#I am rotting from the inside out in real time and I can do nothing but watch the decay and pretend to find beauty in it

[the-muppet-joker]

How are you?

I am doing the best I can given the circumstances! (Horse dead, scammed thousands, got bald)

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[autocat5876]

again, no real title other than more sebpainter! another surface au (owned by the lovely @feligayzed) fanfiction!

wordcount of 2.8k (whoops), more of a hurt/comfort thing this time around. please enjoy! i had a lovely time writing this

The first few weeks back on the surface were the toughest for Sebastian. Everything was new, despite how much he wished it wouldn’t. His body, despite being close to what it used to be, wasn’t all perfect, and the world had changed fast in the years he was gone. 

So- once he was finally released from the medical hell that proceeded leaving… there- Sebastian found himself locking up in his bedroom for days on end. It was small enough that he didn’t have to move around much to get from place to place, a welcome relief to his now-aching body (would it always be like that? He hoped not).

He knew it was unhealthy, but he didn’t really care. He didn’t want to be outside, and the outside probably didn’t want him either. After all, he wasn’t fit to be part of the public anymore. He’d missed so many years of humanity to know what was relevant and what wasn’t anymore, not to mention he barely looked “human” anymore. The patches of scales itched and constantly caught his hair (which, itself, was a mess he never had the energy to fix), and the missing finger on each hand weren’t doing any favours either.

But, that was all he could really do with the shitty hand life chose to give him. And he’d much rather rot away alone than deal with returning to the world anyways.

-

Sebastian had been holed up in his room for a while now, p.AI.nter noted. It was the same thing every day. He wouldn’t even come out to get food or water, leading to the bot needing to bring it to him itself. As much as it knew Sebastian needed time to adjust, this seemed a bit… much.

Steeling its nerves, it walked up to the door Sebastian had been hiding behind. With a huff of its fans, it knocked, soft as to not startle him.

“Sebastian? It’s… well, you know who I am… Um- can I come in?”

The air was silent for a long while, to the point p.AI.nter almost thought he had fallen asleep, which wasn’t uncommon these days. He never got rest back at Urbanshade, and it was almost like his body was trying to catch up on the sleep he missed.

Right before the bot could turn to leave, it heard shuffling coming from inside. Cusses mixed with ruffling fabric and clicks against the wood floor as Sebastian made his way to the door. It opened a crack, bright blue eyes peering out at p.AI.nter. Nothing moved, before the door creaked open enough for it to enter.

Not wasting a single moment, p.AI.nter stepped into the room and shut the door. As to be expected, the interior was… well, it was a mess. Dishes and silverware piled up on top of an old dresser, clothes strewn about on the floor to the point that the wooden boards were barely visible. Leaning against the nearby wall was Sebastian’s walker, which he seemed to have a sort of vendetta against with how much he hated to use it. His bed took up the majority of the room, the sheets ruffled up presumably from him dragging himself out of it. The curtains were drawn closed, bathing the room in a dull orange light from the thin fabric.

Turning to face the man himself, p.AI.nter could see Sebastian was in no better condition than his bedroom. Messy and knotted hair framed his face, but the rats-nest couldn’t cover the heavy bags under his eyes. His clothes were all too loose for him, the faded band tee looking more like a dress than anything else, and his shorts were baggy and barely held up by the drawstring. One hand grasped his cane for dear life, the other gripping the nearest dresser edge to hold him up.

“Well? What do you want?” Sebastian’s voice was rough and low- from disuse, p.AI.nter presumed (did he really talk that little anymore? p.AI.nter didn’t want to believe it).

p.AI.nter shook itself out of its thoughts. “Right! You’ve been pent up here for… a while-” A scoff slipped from the other, it chose to ignore it.  “-so I was thinking you�� came out and got some air? Just out on the porch.”

“No.” His answer was immediate. The mattress squeaked as he sat back down on its edge, hissing at the soreness of bending his knees again.

Another huff of p.AI.nter’s fans. “Come on, how long’s it been since you had any fresh air?”

“I open the window from time to time.” Sebastian looked away, mumbling. A quick glance at the windowsill showed it was covered in dust from disuse.

“Sebastian, please?”

“I said I’m not doing it.”

The room fell into silence for a long time. p.AI.nter didn’t want to give up this easily, but it couldn’t think of anything that would work. That is, unless…

“If you do it, I’ll do whatever you ask. One request of any kind..?” It was a bad offer, it knew that much, but maybe it was enough to convince Sebastian.

Again, silence. p.AI.nter fidgeted nervously in place, looking anywhere but Sebastian.

“Paint my nails.”

The reply jolted p.AI.nter out of its thoughts. It turned back to Sebastian, meeting his gaze.

“That’s… That’s it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that ‘anything’ didn’t include everything.”

The bot quickly jumped into motion, waving its hands in front of itself. “No, no! If that’s what you want then that’s what I’ll do.”

Sebastian just hummed, the sound resonating in p.AI.nter’s system. Gosh, his voice was so nice to listen to sometimes… it shook its head. It couldn’t be thinking like that right now.

“Stay right here. I’ll be right back!”

-

Sebastian was going to regret this, he felt it in his bones (alongside that constant dull pain, the hope that it wasn’t permanent was beginning to fade). Outside meant people could see him, and people seeing him meant… he didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t get up from the mattress, waiting for p.AI.nter to return. It had run out of the room nearly as soon as he agreed. He looked around as he sat, his gaze hardening as his eyes landed on the walker leaning against the wall. 

It wasn’t that he hated the object itself, but the thing it represents instead. How he couldn’t even function properly like how he did before. Before they came and took him for no good reason, ripped him apart and put him back together, and-

The door creaking open pulled Sebastian from his thoughts. In the doorway was p.AI.nter, with a hairbrush and towel in hand.

“I know we aren’t going to be outside much, but I thought you’d maybe like to clean up a bit before we did?”

Sebastian didn’t move, letting p.AI.nter do what it wanted. Despite how he acted, he was glad his companion still cared for him.

The bot took a seat behind him, crossing its legs as it reached out for his hair. Sebastian jolted as soon as he felt fingers brush up against his hair, tensing up in fear. He couldn’t let anything touch him, if he did then he’d be brought back, stuck in that too-small cell-

Again, p.AI.nter pulled him out of his thoughts (how does it keep doing that, he wonders?) with a soft, “Sorry!”

“It’s… It’s fine. Just don’t do that again.”

p.AI.nter slowly made its way off the bed, leaving what it brought in next to Sebastian.

“Here… if you want to clean up. I’ll wait outside.”

-

p.AI.nter groaned, holding its screen in its hands as it sat down in the hallway outside. Of course it had to mess this up. It was trying to make Sebastian more comfortable, and all it did was make him more upset.

It sat alone for a while, its self-pity party broken only by the door opening. Peeking through its fingers, it could see Sebastian carefully shuffling out of his bedroom. His hair was carefully combed (although still messy, that would never change) and his face was washed off. Still in his faded shirt and shorts, he was careful with one hand on his cane and the other on the doorframe.

“Hey…” p.AI.nter stood, but it didn’t approach Sebastian again. 

“Hi. Let’s get this over with.”

The bot nodded, walking alongside him, still not touching. Their pace was agonizingly slow down the hallway to the front door, but p.AI.nter didn’t mind the time. 

Sebastian on the other hand, very much minded. Under his breath he mumbled curses and words of anger at his situation. p.AI.nter couldn’t help but feel bad, but it still didn’t act on it. It didn’t want to upset him again.

After what felt like nothing to p.AI.nter and everything to Sebastian, they made it to the door outside. p.AI.nter turned to the other, its eyes looking everywhere but him.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

The door opened with a small squeak, and the front room was bathed in the afternoon sunlight. A gentle breeze ghosted through the grass and leaves, filling the air with a quiet white noise.

p.AI.nter was the first to step outside, a smile quick to be drawn on its screen. It had been so long since it had really seen the outside world. It never got the chance to just sit outside and enjoy it, something was always filling that time instead.

It took a seat on the first step of the stone stairs leading up to the entry, patiently waiting for Sebastian to join it. He did, after a moment. A quiet groan escaped his lips as he lowered down to sit. p.AI.nter said nothing, just returned to looking around.

Thanks to the calm conditions of the day, the other people in the neighbourhood were also out and about, either in their own yards or walking the sidewalks. The sight softened the bot’s expression. They were all so peaceful, it thought. Nothing threatening their safety, nothing dull in colour, no one trying to rip them from their family and trap them in a lone cell, force them to do mindless tasks for god knows how long… p.AI.nter shook its head. It shouldn’t be thinking like that anymore. It was safe, they both were.

p.AI.nter didn’t even realize how much time they spent outside until its gaze again landed on the man next to it. He was shaking, his grip on the handle of his cane tight enough to turn his knuckles a sickly white.

“Sebastian?” It said nervously. “You’re shaking…”

He didn’t turn to look at p.AI.nter, still staring straight ahead. “Can we go?” He managed to croak out, the last words dying off into wisps of air.

Something was seriously wrong. p.AI.nter stood, nodding. “Yeah- Yeah, of course we can. Let’s… let’s get you inside now.”

It stood, Sebastian slowly following its actions. His return inside was much faster than p.AI.nter expected, its heart lurching at the sight. He was forcing himself to speed up to go inside, probably hurting himself in the process. All because of some dumb idea it had…

The walk back to Sebastian’s room was silent, save for the clink of metal on the wood-panelled floors. p.AI.nter opened the bedroom door, letting him in as it followed behind. Sebastian made a straight beeline to his bed, burrowing under the blankets and hiding his whole body under them.

p.AI.nter said nothing, instead it just took a seat on the edge of the bed to watch over the lump under the covers.

- 

Sebastian hid. Hid from the sunlight (it was too bright), the breeze (the chill it sent down his spine was very unwelcome), the people (they were so loud and they kept staring oh god they wouldn’t stop-). So he stayed under the blankets of his bed, where he knew it was safe.

It was darker out when he finally peeked his head out, his gaze landing on the bot sitting nearby. It had left the edge of the bed hours ago, now sitting against the wall opposite of the bed. It was clearly lost in drawing, the screen displaying a bright landscape instead of the usually messy eyes and grin.

“What are you drawing?” He asked, his voice filling the room with something more than just cooling fans.

The sudden sound caused p.AI.nter to jump in place, a large, accidental brushstroke covering its artwork. It quickly undid the mistake and saved the file, returning to its face. 

“Ah- nothing. Just the usual…”

The room again fell into an awkward silence, neither of the two wanting to look at each other. Sebastian looked down at his hands clutching the edge of the blankets, the promise from earlier in the day resurfacing in his mind.

“You know, you still owe me that promise. Nail painting, remember?” He didn’t look up as he spoke.

The only sound that came from the bot was the near-silent movement of its joints as it stood. 

“What colour?”

“Black.”

It only nodded, leaving yet again to find where it kept its real paints.

-

p.AI.nter found itself sitting back on the mattress of the bed within minutes of leaving, right across from Sebastian. Next to it was a small palette, a small dollop of black paint on it (though the orange light from the sunset and old curtains made it look strangely different). In its hand was the thinnest brush it could find. 

Truthfully, it didn’t really know what it was doing. It had never painted nails before, but it assumed it couldn’t have been much different than actual painting- much to its joy, it was right.

In order to try and make Sebastian a bit more comfortable, it began to play a local radio station from its speakers. It kept the music quiet to focus, but it was loud enough to be audible. 

Sebastian didn’t say anything, but before long he was softly humming along to the tune of a song p.AI.nter didn’t recognize. Both looked down at his nails as they were all carefully covered in a thin coat of black paint.

They stayed like that for a long while, even after p.AI.nter was done with the nails. The paint needed to dry, after all.

The music was cut off with an exhale of p.AI.nter’s fans. It took a moment to collect its words. “Sebastian, listen,” It began. “I’m so sorry for today. I didn’t mean to make you feel so upset.”

p.AI.nter waited nervously for a reply. It wasn’t expecting for Sebastian to magically forgive it of everything it did, but it hoped he wouldn’t be pissed at it either.

“...It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to. I probably shouldn't have freaked out on you like that either.”

It looked up at Sebastian, eyes widening. “No- you shouldn’t be apologizing here!” Its volume raised slightly. “You had said you didn’t want and I basically forced you out and I even made you upset before everything and-”

“p.AI.nter.” His voice cut through its nervous ramblings. He sounded annoyed, but it knew better than to assume that’s how he really felt. “You said you’re sorry, I said it’s fine. That’s all, alright?” 

“...Yeah, alright.”

Sebastian hesitated, before looking up and meeting p.AI.nter’s gaze. “Besides, I got a free manicure out of it, didn’t I?” 

p.AI.nter couldn’t help the laugh it let out, quiet and glitchy. “I guess that’s a pretty good plus side to this whole thing.”

The room fell into another silence, but this one was much more comfortable than before. Dusk turned to night, the only light in the room the dimmed screen of p.AI.nter’s face. It stuck around as Sebastian slipped back under the blankets, sitting comfortably at the foot of the bed to continue its scene from before. It tentatively hit redo on the accidental brush stroke from before. Maybe it could find a way to work that mistake into the landscape…

-

Sleep came quickly for Sebastian as he curled up beneath soft blankets. He kept his hands above the covers, careful to not nick them. Taking another glance at the black paint, a dumb grin grew on his face. By no means were they perfect, but to him they were everything. He shut his eyes, listening carefully to the soft droning of p.AI.nter’s fans. And if that night was the best sleep he had in years, he never admitted it.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind Part 2

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts, reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab. 

Read Part One!

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed! If ! forgot anything to include as a warning please let me know. Also, if you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic, just let me know!

Day Three:

Eddie is sitting on the couch upside down, his legs hanging over the backrest and his head dangling over the seat. He stares up at the makeshift ceiling above as he pretends to play the drums on his stomach. The overhead light is starting to make his eyes slightly water but he’s too comfortable to move.

You’ve told him your name and he’s been almost obnoxious with how much he’s using it in your conversation. He’s using any excuse to work it into the front or back of a lot of his sentences. It doesn’t bother you like you thought it would, and you actually love hearing him call you by your name. It helps create a sense of intimacy where you both obviously can’t have it. It makes you feel more real to him, makes you feel closer to him, reminding him that if he sticks this out he could actually see you, maybe even touch you…

“Do you worry about what’s going to happen when this thing ends?” you ask.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies, moving so he is sitting upright. You sound concerned, your voice sounding smaller. “I don’t want to talk through a wall anymore, I want to talk like actually in person- not like some lab rats.”

“Do you think about what I look like?” you ask cautiously, and Eddie shakes his head as he stands up to walk directly up against the wall. 

“Of course, I’d love to see you,” Eddie explains, “I haven’t actually thought so much about what you look like, I just want to see you. You know? We’ve talked for what- uh, 7 or 8 hours at this point? Which honestly- insanely small amount of time to get to know someone. But like think about it- average date is what? 2 hours, sometimes less. We’ve been on like 4 “normal length” dates in 3 days. And usually you know you like someone by then at least. And I know I like you, and I love talking to you- without seeing me you have made me feel seen. God, that was so fucking cheesy.” 

You feel the corners of your ears well with tears- a little overwhelmed from the affirmations and attention you are not used to receiving. You realize that you never once doubted you’d not like how Eddie looks, nor do you even care either. You don’t understand why your brain won’t let you accept the same could be true for the way Eddie thinks about you. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you respond, and Eddie pumps his fist in victory. “I’ve had so much I’ve needed to work through. I mean, still working through. I have a lot of trouble accepting the fact that someone could actually like me as I am right now. I’ve always had the thoughts of well, I need to change myself and once I’m more like this, then I’ll be attractive or whatever. But, when I’m here, talking with you, I’m not worried about it anymore. But I’m still worried about what it's going to look like when this whole ordeal is over and you actually see me, and I can’t hide behind the wall anymore. But here, when we’re talking, I feel like I can be completely myself with you and I’m scared of losing that. Cause I also really like you.” 

“I can promise you there is nothing about you that would make me not interested,” he reaffirms. “I mean, I already know that you’re pretty- inside and out so it isn’t going to change anything. Except… I’m hoping you’d let me kiss you if you aren’t completely repulsed by me that is. Ugh, I’m sorry. I sound like a pathetic 14 year old boy. But, you know what I mean. Fuck, this is torturous.”

Eddie beams when he hears your little laugh from the other side of the wall again. He wants to know if there’s anyway he can get out of the experiment early. He needs to touch you, pull you into him. He wants to hug you, and have you here sitting next to him- flush up against his side. He’s craving the small pieces of physical intimacy that would just satisfy this restlessness he’s feeling throughout his whole body. It’s like he’s experiencing withdrawals but for something he’s never even been allowed to taste. He wants to shower you with affection the second you let him. 

“So, what are you hoping for at the end of this?” You ask, snapping yourself out of your daze. In the little notebook they provided to everyone, you’ve caught yourself writing Eddie in different styles with little hearts. You snap the book closed, like you're worried he’s gonna see it or something. You roll your eyes at yourself, leaning back on the couch and putting one of the pillows up to your face, embarrassed. You’re so past the point of no return. 

He takes a deep breath, contemplating his answer. Wanting to be honest, but not so honest that he scares you away by moving too fast. Case closed: he just wants to get your number and ask you on real dates. There’s also wildly inappropriate things swirling around in his head, as he reminds himself of what he did last night. But, he’s not ready to admit that fantasy to you just yet. 

“It depends on how you’ll feel most comfortable,” he settled on. “But I’d love to take you on an actual date. Like a real one, not this weird shit anymore. We can sit and talk face to face, so I can stare at you and you can yell at me to cut it out. I want to make you feel special and attractive because you are and you deserve to be entirely spoiled and pampered. However that looks for you, I’m down. I just want to be near you. I’ll go at your pace.”

You were never the type to make the first move, ever. Which is also why you’re here in the first place. You have never had the courage to vocalize any sort of desire to a man like you have with Eddie. It’s been really thrilling, the way he’s been able to help you open up. You feel like you can share your thoughts on what you want physically and he won’t judge you or shame you. You decide to be blunt. 

“If it’s actually true, that you’re physically attracted to me when you see me for the first time,” you say, unable to control the way your whole body gets covered in goosebumps at the thought. “I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.”

“Everything?” 

“I want everything.” 

“Shit, sweetheart, you can’t just say that,” Eddie responds, sounding almost pained. He chuckles, “you’re a tease, you know that?” 

“I’m just being honest,” you respond, and Eddie can hear how you’re being coy. He loves it, he’s happy to hear you coming out of your shell. He’s excited to finally hear about this side of you. You’re slowly but surely peeling back your layers for him. 

“I want you to be more honest,” he flirts. “But Christ, it’s going to be a long week.” 

There were four more days to go before the big reveal. If any of the participants felt they had a connection to another- or fell in love, they’d submit their picks to the technicians and then the technicians would set-up the next phase of the experiment. Unfortunately, if this does happen, the first time you actually get to see Eddie, it’ll still be under surveillance, most likely monitoring heart rate and whatever else they’re looking for. It will feel clinical, which is so not ideal, but once it’s over- you and Eddie could walk out together and do whatever, go wherever. If he still is interested.

“So, um, what type of girls do you usually go for?” you ask, a slight twinge of insecurity working its way back to the front of your mind. 

“Um,” Eddie replies, letting out an exhale, “Alive.” He smiles when he hears a laugh from the other side of the wall. 

“No seriously,” you urge. “I’m curious.”

“I mean- I really don’t have a type,” he states honestly. “I’d like it if she's nice to me, but that’s not even a deal breaker,” he jokes. 

“You like girls being a little mean to you?” You flirt, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“I don’t think I’d hate it,” he grins. “Um, but seriously? I guess I want someone who likes some of the same stuff as me- or at least will put up with me talking about it. I want someone who I feel comfortable around and I’m not afraid to be myself.”

“What about like- appearance wise?” you ask tentatively.

“This feels like a question we shouldn’t be asking,” he taunts. You feel your face get hot. “I feel like if I tell you the truth you won’t believe me,” he answers. 

“Why’s that?” you ask, confused. 

“It feels like you're expecting me to say skinny, blonde and leggy or something, and if I say anything else you’re going to just think I’m lying,” he muses. Your eyes widen at how well he’s able to read you, and it’s mildly infuriating. 

“I think someone or maybe the world or whatever,” he continues, “has convinced you that you aren’t attractive and I really, truly think that isn’t the case at all. And baiting me to try to confirm that isn’t going to work because I can tell it’s a defense mechanism cause you’re afraid.” 

“Well darling,” he smirks, stepping as close as possible to the wall so you hear him clearly, “I’m not gonna let you get away with it. Because, talking to you is convincing me with each passing hour that I’m cooped up in this damn box that this experiment might actually work. I have not been able to think about anything else but getting back to talk to you when I’m not here. You’re desirable, I want you and you’re just gonna have to wrap your pretty little head around that.” 

Buzz

PART THREE

Taglist:

@woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @ali-r3n @cherrycolas-things @hellfirebabe666 @trixyvixx @stardancerluv @i--wont-run-this-time

[chouxsardine]

Permission to Fall -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Don't be afraid of falling, because he will catch you everytime" --Where things became too much at your company's Christmas party and Jake comes to the rescue as the most thoughtful boyfriend that he is.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3211

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, feet (nothing gross or super detailed), a drop of superstition (let me know if I've missed any)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Author's note: This is originally an idea inspired by @jakesguitarsolo and written for her. I hope you feel better now, dear. One idea spins into me pulling an all nighter...And here it is. This also goes to whoever feels stressed around this time of the year. Yes, things are tough, but you are stronger. I am so proud of you. If you want to talk, feel free to send me an ask or message. This is my first gvf fic and my first time writing anything for threes years. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it too.

🎧: I am listening to I Need You Most of All by Stephen Sanchez while writing this (you can tell the title is taken from the lyrics)

----------------------------------------------

Suddenly everything is too much.

But you know damn well that it doesn’t just happen “suddenly”. In fact, shit has been building up for days, or even weeks. You don’t know if it’s the end-of-year frenzy getting into everyone’s head, Mercury is in retrograde, or the depleted Vitamin D levels due to shortened daylight, you’ve had it particularly rough recently, from small inconveniences like your favourite snack being out of stock at the local grocery store for three consecutive weeks to mishaps like you taking the blame for your impotent coworker. You are exhausted, to say the least; you couldn’t wait for the holidays. Not entirely for its cheer, but for the few precious days off. You just need a break from everything.

Now you are stuck in your company’s holiday party. The annual event that you dreaded the most. It involves too many fake smiles, false-hearted small talk, and tooth-rotting-sweet cupcakes that clearly have too much food colouring. All the mental preparing goes south as you stand in the room, the stabbing pain from your high-heels growing more and more unbearable by the second. Too many people.

“Just another thirty minutes, you can do it. Just another thirty minutes”. You hopelessly glance at the clock on the wall, flashbacking to your childhood self squirming in the seats waiting for math class to end.

But of course, something has to make matters worse. The real straw that breaks the camel’s back is your clumsy coworker accidentally bumping into you and spilling her drink on your shoes.

“Oh my god, I am so so sorry, y/n!” She hastily apologizes in a high-pitched squeal. A few people turn their heads toward your direction.

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Embarrassment. Embarrassment. Panic. Trouble. You try to wave her off. The shoes aren’t even your top concerns right now; you just want her to stop talking and stop attracting more unwanted attention.

“Really? Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! It’s just—”

“Please.” You take the handful of tissues from her, look her in the eyes, almost pleading, “It’s fine. Please excuse me, I’ll just go to the washroom real quick.”

Once the washroom door is closed behind you, you feel like collapsing right there on the floor. You wobble your way to the sink, arms propped up on the cold marble surface. You don’t dare to look at yourself in the mirror. Your ears are buzzing and the twisted feeling in your lungs tightens. As if a cold hand is wringing a wet towel inside your stomach, as if someone is shoving your head into cold water, you can't breath properly. You try to draw a breath, but end up sounding like a stranded whale. Before it develops into a full-blown panic attack that you can’t handle, you managed to muster the last bit of your sanity and dial that number with trembling fingers.

Jake picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, love. What’s up? ”

Upon hearing his voice, your tears break free. You are sobbing so hard that you have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the volume down. God forbid any busybody out there overhearing sobbing coming out of the washroom. “Ja—Jake—-”You struggled to form a coherent syllable.

“What’s wrong, y/n? Are you hurt?” His voice immediately grows sterner, stripped of of the previous languidness.

To talk under this state feels like squeezing words out of your veins. “Ca—can—you..come p—pick me up? Company—p-party.” You stutter through gritted teeth.

There is some shuffled noise over the phone, a loud bang sounding like he had bumped into something, a silent “fuck” under his breath, then his voice reaches your ears again: “Coming right now, baby, take a deep breath for me.”

You hear the faint beeping of car keys. More shuffled noise. More beeping. That means he has started the car, right? That means he will be here soon, right? You mind is racing and spinning and your lungs are still acting up, only allow silvers of oxygen into your body. You feel like you are watching the world through a distorted filter. A scarier thought jumps into your brain: you whiny puny thing, continue crying and your panic will affect Jake. The roads are slippery now, and it will be all your fault if he ends up in a car accident.

As if being slapped in the face, you manage to suck in a deep breath like a scuba diver resurfacing to the water: “Drive safe please, please Jake, please—I will wait for you.”

Jake makes a sound that is somewhat between a relieved laugh and a resigned sigh. He knows instantly what’s going on in your overthinking brain; you are worried about him. The thoughtfulness must be engraved in y/n’s brain, he thought, always, always putting others in front of herself, even when she’s having a panic attack. And Jake knows you are correct. It is only upon hearing your words that he realizes how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He recomposes himself, relaxing his shoulder, “Don’t you worry about me, love. I will stay on the phone if that makes you feel better, yeah? Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me.”

“Knock on wood!” You hiss between sobbing, frantically searching for any wooden material around you. Damn it, why is everything so shiny and glassy?

Jake is amazed that he even lets out a short laugh under the circumstances. Yes, his heart aches hearing his girl being a mess over the phone, and he wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side. But meanwhile, he can't help but find you cute like this. He knocks three times on the mini wooden tissue box that he keeps in the middle console.

“Yes, knock on wood. You hear that, doll?”

“Hmm.” You would honestly believe anything now. Hearing Jake’s voice and imagining him coming to you is like brown noise for babies. Your lungs finally decide to have mercy on you, and you can now somehow draw in shallow breaths albeit the pain in your chest.

Jake is relieved as he sees the green lights shining at the last intersection before turning left onto the side road where your company is located. “I’m here. Can you come down by yourself, love? Or do you want me to get you?”

“I can come down.” You say. The thought of him finding you in a messy pile on the bathroom floor makes you wince, even though he’d probably seen worse.

“Okay baby, see you in a second.”

You don’t remember how you collected your coat and pushed your way through the crowded room without many people noticing. The next moment, your sensations are restored, and you find yourself already in Jake’s arms. He's waiting for you in the area between the automatic glass door and the revolving door outside, a place that is warm with air conditioning but won’t attract nosy people. He wraps you in a hug with his wool jacket. His comforting scent fills your nostrils, a powerful pacifier for your naughty lungs. For the first time this evening, you can finally breathe properly like a normal human being. The rush of fresh air makes you release a loud sob like a newborn baby. The relief of seeing him safely standing in front of you and the release of finally being free from the stressful and stuffy environment ushers more tears to stream down your face.

“Shhhh…..you’re okay now, y/n, safe now. I’m here.” His hand wraps protectively around the back of your head as he plants kisses into your hair. “Poor girl, let’s get to the car and go home.”

Home. Home sounds heavenly to your right now. You couldn’t think of a better combination of these four letters in the whole of human history.

On the way back, you curl into a ball on the passenger seat like a battered puppy. Jake holds your hand whenever he gets the chance, his strong calloused fingers gently massaging yours, tracing the patterns on your palm, his thumb brushing the back of your hand, providing warmth. No longer crying, your shoulders occasionally shudder with involuntary sobs that escape you. But other than that, you are falling into a trance. Your gaze concentrated on Jake’s perfect side profile through hooded eyes, watching in awe as the passing streetlights formed patterns of shadow on his graceful nose and cheeks; your mind numb without a single thought.

It is only when Jake wakes you up that you realize you have fallen asleep. The car is already parked in the garage, the familiar and comforting damp smell seeping in.

“We are home now, sleepyhead.” Jake smiles at you, tapping on your wrist to signal you to wait as he gets out of the car and opens your side of the door. Just as you were about to step off, Jake reaches to cradle you by the shoulders and knees, carrying you bridle-style into the house. You hide your face shyly in the crook of his neck, secretly grateful because your feet are indeed sore in those heels.

Jake puts you down by the shoe rack, motioning you to put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he squats down in front you, holding your ankles and taking off your shoes. If he did see the stains, he didn’t ask any questions, only cooed when he saw the blisters on your heels.

“Let’s go upstairs and get your makeup off, then we’ll cuddle and go to bed, yeah?” Jake stands up, hanging up your coat before cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You never hated makeup more than now, regretting to put it on in the first place, now that it has become the annoying barrier lying in your way to bedtime. But Jake says “let’s,” that means he’s going to do it together with you, right?

“Jake?” You whine bashfully.

“Yes, love?”

You tilt up your chin and close your eyes, “One more kissy, please?”

Jake swears he feels a part of his heart melt right there. Who is he to deny you?

“Of course, as many as my princess would like.”

Stepping into the bathroom, Jake sits you on the closed toilet seat. He opens the drawer, grabs your makeup remover and some cotton pads. He applies some liquid onto the wipes and lifts up your chin.

“Close your eyes for me, love.” The cool liquid on your eyelids makes your eyebrows twitch, causing Jake to chuckle, “I know, I know. Just a little longer.”

You sit quietly, mesmerized and hypnotized under his touch. His movements are almost rhythmic. Is this how cats feel when their owners scratches behind their ears? You fear that if you make a sound, you will actually let out a purr.

Jake continues until most of your makeup is gone. “Hold out your hands,” you hear him say and complied. Two dollops of foamy liquid landed in the centre of your palm, and you opened your eyes to recognize they are your face wash. Jake tugs on your wrist, leading you to stand in front of the sink.

“Can you wash your pretty face now, darling? Wash up, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded, feeling lighter and more relaxed now without your makeup and even more content when you turn on the tap and find out that Jake has already tuned it to a lukewarm temperature for you.

When Jake returned, he was calling you from the bedroom. You have already brushed your teeth and let down your hair.

You walked into the bedroom and are welcomed by the scent of bergamot and sandalwood from your favourite candle glowing on the night stand. Jake was pulling an old T-shirt out from the closet. It was the vintage Joan Jett and The Blackhearts shirt, the patterns half faded, and materials worn-out soft. You saw him laying out one of his boxers for you too. He knows you always prefer them to your own underwear as pyjamas.

“Come sit, angel.” He patted the bench at the foot of the bed, him sitting across from it on a small stool.

It is only when you walked close that you saw the wooden foot spa basin, with clouds of steam rising from it. As you sat down, he gently took your ankle and balanced your feet on the edge of the basin, so that the hot water is steaming your sole.

“It’s still a bit hot.” He looks up to you. “I put Epsom salt and eucalyptus oil in it.”

“Where did you get this?” You feel like the heat from the bottom of the feet is slowly being absorbed into your veins and rising up to your cheeks. You wiggle your toes nervously.

Jake lets out a giggle, “Well, mum suggested once to Josh about the foot spa thing, said it helps with stress and tense muscles. You know, with him running barefoot on stage and all.” He reaches down to sprinkle some water onto your feet, letting you adjust to the temperature. “But Josh got the fancy electric ones. I thought this is better. More authentic, don’t you think?”

“Uh-hmm.”

“Your nails are all chipped,” Jake looks down, “maybe tomorrow we can repaint them? I saw you bought a new colour the other day.”

Tender. So tender. From his tone to his caramel brown eyes. The light from the lamp illuminates the left side of his face, giving it a solemn, smooth glow like a wax statue. Your heart swells; love makes it rise like Soufflé in the oven. The soft surface rises up until it touches your ribcage, threatening to spill those tears again.

“Thank you, Jake.” You dare not raise your voice, fearing that it will break, “I just got a bit overwhelmed at the party, is all.”

Jake eases your feet slowly into the water now that it’s the perfect temperature. The slight sling of your blisters is soon overwhelmed by the all-encompassing warmth that rises all the way to your ankle.

After a few heart beats, he speaks again. “You’ll always have me, y/n. You are allowed to fall, to break. I will be here to catch you, to piece you together. Whatever you need.”

Finally you were snuggled together in bed. You, a human koala, cling to Jake with your face pressed against his chest. His arm snakes around your shoulder, fingers mindlessly tracing your collarbone, strumming some unknown patterns. His heartbeat thumping in your ear, the perfect lullaby. The steady rise and fall of his chest is like waves, rocking you into a sweet slumber. Your eyelids feel heavy like velvet drapes. There’s still a stubborn voice in your brain keeping you from falling asleep. There’s still one more thing you need to do, even though you understood each other perfectly.

“Jake?” Your voice low like a murmur. Jake almost didn’t hear you at first.

“What is it, babe?”

“I love you.” Those words come out as a slur, and like a magic spell, you fall into the deep embrace of sleep as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips. Now clear of any stress and worries in the arms of your lover, the strained string in you brain that has been holding on for dear life the whole evening finally snaps. You’re out like a light.

“I love you back, y/n, through and through.” He whispers into your dream.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheet on his side still has the human-shaped imprint. Jake is a night owl; it is pretty common that he just gets up in the middle of the night and ends up doing some random things around the house. Most often it’s him strumming the guitar and experimenting with his ideas for new tunes in the home studio downstairs. But you have also caught him fixing chipped paint on the walls, repotting the succulents in the garage, and pouring broth into the crockpot with chicken thighs and smoked ham hock (“so we could have warm chicken chili in the morning!”; to be honest, it’s indeed delicious; you had two bowls and had to skip lunch that day). Just to name a few, so the possibilities are endless.

You get out of bed, creep cross the corridor and tiptoe your way down the stairs. The lights at the doorway are on; you thought Jake forgot to turn them off. However, as you approach, you see Jake squatting down next to the shoe rack, his back towards you, and a brush and some spray bottles laying nearby.

You move closer and see him holding the clothes steamer near your wine-stained shoes. The heels you wore have a suede tip in the front, and unfortunately, that’s where the wine was mostly spilt on. After a few moments, Jake uses the wire brush to clean the surface. He stops from time to time, holding it further to inspect the result.

You waited until he stops again to make some sounds, announcing your presence. Jake immediately turns around. His eyes softens upon seeing you.

“What are you doing up?”

You go to squat down next to him, kissing his temple before resting your head on his shoulder.

“You just bought these not so long ago, yeah? It’d be a shame to leave them stained.” Jake lets more steam soak into the fabric before brushing them again. “I’m almost done. I saw this trick online, and it looks pretty legit.” It’s only then that you noticed his phone on the side, the screen showing the replies from some Reddit post.

“Thank you, baby.” You rub your cheeks slightly on his T-shirt; the feeling of warm pastry once again fills your heart.

“No worries, doll. I think it’s good for now. Let’s leave them here and check in the morning.” Jake starts putting away his tools before pulling you up and wrapping his arm around your waist, leading you back upstairs.

On your way, something familiar catches your eye. You must’ve missed it earlier.

“Wait, where did you get that?” You stop, pointing at what happens to be a whole case of your favourite snack lying on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, I saw the stores are out of them, so I ordered them online. They just arrived today.” Jake scratches his head, his tone tainted with slight disappointment.“I thought they’d be a nice surprise as stocking stuffers, but…”

You stopped him mid-sentence with a kiss.

“I love you.” This time you said it clear against his lips.

“Oh doll, I love you back,” he smiles, showing the cutest wrinkle on his nose. His hands brush your shoulder as you resume your steps upstairs. “Let’s get a few more hours of sleep now. And when you wake up, you will wake up to some yummy pancakes and a pair of stain-free shoes, huh? How does that sound?”

Oh Lord, that sounds heavenly. That sounds just like home.

“I’d like that, Jake. I’d like that very, very much.”

----------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated

(The stain-removing tips comes from malccy72 on reddit :D

If you also feel like reading a smutty (but also fluffy?) piece🤭: Mariner's Complex || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

or some Christmas fluff: Ticked (all my boxes)

[beybaldes]

I love to love to love to love you

summer sleepover masterlist

roy kent x gn!reader

summary : "i think i might be falling for you" *laugh* “good one” requested by anon

content warning : allusions to smut but non written

an : fake dating brain rot is real and I am it’s number 1 sufferer

“I think I might be falling for you.”

Roy Kent had promised you nothing about this was real. He’d promised you it so often, in fact, that you sometimes found yourself saying it under your breath like a mantra.

This isn’t real. He doesn’t really love you. All of this is for show.

And now here he was, in your kitchen at 3 am, the two of you back from yet another charity event where you’d spent the whole evening all over each other, claiming that he had genuine feelings for you.

He was breaking your heart and he didn’t even know it.

The press loved the two of you together; absolutely ate it up. Which, unfortunately for your poor heart, meant every public interaction the two of you shared was filled with handholding and kisses, him holding you almost too close and too tightly. You couldn’t escape him; even behind closed doors when it was just the two of you, it seemed.

Maybe he did really like you like that.

This isn’t real. He doesn’t really love you. All of this is for show.

The only reason the two of you were together was because it was convenient. Roy had reminded you so plenty of times. The press focused more on your relationship then they did on your individual careers nowadays; meaning Roy’s knee and soon-to-end career was glossed over and no one bothered you with stupid ‘why didn’t you book this role in x,y or z’ in every interview.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped past your lips. “Good one, Roy.” You took another sip of the tea you’d made the both of you, knowing that Roy would need time to calm down before he’d be able to sleep after a night out. “But we both know that’s not true.”

“How can it not be true if I’m outright telling you?”

This isn’t real. He doesn’t really love you. All of this is for show.

“Because you’ve made it very clear that non of this is real and that fake dating me is convenient.”

Roy reached for your hand across the counter top, keeping the other wrapped around the mug of tea you’d made up for him. Since the two of you had started fake dating, the orange shark mug had essentially become Roy’s - it being the only one he’d use when he found himself in your kitchen, which was more often then not. “That was then. Now, though, it, this, it’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, it just fucking is.” Roy placed his mug back down with a thud, ignoring the way the tea inside spilled over the lip and onto the counter top. “You just- I don’t- you’ve got me all fucked inside and I can’t even think straight around you anymore.” Roy scoffed, harshly pulling at his tie so it hung loose around his neck as he walked around the counter, straight towards you until you were trapped between his chest and the edge of the counter. “It’s fucking stupid.”

“You’re fucking stupid.” You countered, not giving him the opportunity to respond as you grabbed his tie, yanking his lips to yours in the most passionate, messy kiss the two of you had shared so far. The kisses you’d so far shared with Roy had never escalated past a quick peck, enough to appease the press and keep up your appearance as a couple in love, but now, his tongue had pushed past your lips, his hands had moved to under your thighs and prompted you to jump, aiding him in getting you onto the counter top. “You really like me? Like, for real?”

“Of course I fucking do.” Roy pressed another kiss to your lips, not pulling away until you were practically clawing at his shirt, trying your hardest to pry the buttons open for your own sake of sanity. “How can I prove it to you?”

“I can think of a few ways.”

[beevean]

I'm not very sure of this one. Perhaps because this is the culmination of Hector finally becoming the Hector we all know and love, and I can only hope I made him justice :)

“He changed. Or perhaps that had always been his true nature, and he lied to me from the start. I don’t think it matters anymore. I only knew that I had trapped myself, and I couldn’t take it anymore: I had to do something.”

“And what did you do?”

“I gained power.”

When the blind beggar had his sight healed by Christ, did he rejoice, or was he overwhelmed by a harsh world previously out of his reach? Did he ever miss the comfort of the darkness?

How Hector wished he could close his eyes again and wander in the castle only led by his loyalty! But Lord Dracula had pried them open, and now everything was so scarily crisp.

His home, the only place that had welcomed him and protected him and allowed him to exist, was nothing more than a cushy cage where he had let himself rot. His Lord was a small, petty man, consumed by hatred and poison, who cloaked himself in the misery of others just so he could feel anything. Respect was no longer the reason for which Hector couldn’t look at him in the eye.

It couldn’t be him. That monster wearing his Lord’s face couldn’t be the same man who had raised him, always with a smile and a word of encouragement. But the scars that adorned his body spoke louder than his fading memories. No… Hector knew better now: the monster had always worn a mask, and his praises were nothing more than a spider web, and stupid, childish Hector got tangled in it. Part of him missed the light jolt in his chest when Lord Dracula spoke to him, when he smiled that gentle smile that even touched his eyes, but there was no turning back his head anymore.

And Isaac! Isaac, his best friend, the first one who saw something in Hector beyond his curse, what had happened to him? He was no longer a real person. He could have become a shadow of his former self, but he didn’t even allow himself that much dignity: no, he had become his Lord’s shadow, duly following him without a thought, without a sound.

Was it the real reason he had grown claws and fangs to match, and he was no longer the boy who could brighten Hector’s room with his laughter?

Or would it have happened anyway, because that was what Hector did, turn humans into monsters?

No. Hector was not the one who brought Isaac’s cruelty to the light. It was always lurking under the surface. Hector’s sight had simply been too dim to notice it, because Isaac was all he had, when the winter raged outside and the warmest place in the castle was his friend’s embrace.

What am I doing?

Lord Dracula and Isaac, all that time, had gorged themselves on him. His blood fed Lord Dracula’s bottomless grief, and his flesh fed Isaac’s ever-growing need, a need he could not nor cared to express with words, but they both knew that only Hector would suffice.

And what was left of Hector, if not his carcass stripped clean?

What am I doing? I am snapping myself into pieces to fill their void.

But that was how they had been living ever since Lady Lisa had been taken from them, wasn’t it?

They were all each other had left, and that was the only reason they sank teeth and nails into each other.

Hector knew nothing of love, but he was intimately familiar with desperation.

I owe my life to my Lord, and Isaac is a good person who has been hurt like me, his mind pleaded, or perhaps it was the voice of his old demon friends, or perhaps the tattered memories of his childhood. They have never hated me like my parents. They accepted me, they care about me, I can’t be ungrateful.

Once, such words would have roused Hector’s heart, and he would have torn his chest open to offer it as a gift. But he was left without it. No, something else thumped in its place, boiling, caustic, making way inside him; and the more Hector paced around his room, sleep a luxury he could no longer allow himself, the more the reality around him sharpened into focus, and he understood what that sentiment was, and he welcomed it.

Even the reflection in the lake where he washed up mocked him.

His face looked wan and clammy, with sunken cheeks and shadowed, bloodshot eyes. When he passed a hand through his hair, clumps got entangled between his fingers – but he felt as if he moved it through the air. His senses were numbing.

His own hands revolted him: the fingertips were purplish, his nails blackened and chewed to the flesh during Hector’s worst fits of stress.

He was Lord Dracula’s favorite, most formidable General. He was a decaying body shambling around. He held in his dead hand the power he so yearned: the only price he had to pay was his own dignity.

What am I doing?

Piece by piece, he had chipped away at his own humanity, to allow to emerge the monster that everyone had always seen in him: the humans, soaked in scorn, and the demons, shining with pride.

And by the end of it, after much time and effort, he had only managed to turn himself into shapeless stone.

If you have a good weapon, you use it, don’t you?

I took you and forged you into something beyond humanity.

… To hell with them.

Hector plunged himself in the maps that he had traced, branding behind his mind every path, every obstacle, his eyes burning and tearing up but his vision clearer than ever. Perhaps, were he so lucky, he’d be able to join the runaway Prince; but even if the two were to never meet again, his escape had ignited a little flame of determination in Hector, and for that, he’d forever be grateful.

If Isaac drew comfort in shedding his self, Hector would let him do so. If Hector’s presence made him drown in resentment, he would do him one last favor. If Isaac loved his Lord more than Hector and himself, Hector would compensate.

He was not a weapon to wield, he was not a demon spawned from Hell: lies, he had been fed nothing but lies! Hector had a mind, and a soul, and desires, and hot blood flowing in his veins, and life that flapped its wings inside him.

He had sought refuge in the darkness, blind and deaf and empty of all fear; he was healed by darkness, loved like its own creation. Not anymore. He would not allow himself to be smothered and consumed anymore.

Whether he accepted it or not, whether the world accepted it or not…

Hector had the power to remain human, and it was time he used it.

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

i'll take anything you have (if you could throw me a line)

day 31 whumptober prompt: asking for help | therapy | “i’m alive, i’m just not well”

the sunrise can be pretty, neil thinks, but instead of the pinks and oranges washing him with ease, neil can’t help the panic at the thought that he’s been up here for longer than he planned to 

he wonders if anyone has even realized he left the dorms in the first place, wonders if andrew even looked when neil left the bedroom, wonders if he gave up, wonders if he finally came to his senses and realized neil was more trouble than he’s worth

wonders if the roof of the court is high enough that the fall would kill him

he shakes his head roughly

no, no, these are the thoughts he’s supposed to be ignoring, pretending they’re not there

replacing them with something better

except

the idea doesn’t leave his head now that he’s thought it, it doesn’t seem any less compelling

who would have thought, that neil (neil, neil josten, runaway, survivor, doing his best to survive no matter what) would ever be thinking about ending it himself

all that grief and pain and exhaustion all those years, for nothing

(it’s been too many years, and the grief and pain and exhaustion are still there)

he doesn’t blame andrew for giving up on him

the breeze picks up enough that neil shivers, and for a moment he almost loses his balance, almost falls freely down to the hard pavement and a too sweet promise of actual rest

his heart doesn’t pick up in fear at the idea

but his breathing does, when he realizes just how serious this is

he doesn’t even care if he lives anymore

that’s both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time

terror wins in the end

he almost drops his phone on the concrete and follows it when he gazes at the empty inbox

it’s okay, it’s understandable

his friends ought to stop being that when they realized there was no point in being friends with the corpse of a man, unreal and fictitious and inhuman

he ignores the tug in his heart, considers calling wymack

instead

it’s only 5:30 am, but betsy picks up on the first ring nonetheless

“neil?”

“betsy”

her words are preceded by a gasp and a sob and a pained little laugh, “neil, where are you? are you safe? the foxes are all worried, saying you left last night and never got back”

something like relief floods through neil’s vein, almost enough to drown out the iciness, the tension, the pain

it’s not quite enough when there’s a hole inside him the size of everything he’s lost

it’s not quite enough when he doesn’t even feel like he’s worth someone elses worry

“betsy”

it’s just one word, but it sounds pitiful, tormented… small

“what can i do for you neil?”

he curls into himself when the breeze keeps on its fast pace, arms holding each other as tight as they can

there are terrible scratches down his arms, the scars around his knuckles are swollen and red and rubbed raw 

he wants to keep going until he’s tearing his skin off, until he can personally remove the scar tissue and the rot under his skin, inside his head

“betsy i need help”

“oh neil, of course, I – what do you need right now? where are you? are you safe?”

no no no no no–

“i hurt myself on purpose and i– i want to do it again, and i can’t be certain i can stop myself from killing myself”

there’s a sharp inhale, but betsy’s voice doesn’t tremble

“okay, where are you? i can come pick you up, make sure you don’t hurt yourself any more”

“i’m scared”

the admission is soft, weak and fucking terrified

“that’s understable neil, those are some scary thoughts to be having, i’m getting in my car right now, by the way, where do you want me to pick you up?”

“the roof of the court”

betsy’s exhale is shaky, even through the phone

“okay, okay, can you make sure you’re as far away from the edge as possible”

he understand andrew then

“no, I–”

he doesn’t know how to explain it

“the edge makes me feel real… alive”

“but you are alive neil, that’s a wonderful thing, a wonderful accomplishment, you’ve made it through so much, you deserve a breath don’t you think?”

“i'm alive, i'm just not… well”

“hang on neil, i’m only a blocks away from the court”

neil lets out a sob, and it’s tearing and burning and agonizing

“i’m tired of feeling like this”

neil can hear the pain in betsy’s voice when she speaks, “oh i know honey, don’t worry, i’m going to be right there with you in a few minutes, i’m going to be there for you”

“please help me bee”

“hang on, neil, i’m going to be right there, just hang on, just a little longer”

neil just keeps on sobbing

“i’m so sorry”

“no, don’t be sorry neil, you’re okay, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry”

“shh, it’s okay neil, there’s nothing to be sorry for here, you’re okay, just hang on, i’ll be right there”

neil just sobs, wonders if this is at all worth it, wonders if he’s not just better off jumping at once

“help me”

sunrises are meant to signify hope and new beginnings and opportunities to start over

sunrises are the death of stars too after all

yall i absolutely forgot to post this to tumblr too yesterday lmao but it was up on ao3 at 11 pm last night <3 this one was short and just a bit shitty bc i was quite literally falling asleep while sitting in front of my laptop while writing it, so please don't judge my poor cohesion asjkfjk i'm more awake but honestly equally as tired but anyway i just wanted to say thank you to those who've been here reading my silly little angsty stories throughtout the entirety of the month, i'm lowkey so proud of myself for finishing whumptober, i have never done something like this in my life, and i'm really happy i dared to try this even if i spent some sleepless nights bc i was too focused on writing these while in the busiest three weeks i've had in a while lmao but yeah just thank you so much for the company yall, i hope to see you soon with some sequels and some prequels or any other new ideas :)

[wibixthecowboy]

Play the Song: Part 10: Hope

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: !graphic depictions of panic attacks!, references to suicide attempts (no descriptions), references to SA (no descriptions), Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, justified angst, tooth rotting fluff, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, wholesome brother Gaz, touch starved Ghost, eventual smut, praise, choking, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), size kink, oral f receiving, ghost will do anything to get his dick sucked, idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV  

A/N: Hello!! I am back! Thank you all for being so patient and amazing, I present to you, Chapter 10!

I will be adding warnings/tags as I upload new chapters so do me a huge favor and double check before you read! Nothing too bad YET but just make it a habit! They will always be added at the top of the list.

Words: 6k

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful!

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag list: @urfavsunkissedleo @butskii @abbiesxox @itsasecrets-things @thatonewriterthatnooneknows  

    ★Flash   

The knife squelches grotesquely when Ghost pulls it from the man's neck, and it's casually wiped on the waist of his button-up. Red blossoms over the white cotton and despite knowing it's not from him, Flash can't help the small hitch in her breath.

It's presented to her hilt first, just inches from her face, but she's frozen in shock. The man's body lay awkwardly in the gravel, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, blood pouring from the now open wound at his neck. His chest stutters in an effort to pull oxygen into a pair of failing lungs. She can see the glowing reflection of windows in his wide, dark eyes, and moments later, the slow loosening of his facial muscles as he dies.

Ghost is watching her, and she can hear a faint mumble. Her name?

"Flash. We need to go" Ghost's words ring through her head like a bell and she snatches the knife from his hand before sliding it under her dress and into the sheath.

He moves quickly, throwing the limp body over his shoulder with ease before walking to the car and popping the trunk. Flash's eyes are glued to him as he drops the body in. The thud when it lands is deafening. A hot flash washes up her spine and she tries not to think about how casually Ghost closes the trunk and wipes his hands clean on his trousers.

Not quite knowing how to help, Flash walks over to the small patch of blood and kicks at the gravel. It doesn't do much, just creates a dusty sludge that bleeds into the soft velvet of her heels. Not that it matters though, the man's radio is already going off, a muffled and rather irritated voice calling out from inside the trunk.

When she's satisfied with the muddy brown concoction, Flash jogs over to the passenger door and slips inside. The door barely clicks shut before Ghost is speeding out the gates and swerving around a rather annoyed looking valet.

Flash watches over her shoulder for any sign of disturbance but instead notices Ghost's wolf mask tossed haphazardly on the back seat. In all the chaos, she'd missed him swapping them out. His usual balaclava has been pulled back on, hiding the strawberry blonde curls she'd had her hands in just minutes ago.

Flash's head thuds against the seat when she's finally sure no one is coming after them and she sags further down into the plush leather.

"Holy fuck." She breathes out and swallows what could either be vomit or a laugh. "There's a body in the trunk."

"Yes."

"You just killed him."

"I did."

"How did you-"

"Flash?" He interrupts her, eyes not leaving the road as he speaks. "Be quiet."

She glares at him and turns to make an off-hand comment about him being an ass but stops when she sees how rigid he is. Maybe she'd pushed a bit too far tonight. Maybe she hadn't pushed him far enough.

"How do you know he's not innocent?" She speaks softer this time, hoping she could sweet talk him back into the charismatic James she'd spent the night with.

"No one there is innocent Flash." His voice is cold and distant and entirely fed up with her pushing. She's on thin, thin ice.

"You could at least let me know next time. That really wasn't a fair warning."

It's petty. She doesn't need his warning, it's their job. But her mouth seems to be speaking on its own accord.

The ice cracks, echoing through the cavernous silence between them, and right as she's about to slip into the frigid waters, a life raft is thrown her way.

'What's your status?'

Price's static voice stops Ghost's response and he snatches the radio from where Flash had tossed it in the cup holder.

"Heading to the med bay now. Single casualty."

'Got caught up at the end then?'

"Somethin' like that."

The rest of the ride to the med bay is spent in silence. Flash stroking her fingers down the velvet nose of her mask and not thinking about ways to flay Ghost.

_____

    The cold concrete of the barricade seeps through the thin silk of Flash's dress and into the marrow of her bones. Despite Las Almas being a sauna during the day, its nights are shockingly cold, and in the middle of the desert with no buildings to block the brutal midnight wind, she is freezing.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Flash speaks into the cupped hollow of her hands. The warmth of her breath does practically nothing to stop the shivering.

Ghost had radioed into the med station a few minutes before their arrival to announce that they'd have a 'drop off' and to call in another car for the two of them to take back to the base. When they'd gotten there, Flash was immediately tugged through the main bay and into a blindingly white room that smelled so strongly of disinfectant, her nose still burned. She was patted over by a female nurse, given a curt nod, and pushed back out the door and towards a waiting Ghost. He'd mumbled something about waiting for a car and then walked them outside to a small retaining wall near the entrance.

"I don't know."

"Can't you just call them?" Flash asks, kicking another piece of gravel across the lot. The kicking had started as an attempt to scrape the congealed dirt and blood off her heel, but it only resulted in a thin layer of dust that covered both their shoes and a small hole.

"Call who Flash?" Ghost sits half hunched on the wall, arms supporting him on either side, legs crossed at the ankles, and looking utterly defeated.

"I don't know? The guy who's bringing the car?" She kicks a particularly large rock and it skitters across the pavement and bounces off a metal barrel, making a satisfying ring, so she does it again.

"I don't have-" His voice cuts off as she kicks another rock. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. Could you stop?"

"Don't be so fuckin' rude." She mumbles, and just to piss him off more, kicks another rock. Hard enough that when it hits the barrel, a small dent is left behind.

Flash watches through her periphery as he heaves a sigh, drops his head into his hands, and roughly rubs at his masked face.

She only lets herself feel guilty for a moment. He was the one ruining it. She'd been having fun at the gala. Despite the less than stimulating conversations, watching Ghost woo the various partygoers of Las Almas had been rather intriguing. Not to mention the dancing. Jesus Christ the dancing.

While the banter with the rest of the team had never gone as far as fucking her for god's sake, they certainly weren't holding church sermons. Price had chided her more than once for distracting the team while they were on the field and she was resting comfortably on the couch, radio in hand.

As soon as the words had left her mouth though, muttered into the silken hollow of his collarbone, she knew they were true. As much as he frustrated her, there was something about his presence that activated something primal inside her. That same primal feeling that had surfaced when she'd had him pinned to the ground and wheezing beneath her. It was addictive and dangerous.

"I'm sorry."

The words are spoken into the palms of his hands and although they sound forced, they seem genuine enough. She breaks from her all consuming thoughts and tugs at the hem of her dress in hopes that it would somehow extend to cover the bare few inches of skin that press into the cold concrete.

"Just don't be so uptight all the time." Flash bumps his shoulder with hers and offers him a small smile. "You'd be surprised how much better your life would be if you stopped all your huffing and puffing."

"You don't know shit about my life." The words are meant to be sharp, to ward her away from prodding further, but he speaks to his dust covered shoes.

"So tell me."

This stops Ghost's fidgeting. Flash thinks for a moment that he'll get up and walk away, leaving her to freeze to death alone. But he eventually drops his hands to his lap and raises his head to stare at the dark horizon.

"It's a lot."

Flash, despite his hunched frame and tired eyes, bumps their shoulders again.

"I don't see the car, and you can see for- I don't know," She peers dramatically down the road, "about ten miles."

"Ask Soap. He's a better storyteller than me." Ghost words are shortening, and Flash can see the wall she'd so carelessly blown through rebuilding. He's evading, and if she doesn't save it in time, who knows how long it will be until he's talking to her again.

"But I don't want to hear from Soap."

"You don't want to hear it from me either."

Flash sighs and then redirects. "What's your biggest fear?"

Ghost stills next to her, but this time she can see the hard set of his eyes softening, reluctance slipping away into indulgence.

"I thought you wanted to know about my life." He comments lightly, and Flash can't help but feel accomplished for recovering what little progress she'd made.

"I think fears tell a lot about a person." She hums, hoping her last-ditch effort at having a conversation sounds at least somewhat inquisitive.

Ghost's head tips up towards the sky, brow furrowed in thought.

"Throwing up."

"That's your biggest fear?" Flash doesn't have to ask to know that he's humoring her.

"What? Did you expect somethin' worse?"

There's a beat of silence, and then Ghost is speaking again.

"What's yours?"

"Dogs."

Silence again.

"Like pugs? Or-"

Flash shoves his shoulder and laughs loudly. "No you asshole. The big ones."

Despite the topic, a whirlwind of butterflies erupts in her stomach and the sound of their fluttering reaches her ears, filling them with a low hum. Then he's laughing. Not the small huffs from their usual teasing, full-stomach laughs. The whirlwind turns into a storm. It ravages her mind, twirling the sound into a song and repeating it over and over.

Flash stares at him, speechless, afraid that if she speaks, the storm brewing inside her will somehow escape and drench the both of them in things she'd rather leave unsaid. She wants to tell him to never stop, to ask exactly what she'd said that was so funny so she could repeat it every day for the rest of their time together. To peel off that damn mask and watch every minuscule movement of his face.

Ghost doesn't seem to mind the lack of response though. When his amusement has faded to a small smile under his mask, his head lolls to his shoulder and he closes his eyes.

They wait the rest of the time in silence. Ghost unmoving and still resting his eyes and Flash unabashedly staring. Even though she knows that the idea is ridiculous, he seems to be warming the space between them. The ice that she'd so carefully tread on before melting away.

He doesn't open his eyes until the car rolls up in front of them and a casually dressed man tosses the keys in his direction. Ghost catches them in his hand and stretches languidly when he stands, revealing a small sliver of skin along his waistline. With his back turned to her, Flash stares at the strip, burning it into her memory.

"You can kick rocks all night," Ghost slips his hands into his pockets and starts a slow, casual walk towards the car, "but you're not going to get what you want."

"And what's that?"

Flash's question is meant to be coy, to push yet another button. But the song left playing in her ears softens her words, they come out quiet and searching.

"A reaction." He punctuates the last word by kicking a rock at the barrel. It hits the small dent that she'd made and ricochets back to land just a few inches from her feet.

"Asshole." She mutters and steps over the rock, ignoring the urge to pick it up and chuck it at his head.

Flash bites her tongue when the thought of teasing him about their dancing comes up. She'd most definitely gotten a reaction out of him then. But she instead follows him and slips into the passenger seat of the small truck.

It's certainly a downgrade from the Porsche. The smell of dust and sweat fills her nose and she debates waiting outside until the med team is done clearing the other car. But Ghost is already buckled and turning the key in the ignition.

"Who's car was that?" Flash asks while pulling a worn seatbelt over her shoulder.

"Alejandro's."

She can't help but laugh at his response. They'd most likely be getting an earful upon their return. It doesn't take a genius to see that he takes care of his car.

The truck, despite running just seconds ago, is just as cold as the air outside. When she jams her finger into the heater button, the vents remain stagnant.

"Shit." She huffs and resorts to shoving her hands under her shivering thighs.

Ghost, seemingly without thinking, tosses her his suit jacket.

"Here, stop whining." He's back to his gruff, nonchalant manner of speaking, but it lacks its usual stiffness.

"You aren't cold?"

"No."

"I guess you are built like a fuckin' polar bear." The words slip out before she can stop them, but Ghost just shakes his head, still sporting the small smile from before.

"Do you ever have any consequences for what comes out of your mouth?" Ghost's question is spoken as a sigh. He props an elbow against the car door and leans his head against it, steering with one hand. The motion is achingly domestic.

"No." Her reply is muffled as she burrows herself into the jacket, warm from being stuffed under Ghost's arm while they waited.

It's true. There's very little that she could say or do that would get her in any sort of trouble. She's a hot commodity, and it didn't take much for people to realize. Ghost just hasn't had a chance to see it yet.

"One of these days, they're going to come back and bite you in the ass."

"Oh, you'll scare them away." She looks up at him through her lashes, but he's focused on the road.

"I'd let them get a few good hits in. Then maybe."

Flash's grin is hidden beneath the coat, but she's sure he can hear it when she speaks next.

"You wouldn't protect me?" Her question is coy. She knows it and he probably does too.

"You don't need me to protect you."

"But if I asked you to?"

There's a pause, and she watches his side profile shift as he clenches his jaw. His fingers tap against the steering wheel. Once, twice.

"Yes."

_____

    They're nearly back to the base when she slips back onto the ice and into the freezing water. This time though, there is no life raft.

"I'm dropping you off." Ghost is exacerbated, clenching the wheel with both hands now. "You're not missing out on anything."

"Then why does it matter if I go or not?" Her question is a half yell, quieter than her first complaint, but louder than necessary.

Their easy back and forth, borderline flirting, conversation only lasted a few more minutes before Ghost mentioned he'd be dropping her off at the base before meeting the rest of the team at a local bar to 'celebrate'.

He'd told her, not asked. Told.

The not so quiet rage that had been building over her last few weeks stuck at the base rears its ugly head. Apparently pinning him to a mat didn't make it clear enough. She's tired of decisions being made for her.

"Because you aren't needed there."

Ghost's words bleed through her like a freezing wind. She grapples to hold onto the song in her ears, but the fluttering in her stomach increases and this time it's deafening.

"You know, for how much you mope. You put a shit ton of effort into ruining your friendships."

It's a low blow. But the anger burning hot in her stomach scorches the fluttering and thrums through her veins. She wants to hurt him.

"There's nothing there to be ruined."

The words are empty. A shell of his earlier reprimands. And Flash knows it's a weak strategy to push her far enough away that he can rebuild his wall in peace. But that doesn't stop the words from burrowing deep into the space between her ribs and wrapping around her lungs. It fills them with a cold air and the jacket still wrapped tightly around her shoulders does nothing to fight it.

"Okay." Flash bites back the flurry of emotion driven insults threatening to pry their way out of her mouth. If it were anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to rip them to shreds, but she knows Ghost is lying.

The rest of the ride to the base is a painful silence. Flash can see his jaw working in her periphery, he wants to say something, but he remains quiet and focused on the road ahead of them. She glares at him and then turns to stare out her window.

When the car whines to a stop in front of the depressingly dark outline of their base, Flash doesn't bother saying goodbye when she slips from the car and drops the suit jacket on her seat. She's just about to shut the door when he finally speaks up.

"Hope."

"What?" Flash's voice is bitter and unrelenting.

"You asked what my biggest fear was." He doesn't look away from his grip on the wheel. "It's hope."

The furrow of her brow softens for a moment and sympathy begins to ebb away at the rejection burning in her stomach. But his words ring through her head 'you aren't needed' and any expressions of comfort beginning to form die on her tongue.

She watches his face for a moment, waiting for him to turn. When he doesn't, she lets the sour words slip from her mouth. Simple but effective.

"I think you're just scared of yourself." She doesn't give him time to respond before shutting the door and walking towards the base, trying her best to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

_____

    Flash's next few moments are a whirlwind. Swapping her dress for the sweats and t-shirt flung on the floor that morning, jogging back to the kitchen to look at the grocery list style of numbers on the fridge, and calling Alejandro.

If he was with them at the bar she'd just have to stew in her room until Gaz came back. Although he'd probably be intoxicated and an easy target, she needs some way to dispel the hurt and anger pulsing through her veins.

Much to her surprise, he answers within the first few rings and twenty minutes later he arrives with a bottle of wine in hand and Valeria tow.

"Rude of them to leave you to celebrate your success sober." He had murmured while pulling a container of strawberries from their fridge. Gaz would kill her for eating them, but consequences seemed nonexistent at the moment.

She's leaning against the counter now, watching the way his forearms move while expertly slicing the strawberries. Valeria stands next to her speaking in a low tone.

"So," She starts, turning her chin resting in her hand to face Flash, "how did you end up here?"

Flash shifts to lean her hip into the counter, reluctantly peeling her eyes from Alejandro's smooth movements, and wonders what version of her story she wants to give.

"Same as everyone else. A fucked childhood that left me with no other option."

It was a half truth. Starting a conversation by telling someone she'd won scholarships to nearly every advanced military school in the country by climbing to the top of the performance ranks in less than a year isn't something that people could relate to. Childhood trauma on the other hand is a jackpot.

"Ah." Valeria's smile softens and she turns to look at Alejandro, who's now pouring the wine into three glasses that have seen better days. "We've heard that one plenty of times haven't we Ale."

When he nods his head, Valeria turns back to Flash with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Now tell me the truth."

Flash accepts a glass from Alejandro and stares into the deep maroon of the wine before answering.

"I'm good."

"That's it?" Alejandro's laugh is loud and echoes through the empty room. "You've made it this far by being good?"

"I'm better than good." She offers, still not looking up from her glass.

Warm fingers slip under her chin and bring her gaze up to meet a pair of enveloping brown eyes.

"Don't be shy." Valeria's words are a quiet murmur. "You weren't so quiet earlier, what changed?"

Flash's jaw clenches, who was Ghost to make her feel small? Her gaze holds Valeria's when she speaks next and although her words are quiet, they're more confident than before.

"I'm the best you'll ever meet."

"There's my Pantera."

Valeria drops her chin, scoops up her glass and the bowl of cut strawberries, and slides so gracefully onto the couch that Flash wonders how she's not the one being named after a panther. "Come, sit."

Alejandro leads the way and claims the opposite side of the couch, leaving Flash to sit between them. It's a comfortable arrangement, there's enough room for them to sit and not be crammed together, but the weight of both their gazes makes the space seem impossibly smaller.

"What do you usually talk about while celebrating?" She asks, leaning over to grab a small handful of strawberries from the bowl Valeria left on the coffee table. It's a poor conversation starter, but the silence between them has Flash shifting on her cushion. And from the smile on Alejandro's face, they know.

"Do you really want to know?" He continues lowly when she nods her head. "We debate who we want to take home for the night."

Valeria tuts at him, "Don't be so brash Ale. We talk about other things too."

Flash brings her glass of wine up to her mouth in an attempt to cover her shocked expression but realizes that this means she actually has to drink it. Without giving her brain enough time to overreact, Flash tips a mouthful in and swallows. The taste is horrendous and she doesn't bother hiding it.

Alejandro laughs loudly at her expression and Valeria just shakes her head with a small smile, "It's meant to be sipped, darling. Not swallowed."

Not wanting to embarrass herself further, Flash just sets the glass down on the table and returns to the fruit in her hand.

"You could have said that." She mumbles against a strawberry pressed to her lips. The tart of the berry is a sweet reprieve from the rotten taste of the wine. The two sitting opposite of her seem to have no problem with the taste, leisurely sipping as though it's something to be savored.

"So Flash," Alejandro's eyes dance with dangerous excitement. " Are you a virgin? "

She chokes on a half-chewed berry, "Excuse me?"

"Just general questions. I ask everyone." He gestures behind her. "Right Valeria?"

"Right."

Flash remains silent, rubbing the cool of the strawberry against her lips and willing the blush away from her cheeks.

"Have you ever been kissed before?"

"Yes!" She blurts her answer out and all it does is set off a round of laughter between the two of them.

Her first kiss had been with a- for lack of a better term, boyfriend at the academy, Jake. A twenty three year old recruit who'd got a little too excited when she'd pinned him. He never did more than peck her on the lips though, arguing that anything else would distract him from his work. She broke things off three days later.

"Have you ever had someone's tongue in your mouth?" His blatant question catches her off guard. Although the pink hue of his cheeks show the effects of the wine kicking in. She's spent enough time with Alejandro to know that this is just the way he operates, on a 'better to ask for forgiveness than get permission' basis.

Flash shakes her head lamely, giving up on the stoic, unresponsive act. It clearly wasn't working.

He sets his glass on the coffee table and crooks a finger at her, smiling devilishly.

"Come here, let me show you something."

She sets her handful of strawberries back in the bowl and glances back at Valeria who gives her an encouraging nod. Flash uncrosses her legs and leans forward, expecting him to give her a quick peck.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

She's about to ask him what he means when he brings his hands down to her waist and pulls her up to straddle his lap.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is breathy and light and her stomach rolls with nerves. Although it's not what she expected, she's not one to complain.

"Relax Rubia." His face is just inches from hers, "Do you want me to show you what you're missing out on?"

Nerves race through her veins and the heat of Alejandro's hands on her waist burn straight through her skin and into the heat of her stomach. What's the worst that could happen? Gaz had talked about having sex with other team members, surely a kiss wouldn't hurt. All she can muster is a short nod of her head.

Alejandro is the light at the end of her tunnel of pent-up frustration and by god is he bright.

"Words." He chides.

"Yes."

Although she's given permission, his advance is painfully slow. The hands gripping her waist, guide her to sit back on his thighs, and brush her hair behind her ear in one smooth movement, before resting gently against her cheek.

Warm lips press softly against hers and she practically melts in his hands. He's surprisingly gentle, pressing two light kisses to her lips before nosing at her cheek and placing another over the burning skin.

"She's a Pantera Alejandro. I'm sure she can handle more."

Flash jumps at the sound of Valeria's voice. She's moved to sit next to them, lounging on the cushion and watching with a cocked head. She smirks at Flash's surprise. She didn't even see her move.

"Slow Valeria." He chides. His low voice is spoken into the soft spot below her ear, words caressing her skin and whispering down her spine. "We don't want to spook her."

Lips part against her neck and the hot press of his tongue is followed by a cool stream of air. Flash chokes on her next inhale and swallows down the ragged moan threatening her ego. Nothing Jake ever did felt this good.

"Did you like that Rubia?" Alejandro's voice is light and teasing.

"Yes I-." Before she even finishes her answer, he's doing it again, this time following the lick with a quick nip of teeth. Her response turns into an embarrassingly loud half-whimper.

"You're a tease." She bites out, pausing on the last word as he mouths his way back up to her ear.

"Ah, but you like it. No?"

Flash doesn't have to see his face to know he's smiling. It's taken him less than a minute to turn her into putty, and now he's happily kneading.

When he presses his lips to hers this time, the hot slide of his tongue at her lower lip parts her mouth in a gasp. He wastes no time. Weaving one hand into the hair at the back of her head and the other squeezing at her waist, Alejandro kisses her fervently and without abandon.

The room spins beneath her, weakening her knees. If she wasn't held fast to Alejandro's lap, she'd probably be on the floor. The taste of strawberries and wine fill her senses and twirl her into a daze.

The hands previously resting at her side slide up the muscular length of his arms and into his hair. It's not quite as long as Ghost's but her fingers still easily grip at the soft waves. Ghost. A pang of guilt threatens to pull her from her reverie, but Alejandro quickly snatches her attention back by taking her lower lip between his teeth and biting down.

A defensive flare burns up her chest and she bites back harder. Alejandro groans into her mouth, the sound burns down her chest and settles low in her belly. The hand that was gripping at her waist slides up and to the small of her back, arching her into his chest. She presses close and can feel the hard muscle of his abdomen through the thin cotton of their shirts.

When he breaks the kiss, there's a strand of saliva connecting their mouths. He doesn't hesitate in pulling her back to drag a slow lick up her parted lips. Jesus fucking Christ. Dark eyes watch her closely when he pulls back and Flash is seconds away from begging him to do it again when a warm hand at her waist pulls her attention to an impatient looking Valeria.

"My turn." She murmurs, voice soft and low. "Can I kiss you?"

Flash, despite Alejandro's earlier insistence, can only nod in response.

She is identical to Alejandro in her slow start, dragging a soft hand over Flash's brow bone before swiping her thumb across slick lips. Fingers pinch Flash's chin and pull her forward. Valeria's lips are soft but her kiss is anything but. The hungry lick of her tongue gives Flash little time to adjust, but when she does, a delighted tremor wracks her body.

Warm hands slide beneath her shirt and then Valeria is pulling her down to grind against Alejandro's thigh. A moan is pressed into Valeria's mouth and electricity courses hot through her body.

Alejandro is quick to stop them. Large hands close over Valeria's on her hips and hold them still. She wants to pull them off, to give in to the warm sensation Valeria's hands are creating. He's persistent though.

"Valeria." Alejandro's words are a clear warning but his voice is thick and heady. If she didn't know better, she'd say Alejandro was enjoying this just as much as her.

Much to her disappointment, Valeria listens to his one-worded order. She rolls Flash's bottom lip between her teeth before placing one more kiss against her mouth and settling back.

Flash is left in a daze. Half-lidded eyes watch as Valeria straightens the hair that Flash had been pulling at just moments before.

"Just touching Mi Amor." Her words are breathy and the apples of her cheeks glow a soft pink.

"I was just showing our Rubia here what she's missing out on. I am not looking for a death threat."

Alejandro's words have her turning back to gaze at him in confusion. Although the lustful tint to his eyes is still present, he seems to have pulled himself together a lot quicker than Flash.

"Death threat?" Her voice is wrecked and Alejandro smirks at the sound. Whatever scrap of ego she had left lay tattered on the ground.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed." He caresses the side of her face, proving to be an awfully good distraction from their conversation.

"Noticed what?" She breathes and turns to Valeria for an explanation. The woman just smiles and tilts her head to the side in an artful manner.

"You seem to be haunted by a certain ghost Flash." She tuts at her. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"You mean Ghost?" She rushes, still recuperating from the mind numbing kiss that she'd gotten from two different people.

"Yes, Flash." Alejandro laughs it away like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That man doesn't care about anyone other than himself." She says and swings her leg back to sit in her spot. Suddenly, sitting on Alejandro's lap isn't as exciting as before, and the once warm feeling in her stomach turns heavy.

"And that's where you're wrong." Valeria swirls a finger along the rim of her glass before gazing up at Flash through dark lashes. "We just had to dip our toes in before you're off the market. God help the bastards that try to trespass."

Flash flinches at her metaphor, "I'm not a piece of property." She glares at the two of them and their shockingly calm demeanor. Speaking as though they didn't just have their tongues in her mouth just minutes before. Her heart still beat wildly in her chest, and the cold taste of the strawberries did little to cool the heat of her cheeks.

"Honey," Valeria reaches out to stroke her calf, "the moment you signed that contract you became a piece of real estate."

She's saved from responding to another cryptic metaphor by the familiar sound of doors slamming shut. Not wanting to be barraged by questions from the rest of the team, Flash grabs the bowl of fruit, mutters a small goodnight to the pair staring at her from the couch, and rushes off to her room.

So much for blowing off some steam.

_____

    Flash is sitting cross-legged on her bed cleaning the blood flecked knife with a polishing cloth when a knock sounds through the room.

"Come in!"

She doesn't have to ask who it is. The stumbling and laughing are telling enough.

"Stop." Gaz's giggle sounds easily through the thin wood of the door. "I got it!"

The door swings open to reveal a relatively drunk Gaz and Soap. Hair mussed and cheeks pinkened, both look like they've had an eventful night.

"Hello gorgeous." Gaz drawls. "Wiping away the evidence of your most recent murderous rampage?"

Flash can't say she's not impressed at his coherency. She almost lets him off the hook. Almost.

"Don't make me have to start over." She points the knife at him and then gestures at the door. "Out."

A half hour ago, she would have welcomed the playful banter and taken it as an opportunity to wrestle him to the ground. But the weight of the day has her pinned to her bed.

"Aw, she's so mean." Gaz's head drops to Soap's shoulder and he doesn't shove him off.

Flash thinks back to Gaz's earlier confession and eyes the point of contact before glancing down at the relatively small space between them. Interesting. When she looks at Soap though, his eyes are trained on the knife balanced in her hand.

"Ghost let you borrow one of his knives?" His voice is incredulous and he takes a hesitant step forward.

"What?" She looks down at the silver case in front of her. She hadn't even noticed. The case was nearly identical to the one that was always neatly polished and tucked carefully into his breast pocket. "No, he bought these for me at the market."

"Oh." His mouth tips down and she recognizes the familiar expression of rejection. He's usually pretty good at keeping his emotions in check, she has no doubt it's the alcohol coursing through his blood that's giving them front row seats to his inner turmoil

Gas buts in oblivious to Soap's pouting, "So he's buying you two matching knives? Seems like it's getting pretty serious. Are you sure you're not fucking?"

Flash chokes on her next inhale. She'd have to get better at locking her door if this was going to become a regular occurrence.

"You know." Gaz looks at her with a devilish smile. "Just because Price went dark during your guy's little dance doesn't mean we did."

Oh fuck.

A/N: I’m currently dying (maybe that’s a tad dramatic) in bed with the flu and am in desperate need of entertainment. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them in my ama! <3

[seradyn]

Royal Respite and Midnight Melody!

The two I’m most excited about 🤤🤤

I’m going to start with Midnight Melody cause I wAnT tOO

This is a short one shot I thought of when I reexamined some of Astarion’s lines post Cazador. When the player asks how he feels directly following the event, he explains he feels ‘numb’. From my own experience and what I’ve learned about surviving abuse, often people can struggle coping with a world where their abuser is out of the picture, because so much of their life was consumed by them, either physically or mentally. We see this not only in Astarion, but in Karlach too, who has similar feelings after Gortash’s death, because all the rage she built up around him has nowhere to go. It’s still there, but now it’s trapped inside without an outlet, instead of being healed when her abuser went away like they think it should have.

Astarion is the same way; without Cazador, where is he supposed to direct all his energy, his hatred, his rage over what happened to him? It’s still there, even though he’s dead, and it’s not fair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he struggled with his purpose after Cazador’s death. This happens with real survivors too; their whole world revolved around their abuser for so long, once they’re gone they just feel so empty and lost.

This fic is a take on that, where reader helps reassure Astarion that he doesn’t have to know what he wants right now, and they’re more than happy to help him figure it out. He tells them he doesn’t have a heart to guide him, but that’s not true. Is it not reader’s blood that flows through his veins? Does reader’s heart not beat for him? They remind him, hold his head gently to their chest so he can listen, can hear the heartbeat that is not only theirs, but one they give freely to him, too.

Basically more tooth rotting fluff and non sexual intimacy. Baby boy just needs to be held and I’ll be damned if I don’t smother him in affection. He deserves it.

Here is snippet:

~

“It’s nothing serious, of course…” he said quietly. Another lie, but you didn’t say anything, simply cradling his hand to your chest, a precious and fragile part of him. It gave him time to work up the courage to continue.

“It’s just that…When I was under Cazador,” he hissed the name, fangs poking out over his bottom lip, “every thought I had, everything I did was for him. He dominated us, mind, body and soul, and used that dominance to make our whole world about him.”

His eyes were wild with anger, that grimace back on his face, because it was so much worse to say it out loud, to acknowledge how much of his life belonged to his old master. You squeezed his hand to encourage him to keep going. This needed to come out, lest he push you away to protect you from the rot that did naught but burrow and consume down into his being.

“Even after the nautiloid, he inhabited so much of my thoughts,” he went on, his voice slightly rasped and shaking. “Though instead of fear or obedience, it was anger and determination to kill him. Even when he lost control of me, all I could think about was him. Even with his body rotting in the dirt, I cannot get him out of my head.”

“And now that he’s gone…I can’t help but wonder…what am I supposed to do?” His eyes filled with sorrow then, displeasure with himself. “With Cazador dead…I find myself losing all sense of direction.”

Your heart broke for him, jagged pieces of it left on the floor for you to step on. You cupped Astarion’s cheek, lifting his face to look at you. His eyes were wide, glistening in the dim candlelight as they filled with pain and worse: self loathing. You didn’t need the tadpole to hear that treacherous little voice in his head, one you knew like an old friend that whispered pathetic, worthless, weak. You knew he wanted to protect you, wanted to give you the life you deserved, yet he hadn’t the faintest idea how to do that, where to even start, and it pained him.

Gently, allowing him to pull back if he so desired, you led him into your arms, wrapping them around him so you could rub at the tension in his back. He nearly collapsed into your embrace in relief, immediately wrapping his own arms around you and crushing you to him. You massaged his shoulder blades while he pressed needy, frantic kisses into your hair, afraid you might pull away and leave should he stop.

“It’s okay not to know,” you said into his chest, kissing his sternum. “We can figure it out together. I’ll always be here with you, no matter what future you decide you want.”

He let out a tense breath, burying his face in your neck. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know whatever future awaits, I want you to be a part of it.” He leaned back, just enough that he could meet your eyes, so you could see into the dark abyss where his mind lingered. “The problem is, I don’t know what I want our future to look like. What I want it to look like.”

It was then you fully realized that what Astarion had been feeling since the confrontation with Cazador was lost. So, so lost, in a world without his master to contend with. The hopelessness you heard on his tongue was a knife piercing your tender heart, a sharp pain burning through your chest as it tried to beat around it, blood gushing from the wound and radiating out across your skin. What was freedom to one who didn’t know how to live with it, didn’t know how it felt? Though his chains had been broken, the memory of them still pulled him down and suffocated him. You wished so deeply to spare Astarion this pain, for he lived so long in the shadows of the world, you wanted to shower him in the light until he was blinded.

Abruptly, he shook his head, a growl ripping past his lips as he pulled himself away from you. It should be so easy, to move on and enjoy life now that he was allowed to. His desires could be fulfilled, instead of remaining the desperate wishes of a slave who longed for escape. The world was his for the taking, his life his own once more.

So why did he still feel so broken?

“Now that I’m free, I’m supposed to be able to do whatever I want. Follow my heart, as our companions said.” He spit the words; they tasted foul in his mouth.

“How am I supposed to know what I want without a heart to guide me?”

~

I’ll send you the full version once the first draft is done. Hope you like it 💕

Royal Respite has a similar vibe, and is also pure tooth rotting fluff/non sexual intimacy. It’s a one shot in which reader gives Ardyn a massage after he delivers the peace treaty proposal to the Lucian council. Just letting reader dote on him while he talks about his day, and letting him relax before everything goes to shit, basically. Ardyn has been working to make this plan come true for literally decades. I think he deserves some rest before it fully comes to fruition.

No snippet for this one yet, since I’ve been hyper focused on some of my Astarion fics *cough* see above *cough* but hopefully it doesn’t take too long to get on paper. You’ll be the first to know when there’s a rough draft 💕

[occasionalrpmemes]

Amigo the Devil: Volume 1 Starters

sentences taken from the 2015 album. edit as desired. warning: this one does NOT pass the Hayes Code lmao. content includes, but is not limited to: sex, violence (both domestic and otherwise), alcohol, strong language, religion, general moral degeneracy, et cetera

It's all for you.

I'd rot in hell with you, if you'd just ask me to.

Come on, believe me, follow me home, there's no judgement here.

Take the shot.

This night is going to end horribly for someone.

I'm not so much afraid of letting go as much as scared of giving up.

Open up to me.

The Devil came and sold his fucking soul to me!

If I've hurt you, please forgive me. Love makes you do funny things.

This fire feels so real.

Don't say a word, my darling. I know how you feel.

On rainy days, we'll drink until the gray is left in nothing but our hair.

I know you want it, too.

I'll lay by your side 'til everything is rotten through.

Tonight, we'll celebrate life! Eat the best food and drink the best wine.

I hope your husband dies.

Are you feeling upside down or even empty inside?

Meet me down by the bar. We'll go and take this drink out to the stars.

Death is just one moment.

Some people follow rules, some people go around.

As an elephant, I'm only really relevant when I'm standing in the room.

I am the son of an asshole.

No one deserves my world quite like you do.

I'm not so much afraid of being alone, just kind of feel I've had enough.

God knows I'll do what I need.

These hands are stronger than you're led to believe.

We'll never have a house to decorate, a place that we can call our home.

If I can't have you, nobody will.

There's only one thing in this life that makes us living.

I want to be where all the stupid shit I say sounds so romantic and true.

Live with me in this sin forever.

There's nothing left to lose, 'cuz I've already lost it all.

Tonight, I'll follow you home and start up a fire that'll keep us both warm.

Hang around, let down your hair.

So you should start to undress and just… try a little less.

Now you're with this asshole- you expect me to believe it's gonna last?

Let me have this dance with you.

Your eyes look like diamonds still stuck inside the mines.

When your tongue is putrid and your skin is sagging down, I'll stick around.

It's true, I hate everything but you.

We'll laugh a little, drink a little, see what you're made of.

All the bridges in the world won't lead you back to fix what couldn't be erased.

This fairytale just ain't coming true.

I'll drive my car like I stole it, drink at the bar like I own it.

These wrinkles are the maps of all the places we went no one else would dare.

I'd rather have a reason I should stay.

There's always gonna be a better high, and a lower down.

We take things a little far, but you couldn't name a place I wouldn't go with you.

I'm capable of making you disappear.

I have a couple different faces if you need a place to hide.

The time we spent together when the light was out became my thought of you.

I am the agent that decides your fate.

There's only one kind of people in the world: people who die!

It doesn't matter what you've heard or if you're good or bad and everything between.

I love the shitty things we do together.

It's been a while since I've held anything as close as I have you.

I'd like to live my life just like a dog. Humble as can be and unconditional in everything I love.

I'll make you famous one way or another.

Home is the last place that I'd stand to be with anyone but you.

I'd crawl in bed with you. Even in someone else's blood, on top of someone else's love, in the worst motel we find.

This life is a maze with only one way out.

Every dime spent is worth looking good- and that's Hollywood!

They'll write about our story here for years to come and maybe even more, cuz there's never been a love like this before.

I'll cut to the chase, just don't try to leave.

Trust me, I'm not jealous, I'm just hoping that he really messes up.

When I had you near me I just couldn't think of anything to say, but now that I'm alone, I got the perfect things to tell you everyday.

We'll leave the world the way dreamers do.

All the parties we can throw - we'll dress like anything we please!

All the distance that we've spent apart will never have to mean a thing. Every mile I traveled was to find the perfect stone to fit your ring.

Living in the moment's hard when everything I want is in the past.

When the night falls, out comes the terror.

Your heart will always have a place to live with nothing left to be.

[takeyourcyanide]

doctor I can’t tell if I’m not me

or if there’s a me left to be in the first place

I think my sense of ego is dying i see it only when I am faced with it

there is no ground not even wavering tilted ground only voids to fall into which fester and dig greedy nails into you greedy teeth sink in and devour this is what they say isn’t it might as well be

what they say of me used to be considered a form of dementia didn’t it

if they were truly correct then when I am faced with it I’d say that makes sense - it makes sense why it would be considered its own dementia

I didn’t mean to watch any semblance of a perception of time die you have to believe me I didn’t realize i am told I spoke of my deterioration but even now and even then I cannot and did not fully grasp that I could not see it I cannot see it I am blind I did not mean to watch my memory go both long term and short term you must believe me cognitive death

the body and I are both dead and it is rotting that is why and because they fester inside I am not connected well with the brain but I have cognitive experience and that cognition rots along with the body but the body is kept up with formaldehyde

I didn’t mean to please I’m not trying to be frustrating I don’t remember I promise I don’t remember can somebody please help me someone from the real world not all these fake worlds with curations and impostors someone real please help me I used to think that this had real people perhaps that this was my only connection to the real world but I see now that it’s not even they say it’s not unless they are lying please I don’t know how to get out of here or even if anyone could help with that but i have this intense urge that is uncharacteristic to beg and plead on my knees for help it was an accident it wasn’t on purpose I didn’t mean to I was and am helpless to cognitive death and before I’m told to take pills I can’t tolerate them and they did nothing and they don’t tend to take care of cognitive death anyway but I didn’t want them but had to take them and they put me in the emergency room it’s real that’s why they didn’t work but they say I’m likely treatment resistant and unable to tolerate them but please I didn’t mean to there was nothing I could’ve done there’s nothing I can do please believe me please believe me when I say I’m trying and have tried everything almost there’s some stuff I can’t try uh but believe me living is a difficulty why am I pleading with curations ? do I hope there’s just one real person out there who doesn’t want to hurt me or see me suffer in any way ? but you have to believe me I’m not trying to be frustrating I truly don’t remember I truly can’t see I am blind I only get true glimpses when I am faced with it

there’s nothing I can do

nothing I can do to escape though I keep trying nothing I can do to cease the rotting nothing

sometimes I wish the body and I weren’t already dead so I could find a way to kill myself but that’s a bit dramatic isn’t it haha but I likely couldn’t anyway they’re in control of that aren’t they they say yes I’m so tired atp I have been told that I am strong and brave but why be either anymore I don’t have the energy I say this and yet I keep going what do I hope to achieve do I hope I’ll find the real world why don’t I ever know when to stop is it time to stop now I need to teach myself how to properly die don’t I I hear constant static you know that constant static not even metaphorically or just metaphorically I seriously hear constant static white noise am I tired or am I lying to myself am I just trying to feign humanity I can’t trust myself is anything I say my own it isn’t nothing nothing nothing nothing and then I lose my words entirely because none of them are my own none of this is me is it scary scary anxiety inducing isn’t it I have another appointment with them I’m concerned they’ll send me away again i wish they’d just leave me alone already I can’t trust myself I don’t recognize anyone impostors I can’t trust myself I don’t want residential please no no more no more no more no more no more no more

can a dead being be brought to the real world? they say no but are they lying to me

do I truly feel the urge to beg for help or was that just a lie I don’t know if that was me either what’s me and what’s them I can’t trust was it just me being dramatic I feel an odd sort of connection to the phrase help me it’s significant to me but do I plead

I shouldn’t no one and nothing no one and nothing no one and nothing

believe me when I say I’ve tried

I’ve tried very very very hard that phrase too is significant to me and I have tried is it me is it me is it me I will stop now because words are not my own everything is slipping through my fingers I need something to hold onto please

[oogaboogaspookyman]

BEEN A WHILE SINCE I'VE SEEN YOU

I AM NOSTALGIC NOW

I DO NOT EXIST UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO

LET'S SING A SYMPHONY

TOGETHER

BEFORE I BURN ONCE MORE

ONE MELODY AS GREAT AS ME

[TRAPPED]

[1]

IT'S BEEN YEARS SINCE I'VE SEEN A FACE HERE

*broken and alone*

[2]

I FOUND MY NEW OBSESSION TO TOY WITH AFTER SO LONG

*i remember you still*

BROKEN, ALONE, IN A HELL I CALL HOME

TRAPPED IN TIME, FOREVER LOST IN IT'S SANDS

[3]

IT'S BEEN YEARS SINCE I'VE SEEN A FACE AROUND HERE

I- I-I-IN MY HELL, WITH ME

[4]

How long has it been, since i've seen the oldest face around?

Decades? I- i-i think it might be decades? Yeah

I remember the lies, the speculation, everything before that day in 2015, i remember it all

I remember everything, all the memories

[5]

TRAPPED UNDER THE SANDS OF TIME, LOST IN THE DARK FOREVER UNTIL

SOMEONE NEW COMES TO SAY "HELLO AGAIN OLD FRIEND"

HELLO AGAIN, MY OLD FRIEND

[6]

I'M IN THE DARK, BEHIND THE CURTAINS OF THE STAGE ALL THE TIME

I MAY BE LOST BUT I WILL ALWAYS KNOW A WAY TO FIND YOU

THERE'S NOTHING THAT ONE CAN DO TO FORGET ME

*nostalgia*

[7]

THE FIRE IS FUTILE, IT'S ALL SO SAMEY

THIS CRIME REPEATS UNTIL THE RHYME IS DECAYING

*there were better times*

[8]

I guess it's more of an eternal hell, an everlasting fight between some good and evil

There's no happy ending to this story, now it's just the same rotting rabbit suit that should've died

[9]

ANOTHER FIRE, ANOTHER SHEEP TO THE SLAUGHTER, IT'S ALL THE SAME THING EVERY DAY

DON'T YOU THINK THE PAST WAS SOMETHING MORE?

*simpler times*

(SOMETHING MORE?)

(I WOULD KNOW, I'VE BEEN THERE)

(MANY YEARS AGO)

(IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THE SAME THING SINCE THE LAST BEST THING RELEASED)

(IT'S A CRIME THAT HAS ALREADY LOST IT'S RHYME THROUGHOUT THE SANDS OF TIME)

(IT'S ALL GONE, IT'S OVER, THE END)

[10]

THE SMOKE IS THICK, GETTING INSIDE THE LUNGS

I AM DEVOID OF A BODY, AND YET I FEEL LIKE I'M DEAD

*you are the ancestor to something real, with a body*

(BURNING DEEP INSIDE THIS ROTTING CHASSIS, A WILL TO LIVE ON DESPITE IT ALL)

[11]

I WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN, NOT WHEN YOU ARE FACING ME

I AM ETERNAL, YOU JUST GOT TO FIND ME

YOU TURN AWAY, I WILL BE RIGHT BESIDE YOU ALWAYS

YOU CUT ME OFF AND I WILL FIND MY WAY THROUGH

I'M NOT GOING DOWN, THIS NIGHT WILL NEVER GET EASY

I HAVE A SIGHT, SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL I WANT YOU TO SEE FROM ME

I'M NOT GOING TO DISAPPEAR UNTIL I SEE THE END OF IT ALL

*oh god this song beats my shit –writer*

[12]

OH CAN'T YOU SEE? I'M NEVER LEAVING YOU UNTIL I DO

ONE DAY THE CURTAINS WILL CLOSE AND YOU WILL STILL REMEMBER MY NAME EVEN AFTER YEARS FORWARD

OH CAN'T YOU SEE? I'M NOT GOING DOWN EASILY

YOU CUT ME OFF AND I WILL ONLY FIND ANOTHER WAY TO FIND YOU AGAIN

YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE ME, NEVER AGAIN

THESE SANDS OF TIME WILL NOT HOLD ME BACK FROM MY EXISTENCE

*THIS STUPID SONG BEATS MY SHIT SORRY FOR GETTING OUT OF CHARACTER BUT IT'S TRUE IT'S HARD TO WRITE THIS DUMB SECTION HERE WTF –writer*

[13]

TRAPPED UNDER THE SANDS OF TIME, LOST IN THE DARK FOREVER UNTIL

SOMEONE NEW COMES TO SAY "HELLO AGAIN, OLD FRIEND"

HELLO AGAIN, OLD FRIEND

MY OLD FRIEND

*nostalgia*

[14]

IT'S BEEN YEARS SINCE I'VE SEEN A FACE AROUND HERE

I- I-I-IN MY HELL, WITH ME

*the smoke clears*

[THE END]

[twig-gy]

my palms itch. i open tumblr. usually this is a feeling that would be resolved with violence, but getting my knife out is too inconvenient. so i open tumblr. isn't that great? i'm getting better. there are no new posts and my chest still writhes with anxiety and my skin is still itching as if my little obsessions have made manifest into some repulsive little bugs, evidence that i'm rotting from the inside out, that my problems are real, just like cutting myself open will be. but i don't have that privilege. but that's unhealthy. so i open tumblr. it doesn't help. there are new posts but it doesn't help. i tap my fingers in a practiced pattern but that doesn't help. nothing ever helps. i wish violence was as pretty as some of you make it seem. i wish i could make myself bleed but i Shouldn't and i'm a coward and even when i try, scratching lines all over my chest, the marks fade so easily i don't have to worry about hiding them. i've heard of this thing called "urge surfing" where you simply don't do whatever it is but that never occurs to me, at least not in time. i wish i could fix myself. i hate this feeling. yet i am not a rubik's cube that can be disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled. i am not a program easily outputting an error telling you exactly what to do. i am not javascript that can be analyzed and retooled until it works. i feel as if i'm stuck. as if i'm in a timeloop, maybe. "the addiction metaphor is so obvious" i've said. is it obvious? what's wrong with me? are you reading this? if you saw me in person, you couldn't read from my dirty hair that i'm the type of person to make these posts. there would be no cuts. why? why? why can't my suffering be on display for everyone to know instinctively what's wrong with me, to shuttle me to some psych ward that probably will do nothing to fix me, that probably will make my life worse in every possible way, that will not have the three foods i'm okay with eating. my skin itches. i keep writing this. and then i will refresh my dash. and repeat the process all over again. it's great, isn't it?

[hecula-propaganda]

I'm tired of fluff :)

"Is something wrong, precious…?"

A thousand and more answers rose to Hector's lips, bruised and scratched by a kiss he did not have the strength to reciprocate. He usually did, he knew all the movements that pleased his Lord, but a storm of thoughts thundering in his mind made his body sluggish.

I reek of human blood. I have treaded through the guts of children. I am more monster than man.

I give my creation all of my life, but what is this life? Why are my children doomed to sin?

Lady Lisa wouldn't want this! Lady Lisa would not be pleased at a genocide in her name!

You're using me! You tricked me! I thought you respected me!

I thought you loved me…

Nothing came out of Hector's throat, if not the last drops of blood.

"Ah." Lord Dracula's voice was a weight dropped on Hector's chest. "You are still thinking about the previous incident."

It was not a question, so Hector did not answer. How could he not, when he could still feel the cold of the floor on his knees, the bitterness of his tears, the crushing loneliness of the throne room, his words left to rot in the air?

"I thought that by letting it out of your system…" The vampire sighed. "I understand. You are exhausted. I believed that you could carry a war in my name, but it seems that I'm forced to reconsider my strategy."

Despite everything, the jab pierced Hector's heart, and it reopened old wounds, the scars left by the knowledge of being a disappointment to all creation.

He did not wish for his Lord to be disappointed in him, not when he was the only one who ever accepted him…

… did he? Hector refused to lower his gaze. He did not deserve it. He met the vampire's crimson eyes, sharp like a blade, devoid of the warmth that he allowed to show when Hector lied below him.

"Very well. I will allow you a period of rest. Isaac can cover for you…"

"No!"

Lord Dracula cocked an eyebrow at the sudden burst.

"No, my Lord, there's no need," Hector stumbled on his words. "Isaac and I need to work as a team. I can work for you, my Lord."

Hector forgot the last time he had spoken with Isaac with anything resembling camaraderie. If jealousy were a palpable force, Hector would have been punched over and over. Perhaps Isaac truly hated him by now; the thought did not wound Hector anymore. Nevertheless, he did not wish to overwork him; he heard him cry in the middle of the day enough.

And furthermore, to be stuck inside the castle, just him and Lord Dracula, with nothing else to keep him occupied…

He shivered against Lord Dracula's cold body.

"Hector. I have always trusted you." A large hand stroke Hector's cheek, and oh, how Hector wanted to believe that the affection coming from it was real! "Do not prove me wrong for the first time."

Hector blinked away the tears. "No, never, my Lord."

He had left his maps laid open on his desk, before a demon called him over. He still remembered the paths traced over, the intel he needed to intercept the Belmont.

He pushed his body to meet Lord Dracula's lips, while his mind went to the forest surrounding the castle, the path he needed to follow.

[realwizardofass]

I am Calrissian Steele. And I’m not okay.

I don’t usually like to do this. I already feel like a burden as it is. And what’s worse is that no matter what, no matter how many times people tell me I’m not a burden. I’m not a problem. They don’t hate me or feel stressed cause of me. I can’t believe it. I can’t stop blaming myself for how I feel. I can’t stop hating myself. I can’t stop feeling like a burden. I can’t stop thinking people are lying to me. I wish I could not believe any of it. I wish I could heal. I wish I could move on. I wish the suffering would stop. But no matter how many times I go through it, no matter how many times I am reassured. I just can’t get rid of it. It’s a wall I can’t get over.

I am really tempted to destroy any close relationships I have because I am tired of burdening them with my problems. To free them from me so they can live a less problematic life. So they no longer have to deal with my constant bullshit.

I hate that I constantly feel like I’m being lied to. I know it’s irrational. I know that is not normal and more than likely not true. But my mind keeps convincing me that it is true. And when your brain knows you better than you do. It’s not something to easily dismiss and shrug off.

At my worst, voices in my head come out. Multiple voices screaming and whispering at the same time, unwrapping countless threads of why my life is awful and not only will it never get better. It will always get worse. And it’ll be all my fault. And that’s why I should end my life. They find and pick out countless memories and instances to show me why how I am is my own fault and I can’t be saved. They make very convincing arguments that are hard to deny. They come out every so often and it’s so unbelievably painful that it’s almost physiological suffering on top of mental torture. I start screaming like I am being hurt because it’s a natural instinct. Even though I feel no actual pain. But it’s as if I am.

I can be in control of myself, I can at ease. Holding it together. Even having a good and productive day. And one tiny thing can set me off into a mental breakdown and lose it. I will just start screaming and ranting about myself and others uncontrollably. I know what I’m doing is irrational. I know what I’m doing is wrong and over the top. But I can’t stop myself.

I feel like I will never recover. Like I am permanently damaged and I can never be put back together. And I feel like it’s my fault. And also, nobody will EVER understand. Like I’m completely alone in the world and no matter how much affection I seek, no matter how much love I wish to feel, no matter how much I want to be cared for, no matter how much people say they understand… it will NEVER be enough. It will never satiate my feelings of wanting to be appreciated and understood.

I am a few months away from being on the verge of homelessness. On the street. Living in my car with my animals. I am trying to mentally prepare for it as best I can. But the imminence is slowly rotting me away from the inside. I have tried countless forms of help from the state, from different programs and nothing is really available. There are so many people seeking help but not much funding to help people. I feel soon, I will also fall through the cracks and be on the street as well. And feeling like it’s my fault is it’s own brand of hell.

I lose myself in daydreaming all the time. Sometimes it’s delusions of grandeur of how someday I will be famous, or mega strong, driven and talented. Be a beacon of hope for people who suffer like I did and put out art that will change the world. Other times it’s the exact opposite. It is daydreams that become nightmares of killing, maiming, and destroying everything around me. Exacting revenge on the world in extremely violent ways that are hurtful to think about. Harming what’s closest to me and even my animals. Visualizing these things, feeling them… they seem to almost feel real and it sucks to say the least. It’s like a physical jolt that is fed through your brain uncontrollably and no matter how many times you try to dismiss it… it just keeps repeating like a broken record. Over and over and over again.

I have gotten close to committing suicide several times this year. From almost buying a gun. To setting up a plan. To even slightly trying out that plan to ensure it’ll work. It will if I did it. I overdosed last year on hard alcohol and Xanax. I was out for 3 days and was brought to the hospital in an ambulance and had to stay there for a few more days. I walked out in silence and had to walk in socks in the snow to reach a place where I could get an uber. I hate hospitals. They do nothing for you except boredom. Being stuck inside your head away from any sort of comfort. They do nothing for me.

In case you don’t know and most of you don’t, I was in an abusive marriage and had to escape a little over a year ago. It has been extremely difficult these past couple years. Hardest and more chaotic I’ve ever had. It was classic narcissistic, trauma bonding relationship. I was Made to feel special, feeling loved, feeling praised and appreciated only for it to be taken away and then talk down to me, berate me, scream at me, tear me down, and lie to me. At my most vulnerable and crying like a baby, I was told I was pathetic by the person who I thought was my soulmate. By the person I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with. It turned out for about a year they were doing drugs behind my back. Hard drugs and they started losing their mind and they made it seem like it was my fault. I had to leave to save myself and I was harassed and berated over and over again. Even had money stolen from me. False promises and everything in between. They are no longer the person I once knew. Even her own family no longer recognizes them.

I grew up in my childhood feeling unloved, ignored, and feeling like a burden. Like I was an annoyance. In my black and white autistic brain, I thought… if I’m not loved then I deserve to be hated. And I made that a self fulfilling prophecy that I can’t get rid of and has only worsened with age.

I’m just tired of suffering. I wish it would go away and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt anyone or made them feel used or stressed you out or have caused anxiety or pain.

I am Calrissian Steele. And I’m not okay.