#I have to exist I have to keep being miserable with the stupid hopes that things could get better when they’re not going to

[nomairuins]

bedtime nowww probably ummm today qas not what i wanted it 2 be but its fine. i dont feel negative just a very very very numb day which is almost worse. but only almost 🙏

[whimsyprinx]

idk how to explain to people that like I’m trying my best to see the point in life and be optimistic and like hopeful but literally there isn’t anything to base hope and optimism on

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄 .

# with roronoa zoro.

roronoa zoro had a bounty of over one billion berries for his head — and prided himself in it. particularly, out of all of his crimes, you thought that his most heinous one yet had been to dress himself that fine while you were not around to see it.

⎰ & suggestive. mdni. thirsting over wano!zoro. reunion after whole cake. implied fem!reader. no y/n used. i need this man carnally. no spoilers!

W.C: 1.7K

the whole cake island incident had taken less than a week to be solved, and yet, it felt as though you had spent an entire decade and more into that miserable and forsaken place. upon approaching the location where the rest of your crew was stationed at — with your stupid swordsman you so yearned to reunite with — you foolishly believed that the coast was clear.

one single hour with him was all you hoped for. hell, ten minutes would have been enough for the time being. but as so it seemed, fate was a sadistic worm that threw battle after battle onto your lap, against foes stronger than you would have wished for, and whose mere existence was enough to divide the crew for yet longer periods of time.

glimpses of him were what you had been offered amidst that never-ending nightmare, and seas be merciful, wasn’t he a luxury meal course.

you had been praying to whoever listened for a mere opportunity to get that man alone, and at last, the deity of couple-who-spent-two-years-apart-and-now-can’t-keep-it-together-for-more-than-a-week — or something like that — was merciful enough to grant you that desperate wish.

zoro had snatched you by the waist once the opportunity seemed fit enough, and that monument of a man dug his calloused fingers so deep into your figure that it threatened to leave bruises longer-lasting than the ones you received at whole cake. his lips brushed near your earlobe, before traveling lower; chests pressed against one another as he whispered lustful-filled promises amidst small confessions of how much he had missed you.

and oh, hell knew those words were more than reciprocal. unfortunately, your tongue seemed to weigh more than a hundred sea kings as your fingers gripped the hems of his kimono, lips half-parted while your eyes drowned in the sight of him.

at your lack of action, zoro froze. he was an experienced man — so long as the subject involved alcohol or sword-fighting or your detailed schedule. the love matter? he was as proficient in it as he was in differentiating north from south. zoro moved his face from where it was buried in your neck, a tinge of uncertainty shown in his glance.

the silence lingered as zoro’s face scrunched in concentration, gears turning inside his head as the poor and clueless man attempted to understand whatever thought was going through in yours.

“if you want to speak about what happened during the time we were apart—” he began, seemingly planning on taking a step back and further from your body.

you tugged at the kimono and pressed him to your figure, a lonesome finger trailing down the bare skin of his chest, losing itself under the fabric of his clothing. you felt him shudder due to your touch, though your mouth remained sealed and you were sure your eyes were as wide as the four seas. zoro’s own hands were hesitant. there he was — the terrifyingly strong swordsman, the one who’d be the strongest, the one whose name was uttered in fear — completely vulnerable at the palm of your hand.

you wanted to swallow him whole.

“do i need to kill—” he spoke again, and you shushed the attempt yet again. as much as you valued his immediate instinct to eliminate whoever had dared to bring you pain, that was anything but the time for such declarations.

zoro’s grip regained its usual strength as he became more impatient, his words coming out with an edge as sharp as the swords sheathed and carried at his hip. “what is it, woman?!”

“was this given to you?”

he blinked, dumbfounded. “huh?”

“the kimono, zoro. was this given or borrowed?”

the swordsman rolled his eye as he, once again, pressed your chest flush against his, returning his ministrations to your neck once he was sure that nothing was amiss.

“why does it matter?” he rasped against your sensible skin.

as much as you wished to surrender entirely to that sinful mouth, a glimpse of the dark green of the cape he wore made you push his shoulders. your eyes were transfixed, unable to tear themselves from his appearance.

“of course it matters! i need to know whether or not i’ll need to bother stealing them once we leave this place,” you answered, eyes so focused in his chest you failed to notice the darkening of his glance.

zoro’s usual attires consisted of overused pants, the green haramaki that was close to infusing itself with his skin, and — if he felt the need, which was rare — a plain coat or t-shirt. the instances in which your lover dressed himself with such fine clothing were rare. truth be told, the entire crew was more well-dressed in an hour in wano than in an entire month in the sunny. the lack of money was far more common than you would’ve wished, and zoro himself refused to waste his slim fair share of berries and gold with — at least to him — vain and useless things such as new clothes.

hence why you were planning on robbing at least two entire wardrobes worth of those kimonos. the absolute urge to have him like that was gnawing at your insides. you wished for nothing but to have your arms around him for the entire day, acting as though an insistent pendant dangling from his neck and clinging to his chest due to the sweat from battles.

your mind trailed on, wondering if that pirate-surgeon would’ve been able to perform such a feat.

“keep wearing that, at all times,” you punctuated, allowing his hand to raise your thigh to the height of his hip. “you don’t bathe whatsoever, so it won’t be hard.”

he grinned against the skin of your exposed collarbone. “liked it that much?”

you hummed your agreement. zoro pressed your back against the nearest solid surface and opened your legs for further access to where you needed him most. the pair of you had half-an-hour of privacy — if not less — and he clearly didn’t mean to lose those precious minutes with meaningless gestures and words. zoro tossed the cape on the ground and started to undo the knot that kept his kimono shut.

you stopped him in the spot. “nuh-huh.”

“the hell you mean nuh-huh?” he bit back.

“clothes on.”

“how am i supposed to fuck you with shit on?”

you craned your neck to the side, offering him a clear glimpse of the wickedness gleaming in your eyes. “you’ll figure it out. unless you’re not up for the challenge. i’ll understand if you’re feeling like backing out. maybe someone more flexible would’ve—”

he wrapped both of your legs around his waist, supporting your entire weight with the arm placed under you. he moved and aimed for a distinct position, and you blinked a bit surprised at his decision. zoro had suspended you midair, with neither a wall nor a table to aid him. a gasp of delight and awe passed through your lips as zoro’s clothed thigh roughly rubbed itself against your arousal.

a calloused finger guided your chin up with roughness, adjusting your eyesight to his face.

“me,” rough voice wielded in a monosyllabic command whose further intentions he was sure you would understand.

the trance upon the first glance of that set of clothes — and the sinful thoughts thereafter — managed to distract you from the fact that you and zoro had been apart for almost three weeks. and for an instance you had forgotten that the yearning fed by distance was reciprocated. that zoro had been just as eager to have you in his arms as you were to be drowned in the sea of his lust.

that brief pledge — me, look at me — had such a meaning hidden underneath, that for a second you felt the urge to cradle his face in your hands, if only to caress the man beyond the demon with the care he ever so longed for.

most pirates sailed around the seas with postures and expressions that nearly seemed to shout “sex for free”. to them, the act itself conducted with strangers was but another trivial aspect of adventure; an adrenaline-filled activity not to be taken seriously. to zoro, sex symbolized the deepest shade of intimacy. an instance where he laid himself bare to you. not in the sense of nakedness — for he couldn’t care less for the sight of his body beyond the physical strength required to wield his swords and protect his crewmates —, but rather in the act of offering you his soul on a silver platter.

he was not a man of words. his devotion was made explicit through the manner with which he served you. zoro thought himself a wretched creature at your service, meant to protect and please. there was no space available for the hesitation born from the thought of vulnerability. sex was the act of tearing his skin apart with his own blade in order to offer you a warm solace within the walls of his heart. it was a sacred transaction where you were the worshiped deity; the ground beneath your feet the altar he knelt upon. and one should treat the object of their faith with the utmost respect.

yet, due to the scarce time unmatching the accumulated desire, zoro wasn’t given the chance to adore you properly. hence the reasoning of such a request.

a heartwarming action, truly. but your eyes were attracted to the way that stupid kimono hugged his frame, offering a scarce glimpse of his chest — only enough to leave space for imagination. both a curse and a blessing was bestowed upon you.

zoro turned your chin towards him yet again, a vein nearly popping on his forehead, wearing an expression you’ve grown to know too well. “eyes on me.”

you grinned. perhaps your stupidest decision yet. “are you jealous of a kimono?”

that taunt was his undoing.

“up for the challenge,” zoro echoed, tone dead, pupil blown. “clothes on.”

zoro flexes the muscles of his thigh, his entire expression brightening up with wickedness as his other hand reaches for your clothed arousal. “let’s test that, huh?”

“i need my legs to fight!” you suddenly felt the urge to remind him.

he grinned like a devil. “you’ll figure it out.”

— 🐈‍⬛ wrote this while rewatching some zoro moments in wano!!!!!!!! the exclamation marks are a shout for help!!!!!!

[velvetures]

Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

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[animentality]

the helldivers 2 developer team is getting flak from its community because someone in their discord asked if they were going to add trans flag capes to the game, and someone ELSE replied to them and said God I'm tired of seeing trans people everywhere, I wish they would remain hidden and secluded.

And the devs banned the transphobic guy. and now helldivers 2 is getting review bombed by angry gamers who are complaining about how they "play games to escape reality and things like this."

I have two reactions. first off, stop being such a fucking snowflake. the developers can remove anyone they want from the discord. being a bigot counts as a perfectly legit reason to ban someone from a discord.

also the "defending" discourse, aside from being outright transphobic, is "oh a player can't want the game to be serious?"

helldivers is a goofy fucking satire of the infamously campy starship troopers. characters shriek the most out of pocket nonsense ever like "for democracy" and "MY LIFE FOR LIBERTY." it doesn't break immersion to have a fucking colorful cape.

also I'm just laughing because damn, it really is such a mental hardship for cishets, huh, seeing a trans flag in a game?

they gotta really "suffer" all their favorite fictional properties "bringing real life into the game." really "ruins their fun" when you bring in a trans flag, reminding them of a reality where they exist in a world where trans people also exist. and have never done anything to them ever, not even meet them.

what a difficult reality you live in!

also lol, they didn't even say they'd add trans flags. they just banned someone for being transphobic, which they obviously were being.

they should add trans flags now just cuz why the fuck not.

my second reaction is this.

I like it when you suffer. I like watching you writhe and whimper and cry.

I hope trans flags hurt you when you see them, and I hope they ruin all of your favorite things. I hope your existence is miserable and I hope your pain is immeasurable.

nothing you go through seeing a trans flag in a stupid video game will ever equal the kind of things trans people suffer in their daily lives, and for me, if this is what it takes to even slightly even the score, then good.

misery for all of us. let's keep torturing each other.

[alwaysonthemend]

Read Part I Here

Author's Note: The long awaited Part 2! Thanks to all those who sent asks about it - ya'll helped keep me motivated🤍 This turned out a lil' angstier than I had initially intended but it all works out in the end 😌

All I have left to add is justice for Jake's curly hair and for Waited All Your Life (it'll make sense once you read it)

Content Warnings: Jake x Fem!reader / Jake x Fem!OC (Lindsey) / Mature content / 18+ Only / angst / adult themes / unrequited love / feelings of inadequacy / miscommunication / break ups / graphic descriptions of sex / oral sex / fingering / I'm going to go ahead and tag this with emotional cheating as well because Jake is definitely emotionally cheating on Lindsey (emotional cheating is still cheating so it gets a warning)

Word Count: 9k (I don't wanna talk abt it)

My Taglist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

March, 2023 – Nashville International Airport – Y/n’s POV 

The coffee you had downed earlier that morning does nothing to stop the way your eyelids fight to stay closed every time you blink. The airport isn’t too busy yet – a small victory, thanks to the early hour. You walk slowly, eyes focused up at the signs as you wheel your carry-on behind you. 

There! You think to yourself, finally catching sight of C3. Exhaustedly, you dump your things on the floor next to a row of seats and you collapse heavily into one. You glance around again, then look over your shoulder. So far, it seems you’re the first to arrive. 

Anxiety thrums through you, making your palms feel cold and clammy and the back of your neck feeling hot. You’re struck with the sudden desire to just turn tail and run for the hills. But unfortunately you can’t. Just like you couldn’t quit your job at your agency with such short notice. You’d told him you were done – that you were leaving and you’d fully intended to do so. But your boss hadn’t exactly been understanding when you told her you wanted to be transferred somewhere else. You can still hear her shocked voice through the phone, completely shattering any hopes you’d had of being able to escape this shit show with at least a little bit of dignity left. 

So here you sit, waiting. 

And of course, since the universe is intent on making your life as miserable as possible, he is the next person to arrive. 

“Y/n.” Jake’s voice is the same as ever – but this time still just a little bit rough since it’s so early. “I… I thought you said-”

“My notice has been put in.” You interrupt him, wringing your hands together where they sit in your lap. “They just couldn’t find someone to fill in for me at such short notice.”

Jake’s eyes widen just a little at the sharpness of your tone. You wince internally but keep your face deliberately neutral. It’s not his fault, you remind yourself. How could he have known that I love him?

“Oh.” He answers, shuffling his feet a little and glancing down at the ground. 

It’s silent for long enough that you almost start talking about the weather or the traffic but you refrain. You’re both going to have to get over this eventually if you’re going to be expected to work together for this last leg of the tour.

“May I sit?” He asks at last, gesturing to one of the seats next to yours after standing there awkwardly with his suitcase in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder in a way that can’t be comfortable. 

“Sure.” 

Jake sits and you bite your tongue. There’s so much you want to say – so much that you wish you had said, but the middle of an airport terminal at 6 in the morning isn’t exactly the place for it. 

The silence is worse than the talking but you don’t want to be the one to break it. Just a few months and then I can forget he ever existed, you think – deliberately ignoring the fact that you know you could never forget what it feels like to be in love with Jake Kiskza. Even when he doesn’t love you back. 

“How was the ride here?” He asks haltingly, lips instantly turning down in a wince at the stupid question. But at least it’s not silent anymore. 

“Boring. Not much traffic, thankfully.” So much for not talking about the traffic. 

Jake nods once, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before answering. 

“Same. Perks of an early flight. Beat the rush.” 

You’re pretty sure this is the most excruciating thing you’ve ever had to experience and you can’t help but look around in a desperate hope that someone else has arrived to end this torture. No such luck. 

“Right.” You answer him, pulling your phone out to check the time. It’s an hour to boarding and surely one of the others will be here soon. 

Of course I’m the only tech who also lives in Nashville, you think bitterly, wishing that anyone other than a Kiszka or Wagner were here in order to rescue you. Jake looks just as uncomfortable as you do. He keeps shifting in his seat and fixing his hair when it doesn’t need to be fixed. 

After a long moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, Jake opens his mouth – clearly about to say something that you don’t really want to hear, when a loud “Good morning, fellow travelers!” interrupts him. 

Sam’s voice makes you jump and Jake’s mouth snaps shut. You whip around to see Sam – looking far too energetic for this early in the morning. 

“Morning, Samuel.” Jake grumbles, looking not at all happy at his untimely interruption but you couldn’t be more grateful. 

Sam, always good at being entirely unaware, plops himself down in the seat on the other side of you and leans on his knees to look past you and over at Jake. 

“Glad to see you’re still a grumpy bastard in the morning.” Sam then looks at you. “And Y/n, it's always nice to see your bright, shining face this early.”

You don’t feel particularly bright or shiny but you smile at Sam despite the anxiety coursing through your veins. 

“Morning, Sam. Glad to have the life of the party present at last.” 

It doesn’t take long for Daniel to arrive next, a little less cheery and energetic as Sam but still in a great mood. You know they’re happy to be going back on the road. You would be too if… if things hadn’t happened the way they did. 

// 

The terminal fills and fills until finally passengers are allowed to board. You rise, grabbing your suitcase and you toss your empty coffee cup into the trash. Jake rises too, immediately grabbing his things and following you. 

“Y.n…” He starts, fumbling in his pocket to pull out his boarding pass. “Can- can I sit next to you? I’m sure Josh wouldn’t mind if he and I switched.”

You pause. You really don’t know if this is the place for whatever conversation Jake is going to force you to have. You would much rather sit next to Josh, just as had been originally planned, but you can’t help the way Jake’s sincere, chocolate eyes make you melt. 

“I mean, if you want to I guess you-”

Once again, the two of you are interrupted by a loud voice, this time coming from Josh as he practically sprints across the terminal. 

“Made it!” He exclaims, making Sam roll his eyes and Daniel laugh a little. 

“Always the dramatic entrance, Josh.” Danny mutters before walking up and scanning his boarding pass. 

“Josh.” Jake nods at his twin, looking as if he’d like to throttle the man. 

“Jake.” He answers and then smiles at you. “Y/n! Good morning!”

“Morning, Josh.” He instantly puts your nerves to rest a little, making that knot of anxiety loosen just enough for you to feel a little less miserable. 

“No Lindsey?” 

Your heart swoops down into your stomach as Jake widens his eyes a little at Josh’s question. 

“Um.” He starts, swallowing thickly and darting his eyes towards you. “She’s uh.. She’s gonna meet us in Raleigh. I think she’s going to tag along until El Paso… Just depends on how much time she can get off from work.” 

“Ah.” Josh shoves his phone into his pocket. “Gotcha. Well,” he glances at the dwindling line of people as they board the plane and then looks to you, “you ready, seat buddy?”

You glance at Jake and try to ignore the wounded look in his eyes. The stark reminder that not only does Jake not have feelings for you but that he’s also in a committed relationship to someone else… well. It’s enough to remind you why you asked Josh to get the seat next to yours in the first place. 

“Of course!” You loop your free arm with Josh’s and give him and Jake the most convincing smile that you can muster. “Let's get this show on the road.” 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 12, 2023 - Greenville, SC

It had been entirely too easy for you to pretend as if Jake doesn’t exist – as if the two of you hadn’t been such good friends just months before. He’d taken the hint early on that you didn’t want to discuss whatever it was that he felt the two of you needed to discuss. You were mortified as it is that Lindsey knew the truth – and horrified by the knowledge that Jake knows how much you’d misread the situation with him. He’d been looking for a hookup and you were the unfortunate one who’d managed to catch feelings throughout it all. But so far, Jake has respected your wishes to keep your distance. 

He’s never rude, treating you the same way he would treat any of the other tech people who he maybe didn’t know quite as well. And while the distance stings, you know it’s for the best. If the others had noticed the sudden change in your relationship, thankfully none of them had said anything to you – and hopefully not to Jake either. It really was as if none of it had ever happened and you definitely weren’t counting down the days until Lindsey’s supposed arrival.

You’d just spent the last 30 minutes doing Sam’s makeup – time which he’d spent cracking jokes and talking 90 to nothing the entire time. You’d  just nodded along, smiling and adding commentary when you felt it was necessary. But really, you just enjoyed listening to him talk. He made you laugh – just like all the boys do, and talking with Sam had been a welcome distraction and way to fill your time since Josh’s partner had arrived… time that you once would have spent with Jake. 

You bustle about in the makeup room, tidying things up and putting them in their places. You tuck each of the boys’ foundations in their designated bags, along with whatever eyeshadow palettes or rhinestones they prefer. Your brushes have been washed and now lay out to dry on a towel on the counter top. There’s nothing much left to do except pack away Josh’s ridiculous amount of hairstyling products and then you’ll be free to spend the rest of your time however you please. 

The door opens but you don’t look up from your task of shoving hairspray bottles into your bag, fully expecting it to only be Josh or Danny coming back in for a last minute touch up. It’s only about an hour before they go on. 

“Hey.” 

You startle, whipping around at the sound of his voice. Jake stands in the doorway, waiting just on the threshold as if not daring to enter fully until you invite him to do so. 

“Hi.” Your voice comes out surprisingly steady despite the way your heart is racing. This is the first time that you’ve been alone with him. “Something I can do for you?”

Jake nods, taking a single, hesitant step into the room and then stopping again. 

“Just something small.” His eyes find yours in the mirror as you turn your back to him, trying to get your bearings a little bit. “Wanted to change my look up a little.”

You turn back around to face him and beckon him over to sit in your chair. Jake never does makeup – even before all this. Jake takes a seat and looks up at you, not saying a word.

“I’m guessing you don’t want rhinestones.” You say with a smile and Jake’s shoulders relax just a little.  

“No. No rhinestones.” He affirms, clasping his hands in his lap. His words are soft yet deafening in the quiet of the room. Your heart races so fast you swear he must be able to hear it. “Maybe just some eyeliner? I’ve done it myself a few times but… I’m not as good at it as you are.” 

You tilt your head and smile down at him. 

“I should hope that I’m at least kinda good at it.” You grab an eyeliner pencil from Danny’s bag. “It is my job after all.”

Jake huffs a laugh but the sound quickly dies out as soon as you lower yourself to get closer to him. You haven’t seen him this close since… since that night in the bathroom. His eyes are like pools of hot cocoa as he watches you intently. Dark lashes, delicate, pink lips. His skin is smooth except for a light dusting of hair on his upper lip – only noticeable this close. 

“Can you..?” You look down at his crossed legs and then back up at him. 

“Oh. Yeah.” He spreads his legs so that you can step closer. “Sorry.”

You step between his thighs and lower yourself down. Keeping his head steady by holding his jaw with your free hand, you gently swipe the black eyeliner over his lash line. You tilt his head up and choose to ignore the way his eyes stay trained on you the whole time. 

“Look up for me?” You ask softly and he obeys. You gently tug his eyelid down and swipe the black over his waterline as well before moving to do the same on the other side. You use the little brush on the other end of the pencil to blend the color out a little.

“Finished?” He asks as you step away, his eyes blinking rapidly for a moment as his eyes water a little. 

You look at him for just a moment, trying to treat him just like any other client and not like the guy you’re hopelessly in love with who’s dating someone else.  

“Almost.” You turn around and begin digging through Danny’s bag again, making a mental note that maybe you need to make one for Jake in case he decides that he likes the way he looks with this. You grab a tube of mascara and step back towards him. “Just a little bit of mascara.”

You swipe the mascara over his long lashes, making sure that they don’t clump and then you step back and admire the look. His eyes – deep set and thoughtful, look incredible in the eyeliner. It makes his features stand out just a little bit more and you know it will look great under the stage lights later tonight. 

“Now I’m finished.” 

Jake stands and takes a step towards the mirrors on the vanity. He tilts his head to the side as he admires himself in the reflection. 

“I like it.” He says after a long moment, turning back to look at you. “Much better than when I do it.” He smiles a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

That tension that was present in the airport a few days ago is suddenly back with full force and you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Jake clearly feels it too and he reaches a hand up and runs his fingers through his hair. He drops his hand, the once brushed through strands now a little messy. 

“Here, wait.” You don’t know why you do it – it’s like your body just gravitates towards his without you even thinking about it, but you take a step towards him. Placing a hand on his chest, you push him back towards the chair until he sits back down. “Let me fix your hair a little.”

Jake watches in silence as you grab a comb and some styling mousse. You brush through his hair, admiring how some of it reflects auburn in the light. You set it back to its natural part with the comb and then spread some of the mousse on your palms. You rake your hands through his hair, depositing the product and then twirling the ends around your fingers a little, helping the natural waves to form better. They go easily – as if rebelling against the way he must have straightened it earlier. 

“You’ve got wavy hair.” The words slip out without you meaning them to and even you can hear the slight awe in your voice – as if him having wavy hair is some novel, incredible thing. Heat rushes to your cheeks but Jake doesn't acknowledge it. 

“I think it could be curly if I really wanted it to be.” He answers softly. “Not like Josh’s but… it’s really wavy when I let it air dry on its own.” 

“I-I like it.” You answer him, voice equally quiet. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” 

You realize suddenly just how close you’ve gotten to him. You straighten and step back and Jake pulls back as well – he’d been leaning in close to you. 

“Guess you should probably head out there.” 

Jake nods and rises, hearing the dismissal in your tone and the shift in your body language. 

“Right. Yeah. I uh. I should go.” Jake slides his palms over his thighs, eyes darting towards the door and then back to you. He hesitates, as if about to say something but then thinking better of it. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.”

You watch him go, chest aching. There’s a feeling in the pit of your stomach – the feeling that you’ve just made a mistake. You don’t know if it was allowing yourself to relax around him again or letting him walk away. 

You shake your head and continue tidying up. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 20, 2023 - El Paso, TX

Lindsey’s arrival in Raleigh hadn’t been as humiliating as you’d been expecting it to be. In fact, since she spends all her time with Jake – who you’d already been basically avoiding at all costs, you hardly see her at all. 

She’d only acknowledged your presence once that first day when she arrived. Just a nod and a terse smile, completely lacking the warmth and kindness from that first time you met and talked. You can’t blame her. She’d listened to you cry and hugged and comforted you – you, a virtual stranger, only to later find out that you’d been talking about her own boyfriend… it’s not exactly the best first impression you’ve ever made.

The El Paso show had gone on without a hitch – just as they usually do, and the boys had invited you and the rest of the tech and crew out for a meal, all expenses paid for. Ristorante Casanova was the place of choice; a little fancy for your tastes but the reviews had been great when you looked it up.

It had been Danny that had planned this – he’d reserved a section of the restaurant that was large enough for everyone to attend. He, Sam, and Josh (surprisingly on time) had been the ones to greet you. There were several other members of the crew already there as well and so you’d sat down at a table in the far corner where their stage manager – who you know pretty well, and some of the body guards had claimed. 

Carter is the first to greet you - a sweet, older man who's in charge of security. He smiles widely at you as you take a seat next to him.

“Sunflower! Glad you joined us.” 

Carter instantly brings you into the conversation, not allowing you to feel left out for one second. Everyone at your table is kind and fun to be around and they’re a welcome distraction. You hardly even notice when Jake and Lindsey arrive together arm and arm (and you don’t even notice the way Jake’s eyes keep straying to you from his table every chance he gets). Food and drink flows and conversation flows even better and everyone seems to be in good spirits. After you’ve eaten enough to feel like you need a nap, Josh stands and hits his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention. 

“Hear ye, hear ye!” He says theatrically, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy from alcohol as he looks around the room at everyone. His eyes linger on you and he winks, making you roll your eyes playfully. “I just wanted to give you all a thank you for making this shit show go so smoothly. At least, as smooth as it possibly could be with all the craziness.”

There are a few murmurs of agreement and light laughter from everyone at that. 

“There have been far too many cancellations and reschedules,” Josh continues, his tongue clearly loosened even more than usual thanks to the wine that he’d been drinking, “and I just want you all to know how much we,” he gestures towards himself, Sam, Daniel, and Jake, “appreciate all the work that you guys have done! This Dreams and Gold circus wouldn’t be possible without each and every one of you.” 

All of the crew smiles at that and you can’t help the warmth that swells in your chest for this band. Despite everything that’s happened, this has been one of the most wonderful experiences of your life. Not only is the crew full of incredible people, but the band is, too – most rock stars of their stature would never take the time or money to take their crew out for a dinner like this, let alone with a speech of gratitude on top of it all. 

“So please, keep enjoying the food and the alcohol and be merry! You’ve all earned it.”

Josh finishes his speech and sits down, and everyone claps and whoops. One of the tech guys calls out a ‘We love you guys!’ to which everyone else shouts their agreement. The boys, all looking bashful but happy, call their love back out to them. Chatter starts up again, and you take the opportunity to slip away to the ladies' room. 

// 

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you step back out into the little hallway outside the bathroom, smoothing your palms over your dress a little bit. You feel good. You’ve laughed more tonight than you have in days and everyone else is in a good mood, too. 

You stop in your tracks when you look up to see Jake blocking you from the rest of the hallway. 

“Jake.” You begin, thankful that for once, anxiety doesn’t shoot through you at the mere sight of him. You’re in far too good of a mood for that to happen now. “You okay?” 

He’s got an odd look on his face as he stands there blocking your path but still your good mood lingers, 

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I don’t really know. I think I’m drunk.”

“Ah.” You walk a few paces forwards so that you can see him better in the dim light of the hallway. His cheeks are indeed flushed like they get when he’s had a little too much. “The men’s is right there.” You jerk your head towards the door for the men’s restroom and then start to push past him but he stops you, a hand darting out to grip your bicep. He doesn’t grab hard – light enough that you could easily pull away if you wanted to. 

But you stay. Of course you stay. 

“Wait.” His words are a little slurred and you wince a little. He’s clearly in a heightened emotional state right now and your mind races with ways to diffuse the situation. 

“I think I made a mistake.” He continues on. “With you. We- we were good friends?” He phrases it as if it’s a question but you know the answer already and you know he does too. You two were great friends.

“We don’t have to go through this again.” You answer him, anger beginning to rise. Of course you couldn’t have just one night where you felt normal. And fuck him for making you feel like this. “You’ve already told me that that night was a mistake.Trust me, I’m well aware, Jake.”

It’s like being on an emotional roller coaster. The initial hope, then the crushing disappointment of unrequited feelings. Now it feels like everytime you start to get over things he appears to draw you back in. First in your makeup chair and now this… You’re entirely certain that if he would just leave you alone, if he would stop sending these cruel mixed signals, you know that this would be easier. You know you could finally move on from this. 

Good mood completely soured with anger, you try to push past him again but this time he steps forward and backs you up into the wall, his hands grabbing your shoulders. 

“No! That’s- that’s not what I meant, Sunflower.” 

“Then what exactly do you mean, Jake?” He’s close enough now that you can smell the tequila on his breath. “Because I know how you feel about me. And I swear to god it’s starting to feel like you enjoy having me pining after you. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Jake’s head falls, his hair falling down to frame his face. 

“I don’t know. I tried too. But you keep pulling me back.” He frowns down at you before adding quietly, “I’m sorry.” 

You can’t bring yourself to say ‘it’s okay.’ All you can do is stare at him, feeling suddenly as if every sense has been overtaken by him. The heat of his body, the smell of him, the way his hands are on your shoulders to keep you pressed against the wall… 

His eyes drop and for a split second you swear his gaze lingers on your lips before flicking back upwards. Your heart races, chest burning as you basically hold your breath. 

“Sunflower, I-”

“What. The. Fuck?”

Jake rears back and away from you as if he’d been burned at the sound of Lindsey’s voice.

Panic washes over you as you take in Lindsey’s face – there’s anger, of course. But mostly hurt. Fuck, you know that you and Jake both look guilty even though you technically haven’t done anything. 

“Lindsey!” You begin, stepping away from the wall, “God, it’s not what it looks like. I swear. I’m so sorr-”

“Save it.” She interrupts you, turning her icy gaze towards Jake who’s backed himself up into the opposite wall and is looking at her with wide eyes. “You’re not the one I’m pissed at.”

Jake looks on the verge of either crying or passing out and you feel a bit like you might do either one of those as well. You don’t know what to do as the three of you stand there in a stalemate. 

The air feels oppressive and you wrack your brains for something, anything, to say that might make this better. You can’t think of a single, god damned thing. 

“You guys okay?” It’s Carter’s voice that breaks the silence as he enters the hallway, his eyebrows raising at the sight that greets him. “Ya’ll have been gone for a while.” Carter’s dart between the three of you before settling on you. “Y/n?”

“We- it’s fine. We’re fine, Carter.” It’s a big fat lie but you don’t really know what else to say. “I was just about to head home, actually.” 

You know it’s a cowardly thing to do – to just run away and not deal with whatever blow out is about to happen. But you can’t think of anything better to do. 

“Oookay.” Carter doesn’t look convinced that everything is fine but he seems to sense that this isn’t something to stick his nose in. “I’ll walk you out.” 

It’s not a question. All you can do is nod and numbly follow Carter out of the hallway. Jake follows you with pleading eyes but Lindsey doesn’t look at you until you’re all the way past her. Finally, she watches you go, giving you a curt nod with her lips pressed together. You would almost feel better if she was pissed and screaming at you instead. 

//

You cross your arms over your chest tightly as Carter waits on the curb outside with you for your Uber to arrive. You haven’t said anything to him but you can tell he’s itching to ask what the hell he just walked in on. 

“I’m guessin’ it’s complicated and I don’t wanna know?” He finally asks and you nod. 

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Are you okay?” You hate the genuine concern in his voice. You don’t really feel like you deserve it. 

“I will be.”

Carter kicks a rock and it goes skittering across the sidewalk. 

“I’m not trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong but… whatever he did to hurt you,” he sighs a little, “I know you didn’t deserve it.”

Despite the millions of awful thoughts that are running through your mind, you smile just a little. 

“Thank you.”

“And he’s a fool for not seeing what’s right in front of ‘im.”

To that, you have no idea what to say. So you don’t. The two of you wait in silence for your Uber, Carter’s body heat a comforting presence next to you. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 26, 2023 - Reno, NV – Jake’s POV 

The night at the restaurant has been haunting just about every waking moment since. And when you sleep, Y/n’s look of hurt and Lindsey’s face filled with disappointment and anger swirl around within your dreams and send you waking in a cold sweat. 

You know this is all your fault. Y/n knows it. And fuck, now Lindsey knows it too. 

She’d been so damned understanding that night when she’s asked about your relationship with Y/n. She’d nodded along as you told her about the drunken hook up in a bathroom. When you’d asked her if it upset her, she’d merely shrugged and said that she “can’t change the past.” 

You’d told her you loved her that night and it had eased whatever worries she had… Now, you’re pretty sure that out of everything, that was the cruelest thing you ever did to her. 

It had been like walking on eggshells since Ristorante Casanova. You’d explained to Lindsey over and over that nothing had actually happened that night and that you hadn’t been planning on anything happening… that you had just wanted to talk to Y/n. Begrudgingly, she’d accepted your words as truth and your countless apologies but deep down you both know that your relationship isn’t going to ever return to what it was. She’d stopped saying ‘I love you’ back. 

You’d declined going out when Josh had asked the night before, claiming to be too tired after the show. It wasn’t a total lie. You were tired, but the show had nothing to do with it and everything to do with having Y/n’s body so close to yours again and the wounded looks Lindsey sends your way when she thinks you’re not looking. Lindsey hadn’t complained when you told her you wanted to stay in – in fact, she’d looked relieved. You’d both gone to bed without saying a word, the silence far more damning than anything else.

She’d been in the bathroom for almost an hour now. The water had been turned off a while ago but she’d yet to emerge. You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for her – feeling a bit like a guilty man waiting at the gallows. 

At last, after what feels like an eternity, the door to the bathroom opens and she emerges, washed and makeup freshly done. Your heart aches at how beautiful she looks – and at the fact that it doesn’t affect you the way it used to. 

“I’ve got a flight back home today.” She offers, eyes looking anywhere but you as she crosses the room to where her suitcase lays. It’s almost completely packed save for the bag of toiletries she carries with her from the bathroom. 

“I thought you were going to try to get more time off work so you could be at the last show?” You can’t help the hurt that bleeds into your tone even though you know you have no right to be feeling that way. 

Lindsey levels you with a hard look. It’s not anger. Just resignation… somehow, that’s even worse. 

“I think we both know why I’m not staying, Jake.” 

You shake your head even though you know she’s right. But things had once been perfect between the two of you and there’s this voice in the back of your head that’s telling you it can’t end like this; that things could go back to the way they were. You really thought you could love her. She’s everything you’ve ever looked for… at least, she used to be. 

“I loved you.” You say wretchedly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s a shitty thing to say as a last-ditch effort to try and fix something that shouldn’t be fixed.

“I loved you too” She tosses her toiletries bag into her suitcase and zips it up.

Her eyes close as she pauses for a brief moment and your hands itch to reach out and touch her – to comfort her. But you can’t. You lost that privilege. 

“I did love you, Lindsey. I swear it. I just-” You cut yourself off, unable to put into words what changed. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Jake.” She rounds the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of you. You sit with your elbows on your knees, head down in defeat. Delicately, she reaches out and hooks her finger beneath your chin, forcing you to look at her – to see the hurt written all over her face. “I think we both deserve better than this. I deserve better than second place.”

“Yes. You do, Lindsey. I’m- I’m sorry.”

She steps away from you and goes back to her suitcase. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and walks towards the door of the hotel room. She looks back only once and your eyes meet. 

“Don’t fuck it up with her, okay?” She tells you, eyes sparkling with just a little bit of warmth. She really did deserve better than this. Than you. 

“I think I already did.”

“Then fix it.”

You're heart feels like it breaks into a million pieces as you watch her go – breaking with the guilt of realizing that you're not even upset.

But deep down, you know why you don't feel more.

It had taken you losing her completely for you to realize that Y/n was the one who holds your heart; Y/n's smile that can light up your world in a way that no one else's can.

You hadn't quite known it yet... that night at the bar. You didn't know how deep your feelings for her ran until you got to feel her wrapped around you, crying out your name and looking at you like you hung the stars. But of course you'd panicked – convinced yourself that she couldn't possibly feel the same. And then you'd let your insecurity speak for you and had hurt both you and her all the more as a result. And then hurt Lindsey too by going out with her. In your defense — if you could even call it that... You had convinced yourself that Y/n didn't feel the same and you were so sure that you could move on from her.

But then you'd learned the truth of Y/n's feelings – from Lindsey of all people, and your world had crumbled around you.

But you refuse to let it stay this way. Y/n... your sunflower... you won't let her go again.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*

March 26, 2023 - Reno, NV – Y/n’s POV  

So far, Reno has been your least favorite place you’ve been to for this job. The air outside is dry as the Sahara desert and you’re pretty sure that no amount of chapstick could help how dry your lips feel right now. Reno feels as if it’s merely trying to be Las Vegas – just without all the neon lights, restaurants, and fun activities that makes the smell of cigarette smoke and foot traffic worth it. 

Usually after a show, everyone likes to go out for dinner or drinks somewhere or you like to go exploring a new city. Neither is an option tonight as it seems that everyone is in agreement that Reno isn’t the type of place that they want to have to spend extra time in. And besides, it’s an early flight tomorrow and you have no desire to be up later than you have to tonight. 

At least there’s good water pressure, you think to yourself as you emerge from the bathroom, a threadbare bathrobe that the hotel had provided wrapped tightly around your waist. You shove your toiletries into your suitcase – ready for the early departure in the morning, and then collapse heavily onto the bed. Just one more show left.

You’d been feeling much better this past day, feeling less like your emotions were running all over the place and a little bit more centered with yourself. Apparently, being completely and utterly fed up about something does wonders for taking steps towards letting it go. 

A gentle knock on the door draws you from your thoughts, along with confusion about who on earth would be knocking at your hotel door – you look at the clock on the nightstand, at 11pm the night before a 7am flight. 

You look through the peephole and your stomach drops at the sight of Jake standing outside your door, his hands in his pockets. You undo the lock and open the door just enough so that you can see him fully. He looks freshly showered, his hair still slightly damp at the ends  and curling a little bit – just like he said it did that day in your makeup chair. 

“Jake?” You ask hesitantly, still not opening the door fully. “What are you doing here?”

You can’t quite get a read on his face. He looks… surprisingly normal as he stands there outside your door. 

“I was wondering if we could talk.” He answers. 

“Now?” You can’t help the sharpness in your tone but Jake takes it in stride, merely ducking his head a little and giving you a crooked smile. 

“I mean… yeah? I just wanted to be able to catch you when we won’t get interrupted.”

A thousand reasons why you should say no race through your mind, the number one of which being that he has a girlfriend who he should probably be with instead. But logic and Jake rarely share the same space in your mind so you open the door wider and allow him to come inside. The smell of his cologne hits you as he brushes past you and you’re assaulted with the mental image of a freshly showered Jake in his bathroom taking the time to put it on before coming to see you. You clear your throat and lock the door behind you. 

Jake stands in the middle of the room, hands still in his pockets, and finally that neutral expression on his face has melted away to something else. Is he… nervous?

“Did you catch the show tonight?” He asks, eyes following your every move as you take a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I caught the tail end, yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

You sigh a little. 

“I always like them.” And it’s the truth. He’s good at what he does. “But I don’t think you came here to my room this late to talk about the show.”

Jake nods, shuffling his feet a little and then biting his lip. 

“I guess I came to apologize.”

A small, vindictive little part of you rejoices and you speak before your mind can catch up. 

“There are a lot of things for you to apologize for. Which one are you talking about tonight?”

Jake winces and looks suitably chastised as he stands there before you. It doesn’t make you feel better like you thought it would to see him so unsure of himself. 

“There are a lot of things.” He agrees quietly, “but it’s what I was trying to say that night at the restaurant.”

You can clearly remember his words from a few nights ago – I think I made a mistake. With you. You raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. You’re tired of playing the guessing game with him. 

“It was a mistake to tell you that it meant nothing.” He continues on, eyes trained on the ground. “It was a mistake to call it a mistake. And I’ve spent every night since regretting what I said. And I regret that I didn’t see what I had until it was too late.”

Your mind goes completely blank as he speaks, brain unable or unwilling to decipher what he’s saying. You’re terrified of misreading this. Again. 

“What- what are you saying, Jake?”

He smiles a little, more of a grimace than anything, but he finally meets your gaze with his own. 

“I’m saying that- that I want you. For more than just sex, Sunflower. I want you.” He bites his lip, brows tipping downwards in a frown. “If- if you still want me, that is.”

“But Lindsey-” You begin, but he’s quick to cut you off. 

“Me and Lindsey are over. She’s on a plane going home as we speak. She doesn’t-” he cuts himself off with a wince. “I don’t love her anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. We’re done, Y/n. We should have been done a long time ago.”

You both stand there in tense silence. You want to scream and cry and hit him for everything that he’s put you through. But you also want to laugh and kiss his stupid, beautiful face. Words have failed you. You’ve spent so long dreaming that he would one day say these things and how you would respond but now that it’s happening… you can’t think of one single thing to say to him.

“I think I just need some time to think.” You finally say to him. Jake doesn’t look surprised by it either. 

“That’s- that’s fair.” 

“Once we get to Sacramento, after the show… come and find me. I’ll have an answer by then.”

Jake nods and turns to leave, looking a bit like a kicked puppy but you don’t allow yourself to reach out to him. Not yet. He can wait – just like you had to do. 

“And Jake?” He turns back around quickly, looking as if he’s trying not to look hopeful. “Thank you for telling me.”

His shoulders drop just a little but he nods and smiles. 

“Of course.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 28, 2023 - Sacramento, CA

Jake’s words play on repeat in your mind practically 24/7 in the days following his… his apology? Declaration ? You’re not entirely sure what to call it but by the night of the final show you’re pretty sure you have each word memorized. 

Jake had given you space – time, just like you asked him for. And of course, your mind has tried to rationalize what he’d said a million different ways as you try to take them as anything other than what they came across as – a proclamation of wanting a relationship with you. 

But surely that couldn’t be what he meant, right? He’d called that God-forsaken night in the bar bathroom a mistake from the moment it was over and he’d since been made more than aware of your feelings towards him thanks to your conversation with Lindsey that night back in Nashville. 

I want you. For more than just sex. Those words have been haunting you, always in the back of your mind as you try to move about through your days like a normal person. There’s no way he meant anything other than wanting a relationship, right? What else could that possibly mean? He’d looked so unsure, so unlike himself as he’d stuttered out If you still want me, that is. 

The words are still on replay in your mind as you move about your hotel room, anxiously packing and repacking everything that you own as you wait for Jake to come and find you after the show like you told him to. If he comes and finds you. The show ended hours ago and you know that there’s a big celebration going on – one that you’d been invited to but had chosen to stay home from. But it’s nearing 1AM… surely he’d prioritize coming to talk to you, right?

As if your thoughts have summoned him, there’s a knock on your hotel room door. This time, you don’t have to look through the peephole to know that Jake is waiting on the other side. 

“Come on in.” You tell him, widening the door. 

“Sunflower.” He breathes, eyes raking up your form for a moment before he steps into the room. “You answered.” He says it like he’s surprised.

“You came.” Is all you have to say in response and Jake nods. 

You’d had this conversation with him at least a million times in your head by now and you’d had a solid idea of what you were going to say. But now, as you look at him with his sweet, chocolate eyes filled with hesitance and just a little bit of hope… it all flies out the window. 

“Of course I still want you.” 

Jake’s face softens in a way you’ve never seen it before and he smiles – small but genuine. 

“You mean it?” 

You nod. It feels a little anticlimactic as the words settle between the two of you and neither of you seem to know what to say. You tell him as much, earning yourself a small laugh. 

“I don’t really know what to say now, either. But I do know that- that I would very much like to kiss you.”

It feels like the air in your lungs completely disappears as he says that. Unable to answer, you step forward and kiss him first. It’s soft– timid even. So unlike that first time in the bar all those months ago. He’s kissing you like he’s taking his time, memorizing how you taste and feel like he might never get to experience you again. 

He walks you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the bed and then his mouth trails down to your throat and butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“Let me do it right.” He murmurs into your skin, his hands exploring every inch of you. “Like I should have done from the start.”

It feels like your veins are full of liquid fire as his lips trail down your throat and to your collarbone. 

“Do whatever you want, Jake.” Is all your brain can come up with to say. 

He takes your clothes off slowly, as if savoring each inch of skin bit by bit as it's revealed to him. When at last you’re completely bare and his clothes join yours on the floor, he settles his weight fully between your legs and his palms spread out across your thighs, kneading the flesh and working his way up your sides, feeling every bit of you as if he’s trying to commit it to memory. 

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips as you arch your back in a slow stretch. Jake’s eyes track every movement, every flicker and twitch of muscle beneath the skin as if truly seeing you for the very first time… as if he can’t believe it. His gaze lingers at last on your breasts, moving in tandem with your heavy breaths. 

Then his gaze slides lower. Lower. And when at last it lingers at the apex of your thighs, and his eyes glaze over with lust, you say to him, 

“Are you just going to sit there and stare?” 

Jake’s lips part at the challenge, his breathing going shallow. Jake is tense above you, so tense you fear the muscles might snap. But his hands are gentle as they drift to your inner thighs, rough fingertips ghosting along the sensitive skin there. 

With a stuttered breath he murmurs, “You are… so beautiful.”

You thread your fingers through his hair and use the grip to tug him upwards, instantly slotting your lips against his as soon as he’s in reach. You trace your tongue along the seam of his lips, fingers working to unbutton his pants. He groans into the kiss, tongue fighting desperately with yours. And, just to see what he’ll do, you palm him through his pants. 

Jake cries out, mouth falling open, lips still just barely touching yours as he groans. 

“You’re so hard.” You marvel, pressing down a bit more, feeling the heat and solidness of him beneath the fabric. 

“All for you.” He manages to say, hips rocking forward to meet the feeling of your palm against him. “If you keep doing that this is gonna be over before we start.” 

You exhale a laugh, removing your hand.

“You know what I regret the most?” He asks, moving his way back down your body. “From the last time?” 

With a grin you answer, “Other than telling me it was a mistake afterwards?” He frowns a little in response to that, dark eyes staring up at you with a look in them that tells you that maybe it's a little too soon to joke about it. “Sorry.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, hands splaying back out on your thighs and squeezing lightly. “I’m sorry.” His eyes drop back down to your dripping center. “And I regret not tasting this gorgeous pussy. Just so you know.” 

The words set you on fire, starting at your toes and running all the way up to the top of your head. His grip on your thighs tighten and then his tongue is on you – flicking relentlessly. Your body arches into him helplessly as your mouth falls open with a loud moan. He grins into your heat at the sound and a moan of his own escapes him. 

“Jesus.” You whine, your knees falling open even more. 

“No. Just me.” 

And God damn that voice. You didn't think it was possible for a voice to affect you like that but you're pretty sure that if it was possible you would want it to fuck you too. Deep and husky and smoother than whiskey. 

This time, the vigor with which he attacks your aching pussy with his mouth should be illegal. He makes a show of it – shaking his head from side to side and growling deep in his chest. All you can do is lay there and feel it – body writhing beneath him as the heat in your belly begins to rise and rise. 

You gasp as a rough fingertip prods your entrance, gathering your slick before slipping inside and curling deliciously, all the while he never lets up with his mouth. 

“Come on,” he urges, his breath hot on your aching core, “wanna taste you. Let me taste you, princess.” 

As if your body was merely waiting for his permission, the wave of white hot pleasure inside you hits its crest and you call out – a noise somewhere between animal and human that you might have been embarrassed about had you been more aware of yourself. And Jake just laps it up as your release spills into his mouth. 

Jake doesn’t pull away from you until your orgasm is completely finished and you start to shiver in overstimulation. His lips – plump and swollen, are shiny with your release. Grinning, he moves up your body and kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips and allowing you to taste yourself on him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Those eyes of his drink you in as he pulls away and you feel as though you could get lost in them. 

“What do you want?”

It takes your brain a moment to realize that he’s talking and a moment more to decipher what he’s just asked. But once it does, another wave of heat courses through your body and pools between your legs. 

“I want you inside me.”

Jake groans in answer, as if your words alone give him the utmost pleasure. 

“Whatever you want, princess.” 

“Do you have-?”

Jake grins and nods his head, rising up from the bed. He steps over to the pile of his discarded clothes (giving you an incredible view of his exquisite ass) as he bends down to reach into a pocket of his pants. 

“Would you think I’m an asshole if I said I came prepared?” He asks, turning around to face you again and raising a brow, the foil packet held aloft between his index and middle finger.  

Your heart warms at the sight – Jake, confident and relaxed around you as he once was.

“Nah.” He steps back towards the bed, stopping there without climbing back in. “Just appreciative.” You tell him, but still he makes no move to get back in the bed, his eyes scanning over your naked form in a way that feels more like he’s looking through you. You almost want to cover yourself beneath his intense gaze. “What are you doing?” 

“Just admiring the view.” He gives you a wolfish smirk and then climbs back into the bed, sitting himself on his knees between your thighs. 

As he rips open the foil with his teeth, you take a moment to admire his cock – hard and red and just as beautiful as the rest of him, where it stands proudly against his stomach. He rolls the latex onto himself, biting his lip and groaning a little bit as he pumps himself a few times. 

“You’re beautiful too, you know.” You murmur, glancing up at him. A pretty blush spreads across his face and down his chest and it makes you giggle. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. Jake Kiszka – rock god who plays on stage in front of thousands, is shy. “There’s no way that made you blush.”

Jake laughs and murmurs a playful “Hush” and then he’s sliding into you, silencing whatever retort you might have had. He plants his hands on either side of your body, face contorting in agonized pleasure.

The stretch of him is overwhelming and you grip his forearms, arching up into him. 

“Hold on a sec.” You whisper and he does so without question, peeking down at you to make sure you’re okay. “Been a while.” You tell him with a blush of your own. 

“That’s okay.” He answers, kissing you once – brief but sweet. “Just tell me when, princess.” 

After a moment, you loosen your grip on his forearms and nod. He pushes into you fully, making both of you moan. He rocks his hips, still being gentle. His shoulders shake with the effort of holding himself back and that alone makes another rush of wetness rush down to your pussy. 

“You feel like Heaven wrapped around me.” His words are rough, muffled by his clenched teeth. 

“You can go harder, baby.”

Jake moans at that, upping his pace a little. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more to be with him like this – to have him panting and whining above you with each thrust of his hips. 

He grips your hips in his rough hands, pulling you upwards. 

“Legs around me, princess.” The words sound more like a plea and you’re quick to obey, your legs clamping down around his hips as he starts to move again. 

“Oh, fuck!” At this angle, the velvety head of his cock brushes the spot inside of you that drives you wild and sends your muscles taut as a drum. 

His pace is slow but his thrusts are powerful, driving into you in a way that makes you see stars.

“Shit.” His head drops down, his skin glistening with sweat in the warm light of the lamp. “I’m not gonna last like this, Sunflower.” 

“I’m not either, Jake.” You manage to answer, your own words sounding far away. 

“Been a while?” He jokes, referencing back to your words earlier. 

 “Partly.” You clench around him mercilessly, drawing a loud groan from him that makes you giggle at the power you have over him. “Mostly because it’s you.”

Jake’s body shudders and his cock throbs inside of you. He’s dangerously close but he’s desperate to get you there first. Your eyes roll back into your head when his thumb finds your swollen clit, rubbing in harsh circles in time to each thrust. Unable to hold on any longer, your orgasm crashes into you, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your muscles twitching and contorting as he keeps fucking you through it. Not a moment later Jake cums with a rough cry, burying his face in your neck as you both ride out your pleasure together. 

“Please stay.” You ask him and he nods against you. 

“As long as you want me to.”

// 

The sun shining through the blinds is what wakes you up. You reach out beside you, expecting to feel the warmth of Jake’s body heat next to you but you’re met with an empty bed. Did he leave? Brows furrowing, you sit up and look around and your worries are instantly silenced at the sight of Jake – in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom and running your comb through his hair. You rise from the bed and Jake looks over at you and smiles.

His skin is still flushed from the hot water of the shower and you have to fight to stop staring at the way his biceps flex as he brushes his hair and at the bead of water that trails down the middle of his stomach and disappears into the towel.

“Morning.” His morning voice is like whiskey and you blush just a little.

“Good morning.” As you reach the bathroom your eyes are drawn to a bottle of styling mousse that Jake must have gotten from your suitcase. He sees you looking at it and smiles shyly. 

“I was going to ask you to help me style it.” He tells you with a tiny smile and your heart melts. 

“Of course.” You step over to the counter and grab the bottle and just like you did last time, you spread the mousse onto your palms and then run it through his damp hair and then twirl it in sections. As you work – maybe taking a little bit more time than is really necessary, Jake starts to hum a tune under his breath. You’ve heard him whistle or hum it before. “What’s that song?” 

“Not sure yet.” Jake shakes his head a little, careful to not mess up his hair as you work on it. “I’ve had the tune in my head for a while. Just haven’t been able to think up any lyrics that fit.”

When you’re finished, his hair falls in loose waves that frame his face. Jake leans down and places a sweet kiss on your lips. 

“I could get used to this.” He murmurs, the words spoken against your lips as if he's unwilling to draw away for even a second.

“Me doing your hair?” 

He shakes his head.

“Waking up with you.” You blush at his words, feeling like you might melt on the spot. “Is- is there any way you could still keep your job with us?” He asks hesitantly and shit you’d forgotten all about the fact that you’d put in your notice. 

“I’m sure I could call and get things straightened out. There’s a chance they haven’t found anyone else yet.” You pray that you can stay. You'll beg on your hands and knees if you have to.

“Good.” Jake squeezes your arm once and then exits the bathroom, walking over to where his clothes from the night before still lay on the floor. 

You watch him go, your heart feeling suddenly so full that it might burst. You and him still have many things to talk about – conversations that have to happen at some point. But right now? Nothing has ever felt easier than going about your morning routine with him. Jake turns to look over his shoulder at you, tilting his head. 

“What?”

You just shake your head and laugh a little at yourself. 

“Nothing. It’s just-” it sounds stupid to say out loud but you say it anyway. “Just feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

His smile is like looking at the sun – bright and radiant. He abandons his clothes once again to come stand in front of you. He reaches out, his hands finding yours and interlocking your fingers together. 

“You’re everything I’ve been looking for, Sunflower,” he tells you softly, “and I think I just got the perfect idea for some lyrics.” 

//

Fin

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

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Tags: @jakeyt @demolitionndann @brujamagik @mybussyinchrist @writingcold @sinsofstardust @jjwasneverhere @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @wildbluesorbit @twistedmelodies @neverwanttofallasleep @sunandthemoontwinflames @clairesjointshurt @mindastreamofcolours @hellowgoodbye @gretasfallingsky @weightofkiszka @gvfmelbourne @smoking-jakelane @joshskittytickler @itsafullmoon @mackalah @sinarainbows @dannys-dream @lipstickitty @thewritingbeforesunrise @isabelgvf @sparrowofrhiannon @jakesguitarsolo @peaceloveunitygvf @kashmirclam @stardust-chordsss @gold-mines-melting @kenobicoffee @spark-my-nature @love-isnt-greed @jakeygvf21 @jaketlove @starcatcherjake @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vera-vestia @gvfpal @myleftsock @thetroublegetssoloud71 @anthemheatwave @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigs @dannywagnerschoppedhair @its-interesting-van-kleep

[spicyclover]

Ultimatum | Part three

Summary: You give Charles an ultimatum. His apartment or you.  

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

You decided to leave Monaco. You can’t take all the pressure your friends put on you to talk to Charles. You don’t want to see him, talk or even think of him. That’s why you left. Your maternal grandmother has a house in the South West of France. Away from all the hustle and bustle of Monaco and away from him. You never talk about the existence of this house to anyone, so you hope to find calm and serenity there.

You rushed out during the night with two large suitcases, several travel bags and all the necessary documents for your extended stay there. You drove all night, and it was only at sunrise that you reached the house. It’s a small country house on the border with Spain. The smell of the Atlantic Ocean has always done you good, and returning to the holiday home of your childhood allows memories to resurface.

Charles came back from Paris. He tried to get in touch with you, but you blocked all communication with him. In fact, you blocked his entire family and any relative who could give him any kind of information. After the video, you didn’t know what to think or say. But you promise yourself that you won't fall for his stupid game again. 

You spend the night after you see the video arguing with him.

“What did I do to you? What did I do to you?” You yell at him on the phone. 

“Nothing.” He says, defeated. 

“D’accord, donc t’es une merde!” You assert by cutting communication. Okay, so you’re a piece of shit.

Your seven-month-old tummy keeps you from fixing the house as you wish, but you make a mental note to get there. You don’t want to contact anyone because you don’t want to tell Charles. You blame yourself for cutting him out of your life this way, but he hurt you, and you don’t want your baby to be born in this atmosphere.

You want a loving and welcoming home for that little being you’ve been keeping warm all this time.

“You’re going to be so loved, baby, even if dad an asshole. I am going to make sure you have the best life.” 

He found out you were leaving only hours after you left. The janitor brought him into the building after hearing him bellowing for about 20 minutes for you to open up.

He is the one who informed Charles of your departure. You told him nothing, only that you would not return. Charles looks at him in disbelief, asking the see the apartment. He rushes inside only to find it empty of you. All your clothes, electronics, vinyl, and books are gone.

He went around several times, hoping it was a dream, a bad dream. Yet, you’re off to a good start. You made sure to leave Charles' things behind. All your photos, his clothes, jewelry, perfume, everything. 

He discovered the room you had prepared for your daughter. A beautiful room with a warm tone, neither feminine nor masculine. A perfect blend of colour and texture.

There is still the onesie you had prepared in the cradle with a small cap, tiny socks, and some comforters surrounding the bed. Tears rise in his eyes, and he bursts into tears taking the clothes in his hands.

“J’ai merdé. J’ai tellement merdé.” he cries out. I fucked up. I fucked up hard. 

Charles knows you found out about the video. It wasn’t hard to know because when he went out of the bathroom with that girl, one of your best friends was waiting for him. She’s staring at him like hell, threatening to make him miserable for making you suffer, and she yells at him to never talk to her again.

He came to your apartment that night. Looking completely distraught and determined. He knocked on your door several times before you came to open it, pissed.

"I warn you if you slam the door on me. I sleep on the doormat."

“Goodnight, then.”You slam the door violently without saying anything more.

And you left him there all night. He looked miserable the next day when Max came to dislodge him at your request. You didn’t call the police to avoid a scandal, but you didn’t want to deport him yourself.

You cried on the phone to Max so he could come and help you, knowing full well that Max would not let himself be stepped on by your boyfriend. And he pulled him out hard, forced him down the stairs and took it home. Large black pockets were present under Charles' eyes.

Christmas arrives, and Charles still has no news of you; where you are, how you are, how the baby is, nothing. Your friends don't have anything information either. Everyone is worried, and Charles is about to explode. Not knowing kills him more and more each day. And his family fills him with more and more crazy ideas.

For your part, you got your last ultrasound a few days before Christmas with a new doctor and your mom as your partner. You contacted your old doctor two weeks after you arrived. You had heartburn and pain in your lower abdomen, so he asked you what you did, and you explained briefly what happened. He advised you to rest for the rest of the pregnancy without going into too much detail. At least until the baby’s born in February.

For the holiday season, your parents came with your brother to give you a little help. To fix the house and prepare a new room for the baby. It feels good to have them near you. You missed your parents terribly.

You and your mom have been talking a lot about Charles' case, and you’re feeling more and more guilty about leaving, but ever since you got here. You feel more comfortable and less stressed. You have no desire to return to Monaco.

She, however, advised you to contact him. Tell him that you are well and that the baby is too because, after all, he is the father. You were frustrated with her words, but you knew deep down that she was right.

You didn’t find the courage to unblock his contact, but you still sent a message to his assistant, telling her that you were fine and the baby was fine too. You didn’t add anything more. Only you don’t want to see him anymore and need to think.

A little embarrassed you couldn’t talk to him, but you wanted to hurt him like he hurt you.

It was only on the morning of Christmas Eve, the 24th, that you received a notification from your lawyer.

To be continued... 

[humanpurposes]

Just for a moment, part iii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe— just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

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[chaifootsteps]

so someone made a tweet about how it's dangerous to portray abusers as 100% evil because they're frequently charming and have lives outside of the abuse they do, etc

and the thing is - they're right about that, but it's a massive stretch to apply it to Valentino

put it this way - if we want to understand abuse and avoid doing it ourselves, we collectively need to avoid othering abusers as incomprehensible monsters who cannot be understood, because then we can't learn how to recognize the signs and help the people who need it, or stamp out those urges within ourselves

but there's a difference betweent that and what Viv is doing with Val. the way Viv writes Val makes me think that she struggles to really want to condemn him for how he treats Angel. to her it's just a dramatic element to a story with the benefit of getting flowers for 'talking about abuse' when her handling of it is frequently cartoonish. most abusers don't hit their victims or abuse them in front of other people, but Val gives Angel a black eye right in front of the princess of hell, before they're due to do a shoot. both Val and Stella are incredibly stupid characters, and just like Crimson Viv's only understanding of abuse seems to be 'whatever makes my characters miserable and therefore sympathetic', instead of what it should be - a means of establishing a pattern of control

same reason why none of her shows allow the characters to escape or even try to kill their abuser despite it being set in Hell. the abusers just have to stick around forever for angst reasons. the only character who has managed to even attempt it is Stolas, and despite him having all the power, money and resources he could hope the show won't allow him to cut Stella out of his life because the divorce plotline is like a never ending nightmare in HB. a better show might use it as a comment on how abusers effectively terrorize their victims in lifelong campaigns for the upper hand, but here it's just an excuse to get the audience to feel sorry for a literal prince instead of questioning why he doesn't think it's wrong to extort sex out of someone far less wealthy and powerful than him

not to mention that part of the reason abusers are charming is to make it harder for their victims to come forwards and be believed. Val by comparison is just a pathetic wet cat who needs coddling by Vox and talking out of impulses that should have exposed him as an abuser long ago. in anyone else's hands I'd assume they were trying to do the thing The Idol attempted (the Weeknd's car wreck of a tv show) of pointing out the charming abuser isn't charming, they're just pathetic, but Viv herself seems to genuinely like Val and want people to simp for him

did Viv even write Angel's prequel comic? the Valentino in that is so much more convincing as an abuser - he restrains Angel's freedoms by threatening him, punishes him, demeans him, tries to keep him in a strict little box about what he is and isn't allowed to do, etc. and he does it in the privacy of a limo, around other employees, not where there'll be witnesses

Well said. I'd argue that it's fine to portray some abusers as 100% evil -- sometimes it works, and the world's no worse off for the abusive dog boyfriend from Courage existing -- but Viv does this thing where she refuses to portray abusers as 100% evil, or even evil period, if they're male characters she likes. Female characters like Stella? Need to be killed, then killed some more, and if you sympathize with them at all Viv will make fun of you publicly. It's so much more dangerous than if she just made them all outright monsters.

Also I don't know if Faustisse wrote the Angel prequel comic, but it wouldn't surprise me. The writing was too mature to be all Viv.

[antebunny]

i am going to outlive him. do you understand that? i will outlive this wannabe dictator with soup for brains by so many decades and i will outlive a significant percentage of his supporters too. i will survive his second presidency. however many people he kills, i probably won’t be one of them. however much he destroys american democracy, i’ll be there on the other side far longer than that decrepit, grave-dancing miserable orange flesh bag of a human being. to all the people out there saying “please live” that was never in question. that is a threat and a promise and a realization said with slowly-dawning horror.

i do not believe there exists a Heaven or Hell. i believe that when you die, that is the end, and all the consequences we can experience for how we lived our lives must be carried out right here on Earth. yet i will be the one suffering the fallout of his actions while he will leave it all behind within the decade. a supreme court in an ultra conservative chokehold that has already overturned roe v wade and will come for obergefell v hodges next. the brain worm guy in charge of public health. people who despise education in charge of keeping us ignorant. an infatuation with authoritarianism that’ll turn us against all our real allies and gaza into a smoking crater. total immunity for the guy who wants revenge on half the country. and AMERICA VOTED FOR IT.

if anything i’ve been radicalized further left precisely because i know i will still be here for decades, maybe even a century to come. i will have to deal with all the damage they have wrought on my future. i will have to deal with them as fellow citizens. but i already know that i will not, in all my life, forgive the americans who voted for him in 2024. that is tens of millions of americans, over half the country. that was their choice and yet i am led to believe that they must all be either evil, stupid or crazy. one of those three things must be true for them to have voted the way they did. misinformation? please. we’re all dealing with misinfo and have been for years. am i supposed to treat you like a victim because when it really mattered you couldn’t figure it out? no. i will not forgive, i will not forget. i don’t want to hear any more “i voted for him but then i saw the light.” how can you even look me in the eye when you voted for the guy who wants me and my friends dead? i think america is sick at heart. that is my radical takeaway. there is something truly broken about this country if he only wins the popular vote after everything that has happened since 2015.

like i said. i do not believe in an afterlife. but i hope for their sakes that his God is real. may their God forgive them before sending them to Hell because I never will.

[ok555ficideas]

polished up bit of the next chapter of "Soldier, Poet, King"

Kevin and Wymack were driving in the car in complete silence. The last time Kevin was this nervous, he was on his way to visit an injured Jean at Abby’s back in spring. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure that it would beat right out of his chest. His hands were sweating and no amount of wiping them on his jeans was helping the matter.

“You okay?” The voice next to him broke the silence. 

“What-, “ he didn’t fully register the words coming his way at first, they came to him after a second or two. “Oh, yeah, I’m just worried about her.” 

That was an understatement, but he didn’t want to be a burden right now. Wymack has already done so much for him, it would be unfair to ask for more. 

“Didn’t know you two were close.” 

Kevin didn’t like the sound of Wymack’s tone. He heard that one before. He heard it repeatedly when the man was referring to a particular pair of Kevin’s teammates. 

“You know how Andrew and Neil are. Every time they even look at each other, I feel like I’m interrupting.” He didn’t want to sound bitter, but he knew his voice was full of it. 

He still hung out with them. Andrew was still keeping an eye on him and Neil practiced with him at night and they talked about Exy for hours, but he still felt left out. 

 “I’m still not used to being alone so, I had to find someone else to bother with my existence.” He continued full of self-pity. 

He knew he was difficult to hang out with. No one ever wanted to listen to his rants about Exy, except for Neil and even the redhead got easily annoyed by him at times. He tried to talk about his other interests, but despite his best attempt he always sounded like a know-it-all. He didn’t want to make other people feel inferior, but he always had trouble modulating his tone. 

“I’m glad you have friends aside from Andrew.” 

Kevin scoffed at Wymack’s words. He shook his head and quietly chuckled to himself before speaking. “Me and Andrew are not friends.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Andrew doesn’t have friends.” Kevin tried to not sound disappointed, but failed miserably. 

“He also claims that what he has with Neil is nothing.” Wymack pointed out and the gears in Kevin’s head started to turn. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Regardless of that,” the coach continued,  “I’m glad you have Aaron and Katelyn, and you know, if you ever need to, you have me too.” The last part was uncharacteristically quiet. 

Deep down Kevin knew it was true, but he still couldn’t bring himself to open up to Wymack as much as he wanted to. But that was on him, not on the other man so, he felt the need to reassure him that he was doing a good job at showing it. 

“I know, thanks da-” Kevin had it at the tip of his tongue, but swallowed the rest of the word and tried to awkwardly navigate it into another, “vid,” He cleared his throat and purposely avoided looking at the other.

There was an awkward silence, and Kevin wanted to slam his head against the car window. Of course, he had to ruin such a good moment between them. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he always have to be so awkward? 

“Sorry.” His voice was barely audible, but Wymack heard him. 

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, take your time.” The reassurance in the coach's voice made him feel even more guilty about the situation. 

“You are, you know” he stumbled through his words in a rush to make Wymack understand that this was not on him, “I mean obviously you are. I told you that already, but I see you like that too. It's just hard to say.” He paused for a second and wondered if he really wanted to reveal what was going through his head. “I saw him like that once, too,” he hated how small his voice sounded, “but I wasn’t allowed to call him anything, but master. It’s been a long time since I even wanted to, but I guess it still sits with me.” 

Kevin knew that this wasn’t the only reason. The master was only part of it, a part that he very much wanted to get rid off. He wanted to never think of that man ever again. He hated how much power he still held over him, how scared Kevin still was. Even in his head he still couldn't bring himself to call him anything, but master.

Thank you @gravitysthrall for inspiring the last bit.

[obsessedwithlute]

No Use Trying To Fight It

Happy birthday @niafromheaven!!

Emily x Adam X Lute (AngelicGuitarSword), angst, no happy ending.'

TW/CW alcohol, heavily implied depression, queerphobia, implied/referenced abuse, swearing

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

ADAM | “I Miss You, I’m Sorry” - Gracie Abrams

Adam stared blankly at Charlie, who was going on a rant about happiness and marshmallows and shit to Alastor across the room. He resisted the urge to laugh at her stupidity. As if true happiness even existed. Charlie’s idea of the word was really just bliss. Two completely different things.

Ever since his death, Adam had done a good job faking to Charlie how grateful he was for the second chance she had granted him, and how determined he was to make a change in his afterlife.

When really, all he wanted to do was become good enough that maybe he would prove himself wrong and go back to heaven.

Wanting to prove himself wrong was never something he had thought would happen. Fuck it. It was too hard to be sober this week. Adam got up, left the room, and trudged over to Husk’s bar. The flying cat wasn’t there, so he just poured himself a huge glass of beer, downing it all in one gulp. Adam looked around to decide what type of alcohol he’d consume next.

You know, drinking that much will only make you sadder, Emily’s voice echoed in his head.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You’re not here.”

He hadn’t heard of anything concerning Emily for the last few months. Adam could only hope that Sera wasn’t lying to her and locking her up and “protecting” her again.

She probably was. Sera wouldn’t change.

Adam uncorked a bottle of cheap booze and took a few long gulps straight from the bottle. It burned his throat, but distracted him enough that it was worth it.

Emily still wasn’t getting herself out of his mind. Was Sera hurting her? Threatening her? Forcing her to do her bidding? Adam started to breathe heavier. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through his veins. He collapsed to the ground, unable to support himself.

Lute’s voice appeared in his head. The high and mighty leader of the Exorcists, in a heap on the floor of Lucifer’s brat’s hotel. Toughen up, Adam.

“I can’t,” he gasped.

Emily again, You failed me. You lied, just as much as Sera did. And then you couldn’t even save yourself in the battle.

“I’m sorry.”

It was his fault, it was all his fault. He deserved this pain and fear and hurt. And worse, he’d been too much of a fucking coward to even tell them how he felt before he died.

EMILY | “Rumors” - Ava Max

Emily stood crooked over a thick novel, combing through every page, searching for some hidden meaning in the words. The only thing she could decipher from it was that the title, Les Miserables, perfectly described the mood in Heaven these last few months, what with the constant rumors. About a lot of things- the exterminations, Sera’s authority, the fabric of Heaven itself- but especially about Adam.

He was gone for good, true death.

He was in Heaven but waiting, biding his time.

He was in Hell and an overlord.

She didn’t want to believe any of them, although something had to have happened. You can’t rewind time and go back to when you didn’t know your sister was a liar, when your crush wasn’t maybe dead, when your other crush wasn’t a walking shell of a being.

At least she wasn’t ashamed to admit her emotions, unlike most people she’d spent her life speaking to.

Everyone had always thought of Emily as the innocent one, the sweet one. Sera’s naive little sister. And she had to keep up that persona now, as always. Feelings had never mattered to Sera, and they certainly weren’t about to start mattering to her now- especially when those feelings involved the wish to be in a relationship that, if Emily were to bring up with Sera, the seraphim would perceive as unfaithfulness, what with her conservative mindset.

And as much as Sera was a liar and a turd, Sera was all Emily had. And she couldn’t give that up for a relationship that would never happen.

Emily read a few more words and slammed the thousand-page tome down on her desk.

Air, that was what she needed. Fresh air, maybe some of those chocolate-dipped strawberries they had down in the lobby. Emily could take care of herself. She stepped out onto the balconies and took a few breaths.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

She went on like that for a few minutes until she was a bit calmer. Alright, Em, see? It’s not so bad after all. Now keep your mouth shut, attend Sera’s meetings, don’t under any circumstances even look at Lute…

You can do this.

You’ve always done this.

You’re stronger than they think.

LUTE | “champagne problems” - Taylor Swift

Lute had always dealt with her negative emotions in one way and one way only: Violence.

Punching a wall, sword fighting another Exorcist, killing a few sinners- anything, really, as long as it involved violence or weapons of some sort.

But that’s because her negative emotions had always fallen into one of three categories: Anger, cockiness, disappointment.

Never anything close to “sad”.

But she fucking sucked at describing how she felt, and “sad” was really the only word she could come up with to explain this… this weird feeling, almost like her soul was being ripped out of her body, like she couldn’t control her limbs enough to get up and stab something. Or someone. Stabbing someone sounded really satisfying.

What was that thing Vaggie had always said to her? Oh, right. You need to find ways to cope with your emotions other than extreme violence and cruelty.

Kind of ironic, considering what had ended up happening to Vaggie.

What Lute had done to Vaggie.

Lute rolled her eyes. Everyone made mistakes, right? But your mistakes end up either killing or permanently injuring people… That’s normal. That’s very normal. That’s kind of what you were created to do. It’s fine.

Ugh, there were people outside of her door, and they were talking very loudly, and maybe she should stab them to make them shut the fuck up. But, wait. Would stabbing them be considered sanctioned, or would she have to sit through one of Sera’s lectures about self-control again?

And if she had to sit through one of Sera’s lectures about self-control again, would she at least get to see Emily as a result? And why the fuck did she want to Emily? Get a grip on yourself, you are the lieutenant- now commander- of the Exorcists. You represent Heaven. You are too strong to-

The people outside her room weren’t done talking.

Two of her Exorcists, neither of them liked her that much.

“...heard she wanted to fuck Adam,” one of them said.

Were they talking about her? “Please, we both know she’s one of those gay freaks. Probably had her eye on Sera or something,” the other responded,

Shit, they were definitely talking about her.

They didn’t think she was in her room. At this time of day, she was always training. They were just having fun gossiping about her in front of her own door.

“Damn asshole. She deserves to end up in hell, just like Adam.”

“Hah! She’d be happy, wouldn’t she? Get to be around those fuckups just like her.” Fuckup.

They were right.

Wait- what about Adam?

“Can’t believe Sera never told her. Guess she wouldn’t want her or our little bitch of a princess to go running off looking for them.”

Emily.

Sera had lied.

Again.

Lute heard some more laughter, and then the Exorcists walked off.

Emily.

Lute needed to tell her- but she couldn’t. Emily didn’t want to talk to her. Emily hadn’t even looked at her since the battle.

There was nothing she could do.

<Hope you have a much better birthday than these guys, Nia! <3>

[bondagebimbo]

Stop vague panhandling for money, pleading the starvation card and how you're practically wasting away. You seem to have the time and energy to go on Twitch and also to go out and get fucked HARD, never mind being horny on main and posting pussy pictures on your sideblog. The flea sob story wasn't a great success so now you're trying the sympathy card. For a sex worker you're not really a very successful one in terms of earning a profitable living when you're forced to ebeg every other week because you're broke as shit. You're a stunning girl with a great body and unique style so it's probably because the sex industry is over saturated. You should look for something that earns better instead of coming on here begging like a homeless person

bruh I got all the stuff to treat my flea infestation so like, do I need to take pictures of all the fucking products I bought to prove that wasn’t a scam since you’re so hell-bent on this libel bullshit and trying to defame me when you don’t know shit

because if I have to, I will 💀 it’ll just make you look even more fucking stupid in the process

and I wasn’t even begging for anything ??? I was just saying don’t expect much out of me because I’ve had to deal with a lot of shit and, on top of all that, I not only have a FUCKING EATING DISORDER, but I am also on several meds that suppress my fucking appetite even more so I don’t eat for days or over a week at a fucking time until it blindsides me that I haven’t had anything in my body both food/drink wise until I can’t fucking move without nearly collapsing ???

but ok go off and act like you know me as if I didn’t just pay my rent early for the next month, finished buying all the flea products I needed, bought more general cat supplies so I don’t run out anytime soon, bought much needed necessities for MYSELF that I’ve needed since I’ve been constantly neglecting myself, paid all my bills, and also bought — y’know, what? no. I’m not doing this. I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else unless they’re helping me and want proof of what the money is being spent on.

everyone on here knows I’m on a SW hiatus because of the status of my life at the moment and how I’m in a transitional period and you just want to be a cunt for no reason. but clearly YOU haven’t been on my prior blogs to know exactly just what kind of fucking shit I’ve had to deal with for over the last year and then ESPECIALLY over this summer which is why I just occasionally post PPV shit for the time being. but yeah, keep acting like you know me when you just proved you know jack fucking SHIT.

I’m done defending myself to some fuckhead ass cunt anon that only hops into my inbox when they think that have a chance at tearing me down and yet, despite many attempts, has failed. every. single. time.

you’ve both bored me and made me feel sorry for your pitiful, hateful, jaded ass. that’s impressive. being bored and indifferent towards someone’s mere existence while also pitying them because of how outwardly hateful they are. that’s a new one. I can understand why you have to hide behind the pathetic anonymity option on here, because if everyone knew who you actually were, you’d be run off this platform in the blink of an eye.

so, disrespectfully and in the most nasty and vindictive way I can say this, I hope you rot alone for the rest of your miserable fucking life because with your behavior and how you treat people on here behind anon, I can’t imagine ANYONE wanting to saddle themselves with your bitch ass for the rest of their life if they’re seeking ANY form of happiness whatsoever.

anyways, I’ll see y’all on twitch in a bit (just a chat and get stoned stream, I don’t feel like gaming tonight) just to piss this cunt off even more because I was able to order food since a couple kind souls surprise cashapped me a bit so I can get something for tonight and be able to get things for at least the next couple days to last til I get my next OF payouts lol. (thank y’all to those of you again, btw, you know who you are and I really appreciate you 🥺🥺🥺)

so, you, my dear fuckwit anon, can suck my fucking dick since you’re a little annoying ass pussy fucking bitch that won’t come out from behind those shades to say any of this shit with your chest. how embarrassing.

[coldshrugs]

wip wednesday

i was tagged by @hythlodaes and @myreia, thank you frens :> and i'll tag (no pressure) @scionshtola @lavampira @gefiltefished @hylfystt @impossible-rat-babies aaaand @magebastard because 👀 i'm working through the modern au's thanksgiving episode and this part is obliterating me (sorry if you've already read this 🧍‍♂️)

How long has she been staring at the ceiling? Fifteen minutes? Four hours?

Io doesn’t want to look at the time—it’s hard to tell here anyway, without the familiar sounds of her campus or the city moving around her; there’s only the rustling of an animal or two outside as they prepare for winter, the occasional snap of a branch. Moonlight falls through the blinds, landing across the bed in thin silver arcs, and not even those hint at a turning sky. For all she knows, time has stopped, the world and all its ceaseless motion has paused, and she can live in this Wednesday forever. The evening can stretch on indefinitely, never reaching midnight.

Tomorrow doesn’t have to exist.

She’s had enough Thanksgivings for a lifetime anyway.

Maybe she was wrong to travel so far away from her home. Away from them. But what does it matter when both things are out of her reach, regardless of the geography?

All she has left are memories of ghosts, in a house that belongs to someone else now. She hopes the family living there will make the same kinds of memories. It feels like a stupid wish to make while she’s feeling sorry for herself, and a laugh that barely sounds like hers breaks the silence. That’s when she realizes she’s crying, and the laughter is mutilated by a choked sob as she curls in on herself.

The doorknob turns clumsily. Shit, shit, shit… She wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeves.

The hinges whine and Estinien, little more than a dark shape, steps into the room. His voice is thick from sleep as he asks, “Io? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s a hurried whisper. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

The weight of his stare settles on her in the dark. As the seconds pass, it becomes clear that this is a standoff: her avoidance versus his stubbornness.

She sighs, unsure if she wants him to stay or go, but needing something to change.

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, and every word fractures on the way out as her voice refuses to remain even. So fucking embarrassing.

“Hey, come here.” But he is the one who moves. The single bed shifts as he climbs in, sliding an arm under her shoulders and pulling her to him. Without thinking, Io clings to him. The tears come faster, her shoulders shake, but she is quieter now.

After some time, Estinien asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe in a minute.”

“I’ll be here.” Soft as it is, his voice does not waver. Io has never believed anything more than she believes this simple promise.

“Will you talk to me?” she sniffles against his shoulder. “I'm sorry. Not your favorite activity, I know.”

“Yeah, I can talk to you,” he says. They shuffle a little, getting more comfortable in the bed that’s too small for the both of them. It’s a tight squeeze, but the warmth and pressure of being tucked against Estinien’s side is grounding. He strokes her hair. When he speaks, his whisper is slow and soothing, and if this is how Wednesday ends and Thursday begins, maybe she can tolerate it. 

“I was thirteen during my first Thanksgiving with Alberic... It was a fucking mess. He went all out for it; bought a huge turkey, things to make all the sides, and he wanted to make pumpkin pie too. It was more food than we could eat, and he was determined to make everything from scratch—the ultimate pity meal, right? He asked if I wanted to help, but I couldn’t see that he was trying to keep me busy. I was miserable, so I just stayed in here, crying all day. Wondering why I had to be here, in this house that wasn’t mine, with a man I didn’t know and didn’t want to know, instead of being… wherever they were…” He trails off. That thought needs no explanation; it’s where Io was last year, trying so hard not to let it show as she grasped for some degree of normalcy.

“Yeah,” she admits. His fingers find her scalp, scratching gently.

“Alberic spent so much time outside my room that day, just sitting on the other side of the door, that everything was burnt by the time he convinced me to come out. When I did, I could see he’d been crying too. I felt so shitty for putting him through it that I sat down at the table full of ruined food—which he fully arranged, by the way, the sentimental fuck—and I just started eating. It was awful, but Alberic ate too. It was just us, trying not to cry over all this charred food. And when we finished, he brought out this perfect pie—the only thing he managed to get right—and it was the best pie I’ve ever had. I don’t know. I think about that a lot, you know? When everything feels shitty, I try to find the one good thing at the end of it. It’s always there, if you wait for it.”

Io steels herself with a long inhale. “I miss them, so much.”

“I know,” Estinien says. “Me too. That’s just how it’ll be for us.”

She doesn’t mistake his straightforward words for nonchalance. This is the whole of it, the reason he invited her. This is him linking his pain to hers, telling her it will still be there in ten years, reminding her that either of them carrying it alone is not an option. He will lift on one side if she lifts the other, and together they will move forward. Her grief will be as stubbornly reliable as the man at her side. She wants to believe the context of both will change with time. His grief seems to have changed, so maybe there’s hope for hers.

“I’m glad I’m here with you, though. And Alberic. Even if this trip was an elaborate setup to keep me busy.”

Estinien laughs quietly but doesn’t deny it. They settle into the silence, their bodies relaxing a little. Io’s breathing has steadied in his arms. Lines of light spill over part of his face, highlighting the slope of his nose, and accentuating the length of his lashes against his cheek while his eyes are closed. They’ve never been this close. If she turned her head, she could almost—

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Okay, who have you been texting all week? Just tell me.” She hopes that sounds less annoyed than she is.

More silence. His hand stills in her hair. From behind his lashes, his eye slides over to her and then to the ceiling. “...just a guy. Vic. In one of my classes.”

Well.

Fuck.

A different weight sits on her chest now, but she can recover from this one. “He’s making you laugh. I like him already.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He uses the hand that’s not occupied with touching her to cover his face. Io lifts herself on her elbow a bit to tease him, but also to allow him to move, if he wants to. He doesn’t budge.

“Do you think he calls his nudes ‘Vic pics’ instead of—?”

“Io—” But Estinien laughs anyway, too loudly and sincerely for her to feel anything besides bittersweet happiness for him. It’s not time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, giggling too. “But hey, if you send any, remember to crop out your face.”

“I hate this,” he groans, slinging his forearm across his face. But in an isolated streak of moonlight, she can see the corner of his lips still turned up.

“But not me?”

“Never you.”

“You neither.”

Time moves again, and she measures it by the changing pattern of light falling across his face. His eyes close again, and his breathing slows to a peaceful rhythm. Estinien falls asleep with his arm still wrapped around her shoulder. Io also closes her eyes, and doesn't wonder which side of midnight this moment belongs to.

[ria-writes-stories]

So close yet not there

Ship: Vuzi

Genre: Glass

Description: Part two of the first Vuzi fic on this channel. Going brrrrrrrr, everyone go and thank @bladeubae for this fanfic, for one of their wips inspired me to write this fiction(make sure to give them and their work some love)

Observaton note: obviously Uzi doesn't know the earth is literally non-existent at this point

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

(No one's pov)

Life, was such a strange and annoying thing. It brought you the greatest moments of joy in your most miserable state, and brought you the greatest of distress when you were finally having a peaceful period of time, but of course, it couldn't last. Nothing lasts. Everything shapes and changes. Everything takes a turn, everything has a different perpective depending on who sees it. Nothing can be destoryed and nothing can be created from thin air either, the energy all around us simply takes another shape, stuck in this infinite loop of nothingness yet everything.

Ever since that night, nothing was the same anymore. Uzi's thoughts were more troubled, she didn't know where to turn, and in a moment of weakness she crawled back to what she thought was best for her, for the simple fact that the one that truly saw her for who she was, in an act of mercy and desperation, tried to put her out of it all in the heat of the moment when she thought that the drone was no longer herself but someone else, a haunting presence from the past, a presence she refused to loose anyone else to it, even if it meant she would have to be to put them out of the misery that they were in.

V was truly terrified, and of herself out of all things. She didn't think of a hopeful solution, she didn't think Uzi could snap out of her murder rampage, she didn't think Uzi would wake up from her state, so she tried to save her, but truly, who was she trying to save? Uzi? Or herself? The moment when Uzi asked for N, V was convienced that Uzi most have truly lost herself in an unbearable insanity of agony and torture, for how else could she ask for the one that broke her heart the most when she was right there, ready to break her own soul to bits and dust in order to build the strongest defenses seen by this planet to protect her? It made no sense, not to V. Yet the fool who was unable to protect her from herself was now the knight in shinning armour, the hero, but he was neither, he was a prince, and like all cocky or foolish blind princes he was unable to see that he was not her salvation, but rather her doom. What has V done wrong to be tossed to the side again, like a pile of scraps and nothing more? The past didn't let her live her present, and her possible future chose her torment over her joy as the present was drowning in this foggy timeline, numbed by the pain and loneliness that it had to reside within.

Has she not done enough? Has she not fought enough for her love? For her safety? For her greater good? Had she not come all the way over here for her? Has she not held her tightly in her arms? Has she not done it all for her? And yet… "Yo, I ate them. I get hungry idiot." "Not calling names, just asking." After everything, she took the blame, she covered it all with a petty lie, held any possible consequence far away from her.

She seemed at peace, she seemed happy, or at least, relaxed, at least for once in her life, next to him, ever since that one night… She couldn't offer her that. It angered her, it pained her and it drove her to insanity thatthe stupid thing that made them reside by each other's side turned to be the same thing to pull them further apart than ever before. It was unfair, it was cruel, cold, painful, agonising, tormenting and heart shattering. Was she not worthy of her love? Or was it that she accepted reality faster than everyone else that pulled her away from her? Was it that life tossed her around so much that she ended up being ready to loose everything all at once instead of having to fight helplessly to keep it all and still be left with nothing despite her best efforts? Maybe she wasn't the right one for Uzi. Maybe she was never meant to feel this silly little things. But she asked Uzi…she begged her, not to do it, and yet…she still did. That tiny little push over the edge, over the brink of helplesness and look where she was now…

Uzi was afraid of sacrificing everything that she had again, so she had no clue that by trying to sacrifice herself only, she lost all that she tried to protect. V was a far away dream to her. How could she love her? How could she care for her? She just tried to kill her didn't she? Then again, Uzi wasn't herself either…she killed so many people, the bitter tasted of their oil on the tip of her tongue still. How could she blame V when in reality she held back. J had that electro-magnetic gun that took her out in the first encounter she had with the disassembly drones, meaning that V too had it, so why had she not used it on her? It would have bought her enough time to do the deed? Yet she didn't… V was intelligent, fast and skilled, so if she wanted Uzi dead she could have found alternatives, yet she didn't…because she didn't even truly consider these options.

So why did it hurt, when this foolishly annoying boy, refused to hold her hand? Why…? Maybe because Uzi saw him as the only vilable excuse and gate away to hide from the far more painful reality, for it was painful for the very reason that it made her feel alive.

"Nah. Uzi, I trust you." "V PLEASE! WE NEED YOU!" Uzi was in too much pain to even realise what was happening. V could have left Uzi to be killed by the sentinels, but she saved her, and her thanks? Uzi went ahead and hugged N instead? She flirted with him, held hands, tried to cheer him up instead of her. Was that all that V deserved after what she did? If V was truly upset with her, if she was truly wishing to pull Uzi to shreds, she would have done so already, she had plenty of possibilites… She saved her, she cared for her, in her weird distant way, fulfilling her duty of protecting her, even if it was from afar, for if the defenses fall right next to the protected base, how will those within the base have time to prepare for what's next if the threat is knocking right at their door?

V saved her, her and him, multiple times, and it wasn't for selfish reasons, it wasn't to use them, it wasn't to toy with them, it was all for them, and they? They ignored her, neglected her, hurt her, doing the worse possible to someone that cared for them so deeply and dearly.

You never know what you had until you loose it, ain't that right? That is what they deserved, after everything that she did, after every single struggle and ounce of heavy torture placed upon on her shoulders. She deserved to be freed of this mortal pains and struggles, and they? They deserved to rot with this aching pain in their hearts.

The moment Tessa was quickly out of view once the elevator reached it's end, Uzi grapped onto N tightly as tears steamed down her cheeks. V was dead. She was dead and it was all of her fault. She could have saved her. If only she would have listened, if only she would have paid more attention and if only would she have been there for her the same she was.

But out there, true torment appears, in the illusion of hope and salvation. In a cell, with her hands crossed upon her chest, rested the purest angel that this world had ever had the honor to lay it's eyes upon. A cell that was attached with wires and cables to keep it powered and in function. A cell protecting the one that couldn't protect herself. A cell that took care of the one unable to recieve all that she deserved.

"V!" Uzi said in a quiet whisper, unable to believe her eyes. Was this a trick? A hologram? A hallucination? Was V there but as a spooky hollow snake crab? She didn't even care. So what if she was? So what if this V that she saw was just a hologram of the one that was torn to shreds, looking to rebuild herself, of the one that was now anything but V? She didn't care. She refused to at this point. She lost her with all of her silly complicated thoughts of anxiety, and now when her peek of heaven appeared she didn't want to let the opportunity pass, even if it would cost her greatly, even if it would somehow mean that V's sacrifice was in vein, she'd gladly die knowing that the parts of her body would be used to rebuild her, knowing that this pitiful act of joy represented her remorse and gratefulness.

The shorter girl pressed her body on the glass almost as if trying to fuse with it just to get a tad closer to the drone. "Is this how J also came back? How do I get you out?" Uzi was still unsure how J returned… Did she come from earth or did she wake up in a capsule like this? Whatever the answer was Uzi didn't want to wait any longer, yet she was unsure of what to do… V just died, so how long would it take for this new body to recieve all of her memories? What if she won't recieve them at all? What if this is just an empty vessel and nothing more? What if it was just a carcas good for scrap that will never host the radiant energy of one of he strongest people she has met in her entire short tiny life?

As these questions filled her head, Uzi slightly backed away from the glass, but her hands remained glued to it as if a hex had been placed upon them. Uzi took her tail out and used it to light this casket made of glass, shining it to see her better. She didn't look in pain, she didn't look troubled, she looked like she was resting, a sweet painless and proper rest. One from which she would wake up from with refreshed batteries, ready to take the world on again, as if it was just yesterday that she first opened her eyes.

Maybe she should let her rest…

'ERROR ⚠'

That is all that it took. A flash of light, a sudden boost of energy through the carcas, activating it's system, or at least trying to.

Words could not describe in a million years the horrible ache that had stabbed Uzi right into her soul. The joy, the pain, the agony and the distress. V was waking up, or at least she was trying to. After falling like weak prey, while sacrificing herself like a true hero, she was still fighting. Fighting for her. How foolish Uzi was, to not accept this kindness that the universe has blessed her with. To turn it down in fear of breaking it instead of just accepting it like it should.

A desperate scream left her mouth as she felt no control of herself just like back in the cabin. Her wings spread widely and her claws grew sharper and pointier, trying to claw at the glass, to penetrate and open it. Whatever the error she could fix it! Even if she didn't have her joystick she still would be able to do something. Anything! She could help her, she could finally help her. She could show her regret, her grief.

Everyone talks of how the scream of a mother in pain is worse than any blood curling scream and shriek that the world has ever heard, but no one tells you how such a deed only happens when the true selfless genuine love of one's heart and entire being is involved for otherwise there are plenty other mothers who do not even look at their children.

And so here was Uzi heard from every corner of this lower chambers, of this underground hell. From trapped sentinels to anything else that breathed and moved, all stopped in sync as the agonising scream filled the echoes of these walls, leaving no room for anything other than a sudden rush of arenaline and panic, as a far more dangerous being has entered the realms of this hidden world, and now more than ever, it's desperation made it worse than anything else that could have place foot in this cursed place.

All that would go against this shriek would fall apart, tore to shreds and turned into utter nothingess, so all unwillingly bowed their spirits in fear as the pained scream punctured all of one's senses to the brim, leaving space for nothing other than the same feeling that the source provided. Agony.

Gripping onto the glass and banging her fist on it's surface did not budge the imprisonment of this angel. She was alive, she had to be, for otherwise this vessel that so closely resembled her wouldn't have had a spark of anything in it without her also being there.

She had to break her free, she had to let her out to breath the air, as cold and as miserable as it was, she had to let her see the world again. It was her right, it was the least that she deserved, to live, and to be able to feel alive, and Uzi wasn't going to leave, not until she was out, not until she could hold her and told her all the words that her core trapped within itself by the command of her system, dooming those words to be foolish and useless, now none will be in it's way, for all that was left of the brinks of sanity was gone, now filled with one thing and one thing only, desperation.

Desperation like no other. She would tear to shreds anything that would dare approach her. She would stay there until the cursed mechanisam opened and let Uzi catch V in her arms like all the other times V carried her burdened heart all alone. She will hold her tightly and she will help V heal, she will make sure she is there by V's side just as she was. Uzi will keep her close and she will let V know with all the last days, hours, minutes or seconds that she has left, that she recognises all that V had done for her, and that she will never again in her life do anything to make this most blessed angel of all feel as if it was all for nothing and in vain. Sge will love her, she will stay by her side, and she will not let even death itself have the last word in it. She would make sure to do everything, anything and more to achieve this goal. Starting from this very moment, without a further a do or a moment of hesitation in her judgement.

The end

[iamthecomet]

Comet im sick and if your doing the lil ficlets can I get sick!whoever (dew) getting taken care of by mountain and ifrit and being whiny and bratty but still liking that he's being taken care of.

I'm sorry you're sick! I hope you feel better soon! <3 I'm sorry this took me too many days. The words haven't been wording well lately.

Dew's awful when he's sick. He'll never admit it out loud. but he knows it. He knows he's a pain in the ass. But when he feels like this? He can't help it. He feels like shit. His already barely there filter is non-existent.

He just wants to feel better. And nothing helps. He's drank probably six hundred cups of Rain's stupid tea and that hasn't done anything except make his mouth feel weird, and his head feel even fuzzier. It was supposed to make him sleep. It just made him feel like he was on the wrong side of high. Feverish and loopy. Rain keeps bringing him more. He feels a little bad for snapping at him, but it feels like he's being slowly poisoned and he's already going to die from whatever this is and that's bad enough. And Aether's magic only lasts as long as Aether can touch him, which isn't long considering Dew is burning up. He buries himself deeper into his blankets. He curls up on the couch in the common room. And he pouts. His head is pounding, he's freezing cold, and somehow sweating, his body hurts. He hopes the pits of hell will open up and swallow him. It would be better than this. At least then he'd be warm.

He watches too much television, reruns of tv shows he hates. The same horror movie on repeat until his head aches worse. He tries to sleep. He can't. Ifrit and Mountain show up in the middle of the third day. Ifrit first. Poking his head into the common room and seeing a pale, miserable Dew sitting cross-legged on the couch, bundled in blankets. The TV is still on, a rattling drone, but it's clear Dew isn't actually watching it. His eyes are glassy, fixed somewhere in the middle distance. "Droplet?" Ifrit asks stepping into the room. Dew glances over at him. Dew shoves both of his hands out of the cacoon he's made for himself and makes grabby hands towards Ifrit. "Where have you been?" Dew demands. "I've been freezing." "What do you have?" Ifrit asks warily.

"Some stupid shit from the siblings."

"How many times do I--" "Yeah yeah yeah, stop fraternizing with the Humans. whatever. just, come over here. Please. I'm dying."

Ifrit sighs, but he doesn't say no. Instead he sits next to Dew, and wraps both of his arms around the little fire ghoul. He's hot to the touch, but Ifrit can feel the tremor in his body from the shivering. He cranks up his own body heat, resting his chin on top of Dew's head. "I forgot how tight you hold people," Dew grumbles, but he makes no move to pull away, instead he sinks deeper into Ifrit's embrace. Ifrit rolls his eyes, knowing Dew can't see it. "Do you want me to go away?" "Don't you fucking dare." Mountain finds them like that, an hour later. Ifrit's still cradling Dew against his chest, half asleep. Dew is somewhere between sleep and awake, still too feverish to actually sleep. But the warmth is dragging him down. Finally, he's comfortable. Mountain drops down onto his other side. "Firefly," Mountain says softly. Ifrit's eyes crack open to look at him. Dew shifts to do the same. Mountain's holding a mug, more tea. Dew makes a face, wrinkling his nose up and pressing his face back into Ifrit's chest.

"No more tea, that shit fucks me up."

"It's not the same tea." Mountain says. He runs his hand up Dew's spine. The fire ghoul is almost impossibly hot. But Mountain doesn't pull his hand away, if anything he sets it down heavily, a slow stroke up and down his spine. "That shit Rain gave me was nasty."

"He was trying to help, Firefly." Mountain says gently. "But that blend doesn't work as well on fire ghouls as it does on water ghouls." He holds the mug out for Dew. Dew stares at it dubiously. He shifts enough so that he can sniff it. It isn't the same as the one Rain had been forcing on him. Instead of spruce he smells cinnamon. "It's not going to make me loopy?" "It's going to make you sleep."

Dew wavers, eyes darting between Mountain and the mug. Ifrit nudges him in the ribs. "Drink the fucking tea, Dewdrop." Dew growls, but he takes the mug from Mountain. He takes one small sip. He knows immediately it's different. It doesn't coat his mouth. Instead he feels the warmth of it settle through him. He drinks it quickly--immune to the heat of it as he is. He hands the mug back to Mountain, and settles back into Ifrit's side with a small grumble about something. It's hard to hear with his face pressed firmly against Ifrit's chest again. Mountain moves to stand, but Dew's hand shoots out, grabbing him by the wrist.

"No," he demands. His voice already slurring. Sleep, merciful, blessed, sleep finally tugging at him. Mountain sighs, but he listens, settling into Dew's other side, curling an arm around him. Ifrit looks at Mountain over the top of Dew's head and rolls his eyes. Mountain chuckles. "You rest, Firefly. We'll be here when you wake up."