivals sunshine. 

“I just didn’t want it to affect the work on the house, everything between us, it’s complicated and I’ll be in the guest house while my mom’s—” 

“I know, you don’t have to say it. Your dad may have mentioned it to me. I’m sorry, I truly am.” 

“I am too. For everything. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I was so young, scared, and I wanted you to hate me. It just seemed easier than having you actually miss me.” 

“I did miss you.” Abby's warm palm might as well be burning your denim jeans through as she touches your thigh. “You could have done the worst thing imaginable and I still would have. I’ve never had, uh, reason with you I guess. Love doesn’t know scorn, like a child with a knife, even if you can get hurt — sometimes it’s worth it.” 

The stars in her blue eyes hold the same light in them, too full of love, her older and refined spirit lays beneath them and she has become someone you have even more love for. It’s too damning. Abigail Anderson has always been more than you can handle, always outshining everyone in this small town even if she couldn’t see it for herself. 

“I’m surprised you came back for them, you know, after everything.” 

It’s not just them. 

“They say she doesn’t have a lot of time, so—” You sigh heavily into your palms, “And that’s not your problem, but thank you for being so cool about everything. Maybe we can be friends?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Abby knows neither of you can’t. It’s never worked out that way. It’s all or nothing and she’s always been the all-in type of girl. She loves big, not caring if her own heart gets trampled in the process. 

Her love blinds like the sun, but it settles over your heart like the moonlight kissing the waves — you just hope the tide is strong enough to bring you home.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ❞

The first few weeks back at home felt like a breath of fresh air. As much as you disdained being home, the cracks of your family nearly breaking you in the process, you had her. 

Even if you didn’t really have her. 

The definite silence was not so, Abby still soaked in her warm heart, the one you hoped she kept. The best part of her. She’s too kind, even when you don’t deserve it, she still freely gives it. 

It bleeds into her work. 

Clearly, your father was more than fond of her. Several occasions they would be chumming it up, your father even grilling a few patty hamburgers up for them both when the clock struck noon. They always did love her, possibly even more than you, but to say they were devastated about the break would be a tragic understatement. 

Get her back. 

She’s a prize in this town. 

Abigail Anderson is the best you can do, you’re not doing better than Dr. Anderson’s daughter. 

But you never did try. You trusted the universe as a sign given. The people driving you out of this town sided with the woman you had broken up with, so you left and didn’t look back twice. 

Yet, she did, in more ways than you were even aware of. 

Because of her stupidly built physique, you couldn’t stop looking. 

Anchored into the heat, her muscles constrict as she helps the crew demo the tile of the master suite, the last touch of the renovation needs. Besides the final paint job in the guest house, Abby had finished it all. In all honesty, Abby was hoping all of it would be complete by the time you arrived back in town. Being around you on a daily basis, her friends telling her it’s only a matter of time before she’s back in your arms, it feels like a slap in the face. 

As if she has no self restraint. 

To be fair, she doesn’t. 

Abby’s gone to lunch with you three times, had coffee with you once, and she exhibits her obsessive memory — still having your order memorized — even if it's the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard of. She still finds herself stuck between your teeth like cotton candy. 

It’s all friendly, supposedly, but it’s the easiest thing to slip back. 

Old habits do die hard. 

Right now, you’re just watching her work. 

You’ve been doing it a lot lately. 

Out of habit, nervousness, maybe it’s the anxiety flooding through your bloodstream. All of this feels erasable. Too much thrown at you, with her, it always happens to be too irreplaceable. 

The ghost you’ve been running from, the one that hides in the shadow, even if you’ve tried to stay on the path you’ve created. Dug from the ashes of all your failures, she’s the one thing you haven’t made right. The nights where you got too drunk, nearly texting her or calling her, the picture you still curated in a specific folder, the one you would look for when you’re the weakest. 

Being back in your hometown, the first person who ever truly loved you, it feels suffocating. 

It doesn’t help that she looks so good. Or that she’s even kinder. The love in her eyes is even more whole-hearted than they were ten years ago. Part of you tells yourself you couldn’t even help yourself if you tried. This is just how it’s supposed to be. The heartbreaker pining for the woman’s heart you shattered into pieces. 

All it took, a few cups of coffee and Abby taking you to lunch and paying — it feels awfully like a date but you keep your mouth shut. Her being present in your life is already confusing enough; the added weight would just be unbearable. 

But after today, you won’t see her again. Painting the final room in the guest house is the last duty she has to fulfill and the renovation is done on your parent’s property. The ache in the pit of your stomach is unsettling as you attempt to simmer through and wonder why the pain becomes so deep. As if the woman in front of you was scorning you alive. 

“You need something or are you gonna stare at me all day?” 

You watch Abby throw the paint roller back in the tray, running the brush in the sage green, before turning the attention back to the wall, waiting for you to respond. 

“No, I wasn’t staring.” Abby chuckles at that. 

Chuckles. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

If you could see her pouty lips, you’re sure that they’d be pulled into a smirk. Lately, she’s been enjoying this too much. Catching you staring at her for too long, biting the precious bottom lip of yours as she’s putting her muscles to work or when you caught her peeling the sweaty tank of her body for a new one, every inch of her skin glowing in the wake of the blistering sun. 

Her abdomen, toned with a not so subtle four pack, her v-line defined as it disappears into her jeans. It’s sickening. Really. It is. She catches your self control slipping through the cracks, dignity along with it as you give in to her adonis-like physique. 

The shock going through your body, going completely still as Abby just chuckles, winking at you before she goes about her day. Like it was nothing, like this is a normal occurrence for her. You’re not sure what thought made you feel even more sick. 

Women fawning over her or what happened after. 

But you didn’t have a right, you know you didn’t. 

You swallowed the unflattering buzz of sweeping jealousy until you couldn’t feel in anymore. It’s not an emotion you even deserve to feel. While the two of you had been getting closer the longer you spent with each other, you knew your boundaries well enough to know you still weren’t there, you never would be. 

The ghosts from your past made damn sure of it. 

“I can pose for you if you’re going to keep looking.” 

“I wasn’t—” 

Abby wipes the mixture of sweat, oils, and paint on the pair of old blue-denim. She lets her blonde hair out of the bun she wore, despite the icy temperature, her body runs warm. 

“It’s okay to admit it.” 

“Admit what?” Suddenly you become defensive, arms crossing over your chest. 

“That you’re still attracted to me.” Abby takes your curves in and nearly blows a low whistle, “You’re awful at hiding it.” 

“I-I’m not, this isn’t….you’re not, like, easy to look at, you know? Uh, ummm….” 

Standing there like an idiot as you struggle to get the words out, nearly impossible to get them released, your mouth staggering, unable to even keep them shut as Abby stalks you, your body pressed against the kitchen counter, the new one she installed days ago. 

Nothing comes out on the way you intend it to. Fuck. Did you offend her? 

“I’m not?” 

She whispers into your ear, her lips ghosting your skin. A free hand plays with the buckle of your belt before she pulls you closer by the fastened leather. It’s soft to the touch, making her want to sink her teeth into you, until her canines break the surface of your skin, claiming you as hers once again. 

Abby thinks about removing it off you, bending you over the counter and punishing you for it or even fastening the belt around your neck, pulling you along until you’re right where she pleases. The craving in the pit of her belly only stirs into an unmanageable peace the longer you stand there — squirming with satisfaction — waiting to be put out of your misery. 

Golden locks tickle your jaw, the static energy radiating off of her shocks your skin, goosebumps come alive on every inch of you as she makes her presence known. One fact you haven’t been able to shake, Abby Anderson is a force to be reckoned with. Ten years, ten full years, and your life means nothing now that she’s right in front of you. 

“Abigail, I don’t really think this is a good idea.” Abby waits for you to push her away, but instead you place your hands around her forearms but she’s so big, and it’s intoxicating that she stands taller than you. Her biceps the size of your head, veins protruding as she flexes, as if it didn’t make matters worse. 

“Then why don’t you just admit it?” Abby presses her pelvis even closer to yours and you wonder if you’re hallucinating the barely-there kiss to below your ear. “You want me just as much as you did back then. Ten years apart won’t change that. You still care about me, even though you wish you didn’t, you do.” 

“Abigail, we can’t go there, we both are—” 

“What? I’ve always been a patient girl. I can wait.” Loudly, you groan as she peppers kisses down your neck, before scratching at her skin, when she kisses the one spot behind your ear she certainly didn’t forget about. 

Abby digs her teeth in as you hiss, she enjoys the thrill of your soft whimpers, she’s barely started and you’re giving her just what she needs. The two of you know it, there isn’t a fix for this, the thread of a craving pulls until it’s fed. 

“Oh–” 

Rough hands hoist you on the counter top as she slots herself between your thighs, her frame protecting you as if you were a wild animal trying to be saved from extinction. The greed in Abby’s palm finds salvation when she touches exposed skin, silk to the touch — it doesn’t feel quite as sinful as she’s been told. 

She should hate you, right? 

You hurt her, didn’t look back twice, and you’ve never been the same. 

All of this is just a facade. The life you have, the future you always dreamed of building is thousands of miles from here and she just doesn’t fit within it anymore, everyone tells her she never did. A missing puzzle piece with a jagged edge, the more Abby tries to fit with your world, the further she pushes away. 

But she held onto the hope that your world no longer fit you and maybe — like a fool who believes in their first dream — she could be your world again. 

Sparkling, honey-blues dazzle their way into your heart once again, reminding you of everything you love, striking a reminder through your soul of just what you had hurt. The life you stole, the one you wanted to so desperately have but fear still swarms you. The memory doesn’t feel so distant, the past isn’t the past but lies as a reminder of the blood still staining your hands. 

With hesitance, you hold her full-freckled cheeks in your palms with a delicate hand, fearful any touch from you would burn her in the process. 

“Do you think this is a good idea?” You bite into the isolating air, threatening to swarm your soul but she finds you first. Abby’s warm breath feeds into the need blossoming like a seed rooted in soil, solidifying the growth of budding salvation. 

“I don’t know. Do you?” 

She’s so sweet on you, even as the trickle of poison burns her, Abby would gladly let it absorb every inch of her skin if it meant this. The wondrous arrival of a love once lost, her heart torn right down the middle. Unsure if giving into reason or a festered dream. 

It all grabs a hold of her the same, unwillingly to release her from the pure agony she feels when you’re not around. More dramatic than she intended it to be, the dagger once pushed through her heart, exerting every drop of blood until she felt unsatisfied iron saturating her tongue. 

She would even show gratitude if you let her. 

“Everything I think I know changes when you’re involved, so no, I don’t.” 

Leaning into your touch, Abby swears into the palm of your hand, her hands smooth over the fabric of your pants and your entire skin leaves a trail of fire anywhere her large, calloused hand scorns you. The weight of her love feels heavy, as it always has, but the temptation to carry every ounce of it is heavier than it’s been in years. 

With a terror in your chest, you blurt out the first thought entering you mind.  “You’ve aged really well, can barely tell you’re hitting thirty.” 

“Oh yeah? I can think of a few ways to show you.” 

Shit. 

A rapid heartbeat ready to burst, you’re not sure if it’s you or her. She’s inching closer, lips ghosting yours, her minty-ice breath makes home over yours. With a slight graze, you inhale a sharp breath, read for her to lean into you. 

Slam! 

“Am I interrupting something?” Immediately, you push Abby off of you, a judging pair of eyes scanning the two of you. 

The woman from the party looked like she could actually kill you with her bare hands. Then there’s Ellie sitting there grinning like the joker, one giggle away from sounding like the maniac himself. As if she was fully aware this would happen. The two of you are running off of pure animal instinct, unable to keep your hands off one another. 

“Abby? What’s going on?” The snip in the woman’s voice is evident, so is the possession she so clearly feels over your ex-girlfriend. The jealousy you feel over the thought sends an unwanted shiver up your spine. 

Then she’s looking at you, expecting you to disintegrate into nothing right in front of her. Like you had done something terribly wrong. 

Didn’t Abby say she’s single? 

“Chill out, Hazel.” Ellie rolls her eyes, smirking at the steam practically boiling out of Hazel’s ears. “Ready for that drink? Dina and Jesse are already waiting.” 

“Uh—” She looks back at you, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Yeah, can you just give me a sec?” 

“But I really think we should—” 

“Down Hazel, god, you’re worse than a dog. They clearly were about to suck each other’s faces off. Move it.” 

Hazel clearly looks offended as she desperately looks at Abby, hoping for her to save a little bit of dignity but Abby just punches the bridge of her nose as Ellie escorts out an extremely frigid Hazel. 

Abby doesn’t miss the way the woman who has far too big of a crush on her tries to shoot daggers into you but you’re too busy focused on plucking your overgrown cuticles. 

As soon as the door shuts you bend over the counter, forehead pressed into the white marble of the island, settling for a frustrated groan even when you want to scream. 

“That bad, huh?” Abby stands behind you, watching as you lose it in front of her. 

“Your friends already hate me, was that really fucking needed?” 

There’s an itching, envious need to ask why Hazel seems to be protective over Abby, borderlining on obsession, but you keep your mouth tight lipped. Even if it’s the first thing ready to roll off your tongue. 

“They’re fine, Hazel is just—” 

“Protective.” You avoid her as she smirks, clearly enjoying the clear look of jealousy in your beautifully bright eyes. 

“Oh?” Abby is grinning, pearly whites shining as majestic as the moon. “I didn’t think you’d even feel like that about me.” 

As if it's instinct, she can’t stop how much she’s loving this. One moment of her lips on your skin and suddenly you want her all to yourself. Your head is spinning and her stupid, blue eyes won’t stop looking at you like a divine treasure. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” 

You never did well with things out of your control, never really could. It’s why all of it ended the way it did. If you couldn’t somehow manipulate into what you wanted, it faded until you couldn’t hear it any longer. Abby faded into the noise, into your past, but maybe she is the noise and for the first time in ten years you can finally hear. 

“You don’t have to say anything but you can come with me.” 

“With your friends?” Abby nods. 

“All of your friends hate me and one looks like she might actually kill me. Why on earth would you think that’s a good idea?” 

“All of them are adults. They’ll handle just fine besides,  I want you there.” As soon as Abby says those words, your harsh seamer softens, rejection melts and dissipates from your vocabulary. She’s always been a difficult person to say no to. “You could use some social interaction, you don’t even leave this guest house.” 

“How did you know that?” 

“I have eyes?” Abby states it as more of a question, a giggle threatening to bubble out. 

“Oh god.” Abby laughs as she takes off her tool belt before finding her jacket and slipping it on her body. Grabbing her keys on the counter, looping the carabiner on the loop of her weathered denim. 

“Ready?”  

There’s a look of uncertainty in your eyes, nearly bleeding into an unwillingness to bend, but her words reassure you before you even get a chance to explain. As if she settled in your heart ten years ago and never left. 

“Don’t worry, okay? If anyone’s mean to you, I’ll set them straight, Cherry.” 

The nickname falls off her tongue, the sentiment hits you like a tsunami of emotion, bringing you back to every loving emotion she exposed to you for the first time. 

It shouldn’t cut you this deep but it will — she always will. 

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 ❞

March 26th, 2013 

“C’mon dance with me!” Abby screams over the loud music of the party. Fluorescent lights, a disco ball and tequila raged through her body, the alcohol pumping through her veins as she finally mustered the liquid courage to talk with the girl she’s been crushing on all sophomore year. 

Her friends had been teasing her all night about it, but when the girl looked at her in disgust, shoulder checking her into oblivion, she couldn't help but take it to heart. Her blue eyes swell with tears, a waterfall raging within her as she makes her way to the bathroom, puking out her dinner at her father’s house. 

So much for prom night, right? 

Making a beeline for the bathroom, with yet another rejection to check off the list, stupid fucking after party she lied to her dad about going to. It’s all so stupid, of course Lacey wouldn’t be into someone like her. No one likes her, no one ever will, she’s just the lame screw up in this town who can’t like boys, not when the rest of the girls in the wretched town do. 

Even if her dad tells her, it’s what makes her special — it’s a bunch of horse shit. 

So, in the home of the girl she confessed her undying love for, she pukes her guts out in the bathroom until there’s a knock at the door and a soft yet concerned shout that follows. “Hey, are you okay? Sounds a little rough in there!” 

“Shit,  yeah, just one second…” Abby collects herself taking off her jacket as she rolls up the sleeves, residue of what she chucked up on the cuff of her shirt. Quickly, she rinses off and roles the sleeves up. 

Well, it didn’t get any more embarrassing than this. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can get someone it’s really not a pro—” 

Without a further beat, the door is swung open. Abby suspects to see someone she knows, but she doesn’t. It’s a fresh face and she’s never been more grateful. The eyeliner she thought Lacey would like was probably smudged all over her face, Abby had no doubt she probably resembled someone operating an oil rig of some kind. 

Just as Abby tries to talk, she feels another round come up and she runs to the toilet, sinking to her knees as more bile comes out. Way to go Anderson, you’ve managed to utterly humiliate yourself in front of two beautiful women tonight. Truly, there should be some type of an award for being the dumbest idiot on the planet. 

Somehow, she knows all of this will come back to bite her in the ass. There’s no way that she isn't the complete laughing stock of the high school until she walks across the stage in two years with a diploma on hand. Whoever you are, you’re sure you’ll tell the entire town. 

A stupid pathetic lesbian who can’t have one good night to save her life. 

One of the most important nights of her life. 

But she doesn’t hear a mockery laugh, a snide comment…she isn't even met with pure disgust. The third and fatal option. There’s a comforting hand on her back, reassuring her everything will be just fine, the other holding her hair into  a makeshift ponytail, ensuring there isn't a single strand getting tied into the mess of her sickness. 

By the time Abby’s done, she feels even more humiliated, her body running hot, cheeks aflame but you’re already running warm water underneath the towel folded on the shelf above the toilet. Kneeling down again, you angle her by the jaw, wiping the residue off her lips and you carefully wash away the black eyeliner smeared all over her freckled-cheeks. 

For a second, Abby notices you staring at her pouty lips but she doesn’t say a word about it. 

Turned out so wonderful the first time…

“Here!” You pull from your pocket, a pack of red labeled gun, cherry flavored, and pull out one piece wrapped in paper-tin foil. “For your, you know, breath.” 

“Is this your nice way of telling me I have bad breath?” Abby teases, one moment with a pretty stranger, and she already felt more like herself. Abby takes a piece of gum, unraveling the piece before shoving the strip into her mouth. 

“Well, you did puke.” 

Regretfully she chews as the taste turns sweet instead of mint, her face contorts in rejection but still she chews. It’s not exactly what she had in mind. 

“You don’t like Cherry flavored? That’s just bad taste!” You grab a piece of gum for yourself, throwing the piece of paper in the trash, consuming it wholeheartedly, almost moaning as you put on a show. 

“Whatever you say, Cherry.” The sun might as well be shining on you from just how warm you feel. Heat rising in your heart, blossoming through your chest, thriving from the attention of the sun, 

“Hey! That’s not fair. I don’t know your name.” 

“Well, I don’t know yours either…” Abby hints, tilting her head to the side with a smirk the size of Texas. For once, she finds this easy, talking to a pretty girl, flirting with a pretty girl — proving it didn’t always have to be so hard to have something this good. 

“Call me Cherry, it’s better than my real one, trust me.” You smile sweetly, fully willing to rot each tooth if it means you could feel like this. “What’s yours?” 

“Abigail.” 

The two of you just stare at each other like idiots, two losers, two outcasts and all of it started to make sense. Every heartache dealt out by careless handlers of the heart, each person who made you feel small, unworthy, who knew all of it could be healed by looking into the brightest pair of blue eyes, the warmest, full of honey and marvelous wonder. 

It feels wonderful, being this close to a feeling, a lover's dream in the sunshine of spring, kissing shoulders never exposed to the brightful joy, freckles sprouting like bees flees to honey. One more kiss of sunshine until the sweetness falls on your tongue, guiding you to the spirit of love and everything you ever lost. 

One person, one perfect person who makes your youth scream of joy again. Jumping off a cliff, plummeting into the cool ocean without second thought, hoping they’ll be there to jump off it with you. Even if it takes a lifetime of waiting — you’d wait your entire life for her. 

As long as she’s in the sun, freckles being painted by pure light, you’d soak in the sun right along with her. 

“Thank you.” She squeaks out the words so small, you nearly miss it. 

“There’s no need for thanking. Just doing the right thing s’all.” Your smile is so sweet, Abby nearly feels every part of her body rotting with sugar. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“There was just this girl and I really thought she liked me but she really didn’t and I have this thing where I get a lot of anxiety or nervous I kind of just puke. It’s totally lame, god, I can’t wait to get out of this place.” 

“Me too. High school sucks.” You agree with her, offering a small smile as you finish cleaning her up. “But she’s totally lame for not seeing how great you are.” 

Abby tries not to blush, but she can’t hit the crimson swell painting the apples of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Did you try to kiss her or something?” 

“I didn’t really get that far, she wouldn’t even dance with me. Not here, not prom, guess I’m not cool enough for her.” Pushing the metal frame of her glasses up her nose, trying to stop herself from biting into her blunt nails, nearly drawing blood. Now that she’s come down from her puking fest, she sees how beautiful you are. The kind of beauty that would bring her to her knees if Abby wasn’t already there. 

“Cool is overrated. Who cares about being cool? We’re all losers trying to figure it out.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, as if you’re confident in exactly who you want to be. Abby is envious of it. She wonders what it’s like to be so free — to not wonder what everyone is constantly thinking about you — if you’re good enough. 

You don’t seem to care. 

“If you still wanna dance, I’d dance with you. We can be losers together.” You offer up to her as you stand to your feet, offering a hand up to her and she takes it willingly. You grab the jacket to her suit, helping her slip into it and she smoothes the jacket over her frame. 

“You really don’t have to—” But you look at her with the most absurd gaze of refusal, eyebrows furrowed as it makes this cute little line between them.  Abby can’t help but admire it. 

“Oh, we’re going to fucking dance and show whoever this bitch is just what she’s missing.” 

Present day. 

There’s a lot to be said for how you let yourself succumb to her again, it didn’t take much, just a batting of blonde eyelashes and irresistible pouty lips and you’d fallen victim to Abigail Anderson. The hardest thing you’ve ever done was leave her. All these years later, you’re right back to where you were before all of this had started. 

It seems to shock all of her friends when the two of you walk on together and even more shocking when Abby throws her arm behind you, engaging in conversation here and there. Mostly, you tune out the conversation and mindlessly sip on the beer in front of you. 

Hazel isn’t happy about the predicament, cold brown eyes sport a simmering guidance of rage as she watches Abby’s fingers on your shoulder tracing random patterns into your skin. The arrival of your presence in turn makes her take jabs at you all night. Even with your silence, it doesn’t stop her, and when you have no visceral reaction she finally goes for something that brings silence around the entire table. 

“Why are you even here? Breaking Abby’s heart wasn’t enough the first time? Why don’t you run back to your sick mother and stop playing with people just because it’s fun for you.” Hazel bites and you feel the swarm of your tears begin to build and she keeps going, “Isn’t that why you came back? Not because you actually care but because your mom is going to die.” 

“Sorry, excuse me—” Hazel scoffs as you slither away and head towards the bathroom. As if she’s accomplished, she sips on her margarita, like what she just did was a service to everyone here. 

Ellie and Dina sit there in shock, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. Jesse sits there silently, discomfort written all over his face. But Abby? She’s filled with a soaring hot rage, face flushed violet as her knuckles turn white. Hazel immediately shrinks into the booth, unprepared for what’s about to happen. 

She thought Abby would be happy, kicking someone who so wrongly hurt her to the curb. You didn’t deserve her. You never would. Hazel deserves you. She’s been here, waiting for Abby to see her and love her, not you. 

“What the fuck is your problem? Cherry wasn’t even doing a goddamn thing and you’ve been attacking them all damn night.” Abby’s rage is palpable, steaming to the touch, and nothing like any of them have ever seen. 

“I did this for you! She treated you horribly! She broke your heart! She deserves it.” 

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, tossing her head against the wall, “This has got to fucking stop. Cherry broke up with me goddamn ten years ago and it’s none of your business.” Hazel could practically see the steam rolling off her before Abby raised her voice even more, “You didn’t have a right to bring up her mom regardless of whatever happened. Jesus, if I want to be around her or want Cherry around, everyone here is just going to have to fucking deal.” 

“Abby, we’re just trying to look out for you. Cherry only ever thinks about herself.” 

“Well fucking don’t. I can handle myself despite whatever you think I can deal with. Stay the fuck away from her or you’ll live to regret it.” 

Throwing a twenty on the table to cover her tab, she finds you washing your face, trying to get rid of the puffiness in your eyes. When you see her, you turn her away, a lame attempt to stop her from seeing you like this. 

Weak. Overbearing. A winded rush pressing on your lungs, struggling to breathe — you didn’t need any of this. Not to be back right where it all destroyed you. Then here she is, the living reminder of your transgressions, your failure, the one thing you couldn’t fix. 

All roads lead to her. All of it is sick and twisted. The look of love pierces through your soul, scouring through the place you keep hidden under lock and key; the part that still loves her. 

It demands attention. To be heard. To be seen. To violate you and your dreams, to place her before everything else. A violent reminder of how all of this started. Before you could catch up with the tide, everything flips, your entire life becomes a reflection of what you feared. 

Abby has her life together and yours is coming apart. 

Everyone hates you for what you become. For how little you cared about leaving the first twenty years of your life behind, a chapter closed and discarded as if it never existed to you in the first place. 

“Let me take you home, alright? I’m sorry for Hazel she’s—” 

“It’s fine.” You cut her off, drying your eyes, or trying to but you can’t stop crying in the first place. “It was stupid of me to agree to this.” 

“You aren’t stupid, sorry, she was being a cunt. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen.” 

Abby carefully wipes your tears away, “Hey, let’s get out of here. Yeah? My place is just up the street. Just the two of us.” 

You nod as Abby leads you out, her palm feels welcoming in your grip, a homecoming you have been dying to feel. Her touch feels warm, perfect as her fingers interlock with your own. Like no time has passed, it’s easy for you to slip back into her grasp. 

Everything about her feels right. When she helps you get in her truck, the old one her father always wanted to renovate and it seems she did just that. The ride is only a couple minutes before she’s parking in the garage of her home. She opens the door for you, a hand on your back as she leads you towards the door leading into her house. 

What you expect to be a farmhouse, a hint of southern barn meets boho chic, but you’re met with something else entirely. 

It’s exactly what she talked about building growing up. Everything else feels modern except the cherry red kitchen with white accents and marble countertops. There’s cherries everywhere, but it’s subtle enough to the naked eye, you wouldn’t blink twice.

The memory comes back to you in a hot flash, one you weren’t fond of. 

“We can have it all. I’ll buy you a damn house, I’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need, I want this, Cherry. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I love you, please, can’t you see a future with both of us?” 

“But I don’t want to be here. You know that! My dad can hardly look at me because I’m with a woman, my mom tries but she doesn’t understand. Is this the kind of life you want? They remind me that I’m not good enough. Who I love isn’t good enough, not if I’m not with a man. Can you understand I’m dying to get out of this nothin’ town?” 

Abby gnaws at her bottom lip, teeth drawing blood as she sees you drawing within yourself. Pulling back at the first sign of hardship. Even Abby wonders if she’s worth fighting for. 

“You mean dying to get away from me? I’m in this nothin’ town you despise so much.” 

“Abigail, you’re taking words out of my mouth, that’s not what I’m saying.” 

“You just want to leave and I don’t.” You look at her, her adorable pout in a frown, arms she’s been bulking for the past couple years begin to show definition. The freckles she hates grew more prominent on her skin as she spent the summer working for father’s construction company. 

Her life is here, her future is here, but for once since the two of you met, your own two different paths and no matter how much you love her — it just won’t work. 

“We’re eighteen! Our entire lives are in front of us. I can’t stay here, Abigail. I just can’t. I dream of a big city, somewhere my stories will take me places, a life that I can’t find here.” 

“You got the scholarship, didn’t you?” Abby barks, her chest puffing out, jaw clenching as she pleads for you to tell her the truth. “Tell me the truth. You’ve been lying to me, hoping I’d change my mind?” 

“I wasn’t lying. I just—” 

“What? You were just going to leave one morning and never come back? Like I mean nothing to you?” Abby removes her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Like the past two years have just been what? A way for you to pass time until your real life comes along. Fucking great.” 

“I told you from the start, I want more. I need to do more! No one gets into NYU around here and certainly not on a scholarship. I have a chance for a real future, a way out from my parents, a new life, I’ve always wanted this. You know I have.” 

“And I’ve always wanted you.” 

Silence engulfs the room, a pindrop could be heard, the tension could be cut with a knife but Abby sees the wall closing around you. Covering her from the heart you slowly opened up to her, what she fought tooth and nail for. She always fought for you but it’s hard to do anything when you don’t believe this is worth saving. 

“You don’t even have the decency to ask me.” 

“What?” 

“You just want to write me off. You lump me with everyone else because you don’t even give me the chance.” 

“What are you saying?” 

Abby’s blue eyes turn into ice, all the warmth void as the chill sends a shiver down your spine. Her throat feels tight, like even if she swallows her own spit she’ll choke. 

“Do you love me enough to make this work?” Abby flinches when you don’t immediately answer, because she knows where she stands, she would follow you across the world if it meant that’s what you wanted. To make you happy. But she can’t help but feel like she’s splitting herself apart for someone who doesn’t care in the way she does. 

With tears in your eyes, they cascade down your cheek before whispering to her, “I don’t.” 

“Get. Out.” She murmurs through clenched teeth, using the sleeve of her t-shirt, one you gifted her, to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The overflow of the heartache racked through her body like she’s never felt before. 

You don’t love her. You don’t love her. You never loved her. 

“Abs, please, don’t make me leave like this. Can we talk about this?” 

“What’s there to fucking talk about? We don’t love me, Cherry. What else is there to fucking say?” 

You nearly scream, not sure why anything you’re saying isn’t coming out the way you intended it to. “You’re not listening to me I—” 

“Right. You just need to find a man, right? God, you’re just like Lacey.” 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You bite, and if looks could kill, Abby would be dead right now. She’s struck a nerve, the memory of sophomore year comes flooding back to her, back when all of this started. “God, fuck you. How could you possible compare me to the straight girl that pulled you along because what she really wanted was Daniel Collins to fuck her so stupid she ended up pregnant junior year.” 

“You’re leaving, when your back is pressed up against a wall, you’ll always leave, Cherry.” 

“But I—” You stop yourself before you could speak the forbidden words, the ones you’ve said to her a million times, the one you just refuted that you did even if she can usually call you right on your bullshit. But you’ve diluted her sense of reasoning and all she hears is her girlfriend of two years just told her she doesn't love her. 

“You what? What other lies are you going to tell me?” 

“Fine.” Your expression turns stone cold, “Let’s both be done with it then. There’s nothing left to fight for.”  

Prideful ego gets in the way of what Abby wants and she finally lets her head speak for her, “Sounds good to me.” 

“Are you alright?” Abby asks but then she notices you’re just staring at her kitchen and she’s never been so self-conscious in her life. She didn’t even think about it, she’s so used to others seeing it but it’s different when your muse is taking in the craft you created with them in mind. 

“Oh, right, the cherries.” She stutters out, scratching the back of her neck as she turns the lights on. It smells of vanilla and something oak, just like she smelled in high school. To others it may seem boring but it’s refreshing to know she’s still the same as she was. 

“You still did it?” 

“Yeah, it’s kinda lame honestly, maybe I should have done something else but nothing ever fit right with the rest of the house so.” Abby pops open a beer, somehow needing to have some type of liquor while you gawk at the work she created with you in mind. “If I’m being honest, I think it was just a way for me to hold onto you. I sure didn’t think I would ever see you again.” 

“Me neither.” You answered truthfully, the loss of Abby rattled you, even though you were better at hiding it. Losing her is still the most painful loss you had to endure, which she considers fortunate, but not fortunate enough. “I always thought about what would have happened if I hadn’t been so headstrong. I think I had to convince myself in order to leave, I would have stayed here for you if not.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” Even if she pretends not to be, Abby’s still bitter. 

“Why?” 

“You always knew what you wanted out of life and that wasn’t me.” Abby chews on her bottom lip again, picking the label of the beer before taking another swig. “Hell, you left before I even got a chance to say goodbye.” 

“What?” Eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you take a step forward, “Did you come to the house?” 

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave things like that. Did you not—” 

“No, I didn’t know, I thought that was it. I didn’t expect there to be more for my sake.” 

The way she looks at you feels like she’s peering into her soul, the way she sees you so clearly, better than anyone ever has, chilling you to your core. Bits and pieces of your love located in eyes that glimmer only for her, light electrified the moment your sights are set on her. 

It feels like falling in love with a broken melody. 

You admire the imperfections instead of leaving at the bridge. 

“I waited on your porch for hours but then your parents came home, saying they just had gotten back from dropping you off.” 

In a matter of moments, your entire world feels flipped, like everything you had known for the last ten years, a terrible lie you wished to never know. A nightmare you would hope to wake up from. That’s all this was, you would wake up in her father’s home as you fought in the kitchen, you convince yourself not to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

“You came back for me?” 

Closing the space between the two of you, grabbing her beer and placing it on the countertop. Abby takes an intake of breath as you invade every part of her personal space. As corny as it sounds, you do smell of cherries. So sweet, her bones feel weak with need, as if she doesn’t inhale the sugar she’ll just crumble at your feet, begging for just one drop. 

“Yeah, I cried in front of your dad who hated me at the time, might I add. After that, he was kind, I think because he saw how much I…you know…” 

You remember how much he changed when you came home for the holidays three years later. Naturally, you always accepted he had just come around over time, but it wasn’t that at all — the weeps of your high school girlfriend convinced him. 

“Guess he saw how much I loved you or something…I don’t know…” She shrugs like it’s nothing. 

Like she's nothing; the careless lie you let her believe. 

Even with her dominating physical presence, she’s always been shy about this sort of thing. Expressing her feelings never really came easy, even if she wore them with her heart on her sleeve, admitting them was different than feeling them. 

“You changed his mind.” 

“He would have gotten there eventually. I’m sure he liked whoever you dated after me.” 

“Hm.” You grimly laugh, “He didn’t. Not the two I brought home but he always spoke fondly of you, he definitely likes you better then he enjoys his own kid.” 

Patient she is watching you process the information, it’s almost too much for her to swallow. What if you had been home when she was going to say goodbye? Would this be your home with her? The dreams of kissing her in the kitchen, cherry inspired, the family home she always wanted to build for the two of you. Now she’s here with no one but herself. Withering away the soul of a woman who only wanted love. 

“He loves you and if he doesn’t, that’s his loss. Trust me, I know it too well.” 

The confession hangs on the walls like a memorial, taking a trip down memory lane, or more like the hell of your own making. Demons you conjured cast over your past as if they only exist in hollow halls. The deeper you go, the more your heart slivers in the cracks of her delicate grip. For the first time, you don’t mind when she presses on your heartbeat — demanding more with just looking at you the way she does. 

The way she always has. 

“Do you still love me?” 

“Are you going to run away if I tell you?” 

Lips ghost over you, her breath hits your face, making it flush with heat. She leans against the counter, wrapping your back with one of her arms, tugging you close to her. 

“Abby, I’m a mess.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what my family is going to look like or my future.” 

“I know.” 

“Abigail, would you stop saying that?” 

“I’ve only ever cared about you, I don’t care if your life is together. I’m here and I—” She dips her head to kiss down your neck, decorating your collarbones with her lips as she creates a map back to where she wants to the most, “will take care of you.” 

Abby kisses you like the air in her lungs is expendable, as she has endless amounts to give. That’s all she is love, pouring into every ounce of you that she can find. With desperate abandon, she wants to wipe your memory of every wrong she ever did you — she only wants to remind you of the reason why she loves you. Maybe it’ll be enough for you to wake up in her arms again. 

For once, she might be enough. 

“We don’t have to do this, I don’t know what it all means and—” 

“Right now? I don’t fucking care.” Abby leeches off your neck, kissing and delicately sucking, grazing her sharp teeth against sensitive skin. “I just want you.” 

Thoughtless abandon goes out the window as she guides you back into her apartment, off the spacious balcony and corners you into her room. Letting you fall on her bed as she stands above you, as she strips in front of you. Making a show of it, torturing you for sport, before she goes in for the kill. 

The alcohol still alive in your mind as she pulls off, a freckled maze maps its way all over her body. The subtle blonde happy trails travels underneath her navel and disappears beneath the fabric of her denim jeans. Your own self-control begins to slip, but Abby is too concerned with evening out the playing field. Even if this is a long-lasting goodbye, she’s going to make it last. 

Slipping your trousers down your legs, she’s met with cotton boxers — soaked all the way through. 

“Is that all for me?” Abby snaps the waistband against your skin as you squirm underneath your touch, bucking your hips into the air. Impossibly desperate for her touch. 

“Y-Yes, It’s for—” Irrevocably your eyes roll back into your skull, “Abigail, oh shit, shit, shitttt.”  

Sneaking a hand in your boxers, she opens up your inviting folds, slippery and as Abby glides along, collecting your slick with the calloused fingers. You squirm and shift, bucking into her hand, waiting for more to be given to you. 

“Just say my name like that pretty girl, so good for me, aren’t you?” Abby removes her hand as she pulls your boxers off your legs and without being asked she slides them down your legs as she pushes your shirt up to your tits, exposing the swell of your breasts to her possessive eyes, waiting to lay claim onto what she’s missed for the past ten years. 

“I wonder if you’re just as…” Abby takes a beat before rubbing over your hard nipple along her tongue, her denim-glad thigh grinding against your thigh as she suckles at your breasts. “Sensitive.” 

She moans into your skin, using her free hand to play with your pussy, soft strokes to your clit as she elicits more moans from you. The force of her strength and weight keeps you down, the stutter of your hips chasing her fingers. 

“My pretty baby, not so mean and bossy anymore, huh?” She bites your nipple gently before whispering in your ear, “Did you miss me that much?” 

“I just want more, please.” 

In any other circumstance, she happily would make you pay for it. Wait even, but if she doesn’t have you in her mouth for another second, she won’t survive. You’re so beautiful, you’re perfect in every conceivable way. The years had in fact been kind to you, different from what she knew when the two of you had sex but god, she thinks you’re even more exquisite now. 

“More?” Abby removes what remains of her clothing, leaving you to gawk at her muscled frame, small tits frame her chest perfectly. “How about you sit on my face, angel? How does that sound?” 

She’s already made you come twice, just on her tongue alone, pushing for a third as she holds you by the waist, waiting for your overstimulated body to give into her once more. 

Abby makes everyone look inadequate when it comes to her, no one could touch you like this, fuck you like this, slither their talent tongue inside your waiting hold as you take her out for a ride. Muffled moans against your dripping cunt sends shivers throughout your spine, body twitching as you feel yourself hurling closer to the edge. 

You can’t help but ride her face as your head lies on the bundle of curves covering her mound and you’ve been too fucked out the entire time to do anything but you can’t help but notice the way her patient cunt is shining with her slick. Curiosity blooms within you as you notice the slight thrust of her hips, chasing a part of you that isn’t there. 

With no sudden warning, you vigorously rub on her wet folds, applying pressure on her bundle of nerves as you spread her sweet juices along her puffed lips. 

“Baby, nghhh, oh my god.” Abby slurps as she sucks your clit into her mouth before you fall right over the edge again. Her eager tongue fucks your through it with her tongue, letting your ride the high as your nails scratch her stomach, marking her as yours once again. 

Abby helps your weak body slide down her legs, flipping you over as your pussy falls against her, her legs spread open as your head rests against her sternum, feeling the increased rate of her heart beat thump against her chest. 

She smooths her hand over your hair, gorgeous hypnotic eyes pull at Abby’s heart. “We should get some sleep.” 

“We can…unless you want to entertain a thought I’m having.” Abby raises her eyebrow as rotate your hips, clit bumping against hers as she throws her head back, a string of curses fall from her lips as she grips onto your hips. Happily, she lets you take control, pushing her strong leg over your shoulder as you glide against her soaked pussy. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, holy fucking shit—” 

Perfect tits bouncing as you rock your hips against her movement, the more you look in her eyes, you feel yourself yearning for another release. It’s never been this good, never with anyone. The moans she whispers, kept in the secret coven of your love, the spells she casts to keep you near — it trumps anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Keep looking at me, Abigail.” The whine of her full name, only ever falling from your lips, the most wonderful symphony. It’s intoxicating how much she loves it. How much she loves you. Deep in her bones, even if she tries her best to pull away, she knows not a damn thing will ever compare to this. For this life and the next, she’ll be searching for you in everyone she meets. 

She can’t live another moment with you. Not after ten years of agony, fuck no, she needs you like she needs oxygen to breathe. You’re not sure how long it takes, but you don’t forget how Abby looks at you with a tender heart that basically pours out of her. 

“Baby, please. N-N-gh, I need you.” You push her forward, hitting a deeper angle than you were before until you hear just how wet she is with your forehead pressed against hers, “Show me how my pretty girl comes, yeah? Need a reminder, princess.” 

Abby moans out your name, her body fucking up into you, slithering her convulsing cunt against your clit as her defined abdomen twitches and only relaxes when you follow her lead, you body collapsing on her. Two hearts beats become one as the two of you fall asleep, a quiet whisper of I love you, but you’re not sure if it falls from your lips or hers. 

The morning air breathes lilies and fresh espresso, her sweet cinnamon cologne lingers in her sheets, where she held you all night with her heavenly embrace. Reality sinks in and then you’re afraid once again. You slip one of her button up shirts on, pulling on a pair of her sweats before your feet are met with the cool wooden floors. 

She’s sitting there, those stupid glasses she apparently didn’t get rid of. Making her look stupid cute as she read the velvet-green covered book in her large palms. 

It’s easy for her to tell how you feel, Abby knows you too well as she watches you with cautious eyes. You’re so afraid of it all. Always, you’ve been afraid of what she makes you feel, how close she pushes you to the edge of no return. A love you feel helpless to, especially when it eats you from the inside out. 

“Do you wanna leave? I can take you home.” Abby doesn’t even look up from her book, she sounds annoyed, completely different than her vulnerable demeanor last night. It puzzles you when she closes herself off. 

“Am I missing something? Did I do something wrong?” 

Abby folds her book, marking the page on the sharp corner before she takes off her glasses. “You don’t owe me anything if that’s what you’re worried about. You felt like you didn’t before. You in all your city glory.” 

Something happened. 

“Abby, what’s going on?” 

“You tell me.” She places your phone on the table and it’s the email detailing of your new book tour in Europe. One that lasts the better part of the year. 

“You snooped through my phone?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it was mine, okay? I would never do that.” Abby sighs, “I really didn’t mean to fucking look. I just, it’s happening all over again, I’m losing you over something. I’m never what you pick and I can’t ever be enough for you. Even Hazel was right! All you do is hurt me and it’s my fault because I let you. I can’t keep chasing you. It’s a stupid dream I’m too dumb enough to let go of.” 

“So, that’s it? Last night was just what? A mistake?” 

“I didn’t say that—” 

“But you did! Fuck, I should have known things wouldn’t change.” 

“You should have known? This is the same reason why you left me. I’ll lose you, again, to something I can’t compete with. The both of us know it to be true. At least have the decency to admit it.” 

“Do you want me to apologize? I did what I wanted! I have everything I wanted. This is everything I’ve worked towards for the best ten years—” 

“But you don’t—” Abby puffs out her chest, standing taller than she has since you’ve been back. The words spill just like you did the night before, “You didn’t get everything, you made sure of it the moment you left me behind.” 

Abby has backed you into a corner, stalking you like you’re her prey but this isn’t how she wants everything to be. Looking into your dreary eyes, she’s transported back to when you shattered her heart, splitting into pieces that no longer fit. The harder she tries to piece them back, the more jagged she becomes. 

“I don’t want this. I’ve let go of it.” 

I let go of you, sounds entirely too painful to say. 

“That’s your plan? To pretend none of this has happened?” Abby’s tongue prods the inside of her cheek, a cocky smirk flashes your way. “Look at how well it turned out the first time.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your arms cross over your chest, attempting to create some distance between the two of you, but Abby only closes you in. 

“Why do you still wear it?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Abby reaches for your hand, you untangle your limbs, the pad of her thumb loving running over the silky skin. Her calloused hand feels rough, just as it always has, but it also feels right. 

The silver ring on your pinky, the one you lost and the one your father had conveniently found. But it was never him who located your perfect gem, nope. Not at all. Just Abby’s biggest fan, besides Hazel. 

The reminder of her leaves a sour taste saturating your tongue, but you have no right. It's her friend, and just because you’re not fond of her, doesn’t mean a thing. You’re just a ghost still lingering in her life. Even if she answers there’s nothing, Hazel looks at her like you used to. When the same protectiveness switched into high gear last night, she only thought of how much you would do the exact same thing Hazel did if the roles were reversed. 

Just maybe, not as cruel. 

Abby takes the ring off your thumb, it shines in the dim lighting in the room.

“The day I fell in love with you, three months into our relationship, I gave it to you. Do you remember what I said?” 

Simply, you nod. 

“Wear this for as long as you love me and when you’ve taken it off, I’ll know we’re truly done.” Abby hums, your eyes shut as her thigh wedges between your legs but it only rests there. “But I hope you wear it forever.” 

“Then let go of me, give it back, throw it away, but stop acting like you might still feel the same. I’m tired of being played. You know how much this ring means to me. Don’t leave me, again.” 

It’s a cop out for what she really wants to say, the both of you know it is, but you have the decency to let it swarm past without making a single comment. 

She’s begging for mercy. She’s tired. The lines on her skin are an indication of the hours she spends in the sun and the time passing by, engaging you in a never-ending tsunami of Abigail Anderson’s love. 

“Abigail—” You say her name like it’s a curse, a spell you keep casting to make her fall deeper in your endless abyss. “Just because it seems like a good idea doesn’t mean it’ll work out. What makes this time any different?” 

You slid away from her, needing to breathe, you can’t think when she’s too close. Serendipity finds home into honey blues, working its magic until she finds purchase in your heart once again. You’d let her get too close, more than you should let her allow. 

Abby, the heart. 

You, the head. 

The dreamer. The thinker. Forever intertwined by the deadly kiss of fate. 

“But if it did? What if we did?” 

Abby doesn’t want to beg, but she is. She learned her lesson the first time. She said nothing all those years ago, letting you take the relationship the two of you had by the reigns, your cruelty being the fatal blow to what the two of you had worked so hard to build. Naivety crushed the future right in front of her — the one she regularly dreams of. 

Each what if connected like constellations in the sky, each one just as bright as the next, Abby can’t make of which she wants. But Abby has always known it to be true, this has always been it for her but you’re so afraid. 

Still petrified to be loved. 

“I can’t let myself go through it again, if we didn’t? I can’t just—” You begin pacing, trying to get yourself into a position to clear your mind. The hope she has, it could kill you in your sleep. “I fucked up, okay? Last night shouldn’t have happened. I needed something and I used you. Is that what you want to hear? Will that satisfy you enough?” 

“I want the goddamn fucking truth, Cherry. Stop with the lies. Tell me you want this to end because you don’t love me anymore, or that you want to go on this book tour, not because you fucked up. I don’t care if you fucked me because you needed your clit sucked for the night. Tell me the truth, Cherry, please.” 

“Stop calling me that.” 

Abby chuckles maliciously, “Why? You don’t like to remember when you were in love, the only time you ever were happy, the only time you ever let anyone get close to you?” 

She attempts to get closer to you but you dodge her and walk to the other side of the room. 

“You’re quite literally running away from me. Anything but facing the truth, right?” Abby sighs into her hands. The muscles in her body are exhausted, her heart is over spent, and her mind is filled with you. Even if she doesn’t want it to be. “Do you think I want this? To feel like this? To put my heart on the line when you clearly show that you’ll discard it every damn time? Do you think this is enjoyable for me?” 

“Then stop! I’m not asking you to, just let me leave, let me go.” 

“Let the ring go.” Somehow, in your heat of emotion, you grabbed it back from her and didn't realize it had been placed back on your thumb. “You know it was my mom’s, how could you so selfishly keep this?” 

“What?” 

Fuck. Abby runs her hands through her hair,  gripping so tightly her sunkissed knuckles turn white from nearly being pulled from the root. 

“But you said this was—” 

“I lied! I was eighteen and scared shitless, okay? I didn’t want you to—” 

“You didn't want me to….?” 

Abby sighs rubbing her hand over her face, a habit she seemed to pick up in your presence. “If I tell you, you’re just going to run.” 

You grimace, tearing up as you look at the ring, it means so much to her and all this time she was perfectly fine with thinking you got rid of it. Abby never so much as asked for it back. But everything feels more final with the ring in hand, the shining promise of something more. But the naivety of youth chilled her bones, made her believe that love like this comes and goes. It goes. And goes. And goes. 

It never comes. 

“Do you want it back?” You dodge whatever omission she was about to let fall. It’s what you do best. Avoiding the future — she’s always been ominous, constantly you’re scared to believe in the faith of her undying love. The forgiveness of her heart pours like an overflowing well. Abby teeters you along the line of grace you don’t quite deserve.   

“No.”  Abby sighs before she brings herself close to you. “I want you back, Cherry. There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted as much as you. When you left, everyone told me it’s just because you're my first love. Time heals all, right? But it doesn’t. Despite your best efforts, I’ll always love you. You’re—” 

You take a step closer to her, “I’m what?”

“You’re the love of my life. If you walk at that door, it’ll take the rest of my life to fill the gap you leave. But if you don’t love me, then please, put me out of my misery and just leave.” 

Abby looks down at the wood floors, tears collecting in her eyes as she expects you to walk out the front door, leaving her in the dust. But the slam of her front door never comes, instead you sink down on your knees resting your head on her knee, waiting for her to look down at you. 

“What?” Abby grunts. 

“There was this cute, really nerdy blonde girl, she puked on prom night, crying over some straight girl and somehow I managed to fall in love with her despite all odds but you know what the real kicker is?” You intertwined her hands with her, your head tilting to the side as your dreamily looked into sunny-blues, sticking to you like honey,

“I never, ever stopped.”

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 11.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 3.8k

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content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

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It was placid in the keep, like the still waters before the dew drips into a pool. But placidity can be deceiving. Aemond knows this– he’s always known it. It is exhausting, as a person, to keep your guard up at all times without respite. 

The previous night was a respite. A much needed change in flow, in focus. But he is suspicious of such a gift– mayhaps he doesn’t deserve it. He has always been damned. This very notion is why he awoke early in the morn from the deepest sleep he’s known in years… to an empty bed. 

Shera had gone. His head throbbed from how deeply the sapphire felt embedded into the socket, pressing at the tender teams of nerves that the maester said makes up one’s eye. He throws his legs over the side of his bed, twisting and turning until his spinal column cracks, somehow giving a sliver of relief.

Mayhaps I shall speak to her. His fingers, blistered from overworking the blade since Aegon was crowned, made quick work of his tunic. His outfit was a simple black undershirt and leather nightcoat. It was early enough in the Keep where dressing properly didn’t particularly matter– Shera’s chambers were a swift enough walk away, anyhow. He made his way hastily to the guest hall, which was bereft of guards. 

Odd. 

Upon opening the door, the momentary feeling of lightness and interlude in an otherwise rigid life, was snuffed out. Snuffed out like the dithering flame upon a bedside table, smoke swirling upwards until there is nothing but coldness. A chill ran up Aemond’s spine that could only mean one thing; something was wrong. 

The room was torn to shreds, blood splattered on the cobblestone floor like rose petals. His mind swam momentarily, heart squeezing in abject horror. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This is wrong. His boot squelched into the still drying pool of ichor as he descended further into the unfolding scene of gore and carnage. All of her things were broken, drawings strewn and stained, her dress stands were pushed over upon one another, and a cup of her tea was left half-drank, liquid absconded to the side. 

Picking up the cup, he inspected the remains of the tea leaves and murky fluid. His senses were overwhelmed by the pungent scent of milk of the poppy– and dreamwine. The leaves were soaked in the duo of medicinal regents, the combination of both only used in dire situations of pure agony, intended to keep the imbibed numb to pain— as well as the world around them, lulling them to a deep sleep and even a deeper sense of malleability. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

A low growl filled the room, Moongeist emerging from the adjoining bedroom. His hackles were raised, lip curled, showing off his bloodstained teeth. The whole of his muzzle was caked in the stain of flesh. 

“Where is she,” Aemond spoke, glowering at the giant wolf as if he were nothing more than a pup. “Where is she?” 

Moongeist’s hackles lowered as he sniffed the air, snapping his mouth shut. His amber eyes roved towards a mass in the corner of the room.  ‘Twas a man. Dead, with the fingers on his left hand ripped off, and his windpipe torn out. Aemond shifted the corpse with the tip of his boot, his expression dimming even more into a scowl. 

“I don’t give a shit about this sod,” he hissed to the wolf, his pupil constricting into a tiny orb hoisted over a violet sea. He knew he looked mad— he could feel the madness creeping further and further into him with each passing moment that he didn’t find Shera. “You didn’t do your duty, dog.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The wolf whined, a warbling noise that turned into a growl as he nosed some of his master’s strewn items on the floor. 

“You’re useless!” Aemond’s voice raised above its usual whispery tone, the rage bleeding into him like he was a stuck pig. “You had one duty— to protect her,” his hands balled into fists, unsure whether he was yelling at the dog or himself. “You fucking failed.” 

His own visage caught his eye on the shattered mirror. He looked crazen, as if he were to sprout wings and claws like Vhagar and burn the world down in search of her. 

Mayhaps he would. 

—

‘Tis so quiet, she thinks. So quiet— like death. Am I dead? 

She walks along the darkness, soles skimming a pool of cool water. There’s ripples in her wake, reverberating out into nothingness. She feels fine. It’s disconcerting, in a way, how normalcy in itself can feel abnormal. Shera is able to stand steady on two feet without assistance or hindrance, her sight wide and clear as she gazes to the void. 

Death isn’t much like they say it to be, now is it? Not so cold, but not so fiery either. 

A glint catches her eye— the infinite void to her side has formed itself into a door. Not just a door, but a hallway with a myriad of cracks of light. 

A myriad of choices. 

Her hand stills on the knob closest to her. It is ornate bronze, deep grooves worn into the metal from much use. A small twist, and the gateway gives in. 

The sunlight is blinding, more bright than she remembers. There is a pleasant sting in her eye as it adjusts from the total encompassing darkness of nothingness to the ever growing, lilting palette of everything before her. 

The place seems familiar but Shera cannot quite place it, as if it is an amalgamation of many places she’s been before— so close to perfection but in all totalities completely wrong. It was a garden with all of the flowers in bloom, grapevines growing up the trellising walls to escape, to mayhaps grasp the sun. There is a faint scent of sea air and she can almost feel the spray of a rogue wave crashing against the seawall. 

Bare feet pad onto the cobbled walkway deeper into the terrace, fallen petals wilting under her. She leans to a honeysuckle plant, rubbing its leaves between her thumb and forefinger. Upon closer inspection, the flower is home to insects. 

No, not home. It is made of insects. 

Beetles, millipedes and caterpillars writhe under her touch. The flying bugs buzz around her, their fussing akin to anger, their temper flaring with every step of her trespassing. 

“‘M sorry,” Shera whispers, hastily wiping her hands down the front of her chest. “‘M sorry,” she continues as she slowly backs away, back the way she came. As she makes her escape, the garden oasis withers. It begins to decay before her eyes, maggots and blowflies feasting on the rotting remains of the plants. 

Back into the darkness, she slams the door behind her. Just before it fully closes, the image of a barn owl crunching upon a locust is her final glimpse.  The errant buzz of parasitic and opportunistic gnats rings in her skull like a taunting song. She almost trips over her own limbs as she backs away slowly, stomach wringing itself into knots. 

Onto the next door, the knob is a curved ring, better suited for knocking rather than just opening. It would be rude to come in uninvited, wouldn’t it? 

Shera wraps the door three times, each wrap more thunderous than the last. The door is hewn from an odd red wood, the hinge creaking as she walks in. It’s suddenly warm— not unlike the warmth and breeze of King’s Landing, but decidedly different, the hum of a distant roar reverberating in her mind. 

“Hello,” a small voice piqued. It belonged to a young girl, no older than six years old. Her hair was a pale silver, violet irises wide with trepidation. “Are you one of Ser Willem’s friends?” 

The appearance of the girl struck Shera like a bolt of lightning— she was of Valyrian descent, surely, but she didn’t recognize her. She shifted her weight uneasily between two feet as she stared at the child. “Ehm,” she muttered. “I am, indeed— a friend of Ser Willem’s.” 

The girl held her hands behind her back and mimicked Shera’s nervous swaying, but in a decidedly more childlike fashion. “He is sleeping. He sleeps a lot,” she said, tilting her head towards a hallway. “Would you like to see my room?” 

Something in Shera’s chest rattled against her ribcage as the child spoke. She felt a certain keen sense of terror, feeling that she did not belong here. And yet— she took the girl’s hand in her own as she was led down a corridor. 

“I have my very own room. I usually have to share with my brother or with a lot of other people. Sometimes it is not a room at all,” the girl pauses, tugging Shera gently to the open window. “I even have my very own window. I like to look at the lemon tree.” 

“Do you like lemons?” Shera asked, staring at the one lone lemon tree that stood stalwart. 

“They are… yucky by themselves. Viserys tricked me into biting into one like an apple,” she pouted. “It was quite mean.” 

Viserys? Shera’s heart floundered. “Viserys? Is that your brother?” 

The girl nodded. 

Shera did not recall Viserys and Daemon having a sister. Her mind swam as she stared at the girl, then the open window. “You must forgive me— I have forgotten your name.” 

“Daenerys. My brother calls me Dany.” 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. In learning High Valyrian with Aemond all those years ago, they had also extensively studied the winding circled wreath of the Targaryen family tree— as muddled and messy as it may be, Shera could recall no Daenerys. 

That creeping fear that had nestled into her body as soon as she saw the girl began to grow— grow into an ever engulfing beast. ‘Twas the same feeling she had when she saw the vision of Rhaenyra and Viserys talking about Aegon’s dream. The feeling that she was trespassing on something, being somewhere she was never meant to be. 

That sensation gripped her wholly, her body moving faster than her mind as she fled Daenerys’ room, towards the red door that led out. 

“W-where are you going?” Daenerys whimpered, following behind Shera quickly. “I’m sorry— did… did I do something? Please don’t go.” 

Shera turned the knob, stepping halfway out of the abode and into the darkness. She looked back at Daenerys— she was engulfed in flames, shadowed by a hulking black mass of writhing scales and dread come again. 

When she fled back into the abyss fully, the red door closing behind her as flames licked the wood, her consciousness faded. 

She was done dreaming.

—

The twisting of her rings was a nervous habit that Rhaenyra never broke. It would be a fruitless effort to do so, as she would pick up some other compulsion in a similar fashion. Tearing out strands of hair from the root, pressing crescent indentations upon her skin from her nails— or mayhaps, picking the skin around the nail bed until they are red and bloody. That one seems familiar to her. 

Her hands now, however, aren’t occupied upon twisting her rings at the moment. They’re splayed over her stomach, palms playing over the stretched skin. The maesters say she is due any day now, ‘tis only a waiting game. 

How she desires for a daughter, so wholeheartedly. 

Something pulls at her. The hour is late and Daemon’s side of the bed is cold, blanket still in the same position from the morning. It's an odd, inexplicable tug to something that has her out of the room and meandering down the hall with a candelabra. The shadows dance upon the ancient stone, casting light upon the deep cracks. 

As she descends through the castle, the logical and queenly part of her mind is in protest of her current situation. A heavily pregnant wife shouldn’t go looking for her husband in the middle of the night. And yet— the other part of her brain, the one that had an insatiable thirst for truth had her driving forward. 

Hushed voices hummed low towards the sequestered guest chambers. From the inflection and cadence, one of them was Daemon. The other, hurried and blathering like an anxious mouse, was unknown to her. 

“Y-you set us up for failure, Daemon! I nearly lost my own life— you didn’t tell us of the beast!” the mystery voice quipped, quivering in pissant fear.

“Pity you didn’t lose it, then. I told you what I needed from you and what you needed to do. Any other extraneous details are unnecessary.” Daemon responded coolly. 

Rhaenyra walked closer to the open door, heavy candlelight illuminating from within. She hastily blew out her own. 

“Unnecessary? You’re mad! Outright bonkers! I… I want double the pay— n-no, triple! As compensation for the hazard to me life!” 

“You’ll receive what we agreed upon.” 

“I need more! Or— or I’ll go back to King’s Landing and tell the King what happened! He’s fond of that little thing, isn’t he? Or mayhaps his brother, with the giant drag—“ 

The man’s voice was cut off, silenced by what Rhaenyra could only assume was a blade. The sound of his body crumpling and soft gurgling confirmed it. She stepped into the room, fisting her skirts. The mystery offender was now divorced from his head, akin to the way Vaemond had been. Daemon was wiping the blood and viscera off of Dark Sister upon the bedsheet. The bed in question, however, was not unoccupied like she had thought it would be. 

The small, crumpled form of Shera Stark, identified by the undone length of curls falling by her wayside, was unconscious upon it. 

Rhaenyra blinked profusely, heat rising within her as she tried to piece together exactly what was going on. 

Daemon let out a soft sniff, “Bloody idiot.” 

“Daemon? What… what is this?” 

“What does it look like? The key to the North.” he sneered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Rhaenyra’s hands came together as she loosened the ring on her pointer finger. “She does not look like she is a willing participant in being here.” 

From the looks of it, the girl was hardly breathing. Her chest rose and fell in such shallow lengths that it took a moment to register if she was even alive at all. 

“I doubt she would be. I did what needed to be done.” 

“What… needed to be done? No, I don’t think you’ve begun to count the errors you’ve made here. Did… did you even think of the consequences, Daemon?” Rhaenyra started, her face emanating a red-hot heat, only continuing to warm as she twisted her ring with a violent, fervent nature. 

“Consequences? I’ve brought her here to solve our problems, Rhaenyra. Do you think that honor-bound Northerner Cregan Stark would still fight for you as Queen if you broke your oath to keep his sister safe? He very well may kiss Otto Hightower’s hairy sack just for his sister to return to him. We won’t win this war without the North. And we won’t have the North without the girl.” 

“There is no war yet! I am still awaiting responses from Alicent on how we may resolve the… misunderstanding of crowning Aegon in my stead. You… you’ve only fanned the flames of something you have been brewing for years against the Hightowers. Cregan is an honorbound man, he swore an oath.” 

“I am merely thinking ahead, Nyra! Oaths are broken as easily as they are made. Alicent is no friend of yours any longer, you’re no longer a girl! As if we can count on any lies coming from that cunt. You have a blind side for Alicent, Rhaenyra, you always have!”

“And even so— you’ve stolen Shera in the night. From what your… accomplice said, ‘twas a messy fight. What do you think, my half-brother Aemond shall think, when he comes upon Shera’s rooms in disrepair and bloodied?” She narrowed her gaze, trying to keep a hold on herself. “You’ve brought ruin to our doorstep. We both know what he is and what he can do, you know he favors her— all he has to do is mount Vhagar and rain fire upon us! You have invited that possibility to our home, to our family!” 

Daemon was silent for a moment, jaw clenched and lip twitching ever so slightly. He glanced over at the unconscious girl, brow furrowed. “We need to satisfy the oath you made to Lord Stark. The betrothal will be fulfilled,” he kept wiping his blade on the sheet, even far after it was clean. “They must marry on the morrow.” 

“The oath,” Rhaenyra echoed, voice suddenly hollow. “Marry— she is not even conscious, Daemon. She won’t even be able to recite the vows or cut Jacaerys’ lip.” 

Her husband let out a scoff, a sound so synonymous with who he was. “There won’t be a Valyrian ceremony, even if she was completely well. Needn’t any more Andal blood mingled than is already necessary,” he finally sheathed his sword. “It will be done as quickly and painlessly as possible. Lord Cregan will need to hold up his side of the oath forthwith.” 

Rhaenyra worried her lip between her teeth until she tasted copper. “You cannot make these… rash decisions without coming to me first. I will not tell you again, Daemon.” 

Daemon, surprisingly, acquiesced— verbally, at least. He stared at her for a few heartbeats with a hard glint in his eye before bowing out of the room. 

— 

He had no need for riding leathers, no need to put his hair up, no need for his eyepatch. All he required was his sword and his rage. 

Servants and highfolk alike plastered to the walls as Aemond parts through them like a ship’s masthead, whispers and aghast looks glazing against his hull. He isn’t calculated and cold like usual, as is his reputation around the Keep. His aura is rash and filled with churning lava, sparks threatening to singe any who stray too close. 

The wolf follows behind him— for a reason that Aemond cannot quite understand— Moongeist stays five feet behind him, but matches his fervor and drive. The pair of them are an unlikely duo— and yet, they are unmatched in their combined terror. 

“Where are you off to, brother?” Aegon interjects suddenly, flanked by his newly appointed Kingsguard lackeys. The crown sits low on his brow– coming back from a council meeting where he most likely received a tongue lashing from mother and grandsire alike.

“I’ve need of something,” Aemond answers, words short and clipped. 

Aegon’s brow raises as he inspects his brother, seeing Moongeist’s hulking form behind him. “You know what they say about lying with dogs, brother,” the king continues, in his faux laissez-faire tone that he is ever so fond of. “You will get fleas.” 

“They took her.” the prince said— flatly, dejectedly, detached. The single strand of self control still tethered within him straining. The thread was unraveling bit by bit with each word, each moment wasted.

“… what?” Aegon whispered, the varnish of his empty words fading away. 

“They. Took. Her.” Aemond repeated, looking up at his brother. 

Aegon paused, no doubt feeling the heat and blood rising within him at the revelation. “W— wh—,” 

“They took her right under our noses, Aegon. As if she was a dessert for a child to pilfer,” the prince’s hand flexed and unflexed, itching for his sword. “I am going to retrieve her.” 

“Retrieve her? And do you know exactly who took her? Where she’s been taken to?” Aegon leaned in, brow knit. “Or are you just planning to abscond on your dragon and burn down Westeros until you find her?” 

Aemond did not respond for a long moment. “You and I both know who did it. And you know they lie right across the bay upon Dragonstone. An easy enough conquest for Vhagar.” 

“What shall you expect upon your arrival, brother? For Rhaenyra and Daemon and their endless brood of brats to kneel at your feet? ‘Oh, please, we are so sorry for taking your ambiguous lover, please don’t burn us!’” Aegon’s hands clasped together in mock sympathy. “You and I both know that Daemon would rather incinerate everything around him than kneel to you or I. Mayhaps even his own wife.” 

“Something must be done, Aegon. They will think us— me— weak for letting them waltz in and take what is mine.” Aemond continued to pace, his body spun tight like a taut spring, half ready to bolt through the hall at a moment’s notice. With each passing moment, the copper spring strains as his patience lowers and his rage simmers.

“It is really disconcerting when I am the levelheaded one here, Aemond,” the king continues, stopping his brother’s pacing with a firm hand to his shoulder.

“So you propose we do nothing? Let her lie in that den of… traitors?” 

“I never said we would do nothing.”

— 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The neverending sound of water splattering onto the floor is the ballad of the ancient castle— most of it in disrepair and ruin from the hot malice of dragonfire. 

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing, early this morn,” the pageboy offered the slightly damp letter to the current castellan, Ser Simon Strong.

“Aye, thank you Tomas. Be sure to get yourself some porridge, keep your bones warm.” Simon grinned, the deep wrinkles of his face lifting in mirth. He split the seal which was embossed in the symbol of some bug or other— he couldn’t quite identify which house the sigil was from. 

His eyes scanned the paper, which was not addressed to him. Rather, it was addressed to another resident of Harrenhal. The scriptures upon it was not of the Common dialect, only bits and pieces of words with some odd runic language.

“Alys!” the older man called. “I know you’re skulking about out there. I believe this letter is for you.” 

Peering from the doorway behind him, a woman slunk to his side, her movements swift and precise. Her sudden and quick appearance caused him to jump. “Aye? What makes you think it’s for me?” she hummed, tilting her head in a bird-like manner. 

“Your name is Alys Rivers,” Simon pointed to the addressing line of the letter, the name ‘ALYS RIVERS’ spelled out in the common tongue before the rest of the script becomes nonsensical. “Is it not?” 

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose,” Alys blinked, tugging the paper from the lord’s fingers. “Hmm.” 

“I presume you can read that hogwash, can ye? Wouldn’t surprise me none, you’re a very odd woman.” Simon waved his hand to dismiss her. 

She took the dismissal in stride, slipping out of the chamber like she had never been there in the first place. Unfolding the letter completely, most of which was in the Old Tongue. 

To Alys Rivers, 

ᛏᚺᛖᛁ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚲᛟᛗᛁᚾᚷ. ( THEY ARE COMING.) 

ᛈᚱᛖᛈᚨᚱᛖ  ᛁᛟᚢᚱᛊᛖᛚᚠ (PREPARE YOURSELF.) 

[eric-bogosian]

For anyone who wants it: I made a Sims 2 Notion page to keep track of Pleasantview families with, and it's up for grabs here. It was inspired by PleasantSim's tracking spreadsheets, which you can also find here, if you prefer that style instead.

The page currently follows my own rotation/current gameplay, but you can edit it as much as you see fit. You could also change it to match other Sims 2 towns, or even use it for the Sims 3 or 4 if you so choose.

A few of my Sims didn't have any good screenshots for me to use, so some are subbed in with pics from the Sims Fandom wiki lmao. Each family is listed as a header, so just hover over the black bars on the right to jump between them. Happy Simming!

[sanaavay]

Features: BORN TO PUSH THE LIMITS LANCOOL II MESH RGB features a mesh front panel and mesh bottom left shroud panel,honeycomb vent design and built-in RGB fans,ensuring bountiful airflow delivered to your high-performance components while adorning the system with an RGB touch. THE ULTIMATE CHASSIS FOR BEGINNERS AND ENTHUSIASTS ALIKE Premium look Unprecedented modularity Hinged flip panels all around Optimized cooling support Cable management with ease Optimized storage configuration MORE ADVANCED COOLING SUPPORT The optimized airflow is a result of the collaboration between the brand-new mesh design, additional exhaust vent holes, and three high-performance ARGB cooling fans. HIGH-PERFORMANCE BUILT-IN ARGB FANs 3 x 120mm ARGB intake fans pre-installed at the front produce ample airflow while still offering bountiful RGB to liven up your PC build. ULTIMATE COOLING SUPPORT Add the BORA DIGITAL ARGB FANs to have more vibrant RGB and increased cooling efficiency for your LANCOOL II MESH build! EXPERIENCE ARGB CONTROL ON A WHOLE NEW LEVEL Lighting effects of the 3 included ARGB fans can be fully controlled through the C button and M button located on the top front. Switching between 8 lighting modes has never been this easy. Note! By plugging the fan hub’s ARGB header into the motherboard’s 3-PIN 5V addressable RGB headers, you’ll be able to synchronise the lighting effects with the motherboard software by switching the M button to the 8th mode. Note! If your motherboard doesn’t have any 5V addressable RGB headers, make sure to connect the SATA cable connecting the hub to the the power supply and use the C and M buttons to control the lighting effects. MODULAR PSU SHROUD COVER The space between the top and bottom chamber now features two removable PSU shroud covers for either 2 x 2.5” SSDs or can be removed to fit 2 x 120mm fans. Compared to the former integrated design, the modular PSU shroud covers allow users to remove them for an unobstructed airflow between the top and bottom chamber. When 2 fans are mounted, and the cover plates removed, ventilation efficiency is even better. Even when 2 x SSDs are mounted, the vents on  the PSU shroud covers guarantee good ventilation. MULTI-WAY FAN/RADIATOR BRACKET The multi-way bracket revolutionizes your notion of fan/radiator installation by offering 4 installation options to best fit your needs. HOW TO INSTALL THE MULTI-WAY FAN/RAD BRACKET The multi-way bracket revolutionizes your notion of fan/radiator installation by offering 4 installation options to best fit your need. ATTENTION! Do not install a 140/280MM radiator in the inner side of the bracket otherwise irreparable deformation might occur. The correct way to install is to mount fans first then place a radiator on top of the fans. OPTIMIZED STORAGE CONFIGURATION With the modular drive cage, side-mounted SSD bays, and additional SSD space on the modular PSU shroud cover, the LANCOOL II MESH is capable of holding up to 9 drives. REMOVABLE TWO-WAY CABLE MANAGEMENT BAR Flippable, flexible, multi-functional FLIP PANELS AND SHROUDs ALL AROUND The tempered glass side panels offer an unobstructed view to the interior configuration while the bottom shroud panels provide quick access to PSU/drive installation. CABLE MANAGEMENT WITH EASE The cover plates save users neck and fingers by concealing nearly all the wayward cables. MESH PANEL KIT Mesh front panel is available for those LANCOOL II users craving to upgrade their system by swapping to a mesh front panel. Specifications: MODEL LANCOOL II MESH RGB + USB Type-C COLOR Black DIMENSION (D) 478mm x (W) 229mm x (H) 494mm MOTHERBOARD E-ATX(width: under 280mm)/ATX/M-ATX/ITX PSU 210mm MATERIAL 0.8mm SGCC (exterior, MB tray, and most of the interior) 4.0mm tempered glass (both sides) 1.0mm SGCC (interior) Fan Support Front (multi-way fan/radiator bracket): 3 x 120mm or 2 x 140mm Top: 2 x 120/140mm Rear: 1 x 120mm Above PSU Chamber: 2 x 120mm Radiator Front (multi-way

fan/radiator bracket): 1 x 360/280/240mm Top: 1 x 240mm (aligned to the left) VGA Length 384mm CPU Clearance 176mm Drive Behind MB Tray: 2 x 2.5″ SSD Behind the right flip panel: 2 x 2.5”SSD Hard Drive Cage: 3 x 3.5″ HDD/2.5″ SSD Above PSU Chamber: 2 x 2.5″ SSD Slot 7 I/O Ports C button for color control M button for lighting mode control 1 x TRRS AUDIO 2 x USB 3.0 1 x USB 3.1 TYPEC (Optional) DUST FILTERS 1 x Top (magnetic), 1 x Bottom (tray) Inc Fans 3 x included 120mm 3-PIN 1300 RPM ARGB fans Rated Speed:1300RPM ±10 % Air Flow:49.14CFM Noise:25.0dB(A) Warranty 1 Year Note ***Features, Price and Specifications are subject to change without notice.

[leviathan-supersystem]

Weird that you try and keep tabs on me, creepo, but I literally would move if America made a Native America that included the state I live in, which happens to be Pennsylvania for the last decade.

weird for you to think I'm "keeping tabs on you" because i thought you lived in New york simply because your header says "New York jew" in it

at any rate, apparently you're one of those New Yorkers who lives in Pennsylvania, who knew.

gonna be real, I don't think immediately capitulating to the notion that you should be ousted from your home because you're not native to the region you live in is actually a framework which is likely to help you or other jewish people in the long run. seems like the kind of notion that has, historically, done more harm to jewish people than helped them.

the "black state in the deep south somewhere" proposal is an interesting one- not one I'm opposed to, but also not one which I'd be willing to accept forced relocation to make a reality. funny thing though is that, of course, african americans aren't native american, and yet you acknowledge that if such a state were to be created, it should be created in the USA, and not in Africa, despite Africa being their place of origin before being brought to the USA.

which brings me to Liberia- born from an attempt to create a state for African Americans in Africa- the Americo-Liberian population created an apartheid state which oppressed the native Liberian population, in a manner which was clearly colonial, despite the fact that the Americo-Liberian population was also originally indigenous to west Africa (and presumably in many cases specifically originally indigenous to the region which would later become Liberia). I wonder if there are any broader lessons we can learn about the complex relationship between indigineity and colonization from this.

ladies and gentlemen, we got him

[chrys-uki]

Blood-stained petals, won't you pull me close?

!! HEADER CREDS TO ARTIST ;; ART IS NOT MINE !!

ANOTHER NOTE !! my ask box is open for the next week, feel free to requesting any pairing, prompt and/or setting, and i will write it for you asap! do let me know if you're okay with me posting it publicly <3

(Chapter 3) !! this is a fic done by me under the name tadashibean on ao3 !! angst, hurt/comfort, i like seeing vox suffer hehe ♡

Vox Akuma x Shoto, Nijisanji EN's 4th wave; Luxiem ♡

Happy reading~

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

One moment, Vox was staring up at his plastic star-studded ceiling, imagining Shoto, the very love of his life, walking through the door with bags upon bags, reprimanding Vox for keeping quiet. The very next moment, there the aforementioned man was, currently fawning over Vox as he placed his hands on the demon’s chest, lightly pushing him back to rest against the headboard.

Vox’s head was spinning. Whether it was from how good Shoto looked, or smelled - Is that lavender shampoo??? - or how utterly *warm* his hands were on his skin or from the fact that he had just coughed up more of those wretched petals, Vox felt extremely light headed.

His vision was blurring together as he brought his wrist up to his temple, groaning softly. He was aware of the rising temperature of his body; He could feel the flush coating the apples of his cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat covering his whole body. His throat was parched, and so he swallowed, the sting from throwing up those petals serving as an omnipresent reminder of his condition.

“Hey, Vox, don’t black out on me.”

Shoto’s voice sliced through the air. It was *that* voice, Vox’s mind supplied somewhere in the back of his mind, warmth blooming in his body at the revelation. The demon gasped, trying to sit up as his chest burned almost painfully, his insides churning incessantly. His mind was fuzzy; He could not make out a single shape in his room.

“Vox, Vox, hey, it’s okay- I’ve got you, let it happen.”

Shoto’s words wrapped around him like a cold blanket. He shivered before letting out a soft whimper. -Too much, too much-, he wanted to say, but his mouth remained glued shut, his eyes dropping shut on their accord. 

He sighed softly as he let his eyes drop shut, feeling something cold and slightly heavy on his forehead. 

He felt… better. So much better, for some odd reason. 

“I’ve got some food for you downstairs- You finally get to taste my cooking,” Shoto giggled quietly, his voice no more than a whispered lullaby, all smooth and soft with delicate edges. Vox felt a clammy hand brush against his cheek gently, the coldness a very welcome surprise.

He leaned into the touch, hearing the other’s soft chuckle at the notion as the hand started to rub against his cheek fondly, a tired smile painted on the demon’s face. 

Shoto felt his heart rate spike up considerably. This was the Vox that was reserved for him, apparently; All soft, vulnerable and…so *raw*. Their interactions were never forced, even if they tended to be on the mature side. But Shoto would not have it any other way. 

Vox let out a soft hum, deep from within his chest. He felt the vibrations course through his bones, waking him from his haze. He opened his eyes fully, focusing them on the demon slayer before him as he moved to sit up properly, gently nudging the other’s palm with his nose. 

Vox cleared his throat cautiously, scared to hurt it more than it already was, signalling to the other to grab his phone for him, to which Shoto responded by leaning closer towards him.

“What- What the fuck is he doing?” Vox internally screeched, leaning back from the increasing proximity. Vox could feel Shoto's warm fan over his cheeks and nose. 

The thought that they were literally breathing the same air popped into his brain, sending him in overdrive. It felt intimate — too intimate — for something that they were supposed to be; Best friends. 

Vox was thankful for the flush that sat high on his cheekbones and covered the expanse of his neck — for he could believe that the warmth rushing to his cheeks was simply a byproduct of his condition, rather than how close he was to Shoto. 

It was intoxicating, he realised, the scent that was just so…Shoto. Lavender and…Vanilla? Vox never knew he could take a liking to the scent of lavender; He always thought it was too overpowering for him, but on Shoto? It seemed only fitting — It seemed perfect. Calming, soft, with childish innocence buried under layers and layers of cool-toned outfits — Gentle, delicate, subtle. It was everything that Shoto was, and Vox did not know if he could go back to breathing in plain Oxygen after this impromptu visit. 

The demon could feel the other’s hand grope around in the sheets, trying to grasp at Vox’s handphone. A sudden exhale from the one above him had Vox, who did not realise he was burning holes into the other’s lips, looking up and into Shoto’s eyes, and boy was the demon glad he did that.

A bright blush dusted the other’s supple cheeks, that were currently puffed out from what Vox assumed was frustration. Vox wanted to kiss those cheeks so desperately, to pull him against his chest as they fell back against the bed, air filled with light giggles and a sweet aura. He wanted to know if Shoto’s waist would fit in the crooks in his elbows, if his entire hand could cover the expanse of a half; If both of his hands would be enough to fully encircle the other’s waist.

That thought sent a hot flash up through the demon’s spine, a strong tremor wracking his body as he swayed forward, his hands immediately coming up and fisting in Shoto’s shirt as an attempt to regain balance. He let out an embarrassing, undecipherable sound and immediately whipped his head up to look at Shoto, anxious if the other had heard, but the sight that greeted him made his heart flutter ferociously.

Shoto’s eyes swirled with worry and concern, and his face only seemed to be closer than before, his brows furrowed as clear concern was splayed across his smooth features, a small hand once again coming up to cup a cold, pale cheek, rubbing soft circles onto the skin.

“Vox, are you okay?” Shoto’s voice wavered slightly from the concern, and oh, Vox could kiss him.

But he can not. 

They were friends, and being this close and thinking about Shoto in that way made his gut twist. They were friends, goddamn it. Shoto could never like him that way, Vox knew. He deserves someone better, someone more worthy —  Someone that is not Vox, because Vox will never, never be good enough for Shoto.

Quickly, Vox retracted his hands from the other’s shirt, the phone long forgotten. He leaned back from the other’s personal space, clearing his throat and resting his head on the headboard, the world spinning. He blinked once, twice — Waiting for the blurry images to stop. He bit his tongue harshly, so hard he could taste metal, and he hummed. Guilt grew like a weed in an unkempt garden, stemming from his heart and spreading to his head and limbs, trickling down spine-chillingly. 

Shoto trusted him, and this is what he does? He goes and thinks about him a romantic way- and god Shoto would never look at him that way because he’s just too good for Vox and he was sweet and kind and— 

A sharp inhale.

A soft exhale.

Vox opened his eyes once more, and Shoto was still there, looking unabashedly, despite their closeness just a few moments ago. 

Shoto reached out, handing Vox a paper towel and his phone, leaving the room silently, his footsteps receding down the staircase. 

And if Vox thought he saw hurtful admiration in Shoto’s eyes, he ignored it.

—————————————————————

i quite literally ripped my heart out of my chest by denying a sweet, fluffy and pda-filled ending but

angst agenda wooooo HAHA

next upp, thoughh, i’m happy to announce

I promise i will get you all the Ike x Luca fluff you deserve ; It's just hard to write their dynamic *inchoerent sobbing* this fic's 4 th chapter will come out quite soon too! + thinking of some shu x luca fluff / voxto fluff to make up for my poor heart after this

ANOTHER NOTE !! my ask box is open for the next week, feel free to requesting any pairing, prompt and/or setting, and i will write it for you asap! do let me know if you're okay with me posting it publicly <3

Happy stargazing, readers~! till the stars conjoin us again~

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

[ot7always]

Ignorantly, Yours

Word Count: 10.6k

Pairing: Alpha!Jimin x Omega!Reader

Genre: Wolf!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU; fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: dom!Jimin, sub!reader, A/B/O dynamics, heat sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk (including a bit of possessiveness), marking, creampie, hair pulling, degradation, praise, rough sex, multiple orgasms

Rating: 18+

Summary:  You never could have expected your best friend to show up at your apartment right as you were about to go into heat, but when he did, something in you just wouldn’t let him go.

A/N: Truly, this was never supposed to be more than drabble. Which truly became a nuisance once it grew a lot and I had to go back and change a lot of things during editing. This is my first fic with some sort of supernatural element to it, and I had a lot of fun! I hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Reposted without the header gif and without any links or taglist. Sorry for any inconvenience if you were already looking at the first post. I will reblog with the taglist shortly.

--

Maybe it should have been embarrassing.

Maybe it was, 5 years ago when the habit first started.

5 years ago, when you’d had your first pre-heat. When the world had quickly become too overwhelming, your nose unused to the myriad of scents that assaulted you in your sensitivity. Your skin feeling so raw that even the clothes on your back felt uncomfortable.

It was then, in your childhood bedroom, amidst everything else, you recognized a scent that accompanied you through your life for as long as you could remember. A scent that felt like home, felt like warm days under the sun and shared laughter under blankets at midnight.

Your nose had led you to the bottom drawer of your dresser, your hands digging through the mess of fabric there until you pulled out an orange hoodie. You didn’t remember ever having it, and it looked small enough to have been from years ago – maybe even from before he presented.

But as you pulled it out of that drawer, the scent that might have been faint to you any other day filled your nostrils. A blueberry and pine scent that left you feeling calmer instantly, safer. Whether that had to do more with your friendship or his alpha status wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind. All you knew at the time was that it made everything better – he made everything better, even when he wasn’t there.

That marked the first time you laid in your bed, curling yourself around that small piece of comfort, your face shoved into the soft fabric. The peace that washed over you then was addicting, and any thought of giving up that feeling was unfathomable.

And if Jimin noticed how you were covered in his own scent when he saw you after every heat since that day, he didn’t say a thing.

--

You missed him a lot.

It wasn’t as though his university was that far away, and you should have grown used to it after several years of living apart for most of the year. Weekend visits were hardly enough when you’d spent more time together than apart growing up.

It definitely didn’t feel like enough when you were lying in bed, surrounded by the products of your skillful swiping over the years during Jimin’s visits. Hoodies, t-shirts – you had at least a dozen by now. All of which were tossed across your bed alongside you, your upper body already clad in one of his oversized hoodies.

When your pre-heat started affecting you yesterday, you’d already emailed your professors to tell them you wouldn’t be able to make it to class for the week. They, of course, understood – every university accommodated for their students to get a week off about every 3 months for this exact reason.

You were already overcome by exhaustion, Jimin’s scent wafting around the room lulling you into a sleepy daze.

It was common for an omega to nest amongst an alpha’s scent before their heat, though said alpha would typically be their partner.

It wasn’t something you liked to think on very often. Something like this couldn’t be that uncommon, right? After all, he was your first friend, and that went beyond being an alpha or omega. Besides, if it bothered him, wouldn’t he have already called you out for it by now? Wouldn’t he have said something when he realized that even when you’d started spending every heat with an alpha, his scent was still somewhere in there?

You tried not to worry too much about it. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Based on how you were feeling, you knew your heat would probably be here within 2 or 3 days. Which meant you should probably call someone soon to ask them to help you through it. It was normal practice to ask a friend to help you with your heat, but it was a line you’d never crossed with Jimin. Rejection was never something you dealt with well, and you were too afraid to put him, of all people, in that position. Knowing him, he would agree even if he didn’t want to.

Who, then? Namjoon? Hoseok? Both have agreed before, though the notion of crossing your room to pick up the phone you’d so foolishly left on the dresser was severely unappealing.

Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, your face nuzzling into a blue and red scarf Jimin had forgotten at your apartment last winter. As the tranquility washed over you, your mind drifted closer and closer to sleep, warm and cozy and surrounded by Jimin’s scent.

Until the doorbell rang through your apartment.

At first you elected to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But when it sounded out 2 more times after you hadn’t moved in several minutes, you groaned.

Wasn’t it bad etiquette to do this to someone? Surely that had to be written in a handbook somewhere.

With heavy limbs, you dragged yourself out of bed, flipping the hood up on your (well, Jimin’s) hoodie. As much as it may have been a bad idea to answer the door by yourself in pre-heat, your scent enveloped by an alpha’s would be enough to ward off unwanted advances. Though there were definitely bad people in the world, it took a truly insane person to go after an omega scented by an alpha.

When you made it to the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself to ream out whoever was on the other side. While you could sense someone’s presence there, every apartment was insulated, scent-wise, for protection. You didn’t know what to expect.

But of every possibility, when you opened the door, you didn’t expect to get assaulted by the very scent you’d been basking in only minutes ago. You didn’t notice how his eyes widened or how his pupils dilated when your scent hit him, too preoccupied by your body’s visceral reaction.

The full force of his scent almost had your knees buckling, your eyelids growing heavier as every single part of you instinctively yearned to curl up into him. Maybe your heat was closer than you thought.

When you were finally able to focus your eyes on him, his teeth were biting into his bottom lip, the hand holding an overnight bag clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything before you were stumbling forward, colliding messily with him, only focused on getting as close to him as possible.

You barely heard a mumbled ‘shit,’ not registering that he backed you into your apartment until you heard the door slam, his bag hitting the floor.

“Jimin,” you mumbled, your hands grasping at his shirt, eyes closed as you shoved your face into his neck, sighing happily when you were finally as close to the source of your happiness as possible.

But much to your discontent, he pushed you from him, keeping you an arms’ length away. The whimper you let out in response sounded pathetic even to your own ears, but every cell in your body was screaming to get as close to him as possible.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, the unusual hardness in his tone snapping you out of your daze slightly, wide eyes fixing onto his face. He audibly gulped at the glazed look in your eyes, before continuing. “You’re in heat.”

“I’m not,” you whined, trying to push against his hands, but he was stronger than you were.

“You will be,” he responded, letting out an incredulous sigh. “Fuck. I meant to surprise you but I forgot what the date was, I’m so sorry.”

“But I’m not yet,” you complained, changing tactics and instead aiming to shove your nose into the wrists near your shoulders. When your hair swished with your movement, sending a whiff of shampoo and your scent Jimin’s way, he groaned loudly.

“God, I can’t be here, I should go,” he said through gritted teeth. But when he started leaning down to pick his bag back up, you panicked.

“NO!” you yelled, launching yourself at him with your whole weight, not at all concerned about how he stumbled back in surprise. Your hands gripping onto his waist, you looked at him with wide eyes, your irises barely visible around the black of your dilated pupils. “Please don’t leave.”

His composure visibly cracked at the desperation on your face, but the sensation of your hands trembling in their grip on him brought him back to reality. “I can’t stay, I know that you know that-”

“Why?” you cried, your bottom lip trembling. The logical part of you deep inside knew you were being unreasonable, but even that part of you was a slave to instinct. All you knew was that Jimin got you through every pre-heat, and here Jimin was in front of you now. He’d never seen you like this, not ever in the last 5 years. And now that he has, nothing has ever been more unappealing than the thought of him walking out your front door.

He was very clearly taking shallow breaths, eventually bringing his own wrist to his nose to try to drown out everything else. Based on the low grunt he let out, it didn’t seem to be working very well.

“You smell like you’re going to go into heat at any moment, fuck, I can’t,” he panted, every part of him resisting the urge to grab you and scent you until there was absolutely no question whether you were his.

Except you weren’t his.

“I-I...” he stuttered, the scent of you not only clinging to him, but everywhere throughout the apartment occupying every part of his brain. “I need to go, I’ll call someone for you, Hoseok or-”

But that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because you sprung back from him as though you’ve been burned. When you looked at him as though he’d betrayed you, he knew he’d messed up.

“Why? You’re already here,” you spat out. “Don’t go,” you finished in a much weaker voice, pleading gaze fixing onto his.

A flash of pain went through him when he saw you hug yourself around the middle, as though to appear smaller. As though to protect yourself. From him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking of you!” you wailed, the space between you feeling wider than it’s ever been.

“I can’t,” he repeated, a tinge of desperation making its way into his tone. Why was this so hard? From what he knew about omega heats and pre-heats, without a partner or relationship you shouldn’t have cared this much about which alpha stayed with you.

“Aren’t we friends? Can’t you just stay?” you begged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Something about him trying to leave felt like a hole was being ripped through your chest, even if you’d understand why any other day.

“Of course we’re friends,” he said incredulously, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew exactly what you meant, exactly what was implied within that statement. When something like desire crossed his gaze, you felt a dash of hope bloom within you. “But...”

And it was crushed just like that. “Why don’t you want me when I want you? What’s wrong with me?” you sobbed, the tears finally spilling from your eyes as you dropped to your knees.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The smell of an omega in distress was always something that set off an alpha’s protective instinct.

But the knowledge that he was the one who caused it brought forth an ugly wrenching in his gut.

For all the required readings Jimin had done in the course of his life, nothing had ever taught him what to do when the girl you’re secretly in love with was on the floor crying because you refused to fuck her through her heat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, did he want to.

But you weren’t there begging for his heart or his love or his devotion – you were begging for his body. Which wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was offended. The problem was that he wanted more than this, and that right now was most definitely not the time to have that conversation.

And it’s not that he didn’t think you knew what you wanted. He knew you knew that you were asking for sex, but he also knew that was all you were asking for. Pre-heat was about preparing for sex, not romance.

As much as a heat could completely fog an omega’s brain, in pre-heat they could still make coherent decisions. It was typically a time spent preparing for heat, a time to call an alpha or to prepare for the much more painful option of suffering alone. They were typically in a perpetual state of exhaustion, bodies crying out for sleep to save up energy for their heat.

But more importantly, it was a time where omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable, where they gave in to instinct. A time where they surrounded themselves in the things that made them feel safest, most at home.

He knew – he knew you used his scent to get through your pre-heat, but he never thought it meant that much. You were his oldest friend, and the fact that you found comfort in his scent was never something he questioned. He was an alpha, and you scented each other often – it made sense from a biology standpoint.

And – oh.

It hit him then that this was more than an alpha’s refusal to help their friend through their heat. This was more than a refusal for sex.

This was your biggest security blanket pushing you away at your most vulnerable, the person you trusted most to keep you safe leaving you when you were begging him to stay.

He really, really fucked up by coming here.

He should have checked the dates properly in the first place, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences. There was an unbelievably high chance that if he walked out that door, you’d have a breakdown, and he couldn’t just break your heart by leaving now.

Even if it ended up breaking his own. Even if you ended up thinking nothing of it, and he would never be able to erase the memory from his brain.

Because you were begging him to stay out of instinct, out of need. Not out of love. Not that he knew of, not the kind he wanted, at least.

But there was no reason to go there or question you about it, because he knew you’d say anything to make him stay, even if it wasn’t true. Not because you were a liar, but because that’s what your body would push you to do right now.

Knowing that the smell of his own panic would just set you off more, he took a couple deep breaths before falling to his knees in front of you. He had to force down the rising upset in his chest at the scent of your tears, every part of him screaming at himself for upsetting you this deeply.

“Hey,” he called out softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull your hands away from where they were hiding your face. At the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, his heart tugged. “Look at me.” He slipped a hand forward to cradle your head, brushing against the hair at the nape of your neck. He hoped so badly that he could be a comfort to you, even when he was the one who hurt you in the first place.

He waited almost a minute for you to look up, doing his best to calm you in that time. When you finally raised your eyes to look at him, the fear in your expression was something he’d only ever seen a few times in his life. You were an expert at putting on a brave face for the world, and seeing the uncensored pain displayed there punched him in the gut.

“Baby,” he cooed, pulling you into his arms. He carefully maneuvered your face into the crook of his neck, smiling as you melted into his hold, a content sigh leaving you. He wrapped his arms around you, face rubbing into your hair as he stopped resisting the urge to scent you. He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at your scent that only seemed to be growing stronger.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, your body so limp in his grasp that he had to keep both of you upright himself. He couldn’t tell whether you were awake, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin as your nose brushed against one of the most sensitive parts of his body.

But when he stood up, wanting to get you somewhere more comfortable than the floor, he felt every muscle in your body tense, a low whine leaving your throat. Your hands grasped onto his shirt. “Jimin-”

“Shh,” he soothed, continuing to nuzzle into you as he stood you both up. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not?” you repeated, muffled into his shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He scratched lightly at your scalp as the other hand stroked up and down the length of your back, humming when you finally relaxed again, your arms wrapping around to tug him as close as possible. “Good girl.”

Something in him awakened when he heard the hitch of your breath at his words, but he shoved it down. He had to keep a hold of himself while he still had the chance – because once you were in heat, there would be no rest for either of you. Not when it was taking his entire focus to hold himself back right now and it was only your pre-heat.

“I’m gonna take you to your room, okay?” he asked quietly. When you nodded, he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, head lolling sleepily against his shoulder.

You were very clearly exhausted, and guilt gnawed away at him for it. The emotional ups and downs of the past half hour must have taken even more out of you – while you tended to be quiet, you were never this quiet, not with him. You seemed to be asleep, steady exhales hitting the skin of his neck.

When he entered your room, his heart skipped in his chest at the sight of his belongings strewn across your mattress, a you-sized gap in the middle where you must have been laying. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, the possessive part of him thrilled at the notion of you burying yourself in his scent.

He supposed he should be happy you were asleep. Omegas tended to be self-conscious about their nest, which was why he was surprised you agreed to let him take you here so easily. The idea that you felt comfortable enough to let him in here without a fight brought forth a feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like butterflies.

Easing off the shoes he’d never had the chance to remove at the front door, he brought you both down into the bed, careful not to jostle your form. He laid you down together, your body atop his, heart melting at your tiny noise of content.

He had to bite back a moan when you nuzzled further into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin.

Get it together, Jimin.

He didn’t know if he would ever be relaxed enough to sleep when you were on top of him already smelling like every sinful desire he’s ever had. His cock shouldn’t have been stirring when you looked so innocent, your hands curled up ever-so-slightly under his shirt. And despite everything in his mind telling him that he would regret this, his entire body was screaming in anticipation for this entire weekend.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an omega through their heat, but everything was different because this was you. Someone he cared about, someone he loved, and he knew you loved him too, whether it was in the way he wanted or not. Heat flared in him at the thought of you wet and desperate only for him, begging to be filled. He knew you’d be out of your mind with lust, and even before seeing it he knew it would be the most beautiful sight he’s ever set eyes upon.

Get a hold of yourself, Jimin.

It was absolutely no use to contemplate these things now, especially not when the scent of his arousal might wake you up and set you off prematurely. You both needed rest – he’d be damned if he didn’t make this the best heat you’d ever had just because he was tired.

And so he wrapped his arms around your middle, willing arousal from his brain and replacing it with thoughts of sleep. Luckily, his body must have been able to sense his need for rest before the upcoming days, and sleep found him easier than anticipated.

--

You awoke to your back hitting your mattress, the first thing you noticed being that your body felt like it was being burned alive. But when you inhaled, the scent of pure alpha overtook all thought, brain incapable of anything other than unadulterated need, arousal shooting to your core almost instantaneously.

When your eyes shot open, fire lit within you when they immediately locked onto Jimin’s dark gaze, his body hovering over yours like he was about to pounce. When he took in the neediness in your eyes, his lip upturned in a salacious smirk, stare burning holes into you.

“Rise and shine, little wolf,” he drawled, hands locking onto your ankles and dragging you down the bed until your face was right below his.

You shivered despite yourself at the predatory expression on his face, holding back the whine that threatened to escape. You felt incapable of speaking, every intake of breath only fogging your mind further, the fire in you becoming so potent it was painful.

You couldn’t help the keening whimper that escaped when he roughly fisted a hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking until your entire neck was on display. You gasped and arched into his body with want as he leaned in to inhale deeply right above your collarbone. The feral growl he let out at your scent had you shuddering, trembling hands trying desperately to pull him closer, but he didn’t relent.

“Please,” you begged, shoving your body upwards as much as possible, desperate to feel his body against your own. At the feeling of his canines brushing against the skin of your neck gently, you felt new wetness rush from you. Your desperation was only growing exponentially with every passing moment, and it felt like if you didn’t get touched soon, you would surely die.

“You smell so fucking good,” he snarled, voice raspier than you’d ever heard it before. He sounded almost pained, and it only set you off further. Everything in you ached for his touch, your cunt clenching around nothing despite Jimin not even having touched you yet. You needed it – needed to be touched, you needed him to quell the ache.

“Hurts,” you gasped out, still trying and failing to grind against his body above you.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” he cooed, pressing his free palm down onto your clothed centre. His breath hitched as you started forcefully grinding against it immediately, a choked whine slipping from your lips at the sudden pressure right where you needed it most.

“Alpha...” you moaned, rutting shamelessly against his hand as you pushed further against the hand in your hair, baring more of the soft expanse of your neck. Your eyes shut as pleasure rocked your system, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, his cock in your drenched cunt, his nails raking down your body as he utterly ravished you. You whined loudly at the thought, arousal slipping from you. It was clear he noticed when he hissed.

“Fuck, look at you. You’re dripping, so fucking desperate,” he panted, somehow sounding almost as ruined as you. “I’m gonna fuck this cunt senseless, fill you up so good you’ll never ask for anyone else again. Do you want that, little omega? Want me to make you mine?”

Any other time you might have questioned his possessive words, but any rational part of your brain was long gone. No, all that existed was you, Jimin, and your excruciating need to be filled.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, whimpering at the imagery he put in your head. You wanted nothing more than to be his bitch, to take his cock and his seed and his knot. “Fuck me, please.”

“You beg so nicely,” he breathed, and you keened at the praise. You gasped as he sat back and quite literally ripped the shirt from your body, following suit with the rest of your clothes. You didn’t have it in you to complain, not when he was yanking your legs apart, gaze laser-focused onto your centre. “Don't worry, baby, your alpha is gonna take care of you, okay?”

You only nodded furiously, hips bucking upward suddenly as Jimin wasted no more time, two fingers smearing through your heat before thrusting abruptly into you. You finally felt some sort of relief at being filled, but it wasn’t enough. The stretch wasn’t satisfying enough, and your desire for more only amplified. But it seemed he knew this, adding another finger wordlessly.

“God, this cunt is so fucking hungry for me,” he growled, pistoning his fingers in and out roughly before grinding the heel of his hand into your clit.

You cried out as pleasure reared on you embarrassingly quickly, but no part of you wanted to cum without his cock inside you, dragging against your sensitive walls.

“Jimin...” you moaned, arching your back as you sought to push yourself closer to the source of your pleasure. He almost groaned at the sound of his name coming so wantonly from your lips. “Want you, please.”

“Yeah? You want to get stuffed?”

The garbled response you gave was nowhere near coherent, but it didn’t take a genius to see what you wanted. When he gave a low chuckle and pulled himself from his sweatpants, you started salivating immediately. He was girthy, vein visibly spanning the underside beneath his hand as he palmed himself. The head looked almost purple, the tip leaking. You needed it inside you.

Before you even realized it yourself, you were turning over onto your front. By the time you’d planted your face down, ass up, Jimin was already growling, roughly digging his fingers into your asscheeks. As several more seconds went by without his cock in you, you arched your back further, whining as he only dug his fingertips in harder.

“Such a good little wolf,” he crooned, hissing when your arousal dripped from your pussy to the bed. “Getting yourself so nice and ready for me. You need cock that badly? Can’t wait for it?”

You could have cried when you finally felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, but you didn’t have time to do or say anything before he shoved all the way in to the hilt without warning.

You must have screamed then, but you hardly noticed anything apart from the way he set a quick pace, hardly noticed when the tears left your eyes, body swimming in relief and euphoria. Every snap of his hips brought forth a moan from your lips, fingers digging helplessly into the sheets by your head.

“Tell me how it feels,” he snarled, moving to hold your hips up when the overwhelming pleasure left you unable to do it yourself.

It was all you could do to whimper, body feeling as though it was in the clouds as your walls clamped down on Jimin’s cock. He was stretching you so well, the slight burn nothing compared to the waves of pleasure he was sending through your entire being. You took a breath to respond to him once you registered what he said, but when his cock brushed against that spot inside you, it only left you as a choked moan.

“This needy cunt just sucks me right in, huh?” he groaned when your walls clenched down on him again, as though to trap him inside you. But it made no difference to him, his thrusts only continuing, fast and precise as your walls fluttered around him, whines falling from your lips. Recalling how responsive you’d been to praise earlier, he kept talking. “Doing such a good job for me, baby,” he hummed, smirking when he felt the shuddering of your body beneath his hands. “So fucking perfect for me, taking this cock so well.”

His words shot through you like fire, and combined with the drag of him inside you, you were propelled toward your end.

“Alpha...” you whimpered, pushing back onto his cock, a particularly rough thrust pulling a shout from your lips. You were so close to slipping over the edge, the squeezing of your walls around him more and more insistent as you approached your end. “Please.” It was as though no other words existed in your vocabulary, but Jimin could read you perfectly well, as though he was made for you.

“What’s that, hm? Baby’s gonna cum?” he taunted before reaching around to rub at your clit. “Let go then, milk my cock. I want to hear you.”

The added stimulation was more than enough to propel you into your orgasm, your mouth agape as your walls clamped down on his cock. You distantly registered Jimin’s moans from above you as he held you up and fucked you through your it, the sparks of pleasure never-ending.

But while his thrusts became less harsh, they did not lower in their intensity whatsoever. And as the fog in your head receded some from your orgasm, you only felt that much more sensation as you regained your bearings.

Rather than a mindless slave to pleasure and want, with your brain partly yours again you could truly feel. Feel the cotton of the sheets where they were clenched between your fists, feel the slight strain in your knees as they dug into the mattress, feel Jimin’s fingers anchored onto your hips, as though you would float away if he let go.

You could truly feel every drag of his cock against you, every grind, and when he perfectly maneuvered to hit against your g-spot, you were left breathless once again.

But with your increased coherence, your body craved more than just cock – you wanted closeness, wanted Jimin’s body against your own, his groans in your ear, his chest against your back.

“Jimin,” you called out, voice needy but noticeably more present.

His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop. “Hm?”

Rather than attempt to formulate an answer, you blindly reached a hand in his direction and made a grabbing motion. It was accompanied by your best impression of some sort of demanding noise, but you sounded like a spoiled brat even to your own ears.

He clearly didn’t mind though, huffing a laugh at your antics before coming down to your level, pressing some of his weight into your back as he nuzzled your neck.

“This what you want, baby?” he asked, wrapping his arms snugly around your middle. It would almost be cute, if not for the snap of his hips he opted to punctuate his question with.

You could only shiver and take it as he set a slow but intense pace, his cock slowly dragging out of you before he thrusted forward quickly in one single motion. But even in its intensity it was intimate, his lips tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of your shoulder, his moans increasing in volume as you whined your pleasure.

His pace slowly but surely built you back up toward a second release, Jimin’s thrusts growing faster as he approached his own end. It wasn’t long before your moans were increasing in volume again, hips squirming beneath Jimin’s as that pressure in your abdomen only built and built.

“Gonna cum for me again, little wolf?” he growled directly into your ear, digging his fingers in close to your scalp and pulling your face up out of the sheets. No longer muffled, your moans were loud and unabashed, your pleasure surrendered entirely to him.

“I’m gonna fill this cunt up, gonna stretch you wide, is that what you want?”

As much as you were more coherent than last time, the effect his voice had on you was visceral, eyelids fluttering shut and goosebumps raising on your skin. When you only nodded with what little movement you could make within his grasp, he growled.

“Answer me!”

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, eager to please. “Want you to fill me up, Jimin, please.”

“Such a good girl,” he moaned in response, moving to suck bruises into your neck. The thought of being marked by him for all to see only lit a new fire within you.

But when you felt the press of his canines brushing against the sensitive part of your neck, it was as though something in you snapped. You almost squealed as the orgasm rained down on you unexpectedly, something resembling ‘Jimin’ spilling from your lips, though you paid it no mind.

You were so lost in your pleasure you hardly noticed Jimin’s gruff yell from above you as he came, only registering it as his knot started to stretch you.

He shushed you gently as you whined, warmth still spilling into you as it finished inflating. Panting breathlessly against your back, he softly cupped your face as you caught your breath.

The stretch was more overwhelming than painful, every tiny movement seeming to shift his knot inside you enough to make you gasp. You should have grown used to the feeling by this point in your life, but it managed to catch you off guard every single time. You never felt ready for the immense stretch or the soreness that lingered between waves of your heat.

After several minutes of silence, breaths finally quieting, he spoke up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hands reaching to keep you from squirming too much under him, knowing you’d only make the discomfort worse. “Relax for me.”

You nodded in response, letting yourself release the tension from your limbs as he continued to gently nose at your neck. His scent washed over you, but in this brief limbo between waves of your heat it spurred only calmness rather than arousal.

For you, at least, the first wave was always the worst in terms of self-control and mindedness. That was why it was essential for omegas to share their heat only with someone they could trust – if not a partner, then a friend. While omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable during pre-heat, they were at their most physically vulnerable during the heat itself. In theory, Jimin could have done whatever he wanted, and you would have begged for it.

He hummed in approval when you went still beneath him, rolling the two of you onto your side so that you were no longer supporting his weight.

“Sleepy?” he inquired softly as he watched you stifle a yawn.

You only nodded again, reaching for Jimin’s hand to make him wrap it around you more snugly, pressing yourself as close to him as possible. You shivered as his knot shifted with your movement, though it didn’t ache as much as it did initially. You felt so full, his cock still half-hard within you, release still painting your walls with nowhere to go.

You let your eyes shut, soreness and exhaustion taking up residence temporarily before the next wave. As much as a heat could feel so intense it hurt, you found that the time between each wave was truly the most difficult. It was the time where every ounce of muscle pain and sleep deprivation hit you, but it was also the time where, to put it simply, if you didn’t recharge you were fucked.

Heats were strenuous on the body, and it unfortunately wasn’t abnormal for omegas to be brought to the emergency room from dehydration and malnutrition from their heat. That was why the medical professionals tended to encourage of-age omegas to spend their heats with a trusted partner – it was just safer altogether. It was difficult to push past the fog of exhaustion to take care of yourself when you were on your own, though not impossible.

A tiny whine was the only acknowledgment you gave when you felt his knot go down enough to slip from you. You made a noise of complaint as Jimin pulled from your side, but he quickly returned to you, wiping away the mess that was now between your thighs.

“If I help you, can you sit up?”

After hearing your noise of affirmation, he pulled you up so that your back rested against the headboard, careful not to move you too quickly. But despite that, you couldn’t help the lightheaded feeling that came with the motion, reaching out to steady yourself on Jimin’s arm.

When he took in your rapid blinking and unfocused eyes, his concern grew exponentially. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Tired,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch when he moved to stroke your face.

“Let’s eat something and then we can nap, okay?”

“Mm.”

He moved away from you quickly to grab things from under your bed. One of the first things they taught omegas after presenting was that it was essential to keep a food and drink store in your room during your heat. One of the most important parts of pre-heat was not only securing a heat partner if desired, but also packing enough nutrient-rich food and drinks to last through your heat if you’re unable to leave the room.

You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until Jimin’s hand on your shoulder startled you awake. He took your hand in his own only to wrap your fingers around an energy bar he’d opened for you.

“Eat,” he commanded, though the soft, caring tone characteristic of Jimin never left his voice.

The thought of putting in effort to do anything was unappealing, but once you started, you realized how famished you were. When you finished your first bar within moments, he handed you a second, eating some for himself at the same time.

He didn’t waste any time with handing you a Gatorade bottle once you were finished eating, ensuring you could hold it yourself before getting his own.

As much as he seemed to be in a rush, this was a better safe than sorry type of situation. While sometimes you could squeeze in some sleep between waves of your heat, it sometimes felt like one huge gamble in terms of time. You’ve had downtimes of as little as 10 minutes in the past, so you were grateful that he was hurrying you along.

When he noticed you stopped drinking, he grabbed it from you to place it on the nightstand a safe distance away from the bed.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked, shoving all of the garbage into a bag to deal with another time.

“You.”

He turned around quickly, thinking you were going into your next wave, but froze at the sight of you simply blinking up at him sleepily.

He bit down on his lip to suppress a fond smile when you reached for his hand, severely hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

He let you tug him forward, settling beside you in bed before pulling you securely into his side.

As much as you might have loved to talk or quietly cuddle, you were out like a light as soon as you laid your head down on his shoulder, face tucked securely into his neck.

--

The next two days went by in a blur. You never tended to remember very many specific moments from your heats besides that you felt good, and were definitely sore after. The combination of physical and mental exhaustion along with the mind-numbing desire didn’t seem to be conducive to proper brain function.

Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Eat. Nap. Rinse. Repeat.

“Kiss me,” you demanded, pulling Jimin down toward you by his shoulders.

From what you could tell, it was the last day of your heat, also making for the most coherent day. The consequences of not sating your heat on the last day were more uncomfortable than painful, and the sex almost resembled what it would any other day.

He obliged you easily, mouth meeting yours as he snapped his hips, filling you up and stretching you all in one stroke. He nipped at your lower lip as you moaned freely, arching your back to feel as much of his skin as possible.

You couldn’t help the increase in volume when he settled with his length in you, grinding his pubic bone into your clit. It seemed that Jimin was feeling similarly, both of you simply panting by each other's mouths rather than doing any sort of kissing like you’d intended.

It was only minutes before you felt the familiar tightening in your abdomen, Jimin groaning above you when he felt you clench around him. You whimpered as he sucked new bruises into the skin of your neck, a shiver making its way down your spine as he reached the soft skin below your ear.

But every part of you was screaming out for more.

“Mark me.”

Jimin froze instantly at your words, but it seemed that you weren’t properly considering the weight of your words, only urging him to continue his motions in search of your high.

A mark wasn’t permanent, but it was no small thing. More than a mark of “possession,” it was a mark of an alpha's care and loyalty, a mark of an omega’s trust. It was only something ever shared in serious relationships, and it would sometimes take partners years to reach that point.

“Jimin,” you whined when he ignored what you said. Every instinctive part of you wanted it so badly, your head subconsciously tipping back to give him easier access.

“No.”

“Jimin...”

“Don’t you know what you’re saying?”

“Please-”

“I said no,” he snarled, speeding up the snap of his hips enough that you were shifting up the bed. “Tomorrow, when this is all over,” he panted above you, teeth bared, “Then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t let you get a word in edgewise, continuously pulling himself from you fully before abruptly sheathing himself to the hilt once again.

You were left gasping for breath, swimming in sensation as your abdomen tightened, all else forgotten for the time being.

When he shifted to one side, a hand dropping to rub circles into your clit, you saw white. Your nails sharply dug into the skin of Jimin’s back where they were held, waves of pleasure battering you nonstop as he continued his thrusts.

But it was only moments later that he seated himself into you fully, warmth spilling into you as his knot inflated for the nth time since your heat began. It didn’t leave you gasping the same way as the first time, but a groan still wrenched itself from your throat at the sensation.

As soon as his body collapsed onto yours, you knew that your heat was finally over. The feeling was inexplicable, almost as though a weight had been lifted from the back of your mind.

You might have addressed the words uttered from your mouth only moments before if not for the debilitating fatigue that filled every limb and every square inch of your brain.

So, against your best judgment on any other day, you knocked right out.

--

When you next awoke, it wasn’t because desire ripped you from slumber, nor was it because your scent set off Jimin enough to wake you.

In fact, you were alone in your bed, immediately cringing at the sight of all the questionable stains dotting the sheets.

Good thing you had a mattress pad.

You sat up, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest. From your neck all the way to your fingertips, everything hurt. You’d probably be feeling this for days. It definitely didn’t help that the stench of sex was so strong you could feel a headache coming on.

You didn’t have time to ponder on Jimin’s whereabouts before he was coming back in through the doorway, half-dressed with water in hand.

He sent you a smile when you met eyes, but it was lost on you because as soon as he was here, every interaction over the past few days flooded your mind at once. And this time, there were no hormones to mask proper thought.

You asked – no, begged – him to stay. Even when he told you no.

You’d practically thrown a tantrum, what was wrong with you? Since when did your pre-heat make you throw respect out the window?

He wasn’t here because he wanted to stay, he was here because you forced him to. He was here because you were pathetic enough to get on the floor and beg him to stay, and Jimin, for the life of him, didn’t know how to say no to people. How could he look at you right now?

“Y/N?” he called, sounding puzzled. He must be able to smell your rising distress coming off you in waves, but you paid him no mind as you continued to recall the past few days, hating yourself more and more with every passing second.

You’d basically forced him to stay with you and fuck you for nearly four days without ever talking about it before.

It was more difficult to put together the pieces of what happened in your heat, memories mostly a blur of pleasure and then sleep.

But-

Fuck.

“Mark me.”

Your blood ran cold instantly.

Were you fucking insane? You dug your fingernails into your palms harshly to check if you were dreaming. Unluckily for you, you weren’t.

Was there any coming back from this? You couldn’t blame him if he could never look at you the same, if he never spoke to you again. Who would tell their heat partner – the first time they spent a heat together – to mark them?

It didn’t matter that you’d known each other since before you were even forming proper memories. It didn’t matter, because that wasn’t how this worked. You didn’t just ask your friends to mark you, no matter how much you loved each other.

A mark was something you shared with someone you intended to be lifelong partners with. Someone you’d dedicate your life to, someone you might want to have kids with someday.

God, what was wrong with you?

You didn’t notice his approach until a hand met your shoulder, too engrossed in staring at the floor as thoughts whirred in your head.

“What is it?” he asked, concern quickly turning into panic at finding you in this state with no explanation.

But it was as though with one touch, the floodgates broke, and angry tears started spilling from your eyes. Tears that had nothing to do with Jimin and everything to do with yourself.

He jumped back slightly in surprise, and you didn’t give him the chance to touch you again before you were furiously wiping the wetness from your face.

“God, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he questioned frantically, hands returning to your shoulders as he angled his face to try to meet yours, but you only kept turning your head to avoid him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself, whether to join you on the bed or continue hovering awkwardly from the bedside. “Talk to me, please-”

“Do you hate me?” you choked out, eyes fixed on a random, insignificant spot on the sheets.

That seemed to quiet him instantly. “Huh?”

“I forced you here,” you whispered, though it seemed that the words didn’t want to stop once they started, volume only rising as you carried on. “You came here to be nice and then you tried to leave and I didn’t let you. You said no so many times and I begged you to stay until you couldn’t say no anymore! I don’t even know what I was thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all-”

“Hey-”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how you must think of me right now but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was disgusting, I think I’m disgusting, god-”

“Hey, look at me,” he urged, prodding lightly at your chin until you raised your head enough to meet his gaze. When he saw your red eyes and miserable expression, it was as though a piece of himself broke. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You didn't, I remember you told me no, you ‘wanted to’ because I made you.”

“It’s not like that,” he replied, expression almost pained.

“Don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” you snarled, though it came off more broken than aggressive. “Stop trying to protect me, tell me when you’re mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Jimin-”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

The sudden question was enough to give you pause. “You know I do.”

He took a moment to settle onto the bed beside you, stretching out an arm to invite you in to lay with him. After only a moment of hesitation, you did.

“Then trust me when I say I wanted to stay,” he said firmly, stroking calming circles into your side. “You know I don’t like lying to you.”

It was true, he didn’t. Which summoned the question – if he wanted to stay, why did he refuse so many times? Were you sure he wasn’t lying now?

No – that wasn’t Jimin. Plus, you knew him so well that you doubted he would lie to you about something this serious, not when he was such an open book. But you didn’t have long to think about it before he piped up again.

“You asked me something yesterday,” he started, and you could hear in his tone that he was treading carefully.

You tensed up immediately when you processed his words, breath quickening as you anticipated what he was about to say. Was this the part where he told you he’s not mad he stayed, but he never wanted to speak to you again? You’d relaxed enough in the past few minutes that you’d almost forgotten about what you’d said yesterday. Almost.

“Why?” he asked simply.

Why. An obscenely loaded question contained within one 3-letter word. And yet, an answer wasn’t so easy.

“I don’t know,” you stalled.

“Don’t do that,” he scolded. “Really think. I know you, and I know you’d never be that nonchalant about a mark, ever. What changed?”

“Nothing changed!”

He only turned to give you a disapproving look before leaning his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t going to make any more conversation until you properly pondered his question and gave him a real answer.

Why?

Did you even know why?

You wished you could say it just slipped out, that there was no other reason.

Maybe any other time you’ve said something questionable or downright stupid that would fly, but not for something like this.

Even at their drunkest, people didn’t ask their friends to marry them with the full intent of following through and starting life as an actual married couple.

Just the same, an omega doesn’t just ask a friend to mark them, mate them, not even in heat. Omega heats made it a fairly common occurrence to fuck your friends (at least, a select few) while unmarked, and it wasn’t as though the desire to be marked stemmed from a heat. If it were, platonic marking would be a thing already. And sure, marking made sex feel better, but heats were sexual, and marks were... more.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no easy excuse, no escaping this.

One might say an omega was a slave to instinct in their heat, but instinct didn’t come from nowhere.

The instinct to nest came from the pursuit of safety in a vulnerable time. The instinct to ‘hibernate’ came from the need to save up energy for a heat. The instinct to scent came from the desire for intimacy and comfort. The instinct to fuck came from hormonal cycles and the body’s inherent goal to breed.

The instinct to be marked as an omega? To ask for it?

The need for emotional security, to know that your feelings were returned – attraction, desire, love.

Love?

If your love for Jimin was supposed to be a secret, it wasn’t a very well-kept one. You talked every day since you were kids, knew each other's mannerisms so well you didn’t need words to communicate, gravitated toward each other in every group setting, cried together when you separated for university...

You loved him, without a doubt. It was obvious. But was it more than that? Was your body trying to tell you something that you didn’t even consider?

“I...” you started but immediately trailed off, limbs so tense you almost seemed ready to run away. This wasn’t a conversation you ever imagined could take place.

“Don’t be scared. You can tell me anything.” Were you imagining things, or did his tone sound almost... hopeful?

“I’ve never asked someone to mark me before this.”

He only hummed lowly in response. You knew that he knew this already, but it seemed that this time, he wouldn’t call you out for circling around the question.

“I’ve never met someone who I felt more for than you. Safe, comfortable, happy, loved.” You paused, taking a deep breath. “I love you a lot, you know?”

His breath hitched despite himself, even though he knew you didn’t mean what he wanted you to mean. “I know,” he replied, sounding almost disappointed.

“But...”

“But?” he responded, allowing that tiny thread of hope to wind around his heart one more time.

“But I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you finished, panic increasing exponentially by the end of your sentence, your body almost feeling as though it was trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he rushed, bringing you closer to rub his cheek into your hair. Was it cruel of him to feel some sort of joy at your words when you were clearly scared and confused?

His scent washing over you helped calm you some, but even still, you couldn’t stop thinking. What were you feeling? Did you want something more than friendship, or was this entire situation just putting thoughts in your head? Sure, you were undeniably compatible sexually, and sure, you found him attractive, but did you want a relationship? A romantic one? But even then, how much would that really change? What did you want? Would Jimin be disgusted with you? Let you down easily? It would have to be the latter, right?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No,” you cut him off.

“Huh?”

“You should’ve. I can’t be stupid forever.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I am stupid, what kind of person doesn’t know whether they...” Even despite knowing he could tell exactly what you were trying to say, the words wouldn’t come from your lips. Were you in denial? Embarrassed? Something else?

“Emotions don’t have to be straightforward.”

“I wish they were.”

He breathed a laugh at that. “Believe me, I know.”

“Jimin, be honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, you have this friend. You’re very good friends – best friends even. You see each other as much as possible, all that. And she tells you one day she wants to talk.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

“Uhhhhh...” you paused, pulling out the first name that came to mind. “Susan.”

He choked back a laugh, though you could still feel his chest bouncing beneath your head. “My friend Susan. Okay, go on.”

“And she tells you that something happened, and it spurred this huge train of thought that had never occurred to her before. Something that made her think about your entire relationship as friends, and made her think about herself.”

“Uh huh...”

“And she had to wonder, how much of her heart was invested in this relationship? That answer was easy – all of it. But what really had her confused was what parts of her heart were in it.”

You fidgeted nervously, but instead of saying something, Jimin only reached for one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together.

“But what really scared her the most was – how would you react? What happens when your best friend tells you that maybe your love for them extends beyond friendship?”

You took several deep breaths, trying to muster up the courage to finish the ‘story’ you’ve started. There was no backing out of this now. Your hand squeezed his hard enough that it must have hurt him, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“If she told you she thought she loved you as more than a friend, how would you respond?” you asked, trying to inject as much nonchalance into your voice as possible and failing miserably. You could feel your palms getting sweatier, and you thought your teeth might chew straight through your bottom lip. You held your breath once you heard Jimin take one of his own, preparing mentally for whatever was about to leave his lips.

“I would tell her I love her back.”

It was as though time stopped. “You... you what?”

Unwilling to let you hide your face anymore, he pulled you over so that you were straddling him, your heart filling when your eyes met his, full of honesty and understanding and... love.

“I would tell her I love her back. That if she wanted me, I was hers.”

Your eyes searched his face desperately for several seconds longer, waiting for the moment this bliss would break, the moment he took his words back, left you heartbroken before you’d even properly processed that it was his to break. But that moment never came.

“Really?” you whispered, eyes wide and screaming with vulnerability, but also wonder. The petty part of him wished he could fault you for being so oblivious, but it wasn’t your fault that you two had simply never outgrown the innocent intimacy from childhood, even after presenting.

“Really.”

“I do want it. You. I want to try. If you can be patient with me.”

“Okay. Give me a chance and I’ll make you fall in love with me for sure.”

“Oh.” As hard as you tried to purse your lips, the smile still broke its way through, eyes crinkling happily as every insecurity felt like it left at once. Was it this easy? Could happiness come so quickly in a moment, just like that?

“Oh,” he replied simply, beam splitting his face at your barely-contained joy, your expression so innocent even after all that happened the past few days.

“Oh,” you repeated, though this time the word undoubtedly seemed to harbour more weight, brows furrowing.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you said no, isn’t it? The reason you wanted to stay but tried to leave?”

The sad smile that spread across his face at that was all the answer you needed, the briefly-forgotten guilt coming back instantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured, pulling you close enough that your bodies were plastered together. “It all worked out anyway, right?”

You nodded, relaxing in his arms. If your brain wasn’t going a mile a minute right now, you were so comfortable you could’ve slept like this.

You allowed yourself several minutes to simply lay in his arms, that familiar blueberry-pine scent making you heart feel lighter and lighter.

“So,” you mumbled.

“So.”

“What changes now?”

“What do you want to change?” he replied.

“I asked first.”

He chuckled lightly. “Fine. Well...” You leaned back in confusion when he started pushing you up and off of him. “I think being able to do this is a good change.”

He leaned his face into yours, giving you a moment to back away before gently pressing his plush lips to yours.

You’d kissed already in your heat – you remembered that much. But this wasn’t a kiss that demanded your surrender, nor was it fast, or rough. It was just soft, intimate – because sometimes, emotions were easier said through actions rather than words.

You slid your hands into his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp as you deepened the kiss. His hands traced nonsensical patterns into the skin of your back, holding you close as though you’d ever want to leave. It was so easy to get lost in him, in the way he held you, touched you, kissed you, as though you were something to be cherished.

It wasn’t long before the kiss started to get more heated, though, and you couldn’t help yourself from nipping at his bottom lip. He made a low noise in response, a hand moving to grip your ass as the other winded its way into your hair.

It was when his hand made contact with your bare ass that you remembered that you were naked throughout this entire ordeal. And just as you processed that, his hand started inching its way slowly but surely between your legs.

“I think the fuck not, Park Jimin,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and throwing his hand from your body.

He burst into bright laughter at your words, eyes forming crescents that would make any person’s day better. His happiness was contagious, and you couldn’t hold back the giggles at the sound of him.

“How sore are you?” he questioned, tiny giggles still escaping him. You thought you detected a hint of concern somewhere in there, but you couldn’t blame him for being in an obscenely good mood.

“Ugh. Are you not sore at all?”

“Not really? Mostly hungry, I guess.”

“I hate you. It feels like all of my limbs want to detach from their sockets, and don’t even get me started on what it feels like between my legs. You and your dick can go die.”

Your words only set off another round of laughter from him, his grin wide as he took in your fake pout.

“Are you sure you want that? You seemed to enjoy it from where I was standing. You’re sending me mixed signals here,” he teased.

You let out a childish noise of complaint. God, was this what you were getting yourself into? You were already used to his antics by now, but now you had to deal with them while he flirted too? Someone send help.

“Pity me a bit,” you whined, giving him the best wide-eyed pout you could muster. Though, it only seemed to raise his mood even more.

“I’m sorry I broke you,” he said.

You smacked him a bit harder than you would normally. “Jiminnnnnnnnn,” you said, stringing out the word for as long as a breath would allow.

“If I made you food, would you forgive me?”

“...I’m listening.”

“What if I said I already made you food?”

“What?!” you perked up, any grudge you might have held disappearing in an instant. “What did you make?”

“Lay down and find out in 5 minutes, I’m tired,” he responded, laying down comfortably and encouraging you to do the same. You didn’t require much convincing, cuddling back into his side. This position wasn’t anything abnormal for you two, but it felt different now. Newer, more intimate.

Needless to say, 5 minutes turned into 2 hours after you’d both fell asleep.

But when Jimin placed a bowl of re-heated stir-fry in front of you 2 hours later, you would say he secured his place as fully, unequivocally yours.

[hyperdoll]

pink & black detail notion headers

⋆ free for personal use ⋆ like / reblog if you save !!

[dotcie]

Hi, love your writing ❤️. For the ask game. 14, 16, 18 and 59.

14. How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I try not to overcomplicate an inherently complex scene/dialogue, and it definitely helps that I do a lot of editing. Realizing that not everything needs to be spelled out word by word has been incredibly helpful! The fact that I’m a sucker for angst doesn’t hurt either haha. 

I wouldn’t say I draw much from personal experience, besides incorporating the notion that absolutely nothing in life is black and white. I have a lot of empathy for the characters I write, but many of them are also chronically insane, so I don’t feel the need to put myself in their shoes emotionally very often. 

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing? Share one of them?

Just three! I prefer to keep my wip list as small as possible, because I actually want to write and not just plan ideas. I’ve been working on a honeypot-trope fanfic on the side, that is more descriptive and dark, with an unreliable narrator. Just a different style of writing to try out, as I am still working on improving my way with words in English. The pairing would either be Ghost or Price, I haven’t decided yet! 

I don’t want to give away too much, but the reader is a merc/hitman for an organization called ATRON. You need to be sought out and recruited by them, give up your entire life for five years to do the dirty work, and if you survive, you retire as a millionaire. The first chapter includes reader getting fucked over badly by Shadow Company, leading the undeclared romantic interest to apologize on their behalf. 

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

I usually come up with titles during the writing process! It’s quite obvious that I am following a specific style that mimics poetry lines, and I know; it really doesn’t have to be this deep lmao. I am also running out of original ideas, so the next Hearing Damage title will be a Brand New quote: “I died for you one time but never again.” 

My notes app is full of title ideas. I’ve been mainly focused on academic writings and readings for the past five years, so I do value a good, interesting title/header for basically everything by now. 

59. Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? If not, would you tell anyone?

A lot of people do, yeah! I had a large following on a German fanfic site when I was a teenager, so my rl friends were not surprised when I told them I picked up writing again in April. I've never written smut before joining the fandom, but my content is purposely more on the realistic side and I think what I write is hot as fuck, so I don’t feel reluctant talking about it. Also: surround yourself with people that support your silly goofy shenanigans!!

[archive-of-music]

Musicagender & songic/songgender archive. More so -artistica, -bandica, -musicas & -songics + -lyricas This blog operates without a DNI or BYF and due to it being an archive it is completely disconnected from any discourse and stances and only thrives to archive.

Maintained by @/scr-ppup more so out of boredom when able to.

Submissions open, asks always open. Admin posts tagged as #— admin txt, btw.

Music library (a notion for everything archived here; link TBA)

Simplified tagging system

#deactivated (only if user has been deactivated!) , #username, #artist name, #song name by artist name, #(admin commentary here!) #has pt, #has id, & #no pt, #no id

Queue spews 2/per day at 1600-0000 (or 4pm to 12pm) timezones tba.

——

PFP flag(link( › -songic flag of Bones by Imagine dragons made by @/Revenant-coining

Header flag(link) › -songic flag of The wolf by The Siamese made by @/soporine

Flag ID; two rectangular flags the first one with a medium sized reddish brown circle in the center. The brown circle has a paler brown quaver note in the middle. There is a dark yellow stripe going vertically behind this circle, then a larger green stripe on either side, and then an even larger brown stripe on the outside of the green stripes. Behind the brown circle, there's a slightly larger light brown circle, and then a red circle behind that. a dark yellow circle behind that, and then a green circle, and then a lastly a brown circle on the border, are behind those in ascending order. The second flag; a flag of five rings of circles and a music note on the inner circle going from inner to outer as black, white, red, dark red & black. End flag ID

First flag ID taken from Reventant-coining's blog, second flag ID made by us

[petermorwood]

Lime Pickle!

It’s been, and continues to be, very hot here (30 32°C / 90°F) so in the interests of promoting healthful perspiration – but mostly because my current stock of home-made LP is running low (that header photo shows the very last of it, woe) – I’m making some.

My recipe is based on about half a dozen others; mostly leaving out bits I don’t want, like excessively long or multi-stage waiting times, or steps I can ignore since they didn’t have a noticeable effect when I followed them, or even over-spicing.

Yes, really! One on-line recipe wants an entire US cup (250g) of chilli powder! That may be OK with something milder, but what I’ve got is East End Regular and Extra Hot. Even Regular is more than a bit frisky, and Extra Hot is exactly what it says on the packet. I like food that fights back, but I don’t want it to win!

Avengers Ingredients - ASSEMBLE!

1 dozen limes

PICKLE SPICES

4 extra limes for juice 2 Tbsp salt 2 Tbsp chilli powder (2 regular, 1 regular + 1 extra-hot, 2 extra-hot – your choice) 1 Tbsp turmeric powder 1 Tbsp fenugreek powder 1 tsp asafoetida powder 8-10 cloves garlic, finely chopped (about 125g / ½ cup)* 9 cm / 3 inches ginger, finely chopped (about 125g / ½ cup)*

(* I’m sure you could use minced garlic and ginger from jars, but fresh is better.)

OIL TEMPERING SPICES

125 ml / ½ cup vegetable oil 6 dried chillis, torn or snipped small 1 dozen dried curry leaves, torn or snipped small 1 tsp cumin seeds 1 tsp yellow mustard seeds 1 tsp black onion seeds 1 tsp fenugreek seeds *

(*You can use fenugreek powder, as I had to do, however see below.)

Sterilised preserving jars

METHOD

Halve each of the dozen limes top to bottom and, again from top to bottom, cut each half into six slices. Remove any seeds. Put the slices and overflow juice into a glass bowl. Juice the extra limes and add their juice to the bowl along with the rest of the pickle spices.

Mix everything well together, cover and put aside for an hour then uncover, mix again and put aside for another hour.

Heat the vegetable oil in a saucepan and if using seeds, add all the tempering spices. Once the seeds begin to pop enthusiastically, take the saucepan off the heat and lid it to prevent spatter.

NOTE 1: If using fenugreek powder, add it when the seeds have stopped popping. This means the oil has cooled enough that the powder won’t burn.

NOTE 2: if the tempering spices DO burn – you’ll know by the acrid charred smell – throw them out and make a fresh temper. Better to waste some oil and spices than spoil the entire batch of pickle for the sake of false economy.

There are two notions about the oil temper; one says pour it on while still hot, as with a tarka dhal, the other says wait until cold. I prefer using it cold; hot oil hitting cold lime-juice can be a bit dramatic, and any flavour enhancement from the tarka process seems to fade away during the time when the pickle is maturing.

However you decide to do it, add the oil and tempering spices to the limes and pickling spices, mix everything thoroughly and either put it aside for another hour then transfer the pickle to the preserving jars and lid them tightly, or just do it once you finish mixing.

Don’t fill the jars right to the top; leave about 2cm / ½ inch space, enough room for things to move when you give them their daily shake.

Put the jars on a sunny (or at least well day-lit) windowsill and leave them alone – except for a shake once a day to keep things mixing – for at least a fortnight. Longer is better, but two weeks seems to be a reliable time for the lime peel to soften and the flavour to develop.

HINT: when the pickle is ready, purée one jarful using a blender or stick-mixer. (That part-filled jar is the candidate this time.) It won’t have the chunkiness of the whole pickle, but becomes a great ingredient either for zesting up some dish or when combined with yogurt as a salad dressing.

Try puréed pickle mixed with sour cream / mayonnaise and fork-shredded or thin-sliced grilled chicken with a sprinkling of snipped green onion, over some lettuce or other greens and a tomato-sliced-thin on fresh crusty bread. Accompany it with a well-chilled glass of rosé. Or perhaps two...

That’s got a slight nod to Coronation Chicken, but with enough chilli this would be more of a Usurpation Chicken, because it’ll definitely be trying to take over something…

[sanaavay]

Features: BORN TO PUSH THE LIMITS LANCOOL II MESH RGB features a mesh front panel and mesh bottom left shroud panel,honeycomb vent design and built-in RGB fans,ensuring bountiful airflow delivered to your high-performance components while adorning the system with an RGB touch. THE ULTIMATE CHASSIS FOR BEGINNERS AND ENTHUSIASTS ALIKE Premium look Unprecedented modularity Hinged flip panels all around Optimized cooling support Cable management with ease Optimized storage configuration MORE ADVANCED COOLING SUPPORT The optimized airflow is a result of the collaboration between the brand-new mesh design, additional exhaust vent holes, and three high-performance ARGB cooling fans. HIGH-PERFORMANCE BUILT-IN ARGB FANs 3 x 120mm ARGB intake fans pre-installed at the front produce ample airflow while still offering bountiful RGB to liven up your PC build. ULTIMATE COOLING SUPPORT Add the BORA DIGITAL ARGB FANs to have more vibrant RGB and increased cooling efficiency for your LANCOOL II MESH build! EXPERIENCE ARGB CONTROL ON A WHOLE NEW LEVEL Lighting effects of the 3 included ARGB fans can be fully controlled through the C button and M button located on the top front. Switching between 8 lighting modes has never been this easy. Note! By plugging the fan hub’s ARGB header into the motherboard’s 3-PIN 5V addressable RGB headers, you’ll be able to synchronise the lighting effects with the motherboard software by switching the M button to the 8th mode. Note! If your motherboard doesn’t have any 5V addressable RGB headers, make sure to connect the SATA cable connecting the hub to the the power supply and use the C and M buttons to control the lighting effects. MODULAR PSU SHROUD COVER The space between the top and bottom chamber now features two removable PSU shroud covers for either 2 x 2.5” SSDs or can be removed to fit 2 x 120mm fans. Compared to the former integrated design, the modular PSU shroud covers allow users to remove them for an unobstructed airflow between the top and bottom chamber. When 2 fans are mounted, and the cover plates removed, ventilation efficiency is even better. Even when 2 x SSDs are mounted, the vents on  the PSU shroud covers guarantee good ventilation. MULTI-WAY FAN/RADIATOR BRACKET The multi-way bracket revolutionizes your notion of fan/radiator installation by offering 4 installation options to best fit your needs. HOW TO INSTALL THE MULTI-WAY FAN/RAD BRACKET The multi-way bracket revolutionizes your notion of fan/radiator installation by offering 4 installation options to best fit your need. ATTENTION! Do not install a 140/280MM radiator in the inner side of the bracket otherwise irreparable deformation might occur. The correct way to install is to mount fans first then place a radiator on top of the fans. OPTIMIZED STORAGE CONFIGURATION With the modular drive cage, side-mounted SSD bays, and additional SSD space on the modular PSU shroud cover, the LANCOOL II MESH is capable of holding up to 9 drives. REMOVABLE TWO-WAY CABLE MANAGEMENT BAR Flippable, flexible, multi-functional FLIP PANELS AND SHROUDs ALL AROUND The tempered glass side panels offer an unobstructed view to the interior configuration while the bottom shroud panels provide quick access to PSU/drive installation. CABLE MANAGEMENT WITH EASE The cover plates save users neck and fingers by concealing nearly all the wayward cables. MESH PANEL KIT Mesh front panel is available for those LANCOOL II users craving to upgrade their system by swapping to a mesh front panel. Specifications: MODEL LANCOOL II MESH RGB + USB Type-C COLOR Black DIMENSION (D) 478mm x (W) 229mm x (H) 494mm MOTHERBOARD E-ATX(width: under 280mm)/ATX/M-ATX/ITX PSU 210mm MATERIAL 0.8mm SGCC (exterior, MB tray, and most of the interior) 4.0mm tempered glass (both sides) 1.0mm SGCC (interior) Fan Support Front (multi-way fan/radiator bracket): 3 x 120mm or 2 x 140mm Top: 2 x 120/140mm Rear: 1 x 120mm Above PSU Chamber: 2 x 120mm Radiator Front (multi-way

fan/radiator bracket): 1 x 360/280/240mm Top: 1 x 240mm (aligned to the left) VGA Length 384mm CPU Clearance 176mm Drive Behind MB Tray: 2 x 2.5″ SSD Behind the right flip panel: 2 x 2.5”SSD Hard Drive Cage: 3 x 3.5″ HDD/2.5″ SSD Above PSU Chamber: 2 x 2.5″ SSD Slot 7 I/O Ports C button for color control M button for lighting mode control 1 x TRRS AUDIO 2 x USB 3.0 1 x USB 3.1 TYPEC (Optional) DUST FILTERS 1 x Top (magnetic), 1 x Bottom (tray) Inc Fans 3 x included 120mm 3-PIN 1300 RPM ARGB fans Rated Speed:1300RPM ±10 % Air Flow:49.14CFM Noise:25.0dB(A) Warranty 1 Year Note ***Features, Price and Specifications are subject to change without notice.

[black-popular-culture]

Prince: Emerging Black Identities in the 1980s

Every few decades, a musical artist registers on our cultural radar that redefines a sound of a generation. See Taylor Swift. In the 1980s, that artist was Prince Rogers Nelson. Born in Minneapolis, MN, Prince released his second album, Controversy, in 1981. Only twenty-three at the time, he captured the imaginations of critics and funk fans alike. But the nation-at-large was not ready for an “album posters show[ing] Prince in a shower stall, half-naked and dripping wet, posed next to a small crucifix.” Expressions of black sexuality, as proliferated by whites. Those who have held ignorant, fucked up, and racist views, prove how the fetishization of blackness since first Africans touched terra firma.

Malcolm X said, and Denzel Washington made famously, “We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock landed on us.” X’s racial metaphor was a reinterpretation of DuBois’ metaphor of the veil. Both men, having had access to information that negated white-perceived notions of biological differences between the races, could have also applied the same philosophy to gender. Labeling race and gender do nothing more than cloak individuals by controlling and setting societal norms, while also moderating and moralizing personal behavior. Labels like male and female or black and white are not intuitively defined but are learned patterns of behavior set by their Anglo-American parents. Those teachings firmly reinforced the fear, racism, sexism, misogyny, anti-intellectualism, selfishness, and entitlement that whites have enjoyed since the rape and genocide of Indigenous peoples.

Anglo-Americans were waking from their 1970s slumber as a certain slack-jawed president, awed by the “disgusting” cultural events of the 1970s (gays, disco), promised “Morning in America” at the decade’s open. Luckily, President Frederick D. Roosevelt had already signed into law a policy that forbade racial discrimination in government services including contractors and all other government-contracted agencies. The impact of the law raised the incomes of many black families. As Black Americans continued to gain strides in the middle-class, Anglo-Americans’ assholes pinched even tighter.

In the wake of the civil rights struggle, fissures grew in the black community as more blacks, mirroring the trajectory of their white counterparts, fled the ghetto for the relative safety of the suburbs. Fearing the encroaching darkness, whites (and some blacks) found political comfort in the only place they knew to look, in the arms of their white daddy, Ronald Reagan. Burning disco records were not just backlash against the music itself. Anglo-Americans who sat at the top of the nation’s music industry revealed received ideas about the black and feminized culture it produced.

Steve Dahl is famous for one thing alone, blowing up disco records. In 1979, the Chicago disc jockey promoted an event that was designed to fill seats at a double-header at Comiskey Park, but it “turned into a mass anti-disco movement from which disco never recovered.” After factoring in the musical artist, music genre and popular culture, and trending “street” styles, America has, throughout history, been gender-coded by its space and time as either feminine or masculine. Disco, heavy with black, female, and gay participation as both musician and spectator, was received and gendered feminine. Therefore, anything or anyone who claimed association with disco was accused of being a part of a secretive, gay, black cabal whose sole goal was to tear asunder the fabric of our great, white, paternalistic nation.

Out of Dahl’s ashes, rose a beautiful, black, sexually ambiguous Prince. Nelson George wrote that “no black performer since Little Richard had toyed with the heterosexual sensibilities of Black America so brazenly” It is true that Prince’s performances of gender and race were rooted in a deep history of black artistic expression, but like his slow-to-appear successor, his popularity was predicated on his ability to influence the social agenda. Unlike Little Richard, however, Prince had MTV (Music Television). Although resistant to incorporating black acts into its line-up, MTV would prove to be the greatest tool for disseminating popular culture’s blueprint.

The 1980s stand as a decade of massive change in the United States. Black scholarship on race and gender were being seriously studied. Reaping the rights that Anglo-Americans had stolen from them, Black Americans entered more institutes of higher learning aided by Affirmative Action and desegregation. Middle-class blacks seized greater control over our own images unmitigated by stares from Anglo-Americans. Just as DuBois had predicted, the talented tenth proved responsible for changing Anglo-America’s perception of what, exactly, it meant to be black in their own country. 

Prince led the musical pack with his gender-bending offerings echoing the early years of David Bowie’s career. Prince blurred the lines between masculine and feminine clearly upsetting the binaries held by most Americans. And he was black? Prince confirmed what Anglo-Americans already feared. After lifetimes of fear-mongering and pearl-clutching, their worst dreams came true. Their Anglo-American daughters were all about Prince. They loved him. They even wanted to (gasp) fuck him! And that’s what happened. White girls drove all into Black American females’ lane. That’s why we’re a nation of multicultural/biracial individuals. Coffee colored,

indeed.

What is most interesting about Prince is that he defied preconceived notions of what blackness

and, black sexuality was. Unlike Michael Jackson who refused to acknowledge his sexuality (Elvis’ daughter? Really?), Prince refused to be veiled by his audience or critics. In the lyrics to his song “Controversy,” Prince asks, “Am I black or white/Am I straight or gay?”  By asking others to clarify and define who he is, he exerts full control by refusing to be limited by what those questions infer. As a nation built upon divisive racial and gender practices, we have been conditioned to view others based upon exterior representations of self. 

Similar to DuBois’ urgent call for the black community to control or own their images, Prince had already established a tight grip on his self-image by the time he became the youngest producer in the history of Warner Bros. Records. This “first” was largely ignored due to the mainstream press’ obsession with categorizing the artist not based on his musical abilities, but on their perceptions of gender and race. Shipler writes, “The notion that blacks are not as smart, not as competent, not as energetic as whites is woven so tightly into American culture it cannot be untangled from everyday thought,” These ideas are exactly what DuBois’ argued veiled his people. 

Prince’s image becomes an obsession with white critics leaving both blacks and whites to question his authenticity. “When he's off, his bombast and swagger seem flimsy and forced, a cheap charade,” wrote one critic in a review for the Chicago Sun-Times that referred to Prince’s music as a “mongrel mix of creamy ballads and brittle funk” before calling the artist a “silly poseur.” Because whites have traditionally been in charge of the media they controlled both how whites saw blacks and, worse, how many blacks saw themselves. But, again, Prince challenged the veil by presenting himself precisely as he wanted.

It has been over 100 years since DuBois declared the problems of the 20th Century would be racially motivated. He was prescient, indeed. With blacks entering the middle-class in record numbers, however, racial veils parted once gaining control of black representation.

On the micro-level, Prince refused to allow the color of his skin to keep him from expanding personal boundaries. Anglo-Americans, except for some white females and white, gay-identified individuals, despised Prince for the same reasons they roundly ignored Ernie Isley. They played better than they could. Anglo-Americans have never produced any music that did not exist in black communities. We invented soloing, for instance, something that is credited today with white music. Prince’s accomplishments paved the way for the many blacks who wanted to live their truth. 

While Prince reveals the emerging identities of blackness that appeared in the 1980s-today, there are several other examples from R&B to punk. He is a symbol of Black American freedom. Prince, of course, went on to become one of the nation’s most controversial artists of the 20th Century. Constantly toying with his image, he mitigated opportunities of veiling by successfully counter-veiling (revealing) his critics as homophobic and/or racist. Like DuBois before him, Prince knew that “life is just a game/we’re all the same” freeing himself from racial and gender stereotypes. Whether consciously or not, Prince understood the power of history, not just remembering it but creating it too.

[theothermercedesdriver]

Tumblr Tag Game

I was tagged by @sunshine-ricciardo 🥰🥰 Thank you my love!!

1. Why did you choose your url?

As a kid, Nico Rosberg was the only thing that held my interest in F1 while my parents watched it every weekend. He’s remained one of my favorite figures in motorsport over the years, and I’ve always found the way merc fans tend to deny his existence kinda hilarious. However cruel the moniker, he’s always sorta been the other mercedes driver—affectionately, of course.

2. Any side blogs?

Yes! Technically this is a side blog, but it really is the main one I use. My others are:

@theothermercedesdriver-main - which I follow and like from

@eventuallyeden - my nsfw blog 👀

@everythingstarwars - my old Star Wars blog that I don’t really use anymore

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

Oh gosh not very long... since maybe April 2020?

4. Do you have a queue tag?

I do- #how do you spell queue- for self-explanatory reasons.

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Well I joined F1blr a couple weeks after getting into F1, when I realized a lot of my friends didn’t know much about it— I wanted to have a place to interact with people who do!

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

For a while now my blog has had an almost-monochromatic, black/white/red color scheme, which I just love for the gothic vibes, and because Charles is almost always photographed in one of those three hues. This photo shoot of his is one of my favorites and I thought this picture captured a really great moment, with him looking different than he does in almost any other picture. I’ll change it from time to time, but for now I’m very happy with it.

7. Why did you choose your header?

I just thought this clip of Charles was absolutely gorgeous. It turns all the thoughts in my head into pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy

8. What’s your post with the most notes?

Probably… Be Kind to Drivers? I wrote it back in the early stages of discovering F1, when I had a lot of faith in who the drivers were as people. My perspective has changed since then, but I’m glad I wrote it, because sometimes I’ll look back and remember those really giddy, excited days and remind myself why I love this sport.

9. How many mutuals do you have?

Honestly I have no idea and I have no idea how to check. I’d guess around 20? Maybe 30? Max? But I love them all, so much

10. How many followers do you have?

Around 730 I think? 730 babies, my loves, my little darlings ❤️

11. How many people do you follow?

I have no idea… 200? I don’t follow that many people, I like to keep my dash pretty chill, but it’s a tasty mix of Tom Holland blogs, Adam driver blogs, and F1 blogs.

12. Have you ever made a shit post

Happily. And I’ll do it again.

13. How often do you use tumblr a day?

It’s pretty sporadic, I’ll probably open it around 15 times a day but usually for around 3 minutes each.

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog

Yeah I got into an argument with a Max blog about his legitimacy as a decent person a while back. But now I think I’ve established myself as a Charles-obsessed dumbass that no one could possibly bother to fight with.

15. How do you feel about the ‘you need to reblog’ posts

I understand where they’re coming from, and if it’s a work of art I typically agree. But I also resent the notion of reblogging for the sake of reblogging because I feel like it detracts from the value of things I find truly special.

16. Do you like tag games?

Yes!! They take me forever but they’re a ton of fun :)

17. Do you like ask games?

YES. so much.

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I know for a fact @blesshimvettel is (it’s the only reason I keep her around tbh /j), and I’m pretty sure @leqclerc is too, depending on how big the Charles fandom here really is.

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual

The aforementioned @blesshimvettel

20. Tags

Tagging: @blesshimvettel , @mushroomlance , @starfiregal17 , @stuckonspidey

[hyperdoll]

plain pink & black notion headers

⋆ free for personal use ⋆ like / reblog if you save !!