#it was also good to find out that the rest of my muscles are absolutely fine with an hourish long walk across uneven terrain

[tj-crochets]

No crafting update today because I spent all my spoons checking out a local(ish) wildlife reservation/hiking place, which was awesome! I could not explore the whole place, and it is very much "only wheelchair friendly if the person pushing my wheelchair is capable of holding my entire weight against a steep slope and immediately pushing the chair up another only partially paved steep slope", but I walked the whole time*! I got to hear wolves howling through the forest and it is a whole hell of a lot eerier to hear on a foggy day in a winter forest than it was the only other time I've heard it, which was a very bright sunny day in an amphitheater at a zoo where one wolf howled alone on stage. There were crows cawing and wolves howling and it was absolutely magnificent and suddenly a whole lot of things from various fantasy novels I read as a kid hit very different. Like, I get why hearing the wolves howl in the night would be alarming now! *we did bring my rollator/transport chair in the car, and the backup plan was that my dad or my brother would go get it and push me back to the car if I needed help

[hon3y-y]

Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥? ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

synopsis: The only constant that’s good enough to distract Pitfighter Vi is calling you when she’s horny

tags: Soft!dom Vi, CallGirl!reader, sesbian lex mwahahaha, established relationship, slight intoxication (i’m pretty sure she’s got a high tolerance by now…), cunnalingus, fingering, nipple play, cum eating, pet names (cupcake, sugar, etc.), praise, vulgar, explicit, smexy i think i hope i pray

wrd cnt : 1.5k

a/n: the wlw in me is awake and ready to scissor i mean succeed… i need to be all up in that icing eating the FUCK outta vi’s absolutely drowning in thst cupcake…anyways guys i’ll excuse myself

extra: also click the title for a song!!

Fight Drink Fuck.

The usual cycle for most Zaunites, especially one of your frequent callers…

You give her the benefit of the doubt- Until she’s calling you at 2am, clearly drunk in her own wallow and whiskey.

Once you make your way up the rusted stairs to Vi’s corner apartment, you knock just once and hear a rustling of clanking bottles and shuffling bedsheets.

The door swings open and you find a wide smiling Vi, a hand reaching for the back of waist to pull you in.

You know the place quite well and it’s…physical restrictions with the lack of space.

“Make yourself at home cupcake”. She says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as you follow, sitting on one of your legs.

“You need to be more careful in the pit” You mumble, your fingertips grazing over her bandaged chest, suddenly stopping as Vi feigns a painful wince.

“Just kidding…” She says while smirking, enjoying the concern on your face.

“You’re an asshole.” You say, planning to get off the bed, but you feel her calloused hand grab your forearm to pull you back into place on her lap, straddling her.

“Relax hun…” She coos, “I’ll be fine, especially with you here” She says, rubbing your back softly as she shifts you closer to her, feeling her nose graze the side of your neck as her chin hits your shoulder.

“Mmm…smells good”, you hear her say muffled into your neck.

“You smell like tequila…” You blurt out, earning a chuckle and a nod from her.

“Yeah not like it’s the first time.” She replies, fingers stroking up the sides of your torso, her eyes glued to yours.

“You look like you should sleep instead- your eyes have bags” You point out, touching her under eyes and finding your index covered in black paint.

“I sleep enough” She mumbles, raising her knees up and hoisting you high up in her lap, hands moving down to hold your hips in place.

“I’m suprised you answered my call, it’s past your bedtime.” She adds snarky, referring to your strict business hours as her attention is much more centered at softly squeezing your thighs.

“Funny for you to say.”

She rolls her eyes, running a hand through her disheveled hair and scoffing.

You roll your fingertips together, smearing the paint off your hands and into your clothes.

“Seriously though, heard you got your ass kicked tonight…is that why you’re especially a sore loser right now?”

You hear her chuckle, rolling away an empty bottom under her feet, “If I was such a sore loser why’d you show up? Seems like you don’t mind my drunken escapades.” Her eyes glint, enjoying the little back and forth.

“…Besides” She continued, “Don’t you like it when I call? Or is it all just…business?” She whispers, holding your chin in place to look at you as she tilts her face to get closer.

You feel a slight ache in your chest, a torsion in your stomach as she brushed a thumb across your bottom lip, her grey orbs looking into yours as the faint streetlights from outside seep into her small bedroom.

“Vi…it’s never just business with you”. You answer.

Her lips curved into a slow smile, and she leaned in closer, her breath mingling with yours. "Prove it," she whispered, her voice low and playful.

Your hands tightening slightly as they rested on her shoulders, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the rough fabric of her shirt.

"How?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

She didn't answer right away, her eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to meet your gaze. "Kiss me," she breathed, the command hanging in the air like a challenge.

The distance between you seemed to shrink, the walls closing in until there was nothing but the two of you in this cramped, chaotic room.

Unable to resist, you leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a tentative, almost shy and longing kiss.

Vi responded immediately, her lips pressing firmer against yours, hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as the other grips your hip, grinding you down onto her.

You parted your lips slightly with your thumb, allowing her to deepen the kiss, her tongue darting out to tease yours. The taste of tequila entering your senses

"More," Vi murmured against your lips, her voice hoarse with want.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes dark with desire as you looked down at her.

Her pupils were dilated and hungry, ripping away layers and layers of your clothing.

It wasn’t long until she satiated herself.

Big and rushed hands cupping your now bare breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under her touch.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning into her mouth, arching into her hands as pleasure shot through your body.

“Fuck… you’re so beautiful,” Vi whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

You didn’t respond with words, instead choosing to show her just how much she affected you. It was never just business.

Your hands slid down to her belt, fumbling with the buckle as you tried to free her from the constraints of her clothes.

She helped you, quickly unfastening the belt and tugging her pants down below her hips and thrown somewhere in the small room.

The sight of her bare skin, the smooth expanse of her abdomen made your breath catch in your throat. You wanted to devour her, to lose yourself in the sensation of being so close and filthy.

She scooted back, moving you with her until she pushed you flat on your back, head on the big flat pillows near the headboard.

“Vi- wait…” You whisper, getting glimpses of her bruised knuckles.

“Yeah, cupcake?” She asked, her body hovering above yours with her hands on each side of your head.

You stammer about, “…are you sure? Maybe we shouldn’t-“

You get shushed pretty fast, feeling as Vi shifted her weight, allowing you to feel every inch of her against you. "Don't you dare overthink this," she whispered, fingers tangling in your hair as she tilted your head back, exposing the delicate curve of your neck. "Just feel."

Your brows contort in pleasure as you feel her lips kiss and nip at the canvas of your neck, leaving violet marks along your skin as her fingers danced down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

“Aww…these are pretty cute.” She remarks with a sweet chuckle, watching you get embarrassed before pulling them down your legs as she crouches to lay between your legs.

Even after so many times, you feel like you’re getting put under a spotlight every-time Vi scans her eyes over your wet cunt, fingers messily playing with your folds and rubbing your inner thigh, never giving it to you off the bat.

You feel the glare of her eyes on your slippery skin, her breath so close and tantamount to torture.

“Stop staring…” You mumble, hands coming to hold her hair, hearing her chuckle again.

“So impatient…”, she whispers before finally dipping into you, her tongue tracing up your slit to taste you.

You feel your body burn up, undeniably excited for more.

As her tongue flicked against your most sensitive spots, all thoughts seemed to blur into a haze of wanting- needing more.

Her hands grounded you firm, fingers curling against your inner thighs as she effortlessly held you in place, all the while eliciting sultry sounds from you that only turned her on more.

“Vi more…” You breathed out, ragged and needy.

“Tell me what you want, cupcake,” she murmured against your skin, her voice low and sultry- a smirk playing on her lips.

“Please, Vi…your fingers” you managed to breathe, feeling vulnerability wash over you but diluted in your carnal desire.

“See? Not so overthinking now, are we?” she teased, her fingers joining the fray; curling and stroking the spongy spot in your core with precision, back arching instinctively as a primal need surged through you.

“God, Vi…” you moaned, lost in the haze of pleasure she was gifting you, your skin aflame with every touch, every caress that had you spiraling closer to the edge.

And even when you reach it, it won’t be enough, not for her.

“Stay still for me baby…just need s’more…” She huffs out, palms pressing down on your inner thigh to open you up as she presses a flat tongue on your clit.

You groan lowly, feeling her fingers digging into your skin just enough to feel good.

“Vi- I can’t-“

“Yes you can” She groans into your wet lips, “You can take it, sugar”.

You gripped the sheets, feeling your fingernails dig into your own flesh from between the fabric, hips rolling up toward her face as she greedily laps up all the essence spilling and spilling out of your swollen cunt, swallowing up her groans as Vi continues to make you shake and writhe.

You’ll pick up tomorrow’s call too, won’t you?

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[planete777]

꒰ EYES ON ME .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x reader )

IN WHICH. y/n rides lando in his gaming chair (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, riding, unprotected p in v (safe sex guys!!!), slight dirty talk, pure filth imo 🤭

NOTE. when i saw this ask i was like 'YES.' so here it is!!! nothing much to say other than enjoy <33

SIDENOTE. requests are closed!! my brain has been milked dry of everything writing. i have 2 in-progress works so i will still upload those then probably go on a small writing break <3 also dividers are not mine, creds to the owners

edited to add tag on banner

lando's whimpering.

he's actually fucking whimpering and it's then he knows that he's absolutely drowning in everything y/n. her hands digging into his shoulders, her thighs squeezed into the impossible space of his gaming chair and her pussy, her fucking pussy is clenching him so tightly that he feels light headed, as if he smoked a joint.

sweat glistens on his forehead like oil, and the more y/n bounces on his dick, her breasts with her, the more whimpers leak out of his mouth and his eyebrows slant downwards.

"oh fuck— you're doing so good baby, so good," he moans, head thrown back like there's not a muscle in his neck, and y/n begins to grind as her lips suck and lick on lando's neck.

he can't do anything but just sit there and let her take control, he's completely at her mercy and his hands just rest on her hips, nails sinking into the flesh everytime a submitting flash of pleasure shoots through the nerves of his dick.

his cock throbs against the walls of her cunt, and his eyes squeeze shut so hard he swears he goes blind. it's too much, his t shirt clings to his chest like a lifeline and y/n's lips find his in a filthy, sloppy kiss that pulls his mind back to the present. he's instantly dragging his lips and tongue against her own, feeling the way her mouth grows slack and it gives him the chance to wrap his swollen lips around her tongue.

she's grinding faster, pressing so much on his cock that a loud, stretched moan escapes him like he's punched out every ounce of energy into it. it brings an insatiable ache for more, his hands gripping her ass with all it has to give and dragging her up and down his cock to milk it dry.

"fuck lando," her mouth whimpers with her head thrown back, hands on his chair's backrest. the sight is sinful before him, breasts spilling out her crop top, practically begging to be touched, and back arched so much it looks animalistic.

"come on, y/n," he pants, licking a stripe between the valley of her breasts before giving it a gentle kiss, "fuck yourself on my cock."

she's doing just that, beautifully, like she was made for his dick. her pussy squeezes and squeezes like it wants to kill him, and his hands lift and push her on his cock more and more, just as he feels her movements turn sloppy. the wet, dirty sounds of skin slapping sharply on skin makes his dick pulsate and lando's mind begs for it more as his hips raise desperately to meet y/n's.

"i'm gonna cum, lando, i'm gonna cum," she's sobbing. fucking hell, she's sobbing, and the tears glimmer in his purple leds light they're art. he's moaning and groaning, losing himself as he draws hickeys on her collar bones with reckless abandon.

"cum for me, baby."

she shakes as she lets go, walls constricting his dick like a mold and it completely shatters the tension building up in his balls. his cum shoots straight and deep into her pussy, mouth mumbling incoherently upon the skin of her neck as they ride their highs down.

"fucking hell, lan'."

he smiles tiredly, pressing a kiss into her mouth.

"you're gonna be the death of me."

that she is. for he would lose himself in the essence of his girlfriend, again and again, even if it meant leaving a game halfway through.

[paintedonmyteeth]

Hello!! I've been absolutely obsessed with homicipher lately, and I really love the fanfics and hcs you wrote for the characters so far!! You're a really great writer, your style and aesthetic is honestly so good!

I was curious if you had any headcanons for how Mr. Crawling, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Silvair would be with a cane-user reader that has severe leg pain? Like they typically use a cane to help them walk easier, but sometimes they can feel so much pain in their leg that it becomes too much to walk and they sometimes need to sit down or take a break?

Homicipher characters taking care of reader is one of my favorite types of things to read <3 I hope you have an amazing day!

Homicipher Boys w/ Cane!reader

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHh YES I love the concept gbejbfj and I could def see this as a huge cute thing w/ Mr. Hood especially. 10/10, Homicipher boys taking care of the reader are the best HCs hands down gbejfjwj and tysm it makes me happy to hear that others rlly enjoy my work!!!! :D

Mr. Crawling 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling as the absolute fucking sweetheart he is would want to be the biggest help for you when getting around certain areas of the Ghost Apartments.

⭑.ᐟ — At the same time, Mr. Crawling is also disappointed in himself he can’t be much of a help, it’s difficult for him to stand on his own feet for any longer than a few minutes considering he’s used to crawling around.

⭑.ᐟ — Which also means he can’t carry you :((

⭑.ᐟ — The best he can do however is help avoid any places like the boardwalk room with all the water or anything with a ladder so you’re putting less stress on your muscles and your bad leg.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling does his best to try in protect you from any hostile residents (eg. the time you got kidnapped by Mr. Stitch), he’s not trusting anybody that’s not Mr. Silvair, or any other residents you’re not familiar with.

⭑.ᐟ — Ofc break times are also a must have so whenever there’s a room that’s safe to take a breather, he’ll basically lead you by the hand to take a seat and give your bad leg a rest. Cuddles are also given for a bonus <3

Mr. Silvair 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Silvair being kind of like the scientist/doctor, he’s pretty much the best source in getting any help you need for your leg.

⭑.ᐟ — Considering meds or painkillers aren’t things that exist in this ghostly dimension, Mr. Silvair tries finding other alternatives in order to alleviate your severe pain in your leg. Maybe try to work and figure out some sort of 'cure' with what resources and tools he has.

⭑.ᐟ — So with getting a few checkups/experiments done on your body (aka the weird thing going on with your body slowly changing due to staying in the Ghost Apartments), Mr. Silvair also checks in once in a while to see how your leg pain is going and suggests in resting whenever needed. You’re basically more than welcome to use his spare beds when you need them most.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Silvair might’ve found something better from the room with all the trashed items like a crutch for example so you can lean your weight on it a little and it’s somewhat easier to walk around.

⭑.ᐟ — Eventually Mr. Silvair found someway to help out with your leg pains, ofc having injections doesn’t look like to be the safest in normal people standards but yk, you’ll take anything you can get to be free from the pain even if it’s for a small while.

⭑.ᐟ — You might not get around much at this point, but whenever you’re in Mr. Silvair’s place you stay around for a little while during your breaks and Mr. Chopped’s just there keeping you company. :)

Mr. Hood 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Hood sees this as no problem at all tbh (It’s practically a W in Mr. Hood’s books).

⭑.ᐟ — Also fuck your cane honestly, he’s not thinking that ofc, but there’s no reason in needing one if Mr. Hood’s going to carry you all the time??? You can always rely on him to bring you to places you want to go.

⭑.ᐟ — You feel bad and selfish for taking advantage of Mr. Hood this way, but he’s honestly not complaining at all if he gets to hold you close like this whenever he wants. He’s not sure what the fuzzy feeling is but he just likes having you in his arms.

⭑.ᐟ — Sometimes you’d insist you’re able to walk on your own with the cane and you don’t need to be carried, Mr. Hood doesn’t think so, and he’ll still carry you anyways even if you don’t want him to.

⭑.ᐟ — It’s just looks so difficult seeing you struggle to get around certain places in the Ghost Apartments, there’s like a handful of dangerous things and you can’t run at all with that bad leg of yours.

⭑.ᐟ — There’s no need to feel guilty, even if Mr. Hood’s not put together or understand what he’s feeling most of the time, he’ll do anything to help out, keep you safe and protected. :))

[daisies-daydreams]

TWST Housewardens During Your Period (Headcanons)

Header Credit: Disney Pairing: Multi Scenario x F!Reader Category: Fluff/Light Angst Tags: Depictions of Periods/PMS, Mentions of Body Issues, Physical Affection, Non-Sexual Nudity (Leona's Part), Vil/Leona Being Rude, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Word Count: 1.3k+ Summary: Your boyfriend helps you cope with that time of the month in his own way. A/N: I was inspired by my ancient Fire Force headcanons to make one for TWST! I hope you enjoy! 😊 (Headcanons below the cut)

Riddle Rosehearts, whose face gets as red as his hair when he realizes what you mean when you say you're experiencing "that time of the month". Sure, he's heard of periods...but he's not exactly well-equipped to help someone who has them.

He hesitantly asks for advice from his close friends, his arms crossed and gaze awkwardly shifting around the room. Despite the discomfort he feels talking about the subject, he wants to make sure his darling is well taken care of. You're surprised when he returns to you with every pad, tampon and cup known to mankind, stating that he's "ready to help".

His face grows even more red when you smile and kiss his cheek, telling him you appreciate his kind heart. After he gets more in a routine of helping you through your period, he'll start making you hot, fresh tea for you to sit back and relax with. He also enjoys reading to you, his voice lulling you to sleep as he smiles softly and kisses the top of your head.

༺♥༻

Leona Kingscholar, who is the embodiment of the "what pussy size you wear?" meme. But in all seriousness, he knows when it's getting closer to your time of the month since you'll want to cuddle more during his long nap sessions (not that he minds). He'll keep his strong arms curled around your stomach as the two of you spend a lazy day in bed.

While he initially starts your relationship with a "tough love" attitude, being with you during your period helps teach him how to be more empathetic and caring with his S/O. Leave it to Leona to accidentally say something insensitive, only for his ears to lower as you begin to cry or send a harsh, silent glare at him.

However, if there's one thing he is good at, it's making sure to spoil you with a nice, long bubble bath. He'll gently massage all the aches and knots out of your muscles before pulling you against him, his chin resting on top of your head as he relaxes with you after a long day (just don't be surprised if he falls asleep).

༺♥༻

Azul Ashengrotto, who grows worried when he finds you curled up on his couch in his private office at the Monstro Lounge. He frowned when you sniffed and told him you felt "fat", a sentiment he relates to a little too well (for different reasons, of course). He'll gently sit beside you, his voice calm and soothing as he gently reassures you that, no matter your size, you're absolutely gorgeous. Azul will remind you as many times as you need, whether it's ten or a thousand times.

Despite his divided attention between the lounge and his role at NRC, he's more than willing to set time aside to spend it with you. Whether you want to watch a movie, go to your favorite restaurant, or just rest in bed, he swears to be there for you as much as he can.

His favorite thing to do is surprise you by cleaning up for you (with a little help from two eel brothers, *cough* *cough*). Need your dishes done? They're washed, dried and put away. Laundry still in the hamper? It's already finished and hung up in your closet. Every surface of your living space is immaculate by the time he's done, and the look of relief on your face always giving him a soft, warm smile.

༺♥༻

Idia Shroud, who nearly passes out when you message him that you're experiencing the most brutal cramps of your life and you ran out of pads and pain medicine at the worst possible time. Being the amazing boyfriend that he is, he opted to disguise himself to go in public and buy you some (sunglasses and all).

Despite not telling you, he went ahead and created an app that keeps track of your ovulation cycle. Not to be weird...but to make sure he's kept up-to-date on what to expect and when he's going to preorder your favorite snacks, pads/tampons/cups, and other essentials (Side Note: I stand by the headcanon that he gets his S/O plushies to cheer them up).

If you're into anime like him, he'll make sure you're nice and comfy on his bed with a heating pad before putting on your favorite show. Of course, he loves to snuggle with you beneath his blankets during this (he'll be a blushing mess all over again if you chose to give him forehead/temple kisses during your watch party, but he'll always return those kisses in kind).

༺♥༻

Malleus Draconia...who has no idea what to do. Lilia never quite got around to explaining it to him other than "the basics", so he's left completely in the dark until you came along. His face grows even more pale as you explain how painful your period is with cramps, bloating, and other uncomfortable symptoms you struggled with. His heart aching for his beloved enduring such a thing.

He seemed a bit taken aback when Lilia looked a little uncomfortable when he nagged him for every detail about a woman's menstrual cycle, to which the Fae replied with "every woman is different" and elaborated a bit on some pointers.

The next day, Malleus appeared on your doorstep with a few grocery bags and an averted gaze. Your smile made his reluctance dissipate as you pulled out all sorts of goodies: candy, a homemade heating pad, and even a small dragon plushie! His expression is much more confident when you thank him for the gifts. Now whenever it's your time of the month, Malleus has a stock pile of blankets, heating pads, and other essentials ready to make a warm nest of comfort for you.

༺♥༻

Vil Schoenheit, who (at first) judges you for letting your skincare routine lapse...only to quickly backtrack when you start sobbing and tell him you're on your period. He quickly makes up for it by buying you several decadent flower bouquets and chocolate covered strawberries the very next day, a sweet apology card also included in the bounty of goodies.

Since Vil is more focused on wellbeing, he won't always buy you sweet or salty food you may crave during your period. He'll get you plenty of water and fruit, though, and make sure to keep you motivated with compliments and praise if you're experiencing negative moods (he may go overboard from time to time, though you don't mind).

One day, while he was away filming a new TV show, you found a intricately decorated care package on your doorstep filled with everything you'll need. It became a tradition from then on (whether he was out filming or not) to send these personal packages, each including a heartfelt, hand-written note that remind you just how beautiful and amazing you are.

༺♥༻

Kalim Al-Asim, who pampers you endlessly. He has over thirty siblings, many of which (I assume) are girls, so he'd have a good understanding of periods. So when he finds you hiding beneath your covers with a heating pad draped over your stomach, he knows it's time to spoil you.

Do you want/need a massage? Hon, he's already got the lavender oil on hand. Mani-pedi? If he won't do it for you, he'll do it with you at the spa! And while he grew up wealthy, he's not afraid to hand-feed you your favorite food (especially since he gets to see your sweet smile).

Kalim is also mentally and emotionally ready to help you process your shifting moods during your time of the month. Even if you snap at him, he's always quick to forgive you. He has a box of tissues in his room ready to go as he gently rubs your back as you sob, reassuring you that you're not alone and he loves you so, so much. And he always will.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @mcmiracles @genma-support-group @rattybimbo @rinyukaa

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below! (MUST BE 18 OR OLDER)

[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[xoluvx]

absolutely in love with everything you write, and i've been thinking a lot about billie lately 🤭 could i request a fic/blurb about dom!billie letting us top her for the night since we've asked so nicely but further into the night, she just thinks we look so pretty while thrusting our strap into her and she can't help but flip our positions. thank u so much! ❣️

darling, this request is just *chef's kiss* thank you on my knees for you any day msg me. also join the club once you start thinking of billie you don't stoooop

her tongue traced shapes on your neck as your eyelids fluttered feeling her thigh press between your thighs. you held your arms under hers as she supported her weight careful not to crush you. her teeth sunk into your skin, lips wrapping around your neck.

"baby," you hummed wrapping your fingers tightly around her arms and raising your hips.

"yes?" she mumbled against your neck preoccupied by the pulse of your blood pumping through your veins on the tip of her tongue.

"can i-" you swallowed unable to concentrate on your words, but also trying to figure out a way to express what you wanted.

billie trailed her lips to your jaw before landing on the corner of your lips. her nose brushed yours as your eyes met. she was flushed, hair falling on her face. lips swollen.

"can you what princess?" she asked resting her hand on your neck, thumb feeling the way your throat moved, swallowing and finding your words.

"can i use the strap on you?" you asked shyly. the words sounding so foreign on your tongue. had you worded that properly? was she going to be offended? you dug your fingers into her forearm feeling the way her muscles flexed.

billie bit her lip, her eyes filled with lust. she looked at you like she wanted to ravish you and she very much did. she was enamoured with the way you were looking at her. your eyes big in anticipation. lips parted breathing softly even though your heart was beating rapidly and the oxygen in your lungs was dwindling.

"okay. since you asked so nicely," she whispered as your brows raised her thumb ran along the side of your face. you relaxed into her touch. she kissed your forehead before getting off the bed. you followed her naked body with your eyes, holding on to the sheets under your own nude body.

"do you need help getting it on?" her voice sweet but laced with a hint of playfulness.

you nodded as she looked down smiling. almost blushing. she was being so-

so-

you couldn't think. your mind was foggy. she held her hand out and you took it sliding off the bed. you stood in front of her as she sat taking the strap. her hands touched your skin in the places the strap clung to your body. she traced the outline before looking up at you. then she leaned back, body propped on her elbows. legs opening for you. eyes watching you carefully.

you approached her sinking into the mattress, hands on either side of her body. your lips found hers in a slow kiss as the strap hung between your bodies. she let you kiss her, let your hands cup her face, down her neck, and the side of her body until your fingers dug in her skin.

then you held the fake cock running it between her folds. it glided so smoothly spreading her wetness. she bite her lip muffling the sounds that roared from deep in her belly. you were focused on the dildo between your bodies watching the shaft glide up and down until you were centered at her entrance and she was swallowing it whole.

hands fisting the bedsheets, head tossed back in pleasure. it disappeared in her pussy and you pulled out just to watch it happen all over again. you held her knees as you thrusted establishing a steady pace. not too fast, but not too slow either. just perfect. she wrapped around the strap so perfect.

billie forced herself to look at you. watching you concentrate on her pleasure. asking her if this was okay or if she wanted you to go harder. she let you take the lead.

you just looked so fucking good fucking into her. thrusting and biting your lip in concentration. she brought one hand out to hold your hips wanting to feel your skin. then she spread it over your abdomen feeling you flex each time you thrusted.

"so fucking pretty," she mumbled through gritted teeth as you increased the pace, whimpering at her delight and compliment. she couldn't hold herself back any longer. she loved the way you moved and she knew she'd given you permission to fuck her, but oh my god she wanted to fuck you so hard right now. you were a mouth watering sight.

she lifted her body flipping you so quickly it took you a moment to process what was happening. with less than three movements she'd removed the strap, clung it to her skin, and opened your legs. she slid into you effortlessly and the familiarity of the cock made you moan.

you wrapped your arms around her shoulders as she leaned down pressing her body on yours. she moved her hips in a steady pace slamming into your pussy. skin slapping. cock hitting all the right places. your mouth hung open as your moans bounced off the walls. your legs wrapping around her waist as she buried herself deeper and deeper in your pussy.

you were going to cum. you felt it coiling so tight, you were aching.

"you looked so pretty fucking me," she turned her face to whisper in your ear. the compliment made your pussy clench harder and your whimpers grew louder.

"but you look even prettier when i fuck you," she emphasized licking the shell of your ear before biting. lips messily linking to your neck as your impeding orgasm caused temporary blindness. she knew just what to say and how to move to make you lose your mind.

[writer-ivy]

dilf!charlie x reader

this is smut. mdni.

wc: 1.9k words

a/n: its finally here!!!! im so so soooo sorry i had to keep you guys waiting for so long, i hope you know i absolutely adore and love all of my mutuals. lmk if you like the fic and also my new blog! i genuinely love every single person who encouraged me to write, this one's for you guys <3

to @mikasaackerman728 , @hiswhitehair , @stairstothe7th a tag because you asked <3

the first time you saw ‘the hot dad next door’, you didn't know he was a dad at all. he looked young, maybe a few years older than you, not that you would have minded if he was any older. he was carrying different boxes into the house right opposite to yours, a friend by his side.

he had messy hair and blue glasses, a plain, cream colored sweater rested across his shoulder, and he looked, for lack of a better word, extremely fucking broad.

you were instantly drawn in, he was exactly your type. you knew you had to find out more about him. So, you decided to be a nice neighbour and bake him a box of cookies. you searched for a good recipe to follow, spending the afternoon scooping sugar and kneading dough.

as the cookies cooled on your counter, you decided to dress up. well, it was more changing out of your messy pajamas and putting on a bit of perfume, but you called that enough. 

you knocked on his door early in the evening, smoothing down your shirt with one hand as you clutched the tupperware box in the other. you were expecting him to open the door, so when a little girl with light brown pigtails and blue eyes opened the door, it was safe to say you were shocked.

“hello, is that the pizza?” , the little girl asked, glancing up at the box in your hand. “oh sweetheart, i’m sorry, no- uhm, is your dad ho-”, you were interrupted by a figure stepping into the hallway by the door. “who is it- oh hi!”, his cheery voice called out as you glanced up, looking at his looming figure.

he was wearing a different shirt now, more casual, comfortable. he gave you a questioning tilt of his head as he scooped up his daughter- or the sweet little girl you assumed was his daughter- into his arms. “right! sorry, i’m your neighbour. i noticed you moving in this morning and i thought i’d introduce myself with a few cookies!” , you held out the bowl to him, plastering a sweet smile across your face.

“oh, thank you! that’s nice of you. my name’s charlie, and you?”  “oh, i’m Y/N-”

“dad, can i have some now?” ,the little girl reached out for the bowl of cookies in her dad’s hands. “think you can put a few on a plate yourself, sweetheart? i’ll finish talking to our new neighbour here.” the girl nodded, and charlie placed her gently on the ground, handing her the box of cookies, watching fondly as she padded down the main hallway and further into the house. 

“your daughter’s cute” , you commented and he chuckled. “yeah, she’s the sweetest. it’s been just us for a while now, so i cherish her to death”. oh?  “what about her mother?” , fuck. “s-sorry, honestly, i didn’t mean to prod at your personal life, i-”

“it's totally fine! its a common question, really!” “still, i let it slip and if you dont wanna answer-”

“its all good! we.. separated, uhm- a few years ago when she was still a baby. i’ve had her with me since, but she visits her mom on the weekends.”  “that’s nice, she really is sweet, looks just like you too.”

“hopefully that's a compliment!” , he joked.

“Oh trust me, it is.” , you didn’t.

the both of you chuckled, his hand moved to the doorframe, and he had no right to look that good while doing it. the prominent muscles in his forearms flexed as he lent against it, he looked so casual and it was making you drool. he was nice, funny and kind and hot.

“i’ll uh, i’ll see you around!” , you said,pointing over your shoulder to your house. “I live right by there, feel free to pop by if you need anything.”  

“yeah, ‘course. it was nice meeting you.” “you too.”

the house was quiet, eerily so, as charlie stepped in. he was still in his suit, pressed and stained with the scent of the cheap coffee at his office. he had to wear it today, something about an important meeting he told you about over the phone. you weren’t listening, to busy imagining the sight that was charlie in a suit.

and now you were finally going to be able to see just what you had been imagining all day.

charlie toed off his tight black loafers by your door, letting his bag fall from his shoulder next to the hall closet as he stepped further into the threshold of your home. he’d expected you to be sitting on the couch with a show on, or in the kitchen grabbing a late night snack, but you weren’t.

he loosened his tie as he cautiously stepped up the stairs, cringing slightly when he stepped over one of the creakier stairs. now, he was curious. if you weren’t downstairs, you had to be upstairs in your bedroom. you were probably asleep, work had run a bit late,  right

a soft noise pierced through the sound of his feet padding against the material of your floors. it was muffled but loud enough for him to hear it from the landing of your stairs just by your room. the door was cracked open, ever so slightly, creaking as he pushed it open.

there you were, spread out against your bed. sheets wrinkled and blankets messily sprawled out beneath your bare body. he leant against the doorframe, eyes fixated where your fingers worked against your core. your free hand came up to gently muffle the noises slipping out of your mouth.

tugged his tie lower and unbuttoned the first few button of his clean, white dress shirt. you only noticed his presence when he walked further into the room, looming over you from the foot of the bed. 

“ch-charlie”, your glossy eyes raked over his body, taking him in. a dark black blazer rested across his broad shoulders, still as wide as the first day you saw him. you watched as he tugged it off, the white shirt below enhanced all the muscles in his arms. “now, now  don’t stop? i was enjoying the show.”,  your fingers flew back to your core, rubbing against your clit fervorously.

his dress pants tightened around his waist as he filled them out. his hands, god those hands, finally pulled off his tie and he tossed it aside along with his shirt. you watched in awe as he climbed up the bed, dark eyes dragging over your body like he would never see it again, like he was trying to memorise every part of you.

you barely noticed him tugging off his belt with his other hand, letting it fall to the floor as he leaned down and pulled you into a kiss. “what’s the occasion baby?”, he hummed, lips trailing down to place messy kisses along your neck, leaving marks in his wake.  “i’m free this weekend too, neither of us have any work to do. mh, thought we’d start the weekend with a, uh- bang.”, he chuckled gently into you. “that so, baby?”

he pulled away gently, tugging off the rest of his clothes before diving back into kissing you, letting himself roam over the tops of your breasts. your back arching off the mattress as his tongue worked expertly against your nipples, circling them before taking them into the warm suction of his mouth. 

“mmph, daddy, fuck that feels good”,  well that was new for the both of you. charlie glanced up at you through hooded eyelids, your own fluttering and lips parted slightly to let out those sinful noises. he tugged your fingers away from your core, grabbing your hips and gently letting you grind against his thigh, that angle was just right. you had completely given up on trying to muffle yourself, letting moans slip out and echo against the warm walls of your bedroom. 

“yeah baby? like when daddy helps you out, huh?” ,he whispered in a low voice. you whimpered out a small yes, words bracketed by moans and whimpers. god, he was loving this,  

he felt your hands grab gently onto locks of his hair and tug. “i want more”, you said, dragging him back up to your lips. “yeah sweetheart?”, one hand held himself up beside your hand and the other came down to pump himself. he groaned quietly into your neck and circled your entrance with his tip. “d-don’t tease daddy, please?” .

“why would i do that, baby? you were playing with yourself without daddy’s permission, i really should punish you.”  “n-no, please daddy, i-i really didn’t mean to- please”, your voice sounded broken and he could feel his facade crack as he looked up into your watery eyes. “d-daddy, i promise i- agh!”, he cut off your rambling with a harsh push of himself inside your walls. he let himself revel in the feeling for just a moment, you were warm, softly pulsing around you, coating his cock with a layer of slick. “ what was that, baby?”, he asked mockingly, words punctuated with soft thrusts. “i- mmh- i won’t do it again, please, need more! please, i promise- hng- fuck!”

“not without daddy’s permission? you’ll ask like a good girl, yeah?”  

“yeah, yeah! i’ll be a good girl for you daddy, please let me cum- ha- please!”, he watched you fall apart beneath him. hand moving from your hips down to grab your thighs, pushing them into your chest in one easy movement. the new angle made him feel even deeper and you swore you could feel him bruise your cervix. your fingers slipped down to rub at your clit, motons slippery and soaking your fingers gently.

“d-daddy, ‘m close. please- let me cum- mmph!” , he cut off your moans with a kiss. “cum for me, sweetheart.”

as if his words set off a trigger, the band inside of you snapped. your whole body relaxing before your body burned with white, hot pleasure. he followed soon after, sweet moans filling your ears as he filled you with his cum. with a few final thrusts he finished riding out your high, letting your thighs fall back to bracketing his body as he held himself above you with shaky arms.

he let himself collapse beside you after a moment, dragging you to snuggle into his chest gently. strong arms held you close and your sweaty bodies practically melted into each other in exhaustion. just as your eyes fell shut, his voice pierced through the comfortable silence between the both of you.

“guess we both like the whole ‘daddy’ thing, huh?

reblog to support your creators!

[windssong]

To Hold The Sun // Astarion x gnTav

series summary: 5 years after the main events of Baldur’s Gate 3, you and Astarion have spent that time searching for a cure that would make it possible for him to walk in the sun again. During one of your adventures, you come across an ancient tome that promises a cure and much, much more.

Chapter 1 - And The Three Magic Words Are…

chapter summary: You are determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Astarion can feel the suns warmth once again. What you didn’t expect, was an ancient spell from an ancient book to do more than that.

words: 3k+

tags/warnings: 18+MDNI, brief smut, romance, high fantasy, canon level violence, fluff, some angst,

authors note:

This is one of my favorite ideas I’ve come up with yet. Just pure, high fantasy fun. Enjoy reading!

If you could only choose one moment to anchor yourself to, it would be right here. Shuddering underneath his dancing fingers, chasing each other's lips forever.

Astarion sucked in a gasp of sweet air, letting out a moan locked deep within his chest. He fell against your body as he came inside you. Legs tangled together underneath sheets that stuck against salty skin.

All that was left were two souls breathing heavily against one another.

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, catching his breath. You ran your hands through his white locks. You were the only person allowed to do that. It was soft falling in between your fingers. Like water in the palm of your hands, he drowned in your embrace.

Both of you had returned to the city late last night. The same city you and your companions saved years ago. You decided to find rest and say hello to some old friends at The SongFire Inn. Lakrissa had opened the Inn a few years back, along with Alfria who was also running her own bardic school.

The SongFire Inn was built near the edge of Rivington. Not too far from Wyrm’s Crossing but far enough away that you had to squint to make out its bridge from your window. For how spacious the Inn was, it still had all the comforts and furnishings of a welcoming home.

It was a nice change of scenery compared to the dingy and questionable Inns and abandoned homes you’d stayed in over the years. Although, sleeping beneath the stars is where you were most at ease.

A fireplace blazed across the room. The flames licked the humid air. Its golden light flickered across your naked bodies.

Since you had known Astarion, you had come to one simple conclusion. That there was no greater comfort than his presence. He was a tattered blanket slowly stitching itself back together. Every day, new patterns formed and colors made anew. You didn’t mind the icy air finding its way through little holes in the fabric. It kept you warm all the same.

He was still inside of you when he started laughing.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. Your head was still spinning from the aftermath of your orgasm. “What’s so funny?”

You could feel his smile spread against your shoulder. “Nothing darling. You just feel good. You make me feel good.”

He kissed your neck, lips drunk against your skin. “Thank you.”

His fangs ghosted over the faded marks where he first fed on you all those years ago. Then over the spot where he drank from you last night, when you ripped each other's clothes off, covered in weeks worth of grime and rain from your travels.

The pads of your fingers drew circles on his pale skin. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He grinned, peppering kisses along your collarbone. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a mystery to me as well.” He paused above your new scar.

His shoulders tensed. You could practically feel the muscles tightening underneath his skin. You continued massaging the nape of his neck, hoping to distract him from the memory you knew he was reliving.

That memory, that fear of almost losing you 2 tendays passed, continued to stick with him. He couldn’t shake it. You knew it still bothered him, even though you had made a full recovery.

His arms tightened around you. He held you like he did then. On that frozen lake thick with snow and blood. Your blood.

The first time you heard him pray was on that cold night. It was more of a plea, to whatever god would listen. He knew it was futile, it had always been for him. But, he continued anyway, waiting for the health potion to kick in and take all your agony away.

His eyes raked over the burn mark right in the middle of your chest as it faded into and around your neck. Maybe if he stared hard enough, it would go away and everything would be okay again.

The skin around the circular mark was still inflamed and showed no signs of healing properly. He hated how painful it looked. He saw how your hands gripped the fabric over the scar, face wincing in discomfort over the past couple weeks.

The amulet left behind its imprint. The design that melted into your skin was a cluster of vines growing on top of each other. He could make out what looked to be a small dagger hidden between the overgrown plants. The thick scar tissue made it difficult to tell.

He became all too aware of his scar on his back.

You brought his lips to yours again, snapping him out of that awful memory. “Astarion.” His name rolled off your tongue in a soft whisper. You licked your lips, tasting yourself there. “I’m okay now. You know that, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

The Vampire Spawn sighed. He slipped out of you, sitting up against the wooden headboard. You missed the fullness of him as he left you empty.

“I do.” He glared at your scar. “Mostly. Doesn’t mean the thought of you choking on your blood doesn’t haunt every corner of my mind.” His face was cloaked in pain, the memory still so fresh.

It was a little over 6 tendays ago when Gale sent you that fateful letter and enchanted amulet that led you to your near doom.

After 5 years of research, The Wizard of Waterdeep had finally uncovered a potential lead for a cure. One that would let Vampires walk in the sun again. And potentially, cure Vampirism as a whole.

What he had discovered was an amulet. One that apparently belonged to one of the very first Vampires. Before her untimely death, Maeve wrote a book titled, To Hold The Sun. It was said to be a collection of spells she created herself in a desperate attempt to walk in the sun again.

After Maeve’s mysterious death, her remains, amulet, book all disappeared. Even her Vampiric Castle, Crimsons Haven, said to be the size of a small country, was all lost to the ever forward momentum of time. No one knew whose hands or what cavern held them. Or where her kingdom had fallen to ruin. Or if they and Maeve even existed in the first place.

That was, until Gale came across the amulet himself while adventuring. His research indicated that the lost tome could be found using the amulet as some sort of compass. Whoever wore the priceless artifact was guided to where the book rested.

Astarion didn’t like the styling of the necklace. Said it was, “too old-fashioned,” for his tastes. So, after teasing him about his sense of fashion, it was up to you to wear it. The circular material was warm against your skin. It glowed a soft yellow. A mini sun in the palm of your hands.

With the enchanted item and another adventure underway, the two of you let the amulet guide you onward.

It was a long shot.

You knew that. Astarion knew that.

Years spent searching countless books, poems and glyphs, investigating every town, cavern, and hideout on The Sword Coast had led to absolutely nothing. You couldn’t even find a temporary spell that worked. Just empty chests and promises.

But, even with all those disappointments and hiding in the dark away from the light, Astarion still smiled as if he already found the cure. He was free and finally able to forge his own path, without a puppet master's strings forcing him to do his bidding.

It was the happiest you’d ever been, on this journey with him. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel jaded after turning over nearly every root and stone in Faerun, only to find nothing but dirt and bones.

But this new piece of information changed things. It gave you, and most importantly Astarion, hope again. No matter how much of a long shot it seemed to be, you would take it. Even if it hurt you.

The amulet led to a cave only accessible across a frozen lake. That night, a blizzard raged. It was so cold, your eyelids refused to shut and fingers and toes went numb.

With an Elixir of Ice Resistance, the potion helped you travel that extra mile over the icy tundra. Astarion complained about the aftertaste and your coat that was apparently, in his words, “warmer than his.” You reminded him he was a Vampire and wore the Hoarfrost Boots Wyll gifted him when they all had reunited. Meanwhile, it took your full concentration not to slip and fall on the ice. Astarion walked past you when you did eventually fall over.

When you finally made your way over the treacherous landscape, you reached a shallow cave, finding To Hold The Sun nestled in the arms of a dead bandit. By the look of the body, it was in a frozen state of decay. It was difficult to tell how long it’d been there. Days, weeks, years, his body was forever trapped in the freezing temperature.

Maeve’s amulet burned like a beacon of light against your chest as you inched closer to the tome. There was no sign of damage on the book. It looked as brand new as a fresh plate of armor or newly forged steel. You would’ve never guessed it was centuries old.

After years of traveling and searching, you finally found something of substance. The relief was palpable. You could see it on Astarions face too. Eyes full of wonder. You didn’t want that flicker of hope to leave him ever again.

This was it.

You were unaware of the dark magic radiating off the tome until you held it in your hands. Astarion was too late to notice to stop you in time.

Darkness enveloped you, covering whatever it touched. The ball of shadow circled you in a violent rush of energy. Faces made up of a vine like substance flashed before you. Dead creatures from the past. They looked like Vampires. The red eyes told you were right.

Then, a blaze of heat moved through your chest. The amulet started melting into your skin, leaving behind its ancient mark. It paralyzed your entire body, but you could still use your vocal cords. The scream that ripped passed your lungs cut through Astarion in ways he’d never been cut before.

He tried desperately to reach you, but the darkness sent him flying back onto the icy lake. But that would not deter him. He tried again and again and was met with the same fate.

The thin layer of ice began to crack. Red tentacles moved their bodies up through the wedges. Those sinister vines bubbled up from underneath, topping the surface. They moved along the cracks like trees in the wind.

Eventually, the magic was sucked back into the book, and you were left on the cold ground, suffocating on blood. It was as if the necklace entered your body just to choke you from the inside out. If it wasn’t for the potion you had left in your bag, you would’ve been dead.

When you picked up the book again, you used part of your coat to store it into your bag. Astarion refused to ever let your skin touch that cursed tome again. He wanted to leave it there or destroy it himself for what it did to you. But, you couldn’t risk another missed opportunity. So, to his dismay, you took it.

You understood his worry. The mark just below your neck still stung with a fiery grip. The closest thing you could describe the feeling too was Karlachs burning hands. But even that felt more like a warm touch versus the searing pain of the scar.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Your fingers found his own, eyes softening. “I put myself at risk, and that wasn’t fair to you. And me.”

Astarion shook his head, meeting your gentle gaze. He squeezed your hand, testing to see whether you were really there or not. He paused, choosing his next words with care. “I… I think we should stop looking for a cure.”

The air exited the room and your lungs. “I don’t understand.” You said.

“You will. Someday.” Astarion slid out of the large bed, hand outstretched towards you.

You frowned. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. And what you want. I thought you wanted this?” You took his hand anyway.

“What I want is you. Right here.” He kissed each knuckle for every word. “Safe. With me. That’s more than enough for me.”

You took your hand away, holding his face with your palms. “But you could have the sun?”

The flames illuminated your bodies in a golden glow as you held each other.

Astarion brushed his forehead against your own. His red eyes matched the embers. “Are you trying to make me say, “you’re all the sun I need,” or whatever? Because if you are, that’s petty vanity I wouldn't even stoop myself so low for. I’m impressed.”

You let out a short laugh, pushing him away playfully. “You wish.”

He grinned, catching you in his arms. “Come on now. Let’s get cleaned up.” Astarion led you into the bath connected to the large bedroom Lakrissa let you rent for free. You made sure to leave some coin behind anyway.

After an hour or so in the water, you returned to bed in comfortable clothing.

Astarion fell asleep in your arms. You, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying the previous conversation over and over again in your head.

Did he really want to stop? Every day, you two put your lives in danger in pursuit of this cure. Why was this incident any different? Why was this the breaking point?

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you watched him sleep. He looked so at peace.

You wanted to give this gift. To walk towards the light without the fear of burning away.

The more selfish part of yourself thought of your old body withering away as he stood there, helpless and ageless.

So, you quietly slipped out of the covers and closed the door to the other room. You sat with your back against the wall, bag in hand.

Since the accident, you tried your hardest to ignore the book. You were going to deliver it to Rolan tonight, to see what he could decipher from the ancient language. His tower held information beyond even his understanding. There were answers to be found there, and Astarion was sure they’d find them eventually.

But, the book was calling to you. It had been since the moment you laid your hands on it. There was a soft whisper in the breeze on the road back to Baldur's Gate. Then another when you entered the Inn, and another one right now. An invisible string was pulling you closer and closer to the tome.

Before you could register what you were doing, the book was open in your hands. The magic stayed at bay this time. It covered each page in a sea of black smoke. The language was unrecognizable. Yet, it was obvious that each spell was written in someone’s blood.

As you flipped through the old pages, the scar on your chest burned. The pain grew worse as you went through the tome. It was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t stop. You were rolling down a cliff and you couldn’t fight gravity. That was, until it ceased as soon as you stopped on a certain page.

There was a large Castle drawn in dried blood. It took up two pages. You assumed it was Crimsons Haven. Dark vines covered the Castle like moss. It looked similar to the twisted tentacle like force that attacked you just days prior. And the pattern on Maeve’s amulet branded to your neck. The details stretched far beyond the realm of any artist's abilities. It was so real, you could dip your hand into the sketch and crawl right into the ancient Castle.

Was your hand halfway through the page?

Then, three words unknown to you, words you’ve never heard nor spoken before, left your lips.

The wind made a ghastly noise, piercing your ears. Creatures dressed in robes of red and black filled the entire room, rushing past you violently. Gathering all the willpower you could muster, you shut the book as the scar burned away at your flesh. The shrieking seemed to last for hours, but it was only a moment later when it stopped altogether.

You took your hands off your ears, surveying the surrounding room. You figured you were the only one who heard the horrible sound given Astarion had yet to come and check on you.

Everything was in its exact place, except for the book. It was gone.

You scrambled to your knees, looking everywhere for the old tome. Only a tiny, red tentacle of smoke remained reaching up from the wooden floorboards. “Shit.” You ran a hand through your hair. And just like that, your hopes of finding that cure were dashed away once again.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stop an avalanche of tears from falling on top of you. When you stumbled out of the bathroom, head low and tail between your legs, you found Astarion staring out the window.

Your blood ran cold. “What are you doing!? Get back!” Before you rushed over to cover the window, you noticed there was no sunlight shining through it.

That couldn’t be? It was still morning.

“What in the hells...” Astarion pointed frantically out the window.

As you walked closer, you saw a large shadow looming over every building as far as you could see.

The whole town was covered in a cloak of red and black smoke, and it ran for miles. All the way from Riventon, passed Baldur's Gate and to the ocean. Didn’t matter where you looked, it was caged in like a wild animal.

Astarion lifted your chin with his finger. “Up, darling.”

Your eyes broadened, taking in the brand new scenery in front of you.

A Castle was floating in the sky, blocking out the sun.

The kingdom-sized Castle was shrouded in a layer of shadow, wrapping around the structure in red and black vines. Similar to the magic guarding the book and the amulet stuck to your skin. Layers of dark and Vampiric magic swam over the ancient stone in a protective cocoon.

The strangest part wasn’t even the floating Castle on its own or sea magic swimming around it. It was the position that left you at a loss for words.

It was floating upside down. The tips of the Castle towers nearly touched the buildings below. It sailed above the landscape, one brush away from crumbling to the ground.

“Oh no.” You said, taking a step back. The realization hit you as hard as the spell did.

It was the same Castle from the ancient tome. Crimsons Haven. Down to the exact details. And now it was here, looming over the city you had saved.

“What have I done?”

Astarion held a finger up. “And what exactly do you mean by tha-” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Your scar. It’s gone.”

Your fingers brushed over the burnt area. He was right. There was no longer a layer of thick skin there. It had healed instantly.

But now an even bigger problem remained. Thanks to you and that book. And it was looming over the entire city, ready to swallow it whole.

—

CH 2 - coming soon

[syndullqs]

soft mornings — clone trooper headcanons

summary — what soft mornings look like with some of our favorite troopers

warnings — painstakingly soft, gn!reader, some cheeky moments with cody, might be a part 2

note — UH YEAH ITS BEEN A MINUTE HI! this won the poll so it’s FINALLY out. sorry if it sucks…pls enjoy!

arc trooper fives

shore leave with fives is not short of fun

but there’s also moments where the two of you just need to relax together

you’re sipping a cup of caf one morning, reading something on your datapad when fives walks in, his hair tousled which is coupled with the grey sweatpants

aka he’s lookin fine af

he sits down next to you on the couch, and you watch him as he settles his head on your shoulder

fives is clingy, but especially in the mornings

you set your datapad down on your lap, and with your free hand your buried your fingers into his hair and massaged his scalp.

which earned you several grunts and moans from fives

“you’re a mess,” you would tell him, and he’d only bring himself closer to you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“but i’m your mess,” he’d look up at you with the biggest brown eyes full of love and ugh

once that man gets caf in his system though it’s over

captain rex

due to unpopular belief, rex is not a morning person

like he would rather be stuck in bed, curled up with a blanket than be anywhere else

so when he is on shore leave, the bed is his best friend

not that you would be complaining

the sun would be peaking through the curtains, brushing against his skin, casting shadows on his muscles.

aka he looks ethereal

you sit yourself on your elbows, running a hand over his back and leaning over to press kisses between his shoulder blades

rex just groans, not wanting to wake up and face the day, but also the feeling of your touch is sending him through the roof.

“good morning, my love,” you would hum in between kisses to his shoulder blades

“mornin’,” he mumbled back.

aka an absolute softie

mornings with rex are always soft, always warm, and always safe

rex has never felt safer whenever he’s with you on shore leave

captain howzer

now this man, THIS MAN, is a morning person and boy does it show

he loves getting up before you when he’s on shore leave, making you breakfast and a hot cup of caf

he loves the quiet mornings despite how rare they are

you’d get up after feeling his lack of being there, following the smell of breakfast

you’d wander into the kitchen, find howzer standing with his back to you

shirt off ofc

you’d wrap your arms around his middle and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades

a very sweet and very warm moment for the both of you.

the feeling of your arms around him secures him in place, it tells him he’s ok.

you’re his safe place

“smells absolutely amazing,” you hummed, earning a deep chuckle from howzer

“glad it does, it means i’m not burning it,” he replied as he twisted his body to kiss you on top of your head.

howzer loves cooking, even if he’s not that great at it

you definitely teach him

mornings with howzer are soft, but be ready because the slowness to the morning doesn’t last long with him

commander cody

if there’s anyone out of this bunch who’s cheeky in the mornings it’s cody

but he has his soft moments too

he doesn’t stay in one position all night, he’s definitely one who will fall asleep one way and wake up another.

he wakes up first, and when he sees you’re still asleep?

he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever

he’ll watch you for a bit before he brings you closer to him, wrapping you in his arms

you would slowly wake up, but would melt right back into his touch.

it would be all soft, cody running his fingers up and down your back

and then he’d start kissing your neck

“cody!” you would squeal out in surprise

“what? you’re my breakfast,” he’d say casually

“whatever, lover boy,” you would blush.

his hands would roam, but they would respectfully

he never would do anything you weren’t comfortable with

so, mornings with him were always a little cheeky, but always soft and warm

commander wolffe

wolffe isn’t used to being on shore leave, no matter how many times he’d done it

but for some reason whenever he started dating you he eased up

clearly there’s an obvious reason

mornings are rough for him

he’s up early, sitting in the living room, with his sweats on and a hot cup of caf in his hands

mind you it’s not even light out

but you feel an absence without him, so you crawl out of bed and wander into the living room

“hun?” you softly called to him, and he turned his head to face you

wolffe definitely doesn’t get good sleep

so, when he sees you wander into the living room, his shoulders sag and he relaxes.

“couldn’t sleep, so just came out here,”

you sit yourself in his lap, and he absolutely loves it

he loves you being close to him; it helps him relax and it does help him sleep

the two of you would sit there, in silence, and wolffe would focus on you and your presence

you’re his grounding point, and no matter how quickly sleep evades him, you always manage to help him rope it in

commander fox

we all know that fox isn’t a morning person. like, at all.

when he gets a chance to sleep in, much less sleep at all, he’s sleeps HARD

fox is also a cuddle bug, fight me

like he wants to be close to you, but he doesn’t want nor like anyone knowing that about him

mornings with him are always started with him refusing to wake up

“we’ve got to get up, my love,” you’d groan, trying to wiggle out of the tight grasp he had you in

“i’m off, no we don’t,” he’d mumble into your neck, causing shivers to crawl down your body.

so you would lay there, your fingers threading through fox’s curls

he’d feel the safest with you, he’d feel seen by you, and those two things were the most important things to him, besides you of course

“what if i make you breakfast and caf?” you hum into his ear

now, that gets him going

“i’ll get up for that, especially since you’re making it,” he lifted his head out of the crook of your neck and kissed you

you’d end up laying there still, by the way

probably end up falling back asleep because who wouldn’t want to cuddle fox and tell him he’s gonna be ok

[daphwritesworld]

Don't know if you write for her but if you do could you write some bottom ella toone smut please?

Ella Toone x Teammate!Reader

content: pussy eating (R receiving), fingering (E receiving), dom/sub relationship, Top!Reader, Bottom!Ella

warnings: locker room sex, Ella being a tease, Ella pushing your buttons, grumpy morning reader, mirror kink?

synopsis: Ella ignores you during practice so you show her how you feel about it in the locker room.

word count: 2.0k

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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From the second you two woke up this morning, you swear Ella’s had it out for you. She must’ve made it her singular mission today to push all your buttons. It started out with her not waking you up on time. She’d swore she’d wake you up early enough to get your run in if you stayed over last night…now 15 minutes late as you're throwing your bag into the trunk of her car and steal the keys from her hand.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing, big man?” She makes a face as she says it, titling her head to the side as her eyes squint.

“Baby, we don't have time for this. Get in the car, I’m driving today,” you say it as a sigh. Sleep still present in your face and voice as the grumpiness still hasn’t worn off…especiellay because you didn’t have time for your daily jog!

“No! It's my new car, and you’ve driven it more than me!” She’s starting to whine at you now, the pitch and attitude of her words changing at the drop of a hat.

“Ella, please just get in the car. I want to at least be able to stop and get some coffee before practice,” you close your eyes as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re really trying to stay calm, the morning monster inside of you burying itself as you hear her open the passenger door. A dramatic sigh of “Fiiiiiinnneee!” leaving her lips before she shuts it and waits on you inside.

And everything was okay after that, until you pulled into the parking lot of the training facility. She immediately hops out, running off with her friends as she leaves you to get both of your bags. And of course you'll do it without complaint, but she'd usually at least walk with you as you did. Always complimenting your muscles as she makes the same Popeye joke she does every time— and you still laugh at it every time, too. You catch up and set her bag strap on her shoulder, not even getting to see her face as she just grabs it and keeps walking ahead of you. She then decides today's a good day to team up Alessia, running off calling to her as she leaves you to find another partner for drills.

You team up with Lucy and things seem to be going pretty good for a while…until Ella decides to take her shirt off halfway through. The sweat glistening off her body catches the reflection of the sun like she's a made of fucking diamonds. You lick your lips, being met with a salty sheen covering your own face. And just for a second you imagine it's from running your tongue up her abs, tasting her skin as you peel her bottoms off. You'd fuck her right here in front of everybody if you could..suck on her her nipples through her sports bra as she grinds her pussy down onto your thigh, and mark her as yours for everyone to see. Make them watch as you break her apart and put her back together, like a puzzle you know by heart. But alas that's illegal— so you won't…but you sure as hell fixate on it for the rest of practice. Like fuel to a fire, pushing you to be better as you try and burn the image out of your head for the moment. You can never have a moment of peace with Ella around.

Then when you guys are in the locker room? You swear she's giving you those fuck me eyes under her eyelashes, but that could also be the ragging desire for her that's brewing inside of you fueling some delusion. You've spent hours now trying to ignore the absolute mess between your thighs, and you think it's finally starting to drive you crazy. So when you hear the last of the girls telling you guys goodnight, your heart starts to speed up. You know as soon as the door closes— you're pouncing. And pounce you do.

Within seconds after the last girl leaves the room, your hands are all over Ella's body. Pulling, groping, caressing…you name it and you're doing it. She's letting out little moans as you explore her body, arching herself into your touch as she reaches to pull the sports bra off her head. "Go ahead, baby, Lemme see you," you say as you start kissing down her neck.

She pulls the undergarment off and flings it across the room. Her hands come to gather in your hair as she tries to guide your head towards her nipples. You chuckle at that, leaning up to stare down at her with that smirk on your face. "You really think I'm gonna give it to you that easy? Oh no, baby. You've got to earn it this time," you say it between kisses on her chest. Then you pulling away as you start stripping yourself, folding your clothes and sitting them down on the bench. A stark contrast to Ella's messily thrown around the room. "On your knees, love."

So she slides down onto her knees, head shooting up as you walk in front of her. Your naked body standing above hers as you step a leg being her, your dripping wet pussy only inches away from her face now. "Be a good girl and clean me up, then maybe I'll think about letting you cum. Understand?"

She lets out a whine at that, biting her lip as she gets lost in a trance as your pussy twitches right in front of her. "Y-yeah. I understand!"

"Good. Now stick your tongue out and don't fucking move," you yank her head back into position by her ponytail. A loud cry falling from her lips as her tongue sticks up to lay flat against your pussy. It's immediate the way you start grinding against it, chasing the euphoric feeling you know her mouth can give you. She starts moaning into your cunt as she watches you, eyes boring into the way your abs flex from the roll of your hips. You're using her body— her mouth for your own pleasure. And she fucking loves it. She loves the way she can feel when your are legs flex, knowing that you're close just from how hard the muscles beside her head are tensing up. She loves knowing all she has to do is ignore you at practice to get you this worked up.

Your own hands find your nipples— pinching and pulling as your hips start getting erratic. You both know you're close, but you bring a hand down to keep her head in place just to make sure. No letting anything take away this orgasm you've been needing since this morning. Your hips start jerking messily on her face, your cum running down her cheeks as she runs her tongue up through your folds. Cleaning up the mess she was the cause of. You groan out as a smile takes over your face, looking down as you watch her lap up everything you're giving her.

"Good fucking girl," you let it between pants as you start pulling away from her mouth. Hands going to pull her up and sit you both on the bench beside you. You throw one of your legs over the bench as you make her mirror you, pulling her back to your front as you're met with your reflections on the wall mirror in front of you. You run your hands over her body, taking in the way she shivers and wiggles around from the light touches. She's biting her lip— trying to keep all her whines and complaints in as she lets you have your way with her. "Look at yourself, baby. I won't touch you how you want until you do," It's said with a kiss to the back of her neck.

So without hesitation she meets her eyes in the slightly dirty mirror. It's a sight to behold for sure— she's flushed completely. A pretty light blush spread across her body as she heaves a little, breath speeding up the longer it takes for you to touch her properly. She's scanning over every inch of herself, watching as your hands start sliding their way towards her pussy with a relieved sigh. You start out with running your nails against her inner thighs, wanting to see them shake before you even touch her clit. You love her responsive she always is, so sensitive whenever you're touching her. It's like a bolt of lightening every time your fingertips touch her skin, and it ignites an explosion under her skin as she craves you even more.

You kiss her neck as you see her listening to you, your fingers from one hand sliding down to prod at her entrance. Ella's so wet at this point you can see it dripping down onto the bench below you, and when her fingers start sliding in? Well it doesn't take long for a little puddle to form underneath her ass. Eyes glued to the way your three fingers are bullying their way through her cunt, her eyes rolling back as her moans bounce off walls echoing in the room. Anyone in the hallway could definitely hear here clear as day, but you just simply didn't give a fuck. She'd been playing with fire today and she knew it— so now she's happily getting burned. You know it's happily from the way loud words of pleasure are falling from her lips as she's getting finger fucked… Exactly where she saw her captain tying her shoes this morning might I add. It's all too much for her, too dizzying, too taboo. She's letting you fuck her out the open— okay not really but anyone could walk in at any moment. And Ella isn't sure if this is exactly what she had planned when she decided to push your buttons today….but she isn't complaining right now. Right now she's screaming out your name, pussy gushing over your thick fingers shoved inside her tight cunt on display— for your eyes only.

She's reaching a hand down to your wrist, back arching off your chest as she announces she's on the edge. You weight your options real quick, you could deny her. Make her cry and sulk all the way home where you might let her cum….or you could give in. Let her scream out profanities in the one place you know she shouldn't be.

Yeah you totally fold…so with a sigh of you wrap a hand around Ella's throat— pulling her back for a kiss on the lips. Fingers still buried inside of her as your palm grinds into her puffy clit. Tears gathering in her eyes as she's pushed over the edge. "F-Fuck! I-I'm cummin, baby! I'm c-cummin!"

You can't help but whimper from the way her pussy clenches down so hard, squeezing your fingers out of her as she winces at the feeling of being emptied. Your fingers are pruny from being buried in her pussy for so long, not noticing how much time has passed since you both started.

"Oh dammit! We totally missed happy hour for those mini cheesecakes I see the ad for!"

You can't help the absolute chuckle that bubbles out of your chest, throwing your head back as tears gather in your eyes. "Please tell me you aren't seriously thinking about cheesecake after what we've just done?!"

"What? You know how to work a girls appetite up, that's all I'm saying!" and just like that you're doubling over as you push at her shoulder. Giving her a kiss on the forehead as you start to dress you both back up. It only takes about 10 minutes until you're both bundled up, ready to face the cold night air…but those plans are soon foiled. Every time you press on the door— it doesn't budge.

"I think we're locked in, Ells..."

"Of course we are…So do we risk social suicide and call the girls or you just wanna have a sleep over in here? It can't be THAT bad, right?"

"ELLA! Don't be fucking ridiculous!….I have a blanket in my locker. Of course we aren't calling anyone on the team."

[sapphicmsmarvel]

feysand: disability comfort

note: i have sciatica nerve pain and will for the rest of my life and i had a bad flare up recently (im at the lower end of that flare up as i write this)  so this is a super duper self indulgent fic. These are my specific symptoms and experiences, pls seek a medical professional’s opinion if you find yourself feeling the same things. 

Self diagnosing is dangerous ! 

We love doctors ! 

When you woke up, you knew it was going to be a bad day and that a potential flare up was on its way to you. 

You had shifted your leg ever so slightly, and felt it. 

The twang. 

And you sighed. The twang of the muscle was a sign that you were in for it for the rest of the day and possibly the next few days. It didn’t necessarily hurt. The twang was a minor discomfort. 

It was the most comfortable part of a flare up. 

So you got out of bed ever so carefully to not aggravate it further. You knew you’d be able to go to work and complete your tasks for the night court today, but the next few days? Might as well bring work home with you so you can do it from a bed. You were the last of the family to leave for the day, Feyre was at the studio, Rhys was running a city and Nyx was away with Auntie Nesta, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Azriel. 

When you went to grab your jacket, a note fell out of the coat pocket. 

Have a good day my love. MWAH Feyre didn’t need to sign it, her kiss mark with her pink lipstick was her trademark. 

When you went to grab your lunch, you saw Rhysand wrote you a note.

This is almost as delicious as me and Fey! See you soon, angel! 

Ps don’t forget about us while you're off running an entire newspaper! 

You couldn’t help but snort, he seems to forget he’s the main breadwinner. 

You were a journalist for Velaris. Extremely well known across the entirety of Prythian. You were the reason most of your staff were able to stay calm because you kept things in order. 

You didn’t start limping until you had gotten to your office, your secretary asked why you were limping and you lied that you twisted your ankle.

If anyone else had told you they were also disabled, you would offer them whatever they needed, and tell them how it wasn’t embarrassing and there were zero things to feel bad about.

But since it was you, you were quite hard on yourself. 

After putting out a small metaphorical fire, you were able to hide a bit in your office where you can limp and cry in peace. It was getting worse, the pain was more intense, it was white-hot pain at this point all across your lower back and butt. You had managed to not cry yet, teared up yes, but you were able to swallow them down. 

You had gotten to lunch, and that’s when you couldn’t stand up straight. 

Fuck. 

Feyre and Rhysand were absolutely on their way to the cafe you three had agreed to meet at today. But there was no way you would make it to that restaurant, back and then the walk home. 

You opened up the bond to say, I won’t be able to make it to lunch. Things are crazy over here, I will see you both at home. Love you!

Feyre’s worried voice came through. Is everything okay? 

Just a gossip column issue with the Spring Court branch! I’ll see you both at home. 

It was a small lie, technically there was an issue with the gossip column for the Spring Court branch. You just took care of that that morning, not the afternoon. 

Rhysand didn’t respond but you chose not to worry. 

You closed the bond and resumed your work, you were agonizing over some final edits when there was a knock at the door. You looked at the clock, you knew you had zero meetings for once today. 

“Come in.” You said. 

Then the door opened to your lovely spouses with food. 

“What the hell?” You asked. 

“We wanted to make sure you ate. But your secretary said that everything was calm.” Feyre tilted her head, those grey eyes narrowing and are somehow able to detect your lies. 

You stood up, “baby-” then your back just twinged and it caused you to gasp and nearly fall over. Your hands slapped against the oak of your desk, causing your pencil cup to rattle. 

“Y/N!” Rhysand was fast as light as he came to stabilize you. Feyre was right there at your front, the look of irritation quickly replaced by concern. 

You were trying to breathe deeply and Rhys’ hands were on your hips. 

“Sciatica pain?” Feyre’s brows furrowed as she asked. 

“Yeah.” You breathed out, Rhys’ large hands massaging your hips gently but not putting so much pressure on the area where it’s really throbbing because pressure doesn’t help all the time. 

“C’mon, sit.” Rhysand guided you down to your chair, and you let out a breath of relief at the loss of tension when you sat. However, there was still an echo of pain. 

“When did this start.” Rhys didn’t ask the question. He demanded it. 

“This morning.” “And you didn’t tell us because…?” 

You sighed, “I just. I hate this part of me. I didn’t want to bring attention to it.” 

“My love, it's a part of you, whether you like it or not.” Feyre said the harsh truth. 

You snorted. “Thanks.”

“Shut up.” She said and nudged your knee with her own paint splattered shoes. “It’s a part of you, and we love all parts of you. Granted, we don’t want to see you in pain, but if you are, we want to help you. We aren’t burdened by this.” 

Rhysand began scratching the top of your head lightly, but it was soothing. “So tell us the truth, Angel.” 

You sighed, and looked back and forth between them. “I hurt. A lot.” 

“You wanna go home?” Feyre asked. 

“More than anything. Am I allowed to do work? Or is that a no go?” You looked at them, “May I have my nurse's opinion?” 

Feyre smiled, “work stays here.” 

You looked at Rhys, who smiled and kissed your forehead, “work stays here.” He agreed. 

You sighed, as they began getting your stuff around to take home. You let Rhys winnow you home while Feyre ordered people around the office to not bother you. Your staff adored her and you, so it was an easy ask. She told them to just leave things on your desk and again, the world will not end if the paper is slightly delayed. But the way you ran the office, you were always a week ahead, with editing boxes available for actual timely events. 

So nothing was too crazy. 

By the time Feyre got home, you were in the bath. And Rhys was making your favorite foods. He already had your painkillers set out on a tray on the made bed. 

He’s such a housewife. 

You hated how much you had to depend on them for the next few days. You could barely move. It hurt to lay, it hurt to sit, to stand, anything. Even using the toilet, it took you a while to just get the momentum to stand up. (Rhys had bars installed to help you up because he knew you wouldn’t ask them).

Sometimes your leg would go completely numb or tingly. So they’d work with you to ‘wake’ your leg up. You knew they were scared when they saw you like that. You’d be scared if you saw them like that. 

When you went stir crazy from being in the house for a few days, they would bring you random drawers to organize. Or untangling Feyre’s jewelry from each other, organizing Rhys’s photo boxes. 

You and Feyre did stretches together as well, Rhys would press a hot cloth to your back and switch with a cold cloth when you requested. 

And when you’d cry from the pain, they would brush your hair back, they’d rub your sore spots if you wanted. They’d bring you water or snacks. 

They would comfort you through anything, and you couldn’t be happier. 

(Even though you felt completely miserable at the moment).

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Bruce Wayne. 2

.⋆｡Batman’s Kryptonite｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

Bruce works too hard but unluckily for him, you’re more stubborn than he is

Warnings: reader can be sunburnt, fluff, mentions of showering together, workaholic Bruce

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Follower Celebration

Bruce was nothing if not a hard worker. He continuously worked himself to the bone to keep everything afloat and for that, you really did admire him. He used his privilege to help so many people both in his day job and his night job but god did you find it hard to spend time with him.

His brain seemed fixated on his goals, even in the quiet moments where there was nothing to do. Nothing ever got his full attention, not even you, his loving girlfriend.

“How long has he been down here?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you observed Bruce who was currently hunched over his new project, blue eyes firmly fixated on the delicate wiring. Alfred sighed heavily through his nose.

“Since the moment he returned from the airport after dropping you off.” Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“That-“ You took a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down. “I knew a week long girl’s trip was too good to be true. I’ll take care of this, take a couple days off.” The older man nodded and left the cave with a fatherly squeeze to your shoulder.

As soon as you heard the elevator doors shut, you shed the thick cardigan and long sleeve shirt you were wearing, leaving you just in leggings (that Bruce absolutely went crazy for) and a thin undershirt that did little to disguise the colour of your bra. Your steps were light but not completely silent, it would do you no good to sneak up on the Dark Knight.

Even centimetres away, you could feel the tension in Bruce’s muscles, like he was wound up for a fight. He jumped only slightly as you laid your hands on his shoulder blades but he quickly eased into your tough, letting out a hum of acknowledgement. “Back early?”

“Actually, I’m right on time.” His hands faltered and you knew that his dark brows were pulled up like they always did when he was coming out of a work-related trance. The chair turned yet your hands never left his skin, now resting on his strong chest as he looked up at you. His pupils dilated, slowly overtaking the stunning blue of his irises as he took in your attire.

“Are you sure?”

You chuckled. “I have the sunburn to prove it.” He grunted, obviously not quite believing you, or he just didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t obeyed your suggestion of taking some time off when you were gone. 

“You were supposed to come back on the fifth.” Bruce tried to argue as his eyes flicked back to his work. You knew that look, it was his ‘I want to end this conversation so I can get back to work’ but you knew exactly what to do to distract him.

“It is the fifth, my love. Maybe you need to take a break. How about coming upstairs with me and we’ll have a nice hot shower?” Your touch slowly migrated up his chest to his jaw and Bruce’s eyelids fluttered under the attention. But he just as quickly tensed up again, catching onto your game.

“Sorry sweets, I have work to do.” He attempted to turn his chair back around but you stepped between his spread legs, pinning him to the spot with your body. 

Your bottom lip turned out into a truly award winning pout and you sniffed. “But I missed you baby, I just want to spend some time with you.” You could actually see his will beginning to crumble. One more step.

Tears filled your eyes. “Do you not want to spend time with me?” 

He knew that they were crocodile tears but they tugged at the mass of guilt in his chest anyway. “Do not. I said no. Those puppy dog eyes don’t work every time. Fuck- fine.” Immediately, your tears disappeared and you beamed at him.

“Great! Maybe I’ll also show you the new bikinis I got on the trip.” Bruce groaned and let you pull him to his feet, abandoning his half-finished work.

“You are a cruel woman.” He complained as you dragged him to the cave’s exit. You looked back at your boyfriend with a wink.

“I just know Batman's kryptonite.” You teased and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Bruce wholeheartedly agreed. You definitely knew how to get him to fold.

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[skele-bunny]

Thinking about Ghouls and their love for titties......

CW - Forcefem, lactation/nursing, piercing/hook pulling

Dewdrop just smothering himself in Aether's chest, and whining like a kit when he's pulled away. Always finds a way to slam himself right back between his pectorals and Aether just accepts his fate at that point.

Swiss constantly gropping Cirrus, purring and his tail just wagging so damn much. "So pretty... So soft... Perfect for my hands..." Cirrus has none of it before turning around and squeezing his muscles in the same way. "You need a new bra!"

Sunshine always snuggling her face in Aurora's chest when they cuddle and vice versa, sometimes just simply holding each other just for another form of contact.

Mountain always worming a hand up Phantom's shirt when they're sleeping back-to-chest. Sometimes his hand just twitches while he's asleep, and Ant just whines when the twitches gets too tender on the same breast so Mountain subconsciously switches LMAO.

Cumulus just cooing as she holds Dew's tiny tits while forcing him in front of a mirror. "Such pretty little things you have, babydoll. Such a good girl... Just got to keep growing these out, and you'll fit so perfectly in your bra."

Omega loves tracing over Terzo's keyhole scars, sometimes dragging his tongue over them or placing kisses all around the outline.

Terzo also has a thing for Omega's titties ajkwkd. Like Dew does to Aether, he will happily just lay his face between Omega's chest, just kicking his feet and the happiest man on earth. Sometimes likes tugging on his piercings just to hear him growl.

Rain absolutely blissed out with Aether on one of his tits and Dew on the other, slowly milking out his swollen breasts. They tag team him with it, too. Dew rubbing his clit and Aether slowly finger fucking him.

Copia has fucked almost everyone's chest at least once. Absolutely adored Cumulus'! Just how hers absolutely squeezed him, provided so much warmth too. One thing he loved the most was that she kept her tongue out so every time he'd thrust forward, her tongue would graze his tip and was ready to take his load.

Swiss has hooked Dew's nipple piercings to wire for piercing pulls and just loved hearing him cry out from the pain, but boy did Dew enjoy it so much. If his moans didn't show it then his slick did jwjsjx.

Itty Bitty Titty Community Dew, Phantom, Aurora, and Sunshine having to survive the others nipple twists and it has now caused a war against the Big Booby Brigade Aether, Cumulus, Cirrus, and Rain. They're tied even.

Mist letting Pebble take naps on her chest, and then they both end up passed out and somehow Zephyr?? Gets there?? Too????? Who invited you /silly

Mountain is as flat chested as flat chested can be, but does that stop Swiss? Absolutely not. "Baby, your tits look absolutely amazing today."/"Your boobs look so heavy, want me to hold them for you?"

Swiss. Swiss and tiddies. That's it. That's the rest of the post

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 7

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (don't hate me)

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Word Count: 32.6k +

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), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, talks of end-of-life plans, anxiety/stress/depression, parents fighting, child neglect, eating disorder behaviors as a result, recollection of past struggles with anorexia/restricting, talks of an ED facility, passing out, blood, (from an accidental cut) SMUT: oral, (f!rec) fingering, (f!rec) cock warming, unprotected (please let me know if i missed anything that is triggering!)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. this certainly isn't an easy story to write, but it comes from & with a lot of love. 🤍 (i ask that you kindly ignore any mistakes/grammar errors. these chapters are awful to edit, as i'm sure you could've guessed. i'm doing my best. LOL)

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. big thank you to @gracev0609 for some very sweet ideas to include in this chapter.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 9th:

Graduation day

“[Arthur] felt the light of Guinevere’s eyes [in] his life…”  (Tennyson, IOTK)

You’d convinced yourself this was gone for good. Certain that this feeling would fade into a distant memory, dulled by the slow drag of time. Nothing more than a blip in your past, a chapter in your book. Nothing more – and, to your quiet heartbreak, nothing less. 

Waking up in his arms is…it’s magic. It’s safe. There’s nothing in your life that could come remotely close to the solace you find in the embrace of his arms.

He’s still asleep, tiny snores falling from his kiss-swollen, lipstick stained lips – evidence of last night. His chest is warm against your cheek, rising and falling in near perfect rhythm with your own breathing. And your body, still feeling everything from the night before. Aching muscles, sore limbs…the best pain this world can offer. 

Neither one of you bothered putting clothes back on before you fell asleep. And truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something so beautiful about the intimacy of it all. Your bodies, in their most natural state, resting together after a night of absolute bliss. Only half covered by the satin sheets, too hot last night to bother with them. Yet, the chill of the morning has given way to goosebumps littering exposed flesh, making you seek his warmth all the more. 

The soft, morning sun, peaking her quiet light through dark blinds. Specks of dust and fluff living in her rays, normally hidden in plain sight when she’s not there to give them light. And, she’s displaying even more evidence of the events of last night. 

A shattered photo frame rests on the floor near the dresser, left for the next days’ clean up. A subtle tinge shivers your bones when you remember that you were the cause of the destruction. 

I’ll buy him a new frame, you silently ponder. Though, the reason for the frame’s untimely death is making you tremble for a purpose entirely different. 

Pleasure, of the degree in which your body has never before experienced, sent the glass cascading to its doom. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. And while you tried to offer your apologies, in truth, you didn’t care much about it, either. Not in the moment, when your world was held in the hands of Jake Kiszka. And in his lips.

The memory, though only hours ago, feels distant enough. Your body is suddenly in a state of craving once again. A familiar pulsing between your legs at the thought. It just so happens that, maybe, you can have it again, instead of lamenting on a piece of the past.

You needed this. And the fact that you were sure you’d never have it again, after barely having it in the first place – your body suddenly feels whole again. And the irony of it all is that the person who took those pieces of you, he’s also the only one truly capable of giving them back.  

Perhaps you haven’t truly lost him. At least, not now. 

And, perhaps…

It’s a shot in the dark, a foolish thought that, if wrong, could lead to more heartbreak. But, maybe, after last night, he won’t leave. Maybe last night proved to him that you’re worth sticking around for. 

His slow breathing becomes a bit more shallow as he begins to stir, wrapping his arms around you even before his eyes have even opened. A sleepy pair of lips kisses the crown of your head just before you kiss the blushed skin of his chest. The contact makes it rise a bit higher as he takes a deeper breath, a gentle sigh escaping his half-parted lips. 

You kiss him again, then again, sucking the flesh a little more with each contact of your lips. And, every gesture elicits more of a reaction from him. More sweet sighs, beautiful groans. Each noise only makes you want to give him more. 

And, that’s just what you’ll do. You angle yourself just right, so you’re able to reach a bit higher. Kissing the expanse of his chest, his pecks, finding your way to his neck, the skin still littered with pretty marks in the shape of your lips. 

He stirs just a bit more, a lazy grin worn on his lips. His eyes, still partially covered by sleepy lids, though exhaustion doesn’t stop him from pulling your body up a few inches, your face now close enough to his that your lips can at last meet. 

The kiss, so sleepy yet full of passion. He moans beautifully against your lips, stealing your breath when his hand reaches down to your thigh, drawing your bent knee to rest against his hip. His lips grow in vigor, warm hand gliding up the skin of your thigh and reaching for your ass. 

His fingers rake over your skin, heated and purposeful as they dip between your legs. 

You feel yourself tense the moment his finger slips inside, only from the tenderness left from only hours ago. You’re dripping for him, yet there’s a dull ache that exists from the night prior. 

“Hey,” he says, hushed and worried. His movements stop altogether as you silently curse your body for reacting the way it did. “Everything okay, doll?”

His fretting, though you truly just want to keep going, is the most sweet gesture. The way he knew that something was off, before you even had the chance to say anything. (Odds are, you probably wouldn’t have.)

“Y-yeah, just a little sore from last night, I guess,” you breathe, your ache for his touch far more potent than the physical pain. Nevertheless, you do hurt a little. Not much, yet enough that it elicited a bit of a reaction when he touched you.

“Oh, baby…,” he hums, his voice full of remorse and heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry, doll. We don’t have to keep –,”

“No, please don’t stop,” you whisper, pleading with him. Any ache you could ever experience is worth it with him, and a pain such as this only serves to turn you on all the more. It’s a testament of the gravity of last night – the exhaustion of your physical form is a mark of the most intense bliss that he offered you. 

And, it’s certainly not his fault that he’s so goddamn big. 

Fuck. The thought alone has you willing to do it all over again and again, despite any pain. 

He looks up at you with lazy, sleepy eyes. Dark circles beneath them, an image of unfiltered beauty. And his lips – enviable to anyone. So plush and soft. The perfect natural shade of muted rose – never pale like yours are without any lipstick. 

And beneath the fragile gleam of the morning sun, you can see the beginnings of his facial hair better than you ever have. And god, you just hope he continues to let it grow. So handsome with or without, but you’d love to see it on him.

He catches the growing smile on your lips, offering you one in return with a gentle wink of his eye. “Then let me help you, doll.”

Before you can even question his intentions, he’s swooping you up with one arm wrapped around the small of your back, an unparalleled strength in his arms that you’ll never get enough of. 

Laying you down on the bed, the two of you having switched positions, he looks even more beautiful on top of you than he did below you. In truth, you quite like him like this. Him overtop of you, domineering in the gentlest of ways. And when he holds himself up with his arms, the muscles bulge and contour in a way that makes you want to give him everything you have. 

“Just relax for me, doll,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your lips with the most delicate force. “I want you comfortable first. Don’t ever want to hurt you.” 

He lays his body down between your legs, hands holding your ribs. His lips kiss a path down the center of your chest, spending a little extra time on each bud of your breasts. Sucking them gently, circling his warm tongue around them, paying each one the same amount of care. His tangled, messy hair, draped across your bare skin like a blanket of the finest material. It tickles your flesh as it falls over you, moving with him with the same lingering touch of his lips.

His lips mark a path down to your center, sucking a warm kiss on your lower belly. You sigh from the deepest point of your lungs at the feeling, his lips inching closer still until they meet your dripping core. A gentle kiss to your aching bud, with lips so full and warm. 

He moans at the taste of you, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks his lips, your juices dancing on his tongue. “Jesus,” he whispers, his breath hot against your chilled flesh. He places a palm on the back of each of your thighs, spreading you open even more before his lips press into you again, tender and primal. “Fucking intoxicating.”

His tongue trails your pulsing clit, falling down to your clenching opening and sinking inside. Pressing in and out, soft and gentle like the softest velvet inside of you. His face lifts away, just for a moment, giving room for his middle finger to slip inside. And again, he sinks in so carefully, his eyes studying your face. “This feel okay, doll?”

“Yes, yes…,” you breathe, your eyelids falling shut when his finger presses all the way to the knuckle. He holds still for a breath, then begins massaging your walls with the pad of his finger, somehow soothing any pain that exists. 

Fuck – you feel yourself clenching around him, muscles pusling with every movement. Your pussy, spilling around his finger from the most gentle touch he’s offering. When you feel his lips kiss the flesh of your inner thigh, you feel the warmth in your lower belly begin to spread, your heart beating faster and faster as your walls tighten. They give way to the most entrancing bliss, your wetness now dripping in the palm of his hand.

Jesus. The way he can do this to you, to make you fall apart with even the lightest touch…

Your hands reach for his hair – an instinct – gently pulling at the locks as you come down from your soothing euphoria.

“Does it feel better, doll?” He seals his question with another kiss to your thigh, his finger carefully pulling away as your breathing becomes normal again. In one spellbinding move, he places his finger in his mouth and sucks it clean, eyes growing darker as he tastes you on his skin.

“Mhm,” you hum, reaching for his shoulders, coaxing him up your body. You weave your fingers in his hair once more, using it to draw his face toward yours. He kisses your lips, so soft and warm. The taste of you, still lingering on his tongue. 

“My pretty doll…,” he whispers, the gruffness of his voice vibrating against the skin of your neck, his lips kissing a slow and lazy path to the shell of your ear. Goosebumps present themselves on each inch of your skin, your belly tightening as you feel the thick head of his cock begin to carefully slip inside of you. “Let me know if it’s too much,” he mutters, filling you at a slow and gentle pace.

The soreness from the night before is no more than a tender twinge, eased by the gentleness of his movements. An elating kind of ache, the kind that you welcome. 

You feel yourself growing more aroused, the dull ache only heightening your pleasure. Slow as he can, he fills you completely, resting inside of you. The careful twitching of his cock against your pulsing walls, the slow nibbles and kisses left by his lips against tight skin…the feeling in your belly only begins tightening even more. You’re certain you could reach your release again, just like this, with nothing more than him nestled inside of you, warm and full. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, hands tangled in his messy locks as he kisses along your jaw, the column of your neck. His hips, so tender in their wary movement. “I want you to come with me,” he mumbles, a warm, silken whisper into your skin. 

So lost in your state of bliss, you nearly missed his words, your mind focused only on the languid movements of his body and lips. There’s a beat of silence as you take a moment to register, and once you do, a memory of the very same words from last night comes forth in your mind. It leaves you with only one question.

“W-where, baby?” 

You can hardly speak, his body almost rendering you void of speech, lacking the proper weight of air in your lungs to form more than a few words. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he balances himself on one arm above you, the hand of the other cradling your face when his heavy-lidded eyes beg yours to look into them. “London, doll. Come with me to London. Go to Oxford, live in the literature with me.” 

What? 

Your brain short-circuits. Your eyelids flutter, like your body’s trying to make sense of what it’s just heard. He wants you to go with him? Instead of just staying here? 

“You…you’re still going?”

He nods slowly, his brows knitting together — like he can’t believe you’d even ask. The confusion in his eyes hits harder than words ever could. And suddenly, you’re humiliated for saying anything at all.

In the breath of a sigh, your body suddenly tenses beneath him, your hands letting go of his hair. He doesn’t waste another moment, reading the language of your body well enough to know that this should probably stop. 

He pulls himself away from you, slow and gentle, letting your body set the pace before he’s no longer resting warmly inside of you. 

He then helps you sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “Y/n…,” he begins, the muttering of your name sending a chill up your exposed spin. 

He’s sitting just across from you, black silk sheets draped over his hips, just below his stomach. You can see the outline of his cock – still hard – through the thin material, the indentions of his hips. The vision of him, making your core pulse between your legs…your body is betraying your emotions. 

But as much as you crave him, that moment has undeniably passed. 

Everything felt so soft, just a moment ago – his hands, his mouth. Now, it feels more distant than ever. Was it all just a prelude to this? 

“What – what made you think I wasn’t going, baby?”

“I – I guess I –,” you try, yet your mind is suddenly a scrambled mess of your own foolishness. “I don’t know…I was just hoping you changed your mind.”

He breathes a heavy sigh, tousling his hair with his fingers. He’s looking toward the corner of his room, staring off into a distance that you can’t see. You can only wonder what he’s thinking, his glaring eyes holding more depth within them than you’ve ever seen.

He lets out a breath once more, looking at you once again. His hand reaches for your calf, holding you within his warm grip while he glares at you with heavy intent. “Y/n, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you think that. But, doll…” He shifts closer to you, your legs now on either side of his hips, his hand gliding up to your thigh. “I’m still going. I have to, y/n. And I want you on this journey with me.” 

With him? To say you’re blindsided…

You’re in shock. Frozen in pure disbelief. Does he really think this could work?

“Jake that’s…” Your heart is spiraling. You want to cling to the version of this moment that was yours just minutes ago. The one where nothing else mattered. But now, every word feels like a cruel reminder that he’s already made his choice. 

But, fuck. Every goddamn cell in your body is longing to kiss him, to reach for him and hold him. You can’t. And fuck it all – you just don’t know what to do right now. “That’s not possible.”

“Look, I – I know I’m proposing something massive. But, I feel this from the depths of my soul, doll.” His hand reaches for yours, and you place it within his palm without question. His thumb, rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles, his body leaning closer. “This could be your path – you’re brilliant. Why don’t you give yourself the chance to embrace the sky? Soar beyond any limit you’ve placed on yourself?”

There’s something holding you back, a muffled voice in the back of your mind telling you that this can't happen. It’s impossible. Though, you can’t think of any good reason. The way he’s looking at you right now, waiting on his own bated breath for you to speak, like his very life depends on your answer…this is a pressure you’ve never known. 

You just want him to stay. To choose a future here – with you – instead of chasing on across the world.

How can he expect you to do something so drastic, something that’ll change every single aspect of your life? You’ve been through enough change. You’re sick of abrupt, unnerving change. 

For once, just for once, you wish things would remain just as they are.

No. You can’t do this. And he can’t expect you to do this. It isn’t as easy for you as it is for him. And apparently, it’s very easy for him. 

“I can’t, Jake. It isn’t that simple – nothing is that simple for me.” Your skin begins to heat with an anger you don’t recognize. This isn’t fair – it’s not right. He can’t string you along the way he has, lie to you, and then expect you to follow him wherever he goes. 

Suddenly, you can’t handle being in this bed any longer. You can’t handle him looking at you as though you are the problem here. Why is he putting all of this on you? 

Your canvas bag is laying on the floor next to the bed, just within arms reach. You lean over and dig through it until you find your pale blue Nike pullover. Once you toss it over your head, knowing it’s long enough to cover you, you pull yourself away from the bed, from him. 

“What are you doing, y/n?” Jake follows in suit, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him padding across the room to his dresser and pulling out a pair black sweatpants. You’re rummaging through your bag once more in a frantic search for the pair of leggings you know you packed with your sweatshirt.

“Can we please just talk about this?” He asks, standing directly behind you as you're crouched on the floor, finally locating the leggings. 

“My life isn’t something I can just pack up and carry to the other side of the world,” you snap as you step into your leggings, one foot at a time, the waistband snapping against your skin when you pull them up. 

Your next words churn in your stomach, bitter as bile rising in your throat. You don’t want to speak them – but they’re the truth. And he knows it just as well as you do. “You’re leaving, Jake. That’s not going to change. So why don’t you make it easier for both of us and just end this now?”

He flinches, as though you’ve just physically struck him. His jaw tensing, eyes glassy and dark. “So this, it’s just…” His hands float between the tiny space between you, a subtle gesture towards the both of you. “It’s just over, then? Just like that?”

“You’re not exactly giving this much of a chance. I don’t know what you expected me to do, but going to London isn’t possible, Jake.” 

That tiny space, closed in all the more as his body leans in towards yours. His breath, blowing gently against your tousled bangs. “You’ve still not given me a reason why you won’t come.” 

A reason…

Moving across the world for a man you’ve known no longer than a few months sounds rather absurd. 

But, you know better than to limit the person standing before you to just some man. Jake is different. He’s always been different. That pull toward him – it’s never made sense. Never needed to. It just is. Even when he acted as though you were the last person in the universe he’d want to be around. 

You thought you were over that. Over his aversion to you without any good rationale.

But.

What if that was the truth? What if he was never pretending? What if you were just something convenient for him? Something temporary?

Did he make you fall for him – give him the deepest parts of your heart – only to crush them when he decided you weren’t enough to stay for? And now he has the audacity to ask you to go to him?

Well, he’s asking you to do the impossible. And at this point, it’s offensive that he’d do so. He knows you can’t do that. Why torment you further? And why does he think you’d move across the globe for him, when there are plenty of opportunities right here in the states for you? It’s not all about him. You are just as much a part of this equation as he is. And, in your mind, even more so.

You’ve not made the decision yet. Haven't given yourself enough time to give it the proper amount of consideration. But if it’s a reason that he wants…

“I’m going to L.A.”

He says nothing. His eyes widen, lips part, but no words come.

So, you will fill the silence.

“After – after I graduate, I’m going to L.A. to pursue this, this modeling thing.  It’s…it’s what I want, Jake. I want to do this.”

Still, no words dare to leave his plush lips. Instead, a silent echo of despair plays across his features. Looking down at you, his lips now closed in a tight line. Questions in abundance are written in his eyes, yet he still doesn’t ask them. The air, tense and heavy, is now suffocating. 

But, why? Why would he be so full of disillusionment when he won’t even be here to see you leave, like you will be forced to do when he leaves? 

It’s not entirely the truth. You don’t know if you’ll actually go through with this. But that isn’t the point. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping you from giving in.

This isn’t just about him. 

The silence grows unbearable.You can practically hear his heartbeat in your own ears. You feel this urge to explain yourself, though you know you don’t owe him a thing. Still, your heart is working overtime to keep your walls up. And, looking into his whiskey toned eyes, your heart is begging to be placed on your sleeve. 

“I just…” Your voice, weighted and hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m graduating earlier than I thought. This May, actually. And I wanted to –,”

He lets out a sharp exhale, making you stop.

Your words barely make sense in your own mind. Saying them outloud only makes them sound more absurd.

What the fuck are you even saying?

This reason is beginning to feel more like an excuse. And, what Jake doesn’t know is that you’ve already applied to Oxford. And yeah, you did it mostly because of the persuasion from Dr. Movack. But, your professor isn’t the only reason you did so. 

You should be excited to tell Jake about it. But instead, you’re lying to his face to prove a point. A point that has become lost within his eyes. 

If he found out – if he knew you’d already considered choosing London – what would he think about this?

You’ve dug yourself a goddamn hole. And at this point, you can no longer see any glimmer of sunlight at the top.

He takes a step back from you, to which you feel the coldness in the air at his absence. Only a step, but a pronounced step. Enough that you’ve lost his warmth. He scoffs as he prepares his response, the callous smirk on his lips agitating you to no end. “And what exactly are you going to L.A. for?”

Excuse me? Have you seriously forgotten, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You tilt your chin up, defensive.“Stardust, Jake. The agency that wants me to model for them. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He laughs, dryly, looking at you as if your words were some other language he didn’t fully comprehend. “A good opportunity for what, exactly?”

The uncontrolled huff of sharp breath that passes your lips is nearly matching his own mockery, the muscles in your jaw tightening as you begin to speak. “For my future. I want to do this. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

If you don’t believe what you’re saying, you know he doesn’t, either. But you’re not giving this up. If he can have his thing, so can you. 

“That is bullshit, y/n. And you know it just as well as I do.” He steps forward again, closer this time, forcing you to meet his gaze. His stern, serious glare that’s making any air from your lungs catch in your throat before it can reach your lips. His voice drops, intense. “Since when do you care about modeling? Since when is that something you’ve ever wanted?”

Arms still crossed tightly over your chest, you steel yourself, firm. “People change.”

“No.” He exhales, sharply, shaking his head. “People lie to themselves when they’re trying to prove a point, when they’re trying to be ingenuine and deny who they are.” 

How dare he…

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” His voice is razor-sharp, but his eyes soften. “Trying to prove a point to me? Because I don’t know what you’re doing, y/n, but I know you’re not doing this because you want to.”

The muscles in your jaw clench once again, to a near painful degree. Your heart beats angrily in your chest, slamming against your ribs. “Why do you care so much about what I do? You don’t know everything, Jake. You don’t know everything about me.”

His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Then, softer – quieter – he says, “I do know you.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath, gaze locked onto yours. “And I know that your passions have never had anything to do with ending up on the cover of a magazine.”

He leans in just enough to make you catch your breath. His voice is raw, almost pleading.

“It’s late nights buried in stories, dissecting them until you’ve found every possible hidden meaning. Studying until your eyes are too heavy to stay open. It’s m –,”

He swallows hard. Shuts his eyes for a second. When they open again, they’re softer.

“It’s literature, y/n. The lore you’ve fallen in love with won’t be there when you’re posing behind a camera.”

Your stomach twists. A lump rises in your throat.

You want to be angry. You want to tell him he’s wrong.

But he’s not.

He’s dead fucking on.

And he knows it.

But you’re not backing down.

“I can do this, Jake. I am doing this.” Your voice shakes, yet you keep your chin held high. “This is for me to decide, not you.”

“I’m not trying to decide anything. I just — it’s dangerous, y/n. Dangerous for someone like you –,”

“Someone like me?”

Realization begins its dawn, and every silent second that passes winds you up like a tightening wire, tension creeping up your spine the longer he doesn’t speak. Though the fear that exists in relation to his next words is incredibly pronounced, you do wish he’d just say something. 

You can decipher one thing within his silence – he didn’t mean to go this route. And it’s evident that he isn’t prepared for such a conversion.

And neither are you.  

“I just mean –,” he tries, though your own mouth seems to be moving much faster than his.

“You really think I’m not strong enough, is that it? Think I can’t handle it?”

“Y/n –,”

“You think I’ll fall apart.”

His lips are pressed in a thin, firm line. Not quite a frown, not soft. The corners of his mouth are twitching just slightly, betraying the tension on his jaw. A heavy gaze cast upon you, loaded with concern, unwavering. Like he’s holding back something. 

He doesn’t confirm your question, though he’s not denying it. 

It’s true. It’s exactly what he thinks. 

You shake your head as you look away, as it’s becoming increasingly difficult to look at him any longer. To see those eyes, looking at you is if you’ll break at any second. “I’m not some fragile thing, Jake. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you were.” He hesitates, as though he’s pondering his next words with careful precision. You then feel a finger hook under your jaw, pressing you to look back to him. And when you give in to his touch, as you irritatingly seem unable to deny, you realize the worry in his eyes has only grown deeper, heavier. His face, far softer than before. “But you’re not invincible, either.”

Those words…they sit in the air for a moment, weighted. They echo through your mind, hearing his voice repeat them over and over on a loop. They only go silent when his hand cups your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek bone as he takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving, y/n. I’m leaving soon. And I’m begging you…” He leans in just a spell, yet enough that his lips are daring to touch yours. “Please consider chasing after what you love.”

What I love. 

He means literature. He means books, stories. Lore that you’ve become lost within more times than you have your own, real life. The very thing that has been the only constant in your life, the world that remained stable for you when yours fell apart. 

Yes, that is what he means. 

But, one thing you’ve realized you love even more than literature…

If you were to choose London, if you decide to go to school at Oxford University, to chase after what you love…

You’d be chasing after him. 

And you can’t. You can’t do that. Not this time.

As his lips press into yours, you let yourself feel them. Kissing him it’s…it’s the most painful kind of bliss you’ve ever known. 

And before the kiss can linger any longer, you pull away. And it hurts. The pain, physical, pressing into your ribs. This choice isn’t easy. 

But it’s right. 

“And what if I don’t, Jake?” 

His eyes, beautiful, laced with honey and whiskey, flicker with a pain you’ve never seen in him before. And when you take a step back, keeping your arms safely over your chest, they become even darker as he rips them away from you. Staring at the floor, a hand running through his silken locks, he says the words you thought you were prepared to hear. But, as it is, you’re not. 

“Then, I guess this is over.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The morning sun was blinding through the layer of frozen glass the night's bitter cold had left behind on your windshield. Though it was hard to see, the wipers did help to clear your view, and the sun was shielded a little by your sunglasses. You didn’t want to spend another second there, so you took the risk and left.

The ice melted eventually.

The drive home presented a new kind of numbness to your system. A hollow, stagnant void where emotion should be. Your mind, meanwhile, spins like a relentless tornado. A storm of thought that you just can’t calm down.

 Thoughts about London. About L.A – a modeling job that you may have just decided to accept. (Out of spite.)

Modeling…when the fuck have you ever wanted to model?

His words have played like a cracked record in your mind since you left his room. Skipping, stuttering, never stopping. Over and over again – his voice presses against your thoughts as if he’s still standing by your side, breathing them into your ear. 

Every last word his lips spoke this morning. All of them, sitting directly against your chest, weighing down your heart, refusing to let you take a full breath.

You’re adamantly against going to London. It’s out of the question. It just can’t happen. 

Only, you seem to have forgotten why.

You’re reasoning, your excuse – it’s slipped your mind somewhere beyond your reach. All you can think about now is the way his emotions flooded his eyes when you walked away.

Neither of you said much before you left. It’s true – he got the last word. The last one that mattered, at least. There wasn’t anything more you could’ve said. Though, there was plenty more you wanted to say. But your pride wouldn’t allow for it. Instead, you offered an absent “goodbye,” and walked away, leaving everything from last night and this morning behind with him.

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

The truth is, last night and this morning are stitched into you now. And they’ll stay there, clinging to you for a long, long time.

Forever, maybe. 

But right now, you don’t have the luxury of letting yourself outwardly feel it. You probably couldn’t even if you tried.

Your mom needs you. And you’ll give her as much of yourself as possible until Nat comes to pick you up for graduation later this morning.

Yes – you’re still going. You have to. Not just for Jake, for Josh, too. (And for you, in a way that you can’t fully comprehend just yet. But, you know you need it. In some way.)

She’s doing pretty well this morning. Her breathing is mostly clear, her skin looks more plump and hydrated than usual. She’s even got enough energy for a cup of coffee, something she hasn’t wanted the last few mornings.

You’ll take that as a good sign. Anything she can put in her system is a step in the proper direction. Even if it’s just a warm cup of coffee.

You have your own coffee in hand, having made a quick stop at Hyperion on the way here. The place Sam took you to not long ago – you found yourself a strange craving for it this morning. 

It’s so cold out today, and a warm vanilla latte sounded like the perfect remedy to contrast the chilly air. The sweet, warm drink – comforting in more ways than one right now. 

You’re ready for the ceremony a bit earlier than you needed to be. There’s still at least thirty minutes until Nat and Danny are expected to pick you up. You’re glad you gave yourself a little extra time, because the jewelry in your green velvet box has somehow become a tangled mess. Every necklace, knotted into one giant ball of metal chain. 

You only begin to panic when you see gold, a realization that your necklace from your dad is mixed up in there.

You can’t begin to fathom how this happened. It just doesn’t make sense. Everything in this box is always handled with the utmost care – you never leave it in a state that could cause this to happen. 

Panic ensues even more when you see the sword charm poking through the center of the mix. 

Every other necklace, you couldn’t care less what happens to them. But those two, specifically, you need to untangle, safely. 

A few bobby pins lie loose at the bottom of the vox, scattered across the black velour lining,m spared from the tangled chaos.

This trick has worked before – surely it’ll work now.

You grab one, pry it flat and wedge one end of it right in the center of the knot. You dig, twist, nudge, searching for any slack you can find. You tease at coils and pull at edges until something begins to give. But as a few chains start to loosen, your mom calls from the living room, asking for another cup of coffee.

“Y-yeah, one sec,” you call back, voice tight as you frantically attempt to free at least one of the two necklaces. You’ve managed to untangle most of the others, but not those – not the ones you need. They refuse to budge.

And now that a few links are freed, you can see it clearly – the two necklaces, your gold charm with your initial, and the sword, are wrapped into each other in a single, impossible knot. It almost looks deliberate, like someone rolled the chains between their palms, again and again, until they became fused together in a tight mess.

If you had the time, you know you could get them loose. You know that. But right now, you don’t.

You’ve hardly gone a day without wearing the necklace from your dad. It’s been your anchor as of late. Without it, you feel a sense of loneliness. Emptiness.

And today, of all days, you could really use it’s comfort. But there’s just no time to free it.

It’s the same story with the sword. 

You probably shouldn’t wear it today, but you want to. 

Again, there’s no time. 

Both will have to stay here, twisted and snarled together in a bind that you can’t release them from. The thought has your throat constricting, your chest heating with a frustrated sadness. 

Is this what will finally get me to cry this morning? 

“Y/n!” The power behind her voice startles youm cutting through the quiet storm. She’s mustered enough strength to yell, probably more than she should spend, all for the sake of another cup of coffee.

“Coming,” you say, a whisper, using the sleeve of your sweater to dry your dampening eyes before carefully closing the lid of your jewelry box.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Graduation.

The twins didn’t leave a single person out today. 

Sam, Nat, Malachi, Danny – even Danny’s parents were extended an invite. And you, of course. Weeks have passed since Jake had personally handed you your own invite. Though, when he did, things were a bit different between you two than they are now. Of course, you had no problem making the promise to be here today at that time. 

It stings your chest when it dawns on you – their parents would have been here. Their grandparents, too. They’re supposed to be here. Thanks to the cruel nature of the world, they aren’t.  

Jake’s emotions were certainly heavy this morning. Heavier than usual. And fuck you for not even thinking of the fact that he’s graduating college without any of the people who raised him being here. Not a single one. 

The grief he must be experiencing at this very moment…you can’t fathom. Truly.

And here you are – doing whatever the fuck you’re doing – perhaps making it worse for him. Maybe he will be better off in London, without you to drag him down any further. 

And yet, here you are, at the packed full Crisler Arena to witness Jake and Josh be granted their well deserved degrees. And that’s just the thing – this day is just as much about Josh, too, whom you also made the very same promise to. You couldn’t break the promise you’d made, to both of them. No matter the circumstances.

The last graduation you attended was your own from high school, some four years ago now. You graduated alongside a measly thirty six students, nothing in comparison to the eight thousand and some change that will be handed their futures today. It’s the moments like these that you realize just how different the world you grew up in was. Vastly different. Cherry Tree may as well be another world – another universe – at this point. 

A simple, all-black outfit felt like the best choice for today. Not that you typically wear much different – black just happens to be the most flattering shade on you. The favorite look as of late has been an oversized sweater and tights, with your thrifted Chelsea boots and your pleather coat. A little variation in the sweaters, of course. Today’s is a full-fledged turtle neck with bell sleeves. 

The red lip has become a staple of yours since filming came to an end. And having taken a bit more time with your eye makeup as of late, you’ve perfected a quick black wing with nothing more than an angle brush and a good black eyeshadow. The film brought out a new sense of confidence in you that you’re trying your damnedest to include in your day to day. The modeling offer certainly helped with that cause, too. 

The clothes are still big – they still hide your body when you can’t allow yourself the poise to show off that part of yourself. But, you’ve discovered that a few extra minutes on your makeup in the mornings does add an air of confidence about you that you wouldn’t have normally. 

Simple. But effective. And yet one more instance in which this film changed the entire pathway of your existence. 

Nat is a picture of perfection in her midnight blue bodycon. Full sleeves, the dress reaching her nude heel clad feet in a sweater material to keep her warm. Every color compliments her honeyed skin tone, but this particular tinge of blue, a rich sapphire – her skin is glowing more than ever. 

And Danny, her model compliment in a mustard yellow sweater and dark wash jeans. 

The first thing you noticed about the pair today when they came to pick you up was their curls. Both of them, with the shiniest, tightly defined ringlets framing their features. Nat’s hair, always the most incredible set of ebony curls, so there wasn’t a single cell in your body that was shocked to see her hair in such pristine shape. 

But Danny’s. His curls are gorgeous, but they’re always a bit more frizzy than his counterparts. Noting how shiny and defined his shoulder-length curls are today, pulled back in a handsome half-up ponytail, you made sure to extend him a compliment. To which, unsurprisingly, Nat boasted her own hand in the matter, twirling one of his curls around her finger from the passenger's seat while he drove. “He finally let me dip into my products and give this hair a proper curl routine,” she’d said, admiring her work while he was stuck at a red light. 

He said she’d argued with him for weeks about it, but he finally gave in and let her have her way. And, knowing Nat, there is truly no other way to be had. He was bound to give in someday, so she was going to have it her way, one way or another. 

She even got him to admit that she was right about the effect a couple of curl creams could have on already beautiful curls. And that, you’re certain, boosted her ego tenfold. But she deserves it. Because, when it comes to hair – specifically curly hair – everyone should trust Natalia Delores with their life. 

It felt like a bit of an inside joke when Danny’s parents even noticed the stark difference in his locks, his mom practically squealing when she saw him, doting over how ‘handsome her sweet boy’ is. His dad, big Dan, made a couple jokes regarding his own hair that had begun to thin over the years, but that he was a true lady killer back in the eighties with his hair that didn’t require the ever-popular perm. Lori, Danny’s mom, one of the sweetest souls you’ve ever encountered, had to disagree with her husband. It certainly garnered a chuckle out of you, and it was very much needed.

Being here now, after the events of this morning – from only a few hours ago – your nerves are teetering the edge. And aside from the obvious, being here to watch Jake in his final moments as an undergraduate, his final moments in the role that introduced you to him…

Perhaps it’ll offer some closure. Finality to the months long rendezvous with him, that came to an end hours before this very moment. 

This will give that ending its final bow. A piece you’ll no longer need to cling onto, one that you can allow to end the second he receives his degree. 

A chapter, coming to its final end.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d tried so hard not to place him amongst the rest of the graduates, but your eyes find him naturally – drawn to him the way moths are drawn to moonlight. For a moth, the lunar veil serves as its guiding glow. Its sense of direction. Its instinctual compass.

Without the quiet, pale glow, it will lose its way –  frantic, searching for something to replace it, something else to be its guide. But nothing will offer the sanctuary it once found in the ashen gleam. Instead, what it clings to seals its fated demise. 

You are the moth – irresistibly pulled towards him, a desire that at times overrides all reason and sense.

But, Jake. 

Is he the moon that represents the right path, or is he the false light you cling to that knocks you off course? 

If nothing else, you’re certain of this – after last night, and especially after this morning, the sight of him derives the kind of pain that feels wrong to be felt. Too heavy, cutting much too deep for him to be the thing that lights the right path for you.

Still, though. 

You know it hurts because you want him to represent the right path. 

But if he doesn’t, you can’t force him to. Fate is fate. You can’t choose who will guide you in the right direction. 

And yet, there he is. Glowing amongst thousands of other graduates – a gleam in the ocean of students wearing their all-black regalia. Your vantage point, a bit distorted from how far up you are; a disadvantaged side view at best. But, that’s enough to know he looks incredible. Unfairly beautiful. And if anyone could make a cap and gown look like a sin, it’s Jake. 

The only thing that disappoints you is how little you can see of him. 

You should be surprised that he’s sporting his round, black frames on the day of his commencement – you can spot them easily, even from this high up. 

You’re not surprised he’s wearing them. Not even a little bit. They’re a classic Jake statement at this point. And frankly, it makes you smile that he’s wearing them. Those John Lennon shades that are his staple, that go perfectly with any outfit he wears – indoors and out, huge event or casual outing. 

If it weren’t for Josh and Natalia’s protests to your aversion to coming today, you wouldn’t be here. Truly, it’s the last place you want to be at the moment. 

Your heart begins fluttering a mile a second as his row rises next, each student filing toward the stairs at the side of the stage to begin their walk. Only a few more names stand in the way the moment he will cross beneath the stage lights, Josh close behind him for his own journey. You’re just as nervous as if you were right alongside the rest of the graduates, feeling the daunting pressure of having your name read aloud for the thousands of people watching you.

But you’re also proud. So, so proud. Of both of them. If you were to be asked, you’d say that those two are the most deserving of this outstanding eminence. 

Your heart pounds – fast and hard – when the student ahead of Jake steps onto the stage. You don’t catch their name. Wouldn’t be able to name this person if you tried. Even as their name has just been announced through the microphone, bouncing off every wall in this massive place. 

No, when your sights are set on Jake, everything else around you turns to black. 

Then, you watch Jake slip off his shades, gripping them tightly in his right hand. Behind him, Josh reaches out and pats his twin’s shoulder. But Jake turns, pulling him into a hug instead. A sweet rebellion against the formality.

Though you’re a few hundred feet away from them, the distance shrinking them to tiny blips of themselves, you can see and feel their shared emotions. 

Your whole row stands in preparation for Jake’s walk. And, while the name read just a moment ago was a muffled echo, Jake’s name rings perfectly loud and fucking clear. 

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.” 

Thunderous. 

The cheers are like constant claps of powerful thunder accompanying his well deserved trek along the stage. But, as loud as the nearly twelve thousand spectators are, Josh’s cheers are certainly giving everyone here a run for their money. You swear you can hear him shouting for his twin. Whistling through his fingers, screaming what you can only assume is an abundant ‘hell yeah, Jake!’ at the very top of his lungs. Josh is loud. That is just a fact. 

Chi’s face is beat red at his fiance’s display, though he can’t disguise the smile stretching across his pearly whites. Nat can’t stop giggling at him, cheering Jake on through beats of laughter. And Sam, chanting hard for his brother is such a sweet display. Huge grin, palm-clapping louder than everyone else.

You don’t know how he’s so alert today. You’d thought for sure he’d be out for the count with the world's worst hangover, given his state last night. But his demeanor is quite the opposite. If you didn’t know he was blackout drunk only twelve or so hours ago, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t even look sleepy. 

How? 

Meanwhile, the buzz you had last night is still present in your queasy tummy and aching head. Though, that could be the effects from this morning, the loud, constant echoes of cheers in the arena. Could be a lot of things, truly. 

You’ve noticed it a few times since you’ve been here, but Sam’s eyes keep finding you from the other end of the row. He’ll smile each time your eyes meet, a smile that says there’s more to it than just a friendly grin. You don’t know what, of course. But he’s looked at you most of this time. And all you can do, aside from blush, is smile right back.

Summa Cum Laude. The highest academic honor bestowed upon Jake, and a golden medal placed around his neck to signify his massive achievements as a scholar. His brain is a work of pure art, a place of wonderment.

And, unfortunate for you, it’s sexy as hell that he’s been given this honor, that he’s earned it. A perfect grade point average to seal his bachelor’s degree. 

Far away as you are, up high in the stands, you can still see the tight, closed-lip smile on his mouth as Dr. Movack personally hands him his diploma holder. A strong handshake from the two, turning into a warm squeeze. A tear begs to fall from your eye at the vision, though you sniff it away before it can make its quick escape. 

Crying is ridiculous right now. Save it, y/n. 

He then pauses for his photograph, hand in hand with Dr. Ono, U of M’s President, a slightly bigger grin on his lips. After a second, he continues down the stage with a saunter in true, Jake fashion; no urgency whatsoever in his boot-clad steps. His golden stole embroidered with the letter ‘M’ swinging from his neck, amongst a plethora of colorful chords to accompany his medal. And his cap, lazily sat on top of his chestnut hair, on the verge of slipping off his head entirely. 

Time is moving in slow motion as you watch him make his final steps across the stage, stopping to place his tassel to the left for his official graduate photo at the end of the small staircase leading back to the floor seats. The same path every student who’s walked the stage has taken thus far. Only, Jake is the first student you’ve seen thus far to place sunglasses on his face for his photograph. 

That little gesture certainly makes you smile, annoying as it may be. Because, seriously – who does that? 

Jacob Thomas Kiszka. That’s who. 

Those give peace a chance shades, straight out of the strawberry fields. The ones you tried to hate, but for very obvious reasons, you just couldn't. Ever. 

The lump in your throat as you’ve just witnessed his final moments as an undergraduate is so profound, nearly choking you with the urge to shed a lot of tears. But, you swallow them back yet again when his twins name is announced, the very same academic merit bequeathed to him.

“Joshua Michael Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.”

In the same, identical fashion to Jake, the arena erupts with celebratory applause. Josh, not nearly as cool and collected as Jake, practically skips down the stage, pumping his fists high in the air before he reaches Dr. Turner, who’s handing him his own diploma holder. 

Josh doesn’t hold back – he goes straight for the hug. No handshake, no formalities necessary; just a full hug. A Josh hug – the most loving type of hug there is. 

Malachi can’t stop shouting for his fiance. Jumping up and down, flailing his long, lanky arms about, his tall frame making the entire row shake with his celebration. Nat certainly is not much different, having now celebrated both twins in a similar fashion to Chi. They are siblings, afterall. 

As Josh takes his final steps across the stage, he looks directly to your row, locking eyes the best he can with Malachi despite their hundred-foot distance. And with that, both of them blow each other kisses and catch them, holding their closed fists to their heart at the exact same time. 

Their love is so beautiful – it truly makes your heart hurt with adoration. 

Of course, no sunglasses grace Josh’s face for his photograph at the end of the stage. Only a massive, full-toothed smile. The most precious human being. Always.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Good afternoon, graduates, families, faculty, and honored guests.”

The graduates have all passed along the stage, and in what you would consider to be record timing. Thousands of them, in just under two hours. Given the sheer volume of people in their graduation regalia, you expected at least double the amount of time that it actually took. 

Dr. Ono is now center stage, reciting his final, farewell speech to the crowd before the ceremony comes to its official end. 

“Today, we gather not only to celebrate achievement, but to honor the grit, the growth, and the passion that brought each of you to this moment. You’ve written papers through the night, questioned the world around you, and dared to dream a little bigger every year. And now here you are, crossing this stage into your next chapter.”

“I’d like to take a moment to recognize a few extraordinary groups among you. To those who graduated Summa, Magna, and Cum Laude, please stand so that we may recognize you once more.” 

Jake, Josh, along with several other students stand to be honored. The twins, each nudging into each other with their shoulders and smiling, reaching around to shake the hands of their fellow peers and friends who are also standing. 

And of course, the audience celebrates them with echoed intensity, a sky-splitting roar in the arena. 

Dr. Ono claps a few times away from the mic before giving permission for the graduates to take their seats once more.

“Before we conclude this morning’s ceremony,” he continues once the crowd has quieted, his gaze sweeping the sea of caps and gowns seated in their designated chairs across the floor. “There is one final honor I wish to recognize – an extraordinary one.”

He pauses a moment, folding his hands lightly over the edge of the glass podium. The crowd quiets a smidge further, distant sounds of careful coughs and gentle whispers are the only murmurings among everyone.“In my more than twenty years of service in higher education, I’ve personally had the privilege of bestowing this award to only three students. Today, I am both honored and proud to say that a fourth joins their ranks.”

He takes a breath, steadying his voice. “Today,” he continues, more umph on the word this time. “This University, founded over two hundred years ago, will see its thirty-second recipient of one of the most distinguished academic awards in education.”

You can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling – quiet, a little uncertain. Yer, undeniable.

This is for Jake.

"The Rhodes Scholarship, established over one hundred and twenty years ago, remains one of the most prestigious academic honors in the world. It was created to fully fund the postgraduate studies of exceptional students at the University of Oxford in England. This student was nominated by the English department chair, Dr. Chadwick Movack.”

Yep. Here it is.

“Admission to Oxford alone is a remarkable achievement. To be selected for the Rhodes Scholarship – among thousands of applicants worldwide – is a rare and extraordinary distinction.”

Your eyes, ever trained to spot him as they are, immediately find him in the mix of black caps. 

And there he is, sitting beside his twin, looking up at Dr. Ono as he finishes his speech. Seemingly unaware that he is the honoree. But, how could he suspect any differently? Who else would be so deserving? Who else from this class is going to Oxford?

In your mind, no one, not a single soul, is more deserving than him. 

“At this time, would you please join me in congratulating Jacob Thomas Kiszka for his outstanding achievements.” 

Like a storm breaking, the arena fills with roaring applause. Most are standing in ovation, including your row. Each of you, shooting up the moment his name is announced. Hell, you were ready when he said Movack’s name. When Dr. Ono mentioned Oxford. 

Those tears – you were able to hold them back before. But, right now? They’re entirely uncontrolled. Wetting your cheeks, landing on top of your smiling lips, a salty taste finding your tongue. 

These are proud tears, happy tears. 

But, selfishly, these tears do not just celebrate. 

They mourn. Each drop on your cheek is a word your lips cannot say. Not right now. And, perhaps, not ever again. 

Yes, these tears are born of pride and joy. But even moreso, they are born of the ache in your heart. 

Nat, standing beside you, cheering for her friend to the fullest extent that she can, quickly looks to you. She must’ve heard a sniffle, a quiet sob that needed release. 

She knows. 

And she offers no words, for she understands that words aren’t needed. Only the kind touch of a friend who gets it, a sweet embrace of your shoulder as she smiles at you. A quiet reassurance that, although it doesn’t feel like it right now, everything will be okay. 

Eventually.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Hey, y/n!” Sam taps your shoulder to gather your attention, walking close enough behind you that his foot catches the heel of your boot. 

“S-sorry about that,” he giggles as you turn your head over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of his warm smile and sleepy, alcohol-binged eyes. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to run a quick errand with me before we head back to the apartment. Won’t take long, just need to pick something up real fast.” 

Upon first instinct, your eyes make a quick scan to locate Jake. He’s walking with Josh and Malachi, reading from the graduation program and seemingly paying no attention to you. So be it, then. 

“Y-yeah, sure!” The excitement in your voice is feigned, and you’re not even sure why you said yes. It’s not what you wanted to say, not what you want to do. But Sam’s excitement is very much real, and the gesture to lock his arm with yours as you make your exit from the arena a bit quicker is indicative that you’re now fully committed.

Arm in arm, you walk past a somewhat confused couple that you rode with initially. “I’ll uh, I’ll meet you guys there,” you say to them as Sam drags you along. Nat nods her head as she continues down the stairs with Danny.

Sam, acting as though he’s been here dozens of times, takes you through an alternate route, away from the mass of the crowd. A bit of a back way, of sorts, walking you through the areas behind the stands in lieu of through them. And he’s smiling the whole time, too. Like the most giddy, excitable child about to embark on a wondrous vacation. Before you know it, you’ve surpassed the crowd of people and made it to one of the parking lots, Sam’s vintage Bug now in clear sight. Certainly hard to miss such a vibrant orange amongst a sea of neutral colored vehicles. You’ve hardly gotten the chance to throw your pleather coat on before he’s prancing around to the drivers side and not wasting a single second to hop in. 

“I presume you’ll tell me where we’re going soon,” You say, situating yourself in the passenger seat while he takes a moment to let the engine warm. 

He chuckles with a mysterious undertone, stretching his seatbelt over his lap. “You’ll see when we get there!” Seatbelts secured, the engine thrums a deep grumble as he backs out of the parking spot.

Old as his Bug is, his radio is still in working condition, quite unlike your Firebird that’s about thirty years newer than his cruiser. He scans the stations for a second until you hear a few recognizable chords, and a very distinct voice belonging to none other than Ann Wilson. “Ah, a classic,” Sam says, turning the volume up a few notches, Alone echoing off of every window and leather seat. “These women are badass.”

Sam starts bobbing his head in beat with the drum, as though it’s a full on rock anthem instead of the heartbreak ballad you know it to be. His voice, hit in pitch and a little more than rough, slips into the chorus: “I never really cared until I met you!” 

He certainly doesn’t hold back, even tossing in a dramatic air-drum hit on the dashboard for good measure. You try to keep a straight face, really – you try. But the sight of him getting incredibly theatrical with the song that has no business being funny is just too much. A giggle slips out before you can stop it, and even you find yourself falling victim to the catchy lick of the song. 

“And now it chills me to the bone – how do I get you alone?” The two of you, singing in perfectly off-key unison. He glances at you and smirks as the final chorus finishes out, both of you still singing your hearts out like you mean each and every word. And maybe you do. Maybe he does. 

Underneath the laughter and tone-deaf singing, the lyrics somehow begin hitting a little too close. That ache Ann is singing of – wanting someone who just feels out of reach. Yeah. That gets shoved down real fast. 

The song fades to its ending, and Sam’s fingers twist the volume knob to the left, turning it down to a near mute. The static noises being the only thing left that can still be heard, along with the rumbling tires against the paved city roads. 

“I heard about the modeling offer,” Sam admits with quite the grin stretching his mustache. Still looking at the road, his head is just slightly cocked towards you, awaiting your response as he’s ready to give you his attention on the matter. Already, a drastic difference in the way Jake has treated the situation. Not a smile one on his lips when you’d discussed it. He acted repulsed by the idea, implied that you lack the strength to be able to handle such a thing. But Sam…

“Not too sure about it yet,” you say, staring down into your lap as your mind flashes images of Jake from this morning, when you’d had a very similar conversation that went to absolute shit. 

Those images begin to fade, though, the second that Sam chimes in with his opinion. And, again – a drastic difference from his older brother. “Well, I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” he boasts, his heartfelt smile widening all the more, his eyes lit up as they move back and forth from you and the road. “Look at you, y/n. You’re just as pretty as any model I’ve ever seen. Prettier, even.”

When he reaches the four way stop, waiting for the two cars that were there first to take their turns, his warm hand reaches for your thigh, holding you just above the knee. Fingers wrapped tight around you, thumb rubbing small circles over your tights. 

Sam hasn’t touched you like this in….well, it’s been a very long time. And as innocent of a gesture as it is, you can’t deny the rush of heat burning your chest, filling your lungs at the contact. And right now, though you’ll never admit it outloud, you can’t deny it to yourself that you want more. 

It feels nice. Really nice. And his compliment certainly helped. Something Jake can’t seem to do. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that it just might be a really good thing for you, that it could help you. Instead, he thinks you’re too weak to handle such a thing. Well, you may just have to prove him wrong. And you may need Sam to help you do that. 

Though Sam was not garnering much attention from you last night at the party, you do remember overhearing a few conversations between him and a couple of guests he was taking photos of for Josh’s guest book. Apparently, from what you could gather, Sam offered to take the photos with his new Polaroid for the purpose of testing it out. He’d been finding himself deep within the photography realm as of late, and wanted the opportunity to hone in his skills a bit. 

And, though you’ve blocked a lot of this night out of your mind, the night you found yourself tangled up with him in his sheets, your memory is clear enough to recall a collection of cameras sitting neatly on top of his dresser. Some new, some old. Dozens of them.

“Sammy, would you want to help me with something?” You ask, your own hand instinctively finding the top of his, still draped over your leg. The movement didn’t even require a thought – you just did it. It was a natural compulsion – you’re not even sure why it happened. 

But it did. And Sam, given his cherry red cheeks and a grin that reaches his bright eyes, he certainly likes it. 

“Anything for you,” he answers through his smile, voice sweet and soft as silk. 

“I need to build a portfolio for the agency. Just a collection of photos to show my skill, or whatever.” It feels odd to even speak about these things, as if the contract has already been accepted. Of course, it very much has not been. You’ve not called Sylvia back to confirm or deny, and you haven’t even made up your mind whether you will or won’t. She did, however, advise that you go ahead and gather some photos to submit. Just so they have something, should you decide to go ahead with it. Doing so doesn’t exactly promise anything. So, what’s the harm in it? And, what’s the harm in enlisting Sam for a little help? Afterall, it’d be helping him, too. His drive is awfully attractive to you. 

He pats your thigh before he answers your question, breathing a sweet giggle as he pulls his Bug into a parking lot. You’d been so caught up in the conversation, in his hand warming your leg, that you hadn’t been paying any mind to where you were going, to where you are right now. You’ve driven past it a couple of times, always felt a sense of pride in the city for housing such a place. All About Animals, a rescue, shelter, and adoption agency for homeless animals. 

You did notice something in the back seat earlier, though you’ve not really looked until now; a pink collar with a silver charm dangling from the clasp, a matching pink leash curled around it, and a white harness with pink polka-dots. That’s right. Sam told you last week that he was on the hunt for a puppy. 

Oh my goodness. 

“I would be honored to take photos of you, y/n,” Sam says as he tosses the gear in park, jiggling the key a bit until it comes out of the ignition. But you’re a bit too distracted to talk about that any longer.

“Sam! Are we picking up your puppy?” Your voice blurts out in a beam of pure excitement, ignoring his offer to help entirely as you’re pulling your seatbelt off and opening the door, all in one eager go. 

He does the same, an ecstatic leap from the driver's side, far too distracted to bother with locking up the Bug before taking impatient strides toward the glass doors. “Yep!”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Well hi there, Samuel!” Her eyes crinkle with the smile she offers him. She gives her auburn-dyed curls a quick fluff with one hand, the strands springing up against her forehead like they’ve done this a hundred times before. With the same hand, she reaches into the front pocket of her cotton denims – the kind with the elastic waistband – and pulls out a baby pink hanky. She blows her nose into it with a loud honk, folds it neatly, and tucks it right back where it came from like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The smile on your lips is derived from a memory, to a time when you’d visit Texas, playing by yourself in the humid afternoon air, your grandma doing practically the exact same thing as she enjoyed her porch swing. The Summer air would often make her sneeze, and boy would she let one fly. Rather dramatically so. 

The old hanky, the loud nose blowing and sneezing. A few silly things that you’ll always remember, and with a strange fondness that feels altogether nostalgic and melancholic. 

“S’it that day already?” Shesteps around the corner, arms open wide for Sam who walks right into her embrace without hesitation. It’s a sweet sight – she doesn’t even clear his shoulder, her short frame swallowed by the hug. 

“Sure is! Can you believe it?” Sam replies, his voice high and bright. Their hug lingers a beat or two longer than you’d expect, held together by something deeper than a simple greeting of an acquaintance. When she pulls back, one arm still looped around Sam’s waist, her gaze shifts to you. Her warm face, softening even more when Sam gestures toward you with a gentle sweep of his hand.

“Helen, I’d like you to meet y/n,” he introduces. His smile is soft, his eyes finding yours with an aura of tenderness that makes you smile. “She’s here for a little moral support.”

“Hello, sweetheart!” Helen beams, already closing the distance between you. Before you can even react, she’s in your space, arms wrapping around you in a hug so tender and warm. Her head just grazes your chin, and her embrace carries a kind of sincerity that makes your throat tighten just a little bit. You haven’t known her for more than a minute, but something about her makes you feel chosen. Seen. Like she’s picked you to care about, and that’s that.

“Pretty as a picture,” she murmurs, tapping your cheekbone with a cold, wrinkled finger, so gentle that you hardly feel it. She smells like sweetened black coffee and a particular kind of mint – Mentos, you’d bet money on it – the scent so distinct it wraps around you. You imagine she’s the type to keep sleeves of them tucked in her purse, always ready to press one into someone’s palm with a wink and a pat on the hand.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say, polite on instinct. 

But her dark blue eyes widen behind those oversized square frames, her hand waving in front of her face like she’s shooing away a pesky fly. “No, no, baby girl,” she says, her voice like sugared honey. “Just call me Helen.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Helen amiably leads you and Sam toward the back of the building, down a long, echoey corridor lined with kennels full of dogs of all sorts. The two of them, engaging in small talk as though they go way back as old pals, while you tow behind them, only hearing every few words or so. These precious dogs are yanking at the strings of your heart. Their sweet faces watching you, tails wagging as you walk by. Each one, with their names written in dry erase on the glass they’re imprisoned behind. You’d thought about adopting one when you first moved here, but the right time just hasn’t presented itself yet. And with your moms health, the right time may never come. At least, not until she…

Helen lets out a cheer that would rival a younger crowd, throwing her hands in the air in a display of triumph when she and Sam near a little room at the very end of the hallway. She opens the door just a hair, and before she can open it all the way, out comes the most excited little creature. A beautiful pitbull with a brindle coat. Not quite a puppy, though not entirely full grown. And, this sweet baby runs straight to Sam.

“Rosie!” He exclaims, dropping to his knees with a thud to the ceramic flooring. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around his new baby, pulling her close. Unable to stop yourself, you crouch down beside him, drawn in like gravity to the soft, wriggling mass of love in his arms. She’s beautiful – eyes warm and liquid with trust, tail thumping against the floor like it’s a drum. Her mouth splits into the closest thing a dog has to a grin, and then her tongue is everywhere, a flurry of ecstatic licks painting Sam’s cheeks.

“This is – ,” Sam starts, but he doesn’t stand a chance. His words dissolve into helpless laughter as she climbs further into his lap, tail wagging so hard her whole body wobbles with it. He tips backward with a huff of breath, arms flailing slightly before steadying her again, caught entirely in the whirlwind of affection.

“Rosie?” you echo, trying to help him find his words. The second her name leaves your lips, her attention snaps to you – ears perked, tail wagging even faster. Then she launches herself into your arms like a missile of pure love, tongue darting for your nose, your chin, your forehead. Her paws scramble up your shoulders as she presses into you, her own clumsy version of a hug. You laugh – loud, unfiltered, and real. The kind of laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep and good, the kind only a dog can summon.

“Rose Bud Kiszka,” Sam announces through a grin so wide it’s nearly a laugh itself, his chest still heaving from joy. “Rosie for short.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Dribbles of drool through heavy, happy pants drip against your tights, but you couldn’t be bothered to care even if you tried. Rosie has kept close to you, perched on your lap during the drive back to the apartment. Her hot breath has completely fogged up the icey glass of the passengers window while she watches the city pass by. 

She’s about the happiest dog you’ve ever encountered – she’s more than ready to go to her new home. And it’ll be the most loving home she’s ever known. 

When Sam was filling out her adoption forms at the shelter, Helen told you all about Rosie’s story. Rescued from the streets, about two months ago. She somehow managed to find her own way to the shelter, stood outside in the pouring rain one day and barked like her life depended on it, until she caught Helen’s attention. 

She didn’t go into too much detail, but from the sounds of it, Rosie had some signs that she’d come from an abusive home. Perhaps escaped one. You didn’t ask any questions – you knew your heart couldn’t handle knowing much more. All you needed to know was that Helen had spent the last few months taking care of Rosie, getting her back to health, loving her when she’d never known love before. Helen also told you that, when Sam came by last week, he and Rosie had a bond so strong and instantaneous. She and Sam both knew right away that Rosie was the dog for him. She only needed a few more shots before she was ready. And today, she was ready. Ready to come home. 

Rosie has come such a long way, all thanks to the big heart that Helen possesses. It just makes you wonder how many babies just like Rosie that Helen has saved. People like her deserve all the goodness and love this world has to offer. 

“Helen is absolutely precious,” you tell Sam as you reminisce on meeting such a wonderful woman, reaching a hand up to scratch behind Rosie’s ears. She leans into the touch, resting her head against your hand, her tail thumping in her own beat against your lap. 

Sam glances at you from the driver's seat, one hand steady on the wheel while the other reaches for Rosie’s back, offering her even more scratches.“Isn’t she?” He agrees, a lingering smile as he watches the road. “She was my grandma's best friend for years. She’s known us our whole lives.” 

He takes one final turn down the road toward the apartments, his hand sliding over the leather in a single woosh as it spins back around. “Helen would give us these weird, chewy mints every time we’d see her,” he giggles, eyebrows scrunched as he remembers. “The twins loved ‘em, but I was more of the chocolate kind of kid. Didn’t care much for minty candy.” 

I knew it.

He’s now pulling into the parking lot, taking his designated space right in front of the building. And, right behind Jake’s Rover. The vision of The Black Pearl alone has your chest tightening, your face burning red hot despite the cool air coming in from Sam’s now open door. 

“You girls ready to go inside?” He asks, giddy as can be while he rushes over to your side. And sweet Rosie – her ears fell the second he left the car, but as he’s opening the passengers door for the both of you, her ears have perked right back up, her tail thumping away as her brand new dad is back in her line of sight once more. She loves him so much already. It’s enough to make you almost forget about Jake for the moment. Almost. 

The lapse doesn’t last long. Rosie leaps from your lap, your fingers wrapped tightly around her pink leash in case she tries to bolt. She doesn’t, of course. She pounces Sam instantly, hugging his hips, gentle barks and happy whines coated with excitement to see him once again. 

It takes you a moment to realize that a claw on her back foot dug into your skin when she bolted from the car, snagging your tights and effectively ripping a large hole right down the middle of your thigh. The cold breeze on your exposed skin takes your attention away from the leash for a split second, your grip on it letting up just a bit. But, that’s all it takes. The leash slips from your hand quick, the nylon slipping through your palm, nearly burning the skin. And before you can even try to catch it to stop her, you realize she’s now seeking the affections of Jake, whom you had no idea was already out here, eager to meet his new dog-niece. 

Rosie, treating Jake the very same as Sam – he bends down to her level, letting her kiss and hug him all she wants. He greets her, using her full name, both hands offering rubs and scratches all down her back and up to her ears. “She’s quite a hoot, Samuel,” he snickers, kissing her right back through her displays of love. “She’ll be a wonderful addition to the family. Won’t ‘cha, girl?” 

Until now, you’d thought it’d be a cold day in hell before you’d hear Jake use a baby voice. It should not be affecting you in the ways that it is – tormentingly domestic, agonizingly gentle. 

Though, why should you be surprised? You’ve seen this man’s heart more times than you can keep track of – of course he’s warmhearted with animals. How could you expect any less from the man that played you a beautiful, enchanting rendition of a heartfelt love song in the privacy of his own room? 

All at once, you’re wishing this whole scenario could’ve played out just a little different. As in, you wish it were you and the other Kiszka out here that had gone to pick up this sweet angel. Terrible as it sounds. But, an even worse thing to feel. It’s a feeling you’ll just have to get used to, because it won’t be waning anytime soon. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

Jake’s coos and kisses have you battling the glowing neon L-word flickering in your mind – louder, brighter, more blinding than the bulbs on Josh’s marquee from last night. More powerful than the sign displayed against The Fox Theatre. 

You don’t think Jake has looked at you yet. And if he has, it was for a fleeting second. The dog seems to have his undivided interest, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be, in truth. But, of course, that isn’t quite the case for you. And it doesn’t help at all that he looks damn good. 

Baggy khakis, a white, torn up t-shirt under the black corduroy jacket you’ve seen him wear a lot recently. It’s not nearly heavy enough for the brutal cold, and the ‘scarf’ he has tied around his neck is closer to the likes of a thin bandana, with a single coin on a silver chain hanging below it. He must be cold – the temperature is several degrees below freezing. But, in typical Jake fashion, his winter ‘coats’ are usually reduced to some cool button down-shacket type of outerwear. Not that you’ll complain, of course. It certainly makes you giggle to think about, though. 

The bitter air is far more unforgiving outside of the car, and the wind has only picked up since you left the animal shelter. The rip in your tights – though they weren’t that warm to begin with – is making every inch of your skin ice cold, even beneath your layers up top. 

Your first instinct is to run inside, not expose yourself to the burning chill much longer. Let these two brave the cold if they so choose – doesn’t mean you have to. But as you turn to shut the car door, preparing your trek inside the warm apartment, you notice a set of eyes behind a familiar pair of shades looking up. At you. The sunlight is catching just right against their black tint. And because of that, you can see his orbs perfectly as they fall upon you. But not just you, on the rip in your tights. 

A flame – practically enough to warm you, despite the cruel nip in the air – ignites beneath your chest, warming your cheeks on an instant. And that very flame, fanned by the memory of the night prior, when Jake’s hands saw the demise of another pair of tights. 

His brows, muddled and flustered, are drawn in the middle. And his lips are held in a tight, fine line as he’s staring directly at the damage done to the garment. The damage caused by the dog. 

But Jake may be thinking the worst of the worst right now. Something along the same vein as the happenings of last night. And considering you’ve been with Sam for the better part of two hours now…

But why should he care? It was his choice to call it quits this morning, right? So, the anger seeping through his features right now is not warranted. Yeah, you could explain that Rosie is the reason your tights are ripped. (And if Jake had any sense right now, he’d realize that she was just in your lap, and that she is the most probable cause for this.) 

But, what’s the point in trying to explain? You know you’d fall victim to over explaining, all for the purpose of ensuring that he feels better about it. 

Well, you don’t owe him that. Let him think what he wants. If that’s what he’s thinking.

And if it is, the mere thought of it is giving you a strange feeling of power over him, an upper hand of sorts. A bit of confidence, even. Confidence to do something you may not have done otherwise. Something that’ll bathe his fury in even more fire when you do. 

Fuck it. 

“I think she’ll fit in beautifully,” you say, kneeling down right beside Jake. It’s unmistakable, the extra threads that tear in your tights when you lean down. Too much tension in the fabric, and you know Jake heard them rip further. 

Your face, close to his, though you’re not looking at him. Only paying attention to Rosie, who’s turned her attention toward you a little. Her fur under your touch is so soft – you can only assume she’d just gotten a fresh groom and bath before her departure from the shelter. Given the sweet scent of coconut emanating from her, you’d say that’s a plausible assumption. 

You’re doing your very best to focus on Rosie, and not Jake. But as it stands, his scent is overpowering the coconut – sandalwood, musk. Jake. 

He's looking at you – that much you can decipher from the image your peripheral is offering. You’re trying to play it off as though you’re only down here for Rosie. But, the choice to do this has suddenly become one of regret. After this morning, doing this is not only cruel to him; it’s cruel to you. 

And now, you’re feeling like an utter fool. Going with Sam in the first place was perhaps not the best move – it’s one that you’re certain Jake isn’t exactly crazy about. And why’d you go with Sam in the first place? 

Fuck. 

Jake is silent now, and his lack of response – of any words to you at all – makes you want to sprint toward the apartment. Get out of this situation altogether. Where you should’ve been this whole time. Had you just gone up there like you’d meant to the second you stepped out of the Bug, this situation would’ve been avoided altogether. You can only imagine what he’s thinking now. 

And imagining is all you can handle at the moment; you don’t want to know what’s running through his mind right now. What ran through his mind when he discovered that you’d gone with Sam to pick up his dog. Doesn’t get more couple than that. And the goddamn rip in your tights, to make it all so much worse. Completely out of context, but you know how it looks. 

And, to make it all so, so much worse, you’ve asked Sam to take photos of you. Photos for the job that Jake is adamantly against you partaking in. 

Fucking hell, y/n. What are you doing?

You wish to god that you knew. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The party today is far more mild than last nights. A small lunch of chicken salad croissants prepared by Lori, and the drinks are reduced to a much calmer mimosa bar. The entire kitchen counter, dedicated to creating any guests’ brunch cocktail of choice. You’d gone your whole life believing there was only one way to create a mimos – a simple concaction of champagne and orange juice and viola. However, the Kiszka’s have yet again challenged what you’ve known of the world. 

There’s orange juice. But there’s also grapefruit juice, (a classic Josh choice) pineapple, guava, pomegranate, tangerine. All set up in chilled, tall glasses, with their names written on the front. And, tons of bowls of endless frozen fruit options. Just about any variation your own mind could possibly come up with is feasible, thanks to this insane mimosa display. Just one more thing that reminds you of where you came from, and that you’re most certainly not from here. Oklahoma just wasn’t like this. Not your area of Oklahoma, at least.

Your mixture of choice was champagne, pomegranate juice and frozen blueberries, and it’s perhaps the most delicious drink you’ve ever sipped on. Tart, sweet, and the Faire La Fête is a beautiful choice for the base. Not that you’re a connoisseur by any stretch of the definition, but you’ve certainly learned a lot about this sort of thing in the past few months. 

Some of the decor is still up from the night before, most notably the marquee and the banner you and Josh had created for Jake. The guest books are now in each of the twin’s rooms, and the space isn’t nearly as packed as it was last night. A more intimate gathering, the room filled only with a few of the most important people in the lives of the two you’re celebrating. And you just happen to be one of them. And no matter what has happened – or is happening – with you and the long-haired twin, you’re flattered to be considered a part of this group. 

Speaking of the twins — they’ve been each other's main company since you’ve been here. Keeping to themselves in the kitchen, talking and laughing the loudest you’ve ever heard from these two. More cackling than anything – wheezing and snorting with every other word. The smile on your lips at their repartee is straight from your heart. 

“Where’d you two run off to?” Nat asks, plopping herself down on the couch beside you, the bounce of the cushion threatening the mimosa in your hand to become part of your ensemble. “And how did that get there?” She questions, looking directly at the blatant rip across your thigh as she takes a bite of her sandwich. You’ve tried to cover it as best you can — crossing the other leg over it when you’re sitting down, stretching the polyester fabric of your sweater as far as it’ll go before it rips. Of course, you can’t escape it. 

The knowing look in Nat’s golden eyes is indicative that she’s thinking something similar to what Jake probably assumes as well. “It was the dog, Natalia. She snagged them when she got out of the car.” You take a sip of the tangy, fizzy liquid held in your hand, feeling it come back up your nose when Nat nudges you so hard you nearly drop the glass. 

“Nat! I’m serious!” You say, a whispered yell so as to avoid anyone hearing the conversation. She gives out an amused little laugh, full of disbelief and perhaps a little judgement. She shovels in the last bite of her chicken salad sandwich, scooching over just a bit closer to you to make room for Danny’s mom. 

“I hope the sandwiches were up to par,” Lori says, Nat wholeheartedly agreeing with a mouth full of the food in question. Nodding her head, croissant crumbs falling from her smiling, chewing mouth. Lori chuckles and shakes her head amusingly, patting Nat on the shoulder like she’s seen her this way a hundred times or more. “What about you, y/n? Did you like ‘em too?”

A cold, tense chill stiffens your spine, your posture straightening the instant she asks you. 

If you’re honest, you didn’t intentionally avoid the food. You’re just…not hungry. So, eating a sandwich didn’t even cross your mind. The drink felt like plenty. Hunger hasn’t called yet, so you haven’t felt the need. 

Nat’s thoughts may as well be amplified through an intercom, with speakers in every corner of the living room – you know what she’s thinking, her carefree eyes hardening as she now realizes that you haven’t eaten yet. You just hope to god that she doesn’t verbalize her thoughts, embarrass you in front of everyone. In front of Danny’s mom, who's as unsuspecting as she could possibly be. 

The truth of it is, you didn’t mean to not eat. Not for the reasons running amuck in Natalia’s mind, you’re sure. It was as simple as a lack of hunger. That’s all. But of course, a lovely response of someone being privy of your complex relationship with food, is they assume the worst. Always.

And this very moment is why you don’t enjoy people knowing. Why you’ve opted to hide it, even from those you deem closest to you. Because, no matter what, they’ll look at the illness before they look at you. 

You look to Lori, whose eyes are wide and eager to hear your thoughts on the food she’d prepared. A pleasant mom smile, warm and inviting on her thin, lightly glossed lips. “I haven’t had the chance to dig into them yet,” you explain, avoiding Nat’s glare as much as you can. Though, it’s hard, given she’s right in the middle of you and Lori. “But I’ll get one before I leave! They look delicious.” 

“Yep, she sure will,” Nat butts in, just as Lori was taking a breath to speak to you. A snarky smile on Nat’s face, and a tension very much present in her jaw as she looks at you. Her eyes, speaking all the words she wants to say, but (hopefully) knows she shouldn’t. Not here, at least. 

“I’ll make sure she gets a couple,” she says, now looking at Lori who, still, is completely oblivious. “Actually, I’ll just go put a few in a ziplock for her.”

“Wonderful idea, Natalia!” Lori commends, placing her hand on Nat’s leg just as she’s about to stand from the couch. Instead, Lori stands. “No, no, sweetheart. Let me do it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wagner,” you say as she heads to the kitchen, assuring you with a smile that it’s no problem.

“They’re good, y/n.” You hear Nat’s voice from over your shoulder, her cool hand now resting on your knee. When you look back at her, that tension she’d held before has softened, a familiar hint of concern in her irises. “You really should try them. Please.”

“I will, Nat.” 

You’re not angry with her. You can’t be. You know she cares. But, dammit. Why do things always come back to this? Conversations with her anymore almost always end up going somewhere deeper, somewhere that you wish you could go one day without discussing. 

Jesus – you have to feel it all the fucking time. It’d just be nice to live like normal for once, pretend it’s not there. Even if it’s just for a little while. Not every single thing in your life needs to revolve around it. But when it’s a near constant topic of conversation, it certainly feels like it’s the only thing about you that matters.

At least she cares. And at this point in your life, that’s all you can ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You’ve always talked about it,” you hear Josh say before he takes the last, generous swig of his grapefruit mimosa. “And I’ll be honest — I’m puzzled that you’ve not done it yet.”

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they aren’t exactly keeping their voices down. And, you’re only a few short feet away from them, rinsing out your champagne flute in the sink while they talk. 

“I guess I knew that living here was always temporary, and I wanted to wait until I moved somewhere more…” Though you’re not looking directly at him, your eyes solely on the task of rinsing the dish soap from the glass, you can see his hands grabbing at the air, as though he’s searching for the right word to take hold of. “...more permanent, I suppose”

Permanent. That word. It stings. Like fucking hell. 

“I get that,” Josh says, understanding. Though you can sense a melancholic lilt in his tone. It hits you – something you hadn’t truly considered until now. Jake and Josh aren’t just brothers. They’re twins. They’ve never lived a single day without the other by their side. They’ve always been each other’s anchor, each other’s constant – understanding one another in a way no one else ever could. They don’t just share a bond. They share DNA.

This whole thing…London – it’s probably a thousand times harder on Josh than anyone else. You’ve been so lost in your own sadness over it that you hadn’t even considered how his twin brother may be feeling. 

“Will your driver's license work over there to operate one?”

What?

“Yeah, for the first twelve months. But I’ll have to register it under my London address before I can purchase a motorcycle anyways, so I’d just as soon renew it once I get there.” 

Motorcycle? 

Your grip on the glass loosens the second you hear that word, and it comes crashing into the black, steel sink. Naturally, of course, it shatters upon impact. The noise echoes throughout the whole damn apartment, drawing everyone's attention straight to you. 

Even Rosie, who’s been calm and sweet as can be since the moment she walked into her new home, is startled and begins barking, loudly. Sam kneels to the floor, rubbing her chest and talking to her to calm her frazzled nerves. Your cheeks are suddenly burning with the blood that’s rushed to them. 

“You alright over there, girl?” Nat asks from her place on the couch, sinked into the cushion between Danny and his mom, his dad on the other side of Danny. All of them, each set of concerned eyes, looking at you as though you’d just, well, broken glass. 

“I’m, uh – I’m good,” you say, unable to keep from glancing to your right, noting a set of twins who are looking right at you. Their faces, the very same expression – concern laced in each set of brown eyes. 

You begin to feel warm water trickle down your left hand, reaching your wrist. There’s a paper towel on the counter to your right, so you grab it real fast to dry your skin. Only, when you do, you realize rather quickly that it isn’t water.

“Shit,” Jake rasps, wooden chair legs screeching against the linoleum floor. He’s beside you within a matter of seconds, taking the paper towel from your hand and pressing it against the opened gash on the outside of your palm, right below your pinky. How did you not notice the blood in the sink, on the counter, the droplets on the floor? And how did you not feel the glass slicing into you?

Of course, you feel the sting now. Now that you’ve realized what’s happened. It happened so quickly – your brain couldn’t register it until your eyes saw it. 

But what’s more tangible than the sharp pain on the surface of your skin, is the feeling of him pressed against you, treating your wound as though it’s the most crucial thing he needs to be doing at the given moment. 

He’s holding your wounded hand so tight, with both of his. Holding the dampened cloth against you, soaking up the blood. And his body, nestled right against yours. His scent, intoxicating. 

“Are you alright, doll?” 

No. Not now.

You blink a few times, attempting to ground yourself in this reality and not in another one. One where Jake is more to you than a fleeting experience, more than a goddamn chapter. 

Something as simple as taking care of your cut is rendering you almost speechless, nearly in a trance. His touch does that, though. You know that, and surely he knows that. “Y-yeah, didn’t even feel it,” you say, trying your damnedest to avoid his piercing eyes right now. Though try as you might, his gaze is impossible to ignore. Always. And this time, it's weighted with worry. Worry for you. 

Still looking at you, carrying your gaze as he holds your bleeding hand within his, he speaks to the room. “Can someone go grab the first-aid kit?”

“On it,” Josh responds, immediately following Jake’s request and jogging toward the bathroom down the hall.

Jake’s eyes then follow a path down to your hand, now trembling as the pain has begun to increase just a bit. You look as he carefully lifts away the towel, and for a cut to bleed so much, it’s certainly rather small. “I suppose stitches won’t be necessary,” he says, low and under his breath. More husky than before, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. A careful, mysterious smile on his lips. “Maybe just a little scar to tell the tale.” 

You’ve not even noticed that Josh is now standing beside you, digging through the first-aid kit for the proper items. Jake’s thumb brushing over the blade of your hand, the careful knit in his brow as he examines you — the rest of the world is suddenly not nearly as important. 

Jake holds his other hand out, to which Josh then places a tiny tube of Neosporin ointment in his opened palm. He squeezes a small amount on the cut, the initial sting jolting your body a bit. “Sorry, y/n,” he whispers, surely noting your involuntary reaction. 

The tip of his finger rubs it in just a bit, then he reaches for the open band-aid next to the sink that Josh prepared for him. He places it over the cut, his touch gentle and light as a feather as he smooths it over your skin. “That feel okay, doll?”

Fuck. The ache between your thighs, a reminder of last night and this morning, is growing all the more as your legs threaten to squeeze together. 

“Y-yes, it’s fine,” you stutter, snapping yourself out of this when you notice Nat walking up to you from your peripheral. 

“Damn, y/n,” she says, leaning over the kitchen peninsula to take a gander at the situation. “That could’ve been bad, dude.” There’s still a decent amount of blood in the sink, and a few drops along the counter. Luckily, the finish is a dark, almost black granite, and the sink is black. So, staining won’t be an issue. Still, the mess makes it look much worse than it actually was.

“Undoubtedly,” Jake agrees, quiet and deep. “It’s a wonder she didn’t slice clear to the bone.”

He wets another paper towel and uses it to clean the rest of the blood that had trickled down your wrist, his other hand holding your arm close to his chest as he ensures he’s gotten it all. The towel, cold and wet against your skin, sends a flood of goosebumps up the expanse of your arm.

“It’s okay, Jake. I got it from here,” you say, your voice breaking as you speak each word, feeling yourself crumbling away even further as he doesn’t follow your command. 

You don’t dare stop him physically, however. Your body simply won’t let you. You’re drawn to him, captivated. He’s magnetic, pulling you in, keeping you where he wants you. Where you want you. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

“It’s all gone, I believe,” he says, entirely disregarding what you’d said. Ignoring you, holding true to this calling he feels to take care of you. 

Suddenly, the air flickering with a sense of deja vu, this moment begins to feel familiar. A forgotten memory — you know this. But how?

“We’ve been here before, haven't we?” His words, whispered, meant only for your ears. It’s as though he can hear what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Perhaps he is feeling it, too. 

That’s right. 

The night your mom was taken by ambulance to the emergency room, when you became so overwhelmed that you slammed your left hand on the counter in a rage-filled moment. 

He held ice on your hand that night as you spoke with the nurse about your moms condition. He stayed there with you, refused to leave you there alone, stranded when you didn’t have your car. He tended to your left hand that night, the very same hand that he’s caring for now. 

And now that you’re remembering, the cut is practically in the same spot that met the counter at the hospital. The same hand, the same place on your hand. And Jake. There to help you heal when you didn’t expect him to. He remembers. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, quietly and carrying through a sigh of your breath. And fight it as you might, your lips tug into a smile that, as your eyes meet his, he mimics. 

Though, as the moment lingers, your smile begins to falter when you remember the conversation from this morning. The things that were said, the emotions that weighed down the room, heavy. 

“I guess this is over.”

Those words, coming straight from his lips. He’s chosen to end this…thing between you. His choice, right?

Oddly enough, it feels as though you were the one who truly made the choice. He just verbalized it – made it real by speaking it into the universe. So, it’s over. 

And this moment – Jake taking care of you, holding you, not leaving your side until he’s sure you’re okay – shouldn’t be happening. Because all it’s doing is adding yet another reason for it to hurt when he’s gone. 

And you can’t allow the pain to fester even more. It’s already an open, bleeding wound. One that can’t be fixed with a paper towel and a band-aid. The blood runs a little deeper – it’s thicker. No physical wound could ever compare.

You feel your smile fade, the muscles in your face beginning to droop. Your eyes flick down to where your bodies connect – his hand still gripped around your wrist. 

And the second you look back up to him, you notice that his smile has fallen, too. Without so much as a word – in pure silence – he lets go, as though he’s realized, too, that this shouldn’t be happening. 

His eyes, a silent apology before he looks away and begins carefully removing the shattered remains of the glass from the sink. Each piece clinks softly against the stainless steel, delicate and deliberate, as though he knows one wrong movement might break something else – something already hanging by a thread.

You watch him work, the muscles tightening in his jaw, his expression entirely unreadable as he picks up the mess. The silence between you is loud. Uncomfortably so. You want to say something, anything. But, what’s left to say when goodbye has already been spoken?

So instead, you take a step back. Then another. Distance growing in small steps, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Just as you step out of the kitchen completely, now in the living room beside Sam and Nat, you glance back once more.

He’s still there. Still carefully collecting the broken pieces. And maybe, in some way, you both are.

Trying to clean up what’s already been shattered. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I know there are still a few weeks until Christmas,” Josh declares from the top of the stairs, beginning his descent down to the living room with a couple of gift bags dangling from each hand. “But I felt that right now was as good a time as any to bestow upon you all, my precious loved ones, your Christmas gifts from me.” 

He makes a slow, melodramatic trek down the stairs with the gifts. And as you glance around the room, everyone appears to be just as perplexed as you. 

What does this man have up his sleeve?  

One thing about Josh – he’s unpredictable. In all the best ways.

“I’ve recently found myself a new hobby. Once our lovely film came to an exuberant end, I decided I needed something to keep my hands busy until film school begins in August.”

Gift bags in hand as he takes the final step into the living room, he makes it to you first. “To y/n,” he says, grinning.

You blink in surprise, caught off guard in the best way, and take the gift. Inside the gift bag is something wrapped in crinkly black tissue. You glance up at him as you peel it open, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Inside is a black frame holding a perfectly stitched replica of The Shining’s iconic carpet — the bold hexagon pattern in orange, red, and brown. And right in the center, redrum is spelled out in bold, crimson thread, delicate drops of blood stitched just beneath. Your mouth opens in a startled laugh — part affection, part amazement. It’s creepy. It’s clever. It’s so you. 

But what really gets you is the thought of Josh sitting somewhere, hands steady, taking the time it requires to create something as detailed and intricate as this. The hours this must have taken, just for you. And not just you — it’s clear he’s done something like this for everyone. You feel warmth blooming deep within your chest at the thought. 

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, brushing your thumb gently across the top of the frame. “And I love that you made it.” You glance up at him, his smile soft and full. “It’s just incredible. It seriously looks —,”

“Expertly done?” Josh interrupts, resting a hand dramatically on his popped hip.

A bubble of laughter erupts from your throat. “You just took the words straight from my mouth,” you say through a Josh-induced giggle, to which he flicks his wrist mid air. A physical display of this ‘I know’ moment. 

Still holding the frame in your lap, you look back down at it. The details. You’re still in awe over them. 

And the care. The willingness to do something like this, for you. You don’t say anything right away, but the emotions are there. Sitting heavy against your ribs. 

You’ll treasure this forever. That much is certain. 

“Nat,” Josh says, offering hers with a sly wink. “You’re next, my dear.” From the bag, she pulls out a frame wrapped in baby pink tissue. 

Ripping it away, she reveals a pale-orange frame surrounding a stitched stack of books. Each spine, stitched in gold lettering against the dark blue, yellow, pink, and purple books, are just a few of her favorite authors; Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Cherríe Moraga, and Alice Walker. 

Never one to cry at the drop of a hat. And yet, you see her struggling to fight back a few tears. A losing battle, of course. One slips away from her eye before she can stop it. Her hand quickly brushes it away, though it’s too late – she’s been caught. 

“You mean to tell me,” Josh says, crouching down to her level as she’s sitting on the couch. “That I made the Natalia Delores León – my fiery Aries – cry?” He knows damn well that his mocking could very well lead to some trouble for him in the near future. 

But, alas – she lets him have this moment. For now. 

“It was one tear, Joshua.” She pats the curls on top of his head, very much aware of the fact that he doesn’t typically love when people touch his hair. He quickly stands, a giant and satisfied smile on his lips, fluffing his hair back in place. “Don’t expect it to happen ever again,” she tosses back with a wicked, sass-filled grin. 

Josh wheezes a chuckle as he moves on to Sam, who’s now sitting right beside you on the couch. The second he took his seat, Jake – situated on his typical choice of the Nova lounge – shifted his eyes away from you, and hasn’t bothered to look at you since. Immediately after he took care of your hand, things went right back to the way they’ve been all day. 

Avoidance, tension. Silence. 

Sam didn’t even bat an eye at your injury, only picking on you for being so clumsy. And that’s fine.

But Jake…his tender care made you feel safe. And you just didn’t feel that with Sam. In fact, you’ve yet to feel it with him. But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore. 

“Samuel,” Josh announces as he hands his little brother his own gift. Rosie, sitting between Sam’s legs, becomes quite excited. Her tail thumps the floor, mouth open in a panting smile, sweetly as Josh for some attention.

He kneels down and gives her some love without question, kissing her nose and rubbing her chest while Sam opens his own gift. 

His is a shot of his orange Bug, recreated in thread like a photo. Beside it, a tiny Polaroid camera that almost exactly replicates the one he used at the party last night. Sam beams with a big smile, a gentle giggle. “Ah, thank you, brother!”

Josh then jogs to the kitchen, catching Danny just as he’s finishing off the last bit of the champagne. He’s never cared to drink in front of his parents, so he opted to wait until they left to indulge a little. But, waiting that long meant he didn’t get more than a few swigs before it was all gone. 

Josh sets his gift on the counter, making a horrible (what you can only assume) lightsaber noise as he steps away. “Daniel, I hope the force is strong with this one.”

“Cheesy, Josh,” Danny laughs as he digs into his bag, unveiling his gift high in the air so that you all can see from the living room.

As suspected: the Star Wars logo stitched just like the opening crawl of each movie, complete with tiny X-wings and a stitched lightsaber hilt in the corner. 

“This is sick!” Danny boasts, staring at his gift like it’s the most incredible piece of artwork he’s ever seen. “Damn, dude. You didn’t a good fucking job.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Josh responds in a knowing tone, prancing on back to the living room to Malachi, standing with this shoulder leaned against the entertainment center. 

“My love, my finance,” Josh says, leaning up on his tiptoes to plant a sweet kiss to Chi’s cheek. “Due to recent events,” he continues, his left hand flying up in the air, displaying the stunning ring he was given the night before. “Yours will be given to you at a later date. I'd like to tweak a few things before I give you the final product.” 

And then, Josh turns to Jake, the only one remaining. There’s a beat of silence as he hands the bag to his twin. 

The last gift, wrapped in navy tissue paper, speckled with silver stars. Jake unfolds it carefully, and finds a dark frame, one that mirrors yours. He rests it on his lap, but from where you’re sitting, the angle keeps you from seeing exactly what it is.

Whatever it is, though, Jake doesn’t speak at first. He just takes a breath. Lets it settle for a moment.

“Taurus,” he mutters eventually, his voice quiet as he runs a finger over the stitching. “It’s the Taurus constellation, right?” He looks up at Josh, standing beside the chair. The words sound more like a confirmation than a question. Josh nods once, smiling without a word.

Jake blinks down at the gift for a moment, lips parting with a smile. He laughs, quiet and breathy. More like a huff – soft and knowing. Not the kind of laugh that comes from humor, but from something warmer. Something that lives closer to the heart.

He holds it up to share with the rest of you.

The Taurus constellation, stitched in silver thread across a dark indigo canvas. Just below it: JMK and JTK, stitched in the very same thread. And, beneath that, a gentle phrase that ties it all together. 

So you always know where to look when you want to find your way home.

Jake blinks fast and rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. He sets the frame gently on the chair and pulls Josh into a hug. Tight, unhurried, deeply felt.

No one says a word. And no one needs to.

This moment is reserved for Jake and Josh – twins who have never gone a day apart since the minute they were born.

The room holds its breath with them, a quiet reverence, save for the sniffles echoing in the air. 

No one is ready for Jake to leave. No one. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake disappeared shortly after Josh handed out his gifts. Your best guess was he just went to work — perhaps he got a phone call from a tenant that he needed to take care of, didn’t bother to let anyone know before he left. 

You’d spent the rest of your time trying not to think about his absence. Because, whether anyone likes it or not, an absent Jake will be the new reality. Soon, at that. 

But his separation was still noticed. Especially by you, as you found yourself glancing all around the visual spots of the apartment more than once during the movie, hoping he’d come back, from wherever it was that he disappeared to. 

He didn’t. Everyone that was left — you, Sam, Nat, Danny, Josh, Chi — watched the entirety of It’s a Wonderful Life without a single trace of Jake. All two hours and ten minutes of it. (A Josh pick, naturally.)

Nat, true to form, was asleep within the first few minutes of the movie. Snoring before the first scene came to an end, snuggled up with her head in Danny’s lap while he played with her hair. 

Sam sat next to you the whole time. And every so often, he’d scoot just a little closer. Enough that the two of you were wrapped up in a full-blown cuddle by the end of the movie. You wanted it to feel wrong – it didn’t. But while it didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t exactly feel right, either. 

You certainly indulged in it, though. Because it did feel nice. He kept you warm, and his scent of herbal greens and spicy citrus was rather calming. It wasn’t wrong, it wasn't right. But it was nice. And you’d be dishonest if you said you didn’t enjoy it. But it wasn’t what you truly wanted.

Cuddled with Sam, while your eyes wandered the room for Jake — seeking him. Wishing he were close to you. But he never showed up. And at some point, you finally just gave up on him. You decided that if he were planning to join everyone again, he’d have already done it. No one else seemed phased by it, so you chose to let it go. 

The winter sun sets earlier, so it’s almost completely dark outside during the early evening hour, just a little past six. Way past time for you to be home, though. 

You’ve just gotten off the phone with your mom to let her know you’ll be on your way in just a few minutes. She sounded okay on the other end, just tired. A little winded, yet no more than usual. But you knew it was time to get back to her. 

Danny was charged with the task of waking up Natalia — she’d insisted she be the one to take you home, so you turned down Sam when he offered. But you know just as well as anyone else that waking Natalia is no easy feat. And tonight has proven to be the impossible dream. She’s still sound asleep, stirring only enough to huff and gruff when Danny tries to get her up. “It’s practically useless at this point,” he says, relinquishing all hope when she begins snoring again. 

“The offer still stands, y/n,” you hear Sam say from the kitchen, where he’s just fed Rosie her first dinner in her new home. She’s behind the kitchen peninsula, so you can’t see her. But you can certainly hear her chomping away at her kibble. A good sign that she’s eating so well, though you never had any doubt. She’s perfectly comfortable already. 

You take a final glance around the room, peeking down the hallway towards Jake’s room in one last, aching pursuit of him. Hoping against all hope that he’ll somehow appear from the woodwork and he will offer to take you. And if he did, you know it’d be the final time. But in your final search, you come to terms with the fact that he’s nowhere to be found. And he probably wants it that way. 

So, you agree to let Sam take you. A bit hesitant, of course. And it’s not his fault that you are. If it weren’t for Jake, you know you'd be more than thrilled to be with Sam. You just can’t get Jake out of your goddamn mind. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve said your goodbyes to all those awake and accounted for. You and Sam have just made it outside, and if you thought it was cold before, it’s at least thirty degrees colder now. Has to be. And, the further you make it in the parking lot, you see a few flakes of snow spitting from the sky. As you look up, you realize the sky is glittering with icy precipitation. 

It’s beautiful. It’s not quite enough to cover the ground – it’s just enough to leave a thin layer of powdered ice against the black pavement.

You blink away a couple of flakes when they land in your eyelashes, the cold air bitter, yet still refreshing against your skin. Like it’s reawakening your senses, sprinkling your face with chilly whispered kisses. 

The moon, though covered by heavy clouds that carry snow, is still as bright as if it were shining in the sky all on its own. You follow the trail of its gleam, all the way down to the parking lot you’re standing in, stopping just above a billow of smoke coming from behind Jake’s Rover. You take a few more steps, Sam oblivious as he follows behind, until the sight of him stops you. 

Jake.

He’s leaned against his The Black Pearl, one hand buried in the pocket of his black jeans, the other lifted to his mouth, a red ember flickering between his fingers. Smoke coils from his lips, catching the moon’s silver light and drifting into the cold, still air.

He’s doing the same as you just were – staring off into the vast sky, blinking away soft snowflakes when they drift across his eyes. 

You didn’t even know he smoked. Not once have you tasted it on his lips, or smelled it on his skin. This is either something new, or something he’s able to hide quite well. Sam seems entirely unphased by it, which would indicate that this certainly isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

Whatever the case, there’s something so peaceful about it, so alluring. The smell of cigarette smoke has never been your favorite. Yet as you watch him quietly blow the smoke from his lips, the wind gently wafting it your way, it’s not nearly as bothersome as it would normally be. You quite enjoy it, in truth. 

It’s only when he looks at you that you realize you’re just standing here, staring at him. And all at once, you’re humiliated, your feet shuffling clumsily toward Sam’s Bug that, of course, is right behind the back of Jake’s Rover, facing him head on.

His piercing eyes, glowing against the pale light of the moon, watch you with pure intent as you reach Sam’s car, tracking your every awkward step. 

Sam follows close behind you, silent, not bothering to open the car door for you. Not like Jake would have. Something he’s always done. But right now, he’s just watching. 

The moment you slip into the passenger seat and yank the door closed, Jake flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot without looking away from you. 

Sam says something – a question? – but your head may as well be underwater. You can’t make out his words, his voice a mere vibration in the air. Absently, you mutter a distracted “yes,” eyes still locked with Jake, heart beating against your ribs. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands.

And then you feel it – Sam’s finger, warm and gentle, carefully pulling your chin toward him.

Before a single coherent thought can form, before you can even catch your breath, Sam’s lips press against yours. Soft, uncertain, but real. Real enough to shatter the last bit of remaining sense within you. For a quiet moment, the kiss deepens. Against all odds, against all reason, you find yourself leaning into it. Your eyes flutter closed, lips dancing with his in the silence. 

But just before you’ve reached a point when coming back will no longer be an open, your eyes fly open, the kiss breaking, heart stuttering in your chest. 

As Sam’s hand still holds your cheek, you look forward again, not even offering Sam as much as an acknowledgement. 

And he’s gone. Jake is gone. 

The spot where he stood, leaning against the back of his Rover, is empty. Fuck.

And all at once, you begin to remember the question that Sam had asked, when you were so entranced by Jake. Much too lost in his eyes to accept that he wasn’t the one to your left, asking if he could kiss you.

You said yes. Sam asked if he could kiss you, and you said yes. And it happened right in front of Jake, right before his own eyes.

And now he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Goddammit. 

“That was wonderful, y/n,” Sam says, drawing your eyes back to him. The sweetest smile on his lips, dark brown eyes drinking you in. It hurts your heart because you just can’t reciprocate, no matter how much you wish you could.

It’s just not the time.

“Y-yeah, um –,” you stutter, voice cracked and wet with tears that you refuse to let fall. “S-sorry I just…” You glance forward one more time, the spot he once stood still empty. Only an extinguished cigarette butt remains where his boots were. “I really need to get home.”

“No problem,” he winks, completely inattentive to your current state of mind it would seem. 

The engine starts with a lazy flick of his wrist, sputtering and rattling almost as much as your Firebird does upon starting it. You sit here, body stiff, your insides hollow. Your hands are clutching the seatbelt across your chest like it’s your life support.

You can’t look at Sam. Not to any fault of his own, you just can’t. He doesn’t seem to catch on, anyways. 

Your throat tightens around the apology you silently toss into the air, hoping the universe will deliver it to Jake. 

Sam hums to the radio as he pulls onto the road, blissful and unaware of the earthquake happening within you. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the tears you feel you could cry at any second. 

You said yes to Sam. And Jake saw. How do you come back from that? Can you?

Does it even matter? He’s leaving. Even if you could fix it, he won’t even be here long enough to see it fixed. 

Maybe this was the closure you both needed. The kind that cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 10th:

Three days until he leaves.

He’s called three times since this morning.

You just can’t bring yourself to answer him, to face him after yesterday morning. And, after what happened last night. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed. You don’t even know where to begin, how to explain and articulate something so convoluted in your own mind. 

Yeah, this hurts like fucking hell. But talking to him will surely hurt much worse. What is there to say, anyway? It’s done. And that’s what he wanted. 

But god, you miss him. You miss his voice. Everything in you wants to answer right now as he’s calling for the sixth time. But you don’t let yourself. Answering him won’t do anything but cause you (and him) more pain.

The call, just the same as all the others, goes to your voicemail. Unanswered. 

But now, in lieu of calling, he’s now restored to texting you again. 

Jake: Can we please just talk?

You can’t imagine what else there is to talk about – it’s already done. He made that choice. You kissed his brother. There’s nothing left to say. It’s over, just like he wanted.

You: There’s nothing to talk about.

Yes there is. There’s plenty to talk about. 

You just don’t fucking know how to talk about it. 

Avoiding it, ignoring it, seems like the best thing. For both of you.

Your heart thumps, racing in your chest as your phone vibrates in your palm again. You stare at the incoming call, his name in big letters on your screen. And you let it ring. Unanswered, again. 

Jake: Please, y/n. I just want to talk to you.

You: I can’t talk right now. I’m sorry.

Sorry I won’t speak to you, sorry that I kissed your fucking brother in front of you.

Jake: Ok.

Ok. 

There’s no response you feel you need to make to that, and before you could even try to come up with one, he’s put his Do Not Disturb on. 

So, there’s no point. Perhaps he’ll leave you be. Because that’s the best thing. For both of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d never experienced a Trader Joe’s until you came to Michigan. Walmart was pretty much it where you’re from. Even then, Walmart trips were reserved only for your dads paycheck weeks. The Dollar Tree down the road from your house was the grocery spot you most frequented. 

But, as you quickly discovered when you moved here, Trader Joe’s is truly what grocery shopping dreams are made of. It feels as though you’re walking into the friendliest neighborhood market each time you walk inside. And, your personal favorite touch, the chalkboards at the front with cute little illustrations to promote the best products and deals of the week. 

So, needless to say, you stop by the one on East Stadium Boulevard just about any chance you can get. 

Today, the purpose of the trip is to get some chicken broth for your mom. 

It’s about all she can manage to eat at the moment. Solid foods choke her more often than not. With as bad as her breathing has gotten – and it’s bad – she can’t find the energy to properly chew or swallow any food. Even something as soft as mashed potatoes is too much for her. She isn’t getting nearly enough nutrition right now, being only able to handle drinks. She refused smoothies when you’d mentioned those to her, knowing that you could blend up plenty of protein in one for her. But, she was adamantly against it. You questioned her opposition, of course. To which she only told you that she ‘didn’t like ‘em’ in the sharpest, most abrasive tone she could muster.

Okay. Got it. 

So, chicken broth was the next idea you’d had. And, instead of asking her if she'd be okay with it, you’d decided it’d be best to just give it to her, and not ask her beforehand. 

An ironic truth you’ve learned lately is that, even though it’s called the Dollar Tree, items at Trader Joe’s are actually much cheaper. For instance, the chicken broth you’ve chosen to purchase is $1.99 per box. That’s four cups of chicken broth for two bucks. The Dollar Tree back home would’ve charged you at least double, if not triple that. 

You’ve loaded your basket with four boxes of the stuff, feeling quite assured in the fact that this new diet won’t cost you an arm and a leg. Hell, you could easily switch to this diet, too. Not too much, but it’s enough. The thought then crosses your mind that’d only be fair to eat what she is able to eat, too. It certainly wouldn’t be right to eat the food that she wants to eat, but can’t. So, before you make it out of the aisle, you quickly turn on your heel back toward the shelf you’d picked these boxes up from. And, grabbing two more so there’s plenty for the both of you. 

I Wanna Be Your Lover fades out over the speakers, allowing for the next tune to lead in as you approach the check out. Only two cashiers are working right now, both with lines at least three people deep. No matter, though. You’re not exactly in any hurry to leave. The Trader Joe’s atmosphere offers you a bit of peace, and you’ll take as much of that as you can. Even if it means waiting in line to buy your six boxes of chicken broth. 

But, that peace is quickly dismissed as you begin to note the song becoming increasingly louder through the store’s sound system. A couple of chords in, and you feel a stark sinking feeling in your tummy. 

A delicate, melancholic piano melody. Spacious, unhurried. A quiet contemplation within each note. A subtle, gentle tap of a drum, accompanying Billy Joel’s smooth, tender voice. Knowing, heartfelt advice in the lyric. 

And, hearing it at a volume that suddenly feels much too loud, you’re remembering the last time you heard this song. Where you were, who you were with, where you were going…

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right

As a warm, lone tear begins its trial down your cheek, you find a new sense of urgency to get out of here. To your relief, you’re the next customer in line. With a ridiculous haste, you place your six boxes of chicken broth on the counter for the clerk to scan. 

An older lady, perhaps close to your moms age. Years and years of a rough life written across her face in deeply set wrinkles. Hooded eyelids, colored with a chalky blue shadow reaching to her thin, greying brows. She smells like cigarette smoke and White Diamonds. 

She greets you with a kind grin, displaying her yellowed teeth under her red painted, cracked lips. You offer her a smile back, though it isn’t a genuine one. And, based on the fall of her features, she can tell something is wrong. “Doing alright, sweetheart?” 

Something about her. Her appearance, her voice. She reminds you of your mom. Well, who she used to be. Who you thought she was. How do you explain that to a complete stranger? 

Yeah, I’m great. This song is just triggering as fuck, and you happen to remind me of my dying mother who’s refusing to take care of herself. 

“Doing just fine,” you fib, forcing a smile to stretch your Burt’s Bees coated lips. She taps the touch screen on the register a few times before reading you your grand total of $12.66.

She places the boxes of broth in a brown paper bag while you slide your debit card through the machine, trying not to pay attention to the fact that she’s now singing along to the blessed song. 

And you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Her cracking voice, almost grating in contrast to the soft tone of Billy Joel. Grating, yet soothing in some odd way. Still, you’re just ready to leave. Get your boxed chicken broth home, hope that your mom will be willing to try it. 

The cashier – Gertrude, according to her red name badge clipped to her black Trader Joe’s t-shirt – rips off the receipt from the printer, silently confirming that you’re okay with her placing it in the paper bag. When you nod your head, she does just that. 

With a sweet smile and her wish for you to have a great rest of your day, you bid her the same and head towards the automatic glass doors. Brown paper bag in one hand, full with the boxes of chicken broth, the other hand fishing for your keys from your crossbody sitting against your upper torso. 

Reaching your Firebird feels like sweet relief. Chipped red paint and all – at least you know this thing is a piece of shit. No surprises, no unexpected breakdowns. 

Everything with this car is expected. So, because of that, you can rely on it to be a pretty consistent part of your life. Consistently breaking down, consistently failing you – at least you know it’s coming. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

‘It’s time to start making plans, y/n.’

That single sentence has played like a cracked record in your head since the moment you heard Doctor Roth utter the words. And, knowing there’s nothing more you can do for her, that you should only worry about keeping her comfortable…

You’re grieving her. And she’s not even gone yet. Though, grieving this woman already feels strange. A grievance that you feel shouldn’t weigh so heavily atop your shoulders. But, aside from her reluctance to help you help her, you don’t understand why you feel that way. 

No matter the reason, you’re still doing everything you can think of. Right now, that means serving her warm chicken broth in a coffee mug. Because that is the only way she’ll ingest it. You’ll certainly not argue it. As long as she’s eating it, you couldn’t care less how she wants to do it. 

You’d prepared yourself for much more of an argument when you came home with the Trader Joe’s purchase today. Fully expected her to go off on you about the proposal of trying chicken broth, in a similar manner that she had with the smoothie idea. 

But, you’ve grown accustomed to her unpredictability as of late. So, while her willingness to try it didn’t entirely surprise you, you’d still prepared yourself for a fight about it. 

She’s sipping on the warm liquid gingerly, cupping the red mug with Stillwell Memorial Hospital printed in white lettering. The hospital she used to frequent when you lived in Cherry Tree.

You’d spent a lot of time there before the move – that was the place she received her initial diagnosis. 

She’s owned that mug for years. Longer than you’ve been alive. Just one of those things – a bookshelf, a wall clock, a blanket – that’s always been around. Something you never put much thought into, something that’s just a part of your life. 

That mug is certainly one of those things. But for some reason, as you’re watching her dry, cracked lips sip the warm broth from the brim, a mundane mug that your eyes have landed on thousands of times before, you’re thinking much more about it than you ever have. It could be the hospital logo, it could be that this particular mug has never been used for anything aside from a morning cup of coffee, that it’s now being used as the sole reason your mom is getting any nutrition at the moment. 

Who would’ve known that such a simple item would curate such a convoluted, complex array of emotions. 

Perhaps it isn’t the mug that’s doing it – perhaps circumstances of your life, especially in this stage, have forced you to think more and more about things that have not yet required such deep amounts of thought. 

 A careful thank you crosses her lips as she motions for you to come gather the now empty mug. Your feet, tucked under your thighs, are now planted on the carpet, grounding you enough to stand. It takes your body a little longer than a second to get it – the couch cushions are becoming more like quick sand everyday. So worn down, so saggy from over a decade of use. Your body always sinks into them as though they could swallow you whole. 

Bracing the palms of your hands on either side of your body, you're at last able to lift yourself from the crater you’ve left in the soft cushion. 

But the moment you begin to stand, the room starts a slow, lazy spin. Tilting, though your head remains steady. A sudden rush of dizziness hits you like a thousand pound weight. Lightheaded, queasy. Your fingers and toes, tingly and almost numb. The walls around you caving in, turning black.

Your body then shifts right back down to the couch, your knees too weak to support your weight all of a sudden. Consciousness on the brink of fading, your moms voice like a distant echo as she asks you if you’re okay. An inkling tells you to raise your knees to your chest and place your head between them, quick as your body is able to. 

And the moment you do, the feeling in your fingers begins to come back, your toes no longer tingling, blood rushing back to your head. 

It all happened so fast, yet it felt like you were in a slow motion film. 

“...y/n, are you okay?” 

Her voice is suddenly much more clear, though you can’t answer her just yet. Not with words, at least. 

A lazy thumbs up with your right hand will have to suffice for the moment. You’re not ready to lift your head just  yet, afraid the sudden rush of nausea will overcome you. 

This has happened before. Though, it hasn’t happened in a long time. 

As your senses are finally coming back to normal, enough that you feel you can safely lift your head, you’re very clearly recalling a few moments all too familiar to this one. To this feeling that you haven’t experienced since you lived in Oklahoma.

Low blood sugar. 

Very low blood sugar. Low enough that your body, your brain is entirely deprived of energy. 

Textbook hypoglycemic spell. 

The first time this happened to you, you were only a few days into your sixteenth year. It happened at school. You didn’t know what to do when the room began spinning, so you ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. Only, you didn’t make it. You only made it as far as the glass case holding all the sports trophies and medals. A few steps from the bathroom. 

The principal woke you up while the nurse was taking your vitals, right there in the middle of the hallway. At least a dozen or so of your classmates had gathered around to catch a glimpse of the goth girl that had fainted. 

Your dad was there within minutes of you coming to, and while you were still foggy and too unstable to walk, he carried you out of the school and drove you to the hospital. To Stillwell, the very same one your moms mug came from. 

“Lack of fuel,” the emergency nurse had said, as you lay flat on the hospital bed, being pricked and prodded by her needle in a mad hunt for a vein. ‘Has she been eating enough?’ 

She was talking to your dad, even though you were right there. It was like you were in no condition to answer questions about your own body. But, at the time, you probably weren’t. 

You needed fluids, bad. And she just couldn’t find your fucking vein. 

Your dad didn’t know how to answer that question. In truth, he didn’t know that you hadn’t been eating. Not yet.

He knew you began to skip breakfast when you were eleven because you wanted to get to school ‘early to do some reading.’ He knew you’d take a lunchbox to school everyday when you started middle school, but he didn’t know that you’d just toss its contents in the trash the moment you’d get there. He knew you’d take your dinner to your bedroom to work on homework in highschool, but he didn’t know that you’d dump your plate outside the window by your bed. The skunks and opossums had quite the dinner every night thanks to you. And thanks to them, no evidence that you’d done such a thing. 

He did know that you’d been losing weight, but he had no reason to think you were lying about it being due to the increased activity during P.E. The weight loss didn’t truly become noticeable until your sophomore year of highschool. And it was enough that even you were beginning to see the difference. 

Your mom had noticed the weight loss, too. But she never said much. Nothing at all if your memory serves your right. It was like she was jealous of the attention you were getting from your dad at that time, like she held some vendetta over you because of it. 

Well, that only became worse when the nurse told your dad that there were signs you hadn’t been eating, that you’d have to undergo quite the recovery plan if you didn’t start eating. And given how weak your vitals truly were, that recovery plan could have included a stay at a treatment facility in Tulsa over an hour away. By yourself. For at least a month. Perhaps longer.

That was something you were not too keen on doing. 

The emergency room nurse strongly recommended therapy, but that was something your family wasn’t able to afford at the time. So, your dad opted to spend hours upon hours with you to help you recover, and to avoid the program in Tulsa. He wanted you to heal, but he didn’t want you going away anymore than you wanted to. 

But, your mom. 

Your parents had always argued, but this time in your life would serve as the worst of their fights. All because of you. 

She didn’t take your condition seriously at first. She’d tell your dad, after he’d just spent an entire day at the library doing research, that these conditions weren’t real. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” you heard her yell one day, both of them behind their bedroom door, trying to keep you from hearing. But, they were so loud, and the walls of your home in Cherry Tree were thinner than notebook paper. “Teen girls are just vain, Jeff. I went through it, we all go through it. She’ll be fine. You’re making a big fuss over nothing.”

At the time, though it pains you to admit this now, you agreed with her. 

And you only did so because you didn’t want to be treated like there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want to believe that there was, and your dad’s daily harping on the matter frustrated you to no end. You wanted the situation to just disappear, for everyone to agree that it was only a phase and you were just being a vain teenager. 

You knew the truth, though. 

Vanity wasn’t even on your mind when you’d stopped eating. Not initially, at least.

Your parents hated each other. Each day saw a massive fight. Some of them would result in whatever items were close by being chucked across the living room. Some of them would end with one of them – sometimes both of them – leaving the house in a fit of pure rage. 

It went on for years. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had spent the last ten years longing for your family to come together like they had when you spent Christmas in the hospital, with a collapsed lung from the bitter outside conditions. 

You didn’t do that on purpose, of course. But you realized that, if your parents would come together and stop fighting for anything, it’d be because of your health. 

It wasn’t even that you wanted their attention – which you did. You just wanted them to stop fighting. And if your health got bad enough, they’d have no choice but to become a unit once more, for the sake of their ill daughter who needed them. (Who needed them when she was well, too.) 

They just didn’t seem to care unless something was very wrong. 

Your body was changing. Your mature hormones began developing at a rate you couldn't prepare for. You didn’t like it – you didn’t like the new things about your body that made you feel and look different. And you didn’t like the way food made you feel. You discovered that at the tender age of eleven.

All of those things could very well contribute to a rough relationship with food for anyone. And for you, they were the perfect storm to create a terrible habit. 

But what really did it, what set your mind to skip a meal a day, two meals a day, three meals a day – it was your parents. 

You couldn’t control them. You couldn’t control their ceaseless fighting, their refusal to be a team for you, their only child. Their child who was dealing with the worst of the worst from her peers, who was being bullied on a near day-to-day basis over the way she looked, over her differences that kids her age didn’t understand. Your dad tried to be there for you, but your mom took him away everytime. 

You knew the way to get them to notice you — make yourself sick. Just like the time your lung collapsed.

Only, you couldn’t replicate that. Not safely, at least. You didn’t want anything that drastic, only something that would get them to look at you again. You needed them, and there wasn’t a single effort you’d made to get them back that had worked. 

Until you fainted at school. When you fainted due to a lack of fuel. 

You’d let things progress a little further than you had intended, and there was no turning back once you’d reached that point. It’d been years of restricting, and it had finally gotten to that point. 

The illness became a sense of consistency for you – it gave you a means of control when every part of your life outside of it was out of your control. 

And from then on, everytime chaos had taken the lead in your life, when things began to unravel even the slightest, your old friend would return just in time, when you needed to feel in charge. In charge of something. 

In reality, you’ve just been relapsing over and over again throughout the course of the last decade or so. And in truth, you’re not certain you’ve ever fully healed enough to consider these moments true relapses – these are just the moments when it’s worse. 

Right now, this stage in your life just happens to be one of those moments. And at this point, giving this long-time friend attention when it shows up at your doorstep is as innate as breathing. You know you’re welcoming danger with open arms, but it doesn’t feel like you’re doing anything more than inviting an old friend back to your home. 

Your dad did everything he could to help, though his knowledge was rather limited. And you fought the hell out of him over it. 

You were getting the affection from him that you wanted, so you knew that healing would take it away again. He and your mom were still fighting, of course. But you were at least in your dads line of sight again. 

And your mom…

She hated it. And you never knew why she hated it. 

Could a mother truly be jealous over her daughter's father giving her attention? Surely not, right? 

That question wasn’t on your mind back then, but it’s certainly crossed it a time or two since he left. That, and so many more questions. Ones that you fear will never be answered. 

There finally came a point when your mom did start to take your illness seriously, though her way of doing so was an attempt to convince your dad to send you to Tulsa. ‘There’s nothing else we can do with’er,’ she’d said. ‘She’s better off somewhere else.’

Did she want to get rid of you?

That was when you decided to straighten up. You did not want to leave, and you knew how your mom worked – she had plenty of sway over your dad, and you knew that he’d eventually give in if she’d tried hard enough. 

You started eating again, but you didn’t let yourself indulge. You carefully watched everything you ate. So, you were eating, but you weren’t eating the things that would make you gain weight. 

It wasn’t enough. Not enough protein to sustain you for an entire day. But, it was enough to get your mom to change her mind about Tulsa. 

And, just as you’d suspected, the moment they thought you were “healed,” you stopped existing in their world again. 

This all happened again when you were nineteen. 

Another trip to the hospital, just like the one when you were sixteen. You’d fainted during your shift at the diner, and your manager immediately took you to the hospital in Stillwell. 

And that time was much, much worse. 

That was when you were told that you’d done irreversible damage to your body, that carrying children in the future would most likely be impossible. At the time, you didn’t care too much about it. Hell, you were nineteen. Kids were the last thing on your mind at that time. What you cared about was getting through school, and getting the hell out of Cherry Tree. 

Tulsa was brought up again during that emergency room visit, and you vowed to turn things around quick to avoid it again.

And it wasn’t long after that that your dad left. 

Is that why he…? 

“Y/n,” your mom says, nudging your arm with her clammy hand. “What are you doing? Are you oka –,” 

“I’m fine,” you snap through a cracked voice, feeling okay enough to lift your head from between your knees. “S-sorry, just got a little dizzy.” 

She’s looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, eyes held wide open, lips parted before she speaks again. “That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?” 

You’re an adult now. A full fledged, grown woman capable of making her own choices. Capable of taking care of her dying mother. Yet, you’re still afraid she’ll try and send you off to Tulsa again. You know better – she wouldn’t want her sole caregiver gone right now.

Still yet, you’ll give into the instinct to pretend like nothing is wrong. “Nope, it hasn’t.” Though you don’t truly possess enough strength to comfortably stand right now, you’re pushing yourself to do it, anyways. The dizziness is still present, though it’s much better than it was moments ago. 

Steading yourself on your feet, mentally pleading with your knees to not buckle beneath you, you take the empty mug from your moms hand. Just like you tried to do before all of this happened. “I’m fine, though. I think I just need to get some rest.”

An elongated, disbelieving ‘oooookay,’ is your mothers response as you head to the kitchen with the dirty mug. Running some water in it, you set it in the sink to let it soak for a bit before you wash it, bracing yourself with both hands against the counter to offset your Jell-o legs. 

You know you need to eat. You know you do. Because as much as you hate the feeling of being full, you hate this feeling just as much. Maybe even a little more. 

Chicken broth in a mug. Just like your mom.

That’ll do.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 11th:

Two days until he leaves.

I shouldn’t have come here, you ponder as the cashier rings up your purchase, holding your breath when he tells you the price.

“That’ll be $272.62 with tax,” he says, deadpanned in expression as he carefully folds it into the box with the list of tips on caring for leather. 

Jesus Christ. 

Letting out all the breath you’d been holding, your arms and your brain have a major disconnect as you absently reach for your debit card. No reservations about the price are strong enough to stop you from swiping the plastic through the taunting machine. The only reason you’re able to afford this right now is because your moms disability check hit the account a day early. 

Bills aren’t due for another week, and you’ll have already received your paycheck from the library by them…So, it feels a bit more justified given the circumstances. It certainly doesn’t make it okay that you’re using disability money for this — it’s pretty shitty of you, actually. You find you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel nearly every month to make ends meet as it is. You’ve been able to get by thus far, but that’s only because extra spending has been at a very low minimum. But, fuck. You have to buy this. It’s too perfect not to. It just screamed his name the second your eyes caught it hanging with the replica collection. 

And if you’re to be completely honest, it’s kind of the reason you wanted to come in here anyway. It was advertised on their Instagram page, a limited edition piece that won’t be coming back in stock after the new year. You just wanted to see it in person, get a look at it beyond the lens of a screen. 

The intent wasn’t to buy it.

Wasn’t. 

But as soon as you saw it, you knew you had to get it for him. How and when you’ll give it to him…that’s another issue entirely. 

In truth, none of those things really matter. There’s nothing to say you have to give it to him. Maybe you can keep it for yourself. True, you have no real use for it. There’s no guitar in your life that requires it. But, it is sentimental to you for a multitude of reasons. And not all of them surround Jake. (Only most of them.) 

The dinging approval from the machine brings you back to earth, and to the realization that you did, in fact, spend almost three hundred dollars on someone you may never see again after the next few weeks. Or you spent it on you, for a nostalgic buy that will only serve to break your heart every time you see it. 

Still, either story isn’t exactly justifiable. And no justification will help alleviate this overbearing, sinking feeling that you’ve basically ensured the account will be drained for the next week.

Since you knew he just had to have it, a better option would’ve been to just send him the fucking link to it and let him buy it if he wants it. He has the kind of money for these things, not you. 

But you didn’t want to do that. The nagging voice in your head convinced you that it’d be nice to surprise him with it. (And another voice in your head, the more unrealistic one, said that such a gift might convince him to stay here with you. Stupid. Hoping against hope when it’s way too far fetched to even obtain that hope.)

“I’ve put the receipt into the box should you need to return it,” the greasy haired, unenthused hippie-wannabe says, sliding the white paper box across the glass counter top to you. “This is a limited item, so the return window is only two weeks after purchase. Warranty is good for two years.” His eyes are focused on something behind the counter that you can’t see, and if you had to guess, you’d say it's probably a script of some sort. The same spiel he gives to every customer. No one is more special than the other. You get it. Been there before. Cherry Tree Grocery made you memorize a mandatory monologue, along with a bullshit sales pitch for a credit card with scam-worthy interest rates. 

“Thanks and have a guitartastic day,” he finishes, failing at concealing the announce in his voice. Can’t blame him, though. Guitartastic? Yeah, you’d be a little more than peeved if you had to deliver that line with every customer.

“Yeah, you too,” you respond in a subdued voice, lifting the box from the counter, fishing your keys out of your crossbody with one hand as you’re making steady strides to the exit doors of Detroit Guitar. 

Return it. He said you have two weeks to return it. Maybe you can just do that after a day or so. Just keep it for a little while, let it serve as a symbol of what could’ve been a wonderfully thoughtful gift to someone you care (cared?) enough for to spend money on that you don’t possess. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You spent how much?”

“About two hundred seventy…and some change,” you admit to a very baffled Nat. You had to talk to someone about this impulse purchase during your drive home, and who better than her than confess such a thing to? The silent drive, thanks to the busted radio, would only make you question your choice even further.  Of course, her reaction is just as you’d expected. Shocked, inquisitive. A tad on the judgemental side. Her lack of restraint when it comes to voicing her thoughts should be studied, dear lord. 

“I admittedly know nothing about the world of guitar straps,” she wittingly comments. “But isn't that a bit much for a piece of faux leather that holds a guitar to you?”

“Nat, it’s an exact replica of one of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s favorites. When I say exact, I mean I would fully believe that this was actually his if I didn’t know any better,” you explain to her, and to yourself. You’re still trying to justify the purchase to yourself, too. But, you are right – it’s a true match in style to one he used often, one that has gone down in rock and roll history as iconic, and nothing less. Stark black, patterned with a flow of white music notes, hand stitched. It’s a classic piece in its own right, certainly one that any fan of his would instantly recognize. 

It’ll look so beautiful attached to Jake’s SG. A stunning complement to the dark red hue of the body. That, in truth, was all you could think of when you made the trip to shop – the image of Jake’s guitar donned with such an important piece in the vast chronicle of the blues. The point is, you know he’ll love it. You know he will. And that alone is plenty of justification. 

At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself. 

“And it is not faux leather, Natalia. It’s one hundred percent real. Just –,” you sigh, fighting the internal battle of whether this was a completely outlandish choice or not. And her judgey tone is certainly not helping with that. “I need you to trust that I wouldn’t just buy this for no reason. It has meaning, Natalia. There’s a lot of significance wrapped up in this –,” 

You stop talking when you hear her scoff on the other end, feeling just a bit offended with the display. “What was that about, Natalia?”

“Why on earth are you getting so defensive about this?” She irately asks, with every right, too. 

You’re feeling far more confrontational than normal, probably due to the fact that you’re plagued with guilt over the whole ordeal. The money you spent on this should be spent elsewhere. It’s just not financially responsible. But, goddamnit – you want him to have this. 

“Listen,” she persists, her tone shifting to a calmer one. “All I’m worried about is the fact that you two are basically no contact at this point. It’s a great gift, y/n. But are you okay with giving him something that special when you’re not going to date him? I assume that’s the plan, anyway.” 

Well. She’s right about that. A pretty solid point, actually. Sure, you were certainly thinking everything she’s saying, but hearing it out loud makes it all the more palpable in your mind. You’re undoubtedly not going to ‘date’ him. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. Wasn’t to begin with, not ever. 

“I know,” you concede, a heavy, defeated sigh accompanying your words. The Firebird screeches to a quick stop at the red light that you almost ran through, your frustrations making it difficult to keep your mind on the fact that you’re driving. Everything in your backseat – canvas bag full of books, laptop, the guitar strap – all plummeted to the floorboard. Yet another grievance rattle your nerves to the nth degree.

“I’ll return it,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve got two weeks to take it back. I’ll just do that.”

You knew you’d come to regret this. It wasn’t wise; What if your mom finds out that you used her disability money – the money you need for rent – on something like this? You have always been the responsible one, and that doesn’t stop when it comes to money. The shit you learned after you dad left about saving each and every penny you had…feels like it’s all gone out the window. And for what? The guy who’ll just become part of your past in the very near future? 

If there were ever a moment you felt utterly stupid, right now would be that moment. 

“Just do what you think is best, y/n,” she advises, her voice more gentle than it was before. “I won’t judge you either way – I just want you to be okay with whatever decision you make and not regret it.” 

And therein lies the problem. 

What you want to do and what you know is best are on opposing sides. You want to give it to him, show him that you thought of him when you saw it. Give him a little something to make him think of you when he’s gone. (And, maybe, give him something that’d make him want to stay.)

But you know the best idea would be to take it back to the shop, receive a full refund, forget about it altogether. 

Your heart and your head – the two just never seem to see eye to eye. Do you follow the emotional urge or the logical move? 

Either way, you can’t be sure that you’ll be much better off if you’d choose to go one way or the other. Who would’ve thought that a simple (though, not really simple at all) gift could stir such a massive whirlwind of emotions? 

You barely hear Nat mutter something on her end of the call, but her voice is now drowned out by the deep, uneven thrumming of your Firebird’s ancient engine that’s now sputtering and threatening to stall after slamming on your brakes the way you did. You ask her to repeat what she’d said, but you’re still unable to make out any intelligible words. 

“I can’t hear you, Nat,” you say, raising your own voice now to compete with the intrusive noise as you’re finally turning on the street of your apartment. “My stupid car is screaming at me so I need you to talk a little louder.” 

Through shuffling and static on the other end, you can faintly make out Danny’s name. She’s probably insisting you let him take a look at your car again, but as the engine grows even louder, you decide it’s no use.

“I’ll just have to call you back,” you finally say, defeated, ending the call with a sharp press of your thumb. You toss your phone in the passenger seat, landing with a hard thud against the cracked and stained vinyl seat.

Pulling into the lot outside of your building, you shift the damn thing in park and kill the engine with a rough twist of your key. The Firebird sputters one last time before it falls silent. But the silence only makes the chaos in your mind scream even louder.

You sit there a moment, hands still gripping the wheel, forehead pressed into the worn leather. The harsh scent of overheated metal and old dust infiltrates your nose, threatening a sneeze at any moment.

The guitar strap lies on the floorboard behind you, almost hidden beneath your spilled books and laptop,

Maybe you’ll return it tomorrow.

Maybe you won’t.

Right now, you’re too tired to decide what the fuck you’re going to do.

Right now, all you can do is sit here, broken in more ways than one, wishing the world (and your heart) would just, for once, make things simple.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re not surprised it didn’t wake her. She sleeps about as soundly as any person could these days. And, with the humming noise that accompanies her oxygen machine, she hardly hears a thing outside of her room. 

Still, you checked on her first thing. Sometimes, if she’s startled awake, her coughing fits become so bad that it takes hours for her body to calm down. So, when you hear the intrusion again, it pisses you off for her sake. (And yours – if she can’t sleep, you don’t sleep.) 

Whomever it is isn’t frantically knocking, though you’re inclined to believe that whatever the reasoning for such a visit is of some importance, given it’s well past midnight. 

Your first thought is Nat, but that thought quickly dissipates when you realize she hasn’t sent you a text warning her impending arrival. She would never just show up unannounced. And if she did, the knocks on the door would be far less spaced out, because something would be very wrong.

That leaves only two options – a burglar, or the man whom you’ve been avoiding for two days now. 

At this point, you think you’d prefer the burglar to the latter. 

A third knock against the door sets your heating anger to a near boil. 

With quiet defiance, you march across the living room and unlock the door, swinging it open to reveal what you already knew.

It’s no burglar. Not one after anything materialistic, at least. This one is after your heart. And, he may as well head to the next door, because there’s not much left of yours to steal. 

“It’s late, Jake.” 

“I know that.” 

If he told you that he’s just ran a marathon, you’d have no problem believing it. Wouldn’t question such a thing based on the looks of him. 

His hair, a low, messy bun against the nape of his neck. Tendrils of hair have fallen out of the bun, framing his blushed and sweaty face, sticking to the skin. His breaths are nearly heaving, nostrils flaring with each quick bit of air he sucks in. 

You’re reluctant to invite him in, but the cold burst of air blowing through the open door calls for it. Which, again, forces you to wonder why he’s so sweaty, why the sleeves of his black Jimi Hendrix hoodie are pulled up to his elbows. 

You remember this hoodie rather well. You’ve seen it before, and though it’s been a long time since then, the image of it will forever remain seared in your memory. 

All black, with a black-and-white photo of Hendrix performing at Woodstock across his chest. The photo is a bit weathered, its corners soft and faded. You can only imagine he’s had it for years. 

You love it. Truly.

With no words, only the motion of your hands, you offer to let him come inside. He does so in a sluggish manner, turning to close the door behind him. 

Letting him inside is as far as you’ll go, though. You don’t offer your couch to him, don’t ask if he’d like to go to your room to talk. Standing, awkwardly, taking up the space in the middle of the living room will just have to fucking do. Whatever he has to say to you, whatever compelled him to show up unannounced after midnight, he can take care of right here. 

“What do you want, Jake?”

The question, more like an assertion – you can’t think of any valid reason he’d show up here like this. 

“You’re really okay with letting me leave like this, huh?”

“Yes.” 

Your arms become crossed over your chest, a bold stance of resistance. You’re mad. And you don’t even know why you’re mad. You are the one who kissed his brother. You have been ignoring him since. 

In some way, you feel that leaving things like this will make it easier when he’s gone. Mending things will only make his absence hurt much worse. At least this way, you’ll be too angry to miss him.

He watches your every move, studying you, reading you. He knows what you’re feeling, and he knows you’re full of shit when you say you’re fine with things ending this way. But what choice has he left you with?

Your arms across your body – they’re more of a comforting embrace. You feel your walls breaking above an already faulty foundation. You’re just trying to keep yourself stable at this point.

“No you’re not, y/n. And this avoidance game won’t make this any better.” 

“Avoidance, Jake? Shall I remind you of your own avoidance tactics? How you just led me on and didn’t think to clue me in on this little detail of your life? Knowing that I’ve already been down this path before?”

“This wasn’t some cruel design, y/n. I never wanted to end up here, with you looking at me like this.” 

 “You’re the one who’s okay with leaving in the first place, Jake. So, I’m okay if we leave things just like this.”

Again, a fucking lie. A lie to protect the remaining tattered shreds left of your heart. You can’t even discern whether or not it’s working. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to coming with me. Think about it, y/n. All of the things you love, the birthplace of the works you’ve spent your whole life with. The history, y/n. These are the things you care about, not some egotistic modeling gig. That’s not you, y/n.”  

He takes one step closer to you, the muscles in his jaw clenching and tightening, nostrils flaring with every deep breath from his chest.

“Oxford is you; literature is you. Why are you rejecting who you are?”  

He’s not wrong. In truth, just about everything he’s saying is right. 

It makes sense. All of it. 

But your reluctance hasn’t waned. And you’ll be goddamned if you could understand why. Spite is truly the only thing you can think of. Because if you’re honest with him and yourself, going to London feels like the moment your whole life has been leading up to.

And it makes you think…is Jake the light you’re meant to follow? Like a moth uses the moon wayfind – 

Your mom. She’s awake. 

And she’s coughing. 

Suddenly, a reason bigger than you – you can’t leave her. She’ll die without you. She has no one else in this world to take care of her. You’re it. 

Your mom. She is the reason.

“That, Jake.” For a moment, you uncross your arms, ridding yourself of the tiny bit of security you found in them, pointing your finger towards her closed bedroom door. “That is why I can’t go. And it’s selfish of you to think I could just leave her for you.”

“Selfish, y/n? I’m standing here, pleading with you to live the life that you want to live, to not forget who you are, and that makes me selfish?”

“I can’t leave her, Jake. You know that.” 

You stand firm, crossing your arms once more and willing your voice not to crack or falter in anyway. 

“But you’re willing to leave her for L.A.? If she really is the only reason you won’t consider London, what makes L.A. so different, hm?”  

Your breath catches, body stiffening as you soak in his words, his incredibly valid point. There’s no answer. No reasonable one. He’s right, again. 

L.A. truly isn’t any different. It may be across the country instead of the world, but does distance actually matter? You weren’t even thinking of your mom when you said you were going to pursue L.A. She didn’t cross your fucking mind once. 

Why are you okay with that, and not London? 

The only difference – Jake. And your goddamn pride that you refuse to let go of. And as it stands, you’re not sure there’s any turning back from it. 

There’s silence for a moment. You don’t know what to say, how to argue something utterly inarguable. 

His eyes watch you, reading the thoughts behind your own until he finally speaks again. “Why are you so sure about going after something you’ve never given a fuck about, but adamantly refuse to go with me in pursuit of something you love?”   

“It’s just –,” you try, scrambling through the thoughts in your brain to come up with something to say that’ll make any sort of sense. “It’s different, Jake. It’s just different.”

Different? 

Is it, though? Jesus – if you don’t believe it, how is he supposed to?

“She’s doing this on purpose, y/n.”

Excuse me?

“And you know that. She’s letting herself stay this way so you won’t live your own life. And it’s working.” 

Your pulse begins surging, your insides twisting in knots as a storm of pure anger begins to brew beneath your ribs. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How dare he accuse your mom of something so…so fucking vile. 

And so completely wrong.

“That is not true, Jake!” You want to yell, to scream at the top of your lungs. But you can’t. You don’t want her to have to hear any of this.“She would never do something like that. You can’t say that – you don’t know what she’s been through.”

The way he’s looking at you, as if he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t know. He isn’t the one that’s responsible for keeping her alive. He doesn’t live with her, he doesn’t have to witness her death playing out before his own two eyes. 

The coughs don’t last long, thank goodness. You were terrified that she’d cough herself into a spell that she wouldn’t be able to get out of without you. 

“You’re taking care of her and not yourself, y/n. And she won’t let you take care of yourself. She doesn’t want me to do it, either. It’s dangerous for you to keep taking care of her. She wants you to be unhappy, she doesn’t want you to heal. Everyone else can see that, y/n. Why are you so blind to it?”

“Jake – ,”

No. He doesn’t get to say shit like that to you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not his fucking place. 

“You’re asking me to uproot my life and move to a different country, Jake.” Your arm snaps towards your left, as if  pointing in the direction of London. The joints in your elbow pop as you do, your finger staying in the London direction as you continue pressing your point.

“That is the difference. And it’s obvious that I wasn’t on your mind when you made this decision. You were fine with leaving me. So just leave.” That finger, pointing towards your make believe London, is now pointing ahead of you. At the door. 

“This decision, y/n, I didn’t –,” he begins, voice suddenly much softer than before. A frustrated palm begins rubbing at his forehead, his eyes hidden behind their lids for a brief moment as he finds his wording. “I didn’t just choose to move across the world overnight. I was accepted to Oxford long before this semester even began. Before I ever knew you, y/n. I’m not fine with leaving you, that is why I’m begging you to consider following your true path.” 

He pauses with a heavy breath, hands tucking the loose strands of hair behind his ears. 

You feel the lump in your throat begin to tighten, your eyes blurring behind a new wetness. You can’t help but wonder how things have gone so wrong. So fucking wrong. 

What are you doing?

“I know you applied to Oxford,” he says, and your heart begins to thump hard beneath your chest. Pounding in your ears, rattling your bones. “And I know you wouldn’t have done that if this wasn’t laying on your heart.”  

You feel like a child that’s been caught in a lie – embarrassed, cheeks burning, heart exposed. He knows. 

He’s already seen that wall crumble before you even realized it had fallen.

“H-how do you –,” you stutter out through a cracked, timid voice. But he’s ready to answer you before you can even finish your question. 

You already know the answer. 

“Movack.”

Yep.

“He was elated that you applied. And that tells me that you’ve already considered this option.”  

Words fail you.

You stand here, lips parted, yet nothing dares to rise past your tongue. 

“Listen…,” he whispers, his eyes not breaking from yours. “Whether you chose to come to London or not, I can’t leave with this weight between us. If this is where it ends, then we need to let it end with grace, with us seeing each other clearly. Please, y/n. I’m begging you. I can’t bear to leave you like this. I can’t bear this.”

He steps forward slowly, fingers twitching at his sides as though he’s aching to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, as though he’s memorizing every curve and contour of your face. 

Your lip begins to tremble, quivering as you hold his heavy gaze. There’s a long beat of silence, lingering.

He then exhales, sharp and exhausted, running a hand down his face before letting it fall limp to his side.

“And if this is the last time I see you, then I need you to know – you’ve broken me, y/n. You shattered something in me, you’ve changed me.” A bitter laugh escapes him, hardly more than a breath. “God, I needed it. I wish I – I just wish I could put it into words, but my heart is speaking a language my lips don’t know how to translate. I just –,”

He stops, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as though he’s breathing away any tears that may threaten to fall. And then, he says it. The words you can’t bear to hear. 

The ones that will make this hurt all the more.

“I love you, y/n.”

No. Please, no.

Warm, full tears spill down your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. So many tears. Too many to count.

You swallow the sob building in your throat, composing yourself before you can truly let this sink in. 

You softly shake your head in blindsided silence, as if that could somehow undo what’s just been spoken.

But it won’t. You know that. 

And now, there’s only one thing left to say. Because you can’t let him see that you feel it, too.

You already feel too much. And you have for a long fucking time.

It has to end here.

 “You need to go Jake.”

“What? Y/n listen to me –,”

“You need to go.”

It’s unmistakable, the tears in his eyes as he silently turns away, giving you what you want. What you’ve wanted this whole time – for him to just leave. 

There’s no reason to watch him walk away. No reason to let yourself experience the pain of seeing him leave your apartment. For the last time. 

No. You can’t do it. You won’t. 

You let your eyes wander to your feet as you shut the door, fighting the burning desire to slam it. If you didn’t live in a complex, you most certainly would have. 

Shut, deadbolt locked – it’s done. 

The building is so quiet, so still – you can hear The Black Pearl’s engine start up all the way from the second floor. You know the sound, tangible even from a distance. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. It’s familiar. Heartbreakingly so. 

The only thing left to do — now that he’s gone — is go to bed. Sleep. Forget about all of this, of Jake. 

A faint tapping stops you before you can take more than one step. A stuttering flutter, just above you. And when you look in the direction of the strange noise, your eyes land upon a creature, wings of silken pale green floating against the overhead light. Hovering just beneath the plastic dome of the fixture, entirely lost within the soft glow it emanates like an invisible tether. 

If it stays in here, it’ll surely die. And you can’t let that happen to such an eye-catching moth. You’ve never seen one this beautiful, this noble. 

Quiet as you can, you turn to unlock and crack open the door, ensuring you're prepared to set this lovely thing free, once and for all. 

“Wrong light, little guy. Let’s get you back outside where you’re safe,” you whisper, gently reaching your hands above your head, cupping it safely between your palms. 

“You don’t belong here.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 12th:

One day until he leaves.

You haven’t heard from him today.

Not once. 

And it’s a relief. 

At least, it’s supposed to be. 

It’s not, though. 

You thought you wanted him to leave you alone. And perhaps you did when you told him as much. But now, your body is feeling ten times heavier with a burdening guilt. Guilt over letting him leave like this. He’d asked you over and over if you were truly okay with letting it end this way, letting him go to London without a proper goodbye, without anything but the nudge of a cold shoulder. 

And you said yes. 

But that’s not the truth.

You’ve become so accustomed to lying in order to protect your heart, that you’re starting question what the fuck is even real anymore. 

You’re tired of not knowing – you’re tired of lying. 

You’ve let yourself rot in bed for the better part of the day, save for your early shift at the library. Stocking books, updating records, listening to the echoing tick of the giant wall clock…it took your mind off of things at the time. 

But now, you’re on hour four of lying in bed, staring at your phone, ‘watching TikToks,’ but only truly looking at the top of the screen. Watching, waiting to see his name appear. 

And it doesn’t. You fear his time of trying to reach you has worn out – that clocked has reached its final tick. And you should be happy about it. 

So, why aren’t you? Why are you stuck here, sprawled out on your mattress – the same position you’ve been in for over four hours now – waiting for a single name to pop up on the screen of your phone? 

It’s ridiculous, truly. And it’s a waste of your goddamn time. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now, in lieu of awaiting a message that won’t be coming, one that shouldn’t be coming. 

Dinner’s easy these days – chicken broth, water, tea if your mom is feeling up to it. She’s resting in her own bed now, Western film playing on her TV, probably dozing in and out of sleep. 

So, given the earlier ending to each night as of late, there actually isn’t anything else for you to do. Apartment is clean as a whistle, dishes washed and put away. Maybe it’d be best if you let yourself drift to sleep, too. What else is there to do? Keep your eyes glued to a screen for something that won’t happen? 

Sleep. You just want to sleep. 

You click the message icon, just in case you happen to miss something. Of course, there’s nothing. Nothing new, nothing from him. So, with a deep breath in your nose and out of your parted lips, you lock your phone and sit on the dark wood table beside your bed. 

And that’s where it’ll stay for the rest of the night. No more waiting, no more wishing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 13th:

The last day.

This morning, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest that you’ve never felt before. Weighing on you, crushing your ribs, your heart pounding beneath the pressure. Your body, covered in a layer of cold sweat the second you opened your eyes.

You knew why.

It felt as though you’d finally come to terms with it all – your guiding light, your navigational compass, he’s leaving. And suddenly, you realized just how lost you’ll be without him. 

Everything came to a crushing realization, all at once.

You drove at least fifteen miles over the limit the whole way. Speeding up when lights turned yellow, passing and weaving through traffic when they slowed you down. You’ve wasted so much goddamn time. You couldn’t let yourself waste one more fucking second. 

He came to you when your foolish self dismissed him each time he tried to reach out, when he begged for you to not let him leave without mending things. You wouldn’t fucking listen. Even when he drove over twenty minutes in the middle of the night, showing up for you. 

So, it’s only right that you offer him the same. Give both of you the chance to see him off properly. You let your hurt feelings get in the way of so much. And right now, all you can think is how fucking stupid you’ve been. He tried, and you shut him out. And the result? You didn’t end up hurting any less, like you thought you would. 

No, you’re hurting so much worse. And it’s your fault this time. Not his. He tried, and you didn’t 

You barely hit the brakes when you shove the gear in park, viciously jolting yourself forward when the car screeches to a quick halt. Not the best move for your aged Firebird, but you’ll worry about that later. 

You don’t even bother turning the thing off. There’s no time for that. 

The door to their apartment feels daunting as you run towards it, pounding the wood with your closed fist when you’re close enough to make contact. After a few seconds of nothing, you knock again. 

Finally, the knob begins to turn from the other side. You’re ready to leap into his arms the moment he opens the door, to hold him, kiss him. Give yourself one last chance to experience what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms, to taste him one more time, seal it in your memory where it can always stay with you.

But when the door opens, it’s not Jake behind the frame. It’s Josh. And if you were paying close enough attention — which you’re not— you’d notice the redness around Josh’s eyes and cheeks, his freshly wet eyelashes. 

Paying no mind, you push your way inside, ready to run to his room, where you’re sure he is. But you don’t make it far. You’re stopped by Josh’s gentle touch, his grounding hand placed on your shoulder. He doesn’t use force, yet it stops you just as abruptly as if he were. 

“Please, Josh. I know he doesn’t want to see me but I need to tell him that –,”

“Y/n. Stop.” You don’t heed him. 

It’s obvious that Jake is upset with you — he has every reason to be. But you have to do this. You can’t let him go this way, without him hearing the truth written on your laden heart. This is the ending. That is a lucid fact. But, you can’t let it end before you say what you need to say. Your heart won’t beat the same ever again if you don’t. 

“No, Josh. I need to tell him that I lo –,”

“Y/n!” 

His voice is jarring, enough to silence you and keep you from taking another step towards the hallway. And his eyes, just as staggering as his voice – they’re telling you something you’ve a feeling you really don’t want to hear from his lips. 

“Listen to me,” he pleads, closing the space between you. “He’s –” He sniffles, his eyes now heavy with new tears. “He’s not here, love.”

“W-what?” Your heart is racing, cold sweat collecting on your skin. Your throat tightens, it’s so hard to swallow. 

No. No. 

“That’s impossible, Josh! His flight isn’t until –,”

He stops you with another squeeze of your shoulder, tears now running down his cheeks, pooling around his dark moustache. “He was able to get an earlier flight, y/n. I just got back from the airport.”

No.

“His plane just left, darling. He’s gone.”

You’re too late. 

There’s nothing to say, so the tears will say it all for you. Quiet tears, no sobbing. Just quiet, regretful tears. There for you when you’re hurting. Always there. A warm, gentle comfort to accompany your pain. 

Always there. 

He didn’t say goodbye. And it’s your fault that he didn’t. 

Fuck, he tried. You wouldn’t hear it. Didn’t give him the chance to. And you let him leave without telling him how you truly feel. When you decided to get your head out of your ass, it was too goddamn late. 

You know the pain of someone leaving without saying goodbye, without you getting the chance to say the things that’d gone unspoken for so long. Leaving a hole in your heart, open and void. And when he wanted to give you that much, you closed yourself off. It’s your fault. 

And now, he’s gone. It’s the end of the chapter. The page, officially turned. He’ll never speak to you again. You may never see him again.

Josh sniffles again as he wraps both arms around your shoulders, pulling as close to his body as he can. His embrace, so warm against your trembling form. A comfort, though one all too familiar to the one you’re longing for right now. And because of that, it’s only making this pain hurt worse. 

Much, much worse. 

“I know, y/n. I’m gonna miss him, too.”

You were too late.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i know. i'm sad, too. we've still got a long ways to go, loves. don't be afraid to let me know what you think! anon or not, i love hearing from you.🤍

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. 🤍 you all are truly the best.

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