#shipment disruption

[centralnavigation]

anyone wanna tell me why my package from modesto, california to victoria, british columbia, is currently in chicago?? no?? oh alright

[zorthania]

A piece about survivors guilt.

This comic isn't perfect. I started it back in October 2023, and every time I picked up my pen, I wept.

I bring this to you today, on 9/11, in hopes that you reflect on this day a little differently than how most Americans would. Let it move you to continue to boycott, protest and challenge your family, friends and colleagues. You have a bigger impact than you would believe.

Thank you for reading this with an open heart.

From the river to the sea...

I'd like to bring to attention the fact that the figures depicted above are a gross undercount of the actual number of deaths. I scoured the internet high and low to source my findings and not a single one could break down the devastation that befell an individual ethnicity. Instead, they lumped a bunch of ethnicities together, provided a general timeline, and called it a day, reinforcing the sheer scale of dehumanization propagated in the west. The only consistency between all the articles I looked up was the 4.5 to 4.7 million figure I've included above, and even then, they were all published by western media news outlets... the very same that have been so unreliable and complicit in the genocide of Palestinians today. So I have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

We are not just numbers.

All of us have ambitions and desires and lives worth living.

With that said, this is your friendly reminder to:

Donate an e-sim

Donate to PCRF to provide Palestinian children aid

Donate to Pious Projects to provide woman with feminine hygiene kits

Donate to CareForGaza to provide food to displaced families in Gaza either through their Gofundme or their paypal

Donate to any of the vetted gofundme campaigns on GazaFunds to help Palestinians trying to flee Gaza.

And if you or someone you know sees or experiences a hate crime and can afford it, SUE. This is a more effective use of your money than most realise. The reason zionists act with impunity is because of the normalization of white supremacy and oppression of ethnic minorities. Challenging that in any capacity tells them that there are consequences to their actions and makes them think twice before engaging in hate crimes and helps raise all of us up against the systems currently in place that let them get away with it.

If you can't donate or spend any money, you can:

Do your daily clicks.

Boycott targeted companies on the BDS list (if you're like me and you don't want a single dollar to go towards anything supporting Israel right now, you can use Bdnaash to double check what products are okay to buy, but the BDS list is sufficient as it is a strategic attack and proven very effective thus far)

Flood your representatives emails and voicemails with how you won't be voting for them unless their politics align with an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

Attend a protest, be LOUD.

Challenge your circle of friends, family and colleagues with conversations about Palestine. (THIS IS THE MOST UNDERRATED AND MOST EFFECTIVE THING YOU CAN DO)

and if you're really up to, be disruptive in any capacity that you can think of towards major corporations benefiting from this onslaught. (i.e. halting military manufacturers from production + shipments, sticking boycott stickers on products at your market etc)

And finally, if your country wasn't mentioned in the above excerpt, it was no deliberate omission on my part and I encourage you to come forward and tell your story about the suffering of your people so that this may be a learning opportunity for everyone.

You are seen.

You are not alone.

Thank you again if you've read this far.

From the river to the sea...

[immaculatasknight]

Mask Off MAERSK

[just2bruce]

Red Sea ripples spread across trades

The repercussions of the Red Sea crisis have been longer-lasting and more severe than many shippers thought. Shippers expected delays proportional to the extra sailing time. They may have expected proportional cost increases as well. But they did not count on such factors as the extreme congestion in Singapore and in other ports. And in ports that have become pivotal, there are looming shortages…

[grugruel]

Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councilor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out your working with a councilor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Piltover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- mhh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

-

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

-

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

-

[northern-passage]

Read the full call to action here.

Tomorrow, November 29th, the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, the #BDS movement is calling for an all day social media storm. Our physical and digital actions can be used together to strengthen our demands: Permanent ceasefire and lifting the siege to stop Israel’s genocide in Gaza. Lawful sanctions on Israel, including a #MilitaryEmbargo. Pressure on the International Criminal Court (ICC) to issue arrest warrants for Israeli leaders. Click here for prepared messages and images to use for the social media storm. Over the last 7 weeks, millions of you have taken to the streets for the largest protests the world has seen in the last 20 years! We are grateful to each one of you who, through your voices and creative actions, have built up unprecedented grassroots power to end Israel’s genocidal war against 2.3 million Palestinians in Gaza. Yet, Western governments are continuing to arm, fund and provide political cover for Israel’s genocide. We must act urgently to end all state, corporate and institutional complicity with Israel’s genocidal apartheid regime. Palestinian lives and livelihoods literally depend on it. To this end, and as time has shown, BDS is the most effective form of solidarity with the Palestinian liberation struggle. Tomorrow, we call for escalating worldwide peaceful mobilizations and expressions of meaningful solidarity to stop the genocide including: 1. Whenever feasible, organizing peaceful disruptions, sit-ins, occupations, etc. targeting  policymakers, as well as the corporate enablers of genocide and apartheid (arms manufacturers, investment firms), and institutions (media, universities, cultural spaces, etc.). 2. Disrupting the transport of weapons, or weapon parts, to Israel, including in transit states, by supporting trade unions refusing to handle such shipments, as has been done in Belgium, US, and the Spanish State, and as expressed by trade unions in India, Turkey, Italy and Greece.  3. Pressuring parliaments and governments to cancel existing military contracts and agreements with Israel, as Colombia’s president publicly espoused, and as demanded by the BDS movement in Brazil, a demand supported by civil society and more than 60 parliamentarians in the country. 4. Intensifying all strategic economic boycott and divestment campaigns against complicit corporations, and escalating campaigns to cut all ties to apartheid Israel and its complicit academic and cultural institutions as well as sports teams. Mobilizing your community, trade union, association, church, social network, student government/union, city council, cultural center, or other organization to declare itself an Apartheid Free Zone (AFZ) on November 29th, if it hasn’t already, and organize a solidarity event or action on November 29th. 5. Pressuring your elected officials, where relevant, through direct communication or collective direct action, to demand real pressure on the International Criminal Court (ICC) to urgently prosecute Netanyahu and all other Israeli officials responsible for��genocide, apartheid, and war crimes. If not now, when? In solidarity, The Palestinian BDS National Committee (BNC)

ABOUT THE BDS MOVEMENT

Cultural boycott guidelines

Economic boycott for consumers

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him. 

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong? 

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal. 

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes. 

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence. 

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you. 

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday. 

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it. 

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm. 

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. 

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.) 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment. 

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress. 

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations. 

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach. 

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

________________________________________

You should have known better than to be optimistic. 

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty. 

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears. 

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety. 

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear. 

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

 “If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer. 

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.  

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.” 

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 7

[ghostofreach]

Something you mentioned at one point was the idea that the Southeastern Mondstadters are viewed with some suspicion as they were mainly descended from Snezhnayaians who fled to escape the Fatui.

In game lore, Diluc is mentioned to be involved with an intelligence network within Snezhnaya that are thoroughly anti-Tsaritsa/Fatui.

I think it could be interesting for the idea that these southeastern Mondstadters might on occasion go back to Snezhnaya, but with the sole purpose to screw with the Fatui organization (think WWII style Polish/Yugoslav partisans)

In other words… Diluc leading these Mondstadter Hajdúk/Partisan raids, against the Fatui (all done without the KoF knowing)

Thoughts?

Every time you come into my ask box you write the coolest most insane ideas I fw you SO heavy you are amazing

They are the peak of screwing with the fatui (excluding the fact that a lot of these are headcannons)

Time to yap😈

Diluc

Diluc is the forefront of every operation, his invaluable knowledge of how the Fatui operate is often what separates a failed mission from a successful one. However, he himself cannot involve himself too directly (as much as he would relish in doing so) lest he poke the sleeping bear that is already breathing down his country’s neck and bring the Snezhnayan military to the front gates of Mondstadt. So he opts for a more subtle approach. Wearing and tearing down the Fatui by offering arms to those who oppose them (often the citizens they govern), sabotaging their supply shipments, and disrupting their political processes.

Yelan

Yelan works in the shadows, forcefully poking and prodding at the innards of Snezhnayan political and military power in order to extract the pure, unfiltered truth. She reports to the Tianquan, who shares the information with whoever she pleases. However, Yelan also reports to the network, sharing only the details that are needed for whatever vocation that is transpiring to go well.

Sangonomiya Kokomi

One may not expect the high priestess of Watatsumi Island to be associated with such a scandalous affair, but Kokomi is well versed in the art of destruction from the inside out. She is the core strategist for all operations involving force, and is no stranger to civic warfare. She disguises all identities under layers of waterlogged evidence, leaving only the Fatui scrambling to find a culprit. Her web of red herrings always lead to the wrong target, and the Fatui find themselves drowning in a sea of could-bes and could-nots.

Wriothesley

Remarkably, The Duke uses a much more supportive strategy than one would think. Those who are under siege for providing information or resisting Fatui oppression can find sanctuary within the Fortress of Meropride. Wriothesley provides jeopardized informants with protection (and even a new identity, if needed) under the guise of taking them in as a prisoner. There, they are safeguarded from prying eyes and guileful assassins while they take the time to be forgotten by society. If needed, he will personally allocate guards to chaperone them to another safe house closer to (or farther from!) their home.

Yap session DONE!!!!

I think Mongolians in Liyue have a similar history to southern mondstadters

[cal-flakes]

dealer!rafe spanking reader for interrupting an important phonecall with a buyer

╰┈➤ spanked by dealer!rafe (blurb)

warnings: degradation, spanking, slapping, very nsfw.

summary: see above.

“come here” he ordered, leaning against the doorway. his once freshly-ironed suit was now disheveled and untucked after a stressful morning, meetings and phone calls regarding shipments were not his favourite thing to do, but someone had to do them.

and y/n’s incessant interruptions certainly didn’t bode well, to say the least.

she cowered against the bed, shrinking into the pillows as much as possible. she was somewhat oblivious to the extra hassle she’d been causing him all morning, however it was becoming a bit more clear.

“rafe, i-im-” she stuttered, avoiding his gaze. “y/n i said come here, i won’t tell you again” he growled, swiping a clammy palm across his flushed face.

her heart jumped in her chest at the demand, yet she was surprised by the sudden pool forming in her panties.

slowly, she threw her legs off the bed, shuffling towards him anxiously. “why’re you nervous angel?” he soothed, cupping her cheeks with his vascular hands, clouding her thoughts with a false sense of security.

he huffed at her lack of response, instead struggling to get her words out. “what did you do wrong baby? can you tell me that?” rafe cooed, stroking her cheek gently with his thumbs as her glassy eyes stared up at him.

losing patience, he moved a hand to hold the back of her head, the other finding itself gripping her chin.

her chest heaved as a sudden sting spread across her cheek, wincing as the slight pain dissipated slowly. “i said, what did you do wrong?” he snapped, seething.

“i, i interrupted..y-your phone call..” she whispered breathlessly as his other hand danced around her waist, still keeping his grip on her chin.

“uh-huh, how many times?” he asked, patronising her as he towered over her small frame. “um…”

“seven. seven times, you interrupted me, and i think that classifies you as a bad girl, yeah?” he snarled, squishing her cheeks.

tears brimmed along her waterline at the words as they circled her mind. her gaze fell to his feet, now embarrassed by her actions. “im sorry rafe, i didn’t mean to..” she croaked.

letting go forcefully, he shoved her back slightly before moving to perch on the edge of the bed. “bend over my knee”

y/n bowed her head, taking cautious steps towards him. “the quicker you do it, the quicker it’s over princess, you know the deal” he smirked, gesturing towards his lap.

she squeezed her thighs together before lifting herself back onto the bed, settling over him as she arched her back.

“that’s a good girl, see? you do know how to behave..” he chuckled, lifting up her already short dress, revealing her behind.

craning his neck to inspect her hungrily, the wet patch on her panties, just about covering her wet folds, caught his eyes. humming in response, he grazed his thumb gently against her clothed core, earning a jolt from her.

“seven disruptions…i’d say seven’s fair?” he smirked, a sly tone lingering on his tongue.

before she could submit to him and agree, he cracked his palm against her ass cheek, inciting a quiet whimper from her. “o-one” she whispered, involuntarily pushing back into his hand as he rubbed smooth circles into the hand print.

“good girl, six more to go angel..”

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : kissing, deaths, injuries, stitching, descriptions of battle, stabbing, fluff.

A/N : 7.1k words damn I can’t get enough of these two and it’s only chapter 5 💀. Anyway y’all are thirsty asf for this fic so here’s chapter 5 that I sprinkled with some ✨DRAMA✨ to sent y’all into orbit. MAMA IS FEEDING YOU TODAY !!!

꧁ Chapter 5 : The Enemy Hides in Lies ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The dawn breaks soft on battered lands,

A fleeting peace in trembling hands.

Yet love, like spring, begins to grow,

A fragile bloom through frost and woe.

The great hall was a theater of shadows, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shapes along the walls as nobles gathered around the grand oak table. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and wine, but beneath the surface, an invisible current of tension rippled through the room. Anakin stood at the head of the table, his posture commanding, his eyes sharp. Every face he looked upon was a puzzle to be solved—a potential piece in a game of betrayal he was only beginning to decipher.

Count Aulbry was the first to speak, as Anakin expected. The man always seized the moment, his voice a blend of false concern and barely veiled condescension. "My lord, your victories on the northern front are, of course, commendable. Few could have led our armies with such skill against Wallace and his men."

There was a pause, artfully calculated.

"But it does leave me wondering… Has our focus on the Scots left the kingdom vulnerable to other threats? A prolonged absence of leadership often invites… instability."

Anakin’s expression remained stony, though his grip tightened ever so slightly on the armrest of his chair. "Instability arises when men forget where their loyalties lie, Count," he said, his voice low but cutting. "Is there something specific you fear, or are these merely idle musings?"

Aulbry smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "Idle musings, perhaps. One cannot help but notice certain… tensions in the southern provinces. Grain shipments have been delayed, and a few towns have reported unrest. A minor matter, I’m sure, but in times of peace, even minor matters deserve attention."

The mention of the grain shipments was not new to Anakin—he had already received reports from his stewards—but hearing it from Aulbry made the matter feel calculated, as if the Count was laying a trap with his words. Anakin’s gaze swept the room, noting the subtle shifts in posture among the other nobles. Whispers had begun to circulate in court—whispers that spoke of dissatisfaction, of plots brewing in the shadows.

"Minor matters, indeed," Anakin replied, his voice measured. "Rest assured, I have already taken steps to address them. The people will not starve under my watch."

"And yet," Aulbry pressed, "it is curious that such disruptions would occur now, so soon after your triumphant return. It almost seems as if—"

"Almost seems as if what, Count?" Anakin interrupted, his tone cold and final.

Aulbry hesitated, his smile faltering for the briefest moment. "Only that perhaps certain… elements may be testing the limits of this fragile peace. We must all remain vigilant, my lord. Especially you."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Anakin held Aulbry’s gaze, his silence more oppressive than any retort. When he finally spoke, his words were deliberate. "Vigilance is a duty I take seriously, Count. Perhaps you should do the same."

Aulbry bowed his head slightly, but Anakin saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes. The Count was testing boundaries, pushing at the edges of loyalty and decorum. And he was not alone.

The meeting concluded with the scrape of chairs and murmured pleasantries as the nobles filtered out. Anakin remained seated, his eyes following each man and woman as they departed. Only Aulbry lingered, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached the head of the table.

"My lord," the Count said, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "I hope you do not take my concerns as criticism. I only wish to see the kingdom prosper under your leadership."

"Prosperity does not grow from doubt, Count," Anakin replied, standing to his full height. "If you truly wish to see the kingdom flourish, you might begin by trusting the men who fight to protect it."

Aulbry’s lips twitched into a tight smile. "Wise words, my lord. I shall take them to heart."

Anakin watched as the Count left, the tension in the room finally breaking with his departure. But the unease in Anakin’s chest did not fade.

Later that night, Anakin stood on the battlements, the cold wind tugging at his cloak. Below, the village was a patchwork of flickering lights, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the silent storm raging in his mind. He could feel it—an undercurrent of unrest threading its way through the kingdom, subtle but insistent. The signs were everywhere: delays in supplies, vague reports of unrest, the growing boldness of men like Aulbry.

War had taught him to trust his instincts, and they were screaming now. He did not yet have proof, but he knew—knew—that something was amiss.

The crown weighed heavier on him with each passing day. He had fought for peace, had bled for it, but peace was proving to be a battlefield of its own. The enemy was not an army but a shadow, shifting and elusive. And shadows, he knew, could only be banished by light.

He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, its familiar weight grounding him. He would find the truth, and when he did, there would be no room for mercy. For now, he would play their game, but he would play to win.

The castle felt colder tonight, the stone walls seeming to echo every hesitant footstep you took. A fire crackled in the hearth of your chambers, but its warmth did little to ease the chill that had settled deep within you. You sat at your desk, a blank sheet of parchment before you, the quill in your hand trembling as you contemplated what you were about to do.

How much could you tell him? How much should you tell him?

The betrayal weighed heavily on your chest, a burden you could no longer ignore. Your father’s plans had become clearer with each passing day, his letters to Count Aulbry a chilling reminder that you were nothing more than a pawn in a game of power. And yet, to expose him would mean condemning your family—your blood.

But Anakin...

Anakin, with his unyielding strength and sharp mind, had become more than just a reluctant husband. He was your partner, your protector, your anchor in a world that seemed to shift beneath your feet. The thought of betraying him, even through silence, filled you with a guilt so fierce it was almost unbearable.

You dipped the quill into the ink and began to write, the words flowing out in a code you hoped he would understand.

"Beware the hand that offers peace but hides a dagger. Trust not the smile that does not reach the eyes. The enemy within wears the guise of a friend."

You hesitated, then folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with wax. The message was cryptic enough to avoid suspicion should it fall into the wrong hands, but you prayed Anakin’s sharp mind would unravel its meaning. 

The castle’s long corridors seemed quieter than ever that morning, the weight of your secrets pressing down on every step you took. You carried a tray of tea in your hands, the porcelain rattling faintly against the silver as your fingers trembled.

Anakin had returned just days ago, his presence both a comfort and a torment. He was closer now than ever before, yet the chasm between your love and the truths you withheld felt insurmountable. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word only deepened the ache inside you.

You paused outside his study, steadying yourself before entering. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, revealing him hunched over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he studied the maps and reports before him. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden highlights in his dark hair.

When he looked up, the weariness in his expression softened instantly, replaced by something warmer. Something reserved for you.

“You shouldn’t carry such things yourself,” he said, standing quickly to meet you. His voice was firm, but the faint curve of a smile betrayed his gratitude.

“And yet I wished to,” you replied with a small smile of your own.

You crossed the room to set the tray on the table, your movements deliberate, though your heart raced with the anticipation of what you were about to do. As you placed the tea before him, your fingers brushed his—just a fleeting touch, but one that sent warmth spiraling through you.

“You spoil me,” he said, his tone quiet but tinged with humor.

“You deserve spoiling,” you replied, your words light but sincere.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and you could feel the weight of his attention. Your breath hitched as you stepped back, sliding the folded note beneath one of the maps. Your hand hovered for a moment, but then you turned, ready to leave before your courage faltered.

But Anakin’s hand caught yours, his grip firm yet tender, halting you in your tracks.

“Stay,” he said, his voice low, but with a quiet insistence that left no room for refusal.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding, allowing him to guide you to a seat beside him. The distance between you closed, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the world beyond the study’s walls forgotten.

For a time, there was only silence between you, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. You could feel his presence beside you, solid and grounding, yet there was an unspoken tension in the air—a weight neither of you could name.

Finally, he broke the quiet.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though confessing a forbidden truth. “More than I realized I could.”

The words struck something deep within you, and you turned to face him fully, searching his face for any trace of doubt. There was none—only sincerity, tinged with a vulnerability you had rarely seen in him.

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your voice trembling. It was the truth, but it felt inadequate to capture the depth of your longing.

Anakin reached out then, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. The callouses on his fingers spoke of battles and hardships, yet his touch was softer than anything you had ever known. You leaned into his hand, your eyes fluttering closed as you allowed yourself a moment of reprieve.

When his lips met yours, it was slow, almost hesitant, as though testing the fragile bond that had formed between you. The kiss deepened, carrying with it an unspoken promise—a vow neither of you could yet put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“There’s so much I don’t say,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “But you have to know—”

“I do,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. Beneath your palm, you felt the steady beat of his heart—a reminder of his strength, his humanity. “I know.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply sat there, the world outside the study forgotten. You wanted to tell him everything, to unburden yourself of the secrets that threatened to consume you. But fear held you back—fear of what your revelations might do to the fragile trust you had built.

Later, as he returned to his work, his attention fell on the maps and reports scattered across the table. His sharp eyes caught the folded parchment tucked beneath the edges of the papers, and his brow furrowed as he reached for it.

From the doorway, you watched as he unfolded the note, his gaze scanning the words you had written. His expression darkened slightly, his fingers tightening around the parchment.

He looked up then, his eyes meeting yours across the room. There was no accusation in his gaze, only a quiet question—a plea for understanding.

You offered him a faint smile before slipping away, your heart heavy with the weight of what you had done. You prayed he would understand the warning you had left for him.

And you prayed, too, that the love you had begun to share would be strong enough to weather the storms that lay ahead.

The midday sun cast golden light through the stained-glass windows of your chamber as you sat by the desk, attempting to focus on a new canvas. But the brush in your hand felt heavier than usual, and the colors blurred together, your thoughts elsewhere.

Anakin had left at dawn for a hunt, his absence stretching like a shadow over the castle. You found yourself restless, unsettled by a creeping sense of unease that had lingered since his departure.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. One of the castle’s attendants entered, carrying a folded piece of parchment sealed with no crest. The lack of identification immediately caught your attention.

“This arrived for you, my lady,” the attendant said, bowing as they set the letter on your desk.

“Who delivered it?” you asked, but the attendant only shook their head.

“It was left with the guards at the gate, my lady. No messenger lingered.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the parchment, the faint scent of ash and wax clinging to it. Unfolding the letter, you read the hurried scrawl within:

“Beware the serpent that coils close to the lion. Tonight, blades will be drawn in shadows, and blood will stain the throne. Protect him, or all will be lost.”

Your breath caught. The words were cryptic yet chillingly clear—a warning of betrayal, danger aimed at Anakin, and treachery from someone within the castle walls.

The sound of boots echoed in the corridor outside, and you quickly folded the letter, tucking it beneath the edge of your desk. A moment later, Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into the room.

He had returned to the castle only days before, bringing with him reports of the Scots' retreat. His presence had initially been a comfort, his calm demeanor reassuring amid the chaos of court politics. But as Anakin’s trusted right-hand man, his arrival had also coincided with a strange tension.

“My lady,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head. “I trust the day finds you well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, though your voice betrayed the unease tightening your chest.

He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Anakin will return soon, I presume?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “He should be back before nightfall.”

“And yet, you seem troubled,” Obi-Wan observed, his tone casual but sharp. “Is there something amiss?”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Could Obi-Wan be the serpent the letter warned of? Or was this paranoia taking root, fed by the growing web of deceit surrounding you?

“I have much on my mind,” you said carefully. “The court��s whispers, the growing unrest. Surely you’ve noticed it too.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering. “The court is always restless. But if there is something specific troubling you, you need only say the word. Anakin would want me to protect you in his absence.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a pang of guilt through you, but the memory of the letter’s warning gnawed at your resolve.

“I’ll manage,” you said, your tone firmer. “Thank you, Sir Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, as though weighing your words, before nodding and stepping back. “As you wish, my lady. But do not hesitate to summon me if you need anything.”

With that, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

You had just resolved to wait for Anakin’s return when a knock at the door startled you. It was one of the chambermaids, her face pale and her hands wringing nervously.

“My lady,” she said, “I thought you should know... Sir Kenobi and Count Aulbry were seen riding out together just now. They seemed... urgent.”

The words sent a chill through you. “Did they say where they were going?”

The maid shook her head. “No, my lady. But they rode toward the northern woods.”

Toward the royal hunting grounds.

Panic gripped you. Anakin had ridden there with the king this morning, and now his supposed ally and his most vocal opponent had followed, shrouded in secrecy.

You clenched your hands into fists, your mind racing. The letter’s warning, Obi-Wan’s strange behavior, Aulbry’s open hostility—it all aligned too perfectly. If they meant to harm Anakin, you couldn’t sit idly by.

The stable smelled of hay and cold earth as you approached, your breath visible in the crisp air. The stable master startled at the sight of you, his eyes wide with alarm as you strode toward the nearest horse.

“My lady, what are you—”

“Prepare her,” you interrupted, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “The mare, now.”

He hesitated, hands trembling as he fumbled with the tack. “It isn’t safe, my lady. You can’t ride alone.”

“Safe?” The word cracked from your lips, harsh and bitter. “Safe is a word I can no longer afford. Saddle her, or I’ll do it myself.”

His protests faltered as he moved quickly, his fear of disobedience outweighing his confusion. The mare was readied within minutes, her dark eyes reflecting your own urgency.

Your skirts snagged as you mounted, but you paid it no mind, gripping the reins and spurring the horse forward before the stable master could voice another word.

The wind sliced through you as the mare thundered over the frost-covered earth. Each hoofbeat echoed like the drum of war, steady and relentless, driving you closer to the woods. The trees loomed ahead, their bare branches clawing at the sky, and with them came the weight of your growing dread.

Anakin. His name was a heartbeat in your mind, a mantra that propelled you forward. You could see him in your mind’s eye—strong, resolute, his brow furrowed in thought as he stood apart from the world, carrying its burdens alone.

Would he believe you?

The question clawed at you as you rode, your fingers trembling against the reins. Would he see your desperation as weakness? Would he blame you for suspecting Obi-Wan, the man who had fought beside him in countless battles?

Or worse—what if you were wrong?

The thought was unbearable, but the image of the letter was sharper still. Its words were a call to action, and inaction felt like betrayal.

You pushed the mare harder, her breaths coming in sharp bursts as you entered the woods. The hunting party’s distant voices reached your ears, their tones hushed but unmistakable.

“Almost there,” you whispered, your words carried away by the wind.

The mare slowed as you approached the clearing, and you dismounted swiftly, your boots crunching against the frosted ground. The shadows of men and horses flickered through the trees, their forms half-obscured by the fading light.

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as you moved closer, the forest around you suddenly heavy with silence.

The words from the letter echoed in your mind, louder than ever. “Blades will be drawn in shadows...”

You glanced over your shoulder at the mare, now tethered to a low-hanging branch, and took a deep breath. The weight of what you had to do pressed against your chest like armor.

Somewhere in this forest, Anakin was unaware of the knife poised at his back. And you would move heaven and earth to ensure it never reached him.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The foe you see is not the hand,

That strikes unseen, or makes its stand.

Deceit is woven through their guise,

The truest battle hides in lies.

The early morning fog clung to the trees like a damp veil, shrouding the forest in an eerie stillness. Anakin’s boots sank into the earth with each step of his horse, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves resonating beneath the thick canopy. His mind wasn’t on the hunt, not really. He had ridden out on the king’s orders, ostensibly to track game through the thick woods, but every instinct in his body told him something was wrong. A nagging feeling of unease gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

The cold air cut through his cloak, yet the discomfort of the chill was nothing compared to the unease stirring deep within him. He had tried to ignore it—after all, he had faced far worse than a simple hunting expedition. But it was there, a persistent presence, an itch under the skin that he couldn’t shake.

"Stay alert, Anakin," he muttered to himself, his breath misting in the cold morning air. His instincts had never been wrong before.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the underbrush. Anakin’s hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword, his gaze scanning the surroundings. The forest was quiet again, unnervingly so. He heard the faintest snap of a twig, too far to his left to be a deer. His eyes narrowed, and his breath held as he dismounted silently, glancing at the trees above for any sign of movement.

The shadows were his enemies now. He couldn’t risk being ambushed.

He was barely aware of the first movement—a swift motion to his right, a shadow crossing his line of vision—before he heard the unmistakable sound of steel scraping against leather. A flash of cold metal, a blur of movement, and then—nothing.

It all happened so fast. He had learned long ago that the most dangerous threats were often the ones you couldn’t see until it was too late.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the blur of a figure darting toward him, and without hesitation, Anakin spun around, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. A man lunged at him from the trees, the assassin’s blade aimed at his side, but Anakin deflected it with a practiced swing, their swords clashing with a ringing sound that reverberated through the dense woods.

But then, as if from every direction, more figures emerged—six, no, eight men surrounding him. They were silent, fast, moving with the precision of a well-coordinated attack. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline surging as the battle instincts kicked in. Anakin’s eyes scanned the men, calculating, assessing, his hand moving as if it had a life of its own. His sword met the blade of another attacker, their weapons locked in a deadly struggle.

The noise of the fight was deafening—the clash of steel, the grunts of exertion, the sharp cries of men falling as they tried to overcome him. But there was something different about this attack. The men didn’t move like mercenaries; they moved with the fluidity of soldiers trained in the art of war, and they seemed to have been waiting for him. The very ground beneath him seemed to tremble with their numbers.

His breath came ragged, his eyes darting between enemies, trying to predict the next move. He didn’t have much time. The trees provided little cover, and every swing of his sword was an invitation for another blow. He gritted his teeth and blocked another strike, parrying to the side before slashing his blade through the chest of one man. His breath was heavy now, the sweat dripping down his brow despite the cold.

But then the realization hit him, cold as ice.

They weren’t after the hunt.

They were after him.

The words echoed in his mind, but he didn’t have time to process them. A sword sliced across his chest, just missing his vital organs. He staggered back, breath stolen for a moment, his blood staining his tunic. The rush of pain barely registered as his instincts kicked in, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as he batted another attack aside.

One man dropped to the ground with a grunt, but that didn’t matter. There were still too many, and they were closing in, pushing him toward the dense underbrush. A few were already injured, but not enough to halt their assault.

The moon hung high in the sky, barely visible through the dense canopy of trees as the darkness swallowed Anakin whole. He had been fighting for hours now—bloodied, exhausted, but resolute. The twelve men who had attacked him had already taken down several of his own, and the forest felt like a battleground in hell. The night air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke. The forest echoed with the sound of sword clashing, of desperate men shouting orders.

But it was still quiet. Too quiet.

Anakin felt the familiar presence of danger creeping closer, but it wasn’t just the attackers that gnawed at him. His heart was pounding in his chest as he thought of you. His thoughts were filled with the images of your face, your soft voice calling his name, and he feared for you. He had never been afraid in a fight, not in all the battles he had seen—but this was different. He feared for your safety.

Where are you?

He couldn’t shake the thought. He tried to push it away, tried to concentrate on the men surrounding him, but it wasn’t easy. His body was aching, blood flowing freely from the multiple cuts across his torso. He had barely managed to keep the attackers at bay, and now, with each passing second, they grew closer. They had surrounded him.

With a burst of adrenaline, Anakin swung his sword again, cutting through another man, but his vision was starting to blur. His grip on his sword was weakening, but he could feel his determination growing stronger. I must survive, for her.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of hooves, distant at first, but growing louder, faster. The unmistakable sound of a rider galloping in the woods.

No, not you. His heart raced even faster. He could feel your presence getting closer, but he had no way of stopping you.

He couldn’t keep fighting and get to you in time. But you were so close now, he couldn’t wait.

Meanwhile, you had galloped through the woods, panic clawing at your chest with every thundering beat of the horse’s hooves beneath you. You could hear the faint echoes of battle in the distance—the clash of swords, the guttural cries of men. Your blood ran cold. You urged the horse onward, desperate to reach him, to stop whatever this madness was before it consumed him.

The woods were a maze of shadow and mist. You couldn’t see through the trees, couldn’t hear over the thundering of the horse’s hooves beneath you. It felt like you were racing against time, but what was worse was the gnawing, suffocating fear in your chest.

Please, Anakin, please be safe.

As the sounds of the battle grew louder, you felt your heartbeat in your throat. You could hear the shouts of soldiers. Then, without warning, a shadow leapt out from the trees.

Before you could react, a man grabbed your reins, yanking your horse’s head sharply to the side. He lunged at you, sword raised high.

Your heart froze. You reached up instinctively, fingers fumbling for the tiny dagger you had tucked in your hair for moments like this. The cold metal of the dagger was a comfort in your hand, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the situation. The man’s face was twisted in anger as he raised the sword, preparing to strike.

Fear clawed at you, but you refused to let it control you. You slashed the dagger across the man’s arm, but he hardly flinched. The blow wasn’t enough to stop him, and the sword came down at you again, too fast for you to dodge.

But before the blade could reach you, a roar split the air.

“DON’T TOUCH MY WIFE!” Anakin’s voice thundered through the trees, furious and primal.

You barely had time to register his words before his form appeared in front of you, bloodied and furious. His sword cut through the air in a flash, knocking the would-be attacker aside with a force that left no room for mercy.

You didn’t have time to breathe, didn’t have time to think. Anakin’s eyes were locked on you, fierce and protective, but his face was pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His chest was covered in blood, and yet his gaze never left you.

He turned back to face the remaining attackers, his anger and pain mingling in a way that made your heart ache. You reached out, desperate to touch him, but as your hand brushed against his, he pushed you back.

“I said stay back!” His voice was hoarse, but filled with a raw, desperate need to protect you. “It’s not over.”

You watched helplessly as Anakin stepped forward, meeting the four men who had remained hidden in the shadows. Each strike was met with a new burst of agony, a struggle against the men who relentlessly attacked him. His movements were slower now, each swing of his sword weaker than the last. But even as his body betrayed him, his will never faltered.

The battle felt like it went on for an eternity, each second stretched thin by the raw tension and fear that swelled inside of you. You couldn’t watch any longer. It felt like you were suffocating under the weight of the moment. But even then, you saw him—he was still fighting.

And then, the final blow came.

One of the men drew his bow and released an arrow with deadly accuracy. You saw it happen in slow motion. The arrow soared through the air, and for a brief, horrified second, you knew what was about to happen.

It struck Anakin in the chest.

The sound that escaped his mouth was one of pure agony as the arrow buried deep into his lung. He staggered back, his sword faltering in his hand as he fought for balance.

“No!” you cried, rushing toward him despite the danger. But as you approached, you saw him fall to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. His face was pale, his lips already tinged with the blue of a wound too deep to ignore.

But even then, he didn’t give in.

“Anakin…” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands shook as you pressed against his chest, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

He looked up at you, eyes filled with pain but a fierce determination still burning behind them.

“I’m not dying,” he whispered between labored breaths, the words strained and weak. “I won’t leave you.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you tore at the hem of your dress, ripping it to pieces to use as a makeshift bandage. Your hands were trembling, but you pressed the fabric to his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“I won’t let you die,” you said through clenched teeth, your voice trembling.

He took your hand then, squeezing it gently despite the agony that wracked his body.

“You’re all that matters,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll live… because of you.”

His words, though weak, fueled your resolve. You kept applying pressure to his chest, watching as his color slowly returned, watching as he breathed deeply again, fighting the weariness in his limbs.

It was then that he finally stirred, groaning as he attempted to rise. He pushed himself to his feet with your help, his body shaking with the effort. Despite the pain, despite everything, he managed to stand tall.

“We need to get back to the king,” he said, his voice hoarse but filled with purpose. His gaze locked onto you, and for a moment, you could see nothing but the depth of his devotion in his eyes.

The two of you walked—no, staggered—back toward the camp, where the king’s men were gathered in stunned silence. As Anakin limped toward the center of the camp, still holding your hand, he confronted Count Aulbry. The nobleman, who had been so sly and quiet up until now, stood with a calm demeanor, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.

Anakin’s voice rang out, cutting through the air like steel.

“Did you think you could hide your treachery?” he demanded. “Did you think this would break me? You were wrong.”

Count Aulbry’s face remained impassive, but his jaw tightened as he denied any involvement. Yet the doubt lingered in his eyes, a dangerous sign that made Anakin even more resolute.

“I will uncover the truth,” Anakin declared, blood still soaking his chest as he glared at Aulbry with unyielding determination.

The confrontation had only just begun, and Anakin was more resolved than ever to expose the traitor for what he truly was.

The dim glow of the campfire flickered through the canvas of the tent, casting soft shadows that danced against the fabric walls. You sat next to Anakin, the firelight tracing the contours of his tired face, his features drawn with pain yet softened by the intimate stillness that surrounded you both. His chest heaved with each breath, though you could see the slow but steady recovery beginning as you gently unwound the bandage around his chest.

His wound, though grave, had been patched up. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain in his eyes lingered. You had tried to banish the worst of it by offering whatever comfort you could, but you knew that a part of him—one that he would never fully reveal—was still at war within.

"You’re relentless," you whispered softly, carefully peeling back the fabric of his shirt. “These arrows... They always manage to find your most vital points.”

Anakin looked down at the wound, his gaze thoughtful but distant. He gave a half-hearted chuckle, though it was edged with a touch of bitterness. "It's almost as if they know where to strike, isn't it?" His voice was rough, with a quiet humor trying to mask the ache that still lingered in him. His hand gripped the edge of the cot, and you could see the tension in his posture, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

“Or maybe it’s that you’re too quick to put yourself in harm’s way," you said with a teasing smile, the movement of your hands steady and sure as you replaced his bloodied bandage with fresh linen.

He chuckled softly, but his expression grew more serious as he leaned back against the pillows, his gaze never leaving yours. There was a weight to the silence that hung between you now, a heaviness that pulled at the edges of his soul. And you could feel it too—the depth of everything unspoken, the fragile trust between you now intertwined with something far deeper.

“You know, I’ve always thought I could protect myself,” Anakin began, his voice quiet, the words coming with a painful honesty that you hadn’t heard from him before. “But now… Now, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been so focused on fighting everyone else that I’ve missed something closer to home.”

Your hands stilled as you finished tying off the bandage. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. He looked vulnerable, even though he would never fully allow anyone to see it. The man who had always been a soldier, a leader, was now confiding in you—not just as a lover but as someone he trusted more than anyone else.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft, inviting him to share the heavy burden he was carrying.

His lips pressed together for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was with the weight of his suspicions, the quiet recognition that something was wrong—something much bigger than the battle they had fought.

“I think Count Aulbry... I think he’s behind all of this. I can feel it. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me.” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though sharing this part of himself made him more vulnerable than any of the cuts that marred his skin.

Your heart ached for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the sharp intelligence that had always served him so well in battle was now clouded with doubt. It wasn’t just the wound that pained him. It was the fear that he was no longer in control, no longer able to protect those he loved, especially you.

“Anakin,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You don’t always have to carry the weight alone.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if looking for something—something that he needed but wasn’t sure how to ask for. His lips parted, but before he could speak, the silence between you was filled with the quiet rustle of the forest, the distant cry of a bird in the dark, the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

“I’ve seen too many men lose themselves,” Anakin began, his voice distant. “Too many battles where it wasn’t the enemy I was fighting—it was what I had to give up to win.” He hesitated, as if weighing the significance of his words, before adding, “I’m beginning to wonder if the price of victory is too high.”

His words hung in the air between you like an unspoken truth, an ache that neither of you could escape. You knew what he meant. You understood the weight of his soul, the endless struggle of a man who had given everything—too much—and still couldn’t find peace.

“The price... is never too high,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his as you steadied his hand. “As long as we face it together.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. It was as though, in that moment, he finally allowed himself to breathe, to let the walls around him fall just a little. His eyes softened, a rawness there that hadn’t been present before, and it struck you like a physical blow. The tenderness in him, buried beneath so many layers of strength and duty, was finally being revealed.

Without a word, his hand slid to your cheek, the touch tender and intimate. The contact was slow, deliberate, as if he were memorizing the feel of your skin against his. He leaned in, and for a moment, you were suspended in the space between you, where the world seemed to hold its breath.

And in that moment, with the weight of the world hanging over them, the kiss came—gentle at first, as if testing the waters, as if seeking permission to finally release all that had been held in for so long. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, the tenderness of it shocking in its simplicity. But that kiss was enough to set your heart on fire.

You responded without hesitation, pulling him closer, letting your lips meet his with a desperate kind of sweetness, as if you were both trying to breathe life back into one another. His hand slid to the back of your neck, gently urging you closer, the firelight dancing across his face as you kissed him deeply.

The world around you fell away as his warmth enveloped you. His lips were insistent, demanding now, as if every kiss was a promise, every touch a vow that he would never let go of you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as if to reassure yourself that this moment, this love, was real.

You broke away for a moment, both of you breathless, gazing at each other with an intensity that made your heart ache. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as the world outside ceased to matter.

“I never wanted to pull you into this,” Anakin murmured, his voice hoarse, a quiet confession. “This war... it’s not something I can protect you from. Although, I would fight in a dozen wars to shield you, my rose. In a dozen liftetimes… if I ever fail to protect you…I… I could not live with it. If you fall I fall, I swear it on my honor, on my blood and on the gods.”

You smiled softly, running your hand through his hair, feeling the dampness of sweat and blood still clinging to his skin. “You don’t have to protect me, Anakin,” you whispered, your voice thick with a tenderness that threatened to break you. “We protect each other. That’s what this is.”

His eyes searched yours, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitated. Instead, he pulled you closer, holding you tight against him, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped moving, leaving only the two of you in this space—this fragile, intimate moment where everything else faded into the background.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest. “You deserve everything, Anakin. Everything I can give.”

And in that moment, something shifted between you both. It wasn’t just love—it was trust. A promise that no matter how dark the days ahead might get, you would face them together. There was no fear, no hesitation now. Just the two of you, bound in this shared understanding.

You kissed him again, this time with the weight of everything you both held. The world outside could burn, and it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was this—this connection, this bond that neither of you could name, but both of you knew would endure.

As you pulled away, Anakin’s eyes softened, a small but meaningful smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll face whatever comes, for you.” he whispered, his voice steady, yet filled with a quiet certainty.

And with that promise, you knew that no matter what storm might come, you would stand together, unwavering, your love a flame that could never be extinguished.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In the silence, my heart stopped to bleed,

For her breath was the air that I’d need.

If she fell, the world would cease its song,

For in her death, my life would be gone.

[mariacallous]

This is a gift article.

The truth is, it’s getting harder to describe the extent to which a meaningful percentage of Americans have dissociated from reality. As Hurricane Milton churned across the Gulf of Mexico last night, I saw an onslaught of outright conspiracy theorizing and utter nonsense racking up millions of views across the internet. The posts would be laughable if they weren’t taken by many people as gospel. Among them: Infowars’ Alex Jones, who claimed that Hurricanes Milton and Helene were “weather weapons” unleashed on the East Coast by the U.S. government, and “truth seeker” accounts on X that posted photos of condensation trails in the sky to baselessly allege that the government was “spraying Florida ahead of Hurricane Milton” in order to ensure maximum rainfall, “just like they did over Asheville!”

As Milton made landfall, causing a series of tornados, a verified account on X reposted a TikTok video of a massive funnel cloud with the caption “WHAT IS HAPPENING TO FLORIDA?!” The clip, which was eventually removed but had been viewed 662,000 times as of yesterday evening, turned out to be from a video of a CGI tornado that was originally published months ago. Scrolling through these platforms, watching them fill with false information, harebrained theories, and doctored images—all while panicked residents boarded up their houses, struggled to evacuate, and prayed that their worldly possessions wouldn’t be obliterated overnight—offered a portrait of American discourse almost too bleak to reckon with head-on.

Even in a decade marred by online grifters, shameless politicians, and an alternative right-wing-media complex pushing anti-science fringe theories, the events of the past few weeks stand out for their depravity and nihilism. As two catastrophic storms upended American cities, a patchwork network of influencers and fake-news peddlers have done their best to sow distrust, stoke resentment, and interfere with relief efforts. But this is more than just a misinformation crisis. To watch as real information is overwhelmed by crank theories and public servants battle death threats is to confront two alarming facts: first, that a durable ecosystem exists to ensconce citizens in an alternate reality, and second, that the people consuming and amplifying those lies are not helpless dupes but willing participants.

Some of the lies and obfuscation are politically motivated, such as the claim that FEMA is offering only $750 in total to hurricane victims who have lost their home. (In reality, FEMA offers $750 as immediate “Serious Needs Assistance” to help people get basic supplies such as food and water.) Donald Trump, J. D. Vance, and Fox News have all repeated that lie. Trump also posted (and later deleted) on Truth Social that FEMA money was given to undocumented migrants, which is untrue. Elon Musk, who owns X, claimed—without evidence—that FEMA was “actively blocking shipments and seizing goods and services locally and locking them away to state they are their own. It’s very real and scary how much they have taken control to stop people helping.” That post has been viewed more than 40 million times. Other influencers, such as the Trump sycophant Laura Loomer, have urged their followers to disrupt the disaster agency’s efforts to help hurricane victims. “Do not comply with FEMA,” she posted on X. “This is a matter of survival.”

The result of this fearmongering is what you might expect. Angry, embittered citizens have been harassing government officials in North Carolina, as well as FEMA employees. According to an analysis by the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, an extremism-research group, “Falsehoods around hurricane response have spawned credible threats and incitement to violence directed at the federal government,” including “calls to send militias to face down FEMA.” The study also found that 30 percent of the X posts analyzed by ISD “contained overt antisemitic hate, including abuse directed at public officials such as the Mayor of Asheville, North Carolina; the FEMA Director of Public Affairs; and the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security.” The posts received a collective 17.1 million views as of October 7.

Online, first responders are pleading with residents, asking for their help to combat the flood of lies and conspiracy theories. FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell said that the volume of misinformation could hamper relief efforts. “If it creates so much fear that my staff doesn’t want to go out in the field, then we’re not going to be in a position where we can help people,” she said in a news conference on Tuesday. In Pensacola, North Carolina, Assistant Fire Chief Bradley Boone vented his frustrations on Facebook: “I’m trying to rescue my community,” he said in a livestream. “I ain’t got time. I ain’t got time to chase down every Facebook rumor … We’ve been through enough.”

It is difficult to capture the nihilism of the current moment. The pandemic saw Americans, distrustful of authority, trying to discredit effective vaccines, spreading conspiracy theories, and attacking public-health officials. But what feels novel in the aftermath of this month’s hurricanes is how the people doing the lying aren’t even trying to hide the provenance of their bullshit. Similarly, those sharing the lies are happy to admit that they do not care whether what they’re pushing is real or not. Such was the case last week, when Republican politicians shared an AI-generated viral image of a little girl holding a puppy while supposedly fleeing Helene. Though the image was clearly fake and quickly debunked, some politicians remained defiant. “Y’all, I don’t know where this photo came from and honestly, it doesn’t matter,” Amy Kremer, who represents Georgia on the Republican National Committee, wrote after sharing the fake image. “I’m leaving it because it is emblematic of the trauma and pain people are living through right now.”

Kremer wasn’t alone. The journalist Parker Molloy compiled screenshots of people “acknowledging that this image is AI but still insisting that it’s real on some deeper level”—proof, Molloy noted, that we’re “living in the post-reality.” The technology writer Jason Koebler argued that we’ve entered the “‘Fuck It’ Era” of AI slop and political messaging, with AI-generated images being used to convey whatever partisan message suits the moment, regardless of truth.

This has all been building for more than a decade. On The Colbert Report, back in 2005, Stephen Colbert coined the word truthiness, which he defined as “the belief in what you feel to be true rather than what the facts will support.” This reality-fracturing is the result of an information ecosystem that is dominated by platforms that offer financial and attentional incentives to lie and enrage, and to turn every tragedy and large event into a shameless content-creation opportunity. This collides with a swath of people who would rather live in an alternate reality built on distrust and grievance than change their fundamental beliefs about the world. But the misinformation crisis is not always what we think it is.

So much of the conversation around misinformation suggests that its primary job is to persuade. But as Michael Caulfield, an information researcher at the University of Washington, has argued, “The primary use of ‘misinformation’ is not to change the beliefs of other people at all. Instead, the vast majority of misinformation is offered as a service for people to maintain their beliefs in face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.” This distinction is important, in part because it assigns agency to those who consume and share obviously fake information. What is clear from comments such as Kremer’s is that she is not a dupe; although she may come off as deeply incurious and shameless, she is publicly admitting to being an active participant in the far right’s world-building project, where feel is always greater than real.

What we’re witnessing online during and in the aftermath of these hurricanes is a group of people desperate to protect the dark, fictitious world they’ve built. Rather than deal with the realities of a warming planet hurling once-in-a-generation storms at them every few weeks, they’d rather malign and threaten meteorologists, who, in their minds, are “nothing but a trained subversive liar programmed to spew stupid shit to support the global warming bullshit,” as one X user put it. It is a strategy designed to silence voices of reason, because those voices threaten to expose the cracks in their current worldview. But their efforts are doomed, futile. As one dispirited meteorologist wrote on X this week, “Murdering meteorologists won’t stop hurricanes.” She followed with: “I can’t believe I just had to type that.”

What is clear is that a new framework is needed to describe this fracturing. Misinformation is too technical, too freighted, and, after almost a decade of Trump, too political. Nor does it explain what is really happening, which is nothing less than a cultural assault on any person or institution that operates in reality. If you are a weatherperson, you’re a target. The same goes for journalists, election workers, scientists, doctors, and first responders. These jobs are different, but the thing they share is that they all must attend to and describe the world as it is. This makes them dangerous to people who cannot abide by the agonizing constraints of reality, as well as those who have financial and political interests in keeping up the charade.

In one sense, these attacks—and their increased desperation—make sense. The world feels dark; for many people, it’s tempting to meet that with a retreat into the delusion that they’ve got everything figured out, that the powers that be have conspired against them directly. But in turning away, they exacerbate a crisis that has characterized the Trump era, one that will reverberate to Election Day and beyond. Americans are divided not just by political beliefs but by whether they believe in a shared reality—or desire one at all.

[j0kers-light]

Chaos, I beg you, for my mental health, you NEED to write something about J with a suit like this

https://www.tumblr.com/dollshobby/756250101826142208?source=share

It's not a whim, it's a necessity

His Lighthouse: Friendly Fire (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Friendly Fire - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!

Hey hi my beloved anon!!! I heard your cries, albeit was several months too late. Your patience is impeccable because JULY? 😫😫 ma’am. You can sue me at this point.

Anyhoo...

I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS or risk being haunted for the rest of my days *activates my inner slut* Here's the action figure in question. I would fall to the floor with my legs spread open if J came home in this suit. Like, look at him. He’s a slut! How dare he put this on!? How do I take it off? 🤔 I indulged wayyy too much writing this. 🖤✨

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist! Be alerted with any oneshots and the main story updates!

The entire purpose of living on the top floor was the added layer of security it created. No one could suddenly pop in and disrupt your peace without you knowing about it beforehand.  

You kept the balcony doors locked this late at night and no one knew about the secret access point in your storage room. The only logical way into your apartment was through the front door. You didn’t want to jinx yourself; this was Gotham City after all.  

If a criminal wanted to scale the steep twelve stories up to your apartment, you couldn’t stop them per se. Perhaps just question if they were superhuman and look at them sideways.  

As it stood, you were relatively safe in your glass tower just the way you liked it. 

Joker left earlier in the day, gushing about some special shipment being delivered that he needed to sign off on, so you had the penthouse to yourself for a change. You didn’t mind whenever your lover was around, (there was never a dull moment with Joker), but nothing beat solitude.  

Solitude helped shape you into the woman you were today. You thrived in it. With your favorite snacks and drinks in hand, you snuggled up on the couch to catch up on some reality tv.  

And that’s how your day turned into night lasted.  

Halfway through the evening, you got up to fix dinner for yourself, and despite being alone, you instinctively made double servings. Old habits truly die hard it seemed. You sighed and put Joker’s portion up for him to eat whenever he came home.  

Who knows when that would be. 

The news didn’t report anything alarming to raise your anxiety levels nor did they give any hints to his whereabouts. It must’ve been a relatively quiet night of crime and you hoped that Joker didn’t cause too much chaos while he was out. He didn’t mention any big plans of his—not like he ever would.  

The less you knew, the better Joker always said. Sometimes you wished to knew something so you weren’t completely blind to his world.  

If he got arrested and sent back to Arkham, you’d be the last to know and that left a sour taste in your mouth. Your anxiety wouldn’t quell so you left the tv on the news channel should any breaking news segment regarding Joker come on.  

You were fighting back sleep when you spotted a shadow moving on your glass roof. You rubbed your eyes, thinking you were seeing things from being drowsy but no... you definitely saw a silhouette of a man crawling on your roof, headed towards your spacious balcony.  

You weren’t expecting Joker till sunrise, and no one had any business on your roof, so you automatically entered into survival mode.  

Every single last safety precaution Joker drilled into your brain kicked in—starting with some common sense.  

“Nope nope nopeity nope. I am not dying tonight.” you mumbled. You flung the couch blanket off of you to stand. “Not today, Satan.” 

You remembered where Joker hid the nearest weapon cache in the room and quickly pulled out a gun, double checking that it was loaded.  

You were glad that Joker was so paranoid about your safety and set up necessary countermeasures all over the penthouse. At first you were against all the clown themed booby traps concealed in your home but J ultimately won you over with a single glare. 

He did not play about his Bunny’s safety. The weapons stayed.  

Since he wasn’t home, you had to protect yourself until you were able to sound an alarm. Joker promised that he would rush back no matter how far to protect you, but you knew it would take him a while to get here, and that meant you were on your own.  

With an unknown stranger crawling on your roof. This information did little to calm your bundle of nerves.  

You could still see the figure spider crawling on the roof, getting closer and closer to landing on the balcony.  

A horrid sight for your quiet night home alone and right when you were thinking of starting a new season of your favorite show. Why did weird stuff always happen to you? The city you moved to...  

The soft glow from the tv was the only light in the apartment and you wanted to use that darkness to your advantage.  

This intruder (fingers crossed) didn’t know the layout of your home. Unfortunately, they were male and able to overpower you. That was all fine and dandy. The loaded gun in your hand would even the score on your behalf.  

You watched in trepidation as the shadow toppled over the glass sunroof, landing headfirst onto the balcony. It was not a soft landing if their audible curses floating in the air was any indication. A shame they didn’t knock themselves unconscious with the fall. That could’ve saved you a world of trouble.  

You watched from your hiding spot behind the couch as they picked (or did they use a key?) open both the outdoor balcony and the indoor sunroom’s sliding doors.  

Their footsteps were light as they walked through your living room with ease. Okay, maybe they did know your home’s layout. This wasn’t good. Was this a planned hit? 

Of all the nights Joker decided to step out, you have a home invasion. Why didn’t you grab your phone before you hid?!  

You held your breath, counting down for the right moment to open fire.  

You still had the element of surprise, especially when the intruder tripped up on your colorful ottoman—the same one that Joker always bumped into when coming home late… The similarities didn’t register in your panic induced brain. You just stood up and unloaded the clip.  

The sharp crackle of gunfire echoed off the vaulted ceilings yet you still heard that familiar sound over the din. It made you immediately stop firing and gasp, “J-Joker?!”  

Your annoying clown was doubled over laughing.  

Never mind the fact you shot him at point blank range, why he was laughing? You knew he was insane, but this was a new level of concern.  

You tossed the gun onto the couch and rushed over to check on J. “Oh my God, Joker! Are you alright?! I didn’t know it was you!!! Please don’t die!” 

He wasn’t helping in your search for his wounds. J was still rolling on the floor, laughing at something you currently didn’t have the patience to find amusing.  

Joker and his low tolerance for pain probably didn’t acknowledge the bullets. That didn’t ignore the fact you literally opened fire on him. That is, until your hands brushed over something metal where his formal suit and tie should have been. 

You jerked back and scrambled to flick on the nearest lamp.   

Joker was perfectly fine but you weren’t. Your brain flew south for the winter at the sight of Joker. 

He had no business looking so good in a mock Batsuit. Joker’s was green in color with purple splotched accents and what suspiciously looked like blood splatter. You seriously hoped it wasn’t. Either way, J’s sleeper build was encased in full armor with a shiny gold belt to finish off the look. He looked good enough to eat.  

You were biting your lip in horny silence when Joker finally lifted himself off the floor.  

He flicked his tattered cape behind his back and struck a pose. “Well, well doll! I uhh didn’t know you were a straight shot! I would have pre-ferrred a welcome home kiss, not.. ya know..” he gestured to the bullet holes you placed in his armor.  

A shame he just got this suit today and it was already ruined. But the way you were staring at him; his suit wouldn’t be the only thing ruined tonight. 

Joker stalked his way closer to you, “Whatcha thinkin’—” 

“Take it off.” you spoke over Joker.  

You huffed when he didn’t comply so you set about doing it yourself. He blinked in shock as you fumbled with his utility belt, acting like a kid tearing into a Christmas present.  

“Woah! Easy Bunny!” Joker blushed at your eager hands practically groping his cock. “Heh, slow down doll.” 

You didn’t. You whined the longer it took you to fail at removing his armor.  

When you broke a nail scratching at his chest plate, you caved. “Don’t just stand there, J! Take it off!” you shoved him, knowing that acting up would get his attention quicker.  

“Y/n? What’s gotten into ya?”  

“Preferably you if you would cooperate..” you snapped back. Oh. He knew that tone of yours all too well. 

“Ahhhhh. I see.” Joker chuckled and pressed a button to release the hinges that covered his crotch. You didn’t waste another second. You shoved a surprised Joker back onto the couch and sank to your knees in the same motion. 

Joker was speechless with the way you manhandled him although he didn’t say anything to see where you would take things. Your hands traced his hips, like a sculptor would their final work of art. You’d seen Joker way too many times to know there were no imperfections.  

How was he so perfect, like your own personal Michelangelo? 

“Look at this slutty little waist. How dare you walk around Gotham like a whore?!” You shook your head in disbelief until you eyed his dick standing at attention.  

Without warning, you took Joker’s cock into your hands and gave it a nice long lick, from the base to tip that you kissed gently.  

“F__k Bunny!” Joker shouted. You peppered kisses all over J’s dick and you were rewarded with a bead of precum spurting from his reddening tip. 

“Aww ya got a nice lit-le treat, why don’tcha...” 

You groaned, “shut up, J” right before you swallowed inch after inch of his dick.  

Your throat burned at the stretch, but it was oh so worth it. You didn’t stop until your nose bumped into his armor. Then you rested for a count of five before pulled up to take gulps of precious air and to lock eyes with J.  

He was breathing heavily too—and parting his lips to speak. You did not want that.  

You pushed his chest and started bobbing your head at a rapid pace. Very soon, the sound of you gagging and the obscene wet plops of your mouth around Joker’s dick was the only noise in the room, save for Joker’s groans drowning out the tv.  

GCN could be broadcasting the zombie apocalypse and neither of you would care.  

You felt amazing sucking him off. He needed this after the wild night he had. Coming home to his Bunny in this bizarre horny mood, it was the perfect nightcap.  

You were perfect and Joker whispered your name to try and let you know that, but you squeezed his shaft in warning and quickened your pace. He got the message. No talking. Just feel.  

He could do that especially when you took him balls deep and hummed so prettily. The vibrations went straight to his brain, unplugging all vital systems.  

You did need to breath so you regrettably pulled away, moaning like a slut. “I can’t believe you h-hid this from me.” you panted.  

“Heh, I knew ya act like—awww fuu.. M’sorry! I ngh, n-no talkin’.. I knooow but it’s so warm Bun!” 

You rolled your eyes. Joker just couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.  

You grabbed his gloved hands fisting your upholstery and moved them to tangle in your hair. That got his attention. “Huh? Ohhhhh I couldn’t. Messin’ up my pretty girl’s hair? She’d kill me for sureee.”  

He toyed with a wayward curl knowing deep down he loved wrecking your hair.  

Joker respected your tedious hair routine and the strict no-touching policy to maintain its upkeep, but during sex, he just couldn’t resist. He’d pay however much for you to fix it back, he really wanted to bury his fingers into your luscious strands and tug. 

You squeezed his hand. It was the green light for what he’d been dying to do. Joker grabbed a handful of your curls when you did that thing with your tongue he liked and his hips bucked up to chase after the feeling. You gagged at the unexpected thrust and it got J to thinking. 

Joker caught your teary eyes staring up at him as well as your subtle nod. He loved how you were always on the same wavelength as him.  

He groaned as he spread his legs wider. “Oh, thank ya Princess! Ahhh thank ya. Soooo. Very. Much!” He emphasized each word with thrust into your throat as his strong hands held your head still.  

Your poor curls were Joker’s handlebars as he throat f__ked you.  

A mixture of cum and spit dripped down your chin and landed on Joker’s armored thighs making the splatter painted surface shiny. You could always clean it up later.  

Right now, you relaxed and let Joker use your throat for his pleasure.  

It was sloppy and messy, just the way he liked it, although your pussy throbbed with neglect. She would just have to wait. You needed this and so did J.  

He was talking gibberish with his head thrown back on the couch. Ugh, he looked so fine even with his greasy hair hiding his handsome features. You saw his Adam’s Apple move as he choked back a moan. Almost as if he felt your gaze, intense jade pierced your soul.  

You were caught under his spell or was it the other way round?  

Whether your name was uttered as a prayer or more as a warning, it didn’t matter.  

Joker’s feral groan bounced off the walls as he filled your mouth with his thick load. He’d been backed up for days working on a big heist and now all of his stress was being emptied down your throat. You blinked back the ache in your jaw; your discomfort was irreverent. You would rest after Joker was satisfied.  

J hissed when his dick slipped out your mouth and he was quick to bark out a “Swallow.” 

You already had and was sticking your tongue out obediently for him to inspect.  

Joker hummed his approval as his thumb rubbed your sore jaw. “Goooo~ooood girl.” He knew you could take it all. You hadn’t failed him yet.  

You smiled and crawled your way up onto Joker’s lap.  

It was a bit uncomfortable with his suit still on but he cradled you like fine China in his arms. You always felt the safest in his hold. He rubbed your back while you traced the red ha ha ha painted on his chest.  

A local commercial aired on the tv as the intense moment idled back down to tranquil levels. It was Joker who broke the silence with his raspy voice.  

“Mind uhh, telling me what broughT that on?” he asked.  

You glanced up at Joker’s closed eyelids. You sucked the soul out of him and it was taking him longer than usual to float back down to Earth. Times like this when the moonlight poured in through the windows and hit him just right, it made you wonder.  

How did you get so lucky to have this man in your life? 

He cracked an eye open with a knowing gleam swirling in the green hue. Caught ya.  

It made your ears bloom red in embarrassment. You genuinely did not know what came over you just now. You saw Joker in an imposter Batman suit and became feral. There was no further explanation needed.  

Your mind completely forgot that you shot Joker multiple times in self defense, that’s how powerful the whore in you jumped out. Mo’Nique would be ashamed.  

You buried your face in J’s chest, whining. “I dunno. You ain’t complaining.”  

He loved when you got nervous; your proper grammar became non-existent. Your nose bumped against a bullet hole and it caused your guilt to come flooding back. “You sure you’re okay?” you asked.  

You tapped the small indentation on his chest for context.  

“Hm? Oh yeah. Didn’t even feel 'em, Light. I guess.. I should uhh a-polo-gize for scaring ya. I didn’t mean to.” He kissed your forehead before snuggling you closer to his chest.  

It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to come home by crawling on the roof and whatnot, but Joker wanted to test out all the cool features his new suit had. So far, it was a sound purchase and bonus points, his Light love it. Perhaps a bit too much.  

You were just full of surprises. Nothing like friendly fire between lovers and a blowjob for a Friday night in.  

[porterdavis]

Lies & Misinformation, Inc.

Elon Musk claimed—without evidence—that FEMA was “actively blocking shipments and seizing goods and services locally and locking them away to state they are their own. It’s very real and scary how much they have taken control to stop people helping.” That post has been viewed more than 40 million times. Other influencers, such as the Trump sycophant Laura Loomer, have urged their followers to disrupt the disaster agency’s efforts to help hurricane victims. “Do not comply with FEMA,” she posted on X. “This is a matter of survival.”

The Atlantic

[sophia-zofia]

WHY TARGET ELBIT? Every hour, we receive thoughtful, well-aimed suggestions or inquiries about alternate targets for direct action: political offices, Embassies, NGOs, other weapons companies, intersections, etc., all of which have clear ties to the Zionist occupation of Palestine, and the ongoing genocide in Gaza. It is right and just to rebel and act boldly in all places and moments, with all tactics, without a doubt. The more chaos ensues in the halls and courtyards of the normalizers and genocidaires, the better. But focus in targeting, from a strategic perspective, is the most effective route, which is why our campaign is singularly focused on Elbit Systems, Israel’s *largest* weapons producer.

Palestine Action US has been given the privilege of carrying the banner of one of the Western world’s most successful grassroots direct action campaigns. Palestine Action UK, founded over three years ago by a Palestinian-Iraqi woman, has successfully shut down two of Elbit’s UK locations, permanently, and got HSBC to divest from Elbit. Their pressure has escalated over the years into a constant, relentless campaign, to the point where we see disruptions at Elbit in the UK nearly every day. Since October 7th, that pressure has only grown, and also exploded into the US, Canada, Australia, and everywhere Elbit is headquartered. In that time, while other weapons firms’ profits have skyrocketed, Elbit shares have taken a nosedive.

If one wishes to help build a city, one must first build a house, so others might see how it was built. Like other historic campaigns which have isolated the enablers of injustice, we start with Elbit, we shut down their operations, and we strike fear in the hearts of their staff and their investors. Once Elbit Systems of America has been vanquished, we will have a replicable model for targeted direct action, which might be used to target every single conspirator in the occupation of Palestine and the subjugation of the colonized world. Further, we absolutely uphold the necessity of mass demonstrations, marches, and softer forms of direct action. These are all elements of the elaborate tapestry of resistance, but marching alone isn’t enough. Thousands have been arrested in the US for civil disobedience since Oct 7; most of these arrests have been purely symbolic. Imagine if these bodies were blockading arms shipments, dismantling weapons companies, and actually threatening capital.

Power has shown it doesn’t move, even when millions have taken the streets, unless their profits are directly affected, or ruling class fear abounds. Beware of those who wish to co-opt the language of Direct Action for the benefit of their own opportunism and brand-building. Beware of “Shut it Down,” actions which are little more than theatrical performances, meant to contain the revolutionary instinct. For those who don’t live near a primary Elbit Systems location, there ARE targets near you. Bank of New York Mellon is Elbit System’s primary investor, along with being the fiscal sponsor for the Friends of the IDF, a non-profit which allows US citizens to materially support the Zionist Occupation Army. We have officially put Bank of New York Mellon on notice as a target of Palestine Action, and they are in major cities across the country and across the globe. Use this map to find Elbit Systems or Bank of New York Mellon locations near you, connect with Palestine Action US, and build an affinity group today.

Together, we become ungovernable, Together, we defeat the Zionist beast, beginning with Elbit Systems.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 6

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smutty smutty smut; talk of Reader's anxiety; drunkenness; New Girl spoilers (if you’ve never watched the show and don’t wanna know things!); absent parent thoughts; heavy petting; oral sex f!receiving; fingering; oral sex m!receiving; unprotected p in v sex; spanking (hehe); Reader is stubborn; Jake is stubborn (if i missed any that may have triggered you, please let me know!!)

Chapter Word Count: 24.5k+ (damn. i'm v sorry lmao)

Covet Masterlist

a/n: welllll, after summer school (that shit really took it out of me), one vacation w my whole fam, two gvf shows with my sis @joshym, an extended vaca in nash (bc we just HAD to!!), and INSANE writer's block....... HERE IS CHAPTER 6! finally! i'm insanely sorry it took so damn long. thank you all for being the fkn B E S T and so understanding and the best gresties/readers a girl could ask for! <3333 ("heart eyes, motherfucker" - that's how i feel about u all :) (also if u remember that vine, ily even more now))

i hope you enjoyyyy ;)

-🌼🌼🌼-

At the beginning of July, you were stacking a shipment of some blues records in a bin at work, your mind in a blank space, which naturally moved you to think of the one person who was seemingly always at the back of your mind.

Jake.

He’d really just taken up residence in your brain, as he had in your home.

He was still on his shit. You know, acting like a pouting child, barely acknowledging you. Even after you’d literally bared yourself to him, pussy out, nipples pebbled in the open air. . . 

You blew a breath through your lips, and tucked hair behind both ears, readjusting your thought process. 

Now he seemed set on only acting like an ass after your time in the cramped bathroom had been cut short. Before, he’d taken the time to still seek you out. After the incident in your bedroom, he’d literally shown up at the B&G, begging you to come see him.

Were you just not worth it to him anymore?

You rolled your eyes to yourself, focusing on stuffing records in the bin alphabetically. 

It. Didn’t. Matter. He didn’t matter.

Really.

And you knew he didn’t matter because it wasn’t hard for you when you finally decided to play into his behavior—his little game. You didn’t stop yourself when you started to match his energy. It was easy to act as though you didn’t care about him. 

Because you didn’t. 

All you really needed was to satisfy that itch and then—then, you’d be good. 

But as you came across a re-release of a Howlin’ Wolf record, you suddenly became slightly disheartened at the thought of it all. What if this wasn’t a game for him? What if he was actually so upset that he just decided you weren’t worth it? Would you ever get as close as you had at the gig again? Did he still want you like he had in the bathroom that night? Or in your bed the night before Baby’s?

You shivered as you (once again) thought of his hardened dick pressed up against your leg. You could hear his voice, low and sultry.

“That’s what you do to me.” 

Fuck. Did you still do that to him? You hoped so.

Then there was the feeling of him pressing into you, your bare ass on the cold ceramic of the sink, leaning your body into him, craving more—so close. 

God.

You frustratedly groaned and shoved the vinyl in its place and shook your head. It didn’t matter. Really. But you couldn’t help your heart falling at the idea of him not wanting you like you wanted him. 

All you could do was hope that he still wanted it—wanted you, like he had before. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You'd also started July deciding that in order to keep some sense of dignity, it would be best to not go see Jake perform. Especially if it was possible he’d completely closed himself off the idea of you. 

It was humiliating to be a try hard.

You would distance yourself from that part of his life, if he was going to ignore you and distance himself in your shared home. 

Did you want to see him play again? Hell freakin’ yes. It had been such an intimate experience that first night. You’d felt so privileged to witness it the way you had then, up close to share his emotions as he played, holding his eyes almost any time he’d looked up at you. You’d been taking in every flick of his fingers, every thrust into the back of his guitar, the concentration on his sweaty face . . . and he’d wanted you to watch. He’d wanted you there, in that moment, with him.

You could still see him clear as day, tanned skin glowing in the B&G, his eyes golden in the evening sun, pleading with you. . .

“I really want you there.”

When you’d gone to their last shows in June, all you wanted was to feel that way again. Connected to him. Close to him. You wanted it so badly—but it seemed he didn’t want it anymore. He hadn’t looked at you once during any of the shows. To be fair, you had been standing so far towards the back that it’s possible he hadn’t even known you were there. But, he hadn’t even tried to seek you out to ask you to come like he had before (if it really was possible he thought you weren’t there). 

Things were just different than before. 

So, yeah. It was best that you didn’t go. You didn’t want to seem desperate or possibly annoy him with your presence just in case he did see you at a show. You’d made up your mind that it was obvious he didn’t want you there. He wanted things like they currently were. 

And it wasn’t so much that it hurt to have him act so aloof and absent and uncaring. It didn’t hurt. Really. You’d tried to convince yourself that he was just making you angry. Nothing more.

So, you just continued to play his game however well you could. It wasn’t that important. 

Though, any time he left the apartment, looking deliciously ready for a performance, all you wanted to do was follow. But instead, all you’d actually do was look at him from wherever he passed you in the apartment. You’d glare at him, matching his pissy behavior as long as he continued to show it. 

But you’d eventually noticed that his eyes weren’t always holding irritation when he passed you. . .sometimes, you could have sworn his eyes held more longing than anything. 

Although, as soon as you’d think you saw it, he was already gone. And you would eventually decide that you’d imagined it.

You couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if it was possible that underneath his moodiness he did still want you?

All you wanted was to understand what he was feeling. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, after not going to their shows for the first couple weeks of July, Josh had finally reached out on the night of one, asking if you’d come because he ‘missed seeing you’.

You initially wanted to send a text back that said: ‘No, sorry. Your brother sucks and I’m mad at him right now. And if I go all I’ll want to do is fuck him senseless after watching him play, even though he probably doesn’t want that at all. So, I have to decline.’ 

But, then you guiltily started thinking of how you needed to support your best friend and the other two guys. It was incredibly rude of you to not go see Josh, Sam, and Danny do their thing simply because Jake was a pain in the ass that you couldn’t figure out. 

You wanted to support your friends. Support Josh.

So that’s why you ended up texting an ‘Of course! What time?’ in response. 

And as you got ready that night, you pulled on a cropped Cream T-shirt, thinking momentarily of your roommate. Would he like it if he saw it? Or would it piss him off?

Pushing it out of your mind, you focused on how excited you were now, the idea of getting to see them live again. 

The guys put on a helluva show; they were absolutely magnificent, so magnetic. 

Once you felt totally ready to go, you secured an Uber to pick you up, already planning to have a few drinks to ease your mind at the show.

As you put your shoes on, you thought. . . The thing that made you most excited really wasn’t seeing the band perform again as a whole. It wasn’t even the thought of seeing Josh. It was getting to simply be near Jake again, pathetic as it may sound. And the thought of seeing him play again. . . Fuck. Watching him was so enticing. He was like a drug. . .always drawing you in.

There was no denying the way your stomach fluttered at the thought of watching him perform again. Because even though he was pissing you off and you had no earthly clue how in the hell he was feeling, watching him perform was unlike any adrenaline rush you’d ever experienced. 

(Save for the feeling of your blood pumping erratically at the feeling of him tucked between your legs. That was a feeling unlike anything else.)

-🌼🌼🌼-

Like you had at shows before, you sat at the back to witness the performance. 

It had been great, per usual. Jake had left you wanting him from your seat. And just like it had been at the shows in June, he never failed to make you feel incredibly stupid for stopping things in the bathroom the night of their first show. 

Yet now, while they performed their encore, you hadn’t left the venue like you normally did. You hadn’t tried to get the hell out of dodge. 

No, tonight, you stood at the outdoor bar area connected to the back of the venue. It was set in a huge space covered in bright green turf, a small patio with a couple of tables, and plenty of Edison bulb string lights to set the cool mood of the place. 

There were even a couple of ping pong tables and a cornhole game set up for people to play at. A random sporting event was drawing in a few college-aged men, on a giant flat screen TV.

Although, unlike those men, it wasn’t your choice to be hanging out in the open area. You had wanted to avert to your normal plan of leaving to go home with a quick ‘proud of you!’ text to Josh. 

You wanted to avoid Jake seeing you at all costs. But Josh had inadvertently seen to it that you wouldn’t get away with that plan again.

He’d apparently caught onto your little trick. Before you could begin to type a text, and before they’d even come out for their encore, Josh had sent a text. Or three. 

Josh, 10:23 p.m.: Don’t you dare leave.

Josh, 10:23 p.m.: I really want to see you and give you a hug 

Josh, 10:24 p.m.: I don’t see you nearly enough these days and I miss you dearly and I really want to have just one drink with you after the show. Pleeeeaaaase

So, here you were, outside before the set even totally ended, standing at the bar, downing another lemon drop to calm your nerves. You really just wanted to be home, with Stevie snoring against your calves. 

You were not totally ready to be in the same area as Jake for an extended amount of time.

You were just asking for your another beer when you felt someone sidle up beside you. The nudge against your shoulder, and the familiar hint of patchouli in his cologne, made you grin at your best friend.

“One salty dog for me,” Josh said as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. After a nod, the bartender went to get his drink ready, and he turned you fully into him to give you a big hug. 

It felt so safe. . . but you couldn’t help the feeling of wanting to be this close to Jake instead.

When you pulled away, you momentarily closed your eyes, collecting your thoughts. When you opened them, you watched as he placed an elbow on the bar and a hand on his hip. His eyebrow went up. 

“Great job tonight. I’m so prou—.”

“Why haven’t you let me know your anxiety’s been flaring up again?” He interrupted, obviously worried.

You blinked once. What? “What?”

“Last month, you kept fleeing before I could even take a breath after a set. I figured you were just trying to get some sleep with your summer classes starting. But then you just stopped coming altogether,” he scooted in closer to you. His voice got lower, his eyes concerned. “I just wanted to put eyes on you. I’ve been so busy; I haven’t had time to check on you like normal. My schedule is shit. I figured this would be a way for me to see you and make sure you’re doing alright,” he continued, reaching his hand up to lightly rub your shoulder. “It came later this time. I expected it to get bad at the end of May, but it never came. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you eating?”

Your cheeks pinkened. With your concern for avoiding Jake at these gigs, you hadn’t even taken time to think about how your behavior might have worried Josh. Of course he’d been thinking deeply about your absence. He cared so much for you, and was a sole confidant on multiple occasions of your depression induced anxiety flare-ups. And, to be fair, being flighty usually signaled the beginning of your bigger bouts with your superb anxiety-depression combo.  

You’d had a few times in your friendship where it had gotten really bad. Definitely a trauma response, almost always coming with a change in season. For some reason, the change in leaves, flowers blooming — it always made you think of just how much your mom had broken you. You didn’t get to appreciate the beauty without it being tainted by darkness. Your mother's leaving had come right at the turn of fall into winter. 

There had been a few times after Elsie left when it got so bad that Josh’d insisted he stay with you. With your sister around, he wouldn’t always stay the night when it hit you, but he’d check on you at work, and hover with texts, food, and quality time until he felt you were better.

But this had nothing to do with your mother. And really, your anxiety wasn’t bad. Jake wasn’t causing you anxiety for you at all right now. You didn’t know what you were feeling. Were you on edge around Jake at all times? Yes. But it wasn’t anxiety. It definitely wasn’t depression. Sadness that he could possibly not want you, yes. But it wasn’t something dark like the thought your mother might bring. You didn’t know what it was. 

You just knew you had to reassure Josh.

“I’m okay,” you looked into his eyes and reached out to hold his hand on the bar. “Yes, I’m eating. I’m just—feeling a lot right now? I don’t know. It’s weird,” you shook your head and removed your hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. How could you explain this to him? You couldn’t. “Just a lot going on in my head.” 

He studied you, squinted his eyes. “Is there something I should know about?” He questioned, his voice getting crisper as he tried to make pieces click. Your stomach dropped. “You’re being vague. You’re sure it’s not—?”

“No,” you shut your eyes, huffing a frustrated breath. “Yes. I’m—it’s just—I don’t know.” Improvise, improvise, improvise. “When Elsie was in town, we talked about my mom. I’ve just been in my feelings, I guess. And, yeah, summer classes have started and that’s added some pressure, too. But it’s not anxiety or depression or anything,” you connected eyes with him again, and reached to squeeze his hand. “I promise.”

He still didn’t seem convinced. You weren’t surprised. He was an empath after all. He shouldn’t be convinced. He knew better than to believe that was all it was. But you didn’t want him knowing any better than an assumption in his head. And as long as the assumption didn’t have anything to do with his brother, you were okay with whatever he was assuming. And, you being in a weird headspace because of your mom wasn’t a lie. You truly had been. He’d even witnessed it at the coffee shop. 

It just wasn’t the whole truth. The biggest thing was something he absolutely couldn’t know: the way your mind had been swarmed with Jake, Jake, Jake for the past months. And it’d only gotten worse with the past couple . . .events.

The thought of Josh catching on to anything about his brother continued to make you fearful of him possibly being cross with you over it. Or worse, made you fear him feeling betrayed by you. You didn’t want him upset or thinking poorly of you for possibly distracting Jake in any way. 

You couldn't be to Jake what his ex had been. And you feared Josh’s mind would go to that immediately—out of protection for his brother. Rightfully so.

His eyes settled back to normal, accepting your answer for the time being. His eyes curved down with understanding. “I saw you watching that girl and her mom at the coffee shop. I should’ve known.”

All you could do was nod. You didn’t know what more to say to cover your ass. 

You cleared your throat, signaling you were ready for a change of topic. “Enough about me. How are you feeling about all of these amazing shows, rockstar?”

He grinned wide, letting his worries go as a drink landed in front of him. 

And in no time, things were like they’d always been. 

Just you and Josh, not a lingering thought for Jake’s moods as you let yourself listen to his twin’s many thoughts and feelings of this new life of his.

You just had to try your best to ignore the way your heart leapt in your chest at any mention of Jake’s name in a story.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her as I walked out onto the back area of the establishment. 

And fuck it all, if she wasn’t the first thing my eyes found in that slightly crowded space. It would be impossible for her not to be—she was most definitely the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. 

But my heart immediately dropped when it registered that she was holding Josh’s hand, talking animatedly with him. It would be stupid for me to assume she’d come for anyone else but him. 

I had thought for sure that she’d been interested—wanted me—that night at Baby’s All Right. She’d said so much the night before that —her being so open with me at our home, right before we’d kissed for the first time in the hallway. 

Then, that night at Baby’s. . .I’d been so close to her, feeling her swollen pussy, still wet from my mouth, on the head of my cock. The way her body had thrummed around me. . .making my body need more. 

But just before I was inside of her, she’d heard my brother and her mind had gone immediately to him. Only caring what he thought. 

I didn’t know what to think about what they had between them. It was very possible that they were just friends—best friends. I knew that was likely the case. 

(And if I were thinking reasonably—it was definitely the case from how Josh talked about her sister.)

But my ways of reasonable thinking had been shot to shit these days. 

I’d been burned by assuming something similar in the past. The whole “just friends” thing was a cover I wasn't too fond of. Thanks to the woman I’d loved in the past, my trust was shot and I had become a primarily “glass half empty” thinker. My past had bit me in the fuckin’ ass. 

But y/n—she made me feel electric again—full of life. She was the most beautiful symbol of a fresh start. A fresh start I’d been craving—a feeling I’d been chasing for years. 

I truly hadn’t felt so full of possibility since I was 16. Even when we’d bicker, I felt this glimmer of hope for my life. . . She was a natural light. 

I just wanted her so bad, going dizzy at the sight of her . . . And that was a feeling I hadn’t ever felt with any other woman. My brain was almost always fuzzy when she was near. 

She was absolutely breathtaking, every movement she made that had her hair flowing in slow motion around her head, the way her eyes hooded when it was just the two of us. . . but even better, the way her eyes shined, so bright, all the time. She was positively heaven sent. 

And I’d be an idiot to think she’d want me more than my brother—who she’d known for years, who she was instantly drawn to at all times. They had natural chemistry. Anyone with two eyes could see it. 

She deserved a light that matched her own. Could I capture that light? Yes, I knew I could. But I’d been so terrible to her from the get-go; I wouldn’t blame her gravitating towards Josh—feeling safer with him. 

Like he always said, he was the sun, and I was the moon. I naturally came with darkness. I’d made it clear enough by acting like an asshole for the first portion of my time living with her. 

People who knew me knew I was notoriously terrible at reacting to hurt. I didn’t naturally know how to handle my emotions like Josh was practically born knowing to do. 

And the moment I laid eyes on her that first night at the apartment—when she’d opened the door. . .her hair falling against her sweet face, her eyes opening to show me the most beautiful color I’d ever seen. I knew then that I was a goner. 

But it’d seemed to be terrible timing at that instant. Feeling so drawn to her—it was coming right after I’d had the biggest life change. My heart was hurting—not necessarily broken, just . . . lost.

And I didn’t want her to be involved in the hopeless sea I’d been drowning in since my past troubles had come crashing down around me. 

Though, when I’d first seen her, standing there, the evening sun hitting her stunning face in her doorway— I felt like all of the pirates I loved to study. I’d found a hidden treasure I couldn’t even imagine could be so beautiful— just around the bend for so long, finally in my grasp. 

But I hadn’t known her. I hadn’t even met her. She was a treasure that wasn't mine to enjoy.

And I truly needed to heal, without bringing someone else down with me. I was scared of all I was feeling, and I only knew to react with bluntness, rudeness, irritation at every fucking turn. I’d even brought girls to bed to try to get her the fuck out of my mind. 

But it never happened. She was persistently there, in my everyday routine, in the eyes of the girls I'd mindlessly fuck. She'd sealed a sweet spot in my brain. 

But I’d still kept up with the douchebag act.

It was so unfair.

She’d tried so hard to be friendly, and I never greeted it well. I hadn’t known what to make of it all. That first night, Josh had said we were the same. Though, as he’d said this, I’d been watching her—so peaceful and beautiful, deep in a surely dreamful sleep. 

It’d instantly made my stomach dip when he said it. . . I knew well enough that she couldn’t be the same as me. 

But she was the same as Josh—pure, unadulterated bright, yellow sunshine. She was the sun on a spring day, flowers blooming and the grasses so green. Not a cloud in sight. 

But I was the cloud in her flawless sky. I’d been reminded of that when she’d stopped us at Baby's, saying she didn’t want Josh to know. It seemed she didn’t want to take a chance on people knowing we’d been so close.

I could only assume she didn’t want that darkness in her life, and I didn’t blame her. 

So I’d separated myself from her.

After that night, when Josh had told me of her being at our other gigs in June, I’d brushed it off. I knew why she was there—for Josh. I hadn’t even tried to seek her out because I knew that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want me near her. Didn’t want people to know how close we had been. 

How well her body shaped to mine in secret— and it was just that: a secret she wanted kept. 

Especially wanted it kept from Josh. To him, she wanted us to be strictly roommates. So that’s what I’d decided I’d be for her. 

I’d wanted to ask her to come to shows after our little stint, but I fought the urge every time it came on. I wanted her there, I fed off of her energy—she made me play better. But, I didn’t want to rub her the wrong way after she’d put her foot down in the bathroom. I didn’t want to come off too strong. 

I’d also given my best attempt to not let my feelings show in the past weeks. It had been so hard anytime I’d meet her beautiful eyes. Her eyes that, over the past week, had seemed to turn from something hopeful when she looked my way to what could only be called disdain —disdain for me.

I had been an asshole, and she was better than that . . . 

But, still, all I wanted was her. I wanted to take back everything I’d said or done out of hurt, due to not knowing how to handle my mess of feelings. 

I wished I could go back to day one and make things different. I wished I could go back in time to stop myself from becoming a slab of stone to cope with my feelings. If I would have just been myself. . . Maybe I’d have her now— ever-endearing and enrapturing.

Fuck. And as I watched her tousle Josh’s hair, I just wanted to feel her fingers in mine again. My heart twinged with jealousy at the action.

“Look who’s here!” 

Sam’s loud voice snapped me out of my reverie. I continued to watch her, her smile widened at Sam’s voice, looking in his direction, and away from Josh. Then, without warning, she looked over to me as I was still studying her face—the way her full lips stretched to show her beautiful beam. 

But as soon as she looked at me, her smile fell. And all I wanted in that moment was for her smile to get bigger when she saw me, just as it had when she saw Sam.

I just wanted her. 

I decided at that moment, I was going to bite the bullet. I could make one more move to be close to her again. And if there was one moment where she acted as if she didn’t want it, I’d back off. 

But right now? I couldn’t see that happening. Couldn't see her backing off. She didn’t pull her eyes from mine, and I never let my gaze fall from hers. She held me with her stare, and I held her with mine. 

It was just us.

And as I came up on her other side, opposite Josh, she never broke eye contact with me, turning from my twin. And even as Sam and Danny traveled behind me, she only looked at me. 

I watched her chest rise and fall, the swell of her breasts making my mouth run dry from where they peeked out at the makeshift tear at the top of her shirt. The sugary sweet smell of her perfume made all of my senses lurch forward, wanting to take her—all of her— right at that moment.  

I was close enough to see the shine from the Edison bulbs around us, reflecting in her irises. 

Daniel and Sam came up to give her hugs, honestly acting completely oblivious to what was transpiring between us. Josh was chatting it up with the bartender, asking if he heard us from out here. 

And finally, they all left to go play ping pong. They’d offered for us to go play, but she hadn’t even acknowledged them talking. I waved them off, and looked at them with a shake of my head. I felt her eyes continue to pore over me as she let me do the work to get them to leave. 

Then, y/n and I were in our own world, I placed my forearm on the bar, my body curving to be around hers of its own accord. She followed by turning her whole body to face mine. It felt natural as she leaned into where I stood. She wasn’t quite touching me, but she let her own body follow all of my movements. 

I couldn’t help but feel my chest puff as she let her body move with mine as I matched her, moving in time with her. I was the dull moth and she was the bright, alluring flame.

I wondered if it felt as seamless for her as it did for me, she sat her elbow on the bar, and leaned her hip against a stool. She went to sit on top of it, but she struggled with her footing, so I let my instincts take control and I helped her onto it. However I could help her, I wanted to. 

I also wanted nothing more than to touch her, so that seemed like the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. 

The gasp she released when I touched her, and lifted her the slightest bit to help her situate on the glittery plastic top of the stool, combined with the way her legs spread the slightest bit, her black jean shorts showing so much of her sweet, sun-kissed thighs—it made all of my blood rush through me and to a throbbing halt at the head of my cock.

I wanted to cross my legs to make sure it wouldn’t show what she was doing to me. But she was so magnetic, I couldn’t help the last step I took, towards the stool, to be closer to her. I was so close that my thighs touched her knees. Her knees, which she then crossed, in the process grazing the zipper of my jeans. 

My breath caught in my chest, and my dick pulsed. She was still looking down at where she’d touched me, so I knew she saw what I felt happening in my pants. 

She shot me a look, questioning all of this. And all I could do was look down at her, letting my eyes sweep over her entire outfit. So simple, yet so lovely, as always. She was wearing a cropped band tee (Cream. Fuck—did she do that on purpose?) and those cut off black denim shorts, with her black-colored toenails showing in a pair of cheap black flip flops. 

I swallowed hard, feeling so entranced by her. My gaze went back to her face, the most appealing part of the woman. Her face was so open, so kind, so pretty—it had done nothing but draw me in since day one. And being so close to her again, I saw the familiar dusting of a few lighter freckles that dotted her nose. She was smiling—her eyes were smiling— at me. 

Somehow it seemed she knew exactly what was going through my mind. Crazy how we’d been avoiding each other for the past couple of weeks, but now just clicked back together as if we were back at Baby’s All Right—in the cramped space of that bathroom.

I looked into her bright eyes, feeling something overwhelming come to life in my chest. 

Fucking hell. She was perfect.

I needed this. I needed to feel this with her again. I’d missed it. The closeness.

“Hi,” I said with a nod, just loud enough for her ears to hear. 

She blinked once, her eyes wide and wondering. Fuck. She was so damn cute. 

Then, I watched fondly as her dimples showed in her cheeks with a soft grin. “Hi.”

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

It had been a decent amount of time since Jake had come up to stand right next to you, completely ruining any chance for sanity on your end. 

He’d acted so normal, so forward. His actions were exactly what you’d needed to feel relieved—to know that all was okay. 

You’d gotten nervous being around him, like Elsie would say, you were pretty sure you had a ‘good ‘ol crush.’ Nothing more. You focused on complimenting the set when you’d talked, asking simple questions, just to hear his voice explain the same things Josh already had. The raspiness in his tone was just delicious, and you wanted to hear the small things from his perspective more than anyone else’s.

When you weren’t listening to him talk, you pretended to be interested in the game on the flat screen—you had no clue what they were doing on the field, but it was distracting you from how sweaty your palms were getting at Jake being so close.

Though, you were now several beers (and a couple margaritas) in, previously deciding you wanted to make this night like old times where you’d get drunk and have fun with the guys. The boys’d come up to you a few times in your precious time being next to Jake. They’d bump you with a shoulder as they grabbed a drink. . . Josh only coming by once or twice, having been the chosen one to hold off, as he was the DD.

And, per usual, Sammy had chosen a game that would supposedly be much more fun, completely inebriated: ‘drunk ping pong.’ 

“Like normal ping pong, except you’re drunk!” Sam had excitedly said, his signature cackle following his words. He was right there with you on the 'shitface scale'.

Jake had barely left your side all night, and it felt so right to be so close to him, to stay with him. It felt right, just like it had before, except this time, it had nothing to do with anything sexual. . .it was just his simple presence that made you feel good. 

(You weren't going to talk about how you'd felt his dick twitch in his tight jeans. . .because holy fuck. Your panties had been the victim when that had happened.)

By the middle of the ping pong game, you were still drinking. You felt light in the head, completely carefree. You even caught yourself leaning into Jake a few times, the two of you deciding to be a team against Sammy and Danny. Josh preferred being the referee for the game, getting a chance to nonstop talk by narrating the entire game.

At one point, you knew you were leaning back into him, but you were far too gone to care. You’d purposefully pressed your ass against his crotch, and he’d patiently repositioned you. You were grateful for him being so aware, because you knew you’d regret it in the morning if something stupid happened in front of your friends. You just couldn’t control your actions like a sober-you normally could. 

You were in a body that was moving on its own, your brain barely registering what you’d do.

He’d repeatedly asked if you were doing alright, and you’d get so lost in his chocolate gaze you could only breathe a ‘yes’ in response. 

And, now, as you settled into a booth inside the establishment, it was nearing 1 a.m., and you were simply listening to the guys talk about their next performance. And as you had been all night, you were next to Jake. 

At this point, you were cuddled up next to him more than anything else. You felt so cozy with him. His body was a warm furnace for yours. You were sitting in a way that none of the other guys could see what you were doing. Because of them not seeing your bottom half, you situated a leg over his thigh, comfortably draping it the best you could to make it look as inconspicuous as possible (while simultaneously being incredibly drunk). 

But you could barely worry about it when you leaned your head on his shoulder. You were sleepy. And he was warm, right, and close. 

And he smelled so fucking good. Hints of sage and vanilla overwhelmed your senses, mixed with sweat. . .it was the perfect mixture that helped to lull you to sleep, along with the calming vibration of his voice as he talked with his brothers, your head laying on his shoulder perfectly placed for the melodic sound waves from his voice. 

And right before you dozed off, you felt one of his calloused hands lay on your thigh, warm on your cooled skin. You snuggled into him, a small smile finding its way to your lips.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Before you knew it, the same hand was squeezing your thigh, urging you to wake up.

“Y/n. . .let’s go home,” his voice softly said, his minty breath hitting your face. Home. As your eyes wedged open, you looked up at him to find the apples of his cheeks redden with a deep laugh as he reacted to something Josh said.

If only you could just kiss him - right then and there.

You were still too out of it to register what Josh was saying, but you noticed the other three standing around the booth, Jake securely next to you still. 

Your tummy fluttered at him being so attentive to you, and continued on that way as he helped you climb out (or rather squeak out of the booth, your bare thighs making racket against the seat). 

“Y/n. . .,” Sam started, his voice way too high for him to be requesting your name for anything too serious. And still, you looked up at him as you finally edged your way to the very end of the red booth. “Did you fart?!”

The rest of the guys started chuckling with him, and you couldn’t help but join in as you went to punch his scrawny chest. “Shut the fuck up, you fucker.”

Danny whooped, beating a fist in the air. He started leading the way out of the bar. As you all followed, he turned to catch your eye briefly. “Y/n. . . coming in with some nasty ass insults tonight,” he laughed. “You’re killing it, Baby Dragon.”

“Haven't heard that one for a hot damn second,” Josh remarked, right behind Danny, waiting to hold the door open for you, Jake, and Sam. “Baby Dragon.”

Jake looked at you and Sam curiously, wanting an in on the nickname. 

“Baby Dragon?” He questioned, taking the door from Josh to let you into the dark night, under his lifted arm. 

“Game of Thrones,” was Sammy’s explanation, as he started teetering on his feet, balancing himself on the ledge of the sidewalk to keep himself busy. “Baby dragons.”

You could tell he was still wondering why, so you tried to extend Sam’s drunken response with your own woozy one. “I’m a baby dragon.”

Well, that made no damn sense, you thought, giggling to yourself.

The guys started busting up laughing, Jake still dipping his eyebrows in at you, a smile playing on his full lips. He was watching your every motion, continuing as you looped your arm with Sammy, trying to balance with him.

Josh continued, more lucid than either of you. “We watched Game of Thrones week after week at our apartment for about a year. . . binged it together,” he nodded his head toward you, smirking. “One of y/n’s favorite ways to bond is with a good television show. And she had been dying for us to watch it with her. So, we did.”

The curly headed twin then laughed at you and Sammy as you both nearly fell, making the same ridiculous sound as you almost went down. Sam thankfully recovered in time, even with his feet slippery in his Birkenstocks. He held you close to him. It made you laugh even harder as he playfully checked you for bumps and bruises. 

“We deemed her Baby Dragon,” Danny finished.  

Jake nodded, but he still wanted more information, looking left out. You also noticed him looking as though he’d discovered something. And then it clicked that Josh had exposed a bonding tactic of yours. You slapped your forehead, your reactions still slow, even after your nap, where you had snoozed off the tiniest bit of alcohol. 

“Josh!” You scolded him, way past time. You still made no sense, randomly saying his name— you knew this. 

But, the more Josh looked at you dubiously, you thought you’d leave it at that. You didn’t need to correct him for saying anything. Because, well, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, the more you thought of it. Maybe you were okay with Jake knowing you’d used TV to bond with him. 

In this state, you could plainly admit that you wanted him to know your heart—all of your intentions. And you wanted to tell him all of your desires. . . Show him, even. You were craving him, especially after being so close with him all night. It felt nice. 

You looked up to observe him at that moment, but he was checking his phone, his eyebrows crinkled. He looked up from it, clicking it closed and glancing to the street to see a car rolling up.  

“Your Uber AWAITS!” Sam declared, motioning to the car that had pulled up to the curb, the black and white Uber sign in the corner of the window to confirm his words. 

“Jake, you need to get a damn car,” Josh noted, opening the back door for you. “I’m tired of being your chauffeur. And Uber is going to get tired of you soon, too,” He caught your eye and winked, nodding over to your roommate. “Y/n, I’m thinking it’s your turn to cart Jake around everywhere he goes.”

You approached the nice little silver car, rolling your eyes at Josh, but still giving him a hug as you came up next to him. “Love you, Joshy,” you leaned in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’m not taking any car advice from you, Mister Clunkerfuck,” he commented plainly. It made you burst out with laughter. “Your car is on its last fuckin’ leg. It’s going to break down on you at the worst possible moment and I’m not going to feel bad. I think you’re the one who needs to get a car—a new one.”

Sam started drunkenly singing a track you hadn’t heard that included the lyrics ‘you’re the one’. His actions were dramatic, only Danny paid him any mind, starting to sing with him, being just as goofy. 

You were still thinking of what Jake had said. It was exactly how you thought of Josh’s car.

“Clunkerfuck,” you smiled in Jake’s direction. Though, when you caught his eye, he looked a little downcast, you just couldn’t pin why. Maybe you were seeing it, all dazed out. “Good one, Jakey.”

Jakey? It did register in time that you’d called him that, and you were instantly embarrassed by your nickname for him. Too far. So, you hurriedly got in the car, your cheeks flushing as you haphazardly yelled goodbyes to the other guys. 

“Nighty night, Baby Dragon,” Josh had said with a laugh, calling you the nickname once more, closing the door behind you. You’d honestly forgotten about the nickname. . .it had been so long since they’d used it. 

Before you knew it, Jake was scooting into the passenger seat to offer an address to the driver. 

He doesn’t want to sit next to me? You thought, sadly. But he chose to be close to me the rest of the night. . . Why not now?

You tried not to look too disappointed on the outside as he was back to ignoring you for the twenty minute drive back to your place. He paid you no mind, and didn’t even care to check on you like he had all night, on the ride back. 

You weren’t able to give it much thought as you looked at the GPS and reasoned you could get a good nap in on the way home. Drinking always made you feel so tired. 

You laid your head against the cooled window next to you. Jake’s naturally husky (fucking sexy) tone as he spoke to the driver, was the last thing you heard semi-coherently. 

You let the car sway you to sleep for the last 10-ish minutes of the drive back, only one handsome man, with long hair and a voice that dripped of sex, waiting behind your lids as they closed. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You were still feeling loopy as Jake helped you up the stairs to the apartment. 

You’d had way too much to drink. You needed sleep. 

Once you entered the apartment, it was so quiet and dark. . .you needed light. So, you felt against the wall to switch the light on. But, you instantly regretted it, covering your eyes with both hands. 

“My eyes!” You yelped, way too dramatically. And when you peeked through your fingers, you saw Jake stooped down, next to Stevie’s dish, giving her a scoop of food. She nudged her little gray head against his hand. Your heart squeezed at the sight. But it was still too bright. “My eyes!”

With two hands still covering your eyes, you sauntered, on unsteady foot in front of the other, back towards the switch you’d used to flip the lights on. 

But before you could get to the switch, you knocked into a chair, sending you back onto your ass. Yet again, dramatically.

“Ow!” You moved a hand from your eyes to massage your sore butt, and as you did, you saw Jake moving to switch the lights off. You were once again cloaked in darkness, but he turned the lamp on closest to him. You sighed, your ass not hurting as much as you’d imagined it had. Now you only cared about the lights, how perfectly dimmed the room was. “Ahhh. . .Much better.”

Your lids were drooping again, and you were not looking forward to getting back up on wobbly feet to make the trek to your bedroom. 

Deciding the floor was a comfy enough bed for the night, you laid back, curling onto your side, your hands under your left cheek to make a pillow. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

Her eyes slid closed. I watched her, a small grin on my face. So adorable. 

But, she was so gone. I felt bad appreciating her being so cute while she was so incoherent. 

So instead of taking advantage, I’d taken it upon myself to watch over her and make sure she was alright all night. I kept my drinking to a minimum so I could keep a careful eye on her.

We’d spent the whole night together, enjoying each other’s company (even if she had been slightly—very—drunk). It’d felt so right. 

My heart had beat at being like that with her in a similar way it did when we’d watch New Girl together. But, it was different tonight. Instead of only sitting on a couch, we’d been together, walking around, playing, her willingly (albeit drunkenly) falling asleep on my shoulder, a smooth leg draped over mine (holy fuck, by the way). 

We hadn’t really gotten the chance to talk a whole lot, thanks to my brothers demanding our attention. The only talking we had partaken in had been very little. And it’d only been about what she’d thought of the set, little questions she had for me. We’d mostly just taken time to be next to each other. 

For me, it’d felt like coming back home.

I had just watched her as she watched the game on a TV in front of us (didn’t peg her as a girl who liked sports, but whatever), occasionally looking over at me to share a secret smile, making my skin hot with want for her. 

I’d hoped, sitting there on those barstools, that she’d felt it with me—the whole cheesy ass ‘coming home’ thing. 

But then, having to stand there and watch her kiss Josh on the cheek at the end of the night . . .that had been a kick in the fuckin’ ass. I’d literally felt my heart sink in my chest as I watched them, their respective energies feeding off of the other so well. . . they were practically one. 

He’d even helped her into the car, once again calling her that ‘baby dragon’ thing that I couldn’t understand at all. I couldn’t understand her the way he could—the way all of the guys could. I hadn’t been around to get to know her with the rest of them. I wasn’t in sync with her like they were—like Josh was. 

I was late to the game. Probably too late. 

Though, when we got home, I still wanted to help her with a few small things . . . It was impossible for me not to try and help her (even if she didn’t fit as well with me as she did my brother).

And at this moment, I could tell that she was going to let herself sleep on the floor. 

But I wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Bending down next to her beautiful body, I couldn’t help but bite my lip when I saw her round ass peeking out from the bottom of her shorts. She was filled out in all of the right places—an absolute fucking masterpiece. 

Then I heard a little whimper in her sleep. A sigh, as she probably started slipping into dreamland. I felt my dick harden just the slightest bit when I thought of hearing those same whimpers through the walls. . . how she’d said my name in her sleep a few times — moaned it, even. . . Off in her dreams where I could have only hoped to meet her.

I’d spent many mornings so sexually fucking frustrated with how close, yet so far she was. So many times—I was there, right next door to her as my name would slip from her lips. And with only a thin wall between us, I’d jerked my cock into a hand I’d imagined was her sweet pussy, having to bite my lip to keep from saying her name.

Fuck. I palmed at my crotch, willing my dick to soften. Now was not the time.

I touched her shoulder, nudging her a bit. “Y/n. . .come on, wake up. You don’t wanna sleep on the floor.”

She sighed again, “Yes, I do,” she retorted. 

And then she moaned as she snuggled further into the carpet. Her moan. Fuck. She was like a damn good drug. 

“No, you don’t,” I scooped my hands under her back, ready to carry her to bed. “I’ll carry you if you don’t move yourself. Come on.”

I saw her lids flutter, eyes still closed. A little smirk graced her features. “Carry me, Jakey,” she mused. 

There she was using that nickname for me again, I thought. It sounded so much better, sweeter coming from her lips than I’d ever heard it.

And when I let both of my hands totally slip under her, scooping her into my arms, and against my chest, her eyes blinked open, still slightly hooded. Her eyebrows curved in, the look she was giving me telling me she hadn’t believed I would do it. 

She wiggled, arguing. “Jake. You don’t have to,” wiggle. “Carry,” wiggle. “Me.”

I gripped her a bit tighter, but did give her a chance to climb out of my arms. “I’ll let you walk if you want to,” I continued, letting my guard down with my next words. “But I really like being this close to you. . .feeling you against me.”

When she looked at me again, it was as if she’d totally sobered at what I’d said (even though I knew better). Her eyes were inquiring, but so full of an emotion I couldn’t fully place in that moment. All I knew was her unnamed emotion somehow perfectly matched the thrum of my heart in my chest. 

“Me too.”

And then she looped her arms around my neck, bringing my face down to meet hers, just as we’d made it to her room. 

I couldn’t help it. I let myself give in to her apparent want in that moment, and met her lips with mine. 

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

As Jake carried you further into your room, to your bed, you never let your lips leave his. Even as he laid you down on your bed, you kept kissing him.

Yes, you thought. This. This is what I needed. I needed him.

You knew you weren’t totally sober, but when he’d said what he did about liking the feeling of being close to you. . . it had made your heart leap into your throat with joy. Because you’d been hoping he still felt like that. You’d been hoping so hard to hear words like that, that it had kind of snapped you from your drunken daze. 

And having him on top of you, laying his body between your legs that naturally opened to make room for him. . .the feeling was divine.

Having Jake with you, it was more than the alcohol that still lingered in your system. You wished you hadn’t let yourself get so wasted tonight, wished you'd have taken him coming closer to you as a sign to not make tonight ‘like old times’. You realized that you wanted it to be new times—times where Jake was here. Things were different with him around. 

And now that you were so far away from the beginnings of him living with you, seeing him show bits of himself, outside of his shroud, throughout June. . . knowing what his lips tasted like—you could admit that having him around was a good type of different. 

Your mouth opened, needing his tongue to meet yours. As soon as it entered your mouth, you sucked on it, loving the taste, the feeling of it, safe in your mouth. 

Needing to be closer to him, you leaned up the slightest bit. You had to feel your skin against his. Closer, closer.

You separated your mouth from his, your lips wet, probably looking just like his: swollen and pink. 

His eyes were dark, lids hooded, encouraging you. You tugged at his shirt, and he got the idea. Thanks to not buttoning his shirts all the way, he was able to slip his short sleeve floral button down over his head. As he did that, you reached around the hem of your old T-shirt, taking it off. 

But before you could throw it to the side, he reached a hand out to grab it, turning the front of it to face you. The members of Cream, staring at you from the splotch of white on black material.

“Does it get you off?” He questioned, an eyebrow raised. “Turning me on with these little outfits you wear to the shows?” 

You smirked, your eyes hazing with want for him. He’d liked your choice of shirt. It hadn’t irritated him. You had made progress. You weren’t at square one anymore. Thank God.

“You liked it?” You rhetorically asked. “You were all I thought about when I put it on.”

His eyes glazed over, just like your own. He liked that.

He huffed, his mouth forming a grin before leaning down to nip at your lips, throwing the shirt to the side. His hands found your thighs, lifting them around his hips. He sucked your bottom lip, moving his tongue to lick into your mouth, his mouth following yours as you melted into the feeling, needing more. 

You pushed him away again, using the time he was leaned back to take your shorts off. He helped you so you didn’t have to awkwardly wriggle out of them. You flashed your eyes at him, smiling with them. 

Then once they were gone, you sat up fully, legs falling from around his hips, to help him. You messed with the button of his jeans. 

He placed his hand over yours, stopping you. You looked up to question him. And as you did, he was already laying you back down, honed in on the sight of your chest that hadn’t stopped heaving since you’d kissed him. 

“Did you think of me when you put this on?” He pulled at the strap of your bra- the same bralette you’d had on the night you’d first kissed. His eyes looked down at the rest of your body, palms running smoothly up your thighs, and over the curves of your hips, giving them a firm squeeze that made you thrust up towards him. His eyes found yours, completely dark. “Don’t start with that.”

Okay, I will, you thought, ready to tease him.

You moved a leg to be between both of his, bending it at the knee, causing it to rub against his crotch ever so slightly, then you brought it back down to lay beside your other leg, looking up at him, eyes innocent. 

“Oops,” you smirked, watching his own lips quirk. 

But as soon as his mouth lifted, it fell into a frown. His eyes squeezed shut, brows drew in, his jaw suddenly set as he ground his teeth. . . 

He looked . . . Frustrated? 

He started shaking his head and quickly grabbed his shirt, going to get off the bed. 

What the fuck?

It made you sit up again, like you had minutes before, but out of alarm this time. 

“Jake?” You worriedly asked, getting off your bed to follow him, clothes be damned. 

He didn’t respond, only grumbled something under his breath. You couldn’t understand him and you were wondering what in the hell was going on. 

As you followed him out of your room and a few steps to his room at the end of the hallway, you grabbed his arm before he could open the door to his room. 

“What’s going on? Are you—?.”

He roughly shook your hand off of his arm.

“Y/n. Go to bed,” he gruffly said, his next words made your throat tighten up even more than his initial tone. “It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone. Go to bed.”

Your mind was suddenly on high alert, ignoring any kind of lingering effects of alcohol, you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

What the fuck was his fucking problem? 

A mistake? That's what you were?

“Jake. . .,” you went to grab his arm again, but he turned before you could, facing you. His eyes were stern, dark with anger. It stunned you, so opposite of how he’d been all night. You continued on, not letting his reaction to you, deter you, “You don’t. . .,” swallow the tears, y/n. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he confirmed. Your chest tightened, you took a step back. “We can’t keep—just go to bed. Leave me alone.”

Your sadness quickly turned to bitterness. . . spitefulness. All of a sudden, you were extremely aware of your state of undress. You felt completely embarrassed from the rejection. You covered your body the best you could. 

“Fine,” you turned quickly on your heel, needing to get away from him and back to the safety of your bedroom. You were suddenly feeling anxious, upset, and ready to recluse. “Good-fucking-night, Jake. I’ll give you what you want. I’ll leave you the fuck alone.”

“Wait, y/n,” you heard his voice behind you.

But you ignored him, gave him a taste of his own medicine. 

Asshole. Fucking asshole. How could someone change so quickly? Be two different people in the span of minutes-time? He had just been telling you how he liked being close to you, he’d barely left you all night. . . Even approached you at the bar, for seemingly no reason but to simply be with you. 

But now? Now you were a mistake.

Fuck him.

“Y/n. . .please, I’m just—.”

Sharply, you spun to face him once you’d made it to your bedroom. You cut him off. “Fuck you, Jake.” 

You let your emotions reflect with an icy glare in his direction. 

Just before you shut the door to your room, you saw his face, completely crestfallen.

When you got back into bed, you curled up into yourself, and angry tears were your sad lullaby to get to sleep. You tried to be quiet enough so he wouldn’t possibly hear you. 

You’d had enough embarrassment for one night and you didn’t want to give him any more reason to judge you, be angry with you, or worst of all—pity you.

As you fell asleep that night, you couldn’t help but think that his sorrowful expression had matched exactly how you felt. Had he been sad? What gave him the right to be sad when he’d cut it off? Called it a mistake?

You worked to push him as far from your mind as you possibly could. You didn’t want to think of him.

He was impossible to understand. As soon as you thought you had an idea of the man, he changed, confusing the hell out of you. 

You tossed and turned, wondering why you still so desperately wanted to understand him. Why did it still matter? He shouldn’t matter. 

When you finally faded to a restless sleep,  you made the decision that you were going to try your hardest to not give a fucking damn about your roommate. 

You apparently weren’t worth his time, so he shouldn’t be worth yours.

You’d meant what you told him. 

Fuck Jake Kiszka.

-🌼🌼🌼-

As the week faded into the next, you’d made it your personal mission to make it perfectly clear to him that you were not giving him any of your time or attention. 

You used one of his earlier tactics and didn’t come out for anything except to eat, shower, go to work, go to class. You tried to avoid seeing him when you knew he was home, so thankful for the work schedules that still got posted on the fridge. 

He now had the additional schedule which showed when they had performances or practices, giving you a couple nights within that week to laze around the apartment with no worries of running into him. 

Occasionally, he tried to stop you to talk to you as you would pass each other. But you weren’t having it. You would cut him off with a wave, a short ‘no’ or a curt ‘goodbye’ as you left the apartment to do your own thing. 

You wanted to make it clear that you were done with whatever the hell you two had been dancing around for the past month. What he didn’t need to know was that you were mostly doing it to convince yourself that you were done with it. 

In the moments he tried to stop you, you would just get hurt all over again that he seemed to be so desperate to beat the dead fucking horse—explain his hateful words. That was all he could possibly want. What else?

And you didn’t want that.

Why did he seem so intent on stopping you to just explain what a mistake being with you had been?

Drawing a line was imperative.

You had to convince yourself that you didn’t still want him and that you didn’t have several passing thoughts of him throughout your days. 

It was much harder than you’d anticipated. Being your roommate, he was still everywhere you turned. No matter how hard you tried to escape him, he was there. In your shared home, in your thoughts, in conversations with Josh. . .

And in your fucking dreams. 

Several days during that blessed week of ignoring him, you woke up in a sweat wanting only him. Your body was calling out to be touched by him. 

And then you had the weak moments. The ones when you’d accidentally run into him, and you wanted to let your guard down, let him know you were hurting more than anything. You wanted to talk to him— wanted to know where he stood. 

But every time, you'd bit your tongue to stop yourself.

He’d said it himself—you were a mistake. 

So, that’s why you never gave in to the temptation to let him talk, or let him know your own feelings about it all. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Classes were a great distraction from what was going on in your heart and home.

Being able to dedicate your time to something completely unrelated to your roommate was exactly what you needed.

Spending more time on things like class work meant less time to think about Jake.

Though, it wasn’t necessarily doing what your family had intended it to. They’d wanted you to take a summer class to get your mind focused back on writing, use the class as a chance to get your passion for writing back.

But just as it had been before the summer class, your love—your passion for writing just wasn’t there anymore.

For some reason, when Jake had come into your life, it'd helped you realize for the first time in years, just how important music was to you. He brought out this spark that had faded. Being able to be around someone so often who was on the same page when it came to a passion for the art of music—it had done something impeccable for you. 

(He’d done it unintentionally—unknowingly—, of course, as he’d hated your guts when you’d started feeling that incredible pull towards music again.) 

And then there was the day in your summer class that pieces started clicking in your head. Slight identity crisis, if you may.

It had come to you when you’d been prompted to discuss and write about inspirations for pursuing writing. And in that moment, you’d realized you couldn’t think of any other reason you’d pursued your degree save for you wanting to be just like Elsie. (And the added bonus of your grandfather encouraging against a pursuit in a musical degree- at all costs.)

You’d set your sights on Elsie years ago as your number one role model. Your mother had left you with only your older sister to inspire you. Elsie loved writing, so in turn, you’d decided that you would also love writing. 

It was her dream. And, unfortunately, you were only just now realizing that maybe it wasn’t fully yours, as you embarked on your senior year of college. 

Terrible timing for Jake to enter your life and bring out that flame you’d always had for music. 

Another strange thing that had come along with Jake entering the picture were thoughts of your mother. More than you’d ever really had before. 

Thanks to Elsie having to use your forgotten past to help you have a better understanding  of Jake, your mom had been in more thoughts than you were comfortable with as of late. 

You hated thinking of her. But after that conversation, every time you saw a child with his or her mother, you had this giant burst of longing in your heart that you couldn’t put a name to.

It was truly odd, but the sight brought you this sense of impending healing. 

Were you finally on a path to figuring out who you truly were in the aftermath of her leaving?

You had no clue what the pull on your heart meant. 

All you knew was, there were a lot of changing feelings that were quite different than anything you’d felt in the past several years of your life. In those many years since your mother had left you broken on the porch step at ten years old—you’d simply gone about everything in life in a sort of monotone style. 

Rather than thinking with your heart, you’d just followed a gray wave. You’d never taken a real initiative to understand yourself. The waves of life had carried you, and you’d let them, willingly. 

It had been easier—more comfortable— than actually taking time to think about yourself and what you wanted. 

But Jake. . .he’d been the cause of bringing about the most feelings you’d had since your mother left in her blaze of glory. He’d brought out pieces of you that you hadn’t come in contact with since you were ten years old and vulnerable, screaming and crying for your mom to come back as she left you, broken.

But with the feelings this time, it truly felt more like a yearning to be more. You felt this sense of understanding for yourself that you hadn’t ever had before.

In some backwards way, he was helping you get to know these pieces of yourself you’d kept in the dark for far too long. Pieces that needed time, attention, and love. 

It was fucking weird. 

You didn’t understand the anatomy of it all. 

But you desperately wanted to learn more about these parts of yourself you were discovering.  

-🌼🌼🌼-

In order to push through the class (and your degree), you decided it was a good idea to pair up with a study buddy. 

You needed someone to help motivate you to keep going—finish with a skip in your step, rather than falling into a pitiful slump. 

It’s why you decided to ask Theo to be that person after class one day.

Surely that was a reason he’d floated back into your life. Help you stay motivated to get this degree. You didn’t know. 

And maybe it could be more. . .he would end up assisting to help you get your mind away from Jake. You didn’t need to be distracted by your roommate. 

Everything happens for a reason, after all. And maybe these were Theo’s reasons in your life.

He’d agreed with no hesitation, which had made a giant smile plaster to your face. 

But why, when you were leaving class, had you felt as though something had fallen to the bottom of your gut? 

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Fiction or non?” 

You were splayed out on your bedroom floor, with Theo across from you. As he’d pored over his textbook, he kept coming up with questions to ask you. 

Sure, it might be cute and endearing in a normal circumstance. But right now, you wanted to focus on studying for a couple of upcoming tests, as summer semesters were the worst at moving so damn quickly. 

There were more important matters at hand than nonsensical small talk. 

Deciding to humor him (and hopefully get back to the task at hand), you responded. “Hmm. . .,” you sat up from where you’d been laying on your stomach to read about Geoffrey Chaucer. “They both have special things about them—both stretch our minds to understand more about other worlds and our own,” you paused, giving it a second to ponder. “Are we talking writing-wise or reading-wise?”

He chuckled, and winked at you. “It doesn’t have to be something you think so deeply about,” he closed his textbook. What was he doing? You still had to make flash cards! “Pretend we’re playing a game and it’s rapid fire questions.”

You didn’t want to be playing a game. You wanted to be sinking your teeth into the intricacies of this author in order to ace your test. 

You shook your head, your eyes stuck on his closed book. “Fuck,” you scratched your eyebrow. Your mind flicked to music: fun to write and read about. You were actually currently reading a book about John Lennon. You had many books on your TBR list about famous musicians. A most intriguing subject, in your opinion. “Non-fiction.”

His face scrunched up. “Nah,” he disagreed. “Fiction.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” his stare was blank in response. “Don’t really have to think too hard about it.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at him. In your opinion, thinking hard about what you were writing or reading was what made it most desirable. It made you venture into undiscovered realms of your mind. 

When you went to lean back over your book, the movement made you realize just how badly your bladder was begging to be released. 

Stupidly, you thought of the ridiculous work schedule on the fridge. 

Why the hell couldn’t you just let yourself go to the damn bathroom without thinking about Jake? You knew it was fucking ludicrous. You just didn’t want to see him. When you pulled up the picture of the fridge on your phone, you saw you were in the clear. He should still be at band rehearsal. 

You tapped your open book, giving Theo a sign that he needed to open his back up. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick,” you stood up, the wave of having to pee rushing through you tenfold at the motion. He still hadn’t gotten the hint to open up his textbook. Ugh. “I’ll be back soon and then we will make our cards for the test.”

And as you exited the room, you saw him finally get back to business and open his book back up.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You dried your hands on the towel next to the sink, and took a look at yourself in the mirror.

He sort of annoyed you, but Theo was still cute, and he’d made you happy in high school. You weren’t totally opposed to the idea of kissing him (or maybe more) by the end of the night.

It seemed to you to be another good plan to get your mind off of Jake.

And Theo seemed interested enough. Considering he’d been more interested in learning about you, rather than the material for class all night (irritating, but whatever). 

Deciding you looked good enough to return, you opened the door to go back. And as you went to walk out, you stopped at a chest in your way. You got dizzy at the smell—smelled so fucking good—familiar. . .

You looked up.

Jake.

Your eyebrows pinched together, not happy at all that you’d crossed paths. Fucking hell. Why wasn’t he. . .?

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like thi—.”

You held a hand up to silence him, crossing your arms. “Why aren’t you at band practice?” 

Why the fuck was he cracking jokes? You were not in the mood. 

“Ended early,” his face hardened when he shrugged, stating it plainly. 

“Why didn’t you just stay with the guys?” You asked, secretly glad he didn’t. For whatever reason. “You could have hung out with them instead of coming back here.”

“Oh,” he stuck his chin out at the word and leaned a shoulder against the door-hinge. He raised a brow and crossed his arms to mirror you. “I see.”

You definitely didn’t glance at how his bicep flexed as his fingers wrapped around it. And you didn’t take time to appreciate his beautiful hair. . . had it started getting slightly longer? 

You shook your head, retraining your eyes.

“Tell me, Jake, what do you see?” You snapped, flicking your eyes up to his.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Saw that guy lying on your bedroom floor, waiting for you. He was even sweet enough to wave at me when he saw me pass your room,” he sarcastically remarked, waving his hand to mimic. 

“We’re just studying,” you hushed back, feeling the (unnecessary) need to reassure him.

He scoffed. “You think that’s all it is to him?”

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips before you pulled him by his T-shirt into the bathroom. You weren’t going to discuss this in a place Theo could possibly hear. 

“I know that’s all it is,” you released his shirt like you were repulsed by the touch, when in reality you wanted nothing more than to pull it completely off of him. Damn him. "Why does it matter?"

“It doesn’t. Just think it’s funny how you’re so naive to believe he doesn’t want more.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s also a little funny that you might want me out just so you can fuck that guy in your bedroom,” he nodded his head in the direction of your room. 

Oh. He was taking it there. Okay.

“Yeah? And if I wanted to?” You jutted your chin out the slightest bit, bringing your arms closer, to press against your chest. “How is it any of your damn business?” 

He stepped once towards you, eyeing your chest, the tops of your breasts revealed, pushed up to the top of your tank. Your skin flushed, heart racing. 

His voice lowered. “It became my business the night you spread your legs for me at Baby’s,” one more step towards you, his eyes locking with yours. Fuck. “When I had you moaning my name while my mouth played between your pretty legs,” another step. “I think you gave yourself away that night. I don’t buy this little act.”

Oh. 

Fuck. . . If your heart wasn’t racing. 

You blinked, shaking your head. You tried to stand firm. “Wh-what act?” Dammit. Why were you stuttering? 

Stand your ground, y/n, you thought, motivating yourself to stay strong. 

But as he took one more step in, your body was effectively once again trapped between his body and a sink. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed himself up to your front, so you weren’t distracted by that. 

You tried to hold your own.

But shit. . .he was so close. Your skin flared with heat, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. 

As you were making direct eye contact with the chest of his white t-shirt, you craned your neck to see his face fully.

“What act, Jacob?” 

He shook his head. A little smirk played at his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold your cheek. Your skin was on fire for him and his touch.

You couldn’t help it when you leaned into his hand, letting your cheek press into his calloused flesh. 

He licked his lips. “You tell me,” he whispered lowly, nodding his head once at you. 

And you couldn’t help it, his deep brown eyes pulled you in. He was begging to be touched. You had to feel him. 

Leaning in, you held his cheek just as he held yours. He then took the chance, and captured your lips with his.

Ah. His lips. So soft. 

Your vision was hazy, eyes still open, you saw how his eyebrows dipped in with a moan. You matched the sound, closing your eyes, and slipped your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. 

You heard him shut the door with the hand that wasn’t holding your face. 

He then moved that hand from your face, reaching both hands under your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lifted you the short distance to sit on the bathroom countertop. 

You bit his bottom lip, getting another small moan from him. He did the same to you and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You sighed into his mouth. 

Reaching both hands up, you sunk them into his dark, brunette locks. He matched every movement of your lips with his own, and then licked one wet stripe on the roof of your mouth. 

You were able to gasp for air when he moved his mouth from yours to give the softest, small kisses to your neck. Though it didn’t last long before he turned his pecks into wet, open-mouthed kisses. The slightest stubble of hair on his lip skimmed against your sensitive skin. He worked from under your jaw, all the way up, to the tender spot behind your ear. 

Shivering with a sigh, you gripped his hair tighter, pulling him in as close as he could be to you, on the counter. You felt his hardening length against your center when you did so, making you immediately grind into him. 

And when he did the same to the other side of your neck, this time, he nipped at the skin behind your ear. You bucked your hips into his. He released a groan that echoed through the small bathroom, making you want to melt into it. 

“More,” you breathed, clutching him closer, making sure the front of you stayed connected to him. Feeling his hard length through the material of his jeans was almost too much, but you craved it. You needed it. 

More.

But, the next moment, you heard a little cough from your bedroom, right next door. 

It snapped you from your daze. You were suddenly hyper aware that it was not just you two in the apartment. You had to stop.

You pushed him back, jumping off the counter. When you looked in the mirror to check your face and neck, your lips were swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Your neck was still pink from where he’d been. You checked where he’d bit behind your ear, and seeing the redness back there made you want to hop right back onto that counter. Let him have his way with you— right there. Theo be fucking damned.

But you knew better.

Tucking some hair behind your ear, you tried to make yourself look slightly presentable. 

From behind you, he was brushing a hand through his hair, when he went to smooth a hand over his cheeks, his jaw stretching with the motion. He was contemplative.

His eyebrows drew together, curious. You couldn’t tell if he was upset. He mostly looked . . .confused. 

He removed his hand from his face when his eyes found yours in the mirror, open and wondering. He looked desperate to understand. 

“What do you want, y/n?” 

You didn’t know what in the hell to tell him. 

You wanted Jake. And you wanted him bad. But somehow saying it out loud seemed too difficult at the moment. 

And how could you say that to him when he’d so recently, blatantly told you that you were a mistake?

“I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered back, still looking at your blushing cheeks, messy hair, and freshly kissed lips. You’d need a minute to let your skin return to its normal shade before going back to your room. 

You turned to face him.

When you saw him, looking so beautiful, so lost. . . You thought of how lost you’d felt for the past couple weeks. His words were once again flashing back through your head. 

“It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone.”

It still hurt as you could see him so clearly in the doorway of his bedroom, angry and insistent that you do what he said and leave him alone.

But tonight? Crowding you in here to make out on the bathroom counter? Did he truly want that? For you to leave him alone?

“What do you want?” You leveled him with a stare, your tone sharp, but keeping your voice low since Theo was one room over. You pointed a finger in his chest. “You say you want me to leave you alone, but then you trap me in here like this?”

He shook his head, a dimple showing again with a sarcastic grin. After tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he put the same hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, there is no way you are going to turn this around on me,” he matched your quiet tone, understanding. “And trap you? Okay, Little Miss ‘Fuck Me, Jake,’” he used air quotes to remind you of your words from the night at Baby’s. 

Fuck. 

Of course he remembered you’d said that. Why wouldn’t he? 

You decided to ignore it, focusing back on him.

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake! That I needed to leave you alone,” you protested, anger flaring in your chest.

He covered his eyes with a hand, the veins in the hand catching your eye. You’d never noticed how masculine his hands were. And damn if he didn’t know how to use them . . . Even in this moment, debating with him, you wanted them touching every part of you. You wanted his skilled fingers, flexing inside of you.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” His eyes were sad when he moved his hand, when you saw the brown irises again. But there was a fire behind them still. “Dammit, y/n. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about me all the fucking time? I’m not the one who can’t make up my mind about what I want,” he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “One minute you’re kissing me. You’re with me, naked and ready as I’m pressing into you,” his voice was being raspy, along with the picture he was drawing. . . It made your cheeks pink. You could still feel what he felt like, pressing against you, throbbing. . .so close to being inside of you. He went on, “And the next moment you’re shoving me away from you, making sure to tell me that Josh doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.”

Of course some of this had to do with Josh. You’d had the smallest inkling, based on how weird he’d acted when you set the rules. 

Stupid.

“I knew you were making it all weird with Josh. . . is this all about Josh?! You know that he and I—.”

“No! It’s about you and how you make it impossible for us to—.”

“You told me to go away!”

“And you told me to stop,” he said back, his smoky voice still hushed. “More than once.”

Your chest heaved, knowing he was right, but you were so lost on how to explain it all. “There were reasons every time.” 

“Reasons,” he scoffed. “So are you going to keep having these reasons? Keep stopping it? Why do you keep letting it happen if all you’re going to do is make us stop?” 

“Last time you stopped us, Jake!” You defended, focusing on keeping your voice low. “Not me. You walked away and called it a mistake.”

He covered his face with both hands, growling. You shushed him. 

He took his hands away to show his jaw set, clenching with frustration. “You were drunk, y/n!” He begged you to understand, “I wasn’t going to do anything with you without you being in full and total control of yourself.”

You were sure your expression showed it all clicking. You blinked at him. It all made so much sense now. 

And what he’d done? His true intentions? Fuck. Sexy as hell.

Maybe you really did need to stop assuming the worst. You just couldn’t help it. It was a trauma response. Jumping to conclusions, thinking that people didn’t want you. . .

Your mom didn’t want you, so you were always convinced other people wouldn’t either. 

Especially men who were as beautiful and mesmerizing as Jake Kiszka.

Damn. Now it really was all on you. How did you even begin to lay it all out? 

You looked him dead in the face, completely unsure of how to articulate the mess in your head. 

“I don’t know,” you covered your face with both hands, mimicking him and frustratedly groaning into your palms. When you removed them from your face, you tucked them into your front pockets. You decided to assure him of one thing. For whatever reason, you wanted—needed him to know this. “I do want you. I want what we almost had in the bathroom at Baby’s,” You stepped towards him, wanting to be close to him again. You placed a delicate hand on his chest. He looked down at you, as you looked up into his eyes, reaching to hold your hand on his chest. Your skin tingled at his touch. “I need to feel you, to be with you. . . it just never seems like the right time. There’s always something.”

You didn’t know why you’d suddenly felt the urge to be vulnerable with him. He kept your hand on his chest, holding you, his eyes meeting yours in understanding. 

And you knew then that it was just him. Jake Kiszka, in and of himself, made you feel this strange sense of safety, comfortability. 

And it was different from the kind his twin had offered you as your friend for so many years. 

With Jake, you weren’t just friends. You weren’t even really friends. . .it was something else—an intense, unavoidable attraction. The safe feeling came combined with this desire to be with him. 

He felt like a resting ground. 

It was weird.

But you liked it.

He smoothed a thumb over your hand on his chest. You held his deep gaze, getting lost in it. 

And out of nowhere, he leaned down, kissing your lips with his. Just for a moment. 

You felt it all the way down to your toes. The feeling of him so close, with one simple kiss from his soft lips, it felt perfectly intimate. 

He released his hold on your hand, wrapping his hand around your waist instead, eyes connected with yours. It was as though he just wanted to touch you, have his hands on you.

It was what you wanted, too. Just the feeling of his hand, as it moved down to just over your hip, his thumb on the skin underneath the hem of your gray tank top. . .it felt right. 

He penetrated the thickness in the air with his low, gravelly tone. His eyes were vulnerable as he asked, “Do you want that? To find the right time?” 

You reached a hand up, holding his handsome face. You smoothed a thumb over his skin, tracing a freckle on his cheek. “I do. I promise I do,” you blinked up at him, needing his answer to that question. “And do you? Wanna find the right time?”

This was so much, butterflies flew rampant in your tummy. 

The grin he gave you was loose, his eyes relieved and open. “I really do.”

It felt so amazing to hear it straight from his lips. He really wanted it too. 

You’d overthink all of this later.

He leaned down to kiss you again. You reciprocated, for just a moment, letting your lips move with his. 

Then you pulled back, your hand falling from his face.

You nodded at the door. “I gotta get back to studying.”

His hand that was holding your hip squeezed slightly, your skin heating at it. You caught his eye, the intense feeling setting in your beating heart. 

“Is that all you’re doing?” His eyes were dark and questioning, making your head spin. “Studying?”

You winked at him, still holding onto your teasing from earlier. “It’s whatever I want it to be.”

His eyes seemed to darken more, pulling you in so your chest touched his. So warm. “I really don’t want to hear another guy fucking you through these walls.”

You pressed closer to him, your body thrumming with fire. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I could just wear earplugs when he brought women over,” then you pulled back, his hand fell. His eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk lifted his lips. You continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and get a pair of your own, hm?”

You patted his cheek, reluctantly parting from him. Before leaving the bathroom, you chanced one more glance at your appearance. Not quite as flushed as before, though your cheeks were still blushing. You’d find a way to pass it off. Whatever. You’d been gone too long. 

You were about to open the bathroom door when, from behind, his voice stopped you. You felt a spark as his hand delicately touched yours.

“Hey.”

You swiveled on your heel, raised your brows in question. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could come to our gig this weekend? It’s a bigger one.”

Did you work this weekend? You couldn’t remember. 

All you knew was that, suddenly, you really wanted to be at their show. 

“I’m not sure . . . Depends on work.”

“I would love—,” he put a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “The guys and I would love it if you could be there,” he shook his head, seeming to come to terms with an inner battle. “For me, I would just love to look out and see your beautiful face in the crowd.”

Your mind was fuzzy. All of this felt so unreal, yet so real all at once. He really wanted you there? And had he just called you beautiful? 

“I’ll try my best,” you slapped on a small grin, trying to play hard to get, masking your inner shock. You wanted to keep him on his toes, like he’d kept you for the past weeks. 

He scrunched his brows in and messed with his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, totally get it. Just text me and let me know.”

Anytime he messed with his mouth, it was a distraction. You had to keep yourself from watching too close. It really didn’t help that you knew the feeling of those full, pink lips. . . 

And as you walked the short distance to your bedroom, you realized something else.

Had he just asked you to text him? 

What was all of this? This new territory you had just discovered?

-🌼🌼🌼-

And a couple nights later, when you were sitting on the couch watching New Girl, Jake came to sit at his end of the couch. 

Once you’d finished the episode he’d sat down to watch with you, he cleared his throat, making you look over at him. 

He was already looking at you. It made your stomach flurry. You decided to look back at the TV, nervous under his gaze. 

He spoke, keeping your ear in his direction, you paused the show. “We should start the series over. You know, start at the beginning together.” 

You smirked, feeling a rush of giddy happiness and excitement buzz through you.

“Yeah, sure,” you coolly respond, starting the show from scratch.

And as Jess began the first episode, you peeked quickly over at him, a content smile resting on his lips as he lounged at his end of the sofa.

-🌼🌼🌼-

And for the next few nights, Jake kept coming back. He would sit on the couch with you, simply to watch your show. 

Just to share that quiet time at the end of each day with you.

Whenever he would come to sit down, your nerves would translate to a dizziness of butterflies in your stomach. 

Though, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to laugh with him, share popcorn or pizza, look at each other when a character would say something particularly hilarious. . .

But neither of you ever moved to kiss the other. You know . . . make it anything more than two people watching a TV show.

It almost seemed like an unspoken rule that you were not doing that again . . .

. . .yet. 

Both of you, seeming to wait for the right time.

But you sure liked those quiet nights.

These nights with him made your house feel like a home. . . comfortable and safe. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

On Friday night, you got off work a little early.

It was the night before the guys’ show, so Jake obviously wasn’t home due to a last minute rehearsal and details. You'd seen as much on the rehearsal schedule on the fridge.

You took your time showering, shaving, exfoliating, pampering yourself fully, with the apartment to yourself. . .

Once finished, you realized you really wanted to watch New Girl. Even though Jake wasn’t home, you were in the middle of one of your favorite parts of the show. You had to watch the next couple of episodes. 

You’d just rewind to watch again when he was home next. 

You couldn’t help it. The two of you had been binging and you'd come to your favorite part in the whole show. It was arguably the best part—what the audience waits for from practically the first episode. 

Jess and Nick were finally about to bite the bullet, get their shit together and get together. 

And as you sat with a couple slices of warmed up cheese pizza from the night before, cuddled up with Stevie purring against your blanket covered thighs. . .something clicked. 

As they looked at each other throughout the whole episode of “Cooler,” you were angry with them. So angry that they were so close to finally being together, yet so far. . .

“Not like this!” Nick said to Jess, stopping her from kissing him. He suddenly sounded and looked very much like you had felt recently.

He looked desperate to make it the best it could be, get Jess to understand that it had to be just right. They’d waited long enough, and he wanted it to feel like it deserved to. 

You couldn’t stop it when it pulled you right back to your real life. Your current situation. 

And if you were upset with Nick and Jess for piddling around and not just acting on their feelings, not letting loose when it was so obvious they needed to . . . Then why the hell were you dragging it out so damn long with Jake? 

You felt like the two of you were essentially Nick and Jess. You were roommates, with so much building between you—everything and nothing to lose all at once. 

You wanted to act on it. You wanted it all. It was time. 

No, it was past time. 

And as Nick and Jess finally kissed, you decided.

The gig was tomorrow. You were off work early enough to go. . .

You were going to the show, and you weren’t going to stop anything that may happen afterwards this time.

-🌼🌼🌼-

As you left for work the next morning, you noticed a piece of paper sitting on the dining room table with your name on it, along with a sticky attached to it with an address and a little scribbled note underneath. 

Just in case 

-J

Your tummy fluttered. 

You’d been running late, so you hadn’t had time to look at it, tucking it into your bag to look at later.

-🌼🌼🌼-

In the quietness of the record store, you opened it up to find the setlist.

Grinning, you checked it over. Every song on the list were ones you knew. Save for one near the bottom. 

Edge of Darkness.

Suddenly curious about the song, you wondered. . . Was this song the reason he wanted you there?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Due to stupid-ass New York traffic and thinking you’d let Stevie run out of the apartment, only to find her hidden behind clothes in your closet, you were running roughly forty-five minutes late for their gig.

You’d texted Jake to let him know you were running late, but hadn’t received a text back. Momentarily, you’d been afraid of him being upset with you for being late, your stomach falling when he hadn’t responded for the thirty-ish minute drive to the venue after you’d sent it. 

Then, you realized he was on stage performing, so of course he wouldn’t respond. 

Whenever you’d sent the text, your hands had been extremely shaky, checking your text a million times for grammatical errors, even after you’d sent it. It was seriously like a ridiculous high school crush. 

Dumb.

You still believed that if you just fucked him and got it out of your system, some of those juvenile feelings would come to pass. 

As an adult woman, you didn’t need to care so deeply for how a man might respond to you. There was no use for that, and you thought yourself ludicrous for it.

Though, you really did feel terrible as traffic took so long, delaying your arrival to the venue. Your normal road rage came out a few times, honking your horn and cursing as people would drive several miles below the speed limit in front of you. 

You just wanted to get there.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you did get there, the guys were playing their hearts out as you had to squeeze through a mass of sweaty, singing bodies, alcohol sloshing whenever you’d pass through. 

The establishment had two levels, so you decided to climb some stairs to watch from a higher level, hoping for less of a crowd from that vantage point. 

And when you’d made it up there, you realized it was still crowded. But it wasn’t nearly as bad as below. You found a semi-clear space to claim, a thankfully nice view of all of the guys.

The first thing you noticed when you looked at Josh was his hair. He’d told you recently that he was trying to grow it out on the sides, going for a full head of curling hair. You hadn’t seen him recently enough to see the progress, though, and it looked great on him. 

“All right!” Josh had screamed into the mic, hyping up the packed house, receiving screams from everyone watching. Jake strummed a little note which made you immediately hone in on him, but he seemed irritated, strumming a few more times, shaking his head.

Josh glanced over at his twin, sensing the issue, and he smiled back at the crowd. “How we feeling?!” He raised his hands, eliciting more screams as Jake continued strumming, finally gaining some help from someone in their little backstage crew. The curly headed twin gave Jake another look, but Jake’s back was turned as he worked with the crew member to get the problem figured out. 

Josh walked over to his twin, checking out the problem for himself. They were having the smallest conversation before Jake shook his head at Josh, and then the crew member. He turned around, effectively giving up on the issue. He played another chord, checking, but his brows were still drawn in with irritation.

What was going on? Was he okay? You suddenly had an incredibly impulsive urge to go check on him. But you stood your ground as he felt out a few more notes, shrugging shortly and giving a curt nod to Josh as a go ahead. 

Josh once again smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. You could tell he was trying his hardest to alleviate any sort of tension for the crowd. Fortunately, the crowd seemed oblivious, playing into it as a sort of bit, it seemed.

You took a few seconds to send a text to your sweet, empathetic friend to let him know you were there and that you wanted to get a drink after the show.

You hated seeing him stressed- especially on stage. You were feeling it with him and with Jake.

“How about a new one?” He asked, receiving a plethora of yells and screams. You smiled with the crowd. “This next one is called Edge of Darkness. . .and it’s about. . .the edge of darkness.”

You giggled at him. He was a great frontman. The people were soaking it all up, laughing with him, and screaming for more. 

But you had to check back in on Jake. He seemed to be doing better, still upset, but he smiled tightly to a few screaming girls in front. 

He started playing, his face saying that something was not blending together like you knew he wanted it to. But you couldn’t tell the difference, so you knew the crowd couldn’t, either. 

It didn’t stop him from turning to check the amp a couple more times before suddenly, he was ripping through the most erotic guitar solo you’d ever heard him play live.

Fuck. The song was called the ‘Edge of Darkness’, and it was ironic because you felt like you were on the edge of some kind of dark shit. Watching him manipulate those strings with such precision and intent, his hips fucking (yes, fucking) into his guitar. It was unlike anything else he’d ever done with that guitar. . .you were absolutely sure of it.

You were sweating. And you knew it wasn’t from proximity to any people around you. No, it was from watching him go to this secret place that you wanted to join. 

His facial expressions were driving you insane. All you could imagine was seeing those faces above you as your body replaced the guitar. Bent over, with him fucking into you with the same vigor he was giving his instrument.

Then he threw it behind his fucking head. It got you every. time. He made it look so effortless— so easy for him to balance it there (though you knew it wasn’t), while he still played all of the intricate chords. He was a natural—a true rockstar. 

You wondered what else he was a natural at. 

You were squirming underneath your skin, your palms were clammy and when you moved a bit, you noticed your thong was uncomfortably damp between your legs. And your jeans made it impossible to move to fix the issue. 

These solos of his. . .fuck. They were the sole cause for your sexual frustration after these shows. Why you’d had to replace vibrators in the past month. 

But tonight? Tonight, you wouldn’t need the help of your hand or a tool. No, tonight, you planned on going home with him— to take care of it with his help.

-🌼🌼🌼-

But as you waited out in the bar area after the show, after sending Jake a text on how well he did, you were met with radio silence on his end. 

It sat there, glaring at you in the blue bubble. 

You, 10:43 p.m.: You fuckin killed it. So glad I came.

It had now been several minutes since the show had ended and since you’d sent the message, and looking at the time on your phone, you realized it had now been closer to an hour. 

What was taking them so long? Their crew packed their shit up now . . . so where were they?

You weren’t able to wonder too much longer, hearing Josh’s voice come up right behind you. 

But he didn’t have his usual bounce. He sounded super pissed.

“Your roommate’s a dick,” he sat in the seat at the bar next to you. He ran two hands through his growing hair and then put both of his hands over his face. He sat there like that until the bartender came up, removing them when they asked what he wanted. “Strongest thing you have.”

“Josh?” You tentatively reached a hand out to touch his bare shoulder. He’d worn his little brown vest he loved so much, sans a shirt underneath. “You okay?”

When he looked at you, he looked sorry for how he’d been acting. And he said as much. 

“I’m sorry, y/n. Jake just—,” he put his face into his crossed arms on the bar to growl, then he faced you again. “He’s been in a piss mood all fucking night, and when he’s mad, I feel it all the way down to my bones. I also just get really fed up with his little attitude he gets when something goes wrong. It’s annoying as hell and I get tired of it.”

You could relate—you also hated Jake’s pissant attitude when he was upset over something. Though, in this circumstance, you felt inclined to be the devil’s advocate.

“Josh. . .you also get upset when things go wrong. You’re the biggest perfectionist I know.”

“Apparently you don’t know Jake, then. And you’re one to talk!” He spat. Then he groaned again, his eyes sympathetic when he looked at you. “I’m sorry. I know. I agree with you. I’m sorry. He just. . . seemed off all night and it already bothers me when he’s upset over something and he wasn’t telling me everyth— my twin intuition always knows when he isn’t telling me everything. And tonight he sure as hell had something else on his mind that he refused to give any weight to,” the bartender came up with a shot of something. Josh threw it back, and shook his head, coughing just a bit. His eyes bulged the slightest bit.

You couldn’t help your little laugh at him. He needed that. Take the fucking edge off. “Strong like you wanted?”

He gave you a grin, his eyes easier than they were before. You relaxed, realizing you were absolutely feeling that tension with him. You felt especially better when he waved the server back over to ask for a salty dog. That’s more like it.

“Anyway,” he started, swiveling his body to be facing towards you, one arm on the bar. “Sam and Daniel didn’t even have to be subjected to it. They left to meet up with a couple of their other friends before he exploded on me. Just me! And they don’t get those same inklings from him that I do. Being a twin is both a blessing and a curse. I swear we fuckin’ share a brain sometimes.”

His movements, facing you like this on his barstool, made you think of when Jake had sat next to you like this—the night he’d kept you close, taken you home, and then cut things short. Everything you’d felt that night coming back tenfold. 

 . . . Where was he? It didn’t matter where he was. Really. But you were curious. 

“Where is Jake?” You tried to play it cool, because that’s what you were. Cool. It was nothing. You went ahead and softened the question by complimenting his growing hair. “And I like your hair.”

“Thanks. Biotin vitamins, I swear to God,” he patted the sides of his ‘do, giving you a cheeky smirk. “And Jake—. Thank you,” he said to the bartender, giving her a quick wink as she sat his drink on his coaster. “He went back to your place. Didn���t wanna stay around for a good time. He was not in the mood.”

Your heart sank.

What? He’d gone home?

But he'd asked you to come tonight? Had he gotten your texts? Surely he had. There was no reason he wouldn’t’ve. All of a sudden, you felt extremely stupid for sending them. . .for thinking anymore of tonight than you should have. For worrying about him from the balcony. When he didn’t even care to stay to see you. 

He was the most unpredictable asshole and you were foolish to think, for even a split second, that he wasn’t. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Luckily, Josh was ready to end the night fairly early. 

You were glad because you weren’t in the mood to entertain after having your feelings hurt (stupidly) by Jake leaving and not telling you. It was the smallest thing to be upset over, you knew. Your heart had gotten ahead of you, and into something ridiculous. 

On your drive home, you kept telling yourself that you were done with all Jake related thoughts. You shouldn’t give two shits about the man. Really. He’d been a jerk from day one. And even though he’d had a few instances of being someone so wonderful. . . he kept doing things that just reminded you that maybe he was just incapable of being consistent.

You were worried about what you’d go home to. Afraid of hearing him and a girl from his bedroom, seeing them on your couch. . . You were tired of not being able to keep up with him. It was exhausting. 

And as much as you told yourself he didn’t matter, you knew you were lying to yourself. You’d made him matter the past couple months—let him matter. Too many times you’d let him get to you. And as much as you wanted to regret it, you couldn’t fully let yourself do that yet. 

The stubborn, stupid part of you wanting to give him a chance. Wondering what had happened tonight that got him so upset. 

You cared. . .even though you really wished you didn’t. 

So as you traipsed through your front door, you were relieved when all of the lights were turned off, and there was no sight or sound of a woman. Only Stevie, who came up to purr against your calves. Feeling bad for your hungry kitty, you quickly went to drop your purse to the table so you could feed her.  

But when you looked in her dish, there was already fresh kibble in the bowl. You hadn’t fed her before you’d left. . . 

Had Jake . . .? Obviously. Your heart perked at the gesture.

Then, the sound of a guitar being strummed from his bedroom stopped your thoughts. Stevie went to eat, and you left her to do so as you walked towards the sound. 

You weren’t choosing your path. . . your feet were simply leading you, your mind hardly keeping up with what you were going to do once you got to his room. 

Just felt a want to see him. Talk to him. 

Why?

You’d worry about that later. Didn’t want to think about that for the time being.

Once you got to his door, you noticed it wasn't fully closed. You didn’t think as you pushed it open. 

And then, there you were. And there he was, facing the door, his concert attire still fully on. He looked up at you from his spot, stopping the strumming abruptly. 

But his eyes weren’t kind. He wasn’t happy. He was still feeling the anger Josh had been talking about. 

Not giving two shits how he’d react, you didn’t hold back. You were still pissed, too. At him. 

“It’s not fucking kind to invite someone to something and then leave them there without a damn hello or goodbye.”

He blinked, his lip curling to show a sarcastic smile. “You’re gonna pull that shit?”

You stepped further into his room, coming close enough to him that your knees were almost touching his, where he sat at the edge of his bed, his hand clutching the acoustic with a tight grip. Too tight. 

“What the fuck, Jake? Of course I’m going to ‘pull that shit.’ It was a fuckin’ prick move and I didn’t appreciate it.”

“It’s a prick move to keep someone waiting for a response about whether or not you’ll be somewhere when I can see damn well your schedule on that fridge, saying all week that you didn’t work tonight,” he got up to place his guitar on the stand next to his bed. He kept careful to not touch you as he moved. Wow. He placed it delicately, in stark contrast to his sharp movements. He spun on his heel to face you. “Why don’t you care, y/n? You don’t have to fucking come if you don’t care. I’d rather you stay home if you don’t want to be there when I invite you.” 

“What made you think I don’t care?!”

“You kept me hanging! All week,” he angrily brushed a hand through his hair, growling with the motion when a ring got stuck in the locks. “Fuck!” He started pulling down his bed covers, not looking at you as he argued. “You don’t do that when it’s my brother. He wants you there, you’re fuckin’ there. With me, when I ask you, you’re always late and you barely even tell me you’re coming. It’s obvious who you’re really going to see and I’m tired of you acting like you care about me when you really only care about Josh.”

“What?! First of all, you knew I worked the night of your first show. I didn’t want to. . .I got fucking called in— so don’t you dare hold that against me!” You came closer to him, hitting his arm to make him stop the unmaking of his bed. “Quit doing that and fucking listen to me!”

He went rigid, throwing the covers dramatically, stopping like you asked. He stood stiff as a board with his arms crossed at his chest. He motioned a hand for you to continue, almost mocking. “Go on. Enlighten me.”

You shoved his chest. “Stop it!” You crossed your own arms, your heart beating so hard in your chest. “Stop with the Josh shit. Anytime either of you ask, I’m there. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner about tonight. I’ve just been—I don’t know,” you’d been thinking about him. How badly you wanted to do him after the show tonight. “Distracted?”

“School?” He questioned, seeming genuinely concerned.

You shook your head, not wanting to lie. “No. Not school. I don’t know how to explain—,” you looked into his eyes. They were hardening again. “I don’t know. Just distracted.” 

He shook his head. He was in the dark. There was no way he’d know the full truth unless you told him. But you weren’t sure how to articulate it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his jaw set. “Thank you, y/n. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Jake— seriously. Please sto—.”

“I just—dammit!” He combed a hand through his hair and got the same ring stuck. Having enough, he took the one piece of offensive jewelry off, and placed it delicately on his desk behind him. He locked eyes with you again. “The other night in the bathroom, you—I could have sworn you—but you—you told me— I just can’t keep up!”

“I can’t keep up with you!” You yelled back, momentarily worrying about neighbors. It was very late.

You were at a loss. 

You surveyed him, his chest was heaving like yours. Walking a few steps forward, your chest was almost touching his— you softly grabbed at the front of his light red T-shirt, eager for him to hear. His breathing seemed to slow at you being so close. Your eyes held each other, his were questioning.

It was now or never. The frantic beating of your heart, sounding in your ears. You were shaking. You were tired of him thinking he knew best. 

What you were most tired of was tiptoeing around—the barely missing each other. 

“I’m only asking one more time. What do you want?” He begged, reminding you of Ryan Gosling in The Notebook.

You would have giggled at the similarity if you weren’t feeling the seriousness of this moment. 

There was so much to say, but only one thing left to say, all at once. . .

You stood there, sharing breaths, for a few still seconds. Could have been minutes. You were lost in the beautiful gaze of his deep, dark eyes.

Your heart slowed, your breath catching in your throat while your stomach dropped to your knees.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said lowly, grabbing at his shirt with a sturdier hand. You weren’t scared—only sure. So fucking sure. And beyond ready. 

His jaw went slack. It almost looked like he wanted to say something to challenge you, but he bit his lip. Instead, he grabbed softly at your jaw, curving his hand up to cradle your head, softly under your flowing hair. 

“Well I can fucking do that.” Was all he said as he dove in, securing your lips with his. 

He sucked on your bottom lip and penetrated your mouth with his smooth tongue. He tasted like minty gum and cigarettes. Usually, you found it repulsive to kiss someone with the taste of nicotine in their mouth, but with Jake . . . It was suddenly everything you’d ever wanted in a kiss. 

You lost yourself in the moment. In him. There was nothing stopping you now. 

Continuing to kiss you, he turned you both, until the backs of your legs softly hit the edge of his bed. Taking that as your cue, you went to sit down on the sheets. You unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, his delicious hips right at eye level with you now. He took initiative and pushed them the rest of the way down, stepping out of them.

Then all you could see in front of you was him, bursting at the seams in his pink, AE briefs. Fuck, he was so cute and sexy all at once. You didn’t know how he did it. 

Your mouth watered as you went to pull down his briefs. But he put a hand on yours to stop you, the cold metal of his rings a contrast to your heated skin.

You looked up, your eyebrows dipping in question. 

“Not yet,” he corrected. Then he took his shirt off, exposing his beautifully soft, tanned, and perfectly toned chest. A long necklace laid against his stomach, and you used it to pull him down to you. 

You laid back, his legs coming to rest in between yours as he crawled onto the bed to follow you. He unwrapped the necklace from his neck, putting it on his small bedside table. Using the time he was preoccupied, you pushed his underwear down his thighs, watching his face to see his reaction. 

He teasingly rolled his eyes at you. 

“Damn, woman,” he chuckled under his breath, showing his perfectly straight teeth. Beautiful man. He finished the job, kicking them off. “One track mind or what?”

Rolling your eyes back at him, you gave a quiet grin and clicked your tongue. “Whatever, Kiszka.”

But he wasn’t wrong. You wanted to see him. Fully.

And you were glad you got your way, because fuck. 

He was stunning. Even more so when you could fully see it, without the dimness of the bathroom lights at Baby's. How could a cock be so pretty?

You reached out to touch him. He shivered at the feeling of your cool skin on his heated, swollen flesh. So soft, smooth. . .thick.

Shit.

His precum was already leaking from his pretty pink tip. 

Your mouth was watering. Your need to have your hands on him clouded your every thought. 

But before you could do anything more than run your fingers over him, he was moving his body to be on top of yours, your hands falling from him. You edged up the bed, him following after you. His eyes were hungry, and his hands were purposeful and strong as he quickly unfastened your jeans, pulling them off in one smooth motion. 

Your pussy throbbed at how close it was to happening. How close you were to finally feeling him. Fulfilling the need you’d discovered too long ago. 

Taking off your cropped t-shirt as he stripped you of your panties, you hissed as your wet mound met the air of his room. You made quick work of your bra. 

He sat above you, gently cupping your bare pussy, while watching your naked chest rise and fall as you took several deep breaths, waiting. You ground into the palm of his hand, needing the friction. He then moved his hands, grazing them up your thighs, hips, waist, and finally let them settle on the outer curve of your breasts. 

Your skin grew goosebumps, your nipples hardening to peaks in the cool air of his bedroom. He seemed mesmerized. His mouth was slightly opened, his eyes studying your chest with every breath you took. 

“Jake?” You whispered, breaking his stare at your breasts and making him look into your eyes. 

“Sorry,” he blinked a few times, shaking his head with a little grin, balancing his hands on either side of your head. He leaned down to give your lips a sweet kiss. “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen all of you . . .,” He leaned on a forearm, and reached to your chest again, holding one breast in his hand, massaging it as his thumb skated over the nipple. “Beautiful,” he praised, looking you right in the eye. Oh, Jake.

Then, his mouth attached to the opposite breast, his lips sucked gently, his tongue flicking out to lick the nipple. 

You felt it everywhere, your toes curling at his touch. And with a sigh, you leaned into his mouth, needing more. Needing all he could give. 

“Fuck, Jake,” you whined. “Your mouth feels so good.”

And then he switched breasts, making sure to give each the same treatment. . . Holy sweet hell. You were done for. 

Your body shook, feeling your nerve endings spasm. No one else had ever stimulated you this much, this way. You didn’t know you could feel so much from a man only lapping at your chest. He was magic. 

“Jake,” you keened, your chest pushing further into his mouth. Your hips thrusting up to meet his. Fuck. With both of you having your pants off, he almost entered you at the motion. And damn the temptation was too much. “Shiiiit.”

He continued to worship your chest, and when you met his hips again, he bucked into yours, deliciously rough, matching a thrust. You felt him, hard, and fitting right between your wet folds, so close to being inside you. 

You saw stars, closing your eyes. 

Fuck.

You heard the softest groan against your breast. You looked down at him, lavishing at your supple skin. One thick brow was raised, but then he pulled them in, in concentration, as he rocked into you again. Shit. 

You couldn’t help the cry that escaped you. Or the words that followed. 

“Please, Jake. Please,” you didn’t know what you were asking for. Just needed more of him. You pushed your hands into his hair, growing confidence from your position. You pushed his face further into you, and you felt him bite at your nipple. Your hips naturally came to meet his and with all of it—fuck—your moan was pornographic. “I need you,” you pushed up, grinding your hips into his. “Here,” you did it again for emphasis, your pussy aching for him.

He released the nipple he’d been sucking with a pop. There was a snicker at your chest, and you saw the dimple in his cheek when he smirked. But before he did anything else, he moved back up your body, your chests finally touching. He had a hand still holding snug to a breast. He squeezed it once, your clit thrummed at the motion and you once again pushed your front to his. 

He kissed the column of your neck softly, trailing kisses from there, all the way to the corner of your mouth. You moved to meet your lips with his, your hand still tangled in his wavy hair. 

You kissed lazily for a few minutes, just enjoying the taste of each other. Your pussy still occasionally grazing his impossibly hard front. You’d moan into each other’s mouths every time. . .absolutely euphoric.

When you came up for air, you let yourself get lost in the chocolate pools of his irises. He was so handsome. So pretty. You couldn’t help the hand that came to hold his cheek, the other one still combing through his hair. 

He gave the corner of your mouth one more peck before he rasped, moving to give the same kiss to the swell of each of your breasts. “Your tits . . .,” he blew out a breath against your skin, making the flesh erupt in goosebumps. You sighed. “Fuck, y/n. They’re perfect. So soft and full. . .” One more kiss to each, this time with tongue. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Then his slick tongue was moving from your chest, down your stomach, and over your right thigh. He hitched both of your legs up, to be bent at the knee. Giving him better access to what you knew he was about to do. He gave your pussy the same long look he gave your breast, admiring what was in front of him. He licked his lips at the sight. 

Your heart was racing. 

And without warning, his tongue found you, flattening on your sensitive clit. It was so hard, with only the slightest direct contact from his tongue, you were bucking your hips into his face. He used two strong hands to grasp and hold your hips to the bed, making sure to soothe your position by making wide, smooth circles with his thumbs in the hidden flushed dips between your thighs and groin. 

He then dipped his tongue to curve into the growing wetness between your folds. You gasped as he lapped at your arousal, occasionally moaning into you as he would lick. He continued like that for long enough that you weren’t sure you could see straight. Your legs were weak from your position. It was almost as if he was enjoying this—simply getting to taste you, feel you against his mouth. 

And suddenly, you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably, your every sense becoming heightened. The feeling of him was all-consuming. You couldn’t deny it any longer, the growing sensation in the pit of your belly threatening to give way at any moment. And he knew it. The work of his mouth became more intense, more fervorous, more hungry. His plush lips working your throbbing cunt into a frenzy until you finally gave in. 

He hardly took his mouth off of you, only enough to speak his velvet soft voice against your soaked pussy, his breath hot against the wet skin. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Let me have it.”

Then it hit you, harder than it ever had. You suddenly realized that you’d been deprived your entire life of this feeling, no man had ever done that to you. Let alone with just his mouth. 

You came back to, arching into him as you felt his tongue make a perfect circle around the still-tight bud of your sensitive clit. You could hardly control your tremors as your body had felt the ultimate test of ecstasy. 

Then you heard a little whimper from Jake, and you looked down through hazy eyes to see his eyebrows were drawn deeper than you’d ever seen them. 

A movement caught your eyes further down. His hips were thrusting, and with each rut of them, he kept forcefully meeting the mattress. You felt his bed shake with each jerk of his hips. Your clit twitched at the sensation of the bed rocking and his mouth on you. You could only imagine what it would be like when he was inside you. You felt the vibration of a growl against your pussy.

“Jake. . .,” you moaned. He hummed against you, which you presumed was a response to you. You hitched your hips up to meet his mouth as he curled his tongue to fit in the small hole between your folds, which gained him an involuntary shake from your body and a whine from you. He then trailed his tongue all the way up from your hidden spot, to hit the sensitive underside of your clit. You groaned loudly at the way his tongue was intermittently flicking against and massaging your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. 

He whimpered again, and his brows creased so closely together. You felt another jolt beneath you as the bed shook with a rather forceful thrust from his hips. You knew he was either really enjoying himself or was getting tired and really wanted his own release. From past experience with men, you assumed the latter. 

“Jake,” you started scooting your body up the bed. You got flashbacks to nights cut too short when you said his name like that. You knew he did, too, as his mouth lifted from you and his dark eyes met your own.

“You said you wanted this,” he grunted in response, his forehead falling to lay on your thigh in defeat.

“I do, Ja—.”

He interrupted you when he dug his fingers into your hips harder, pulling you back down to meet his slick tongue. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him lapping at you with the force he was exuding to seemingly keep you in your spot.  

You tugged at his hair harder, trying to signal him to stop. As much as you didn’t want him to stop, it wasn’t fair for you to have all of the attention. He needed his release.

He slowly, hesitantly stopped and looked up at you, and you saw his eyes soften the slightest bit at your face. You knew you probably looked concerned, as that was how you were feeling for him. 

“Are you okay?” He lifted his body from the spot he’d been laying in between your legs. He laid his body beside yours, and his swollen cock came to heavily sit on top of your leg. 

You could have drooled at the sight of it flush against your skin. Fuck.

“You need release, too, Jake,” you combed your fingers through his hair. He wrinkled his brows at that. You continued, “I’ve already finished once; you don’t have to give me any more attention.”

He leaned back a bit, seeming offended. “You don’t want me to keep going?”

You pulled him by his shoulders, back to where he’d been, and reassured. “No, I want you to keep going—Goddamn, babe. . .but I also want to make sure you are able to feel satisfied and taken care of,” you sat up, and moved down the bed, so you were looking right at his thickness. You got him to position himself to be where you just were, his back against the headboard. You stared up at him through your lashes as you spit onto his aching head, then grasped his dick in your hand, all in one fluid motion. 

His eyelids dropped, and his Amber-brown irises darkened. You gave him one slight squeeze and you saw the muscles in his thighs tighten and his head fall back slightly. But his gaze stayed on you. 

Giving him one more pump, you rolled your thumb over the head. He groaned, but you weren’t able to give him any more attention as he flipped your body to be under his again in one swift motion. 

You squinted at him from your new position, “Why can’t I—?”

“You act as if I wasn’t satisfied with what I was doing before,” he retorted, voice low and face right above yours. 

“You were obviously wanting more. You were—I wanted to help because you kept. . . thrusting into the mattress,” you blinked up into his sultry glare. “I could tell—.”

“I was fucking the mattress because I loved getting to tongue fuck the hell out of your perfect pussy,” he snapped. 

Your body tingled at his words. This man. 

But you didn’t want your desire to please him to be ignored. You reflected the glare that was still shading his features. “Why do you always have to get your way?” You argued.

He huffed, “My way?” He went down to bite the inner curve of your right breast. You moaned, feeling your nipples harden even more at the sensation. He continued his way down your body, “If I would have had my way this wouldn’t be—," You thrusted up into his stiff dick again. You smirked when he bit his lip, eyes closing to stave off your distraction. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, y/n,” his eyes bore into you, then he worked his way down to where he was, once again, settled between your legs. He gave you one lick up your folds. You whispered his name, shaking. So sensitive. So delicious. “Have I wanted your mouth on my dick for a long ass time? Fuck yes. But I’ve also wanted this again. Give me this. I want this.”

“Jake, you don’t have to say that just becau—.”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “Can you not fucking argue with me for once?” 

“Can you just fucking listen to me? I want to make sure you—.”

He forcefully entered you with one finger, his thumb reaching up to rub over your hard clit. You threw your head back, looking down at him with lust clouding your vision. You wanted to be angry with him for interrupting you, but dammit . . . you just couldn’t be. 

He pumped it in and out a few times before putting the finger in his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning. “You taste so fuckin’ delicious, baby.”

His usage of the pet name made your brain short circuit for a few seconds, but you got distracted from it because suddenly, his face was back, right above yours. His forearms caged you in, on either side of your head. His hair was draping around you like a curtain. It felt so familiar. . .so wonderful.

And now, you knew it was about to happen. 

You felt the head of his cock at your entrance, just as you had at Baby’s. 

But this time. . .this time it was different. So different. You couldn’t pinpoint how or why—it just was.

You looked down to where your bodies were so close to finally connecting. When you looked into his eyes, you noticed he was waiting for you. 

For some reason, you felt as though he’d been studying your face while you were looking away. He seemed so content to simply be watching you, waiting for you, until you found his eyes. 

When your eyes met his, you saw the smile that filled his amber-brown irises. It was a sweet moment that felt like it would forever be locked in time. You stayed there, him above  you. And somehow, you knew he was waiting for permission. So, you nodded your head. 

And without a second thought, his eyes still honing in on yours, he entered you. 

You could’ve sang, you were so relieved to feel him like this. Finally. 

“So fucking tight,” he grunted, letting his tip meet your most secret spot inside. Ohhh yeah. You wanted to fuckin’ purr.

It had been awhile . . . and Jake had noticed by your tightness. But as he rolled his hips the slightest bit, helping you adjust, hitting you right where you needed him, deep inside—there was no questioning that the man knew what the hell he was doing. 

Just like your thoughts earlier tonight. . .he was a natural. 

You continued to wince a little, since he was so thick. It took a second to stretch to his size, and he let you, moving around enough from inside to help you. But he felt so damn good, you didn’t want to stay like that for too long. You needed more. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to feel closer to him. His hair tickled the back of your hand.

Though, when you’d looked back at his face, his eyes were stuck on you, seeming to be caught in a trance, a relaxed, loose grin fitting to his pink lips.

You moved your hips just a bit. He felt you move, and he seemed to come back, his eyes locking in on your lips. He gave into the urge, kissing you, letting his tongue explore your mouth briefly, you doing the same to his mouth.

Then, when you came up for air, breathing so hard, you shared this look. Such fondness behind the gaze. It was almost too much. But like all things with Jake, it felt right.

You played with the ends of his hair, where your arms were crossed at his back. Maybe you could stay like this forever. 

But then he moved out slowly, and pushed back into you, hard and to the hilt. You felt his balls hit the bottom of your ass and you almost crossed your eyes at the ecstasy of it all. 

He rocked into you like that a few more times, a little slower, moving steadily. 

Then he switched things up. 

He held your body up, his dick still firmly inside of you as he sat up on his knees, leaning back on his heels. He balanced your ass on his thighs and pushed a pillow up behind you, sitting you up, your back against the headboard. Your legs moved of their own accord to be on either side of his hips.  

The position had you completely open to him, as your legs were spread wide, his cock pulsing inside of you. He bit his lip, focusing. It was like he was admiring a piece of art, not able to take his eyes from it. Deep in thought. 

And all of a sudden, you felt extremely vulnerable. Every piece of you on full display, save for your backside which sat perfectly on his bare thighs. So, still. He had every piece of you open to him, around him, or on top of him.

You almost spoke, but he beat you to it. 

“You are so fucking beautiful, y/n. Dammit,” he said with awe laced beautifully in his raspy voice, hitched on his next words. “This is— you are . . .,” he shook his head, and was never able to come up with the words. Instead, he just continued to let his eyes graze over you.

You felt your entire body heat at his words, the intimacy of all this. You felt emotional hearing the words, being like this with him. It was the most open and vulnerable you’d felt with a man in a long time (maybe ever), and he was seeming to treasure it just as much as you. 

His hands held your waist as you tangled a hand in his hair, and looped one arm over his shoulders - both of your chests heaving, needy.

He then brought you forward, until your clit was positioned to rub right below his belly button. You gasped at the full change in position, his cock as deep as it could go. You used the new angle as leverage and went onto the pads of your feet, raising off of him briefly, and then you slowly sank back down onto his throbbing length.

The moan he let out was heavenly. It made you feel like you were on top of the world, the way his mouth hung open. You continued to rise, and sink back down. Long and slow motions that helped you both to feel all of each other. Once you got more confident, you started swiveling your hips as you started to bounce on top of him. 

After a few more swings of your hips, he used his hold on your waist and lifted you off of him. 

You unabashedly let out a small cry at the loss of him inside you, but you moved with him. You positioned yourself to be on all fours, ass facing him— going with his motions and assuming that’s what he wanted. 

The hiss you heard leave his mouth when you were in position, and the way he kneaded your plush ass cheeks with his calloused fingertips made you smirk with victory. You knew exactly what he wanted. 

“You like that?” You breathed at him, wiggling your round ass at him, grinding back on his hardness. You felt him quiver at your movement. Then you felt a hard smack against your right asscheek. “Fuck— Jake!”

He soothed the spot, massaging it the slightest bit, and before you had time to fully process the first hit, he went in for another slap on the other cheek. 

You jolted with a squeak, surprised, but fully welcoming it. 

Fuck yeah. Did he like things rough? If so, you were here for it. 

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you pointedly made eye contact with his hooded gaze. He had a knowing smirk on his face, matching your own expression. 

He gave you two more slaps, one for each side, and this time you felt the cold metal of his rings with the hits. Oh fuck. 

You pushed back on him, wanting more. His thick cock, snug between your sore cheeks at this angle. 

But instead, he flipped you to lay on your back again. Where was this strength coming from? Dear God. 

How easily he maneuvered your body, wherever he wanted it to go. . . You bit your lip. Fuck. It was like you were his little instrument, moving you every which way, like he threw his guitar behind his head so effortlessly—that was you right now. 

Your core convulsed at the thought. 

Jake set an arm next to your head, and the other above, almost cradling it to not hit the headboard. Then he sunk his pulsing dick into your waiting, dripping cunt. At this point, you were getting fairly acquainted with his size, so you grabbed his perfectly round backside, burying him the deepest he could be in you. 

You also used this position to sway your hips up, each stroke on his dick intentional. Throwing in a little trick of yours, you tightened your muscles to grip his length with each roll of your hips, making him fit even more snug, inside of you. 

“Oh baby,” he groaned at the feeling, the first time you did it. And after a few more, he tapped your hip. “If you don’t stop, I’m not gonna last.”

He was trembling above you. His arm was shaking next to your head. 

“Y/n, baby—fuck,” he grunted, tapping at your hip harder. He wasn’t ready to be done. Neither were you. So you tapped him right back, motioning for him to move off of you. 

After he’d moved, you went to lay partially on your side and partially on your belly. You lifted your ass to indicate you were ready. And in one smooth move, his chest was against your back, his arms back where they were before, but in the new position. He slowly slid in, feeling out the new angle. 

You loved it. One of your new favorites. 

“I love this fuckin’ view of you, y/n,” he groaned, his breath hitting your shoulder. “And the way you feel like this—goddamn.”

He was filling you up, all the way, except this time, you had the combined feeling of him inside, while his smooth sac hit your pussy with each languid pump of his hips. 

You watched how his bicep and fist flexed at the same time, with each thrust, so purposeful. 

Damn him for being so sexy.

His hips started moving quicker, almost of their own accord. And before you knew it, he was pounding into you, his balls slapping hard against you. 

The sounds—the way it felt— perfection.

Your toes curled. Ecstasy. He kept hitting your hidden spot inside; your clit was getting friction from his sheets; and the back of your pussy was getting attention, too. Fuck. This position was going in the books.

Without warning, you felt the arm next to you move, his hand going to sweep swift circles on your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Jaaaake,” you whined, sounding completely pathetic. Sweat was beading at your forehead. Your folds were spasming, your pussy ready to let go. “Fuck, baby.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. All of it combined—the loud slaps of flesh, the sweat, his hand, the pressure of his pretty dick stretching your tender pussy- hitting every part of you—damn.

You came for the second time that night with a curl from your hands and toes, and a loud sob.

“Doing so good, y/n,” he pushed his chest closer to your back, feeling your release against his hand and helping you ride the wave. And all of a sudden, his hips started rutting, so erratically against your ass, his dick pulsing inside with each roll of his hips. “I’m gonna—where do you—fuck! Y/n—.”

Shit. You almost forgot. You weren’t on the pill. You’d just gone off a few months ago. Shit shit shit shit.

Momentarily snapping from your hazy afterglow, you grasped his hip. “Dammit—on my back!” 

Thankfully, he pulled out in time, and with a small moan from his perfect lips, hot spurts of his cum met your back, shiny from sweat. 

After, he laid above you, one shaking arm still above you, the other now holding your tummy. Okay, now you hated this position. You couldn't easily flip to see his face. And you wanted to see him.

He made quick work of reaching for his T-shirt from earlier to clean off your back. 

“Wanna see your face,” he sighed, rubbing at your shoulder. 

You grinned at the sentiment, wanting so desperately to see him, too. So, you rolled onto your back, letting an arm fall above your head, and the other lay across your stomach, replacing where his had been. In a daze, you watched him as he cleaned up his cock, still glistening from your climax. 

Changing your line of sight, you let yourself watch his face as he cleaned himself. His lips were slightly parted, his top lip curled a bit to show some of his top row of teeth. He was focused. And damn he looked good like that. 

But you already knew that. 

Finally, he was done, and he threw the shirt over the side of the bed, joining the pile of clothes on the ground. 

He went to lay just as you had, but with extended an arm for you to curl into.

You should have left. Gone back to your room. You’d gotten what you wanted.

And this was wrong. If it went too far, it could seriously hurt Jake. Make Josh impossibly angry with you for corrupting his brother. . .

But before you could even begin to move, focus too hard on any reasonable thought whatsoever, your head filled with Elsie’s voice, wise with the conversation you’d had that day, in the entryway. 

“I’m saying. . .what if it’s possible he could just want you in his bed and nothing else?” She’d scratched her head. “Would that hurt anything or anyone? I mean, you’ve made it seem to me that you don’t really have any emotional attachment to him. So if you did that, who would it hurt?”

You glanced up at his face, his eyes drooping to follow the sleep you were also craving. His lids fluttered against his smooth skin - his sharp features. Yeah, you were good on that, still . . . no emotional attachment. But he was nice to look at.

Your voice from that day sprang to your mind, fighting.

“Elsie, that’s a stupid plan that could go horribly wrong,” she’d gasped at your insult to her idea. And you’d leveled her with a stare. “And you know it.”

“I do, I do,” she’d reassured. “But what if you just cut it off when it starts to feel like too much?”

You looked to his hands, drumming mindlessly against his hard, tanned stomach. His mouth hummed an unknown tune. You wanted to sink into him. But you knew you could cut it off. You were a pro at that.

“You think I could do that?” You hadn’t been able to believe you were actually starting to give substance to her idea in your head. 

(And here you were doing it again.)

“You’re pretty damn good at burying things right down to the pits of hell, so. . .,” She’d blinked at you, almost innocently with her savage plan leaving her lips. “What’s the harm in giving it a shot? I mean, just one time, at least?”

So, you used your sister’s words from the past as your pass to let yourself be exactly where you wanted to be right now: in his warm, safe, strong arms. It had been now one time. You'd given it a shot. . .

But what if . . .?

And just as you settled into him, your cheek resting on his toned pec, his heart beating steadily underneath, you heard the last of Elsie’s words from that conversation, inspiring you even more to do this. 

To force some substance on this otherwise ridiculous, horrible idea. 

She’d glanced to the side, letting her eyes wander mysteriously for a second. “I think it would be good for you to live on the edge. Just once.” 

And that was all you needed in that sweet, quiet moment, letting yourself cozy up, right into Jake’s chest. . .feeling him kiss the crown of your head. 

Tomorrow could worry about itself.

Because right now? Right now, you were the most blissed out - the most comfortable you’d ever been. 

You weren’t fucking ready to lose this yet, dammit.

And as you drifted off, seconds later, his soft snores lulling you peacefully, you could only hope that he wasn’t ready to lose this—whatever the hell this was—yet, either. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i'm so ready to share what's coming... i wish i could tell you guys (gn)!! it's killingggg me. anywayssss... please let me know your thoughts! you know i love hearing from you all :) &lt;3

(I will say, I've been giving sporadic hints from the first chapter of what's to come. . . hmmm. who thinks they can guess what's going to turn Reader's life upside down?)

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf

[bejeweledblondie]

Peggy, The Pin Up

-

A/N: I apologize for being MIA I’ve had a lot of very great but time consuming things take over my life! I’ve started a 1940s vintage clothing blog & I’m shocked at how successful it has become. On top of that I’ve got promotions at work & it’s opened so many doors for me. I’m hoping to write a bit more!

Warnings: classic 1940’s sexism, mentions of nudity, female pronouns

Summary: Y/N never expected for her pin up prints to be put out… it causes some disruption on Abbott-Thorpe & one dark curly haired aviator comes to her rescue

It all happened on a Thursday morning at breakfast. Y/N sat there in her crisp white uniform shoveling the chalky yellow substance the army called eggs in her mouth. A dark shadow appeared above her plate & a magazine was plopped down in front of her.

“Don’t even try to deny it, this is you isn’t it?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Speechless she looked away & noticed that the Army’s shipment of Esquire hit the shelves. “God who knew? We knew you were a tease, but this is just another level.” He started. “Do you know what everyone says about you?” She shook her head shamefully, lying to herself. She had heard rumblings in the sick bay from time to time. Sometimes while fixing a patients IV bag or a even helping move a patient a hemline might rise causing a stir.

Before the pilot could continue his chauvinistic teasing session she immediately grabbed her belongings & swiftly exited. Little did she know a dark curly haired pilot was watching the torment happen. Due to rank he couldn’t intervene but oh he so badly wanted to bury the man six feet under. He had grown fond of the nurse, she was always so kind with his men. Incredibly soft spoken & nurturing when it came to the care she provided. He had walked in on her reading a copy of John Steinbeck’s, “Of Mice & Men” to the wounded pilots one evening. She didn’t have to do that, she could’ve been out dancing at the Officer’s Club. But she voluntarily chose to stay after her shift to read to them. He could tell the men greatly appreciated it too, it gave them a small window of comfort during an incredibly traumatic moment in their lives.

Douglass, also watching the debacle rolled his eyes & sipped his coffee.

“These men act like they’ve never seen tits before it’s insane.” He scoffed. Rosie almost choked on the toast he was eating.

“I mean some are freshly turned eighteen.” Blakely reminded him.

“Still, this is going to cause a huge fucking problem.” He swore. “Rosenthal, you okay?” Rosie had been staring off into the space during the duration of the conversation.

“Go to her,” Douglass sighed. “She may be oblivious but I’m not. You’ll also want to scoop her before someone like Egan does.” With that Rosie excused himself & started to head towards the medical ward. The sterile white environment contrasted heavily from the drab olive green darkness of the mess hall. Injured pilots laid in beds reading the paper, being fed their morning breakfast, or having their vitals taken. Valerie, a nurse he knew was friendly with Y/N was checking the vitals on a young sergeant.

“Val!” He said getting her attention & started over to her. “Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah, she seemed a bit off,” She started. “She begged Major to allow her to just work in supply today. You might wanna try there.”

“Thank you.” Rosie replied & made his way to the supply room. There she stood sniffling & rolling gauze. Her eyes were clouded with a melancholy look as she completed the mundane task. He knocked on the door frame causing her to look up slightly startled.

“Oh Major Rosenthal it’s you,” She said with a slight tremble in her voice. “What can I do for you?” He cringed at her using his rank, usually it would make his blood pressure rise & heart race. But this circumstance was entirely different.

“I saw what happened in the chow hall,” He started. She’s started to wipe away tears. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He said wringing anxiously. She sighed deeply & looked away.

“I’ll be alright,” She stated. “I’m just going to lay low for a few weeks.” It broke his heart to see her this way. She was always a little jumpy & anxious to begin with. This situation just poured gasoline on a oil fire.

“No,” Rosie stated. “You shouldn’t let some asshole make you feel uncomfortable.” She stared him with big wide eyes. “If it makes you feel any better I’ll escort you places.” Her eyes softened as she listened to him. A small crimson warmth crept onto her cheeks at the mere mention of him escorting her.

After a few weeks, the heat died out about the pin up nurse. Rosie & Y/N had become closer over the weeks. His protection meant no one would even try to touch a hair on her head. From lingering touches, longing gazes, & of course Rosie sitting on her nightly readings to the wounded pilots. He (like every man on post who took a liking to her) did keep a copy of the pin up photo.

On missions he’d keep the folded piece of paper tucked into the pocket of his sheepskin. A reminder of what he was protecting & fighting for. His calloused thumb would graze over her innocent smile as he admired the image. Even in his bunk, he’d spend some alone time with it after everyone had fallen asleep. During one night after the pin up photo was brought up by a rookie pilot, & in turn making Y/N uncomfortable. Rosie knew he had to make her see what he saw in the photo. After some discussions with Ken Lemmons, he decided to really make sure he was reminded everyday was he was fighting for.

With hands covering her eyes he directed her to the airstrip.

“Rosie I can’t see!” Y/N giggled, tripping over her own feet. He chuckled at her natural clumsiness. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, you’re so impatient.” He said. He lead her right up the nose to his beloved bomber. “Okay now you can see.” With the removal of his hands & a adjustment to the sunlight she was staring at herself painted on the side of his bomber. The same pin up that graced Esquire months ago that brought them together. She gasped in pure shock at the artwork.

“Oh, Rosie.” She gasped unable to speak. “Did you paint this?”

“With a little help from Lemmons.” He replied. “I want you to see what I see. A beautiful woman. Do you like it?”

“I-wow,” She smiled. “I love it.” She turned around to face him. He was staring down her, admiring the way the sun light reflected off her hair. He brushed stray strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lightly danced across her cheek bone as he stared adoringly into her eyes. He leaned down & placed a tender kiss onto her lips. She reciprocated & kissed back. Her arms wrapped around his neck & his slowly gravitated to her waist pulling her in closer. After pulling a part they rested foreheads against one another.

“God you have no idea how long I’ve always wanted to do that,” He admitted.