#less than six months until I go :D

[kenzdolls]

SECOND CHANCES .

⌗ synopsis: six months after their divorce, ua teachers and former spouses navigate the painful reality of working together while still deeply in love.

⌗ pairing shota aizawa x ex!reader

⌗ anon request: could i ask for a scenario of aizawa shouta where he’s either divorced or just broken up with UA teacher! reader? they still love each other, but circumstances just keep them apart (romantic relationship wise). they are still in contact for professional reasons and they can talk to each other when necessary while there’s still a lot of yearning between them, until something makes one of them crack (your choice bc i’m not good at articulating ideas ☹️) and they reconnect. hurt/comfort and angst with happy endings have me on a chokehold. have a good rest of your day! :D

⌗ a/n: [to the person who sent this] hii!! tysm for requesting! I hope you like this cause I tried my best lmao [yeah this is rlly short]

the divorce papers had been signed six months ago, but shota aizawa still caught himself looking for you in the faculty lounge every morning.

it wasn't supposed to be this way. when you'd both started teaching at ua, fresh-faced and idealistic, neither of you had imagined that the very thing that brought you together would eventually drive you apart. the demanding schedules, the constant danger, the weight of responsibility for dozens of young lives—it had slowly eroded the foundation of your marriage until all that remained were brief, professional exchanges in hallways and the ghost of what you'd once shared.

"the paperwork for the joint training exercise is on your desk," you said, not quite meeting his eyes as you passed him in the corridor. your voice was carefully neutral, the same tone you used with any other colleague.

"thank you." he watched you walk away, noting the tension in your shoulders, the way you kept your distance even in the empty hallway.

the split had been mutual, or so you'd both told yourselves. no screaming matches, no bitter accusations—just the quiet acknowledgment that you'd grown apart, that the job had consumed so much of both of you that there wasn't enough left for each other. but mutual didn't make it hurt any less.

shota threw himself into his work with even more intensity than before, if that was possible. his students noticed the change—he was somehow both more distant and more protective, like a wounded animal guarding its territory. the other teachers noticed too, but they knew better than to comment. everyone at ua was aware of the situation, though no one spoke of it directly.

you, meanwhile, had thrown yourself into developing new training programs, staying late into the evening to perfect lesson plans that were already flawless. anything to avoid going home to an apartment that felt too quiet, too empty.

the breaking point came on a tuesday evening in october.

you were alone in your classroom, grading papers by the light of your desk lamp, when the emergency alert sounded. a villain attack downtown—not close enough to evacuate the school, but serious enough that several pro heroes had been called in to assist. including eraserhead.

you tried to focus on the essays in front of you, but your hands trembled slightly as you held your pen. this was exactly why the marriage had fallen apart—this constant fear, the way your heart stopped every time his phone buzzed with an emergency call, the sleepless nights waiting for him to come home safe.

hours passed. the emergency alert was called off around midnight, and you finally allowed yourself to breathe. he was fine. he had to be fine. you would have heard otherwise.

but when you stepped out of your classroom to finally head home, you nearly collided with him in the darkened hallway.

shota looked terrible. his hero costume was torn, blood seeping through a gash on his arm, his usually perfect hair disheveled and hanging in his face. but it was his eyes that made your breath catch—they held a hollowness you'd never seen before, not even during your worst fights.

"shota," you breathed, dropping your bag. "you're hurt."

"it's nothing," he said automatically, but his voice was rough, strained.

"don't." the word came out sharper than you intended. "don't you dare say it's nothing."

he stared at you, and for a moment, all the careful professional distance you'd both maintained crumbled. you saw past the hero, past the teacher, to the man you'd fallen in love with years ago—the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and never let anyone see how much it cost him.

"the villain," he said quietly. "he had a kid. maybe eight years old. used her as a human shield."

your heart clenched. you knew where this was going.

"i got her out," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "but for a moment, when i saw her face... she looked so scared, and i thought—" he stopped, running a hand through his hair. "i thought about what would happen if i didn't make it home. and i realized there was no one to call. no one who would..." he trailed off, but you understood.

no one who would worry. no one who would mourn. no one who would even notice if eraserhead just... disappeared one day.

"shota." you stepped closer, your professional composure finally cracking. "there's me. there's always been me."

he looked up at you then, and the vulnerability in his expression nearly broke you.

"is there?" he asked. "because some days i can barely get you to look at me."

the words hung between you like a confession. you realized you were crying—when had you started crying?

"that's because it hurts," you whispered. "looking at you hurts, because i still—" you caught yourself, but it was too late. the truth was already out there, hanging between you in the empty hallway.

"because you still what?" his voice was soft, almost hopeful.

"because i still love you," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "because i never stopped loving you, not for a single day, and seeing you every day and pretending we're just colleagues is killing me."

shota was quiet for a long moment, processing your words. then, slowly, he reached out and touched your face, his thumb brushing away a tear.

"i thought," he said carefully, "that you were happier without me. that you'd moved on."

you laughed, but it came out broken. "moved on? shota, i haven't been able to sleep properly in six months. i keep reaching for you in the middle of the night, and you're not there."

"i'm here now," he said softly.

"are you? because i don't think i can do this again if you're just going to leave when things get difficult."

he was quiet for a moment, considering your words. then he said, "do you remember what you used to tell me when i'd come home from a particularly bad patrol?"

you shook your head, not trusting your voice.

"you'd say that loving someone doesn't mean not being scared for them. it means being scared and choosing to love them anyway." he stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "i was so focused on protecting you from the fear that i forgot about the choice."

"the choice to love you anyway," you whispered, understanding.

"the choice to be scared together instead of alone." he cupped your face in both hands now, his forehead resting against yours. "i want to make that choice, if you'll let me. i want to come home to you, even if it means you worry. i want someone to call if i don't make it back. i want it to be you."

you were crying again, but this time it felt different. cleaner, somehow.

"i want that too," you said. "but we have to do better this time. we have to actually talk to each other instead of just existing in the same space."

"we'll figure it out," he said, and for the first time in months, you believed him. "we'll figure it out together."

when he kissed you, it tasted like coming home.

later, as you sat in the school's medical wing while recovery girl tended to his injuries, you found yourself thinking about second chances. about how sometimes love isn't enough the first time around, but that doesn't mean it can't be enough the second time, with patience and communication and the wisdom that comes from almost losing something precious.

"hey," shota said softly, pulling you from your thoughts. recovery girl had finished her work and left you alone together.

"hey yourself," you replied, settling into the chair beside his bed.

"move back in with me?" he asked, and there was something almost shy in his voice that made your heart flutter.

"yeah," you said, taking his hand in yours. "i'd like that."

outside, dawn was beginning to break over ua, painting the sky in soft pastels. it felt like a new beginning, a chance to rewrite your story with all the hard-earned wisdom of your separate sorrows.

some love stories end with the first kiss, but yours was just beginning again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

three months later...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"coffee?" you asked, padding into the kitchen in your pajamas to find shota already awake, staring out the window at the pre-dawn darkness.

"please," he said, turning to wrap his arms around you from behind as you started the machine.

"bad dream?" you asked, leaning back into his warmth.

"no," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "good dream. i dreamed you were here, and then i woke up and you actually were."

you turned in his arms, studying his face in the soft kitchen light. "any regrets?"

"only that it took us so long to find our way back to each other," he said, and kissed you as the coffee maker gurgled to life behind you.

some things, you thought as you melted into his embrace, were worth fighting for twice.

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites [OPEN]

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @miss-indigen0us @cupkiki [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part three)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k | part 3 - 21.2k

warnings: even more slowburn than before lol, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: part 3 is hereee ! and apparently ! there's gonna be one more part :'D bc i can't write for shit w/o making my characters go through emotional hell

seventeen.

life goes on, as is bound to.

you still wake up at six every morning, rushing to get ready because you prefer to dawdle in bed for half an hour before realisation strikes that you’re going to be late again. you still alternate between cereals and toast, a simple breakfast, before you catch the bus to your work.

it's a routine you’ve followed for months now, and you’re finally settling into it.

work still kicks your ass, but you get through it. 

somehow, though, something has changed. the night at the observatory had been the catalyst to this.

it’s subtle at first. the way jake acknowledges you more, the way his gaze lingers for just a second longer when you pass by his office. the way his notes keep coming – little comments, little jokes, little facts about the universe that make you pause and smile before you tuck them away in your drawer.

like the slow drift of galaxies, expanding ever so slightly over time – so gradual that no one on earth would ever feel it. the kind of change that isn’t obvious until you stop and measure it, until you realize the stars aren’t where they used to be. that’s what this feels like. that’s what you and jake are becoming.

it’s in the way he lingers by your desk a little longer than necessary after handing you a report.. it’s in the way your name sounds when he says it – less clipped, more like a thought spoken aloud, like he was already in the middle of thinking about you before he even called you.

the universe is always changing, he told you once. expansion isn’t a choice, just a consequence of existence. even if you tried to hold everything still, the shift would happen anyway, quietly, inevitably.

maybe that’s why you don’t fight it. why you let these moments unfold, pretending not to notice the way his shoulder nearly brushes yours when you stand too close at the coffee station. or how his gaze lingers just a second longer when he thinks you’re not looking.

but it’s not just at work.

somewhere along the way, he’s started integrating himself into your routine in ways that don’t feel intentional, yet keep happening anyway.

like how you keep running into him at the coffee machine in the morning, a barely-awake jake muttering something about how caffeine is the only thing keeping him alive, while you groggily nod in agreement. or how, somehow, without ever planning it, you both always seem to leave work around the same time, walking to the bus stop together in companionable silence, the city lights stretching out ahead of you.

and then, there are the lunches.

you don’t know when those became a thing. it started with that one lunch invitation – one that you thought was an exception, a random occurrence. but then it happened again. and again. and now, it’s just… part of the day.

"are we getting lunch?" he asks you casually one afternoon, not even looking up from his screen.

you pause, caught off guard. "uh, i guess?"

he hums, nodding, like that settles it.

and just like that, it’s a thing.

there are conversations, too – ones that go beyond deadlines and reports. ones where you learn that jake likes books about astronomy, not so big on fiction. that he’s been working on a research paper in his free time, though he never lets you see it. that he still thinks about his mother’s cooking when he’s stressed, though he rarely has the time to make anything himself.

and in turn, you tell him things, too. about your family. about how you used to excel in your art classes, how this job had been a way to repay student loans but you were starting to enjoy it. about the little bakery you stop by every friday after work because their pastries remind you of home.

he listens. really listens.

you don’t know when it happens, but one day, you wake up, go about your morning routine, and realize – jake sim is a part of your life now.

and it feels… weirdly normal.

so it's easy to pick up on cues now. it's easy for you to discern the frown on his face when he’s thinking about a complicated calculation or what to eat for lunch.

it started small.

at first, you didn’t even notice the way jake had started paying attention. you were too used to being the one who did the noticing, who made sure he was okay, who subtly adjusted things in his life so that he could function without running himself into the ground.

but then, there was the first time.

it had been one of those days where you just wake up feeling tired, like some age old fatigue settling in your bones. you had been running on four hours of sleep, your brain foggy and sluggish, a dull headache pressing at your temples as you tried to focus on the report in front of you. it was late, and most of the office had emptied out. the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound accompanying the rapid clicks of your keyboard.

and then, out of nowhere – a cup of tea materialises on your desk.

you blinked at it, then up at jake, who was standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“i heard peppermint tea is good for headaches,” he said simply. “figured you could use something.”

you stared at him, trying to process the gesture. jake wasn’t the type to do things like this – at least, not before. he accepted help, sure. he let you fuss over him when he got too caught up in work, too lost in his thoughts to remember to eat or drink water. but this? this was different. besides, how had he even figured out you were coming down with a dull pounding in your head?

still, you took the tea, murmuring a quiet, “thanks,” as you wrapped your hands around the warmth of the cup.

the next time, it was an umbrella.

you had forgotten yours at home on the one day it decided to rain, and just as you were mentally preparing yourself to brave the storm, jake appeared beside you at the entrance, wordlessly opening his umbrella and tilting it over you.

you looked at him, startled.

“what—”

“i’m heading out anyway,” he said, as if that explained everything. “might as well walk you to the station.”

you didn’t argue. you weren’t sure you could, with the way your chest tightened at the thought that he had noticed – had thought about you, even in passing.

then, there were the snacks. the ones you mentioned liking once in a conversation weeks ago, the ones you’d find in the break room with a note in his messy handwriting that read, for when you forget to eat.

the way he started subtly shifting schedules around so that you wouldn’t have to stay too late. the way he made sure your favorite tea was stocked in the kitchen, even though you never asked.

and then, there was today.

you were having one of those days. the ones where everything felt like too much – too loud, too fast, too overwhelming. the emails were piling up, your head was throbbing, and every little thing was grating on your nerves. you just wanted to finish your work and go home.

jake seemed to sense it before you even said anything.

you barely had time to react before he was pulling you away from your desk, leading you toward the quiet sanctuary of the rooftop, devoid of emails, and computer screens and irritating fluorescent lights.

you let yourself be guided, confusion simmering beneath your exhaustion.

“what—”

“you need a break,” he said simply. how the tables had turned.

he wasn’t wrong, but still – you hesitated.

“i have work—”

“it’ll still be there when you get back.”

the words were firm, leaving no room for argument. and maybe that was what finally made you relent, allowing him to tug you into the dimly lit space where the city lights couldn’t reach, where the stars were endless and infinite above you.

for a moment, there was silence.

then—

“you’re always looking after me,” jake said, voice quieter now. “but who looks after you?”

your breath hitched.

the words caught you off guard, unraveling something deep inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you had been holding onto. you never really thought about it – not in those terms. you were fine, you always told yourself. you managed.

but jake… he had noticed.

and when you didn’t answer right away, he exhaled softly.

“i do,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made your chest ache. “i will.”

you turned to look at him then, only to find that he was already watching you. there was something there, something in the way he was looking at you that made it hard to breathe.

and suddenly, you realize it all happening. the dull thudding against your chest, the beginnings of a tremor in your hands, the way your eyes trembled slightly, unsure of what to do, where to look.

the world hadn’t stopped spinning, the weight on your shoulders hadn’t disappeared, but standing here – beneath an endless sky, with jake’s steady gaze holding yours – you felt something shift.

like the earth’s axis tilting ever so slightly, a small, imperceptible change that altered everything in ways no one would notice at first. but given time, given gravity – eventually, everything would feel different.

eighteen.

jake doesn’t consider himself the petty type. he really doesn’t.

but when you stroll into the office that morning, casually greeting jay with an easy, “morning, jay,” followed by a teasing, “you look like you had a long night,” jake feels something inexplicable twist in his chest. it’s not jealousy. no, that would be ridiculous. it’s just… unfair. unjust, even.

because when you turn to him, all he gets is a polite nod and a warm, “morning, dr. sim.”

dr. sim.

why does that sound so… wrong?

he tries to brush it off, truly. it’s just a name, a title, nothing personal. but all throughout the day, it needles at him, distracting him in the worst ways. he hears it every time you approach him, every time you hand him a file, every time you leave a post-it on his desk with a reminder about a report.

dr. sim, dr. sim, dr. sim.

is that really all he is to you?

jay gets to be ‘jay,’ but he’s stuck being ‘dr. sim?’

he doesn't bring it up right away. that would be ridiculous. childish, even. but by the time the workday is winding down and you’re standing at his desk, waiting for him to sign off on something, he can’t hold it in any longer.

jake clicks his pen a little too aggressively as he signs off on the last document, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. he shouldn’t care this much. he really shouldn’t. but after hours of hearing “dr. sim” fall so effortlessly from your lips while jay gets the privilege of a casual “jay,” he’s had enough.

“you call jay by his first name,” he says, his voice carefully measured as he hands the file back to you.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden statement. “uh… yeah?”

“and me?”

you hesitate, brow furrowing slightly. “you’re dr. sim?”

something about his expression makes you pause, studying him a little closer. he’s looking at you with that unreadable intensity again, the one that makes you feel like he’s solving some impossible equation in his head. you tilt your head, suddenly amused.

jake sighs, setting his pen down. “right, of course. but it wasn’t always ‘dr. sim.’”

you tilt your head, clearly not following. “what do you mean?”

he leans back in his chair, studying you. “you used to call me jake.” well, you had just called him that one time.

at that, your brows furrow. “no, i didn’t.”

jake levels you with a look. “yes, you did. once.”

you still look unconvinced, so he elaborates, voice softening ever so slightly. “it was when my mother was in the hospital.”

something flickers across your face, and oh – there it is. recognition.

jake watches as you straighten, lips parting slightly before you quickly school your expression. “i—” you clear your throat, shifting on your feet. “i didn’t mean to. it just slipped.”

jake quirks a brow. “so it was an accident?”

you look distinctly uncomfortable now, gaze darting to the side as you mutter, “i wasn’t really thinking, that’s all.”

because how the hell are you supposed to respond to this anyway? is he confronting you about calling him by his first name that one time or is he trying to…? no, that would be hoping for too much.

jake exhales through his nose, fighting back a smirk. “well,” he says, reaching for his pen again. “think about it.”

you frown. “think about what?”

he signs off on the document with a final flourish before pushing it toward you, meeting your gaze with something unreadable. “calling me jake again.”

your brain short-circuits. completely malfunctions. “what?”

its like you’ve forgotten how to string together sentences, you talk in mono syllables now.

jake shrugs, oh-so casual. “you already did it once.”

“that was—” you huff, flustered beyond belief. “that was different.”

he tilts his head. “how?”

you glare at him. “it just was.”

jake is grinning now, and it’s so unfair how smug he looks. like he’s won something. “alright, if you say so.”

you don’t press him, nor this abrupt demand for calling him by his first name, simply snatch the report off his desk and exit as quickly as you can, willing the flush in your cheeks to calm down. but the thought lingers in your mind the entire day, stretching into the moments that follow.

the thing is, jake isn’t used to wanting things. he’s always been good at compartmentalizing, at focusing on what matters and dismissing everything else as unnecessary distraction. but this – you – are slipping past his carefully drawn boundaries, making space in places he hadn’t thought to guard.

and it’s not just the way you call him dr. sim.

it’s the way your laughter carries through the office, light and infectious, somehow making the fluorescent lights feel less harsh. it’s the way you scribble little doodles on post-its when you leave notes for him, sometimes of constellations, sometimes of a tiny spaceship floating aimlessly in the margins. it’s the way you frown at your computer screen when you’re concentrating too hard, the way you murmur “please cooperate” to the printer like it has any choice in the matter.

he starts noticing things he shouldn’t.

like how your shoulders tense when you’re stressed, and how you always roll them out absentmindedly when you think no one’s watching. how you tap your fingers against your mug while waiting for your coffee to cool. how you always seem to instinctively seek out the quietest corners of a room, as if subconsciously drawn to spaces where you can just breathe.

jake isn’t sure when his awareness of you started tipping into something more. he only knows that once it did, there was no undoing it.

maybe that’s why, when the workday finally winds down and you’re getting ready to leave, he finds himself blurting out, “i’ll give you a ride home.”

you pause, hand frozen over the strap of your bag. “what?”

he clears his throat, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “you take the bus, right? i can drop you off.”

before you can respond, jay snorts from his desk. “damn. guess my offer to drive you home just got revoked.”

jake shoots him a glare, but jay only grins, visibly enjoying the moment far too much. meanwhile, you shift your attention back to jake, expression unreadable.

“you don’t have to do that,” you say slowly.

“i know.”

you hesitate for another moment before nodding. “alright, dr. sim. if you insist.”

jake stiffens.

you’re teasing him – he can hear it in your tone, see it in the amused glint in your eyes. but still. after everything, ‘dr. sim’ still feels like a wall between you. he opens his mouth, ready to say something, but then you’re already brushing past him, walking toward the exit with an easy, “i’ll meet you outside.”

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face before following you out.

the drive is quiet at first, but not uncomfortably so. the city lights blur past in a steady rhythm, the hum of the engine filling the space between you.

then you shift slightly in your seat, glancing at him. “you really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

jake keeps his eyes on the road. “i know.”

you watch him for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “you’re hard to read sometimes.”

that gets his attention. he flicks a glance at you, eyebrow raised. “am i?”

“mhm.” you tilt your head against the window, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “sometimes i think i’ve got you figured out. and then you do something unexpected.”

jake hums, considering. “like offering you a ride?”

“exactly.” you grin. “it’s very… un-dr. sim-like.”

he exhales sharply through his nose. “right. because i’m just dr. sim to you.”

your grin falters slightly, the teasing air shifting into something quieter. you don’t answer right away, and he doesn’t push. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it just lingers, like something unspoken settling between you.

jake for his part can’t comprehend why he said that. his fingers curl around the steering wheel, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you try not to blatantly stare at his lean fingers. just the thought makes you want to bang your head against a wall because what the actual fuck?

this was not normal.

then again, nothing about this situation is normal. if someone told you a month ago that you’d be sitting in the jake sim’s car while he drove you home… you would have laughed and commended them on their imagination. but now?

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, jaw clenching slightly. he hates that he’s thinking about this. about you. about the way your voice softened just then, like maybe you were considering something you hadn’t before. and he hates even more that he’s noticing things he shouldn’t – like the way you shift in your seat when you’re deep in thought, or the way your fingers play idly with the zipper of your bag.

it’s distracting.

you, in general, are distracting.

he exhales slowly, forcing his thoughts back to the road. he’s good at controlling his emotions – has spent years perfecting the art of keeping things measured, composed, professional. but there’s something about you that makes it difficult. like you’re slowly dismantling his careful walls without even realizing it.

you shift in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space between you feels. the air is charged now, thick with something neither of you are acknowledging outright.

jake swallows. he doesn’t know why he brought it up. maybe because he wants to hear you say his name again. and not just by accident. maybe because he wants to know if it meant anything to you at all. maybe because he’s realizing, with a slow, sinking certainty, that the sound of his own name in your voice did something to him that he can’t quite explain.

you study his profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the dim glow of the dashboard. there’s something different about him in this moment. something rawer, more unguarded. and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you said it again. just to see how he would react.

but then you hesitate.

because you know, instinctively, that if you do – if you let yourself cross that line – there will be no going back.

a few minutes later, you break the silence. “wait—”

jake barely has time to register your alarm before you turn to him, laughing in disbelief. “we don’t even live in the same direction, do we?”

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, resisting the urge to groan. because, no, you don’t. and he knew that. he just… he just didn’t think that far ahead.

you laugh again, shaking your head. “you really offered me a ride without knowing where i live?”

“i—” he exhales sharply, gripping the wheel tighter. “i wasn’t thinking.”

“that’s new.” you shoot him a grin, eyes twinkling. “dr. sim, not thinking things through?”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. there’s no point. he walked himself straight into this one.

eventually, he sighs, fighting the urge to bite his lips because he can feel your stare and it's making him nervous.

“thank you,” you say, “it’s kinda nice to actually sit on my way home.” it's just a joke to you, but this piece of information is new to jake and he’s already filing it away in a cabinet in his mind that he’s subconsciously come to dedicate to you.

jake glances at you, but you’re looking out the window again, city lights reflected in your eyes. and for some reason, his heart does something weird in his chest.

you continue, voice softer this time. “also it’s been a while since i had a quiet drive like this.”

jake doesn’t know what to say to that. so he just focuses on the road, letting the moment settle.

the rest of the drive is quieter, but it’s different this time. less awkward, more… something else. something almost comfortable. like neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

when he finally pulls up in front of your place, you don’t get out immediately. instead, you linger for a second, fingers tapping against your bag. and you take a shot at whatever this was. at whatever this was about to become. good or bad.

jake doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush you, just waits. his hands are still on the steering wheel, but his grip is loose now, relaxed.

you take a slow breath. you don’t know why this moment feels important – like stepping over an invisible line you won’t be able to cross back over. but you recognize the weight of it all the same.

you shift slightly in your seat, turn toward him, and say quietly, “thanks for the ride, jake.”

it’s subtle, the way he reacts, but you see it all the same.

his fingers twitch where they rest. his posture stiffens, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. and then there’s his eyes – warm and dark in the dim lighting, holding yours for just a fraction longer than necessary.

it’s a simple thing, calling someone by their name. but with him, it feels like something more. like offering a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you had been keeping at arm’s length. like letting him step just a little closer, even though you don’t know if you’re ready for it.

jake.

the name lingers on your tongue, settles into the space between you. it feels different from dr. sim, feels different from the careful distance you’ve been trying to maintain. more familiar, more intimate. more dangerous.

you should get out of the car. you should say goodnight and go inside before this shifts into something you can’t take back.

but instead, you linger.

jake doesn’t look away. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t break the moment, just lets it settle the way he does with most things – quietly, carefully, like he’s turning it over in his mind before deciding what to do with it.

and you? you sit there, pulse thrumming in your throat, because for the first time in a long time, you realize you want something you shouldn’t.

the problem is, you don’t know if you’re brave enough to take it.

nineteen.

you don’t call him ‘jake’ all that often.

truthfully, he had half expected you to go back to last name basis with him and you had in fact, but jake quickly learned that it was only when you had to be formal. notifying him about kang’s incoming rounds? he’s dr. sim again. the words are professional, as if drawing a clear boundary between the workday and whatever exists outside of it. but then there are moments where the distinction blurs.

the end of a long shift when you linger in the doorway of his office, hesitation evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. a thoughtful pause before you ask if he’s heading out soon, if maybe you could walk together. and in those moments, he’s jake.

knocking on his door quietly just five minutes before lunch, your head peeking in and your fingers gripping the doorframe, asking him shyly whether you would have lunch together again? he’s jake then. and the way you say it – soft, almost careful – does something to him. it’s the kind of thing he shouldn’t be thinking too hard about, but he does anyway.

because it’s different. there’s a familiarity in it that wasn’t there before. a warmth that seeps in through the cracks of whatever this dynamic is. he tells himself he won’t read into it. he tells himself it’s just a name. and yet, when you brighten slightly at his nod, he wonders if maybe you don’t dislike calling him jake as much as you pretend to.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

doesn’t tease you about the way you seem visibly flustered while doing this. doesn’t push you to pick one, rather lets you do what you’re comfortable with. but it lingers in the back of his mind, a quiet thought he doesn’t quite know what to do with. the realization settles in during the most mundane of moments – when he’s typing out a report, when he’s sipping his coffee, when he’s scrolling through his phone. it clicks, all at once, that you only ever call him by his first name in the quieter, more personal moments. not when you’re in a room full of people. not when there’s an audience. just when it’s the two of you, when the words carry a different kind of weight.

he tries hard not to smile like a lunatic at his screen at the realization. he fails miserably.

jake can feel it – a quiet sort of courage, inching its way into his chest. it’s fragile, tentative, and it crumbles a little every time he watches you move through the world so effortlessly. the way you strike up conversation with department assistants, ask the janitor about his daughter, or pass the cleaning lady a cup of coffee like it’s second nature.

you’re effortlessly kind. not in a loud, performative way, but in a way that’s woven into the fabric of who you are. it’s in the way you remember details most people would forget, how you know which of the interns take their coffee black and which ones are too shy to admit they don’t know how to request time off. it’s in the way you say people’s names like they matter, like they’re more than just faces passing through the halls.

and maybe that’s what unnerves him the most.

because up until now, he’s seen you as his assistant. his colleague, even. the one who hands him charts and keeps his schedule in check, who teases him just enough to throw him off balance but never enough to cross a line. it was easy to keep you in that box, to pretend that was all there was to you.

but now – now he sees you as a person. as someone with a world outside of this building, with people who care for you, who look forward to your presence. he sees the way you brighten around others, how effortlessly you slot yourself into people’s lives, and it stirs something deep in his chest.

jake doesn’t know what to do with that.

he should look away, should focus on the notes in front of him, but his gaze lingers a second too long. because when you laugh at something the receptionist says, when your shoulders shake just a little from the force of it, it hits him – really hits him – that he wants to be someone you laugh like that with.

and maybe that scares him more than anything else.

he feels himself wilting at the simple brush of fingers when you hand him a report, an unintentional graze of arms when you lean over to point something out on his screen. but each time, it lingers. not physically – just long enough to be noticeable – but in his mind, it stays.

he tells himself it’s nothing. but then it happens again.

like when you pass him a coffee one morning, your fingertips skimming against his palm. it’s not supposed to mean anything, but his fingers twitch against the warmth of the cup, and when his eyes flicker up to you, you’re already turning away like nothing happened. like your skin hadn’t just burned into his.

or the time he catches you mid-stumble in the hallway, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you, fingers wrapping lightly around your wrist. it’s brief, over in a second, but he swears he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips long after he lets go.

and then there are the moments that are quieter, heavier.

the ones where you’re physically not there but he’s thinking about you. he’s thinking about you too much.

when he’s in his bed, his body sinking into his comforter, that’s when you strike. when the absence of conversation makes the memory of your voice louder. he replays moments he shouldn’t, imagines responses he never gave, finds himself staring at the ceiling as if the answer to all of it might be there.

and he doesn’t know what to do, what to feel because he’s never done this before. never let himself sit in the weight of emotions like this, never allowed himself to even consider what it would mean if he did. but it’s getting harder to pretend it’s nothing when you’ve made a home in the corners of his mind, settling into places he hadn’t realized were empty.

he’s unsure of what to feel and how much of it he should feel in the first place. because if he lets himself feel all of it, if he acknowledges that this pull toward you is real, then what happens next? what happens if he admits, even just to himself, that he doesn’t mind being in your orbit at all?

because you’re in his orbit now, and somehow, he’s in yours.

and jake – who has never been good at these things, who doesn’t know how to define whatever this is – finds himself wanting to stay there.

so when you willingly reach out to him to stay a while longer, he doesn’t hesitate.

you don't plan it. really, you don’t.

it’s one of those things that just happens – a fleeting thought that slips past your usual mental filter before you can stop it. and by the time you realize what you’ve done, there’s no taking it back.

jake is beside you in the breakroom counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he moves with his usual precision, measured and methodical, the way he does most things. you watch as he tilts the carafe, the dark liquid swirling into his mug, steam curling into the space between you.

you’re not even supposed to be here. you had just come in to grab something quickly, but then jake was there, and then you were making conversation, and then—

“hey, are you doing anything this weekend?”

jake glances at you, his hand still wrapped around the coffee pot. he blinks, as if the question caught him off guard. “uh.” a beat passes. “not really. why?”

you clear your throat, shifting your weight. “there’s a space exhibition at the museum this week. it’s only in town for a little while, and i thought… i don’t know. it might be interesting?”

jake stills.

it’s subtle, but you catch it. the way his grip tightens just slightly around the handle of his mug, the way his eyes search yours as if trying to read into the intent behind your words.

you hold his gaze, waiting for an answer, but the longer the silence stretches, the more you start to regret opening your mouth in the first place. maybe this was stupid. maybe you’re overstepping. maybe he doesn’t actually—

“i’d like that.”

your breath catches. “you would?”

jake nods, setting his coffee down. “yeah.” his voice is quieter now, more certain. “it sounds… nice.”

there’s something about the way he says it that makes your stomach flip. you’re suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the warmth of his presence seems to linger in the space between you.

you offer him a small smile. “cool.”

jake hesitates, then, like he’s considering something. “you really think i wouldn’t be interested in a space exhibition?”

you blink. “i—what?”

“the way you phrased it,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “like you weren’t sure.”

“well, i mean…” you exhale, suddenly flustered. “of course, i figured you’d be interested. it’s just—”

“just what?”

you hesitate. “i wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with me.”

the words hang in the air between you, weighty and unspoken. for a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much. if you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize was there.

but then he smiles.

it’s small, barely there, but you catch it. a soft curve at the corner of his lips, something warmer in his eyes. and for some reason, that look alone makes you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest.

“saturday?” he asks.

you nod. “saturday.”

he picks up his coffee again, taking a slow sip, and when he lowers it, he’s still looking at you. “what time?”

“um.” you scramble to think. “maybe around six? we could grab something to eat after.”

jake hums, considering. “sounds good.”

and just like that, it’s set.

the realization settles in slowly as you go about your day, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. you asked jake to go somewhere with you. outside of work. on a weekend. and he said yes.

it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but somehow, it does, because when saturday arrives faster than you expect, you’re all but a bundle of nerves.

neither of you had called it a date per se, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you had been yearning to call it that.

you tell yourself not to overthink it. you tell yourself it’s just two colleagues going to an exhibition together. nothing more, nothing less.

but then jake shows up looking… well. like that. and you weren’t prepared for this.

he’s waiting for you outside the museum when you arrive, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans. it’s a simple look, but somehow, it makes him seem even more put together than usual. he has his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the entrance before landing on you. he’s changed out of his horn rimmed glasses for a thick black framed one and honestly? it does a number on you.

you’ve always considered him to be attractive, like its a fact at this point, there’s no denying it. but right now, seeing him dressed so casually – a side of him you never could have even imagined – it makes you curl your fingers into a fist, pushing down at whatever churning feeling rises up in your throat straight from the depths of your chest.

jake, for his part, is having a similar moment.

he’s used to seeing you in a professional setting – sharp, polished, always composed. but tonight, under the dim glow of the museum lights, you look different. not in a way that’s unfamiliar, but in a way that makes something in his chest shift uncomfortably.

casual. at ease. like the version of you that exists beyond his orbit. and for some reason, he finds himself wanting to know more about that version.

his gaze lingers a beat longer than it should before he catches himself.

“you made it,” he says, clearing his throat.

you raise an eyebrow. “was there ever any doubt?”

jake huffs a quiet laugh. “no. just making conversation.”

something about that makes you smile. “shall we?”

he nods, and the two of you make your way inside.

the exhibition is stunning.

massive planetary models hang from the ceiling, their surfaces illuminated with soft light. constellation maps line the walls, showcasing the stars in intricate detail. there’s even an interactive section where visitors can simulate what it would be like to walk on different celestial bodies.

jake takes it all in with an expression you rarely see on him – genuine, unguarded wonder.

you watch as he moves from display to display, his gaze lingering on certain exhibits longer than others. every now and then, he murmurs something under his breath, a fact or observation about a particular planet or star system.

there’s a small part of you – an unfamiliar, irrational part – that wants to see him like this more often.

then, at one point, he pauses in front of a model of betelgeuse.

the exhibit is quieter here. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty, just hushed, like stepping into the stillness of space itself.

this part of the museum is quieter, darker. the only illumination comes from the digital projection of the massive star suspended above them, pulsing in slow, rhythmic intervals. every few seconds, a deep red glow spills across the room, washing over their faces, their skin – before retreating into darkness again. it feels like stepping into the void of space itself.

he stops walking without realizing it.

you almost pass him before noticing he’s no longer beside you. when you turn, he’s standing still, hands in his coat pockets, gazing up at the red giant with a look you can’t quite place.

it’s unlike him.

there’s something distant about the way he looks at it, like he’s seeing something beyond the projection itself. the soft flickering light makes the sharp angles of his face seem softer, more open, and for a second, you feel like you’re seeing him – just jake, without the polished professionalism, without the careful restraint.

you hesitate for only a moment before stepping closer.

“you like this one?” your voice is quiet, like speaking any louder would disturb the stillness between you.

jake hums. “betelgeuse is interesting.” his gaze doesn’t leave the star. “it’s one of the largest stars we can see with the naked eye, but it won’t last forever.”

the words linger in the space between you. heavy. measured.

you tilt your head slightly, glancing at him. “what do you mean?”

“it’s nearing the end of its life cycle.”

this time, he does look at you. and for some reason, the moment feels different.

maybe it’s the way the red light reflects in his eyes, making them seem warmer than usual. maybe it’s the way his voice is quieter here, steadier, like he’s sharing something that matters. or maybe it’s just the closeness – how, in this darkened corner of the exhibit, with no one else around, it feels like you and jake exist in your own little pocket of the universe.

“eventually, it’ll go supernova,” he continues. his gaze flickers over your face for a beat too long before shifting back to the dying star above you.

then, softer—“but for now, it’s still shining.”

the words settle over you, quiet and lingering. neither of you move nor speak.

you just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the warmth of him is noticeable in the cool air of the museum. close enough that if either of you shifted even slightly, you’d touch.

the projection pulses again, casting your faces in a deep red glow.

jake is half-lit, half-shadowed, the flickering light drawing out the details of his expression – the faint crease in his brow, the careful set of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly like there’s something else he wants to say but doesn’t.

there’s a stillness in the air. a moment where it almost feels like something should be said, but neither of you say anything. like the silence itself is waiting.

the betelgeuse model pulses one last time before dimming again, but even after the light fades, you still feel it.

twenty.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

the exhibition had been… nice. more than nice. he had enjoyed it more than he expected – not just because of the displays, but because of you. because of the way your eyes lit up when he talked about the stars, because of how you listened, genuinely listened, not out of politeness but curiosity. because for the first time in a long time, he had allowed himself to just be.

neither of you had called it a date. you’d simply invited him, and he had simply said yes.

that was all. at least, that’s what he thought.

until jay brought it up.

“damn, didn’t think you had it in you, sim.”

jake looks up from his coffee, blinking. “what?”

jay leans back in his chair, grinning. “the whole date thing. i mean, i know you’re not the best at this stuff, but you did good. a museum date? classy.”

jake’s stomach twists in a way he doesn’t fully understand.

he doesn’t answer right away when jay asks how the "date" went. he just takes a sip of his drink, lets the word settle in his mind, like if he doesn’t react to it, it won’t hold any meaning. but it does.

date.

jay had said it so offhandedly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

jake huffs. “it wasn’t a date.”

jay tilts his head, unimpressed. “then what was it?”

jake thinks about it for a second too long, and jay’s lips twitch like he’s already won. but jake refuses to entertain this. instead, he says, “just an exhibition. we were both interested in it, so we went. that’s it.”

jay hums, swirling his beer lazily. “sure.”

jake ignores him. or at least, he tries to. but the thought lingers.

he’s still thinking about it that night, staring at the ceiling, the room dim except for the soft glow of his bedside clock. 2:28 am.

jake sighs. turns over. closes his eyes.

it doesn’t help.

jay’s voice is still in his head. so… how’d the date go?

it hadn’t been a date. that much, he was sure of. but then, what had it been?

he tries to be rational about it. you had been the one to invite him. but it hadn’t been anything extravagant – just an exhibition you thought he’d enjoy. that’s what friends do. that’s what coworkers do.

and yet, jake finds himself ruminating about the evening again. the way you had smiled when you saw him waiting outside the museum, the way your eyes had lingered just a second too long. the way you had listened, really listened, when he talked about the stars, about betelgeuse. the way you had looked at him then, in the dim red glow of the exhibit, like you saw something in him that even he couldn’t quite understand.

his stomach twists. groaning, he presses a hand to his face. this was stupid. he was overthinking it. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous.

because the thing is, he can’t remember the last time he spent time with someone like that – just the two of them, sharing quiet conversations, moving through the space together like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe that’s what unsettles him the most. how natural it had felt.

it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

the thought gnaws at him, the edge of something unfamiliar settling deep in his chest.

jake has never been good at this kind of thing – relationships, feelings, whatever this was. he keeps his world structured, predictable. work is work. anything outside of that is just white noise, distant and unimportant. that’s how he’s always operated.

but you? you’re not white noise. you never have been.

jake knows this. knows it in the way his pulse had stuttered – just for a second – when you brushed against him, fingers barely grazing his sleeve. knows it in the way he had caught himself glancing at you, noticing details he shouldn’t. the way your hair caught the faint light of the exhibit. the way your lips had parted slightly when he explained something, as if committing his words to memory.

he groans into his pillow. this was dangerous. he couldn’t – shouldn’t –be thinking like this. shouldn’t be thinking of you well into the depths of the night.

it wasn’t a date. it wasn’t.

jake tells himself that again, but the logic of it is starting to feel shaky, unsteady beneath his feet. because if it wasn’t a date, then why did it feel so different? why did he keep circling back to the way you had lingered at the end of the night, standing just a little too close, hesitating like there was something left unsaid?

and maybe the worst part – the part he’s trying the hardest to ignore – is that some part of him had wanted it to be a date.

the thought startles him. his stomach clenches, his fingers curling into his sheets.

he doesn’t know what to do with that realization. doesn’t even want to acknowledge it fully. because if he does, then what? then everything changes. then he has to start questioning things he’s not ready to question.

so instead, he focuses on the facts.

you had invited him. you had called it an exhibition. you had never said it was a date.

and when jay had said the word, you hadn’t been there to confirm or deny it. so he should leave it at that. let it go. move on.

but he knows himself. he knows this isn’t something that will leave him easily.

and sure as hell, the next morning, it’s still there, lodged in his brain like a splinter. he catches himself watching you more than usual – studying the way you move, the way you talk to others, the way you act around him.

do you see him differently now? have you always?

it takes him another day to gather the nerve to ask.

you’re in the break room when he finally does, stirring sugar into your coffee. he leans against the counter beside you, pretending to be casual.

“so…” he starts, clearing his throat. “the exhibition.”

you glance up. “yeah?”

jake hesitates. “did you… was that—” he stops, exhales through his nose, tries again. “would you have considered that a date?”

something flickers across your face. it’s so quick, so fleeting, he almost misses it. then you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“why? would it have mattered?” you say, teasing.

but jake hears it – the way your voice tightens, just a little. the way your grip on your cup tenses before you force yourself to relax.

he swallows. he doesn’t know what he had wanted you to say, but now, with this, he isn’t sure what to do with it.

you don’t give him a chance to figure it out. “don’t overthink it,” you say lightly, nudging his arm as you pass by. “it was just an exhibition, right?”

and well, you try not to overthink it either. in fact you try not to think about it at all. but you still wonder, would it have been that bad had it been a date?

you know you’re expecting too much of course, neither you nor jake had been close enough before this. sure, the month that had led up to this had been eventful, to say the least. but jake had never shown any romantic interest in you. or anyone, for that matter.

from what you knew, jake wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this. he was meticulous, methodical, everything in his life followed a formula, a pattern. work, research, the occasional gathering he was dragged into. he had routines, predictable rhythms, and you? you weren’t supposed to be part of any of it.

and yet, here you were.

you try to shove the thought away, but it lingers. because despite everything, despite your better judgment, you still wonder.

you replay the moment in your head – the hesitance in jake’s voice, the way he had carefully chosen his words. he had been thinking about it, too. maybe not in the way you wanted, but enough for him to ask. and that alone was dangerous, wasn’t it? the fact that he had considered it at all.

you take a deep breath, willing yourself to stop spiraling. it was just an exhibition. it wasn’t a date. jake had never given you a reason to think otherwise.

but the thing is – you don’t think you would have minded if he had.

the thought sits heavy in your chest as you go about your evening, but you ignore it. you go home. you change into more comfortable clothes. you eat dinner. and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you text jay.

which is how you end up here – sitting across from him at a bar, nursing a beer, and feeling considerably less fine about everything.

jay watches you, unimpressed. “so let me get this straight – you wanted it to be a date, but when jake asked if it was a date, you said no?”

you groan, knocking back another sip. “it sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“it is dumb.”

you glare at him. “it’s not that simple, okay? he looked—” you struggle for the right word. “weird. like he was waiting for me to say the wrong thing.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “and you thought the wrong thing was saying yes?”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “i don’t know. i just… i didn’t want to make it worse.”

jay studies you for a moment, then shakes his head. “you two are ridiculous.”

you shoot him a glare, but there’s no real bite to it. “it’s not that simple.”

jay scoffs. “no, it actually is. you had the chance to be honest, and you chickened out.”

you open your mouth, then close it. because as much as you hate to admit it – he’s right.

you had wanted it to be a date. and when jake, hesitant and uncertain, had asked if it was one, you had shut him down before he could even decide what he wanted to hear. because the truth? the truth was terrifying.

because if it had been a date, if jake had agreed, if jake had thought of it that way too – then what? what would you have done with that knowledge?

jay raises an eyebrow. “are you afraid jake would treat you different if you had told him it was a date?”

you stare down at your beer. “…i don’t know.”

you feel a bit ridiculous right now. like you were back in college, worrying over your crush noticing you and talking to your girlfriends about it.

jay sighs, shaking his head. “you know, for someone who started this whole thing trying to get jake to notice you, you sure are bad at dealing with him actually noticing you.”

you let out a dry laugh. “yeah, well. i didn’t expect to fall for him in the process.”

jay stills. you blink, realizing what you just said.

and then you exhale, pressing your fingers to your temple. “god.”

“you like him,” he repeats plainly, voice cutting through the noise of the bar.

there’s no teasing lilt, no smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he’s not mocking you. he’s just stating it like it’s a fact, like it’s something as obvious as the beer bottle in your hand or the way your fingers are tightening around it.

and maybe you should lie. maybe you should deflect, laugh it off, pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. because you’re exhausted. because there’s no point in pretending anymore.

“yeah,” you murmur, setting your bottle down. “i do.”

jay doesn’t react right away. he just leans back, tilts his head like he’s trying to piece something together. “and?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, shaking your head. “and what?”

jay gives you a look. “and what are you going to do about it?”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “nothing. what the hell am i supposed to do about it?”

“you spent all that time trying to get him to notice you,” jay says, propping his elbow up on the table. “and now that he has—”

“it’s not like that,” you interrupt, voice tight. “that was just—”

“a way to get under his skin?” jay lifts an eyebrow. “sure. but now?”

you don’t say anything. because now? now it is different.

now, you’re here, drowning in the weight of it, feeling like an idiot because you had let yourself hope. because you had wanted to call it a date. because when you had looked at jake in the dim glow of the exhibit, something had settled in your chest, something real and terrifying, something that had whispered, this is it.

you don’t shy away from it. you don’t deny it. but you also feel like a dumb teen with a crush, stomach twisting with something close to regret. because now that you’ve admitted it to yourself, you can’t take it back. you can’t pretend it was never there.

you look down at your hands, fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. “i don’t know what to do with this.”

jay exhales, leaning back. “you don’t have to do anything right now. but you should stop lying to yourself.”

silence stretches between you. heavy. unspoken. but something has shifted, set in stone.

and it’s not just the realization that you like jake. it’s the fear that it won’t matter.

jay watches you for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “you ever think that maybe… you’ve always liked him?”

your head snaps up. “what?”

he shrugs. “maybe it’s not that jake’s suddenly reciprocating, but that you’ve always had feelings for him, and now that he’s acting different, you’re finally noticing.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “bullshit. jake didn’t even want to call it a date.” you tip your bottle toward him, your mouth twisting bitterly. “reciprocate my ass.”

jay leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “just because he couldn’t call it a date doesn’t mean he didn’t want it to be one.”

you shake your head. “don’t do that. don’t sit here and try to make excuses for him. if he wanted it to be a date, he would have said so. it’s that simple.”

jay is quiet for a long moment. then, softer, “is it?”

you hate the way your throat tightens. the way your chest aches. because you don’t know the answer to that. because part of you knows that jake is different. that maybe it’s not as simple as him just not wanting it.

but that doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t say it. that he hesitated. that he left you to sit with that disappointment, with the weight of knowing you had wanted something more than he did.

so you don’t answer. you just grab your beer and take another drink, staring down at the table like it might give you the clarity you so desperately need.

jay doesn’t push any further. he just sits back, watching you, like he’s waiting for you to come to your own conclusion.

and you do.

the realization settles in your chest, heavy and unyielding.

you have feelings for jake. you have had feelings for jake. and maybe you’ve been trying to ignore them, to mask them as something else, but they’ve been there all along.

and now? now, you don’t know what to do with them.

twenty-one.

what do you do when you have feelings for someone you’ve just realised you’ve had feelings for a long time? what happens when you realise that the crush had secretly migrated into full blow ‘i like this person’ zone?

you do what any rational person would do when faced with undeniable, terrifying feelings for someone you weren’t supposed to fall for.

you avoid him.

it’s not obvious at first – or at least, you hope it isn’t. you still do your job, still interact with him when you have to. but you stop lingering after work. stop waiting by his office door with some offhand excuse just to talk to him. stop initiating conversations that aren’t strictly necessary.

jake notices the shift before he even fully understands it. the way you talk to him, the way you look at him – it’s different. not in a way that anyone else would catch, but jake isn’t anyone else. he’s spent too much time watching, listening, knowing exactly how you move through the world. and right now? you’re moving away from him.

not completely. not obviously. but in the way that matters.

you don’t linger after work anymore. you don’t stop by his office just to make some offhand comment about something completely unrelated to work. you still talk to him, still answer when he calls, but it’s all business now. and it’s throwing him off more than he cares to admit.

he tries not to overthink it. maybe he’s imagining things. maybe this is just how things are supposed to be. but then, he finds himself hesitating before he knocks on your office door one afternoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“hey, uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “lunch?”

you glance up from your desk, looking at him for a beat too long. and for a second, something flickers across your face – something that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t understand. but then, just as quickly, you smile.

“oh,” you say, then offer him an apologetic smile. “i can’t today. we’re going out for ms. heo’s birthday.”

jake blinks. “ms. heo?”

“from the assistant team,” you explain. “we’re all grabbing lunch together. it’s kind of a thing we do when someone’s got a birthday coming up.”

he doesn’t know why that surprises him. of course you’d have your own circle in the office, people who weren’t just him and jay. but the realization still sits uncomfortably in his chest, like something he should’ve known but never really considered until now.

“oh, right,” he says after a beat. “that makes sense.”

you hesitate for a second, almost like you’re about to say something else, but then you just give him a small wave before turning back to your work.

jake doesn’t go back to his office right away. instead, he watches as you leave with the others, watches the way you laugh at something someone says, watches the way you move so effortlessly in a space that suddenly feels completely separate from him.

and it hits him.

maybe you and him exist in two different worlds. maybe he’s only just now realizing it.

and that should be the end of it. but then, purely by coincidence – because of course, that’s all it is – he ends up at the same restaurant later that afternoon. it has nothing to do with the fact that he had asked you where you would be going. and it has nothing to do with the fact that he had dragged jay there despite the latter’s protests about how he had a report to file urgently.

jake tells himself he’s just here for lunch. that the fact that you’re sitting a few tables away, surrounded by your coworkers, is purely incidental.

jay, however, is not buying it.

“you’re the worst liar i’ve ever met,” he mutters, stabbing at his food with little enthusiasm.

jake doesn’t respond. he keeps his gaze on his own plate, like that might somehow stop his ears from picking up the sound of your laughter, the easy cadence of your voice as you talk to the others.

it’s strange.

he’s so used to seeing you in his space – his office, his schedule, his orbit. but here, surrounded by people who move through the world with you instead of just passing through it, you seem… different. freer, somehow. more yourself in a way that jake isn’t sure he’s ever seen before.

and it unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“dude,” jay says suddenly, dragging him out of his thoughts. “are you seriously considering it?”

jake frowns. “considering what?”

but jay just tilts his head in your direction. and that’s when jake realizes – somehow, at some point, he had started to stand up.

his pulse jumps. he hadn’t even thought about it. it had been instinctual, a decision made before his brain had even caught up to it.

he hesitates. this is a bad idea. he knows that. and yet, before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving, already making his way to your table.

the chatter quiets as he approaches. a few of your coworkers exchange confused glances, clearly just as thrown off by his presence as he is.

you look up last. your expression is unreadable.

jake clears his throat. “ms. heo.”

she blinks. “uh—yes?”

he exhales. no turning back now. “happy birthday.”

silence. and then,

“oh!” ms. heo recovers quickly, her surprise melting into a polite smile. “thank you, dr. sim!”

jake nods. “enjoy your lunch.”

and with that, he turns and walks off, forcing himself to keep his pace even, his shoulders squared.

by the time he reaches his table, jay is staring at him, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. jake doesn’t say anything as he picks up his fork. he doesn’t have to.

because now, after everything, after weeks of trying to make sense of this – he finally understands one thing: you aren’t the only one confused.

you on the other hand, are mildly confused. for a moment, nobody says anything and then, it’s like the entire table collectively short-circuits.

“did dr. sim just—?”

“what the hell was that?”

“wait, how did he even know?”

you barely hear them over the sound of your own thoughts, still stuck on the fact that jake – dr. jake sim, notorious for barely remembering his own birthday – had gone out of his way to wish ms. heo a happy one.

you snap out of it when ms. heo turns to you, wide-eyed. “was that because of you?”

“i—” you shake your head, just as baffled. “i have no idea.”

because really, you don’t. sure, jake has always been a little softer than people give him credit for, but this? this was unexpected.

and it was…it was sweet.

maybe too sweet, considering you’ve spent the last few weeks trying to convince yourself that none of this meant anything. that jake only saw you as his assistant, that you had just misread things, that any warmth between you had been incidental at best.

but now, here he is, going out of his way to do something thoughtful – something he had no reason to do.

and it lingers. the way his voice had sounded, a little quieter, like he wasn’t sure how it would land. the way he hadn’t even looked at you, not really, before walking off like he was escaping.

you shake your head, pushing the thought away.

later, when you pass by the dessert counter on the way out, you pause.

jake doesn’t like sweets. you know that. you’ve heard him say it a dozen times before. but when your hand moves before your mind can stop it, when you find yourself paying for an extra slice of the coffee cake, something that’s not too sweet, you tell yourself it’s just a small thing. just a thank you.

nothing more.

you don’t give it to him right away. instead, you leave it on his desk, tucked neatly in a small paper bag, the note attached reading simply:

for the birthday wishes.

and then you go about your day as if you haven’t just done something completely out of character. as if you haven’t just spent far too long deliberating over whether or not to leave the note at all. it’s ridiculous. you don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. it’s just a piece of cake.

except, when jake finds it, it doesn’t feel like just a piece of cake.

he stares at the bag for a long moment, fingers brushing over the note, the simple handwriting somehow making his chest feel inexplicably tight. he knows exactly who it’s from. knows exactly why you left it. and yet, when he opens it to finds the dessert – something just sweet enough but not overly so – he finds himself hesitating. because it’s from you. and for some reason, that means something.

so he doesn’t hesitate this time before approaching you in the hallway, the small paper bag in one hand, the note pinched between his fingers. you’re balancing a stack of folders, mid-step toward your office, when you hear him clear his throat.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he says after a moment, picking up the note between his fingers. his voice is quiet, almost careful.

you force a shrug, suddenly very interested in the pile of folders in your arms. “it’s just coffee cake. thought you might like it.”

jake studies you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to make sense of something. then, instead of setting the bag aside like you expect him to, he opens it, peeling back the paper to reveal the neatly packed slice inside. the scent of coffee and caramel drifts into the air between you.

you watch as he hesitates, then picks up the small fork tucked beside the container. you don’t think he’s actually going to take a bite – he’s made his distaste for sweets well known – but then, to your complete and utter shock, he does.

he takes a bite before he can overthink it. the taste is rich, the coffee flavor strong, just the way he likes it. and maybe he should’ve expected it, but there’s something about the fact that you remembered, that you even thought to pick something he might like, that makes his stomach twist in ways he doesn’t entirely understand.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just chews thoughtfully, expression unreadable. then, finally, he swallows, clears his throat, and glances at you. “it’s good.”

you blink. “you don’t have to lie.”

“i’m not.” he looks down at the cake, then back at you, almost like he can’t believe it himself. “i actually… like it.”

something strange and warm curls in your chest. you don’t know what to do with it. don’t know what to do with the way he’s looking at you right now – like you’ve somehow caught him off guard, like he doesn’t quite understand how you’ve managed to do that.

you clear your throat, shifting the folders in your arms. “well, good. wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

jake nods, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t move to put the fork down. he takes another bite, slower this time, and you realize with a start that he’s enjoying it. not just tolerating it. actually enjoying it.

the thought makes your stomach do something odd.

you take a step back, needing to put some distance between you before you start reading too much into things. “i should—um—i have some things to file. so…”

jake nods again, this time a little more distractedly, his gaze dropping back to the cake. “yeah. sure.”

you turn before he can say anything else, before you can let yourself linger, but as you leave, you hear the quiet scrape of his fork against the container, another bite taken.

the warmth in your chest lingers long after you’re gone.

as for jake, he doesn’t know what to make of it either. not yet. there was the whole 'date' fiasco before all of this.

the cake was a small thing, a simple thank-you, nothing inherently significant. and yet, as he stares down at the empty container on his desk, the lingering taste of coffee and caramel on his tongue, he can’t shake the feeling that it meant something more. that you meant something more by it.

he thinks about the way you looked at him, the way your voice had been just a little uncertain when you’d given it to him. thinks about the way you’ve been lately – present, but distant. still here, still doing your job, but something is different. something’s changed.

and he doesn’t know why it unsettles him so much.

jay finds him like that, still staring at the empty container like it might give him answers.

“dude,” jay says, sliding into the chair across from him, “i thought you didn’t like sweets.”

jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “i don’t.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “right. so that’s why you demolished that cake like it personally wronged you?”

jake scowls but doesn’t argue. he can’t. because jay is right, and they both know it.

jay studies him for a long moment, then leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “you know, for two of the smartest people in this office, you and y/n are really, really dumb.”

jake frowns. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

jay sighs dramatically. “it means you’re both dancing around whatever this is instead of just dealing with it like normal human beings.”

jake stiffens. “there is no ‘this.’”

jay just looks at him, unimpressed. “uh-huh. sure.” he gestures to the empty container. “tell me, would you have eaten that if it came from anyone else?”

jake doesn’t answer, because the truth is, he wouldn’t have. he knows it. jay knows it.

he wants to argue. wants to tell jay he’s wrong. but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. because something is changing, shifting, and he’s only just starting to realize it.

and it terrifies him.

because for the first time in a long time, jake thinks he might actually want something more. and he has no idea what to do about it.

twenty-two.

the first sign that something is off is the way jake is gripping his pen.

you notice it immediately when you step into his office, armed with a thick folder of notes for his upcoming conference. usually, he is composed, methodical – his precision extending even to the way he holds a pen, fingers relaxed yet firm. 

so when you see him hunched in his office one evening, a week before a big presentation, you can tell he’s stressed. his fingers are flying across his keyboard, typing in equations and theories as fast as he can.

it's one of those conferences where young researchers present their proposals for research. it's something jake has been working on the entire year – even before you came – and it's finally descending on him.

you linger by the doorway for a second, watching him. he hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on whatever calculations are running wild in his head. his brow is furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. his fingers hover above the keyboard for a second before he exhales sharply, leaning back and rubbing his temples.

he’s exhausted. you can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his usually neat hair is mussed, tangled in soft waves, as if he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

“dr. sim?”

his head snaps up at your voice, and for a brief second, something in his eyes flickers – something tense, something uncertain. it’s rare to see him like this, so unguarded, so unlike the astrophysicist who always seems to have the entire universe mapped out in his head.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, stepping closer. “are you nervous?”

jake exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “no,” he says, too quickly to be believable. then he pauses, scowling slightly before adjusting his glasses. “…maybe.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “maybe?”

he leans back, gaze flickering toward the papers spread across his desk. the conference is in two days – a huge opportunity, one that most scientists dream of. but instead of excitement, there’s only frustration etched into his features. “it doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “i’ve presented research before. i’ve written papers, given lectures – none of this is new to me.”

you tilt your head, watching him closely. he’s clearly overthinking this, spiraling in his own thoughts, which is unusual. jake never second-guesses himself. he never doubts.

but this time, something’s different. and for some reason, it bothers you.

enough that you move before you can think, reaching for his wrist. “okay, that’s enough.”

jake stills.

you tug at his hand, pulling him away from the desk. he doesn’t resist, though his expression is a mixture of confusion and intrigue as you guide him to stand up.

“step away,” you say firmly, steering him toward the window. “you’re overthinking.”

jake narrows his eyes. “i don’t—”

“you are.” you cut him off, leveling him with a look. “you’re spiraling, and you don’t even realize it.”

and then he looks at you. properly. he lets his heavy eyes rest on you, tilts his head slightly to match your height.

you’re too aware of him. it’s unbearable.

the way his fingers twitch against the desk, the way his jaw tenses, the way his throat moves when he swallows – you hate that you notice. hate that your body reacts to every little thing, hate that your heart stumbles over itself like some lovesick fool.

but none of that matters right now. because jake is spiraling, and you are the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

so you shove it all down. you tighten your grip on his wrist – not enough to startle him, just enough to be steady. to make sure he feels you there.

“step away,” you say, voice even, controlled. the exact opposite of how you feel inside. “breathe.”

jake exhales sharply, eyes flicking to yours. he hesitates, searching for something in your expression, and for one excruciating moment, you think he might see it – see the way you’re coming undone just being this close to him.

his jaw tenses, and for a second, you think he might argue. but then he lets out a breath, slow and measured, and glances at you. “…what do you suggest, then?”

you hesitate, then steel yourself. “you listen to me.”

his brow raises slightly, but there’s something amused in his gaze now, as if entertained by the fact that you’re taking charge.

you ignore it.

“i know you,” you continue. “i know that you hate failure, that you analyze everything until it’s perfect. but you need to stop treating yourself like an equation to solve, dr. sim. you’re—” you falter slightly, but then push through. “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

silence.

jake blinks at you, clearly caught off guard.

your heart hammers against your ribcage, but you don’t back down. “you don’t need to prove anything,” you say, voice softer this time. “not to anyone.”

for the first time since you entered the office, jake looks genuinely speechless.

you hesitated for only a moment before stepping beside him, reaching out to gently press a hand against his shoulder. the warmth of him seeped through the fabric of his dress shirt, and at last, you felt the smallest shift beneath your palm.

he exhales. “i need to get this right. the entire thesis hinges on this one equation and it’s just – it’s not clicking.”

you bit your lip, watching the tight set of his jaw, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to ward off an oncoming headache. you weren’t a scientist, and you certainly weren’t an astrophysicist. there was nothing you could do to help him solve the problem weighing him down. but you could pull him out of his own head – if only for a little while.

so you smiled, aiming for lighthearted. “okay, but have you considered that your brain might just be staging a rebellion? like, maybe it’s on strike until you feed it something that’s not data?”

jake let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. still, he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “i appreciate the concern, but i can’t afford to waste time.”

you hummed. “and what if i told you a break isn’t a waste? what if i told you that, statistically speaking, stepping away from a problem can actually improve problem-solving efficiency?”

that did make him look at you. a single brow arched, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “that so?”

“yeah.” you nodded solemnly. “saw it in an article once. probably written by someone much smarter than me.”

and just like that, the moment shifted.

the teasing lightness in your voice didn’t quite reach your eyes either, and jake noticed. he always noticed. something flickered across his face – something unreadable, something soft – as he turned slightly to face you. “you say that a lot,” he murmured. “like you don’t think you’re smart.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i mean… i work with people like you. people who spend their lives studying the universe, making discoveries that change the way we see the world. compared to that, i just… remind you of meetings and make sure you don’t skip meals.”

jake’s brows drew together, his expression darkening slightly. “that’s not—”

but you weren’t done

“jay said you didn’t really see me at first, you know. and i didn’t hate that. i mean, why would you? you’re brilliant, jake. you look at the stars and actually understand them. people like me? we just look up and think they’re pretty.”

silence stretched between you. heavy. uncomfortable. real.

jake stared at you, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. you didn’t realize it, but you’d just gutted him. there was something about the way you spoke, the way you brushed it off like it was nothing – as if you genuinely believed your own insignificance. it made something tighten in his chest, something he didn’t know how to name.

you meant more. more than your job. more than your standing in society. and jake – who had spent his entire life grounded in logic, in facts and equations – wanted to tell you that. wanted to tell you that, in this universe, you meant something.

that maybe, to someone, you meant everything.

his throat felt tight. he swallowed, trying to push past it. “that’s not true.”

you looked up at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice.

“you’re wrong,” he said, firmer this time. he leaned forward, eyes locked onto yours. “understanding the stars doesn’t make someone brilliant. i spent my whole life looking up, trying to figure out what’s out there, but you see what’s in front of you. you remind people to eat. you remind me to eat. you make sure i don’t get lost in my own head. that’s not nothing, y/n.”

you stared at him, lips parted, words caught somewhere between your mind and your tongue. you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all.

jake wasn’t sure why this mattered so much to him. he wasn’t sure why the thought of you belittling yourself made his chest feel like it was caving in. but as he sat there, watching the way your eyes softened with something uncertain, something almost hopeful, he realized—

he wanted to be someone who saw you. really saw you. and he was starting to hope, achingly, desperately so, that you saw him, too.

“when was the last time you ate?” you say, changing the subject and hoping against hope that your cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.

jake glances at his monitor as if the answer might be there. “…lunch?”

“that was six hours ago.”

at that, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “yeah. i lost track of time.”

you already figured as much. without another word, you set the small paper bag you brought onto his desk. he looks at it, then at you, puzzled.

“i stopped by that bakery after work,” you say, not quite meeting his eyes. “figured you might need something.”

there’s a pause.

“you went all the way there?” his voice is quiet, almost unreadable.

you shrug. “it’s friday.”

jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at the bag before carefully pulling it toward him. he opens it, and the scent of fresh pastries immediately fills the space. his shoulders loosen slightly.

“it’s the coffee cake i got you last time, you seemed to like it.” please someone, make the ground crack open and swallow you whole/

“…thanks,” he murmurs. then turns away as if physically trying to shield himself.

you nod, pretending to busy yourself by scanning the contents of his desk. there are notes everywhere, covered in equations and scattered diagrams, a barely-touched cup of coffee off to the side.

“is this for your conference?” you ask, gesturing at the mess.

jake sighs, sitting back in his chair. “yeah. the presentation is next week, and i still need to finalize my model. it’s a mess.”

you glance at the numbers on the screen. “you say that like i can’t already tell.”

he huffs a quiet laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot. i’ve been working on this for months, and if i screw it up now—” he exhales sharply. “i don’t know.”

you watch him for a second, weighing your words. then, without thinking too much about it, you sit on the edge of his desk.

“you won’t screw it up,” you say simply.

jake looks up, surprised. “you sound pretty confident.”

you tilt your head. “because i’ve seen how much you care about this. and i’ve never seen you half-ass anything. so, yeah. i’m confident.”

something shifts in his expression.

it’s subtle, but you catch it – the way his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. like he wasn’t expecting you to believe in him so easily.

a beat of silence passes. then, his gaze flickers down, like he’s trying to hide something. “you have too much faith in me.”

“maybe,” you say, watching him carefully. “or maybe you just don’t have enough in yourself.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the only sound in the room is the faint hum of his monitor and the city buzzing outside the windows.

then, slowly, his fingers tighten around the paper bag in his hands. he nods once – more to himself than to you.

“…i should eat.”

you take that as your cue to leave, pushing off his desk. “yeah. you should.”

you don’t expect him to say anything else, so you’re already halfway out the door when his voice stops you.

“hey.”

you glance back.

jake hesitates for a second before meeting your eyes. there’s something softer there, something unspoken.

“…thanks,” he says again, quieter this time.

you don’t reply, just give him a small nod before slipping out. and as you walk away, you feel it – that shift, that quiet realization.

something between you and jake sim is changing.

and there’s no stopping it now.

it’s a thought jake finds himself pondering upon too, when it's too late and all the lights in the office have gone out except his own and few stragglers, probably pulling all nighters like him.

his eyes hurt, squinting at his screen all day. if you had been here, you would have probably forced him to take some eye drops. it makes him let out a small laugh which dies as soon as it falls off his lips.

since when did he start thinking of what you would have done?

a quiet sigh escapes his lips. honestly he should have seen this coming. but here’s the thing – jake’s not good with feelings. well, he can’t be a judge of that entirely, mostly because he never tried. he’s never dated, never been in a relationship before, never even had a crush. and now that there’s an inkling of those feelings starting to rise up on him, he’s rightly confused.

jake exhales, leaning back in his chair, eyes trained on the ceiling. he should get back to work. he needs to get back to work. but his thoughts keep circling back to you – the way you just knew he hadn’t eaten, the way you told him he wouldn’t screw this up like it was a fact rather than a possibility.

the pastries sit untouched on his desk. he should eat. that’s what you’d tell him. that’s what he had promised you.

so he does.

the first bite is soft, a little too sweet – just like the memories it brings back.

because it’s friday, and you went all the way there, to get him your favorite pastries. it’s like he’s slowly stepping into you orbit, getting a taste of your life. what you like, what you eat…. and he’s never had this before. never had someone think of him like this.

jake sets the pastry down carefully, staring at it like it holds answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. he can’t be imagining things, right? this feeling creeping up on him – this warmth, this tension that makes his fingers twitch whenever you’re near.

but what is it? what is this?

he scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated. damn it.

he hates not knowing things. he hates uncertainties, hates dealing in emotions when logic has always been his safest place.

so maybe he is overthinking it. maybe this is just you being nice, because that’s who you are. you care about people. this is just who you are.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. he glances back at his screen, at the blinking cursor waiting for him to continue his work, but his mind is already far, far away.

and then he sees it.

the note is small – just a simple sticky note pressed under the cardboard box, written in your handwriting. the ink is slightly smudged, probably from your fingers. jake stares at it longer than he should. he had almost missed it

“betelgeuse is still shining. you’ll get through it too!”

his stomach does something weird, a strange, unfamiliar pull tightening at his ribs. it’s like…it’s like someone suddenly opened a jar of butterflies within that erupted out all at once.

it shouldn’t be a big deal. it’s just a note. just like the dozens he’s left you over the past few weeks – facts about galaxies, black holes, the andromeda-milky way collision – but this one is different.

because it’s from you. because you thought about him. because you left it for him in return.

because you listened to him. and you remembered.

his grip on the note tightens. damn it.

jake has spent years understanding the mechanics of the universe, memorizing equations that map out the way things move, how things change. but this? this thing blooming in his chest – this warm, unfamiliar ache that lingers long after you’ve left – he has no formula for this.

no equation, no logical explanation.

just the undeniable, inescapable fact that you are getting under his skin. and for some reason, that thought sits uncomfortably in his chest.

for some reason, it feels too familiar.

jake thinks about the way his world has subtly, almost imperceptibly, started revolving around you. how your presence has become a fixed point in his orbit. the quiet check-ins, the shared lunches, the notes, the way you listen when he talks about the universe like you actually care. the way you look at him sometimes, like he’s someone worth looking at.

it was slow. a gradual shift. like a planet caught in a gravitational pull stronger than its own. he hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t noticed the way he kept looking for you in a room, the way his mood lifted at the sound of your voice, the way he found himself wanting to make you laugh just to hear it again.

but now? now it’s undeniable.

because the second he sees that note, the second he realizes that you left it there because you know him – know how he’d find it interesting, how he’d read it and think of you – something in his chest collapses.

a free fall. a point of no return.

jake grips the note tighter, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.

shit.

twenty-three.

jake doesn’t throw the note away.

he should. he should crumple it up, toss it in the bin, move on like it’s just another piece of paper. but he doesn’t. instead, it sits on his desk, half-hidden under a stack of equations and research notes, but never gone.

and maybe that’s why, over the next few days, something shifts.

it’s subtle at first.

monday, you bring him coffee. not on purpose – not really. you just had an extra one, you said. leftover from a run you made with a coworker. jake takes it without thinking, murmuring a quiet thanks. he doesn’t even realize until later that it’s exactly how he likes it.

wednesday, you’re in the break room at the same time. he doesn’t even mean to say anything, but somehow, you’re talking. about his presentation, about the stress, about how he’s barely sleeping. you listen like it matters. you tell him, very simply, “you’re going to be fine.” and for some reason, it sticks.

friday, you pass by his office when he’s too in his head to notice much of anything – until you pause in the doorway. you don’t step in, don’t linger too long, but your voice is steady when you say, “don’t forget to eat.”

and he doesn’t.

it’s nothing big. nothing dramatic. just… small things. but jake notices them. he notices you. and by friday night, when he finds himself staring at that damn note again, he realizes—

you’ve been there. all week. a quiet presence, slipping into his orbit before he even knew it was happening.

and for the first time, maybe ever, jake doesn’t mind.

scratch that, he stopped minding a long time ago. he stopped minding the day he had snapped at you and you had made yourself sparse to him. your little note had just been a nail in the coffin, the final act before he had fully realised the extent of his feelings.

the problem is, he doesn’t know feelings. he knows of them, but it all circles back to him being abysmally clueless on how this stuff works. does he just tell you? or are you supposed to figure it out by yourself?

jake doesn’t tell you.

not because he doesn’t want to. not because the thought hasn’t crossed his mind a hundred times over the past week, every time he sees you or hears your voice or finds another piece of you lingering in his space. no, he doesn’t tell you because he genuinely has no idea how to.

it’s a frustrating thing, realizing something but having no clear answer for what comes next. he’s spent years solving equations, mapping out trajectories, following strict logic to find the right answer. but this? this isn’t logical. there are no equations for this. no step-by-step process he can follow. no set reaction to plug into a formula that will tell him what to do.

and it’s driving him insane.

by saturday night, he’s overthinking so hard that his brain refuses to function properly, so he does what he always does when he needs a break – he texts jay. which is how he finds himself at a quiet bar, sitting across from his best friend while nursing a whiskey he barely remembers ordering.

jay watches him, unimpressed. "are you going to actually drink that or just stare at it until it evaporates?"

jake huffs but takes a sip. it burns in a way that should ground him, but his mind is still tangled elsewhere. jay catches the way his brows pinch together, the way he keeps fidgeting with the rim of his glass.

he smirks. "so. you wanna tell me why you've been acting weird for the past week?"

"i haven’t been acting weird."

jay raises a brow, unimpressed. “you just spent the last five minutes sighing at your drink like it personally wronged you.”

jake exhales sharply, shaking his head. "it’s nothing. i just... i don't know."

jay leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, clearly entertained. "oh, this is gonna be good. go on.

“jay, it’s just... how do you know when something's different?”

jay blinks. “different how?”

jake exhales. “like… when someone just—” he gestures vaguely. “—gets into your head. but not in a bad way. just – suddenly, they’re there. and you don’t know when it started, but you know it’s not going away anytime soon.”

jay tilts his head, considering him for a long moment. and then, he snorts.

jake glares. “what?”

“nothing. it’s just—” jay shakes his head, amusement flickering across his face. “man, this feels like déjà vu.”

jake frowns. “what does that mean?”

jay only shrugs, but there's something knowing in his gaze. something infuriating. “nothing. just keep going.”

jake scowls but does, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know, dude. it’s just…you know how you can watch something fall into place in real time? like, it’s not sudden, it’s just a shift, slow and inevitable?”

jay hums. “yeah. i do.”

jake huffs out a humorless laugh. “yeah? and what do you call that?”

jay takes a sip of his drink, eyes glinting over the rim. “you tell me.”

jake doesn’t answer, just frowns at the table, running his thumb over the condensation on his glass. his thoughts have been a mess ever since you left that note – ever since you started feeling less like an anomaly and more like a constant.

and it’s not just the note. it’s the way you notice things, the way you always make sure he eats, the way you listen when he talks about space like it means something to you. it’s the way you looked at him that night in his office, like he was someone worth believing in.

jake shifts uncomfortably, gripping his glass. “i don’t know,” he mutters.

jay sighs. “you do know. you’re just refusing to say it out loud.”

jake looks away. he knows what jay wants him to admit, but there’s something about it – about the weight of acknowledging it – that makes his chest feel tight.

jake exhales, pressing his fingers against his temples. “i just don’t get it,” he mutters.

jay tilts his head. “get what?”

“this,” jake gestures vaguely, frustration bleeding into his voice. “how people do it. the whole – liking someone, being in a relationship, whatever.”

jay watches him for a second, expression unreadable. “you mean… how people fall in love?”

jake tenses. the word feels heavy, pressing against his ribcage like something sharp. “i don’t know if it’s that,” he says, and it’s the truth. “i just – how do people bank on feelings like that? they’re not stable, they change all the time. how do you trust something that’s basically unpredictable?”

jay’s quiet for a long moment. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more thoughtful. “not everything is an equation, jake.”

jake exhales sharply. “yeah, i figured that out the hard way.”

jay doesn’t laugh. instead, he studies jake carefully, and then, as if piecing things together, his gaze turns knowing. “this isn’t just about her, is it?”

jake stills. and suddenly, his mother’s voice rings in his head; ‘don’t be like your dad, jake. don’t push people away.’

jake grips his glass tighter. he hates this part – the part where everything circles back to the one thing he never wants to think about.

jay leans forward slightly, like he already knows. like he’s seen this before. “it’s about your dad, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “it’s not—” he pauses, jaw tightening. “it’s not about him.”

he clenches his jaw, stares at the table. he knows he should let it go, but the words spill out before he can stop them.

“i just don’t get how people do it,” he mutters, voice lower now. “how they just decide to trust someone. to be with them. like it’s that easy.”

jay hums. “it’s not easy.”

jake looks up, brows furrowing as if begging to understand whatever this was.

jay shrugs, swirling his drink. “it’s not easy. and yeah, sometimes feelings change. sometimes they don’t last. but sometimes, they do.” he pauses, then adds, “sometimes, they’re the only thing that does.”

jake doesn’t say anything, just stares at his drink.

jay exhales. “you ever think maybe that’s the whole point? that people choose to believe in it, even when it’s uncertain?”

jake clenches his jaw. “and what if they’re wrong?”

jay tilts his head. “what if they’re right?”

jay watches him for a long moment, then leans back. “look, man,” he says, more casual now. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. but if you’re waiting for some kind of certainty – some mathematical proof that tells you this is safe – you’re gonna be waiting forever.”

jake doesn’t answer, just stares at his drink.

jay sighs, but there’s no frustration in it this time – just something almost fond. “you like her,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

jake doesn’t answer. he just exhales, jaw clenched, grip tightening around his glass like it’s the only thing tethering him to the present. because if he lets himself think – really think – he’ll have to admit it: that it’s not just about liking you. it’s about what comes after. about how people leave. about how things change. about how he spent years watching his mother hold onto something that was never coming back, watching her tell herself if i try harder, if i love more, he’ll stay – and how none of it had mattered in the end.

because sometimes, love isn’t enough. and jake has never been the kind of person to bet on something that fragile.

jay watches him, expression unreadable. he’s quiet for a moment, letting the weight of jake’s silence settle between them. then, with a sigh, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“you know,” jay starts, voice even, “for a guy who spends all his time solving impossible problems, you sure make this one more complicated than it needs to be.”

jake huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s humorless, empty. “that’s the thing, jay,” he mutters. “this is impossible.”

jay raises a brow. “how do you figure?”

jake shakes his head, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “because—” he stops, jaw working, frustration curling in his throat. “because she’s her,” he finally says, like that alone should explain everything. “and i’m me.”

jay just blinks. “wow. that sure cleared things up.”

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “she’s… she’s good, jay. she believes in things. in people. she thinks the best of them, even when they don’t deserve it.” his voice dips lower, almost bitter. “even when i don’t deserve it.”

jay doesn’t respond immediately, just watches him, waiting.

jake exhales, shakes his head. “and she’s smart – god, she’s so smart. not just in the way i am, not just formulas and logic and equations. she understands people. she sees them.” he huffs out a humorless laugh. “she listens to me talk about space like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, like any of it matters, and i know that she sees something in me that i don’t. that maybe no one else does.”

jay tilts his head, watching him carefully. “and that scares you?”

jake scoffs, but it’s too sharp, too forced. “of course it scares me.” he clenches his jaw. “because what if she’s wrong?”

jay sighs. “let me get this straight,” he says, slow and deliberate. “you’re saying she sees something in you that no one else does, that she thinks you’re worth believing in—" he lifts a brow. “and that’s the problem?”

jake clenches his fists. “she called me brilliant.” his voice is quiet, almost small. “the most brilliant man she’s ever known.” he swallows hard. “she believes in me.”

jay tilts his head. “and?”

jake exhales, voice hollow. “and i don’t.”

jay stills.

for once, he doesn’t have a quick remark, doesn’t shoot back with a knowing smirk or a snarky comment. he just looks at jake, really looks at him, and it makes something in jake’s chest tighten, makes him want to take it all back before jay can say anything.

but jay just exhales. “okay,” he says after a beat. “say you’re right.”

jake blinks. “what?”

“say you’re right,” jay repeats, shrugging. “say she does see something in you that you don’t. say she thinks you’re brilliant, that she believes in you when you don’t believe in yourself.” he lifts his brows. “what then?”

jake doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t even know why the question makes his stomach twist.

jay leans forward, eyes sharp. “are you saying she’s wrong?”

jake presses his lips together.

“because if you are,” jay continues, “then you’re saying she’s not as smart as you think she is. you’re saying she doesn’t know you at all.” he pauses, lets it sit. “but we both know that’s not true.”

jake swallows. he hates this. hates how easily jay gets under his skin, how he takes things jake can’t even put into words and lays them out in front of him, undeniable.

jay watches him for a long moment. “you know what i think?” he says finally. “i think you’re so used to proving yourself with numbers and theories and things that make sense, that you don’t know what to do when someone just… believes in you. no proof, no equations. just you.”

jake tenses. he hates how much that makes sense.

jay shakes his head, softer now. “and i think that scares the hell out of you.”

jake exhales sharply, staring at the table. “you make it sound so simple.”

jay snorts. “oh, it’s not. it’s the farthest thing from simple. but that’s the thing, jake.” he leans back. “people don’t believe in you because it’s logical. they don’t care about how many degrees you have, or how many papers you’ve published, or how many theories you can prove.” he tilts his head. “she doesn’t believe in you because of those things. she believes in you, period.”

jake clenches his jaw, the weight of it all pressing into him, heavier than he knows what to do with.

jay watches him for a long moment before sighing. “you really think she’d waste her time on someone who wasn’t worth it?”

jake flinches.

jay shakes his head. “then maybe the real question is—" his voice dips, steady, almost quiet. "why don’t you?"

and that is the one question jake doesn’t have an answer for.

jake grips his glass tighter. the ice has melted now, whiskey diluted and forgotten. but he’s not really looking at it. he’s looking at nothing, eyes unfocused, as jay’s words echo in his head, looping over and over until they settle like lead in his stomach.

maybe he does have an answer.

but if he admits the truth – if he lets himself acknowledge that he’s the only one standing in his own way – then he has to face everything else, too. the quiet belief that he’s not enough. that no matter how much he wants you, how much you linger in his mind, it doesn’t change the fact that you are you and he is him. that you are warm and bright and brilliant, and he is… jake. just jake.

a man who is scared to believe in something good because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold onto it.

the thought weighs heavy, pressing down on his ribs, and before he can second-guess himself, before he can think at all, he’s pulling out his phone.

jake barely registers jay muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. the moment he’s gone, the absence is almost too much. like his thoughts, which had been held back by the steady presence of his best friend, finally push through the floodgates, drowning him whole.

your phone buzzes against your nightstand, the unexpected call lighting up your screen. you blink at the name flashing across it.

dr. jake sim.

your stomach flips. jake never calls. he barely texts. if he needs something, he emails. the fact that he’s calling you – past midnight, no less – has you scrambling to answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hello? dr. sim”

there’s silence, then a low exhale. and then—

“why do you call me that?”

his voice is gruff, lower than usual, edged with something unreadable. you frown, shifting upright in bed. “call you what?”

“dr. sim,” he mutters, as if the words themselves irritate him. “told you to call me jake.”

his voice is rough – low and gruff in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. but it’s not the usual sharp-edged jake you’re used to. it’s looser, unguarded. and… is that the faintest hint of a slur in his words?

you blink. he sounds… off. not angry, not exactly, but different. looser. and that’s when it clicks.

"wait – are you drunk?"

a heavy sigh, followed by the sound of something shuffling in the background. "m’not drunk. just – thinking. about space. about the way everything moves, how nothing stays still. it’s all just—" he exhales, long and slow. "cosmic entropy."

you blink. "...what."

"everything’s always changing," he murmurs, voice dipping lower. "expanding, shifting, breaking apart. that’s the nature of the universe. you can’t stop it. can’t predict it. and yet… people still try. they believe in things staying the same, believe in things lasting." he scoffs, the sound almost bitter. "how do they do that?"

you sit up a little straighter, heart hammering. he’s never called you before. he barely even texts. and now he’s on the phone with you, drunk, rambling about entropy and permanence and—

"jake," you start carefully, "where are you?"

"bar." a pause. "jay’s in the washroom."

of course he is. you press a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. "okay. do you need me to—"

"i just don’t get it," he interrupts, voice dropping into something almost too quiet, too raw. "how can people trust something so uncertain? how do they just… believe?"

your throat tightens. you don’t know what to say to that, don’t know how to answer a question that sounds so much bigger than just theoretical physics. so instead, you latch onto the one thing you do know.

"jake," you say again, softer this time. "do you want me to come get you?"

he doesn’t respond right away. and for a moment, you think maybe he’s drifted off, lost in whatever spiral of thoughts led him here in the first place.

"no," he says, quiet but firm. "just… stay on the phone. just for a bit."

your breath catches. but you don’t hang up. instead you stare at your phone, half expecting the call to drop any second, but it doesn’t. instead, jake keeps talking, voice low and gruff, words a little slurred but still oddly deliberate.

“i mean it,” he says, like it’s the most important thing in the world. “i told you to call me jake.”

you blink. “you’re literally drunk right now.”

“so?” he huffs, and you can hear the faint clink of ice in his glass, like he’s still holding his drink. “that doesn’t change anything.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between frustration and the undeniable amusement bubbling in your chest. you have no idea how you ended up here – half-asleep in your pajamas, curled up on your couch, listening to your boss slash co-worker slash not-so-secret-crush spiral into some kind of drunken existential crisis.

“this is so weird,” you mutter to yourself.

“what’s weird?”

“this. this whole situation –  you calling me. you never call me.”

there’s a pause on the other end, just long enough for you to wonder if you said something wrong. then—

“you never call me either.”

that throws you off. you shift on the couch, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “i—well, yeah, because…you’re you.”

jake exhales, slow and deliberate. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you open your mouth, then close it again, realizing you don’t actually have a proper answer. because what are you supposed to say? that he intimidates you? that half the time, you don’t even know where you stand with him? that despite all that, he somehow manages to take up space in your mind like he’s carved out a permanent place there?

instead, you say, “you just – don’t seem like the type to want people calling you all the time.”

another pause. then, softer this time, “maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

your breath catches in your throat. your brain stalls completely. and jake – oblivious, drunk, or just too far gone to care – keeps talking.

“you ever think about the cosmos?” he murmurs. “like, really think about it? how we’re just – these tiny, insignificant specs in a universe that doesn’t even know we exist?”

you stare at the ceiling, trying to steady your pulse. “that’s…a little depressing.”

“nah,” jake hums. “it’s kinda beautiful, isn’t it? the fact that we’re here at all. that somehow, out of all the possible outcomes, we exist at the same time, in the same place.”

you swallow. something about the way he says it – low, thoughtful, like he’s on the verge of some grand realization – makes your chest feel tight.

“…jake,” you start, but before you can say anything else, there’s some muffled noise on his end, followed by a familiar voice groaning something that sounds like, “oh my god.”

you recognize it instantly. “jay?”

“yeah, it’s me,” jay sighs. “please tell me he’s not talking your ear off about space.”

you glance at the clock. “he might have been.”

jay groans again. “of course he was.” then, directing his attention away from the phone, “dude, i leave for two seconds and you’re out here drunk dialing her?”

jake mumbles something in response, but it’s too quiet for you to make out. jay sighs again, more exasperated this time. “alright, i’m cutting him off. sorry for…whatever this was.”

you can’t help but laugh. “it’s fine. take care of him.”

“oh, don’t worry. he’s not living this down.”

you hear a faint protest from jake, but the call cuts off before you can catch what he says. you stare at your phone for a moment, heart still racing, brain still scrambling to process everything that just happened.

jake had called you. drunk. talking about the cosmos. and…maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.

you drop your phone onto your lap, pressing your face into your hands.

yeah. you were so not getting any sleep tonight.

twenty-four.

jake wakes up to the worst headache of his life. his skull feels like it’s been cracked open and stuffed with static, his mouth is drier than the sahara, and worst of all – there’s a deep, bone-chilling sense of dread sitting heavy in his chest.

he groans, shifting onto his back, trying to force his brain to function past the pain. the details of last night are foggy, blurred at the edges like a half-remembered dream.

he remembers the bar. he remembers jay. he remembers whiskey.

and then his eyes snap open. oh, no.

he remembers a phone call. he remembers your voice.

“shit,” he rasps.

from somewhere in the room, jay makes a noise – amused, awake, too awake for this hour. “good morning to you too, casanova.”

jake groans again, draping an arm over his eyes. “what did i do?”

jay doesn’t answer immediately, which is bad. jay loves rubbing things in his face, so if he’s holding back, it means he’s screwed. really fucking screwed.

jake forces himself up, barely able to sit without his head spinning. “jay,” he says, voice rough. “what did i do?”

jay is grinning. he’s too pleased, sipping his coffee like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “dunno, man,” he says, tilting his head. “why don’t you tell me?”

jake stares at him. then, cautiously, he checks his phone.

the call log is there. 13 minutes. what the fuck did he say…

he exhales sharply, gripping his phone tighter. “okay. so, i called her. what did i say?”

jay just shrugs, far too casual. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

jake nearly lunges across his bed. it does not help that the twenty four hours of agony that follow are pure, undiluted hell.

jake spends all of sunday trying to recall details from the call. some parts come back in flashes – something about the cosmos, something about his name. something about… maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you...

which – yeah, that part alone is enough to make him consider moving to another continent. because what the hell was he thinking? he’s not the kind of guy to get drunk and call someone? especially not someone he likes. or maybe he is, since he’s never liked anyone before you.

by sunday evening, jake is halfway convinced he’s destroyed the only real connection he’s ever had that wasn’t based on logic or academia.

he doesn’t go outside. doesn’t even open his blinds. the sunlight feels too loud.

every time he remembers a new detail from the call – your voice when you answered, the soft laugh in the background, the way he apparently said your name like it was a lifeline – he sinks deeper into his mattress and contemplates erasing himself from the space-time continuum.

he googles how to fake your own death in the 21st century and immediately regrets it.

he briefly considers texting you. something casual. maybe: hey. sorry if i was weird last night. or just. weird in general.

he doesn’t send it. instead, he stares at the open and empty text box for ten whole minutes before deleting it and throwing his phone across the room like it’s personally responsible for ruining his life.

by monday morning, he’s more nauseous than he’s ever been in his life – part embarrassed, part anxiety, all nerves. he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he looks as terrible as he feels. (he does.)

jake is running on approximately two hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and the sheer willpower not to combust.

he makes it through the front doors of the lab with his head down, his headphones in, and his hope clinging to the desperate idea that maybe, by his sheer will of manifestation – you’re running late today.

you are not. because of course you’re not. you're always on time. of course.

you’re halfway down the hallway, looking just as composed and steady as always, clipboard in hand, hair pulled back in that way that should not make his heart stutter but absolutely does.

jake stops walking. like, fully halts.

you look up just then – because the universe has no chill – and your eyes meet his.

it’s maybe a second. maybe less. but it’s enough. because jake short-circuits.

he forgets how to move, how to blink, how to breathe. you don’t smile, but your expression softens, and it’s so much worse. because there’s something unreadable in your gaze. something curious. something almost fond.

jake panics. he looks away so fast it should cause whiplash and fumbles with his keycard like it personally offended him.

you don’t say anything. you just keep walking.

and jake? jake shuffles sideways like he’s trying to blend into the drywall. his fingers tremble as he finally swipes in, and the second he’s inside his lab, he shuts the door and leans against it like he just outran a tsunami.

from the other side of the hallway, your heart is beating somewhere near your ears. because what the hell just happened?

jake looked like he saw a ghost. or like he was the ghost. and you? you weren’t even trying to be weird, you just looked at him. like a normal person. and he—

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your clipboard tighter, silently begging the floor to open up and swallow you whole. because yes, jake is usually awkward, but he’s never… nervous.

not like that. not like he’s the one with a crush now.

jake lasts approximately three minutes in the lab before he realizes he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown.

because all he can think about is your face when your eyes met his. not shocked. not annoyed. just… soft. warm. the kind of look he’s only seen you give the stars when you’re studying the simulation or looking at the readings he forgot to be proud of until you pointed them out. it’s the kind of look that ruins him.

his brain is running a mile a minute, trying to reconstruct the pieces of last night’s call. he knows he said too much. knows he was rambling. he remembers – faintly – your voice saying “dr. sim,” and how that had cut through the haze in his head like lightning. he’d practically growled at you for it. told you to call him jake. not asked. demanded, more like.

he groans, dragging a hand over his face as he leans against the cool metal table, hoping the shame will physically leave his body.

he should say something. apologize. pretend it didn’t mean anything. but what if you pretend it didn’t mean anything? what if you smile like usual and tease him about being drunk and call him “dr. sim” again and laugh – and mean nothing by it? what then?

because jake doesn’t think he can take it. doesn’t think he can survive being the only one who’s still stuck on what he said. on what he meant.

especially now that he knows it’s you. it’s always been you.

you, meanwhile, are doing a very good job pretending to be normal. you’re even answering emails. smiling at coworkers. nodding politely as if your entire brain isn’t short-circuiting every time you replay the sound of his voice from last night. that low, unfiltered, almost serious tone when he said your name. when he muttered things you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear. things that didn’t sound like drunken nonsense so much as buried thoughts slipping past the guard he always kept so firmly in place.

yeah, you expected him to pretend nothing happened. but you did not expect to look at you like you’d caught him in a secret he didn’t know how to hide anymore.

but as the day continues, you’re unsure of what’s going on. because it already begins with jake nearly bolting in the opposite direction when he catches a glimpse of you turning the corner. it’s too early, he hasn’t had coffee, and he’s already nursing a headache that refuses to fade.

but as the day drags on, it becomes painfully obvious that it’s not. it’s you.

he spends most of the morning ducking behind doorways and acting like he’s suddenly deeply fascinated by spreadsheets he’d normally ignore. you’re around, of course – you always are – but it feels different today. jake can sense the difference in how his heartbeat spikes when he hears your voice, how his gaze flickers toward the hallway every time there’s movement, hoping and dreading in equal measure that it’s you.

the worst part? you’re trying. he sees it in the way you glance his way, the way you linger by the break room longer than usual, clearly waiting for a chance to talk. and jake? he wants to. god, he wants to. but every time he’s just about to walk over, something gets in the way.

first, it’s a department head asking for a last-minute update on his research. then, it’s a scheduling conflict about the upcoming conference that pulls him into an impromptu meeting. by the time he escapes, it’s already lunch hour – but you’re not in your usual spot.

he waits, telling himself you’re probably just running late. then he tells himself you’re probably eating at your desk. then he tells himself to stop being pathetic. he doesn’t eat either.

the afternoon is even worse.

every time he crosses paths with you, it’s like a scene designed to test his patience. you’re walking one way, he’s being pulled the other. you open your mouth to say something, but a colleague interrupts. he steps forward to greet you, but someone calls your name. it’s like the entire universe has conspired to keep you two from talking.

by 4 p.m., he’s convinced the day is cursed. the only moment he gets any semblance of peace is when he steps into the lecture hall to prepare for his keynote talk at the upcoming conference. it’s quiet. the kind of quiet that usually calms him.

it doesn’t work this time.

because now that he’s alone, his mind is a mess of what-ifs. what if you’re avoiding him? what if you regret picking up the phone? what if you remember more than he does? what if you think he’s an idiot?

what if you don’t feel the same way?

he rubs his hands over his face and stares at the empty auditorium. he’s supposed to be reviewing his slides. instead, he’s imagining the way you’d sounded that night – half-confused, half-soft, calling him dr. sim until he’d grumbled for you to use his name.

and the way you’d said it like it meant something. he wants to believe it still does.

but he doesn’t get to linger in that thought. another knock at the door. another set of questions. another missed moment.

the office is quiet.

it’s late – most people have already gone home, and the hallways have settled into that strange, liminal hum that only exists when the world is caught between work and rest. jake’s still in his office, slumped in his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, the hum of his computer casting faint blue shadows across his desk.

he should be exhausted. he is exhausted. but his mind refuses to slow down.

you’d looked at him differently today. not in a bad way, not cold or distant, but like you were waiting for something. like you expected something from him. and jake had felt that expectation like a weight in his chest, crushing and confusing and impossible to shake.

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

all day, he’d meant to pull you aside. at lunch, when you passed by his desk. at four, when you bumped into him in the hallway. even just ten minutes ago, when he watched you gather your things with a smile too polite to be anything real.

he didn’t say a word.

because the phone call – that damn phone call – had changed everything and nothing all at once.

he doesn’t remember all of it. just enough. your voice calling him dr. sim. the way his stomach flipped even then.and then the part that keeps ringing in his ears, soft and slurred and unmistakably honest: "maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you."

jake groans, burying his face in his hands. he’s never going to live that down.

but the worst part – the part that won’t leave him alone – is that he meant it. still means it. and if he’s honest with himself, he’s probably meant it for a while.

the conference. that’s where this started, didn’t it?

you were the one who told him he could do it. when he was spiraling over deadlines and expectations, when he was ready to pull the plug on the entire presentation and lock himself in his office forever, you were the one who’d looked him dead in the eye and said, “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

he’d scoffed at the time. maybe rolled his eyes. but he’d remembered it. he still remembers it.

and now, the thought of going to that conference – the one he’d only agreed to because you pushed him to – feels… wrong, if you’re not there.

he turns, slowly, letting his gaze drift toward the narrow window in his door. you’re still here.

sitting at your desk, a little slumped over your laptop, frowning in that way you do when you’re too focused to blink. your glasses are slightly askew, your hair a little messy, and jake thinks, without meaning to, how easy it would be to step outside right now. to knock on your desk, to ask you.

but not as his assistant – as something else.

he swallows hard, fingers tightening into fists on his lap. because here’s the thing: he doesn’t want to mess this up. he doesn’t want you to think the invitation is out of guilt or obligation or some weird post-drunken-embarrassment overcompensation. he wants to ask because he wants you there. because maybe he wants to hear your voice in his ear when he’s standing backstage. because maybe – he wants to see what it’s like to have someone like you beside him. for real.

and maybe, for once, he doesn’t want to be afraid of what that means.

his eyes fall back on the small bag by his desk, where the neatly printed schedule for the conference sits, tucked between scribbled notes and a half-eaten protein bar. he pulls it out slowly, flipping it open.

three days. two presentations. one person he wishes was going with him.

jake breathes out, slow and deep. he’s making a decision.

this time, he’s going to do it right. not by accident, not drunk, not in some cryptic metaphor or half-baked excuse. he’s going to ask you. properly. without hiding behind science or sarcasm.

he’s going to ask you to come with him – not as his assistant. not as a colleague. but as the one person who’s believed in him more than anyone else. as the person he can’t stop thinking about. as the one he’s scared to lose.

and if you say no – if you look at him with that confused expression and ask what the hell he’s talking about – then at least he’ll know. at least he’ll have tried. but if you say yes…

jake peeks out the door one more time, watching as you stretch and glance at the time, probably packing up soon. he lets himself smile; small, tired, hopeful.

if you say yes, then maybe the stars are aligning after all.

[fictioninmyblood]

I Meant That Shit

Summary: N’Jadaka gets tired of waiting for Y/N to forgive him and come home, so he decides to let Killmonger bring her back, kicking and screaming if necessary.

Warnings: 18+, noncon/con, smut, D/s themes, Entitled and pissed Erik being devious. Shouldthere be a warning for angst?

A/N: This was supposed to be short, but here we are. Enjoy my sexually starved thoughts.

A/N: Also, idk if this needs to be said, but I write for my demographic - black females. This has been my disclaimer/notice.

A/N: My work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than this) without my explicit consent and recognition.

After his reluctant rehabilitation, there weren't many things that brought out his killer instinct anymore. However, it seemed that lately, despite all the sparring, therapy, and meditation sessions, Erik couldn’t shake the urge to knock some sense into his girl Y/N. 

A few weeks prior when she told him she needed space and couldn’t stay in Wakanda and ignore her life anymore, he said some things. She took it the wrong way and told him they were over, as if.

When she first left, Erik was sure she’d break down and FaceTime him or use the kimoyo beads he taught her to use. She was always more vocal about missing him, so he just assumed she’d break down and restart their communication. Imagine his surprise when a whole two weeks rolled by without so much as a text, call, or video chat. He was desperate for anything from her, even a verbal lashing, but by the time a month came and went, he felt like a fiend going through withdrawal.

During week six, his excitement to finally lay his eyes on Y/N was quickly cut short when he realized she was still talking to his family even though he had been getting the silent treatment. That displeasing information lit him like a powder keg when he saw another man in Y/N’s background, getting dressed no less. T’Challa dragged him from Shuri’s lab ready to bust a gasket when his babygirl asked Shuri to go into a different room and his little cousin actually listened! His whole family was against him again it would seem.

When T’Challa got him back to his room, all he did was pace. It was ten full minutes of the king warily watching his cousin stew when M’Baku walked right into the line of fire as Erik turned to beat the shit out of his cousin. T’Challa easily dodged the current threat on his life as the giant grabbed Erik’s hands in one of his, quickly disarming him and making the pouting man even more enraged. 

“You all have been talking to her this whole time?” N’Jadaka roared.

“Just Shuri and I. She made us promise to let you figure it out for yourself, but you’ve been failing miserably cousin! Absolutely clueless!” T’Challa replied.

Erik struggled against M’Baku’s vice grip to no avail.

“No shit Sherlock. I’m gonna whoop yawls asses. M’Baku let me go.”

“Not until you promise to have a conversation with your mouth instead of your hands. I am not prepared to get involved in another war between you two.”

Erik took a few deep breaths. “Fine, I’m good.”

Once M’Baku was sure there would be no immediate violence he let go.

“You better start explaining real fucking soon T,” Erik spat, pointing an accusatory finger at T’Challa.

“Okay! Okay! Y/N is struggling to accept that you actually want her around long term!” T’Challa word-vomited.

If the prince wasn’t already enraged, the king and tribal chief would’ve laid out in hysterics at how N’Jadaka’s face screwed up. “How sway! How?!”

“From what Shuri has explained and I’ve gathered in my eavesdropping is that she thinks you only want to claim her without actually growing with her. Everything is on your terms, your way, in  your time. She’s been far more  patient than most would be with you so I can’t say she’s wrong.”

Erik jumped at T’Challa, scaring him and the big gorilla chief. “I oughta beat you up for keeping your mouth shut.”

“She and Shuri threatened me within an inch of my life and they scare me more than you. Besides, according to them, you can’t keep relying on us to figure out what’s going on in your relationship and I couldn’t find a valid disagreement.”

Erik nearly did slap T’Challa at the last sentiment.

“Aye aye!” M’Baku shouted, getting between the two yet again, “He is being truthful now. That counts eh? And if I may interject, I think you’re aiming your anger at the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik said, deflating under the weight of that truth, “but his ass still bout to pay me back and I know just how.”

————-

A few hours later…

“You know, when I told you that you could pay me back with The Royal Talon Fighter, I didn’t expect you to tag along.”

“Who else was going to keep an eye on our Wakandan technology or keep you from murdering anyone in the vicinity of Y/N, especially any man?”

Erik rolled his eyes and huffed. “I guess.”

“Or Y/N from killing you for just showing up jealous despite being radio silent since long before she left Wakanda.”

“Alright alright! You made your point. Damn! Just drive the fancy metal.”

—

Erik was all confidence until the second they landed in Atlanta. Yeah, Killmonger was out for blood and was ready to bring their girl back kicking and screaming if necessary, but Erik N’Jadaka Stevens? He was a nervous fucking wreck.

T’Challa and M’Baku’s words really struck a nerve and he had nothing but time to stew over them on the ride to your family’s hometown ranch. Before he met you, Killmonger made all the decisions, kept him alive and ahead of the game, whatever game he was surviving at the moment. He lived like that for well over a decade when he met you, but you didn’t bat an eyelash at his swift mood swings, his bloodthirst, or his possessiveness, often putting him in place. You handled him with love and care, showing him how to become the softer version of himself without sacrificing your boundaries too much. He was quickly realizing that he sometimes pushed too hard, took too much, neglected your requirements. It was your stern patience, however, that was enough to allow you to become the first person to get him the person instead of him the killer to come out and communicate, interact, and live rather than survive. 

You did it for him a second time around when he came out of cryo too. He hadn’t told you anything about how he would go about his goals, opting just to disappear and execute so it was a surprise of a lifetime to wake up to your beautiful Y/E/C. After getting over his initial anger over you seeing the worst of him, you were the first person he responded to or let touch him during his recovery. Even going so far as not allowing the medical staff to redress his wounds if he was awake.

Only your touch soothed him, only your voice gave him peace. You made him less of a killing machine and more human again, made him want to address the tsunami of emotions and trauma that he lugged around. He didn’t want to jeopardize your willingness to be that for him but he recognized how you were always giving all you had just to receive an inch of progress from him. If that.

Unfortunately, all of his introspection and nervousness flew right out of the truck T’Challa had them in when he saw you walking up to your personal guesthouse with a man in tow. Killmonger immediately took the reins pushing him and his feelings down into the abyss, and leaping out of the car before T’Challa could come to a complete stop with his cousin calling after him.

“Y/N!” Killmonger shouted from the end of the long-ass driveway, rage evident in his voice.

Y/N was haphazardly trying to get her drunk cousin up the stairs while nervously dropping her keys when she heard Killmonger. She’s only encountered him a few times since meeting Erik, after the first time she brought him back to himself, he did his best to keep that part from her. It didn’t always work since any repressed feeling or issue the man had was poured into his alter ego, feeding his desire to be wild and untamed in his decision-making. So she knew he was out for blood with just the sound of her name.

She got the key in just as Killmonger got to the beginning of her walkway up to the house. As quickly as she could, she pulled her cousin in, slamming and locking the door in her partner’s face, leaving the beast to bang on her door and demand entrance.

“I’m not dealing with your bulldozing tactics Kill! You can come back when Erik is ready to face his fucking feelings and have an adult conversation!”

“If you know what’s good for you and that nigga in there, you better open this ghatdamn door Y/N!” He roared in response.

Y/N’s cousin couldn’t stop laughing, no matter how much she waved him off. Getting trashed 3 nights in a row after a bad breakup and crashing with his favorite cousin after hearing how she was hiding from both the world and the love of her life as well didn’t prepare him for seeing her so out of character. One second she was fleeing from the man, the next she was big and bad from behind a locked door in all her 5’5” glory. It was comical as hell to him.

“You know you look constipated when you cuss? Like that stick in your ass is fighting every syllable.” He said, immediately dying in another fit of laughter at his analogy.

“Who the fuck is that in there with you, Y/N, and don’t fucking lie!”

“The next man. Nice to meet you. You must be the ex.” her cousin shouted out in a drunken slur to Y/N’s horror.

Yeah, she knew she wasn’t in the wrong, and there was no reason to defend herself against this man, but she knew not to press certain buttons once Kill made an appearance. Her cousin, unfortunately, had no discernment to see that he had just pressed the biggest red button Kill had when it came to her.

Y/N watched the myriad of emotions that crossed Erik’s face through the peephole, praying to every ancestor and display of the creator she could think of that this man wasn’t going to go full psycho-killer on them both. The last thing she needed was him taking several steps back in his healing just to unnecessarily add another scar, maybe 2 with how pissed he looked. 

Y/N turned back to her cousin, ready to kill him for putting her in even hotter water, only to find that nigga was sleep, leaving Y/N to deal with the consequences on her own. 

As soon as she had that thought her ears piqued, taking in how silent it had gotten. All she could hear was the crunch of gravel as T’Challa finally pulled in and got out. When she peeked outside the peephole again, she was met with a confused T’Challa looking for Erik.

A chill ran up her spine and her blood ran cold as she slowly turned to her current worst fear; Killmonger pissed as hell, staring her down with a knife to her cousin’s throat.

“Give me one good reason not to paint your brand new carpet with this nigga’s blood Y/F/N then fuck you on the new color.”

Putting her hands up in a placating manner, Y/N slowly inched towards Kill, stopping when he dug the knife just slightly deeper, exposing a thin line of blood, as her cousin slept unawares.

Donning a submissive voice as if she was talking to a wild animal, “Erik, baby calm down.”

“Don’t baby calm down me! You out here giving other niggas what’s mine? Mine Y/N!”

“That’s not–”

“Don’t tell me that’s not what’s going on when you’ve been M.I.Fucking.A. for weeks! And the first thing I see both on video chat and in person is you with some random?! I’ll murder every nigga to ever touch you, keep tryna play me.”

“Nobody’s playing you Daka, look closer, you know him. I promise I haven’t been stepping out on you.” Y/N continued on, internally rolling her eyes at the toddler temper tantrum she had to placate this nigga out of. “My stupidly in love, trying to escape his own heartache, and loves drama when drunk cousin that you have met several times was just egging you on.”

Kill looked closer to the man’s face and released the filter of rage clouding his judgment, upon closer inspection he realized they’d met at several of the many family gatherings he’d attended with Y/N/N. Slowly easing the knife from her cousin’s throat, Erik struggled to fight back tears at his behavior. He was proving he wasn’t good enough for her, he hadn’t actually changed all that much. Kill took the reins once again, unwilling to let him process his feelings of abandonment and betrayal just yet. Rushing towards Y/N, he laid the knife flat on the side of her face, taking up residence on the other side.

Biting a huge hickey along her jawline, before grasping her earlobe in between his teeth, Killmonger growled, “So if you ain’t been fucking him, who you been fucking?”

Although Y/N knew she logically had nothing to feel guilty about, how he was questioning her made her want to lie down and worship him as an apology regardless. She took a deep breath to center herself, understanding that any sign of nervousness would be taken as an omission of guilt.

Y/N ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulder blades to hold his face in her palms. He reluctantly released her earlobe to allow her to face him, naturally allowing the blade to rest against her neck ever so gently.

“N’Jadaka. Erik, baby? Look at me, I have been trying to live without you miserably for the last few weeks. I’ve only been going out since Y/C/N got here and I have to beg for breaks because I’m basically his chaperone. You believe me don’t you?”

Erik looked at her with suspicion clouding his eyes. He dropped the knife and held her throat in his hands, squeezing just tight enough to hint to either pleasure or pain, pushing her against the front door.

“Ion know. Why should I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N took a chance and palmed his face, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. “Cause you know that no matter how much you stress me out, isolate yourself from me, or threaten anyone who seems to have more access to me than you, that I love your crazy ass.”

Erik squeezed a little tighter, not enough to hurt her but enough to reassert his dominance. Y/N put a hand over his, doing her best to ground herself in the feeling of his hands rather than how much she wanted to cum from the pressure of them.”

“Sorry,” Y/N squeaked out, “I love every version of you, no matter how threatening any of them may be and I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Nah, princess, the other part.”

“No matter how threatening-” she started, but was cut off by the growl emanating from Erik’s chest and the pulsing release and pressure of him allowing her small gasps of air. “You know what I mean Y/N, don’t test me lil mama.”

Erik held his squeeze on her neck, tilting it ever so slightly to lick the side of her face and hold her earlobe between his teeth, tugging.

Y/N couldn’t hold back the guttural moan if she tried. Just barely keeping her eyes from rolling back and donning her sweetest sub voice, she said, “I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me big daddy. It literally makes me nauseous.”

Erik released her ear with a wet snap against her face, “It does?”

Y/N hummed and nodded her head as best she could in her current predicament.

Killmonger covered the forgiving face Erik started to make, replacing it with one of his stern, unyielding looks. “Then why you leave me and give me the silent treatment for weeks?”

Y/N whined at the tightening of his hands, closing her eyes to savor the pleasure only he could illicit lighting her body on fire.

Erik bit her bottom lip roughly, nearly drawing blood. “That’s not an answer.”

Losing the battle against her libido and subspace, Y/N whined again.

In a faux sweet voice Erik said, “Awww, is little mama already too far gone in her head thinking about all the ways imma mark you.”

Y/N nodded again, lost in the many images she’d acquired from her sexual experiences with Erik and Kill over the years.

“Good.” And with those words, Y/N was suddenly looking at Erik’s ass and the floor as he stomped upstairs to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

He tossed her on the bed and roughly stripped her of her clothes, halter top first, bottoms and panties all in one fell swoop last, leaving her heels on.

He positioned her over his knee and popped her cheeks until her bottom was flushed with his favorite shade of reddish purple and warmed his hands with the heat she emanated.

By the time he was done, Y/N wanted to be a ball of tears, but could only sniffle, her voice too shy to make an appearance when Kill took the reins of their scenes like this for fear of upsetting him further.

Erik used his knee to spread her legs open far enough to see her flower drenching her thighs in her nectar for him. He took two fingers to swipe some of it onto them for him to put in his mouth and savor, groaning at how much sweeter she seemed to have gotten since last he held her.

He laid her onto the bed and got up to undress himself, slapping her already sore ass when she didn’t move a muscle.

“You know what’s up. Face down, ass up lil mama.”

Y/N groaned but slowly inched her way into position. Already feeling like jello, she barely put an arch in her back, struggling not to lay back down and pass out.

Killmonger was not happy with that. After he’d removed everything except his grills and chain he let both his palms come down on her cheeks simultaneously.

Sounding more animal than human, “If you don’t assume the position like you got some sense, I swear to the gods Y/N.”

She was still lethargic, but was eager to experience less of his painful assaults and more of the pleasurable ones that she knew were around the corner. It took all of her strength but she was able to inch herself into position, deepening her arch just the way he demanded with her arms by her side and her cheek resting against the comforter.

“Good girl.”

With how pliant she was to his commands and the evidence of how much she trusted and wanted him dripping down her thighs, it took all of his restraint not to plunge himself into her until he felt her cervix try to push him back out.

Y/N smiled faintly at the praise, humming and wiggling her ass in response.

Killmonger grasped her wrists as he knelt to get up close and personal with his pussy. He spread her lips so he could get an eyeful of her throbbing clit and blew on it, eliciting a guttural moan from Y/N, before replacing his hand back on her wrist.

“Just you wait mamas, you gonna be screaming and crying by the time I’m done with you.”

He licked her juices on both thighs, leaving hickies all over them both before he finally put his whole face in her pussy and ate. If it wasn’t for the grasp he had on her wrists, she would have collapsed immediately.

Erik was a good kisser in general, but Killmonger was a master at french kissing, especially her pussy, until she was questioning whether or not she still wanted the pleasure. Those deep soul sucking kisses always made her question her sanity.

He slurped up and suctioned her clit into his mouth like that’s where it belonged, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she came with a silent scream, without ever releasing her tiny bud. Then he released it with a pop only to hold her lips open and spit directly onto her hole, watching his saliva drip down onto her clit. He flattened his tongue and licked like the dog he could be until she was a whining, moaning mess, tears streaming down her face just as promised. 

Once the first sound hit his ears, she couldn’t stop the noises he was pulling from her if she was mute, let alone at the mercy of his insatiable thirst for her most animalistic responses.

Kill continued his assault with his tongue, moving through her folds in a rhythm only he knew. After he’d gotten two more orgasms from her that way, Y/N alternating between screaming and crying, he latched his plush lips back around her clit, assaulting the sensitive bundle of nerves, and plunged his two most trustworthy fingers into her, immediately finding her gspot and caressing it with an incessant ‘come hither’ motion until she was squirting and creaming uncontrollably. Not willing to let go just yet he dragged it out for what seemed like forever since she briefly lost consciousness and came to, lips still parted in the O of her silent screams, with his mouth still eagerly slurping up the waterfall his fingers were responsible for. All Y/N could do was turn her head the other way to watch what she could see of him, whining and moaning.

When she could barely release any more spurts he released her, licking his hand, fingers, and forearm clean as he slowly stroked his hard as steel member. 

In the great deep of her sex haze, Y/N mumbled, “He brought dick too? How are we gonna survive dick too when he almost killed us with just his mouth and fingers.”

Erik chuckled at her ramblings, proud that he was, as usual, responsible for her senseless words.

When his precum made an appearance, he swiped it up with his thumb and rubbed it into her pussy, almost immediately replacing his thumb with the tip of his dick. Wanting to savor this moment of finally being able to reconnect with his pussy, he played with her, just like that. Rubbing the tip of his dick in both of their juices, up and down her pussy lips, circling her clit, and coming to apply just enough pressure to her desperately clenching hole, only to rinse and repeat. On and on he went, teasing them both until his quietly whimpering babygirl was back to guttural whines.

He knew she was right where he wanted her mentally when she started begging.

“Please big daddy, I’m so sorry. Please baba E, please baba, please. Please please please please please pleaaaaaasssssseeeeee.”

When he was good and ready, he pulled her up by her throat until she was flush against him, licked her tears from her cheek, and forced her to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t do that disappearing and silent treatment shit ever again Y/N. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded and blinked at him with a puppy eyed look that damn near melted the ice caps of his attitude, but he was quick to remind her who’s big daddy in their relationship.

“When I told you, you were mine, I meant that shit mama.”

“Yes, baba,” Y/N squeaked out.

He tongued her down with one of his sloppy french kisses and as soon as he felt her body relax in his hold, he did exactly what his body had been begging for since the second he saw her. He pushed himself into her until he felt the tip of her cervix try to push him all the way back out, savoring the fucked out look she wore as her body spasmed with the unexpected orgasm, he held them there letting her ride it out. 

In this moment he was grateful for the years of curated discipline since the way her pussy clamped onto him almost triggered his own mind numbing orgasm. Although he successfully staved off his nut, he couldn’t stop the way all of his fight was knocked right out of him.  Finally rid of the aggression that his Killmonger personality oozed, Erik was able to finally take in his queen, his Y/N, in all her sex hazed glory.

When she finally came down from her high he started moving, giving her slow and deep strokes as he showered her face and neck with kisses, hoping his attempt at lovemaking showed her just how priceless she was to him, how desperate he’d been without her.

Kiss, “I’m sorry too mamas,” kiss “I know how much you love me and I don't understand why,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “insist,” kiss, “on pouring all of the best parts of yourself into me.” He couldn’t help but shed a tear at the relief he felt, having her in his arms again. “I promise to do better,” kiss, “to listen and pay attention more,” kiss, “to treat you like the empress you are,” kiss, “just say you’ll come home with me,” kiss, “promise you’ll take your rightful place by my side mamas,” kiss, “claim your right as my queen.”

Y/N was a moaning, whining mess, barely holding onto consciousness and shedding her favorite kind of tears, just as promised.

Erik tucked his face into her neck, struggling to keep himself from cumming too soon since her pussy was gripping him like a boa constrictor, indicating that yet another orgasm wasn’t too far.

He held himself in the deepest parts of her and put a little whine in his hips. “Please mama, come home with me.”

Just when he thought he could hold out no longer she arched into him and screamed yes over and over, overwhelmed with her orgasm, and squirted all over them both. Erik came in her almost at the exact same time, his orgasm nearly knocking him out with how it overcame him from head to toe. Both of them slumped into the bed.

—

By the time he finally started to get up, her screams had quieted back to whimpers.

Erik slowly and gently removed her heels from her feet, massaging the soles with just the right amount of pressure.

He cleaned both of them with a warm washcloth and ran the tub, placing some bubble bath soap, epsom salt, essential oils, and dried rose petals in the water. Wanting to balance out the intrusive way he barged back into her life, he lit some candles and incense as well, and placed his favorite body oil of hers on the counter.

When he came back to get her in the tub, she was silently staring into space in the same place and position he left her. After he got her to turn over and sit up, he scooped her into his arms bridal and brought her to the tub, gently placing her into the suds.

Once he saw her relax he went back to the bedroom to strip and change the sheets, wanting their transition back into the room to be seamless. When he came back into the bathroom her head was leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, and tears were streaming down her face, alarming him to the fact that although he’d won the battle, he was still losing the war with treating his girl with the care she really was looking for from him.

Choking up himself, he kneeled next the tub and leaned over her face, kissing the droplets left behind.

“I’m so sorry mamas. You know that right?” His voice cracked at the end.

Although she started nodding yes, she ended up shaking her head no.

“Can you open your eyes for me please?”

Y/N shook her head no again.

“Pretty please?”

Again she shook her head no. She was too scared to look him in his eyes, anytime he touched her or they made eye contact she folded to his desires and needs, abandoning her own.

A little defeated, but determined to win all of her back, not just her body, Erik switched tactics.

“May I get into the tub with you and hold you?”

Y/N hesitated a few moments before she nodded yes. As soon as she heard the rustle of him standing back up she scooted forward allowing him to sit behind her.

Once he was seated, Erik gently pulled her into him, urging her body to use him as she did the edge of the tub. The moment she relaxed in his embrace, head lolling slightly to the left, he started kissing up and down her neck from where her ear met her face to her collarbone.

When he felt enough time had passed, he tried to get her to open up to him again.

“Lil mama?”

Y/N hummed.

“Tell me what’s on your mind please, I promise to listen.”

Y/N held up her pinky and asked, “Pinky promise?”

Erik locked his pinky with hers and brought her hand to his lips, softly talking against it, “Pinky Promise.”

She pulled her hand away, putting it back in her lap to join the other one, under the water.

Taking a deep breath she started.

“Am I a toy to be played with Daka?” Erik was ready to answer but kept silent, knowing she needed to get all of her thoughts out before he interrupted her. “To be taken out of storage to be used and then tossed aside when you’re not getting the desired result anymore?”

Rubbing the sides of her thighs and suddenly very scared, he said, “ no mamas.”

“Then why do you get to demand time and attention and energy from me, but when I ask for a sliver of honest communication, the smallest amount of all three resources you have to offer me, you shut me out? Why is it only okay for you to communicate what’s going on with you and us when you feel like it, when it's convenient? Why do I always have to beg for you to lean on me, to use me softly? Why do I have to beg you to let me hold you. Why don’t you ever just ask? Why do I have to grovel at your feet to be held by you? Why is the only time you make love to me when you’re trying to win me back? Why?” 

By the end of her list, Y/N was sobbing. Erik wrapped his arms around her body and tucked his chin in the curve of her neck and let a few tears drop himself before he answered.

“I don’t know mamas. I guess…,” he wiped the tears from his face and gulped down the rising tsunami of emotion that she so easily created with just a few sentences before he wrapped his arm back around her, “...I guess I’m just terrified.”

“Of what baby? Haven’t I been here? Haven’t I done the best to support you with all that I am, to remain honest with you and show you that I am loyal to our future?”

He kissed her shoulder and said, “you have. I just-”

Y/N pulled out of his arms to finally look him in the eye, “You just what? Aren’t my efforts to build a life with you enough?”

Erik palmed her face and gave her a deep kiss, hoping to transfer all of his emotion into it.

He put his forehead against hers and said, “I’m just so fucking terrified of losing you. To have the warmth of your love snatched away at a moment's notice. I’m terrified in a way I haven’t been in so fucking long that I just convince myself that its better to pull away and show you how unworthy I am of the full magnitude of your love.”

He pulled away and kissed her forehead, grateful she was finally looking him in the eyes again. “But this time of separation showed me I am nothing without you, just a hollow shell, no love to warm my soul and bones. Even the care and concern of my family isn’t enough to fill the abyss that’s created in your absence.”

Y/N swiped away the stray tears from his face, “that’s-”

“I know. Super intense.”

“Yes. But I was gonna say a relief to hear. You never really give me any verbal confirmation that you feel as deeply for me as I do for you unless I say I love you first.”

“I know mamas, but I promise to do better, be better, for you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “No Baba. For you. You need to talk your feelings out loud so you can hear it too. You need to know that the only reason you’re able to love me so deeply is because you love yourself that deep, if not deeper, first. Understand?”

Erik smirked, yet again grateful that he had such a wise and loving partner who always held up the pieces of mirror he’d sworn he’d broken to pieces.

“Yea lil mama, I understand.”

“Good…,” Y/N kissed him again, deepening the kiss but teasing him slightly with how lightly she moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, she almost regretted bursting his bubble. “...cause I’m not going back with you until I’m ready.”

Erik’s face instantly fixed itself into a scowl. “But-”

Y/N held a finger to his lips. “I said when I’m ready, not never. I came home to get back to taking care of me, love me, and understanding what my needs are.”

His pout deepened.

“And I learned that I need to stop jumping when you say jump. So I go back when I feel that I’m ready, not because you showed up and demanded it of me. Okay?”

He was a little deflated, but still holding onto the hope of her eventually coming back with him.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until you’re ready.”

“But-.” 

It was Erik’s turn to hush her with a finger. “I already know what you’re going to say and my duties will be waiting for me when we go back together. Now that you’re back in my arms I’m in no hurry to lose the privilege again.”

“You’re not!”

“You’re right, cause I’m staying.”

All Y/N could do was chuckle, understanding that she’d lost this battle and relishing in the fact that she won the war. It seemed he was finally starting to understand what she needed because although she was indeed going to complain about him having responsibilities to return to, she really did need him to stay. That abyss he had was mirrored in her heart and only time with him would close it back up.

Both satisfied that they worked through the root issue, they went back to enjoying the bath, Y/N comfortably resting her head against Erik.

When they were all pruney and the water was verging on cold, Erik stood them up to drain the tub and turned on the shower to rinse them both. After he dried them both, he quickly lotioned his body with shea butter, grabbed the body oil and guided Y/N hand in hand, back into the bedroom.

He laid her on her back first to moisturize and massage her front, kneading out all of the tension she held. When he was working his way back up from her feet, he couldn’t help but get stuck between her thighs, using his thumbs to massage circles up them until he reached her pussy again.

Y/N slightly parted her legs, letting one bend and fall open for easy access. He immediately used one hand to part her lips so he could see her clit clearly.

Erik leaned down to softly kiss her clit a few times before he pulled away and used the thumb on his other hand to rub slow circles. He admired her form as he brought her to orgasm leisurely. 

He went back to massaging her thighs until she returned from the heights of her pleasure.

His voice was more gruff than he wanted when he told her, “turn over.”

She easily compiled and continued his massage, paying extra attention to her sore ass.

When Y/N was 2 more seconds away from sleep and he was satisfied with his work he urged her under the covers and joined her. She tried to grab his hardened member to return the favor but he grabbed up her hands, kissing them to soften the blow.

“No, I needed to show you how softly I can treat you, I don’t need to cum right now. Sleep.”

Y/N pouted and whined, wanting to feel him connected to her again.

She lifted her leg over his as they faced each other and inched as close as she could with her hands in his, feeling his dick graze her pussy lips.

Putting a little more base in his voice, “Ay! What I just say lil mama?”

She whined out, “I don’t care, I just need to feel you in me Baba.”

Erik grunted. 

Y/N donned her best puppy dog pout and begged with her words and body, wiggling in his hold and being able to feel the lightest brush of his hot skin. “Pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee?”

“Fine, but careful what you asked for…” he said, sheathing himself in one stroke and stilled her hips before she could start moving. “...you just might get it.”

He released her hands and tongued her down, palming her face.

“Sleep Y/N.”

“But,” she said, her face scrunching in confusion.

“You can keep me warm, but that’s it for now, okay?”

She started to whine again but was cut short when he wrapped the hand palming her face around her throat.

“Sleep mamas. You’re going to need all of your energy in the morning.”

She wasn’t necessarily happy, but she also wasn’t necessarily dissatisfied. She did get her wish after all.

“Ok.”

Y/N tucked her head under his chin and started to drift before she sleepily said, “thank you for showing me how much you care Baba E. I’m really happy you’re here.”

Erik kissed her forehead and squeezed his arms a little tighter around her.

“Thank you for letting me.”

He was answered with her cute snores and let the sound lull him into the best sleep he’d had in too long of a while.

[ikeuluvr]

KISS ME THRU THE PHONE || Nishimura Riki

synopsis - surviving months on end without you while he’s touring is the equivalent of torture for bf!ni-ki, but thankfully facetime exists…

idol!ni-ki x reader / established relationship - fluff + teeny bit of angst / warnings: none! / word count: ~1k

part of ikeuluvr’s song series ᵔᴗᵔ — works inspired by songs! requests are open for other songs + anything else you would like to see from me <3

Ni-ki loves the rush of performing more than anything in the world. Standing on stage in dozens of different countries—looking out at the faces of his fans while some of them cheer, some laugh, dance, or even cry. The sound of everyone screaming his name makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. He dreads leaving the stage each night; watching the lights of the crowd slowly disappear as the screens close in front of him, giving him one less thing to look forward to. However, the one thing he knows he can always count on is speaking to you at the end of the night.

As much as Ni-ki adores touring, a small glint of guilt always resides in his heart each time he has to leave you for months at a time. Each goodbye is never easier as you go from having him sitting in front of you to propping up your phone screen at the table with him on a call. The time difference was nothing enjoyable either, the both of you waking up at the crack of dawn or going to sleep obnoxiously late depending on where Ni-ki is to make sure you have a chance to speak to each other that day.

As tonight marks week five out of six of being apart, Ni-ki feels especially restless wishing nothing more than for you to be in his arms as he sleeps his exhaustion off tonight. Once he’s driven back to the hotel, he doesn’t waste any time to say good night to his members before trudging to his room and throwing himself onto the bed. He pulls out his phone and speeds to click your contact to start a FaceTime call. Letting out a sigh, he stares at his tired face on his screen until it’s replaced with yours.

“Hi beautiful,” he hums, a smile plastering on his face as all of the energy he lost suddenly rushes back into his body, “I miss you.”

“Hi Riks, I miss you so much too!” you respond excitedly as you get comfortable on your couch, the sunlight peeking through your curtains while the moonlight peeks through Ni-ki’s, “How was the show tonight? I saw clips on social media, you guys were on fire.”

Ni-ki lets out an endeared chuckle at how adorable you are—the way you always keep track of every performance makes his heart flutter, “It was really really good! I love the Chicago crowd, they’re amazing. They were so loud tonight I could barely hear myself sing even with my monitors in.”

You flash a smile, listening intently as he speaks, his eyes sparkling with each word, “Aww I’m glad, it’s what you guys deserve,” you say, “I wish I could’ve been there. It looked so fun.”

“Yeah… me too,” Ni-ki answered, his tone dropping softly as the pain of missing you starts to hit again, “I keep wanting to look for you in the crowd until I remember you’re not here.”

A frown takes over your face as Ni-ki’s voice gets solemn, your heart slowly breaking at the way his face immediately drops, “Honey… only one more week, right? Only one more week and then we can spend every night cuddling in bed again while I kiss you all over your pretty face,” I grin, trying to cheer him up a little bit.

Ni-ki lets out a laugh as a pink blush covers his cheeks, “I’ll be counting down the week by the minute, don’t worry,” he hums before pausing, a smirk drawn on his face, “Do you think you could drop of of university to start touring with me?”

“Well! No…” you laugh, “Probably not the best idea sweetie, but good question.”

“I’m kidding, I wouldn’t let you do that even if you wanted to,” Ni-ki smiles, “But I really do wish you could be here with me every night. I love my job, but I love you so much more and I just-” he lets out a defeated sigh, “I wish I could bring you along and triple the joy I feel on tour by having you in the crowd each night.” His face falls again, a mix of irritation and heartache quickly filling his voice.

You tilt your head with a pout as Ni-ki’s eyes leave the screen to look somewhere else, the pained look on his face killing you inside, “I know Riki… I wish more than anything I could be with you too. In the future when things are a little different, we’ll travel the world together, hm? I’ll make you my cute little tour guide in every country,” you snicker with a smile, trying to bring him out of his melancholic state.

He lets out a snort at your response, playfully rolling his eyes, “Okay babe, I promise to be your cute and very handsome tour guide in the future,” Ni-ki retorts, letting out a long breath, “Hey love, can you give me a kiss?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his request thinking the jet lag may be getting to him at an exponential level and pause for a second to think of how to respond, “Ummm… I would love to baby, but there’s kind of an obstacle in the way if you haven’t noticed.”

“No, no I know, I’m not stupid I promise,” he chuckles, “But I miss you, I miss you, I really wanna kiss you…”

“And how are you expecting me to do this, Riks?”

“Baby, kiss me thru the phone,” Ni-ki says in a shy whisper, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips making you smile and flush a rosy pink, “Come on… I know you want to.”

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that?” you laugh, absolutely smitten with your boyfriend on the other end of the line, “But fine… I’ll kiss you thru the phone babe.”

Ni-ki lets out a giggle as he cheeses a boxy smile, quickly bringing the phone closer to his face and planting a kiss to his phone camera just as excitedly as if it were your actual lips he was kissing. You do the same with a lovesick grin painted on your face, pulling away a few seconds later to see the same adoring smile on Ni-ki’s lips, “We get to do that but for real in 7 days you know…” you remind him with a playful smile.

“Can’t wait baby… see you then.”

masterlist

[growth-opportunities]

This whole blog is inspiration to me and omg I love it sm, ever since I found it a bit ago I’ve been trying to grow my tits and I love how it’s worked so well 😳😙 went from a D cup to a N cup!

Anyway keep up the amazing work 😌🫶

-🐰

Aw, thank you! Always good to know that people appreciate the work! Nice to meet you, 🐰!

But also, damn! You should be proud of your own growth! I only started this blog back in October, so that means you've gone up 10 cup sizes in less than six months! If you keep going at the same rate, another six months will put you at an X-cup! Of course, that's assuming that your growth stays even and constant and I think we both know that it won't. The bigger you grow, the more obsessed with your tits you'll become. You'll be spending more and more time massaging them, kneading them, rubbing lotion into them, encouraging them to keep swelling and growing. The bigger you get, the bigger you'll want to be, never fully satisfied. The feeling of your shirts stretching and warping over your chest, of your bras overflowing until they break open, will be endlessly addictive and you keep yourself growing to keep chasing that erotic high.

Maybe you'll be generous and let your friends help. You might need it, as your tits get bigger and your nipples move out of your reach. It won't be long until they're just as invested in your growth as you are, learning all your weak points that make you blush and moan with just a touch. By the time you start to wonder if you've gotten too big, it'll be too late to stop.

But something tells me you wouldn't be too worried about that, now would you?

[shenanitics]

Raphael Nsfw Alphabet ❤️

Wow it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. A bit archaic but fun nonetheless

TW: Violence, control and Raphael generally being a cruel bastard

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He cares a lot for appearances. After he finishes, he’ll drop you in the pools of restoration before rushing to have the sheets changed and any other messes disposed of. Raphael then preens himself to hell (heaven?) and back, often leaving you to yourself.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Raphael loves his face. It’s why he’s particularly fond of mirror sex. 

His favorite part of you are your horns if you have them. He enjoys grabbing his more infernal partners by the horns as he rails them, forcing their head backwards to reciprocate his thrusts. If you are not a tiefling, he’ll settle for your chest and snake an arm around your breasts to hold you. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Devilish, to say the least. Almost warm enough to burn, tastes of spice and ash, and leaves a tingling sensation wherever it touches your skin. He produces enough to last him six or so rounds. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a lazy bottom. He’s a pillow princess. Basically everything he does with Haarlep. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Raphael is thousands of years old with thousands of years of experience. He knows of every kink and fetish in the planes’ and every weakness of the mortal body. He would be a near-perfect lover if he were not entirely preoccupied with pleasing himself. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Raphael prefers to have you sitting on his lap. It lets him hold you on display while he teases you into a squirming mess atop him. He’ll finally take you when he’s sure you’re desperate enough to come before him. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Many of the things that Raphael does are quite funny, though he himself does not think so. Best hold your tongue. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Raphael obsessively preens all parts of himself, nethers included. He has no body hair except a thin brown patch leading to his cock. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Devils do not desire intimacy in the way that mortals do. Raphael takes pleasure in control; he wants to be begged for and allowed far past your boundaries. Every act of intimacy—kissing, caressing— is just another facet to affirm his domination. 

If you ask for softness, he will oblige you only to satisfy himself. He’ll hold you like he owns you and kiss so roughly he draws blood. The only time you’ll hear praise from his lips is when he wants to talk you out of your reluctance, or to glorify your ruination. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Raphael pleasures himself through Haarlep. Due to the nature of his work, Raphael returns to the house only a few times a month; he promptly dives under Haarlep to get both his cock and ego stroked.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Humiliation, leashes and drawing blood. Unsurprisingly, Raphael is a sadistic bastard. He loves to leash you and“train” you into submission, often when you displease him. If he feels particularly irritable, he’ll incorporate weapons into these sessions; what he inflicts rivals the savagery of many Loviatan rituals. 

Haarlep sometimes joins in the debauchery. He’s more affectionate—a kinder lover than Raphael, but by no means less cruel. When you’re being shared, Haarlep will drug you with his saliva and take you until you’re a docile, fucked out mess beneath the both of them.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

On the bed in his boudoir. Sometimes in the hallways or on a loveseat, but always in the House of Hope. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Himself. And the aftermath of himself on you. Welts and bruises and cuts, how you beg and cry and scream his name, all because of him.  

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bottom for anyone but Haarlep. The closest you’ll get is riding him. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Raphael sometimes gives, but only as foreplay, and only when you’re below him (he will never kneel). Considering how much he talks, he’s fittingly skilled with his tongue. 

Of course, he’s accustomed to receiving. He particularly enjoys breaking his partners in by training the gag reflex out of them. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood. When he’s not angry he drags it out and savors every thrust. When he is, he fucks his rage out and scratches bloody rivulets into whoever is there to take him. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Every time Raphael has sex is a quickie lmao 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Everything Raphael does to you is a risk. Whips, knives, having Haarlep lap a bit of your soul away—anything that doesn’t seriously disfigure you is fair game. You occupy a mere moment of his eternal life, and thus he treats you like a passing commodity. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

If Raphael actually puts in effort he lasts longer, though his stamina is by no means impressive. He partly makes up for it with how many rounds he can go without rest—six, usually enough to make his partner forget about his mediocre performance. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes. He has a designated room for them. Built almost like a second archive. Every erotic device that was made in his lifetime is there. Everything. 

Including dildoized replica(s) of his dick. 

Raphael alternates between using himself and a toy to draw you closer to climax while delaying his own. He only allows Haarlep to use toys on him. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Even for a devil, Raphael teases you a maddening amount. 

He’ll…

-Put you in a chasity cage and let Haarlep feed you aphrodisiacs. 

-Get bored mid-sex and leave

-Sit you on his lap and finger you for hours, only to then throw you off

-Tie you to a bed leg to make you feel the creaking as he fucks himself atop it

-Do the same to Haarlep (doesn’t work, he’s into it) 

…Just to name a few. 

He delights in frustrating you to the point of tears, to have you groveling on the floor in his behalf.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Raphael hums and growls, groaning when he’s especially aroused. His higher pitched noises are reserved for his incubus. 

The debtors outside the boudoir usually don’t hear anything. Except that one time…

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Imo Raphael is enough of a bastard that he moans his own name when Haarlep rails him

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His human form as a slender penis longer than average with no other peculiarities. 

His fiend form though, oh my. Red like the rest of his body, a dark crimson tip, and ridged along the sides. The tip is curved upwards, making finding g spots easier. He’s quite large in this form, though still reasonable for most mortals to take. 

There’s also one on his ascended fiend form. It’s burns like hellfire and is too large for most mortal bodies. No one has laid with it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

High. High enough that Mephistopheles sent Haarlep to distract him. He has yet to outgrow the lust of his younger years.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No rest for the wicked as they say. Devils don’t sleep and he is no exception. If you do after a particularly rough night, he may throw you off the bed just to laugh as you jolt awake on the floor.

[weaselle]

#i have a solution for a lot of this i'd love to implement but it means completely changing how people acquire and own dogs so#idk if i'll ever figure out how to make it happen

Would love to hear your proposed solution! I've been thinking a lot about providing satisfying enrichment to dogs, since right now I have a five-month-old puppy of unknown/mixed breed who of course has a steadily increasing amount of energy. She seems to enjoy doing obedience-type stuff with me, and I'm planning to try nosework with her soon, and when she's bigger I'm hoping to take her running/hiking.

ooooooo now you done it! :)

first of all, congrats on a great dog, sounds like you two are going to be really good together! I l really love the interest you are taking in enrichment. If you are not a runner yourself but want to run your dog, i can recommend biking your dog with walkydog (or any other similar product by some different brand, but i use walkydog even though the name drives me crazy because it's not for walking your dog lol)

i used this for 8 years with my own dog, and i've also been doing it professionally for other people's dogs (tho i did have to upgrade to a whole rig i designed and built for running dogs, i actually spent most of today working on a redesign to fix fit six dogs and just be generally better, but here's the original)

anyway, biking with my dog was so fulfilling i decided to make it my main job, so, i totally recommend it. You gotta wait until your dog is at least 18 months though, because regular long runs on hard surfaces can create lifelong joint issues if you start them on it too soon. But once you decide to start it will be easy i'm sure, 95% of the dogs i've done it with understand the assignment and decide they love it within the first 10 minutes of trying it. Even small dogs, as long as they are proportional in the leg department. What i mean is a jack russel is fine for this (they make a low attachment for small dogs) but a dachshund has stubby legs and a long back and should not be considered for this activity. And if they are a breed that has big fat paws (most bully breeds, giant schnauzers etc) you have to check their foot pads often and possibly get them some mushing booties.

OKAY, on to the actual ask! you came here from a specific post, dear Anon, but i'm going to paste the relevant part of that post here for other people

"Human lifestyles and canine lifestyles used to be a ven diagram that was much closer to a circle. We used to both live in the woods and hunt creatures and defend territory. Even farming or ranching is not too far from this lifestyle. It has been a great match up for a long time. But now, modern™ society has us living in a way that is much less of a match up. Clients want me to train their dogs not to bark, and are not encouraged when i explain that we spent literally thousands of years asking them to bark more, actually, so it’s going to be an uphill battle. Humans used to have very physical lifestyles, and it use d to be much rarer to spend a day where your dog couldn’t be with you all day doing normal dog behaviors. Now our lives are full of very strict and confining rules of behavior we expect from a dog, and yet people are spending less time than ever socializing/training their dogs to be functioning members of their own pack. It’s sad."

Now, what did i come up with that would be a much better system for how people acquire and own dogs? this post is already getting long, so, answer below the cut

First, specifically what problems am I solving? So for me, the main issues is nobody is teaching dogs how to be a good fit for a modern home. Let's break that down

People want dogs to have a lot of boundaries. For example don't bark unless someone is literally breaking in but also i haven't trained you what that looks like so how are you supposed to know -- be with me in public but do not interact with almost anything at all -- don't run up to greet people or other dogs unless we find out if it's okay with them first. Right? there's a lot of stuff we want from our dogs.

People want their dogs to be able to amuse themselves and not need a person, like, they want their dog to go lay down on their dog bed and chew their dog toys for hours at a time or whatever, the way we would happily spend a few hours online or watching TV shows or something. But most of what a dog would naturally do to amuse themselves is off limits -- no going out and exploring the world on your own -- no digging things up, taking things apart, or getting into things like the food cupboards -- no barking at other dogs, chasing cats, or eating random ground scores ... dogs aren't allowed to do almost anything they would do to amuse themselves, we basically tell them, "you can only do fun things i pick out for you and most of them only if i'm supervising, and i'm only available for about an hour a couple times a day. The rest of the time you have to be bored and waiting on me for fun, but also don't be so bored that you decide to bother me, i'm busy and you can't be involved"

We wish they would have fun by themselves in a way that doesn't involve them getting into trouble, but "getting into trouble" is most of their natural desires, and we tend to not find things they can spend time at on their own. Plus they'd rather do it with us anyway, it's like, you don't want go to an amusement park alone, you only want to go if your friends are going, and life is often one big amusement park to a dog.

But if your dog is trained to be in public, you can involve them with a lot more of your day!

And people aren't socializing their dogs right either. A puppy would normally spend a year or more, 100% of their waking life in the company of their littermates, teaching each other things like "if you are an asshole others won't want to play with you and you might get bit" and "paying attention to what others are communicating to you is important" and "biting me that hard is okay for playing but biting me this hard hurts actually and i hate it and play time is over now" all kinds of super necessary things for a young dog to learn

But we take them at 8-10 weeks! and then WE don't teach them this stuff! and we expect them to be alone for long periods of time! and not sleep in a giant cuddle pile of loved ones, and not be participating in what their siblings or mother are doing 100% of their waking life.

It's crazy, we're basically severing a dog from the experiences they need to be a well adjusted member of our pack, and then we go like "why are you like this!?"

Oh dear, i still haven't gotten to the actual solution

SO. Here it is:

Dogs, should be born and raised in a facility (not like a sterile warehouse building or whatever, yuck, but yes like, a place designed inside and out for the sole purpose of raising dogs)

At this facility would be adult dogs that also help teach the dogs (important, in terms of socialization and even in modeling behavior, dogs can often learn more from other dogs than we can teach them on our own) And of course there would be a staff of professional dog nannies/trainers.

Dogs would learn things like, proper barking etiquette, go to the bathroom where they are told it is okay (not just in the yard, but where in the yard, and how to be told where is okay if, for example staying in a hotel or overnight with friends or family) no resource guarding (no threatening to bite anyone who gets too near their food or toys etc) how to behave around children and small pets, how to behave in public, how to calmly let someone feel between their toes, clip their nails, enjoy a bath, behave at the vet, not beg for food, heel off leash, how to learn new home and pack responsibilities using a basic toolkit (so for example they know basic task "carry", and understand that they may be asked to do jobs involving that, such as "help me carry groceries in from the car. Dogs LOVE to be a functional part of the pack). All this and more.

all the things that give a pet dog access to a better life. If they are calm at the vet they don't have to be held down or other things that can cause panic, if they behave in public they can go with their people more places more often, etc. As well as some additional bonuses like get outside if you hear a fire alarm, don't be scared of fireworks, the difference between safe sidewalks and dangerous roadways...

The time, energy, and skill to do all this for your dog? nobody has all three. Getting a dog from a facility like this would result in a dog that had actually been given the tools to be a really good fit for a modern home, which means a better life for the people, and a MUCH more fulfilling life for the dog.

But people want puppies. I get that. Here's how it works. Keep in mind that most dogs become fully adult at about 2 years old, and that once the facility was operating the exact ages and periods of time would probably be adjusted and fine tuned, but here's the basic idea

you come see the puppies at about 2 weeks old, visit as many days a week as you want. At twelve weeks old (3 months) specific puppies and people are matched. Continue to visit as many days a week as you wish, and take your puppy home for 24 hours every other week (remember most people bring puppies home from a breeder at 8-10 weeks, so this is prime puppy age)

Meanwhile you start taking our one class per month, year long dog course, matched to the stage of development your puppy is experiencing, held at the facility where you have access to, for example, watching trainers work with dogs, and observing groups of dogs in areas alone together, so that you understand dog behavior and communication, understand the basics of dog training, etc, and we are all on the same page when your dog does come to live with you.

At six months old your puppy is this much of a puppy still :

They start joining you for most of your classes which can become more personal, helping you practice whatever you are trying to accomplish at home. Also starting at 6 months you take your puppy home every other weekend.

At 8 months you take your puppy three weekends each month (actual days don't mater, if you work in restaurants and what to have your dog on your "weekend" of wednesday/thursday that's fine, it should just be your days off so that you can dedicate enough of your time to being with your puppy) At ten months you take your puppy every weekend, or perhaps something like for one week in the first half of the month and one weekend in the second half.

One year old puppies are starting to look like a whole dog but are still only half baked

At a year, your once a month classes end, and you take your dog home every other week. You are half a dog owner, you spend half your time with your half grown dog.

Between 18 months and 2 years is a normal age for wolves to begin setting out on their own; being 18 months is sort of the dog equivalent to being 17 years old.

So when your dog is a year and a half, 18 months old, you take one follow up class and your dog starts spending 3 weeks per month with you.

At a year and nine months old they are only spending 1 weekend a month at the facility (again, could be any two days of the week) and the rest of the month they live with you.

At two years old you take your final class which is mostly a group Q&A with a little graduation party, and your dog comes to live with you full time as a newly adult dog. But they've already been spending at least 3 weeks a month with you for the last half a year, and about half of every month for the six months before that.

And then for the next year they come back to the facility for a weekend of training touch-ups and trouble shooting, once every three or four months if they are having no issues, once a month if needed.

If this was the norm, dog owners and their dogs would all have better lives.

Costs of this raising could be augmented through boarding and daycare, since the facility would be an ideal place for dogs to stay, as well as the programs outlined below, such that each dog is not too expensive for people. Currently people spend a lot of money for purebreds and very little money for random adopted dogs, and something like this could still be true, (responsibly bred) purebreds for more money, mutts for much less, but all with access to the full training -- it's important that the dogs all not cost too much or it won't be normalized and puppy mills and backyard breeders etc will still provide a huge percentage of the dogs people get and then only rich people's dogs will benefit from what i am trying to do, so, these other programs and pure-breed mark ups etc would be necessary)

So these facilities should also be training service dogs of all kinds, and, depending on the location of the facility (city or countryside) different jobs like search and rescue, herding, anything related to law enforcement (simply because i 100% do not trust the cops to be training their own dogs) hunting... any and all dog jobs.

AND this would be a perfect way to ensure my other dog idea gets done

Because i think there should be battalions of diagnostic dogs.

I think there should be a few diagnostic dogs at every public event, every sporting event, every concert, every mall, and certainly every hospital... Every crowded place there should be a few dogs moving though, or posted up at walkway intersections, etc. Dogs that diagnose heart murmurs, diabetes, cancer, whatever; dogs can diagnose all kinds of things. It only takes a few sniffs or a few seconds of listening and they can know. As a free diagnostic service paid for by municipalities, states, or federal healthcare funding, they could be pointing out all the people who have these conditions to their handlers (who would have little business cards that just said, hey you've been dog-diagnosed with ____, you should probably check with your doctor about that"). And you could get like, special little lightly scented bracelets or key chains or necklaces or something that would let dogs know if you've already been diagnosed with their thing.

Many of these conditions currently require lab work and weeks of time and a bunch of money to diagnose, and you have to realize you might have it and ask for it and your doctor has to agree that it's necessary, it's a whole thing... but a dog could do it for free in 10 seconds while you were walking into a shopping center.

Anyway, those are some of my dog thoughts

[fairlyang]

Obsessed: Mía 🕷️

miguel making sure you remember who you belong to

w/c: 999

pairing: possessive!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. extreme jealousy, possessiveness, friends with benefits, slight degradation, "slut" usage, spanking, fingering

notes: yet another universe where you aren't even dating him yet and he's already acting crazy bc : mexican men 🤥 (also wanted the total wc to be an angels number :D)

part one — part two — part three

"Miguel por favor- I said I was sorry!" You whined and he groans.

"Me vale." He mutters as he grips on to your arm and pulls you in to his apartment. (I don't care)

"You think I'm playing games huh?" He growls into your ear and pushes you against the door.

He pushes himself against you, grinding himself against you making you let out a quiet moan. "Eres mía, don't forget it." He whispers and moves his hands down to your hips.

He makes you move your ass back and forth against his crotch and you only whimpered. "Miguel-"

"Párale." He warns and you close your mouth and just lay your cheek against his door. (Stop it)

You weren't exactly going out with Miguel, it was more of a friends with benefits thing. An occasional booty call. The first person your friends think of when you say you're going to a dick appointment.

And although he's the one that put up the boundaries of "no getting feelings" and "only sex" somehow you ended up here, with him saying you only belong to him after he caught you at a club dancing with a stranger.

He quickly snatched you up and brought you back to his place. Your mind was confused but you didn't have the balls to question him right that second.

Especially as one of his hands began spanking you. He bent you over and straightened himself before smacking your ass again at the same spot. You felt a slight burn and you wouldn't have flinched if it weren't or the fact that it was cold as shit and you were already shivering.

You were already on edge from how he nearly caused a fight, a fucking scene at your favorite club.

Last thing you needed was to be kicked out.

Or have him bitch about the "no feelings" rule after this. Because it already looked like someone failing and somehow it wasn't you.

Suddenly he pulls you back up and grabs your hand leading you towards his bedroom.

This was the first time he's ever acted like this and you'd been having this arrangement for six months.

What changed for him to act this way? Who knows but maybe after tonight you'll find out.

And why did you apologize?

To help yourself be in less shit than if you didn't. But either way it didn't help.

He closed the door to his bedroom then grabs you by the waist to lead you to his bed. He has you sit down before he sits down next to you and somehow in a blink of an eye maneuver, you were now laying against his lap.

You knew what was to come and sure enough his hands pulled your dress up and over your ass until your tiny thong was on full display for him.

"Dressed like a dirty slut and you weren't even planning on seeing me?" He spat and roughly spanked your left ass cheek.

You let out a whimper, unsure on if he expects you to answer or not. But what was the point on waiting around to see if anything changes? You were single and there were many fish in the sea....

But you can't tell him that.

"Answer me." He says and smacks your right cheek harder than the first.

You groan and hide your face with your hands trying to quickly think of an excuse or anything that won't make him even more furious.

Or jealous per say...

"No, no I wasn't." You answered truthfully making him groan and smack you even harder one cheek after the other.

"Shit!" You swore and bite your lip.

You could feel how warm your ass was getting and it was stinging a bit now too.

"What do you want me to say?" You ask and are met with silence.

Instead he moves your thong to the side so he can inspect your pussy.

Because he knows you too well, he already knows you were going to be drenched.

And sure enough you were.

When he moved your thong a string of your slick separated from it. He kept his mouth shut not wanting to encourage your behavior but couldn't help but be so turned on with how wet you got from his jealousy.

"Such a dirty fucking slut, look at you." He groans and glides two fingers against your slit.

You kept your mouth closed and tried to stay as still as you could.

He teased your hole with the tip of his middle finger before suddenly slamming three fingers inside you.

He didn't let you adjust and started immediately pounding his fingers into you. You cried out and squirmed on his lap, trying desperately to adjust but he didn't stop and only went harder with your movements.

"Oh fuck-!" You cried and reached back with your arms to try and stop him but with his other hand he held your arms behind your back.

"Stay fucking still." He hissed and you had no choice but to do so.

You let out moans and clenched around his fingers as his fingers were going at a relentless pace and it was finally starting to feel good.

Somehow he already brought your orgasm out, maybe the extra finger helped him out this time and the fact you weren't prepared but he still started fucking your poor pussy.

You legs started trembling and your arms were starting to hurt, and you could slightly feel Miguel's bulge against your stomach. You cried out for him but he didn't care.

"Dime, de quién perteneces?" He asks, you barely heard him because you were so focused on your breathing, trying to stay somewhat calm. (Tell me, who do you belong to?)

You let out whimpers and finally speak, "a ti, nomás a ti Miguel." (You, only to you)

"That's fucking right." He mutters before pulling his fingers away and letting you go.

He flips you over and lays you down, then leaves.

[inthelow]

GET HIM BACK! — jeon jungkook. (1)

pairing: f!producer/writer reader x idol!jungkook

summary: after a hard breakup with who you thought would be the one, the only thing in your mind was a sad playlist of Taylor Swift songs and red wine. But, what happens when your neighbour- who is done of hearing you cry at 2am every day - puts the idea in your head of getting your ex back? but with a good and sweet revenge… of course everything will be easier if you didn’t have any feelings for your ex and if your neighbour wasn’t a superstar idol who doesn’t have a problem at pretending to be your boyfriend to piss off that ex - who also happens to be his ex best friend -. What a mess, right?

genre: fake relationships trope, kinda growing up womanhood thing, female rage (a LOT of female rage), funny but cringe in the same way, a lot of drama - in a comedy way but also very shitty things - a lot of bad jokes and some angst (lot of “not being good enough” thoughts and mental health issues), some sexual thing (yeah, makeout, kissing, sex, etc)

masterlist: (synopsis), (one), (two), (three), (interlude 1), (interlude 2) (four) (five), (six) (epilogue)

CHAPTER ONE — I wanna make him really jealous… I wanna make feel bad.

summary chapter one: After planning the sweet revenge and Jungkook realizing you’re actually crazy, it’s time to play the game… except of course, things don’t always go the way you want.

There were few things that scared you in life, so few that you could count them with your fingers. The first being spiders, the second being tripping while walking and breaking your front teeth and the last being having to talk about the uncontrollable fear of never being enough for anyone, not even yourself.

It was funny, and your friends thought the same, since you were 14 years old you had not been afraid or ashamed to share your thoughts and work with strangers, something good because it managed to take you to the area in which you currently work, musical art. You never took a step back, sharing music on Soundcloud and trying to apply to any music company that would accept you to gain some experience, you had talked and begged so much for opportunities that sometimes the memory of it felt a little embarrassing but that was the reason why you were where you are so you knew you shouldn’t feel like that. Making a fool of yourself had made you reach the position of a respect producer in one of the biggest entertainment companies in Korea. You spent years from one company to another one, producing for underground artists until you got the opportunity to travel to the USA and met Carl Falk, a producer with several contacts who apparently saw something in you as he help you meet more artists and make your list of contacts bigger. You spent some years in the USA producing and writing for artists of different levels and making your name known in the music industry, that’s why when an offer of returning to Korea to sign a contract as a permanent producer and writer at one of the world’s biggest entertainment companies didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

Returning to Korea was returning home. Your career was going better than ever, with an open contract that allowed you to work with any artist you wanted and that opened the door to, if you wanted, publishing your own work yourself. It was good. All thanks to Min Yoongi, or better known as Suga or Agust D among his fans, after having worked with him on his third album through a mutual friend, Jang Yi-jeong, better known as El Capitxn. There was a great connection from the start, when he made you the offer to work at HYBE and return to Korea, it didn't sound so bad at all, much less when you thought it was just a silly conversation. Yoongi apparently was serious because the next week a company auditor was contacting you with an offer too good to be rejected. In less than a month you were already returning to Korea, after having been abroad for almost four years. The good thing about HYBE, or at least the contract, was that you could expand your art wherever you wanted, they did not limit you at any time and they even helped you meet more artists or get in touch with some with whom you wanted to work or who wanted to work with you. Of course, you still had to present projects for the company or work with limit dates on tasks they gave you for artists under the company name. It wasn't bad, to be honest, it was a great job and you loved it.

It was ironic, your friends would laugh at that if they knew what had happened, how someone could be so insecure when they pretended not to be and when they had done everything to get what they wanted. Talking about emotional baggage and negative feelings was not one of your favorite activities, much less when you knew that everything would become more real if you talk about it with your best friends. For that matter, it was easier to talk to your neighbour about delusions and revenge plans at five in the morning than to tell your friends that your boyfriend broke up with you on your birthday and face the reality that you were no longer together. In that moment, making a plan to get back at your ex with a super famous singer who also was a bit resentful with him was much better than talking to your friends about your feelings. Of course, all those weeks of suffering for someone who didn't deserve it made you rethink your life choices. Less than a month ago you were on a creative streak, making music and writing like crazy and you were living with the person you thought would be someone you would share the rest of your life with. Everything seemed to be going perfect. It was funny that now, in the present, you were once again in an almost empty apartment and unable to write any words or produce a sound. Your vacation of that year had turned into three weeks of pure crying to Taylor Swift's albums Evermore and Red on repeat.

Or at least it was until a singer knocked on your door without knowing that he would put you out of your misery.

You knew Jungkook was not your friend, at least not yet, you had a friendly relationship because you shared friends and you had talked a couple of times but you were not close which made the whole exchange easier, much more when he also shared some resentment towards the person you were hating at that moment. Without being your friend and sharing that feeling for the same person, the situation was good to create delusions of revenge. Not so far from reality because, despite the jokes and anecdotes, there was really only pain under that resentment and anger. That's why it had been easier to listen to Taylor Swift and drink too much wine for days, because it distracted you from those feelings. Jungkook had managed to give you another reason to distract you and focus on a bad feeling, although it wasn't really his fault as he didn't know how fucked up in the head you are…but hey, at least he managed to get the negative thoughts out of your mind and give you a reason to pretend you had no time to compose when you really had no creativity at al.

There were two things Jungkook was sure the day after you both talked: one, you can drink a lot of wine and not get drunk; two, you are completely crazy.

You both talked all morning before the singer had to leave for a flight to the USA - a week-long trip in which he would meet with producers to discuss his solo album. It was exactly two hours in which you had planned how to get back at your ex-boyfriend. To be honest, Jungkook first went along with you, the plan to kill and bury a very famous and admired singer in Korea was not the best plan, however, when the anger calmed down and the resentment started to grow, the good ideas started to come out. Your plan was simple: make Hangul beg to be back with you and then break his heart. Simple in the sense that it was 5 a.m. and the delusions were starting to sound real. Of course, after thinking it through you realized it wasn't as easy as you thought for the simple fact that that was the reason he broke up with you… there was no more love. A hard pill to swallow and that you were sure it didn’t passed completely. Luckily, Jungkook gave hope to the matter, taking into account that you had history and everything had been recent, more so when it had been a fight that triggered that final decision to end the relationship. There were still things to say and actions to take, that was obvious.

Jungkook spent that week in the USA receiving your texts at 2am about ways to build and improve your plan. The artist knew at first he would regret giving you his number after you talked about how to kill your ex, however, you had managed to make him laugh with a lot of stupid things you probably made up when you were drunk. The truth was, he also wanted to teach Hangul a lesson, he knew that sometimes being the bigger person was the mature thing to do, forgive and get over it, however, he also knew that resentment and anger didn't go away overnight, much less when it was the action of a person you thought would never hurt you. Also, he didn't think the plan was so diabolical, giving him a taste of his own medicine could perhaps bring down the idol's ego and the superiority complex he carried… humble him a bit.

Nothing can go wrong with that, right?.

"Do you think at a party is the perfect meet-cute?.”

"Of course not, but you guys already know each other, you just have to meet again."

"But it has to be romantic, bells ringing and wedding music playing so he knows he's missing the love of his life."

"Just wear a short dress and he'll come up and talk to you. Ex-girlfriend you broke up with who hates you? the sexual tension will make him run to you in a second."

"You are so romantic.”

Jungkook would be lying if he said that the first thing he had in mind when he came back to Korea was to hangout with you, let alone let you into his apartment at 4am to eat ramen and plan revenge against your ex-boyfriend and his ex-best friend… but he couldn't complain, it was kinda fun. Of course, he didn't expect you to be the one knocking on his door at 4am - after he finished a live he had done in the night due to jet lag - with two bags to make ramen, which had also been to cover the last bags he had last week that he gave you to comfort you. Half an hour later, Jungkook finished preparing the noodles and you both sat on the floor of his living room while talking about the plan.

First step: Meet again.

It had to be the most obvious start. After the breakup and not facing him for four weeks, the first step was to be able to meet him without any problems. Making a plan was easy, carrying it out could be… complicated. The problem was, no matter how much anger, resentment growing inside you and the thirst for revenge, there was still that fondness and longing for him. It was much easier to launch angry comments and delusional plans when you didn't have the person in front of you. You knew that love could not be gone from one day to the next, that maybe revenge could help you move on and take away some of your anger… or at least you hoped it would.

"In fact, I am," the singer confessed “. I also think that wedding bells will ring when I meet the person I will marry."

You chuckled, a little surprised that Jungkook would think something like that "I was being over the top, I don't think that will happen."

"I do."

"You heard bells when you met your ex-girlfriend who cheated on you?" it was a bad joke, but in the short time you had been talking to Jungkook, you knew he could handle your sense of humor.

"Nope, and that's exactly why she cheated on me."

You let out a snort before going back to eating some of the soup noodles. A short silence ensued, it wasn't awkward and you appreciated not having to fill that meal time with unnecessary conversation or banter.

"What’s her name?.”

The singer took a couple of seconds to answer, realizing that it no longer bothered him so much to talk about what happened, he decided he was open to tell the story if you wanted to hear it.

"Myung”.

"That's a lovely name” you tried to sound kind.

"Don't be nice.”

"That’s the name of a cheating bitch.”

Jungkook giggled “for real."

You noticed that you had already finished your ramen while he was still half meal.

"How did you find out?.”

"I came back home early from a tour we did that year, I thought I'd go to her apartment to surprise her” he grimaced, awkward “. He opened the door with a towel around his waist and she was wearing his shirt. It was very k-drama shit, my flowers felt on the floor and she was crying."

"Why was she crying? How cynical!”

"I guess. It was very embarrassing for me."

"Nah, you were doing something cute, it's not your fault he's a bad friend and she's a bad girlfriend."

"I should have known when I didn't hear the bells."

You both laughed.

"What were the excuses?.”

"She was lonely because I wasn't around…”

"And she fucked your friend who is also an idol? How clever."

"And he was confused by her and they had a lot to drink."

"What a fucker. That sucks, man.”

"I know" the boy shrugged his shoulders. “I cried for almost a whole month, then went to a bar to get drunk, tried to flirt with a girl and ended up puking on her shirt."

"What a great way to get over it."

"Somehow it helped. Now I think more on me puking all over that girl’s shirt than that cheating scene.”

"You think I should get drunk and get over it?" it was the first time you questioned being the bigger person.

"I think everyone deals with their feelings the best way they can.”

Jungkook was good with his words when he wasn’t joking around, non-judgmental and knew what to say at the right time. For that reason, the momentary calmness that his presence gave you helped you to think about the situation a little better. You had been crying for Hangul for weeks because you didn't understand or knew the exact reason why he had stopped loving you. You couldn't find the answer and the self-loathing consumed you day after day as you tried to find it. And that was what made you angrier because, after crying and suffering for days, you could finally see from another perspective the relationship and the situation you had been in, accepting and contributing to deals you never thought you would have to deal with, situations you never thought you would get into. You had let a man walk all over you without realizing it and the worst part was that this man was someone you loved and trusted.

"I don't want to forgive, at least not now” you shook your head. "I don't want to be.. I can't be the kind of person who understands and lets it go. I’m not tired at all about this, I’m angry as hell” you sighed with annoyance. “I won't be the woman who let it go and I definitely don't plan to let it go. I won't be the bigger person" you smiled slightly mischievous. “What benefits do I get for being the bigger person anyway? I’m here for being petty and holding grudges."

Jungkook watched you for a few seconds in silence and without any expression, the anxiety that maybe you were doing something wrong or stupid grew as fast as it ended when the boy let you know exactly what he thought the instant he saw the doubt on your face.

"Being petty and holding grudges will be" he nodded. "Lets get that motherfucker back.”

1 year ago.

"I love her so much, I want to be her when I grow up."

"She literally killed hundreds of people and made them commit canibalism."

"God forbid women have hobbies."

The boy laughed before closing the laptop. You both had done a marathon of the series The 100. It had been several weeks without seeing each other so, after he invited you to his house for a drink, not even two hours passed before you two ended up naked in bed watching a Netflix series you hadn't managed to finish, ordering junk food to end the night.

"I'm so tired" you tucked in the shirt you took from him as you stretched and bounced wearily. "I was in the studio since 5am. I should delete my number from Yi Jeong’s phone, it's unbelievable that he makes me get up at that time because he has a creative idea.”

Hangul laughed lightly as he sipped on his soda "Did you guys create something good?.”

"Nothing really useful. We ended up editing a song for Yoongi's new album. We're trying to get in touch with a singer to see if he wants to be part of the song" you smiled, excited. "It's one of my favorite bands lately."

"You're not supposed to give out this information, you know?"

"I didn't say the name of anything."

"I know it's The Rose, you've been talking about them for weeks."

"Shut up, you can't say anything."

"You're very bad at keeping secrets. I'm sure you're just as bad at lying."

"I'm not!" you defended yourself with amusement, "I just trust you not to say anything."

"I won't” he promised. “God, do you do the same thing when we work together? Does everyone already know about who’s featuring for my new album?.”

"Of course not" Hangul raised an eyebrow, not believing a word you were saying. “Okay, maybe Yoongi and Yi-Jong already know.”

"You're the worst" the singer rolled his eyes. “You're lucky I'm someone trustworthy."

“That’s what I like about you.”

You smiled slightly before looking at him. A tedious silence filled the room and you realized that it was not because of the previous conversation but because of the one to come. Hangul had that neutral expression that made you anxious because you could never tell what was on his mind, you knew that sometimes he did it because he liked it. It was something you had accepted after hanging out with him several times, Hangul loved to be unread, to play mysterious, you had to admit it was attractive on one hand but ceased to be when your insecurity came out as collateral damage. Not that he knew, you didn’t told him at the time either, someone you slept with didn't need to know your insecurities, that's what you thought but to be honest, when had it been just sleeping around? He and you had stopped being just a good fuck a long time ago.

He was the first to let that reality hit you both

"I'm going to say something that will probably change the course of this thing we have.”

"Is there a problem?" you asked with confusion, your anxiety growing more and more. You really liked Hangul, you didn't want to stop at just nights out and a friendship with benefits. You actually wanted more.

"I don't think it's a problem" he smiled with confidence “. I was thinking we can make this into something more. I don't know, I really like you and I think we can maybe take this on another level. I don't want to be just your friend… I mean, I wanna be more than your fuck buddy."

"Oh," you nodded quickly, your heart starting to beat faster, this time with another thrill of anxiety “yes, I'd like to try that.”

"Good" the boy grabbed your hand, playing with your fingers affectionately “. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? I'll take you out to for dinner.”

"Like a date?.”

"Yes, an official date."

You: I’m here

Jungkook: balcony

Jungkook: let me know if you need help

You: are you gonna watch like a weirdo?

Jungkook: wtff?? I'm being nice and looking out for you

You: and that's why you're becoming my dude bestie

You: I'll scratch my arm if I need backup, thank youu

Jungkook: good luck!!

It wasn't exactly a party. The company had put together a small gathering with several artists, including the behind-the-scenes staff, in order to celebrate the success they were having and how the company was growing. It wasn't uncommon for HYBE to have a few of these meetings, sometimes for new releases, for new ideas or just to create more connections between employees and form a good working environment. The company was good at building relationships, most of the employees knew each other and respected each other's work, whether it was singing on stage in front of thousands of people or tidying up the studio mess.

For that reason, this event was the best place to meet Hangul, pretending that it was actually a coincidence that you both were there… much more when you skipped those kinda of events.

The meeting was in the last floor of the company. They were usually held there because, besides giving privacy to the artists, it was a large and comfortable place that everyone knew. It was a big duplex, the first floor had a large bar in the left corner, big furniture to sit on and a lot of bar games to entertain, the second floor was all open and you could see the people below, there were a couple of bathrooms, stereos and a some tables for more privacy. The balcony was on the first floor, close to the bar, it had a small pool on the right side that was surrounded by artificial grass and some chairs on the side that overlooked the landscape of the sky. And that was the place you had to go.

"Can I have two shots of tequila?" you asked the bartender before having to do your thing “. Thank you."

Jungkook: Take it easy, just remember the rageee😡😡

You chuckled as you read the singer’s message, looking around to find where he was.

Jungkook: up

Your gaze wandered to the second floor, Jungkook was leaning on the railing, a glass of alcohol in his hand while the other held his phone. You moved your head in greeting before taking a shot of tequila. You waved to a few people who approached you, trying not to create a long conversation to not forget the reason why you were there that night.

You: taking courage

Jungkook: Just remember that he broke up with you on your birthday

You sighed with annoyance at the reminder before looking up again, Jungkook chuckled amused for the reaction he got from you and raised his glass, you did the same with your shot of tequila before drinking it completely without taking your eyes off him.

You: I will break his soul

There were two things you knew perfectly about Hangul, the first was that he was smart with people, he could tell what you really felt and what you were up to if he showed you a little intimidation, he was good at reading people… the second one was that he was a man, he was the exact typical definition of one… That's why you were wearing a short black dress with straps along with long boots of the same color. The makeup being somewhat natural but with a strong red lipstick. It was the perfect outfit that he loved, short black skirts and red lipstick was his weakness and you had to be careful not to let him know why you were dressed that way so casually that day.

Your heart was pounding as you walked towards the balcony, you hadn't been able to find him with your eyes but the simple fact of knowing that he was there made you anxious, for a moment the plan went out of your mind and the only thing that was there was the situation you were in, you were going to see your ex again, the one you hadn't seen for almost two months after you both shouted hurtful things to each other before leaving and not looking back. Your breathing became heavy, what were you doing? maybe you should just take a couple of shots and get over it once and for all, maybe throw up in some girls shirt and travel a little, you didn't have to make a whole mess to get revenge on someone who didn't love you anymore, right?. God, you felt so stupid…

"Y/n.”

For a moment you thought your heart had stopped. That voice made the moment stop for an eternity, however, you quickly pulled yourself together to not give him the satisfaction that he could still caused a thrill in you. You turned to look at the person, Hangul was in front of you.

I don't love you anymore!

It was almost funny to think that for the first time you were feeling it, that pain described in the movies and books was true. How is it that feelings can cause you physical pain? you felt your chest burning with all the memories that were appearing in your mind quickly but you held on to one in particular. The time the boy standing in front of you yelled at you that he didn't love you anymore on your birthday. And that pain in your chest turned into a burning rage. How could you let that happen?. People really do get stupid in the face of love.

"Hey.”

There were two things you were good at, the first was creating music and the second was pretending that everything was okay. The problem in that moment though was that nothing was okay, even though you felt angry and wanted to kill him, you knew you had to act hurt by what had happened, it would be stupid to talk to him as if nothing had happened when everything really happened… when you couldn't even close the chapter in a good way. So there were two things you had to do, the first was to pretend you wanted to get out of there and wait for him to stop you as Hangul hated to be left with the word in his mouth and even more so not to be the one who has the last word. The second thing, finding the opportunity to find out how you could casually walk back into his life again.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you" you pretended to feel uncomfortable. "I think I'll go…"

"Wait, can we just… talk?" the singer looked at you, pleading "Please."

Bingo

You nodded slightly as you let him lead you to a corner of the balcony, somewhat more private and far from other people. The boy stood in front of you and you cursed in your mind as you gave him a quick glance, Hangul was hot which made the situation worse. Jungkook was right that seeing the ex you hated could cause the sexual tension to be at its peak.

"I don't know what you want me to say…"

"Everything. The last time we talked we just yelled hurtful things and you never called me back."

"I was hurt, I am hurt Hangul…what do you want to do now? We’re done, there's nothing more to say."

The boy looked at you without any expression in his face before nodding slightly, "I understand why you're upset, I shouldn't have told you that in the way I did. I should have thought in a better way to say it but the situation escalate so quickly, I just needed to tell you in that moment.”

You clenched your fist furiously behind your back before scratching your arm. I just needed to tell you in that moment? No, he should have told you before or after that special day for you, he should have told you calmly because of the respect that existed in the relationship and as a person, it should have been at another time, not when you were arguing because you needed him to give you emotional maturity in the relationship, basic things that you should not have to discuss or teach him.

"I guess it did".

"Look, I don't want things to end badly between us, let’s do better. This year with you was the best thing that ever happened to me, I don't want to lose you completely.”

It must have been cute, in another moment you would have made an adorable face at the idea that he wanted to keep his relationships healthy and without fights because it was important to him. At that moment, the only thing you could think was how selfish he was being for just thinking about his peace of mind and the fact that he hadn't even said sorry to you, not even once… in any fight in the relationship. . The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water, he had never asked you for forgiveness, he always thought he was right, even now.

You didn't want him to feel sorry for you, you didn't want him to ask for forgiveness because he didn't love you anymore, you wanted him to ask for forgiveness because he had made you feel shit on a special day, because he had no respect for your mental health or feelings at any time. You wanted forgiveness as a person and as a girlfriend, but he didn't even care about what he had done wrong because in his eyes all that was probably small mistakes and collateral damage that happens in relationships. You can't please everyone, right?.

"Yes, you're right," you nodded slightly, how were you going to get back into his life? "I wish I had known earlier, maybe we could have done something…"

"It wasn't your fault, it's just life," he shrugged. "Sometimes people need something better, you know?.”

Oh my god.

You were going to break his face. You scratched your arm harder as you nodded, taking a step closer to him and smiling like a crazy person.

"You know what? It's funny you say that because..."

"Hey! I've been looking for you everywhere” grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to face him, Jungkook gave you a cute smile before looking at Hangul with a neutral expression and shaking his head in greeting. He returned his gaze to you in a second with the same cute smile “. I bought a bottle of tequila, we should do some shots before we go home.”

"Home? Do you guys know each other…?”

"A few shots would be nice," you nodded as you pulled him by his shirt and ignored the boy behind you, "I'll see you around, Hangul."

You dragged Jungkook out of the balcony, struggling hard not to go back and break the other boy's face. You began to curse him in a whisper as the singer led you to the second floor where his friends and a bottle of tequila were waiting for you both.

"Didn't you see what happened?" Jungkook stopped you before you reached his table, putting his hands on your shoulders.

"Yes, I made a fucking fool of myself by agreeing with him and not punching his face because now I know there is no way to get back with him. You know what? I'll just go back and break his legs…"

“No!. Hey, look at me,” the singer stopped you, making sure he had your full attention before telling you what had happened. “He was jealous.”

You frowned, "What are you talking about?.”

"Hangul was jealous.”

"No, he was…"

"Jealous. He doesn't know how we know each other, the comment I made about going home…" Jungkook chuckled. "You should have seen his face."

You watched Jungkook in silence, thinking about the situation. It was true, Hangul was not insecure but he was possessive and jealous, his ego and superiority complex did not allow him to let go of things easily even if he had ruined them. He loves to know that everything is his, that he could get anything at anytime he wanted, that there was no way anyone could get or be better off without him, that no one could really get what was his regardless of what he threw away. He didn't like that someone could be better off without him... that someone could get someone much better than him... someone more famous and more desired by the crowd.

"Do you think..?"

"Look back, be subtle."

You leaned on the balcony next to the singer before subtly passing your gaze around the first floor until you reached the balcony. Hangul quickly took his gaze off Jungkook and you when you locked eyes with him. You chuckled before looking at the singer with a mischievous gaze.

"Huh.”

“We found a way” Jungkook smiled slightly, and this was the first time you couldn't decode the look he was giving you.

“Yeah, we found a way.”

Second step: make him jealous.

taglist: @jungkooks21 @httpjeonlicious @maximumcloudlight @llallaaa

if you wanna be in the taglist let me know<33 hope you like the first chapter, theres so much shit you dont know yet its gonna be so funnnn anyway let me know what you think plzplzplz

[teagrl]

I'm not writing, but I miss posting SO MUCH, so let me dust off a draft of an extra long really fun sparring scene I wrote as part of my "Luke and Mara are raised in the temple as Jedi" AU fic. In this AU she's two years younger.

Luke stood there, stunned, caught between happiness and confusion. Why hadn’t she answered any of what he sent her?

Without giving him a chance to speak, Mara grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the sparring area. “Come on, you might be all important and stuff now, but I bet you’re rusty. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Luke hesitated. She never wrote back. Not once. “I don’t know…”

Mara’s eyes sparkled as she teased, “I’ll go easy on you.”

She took her spot and launched a series of quick slashes, aiming for his wrists and shoulders, testing his defenses. Luke barely managed to parry, feeling the sting of each near miss. Her strikes were calculated, probing for openings. When she lunged, her blade extended in a clean, direct line, forcing him to retreat just a step or two. A crowd began to gather and he heard his name being whispered about.

But he was far more focused on Mara’s subtle shifts in weight, the way she twisted her hips to add power behind each slash, and the way her training lightsaber flicked out in short, controlled bursts rather than sweeping arcs. She hadn't been remiss in her drills those six months he'd been away.

Luke took a deep breath and adjusted his stance. His own lunges were slower, heavier, but he focused on timing—waiting for the right moment to counter. Had he really been away from the mats that long? The months away had sharpened his mind but dulled his reflexes. His strikes felt heavier, less precise, and his footwork sluggish compared to her. 

He deflected a slash, stepped in with a sharp thrust of his own, and saw Mara barely blink before sliding aside with a quick sidestep.

A tight knot of frustration formed in his chest. He forced himself to breathe evenly, recalibrating. Raw speed wasn’t everything. 

Clarity came as it always did. Luke’s breath slowed, drawing in cool air through clenched teeth. His feet found solid purchase on the mats beneath him. The noise of the gathering crowd faded, the chaos of the day shrinking until there was only Mara as his opponent.

He shifted, sliding from his defensive crouch into a poised, deliberate stance. Instead of meeting her strikes head-on, he let them come—ducking, weaving just beyond the edge of her reach. It was easy– she was still sixteen to his eighteen. Her blade sliced through empty air. This was familiar, though he seldom toyed with his opponents for long. This time though...a smirk tugged at his lips as he shifted his weight, her movements so clear it was easy to give her glimmers of false openings, coaxing her to slash and lunge faster, harder.

She had slowed fractionally, breath coming faster now. Each strike she sent his way was sharper, but she was chasing shadows—his own counters.

“What the kriff,” he heard her hiss. “Stop dancing around and fight.”

“Language,” he chided and felt the flare of anger grow with every wasted lunge.

When she overextended, he’d started slipping in with a clean tap to her side, refusing a sweep or a drop, not bothering with a disarm. She was too disciplined to cry out, but the sting made her recoil, made her flush a deeper red, made her next movements sloppier as the fight lost all its friendliness. That suited him fine. So he tried it again and again.

The crowd had caught up. Every tap drew titters now.  

​​As her lightsaber dipped, the moment of stillness between them snapped. The Force pulsed. Luke’s blade swept forward almost lazily, a simple twist of the wrist, and the hilt clattered from Mara’s grip to the mat with a dull, final thud. There. Disarmed.

But the Force flared in warning a split-second later.

Her fist came at him, fast and low. He caught it, their hands locking hard enough that their knuckles ground together, her Force-fueled momentum snapping through her shoulders. She didn’t stop—only twisted, and her leg came around in a vicious upward arc. It was no controlled sparring kick; it was a fight-to-win kind of strike heading straight for his ribs--again buttressed by the Force to amplify her strength.

Luke reacted without thinking, shoving back with the Force, just enough to knock her off balance.

But she was already moving—already too close.

She’d grabbed a fistful of his tunic as she stumbled, and the Force shove only threw them both to the floor.

They hit the mat in a tangle—elbows jarring, knees knocking, limbs slamming hard enough to bruise. The impact sent them skidding sideways in a clumsy sprawl. Mara came up first, breath ragged, eyes wild. She snarled low in her throat, her braid snapping across his cheek as she threw her weight into his shoulder.

He rolled with it, grunting, catching the torque of her movement and using it, anchoring his knee, dragging their locked bodies over with a grunt of effort. She kicked, twisted, but it was useless.

One breathless second and he had her—his bicep braced just under her collarbone, weight centered, her back flush to the mat. Her legs were still kicking, but he knew this position. He could feel the win in his teeth. Just one more adjustment, one more shift, and—

Her teeth sank into his bicep.

“Stars—Mara!” he squawked, breath hitching as she twisted beneath him, a blur of motion and searing intent. There was no universe where she lost this fight.

Startled, his grip had slipped, his balance faltered—

Her hips rolled with a snap, and her legs came up fast—one knee brushing his ribs, the other sliding across his shoulder. He barely had time to react before her thighs clamped around his neck, tight as durasteel, cutting off air and leverage in a blink. The pressure hit hard, dizzying, his vision already prickling at the edges as her heels dug in and locked.

The blood rushed to his head. He clawed at the mat, legs kicking once for leverage, vision already spotting at the edges—and he tapped out.

Mara rolled off him and stood in one fluid motion, sweat-slick and flushed. She didn’t gloat, didn’t even look at him. Just dragged the back of her arm across her brow and stood, breathing hard. Her hair had come loose in places, wild and stuck to her temples. 

A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd, a collective intake of breath that sucked the air right out of the training hall.

“That was a forfeit!” someone shouted, voice pitching high with disbelief. “Dirty tactics. Total disqualifier.”

Her voice came out low and breathless: “Wasn’t a real match, idiot.”

“What is with you?” another voice cried out, a girl maybe, thick with judgment. “Biting? He’s bleeding. Even initiates know better!”

Mara didn’t answer. She didn’t even turn around. Just shouldered her way out of the ring of onlookers, fast and silent.

"She's in so much trouble," someone said nearby.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Can you tell I was super inspired by Martha from the Johnny D storyline? This is the last kind of set up chapter for this series, going forward there will be a lot more reader x barba interaction, I promise!! Also I've reread this a million time to check for mistakes but I'm a couple of glasses of wine deep so apologies if there's any typos etc! Happy reading :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, Alcohol, drugs, s*x

Previous Part | Next part

Chapter 3

A week had passed since your meeting with the SVU. Long enough that your determination had devolved into resolute guilt but not quite long enough for your anger at the arrogant ADA to subside. After you had stormed out, your rage had carried you home where you broke down, screaming into your pillow so your neighbours wouldn’t get the wrong idea and then panic set in. Your mind raced, the girls had no idea that the police were about to reach out to them, make them relive their trauma and that was on you. The cops might have shut you out, but the least you could do was warn them.

You agonised over your laptop, typing, then deleting, then retyping an email that you would send to all of them. Apologizing, explaining, begging for forgiveness or at the very least acknowledgment for why you had betrayed their confidence. You hit send, sending out a silent prayer to the universe, for yourself and for them. You were amped up, your skin felt electrified, the adrenaline of the day surging through your veins. So, you did the only thing left to do, you walked to the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine and drank until the trembling in your hands stopped and then until you passed out into a dreamless, restless sleep.

…

When you woke the next morning, head pounding and mouth dry, you checked your email. Your inbox was full. To your surprise only a few of the women had damned you to hell. The majority took the stance of disappointed, but grudgingly understanding. Bailey and Lianne, the two women that this all started with and another one of the victims, Anna Dawson, were the ones that surprised you most though. They had added you to a group chat and asked to meet up for coffee, to talk. They weren’t angry at you, not at all; they agreed that the most recent development – Gemma Belmont’s death, was a step too far, their determination for justice renewed.

You sat on the messages for a while, unsure of yourself. Part of you wanted to hide away, like a coward, licking your wounds. You shook yourself, who were you to sit there feeling sorry for yourself? You weren’t the victim here. You pulled out your cell and typed a quick message.

‘Time and place? I’ll be there.’

It wasn’t long before you had a reply, you all agreed to meet at The Roasting Pot the following Thursday, six days from then. Six days, you just had to occupy yourself for six days.

…

It turned out to be less difficult than you anticipated. For months you had been obsessive over the case and left little room for anything else. Investigative journalism didn’t pay as well as you would have liked, at least not at your level. The few pieces you’d worked on in the past (an expose on a group of moms using an MLM as cover for what was actually a pill smuggling scheme, for example) had their moments, but you were no Jimmy Mac. So in between your own projects, you picked up any freelance work you could take. Commissions, copy writing gigs and the occasional editing work is what actually paid your bills and considering you’d blown through a significant amount of savings, you had plenty to catch up on.

You were long overdue in other aspects of your life as well. Mainly, you had been avoiding seeing your sister, so in between long writing stints, you met her for a drink and let her berate you for over working yourself and your woeful lack of a social life. And the fact that you were still single.

Despite having a perfectly busy schedule, your evenings were long and because you loved to punish yourself, you spent hours constantly refreshing the web browser on your cell for any updates on the case. One night, when you felt particularly nihilistic, you found yourself stalking articles and profiles of the detectives you’d met, their cases. Valerie was right about them at least, they did seem to be good, with a slew of successful convictions under their belts. As you dove further you ended up on an article about the ADA. Rafael Barba, once a kid from ‘El Barrio’, educated on a full scholarship at Harvard and now the prosecutor for the Special Victims Unit. You recognised one of his cases from the news, the People vs Adam Cain. So, the case was in good hands, but it didn’t alleviate the nagging irritation you felt at being pushed out. You stared down at the photo that accompanied the article. He clearly had good taste in suits, you thought, remembering his three-piece from that day. His face stared back up at you, earnest green eyes and a slight smirk, it struck you that he was incredibly handsome. You dismissed the idea as quickly as it had crossed your mind. A nice face and good track record didn’t change the fact that he was jackass.

…

(Y/f/n) had dropped a veritable bomb on the Special Victims Unit. What had originally been a rape turned murder, was now a potential serial rapist. The bullpen was a mess of paper, half empty takeout boxes and strung-out detectives. Detective Amanda Rollins, a perky blonde from Georgia slammed her phone down into the receiver and sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair.

“Vic number seven, Lucy Madden, doesn’t want to talk.” She announced to the room, which was met with several groans. Carisi ran a hand through his hair.

“This is a nightmare, none of em want to.” He exclaimed.

“Can you blame them? I wouldn’t want to speak to us either.” Fin Tutuola, an SVU veteran replied to this, through a mouthful of pizza. Olivia shook her head and surveyed the room.

“C’mon guys, we knew this wasn’t going to be easy, (y/n) told us as much, but we keep going, one of the vics will talk eventually.”

“What’s the deal with this (y/n) chick anyway? She’s like a journo Mother Theresa.” Fin replied, earning a few tired laughs.

“She seems pretty hardcore,” Amanda offered, “These notes are meticulous, she really put the work in.”

“Yeah, well no wonder she was so mad when Barba cut her out.” Carisi added, “I woulda give my right arm to see her facin off with him.” At that moment, Amaro, who had been talking at length on the phone, interjected.

“Liv, I just got off the phone with victim number ten, Anna Dawson, she’s willing to talk to us.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, well there’s a slight problem…”

…

“No, absolutely not.” Rafael remarked. Olivia rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in exasperation.

“C’mon Barba, hardly any of these girls will talk, that’s if we can even get them to pick up our calls! We have a victim ready to come forward- “

“And I’m telling you no!” She sighed and threw herself down on the couch. Anna Dawson, the tenth victim on the list (y/f/n) had given to them was ready to talk about her assault, on one condition; she wanted (y/n) to be there with her as an advocate, something the ADA was belligerently unenthusiastic about. Olivia switched tactics.

“Why not?” She entreated, trying to meet his gaze from where he leaned against his desk. He loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves, this conversation was exhausting him.

“It’s a conflict of interest Liv, she has ulterior motives. She told you herself that this started as a hit piece on the NYPD! How do we know she isn’t coaching the victims?”

“Do you really believe that?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been doing this job a long time Rafael, long enough to know that this stopped being about work the minute she spoke to those first victims.”

“When did you add clairvoyance to your CV Detective?” She laughed and shot him a scathing look.

“When did you add comedian to yours?” She shot back, before trying one last time, “She’s the real deal Barba. She came to us, behind their backs with this information because she wanted to do the right thing. If these girls trust her, then why shouldn’t we? If you’re worried about her influence, then feel free to sit in.” Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose, he’d worked with Olivia long enough to know when he’d lost the fight.

“Fine, have it your way, but when this blows up in our faces I will say I told you so.”

“Always a pleasure Barba!” She called over her shoulder as she left his office. He slumped down in his chair and groaned inwardly. In truth, his objection was only half because of actual legalistic reasons. The other half? (y/f/n) vexed him. He couldn’t understand why one random journalist had gotten so under his skin. He could hold his hands up and admit he’d been less then courteous with her. He’d even go so far as to settle for arrogant, but she gave as good as he did and while he could respect a good sparring partner, she quite frankly pissed him off.

…

That evening, after his disagreement with (y/f/n) and the flurry of activity surrounding the new truck load of information, Rafael had retired to the quiet sanctuary of his apartment. Tension pulled at his shoulders; he poured himself a glass of scotch to unwind. His brain ached at the thought of his murder/rape case becoming a serial in one morning, but that was the thing with SVU, it was very rarely as simple as he would have liked. The flicker of guilt he’d felt towards the journalist that morning had morphed into an ugly bitterness that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Despite the late hour and the dogged exhaustion creeping into his bones, he pulled out his laptop and searched her name online. He read through some of her articles, one about a pill pushing mommy group, another about a church pastor siphoning tithing funds to host elaborate swinging parties, it was good writing, he could admit that. In addition to the few articles, he found her Instagram which was sparsely populated with artsy shots in bookstores and a couple of candid photos with and without friends. One picture in particular caught his eye. She was sat alone on a fire escape, plants and flowers placed precariously around her, she was smiling radiantly at the camera, her skin glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. Rafael stared at it until he felt a slight stirring in his stomach before throwing the phone down, a pretty face and a talent for writing didn’t change the fact that she was a complete pain in his ass.

…

The air was the clearest that it had been all week. The heavy, damp tension washed away by a midsummer storm that left you feeling lighter than usual. You turned your face to the sun as you strolled along the sidewalk, headed to your coffee morning with Bailey, Lianne and Anna. The guilt you felt was still palpable, but it was met with a similarly tangible sense of hope. As you walked, it struck you that you’d walked a pretty much identical route a week ago, when you had spent a disastrous morning at the 16th precinct.

You had arrived at your destination. Peeking in the window you saw the three woman and had a fleeting thought that you could turn now, walk away, wash your hands of this whole situation. You cringed at the thought and at that moment, Bailey looked up, locking eyes with you. She offered you a coy smile and waved, prompting the other girls to seek you out. Taking a final, grounding breath, you pushed open the door and headed to their table.

“Sorry ladies, I didn’t realize I was running late?” You said, settling down in the one available chair.

“You’re fine, what are you drinking?” Lianne asked, reaching for her purse. You told her your order and sat awkwardly as she got your drink and returned to the table. Distracting yourself with sugar packets you searched for the words to say.

“So… You guys wanted to talk?” You finally settled on, making brief eye contact with each of them. A few quiet murmurs, a couple of nods.

“Yeah… We’ve um, we’ve agreed to talk to the detectives that you spoke to.” Bailey piped up, fiddling with the handle of her mug.

“That’s… great, I’m glad to hear it.” You said, smiling encouragingly.

“I know for myself at least, hiding away from… what happened…” She continued, struggling to verbalise her thoughts. You reached over, placing a hand on hers, “Pretending like it didn’t happen, doesn’t make it go away. Whoever this monster is, he needs to be stopped.” You nodded, squeezing her hand.

“You believed us when no one else did.” Bailey added, her eyes glazing with tears. You felt your heart twinge, cursing yourself for ever wanting to run away from these women.

“Always.” Was all you could say. Anna looked particularly nervous then.

“I – I’m actually scheduled for a meeting with them in an hour.” She admitted. Before you could reply, she continued. “I want you to be there with me, that’s one of the things we wanted to ask you.”

“I’d love to, really… but I already told you, the case is out of my hands now.” You paused, feeling the familiar flicker of anger in your stomach.

“When I spoke to the detectives, I told them I’d only do it with you there. Took them awhile but they called me back a couple of days ago and agreed. Will you come with me? Please?” She stared at you imploringly. How could you say no?

…

You were back in the interview room, from a week ago, Anna at your side. When you had entered the precinct, linking her arm in support, you’d bumped into the Detective with the hair gel addiction.

“(y/n), it’s good to see ya again!” He grinned at you.

“It’s Sonny, right?” He positively beamed at you.

“Hey, you remembered.” At that moment, Olivia Benson appeared.

“(Y/n), good morning and this must be Anna, right?” Anna nodded timidly, exchanging pleasantries and looking completely out of her depth. She led you to the quiet room and ordered you to hang on for just a moment. You wondered if she was going to grab Detective Amaro, or perhaps Sonny. When the door finally opened, your expression dropped into a frown. Stood behind Detective Benson with a stormy look on his face was ADA Barba. Fucking fantastic. His eyes found you, staring holes into you, but you didn’t flinch, He might have won the battle last time, but you weren’t going to let him win the war.

[loomlime]

Yandere demon!Quackity x reader (c not cc)

Can be read as platonic

CW:slight yandere/obsessive themes, cameras, brief mentions of being tied up and gagged, reader is implied to be held captive, more things i can't think of read at your own risk. I don't support this irl

// if you don't like the idea of yandere Quackity/cQuackity I cannot put into words how much I do not give a fuck. I will just block you. L free to send a request if you have one :D (wont write rpf)

Demon!Quackity, who decided after a less than pleasant breakup up with his ex-partners that he should avoid the underworld for a few thousand years at least,

Demon!Quackity, who spent the first few hundred years of his time on earth having random one-night stands and fucking with government officials,

Demon!Quackity, who can't help but be a little fascinated with humans at first,

Demon!Quackity, who was probably the reason for a surprising amount of wars

Demon!Quackity, who's had a concerning amount of business ventures for a guy on the demon equivalent of a vacation

Demon!Quackity, whose only successful business venture is a casino

Demon!Quackity, who somehow gathered a following over the roughly 500 years he's been on earth,

Demon!Quackity, who keeps getting the stupidest scarifies he could possibly get

Demon!Quackity who was summoned to one of his temples, and everything seems normal. He's making his way through the hall; it's late. There are candles scattered around.

Demon!Quackity who eventually reaches the altar, and instead of the typical tied-up goat and bread, there is a whole damn human with their wrists tied down to the corner of the altar, dressed in all white with brushed-out, slightly frizzy hair and a gag shoved down their throat.

Demon!Quackity has no idea what to do with a whole damn human, so he decides to lock them in one of his hotel suites until he figures out what to do with it.

Demon!Quackity, who for the first six or so months only visited it to drop off food until he realized how much he severely underestimated just how stupid this one particular human apparently is,

Demon!Quackity, who starts spending more time making sure the human doesn't manage to impale themself with a pencil or throw themself out a fucking window the moment he turns his head

Demon!Quackity, who's mostly been eating raw meat since he got here, forces himself to learn how to cook human food so the human doesn't starve to death or set his building on fire again.

Demon!Quackity, who ends up coming over most nights to cook and eat dinner with the human

Demon!Quackity, who zones out when the human starts speaking more than three sentences

Demon!Quackity, who starts weekly movie nights after learning the human has never watched one of his favorite movies, which then quickly starts getting out of hand

Demon!Quackity, who decided to get some baby monitors and scatter them around the humans' room,

Demon!Quackity who liked to watch them sometimes while hes doing work.

Demon!Quackity, who likes to joke about eating them and then inevitably having to reassure the human he was really just playing and he doesn't plan on actually eating them.

Demon!Quackity, who starts paying a bit more attention to the humans' random tangents because he's. You know. Bored

Demon!Quackity, who's not sure why the humans are so afraid of him even though at this point they've been with him for a little under a year,

Demon!Quackity, who still occasionally gets asked if he'd let them go.

// So this is, like, a weird one. It was originally about CDream, but I am afraid of dream stans :( it was also platonic x child reader, but I changed it so it could be a bit more up to interpretation, yk? MIGHT write a part two. i had to cut out like six other paragraphs guys

[th3-0bjectivist]

25’ PAGE UPDATE W/ PAGE MASCOT, SPRINGIN’ CHIP!

Heya folks! Page mascot Springin’ Chip back with a page update! This update is so important that I’m taking a five and one-half second break from obsessively licking out my sister’s infected ear canal. Absolutely NOTHING could possibly stop these deep, constant and passionate canine wet willies… UNTIL NOW. So, pay attention for a moment, because this update will make you mentally and perhaps physically climax and then bask in the post-nut afterglow you need to keep logging on to this pornbot infested platform we know as Tumblr.

If you wanna know how I am these days, I’m just fine, lots of joy over here as always for this pup! I’m still a smartass lil’ shithead whose too smart for his own good. I’m getting into lots of unnecessary conflicts with larger, monster-male dogs lately because I’ve developed a Napoleon complex which makes me insecure, jealous and aggressive. Give me a break folks, I’m a small dog/man! My testicles are literally forfeit these days, you’ve got to assert yourself somehow!!! It’s only a matter of time before a Doberman or Pitbull bites my cocky little jabroni ass, and rightfully so, and maybe then I’ll finally learn my lesson! But today I’m just here to drop a page update and then get right back to licking that sweet, sweet ear pus.

Some of you may be thinking as you’re reading this, “Why is this delusional asshole talking through his spaniel? Why in the name of all that is holy should I care about ear pus!? Please, for the love of God, go away!” Well, dear Tumblr, in the next few weeks we’re going to show you precisely WHY you should stick around, as th3-0bjectivist WILL BE BACK IN JUST LESS THAN A MONTH. This week and next, we’ll be offering a half-month blowout as a preview. Our Four-Item Itinerary for mid-2025 to beg-2026 is as such:

A. DROP ONE METRIC ASSLOAD OF NEW PAINTINGS. This year is all about personal artistic incrementalism and evolution. Original abstract paintings used to be REALLY popular on this page, still are, and we hate to sound like every other artist that has ever existed but we’re moving out of the abstract phase this year. However, to honor the past we’ll be posting abstract backgrounds which will serve as a mere base for at least six or seven fully realized fantasy-themed brush paintings! If you like the animated art on this page, you’re gonna get animated abstracts as well as fully realized moving art all year long! Lucky you! B. POST NOTHING BUT UNPOPULAR, BUT BRILLIANT MUSIC. As we’re getting a late start in 25’, we might as well reboot the musical rotation on this page by posting tracks by some of the most criminally underground musical artists imaginable. We’re only going to be posting music SO UNDERGROUND you can only find it on this blog, or on a few other dark corners of the internet, every two-to-three weeks! C. MAKE THE AUDIENCE LAUGH/PROMOTE THE EVERLOVING SHITE OUT OF OTHER ART BLOGS! Lots of memes and goofy horseshit from other, more comedic Tumblrs as usual moving forward! A time-honored tradition on this blog, to be sure. Also, lots of art is gonna be on display this year by Tumblr artists that have earned exposure and deserve respect for their skill and dedication to their craft. D. ABSOLUTELY NO INSUFFERABLE PARTISAN POLITICS. You know how these days every other person on this platform thinks they’re some kind of economic/political pundit as a result of the election!? We don’t do that here! Our politics are unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but our art is! That’s because art is resistance and immortality, folks! You want an interpretation on modern politics from this page!? Fine, but you’re going to have to painstakingly read between the lines because unlike other ‘art blogs’ I could mention, politics are not overtly expressed on this page to ensure maximal entertainment and satisfaction for EVERYONE who views it, and not just one wing, section or subsection of the modern political paradigm.

After the upcoming half-month preview, which we’re mostly doing just to measure the Tumblr winds and waters, we will then engage in a slow-motion rollout of content into early 26’. There will be absolutely no rushing of anything this year. So, enjoy folks! We love you! We miss posting to this platform, and as such, without further ado, let the half-month preview… begin! Oh, one last thing, folks! Check out our Deviant Art page, its full of crispy artgifs… far higher in quality than we can offer you with Tumblr’s arbitrary 10MB file size limit… and it serves as our full art gallery and online one-stop-shop. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a pus-filled ear canal to insert my bare tongue into for at least the next quarter-hour or so! It’s a living, folks! Happy 25’!

Stay chipper, Springin’ Chip

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

Senate Democrats have known this moment could come, so it’s disappointing that they somehow remain without a clear message or decisive path forward. They should have been messaging long ago precisely what they would do when asked to either go along with the GOP’s plans or to shut down the government. But it seems they still don’t really know. A bit of background as a quick refresher. The GOP House narrowly passed a continuing resolution, or CR, on Tuesday. The bill put the government on auto-pilot for another six months, more or less at existing budgetary levels. It kicked the can on finalizing the budget until sometime in September. The fear is that the CR, with only top line numbers to work with, allows Trump and Musk to continue destroying the federal government from within by reallocating agency budgets without any input from Congress. It’s a serious abdication of Congress’s power of the purse. Senate Dems have an opportunity to stop the CR with a filibuster. And they have already said that the Republicans do not have the votes to pass the CR in the Senate, meaning that Dems have the votes to prevent “cloture,” or the end of debate. But if the Dems filibuster the CR, it will die and the government will shut down this weekend. And that has many Dems worried. They want a way out of this pickle. The problem is, there isn’t an easy exit. The GOP made sure of that by refusing to consult Dems on the CR and by refusing to offer any compromise, even over how long the CR should run for. Then Republicans simply rammed the CR through, making this a binary choice: Allow our CR to pass or shut the government down. Now, let’s be clear. This is a choice of two evils. Nobody in the party wants a shutdown, and many will work hard to avoid being blamed for it. But remember the first rule when fighting fascism: Never comply in advance. That’s what allowing a vote on the CR would amount to, all because a handful of Senate Dems are worried about their reelection prospects should the party get blamed for the shutdown. I want to walk through the arguments against a shutdown and answer them before coming back to this core principle. In times like this, we need moral clarity, not political cover. And make no mistake: If Democratic senators allow the vote to proceed, they will do so in the most cynical and performative of ways, one that Robert Hubbell rightfully has dubbed political “kabuki theater.” [...]

Reasons to block the CR

When you have the chance to use your power to stop the fascists, you shouldn’t hesitate. Hesitation signals that you are just a paper tiger. And really, you would be one if you caved out of a worry of what might happen instead of focusing on what is already happening. If Democrats are worried about being blamed for shutting down the government, then they should be really worried about the downside of allowing the CR through. Democratic voters are losing faith in their elected representatives. Democrats in Congress are already perceived as not doing all they can to stop the Republicans. And the filibuster is one of the last true and effective backstops Dems possess. If Senate Democrats allow a vote on the CR through, even when they had it fully within their power to block it, they will confirm to everyone that they are weak and cowardly in the face of the fascist GOP threat. They will signal that they are ready to roll over at the slightest risk to their re-election prospects. And they will be complicit in what happens next. It’s actually worse than this. There are credible reports that Democrats under Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) are considering allowing the CR vote to happen, provided they get to hold a performative vote on an amendment to limit the CR to just 30 days. What does this mean? In plain terms, Democrats know that any amendment offered to the CR will fail, and then the CR will pass. All they will gain from allowing the bill to come to the floor is a bit of political cover for their vote. They hope to claim they voted against the CR when they actually let it sail through. This is, in a word, bullshit. When I wrote earlier this week that a handful of Democratic senators might grudgingly vote to keep the government open, I didn’t understand that they would do so while claiming publicly to want the opposite. Either you oppose the CR and block it with a filibuster, or you admit that you want to avoid a shutdown at all costs and the GOP has forced your hand with this CR. We may not like Sen. John Fetterman’s (D-PA) decision to vote to keep the government from shutting down, but at least he is telling us the real reason he is voting that way. Voters are on to this insulting and cynical plan, and I hope that the Senate Dems understand that. It’s a craven, milk toast response worthy of Sen. Susan Collins (R-ME): all concern and no action.

[...] Senators swear an oath to obey and protect the Constitution. What Trump and Musk are doing is unconstitutional. The GOP’s CR would give them six more months of runway to do it. Democrats who swore this oath cannot make themselves complicit in allowing unconstitutional activity to continue under their watch, even if that means shutting down where it’s happening. And remember, the Republicans can reopen the government at any time, simply by agreeing to finalize a budget in, say, 30 days. The story, if properly and consistently messaged, will become about the GOP’s refusal to turn the lights back on and actually stop Dr. Evil. After all, they’re the ones in charge. Everything bad that happens from the shutdown on will be on them because they can end the shutdown at any time. We need leadership with moral clarity, decisiveness, and the political spine to do the hard things in the name of preserving our democracy. What we don’t need are head fakes, cynical acts of political self-preservation, and complicity in this horrorshow.

Dear Senate Dems: please don’t vote for the House GOP’s version of the CR. We Democrats don’t like government shutdowns, but this is one is necessary in order to stop the Trump/Musk destruction of government.

[blackjackkent]

All right, the party's almost complete. We're down to Rakha's three best friends in the whole world, starting with Jaheira, who is having a pretty good night and immediately unloads some snark!

"Well, now. You *can* make yourself presentable when you have a mind to."

(A/N: Side note but I *love* this outfit on her. It's a variant of Florrick's day-to-day wear, but this teal color is my favorite for her and she looks fkn gorgeous.)

Despite the teasing tone with which the compliment is delivered, Rakha feels a flicker of warmth at Jaheira's approval. "I've learned a lot,"(*) she murmurs.

Jaheira laughs. "I'm glad the months have not been wasted - particularly as I spent them cleaning up the mess we made of the city." She rolls her eyes. "Same twisting alleys for purse-pickers. Same wooden buildings, ready to get burnt by next year's dragon. Same cisterns overflowing..."

(A/N: Again, the game is definitely intending this to read like they haven't seen each other in six months, but it's definitely not true for Rakha. As I said before, Jaheira was her early guide into getting involved in the rebuilding effort, and for a while Rakha stuck very close to her side, following to lend her efforts where Jaheira indicated, and sleeping in an attic room in Elerrathin's Home at night.

These days, Rakha operates more independently, keeping to herself a fair amount of the time and keeping her head down, focused on the work to be done. But she and Jaheira (and Minsc, and Lae'zel) see each other pretty regularly, and she has come to Jaheira on more than one occasion for advice.

With a little mental gymnastics, though, this conversation can read like them talking shop at the party. :D )

"How do you think the rebuilding is going?" Rakha asks her. Lately they have been working rather at opposite ends of the city; the last she heard, Jaheira was lending her druidic skills to the rebuilding of the area around Bloomridge Park, while Rakha has been employing herself using her magic to maintain storehouses of supplies for refugees and displaced locals in the Outer City.

Jaheira shakes her head with a rueful smile. "Baldurians simply... get on with it," she says wryly. "Stubbornness? Civic spirit? Plain stupidity? Perhaps all three... but nothing I will sniff at any longer."

She rubs her jaw, her expression going distant, thoughtful. "Harpers have come from half the world over to lend aid. Farmers, masons, healers. My own son Jord has been wooed to their ranks; already he plants crop cycles in Wyrm's Crossing." She snorts. "Not so for my daughter. Rion's rejoined the Flaming Fist - temporarily, you understand, to 'organize the craftsmen.' Though she spends more time locking up comrades for pocketing aid funds."

She rolls her eyes. "They might learn a thing or two, if they don't expel her. Again."

Rakha listens attentively. Jaheira doesn't speak too often of her family, and Rakha sees them less often herself, now that she has her own place to stay.

And she realizes, with a flicker of satisfaction, that she sees herself in Jaheira's description of the Baldurian ethos. They simply get on with it. It has been her attitude in these weeks and months - to find the work that needs doing and do it. She makes no show of her participation, but works quietly and fiercely until a particular matter is settled.

She has never identified herself in such a way before. But it is a description she likes.

"You must be proud of them," she says quietly. Of me, perhaps...

Perhaps Jaheira hears something of the unspoken question in the words, because her smile softens a little. "I suppose I am," she answers, quirking an eyebrow. A pause, and then the softness hoods over with the usual sardonic veneer. "Though they seem determined to make me redundant," she adds sardonically.

"Mistake me not. There is still much to be done." She lounges back on her heels, folding her arms. "Plans to make. Maps to be frowned over. But my children are more than capable of doing it. Even the young ones tire of me peeking over their shoulders."

The pointed look she gives Rakha requires no translation. Yes - she sees Rakha among these capable folk putting their work into the city. Perhaps even as one of her children, in a way.

Certainly Rakha has looked to her for guidance long enough. Certainly she feels enough pride in how far Rakha has come, and in the steadier soul she is starting to make of herself.

She turns, glances across the clearing towards the water. "This night offers them a brief respite from me, at least," she goes on more casually. "And this place, now I look at it... it is where you all spent your first night together, no?" She laughs softly. "A fine spot for an adventure to begin. A fine spot indeed..."

Rakha gives a low snort. She is done with adventures, done with fighting - but it seems Jaheira is not. "Do you have an adventure in mind?" she asks.

"Just a little wander, perhaps, to stretch the legs," Jaheira says airily. "I'll find my way back. I always do." She sighs dramatically. "I admit defeat. Baldur's Gate is my home."

A pause. "But that is the thing about home," she adds softly. "The only way to see it clearly is to leave and look back - for a little while at least."

(A/N: And here we hit the major stumbling block of this epilogue for Rakha, which is that the game thinks she and Wyll are still together. Apparently telling him he's on his own in Avernus, and him telling her "If you can't wait for me, just know my heart goes with you" didn't actually count as a breakup. Jaheira here goes off into a tangent about how Rakha might be thinking about starting a family, and I checked the dialogue with Wyll and he immediately greeted Rakha by calling her all sorts of flowery petnames.

I had been avoiding messing with these flags too much, but in this case I decided to finally bite the bullet and clean up the flags, setting ORI_State_Partnered to false, ORI_State_PartneredWithWyll to false, and ORI_State_WasPartneredWithWyll to true. And having done that, both of these conversations become a lot better for Rakha's particular state.)

"But..." Jaheira hesitates, and then her smile takes on a slightly sheepish edge, "should a mother wish to know how her children are faring... not worrying, mind, only wondering... perhaps you might write and tell me of them." A pause. She reaches out and puts a hand very gently on Rakha's shoulder. "And of you, too."

Rakha feels an odd sort of tightness at the back of her throat.

Jaheira has taught her so much, has saved her at the darkest moments of her short life and helped to show her the person that she could be when it seemed impossible. The truth is that Jaheira could ask any favor of her and Rakha would do it without question, unhesitatingly; this favor - couched as it is with the implication that Jaheira counts Rakha among the family she cares for - is an easy one to acquiesce to.

Her voice is a little thick as she responds. "Only if you promise to write back."

Jaheira laughs softly and nods agreement. "And... I vow to send them word of my own wanderings," she murmurs. "If only to spare me Rion's wrath next I return." She snorts. "If you really want to help, you'll get Minsc out of trouble for me. Spare me that adventure."

Rakha grins slightly at that. Minsc certainly will get into trouble, despite any efforts she might make - but yes, she will be there to back him up, to bail him out, perhaps to distract him with other business. Another easy thing to promise.

These thoughts, these people, are all part of her life now, her steady... regular... peaceful life. It's still a strange thought, even now.

Jaheira looks at her steadily for a moment, reading the calmness of her expression, the stillness of her face that used to twitch with anxiety and strain. She nods, as if approving of what she sees there.

"Still," she says mildly. "We need not begin with the fare-thee-wells just yet. We have tonight." She gives Rakha's shoulder a little squeeze and releases it with an impish grin.

"I must inspect the refreshments. You never know - some ne'er do well might have tampered with the wine."

-----

(*) In-game line is "I've learned a lot since last we met," but I'm running on the assumption that she and Jaheira have seen each other pretty regularly.

[luffysinterlude]

here with some of my oc’s backstory!! (i love her) / (warnings: ooc!doffy & sengoku, oc’s mother (x rosinante), timeline might be off (i envision her to be 21/22 post time-skip), brother!law x oc) / (note: i mention cupid having dark hair, but that’s about it. you could imagine it from a reader’s perspective as well!! not really sure how i envision cupid yet, just her fits)

(inspired from this one moment where i was sick in bed and let my imagination run wild.)

donquixote rosinante’s daughter cupid was to be kept a secret from the world.

he hadn’t known she existed until she was five, through a letter that held tear stains and smeared ink. his one and only ex-lover from the east blue had fallen ill and had a month to live. in less than three weeks later, corazon finds himself standing in front of a newly added gravestone, a small dark-haired girl sleeping peacefully in his arms.

i promise i’ll keep her safe. she is your legacy. thank you for trusting her with me, i’m sorry we missed the chance to be a family and i’m not sure if i’ll ever be able to get over losing someone so great. i’ll make sure she grows up the way you want her to. i’ll see you in the next life, my beautiful alia.

when sengoku found corazon sitting in his office with a child in his lap, he nearly had a heart attack. corazon explained the situation…even letting some of his feelings slip. when sengoku pried about the mother, he thought he’d died and resurrected on the spot. monkey d. alia…a familiar name, someone he’d watch grow up with his adopted son. he wasn’t upset though; he and garp had raised them both to be young naval commanders. although alia had suddenly disappeared six years ago and garp refused to tell anyone his daughter’s whereabouts, he was proud of them, a warmth swelling in his chest.

yet his blood ran cold as he realized he shared a granddaughter with garp. he made a mental note to ask garp if he had any idea and if so, why he didn’t feel the need to tell him.

sengoku agreed to keep the child a secret, but only if he was allowed to raise the girl and train her to be a marine. corazon hesitated a bit; not wanting his adoptive father to shove his views of justice down his daughter’s throat, but he trusted sengoku enough, nodding his head at the idea. he promised her he’ll stop by every chance he had.

unbeknownst to them, a certain man sat just below the open window..smiling at the precious news from his little brother.

within just a year, sengoku watched so much potential grow in cupid, she was such a strong girl who seemed to excel in everything he put her through. for a six year old, she had more self-discipline than most marines. she never gave up and proved herself every time.

so imagine the feeling he gets when his oldest son pays him a visit, asking for a favor. doflamingo has never been forgiving; a silent threat in the air as he demanded a warlord position and custody of cupid. sengoku silently prays for corazon’s mercy and gives him want he wants with not much of a fight, only asking that cupid never ends up dead or on a bounty poster.

corazon’s heart shatters as he hears the words fall from sengoku’s mouth. tears welled in his eyes at the sudden wave of grief that hit him, a small amount of anger bubbling under his skin. he told me he wouldn’t hurt her. cora clenched his eyes shut at the words, an image of both cupid and alia flashing through his mind. his decision was then made:

i’ll go undercover. i made a promise to alia and i won’t let him be the reason i break it…and i’ll stop whatever madness doffy has planned.

x+x

hearing the news that her father was joining her on the numancia, cupid allowed her mind to ease. she trusted and loved her father to take care of her, and stuck to him like a parasite. you’ll never be alone, he told her. i’ll always be with you.

some time passes and cupid quickly becomes a main asset to the donquixote family. she’s always being watched by doflamingo though; something she noticed the minute she stepped foot aboard. he didn’t have to be present for her to feel his strong gaze. she trained restlessly, sometimes in secret so her dad wouldn’t scold her. she wanted to be as strong as her parents���maybe even stronger.

she soon meets a boy named Law, her interest in him beginning when he shows up seeking refuge in the family, saying he doesn’t have much time to live; words she’s heard before. she soon finds herself following him around the ship, observing him and trying to help him get away her father…

one day though, she feels a familiar pain in her chest: her father was taking Law around the world in hopes to find a doctor that’ll heal him. she cried silently as she eavesdropped on the quiet conversation between the two brothers, her heart desperately wanting to go, but she knew doflamingo would never allow that.

that night, she stares out into the dark sky, searching for a ray of hope; for herself, her (new) brother, and her father. even though she was a child, she was able to piece together her uncle’s plans for dressrosa. she’s always been able to read people’s next move and sometimes hear their thoughts — something she noticed when her grandfather sengoku trained her alongside marines — yet around those she trusted and loved, she never felt the need to.

the day Law and Corazon parted ways with the family, she hid in her room—she had told them she’d see them again, a stern look in her eyes. she formulated an escape plan to follow the two, one that involved a lot of thought: every second matters, i can’t fail.

when the news that cupid had suddenly disappeared a month exactly after the departure of Law and Corazon, and just before her birthday, doflamingo could only laugh. he knew Corazon was smart enough not to break a promise with him, so the thought of a nine year old girl somehow being smart enough to escape from him drove him insane.

you’ll come back to me eventually. just because you’re blood, i’ll allow you to escape this once. consider us even, rosi…because your life is mine once i find you.

+x+

here’s my vivre card! don’t tell anyone i’m giving this to you, it’s our secret.

the warm voice of her father clouded cupid’s mind as she stared at the small paper in her hand, the freezing temperature suddenly causing her arms to wrap around her body. a familiar voice caused her to untuck her chin from her chest, yet when she looked, nobody was near.

it’s been almost six months since Law and Corazon began their journey. a part of her wishes that her father had tried harder to include her in their search, but she knew that he only wanted to keep her safe. she also knew that by leaving, he would suffer more.

she figures that by now doflamingo had figured out cora’s secret. she prayed every night hoping the evil man didn’t beat her to them, and so far he hasn’t. yet that thought alone made her move her legs just a bit quicker in the thick snow, fighting against strong winds.

a tall pink silhouette caught her eye as she was beginning to feel tired, a small burst of adrenaline causing her to run towards the figure. she tried using her haki — a term she learned about after confiding to baby 5 about her power sources — to hear what they were talking about, but using it at a distance isn’t something she learned yet.

and so she did the next best thing she could think of:

“DAAAAAAAAAAAD!! LAAAAAAAAAW!!”

corazon froze in his spot when he suddenly felt his daughter’s presence in the surrounding area. neither of the males could hear her voice due to corazon’s devil fruit power, but the wide-eyed look on law’s face as his eyes traveled behind cora’s head caused law to slightly panic.

“she’s behind me, isn’t she…?” corazon spoke. his head hung low, his eyes clenching shut as he grit his teeth. he should be angry. angry at cupid for acting on impulse and following them. angry at cupid for leaving his brother’s ship without thinking of the consequences she’d face. instead, he chuckles. its a light-hearted chuckle, an image of alia popping up in his head.

law nodded, still in a slight panic and shock. he was happy to see his sister again, but he was hoping that the next time they met was when he was fully healed and recovered. in a way, cupid reminded him of lami; he thinks it’s because of how she clung to him like they’ve known each other for their entire lives, or how she’s the only other person (after cora) he trusts.

+x+

“you understand, don’t you cupid?” she does, but wishes she didn’t.

cupid was speechless; she wants to scream at her father for getting himself into trouble, the sense of danger continuing to grow with every second. she wants to beg her father to take her and law and leave immediately, she just reunited with them both, she doesn’t want to leave this land without the two of them alive.

her loving, protective father, was going to give his life in exchange for her and law.

whether her brother was aware of this or not, it was going to happen. she knew her father didn’t have it in him to kill the man, and even after she tried convincing him to let her be a distraction while the two got away, he refused.

tears welled in cupid’s eyes as she realized that this was it. the long time of waiting for her father to finally come back for her, has gone down the drain. the four years she has spent knowing him has felt like two days. both of her parents have sacrificed themselves for good reasons, and the thought makes her angry. she wants to destroy all the evil people in the world for causing pain to those she loves — including those who’ve caused harm to Law — and make them suffer. she cries uncontrollably, the cold air around her disappearing due to the heat rising in her body.

the look on his daughter’s face broke his heart. cupid was a perfect mix of him and alia; a reminder of the love that once bloomed between the two, a period of time where cora felt nothing but bliss. alia was a major inspiration to him, both as a human-being and a marine, and he prays that alia isn’t too harsh on him when they meet again.

her name’s Cupid. i named her after the god of love, because she’s so full of it and she reminds me of the love we shared share. she’s a bit shy at first, but as soon as she warms up to you she can be a bit much to handle. she likes to observe everything: people, animals, places…she’s a very adventurous being, and through that, i think she’s unlocked part of her observation haki. she’s only five, yet she’s so strong and so smart.

please, as a dying wish of mine, do not let her be forced into anything she doesn’t want to do. let her grow into her own person. i’ve been thinking more about our fathers’ ways of living…and i can’t imagine a soul like hers serving people like them. i have a strong feeling that cupid will be a big threat to both the government and pirates alike.

she’s always been special; this whole island loves her. at first i thought maybe it’s due to my dad’s reputation, but i’ve come to find out it’s just because of her spirit and humanity. she’ll make history one day. she knows i don’t have much time left, and she’s been so understanding. i can tell with every passing day that she’s trying to make this time more enjoyable and peaceful for me. she also knows about our separation and all about you, and she says she’s excited for the day for the two of you to meet — it’s kind of some sort of bragging right for her.

please, take good care of our cupid. one day she’ll understand the importance of her life, but as for now, she’s too young. attached below is some ways to contact my brother and his colleagues, they’re trustworthy people and dragon owes me one. if you ever need to contact them, please do so for any reason. be safe, rosinante. as long as cupid is alive, so is our love.

corazon was prepared for his death the moment he decided to go undercover. he had written dragon a long, long letter, explaining to him the situation that he’s in. as long as cora stays alive long enough to carry law and cupid to safety, his mission ends then, and he can rest peacefully (while hoping his body is found). silencing both children, he hides them in a wooden box, waiting for doflamingo to finally find him again.

+x+

“you’ll both be safe here. and,” corazon took yet another, bloodied, deep breath; his eyes bouncing between both of his kids, desperately hoping that in his next life he remembers their faces. “i love you.”

the last memory cupid has of her father is one that’s bloody, gruesome, and heartbreaking. but the words he spoke to her are engraved in her mind.

as long as she remembers she’s loved, this life is worth continuing to live.

+x+

★ an: i still have sooo many more ideas for cupid’s backstory (involving cora and alia) but for now i’ll settle for this. please let me know what i could work on!! i’m still getting back into the groove of writing :p