#THAT'S how i feel when i look at my 'depressed about being sick' mess from outside.

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

Sharing catman's quality tags:

#i want to type my tjoughts on this ship - how it actuqlly makes sense and how Dante probably loathes Sloth for taking Hoenhiem from her and

#in some way she finds pleasure in the fact that Sloth now finds herself to be the same/similar inhuman monster Hoenheim thought Dante and#her son (envy) was#and abandonded them for

#the ironics of th3 situation. And Sloth probably sees Dante as a master#a boss she cant disobey - a boss she wouldnt disobey because she has no reason to do so. i think Sloth would think of her abuse as a comfort

#in the sense that like

#“im not a human - so this must be what i deserve and therefore ill allow myself to get treated like this by the only person who i can deem#trusthworthy“

#or something???

#im not very good at ship analysis#but i like this ship now#you gave me brain worms RAHH

Your analysis is solid! And you're welcome for the brainworms (it's my purpose, to spread them like a plague 😌). The way these two orbit each other's respective familial collapse, and an almost mutual-monstrosity (with Dante genuinely being the truly horrid of the two) is a biiiiig draw for this ship imo.

For me, there's more:

The manipulation begins as soon as she finds Sloth dragging her broken new body behind the home Trisha once called her own. The confusion and sheer physical agony that Sloth had to have been in; barely able to ambulate, unable to communicate or assess the situation, in the darkness of a rainy night, frighteningly alone, every moment is seering pain:

And in comes Dante.

The first human in her scant few hours of existence to look upon her without revulsion. She offers aid, shelter, and she knows who is responsible for making her this way. Dante can articulate the source of Sloth's waking horror, and that feels like as good of an approximation of emotional resonance as Sloth has ever experienced. She's a pit of depression but this knowledgeable woman takes her in! And Dante would readily grind the facts of Sloth's tragic mis-creation into the homunculus while coating it in the veneer of tender faux-sympathy. Both out of her own sick, hateful shadenfreude as well as further planting the seed of Sloth's rejection of Trisha's children. Not because Sloth would have otherwise embraced them had it not been for Dante, but rather I think the mess of jumbled, tattered memories that were imparted onto her from Ed and Al (or that came with Trisha's soul; really depends on interpretation here) would form the rich soil of her disposition; Dante merely cultivates into a thriving garden. Sloth senses that those children have severely and permanently rejected her, wanted something or someone of her, and almost as soon as she was made into being they abandoned her. So Dante preys on this.

I also see it as: Sloth's rescue and eventual reformation into a functional humanoid physiology would tender her towards Dante. And Dante's a sicko who will not pass up the opportunity (perhaps mere novelty) of toying with her. Each step of her recovery and that feigned kindness Dante provides comes with metaphoric jabs against Sloth. That she owes Dante everything, that she's becoming such a pretty thing but is still a lowly homunculus, do you remember the pathetic relationship the woman you can never be had? The children that woman raised? Did that man ever care about you when he would so easily leave you behind (Dante keeping to herself the smug sneer of "He was with me longer, but I didn't break apart when he left either). You're a fraud: but doesn't it feel good when she brushes Sloth's hair? Cups her nearly-formed cheek? Strokes her newly healed shoulders? Smiles at her while congratulating her on her progress with each feeding, all while commenting on how 'animal' she finds Sloth's desperate devouring of those red stones. Sloth intuits that this should be humiliating but she finds no urge to rebuke what feels like (warped) affection. It's a poison she will passively allow into herself if it means Dante will keep her under her wing.

As a character Dante feels like an abusive monster adept at pressure cooking people into the roles she wants from them. Sloth doesn't care for having a purpose generally, but pleasing Dante gives her something that fills the abyssal ennui. She crumbles under the weight of what should have been, what once was. And since Dante despises Trisha, it feels like it fits into Sloth's refusal of Trisha as well.

I see Dante almost keeping Sloth as a prize. A win against Hohenheim. And with Sloth's ever-acquiescent demeanour, with the way Sloth will allow whatever Dante feels like doing (in general, to her, at her, against her, 'for' her) while still showing the subtlest signs of sorrow when Dante pushes the homunculus' depressive buttons too hard (but Sloth will still bend to her will without question or rebuke, such a good plaything she is) how could she not find sick satisfaction in treasuring* Sloth?

(*Treasuring meant in the most objectifying sense of the word.)

And how that all eventually clashes with Lust's growing sense of self-possession and eventual rebellion? The odd 'bond' Sloth and Lust formed prior to that, and how Sloth views not only Lust's immutable spine, but how that insults Dante in Sloth's eyes? Ouuughh! 🤌

It's utterly fucked~

TOXIC. YURI.

[rainylana]

“My angel baby, I’m here.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie finds out that you self harm.

warnings: reader self harms and is severely depressed, undertones of poor eating habits but very brief, language, lots of tears, blood, angst to the max, mentions of periods.

a/n: this is the longest that i’ve posted yet since getting back into writing and i’m super happy with how it turned out! it is a sensitive topic so it won’t be for everyone. this is dedicated to all the ones who can relate to this fic. i hope you all have an eddie in times when it gets too much. please let me know what you think. it means the world and more than you can imagine.

You knew that what you did was not healthy. You knew it was sick and messed up. You knew that if anyone found out, they’d think that you were insane. The scars you gave yourself had no real reason to be there. You blamed yourself for that. You didn’t know how to deal with your issues any other way. The moment you were alone you’d drift off to the bathroom, turn the shower on and begin your twisted ritual of self abrasions.

Life for you was difficult, but still, marking your self up was no excuse. You had tried to quiet, of course. Many times you had, but it was a habit you could not break. You were too used to doing it. It was an everyday thing. It was like breathing. You breath to live. You can’t not just breath. So for you, cutting yourself was like breathing. You didn’t think you could stop. It helped you deal with your pain.

If you’d have known what the evening was going to hold for you, you would have slit your throat the moment you woke up.

Darkness clouded your mind. Sitting in class, the fog you knew well was storming your brain cells, making everything else fuzzy and hard to understand. Everyone looked blurry, their faces funny and distorted. They sounded odd. Your heart ached and sunk into the pit of your stomach like it always did. You had no way of explaining what this feeling was and what it meant, but you didn’t like it at all. Once it got you, it had you.

You didn’t try to share any of this with Eddie. You didn’t want him to know how much you struggled. Scaring him away was your worst fear. It was why you never let him see the tops of your thighs. Sex was always under the covers. Lights off. Eddie didn’t complain of course. To him, sex was sex.

And god, did you love him. You loved him with your whole heart and soul. You’d be devastated if he knew your secret. It felt awful to bare, this huge burden you carried on your shoulders. You wondered if any of your other classmates shared it too. There was a darkness in your heart that was eating you alive.

“Babe,” A warm, thick hand grabbed your shoulder, pulling you from sinking to the bottom of the pool you were drowning in.

“Huh?” You said a little louder than you’d realized, blinking rapidly as your vision spun around the room. “What?”

You turned around in your seat to find Eddie’s doe eyes narrowed. “You good?” He whispered, leaning closer. “You’ve been staring at the floor for fifteen minutes.” Your class wasn’t even doing anything important. You had a sub, so everyone was doing their own studying or reading. Eddie had been talking to you until you drifted off.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded with a swallow, grabbing his hand that still laid on your shoulder. “Sorry, Ed.”

“Just checking on my girl.” He gave you a wink that made you blush. “You coming over tonight?”

“Yeah.” You whispered with a fake smile, exhaustion taking over. He could see the way your lips had faltered. You turned back around and laid your head on your desk, arms being your pillow.

Eddie stared at you.

He might not have been the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knew you weren’t the happiest girl in the world. He knew you were sad and weren’t telling him about it. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t going to pressure you into it, but still, he was worried about you. He wished for one night that they both could talk about you instead of his problems for a change.

Maybe tonight could be the night.

•

You must’ve gotten your period, he figured. Here it was four o’clock in the morning, and for some reason he couldn’t sleep. He had gotten up to get a glass of water but stopped when he’d seen blood seeping through the tops of your sweatpants, the blankets kicked down below your feet.

“Babe,” He said groggily, giving your shoulder a light shake. “Y/n, wake up.”

You hummed back asleep.

“Y/n, I think you got your period,” He rubbed his eyes, leaning over you to switch on the light. “You’re bleeding.”

That woke you up. “Huh?” Your eyes went wide and you sat up. “Oh,” You gasped upon seeing the red leaks of blood seeping from your sweatpants. An inhumane shock of terror left your throat and you leapt from the bed to disappear into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Eddie, thinking it was your period, thought it was a little funny, even if he was exhausted. He got up and followed you to the door. “Baby, hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll get some new sheets from the closet, alright? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You didn’t respond. He waited for a moment to see if you would. He even knocked a few times before giving up and switching out the sheets on the bed. In fact, he did a lot before you actually came out. He changed the bed entirely, knocking again until you muttered a shaky response that you’d be out soon. He bit his thumb nail and paced for another five minutes before he went out for a smoke. He remained seated on the bed when you finally came out.

When he saw you, he knew something was deeply wrong. Your face was white and you were visibly shaken. Your face was stained with dried tears, your eyes bloodshot. Your heart felt like it was broken. This was too close. Nobody had ever gotten this close of finding out. The idea of him knowing made you feel sick. It was your burden and yours alone. It was yours. As sick as it was, it was who you were. Who were you if you didn’t do this? You were so used to it. It was routine for you. Half of the time you did it just to….well, just to do it, to feel something. You were addicted.

“Y/n,” Eddie glanced you over. “what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He stepped toward you, grabbing your elbows lightly. “Hey,”

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go to bed.” You dismissed, now wearing a pair of dark leggings.

“Wait— babe, you’re crying,” He followed you to the bed, watching as you fixed the blanket over yourself. “Are you sick?”

“No, Eddie, I’m fine.” You adjusted your pillow, your body shutting down into survival mode. You needed the situation to be dismissed, shut down. “I’m sorry about the blood, was just my period.”

He sat down on the bed by your thighs. “Don’t be sorry bout’ that, honey. Just want to make sure you’re alright. You need anything? You want some water or something?”

“Eddie, I’m okay.” You stressed, laying down and turning your back to him. “Just forget about it, please.” Your voice broke.

He absolutely did not want to forget about it, not with the way you were trying not to cry. He sat there in the same spot for almost three minutes, eyes glued to your cheek. “Y/n,” He said again. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You groaned into the pillow. “Damnit, Eddie, lay down!”

“See, I know you,” He shook his head. “You would never be this bothered over your period. Hell, last month you chased me around with your tampon!” He said bewildered, chuckling slightly. “Something else is wrong and you’re not telling me, and when something makes my girl cry, I want to know what it is, so tell me what’s got you so worked up, huh?”

You let out a sob and curled into yourself. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. God, you were so stupid. You shouldn’t have cut so deep.

“Baby,” Eddie frowned, leaning down to lay his torso on you, his chin laying on your shoulder so he could look at you. “Did I hurt your feelings today? Did I say something?”

“No.” You cried into your pillow. “No, Eddie, it’s not you. I promise, it isn’t you.”

He thought maybe he should just drop it, let you go to sleep and maybe it would be okay in the morning, but you were still crying, little puffs and pouts here and there. He couldn’t just dismiss that.

“It’s me.” You found yourself saying, out of the blue.

“What?” He missed what you had said. “I can’t hear you, honey.” He strained his ears to hear you.

“It’s fucking me!” You sobbed into your pillow, chest heaving with a heavy breath that made him jolt. “I’m the fucking problem!”

He had no idea why you were so upset. He didn’t know what to do. He gulped harshly. “Y/n,” He cooed, shushing you gently. He scooted closer, holding you tighter to place a kiss on your temple. “I’m here, baby. Shh, shh, I’m here.”

You let go, sobbing in his arms and into your wet pillow, you broke down in sobs. Most of it was just because you were purely exhausted and you were emotionally drained, depressed. This week you were in a deeper funk than what you’ve normally been in. You hadn’t been eating properly to start. Your showers consisted of laying on the floor and imaging yourself drowning. The idea of Eddie knowing your secret made you want to die, yet you spoke anyway.

“I’m so sad.” You whimpered while Eddie rocked you in his arms, his hands stroking your hair.

He’d thought maybe you’d fallen asleep. You’d been quiet for several minutes. “Why, baby?” He kissed your shoulder.

“I don’t know,” You thought, a crinkle in your nose as you tried to reason why you felt the way you did. “Something is wrong with me, Eddie.”

You were starting to scare him. He’d never heard you talk like this before. He swallowed hard, batting his eyes across the room like his answers were a poster on the wall. “Y/n, if you tell me maybe I can help you.”

God, was help possible? Could you stop? Did you even want to? Who were you if you didn’t have that one constant in your life?

The idea brought on a wave of fresh tears, your lips turning down in a blubbering frown. “You’ll think I’m disgusting.” Your back shook against his broad, bare chest. “You won’t— you won’t ever look at me the same. You’ll think…fuck, you’ll think I’m disgusting.” You sobbed broken-hearted.

Eddie started at your face, features masked in concern. He didn’t know what to do to make you feel better, and his mind was flashing the worst things that could’ve made you so upset, his imagination getting the best of him.

“Sweetheart, I promise whatever you think I’m going to say or do isn’t true.” He leaned over to wipe a tear. “I’m going to love you no matter what you say. That’s how this works, remember? Please, baby, tell me. You’re worrying me.”

Guilt made your heart pound. You let out a long mewl, curling up like a cat so you could cry. Eddie still didn’t let you go. This was your nightmare, yet you, yourself, were making it come true.

“I didn’t get my period.” You said with wet lashes.

“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes down at you.

You let out a sob, holding a hand to your stomach. “I mean, I- fuck, I didn’t get my..my- period!” You hyperventilated through your breath.

“Shh, calm down, sweetheart, you don’t have to rush,” He soothed you, rubbing your arms. “Come on, sit up with me.” He gently lifted you by the torso, your hair cascading down your back. You looked like a scared little girl. Your eyes were wet and your face was soaked like you’d been laying in the rain. Eddie sighed, his mouth in a frown as he tried to help you.

“Breath, honey,” He fixed your hair, smoothing it down in rough places.

“I’m so sorry.” You whimpered, grabbing his hands tightly, squeezing them.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, angel. Just want you to tell me what’s got you so upset. What is it that you want to tell me?” He knew whatever it was, you wanted to tell him. And deep down, you did. Maybe that was why you couldn’t shut the hell up.

“I’m so scared.” You shuttered a breath. “I’m so scared that you’ll…what you’ll think of me.”

His heart was beating loud in his chest. “You said that you didn’t get your period,” He tried to question you gently. “What does that mean?”

Did you really want to do this? Did you want to just let it all go within a blink of an eye? Truthfully, yeah. Yeah, you did. You couldn’t do it anymore. At least not alone.

You sat up slightly, fingertips grabbing the waistband of your sweats as you tugged them down to your knees. You didn’t look at him as you sank back down to sit on your ankles.

“I cut too deep.” You wept, staring down at your thighs. It was your canvas, your target area. They were scared on every inch. Some white and faded with age, some angry and red.

When Eddie saw them, it connected all dots instantly. His eyes widened in horror at your legs. They looked absolutely terrifying. He couldn’t help let out a gasp. “Oh, god, y/n,”

His large palms ghosted over them, and he leaned down so he could examine them closer. “Jesus,” His own eyes blurred with tears, his bottom lip quivering with emotion.

“I know,” You shook your head shamefully. “I know, Eddie, but I can’t help it.” You lifted your head up as you shuttered out a tearful breath. “I can’t stop no matter how hard I try. It’s the only thing that helps me.”

“God, y/n,” He traced your scars with his fingertips, jaw fallen slack in shock.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You bawled. “I’m so…I don’t know, I’m just- just- so miserable and it’s the only thing that seems to help. I’m just so used to doing it and I don’t think I can stop!” You blubbered, snot dripping onto your cupid’s bow and dipping into your lip.

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, baby, come here.” He grabbed you and pulled you into his lap. You crawled to him immediately. He cradled your back as you threw your legs around his waist, your chests flush together in a bear hug. You sobbed into his shoulder, his kisses peppering your neck. “I’m here, I’m here.” He repeated.

“My angel baby, I’m here.”

Your body wracked with moans and groans of heartbreak, but you couldn’t deny the amount of relief that left your soul. It finally wasn’t alone on your shoulders. “God, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” Eddie hushed you. “You have nothing, nothing at all to be sorry about. I should be apologizing. I should have realized. I had no idea you were unhappy.”

“I’m so fucked up,” Your voice muffled against his skin. “I don’t even know why I’m sad I just- I just am! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Stop saying that.” He held the back of your head with his palm. “How you feel is perfectly understandable. I’m glad you told me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Baby, I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this alone, but I’m right here now, okay? I’m gonna help you through this. I’m gonna help you rise above this because you’re so strong and you don’t even realize it. But you’re my girl and I know.” He rocked you in his arms, cradled you like a baby as you cried. “I know, baby, I’m here, I’ve got you honey.”

“Please, help me.” You fisted his curls, your chest hollow, yet heavy with emotion. “I need help.”

He nodded, whispering soothing words of encouragement as he fought off a wave of tears. “You can get past this. I did.”

You pulled away, your face an absolute mess. Red, snotty and tearful. Your lips pulled down in the deepest of frowns. “Oh, Eddie,”

He turned his elbow in a 90 degree angle, and angle you’ve never exactly examined, and cried when you saw the faded white scars. You went right back to his chest, holding him like a teddy bear. “Oh, Eddie, I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

He held you close and kissed your shoulder, allowing one singular tear to spill that you didn’t have to see. He stopped when he met you. You were his saving grace. He’d be sure and do the same for you. His angel baby.

[katz-chow]

hiiii, i love your writing so much <33 can you do a cod ghost x afab reader where maybe ghost gets emotional while they’re being intimate with each other? (in a good way, he’s overwhelmed with how close they are and how gentle the reader is being.) reader stops and comforts him and he gets very verbally vulnerable which is rare for him. i guess this would be sort of a fluff hurt/comfort sort of thing? preferably a shortfic, but you can make it long if you want to (i just wanna give simon a hug :((( )

heaven's outreached hands

synopsis: after a long, long time, simon has decided that in the warm glow of your shared lamp in your shared bedroom, that he wants to feel you and truly take back what is his: his body aka: what the ask said!

warnings: smut, hurt/comfort, allusions to prior SA, gn!reader, mentions of attempted suicide/OD, mentions of depressive episodes

a/n: i, too, want to give this poor man a hug as i've said in my previous fic with him. maybe this is our hug to him...honestly, i needed this hurt/comfort more than i thought i did. thanks anon for this!! so sorry this took longer than i expected, i got sick :(

Dating Simon is a test of your patience and determination. And you took on that responsibility like the champ you are. He made it clear when you had first started seeing each other that he’s not…a typical partner, that he needs you to be patient with him, and be gentle with him.

And so you did, You did everything you could, letting him have a few days to himself after every time he came back from his mission. You cooked for him when he could only make cup noodles for himself every few days or so. You even made him take vitamin supplements and locked up his meds, coming over to his flat every day to give him his dose. He loves you for everything you’ve done for him, so he saved up and asked you to live with him. 

It’s been months and he’s been acting weird around you, more shy than usual and almost hesitant. He lays next to you in bed, a hand caressing yours as you smile at him—nothing but the warm sheets and his fingers dancing around yours. 

“Lovie…there’s something I’ve…wanted to ask you,” He started slowly, again with that hesitant tone filling his voice. 

You smiled at him, holding onto his finger as a sign of comfort, urging him on. “What is it?”

He pulled you closer to him by your hand and you agreed, shuffling under the covers to get closer to him. He whispered, taking your hand and kissing it, “I want to try and…get intimate with you.”

You’ve both talked about this before, having sex that is. And the most he’s ever told you was that he doesn’t have a good relationship with sex or anything regarding that. You held his hand and sat across from him, listening and telling him. You both decided to wait a while longer until he was sure he was willing and okay with it; you assured him you could wait. And you did. And he was okay with it now. 

“Are you sure, baby?” You asked him gently, your thumb rubbing his hand and then sliding up slowly, hovering near his cheek. 

He looked at you, anticipating your touch against his cool skin. Your gentle fingers brushed against his skin softly, he let out a downturned smile. “Yeah…I am. Is that okay with you?”

You nod, letting your hand fall entirely onto his cheek, fingertips messing with his growing blonde hair. You told him you liked his hair, he grew it out for you. 

He smiled and pulled you close with a strong arm, kissing your lips lightly. You leaned into him, allowing him to kiss you with more rigor. Simon’s arms snaked around your waist and hoisted you up and over him, teasing at the hem of your shirt. You pulled away from him and took it off, allowing him to take in full view of your bare chest. 

Eyes gazed up at you, glossy, adoring, and lustful, a way you’ve never seen them before. “You’re so beautiful, Lovie.”

“I wish you could see yourself in the same way my eyes do.”

You’ve lost track of time with him, the way he carves you with his soft, but powerful grip on the flush of your skin. The warmth of his cock, slowly dragging against your slick, velvety walls. It was different; it was gentle. He whispers against your ear in between his groans and grunts when you squeeze around him. Simon chants “I love you”s like it’s a prayer against the newfound gloss of both your skins. 

He had you straddling him, your chest in his face, as he gripped your hips, guiding you down unto him. Big arms wrap around your waist, his face burying into your stomach. Your hands raked through his hair, holding onto him while you bounced on his stiff cock. But soon, you felt him tremble underneath you, and a small “you okay?” made its way out of your mouth.

Simon looked up at you, tears prickling his eyes, “Lovie…”

You gasped as you lifted yourself off of him, his arms still loose, but against your skin nonetheless, allowing you to sit on his thighs. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” He gasped as small tears fell from his eyes. Like his hero, your thumbs wiped them off as you held his face. “It just…feels good with you.”

Your face falls and you give him a slight grin, “Aw baby, I know…I know.” You cooed at him, getting him to chuckle and hide his face into your neck. 

“Feels different with you, ‘m not used to it,” he sighs, letting you pet his hair. You kept your promise with him, you weren’t fast and rough, using him like he’d fear. You treated him like porcelain, not just some toy for your own pleasure. “Not like…like before. Wanted it this time.”

It clicks in your head what he was saying and you can hear your heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. He feels warm underneath your touch like he burns for you. You provide, he hesitantly takes. “I’m so sorry, Si…I didn’t know.” “It’s alright, I like this.” He pulls you in close to him, breathing in your familiar scent. “Love you…and your smell.” 

Simon is here with you, truly here with you. His mind and body and spirit and all that he has is displayed for you to consume as yours. No longer will he recoil at the slightest of touches, flinch at an outreached hand when he’s naked of his gear, no, he’ll accept you as you accepted him. 

“I’m not scared of you, Lovie, never will be.”

[kairoot]

EICS. 💌 (05.) last time i saw you

WARNINGS ▸ 1.5K words, mentions of being tired and pretty depressed, let me know if i missed anything (i do not condone any of these things and this is not made to represent any of the idols' personality or behavior. it is simply for fictional purposes.)

SYNOPSIS ▸ you and jake broke up about a year ago and he made it his mission to forget everything about you. you've always wanted to send him a text or even a voicemail about how much you missed him but you always held back. that was until you two met again.

—

Too many days had gone by since the party at Heeseung’s and Jake’s head was swirling. He wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d spent most of his time alone for the past two weeks, his phone turned off and his dorm door shut. For whatever reason, he couldn’t get the thought of Y/n out of his head, ever since he saw her.

Jake lied in bed, staring at the ceiling. There were clothes scattered over the floor and bed while his room reeked with the smell of day-old ramen. His papers for classes were unfinished and spread out on his desk with open emails about his absences from school. He blinked slowly as his brain came up with all of the most impossible scenarios of him and Y/n. Like them getting back together. It seemed utterly impossible to Jake.

There was a rhythmic knock on his door that knocked him out of his trance. He didn’t move, though, hoping whoever was there would move on and go about their day. But he was sadly mistaken.

The knock came again, only it was louder and more demanding. Jake huffed, swinging his legs over the bed to stand up. He trudged to the front door, swinging it open with a pout on his face.

“Wha—“

He cut his sentence short when he saw his mom smiling up at him and his dad with a slightly smaller grin. His eyes went wide as he tried processing the fact that they were actually there. He had mixed reactions; ecstatic and annoyed.

During Y/n and Jake's time together, Jake’s parents were not too fond of Y/n and they always made it known to the both of them. Whether Y/n was at their house and his parents gave her a certain look or mumbled something under their breath.

Jake's mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the right words. His mom's smile faltered slightly as she took in the state of his dorm. "Jake, honey, what's going on? We've been worried sick."

Jake ran a hand through his messy hair, stepping aside to let them in. "I'm fine, Mom. Just... a lot on my mind."

His dad glanced around the cluttered room, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. "Doesn't look like you're fine, son. This place is a mess."

Jake sighed, closing the door behind them. "I've just been busy with classes and stuff. Didn't have time to clean up."

His mom walked over to the desk, picking up a crumpled paper. "These don't look like assignments, Jake. What's really going on?"

Jake hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor. He could feel the weight of his parents' gaze on him, and it made the knot in his stomach tighten. "It's... it's Y/n," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

His mom's face softened, but his dad's expression hardened. "That girl again? Jake, we told you—"

"Don't," Jake interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. "Just don't. I don't need a lecture right now."

His mom put a hand on his dad's arm, silencing him. She turned back to Jake, her eyes filled with concern. "What happened, sweetheart?"

Jake took a deep breath, the memories flooding back. "I saw her at Heeseung's party a couple of weeks ago. Ever since then, I can't stop thinking about her. I thought I was over her, but... I miss her. A lot."

His mom reached out, gently touching his arm. "It's okay to miss someone, Jake. But you can't let it consume you. You need to take care of yourself."

Jake nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. "I know, but it's hard. Everything reminds me of her. And knowing how you guys felt about her back then... it doesn't help."

"But you never gave her a chance," Jake shot back. "You didn't see how happy she made me."

There was a tense silence before his mom spoke again. "Maybe we were too harsh. If she's on your mind this much, maybe you need to talk to her. See if there's still something there."

Jake looked at her, surprised. "You think so?"

She nodded, a small smile forming. "Sometimes, we need to follow our hearts, even if it means taking a risk."

Jake felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he needed to reach out to Y/n, to see if there was still a chance for them. As his parents helped him tidy up his dorm, Jake's mind was already racing with possibilities. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of clarity.

That night, after his parents left, Jake sat at his desk, staring at his phone. His fingers hovered over Y/n's contact, his heart pounding.

Y/n sat at a table in the bustling cafeteria, focusing intently on her lunch to avoid her friends' probing looks. Yunjin, Harvey, and Jurin were discussing the latest gossip, but Y/n felt their eyes darting to her, silently urging her to join the conversation.

"Y/n, you've been quiet all day," Yunjin finally said, her voice laced with concern. "What's up?"

Y/n shrugged, forcing a nonchalant smile. "Just tired, that's all. Long night of studying."

Harvey narrowed her eyes, clearly not convinced. "Is this about Jake? We all saw the way you looked at each other at Heeseung's party."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, but she shook her head firmly. "I'm over Jake. Seeing him again just reminded me of why it didn't work out. I don't need him."

Jurin leaned forward, her expression empathetic. "But you miss him, don't you? It's okay to admit that."

Y/n sighed, feeling the weight of their concern. "Yeah, I miss him sometimes. But that doesn't mean we should be together. I need to focus on myself, on what makes me happy without relying on him."

Yunjin smiled softly. "That's a good mindset. But remember, it's okay to feel sad or nostalgic. Just don't let it control you."

Harvey nodded. "And we're here to help you through it. You don't have to do this alone."

Jurin chimed in, her voice gentle. "Yeah, we're your friends. We've got your back, no matter what."

Y/n felt a surge of gratitude for her friends' support. "Thanks, guys. It really helps knowing you're here for me."

As the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Y/n gathered her things, feeling a sense of resolve. She didn't need Jake to be happy. She had her friends, her goals, and her own strength. And that was enough.

Walking to their next class, Yunjin looped her arm through Y/n's. "Let's make a pact. No more moping over boys. We're focusing on ourselves and our future."

Harvey laughed. "Hear, hear! Here's to strong, independent women."

Jurin grinned. "And to friends who stick together through everything."

Y/n smiled, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With her friends by her side, she knew she could face whatever challenges came her way. And as they walked down the hall, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. She didn't need Jake to complete her; she was already whole.

Sunghoon, Riki, and Heeseung sat in the campus café, their usual hangout spot between classes. The table was littered with half-empty coffee cups and textbooks, but the conversation was far from academic.

"Has anyone seen Jake lately?" Riki asked, stirring his iced coffee absently. "He hasn't shown up to any of our classes this week."

Heeseung shook his head, his brow furrowed in concern. "Nope. His dorm's been shut tight every time I checked. I tried calling him, but he’s not picking up."

Sunghoon sat silently, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on his phone. He had been uncharacteristically quiet and tense, his mood casting a shadow over their usual banter.

Heeseung exchanged a look with Riki, then leaned forward. "Sunghoon, what's up with you? You've been in a mood all day."

Sunghoon's grip tightened on his phone, but he didn't respond.

Riki frowned, frustration creeping into his voice. "Come on, man. We're all worried about Jake, but you're acting like something else is bothering you."

Sunghoon finally looked up, his eyes flashing with anger. "It’s nothing. Just focus on Jake."

Heeseung sighed, trying to keep his patience. "We know he saw Y/n at the party. It's probably why he's been off. But we can't help if you don't talk to us."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, and he looked away. He was still fuming about how none of them had shown up to his big game last weekend, but he wasn't about to bring it up now. They had more pressing issues to deal with.

Riki tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. "Maybe we should call Jay. He was at the party too, and he might have some insight."

Heeseung nodded. "Good idea. I'll give him a call."

Heeseung stepped away to make the call while Sunghoon and Riki waited, the tension between them palpable. After a few minutes, Heeseung returned, shaking his head. "No answer. We’ll have to figure this out ourselves."

Riki sighed. "Alright, then. Let’s just go to Jake’s dorm. He can’t ignore us if we’re standing right in front of him."

Sunghoon's expression softened slightly, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, let’s go."

—

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MILAN’S NOTE ▸ kinda hate this but I FINALLY UPDATED EICS I MISSED THIS SMAU SM I LOVD IT WITH ALL OF MY HEART

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[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 5 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: 25.1k+

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), conversations about/admitting to having an eating disorder, strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy, emotional/verbal abuse from a parent

SMUT-18+ ONLY: unprotected sex, sex in a library, fingering, (f rec) a bit of spanking, tiny bit of cockwarming, a tinge of possessiveness, overstimulation, hickies, praise, heavy use of sir/doll pet names, very sweet sex. this chapter is a little sappy in places, lol.

a/n: thank you all so so much for being patient with me. your support means the whole world. ♡ love you all endlessly.

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

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You’ve been lying on top of him, tangled in the sweaty, rumpled mess of his sheets, for what feels like hours—though it’s only been a few moments.

There’s something about his embrace, his strong and toned arms fully enveloping you; There’s a sense of safey here that you’ve never quite known, one that you’re suddenly terrified of ever losing.  

And yet, there’s still something plaguing you. As you’re cuddled up the most intimately the two of you have ever been, you’re feeling the guilt of how things transpired tonight. Of how you’re game you’d been playing with Sam eventually caught up to you. And though you don’t regret where it’s landed you, you do regret the dishonesty that brought you here. 

“Jake?” You say, meek and quiet as you lift your head to look him in the eye. “C-can I be honest with you about something?"

His eyes were closed, but he opened them the second you began to speak. “Of course, doll.” He hums, kissing your forehead and donning a lazy grin. 

You sigh as you lift yourself off of him and lay over on your side so you can better face him, laying your head in the crease of your elbow. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks, following your movement by laying himself on his side, too, facing you as he props his head up with his hand. “You look a bit troubled.” 

Starting this drawn-out, difficult explanation isn't easy. But here you are, already committed. Best to just come out with it, to finally relieve yourself of this burden. "First, I want you to know I didn't sleep with Sam. We got close, but I stopped it." Sitting upright, you grasp the black satin sheet to shield yourself, though it's not your exposed body that leaves you feeling vulnerable right now. "I hated seeing you with Stacy that night, and I understood why you went into your room together. So, I tried to get back at you by getting close to Sam. But I couldn't go through with it, and I—"

When he clasps your hand, a sudden air of confusion flickers in his sleepy eyes, prompting you to halt your over-explanation.

"I don't want Stacy.” His tone is resolute, firm. His eyes are imploring you to trust his words. "She tried hard that night, but I turned her down."

A rush of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. How could you have misunderstood so completely? 

Yet, there's still the lingering suspicion that he might be telling you what he thinks you want to hear, especially considering his state before he drove you home that night...

“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt when I came back down stairs? And why did you look exactly like you do right now before you drove–”

"Y/n." He stops you, squeezing your hand tightly, urging you to stop overthinking. His eyes lock onto yours with intensity, pulling you into his earnest gaze. "I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened between us. It doesn't mean she didn't try, and I admit, I entertained the idea for a moment. But I couldn't stop thinking about—" He wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "I couldn't stop thinking about you..." Leaning in, he kisses you softly and sweetly. "And how badly I wished it was you in my room with me," he whispers. "Not her."

He carefully lays both of you back down, you resting on top of him just as before. "Do you believe me?" He asks gently, reassuringly.

Though uncertainty is still weighing on you, present in the tightness forming in the pit of your tummy, you know there's no reason to not believe him. He’s not given you one that should make you doubt his words, and his actions as of late have certainly validated them. 

Even if they had slept together, it's in the past, just like your almost rendezvous with Sam.          

You can’t change the past. You can’t destroy the tumultuous foundation you and Jake built upon first meeting one another. You can only grow as a result of it. Everything that has happened in the past is just that–in the past. 

What’s the sense in dwelling on it when you can put that energy into something far greater? 

Terrifying as it may be, and though you tried with all of your might to deny it, you want him. And you’ve got a pretty good inclination that he wants you just as much–something you once convinced yourself was impossible.

In truth, what’s happening right now is all that matters.

“Of course I do,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss the flesh of his peck. “Do you believe me?” 

You're left a bit perplexed as his chest erupts with a vibrating chuckle, a lazy snicker escaping his lips. "What's so funny?" you ask, a touch offended, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"Relax, doll. It's nothing," he replies, still chuckling softly as he gently guides you back into your previous position. "But I have to admit," he continues, his fingers now tracing over the chilled goosebumps on your arms. He reaches over, pulling the tangled covers over both of you. "It does feel good to come out on top with Sam."

"Jacob," you giggle softly, feeling your body completely relax under the warmth of the sheets and the comforting heat from his body beneath you.

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You’re realizing the very reason why Jake was so adamant about wearing this costume in particular. He’s petitioned for it since filming first began months ago, but Josh simply wouldn’t budge. 

“Not until the right moment,” he’d told Jake the countless times the conversation had been brought up, each time Jake nearly demanded that he be allowed to wear this outfit. 

It got so bad that Josh took some rather extreme measures, resulting in hiding this costume from Jake until he and Malachi believed the time was right. 

So, because of that, you hadn’t seen it. Not on him, at least.

That is, until this very moment as he’s sauntering out of his room with an air of confidence you’re finding so fucking sexy. 

And this outfit…it’s certainly forcing you to feel things you most definitely should not be feeling right now.

The first time you’ve seen him in all white, and you’re quite literally shocked by it. It’s Jake, but it’s a completely new version of him.

The first thing your eyes fall to are his white pants that fit him a bit too well. The most snug fit you’ve seen on him, and they’re not doing much in the way of concealing his…member. 

To make things so much worse for you, the white shirt he’s wearing is cropped, donned with a silver breastplate over his chest. The jacket over top is also cropped, with a long train in the back that flows elegantly behind him with each stride of his legs. 

And, your favorite part: his sword. 

It’s held tight to his waist, secured in the black sheath with the belt wrapped around his hips. 

And you’re sure he’s done something different to his hair, looking as though he’s taken a curling iron to it. 

He’s moved closer to you, locking eyes with yours as he throws you a quick wink. And that confirms what you were already wondering the moment he walked out of his room; he’s wearing fucking eyeliner. Tightlined on the bottom and top lids, smudged out a little on the outer corners.

This is all far too much to take in right now. Your knees feel as though they're on the verge of buckling beneath youtu. 

Fucking Jake. 

“Alright, everyone,” announces Josh while he finishes packing up the last few things he’ll need for today's shoot. 

Your head snaps over in his direction, your eyes longing for Jake as soon as you do so. 

But, you don’t have to be too sad for too long, as you feel Jake come up behind you. Close enough to your back that you feel his firm abdomen against your body. And, to your utter demise, you feel as he lays a sneaky hand against your hip, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there.

Fuck. 

You do your best to focus on Josh as he rambles on, explaining (in his typical, long-winded fashion that quickly became one of your things about him) the ins and outs of today's scene. 

“And what better place for that than our beloved campus?” Josh remarks, flashing a wink your way that you snicker off. He’s a goof. 

He goes on about how the shoot will take place in front of the historic U of M law school, the most eye-catching of all the buildings on campus. The one that looks just like a castle fit for the King of Britain himself. 

“I can’t begin to fathom that, after this scene, this little brain child of mine will be completely filmed.” He quickly wipes a stray tear from his glittering eyes as he starts to pace around the living room, stopping when Malachi wraps a supporting arm around his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to thank all of you for your endless help and support on the most extensive project I’ve taken on. This film…” Josh pauses his talking to gain a bit more composure, his voice beginning to crack with the heavy emotions that are begging to be felt. “...it will open so many doors…for all of us. And I undoubtedly believe that.”

Josh’s eyes flick to Jake’s behind you for a blip of a moment. Was that meant specifically for Jake? If so, what did it mean? 

On top of the secret look, Jake’s grip on your hip loosened just a bit for the briefest of moments. It would’ve made you ponder further, but only seconds after he’d let up his hold, he was back to grasping at you. 

This time, his thumb brushing purposefully against your ass for just long enough that you had to cross your legs awkwardly. 

Fucker.

As Josh sturdies himself against Malachi, taking a moment to gather his emotions, he clears his throat in preparation for one more announcement. “But before we head over there, I’d like to share with you all the official title of this masterpiece we’ve created together.” 

Josh said from the very beginning that he wanted to wait until the filming was nearly complete before giving it a name. He wanted to see it to the end before giving it an “all encompassing heading.” 

Knowing the title of this film will make the ending feel official, and it makes you a little emotional to see it all come to a close. This project has given you so much you never thought you'd have, and to finally know its name...

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Jake’s hand land on your lower back, sliding slowly up the hem of your shirt as he lightly scratches the bare skin with dulled nails. Every inch of you is painted in goosebumps, and you’re suddenly finding it hard to take a full breath any longer. 

“The purpose of this film,” he begins, effectively drawing your attention back to him, “Was to show a different side of the infamous, yet idolized romance. It’s a beautiful retelling, full of love, betrayal, hurt, and eventual death. After witnessing the genious of this immaculate cast,” he continues, being sure to make eyecontact with everyone in the room so that no one feels excluded. “I finally decided on a title that I feel speaks for the film.”

Josh looks to Sam, who begins a fake drum roll with his fingers against the kitchen counter. 

“Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur,” Josh proudly boasts, making a dramatic display by excitedly clapping his hands together and bowing to everyone before him. “I know, it’s somewhat of a mouthful.” He laughs.

“And that translates to…?” Danny asks, he and Nat cuddled up on the couch together.  

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask!” Josh smiles, pointing his finger toward Danny before crossing his arms over his chest. “It means The Dark Intrigues of Guinevere and Arthur. I thought it fitting to stick with the French theme, given the source from which the script was derived.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself on 

The Dark Intriges…

With everything surrounding this film, everything it’s brought you, it just couldn't be more suited. 

Your eyes are drawn to Sam once more when his connect with yours, seemingly paying no mind to how close Jake is standing behind you as he smiles and subtly winks you way. Smiling back at him hurts, because you’ve got a solid feeling he knows nothing of what's going on with you and Jake. What you hope will happen is he’ll figure it out on his own. Telling him would, frankly, fucking suck. The guilt you feel is tremendous, though.

And for that reason, the title of this film is all too fitting. Even beyond it. 

“I love it, Josh,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful.” 

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“I can see why you fought so hard for this outfit,” you say, slyly as Jake is driving the two of you to campus. 

Jake had actually called you as his riding partner on your way to the parking lot…in front of everyone. 

And while it’s not exactly been a secret (amongst almost everyone, at least) that you two have this thing for each other, it still made your skin heat and butterflies fly rampant in your belly when he claimed you’d be riding with him. He certainly didn’t want anyone else riding with you — only him. 

He’d told you as much as soon as you were both closed into the Black Pearl, his hand momentarily having squeezed your thigh when he spoke the words that made your heart flutter. 

In the present moment, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he grins, full toothed. “Yeah? Like what you see, huh?” He says with a cock of his eyebrow. 

“Mhm. Very much so, actually.” 

“C’mere,” he tells you just before he stops at the red light. You lean over toward him, and with a finger hooked under your chin, he pulls you in for a heavy, deep kiss.

He’s clean shaven, his face feels so smooth. And he tastes just like his birch wood aftershave. 

It’s not until the car behind you honks that the kiss is broken, and you both realize the light has turned green. Judging by the now continuous honks, it's probably been that way for a bit.

“Best we don’t start something we can’t finish, hm?” He utters, laughing when the car behind passes him and the driver throws him a very erect middle finger. 

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Stacy wasn’t supposed to be involved in filming today, and still yet, to your pure and utter disgust, here she is. She’s standing next to her car, eagerly jumping up and down as you all approach the parking lot across from the law building. 

Even with the radio on, and the windows rolled up, you can still hear her shrill screams of irritating excitement to see everyone. 

What the fuck.

“Jake!” She blurts as he gets out of the car, ignoring her attempt to give him a hug while he makes his way to the passengers side to let you out. “O–Oh! Hi, y/n! Didn’t think you were filming today!”

Yeah, I could say the same for you. 

“Nice to see you again, Stac,” you say, doing your very best to not sound like a total bitch. “Just wanted to watch the final scene being filmed. I assume that’s why you’re here, too?” 

Anyone else would have no problem seeing right through your fake kindness, but Stacy doesn’t seem to. In the time you’ve known her, you’ve noticed that she’s not the best at picking up on most social cues. She just continues to live in her little happy delirium, unable to read every room she graces with her movie star beauty.

“Oh yes! I can’t believe our project is almost over.” 

Our project? 

She inserts herself between you and Jake, standing as close as possible to the two of you, facing Jake with her back to you. The chemical-like smell of her cheap coconut body spray (which she’s obviously bathed in) stings the inside of your nose. Combined with her equally cheap hairspray, it's an abrasive scent she’s clearly nose-blind to.

As much as you’d like to say a few choice words, you bite your tongue and step away from her. Jake, looking just as annoyed as you, quickly joins you and begins leading you across the street to the front of the building. The sound of Stacy’s mule heels clicking against the pavement grows louder behind you as she hurries to keep up. 

Read the room, Stac. 

Josh and Malachi are already in full production mode as they’re working together to set up the perfect shot in front of the law school. “Can you bring me the light reflector, babe? We need the right balance of light on the bricks,” you hear Josh as Malachi as he’s looking through the viewfinder, making adjustments to the framing. 

“How’s that?” Chi asks, holding the reflector steady. 

Josh looks through the camera again, motioning for Jake to come stand in front of the lens as he tells him how to position himself. “Ah!” He exclaims, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Just then, Sam, Nat, and Danny pull in the parking lot in Nat’s Escalade. Even from across the street, you can vividly see the look on Nat’s face when she spots Stacy. Her expressionsays it all—her annoyance for Stacy has only grown in the last several weeks, and one thing about Nat? Her thoughts rarely stay safely within her mind. 

“What a…pleasant surprise,” Nat grumbles sarcastically as she approaches all of you, her eyes narrowing on the blonde standing to your right who’s trying to wedge her way in between you and Jake yet again. 

Stacy’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on a sweet and clueless grin. “Hey, Natty Batty! How are you?”

You have to quickly muffle your giggles with your hand when you see Nat wrinkle her nose at whatever the hell that nickname was. The look of utter disgust on her face is blatantly obvious to everyone else. But, not to Stacy. To no surprise,

Danny, ever the peacekeeper, excels at diffusing tension with his genuine smile and warm embrace. Nat’s irritation melts away instantly as Danny tenderly kisses her nose, eliciting a wide grin and a rosy blush. He is her perfect balance, just as she is his.

“My twin!” Josh shouts, snapping his fingers while still squinting one eye at the viewfinder. “Someone send my twin over here—this shot is more perfect than I couldn’ve imagined, and I don’t want to waste daylight!”

Jake gently squeezes your hand. “Looks like it’s my cue,” he says, smiling down at you. “Wish me luck.” Your face glows red when his lips carefully brush against your cheek. No one seemed to notice that he did this, no one except Stacy. Her shock is evident on her face as her eyes are locked tight with yours as you simply smile and casually wave her direction. To which, she rolls her eyes and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest in a silent temper tantrum. Good.

Your attention is pulled back to Jake as he’s walking toward the camera, and there’s no sense in trying to avert your gaze. His body is so strong, so broad and sturdy. His walk is most definitely one of the sexiest things about him. So confident in his strides, and the way he’s holding on to the sword swaying from his hips…It’s taking everthing in you to put on a casual facade. But, if anyone is going to see right through it, of course, it’s Nat. You feel her nudge your shoulder, breaking you from your Jake-induced trance. “A little distracted, there?” She winks, her and Danny both chuckling at you. 

“Here’s the king!” Josh booms once Jake finds his way in front of the camera. “Okay, Jakey boy. This monologe, it’s incredibly significant to the entire piece, and will close out this story we’ve created.” He steps away from the camera, meeting Jake in his spot to brush out a few wrinkles in his jacket and guide him to the exact position he needs him in. “It will also serve as the King's final oration before his death. So, you know, no pressure or anything. But, it does need to be pristine.” He giggles, offering a gentle pat to his cheek. 

“I won’t let you down, good sir,” Jake returns, saluting him. And when Josh finds his place back behind the camera, he mimics the very same to his twin. 

“Ready, Jake?”

With a nod of his head, you watch Jake effortlessly slip into character. Straightening his posture, he places his hand on his sword, (excalibur, of course) readying himself for the draw of his weapon. 

“And…action!”

Then, with a deep breath, Jake begins. 

“I stand before thee, on the brink of battle, yet my heart is heavy with a betrayal most grievous.”

His eyes, as glowing as ever, cast downward in heavy emotion, as if seeing the haunting memories play before him. 

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.” 

He’s using his accent, the very one that Josh swore he despised, but it seems Jake has been practicing. He sounds much more believable this time. Perhaps it’s the emotions he’s conveying, the seriousness of the scene. Whatever it is, it’s the best he’s ever sounded. 

His voice wavers slightly, his emotions suddenly becoming even more palpable as he looks off in the distance. You swear you can see welling tears in his honey eyes, the way they’re beginning to glisten against the sun. 

“My soul, shattered and consumed by the weight of a despair so fraught and injust. I am but a man, burdened with the agony of a broken heart. A wound that may never heal. Yet, I must not falter. For the sake of my beloved Camelot.”

His grip on excalibur tightens, his knuckles nearly white. 

“I will rise above my personal grief to fight for all that I hold dear. But know this, my loyal knights—if I should fall on this day, it will be not from the blade of our enemy, but from the tremendous sorrow that consumes me.”

He then pulls excaliber from her sheath, holding her high as the metal gleams against the dying sunlight. And when he does, he looks at you, holding character while his eyes pierce your soul. Tears begin falling from your eyes at the heightened emotions emitting from him, the woe that he’s conveying so well. It nearly feels real, as though it’s been pent up for a long time. It’s striking, it’s beautiful. 

“Let it be known that King Arthur fought not just against the foes outside these castle walls, but against the demons within his very own heart. My story,” He holds his weapon even higher, looking up to it in admiration and strong will gleaming through his eyes. “Will become a great title of an unimaginable fable, woven through the seams of time. And to that, I say, onward! Onward for Camelot, onward for Guinevere, the queen of my desolate heart!”

Everyone is silent once the monolouge finishes, letting it hang in the air for a moment as Jake still holds the sword high above his head. It seems everyone is a bit awestruck after that, after what you’re sure will be the most powerful ending to this film. 

Josh slowly steps away from the camera, looking at his twin with his mouth hanging wide open, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “...cut,” he says quietly, purely astonished. “And that, my friends, concludes the filming of Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” He practically runs to Jake, grabbing him in a tight embrace. “Bravo, my brother!” 

Jake hugs him back, one handed as he’s still carrying the sword. “Should we do it again? Just to be sure it’s oka–”

“Fuck no!” Josh cuts in. “We won’t get any closer to perfection than that. That was raw, you just let yourself become the King with no hesitation. No, no.” Josh shakes his head, breaking the hug, wiping the tears falling along his cheekbones and placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That was it. That was our ending.” 

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“I insist,” he keeps on, refusing to accept any answer that’s not a yes. “And I mean no offense but, your cooking skills are lacking a tad.” 

“Well now officially offended, Jake!” You can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s absolutely correct. It’s true that you’re no cook, but damn–he’s certainly humbled you a bit more. 

He’s been on your case all day about having you over for a “proper dinner,” according to him. One that he’s prepared entirely from scratch. Rather adamant about it, in truth. Your phone buzzed all throughout classes, during your small shift at work. And now, as he’s walking you to your car from the library, he's not dropped the topic since he met you at the circulation counter.

“Josh will be working the office, and Sam has plans with Danny.” He takes the key right out of your hand as you approach the driver's side door, unlocking it and holding it open for you. “So, you’d actually be doing me a favor.” 

“Oh yeah?” You snicker as he hands back the key, leaning your back against the frame of your clunker. He steps in between your slightly parted legs, pressing his body against yours. “And what exactly would that be?”

He steals a quick kiss from your lips as he runs his fingers through your locks. “Keeping me company, of course.” 

His lips linger on yours a bit longer this time, another plea for you to at last agree to his proposition. How could you possibly deny him any longer? “Alright, alright,” you concur. “What time should I be there?” 

He smiles, snatching one more kiss before quickly making his way to his Rover. “No later than 6:30. And you’re to bring nothing but your lovely self.” He winks as he climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and peeling off before you have a chance to argue that last bit. 

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The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ingredients as Jake had everything laid out and ready to make dinner before you go here. The scallops are neatly arranged on a plate, a bundle of fresh spinach resting nearby, and a bowl of gleaming pomegranate seeds wait to be transformed into a glaze.

“You ready to become a master chef?” Jake asks, flashing you a playful grin as he hands you an apron.

You manage a smile, though your tummy is fluttering with nerves. Nerves over fucking up the meal, but even more so, nerves over eating the meal. 

It’s the only reason you were apprehensive about tonight. It’s as simple as your fear of eating, of eating in the presence of someone else. But what you didn’t know was Jake’s plan to have you help prep the meal. 

What made him want to do it this way is completely beyond you, but you have to admit that it seems to be helping even the slightest with your fear. 

Still yet, you’re uncertain about the whole thing. If you had it your way, the two of you would plant yourselves on the couch and watch something on the television, fight eachother over dominance when you start getting handsy with one another. 

As if he can sense your hesitation, your racing thoughts, he steps closer, his smile softening into something more intimate as he helps adjust your apron. His fingers brushs against your waist, lingering for just a moment, but long enough to steal your breath. “No worries, doll,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve got me as your sous-chef. We’re in this together.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to gently rest on your hip, guiding you to the cutting board. “First things first,” he starts, his tone casual though his touch is anything but. “We’ll start with the spinach. Rather easy—we’ll just chop the leaves into smaller pieces.”

You pick up the knife he’s placed beside the greens, noting its heavy weight of this massive blade. Jake’s hand hovers nearby, his presence steady and warm. “You’ve got this,” he murmers, his voice close to your ear. The proximity is sending a shiver down your spine, but his presence makes you smile, nonetheless.

As you begin to chop, Jake leans in, his breath tickling your neck as he begins telling a story about his first attempt at cooking scallops. “I burned them so badly, they were basically little hockey pucks,” he giggles. “And don’t even get me started on the smoke alarm. Sent my brothers in a screaming frenzy. I swore my grandfather was ready to kick me out.”

You chuckle at the image of Jake frantically trying to clear the smoke out of the kitchen, of Josh and Sam being scared to death over it. But it doesn’t fully distract you from just how close he is, how his arm brushes agaisnt yours  when he grabs another knife to help you chop the last of the leaves. 

With the spinach done, Jake moves on to the scallops, setting a pan on the stove. “Alright, here’s the trick with scallops: you want a hot pan. They should sizzle as soon as they hit the surface. Like they’re saying, ‘We’re here, mother fuckers and we mean business!’” 

Laughter bursts from your belly at his completely cheesy remark. He jokingly pats himself on the back at making you laugh so hard before handing you the metal tongs. He lets you take them but keeps his hand on them as well, guiding you as you place the scallops in the pan. 

While the scallops are searing, Jake moves on to the pomegranate glaze. He pours the juice into a saucepan, adding honey and lemon with a flourish. “This part’s fun,” he says, giving you a wink. “We’re basically making a magic potion. When we drizzle it over the scallops, it’s going to taste like pure heaven.”

His voice drops a notch, and when he holds the spoon to your mouth to taste the glaze, his fingers softly brush against your lips. You open your mouth to allow the tangy sweetness of the glaze to spread across your tongue, but your mind is admitidly elsewhere, fixated on the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you think, doll?” He mutters, his eyes watching your tongue as it collects the sauce that dripped on your bottom lip. “Is it to your liking?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

You take the spoon from his hand and lick off the reminents of the glaze, taking your time to put on a bit of a show for him. When you set it back down on the counter, his hands, still a little sticky from the sauce, grab hold of your face and pull you closer to him. “Let me try,” he moans sweetly in your mouth, tasting what’s left of the glaze on your tongue. “Mm, you’re right,” he says, stealing one more taste of your lips. “Perfect.”

With the scallops now seared and the glaze ready, Jake guides you through plating. He arranges the spinach on the plates, then hands you the spoon to drizzle the glaze. “Just a little drizzle,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Like you’re adding the finishing touch.”

You follow his lead, trying to focus on the task, but it’s rather hard with him so close, his hand brushing your back as he leans in to admire your work. “Not bad for a first try, huh?” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not bad at all,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

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The evening was about as close to perfect as you could’ve hoped for. Well, aside from your mom’s phone calls beginning to become persistent as the night lingered. 

The meal was glorious, and the way Jake had you help with preparing it gave you some sense of control over it all. It certainly helped you overcome some of the fear of eating, and though you’re normally the cook at your own place, tonight just felt different. Perhaps it was because Jake was with you this time, his peaceful aura working to calm you. You felt okay. More than okay. 

While the fear was still there, Jake’s voice worked to quiet the no-so-nice ones in your head. 

He helped. He helped a lot. And he doesn’t even know it. 

But now, you’re home, lying in your bed with a belly full of seafood. The thoughts are much louder now than they had been all night; the anxieties have managed to slip back in your head now that he’s not here to protect you from them. 

The night ended far quicker than you wanted, though you know it’s not anyones fault. Josh called needing Jake’s help with a particulary irate tenant, one that only Jake knows how to deal with properly. 

After more than a few minutes arguing on the phone, after Jake promised to kick Josh’s ass for making him come help, you offered to get out of his hair so he could handle the situation. It was late, and you knew being out any longer would result in more phone calls from your mom, more guilt for being gone. 

You miss him. You miss the safety and reassurance he provides that you just can’t get at home. 

No, there’s no safety here anymore. 

There’s tension, resentment. On both sides. 

When your head hits the pillow these days, your mind has a much harder time shutting off. You’ve replayed the conversation with your mom over and over again. Dodger…

You think about whomever this is almost nightly since the very mention of the name caused her to spew such horrible things your way. The name served as some sort of trigger for her, and you just want to get to the bottom of why. 

Thinking about it is beginning to put pressure on your now throbbing temples and cheekbones. It feels like a rubberband is tightening around your whole head, the only relief coming from the tips of your fingers pressing down on either side of your nose. 

Everything feels out of your control. Everything. If you could just figure out who he is…He?

Suddenly, you remember. 

You sent yourself the contact from your moms phone. You have Dodger’s number. 

One phone call is all it would take. One phone call, and you’ll have your answer. 

The screen of your phone is nearly blinding in contrast to the darkness of your room. The first thing you do is turn the brightness down before anything else so your eyes can have an easier time adjusting. 

You scroll through your contacts until you see the name, your thumb stilled and hovering above it once you see it.

You’re scared. You’re not sure why you’re scared. There’s so much you feel like you don’t know, that’s being hidden from you. And calling this number might mean learning some — perhaps all — of those things. 

You’ve just got a feeling, a feeling that you can’t understand.

The hand that’s not holding your phone reflexively reaches to the necklace around your neck, taking hold of the little charm with your initial. When you rub your thumb over the engravement, you feel a tiny sense of peace in the grasp of your hand, against the ridges of your thumb. 

And you’re also suddenly feeling like calling Dodger may not be the right thing to do.

Not right now, at least. 

There’s someone else you’d much rather talk to, someone that will make you feel like everything is okay, even if it truly isn’t. 

It only rings once on the other end before he answers. “It’s awfully late, doll.” His voice is quiet, deep. “Everything okay?” 

You huff a breath of solace, feeling your nerves dull and the ache in your head begin to ease a bit at merely hearing his voice. “I just wanted to say thank you again for tonight,” you tell him, lips curling into an honest grin. “It meant a lot to me.” 

You hear a faint, breathy giggle in your ear. “Happy to do it, babe.” 

Babe.

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You have a fondness for nights like these, when you close the library on your own. There’s something so calming, so peaceful about the vacant building in the evening. 

Albeit a little spooky, it’s in all of the best ways. Never once have you felt unsafe or scared here. 

And you never grow bored. The stories that line the ceiling-high bookshelves provide all the wonder and escapism one could ever want for. 

As for most weekend evenings, it’s been awfully slow tonight. Not that you’re complaining; it's provided you with ample opportunities to explore a little deeper than you’re normally able to. As much as you adore working with Nat, she usually talks your ear off the entire shift, so, without her, you can give yourself a little you time to walk around the quiet space. 

At a quarter to ten, the library will be set to close in about fifeteen minutes. With all of the closing duties complete, all that’s left to do is lock the doors when the clock strikes ten. There’s not been a single person in here since early this afternoon, and you’re willing to place a wager on it staying that way until it’s officially time to close it down. 

But just as you’re thinking the remainder of the night will be still, you hear the familiar creak of the large wooden door. 

Who could possibly need the library at this hour? 

With a roll of your eyes, you make your way down the stairs to greet whomever decided to waltz in here at the last minute. 

And when you catch a glimpse of who it is, you’re not shocked in the least. 

“Hi, doll.” 

You should’ve known as soon as you heard the creaking door. This has, afterall, happened before, as history would tell.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” You ask as you approach, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of him in his denim button up over a slightly torn white v-neck and tight dark wash jeans.

He closes the small gap between the two of you, making graceful strides your way as he reaches both hands out to grab hold of your hips, a lazy grin exposing his pearly whites. “Thought I might check out a book before closing time," he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "Got any recommendations?"

You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his touch. "At this hour? Really, Jake, you're impossible."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You know me, always full of surprises." He releases your hips but not before giving them a gentle squeeze. "But seriously, I just wanted to see you."

You playfully begin walking toward the shelves, pretending that you’re carefully looking for something that may pique his interest, hearing the click of his black heeled boots against the hardwoods. 

"Well, you’ve got me," you say as you’re facing away from him, trying to keep your tone light while you feel the warmth of his body against you when he gets closer. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

You look over your left shoulder to him as he tilts his head, considering. "How about you surprise me? Pick something you think I'd like."

You nod, turning your attention back towards the bookshelves, grateful for the brief moment to collect yourself. As you scan the rows of spines, you can feel his eyes on you, a warm, steady presence that’s both comforting and exhilarating. After a moment, you pull "Tell Me to Stop" by Charlotte Byrd from the shelf and turn back to him.

"Here," you say, handing it over. "I think you'll fancy this one."

Jake takes the book from your hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer against yours. "Ah, I’ve heard of this one. Thanks, doll," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate whisper. As he reads the title, his lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Quite the dark romance, I hear," he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sends a thrill through you. 

“It is rather…enticing,” you snicker, sucking in a sharp breath when his free hand finds your hip once again. “Very dark, very romantic.”

You glance at the clock just as the hands indicate that it’s officially closing time, but before you can tell Jake that you need to lock the doors, you hear the novel thud to the floor as he pulls your body into his. His lips collide with yours while your hands instinctively run all over the expanse of his back and shoulders. 

You savor the taste of him, already familiar yet exhilaratingly new each time. The spicy peppermint against his tongue, the lingering taste of black coffee, sweet and bitter—so very much him.

Inappropriate as it may be, you can’t begin to stop yourself. The library is closed, and the chances of anyone else walking in are incredibly slim to none. And though the risk is there given the doors are still unlocked, you can’t deny that makes this ordeal all the more exciting. 

He pushes your back against the shelf where you found his novel, and the books on the other side hit the floor from the force, their echoing thuds heard throughout the old walls of the building.

You feel him, hard and rock solid against your hip, his lips hungry and eager for yours. There’s a need coursing through your veins that only he can bring forth, a need that waves all caution of being in a public place (closed or not) to the wind. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you grumble, your lips hardly leaving his. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, rutting his hard cock into your hip. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Jesus.

He groans, deep and raspy when you reach between your bodies to feel him through his jeans. He thrusts his hips into you, pushing himself into your palm. “Turn around,” he mumbles, already leading you there before the words even leave his lips. 

“Yes, sir,” you moan while you hurriedly turn to face the shelving. One hand softly grips the back of your neck, finding the waistband of your leggings. He pulls them and your underwear down in one swift motion, fingers instantly prodding at your leaking entrance. You groan and sigh his name, your cunt throbbing and yearning for him.

“Color.”

“Green.”

You hear him unbuckle his belt and yank down his zipper with his other hand, his cock now resting on the skin of your lower back while he pushes his middle finger inside to the knuckle. “Spread your legs a little more for me, doll,” he mumbles into your hair. You spread them as much as you can, but you can only go so far with the way your leggings are stretched on the middles of your thighs. “Wider,” he groans, quiet and deep from his throat. 

The threads in your leggings snap when you spread your legs even further, and you feel the breath of his chuckle against the back of your neck. “Is that enough for you?” You snap, half out of irritation, half out of desperation. 

He then pulls his finger from you, swatting the flesh of your ass just enough to startle you. “Careful, doll,” he mutters, the tip of his leaking cock now replacing his finger. “You know what happened last time you got cheeky with me,” he whispers, one hand gently massaging your ass cheek to help remind you, while the other still has firm hold on the back of your neck. 

“Yes, sir,” you comply, noting a snarky chuckle from behind you before he nibbles at your shoulder. 

“Are you ready for me, love?” He questions. His voice is still stern, yet becoming gentler all at once. He kisses your shoulder, the hand on your neck moving to brush your hair out of the way as his tongue follows a path to the back of your ear. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reiterate, finding there’s hardly any air left in your lungs to speak with.   

Any air that is in your lungs is instantly stolen from you when he slowly glides himself inside your soaked cunt. You hold on to the shelves with a white knuckle grip as he fills you slowly and completely, letting you get comfortable with him nestled away inside of you. 

“That’s my girl,” he growls in your ear, keeping his thrusts very slow and deep. “Always so wet and ready for me, huh?” 

He then takes both of your wrists, bringing them down to rest against your lower back, holding them still with one hand. His pace quickens with this new leverage, pounding himself into you with a force that causes at least five more books to fly off of the other side of the shelves. 

“Wish you could see this, doll.” You feel him lean the upper half of his body back as his hips keep their rythmn, keeping your wrists held together while his other hand holds you sturdy by your shoulder. “You look so lovely like this.” 

Your wails reverberate from the high pitched ceilings, bouncing off every wall. His cock sliding in and out of you at this momentum has the band within you daring to snap at any second, your walls fluttering and squeezing his twitching dick. 

A series of explicitives mixed with his name escape your lips, near incoheriences as you’re feeling your body coming closer and closer to letting go for him. 

“Jake Jake Jak–” 

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, so fucking wet.” His breathing is labored, hitched as it’s becoming caught in his throat as you gush around his twitching cock. A feeling of bliss so indescribable, so intoxicating. An intoxication only made possible by Jake. 

He’s close behind you, his rhythm faltering and becoming sloppier and harder. You’re on the brink of overstimulation, but you don’t care. You’d let him keep going forever if you could. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, slowing enough so he can gain a bit more composure before he gives it to you. 

“Inside,” you plead with a high pitch in your tone, desperate to feel full of him. “Please, sir.” 

“Fuck.” His hips pick up their previous speed as he lets go of your wrists, letting you grab hold of the shelves once again. “A-are you sure?”

Is it risky?

Absolutely. 

But, the risk is there whether he pulls out or not. And right now, with every heightened, burning cell in your body and the already present risk of doing this at work, you want it. You need it. Every caution went out the window the moment he walked through the doors tonight. 

“Y-yes,” you stutter. “Fill me up, sir.” 

A deep, rumbling sound you’ve yet to hear from him erupts from the depths of his chest, and within seconds of your plea, he’s doing just as you said. He’s filling you with everything he’s got, so much that you feel it spilling down the insides of your thighs. 

He slows himself to a complete stop, stilling himself inside of you as he catches his breath and letting you do the same. “Goddamn,” he mutters through panting breaths. “You’re just too fucking perfect.” You hiss as he pulls himself out all the way, slow and steady so you’re as comfortable as possible. You reach down to pull your leggings up, but he gently stops you before you can finish. “Just a second, doll.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder as he’s taking off his denim shirt and reaches it down to clean the traces of him left on your inner thighs. “We sure made a mess,” he snickers as he helps you bring your leggings back up. 

You feel you have to muster every little bit of strength you have left to turn your body around to face him. He giggles at your exhausted state, and you can’t help but grin at the state of him. Sweat accumulated on his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks, his eyes heavy and drowsy.

He drapes his shirt over his shoulder before he pulls you into a lazy hug, holding you against his warm body. You fully melt into him, letting your arms fall to his sides and your head rest against his chest. “You’re going to have to help me put those books back on the shelf,” you chuckle, remembering just how many of them hit the ground. 

You feel his chest rattle as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s just leave ‘em. Blame it on the ghosts.”

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You’ve never looked forward to your birthday. Years of it being spent alone, your mom never allowing you to have birthday parties, people constantly forgetting about it…you just can’t recall a time that you actually felt loved on this day. So, it’s just another day to you. You’ve learned to not expect much from people when it comes around. 

And just like any other day as of late, today is filled to the absolute brim with school, work and the countless things you’ll need to do at home. 

Just another day.

But you know that this one will perhaps be a bit harder, as it’s the first you’ll spend without your dad. Even though birthdays have always left you feeling just as insignificant as the other 364 days of the year, your dad would still make it a point to surprise you with a little something every morning on this date.

Usually, it was a red velvet cupcake from the Sweet Crumb bakery just down the street from your home, adorned with a single golden candle that he would wait to light until you were awake so the wax wouldn’t melt all over the cream cheese frosting. And, without fail, every year he’d lay a single white gerbera daisy on your pillow for you to wake up to, usually with a little note tied to the stem that said, “To My Wildflower.”

On your sixteenth, he gifted you your once favorite piece of jewelry— a little golden heart charm with the initial of your first name engraved on it, hanging from a golden chain. 

The very one you wore every single day. Well, until he left, that is. And that was when you decided you no longer needed it, that it simply didn’t mean the same to you. 

But somehow, it made its way to Ann Arbor, even though you distinctly remember throwing it away along with the handwritten letter that had been in the jewelry box. The same letter you still can't seem to find, even though it was always kept alongside your necklace. You recall hesitating when the thought of throwing it away crossed your mind. In the end, you weren’t quite ready to part with it.

Odd. 

And yet, despite everything, you’ve recently found a quiet happiness in knowing you still have the necklace. Today feels as good a day as any to wear it. Even though he left, he can’t take the necklace away, and wearing it gives you a small sense of control over it all.

Alas, there’s no cupcake or flower awaiting you this morning, though. Not much of anything, actually. Only once in your life can you remember a gift from your mom, and you’ve a strong feeling this year won’t be much different. 

You can’t remember a time in your life that you’ve truly been celebrated as a person, just for who you. You’ve always been left to wonder if you’ve just never been worthy of it. A life in the shadows, you’ve always said. In the shadows of everyone else around you, around the important people. 

For that very reason, you’re grateful to have stumbled upon the people who are in your life now—the ones who’ve been a thousand miles away but feel like they should have been with you all along.

But, they're in your life right now for a reason. There’s a deeper purpose to the fact that you’re just now meeting them in this stage of your life, not any other one. 

What the reason is, you may not know for a long time. Or, you may never know. Regardless, you’re grateful to them. And they have no clue just how much they’ve helped you come into your own in the incredibly short time you’ve known them. 

As you gaze at your closet, only partially filled with clothes, the thought of wearing something a bit nicer for class and work crosses your mind. Yet, as you rummage through the same five pairs of leggings and your tattered sweatshirts and oversized sweaters, you realize there’s nothing that nice to wear.

Your ensemble from the infamous night at the haunted house is washed and hanging neatly in the back corner of the small space, but the thought of wearing that again isn’t exactly a pleasant one. There’s just too much associated with it to want to put it on your body again. There’s always the outfit from the night of the birthday party, but you haven’t had a chance to wash those clothes just yet. So, your uniform of choice— leggings and a massive sweater— will have to do for today. 

Just another day.

Although, you figure it’d do little harm to wear your nice sweater today, the white button up with beige flowers stitched all over it. The one that pairs perfectly with your white, hightop converse, sprucing up your usual look a bit. And with the addition of your dads gifted necklace, your vibes are at least a little nicer today. Nicer than you normally feel, at least.

And, fuck it. You may as well add a touch of makeup, throw a few curls in your hair, just for the hell of it. 

Once you finish dabbing on a little black mascara and rose colored lip gloss, you take a step back from your vanity to get the full image of yourself. And surprisingly, you’re quite pleased with the outcome. 

With a few spritzes of your Being Frenshe vanilla cashmere perfume, you feel it’s about as good as it’ll get for the day. And, oddly enough, you’re pretty happy with it. 

Your birthday may not be your favorite, but at least you can make yourself feel a little better with your appearance. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to you, to feel okay in your own skin. But you’ve found that, lately, it’s come a little easier. 

(And you know exactly who to thank for that.)

You grab your cross body bag, picking up your phone that’s still plugged into the charger, and before you place it in the front zipper of your bag, you notice there’s an unread text from Jake that he sent about fifteen minutes ago. 

Before even opening the message, there’s a warm feeling flooding through your body at seeing his name, something you’re sure you’ll never get used to.

Jake: May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly. And yours, burning brightest as you embark on another trip around the sun. Join me for a celebratory feast on this fine eve. At the stroke of 7:30, look for me from the balcony of your watchtower. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival from your chariot of the night, The Black Pearl. 

It’s not that you expected him to forget, but the prospect was strong in your mind nonetheless. It’s historical that people have forgotten your birthday, or at least didn’t pay it enough mind to reach out to you about it. So it’s no wonder why you questioned whether or not someone you’d just met a few months ago would think to text you. 

But, it's Jake. Jake is different, and you know that. You've seen his heart.

Just as you’re about to respond, you see the three little dots bubbling under his last text, so you wait a second to see what else he has to say.

Jake:  Also, there's a surprise for you in your car. (Please lock it at night) See you in around 12 hours, beautiful.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re shocked when you see the most beautiful bouquet of white gerbera daisies mixed with wildflowers sitting propped up in your driver's seat. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen; there must be at least fifty daisies wrapped up in there. 

(It appears as though you did get your daisy this year after all— and then some.)

But that’s not it. There’s an incredible red dress lying across the back seat with a jewelry box sitting on top of the crimson, satin fabric. And just when you think he thought of everything, you spot a pair of black heels on the floorboard, a note attached to the ankle strap of the left one. 

Wear this tonight, and you’ll be the loveliest sight. - JTK

My god. The lengths he has gone to, all to make today as special as he can. It warms your heart, yet sends a slew of uneasy nerves through your blood. 

As much as you’re grateful for this new addition to your wardrobe, you can’t help the burgeoning thoughts that it may not fit the way you’d like.

Clothes shopping is a difficult task for you. The mere thought of knowing your size, your exact measurements…it’s a massive trigger, suffice to say. 

So, you just don’t do it. Sticking to leggings and oversized tops is the easiest thing for the very simple fact that those items always fit the exact same. Most of what you have in your closet that aren’t those things are items you bought years and years ago that you’d always had the best intentions of wearing, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to do it.

The thought of trying on this dress is a scary one. The thought of it not fitting…terrifying. Mind-numbingly.

Jake doesn’t know that. Of course, he had no idea of your inhibitions to try new clothing when he bought this for you. It’s the sweetest gesture, and his intent is nothing but pure. Nonetheless, you’re worried about the whole thing.

What if it truly doesn’t fit? What if you despise the way it looks on you? It could highlight all of your worst features, it could cling to the areas of your body and put them on display. 

But he’s expecting you to wear it. 

A rock in a hard place. You’re completely stuck. 

The last thing you’d allow yourself to do is make him feel bad for something he had no idea would trigger you so bad.

You can’t control how your body will look in the dress, how it’ll hug you in perhaps a few ways that may be unflattering. But one thing you can take control of today, is how much food you decide to put into your body.

Meals are simply out of the question today— until your date, at least. 

You’re not risking the inevitable pooch that will make itself present with anything you decide to eat. A little hunger is okay if it means you might fit the dress a little better. 

You take the dress, shoes and jewelry from the back of your car, grab the lovely bouquet and head back up to your apartment to set everything in your room.

As you stare at the dress laid out on your comforter, you can’t fight the rush of anxieties creeping up. As much as you want to try it on now, so you’ll know for sure if it’ll be a good fit for tonight, you just can’t. Not yet. You’d like to remain as blissfully unaware for as long as you possibly can. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You feel rather accomplished as you leave your Classic Horror course, having just gotten back your analytic paper on the ever scandalous novella Carmilla with a ninety eight percent decorating the front left corner in red ink. 

And even better, your professor told you that your paper scored the highest out of the forty six people in your class. 

You're mentally patting yourself on the back as you head to the library for your shift, feeling a sense of pride in your work that you initially thought wasn’t worthy of any praise. 

Movack's class is canceled for today, and you’re a little sad about that. You never thought the day would come when you’d be upset about not having Movack’s class, the one that’s shown you grief after grief this semester. But, it’s the one that introduced you to Jake. And with how things are at last falling into place, that class has turned out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

But, not having Movack’s class means you can get a few extra hours of work in. Your bank account will certainly be grateful for it, and, in truth, you love your job enough to sacrifice a few hours of free time. 

You’re almost sure that you’re the only person in the world who wants to go to work on their birthday. Natalia offered more than once to work extra to cover your shift, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Apart from being with Jake, the library is the best place to be today. (And t certainly beats being stuck at home.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A huge bunch of sparkly silver balloons is the first thing that catches your eye as you’re nearing the circulation desk.  And right next to the balloons, is your dearest Natalia with an excited smile stretched across her perfect teeth. 

She’s not even supposed to be at work today. Yet, here she is. And you’re so happy to see her.

“The birthday girl!” She exclaims, practically sprinting to you while holding out a gift bag that perfectly matches the balloons. 

“Nat! What did you do?” You exclaim through a ridiculously large smile, so big it’s almost embarrassing. 

You’re not used to this kind of attention, especially on your birthday. 

A day that you had prepared yourself to be just another day, has turned out to be one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had. 

And you needed it. 

You just didn’t realize how badly you needed it until you got it. It feels silly to be so emotional about everything, but it just can’t be helped. Happy, thankful tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to sniff them away, but to no avail.

Nat sets the gift down and pulls you into a full body hug the moment she sees your emotions surfacing. There’s no sense in hiding them, especially with Nat. If anyone is going to understand your feelings, it’s her. 

“I’m not letting go until you do,” she says, squeezing you tightly in her toned arms. She smells so good, so much like her. Like a field of lilacs and freshly brewed coffee. 

When you finally decide to let go, she uses the sleeve of her fitted mustard yellow turtleneck to wipe thye tears from your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you tell her once you notice the splotch of mascara you left on the shoulder of her top. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds, picking the gift back up and holding it out to you once again. “But you have to open this before you go fix your makeup.” 

With shaky hands, you take the bag from her, instantly noting its weight. 

“Nat, you shouldn’t have done–” 

“I wanted to,” she interrupts. “Now, open it!”

You reach your hand in the bag and pull out something wrapped it white, sparkly tissue paper. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and oval in shape. As you begin ripping away the tissue, you see the beginnings of a beautiful bronze antiqued frame with rose gold flowers carved into it. And when you see the photo it surrounds, the tears begin making their appearance one more.

Why can’t I keep it together?  

It’s a photo of you and Nat, a candid shot of her helping you fix your hair as you’re getting ready in Jake’s room for a scene. You’re dressed in the red gown from earlier scenes, so the photo is at least a few months old. 

It's beautiful. It perfectly embodies your friendship with Nat, capturing where it was then and where it is now. It's a frame, frozen in time, depicting how she has helped you every step of the way since the day you met her, always being right there behind you in everything you do.

“Nat it’s–” You try, choking on your words through heavy emotions. “I just love this so much.” 

You stare at it a few moments longer before pulling her in for another embrace. But as you’re holding her close, you suddenly begin to wonder…

“Who took this?” You ask her, breaking the hug only a little so you can see her face. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” she winks. 

“Jake?” you ask, shocked. Yet, somehow, not shocked at all. She nods her head to confirm, and all you can do is smile at the lovely thought that this simple gift represents so much. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Get a plate! There’s plenty here,” Nat says as she’s filling her silver paper plate with one of everything from the spead.

Cupcakes, a massive variety of chips and every dip one could possibly want for, pretzels, popcorn, an entire fruit tray with a white ceramic bowl holding a fluffy cream cheese dip…

So. Many. Snacks. 

So much temptation on a day that you really don’t want to be tempted. You can’t risk your tummy sticking out tonight for your date, and any amount of these snacks will do just that. 

But dammit, they look incredibly appetizing. And your empty stomach is begging you to scarf down one of those vanilla cupcakes with the pretty baby-pink frosting. 

You feel guilty about it. Shameful. Nat spent so much time and money on this for you, but you just can’t allow yourself to do it. You won’t do it. 

Eating isn’t a priority right now.

“I will in a bit! I just need to enter these returns really quick,” you tell her, pretending to focus on your computer that isn’t even turned on yet, making haste in gathering up whatever paperwork that’s around you to try and bullshit your way out of this. 

It’s not really working, though. You don’t even have to look at Nat to know what she’s thinking, what her face is saying. 

“It can wait,” she jolts, her tone short and sharp as ever. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast. And I can bet you don’t have any lunch plans.” She grabs the papers out of your hands, setting them aside. “So, eat something. Now.”

How does she–? 

Think of something to say, y/n. Quick. 

“I, um, I actually have food in my car for lunch. Just forgot to bring it in—”

“Come here,” she cuts you off, taking your right hand from the keyboard as you’re trying to sign in to the computer and leading you to the back room. She closes the door and motions for you to sit down next to her on the pile of old books you usually sit on when you’re sorting through things to be shelved. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing! I just—” 

She holds a hand up between you both, stopping you before you can continue with whatever bullshit was going to fly out of your mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. You hardly ate anything at the birthday party, you never take your fifteen minute meal breaks at work, you turn me down for lunch almost every day and when you do actually go with me, you take maybe three bites of your tiny salad and chug your water.” 

You’re stunned silent for a moment. For several moments, actually. 

What do you say? There’s nothing you can say, no excuse that could ever suffice when she’s caught on to this much.

You don’t like talking about it. Talking about it, to you, is a much worse feeling than the painful hunger you’ve put yourself through. Admitting you have a disorder makes it all the more real; it’s too vulnerable of an admition for your liking. Especially outloud in the presence of someone you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from. 

“I—,” you start, but it’s useless. There isn’t a single word ready to leave your tongue. Nothing is ready at the forefront of your brain.

“You’re losing weight, y/n. And you’re losing it in the most unhealthy way possible.”

No. You can’t do this today. It’s not the time. 

It’s never the time.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Nat,” you spit as you stand up, walking toward the door until she stops you with a firm grip of your forearm, holding you in place. 

“We have to talk about it,” she asserts, frustrated. “You have to talk about it. You can’t keep pretending it’s not an issue. Stop avoiding it.”

You quickly snap your arm out from her hand, refusing eye contact. You know she’s right, but this means you have to confront it. And doing that is probably the worst thing about this illness that you’ve been carrying for so many years. It only shows itself periodically, making you believe you’re finally healed, only to rear its ugly head just when you think you’ve rid yourself of it once and for all. 

Confronting it feels like you’re giving it some sort of power; you’ve convinced yourself that ignoring it will make it go away. Eventually. 

But, you know that isn’t true. Years of living by that very sentiment have proven it. No matter what, it keeps finding its way back. An unwanted, cruel friend that somehow brings you a bit of comfort, no matter how horrible it may be to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to lie to Nat. Besides, she knows you well enough that there’s no use in it; she’d know you weren’t being honest. Both a gift and a curse that she knows you so damn well. 

Unsure of what to say, you just bring your hands up to your face in a sore, pathetic attempt at muffling your cries. 

Nat doesn’t say anything as you feel her grab you and hold you tight, keeping you close to her. You can feel the beating of her heart against your own chest, beating almost as quickly as yours is. 

As hard as this is for you, it’s probably hard for her, too. 

“I’m sorry to bring this up on your birthday,” she begins, slowly pulling herself away from you, taking your hands away from your tear-soaked face so she can look you in the eye. “But I’m doing it because I want you to have more of them.”

“I’ve just lost so much control, Nat,” you sob, finding it rather hard to look her in the eye as the words begin to spill from your lips. “Everything is out of my control. My dad leaving, my mom, my feelings for Jake that I wasn’t prepared for…” 

Even when good things are beyond your control, they’re still beyond your control. You never meant to fall for him as deeply as you did– it just happened. You tried to resist it, to keep your emotions in check, focus on anything else. But, feelings, especially those holding this much weight, can’t be controlled. Not by anyone. And as wonderful as these feelings are, there’s still this persistent fear that something, anything could go wrong with Jake, and you’ll find yourself powerless against it. Just one more thing you can’t control. It’s just so heavy. 

“But the one thing that I can control is–” 

“Eating.” She says it before you can, like she knew how much it hurt to say it out loud— she wanted to do it for you, take away some of the fear. “It’s something you can control when everything else seems too hard to manage. But, at some point, it’s not you that’s in control. It’s the disease that’s controlling you.” She pauses, waiting until you gather the courage to look her in the eye. “And when you avoid it, you’re letting it control you.” 

Every single thing she’s saying is true. Undoubtedly. 

It’s just not as simple as not letting it take control. God, you wish it were that simple. But with every factor at play– the unrelenting need to have reign, the severe bouts of body dysmorphia– it’s bound to take over, whether you like it or not. And that is where she’s very much correct; this illness manipulates you, makes you believe you’re the one calling the shots, when it’s truly the opposite. 

As you see the tears beginning to fall from her honeyed irises, your heart swells. She cares. She cares more than just about anyone else in your whole life has cared. “Please, y/n. You have to take care of yourself.” She hugs you again, holding you even tighter than before as you both cry together. “Take care of yourself for you, and for all of the people who need you healthy, who need you here.”

Need. 

You’re needed? 

Even with as long as you’ve been taking care of your mom, needed isn’t something you’ve ever felt of yourself. You’ve never felt good enough to be needed. 

“I know he hasn’t said anything yet,” she continues quietly, still holding you tight. “But Jake has asked me several times if you’re okay. He knows something is up, y/n. And he cares.” She pulls away, her arms outstretched as her hands hold onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the place where your bones are beginning to protrude a bit more.  “He just doesn’t know how to approach you about it, and he’s not always the best at showing it, but I promise you; he cares.”  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

There’s a plate of food sitting in front of you, and a war waging its highest battle inside of you. 

One thing you’ve always known to be true with this illness are the intense feelings of shame involved with…everything. 

Eating is shameful, not eating is shamefiul.

And what’s worse about the shame associated with not eating; when people know. 

Realizing that Nat knows, coming to terms with Jake knowing…

You’ve managed to swallow a few bites. A piece of popcorn here, a pretzel there. A few chips, (but no dip) a nibble or two of the pink frosting on top of your vanilla cupcake.

Do you eat because you want to? (Because you need to?) Or do you do it because people are starting to notice?

Right now, you know you’re only doing it to appease Nat. To make her feel better, to keep her from being upset with you. 

Is it right? No, absolutely not. It’s wrong in about twenty different ways. But, you’re eating. A half step in the right direction is still moving foreward. 

Things have been a little quiet with you and Nat for the last hour or so, quieter than usual. The only words you’ve spoken have been exchanges about students turning in or checking out books. You can’t get rid of the tension between you two, and you hate it. It’s not that she isn’t trying to ease it, you’re the one feeling awkward as fuck right now. It’s a strange feeling associated with someone knowing about your struggles. Even if it is your best friend. It’s yet another vulnerable layer of yourself peeled away from its protective barrier.  

If anyone should know, you’re glad it’s her. And you know that of everyone else, she has your absolute best interest at heart, always. No matter how brash she comes across. She’d never use it against you. 

Still yet, she knows. And anyone knowing is hard for you. It just means that she’ll keep a closer watch over you, especially when it comes to food. That is something you most definitely don’t want. 

You just don’t want things to be different with her. But, no matter how badly you wish for that, things will probably be much different from now on. People will always view you differently when they know what you struggle with, and Nat is no exception. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little visitor,” you hear Nat say as your eyes are fixed on the computer screen, breaking you from your endless thought train. When you look up, you see a vase filled with a lovely bouquet of more daisies, just like the ones left in your car for you this morning.

Jake. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he came to surprise you at work, too. 

“More flowers?” You say with a winded giggle, reaching to slide the vase over to the side so you can see his face. “You’ve done way too much, Ja–”

Before you finish moving the vase, your stomach drops when you see who's responsible for this beautiful gift.

It’s not Jake who brought them to you. 

It’s Sam. 

And here he is, standing before you in one of the nicest outfits you’ve yet to see him in; black slacks with a handsome red knitted top underneath a black blazer. He’s holding your favorite coffee in his hand, and wearing the sweetest smile that has his mustache curling on either end of his lips.

“S-Sam! Oh, this is so sweet, but I—” 

“I figured you were probably getting off work pretty soon,” he interrupts, setting the coffee down next to the flowers. “I thought we could,” he pauses, removing his aviators and tucking his hair behind his ear. “ I just wondered if you’d want to go get dinner tonight. For your birthday, of course.” 

Fucking hell. 

His red cheeks and warm smile are making your heart ache. 

Looking at his sweet face is just…it’s almost too much. You know turning him down is going to hurt him. But it just might hurt you more. 

“That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But I…” 

Fuck. 

“I actually already have plans tonight.” 

He tucks another strand of hair behind his ear, fidgeting with the sunglasses he’s still holding. “Oh, okay,” he says with a heartbreakingly innocent smile. “With your mom?” 

Ugh.

Do you tell him? Do you lie to him for the sake of protecting him? It might crush him, and you don’t want to do that. But, he needs to know. And as much as you don’t want to utter the words, lying about it, only for him to find out later, is far worse. 

Well, here it goes. 

“No. I’m going with Jake.” 

That fucking hurt like hell. 

You have no doubt that the look on his face will stick with you for a very long time. His eyes, suddenly downturned like a puppy who’s just been separated from his mom, and his lips that have parted just slightly. His whole body slumps over, his shoulders seeming to go weightless as his arms fall to his side. 

I’m so sorry, Sam.

You hear Nat abandoning the desk, shutting the door to the backroom and leaving you alone with Sam, in complete silence. Good call, Nat. 

It’s the kind of silence that’s so quiet, it nearly hurts your ears. It’s awkward tension, your words left hanging in the air all around him. 

Please say something, Sam. Anything.

You feel like the dirt beneath the deepest points of the earth, even deeper than that. You and Sam weren’t anything even close to exclusive, but you know you led him on. Selfishly, and for all the wrong reasons. You love Sam, but you can’t see any relationship with him beyond the beautiful friendship you’ve grown. But now, you’re worried that all but vanished as soon as you uttered his brother's name.

“We just made the plans this morn—”

“...you’re going with Jake?”

His tone is almost pleading with you to say it isn’t so. He sounds sad. So, so sad. 

A part of you thought he might’ve gotten the idea by now that you and Jake have become a bit of an item. Or that Jake would’ve said something to him. 

But, given his reaction to this news, he most certainly had no idea. Meaning, you get to be the one to break it to him. 

Great.

He looks you in the eyes as he nods in understanding, a tiny, defeated smile on his lips. “Okay.” He hesitates, looking down to the ground for a brief moment, then back to you with a smile a bit more genuine than the last. He takes a deep breath and places his sunglasses back on his face. “No big deal. I hope you two have a great time.”

You try to thank him for the sweet gifts, but he’s already walking towards the door. Your heart suddenly hurts, hurts incredibly bad. You know he is hurt, and that is the very last thing you ever wanted to happen. 

But, at least he knows. Perhaps, since nothing was ever actually official between the two of you, he’ll be able to move on with no problem. 

As much as you are enamored with Jake, there will always be a soft spot in your heart for Sam, the one who’s been the most graceful with you since the very day you met him.

I’m so sorry, Sammy. 

You hear the door behind you creak open as Nat has determined the coast to be clear of any more awkwardness with Sam finally gone. “Well, that was brutal.” She says. “I guess I thought he would’ve figured it all out by now.”

“Me too,” you respond, still picturing the sad look about his sweet face. You feel weighed down with guilt, with shame. You shouldn’t have let it go as long as you did, shouldn’t have used him the way you did. 

But, what’s done is done. There’s nothing more you can do about it.

You just hope he’ll find it within himself to forgive you someday… 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve just finished your shower, with your hair and makeup flawlessly done. Your skin carries a subtle, enticing fragrance of vanilla and cashmere, and you’re wearing the new black lingerie set you’ve been eager for Jake to see.

But now, with everything perfectly in place, it’s time to finally try on the red dress he bought you. You’ve managed to put it off until now, but with only twenty minutes left before he’s due to pick you up, your time for stalling is running out. 

You’re feeling incredibly nervous, your tummy tight and a bit nauseous. You’ve not even checked the size yet—what if it’s completely wrong? What if it’s too small or too big? Did he guess your size just based on how you look?

No, y/n. He probably got your size from Malachi who has your literal exact measurements for your costuming.

But, what if it just doesn’t fit and looks terrible on you? Will it accentuate everything about your body that you don’t like?

Goddammit.

You’d give almost anything to have someone by your side right now. You wish your mom could be here to calm your nerves like she used to. But you know that turning to her might only heighten your anxiety. Instead, you’re frozen in fear, staring at the red dress draped across your bed. Its silky fabric shimmers softly in the dim light of your room, only  your apprehension.

But then, an idea crosses your mind. The only person who knows about your dysmorphic thoughts, your best friend who understands you better than you sometimes understand yourself, is just a mere phone call away. A FaceTime away, even. Though things were a bit rocky with her today, she's still the only person you want to help you through this right now.

With only fifteen minutes until he’s set to arrive, you quickly grab your phone and search Nat’s contact, tapping the little film icon to the right of her name.

You set your phone up on the vanity as it’s ringing, and just as she answers, the look on her face reminds you that you’re only wearing a black lace bra and matching thong. 

“Goddamn, y/n!” She shouts, bringing her closed fist up to her mouth. “Daniel definitely has some competition now!”

“Nat, stop it!” You chuckle, making a horrible attempt at trying to cover yourself up. 

“Whatcha need, hot stuff?” 

“Jake bought me a dress to wear tonight, and I’m terrified to try it on,” you say, holding it up in front of the phone so she can see it. 

“Girl, that will look sexy as fuck on you. What the hell are you so scared about?” She asks, shocked as you show her the gorgeous outfit he so lovingly surprised you with. 

“I’m just…what if it doesn’t fit me and I look like utter shit in it?” 

“How the fuck are you going to know if you don’t just put the damn dress on?” She loudly asserts, intently watching you with a very annoyed expression, impatiently waiting for you to try it on and get over this hesitation you're feeling. “We’re not having another Alter’d State dressing room incident; put that bitch on.”

“Jesus, okay! Give me a second.” 

You step out of frame, rolling your eyes and giggling at her aggressive love that you’re starting to somewhat get used to. 

And, being distracted by her aggressiveness has somehow helped you to finally put this dress on your body. You did it so quickly, without hardly a thought, that you honestly didn’t even realize you actually did it. 

Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the soft, silk fabric, smoothing it over your hips and tugging it into place. It feels tight, a snug fit you wouldn’t normally choose for yourself. 

But without having taken a single glance in the mirror, you can tell that it most definitely fits you. As you instinctively run your hands up and down your sides, feeling it out before looking at your reflection, you’re realizing that it actually fits you really well.

But, you’re worried about how it looks on you. As you’re feeling around your body, you’re noticing the way your lower belly sticks out, the very distinct protrusion of your hips, the dips above your thighs. It’s very tight. It may fit a little too well, and that meaning it's probably putting all of your insecurities on display.

“Y/n! Hurry up, already!” You hear Nat spout from your phone that's still perched upright on your vanity. 

“You have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Nat scoffs. 

Running your hands over your body once more, sucking in your tummy as much as you possibly can, you take tentative steps in front of your phone screen. 

It’s just Nat, it’s just Nat…

“Well?”

“BITCH!” She yells, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, almost falling over from her sheer volume. “That dress was fucking made for you! Why are you always so weird about clothing, when everything you try on looks perfect on you?” She continues, Danny now in the frame and agreeing with her. 

A wave of relief washes over you, feeling your cheeks warm at her words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah, babe. You’re going to leave that boy completely speechless.” 

You step to the side, allowing yourself to see your full image in the vanity mirror. With every ounce of strength you have in you, you do your best to ignore the things about yourself you typically focus on. Instead, the first thing you notice is the way your breasts are accentuated beneath the tight fit, the way the square neckline is just low enough to highlight your clevage in a tasteful, yet sensual way. You’ve never seen your breasts so round and full at the top like this. Part of it is all thanks to your new bra, and part of it is definetely due to the fit of your outfit. 

Wow. 

And although it’s sleeveless, thick straps being the only thing giving your shoulders some coverage, you’re not tempted to put anything over to cover your arms over fear you’ll hide the incredible things it’s doing for your chest. 

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the fucking best, you know that?” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” she chuckles, her and Danny blowing you mass amounts of kisses over the phone. “Have the best time tonight, and keep me updated!” 

She hangs up the call just as Jake sends you a text that he’s just about here. 

The strappy heels he gifted you with the dress are sitting next to your bed. You place your feet in them, (perfect size, of course) securing the strap around your ankles. When you stand, you feel a bit like a newborn deer attempting to gain balance. But after a moment of practice, striding around your room a few times, you feel a bit more comfortable in them. 

With one final glance in the mirror, doing everything you can to only focus on the things about your appearance that you do like, your gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the left of your vanity. The very one Jake left in your car along with the rest of your outfit for the evening. 

You lift the lid, and inside are the most glorious, tear shaped black diamond earrings. My god, they’re stunning. And not that you’d care either way, but by the looks of them, they’re most definitely real. You can’t even begin to fathom the amount he spent on them, on everything he’s done so far. And the night has hardly begun. 

It’s an almost uncomfortable feeling to be so cared for on your birthday. There’s a budening, lingering thought that you truly don’t deserve everything that’s been done for you so far.

The birthday party, where everyone showed you immense amounts of love and adoration, Sam’s sweet and gentle gestures, the beginnings of what you’re sure will be the most elegant evening you’ve ever experienced…

Is it possible that, just maybe, you are worthy of a love you’d never thought fathomable in your life thus far? 

It still feels awfully strange, but, a good strange. A welcome strange. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom rudely question, with a cough behind the Kleenex in her hand, as you’re pulling your coat from the front closet. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Going out,” you say while looking through the peephole to see if Jake has made it up the stairs yet. “And it’s a new dress.” You check your makeup once more in the mirror next to the door, brushing away the fallen eyelash sitting on top of your cheek. “Dinner is ready for you in the oven, and I left your medications next to your bed— have you taken them?” 

She scoffs as she looks you up and down, as though she’s horrified by what she sees. “And with who?” She asks, sounding utterly shocked that you could possibly have anyone who’d want to celebrate you on your birthday while altogether ignoring your question. 

“Jake.” Your answer is sharp and quick. To the point, not letting yourself fall for the guilt she’s inevitably preparing to lay on you. 

You’ve done everything she’s needed tonight. The apartment is spotless, there’s plenty for her to eat, her oxygen tank (that she refuses to wear against the doctor's order) is full. 

God forbid you get to enjoy your own birthday—for once. 

“So I don’t even get to spend your birthday with you?” 

There it is. 

There’s no doubt of what she’s trying to do, and you’re not going to give her the space to do it. She’s never prioritized your birthday, hasn’t even so much as acknowledged it once today. She just wants an excuse to argue, a reason to keep you here when you both know you don’t need to be. 

If you don’t give her the attention she wants, she doesn’t hold the power to make you feel bad. So, you’ll just ignore her every attempt at putting you down. 

And clearly, she’s not happy about it. “I see,” she mutters. “Guess your mom isn’t important enough to spend your special day with. And that dress is a little too skimpy, if you ask me.” 

She knows the perfect way to trigger you, the perfect things to say that’ll make you want to rip the dress off and cover yourself with the nearest oversized outfit, or hide beneath your covers and forget tonight was ever supposed to happen. 

 “Trying to impress him with your body won’t get you where you think it will,” she keeps on. Her voice is becoming louder, as if she knows you’re choosing to not hear what she’s saying. She thinks yelling will get your attention a little better. “A little pathetic, if you ask me!”

Good thing I didn’t fucking ask you, you think safely to yourself. 

She’s making it really fucking hard to not say anything, but thankfully Jake knocks on the door right at the perfect time before your mouth gets the best of you. 

Don’t listen to her, don’t listen. 

You hear her make continued, snide remarks about how your body looks, but you’re too preoccupied with getting to the door to meet Jake. And once you do that, you’ll be safe from whatever shit she’s spewing at you. The first thing he does when you open the door for him is greet your mom, but she isn’t having it. 

“Don’t be out all night,” she says as she makes her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Just ignore her,” you say to Jake. “She’s in a mood.”

“You look like an absolute dream.” He completely disregards the interaction with your mother, choosing to focus all of his attention on you. He walks in a circle around you, eyes grazing every inch of your body. “I knew this would look immaculate on you,” he attests, hands reaching out to gently squeeze your hips.

But the real dream is him. 

He’s adorned in his usual all black, but it’s much different than anything you’ve yet to see him wear. 

Handsome just simply isn’t a strong enough word. Perfection is the closest way to describe what you’re seeing in front of you. 

Tailored black pants that hug him just right. A black vest with a dramatic scooped neckline that plunges far past his chest, allowing for the best display of his chain that holds so many silver coins, more than you ever see him sport. And alongside them, hanging a little lower than the rest, is a silver sword charm That one, specifically, is reminding you of where it all began with him. 

My Arthur. 

His blazer drapes over his broad frame with effortless elegance, sitting atop his wide shoulders as if it were crafted just for him.

And his hat. 

His black, wide brimmed hat, the very one you’re sure he wore the day you met him. The one that, despite your every reservation, piqued your interest. 

Just when you thought that he had gone all out with his attire, the extra nine is added when you catch sight of his silver and black striped boots.

“Jake, you look…” Your breath catches in your throat. No word seems adequate. You can’t find the strength to resist pulling him in for a deep kiss, the only way to truly express how much you love the way he looks.

You catch a hint of his aftershave on his lips, mingling with the taste you’re coming to know as distinctly his.

God, he tastes so good. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, but you’ve missed his lips.

And you miss him the moment he pulls away, just as the kiss deepens.

“We better go, love,’ he whispers against you. ‘Can’t be late for our reservation.”

Reservation?

“Where are we going?” You inquire, staring intently at his lips that you want nothing more than to become lost in. 

“You’ll see when we get there.” 

With a playful, gentle slap to your ass, he takes your hand in his and leads you out the front door. 

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It looks like a fucking castle come to life directly out of a medieval romance. (Rather fitting.) A wonderful, massive Victorian mansion that nearly appears out of place in the modern streets of the big city. 

How have you never seen this place before?

The outside is full mortar stone, the roof different levels of height with rounded columns that are peeked at the top. Extravagantly huge balconies are wrapped around each level. It’s glorious, it’s too much. 

“What is this place?” You ask, stunned and wide eyed as he pulls the Rover up to the man dressed in formal attire waiting for him at the circle drive near the back of the building. 

It has valet parking. Fucking valet. You’ve never been to a place fancy enough that you don’t even have to park your own car. 

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to read the red, oval sign to the right of the elegant circle drive. 

The Whitney: Restaurant | Ghostbar | Gardens is displayed in white lettering. 

One thing is for absolute sure; there is nothing like this where you’re from. Not even remotely close.  

Out of instinct you reach for the handle of the door, but Jake stops you with a firm grasp on your upper thigh. 

Fuck. You’ll never get used to the grip of his hand, how strong and intentional his fucking hands are. You never knew you could be so turned on by a man's hand before; that was before Jacob Thomas (and his sexy ass hands) entered your life. 

“Stay right there,” Jake tells you as he jumps out of the driver's seat, handing the formally dressed man his keys along with a tip for his services. 

When Jake opens your door, he takes your hand and helps you from your seat, as though you truly are royalty. 

Once you're out of the car and sturdy on your feet, he locks his arm with yours, almost as though he’s escorting you to the most lavish ball. 

Before taking control of the Rover, the valet opens the door for you and Jake, revealing the incredible interior. 

And just as you suspected, it’s stunning. It’s more than stunning. 

You knew places like this existed, but never in your wildest fantasies did you think you’d be stepping foot in one of this magnitude. 

The first thing you notice is the baby grand piano sitting in the massive foyer near a painted portrait that must be over a hundred years old. 

Gold’s and royal pink’s detail the walls an intricate pattern, and the ceiling. Wood carved in utter beauty and class. 

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” 

A woman, dressed in a floor length, black gown, guides you around the corner to a private room. 

Your breath is abruptly stolen from your lungs when you walk through the massive, gold trimmed french doors separating the space from the rest of the mansion. It’s dimly lit, with most of the emitting from the candles positioned all around the room. Next to the single round table, fixed with a black lace cloth and red napkins in the shape of roses, is a tremendous fireplace that surpacres your height. 

As Jake leads you to it, you're able to really see the intricate detailing across the stone work. It’s full white stone, with angels that are nearly the size of you carved into the sides, reaching from the top to the hearth. 

“Here you are, just as you requested.” She motions to the quaint table, the only one in the whole room, seated directly next to the immaculate fireplace. “Included in our private dining is a complimentary bottle of Antinori Tignanello, imported directly from Tuscanny. May I begin the evening by pouring you both a glass?”

Jake instantly looks to you for your answer, and when you eagerly nod your head, he tells the waitress that you’d both love to have a glass. 

“Jake,” you whisper as she leaves to fetch your drinks. “Imported from Tuscanny? How much did all of this cos–”

“That, my sweet doll,” he interrupts. “Is not something you should worry your pretty mind over.” 

His smile may actually melt your heart. You can tell, with the twinkling in his eyes, that he truly wanted nothing more than to give you the best. This all feels so authentic, so pure. Nothing you’ve ever quite felt before. 

Before you know it, the waitress is back, setting large, deep wine glasses in front of you and Jake. “The Tignanello is rich with notes of cherries, red berries, and a hint of lavender.” She begins pouring your glass first, then carefully finishing with Jakes. “It’s beautifully complimented with notes of roasted coffee and a touch of cocoa powder, closing with a tad of spice and fresh herbs.” 

Jake takes his glass, holding it out in front of him and signaling you to do the same. As soon as you do, after a clink of your glasses, you both take a sip. 

Wow. 

“Extraordinary,” Jake says to the waitress, who’s earnestly awaiting your reactions. “Absolutely remarkable.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way he’s swirling the liquid around his wine glass, as though he’s a bonafide wine connoisseur. So very classy, so very sexy.

You start to feel a bit nervous when she and Jake then look to you to hear your thoughts. You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound completely silly. Jake knows how these places work, and being from the tiniest town in Oklahoma, you most surely do not know the proper etiquette of a place such as this. 

You’re no expert when it comes to imported wines, but you certainly know a good wine when you taste one. And this one is probably the best you’ve ever had. But how do you say that without sounding too…Oklahoma?

“Uh it’s, I mean it’s the best I’ve– it’s truly stupendous.” 

…stupendous?

Jake covers his mouth to conceal his little giggle, and the waitress has a bit of a dumbfounded look about her. You couldn’t have said that any more awkwardly if you tried. 

“G-glad to hear that!” She giggles, breaking the unease hanging in the air. “I’ll be back momentarily with your salads.”

Your head falls in your hands from pure embarrassment. “I am so weird,” you say, muffled. 

Jake chuckles again, taking your wrist as you look up to him through your fingers. “You are not weird. That was adorable.”

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The vibration from your phone can still be heard, though it’s tucked away in your clutch. 

Someone is texting you, and you’ve a good feeling it may be your mom. Your anxiety grows stronger with each text that comes through, knowing she’s probably sending you messages out of anger over tonight. 

Though you want to just ignore it and be present, when it vibrates two more times, one message sent directly after the other, you decide to just turn your phone off for the rest of the evening. 

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, noting your sudden onset of anxiety when you see several text messages from, just as you thought, your mother. 

They all say essentially the same thing, accusing you of not caring about her, of only caring about yourself and Jake. It’s not worth the turmoil of responding. She’s been fully taken care of for the night, she’ll be just fine on her own for a little while. 

“Just my mom,” you tell him as you shut your phone off and slide it back in your clutch. 

“I know she’s sick,” he begins, finishing off the last bite of his arugula salad. “But, that doesn’t give her the right to treat you the way she does.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, searching for the strength to eat more than a few bites of your salad. “You’re right. She hasn’t always been this way, though.” 

You know that doesn’t matter. But you also know, deep down, that she has always been like this. You’ve just convinced yourself that it was okay, that she wasn’t that bad. 

He thanks the waitress when she takes his now empty salad plate, leaving yours as it’s still decently full. “When did she start acting this way?”

Ugh. 

“I guess…Well, it got worse when my dad left, around the time she got her diagnosis. And the move was a lot for her.” That felt weird to say to him. 

“Natalia told me a little about him, about your dad,” he admits with a worrisome tone, like he’s revealing a great secret. “I–I hope that’s okay. That she told me, I mean. You hadn’t said anything about him and I–”

“Of course it’s okay,” you nod, interrupting his apologetic spiel. You’re glad he knows, and you’re even more glad that you didn’t have to tell him.

You then start feeling a familiar ache in your heart associated with thinking of your dad, reaching up to grasp your necklace. “He just couldn’t handle it any longer, I guess. We were just too much for him.” 

I was too much for him…

“Do you miss him?” He continues, eyes attentively narrowing on you. 

“I shouldn’t,” you start, awkwardly shifting in your chair. “But, yeah. I do. He was…it felt like he was the one who loved me most, you know? Or, I thought he did. And when he left…I just didn’t expect it. Never saw it coming.” 

Knowing in your heart that you miss him is one thing, but saying it…

“It’s okay that you miss him,” Jake says, reaching across the table and taking your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Even if what he did hurts like fucking hell, you can still miss someone who hurt you. You can still love them, too.”

That isn’t something you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge, that you can still have feelings of love for someone that caused you so much pain. But, you do still love him. You love him so much. And you thought he loved you the same. That is why it hurts so fucking bad. The memories of him are comforting, but they serve as a reminder of the fact that he chose to leave. 

You squeeze Jake’s hand as tears begin to form. “I’ve just felt so guilty for missing him, like I’m betraying myself for missing someone who left us…who left me.”

“Missing him doean’t make you wrong or weak,” he tells you, gently shaking his head as his waves brush against the tops of his shoulders. “Just makes you human, you know?”

For the first time in quite a while, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe, through Jake, you can find a way to heal, to embrace a future that isn’t held back by pain and abandonment. 

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought, wondering if there could be a future with Jake. Right now, you’re having a hard time imagining one without him. “Thank you, Jake. I really needed this tonight.”

“You deserve it, doll.” He lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles through a smile. “This and so much more.”

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The anxious, intrusive thoughts are relentless as she sets the beautifully plated Chicken Francese before you, urging you to take only a bite or two and leave the rest untouched on the fine china

But when you look at Jake, sitting across from you, taking a generous sip of his wine, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he starts on his own.

A gentleman, through and through. 

It’s no surprise that when you look into his eyes—kind and unwavering in their adoration for you—the anxious thoughts suddenly dissipate, melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

My safe place. 

The way he looks at you, as if you’re the most stunning vision he’s ever laid eyes on, with pure awe shining in his golden irises.

He makes you feel beautiful, like you’re enough.

And when you feel that way, you feel deserving of nourishment. He makes you feel worthy. There’s something about his presence, about how he cares for you as if you’ve been together for the better part of your young lives, as if you’ve always known him…

He has a way of quieting the intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment. Just the two of you, in this palace, enjoying each other’s company.

And, a moment is all you need to fill your body with the love you’ve been so scared to show it. Perhaps it’s how much love he shows your body that forces you to believe it’s okay for you to show it some love, too. 

The first bite feels like a small act of defiance against the days of hunger you've endured. The moment the warm, buttery chicken touches your tongue…it’s suddenly more than just food; it’s a reminder that you do deserve to nourish yourself. As you chew, the richness of the sauce envelops you, and the warmth seeps into your very being, igniting a spark of joy that you seem to only feel about food when Jake is around. 

You’re not just feeding your body; you’re healing your spirit, reclaiming a piece of yourself. With every forkful, you allow yourself to believe that it’s okay to feel good, it’s okay to fill your body with what it needs to sustain. 

As you stick your fork in what will be the last bite, you look to Jake. He seems to be enjoying the food just as much as you. And when you lock eyes, you fill your mouth with the very last morsel left on the china. A strength you didn’t know you had, but he has helped you discover it. 

Instead of feeling shame over eating the entire meal, you’re grateful for it. You’re happy you ate it all. Your body needed it, your mind needed it. 

No, there’s no shame. 

This is a new feeling; you're proud. 

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“You certainly didn’t give me much time for planning,” he says while placing a small, red velvet box on the table between you. “But thankfully, I was able to purchase this on rush order.” 

“You’ve done so much, Jake. I can’t accept anything else—” 

“Yes, you can.” He smiles, warm and comforting. “Open it, doll.” 

There’s no chance you can deny him, especially with that little pet name that not once has failed to make you utterly weak. 

You’ve no idea what this could possibly be, because he truly has gone all out for you. It makes you wonder what he would’ve done if he’d had more than just two weeks to plan everything, because it feels as though he’s done it all. 

Once you open the box, your jaw nearly hits the table beneath you. It’s a necklace with the most gorgeous sword pendant hanging from its chain. And, even better, it’s a near identical match to the one’s wearing. Only a bit smaller to suit you better. 

“To commemorate the completion of our film” he begins, standing from his seat and walking around behind your chair. Taking the box from your hand, he carefully pulls out the necklace and places it around your neck. “Because it led me to my Guiniverre.” 

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With a clink of your silver forks, you cheers with your first bites of chocolate lava cake before filling your mouths full of the gooey, decadent dessert. 

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He licks the extra chocolate off the fork, his tongue wrapping sensually around the metal, eliciting a few strong feelings within you. And he must notice; he catches your glare, (that you’re not exactly trying to hide) winking at you while gliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “Here’s to the enchanting splendor that is you.” 

He brings his napkin up from his lap, carefully dabbing his face with it before accidentally dropping beneath the table. “Oops,” he sneers. “Rather clumsy of me, hm?” 

You chuckle as he fluidly and elegantly dips under the white tablecloth to retrieve it, taking his time while he does so. 

It isn’t long before you feel a gentle, sturdy hand wrapped around your calf, slowly leading up to your bent knee. Then, following the smooth glide of his touch, you feel the softest kisses against the smooth skin along the same path. The fabric of your dress is bunched up to your upper thighs, his lips following, urging you to at last uncross your legs. And when you do, his kisses, more fervent and intentional, meet the inner thigh of your right leg, then your left. 

“Jake…,” you whisper, wanting more than anything to submit to his advances, yet feeling the shame of it all at once. “Not…not here, baby.” 

He responds with one long, slow lick of his tongue, nearly meeting the heat between your legs before backing away altogether. 

“Jake…please.” You reach your hands under the table, searching for his face to bring back to you. You feel his hands find yours, pulling your hand to his lips where you can feel him smile as he kisses your palm.

You can hardly conceal your elongated sigh of dismay when he lifts back up to sit in his chair. “Don’t look so sad, doll.” He folds his previously dropped napkin in front of you, teasing the hell out of you. “We’ll go home very soon for the rest.” He stands up, pushing in his chair before offering you his hand to help you up. “But first, we must embark on our tour of the mansion.”

As badly as you want him to take you right now on top of this table, the floor, anywhere, you can’t deny your excitement to get a better look at this glorious place. “Sounds wonderful,” you mutter as he leans in for a quiet kiss, leading the way to the foyer where your waitress is generously waiting to guide you through the Victorian home.  

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“We’re no strangers to the paranormal here,” she admits, walking you through a narrow hallway that leads to a multitude of rooms you’ve yet to explore. “There are numerous accounts of ghostly sightings. Many claim to see the very same apparitions.” 

She opens the door to a room decorated with Victorian furniture. Large, hand painted portraits of a man and a woman hang from the walls, framed with antique gold. 

“David and Sara Whitney were the original owners of the mansion after its completion in 1894,” she begins, pointing to the portraits that immediately caught your eye. “David personally oversaw the construction of his home, being sure that all fifty two rooms he requested were structured to his liking. Sara, his wife, insisted on a fireplace in each room,” she continues, drawing your attention to the one in the room you’re standing in. “But David wouldn’t hear of it. So, instead of the fifty two fireplaces she wanted, she only got twenty of them.” 

She continues taking you through each room that is available for tours, showing you seven of the ten bathrooms, giving you a detailed, rich history of the place and showing you photos of the paranormal activity caught on camera.

Though you’re utterly fascinated by it all, especially the ghost stories, you can’t seem to keep focus with Jake’s wandering hands. Every corner you turn, he reaches down to squeeze your ass. Everytime she looks away, he cups your breast with a strong grip.

You’ve smacked his hand away each time, fearful that she’ll eventually catch on to what’s happening behind her back. 

But, when Jake stops you, holds you up against the wall and locks his lips tight with yours, you decide to blow all caution to the wind at this point, unable to deny him any longer. That is, of course, until your fear becomes recognized. 

She stops mid sentence, clearing her throat to get your attention.“The tour is almost over,” she says, standing in the middle of the hallway, her hands resting on her hips. “Do you think you two and handle yourselves for just a few more minutes?”

Feeling completely embarrassed, you both awkwardly apologize and agree that you can manage it. (Hopefully, at least.) 

You wipe the smudged lipstick from your face and Jake’s before carrying on with the tour, keeping the touching to a minimum of just handholding. 

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The drive back to his place was full of red light kisses, heavy and hungry touches. Every still moment in the Rover resulted in your hands all over each other. 

Neither of you wasted anytime getting in the front door and down the hall, Jake stopping just as you approached the door to his bedroom. He’s holding you against the wall, hands wrapped tight in the roots of your hair as he kisses you hard and deep. 

His lips stay attached to yours as he leads you into his dim, warmly lit room, closing the door before he guides you to his bed, seamlessly laying you down on your back as he braces himself on top of you, taking his black hat off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

He’s holding the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your now messy locks, his tongue filling your mouth with the taste of the last hints of the imported wine, reminding you of the lavish evening he’s already spoiled you with. 

He carefully moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck, kissing and sucking on the tight skin, humming everywhere his lips touch. You open your eyes only for a moment, but when you do, you see his dark red SG sitting on the stand. It’s reminding you of a promise he made, that one day he’d play for you. As much as you don’t want this to end, hearing him play is something you’ve thought about almost everyday since you discovered this facet about him. 

“Jake, can—can you do something for me?” You ask him while he continues to caress you with his lips. 

He stops only to respond, keeping as close to you as he can. “Anything for you, doll.”

Having the worst time attempting to talk as he’s licking along your neck, you point to the guitar sitting beside the bed, hoping he’ll know just what you’re wanting. 

“Yeah?” He plants one more kiss as he begins to sit up on the end of the bed. “Want me to play you a little something?”

You move to sit next to him, smoothing down your hair a bit, looking into his golden eyes with eagerness. “Would you?”

“Of course, my queen.” He flashes the warmest smile, tucking loose hair behind your ear while he sweetly kisses you once more. “I’d be delighted.”

He approaches the guitar stand, fingers lightly brushing against smooth surface before gracefully grasping the neck, taking it from where it rests. Draping the black leather strap over his shoulder and across his chest, he adjuts it so that it fits snuggly against his torso, cradling it comfortably against his body, letting the weight of the instrument settle in his hands.There’s a still humming sound when he plugs the chord into the small Marshall amp in the corner. 

“Needs a little tuning.” He takes his pick from the top of the amp and uses it to pluck a few strings, adjusting the knobs along the head. It doesn’t need much, though. It sounds wonderfully melodic already. And god, does he look beautiful holding it. It’s a brand new side of him that you’ve known was there, but seeing it…it’s only serving to increase your every desire for him. 

He lets out a satisfied hum when the strings are in perfect tune, his eyes flitting back up to you with a loving smile.“Any requests?” 

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” you tell him, ready to hear just about anything at this point, your body beginning to vibrate at the vision before you.

“Hm, what strikes my fancy…,” he begins, heavy in contemplation. Then, he looks at his wide brimmed hat still sitting on top of the duvet. And as though that was his very inspiration, you see the gleam in his eye when he picks it up to place it back on his head. “I feel it’s only proper when playing a little SRV,” he winks. 

He starts playing a few chords, and while you can’t quite place them, they do sound awfully familiar to you. They sound peaceful, soothing. “Do you know the story about Lenny?” He asks, continuing to play the beginning notes of the melody.

You smile when you suddenly make the connection. Lenny, a staple for any Stevie Ray Vaughan lover. Of course you recognize the melody, it’s a classic. You do know a bit of the song's backstory, but you’re willing to bet you don’t know as much about it as he does. And, you’re very much looking forward to hearing him talk about it. 

“I can’t say I do,” you admit, shaking your head, looking into his dark, whiskey eyes. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers continue strumming the all too familiar tune, swooning you with each heartfelt chord he plays.“It’s a profound melody, heavy with the weight of love for his wife, Lenora.” Still standing, he lifts a leg and places his foot along the edge of the mattress, letting his guitar rest against his knee. “He loved her deeply, and he set out to express that love through music. No lyrics, just pure music, melody.” 

You can feel the vibration of every note he plays, your eyes flicking back and forth from his to his fingers methodically and intentionally moving along the fretboard. The way he’s playing from memory, as though the song is woven into his very soul–it’s nothing short of exhilarating to witness such a beautiful thing. 

“It shows his ability to convey the deepest emotions through his guitar, how he can almost manipulate it to sound like a voice. There’s not a single word throughout the entire piece, yet you can indubitably hear the essence of his heart being spoken through his fingertips.” 

You’ve always been able to hear it in Stevie’s playing, and you swear you can hear it in Jake’s playing. The tune sounds nearly identical to the original, yet the message he’s conveying is a bit different, a bit more melancholy. Whatever is weighing on his heart, is coming through with every movement of his hands. 

When he reaches the most pivotal part of the song, he throws his head back, his eyes closed and brows furrowed together. His lips are parted, speaking quiet whispers to his instrument as his fingers move at a speed you didn’t know possible. 

The rich, bluesy tones emitting through his instrument, the painful yet adoring cries of the melodies. The careful vibratoes and reverbs that are so identifiably Stevie’s, mimicked in Jake’s very own stylistic approach. The rhythms, the variations in tempo…you know, without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie himself would be more than flattered by such a gorgeous rendition of his beloved piece. 

He then becomes fully immersed in the tune, his back arching as he throws his head back even further than before, sending his hat tumbling to the ground but he’s not paying it any mind. Just when you thought he couldn’t look more captivating, more sexy, he forgoes his pick, placing it on the edge of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, he plucks the remainder of the song at a slowed down tempo, each note still resonating with deep emotion. 

“He called her his guiding light, the source of his every inspiration,” he mutters after taking the pick from his mouth, gently strumming the final chord. “His love for her was evident in everything he did, but nothing quite captures it the way Lenny did.” 

He gazes at his guitar for a moment, his fingers gliding along the fretboard, a soft smile playing on his lips. With a lingering touch, he removes the strap and carefully places the guitar back on its stand.

You slowly rise to your knees on the edge of the bed, beckoning him with a subtle wave of your finger. He does without hesitation, and when he’s within reach, you grab hold of both sides of his jacket collar, drawing him even closer. His eyes, dark and heavy in lust, meet yours with a half grin, the air thickened with anticipation. 

“Does this mean you liked it?” He whispers, beginning to close the tiny gap between you. His hands find your hips, rubbing along the satin material of your dress until the fabric becomes bunched up at your waist. 

“Loved it.” ” 

Feeling as though you can’t hold back any longer, you pull him by his collar and melt your lips into his. So much passion, so much vigor behind his lips. 

His hands reach around to your exposed ass, squeezing the flesh hard in his grip before cracking his open palm against your right cheek. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You then lean down to kiss his neck as your fingers diligently begin to unbutton his vest. Much like when he was playing you the song, he throws his head back to allow you better access to the skin, his lips parted and heavy breaths falling from them. 

When you reach the last button, he lets you pull his jacket and vest off his body in one go, leaving his top half bare. You then lean down even further, letting your lips kiss along his sternum, sucking marks on the skin of his chest, licking along his nipples. He sucks in a breath as you do so, his fingers then becoming tangled in your hair while he hums and groans as you lean up to his neck once more. 

“You sound pretty, Jake…,” you mumble into his flesh, feeling the sped up beating of his heart as your lips meet the pulsepoint of his neck. “I think I like you like this.” 

You feel the bobbing of his Adam's apple against your lips as he chuckles, breathing deep and heavy while you continue grazing your lips over the tight skin, sucking and biting, smiling at the goosebumps and dark marks left behind.

“Jesus, what have you done to me?” He groans, still grinning when you bring your gaze to his pretty face. 

Each time you think you’ve at last broken through the entirety of his exterior, you find yourself digging deeper and deeper still, discovering there’s still much more beneath the surface that he’s slowly allowing you to reveal. You can feel him begin to crumble under your touch; for him to grant you this position of power… it’s not the Jake you met a few months ago. It’s a Jake you convinced yourself wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real.

As much as he makes you unravel before him, you’re discovering that you have the same effect on him. And oh, how empowering it feels.

Your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his pink cheek bones. His eyes, pupils dark and heavy against the warm amper of his irises,ock onto yours as his grip finds the small of your waist. “What have you done to me?” He softly echoes before his lips gracefully meet yours.

He leans you back gently, laying you against the mattress. Standing before you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, he gazes down at you with eyes that hunger for everything you are.

And the vision of him, shirtless and sweaty, his cock hard and strained against his black slacks. 

Goddammit. 

How could someone this alluring, this striking, be looking at you the very way he is right now? 

“Just want to look at you like this for a bit, doll,” he whispers, fingers delicately grazing your calves, falling to your ankles. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He takes the heel off your left foot, then your right. He leans down closer to you, hovering above you. His hair tickles your chest, his lips brush against your collar bone. The coins hanging from his neck feel cold as they graze your chest. “Tell me what you want from me.”  

His breath is hot against your skin, his voice husky and deep.

His hands trail slowly down the curve of your torso, the warmth of his touch leaving a lingering everywhere they touch. When he reaches your shoulders, he pauses, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he gently slides the straps of your dress down your arms, the silken fabric whispering against your skin as it slips lower. With a soft tug, he exposes your bra, the lace barely concealing the soft rise of your breasts.

He dips his head, his hair splayed across your chest, and begins to nip and kiss the tops of your breasts. His lips leave a series of gentle marks, each one a claim, as his tongue, wet and warm, starts its slow and deliberate journey. He glides from the valley of your cleavage to your neck, savoring every inch of the path. He playfully takes the silver sword charm he gifted you earlier in his teeth, letting it dangle for a moment before releasing it to rest against your breasts.

With the charm now lying between you, he continues to lick along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse. His journey seals with a tender kiss, ending his path with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me," he repeats.

Your mind and mouth are suffering a massive disconnect, your lips unable to utter the words you so desperately want to say. All you can do is whimper, squeal out a pathetic plea for him to ravish you. The upper hand you once had has all but vanished, all thanks to the power he will always hold over you.

He softly giggles when you grip his shoulders, pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around his back. What your mouth can’t say, your body certainly can. 

The kisses are heavy, sloppy. Your hands find their home weaved in his locks, pulling gently, but enough to elicit a weighted whimper from him, the most gorgeous sound. 

“Again,” he moans. “Do that again, doll.” 

Oh, he likes this. 

You comply, tugging at his chestnut waves once more, this time with more force. The same whimper escapes his plump lips, sending a shiver through your core.

As you pull again, his hand quickly moves between your legs, his fingers finding their place against your fluttering clit, moving in slow but intentional circles over the black satin covering you. 

Upon instinct your arch your back, silently imploring for more and more. 

Your mind and body ache for him when he sits up. He’s standing at the end of the bed once more, staring down at you, a sultry grin curling at the corners of his mouth. 

He says nothing as he pulls his belt through its buckle, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. He drops them to the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs. 

He reaches his hand down, lightly rubbing his palm against his clothed cock that’s practically begging to be freed from the constraining fabric. 

Jesus. 

As much as you’d love to feel his fingers, his tongue, you’re nearly desperate for his cock at this point, not in any place to wait much longer for him to fill you. 

His eyes darken as he watches you sit up and pull your dress off in one go, removing your bra next just as quickly. 

He hums as you bare your breasts, groaning as his eyes fall to your secret ink below the curve of your breast.“Lie back down, doll,” he groans, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. When you comply, he swiftly yanks your panties off, discarding them onto the floor. He then removes his boxers, finally revealing what you've been craving.

With a swift motion of your hips, he draws you to the edge of the bed, standing before you and sinking his fingers into your soft flesh. His cock glides against your folds, slowly tracing your slit, the tip teasingly nudging your clit. You press yourself against him, yearning for more contact as his head finally probes your wetness. 'Please,' you whisper, your voice cracked and trembling with desire.

You needn't say another word as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, gripping the backs of your thighs while he watches himself enter you. His heavy-lidded gaze remains fixed on your cunt as he stretches you, maintaining an impossibly slow pace. 

“Jesus,” he huffs through a staggered breath. “I love watching you take me.” He slides out slow and gentle, thrusting back in with the same deliberate pace. “I love the way you grip me, how you pull me in.” His voice grows deeper, raspier. “Feel me, doll?” He lays his palm against your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure slowly as his cock disapears inside of you. “Feel how much I fill you?” 

The thumb of the same hand that rests over your tummy glides down to your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud ever so lightly as he maintains his slow pace. You can no longer keep your eyes open; your lids grow heavier by the second from the overwhelming stimulation, listening to your mutual heaving breaths and the clinking of his silver pendants against his chest. 

Your cheeks flush with heat, and every muscle in your body tightens. You feel your walls clenching around him, pulsing and fluttering with each breath. 

“Let it go, doll,” he mutters deeply, watching as you begin to fall apart beneath him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

One more flick of his thumb sends you crashing into waves of pleasure. Your hand reaches down to grip the sheets, your nails digging into your palms. Your other hand finds your breast, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arches off the bed, skin tingling and glistening with sweat.

Each breath from your lungs is rigged and stuttered, your lips only able to cry his name over and over. 

He doesn’t stop, only slows enough to let you come down slow and easy, letting you truly feel every bit of your pleasure. 

After a moment to catch your breath, you muster the strength to reach up for his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips crash into yours, and he remains tucked inside you, staying numbly still as your walls flutter, your cunt making a mess of both him and the sheets.

“You okay to keep going, doll?” He asks, the sincerity in his tone tugging at your heart. 

You nod, silently pleading for another kiss—you suddenly find yourself craving the taste of his lips. “Mhm,” you mumble, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he uses the strength of just one arm to flip the two of you over, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

You’re on top now, still kissing him as you begin to grind your hips slowly against his. You find the perfect rhythm, each movement consistently hitting that special spot inside you. Positioned just right, your clit rubs against his lower tummy, forcing you back into the precipice of another blissful end.

He moans deliciously against your lips, and you lift just enough to see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips parted and pursed. “There you go, doll,” he mutters, his voice quiet and ragged. “Give it all to me.”

His hands grip your thighs, his nails leaving crescent moons on your skin. As they move to your hips, they urge you to move faster. Summoning the little strength you have left, you follow the rhythm of his hands, bouncing and grinding your body against his. 

With a sweaty palm, he slaps the left cheek of your ass, forcing you to cry out his name louder than you ever thought possible.

“Inside,” you manage through a whimper. “Cum inside, sir. P-please.”

'Fuck!' he groans, and within seconds of your request, he’s painting your insides like a masterpiece. You’re not sure how you find it within you, but your body succumbs to the overwhelming need for release once more.

Together, both of you reach a blissful peak in the most intoxicating, exhilarating way.

Keeping him inside you, feeling the trickles of his release drip from you, you slump down, burying your face in his neck. His skin feels warm against yours, sticky with perspiration.

“Are you okay, my doll?” He asks, panting and breathy.

My doll. 

You can only manage to nod your head, to smile against his neck as you leave a gentle peck to the dampened skin. 

He chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. His finger glides up the curve of your spine and back down, caressing the top of your hip. It’s an area of your body you’ve never been particularly fond of, yet you find yourself warming to it under his tender attention.

If he appreciates your body like this, especially having now seen you so intimately more than once, maybe you can learn to appreciate it, too.

"You okay like this for a little while, doll?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it alright if we stay like this for a moment?”

You’re not ready to end the contact just yet, longing to feel his warmth against you, in you, for a little while longer. You’re grateful to know he feels the same way.

You hum in agreement, planting another gentle kiss on his neck and nuzzling your face against him as closely as possible. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

It’s the darkest point of the night, the moon settled against the earth in her fullest form. She creeps in the windows ever so slightly, mixing her silver hue with the golden light from the single lamp positioned in the corner of Jake's room. 

The air feels cool, and the tiny beads of sweat that once covered your skin have left a chill in their wake, sending a swarm of goosebumps across your body. But he’s so warm—so warm that the cold doesn’t matter when he holds you. This is one of your favorite things about him: how closely he embraces you after you’ve shared your bodies. 

Chest to chest, your hearts slowing their rhythm together.

Though your bodies are no longer intertwined as they once were, you sense an even deeper connection with him now, lying together in the purest forms of yourselves, cuddled up to fend off the night’s chill.  

You can’t recall a time in your life when you’ve felt more at peace than you do right now. Everything feels far too perfect to be real, too wonderful to be anything but a dream.

Things feel good. Things feel right. Yet, in this blissful moment, a nagging fear begins to surface—a sense that something will inevitably come along to shatter it all. It’s a lingering worry you just can’t seem to shake, not matter your efforts to do so.

But for now, you’ll savor this moment as it unfolds. It may become a distant memory someday, and you want to remember as much of it as possible if—or when—your haunting fear becomes a reality.

“Looks like you’re the one all marked up this time,’ you giggle softly, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbows to admire the purple marks you left on his neck and chest. “Sorry about—”

“No need for an apology, doll.” He leans over toward you, gently pecking your lips. “I’ll wear ‘em with pride, let the whole world know the lips from which they came.” He throws his head back, holding his arm high in the air as if presenting himself to some invisible audience, basking in his imaginary applause after his scene. 

You kiss him once more, chuckling against his lips that are curled in a satisfied grin. “That was absolutely terrible Jake.” 

He grins wider, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but it got you to kiss me again, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes playfully as he leans over the edge of the bed, rummaging around for something.“One more gift,” he says, reaching for whatever else he has in store for you.

“Jake,” you start, breathless and giggly. “I’m serious this time. No more gifts.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

“No I can’t–” 

“Last one. I promise.” 

Shaking your head, you do as he said and hold out your open palm. He drops it in your hand, and instantly, you know exactly what it is. 

“Your pick?” You ask, stunned over such a personal memento. “I can’t take this, Jake!”

“You must not know much about guitar players,” he jokes, closing your fingers around his final gift and kissing your knuckles. “I’ve got a million and one of these lying around. This one belongs to you.” 

No words could ever come close to revealing what’s in your heart at this moment, and the only way you can think to thank him is with your lips. You kiss him slow and gentle, wishing on every star that father time would somehow stop his hands of time right at this very moment. 

This plain, black guitar pick, worn from its obvious heavy use, little lines left from the indentions of his thumb, has suddenly become your favorite gift.

To keep it safe, you place it inside of the sage-green case that protects your phone. And by doing that, you’re sure to carry it with you everywhere you go.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The rise and fall of his chest from his deep, sleeping breaths, the beating of his heart against your upper back, his arms wrapped lazily around the front of your body, his face nestled in your hair against your neck, his warm breath on your skin…

You’re sure there’s no better way to wake up in the morning. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, fearful that once you do, the most perfect dream of being held close to Jake will be just that— only a dream. 

But your fears are put to rest when you feel him begin to stir, a soft kiss of his lips meeting the skin under your ear. “Good morning, love,” he whispers before slowly creeping out of bed. “Stay where you are, I won’t be long.”

A sleepy grin graces your lips as you feel yourself dozing off again, relishing in the early morning quiet. 

The inviting smells of cinnamon sugar and fresh coffee lull you awake after a little extra rest. Jake left the door cracked, so his whole bedroom smells like the most delicious breakfast. 

After a few more moments of resting your eyes, you open them to the bright sun creeping through the blinds of his mostly dark room. With a stretch of your rested limbs, you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and admiring all the things you love the most about it. The things you love the most about Jake. 

With the door only cracked open, you can see the Edgar Allen Poe canvas you love so much hanging on the back. “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” 

God. You love his mind. Reading it is reminding you of the very first time you walked in his room, how wholly nervous you were to witness such an intimate part of him before you truly got the chance to know him. 

And now, while you’re sitting on his bed after having been together the whole night, the memories of meeting him for the first time begin flooding your brain. How much you thought you hated him, when in reality, the two of you just didn’t know what to do with the feelings you had for one another. 

Then, as you glance to the bedside table right next to you, you’re reminded what really started this whole thing. The film, yes. But even before that, it was the book you lent him. 

Your copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, the very one you gave him all those months ago for the sake of the film, is sitting on the very top of the other books he has stacked on top of eachother. 

You’ve not seen it since you let him borrow it, and truth be told, you’d nearly forgotten he had it still. 

I’m sure he won’t miss it, you absently think to yourself as you pick it up, fully intending to take it home with you today. 

But as you do, two folded pieces of paper fall from the front cover and land on the floor beside the bed. Old copies of film scripts, perhaps? You knew they had been using this book to help write it, maybe these were the early versions of the final thing. Pure curiosity begs you to look at them—you’re quite interested to see their process of creating this beautiful masterpiece. Surely Jake won’t mind, since you’ve been so involved in this whole thing.

You pick them both up and open one of them, fully expecting to see an early, handwritten version of the script that would become the cinematic masterpiece that is Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur. 

But, that isn’t what you see. Not even close. 

At the top of the page, in bold letterhead, reads The University of Oxford. And beneath it is the London address where it’s located.

And beneath that…

“Dear Mr. Kiszka, 

With reference to your application for graduate study at Oxford, we are delighted to convey the decision to offer you a place in the Literature and Arts Masters program beginning in the Spring of 2024.”

Spring of 2024…next semester. 

The pit of your stomach drops, as though the most dense weight has settled there. You keep reading the words, hoping that by some tiny chance you’ve somehow misread them. But, as your eyes scan the words over and over again, there’s not a smidge of doubt. 

He applied for a school in London. He was accepted. 

He’s leaving. 

And he’s leaving soon. 

You're struck in a state of shock, of disbelief. It’s a familiar feeling of betrayal, one you hoped you’d never have to experience again. 

You’re trembling as you unfold the second piece of paper, and just when you thought this whole thing couldn’t become more painful, you’re proven wrong. 

The other folded document is his schedule of classes. He’s gone as far as to make a schedule. And their starting date is in two months. 

Less than two months, and he’ll be gone.

Hurt and angry tears begin to well, blurring your vision so you can no longer read the words on the papers held in your hands. This kind of sadness, this ebb of shock and disbelief, it’s overwhelming. Your mind is stuck on an endless loop, replaying every moment from the last few months. There must’ve been signs you missed. But how? How could you have been so blind? 

He had so many opportunities to tell you, yet he didn’t. You’re left to wonder if he ever planned to tell you, or if he was just going to leave, leave you as though you never existed. 

Maybe you truly are easy to leave. First your dad, Jake…

You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, getting closer to you. The door opens all the way, and you look up to see him carrying a plate full of food and a coffee mug as he greets you with a gleeful ‘good morning.’

Then, he realizes. 

His expression turns from one of joy to alarm when he sees the silent tears falling down your face, the papers you’re still holding in your hands.

“Shit, y/n I–”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question quietly as you try to swallow down every tear. 

His face pales, and he hurriedly sets the plate and mug on the dresser beside the door before taking tentative steps towards you. 

“I–I was going to tell you I just–” 

His stuttered words hang in the air, unfinished. He runs a worried hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily at the sight of you with his best kept secret in your grasp. A hurtful silence lays between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of broken trust. The room suddenly feels colder. 

He slumps down on the bed next to you, eyebrows knit with concern. His beautiful features, painted with guilt and worry. “I tried not to let this happen—I mean, I just didn’t think things between us would—“

What?

“…you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

There’s so much you want to say, yet each word that dares to pass your lips feels useless. In truth, there’s nothing you can say. 

It’s already done. 

The distance between you now feels more pronounced than ever before, like he’s already left. 

Your source of comfort, your safety, your guiding light…

He's already gone. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i suppose our girls intuition was right...

what do we think will become of this? & who do we think will provide her with some much needed comfort?

& on that note, see you in chapter 6🫣🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?)

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul27

[thetriumphantpanda]

Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter One)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count / 3.4K

Warnings / soft!Joel, reader is a widow, in depth discussions and descriptions of grief and depression, will have eventual smut, SLOW BURN.

Authors Note / I AM SO PROUD OF THIS LITTLE STORY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I've wanted to write soft!Joel for so long so I hope you love it as much as I do! If you do enjoy it, reblogs, asks and likes are my drug so I'd love to know what you think! Also considering following for more!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. There were days that you couldn’t bring yourself to throw back the sheets of your bed and get up. For the first month, you think you managed to shower three times. No point if no-one was going to see you. You hadn’t left your house since the day of the funeral, life had become a monotonous circle of waking up, soaking your pillow with tears until you made yourself sick, throwing on the same clothes as before and then doing the same thing but led on the couch. 

People had reassured you it would get easier. That each day it would subside, little by little, and you cursed them for being right. The longer you sat with your misery, the easier it became. One morning, a few months ago, you remember waking up, only this time you didn’t roll over and place your hand on the empty side of the bed and cry when you realized your husband wasn’t there anymore. You got up and showered, taking 15 minutes to brush the matted mess of your hair, and you dressed in new clothes. 

You managed to walk to the market hall and purchase food with your ration cards and Maria had almost fallen over when she saw you in the aisle. That was the worst thing though. You’d been absent from life in Jackson for almost six months, and whenever you left your house people looked at you. Some still had those sympathetic eyes, telling you they were sorry for your loss, but there were the others who judged you. How pathetic you were for falling into despair like you had. 

It wasn’t as if he’d met a violent end, he was quite lucky, actually. In this world death came at the hands of evil, whether it was being taken and tortured by raiders, or torn limb from limb by infected. Your husband had died peacefully, drifting off in his sleep in the hospital. The doctors had said it was cancer, which seemed painfully unkind to him. He’d never smoked in his life and was probably the healthiest person you’d ever known, but when was life ever fair? 

You could tell they whispered once you’d passed. How dare she be so upset when my husband was killed on patrol? How lucky you were to have been able to say goodbye and hold his hand as he passed, when someone else turned into one of those things all alone. So now it wasn’t grief that kept you behind closed doors, but shame. Shame at knowing you thought they were right, that not being able to pull yourself together was selfish. Selfish to all the people who had managed to carry on with their lives after losing someone, selfish to the community for not being able to pull your weight. You were stuck and you had no idea what to do about it. 

The only way you could face leaving your home these days was on Maria’s comforting arm. She’d been your friend for years, she and Tommy seemingly the only people who understood you. Didn’t force you to do anything, let you come to your own decisions when you felt ready. No-one would dare look at you or speak in hushed tones whilst she was around. 

The sun was soaking Jackson now, it was summer, and you were grateful for the warmth of the sun on your skin, everything felt better with the sun on your back. With summer came one of your favourites of life’s simple pleasures. Strawberries. In the market you picked up as many as you could purchase after buying your essentials. Maria walked you home, helped you put away everything and then left with a comforting hug. 

You carefully placed a large handful of the fruit in a bowl, rinsing it under running water. You were about to sit down on your couch to eat them, but the sun was filtering invitingly through your front windows. You stripped off your jacket, leaving you in your simple tank top and jeans before opening your front door to sit on the bench on your porch. You had sunglasses resting on your face, Tommy had found them on a patrol trip a few months ago and you were grateful for the safety you felt from them. People couldn’t walk past and meet your eye. 

You were finishing your third strawberry when Tommy walked past, a man you didn’t know on his left shoulder. He took a look to your house and smiled on seeing you sat in a patch of sunlight, he waved, which you return, then he turns to the mysterious man on his left to say something before they start walking over. 

“It’s good to see you out, honey,” He smiled, walking to lean over the railing of your porch, “What’cha got there?” He asked, motioning his head to your bowl of strawberries. 

“You want one?” You asked, picking the bowl up and walking over to meet him, he gladly takes the biggest fruit in the bowl, pinching the spidery leaves off before putting the whole thing in his mouth, “How about you?” You asked, extending the bowl to Tommy’s mysterious companion. 

He takes a strawberry as well, doing as Tommy did, but he takes smaller bites of the fruit, like he’s savoring it, “This here’s my brother Joel,” Tommy speaks, Joel extends his hand and you take it, shaking it softly in greeting, “He arrived a few weeks back, he’s been getting settled with his daught… with Ellie, but I thought it was high time he started pulling his weight.” 

He had a smirk on his face as he said it and you could see the beginnings of a smile on Joel’s face too, “This one’s a real taskmaster,” You say to Joel, a smirk across your lips, “You’ll be wishing we had a retirement age soon enough.” 

“Can’t think where he gets it from,” Joel chuckles, “You were takin’ notes all the time we worked together before weren’t you?” 

Tommy smiles and nods, “Learnt from the best,” There’s another round of chuckles from the men, “Listen, we should get a move on, but I mean it, it’s nice to see you out like this.” 

“Thanks Tommy,” You offer a small smiled, “Here, take a strawberry for the road.” 

Both men take another fruit gladly before the way and make their way back down the street, leaving you on your own once more. You slide the sunglasses back onto your eyes and take your place in the path of sunlight on the bench. You sit there for a while, eating your strawberries, thinking about all the times you and your husband had done the same, holding hands as the sunset, cuddling up into his side when the temperature dropped. You realized suddenly that you weren’t sad. That the tears that usually threatened to fall were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was just a feeling of happiness, grateful that you’d experienced love in a world where it had seemed impossible. Sure, you wished he would reach over and take your hand in his like he used to, squeeze it and place a soft kiss to your palm, but you were no longer ruled by the grief that had consumed you all those months ago. 

*

“She seemed nice.” Joel muses as he walks with Tommy. 

“She’s lovely,” He replies simply, “Just had a pretty rough time of it recently.” 

Joel hums in acknowledgement as his boots hit the ground in time with Tommy’s, “When you said it was good to see her out, what did you mean?” 

Tommy sighs at his question, but not out of frustration like he usually did when Joel asked him questions, more out of sympathy, “Her husband died about a year ago,” He begins to explain, “Nothin’ violent or anythin’ like that, the doctors reckoned it was cancer, but she took it real hard, I don’t think she got out of bed for the first week, and then after his funeral she just kinda withdrew, she’s been all alone in that house for months, refuses to leave unless it’s with Maria because people talk.” 

“People talk about her?” Joel is shocked, in a world where loss in inevitable, what makes someone else’s grief less worthy than others? 

“We’re safe here,” Tommy says, steering him into a building at the end of the street, “But that doesn’t mean people don’t die when they’re out there,” He references his patrol men, he’d lost a few which he would always hold heavy in his heart, “Maria told me once that when she took her to the market a few months ago, some busybody wives were talkin’ about how unfair it was she got to say goodbye, that he’d been sedated and it was easy for him.” 

Joel stops in his tracks, letting Tommy walk in front of him. They’re in the gun store, not for anything in particular, just so Joel knows where everything is so he can stop following his brother round like a lost puppy. His mind inevitably wanders to his own grief in this moment. The pain of losing his own daughter, the all-consuming feeling of ‘what is the point in life anymore?’ without her. The scar on the right side of his face and the hearing loss in the same ear when he’d tried to end it all. He hadn’t been strong, not really. If he hadn’t of flinched that would have been it, the easy way out, as some would have said. He’d struggled for a long time with his survival but that didn’t mean his was worth more than your grief, or yours more than his. It wasn’t that simple. 

“I spoke to them, told ‘em if I heard ‘em gossiping again then we’d have no issues moving them on their way, but I suppose people are always going to talk, they just do it where we can’t hear them.” 

“I’m guessin’ she knows?” 

“Of course she knows, Joel, that’s why she shuts herself away, easier that way I guess.” 

“Doesn’t make it fair though, feelin’ like you can’t leave your house because people are gonna judge the way your husband died.” 

“She’s been better recently,” Tommy speaks, leaning against the table behind him, “Still won’t really go anywhere without Maria, but seein’ her today, it was nice.”  Joel nods his way through Tommy explaining the signing out system for guns, follows him around to the stables where he shakes the hand of the young girl in charge of caring for them and then settles himself next to his brother at the bar for a drink. All the while, he can’t stop his mind drifting back to you and your loneliness, your despair at your loss, or the rotten porch step he’d noticed at the front of your house that might just give him the reason to get a little closer to you. 

*

A few mornings later, there is a soft knock at your door. Your face contorts in confusion, Maria wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow. Leaving the coffee pot to its filtering, you walk slowly to the door, opening it to find Joel stood on your porch, toolbox in hand and planks of wood resting against the railing. 

“Good mornin’,” He croons, “Not interrupin’ anythin’ am I?” 

You shake your head, “Can I help you?” You asked, wincing slightly at the defensive tone of your voice. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but when I passed with Tommy the other day, I noticed your porch step was rotting,” He points to the old timbers behind him, “I’m surprised you’ve not fallen through it already, so do you mind if I fix them?” 

Your exterior softens and a small smile pulls at your lips, “Of course,” You say, “I’m just making some coffee, do you want some?” 

“If you don’t mind sharin’, then I’d love some.” 

You leave him on the porch to get started. Your mug is already set next to the coffee pot, you open the cupboard and instinctively reach for the only other mug you ever needed. It had meant nothing to you when you moved in. It was white and had a pattern of sausage dogs printed on it, but it had always been his. You hold it in your hands when you realise what you’ve done. His face flashes behind your eyes. He’s standing in front of you, his hair tousled from sleep, his voice still low and raspy. He thanks you as he takes hold of his mug, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You set it back in the cupboard like it had burned your palms, reaching instead of the plain black mug at the back of the cupboard. 

You rest your palms on the counter, closing your eyes to take deep breaths, feeling the weight of your body through to the ground. Once you don’t feel the wave of sadness flowing through you any longer, your quickly pour the coffee into the mugs, taking them out to the porch where Joel is currently working to take the rotten boards up, not that it’s taking much work, a little force from his hands and the wood in crumbling. 

“Here you go,” You say softly, setting the mug down next to his toolbox, “I hope you don’t mind it black, I spent all my rations on strawberries this week, so no milk.” 

“Just how I like it,” He says, looking up at you, “Thank you.” 

You take a seat on the bench out front, it’s been a long time since you had the company of someone that wasn’t Maria or Tommy and it was nice to watch him work whilst you sat in the sun. 

“Thank you, by the way, I didn’t realise it had gotten so bad,” You remark, and before you can think about what you’re saying, you add, “My husband always used to handle this stuff.” 

You press your fingers to your lips as Joel’s movement still slightly, he knows what you’ve said, but he continues working, “It’s alright, this is what I used to do before all of this, so I’ve got an eye for rotting wood.” 

“You were a builder?” You asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from your loss. 

“I was, Tommy and I were contractors, worked on a bunch of different sites together, kinda annoying the world ended, we’d just booked a really big job, was gonna pay the bills and then some for once, my daughter had already spent the money on a trip to Disney.” 

“Ellie?” You enquire, remembering the name Tommy had given. 

He shakes his head as he sits back on his knees, coffee mug in hand, “No, she’s not mine by blood, she came along a lot later, I lost my daughter on outbreak day.” 

“Oh,” You say simply, “I’m sorry Joel.” 

“It’s alright,” He shrugs, taking a mouthful of coffee, “I struggled, for a long time, didn’t see how it was fair, but it’s been easier recently, all because of Ellie, and this.” He motions around to the town. 

You’re silent for a while, your gaze flits between Joel working and the dregs of liquid in your cup. You understand in a way. The loss is different, but it’s loss all the same. 

“What was his name?” Joel asks quietly as he’s rooting through his toolbox for some nails, “Your husband.” 

“Mark,” You speak quietly, realizing quickly it was probably too quiet for him to hear, “His name was Mark.” 

“Were you together long?” 

“Eighteen years,” You answer, “He was my neighbour in the first QZ I was in, I’d lost my parents a few years before the outbreak so I was on my own, he moved in a year later and would always wake me up every morning when he stomped about to go to work,” You were smiling, recounting how you’d met, “One morning I’d had enough, I went right over there, pounded on the door and gave him what for. Said I was tired of waking up to the sound of his work boots every morning, and I guess the rest is history.” 

Joel smiles as he reaches for his hammer, nailing in the new boards, “Love at first sight?” He asked, worried at first that it’s too personal a question. 

“Something like that,” You offer in reply, “I guess it just kinda happened really, like most things do.” 

There’s silence between you again as Joel hammers in the last of the nails. He stands up, pressing his full weight on the step, “All done,” He declares, shutting away his toolbox, “Don’t have to worry about you fallin’ through it now.” 

You stand up to admire his handiwork, you must admit he was good at what he did. Efficient but thorough, the step had never looked so good, even when you’d first moved in, “Thank you Joel,” You place a hand on his arm and give it a gentle squeeze, “I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” He bends to pick up his coffee mug and hands it over to you, “Nothin’ else need sorting?” 

“I mean, nothing that risks death or serious injury,” You jest, “But there is something you might be able to help with.” 

You gesture for him to follow you through the house, setting the dirty mugs in the sink as you pass through. You open the back door and motion for him to join you. The garden is a mess, there’s no beating around the bush here. The grass is out of control, but that’s because you haven’t been able to go and get your gas ration for the lawnmower. The decking out back is fine, Mark’s handiwork in the year before he died, but you point to the unfinished table and chairs in the corner, or rather the pile of wood that never got to become the table and chairs. 

“Mark was going to build some table and chairs, you know, so we could have guests over or sit out here in the evenings, but he got sick before he could really start,” There’s a lump in your throat now and you’re willing yourself not to cry, not now, in front of a man you barely know, but nothing you do can quell the feeling inside of you and a few tears fall down your cheek, “God, I’m so sorry,” You sniffed, “I’ve done so well not to do this today.” 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Joel soothes, he pressed a firm hand to your shoulder for comfort but keeps his distance, which you are grateful for. 

He gives you a moment to compose yourself, watching closely as you rub the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath, “It would just be nice to have somewhere to sit where people aren’t going to watch me.” 

Joel’s heart almost breaks at your words. He doesn’t know you, not in the slightest, but the thought that you felt like you had to hide away, in your own community, the place that was meant to make you feel some semblance of normal, was preposterous to him. 

“I’ll build you something, don’t worry,” He reassures, “Tommy has me on patrol for the next few days, but as soon as I can, I promise I’ll build you the best damn table and chairs you’ve ever seen.” 

You laugh now, through the remnants of your tears, “Thank you.” Is all you can manage to say. 

He’s turning around then, you go to follow him, but he stops in his tracks, eyes admiring the trellis against the back wall of your home, full in bloom of sweet peas, “These are beautiful.” He comments. 

“They’re sweet peas,” You inform him, “Maria found the seeds for me, said something about it being good for me to have something to put my energy into,” You shrug, “I guess she was right.”

You reach out and pluck one of the deep purple blooms, “These are my favourites,” You say, turning the bloom over in your fingers before you hand it to him, he looks confused, “Sweet peas are meant to symbolize kindness and friendship,” You explain, “Also fond goodbyes, but I think kindness is more appropriate here.” 

He takes the bloom and tucks the stem into the breast pocket, the petals of the flower peeking out where you can both see it, “Well then, thank you,” He nods, “I’ll see you soon, sweet pea.” 

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[upat4amwiththemoon]

hi! saw that your requests are open and if you want to could you write a fic with amelia shepard x reader. kind of a mental health fic where reader is struggling (depression or something) and either amelia and reader are a couple or reader is someone coming into the ER (or something else) but either way amelia decides to help R and eventually they become a couple (if they’re not already). i hope you understand what i mean?

anyway, thank you!

i’ll die anyway.

Summary: It’s still hard to find reasons to stay alive.

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x female!reader

Warnings: depression

Word count: 824

a/n: Amelia Shepherd please cure my mental illnesses <3

masterlists | guidelines

Even though Amelia is oftentimes busy with her work, being the self proclaimed best neurosurgeon, she still makes time for her girlfriend, who unlike her, doesn’t have such a mess of a schedule. However, she just came to the realization that date nights haven’t happened in a while. She really hasn’t properly seen Y/N in a while.

Which is why, after arriving back home, Amelia’s first mission is to find Y/N. She goes up the stairs, towards their shared bedroom, still wearing her scrubs. She frowns as she steps into the room. No one is there. It’s dark and the bed is messy, which indicates Y/N has been there recently.

The sound of water hits her ears. Amelia knocks on the door opposite of their bedroom, trying to open it, but it’s mocked. “Y/N?” She calls out, growing worried at the silence coming from the other side. “Are you okay in there?” There’s slight humor to her voice, but it’s only there to mask her anxiety.

A quiet yeah comes from the other side of the door, but it doesn’t ease Amelia.

“You think you could open the door for me?” It takes a while, but eventually Amelia can hear the soft clink of the lock. She opens the door carefully, only peeking her head in first. When she sees fully clothes Y/N sitting under the running shower, she steps in the room fully, closing the door behind her so the warmth of the water wouldn’t escape. “What are you doing?” She has a gentle smile on her face as she kneels near Y/N. She recognizes the look in her eyes.

“I think I’m getting sick.” She whispers. Water droplets are getting all over her eyes and mouth, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Sick?” Amelia shuts the shower off, getting no reaction from Y/N. She sets the back of her hand to her girlfriend’s wet forehead. “You don’t feel warm.” She states quietly.

Y/N hums. Her hands are hidden in the sleeves of the hoodie she’s wearing. It’s oversized, one of her favorites, mostly because it’s technically Amelia’s hoodie. Her eyes are unfocused, so she rarely blinks, only when water slides over her eyes.

“Maybe getting out of the wet clothes would help?” Amelia’s tone makes the sentence sound like a question, but it’s more of a request, as she is already helping Y/N up before she has a chance to answer. She leads her into the bedroom, not caring about the trail of water dripping to the floors. “I’m going to get you some clothes, okay?”

Amelia starts looking through their wardrobe, picking the coziest looking clothes for the both of them. She helps Y/N out of the wet clothes and into the clean ones before she changes out of her scrubs.

“Have you eaten today?” She’s pretty sure she already knows the answer, and it worries her, since she had a ten hour shift today. Y/N shakes her head, confirming Amelia’s fears. “Okay, I’m going to order us some food.”

After leading Y/N to the bed, she picks up her phone and orders the food that’ll arrive to their house the quickest. She sets her phone back down, making sure it’s not silenced so she’ll hear when their food arrives.

She sits down next to Y/N, leaning her bad against the backboard, she pulls Y/N’s back into her chest. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Amelia pulls the covers over them before wrapping her arms around Y/N.

She sighs, slowly leaning the side of her head against Amelia’s. “I don’t know.” She whispers, her voice slightly wobbly. “I don’t feel anything but I’m feeling everything at the same time. It’s like I’m stuck in a hole and I can’t scream for help.” Taking a shaky breath, her voice turns almost too quiet for Amelia to hear, “it feels like it doesn’t matter if I’m dead or alive.”

“Maybe we could go meet up with a psychotherapist together tomorrow?”

Y/N hesitates. Asking for, or receiving help has never been something she can do easily. “I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

“But it is.” Amelia states in a way that leaves no room for arguments. “Mental health needs to be always taken seriously.”

Emotions mull through Y/N’s body. She feels guilty and bad for letting Amelia see, for making her worry, that’s not what she wants. She feels like going to psychotherapy would mame it worse, it’d solidify the fact there’s something wrong with her.

Amelia’s embrace turns tighter, bringing Y/N back to the present. Her hands have started shaking, she didn’t notice. “You don’t have to decide now.” Amelia whispers into her ear. “We’ll think and talk about later, okay?” Y/N nods, letting herself relax for now as she lays on her girlfriend, and tries to forget her worries.

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam explains, “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts,” Roy proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?” he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

[lacyscabinet]

Nat comes back from hunting, and reader isn't there, and everyone didn't see her, and then Nat finds her in the small shack where shauna usually was with Jackie's body

Reader was huddled up with the sharpest knife, and it was covered in blood

(Basically reader was gonna commit)

I NEED ANGSTY 😓😓

SORRY IF THIS TRIGGERS :(

A/N: thank you for this request <3, as someone who has struggled and still struggles with sh, I feel like I need to spread a little message through this note, you are enough, I know that everybody says that, and I know that you might think it's pathetic, but it's true, it doesn't matter if you failed a test, broke up with your s/o, messed something up , did anything you regret doing or even not doing, or if you just don't feel like sticking around anymore, only one thing doesn't have a remedy. I struggle to believe it myself sometimes but in the end there is always something worth living for. Think about it. Emotional pep talk over, sorry for rambling, hope you'll like this fic<3

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS : knives, attempted suicide, suicidal ideation, depression, sh, blood

You're losing me

Another day hunting, another day without finding any game, everyone was starving back at the cabin, and the frustration Nat felt was sickening.

And the team worshipping Lottie and going as far as saying that Lottie was providing more food than her made Natalie see red.

Travis wasn't helping much these days, grieving his little brother, long story short, everyone was on edge, you more than anyone else.

Nobody really knew how much you were struggling, you tried to open up with Natalie once and she didn't really catch up on the way you felt, she just thought you were really sad that day and comforted you.

But it was deeper than that, at first when you all got stranded, you were full of life, hopeful to get rescued and go on with your life, but as the days, the weeks and the moths went by, the bright glimmer in your eyes dimmed gradually, only leaving a hint of emotions when you cried, you felt drained, tired and sick, not the type of tired that a good night of sleep could fix and not the type of sick that painkillers could tame.

And then, with all the things you've seen, all the things you did, it was all in order to survive of course, but you still did it, you did it.

As time went by you started to think about the way you would be way more useful if you died, not only you wouldn't have to eat food, leaving more for your teammates, but you also would become food, and a part of you hoped that someday you'll become useful to the others.

You thought and you even dreamed about it, not feeling pain anymore, not being completely useless anymore, and one day, you took matters into your own hands.

That day, a shivering Natalie, fresh out of another failed hunt, looked for you in the cabin, simply to spend some time with you since she was gone in the snow the whole day, she searched and searched but you were nowhere to be seen.

"Mari? Have you seen Y/N" Natalie asked the girl who was busy cooking something definitely not nutritious enough to make the team feel full, Mari shrugged "I saw her this morning, she was going out, I thought she was looking for you"

Nat frowned, thanking Mari and going into the living room, a bunch of the girls sat there around the fire, and of course, you weren't there

"God..." Shauna spoke up, looking around the room "Has anyone seen my knife? I think I lost it"

The others shrugged as Natalie reached for the door, searching for you outside.

She was used to the ironically burning cold, but still, it wasn't pleasant.

Walking around the outside of the cabin she couldn't help but curse you and hope you were okay at the same time.

After a faint noise she froze in her spot, paying attention to her surroundings, and then her eyes widened when she heard a loud sob.

Looking around, she realized that there was only one place the cries could come from, the tiny wooden shelter next to the cabin.

As she walked closer to it the noises just got louder and louder, and she was sure that it was you, she could recognize your voice everywhere after all, but "why is she crying?" Nat kept thinking.

When she entered the shed, she couldn't believe her eyes, yes, you were there, but Shauna's knife was there as well, covered in blood.

At first her mind wanted to believe that you found game on your way to join Nat in her daily hunt, and you were just cutting up pieces of deer meat, but when she noticed your sleeves rolled up and deep vertical slits on your wrists all the hope in her mind was gone.

She was losing you.

And you yourself, couldn't feel a thing, after the painful cuts, you found a certain peace in the warm feeling of blood pouring out of your veins, a bold contrast compared to the freezing weather.

Nat cursed, she was shocked, but she knew that she couldn't allow herself to be in shock, she had to help, she had to do something .

She was losing you.

"Hey! Hey! Can you hear me? Please baby, can you hear me?" She cried out kneeling next to your body

You weren't completely unconscious, wobbling between the two worlds, and in a moment of consciousness, the only thing you could say was "Nat..."

She instantly replied, eagerly trying to get some more words from you "What baby?"

"You can... when it's time, you can...you can eat me, you have my permission...please do it Nat, you deserve to live"

Natalie couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth "No, no, don't say that, you are gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine"

And in that moment your vision went black.

She lost you.

For three hours. The worst three hours of her life.

As soon as you passed out, she picked you up and brought you back inside.

After seeing your conditions everyone was alarmed, Tai quickly stitched you up as best as she could, and then Nat proceeded to clean you up from all the blood you lost.

Coach Ben let the girls lay you down in his small room, and after that they all collectively decided to leave you alone with Nat for a while.

She held your hand the whole time, clinging to the feeling that you weren't gone, you couldn't be gone, your heart was still beating, a faint beating, but it was working.

When you opened your eyes, she was there, squeezing your hand with her own, eyes closed and a tear stained face

Just like in the movies you thought, but you weren't in a safe hospital at the end of a movie, you were at the start of your little personal hell.

And even when she held you tightly after she noticed your wide eyes, you couldn't help but wish you were somewhere else.

After all, maybe she really lost you that day.

A/N: I think I just poured my soul into this fic. Hope you enjoyed, stay safe <3

[captaincryolicious]

WHEN THE RAIN BEGINS TO FALL.

— xiao x gn!reader

— you're feeling all but anything good, and the vigilant yaksha is there to fight the demons that pester your mind.

— content under the cut | masterlist

FROM THE WATER'S EDGE, the sky looked heavy. grey clouds had packed in the sky, looming over the vast wildlands of liyue. you knew rain would begin to fall soon, yet you remained standing on the shore. what did it matter, were droplets of water to soak your entire being? you couldn't get yourself to care.

you weren't having it. the demons in your mind battled and won, and you were ready to give in and stop fighting against them. what was the point, anyway? you had lost track of happiness, your purpose in life, you couldn't find the path that was meant for you, and you were ready to give up.

matching the clouds up above, your mood was gloomy, thoughts resting heavily on your being.

surely, droplets of rain began to drizzle from the sky in a matter of minutes, rippling the smooth surface of the water. it morphed into a steady downpour rapidly, yet you didn't move from the spot you had taken what felt like hours ago. you let it happen; drenching your cloats, dampening your hair, painting your cheeks like tears – that otherwise refused to spill after crying too often.

your venomous thoughts were turbulent, yet you felt empty all the same. as if your inner void sucked away your emotions, leaving naught but misery behind.

a name lingered on your mind; one call, and he would come. but as your depression grew, you had called out his name so often already, which made you feel like another burden atop the pain he already carried perpetually. so you remained silent, refusing to speak said name aloud.

but the path of the yaksha had intertwined with yours deeply, and the male was attuned with your mind to a point where no words needed to be spoken to alert him of your misery.

xiao knew you were suffering.

he felt it in every fibre of his being, proving only how deep of a connection you shared. hence he appeared behind you in a thick, black mist, and alerted you of his arrival with a raspy call of your name.

"y/n."

you turned around, your heart swelling with a pinch of hope when you found your beloved yaksha standing there, amber eyes gazing at you solemnly.

"xiao," you called, voice breaking.

"are you forgetting how easily mortals catch ilnesses?" the conqueror of demons spoke as he took a step towards you. "you'll get sick, y/n."

"i don't care," you huffed.

"but i do," xiao fought, lifting his gloved hand and wiping the raindrops mixed with tears from your cheek. but he was quick to engulf you in a hug entirely, holding you close against him. "i'll bring you to a better place."

black smoke swirled around you, nipping at your skin as your surroundings blurred over. familiar with what was about to occur, you closed your eyes and let it happen.

when you opened them again, you were on the upper balcony of the wangshu inn, xiao's place of comfort – one that he gladly shared with you.

"now tell me, what's going on inside that mind of yours?" xiao asked, not fully letting go of you and still holding you in a loose embrace.

one look in his eyes told you that he, too, was not doing well. but he chose to put aside his own suffering to tend to yours. you were that important to him, and though he hardly ever told you so with words, he showed you through his actions.

xiao sounded rough, tired, but he gazed at you ever so softly still. you felt your heart swell with a hint of love and happiness, the first positive sensation you've experienced in quite a while. you shook your head, not yet ready to address the demons in your mind. for now, you simply needed xiao to be with you, and you buried your face in his neck.

"my mind is a mess, xiao," you admitted. "it's dark, so dark that i don't want to talk about it. i just don't want to trigger myself, but i'll tell you all about it when i'm ready."

"take your time," the yaksha nodded. "in the meantime, i will not move from your side. the demons that pester your mind are the first that need their demise, liyue can wait."

"silly," you joked, offering a small laugh. "an entire nation is more important than a simple human like me."

"you're wrong, y/n," xiao earnestly said. "you are the reason why i can bear my karmic debts, why i'm not consumed by darkness yet. you're the most important to me, never forget that."

the adeptus looked at you sternly, and when he was sure you accepted his words, he buried you in another tight hug.

xiao was a creature shrouded in darkness and misery, fighting monsters and bringing demise to keep the nation of contracts safe and sound. and yet, he was your light, your conqueror of demons, your beloved yaksha who safely pulled you through your darkest moments.

you loved him dearly. he brought back the sun when the rain was about to fall, and you would be forever grateful.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw)

Re: Removable armor w/ sticky climbing abilities

I feel like Knock Out giving his Lil' Squishy removable armor that can stick to things would be a decent step in the right direction for the two of them to get along.

A. They can't get handprints on everything if they wearing gauntlets.

B. They look like a Deployer Minicon of his, so they're less likely to get messed with by other Decepticons. (Soundwave's gonna know regardless, but we knew that.) And the Decepticons screw with each other all the time, so it's not That much of an improvement.

C. A tough outer shell would help with making them feel safer around him. Maybe eventually helping facilitate an actual friendship? (Unlikely, but you know.) Not to mention the fact that the armor matches their collar perfectly. Fashion is important too, you know.

D. If his Lil' Squishy doesn't want to get eaten, they can use their armor's sticky qualities to make swallowing them a hassle. (He's gonna regret this later, but it Will give his Lil' Squishy some control in the situation. And with control comes confidence. They won't be so depressed anymore. Though, giving them the claws was a Bad Idea.)

(Expanding on D because I enjoy being a nuisance to him >:3c )

"Well my little Morsel, it seems you've lost our game once again. You know what that means~." Smugness radiates from Knock Out as he plucks his Lil' Squishy treat from their hiding spot, and holds them aloft over his helm. "Ugh, can't we skip out on the 'swallowing as punishment for losing' thing? You won't let me bring anything in there with me and there's nothing to do!" The human tries to reason with the giant robot, but only succeeds in mildly annoying him.

Knock Out scoffs, and rolls his optics before responding. "It might not be any fun for you, but I find a certain enjoyment in how much you Squirm. So, you'll have to endure it for now. Besides, you don't want me to grow bored of you, do you?" Knock Out asks, but doesn't wait for an answer as he tilts his helm back, and opens his intake. The human kicks futilely at the air, the claws on their gauntlets scraping fruitlessly at Knock Out's own as they try to get a decent grip on his digits.

Knock Out releases his hold on them, and they fall helplessly into his gaping maw. Solvent soaks them immediately, and the shock of going splat on his glossa only stuns them for a moment, but they recover and use their armor to latch onto his glossa. The tiny claws digging into the rubbery muscle don't do him any favors when he attempts to go about tasting them anyways. And he's not giving up without a fight either, as he presses his glossa to the roof of his intake (gently) smooshing them in the hopes that they'll release their hold on his glossa so he can swallow them, and gloat about it.

But that only results in his Lil' Squishy deciding to cling to the roof of his intake instead. Which leads to them crawling over to his dentae, and knocking on them. "Hey, you done yet?" The discomfort caused by their antics makes him growl in displeasure before removing them from his intake altogether. "Mmrrrrrggghhh-Fine. You win for now, Squishy, but you will be doing double time in my tanks later for this."

The human's honest reaction: >:P

-Not a Request Anon

KNOCKOUT CALLING HIS HUMAN LIL’ SQUISHY!!!! Idk if I would enjoy being reminded of how fragile I am but it’s definitely a nickname Knockout would give to one of us LOL! He’d definitely regret giving his human armor that can stick to anything because now he actually has to ask for permission when eating you? What kind of sick world is this? Ugh, the nerve!

[rainylana]

“Do it for me.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: reader’s past struggles come back to haunt her.

warnings: reader has an eating disorder, talk of anorexia and weight gain/loss, throwing up food, angst, tears galore, panic attack, depression, language. requested by @eu1a i hope i did this justice to what you wanted as of how serious the topic was. thank you for requesting and enjoy reading:)

“Fuck,” You sobbed, hands gripping the toilet as you sat on your knees, rocking back and forth through cries. You sniffled and snotted, choking on cries that echoed through the bathroom, an absolute mess. It was shocking how one little comment send you into hysterics. You thought you’d gotten so much better.

All it took was one comment from your sister about your weight to ruin your whole day, to send you into the bathroom. You tried not to stick your fingers down your throat, but you were so upset you thought you’d throw up anyways.

You’d always struggled with anorexia ever since you were in middle school, but you’d been doing good ever since you’d gotten together with Eddie. He was good for you, kept you positive. He knew about your past struggles, but you knew he had a hard time understanding it. You didn’t blame him, you didn’t understand it all either.

You’d never had a healthy relationship with food, but being with Eddie healed you. He taught you to love yourself, be kind to the body that you were given. Even if you didn’t want to be, you faked it till you made it. Being with him had helped you get to a healthy weight, put on the pounds you needed to keep your immune system up and healthy.

Your dinner was sitting uncomfortably inside your belly, so you stuck your fingers down your throat and threw up your food, gagging as you did so. It didn’t make you feel better, though, and you sobbed as you drooled all over your hand, eyes watering and chest burning as you vomited your stomach contents.

One comment sent you into a spiral, and you didn’t know how bad it was going to be.

•

You were exhausted, and the loud boom of cafeteria chatter didn’t help the pounding headache that you were trying to fight off. Eddie was to your left, arguing with Gareth and Dustin about something regarding to their newest campaign. You’d tried to focus on what they were talking about, but you hadn’t been sleeping very good. Everything seemed foggy, cloudy, hard to see through and felt as if you were underwater.

Your stomach rumbled for something to eat, but you denied it almost every time, making you look pale and sickly. It had been a week since your sister’s comment, and it had been a week of straight hell. Your body was undergoing your own torture, and you were certainly paying the price for it. You felt so guilty, going behind Eddie’s back and doing everything you could to keep him from finding out that you were sick again. He never saw you like it before, not really, only having heard your stories. You didn’t want him to see you week. You were afraid he’d find you disgusting.

“Angel?” Eddie’s voice echoed in your ear, becoming clearer when he grabbed your left hand. “You with us, baby?”

“Angel,”

“Baby,”

Dustin and Mike cackled like chickens as they made fun of their dungeon master. Eddie rolled his eyes, giving them the bird. “Sorry,” He chuckled, laying an arm over your shoulder. “You good? You seem quiet.”

You smiled as best as you could. “Yeah- just..just tired. I stayed up all night studying for our science exam.”

Eddie bopped your nose. “That’s my good girl. Keeping up with those grades, huh? Well, maybe you should ditch the rest of the day and head home for a nap, yeah? Might do you some good.” He kept eye contact with his big brown eyes, making you fall harder in love with him. Made you feel more guilty.

You couldn’t describe your feelings. You knew you weren’t overweight by any means. You were healthy and were you needed to be. You hadn’t even been insecure about your belly that wasn’t as smooth as it had used to be, or the extra meat on your thighs. You worried about eating, what the food would do to you if you got out of control. What would happen if you weren’t pretty anymore? What would happen between you and Eddie?

You didn’t see yourself as ugly, but you feared food would make you hideous. The solution? Simply not eat.

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, looking down to your lap.

“Not eating anything?” He noticed your empty space on the table.

“Not hungry.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’ve not ate much this week.” He acknowledged, giving you an odd look. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

“No, no,” You shook your head. “Just been really tired. Not had much of an appetite.”

He frowned and scooted his bag of pretzels towards you, pointing so you could eat before he turned back to his friends, giving you a kiss on the cheek as he did so.

It took you five minutes before you could eat one.

•

Your gagging sounds filled the bathroom dreadfully, hunched over the toilet as you heaved out everything you had consumed that day, which hadn’t been much. You cried like a baby, guilt eating you alive. You didn’t know what to do. You knew you couldn’t go down this path again. You’d gotten so bad last time. You needed to talk to Eddie. You knew you had to.

The idea terrified you. He’d be disgusted of what you were doing wouldn’t he? He didn’t judge you before, but that was before.

You sobbed as you flushed the toilet and stood on shaking legs, walking to your bedroom to look in your mirror. You lifted up your shirt with trembling hands. You couldn’t even see your reflection from how hard you were sobbing, your heart broken and body wracking with guilt.

Before you knew it, you were calling Eddie.

His tapping on the window came as a relief and terror all at the same time. You pushed open your curtains to reveal his terrified face, and he jumped in as quickly as he could. “Baby, are you okay?” He grabbed your shoulders. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You’d regretted it, though, now. It had given you a chance to calm down, his drive over there, and you were suddenly wishing you hadn’t called him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You waved your hands, not looking at him. “I’m okay, now, I was just upset.”

“About what?” He pressed, warm palms on gone shoulders. “What had you so upset, darlin’?”

“Nothing, I’m okay.” You dismissed halfheartedly.

“Baby,” He said firmly. “Tell me what happened! Are you hurt?”

“No, Eddie, I’m fine!” You snapped harshly, making him jump. “I’m fucking fine!”

You obviously weren’t, because your tears had come just as quickly back again, and you covered your face with your hands as you sobbed behind them.

“Y/n,” He tried to reach out to you but you jerked away. “Please, you’re scaring me, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you!” You wailed, making him recoil slightly. “You’ll be so mad at me!”

“Sweetheart,” He softly and carefully wrapped his hands around your shoulders. “Calm down,”

Your breathing got out of control, and you pushed him away to put your hands on your knees. “I can’t,” You choked, gagging on your own breath. “I’m so-”

“Breathe,” He tried not to panic along with you, holding your torso as he brought you to the bed. “Breathe, honey,” He brushed your hair out of your face. “Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed like a lost child, snot dripping down your nose as you hiccuped and choked. “Shh,” He soothed you. “Shh, I’m right here. Don’t rush, just breathe for me, alright? Need you to calm down.”

The panic attack drifted away after a few minutes, the terror washing away with an overwhelming amount of relief that made you sigh dramatically as you looked up to the ceiling. “Oh, god,”

He pushed your hair away from your sweaty face, adjusting your shirt that was falling off your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

You nodded heavily. “Thirsty.” You panted, getting up to shakily walk to your dresser for your water battle. He stood, watching you carefully to make sure you didn’t fall over.

You swallows your drink roughly, throwing down the bottle when you were done. “Oh, fuck, Eddie I’m so sorry.” You said exhaustedly.

“Y/n, honey, it’s okay.” He frowned, coming up to you. “But you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? I’m freaking out here. What happened that got you so upset? Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” You whined. “Stop asking me!”

“Y/n,”

“Eddie,”

“Fine!” He snapped. “Fine, what the fuck ever then!” He growled, stomping with heavy boots over to the beat. “Forget I fuckin’ asked.”

You gritted your teeth and crossed your arms, the familiar guilt swarming over you like buzzing bees. You carefully set down beside him, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked.

“I’m just…I’m afraid of what you’ll say. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Eddie looked over at you with saddened eyes, reaching out to grab your trembling hand. “Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to loose it, okay? I just want you to talk to me.”

He watched you sit in silence, big tears rolling down your cheeks as your lip quivered. He wanted to pull you into his arms, but he knew you needed your space.

“I’ve been throwing up my food again.” You let out a whimper, face burning with shame. “It’s just been a couple weeks.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Throwing up…your food? As in when..”

“Yeah, like before.” You rushed, finishing for him. “I know it’s disgusting and I should stop. That’s why I’m telling you.”

Eddie looked to the floor, trying his hardest to figure out what to say. He should’ve seen the signs, should’ve realized you hadn’t been acting right, because you hadn’t, and all the pieces were finally connecting together:

“Two weeks?” He looked back up at you. “What happened?”

“My sister.” You sniffled. “She said that I was getting fat. Well, no, she didn’t say that. She said I was putting on weight, but you- well, you get it.” You stumbled, bringing up a nail to bite.

“Who, lizzie or Micah?” He said quickly.

“Lizzie.”

“That little brat.” He gritted his teeth. “I outta-”

“That’s my sister, Eddie.” You finally looked at him.

“I don’t care who it is.” He stood up, pacing. “Nobody should ever talk that way to anyone. That’s just messed up.”

“It’s not her fault.” You defended. “She’s right. Don’t be mad at her, Eddie.”

Eddie gave you a look. “Are you serious? You’re not gonna sit there and justify what she said to you, especially with…with your health.” He was flustered and red, pacing a whole in the floor as he walked from one end of the room to the other.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, causing him to stop.

“Am I- no, no, baby, are you okay?” He came down to his knees in front of you. “I mean- you know that I don’t know anything about this, so you just gotta be honest with me. I mean..well, are you alright? Don’t you..should you eat something?” He was rambling and he knew it, terrified of saying the wrong thing.

“I’m not hungry.” You blushed.

“How long has it been since you ate?” He regretted the word choice as soon as he said it, especially the way your face turned beat red, but he had to ask.

“This morning.” You answered.

“And did..did you, uh- throw it up?” He said carefully, looking up with big, brown eyes.

You were beginning to feel very small, not able to keep your eyes on him. You started to cry again. You held your belly and sniffled, his hands on your knees.

“Baby, it’s okay,” He tried to sooth you. “I’m not mad. I’m glad you told me. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “I’ve not been able to keep anything down.”

“Okay,” He said gently. “Thank you for telling me. Have you been doing anything else?”

“No,” You shook your head. “Just that. I’m scared I’m going to get bad again, it’s just so hard to stop.”

“What’s it feel like?” He tried. “Is it..like addiction? Are you addicted to it or is it something else?”

His slender fingers came up to wipe your tears, soothing your aching anxiety. “I-I..I,”

“Slow,” He stopped you. “Shh, calm down, slow, slow,” He guided you through your breathing.

“I’m too big.” You blubbered, coiling over and grabbing his arms. “I’m too- too, uh, big!”

“No, you’re not, y/n.” He shook his head, holding your shoulders. “You’re healthy. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“But, what happens when I’m not!” You cried. “You’ll leave me!”

“What?” His eyes crinkled in surprise. “Honey, what, no. No matter what you look like I’m staying. No matter what.” He lifted up to hold your face.

“Sweetheart, you’re healthy and where you need to be.” He squeezed you. “It doesn’t matter if you loose weight or gain it, none of it matters to me, do you understand? All I want is for you to be happy and healthy. I want you to be the healthiest version of yourself that you can be.”

“I can’t do it,” You leaned your forehead against his. “I’m too stupid. I hate myself.”

“Do it for me.” He kissed your nose. “Please, just try to love yourself. Be kind to your body. I will help you in anyway that I can, you’ve just gotta be honest with me.”

You cried and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. He didn’t realize how fast his heart was racing until he felt it vibrate against your own. He took a deep, shaking breath, allowing his own eyes to water.

[bubblybloob]

Hey, so this kind of turned into a vent. Be wary going in, but it’s important if you engage some with my stuff. I think I’ve been thinking about it more as btg has become more active, and wanted to get it all off my chest.

I’ve wanted to bring this up for a while now, after my popularity grew. I’m sure some people have noticed my lack of joy at the 500 followers milestone, and the 600 one, but it’s a bit more complicated than on the surface.

So, there was something I haven’t really mentioned. It wasn’t ever really a secret, I just didn’t feel it was important, and was always taught it was dangerous to talk about and to dance around the subject if brought up. But I’ve noticed that the people on Tumblr find this kind of important to know when interacting. I know people on here can get really hostile, and this kind of became a secret because of that. I don’t know if it’s bad that I haven’t said anything or not, but I thought I should still make a post anyway.

So, I’m, in my country, since I know it might be younger or older in other places, a minor.

Okay most important stuff first. Yes, I’ve said or drawn mildly suggestive stuff, that’s mostly because I’m very unaffected by it and find it more amusing (I might be a little ace idk), though I do purposely keep stuff I make mostly tame simply because like- still technically a kid. I’ve seen stuff far more suggestive from afar before and just nod and say “mm, yes, that exists” and indifferently move the hell on with my life.

Being part of the STP community has been really strange for me and not all in good ways. I hate hate hate people looking up to me, or being jealous, or having anxiety talking to me because- in my head- I’m just doing everything and talking to everyone I can because I like making stuff and talking to people, and I feel so uncomfortable up on this pedestal where I’m held so high, but if I make one wrong step I’ll have tomatos thrown at me. It’s a really claustrophobic and isolating position and feeling and it makes me feel sick, anxious, stressed, and really really scared.

I like the community I’m in and friends I’ve made, but I’m really afraid I’ll say something unusual or wrong or maybe even offensive since I don’t know everything I’m supposed to say or do. I don’t know how to act when someone’s depressed, I don’t know how people feel about shipping, or designs for characters who canonically don’t have a physical appearance, or what the opinion is on all of the nsfw content. I do the Homer Simpson bush meme whenever I see it pop up because if there’s something that I do know, it’s that people don’t want minors reading their blorbos being sexy with each other.

(Side note: The amount of times I’ve accidentally clicked on an explicit fic thinking ‘Oo what’s this’ and then seeing what’s going to happen is… not staggering, actually. But enough for me to laugh in hindsight. I scroll to the bottom to read the comments to confirm my suspicions, and get the hell out. Happened with the same fics multiple times too because I forgot they were explicit and that I’d encountered them in the first place, wondered why I never read them and then boom, flashback, I never read the description like the fool I am).

And there’s the thing isn’t it. Some parts of fandom culture, it feels like all I can do is mess up. I just don’t know how I can handle all the fear of this attention?

Like, I don’t hate it. I like interacting, I like that people love my art despite my grievances with parts of my style, I’ve been so motivated to grow and get better because of everyone. You can all look at my oldest STP post and newest one and see the differences plainly.

But it’s really so much, and I’m as grateful as I am terrified. I’m terrified of hurting someone’s feelings when I don’t mean to. Like, what if I follow someone and they get excited because I’m a “big name” and then I decide to unfollow for whatever reason I might have at the time? I might crush that person’s soul or want to interact.

Despite my willingness, I do have problems with some ships, but I can’t voice any because what if I start a big argument with a bunch of people involved instead of the normal discussion I wanted to have? People are more likely to take my side because I’m the popular person, and we all know popular people are always right about everything and we must regurgitate their opinions without any thought put into how you actually feel. And then I’ll make whoever I was talking to retreat for a really long time, and everything will be awful and terrible forever and ever.

I can’t do that to people! I’ve been those people! I’ve was told things by people I looked up to and would get so so so upset, because I’m really emotional. I don’t want to hurt someone who might be sensitive like me.

I really just wanted to get all these feelings off my chest. Sorry if it got pretty venty. I’m open to discussing it, I’m still really scared to post this, it’s my only ever vent post, but I’ll try not to just save it in my drafts and let it rot.

[euphoriaslux]

hello!

hi everyone, so sorry i have been mia this month your girl had a wee bit of a depressive episode but you know what we're BACK! I'm going to get back to writing daily so i can feed you guys and stop focusing so much on perfection because ultimately i am writing smut about fictional characters who do not know who i am, why do i care so much!!

anywho, here's a little snippet of my part two for "two's a party" that will hopefully come out very soon :) this is mainly angst but there are three separate smut scenes in the whole fic because I'm sick in the mind. my vincent fic will also hopefully come out soon, i have had such trouble writing him for some reason so i think i need to rewatch aoaf and get an idea of his characterization again... ANYWAY enjoy this snippet and let me know if u guys have any requests :p

The sun has set, and you find yourself standing outside of the tennis courts. You passed by gaggles of students on their way to parties and bars, wearing tight clothes and big smiles with the scent of cheap liquor stuck them like a cloud. Hearing the sound of tennis balls clanging against the metal gate, you open the door to the courts ever so slightly, peering in to see Art grabbing neon green balls from a bucket before slamming them with his racket, making you cringe at the harsh smack it makes when it comes in contact with the wall. 

There’s no one else in the courts, likely because it’s nearly sunset on a Friday.  You try and close the door quietly behind you but it makes a loud sound as it goes back to its original position, and you shake your head slightly as Art turns around, meeting your eyes. He’s wearing a Stanford Tennis sweatshirt, with his blond locks peeking out from the black cap that’s backwards on his head. He stands, staring at you for a few moments before he puts his racket on the floor, walking towards you. Your heart starts thumping in your chest, so fast that you’re scared he’ll be able to hear it through your ribcage. 

“Hi,” you smile, hoping your nerves don’t show. You hug your arms as a particularly strong wind chill passes through, feeling the goosebumps start to form. 

“Hi,” he parrots you, slightly breathless. 

“You haven’t been to class lately, just wondering if you’re alive.”

“That’s a good excuse to stalk me,” he grins, and you feel your shoulders drop at the sight. 

“Good to see your confidence hasn’t taken a hit,” you say as he takes some tennis balls from the pocket of his sweatshirt and tosses them into the bucket before taking a few steps closer to you. 

“Nope,” he says, his mouth popping at the p. 

“I think that may be impossible.”

“What gave you such an impenetrable ego, Art?” you cock your head and he shrugs, smiling as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Don’t know, maybe being great at hitting a ball with a racket your whole life does something to your brain chemistry. The jury’s still out on if it’s a good thing,” 

You hum, stifling a laugh. The two of you stand quietly for a few moments before you talk.

“Last weekend, if I did something wrong-”

“No, you didn’t do anything,” Art cuts you off, sighing at the topic. “Patrick and I-”

“We got into a stupid fight. It doesn’t matter.”

You play with the skin around your nails. 

“That makes me feel like it was my fault.” You take a deep breath before talking again.

“What you and Patrick have, how you know each other. How you’ve grown together, and play together. I would feel awful if I played any part in messing that up.”

Art scoffs. “No need to be melodramatic, we’re not fucking dating or anything.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. 

“I saw he has a match this weekend…” you prompt, and Art nods.

“Are you gonna go?,” you ask gently. Art says nothing, and you decide not to press him. 

“Okay, well I’m going to go,” you adjust the strap of your backpack. 

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

Art looks you up and down before he takes off his hat and then brings his sweatshirt over his neck, tossing the sweatshirt into your chest as he puts his hat back on. 

“Don’t want you getting cold.”

“It’s fine, Art-”

“You’ll give it back to me next time.”

Feeling the fabric between your fingers, a grin crosses your face at his words.

"Alright, next time.''

Art watches as you walked out of the tennis courts, leaving him alone in the quiet noise of the sunset. He’s forced to remember that morning with Patrick.

 

It was a couple of minutes before seven, the sunlight just starting to creep through the blinds of the hotel window. You’d just shuffled out of the room a couple hours ago, your shoes in your hands and your shirt on backwards. Art was laid across the two twin beds that they pushed together, his hand on his stomach as he watched Patrick grab his shirt, pulling it on and buttoning the bottom three buttons. 

“Can’t find my pants,” Patrick muttered as he stopped his movement, his eyes scanning the room. Art snickered from his position on the bed. 

“They’re on the chair,” Patrick turned at Art’s voice, grinning as he walked across the room to find his jeans perched on the wooden chair. He could feel Art’s eyes on him as he tugged his pants above his thighs, zipping his jeans and leaving a sliver of his boxers visible. 

This continues for a while - Patrick haphazardly packing and stressing about his tennis game tomorrow as Art falls in and out of sleep, slightly jolting when Patrick closes a drawer particularly hard or trips over a piece of clothing on the floor. Art was almost asleep again when he heard Patrick’s voice, muffled by the bathroom door. 

“Can I use your razor?”

 Before he could think, Art yelled back “I have a new one in my backpack, just use that.”

Patrick’s movement stills for a moment before he pops his head out of the bathroom door, his hand raised with the razor and a slight furrow in his brows. 

“I can’t use yours?” he asks, and Art doesn’t like the guilt that the question causes him, and doesn’t know why the ask makes his mouth dry. 

“Just use the new one. You won’t get my hair on you.”

“No sweat,” Patrick moves to go back to the bathroom but is cut off by Art.

“Use the new one, Patrick.”

“Jesus Christ Art, I just need to use your damn razor,” Patrick’s smiling, but his voice is a little sharper, a twinge of hurt playing on his tongue. 

“Fine, use it. I don’t care,” Art sighs as he rises from the pillow to sit up, pinching the place between his eyes.”

“My dick was in your mouth last night, in case you forgot.”

Patrick rests against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Art stares at Patrick for a few moments, feeling the skin on his face get warm. Of course he remembers last night, but hearing it out loud makes him feel a weird mix of rage and embarrassment. Art stands up and moves towards the dresser, grabs his clothes, and starts to put them on. 

“Dude, is it so insulting to think you wanted to fuck me?” Patrick says through a laugh, watching Art intently. 

Art pulls his arms through the sleeves of his sweater, staring at his brunette counterpart as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket. 

“Patrick. Don’t think I did anything last night that wasn’t just to fuck her, alright?” Art gives a tight-lipped smile as he grabs his keys. He tries to move towards the door but Patrick is faster, cutting him off as he blocks the door. 

“C’mon Art,” he playfully taps his chest. 

“It’s just me. You can be honest.”

The soft tone Patrick uses, the implications, the stuffiness of the room and the sight of Patrick’s slightly tousled hair infuriates Art. 

“What the fuck did you think was gonna happen today, Patrick? I mean, what, we were gonna walk out of here holding hands, drinking a milkshake with one straw or something?” Art chuckles dryly, seeing the change in Patrick’s face as he realizes what he’s saying. He knows he’s being mean, but he doesn’t know why. He’s too far gone, now. 

“I don’t want to be with someone like you, and I thought you knew that.”

Art’s words stick in the air as Patrick chews on his lower lip, slightly nodding. 

'“Good luck tomorrow,” Art pats Patrick’s shoulder as he pushes past him to open the door, but Patrick grabs his wrist right after the key clicks open. 

“You know, you have so much going on in your head,” Patrick points his finger into Art’s face, any humor in his voice long gone. 

“That you let it rule your whole life. Well, I’m done letting you infect me with it. I won’t let you turn me into a pathetic coward too.”

Art slams the hotel room door so hard that a couple from across the hallway creaks their door open, asking if Patrick is okay. He doesn’t answer.

[babiebom]

How I felt about the bachelor/ettes my first time playing

A/N: mostly because my feelings about them have changed a great deal. Like don’t hate on me but I’ve disliked a lot of people due to first impressions. also I needed something to post since I’m writing very slowly because I’ve started work and have been sick for the last 509 years. I miss having free time to write. But a girl needs to make money I guess. The rest of the villagers will be in different parts!!

Tw: I hate more than half of them and am mean, cursing, maybe some sexual things but obviously not full on smut.

Wc: idk babe

Sdv Masterlist

Before we get into this I would also like to say that the way I met everyone was not on day one or day two. I think I met almost everyone like not one day at a time, but like I think it was after the Egg Festival that I had met everyone. ALSO the first time I played was with friends.

Sebastian

Immediately had a crush on the emo

Like going into the game I was like “I heard there was a town emo where is he?”

My friends also were like “you should find the emo”

Then when I found out his name I was like “?????from black butler?????”

“WHEN ARE YOU LEAVING YOUR ROOM????”

“can he PLEASE leave his room now”

“Oh my god I was too busy fishing and missed when he left his room”

I stood outside his room for days and that’s why I never met anyone.

Sam

Considered going after him instead of Seb for a minute

Like I actually thought he was super cute and sweet

Thought his hair was stupid and cackled for a minute

Sang sk8ter boy after I saw him on a skateboard

And by sang I mean I sang the entire song to myself while running around the map.

Also laughed at his anime hair

Shane

He was standoffish and I said that I would stalk him bc wtf is your problem

Literally I was like? I will make him want me so bad because he’s being mean.

I got over him after him being mean a couple times though then decided I wanted to make him depressed

Then found out he was actually depressed and felt bad

Harvey

I did not realize that he was a person because I never went into the clinic because I never needed to

Then when I met him I was like “OH YMCA!!!”

Idk why I thought ymca I’m so confused

Literally I never talked to him ever because I was focused on Sebastian.

Alex

I think he said something weird and I decided I wasn’t going after him

My friend then said HE was going after him because Alex was acting weird and y’know off to him bc he’s a guy( he does act different to men)

So I’d decided I wanted to mess with him and said “oh no I’m ALSO going to Alex’s house”

To which he told me to back off

Both me and my friend are petty enough to go after people that say they dislike us like absolutely not you’re not allowed

Elliott

I thought he was an asshole

Not because he said something mean

But because he kept talking like a rich guy that knows everything

It annoyed me

I also thought he looked like the love interest on the cover of a weird romance novel

Then he said something about a crab in his pocket and I was like oh he’s me but not afraid of sea animals okay

Penny

Lmao me

She was reading under a tree and was very awkward

Also I thought she was really pretty

Like insanely pretty

I think I chose her as the woman that I would marry if I were into women and not obsessing over Sebastian.

Leah

I thought she was Penny and got VERY confused bc wasn’t she just wearing a skirt wtf

Then realized they were different

Then my friend decided she was going after her

So I decided that I wanted to befriend her because why not

I just like being a menace in games

Also thought she was a Lesbian immediately.

Haley

I WOWOWOWK

I thought she was the HOTTEST woman in the game

Then tried to befriend her

And she gave me mean girl vibes so I decided that I hated her

Literally made me feel like I was in school and being made fun of

Avoided her after that because absolutely not.

Maru

BLACK GIRL BLACK GIRL BLACK GIRL

Technically mixed BUT BLACK GIRL

If you cannot tell I am a black girl and I got excited at the depiction of a black person that is nerdy and smart like actually

Thought she was very socially awkward like MAAM what?

I think I met her once then the next time I saw her was at one of the festivals?

Maybe it was the Luau when I finally talked to her again

And she just SLLLLLURPs

And I’m like????ok that’s gross but mood

Emily

I wish my hair was still blue

Literally my first thought

Then I was like??????? Who is this lady dancing wtf

I’m pretty sure I briefly met her during the first time I played with my friends but only like I clicked through her words so fast because I wanted to finish the meet everyone task so I could fuck Sebastian

So when I finally played alone and took the time to get to know people I was like???? Where’d she come from???

Abigail

*clears throat* WIIIIIIITCH

Also I disliked her a lot

I’m pretty sure I hated her more than I hated Haley

And I’m pretty sure it was because her dialogue was like “go away” or something and I was annoyed like bitch this is the first time I’m talking to you wtf

Then she said something about being disappointed she couldn’t go on the farm anymore because I’m there and I decided to take it offensively because I already disliked her

I thought she was pretty but that was overshadowed by the worst first impression.

Then I found out her and Sebastian were paired and got in the way so many times

Like I actually blocked her from going into his house by standing there so she couldn’t get in

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t a “omg girl likes my man she needs to get a life” thing

It was more of a “I dislike her because she was mean to me now she’s no longer allowed to go in here only I am because I wanna be mean.”

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

YKWIM

Satori Tendou x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst, Reader was really just trying to help Tendou through some rough times and Tendou snapped at her >:(, sad Tendou

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've noticed that everyone really liked the Tendou smut I posted a couple of days ago and I've been so happy to see the reblogs and likes that its gotten! I've been recovering from being sick for the past six days and I don't know why I'm on such a Satori kick lately! He's a huge comfort character for me I feel, so I wrote SO MANY fics for him. I'll post them all and then I'll move on from posts about him, I'm sorry😭 Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this angst! Feel free to send in an ask if you have a request or even just some feedback:)

Author's note pt.2: I listened to YKWIM by Yot Club while I was writing this, so you can tell why my title is the name of the song hehe lolol. I reccommend listening to it while you read, I find that it really adds on to the atmosphere at the beginning of this :)

~Mod Shoyo

“How long has Tendou-senpai been like this?” A worried Goshiki spoke up.

Semi sighed. “Since he snapped at Y/N the other day.”

Tendou looked like a mess. His normally spiked hair was disheveled and limp. The bags under his eyes got darker. (which mostly everyone thought was impossible) His ruby eyes were puffy and bloodshot. No one knew what to do or how to help him. But Tendou didn’t want any help. He just wanted his apology to be accepted finally so he can have her back. He needed her back.

“He snapped at Y/N?” Reon queried in disbelief. “Man, I wonder what got him so riled up,”

Goshiki looked at his upperclassman with teary eyes. He’d never seen Tendou look so dejected, so depressed. Tendou was always the morale booster. He was the teammate to make everyone feel better and to lift them up. But who was going to make him feel better?

Their middle blocker had lost his smile. 

Ushijima stared at Satori from the opposite side of the court. His eyes held the same monotone nature that most people assumed, but in reality, he was actually worried for his friend. Wakatoshi shifted his gaze to the left and noticed the rest of the players just staring at the guess blocker from afar. Nothing was going to change if someone didn’t at least try and help. As the player that Tendou was closest to, Ushijima took it upon himself to make the first move.

“Satori-san,” Tendou looked up, his eyes widening slightly when Ushijima stood in front of him. “You’re going to severely hurt your back if you keep slouching. You should get some rest.”

Tendou looked down at the floor and sniffled. Tears welled up in his eyes for the umpteenth time and fell onto the gym floor. Ushijima didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how Tendou liked to be comforted in times like this. Hell, he’d never thought he would ever see him like this in the first place.

“Come on Satori, let’s get you some water.” Ushijima blurted out.

Tendou walked away with the ace of Shiratorizawa, sniffling and letting his sobs rack his shoulders a bit louder now. Once they made it to the vending machine closest to the gym, Ushijima pulled out some loose coins from the pocket of his jacket and paid for water. Tendou looked at his reflection in the glass of the machine and sighed.

“I made her cry Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou admitted. He shut his eyes tightly and let out another sob. “I made her cry.”

Ushijima remained silent. “She was just trying to help and I made her cry.” While most figured the only thing that was ever on Ushijima’s mind was volleyball, he actually was very attentive to the ones close to him. Tendou being one of them.

He knew all about Y/N. Tendou liked to talk about her a lot. She was a manager for Karasuno, Ushijima had actually seen her in person and got introduced to her when they played Karasuno in a match. Tendou was on fire that day. He was trying so hard to impress Y/N, and while Ushijima could argue that she served as a distraction for the guess blocker, she actually fueled him to play his best. Everything about Y/N brought out the best in him, and Ushiwaka knew how much she meant to his friend. He felt horrible for him.

Tendou was in a slump. That was easy for Y/N to notice the second she walked into his dorm to visit him. Her eyes softened at the sight of her boyfriend looking so glum. She dropped everything she had brought with her right next to his door and rushed over to him.

“Tori, what’s the matter love?” She cooed, sitting next to him on his bed. Tendou just stayed quiet. This was worse than she thought. “Do you need anything?”

Tendou sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need space.”

Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Sp-Space?” Did he just need a few minutes of alone time? Or did he need space away from her completely, from their relationship? Y/N tried to not let her overthinking get the best of her, but the way he phrased his answer really didn’t help that at all.

“What?” That’s all that she could muster up. Ask him to repeat himself; ask him for clarification. 

An annoyed growl left Tendou’s lips and he stood up from his bed. Y/N straightened her posture and jumped at how suddenly he moved away from her.

“Space! I need you to not breathe down my neck and ask me a million questions like you always do! I need you to leave me alone so I can sort through all the shit that's going on right now!”

Y/N was shocked. She was paralyzed and found it difficult to move her limbs. “T-Tendou whatever it is, I’m here for you! You’re not alone,”

“That’s the thing, Y/N.” Using her first name rather than the million pet names he had given her always did something to her. Hearing him use it in such a vain and angry tone was enough to make tears well up in her eyes. “You can’t just let me sort these out on my own. You always have to squeeze yourself into the midst of the problem and I just want five fucking minutes where you just shut the hell up and stop asking me so many fucking questions!”

He was yelling now. His voice was echoing throughout the room, even worse, his words were echoing in her mind. Did she really annoy him that much? Pester him with so many questions that he could never think straight? Did that mean he lied to her whenever he told her how much she’s helped him work through issues?

She’d never heard him so angry before. “Tendou, why didn’t you just tell me?” He scoffed and adorned a smile on his face despite his anger.

“Because I have a million other fucking things on my plate, Y/N. God for fucks sake, are you really that stupid?" Her heart stung with that one.

"That school in France I applied to? Rejected me. I haven’t heard back from any of the safety schools, I don’t have the money even with a scholarship to make it to my culinary school, and I can’t find any jobs right now that are gonna hire me in time to make the payment! The least of my worries right now is telling you that you ask me too many questions and fucking hound me like a lap dog trying to get answers and reassurance out of me!”

Y/N burst into tears, her sniffles now joining the sounds of his anguish. She wiped at her eyes vigorously (Something she did because she hated when people watched her cry).

 “Dear god, stop with the tears already.”

If looks could kill, Tendou would be gutted, sliding against the wall of his room drowning in his own blood. The tears burned as they slid down Y/N’s face. The second Satori finished his sentence, he saw her heart shatter right before his very eyes. He didn’t have the right mindset to calm down and realize what he had just done. His chest was heaving with anger, but the look on Y/N’s face was finally snapping him back to reality.

She couldn’t even bring herself to say another word. She simply stood up from his bed and went to the front of his door where she had dropped all of her things. She picked everything up off the floor and opened the door.

“I’m going home. I’ll give you your fucking space.” She choked out. 

She slammed the door to his room behind her and he could hear her footsteps retreating. He sank to the floor and brought his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed into his palms. His shoulders were racking with cries. He let out harsh screams into his hands and cursed at himself for hours. He fell asleep on the floor, phone in his hand. 

He was waiting for her to text him that she had made it to her house safely, but it never came.

Ushijima sighed. As the water fell into the crater at the bottom of the vending machine, his tall figure stooped down to grab it and hand it to Tendou. He popped the cap open for him and shoved it in front of his face.

“Drink this. It’ll help you calm down.”

Tendou let out a shaky sigh and took a sip from the bottle with quivering lips, even as he sipped on the drink, he was sniffling and tears were still gliding down his cheeks. The red head lowered the bottle and now just held the cold drink in his clammy hands.

“You need to apologize to Y/N.” Ushijima stated. “What you said really hurt her feelings and not apologizing is what’s keeping you like this.”

Tendou sniffled. “I can’t lose her Wakatoshi. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I- I let bad habits from my past push her away from me.”

A soft grunt left Ushijima. Tendou looked up at his best friend with a newfound respect. “Go apologize to her. That’s what will make her realize that she misses you as much as you do her.”

Ushijima went back into the gym and left Tendou by himself. The silence gave him the willpower to realize that Ushijima was right. He needed to show her that he’s been a mess ever since he made her cry and he needed to get her back.

Tendou was quickly on the next bus to Karasuno. He knew that she would be at the practice helping them. So would the entire team, but they were an obstacle he was willing to overcome to get to her. The bus hissed and the brakes squeaked as he rushed off. He dashed over to the Karasuno gym. His ears rang with the sounds of volleyballs hitting the waxed gym floor. He threw the door open and the sound alone was enough to get everyone’s attention.

Tendou bowed quickly. “I need to speak with Y/N,” He blurted out. “Please.”

Y/N looked at him with wide eyes.

“You have got a LOT of fucking nerve to show up here after what you did Satori,” Daichi scowled from across the gym.

“Coach,” Y/N bowed. “I’m so sorry for the interruption. May I be excused for just a couple minutes?”

Ukai turned and looked at Tendou. He couldn’t help but think about how much this kid looked like shit. Serves him right for being the reason Y/N showed up to practice so sad. Not even Ukai could bear to look at her looking the way she did.

“You let us know if you need some help, alright? I’ll send Noya and Tanaka out there if you need anything.”

Noya and Tanaka puffed their chests out and walked their manager over to Tendou. Once she stepped out the door, Tanaka grabbed Tendou by the collar of the black hoodie he was wearing. Noya scowled and got up in Tendou’s face.

“Listen here, if she comes in here looking half as bad as she did a couple days ago, we will beat you into a fucking pulp.” Tanaka threatened,

“Our manager means everything to us, so the second that I hear a sniffle or a tear drop hit the floor, you better count the fucking seconds you have left before we beat your ass. And that’s a promise from the whole team.” Noya growled.

Tendou cleared his throat. He had so many smart comments to say to the two second years. But right now, the only thing that mattered was that he got to talk to Y/N.

“I’m here to set things right. I know how much she means to you monster children, but she means more to me. Now fucking let go of me,”

Tanaka shoved Tendou out of his grip and watched with narrow eyes as he stepped outside with Y/N. Contrary to popular assumption, the entire Karasuno team, including the coaches, went to the windows to listen in on their manager's conversation with Tendou. It was so wrong of them, and all of them knew that, but not only did they wanna make sure Y/N was okay, they needed to hear how apologetic that cocky Shiratorizawa blocker really was.

“Paradise, I came here to tell you how sorry I am about the other night. For me to push all of that frustration and fear onto you wasn’t right of me at all and you didn’t deserve to be yelled at the way you were.” Tendou began. “The second I saw those tears fall from your eyes I knew I fucked up. I-I was just so angry and I fell back into my old habit of just pushing everyone away. Now that I have you, I understand that I can’t do that anymore.”

Y/N looked up into his bloodshot orbs. He was being so sincere, she was glad he finally realized he fucked up. But she wasn’t going to just forgive him without speaking about what was on her mind. He needed to feel like shit for what he put her through.

“Thank you for finally speaking up about it. I was waiting for you to apologize.” She admitted. “Look, I know that I can get annoying with the questions I ask, I’ll give you that. But what you need to understand is that I’m throwing everything aside in my life, EVERYTHING, just so I can find solutions to your problems. All I ever want is to help you Satori, and for you to just blow up at me and fucking tell me you need space? You can’t tell me that there wasn’t room for me to think that you wanted to break up with me.”

Tendou froze. She really thought he was breaking up with her? Maybe that’s why she was as upset as she was, and why his words stung as much as they did. She thought that he was leaving her.

“I’m glad you realized that you were wrong. And thank you for apologizing to me. But I need to know that something like this isn’t going to happen again.”

Tendou stammered. For once, there was no snarky comment, no immediate answer for what she was asking of him. The middle blocker looked down at his feet, then he met her eyes.

“I’ll communicate with you more. I should’ve told you about my schools and everything and letting it build up wasn’t good at all. I’m going to be more upfront with you even about the things I’m scared to talk about. I can’t lose you Y/N, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me; you’re my paradise.”

Her heart melted at his words. “I promise you, I will never ever make tears fall from those pretty eyes ever again. It broke my heart to see you leave so angry at me, and it hurt me even more to know that it was my fault. Please, please forgive me.”

She paused. Tears welled up in her eyes once more and Tendou’s face fell. She missed him so much and it had taken her so long to not go and find him, to grovel at his feet and apologize for leaving him the way she did.

She threw her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. He placed his head onto the top of her head and squeezed her tightly. He missed her so much. 

“I missed you 'Tori,” She mumbled into his hoodie. “I’m so sorry,”

“Don’t apologize paradise, I’m just glad to have you back now. For good.”

Tendou lifted her chin up towards him and stooped down to place his lips onto hers. The slight chap on his lips meant nothing to her, she was just glad that she had her Satori back. She missed how his lips molded with hers. He missed having someone to run to when he was feeling down.

She was his everything. And he was so glad to not have lost her.