#there's just so much Guilt in wasting things when you don't have a lot and can't afford to be wasteful

[angelsdean]

the spaghettios scene hurts my heart so bad because i just Know dean very quickly regretted dumping those in the trash (anger response tho! he’s modeling john) bc that was wasteful and they have so little money to spend and he’s hungry  

[earthtooz]

x : LUNCH BREAK :*+ﾟ

in which: you don't visit wriothesley during his lunch break after last night's argument, so he goes to the court of fontaine just to see you.

warnings: approx. 1.9k words, PURE FLUFF, gn!reader x pathetic and soppy and lovesick wriothesley, canon setting, reader works at the court of fontaine, post-argument so very minimal angst, probs not in character LOL

a/n: there's not a lot of content regarding fontaine or wriothesley rn so i apologise if this isn't completely in character. what i do not apologise for, however, is the urge to make him as lovesick as possible.

There is a notable tension in the Fortress of Meropide, and although a prison isn’t a place for rainbows and sunshine, today it feels especially devastating. It seems that the lord of the prison is the one responsible for it.

Brooding at his desk, Wriothesley glances occasionally at the clock on his desk, growing more and more impatient with each document he has to read through. He is waiting for something: a knock on his door. He is waiting for the call of his name, the reason for their interruption, then your name will reach his ears and an unmatched excitement will bloom in his chest. Then you’ll slip through the doors with lunch for two, he’ll pull out a chair for you right beside him, and mask professionalism that betrays the eagerness your presence always brings out. 

Your absence must be because of the argument that happened last night. One that remained unresolved because he went to bed before you, too furious to try to talk it out. Yet, when Wriothesley woke in the morning, a wave of guilt washed over him when you weren’t pressed against him like usual. Instead, you were on the other side of the mattress, further than an arm’s length away whilst turned away from him and Fontaine’s chilly mornings had never felt colder.

If he didn’t need to go to work much earlier than you, he would have waited until you had woken up to leave, but being the lord of the Fortress of Meropide meant that his presence was demanded. So, with a lingering kiss to your cheek and then your temple, he leaves into the dewy mornings of Fontaine, looking forward to his lunch break that the two of you often share together.

Except now, lunch is almost over and there hasn’t been a knock on his door. No one has called his name- not people he cared about, at least. You haven’t slipped through the heavy set of doors. You haven’t come down from the Court of Fontaine to visit him, and Wriothesley’s patience is thinning.

His fingers itch with the need to hold you, to tuck you close to his chest and just keep you there for a few moments as time pass by. Especially after last night, Wriothesley needs you now more than ever. 

By the time there’s only one hour left in the work day, he snaps. Stands up from his seat with an unmatched sense of fervour because of the unnervingly quiet day and snatches his coat from the hanger, leaving documents unread as he makes a beeline for the exit of the prison. The guards listen attentively to Wriothesley’s final commands for the day in his absence and once the information is cemented, the dark-haired is off without another second wasted.

You, on the other hand, sit in your office drowned in piles upon piles of papers. Wriothesley is a passing thought every now and then, the memories of last night’s harsh argument settling like weights in your stomach. You miss Wriothesley, very dearly, and all you want is to settle things with him. However, the image of his furious eyes and clenched jaw terrifies you beyond belief, you’re not even sure if he’ll be calmer by the time you get home, so for the first time ever, you dread the idea of going home. 

What you are completely unaware of, however, is your lover that is storming your way, desperate to receive the medicine that will cure his moodiness and irritation. 

The knock on your door distracts you from the piles of papers on your desk. 

“Who is it?” you call out, voice reverberating around the spaciousness of your office.

“It’s Wriothesley, can I come in?” His tone is sharp and leaves no room for you to reject him, but the mere sound of his voice causes you to stiffen, grip on your pen tightening as the papers before you lay forgotten. 

What is Wriothesley doing here? He normally never comes up to the Court of Fontaine just to see you because leaving the prison would be far too neglectful. There was also half an hour before he was done for the day, so could there be official business that needs to be discussed? Something urgent, perhaps? 

If it was urgent, then why come to you and not Monsieur Neuvillette- or even Lady Furina?

“Yeah- yes, you can come in,” you mutter.

When the door clicks open, Wriothesley practically barges through, door shutting behind him as he marches towards you. Getting up from your chair, you’re frightened with anticipation due to  how intense his stance is. 

“Is something the matter?” You begin, panic seeping into your voice as he pauses before you, determination setting his eyes ablaze as he eyes you down like prey. “Wriothesley, you’re scaring me, did something happen at the prison-”

“Where were you at lunch?” He demands.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you come visit?” 

“Is… is why you came up here? To ask why I didn’t visit you during lunch?”

He nods, expression stern as usual save for a small pout.

“I was swamped with work,” you half-lie, gesturing to the desk behind you and although there is clear evidence on your table through the form of stacked folders and paper, a storm of uncertainty brews in his blue eyes. “I couldn’t visit if I wanted to get these done, I apologise.”

The dark-haired frowns. “Is that it?”

“Yes. That’s all.” His eyebrows furrow, creating crease marks in his forehead that you want to kiss away, alleviating his worries, but you hold yourself back from doing so in fear that Wriothesley does not want you touching him. 

However, a switch is flicked when Wriothesley’s stern expression softens, melting into one resembling a kicked dog. “So you’re not upset with me?” 

“Oh, is that also on your mind?”

“Of course, I don’t like it when you’re upset with me,” your lover mutters, looking away bashfully to conceal the reddening of his cheeks. “You aren’t though, right?”

“No, not upset. Scared, maybe, but definitely not upset.” 

His eyes are glossy when he looks back at you. “Scared, why are you scared?” 

“W-we didn’t end on a good note last night,” you rub your wrist nervously. “I didn’t know if you would be happy with seeing me. On top of that, you can be really intimidating sometimes, so admittedly, I was a little scared to come see you just in case that you did not want me there.”

Wriothesley visually deflates with your last statement, shoulders dropping and eyes glistening as he murmurs a small, pathetic, “is that so?”

He wonders what part about him ever made it seem like he never wants you beside him, and the thought that he had frightened you enough to prevent you visiting him is an upsetting one. You must see it in his eyes with the way you frantically begin to explain yourself. 

“Oh no, darling, I didn’t mean it like that-”

He turns his head away again, disappointed in himself. It’s one thing for his prisoners to consider him intimidating but it’s another for you, his own lover, to think so as well, and the thought that he had scared you creates insurmountable shame to swell within him. Yet, his whirlwind of anxieties ceases when your hand goes to cup his cheek, gently prompting him to look at you. Then, a kiss is pressed to the corner of his lips, and his heart skips a beat at the sensation, love blocking his airways when you pull away to smile up at him. 

“As scary as you might be, oh great lord of the Fortress of Meropide, I also know you will never hurt me,” you reassure. “Rather, I feel safest when I’m around you, please never doubt that.”

Wriothesley sighs, hand snaking up to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. “Thank you, my love. But I beg, even if you assume I am upset with you, please keep visiting my office during lunch, it is the part of the day I look forward to most.”

“If that is your request then maybe you just need to be good and listen to me instead of arguing until your head pops off,” you tease, patting his face twice and he huffs before muttering an ‘understood’. Anything to see you. “Is there something else you need from my office?”

“No, just wanted to see you,” he looks at the brown paper bag in his hands. “I brought you lunch, just in case you didn’t eat.” 

“Wriothesley,” you melt, “how thoughtful of you. I’ll make sure to eat it when I finish reading those contracts.”

“You should eat now, though. Don’t drown yourself in work, it’s not healthy.”

“I wish it were that easy, but these piles were dumped on my desk this morning and were assigned to be done by the end of the week.”

The hand that was on your waist comes up to gently hover over your cheek and Wriothesley studies you, icy eyes hardening due to the fatigue present in your expression. You grab his wrist, trying to diverge his attention, but you should know better than assuming that your wellbeing isn’t of utmost importance to him. “Unacceptable, I should have a word with your supervisor-”

“-no, no, Wriothesley! I insist, this is manageable.”

He frowns, deep and serious before surrendering to your pleas. “Fine, but if it doesn’t get better by the end of the week, then I will be interfering.”

“If you do so, my supervisor will be too scared to come in for a month,” you squeeze his wrist and gently guide it away from your face, ignorant to how your neglect for your own health hurts Wriothesley as well. He knows you love your job, but he still thinks that you deserve to live life carefree, that you should get everything you want without ever lifting a finger. “It’s alright, dear, you mustn’t worry about me when your work is a thousand times more stressful.”

“Impossible.” He worries about you every second of the day. Telling Wriothesley to stop fretting over you would be like telling him to stop breathing. “Now eat.” 

You yelp when he pulls you towards your chair, sitting you down. From the paper bag, he takes out a sandwich, one that you recognise is from one of fontaine’s favourite cafés, and he carefully unwraps it before raising it to your mouth.

“Wriothesley… this is a little embarrassing,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He doesn’t say anything, just persistently stares at you, gaze intense enough for you to give in. As you lean in to take the first bite, you are bashfully looking away from your lover, who wears a pleased expression, satisfied with the fact that you’re letting him take care of you. 

The tension from last night’s dispute hasn’t completely melted away, there are still things that need to be discussed calmly, but as you keep trying to push his hand away and battle Wriothesley’s indestructible stubbornness, he knows it will work out in the end. You love him and he loves you, and if you ever forget to visit him during lunch break again, then he’ll have to tear himself away from the prison and come up, just to meet you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[klausysworld]

He Left First

He turned up late, again. It was obvious he forgot we even had a date planned let alone what it was for.

He was underdressed for the Restaurant reflecting his lack of effort, no flowers or anything. I know I shouldn't expect a gift but I thought he might've for our two years.

His eyes were so distant when he looked at me. He only looked annoyed as he looked over the menu, as if it was a waste of his time.

Hesitantly I grabbed the little gift back from my side and placed it on the table infront of him.

"I wasn't sure if we were doing gifts, I know it's only two years...I don't know I just got something small." I muttered, feeling stupid for even bothering. I glanced at his face and saw it dawn upon him why we were here. His mouth opened a couple times, the guilt started to form as he placed the menu down.

"Love-" He whispered and I forced a smile.

"It's nothing special, it's only little." I mumbled, waiting for him to open it. Slowly he opened the gift, it was just a painting. In the early stages of our relationship he had tried to teach me but I wasn't much good so I had been practicing the things he showed me to make him it. "I know it's not great-"

"No...It's perfect." He muttered as he stared at it.

I felt a little awkward as it went quiet before the waiter came over to ask what we'd like to have, I just ordered a grilled chicken salad and Klaus mumbled for a steak. He let out a small sigh once the waiter left and put the gift back in the bag.

"I haven't been here enough as of late and I'm sorry." He apologised, his eyes boring into mine. "I'm gonna buy you a hundred presents tomorrow to make up for this-"

"It's really fine, I just want to have a nice night." I told him and he nodded, getting up and moving his seat round to sit beside me and wrap his arm round my waist. It felt nice to feel the warmth of his touch. The touch of his lips on my head and he whispered he was sorry.

When the food came he stayed beside me and we ate with light conversation of past dates that had been particularly funny or eventful.

Honestly it was going so well, one of the nicest dates we'd had until his phone lit up on the table. A collection of messages lining up on his screen.

He picked it up and unlocked it, revealing Camille's name to pop up over and over. A frown overtook his features as he opened the messages. She said she needed him, his help. I heard him sigh and I looked down at my half eaten meal knowingly.

"Y/N..." He whispered and I let go of my fork.

"Can't we just have one night without her?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"Love, she's my friend. I can't just leave her when I know she needs me-" He defended but I couldn't understand it.

"I need you." I argued but my voice was weak. "I need you but you'll leave me?"

"I'm not leaving you. I'm just helping someone out-"

"Yeah? I bet you help her out a fucking lot." I snapped and his eyes narrowed.

"If you're insinuating that I've been unfaithful..."

"So what if I am? Am I wrong? You haven't been sleeping with me so you're getting it somewhere-"

"Shut your mouth." He warned. I glared at him and felt my face burn with heat as people around us came to a halt in their conversations.

"Or what, Klaus?" I asked and his jaw tightened.

"I'm not doing this with you." He muttered, getting up and taking his phone. I should have just let him go but in that moment I needed him to hurt like I hurt.

"What, you're just gonna run away? You always gonna be a fucking coward Klaus?" I yelled and he didn't answer. "You're the same bastard your father raised."

He faltered in his step at that, his hand curled into a fist at his side but ultimately he kept walking out of sight.

I glanced round at everyone staring and just sighed. I grabbed my purse and pulled out enough money to cover the meals, leaving it on the table and snatched the disregarded gift bag before walking out too.

I cried in the street, facing a wall as i tried not to make any sound. I pulled myself together as quickly as I could before walking home. Realistically I shouldn't have even considered going back to that stupid mansion but I did.

I ignored everyone as I went upstairs and got in one of the spare beds. I didn't bother cleaning my skin or changing my clothes, I just went to bed.

Even in the morning I just didn't get up, I just stayed there wondering what the fuck was going to happen. Part of me wanted to pack up and leave but...I loved him. I'd stayed with him for so long now, through far too much to just leave him right?

That being said when I heard the front door go and Rebekah asking where Klaus had been all night broke my heart because I knew he had been with Cami. I accused him of cheating so he decided to prove I was right.

I sniffed back my tears, refusing to cry anymore especially with him in earshot.

I forced myself up and got out of bed, stepping over the heels I had kicked off last night and opening the door. I stepped out and immediately saw him stood at the top of the stairs. Hair ruffled and eyes tired.

Neither of us spoke a word as I went into the bathroom next door to shower. When I came back out in my towel I found my comfy clothes laid out on my bed. With reluctance I accepted the gesture and got dressed. There was no point in drying my hair or having any makeup on so I just wondered downstairs.

Everyone was being awkward. Rebekah tried to come talk to me but I told her it was okay and it wasn't a big deal and I'd come talk to her when I felt a little better.

I went back to the guest bedroom and stared up at the ceiling. There weren't TV's in the rooms nobody used and I didn't have anything to do on my phone after the first couple hours so I just laid there.

When it got dark again a knock sounded at my door and Klaus came it. I didn't look over at him as he sat down beside me on the edge of the bed. His hand moved to touch me, stroking my palm and my fingers.

"Did you sleep with her?" I whispered, a little scared to ask.

"Not...technically" He muttered, his voice hesitant and guilty.

I didn't want to ask what that meant. Did he finger her? Eat her out? Did she suck him off and make out with him while convincing him to leave me for her? Was he here to break it off with me so he could just be with her?

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked, a feeling of indifference bleeding through me as a numbness protected my heart. It was quiet for a moment before he spoke.

"I don't ever want you to leave." He whispered. "I shouldn't have ever gone to her house especially when I was angry already. I ended up drinking so much..." He trailed as if remembering something. I sighed and stared into space.

"It's fine." I whispered and he squeezed my hand.

"What?" He asked and I shrugged.

"You haven't wanted to be with me for a while now...I just loved you too much to let you go but I don't have to let you go anymore, you left instead."

His fingers interlaced with mine but I didn't hold his hand back.

"I haven't stopped loving you." He admitted but I wasn't really sure I could trust whatever he said.

"You just love her too." I muttered.

"No, I don't love her. I truly don't. I don't know what's wrong with me but I know I'm wrong and I know I'm hurting you and out of all the people in my life, you are someone I never want to hurt so..." He paused for a second and I forced my eyes not to weep. "So I'm gonna do whatever you need me to do. I know we can't be together...I've broken your trust and I can't get it back until...well I don't know if I can."

"I'll just pack my things." I whispered.

"I can give you money to help-"

"I don't want your money, or your help. I just need you to leave me alone, I can't see you with her- I can't see you period." I told him.

I could physically feel my mental walls building up around me.

He left me alone a moment later and stayed out of sigh as I stuffed all my things into a case and called a cab.

It was a hotel I stayed in for a few days before I found a shitty motel that allowed long-stay for little money while I applied for jobs.

I was on my way to a work interview when I saw Klaus again. It had only been two weeks and I knew I looked shit. The shower at the motel was inconsistent of when it wanted to work, there was no hairdryer and I didn't have anything to straighten it or products to let it stay curly so it was just frizzy and I had no makeup or money to buy it so I looked as tired as I was due to the pathetic excuse of a mattress I was sleeping on. How I was going to get any job looking like I did would be a miracle or a massive pity party.

Klaus looked as perfect as ever, not a hair out of place when his eyes met mine across the street. He was there with Rebekah and I felt his gaze drift over me even after I kept walking away.

Part of me just wanting to feel his arms around me. But I knew that was wrong and I needed to get through this and he couldn't help with that. I wasn't sure anything could help, even if I had a new job and a beautiful house with a loving faithful family and two healthy children, I don't think I'd be able to look at Klaus and not wonder why I couldn't be enough for him.

If I wasn't enough for him, would I be enough for someone else?

[theallyandhisbeast]

About bucktommy and 911 in general

You know, in the end, this just feels extremely cheap and cruel.

Showing bucktommy be incandescently happy in all the episodes but 8.6? Even in this ep you can feel how much they care and genuinely love each other. Audience was largely optimistic and excited about them, in a way we have never seen for other buck's LI.

Only to what? Throw it all away because you can't be bothered to write a satisfactory arc for them? Because Buck is the epitome of the guy who dates a lot but always gets broken up with? That to be able to decide if you want to be in a committed relationship if you are bi you have to explore first or else your decision is null and void?

What a way to waste potential and your characters arc.

The special thing about Tommy was that he was beloved by not only bucktommy fans, but GA, and most importantly he was a sort of representation we don't see all that much in media. People loved him because they saw themselves in him, they could connect to his journey and they were genuinely rooting for him to find love and family with Buck. To waste it all away, and to do so by basically throw at us all that we loved about them is unnecessarily cruel.

What hurts the most is that even buck and tommy themselves didn't want to break up. but instead they "must" because bowing down to harmful stereotypes about bi people who are "confused and so they must experiment before settling" is more important than telling a compelling story.

Even without bt break up, I feel like this season took a sharp dive for the worst about well thought storylines in a way that baffles him. Gerrard was reduced to a joke, as was Ortiz, both pgs that could have been used to create compelling arcs that intertwined the 118 even more but instead we got this cheap throwaway joke of a Gerrard, Ortiz was basically throw out of office in a single ep. Hotshot sl could have been fun but instead it's just.... there. And coming back too just for funsies, cause apparently that sl was more important to develop instead of a interesting queer relationship.

Athena once again doing copaganda. Bobby coming back to the 118 without any particular struggle or even guilt about dropping the bag. Things said in interviews that we expect to happen and never even made it to the screen (Eddie's loneliness? Chim and Hen having conflict over Mara? Buck feeling guilty about injuring Gerrard?).

The way Maddie cannot have any sl that is not either tied to a man or about motherhood. Madney having another surprise baby instead of them choosing on purpose to expand their family. Hen & Karen gaining trauma after trauma about their children and not having any other sl that is not tied to that. Josh just existing in the periphery and only becoming important as the "insightful token gay" but not having any type of meaningful screen time since Carson.

The other side characters like Sue, Ravi, Linda, Carla completely disappearing without anyone mentioning them. Ravi has not been given any important sl ever since he talked about having cancer and ever since reduced as a comic relief without anything to add to his character but he's a "landlord".

Chris is out of the picture for who knows how long, and is basically kept around to be traumatized over and over again. Eddie hasn't gotten any character development until first s5 and seemingly now, but i'd argue that the whole thing just felt rushed because what do you mean it takes one chat with a priest for him to do a 180° while he still isn't talking to Chris? And Eddie was the one who got the best treatment of all of them this season.

It's the way this show is slowly chipping itself away. It's the way they start a queer story line promising it would be impactful and handled with care and then half-assing it a best. It's the way the other queer characters are never explored and able to breath and revel in their queerness in the first place. Because, really, when was the last time Hen and Karen kissed on screen? When was the last time they went on a date? When was the last time their arcs were not about children or getting hurt, but just about them as individuals? And on this thread what about Maddie? Or Josh? Or Chim? Or Eddie?

Everything feels reused again and again and again without no real development than then starting the circle all over in half a season.

What a waste.

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 4

In the face of such deep hurt, you have no choice but to come to terms with your feelings.

friends with benefits, f!reader, 6k words

A/N: don't really like this chapter cause it feels like a nothingburger but there it is... i swear i didn't mean to end it like that but the next block would have been too long to be in the same chapter so i had to chop it in two, forgive me 😞

also, it’s definitely still the weekend on the west coast so i am not late!!! we’ve officially written like 20k words for this series when it was supposed to be a couple crack fics, what even is going on

part three

Every so often, tremors travel through your legs to reach your twitching fingertips like a hundred tiny earthquakes along your limbs while you sit there, passive and morose. You stare at your open palms and observe the natural disaster occurring beneath your skin. Past the white walls of your apartment, the sun continues its ascent among the clouds but its warmth is fought off by the thick curtains of your living room and the heaviness settling inside of you. The blow of previous revelations has made your organs twice as heavy and has brought an ache to your trembling hands, birthing a sense of lethargy only the lost are familiar with. Not for the first time, you don’t know where you’re heading. For the first time, none of it matters; there is just the weight of your body rooted to the couch and the lines of your palms staring back at you, forming crooked letters that disappear with a blink. Your thoughts are a mess devoid of rationality focused on the sting of betrayal that you can feel at the corner of your eyes. She doesn’t deserve them, your tears. Then again, there is a lot that she didn’t deserve that you still gave willingly: your time, your attention, the flutter deep in your abdomen at the sound of her genuine laughter or the naive hope that you mattered more to her than you believed. Your mind is a whirlwind of possibilities that will never come to be and feed the dejection in your bones until your vision blurs at the edges from tears you refuse to let fall. 

You recall the nonchalance with which she addressed her actions, the excuse of destiny as if you were all merely pawns in the hollow of its cold and detached hands. Some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. You wondered once what kind of life she must live to be so carefree, you understand now that it stems from a lack of responsibility and a distance between herself and accountability. Her nihilism reduces her to a footnote in a published novel, a droplet in the raging ocean; it takes away enough of her to make her believe that whatever she does is not a choice she fully makes herself. It feels like an excuse to justify not only her existence but everything she undertakes, blaming consequences on fate will always be easier as it relieves her from the pressure of guilt. In a way, it’s not so much carefreeness as passivity. You swallow to soothe the tightness of your throat. Some part of you pities how she lives and you wish you could choke it out with a pillow. Even now, you can’t snuff out feelings that have taken months to develop and solidify within you, and they feel like stones obstructing your blood vessels. It hurts this much because you unknowingly carved a seat for her inside the walls of your heart with her pocket knife, the same one she used to cut you. You can no longer differentiate then and now, whether you started falling for her the last time she left your bed or the first time she kissed you. However, you can’t deny that you’ve got her under your skin and the realization could not have happened at a less opportune moment.

This sucks. You don’t count the minutes you spend staring at your hands like they hold answers to questions you won’t get to ask in the future. At some point you find yourself laying on the couch again, looking ahead while your phone lies on the coffee table, undisturbed for the time being. Hours pass and your eyelids eventually grow heavy, each blink slower to come than the last. Your mind, perhaps to torture you, replays some moments you didn’t remember before this instant; falling asleep as she lights up a cigarette on the balcony outside your bedroom, moonlight stroking her hair and smoke blurring her face; nimble hands undressing you layer by layer with a patience that borders on reverence. The first time you met, your impression of her was that she took care of appearance and found it very important how she presented herself to the world. It was because of her clothes, partly, but mostly the confidence she radiated. She didn’t say too much or too little, and looked at you with a smile you selfishly wished was just for you. Her attention felt like a treasure not many were deserving of and her taste in fashion matched yours, she helped you pick out some clothes then you exchanged phone numbers in front of the store. You went your separate ways after that, but receiving a text from her an hour later turned you into a schoolgirl with a crush. 

You thought you were making progress yesterday, that her seeking you out meant something more than a refusal to see a medical professional. The look in her eyes when she stared up at you in the bathroom… you wish you understood it, but something screams that it wouldn’t have changed a thing. You reminisce and ruminate until your eyes close and unconsciousness generously gives you a reprieve from the assault of your mind.

It’s almost 11 in the morning when you wake. Your neck is stiff from the armrest and your legs beg to be stretched after staying bent for hours. You rub the drowsiness out of your eyes with one hand and sit up slowly, brows furrowed and lips in a frown. It takes you a moment to do anything else, your phone buzzes with a notification three times in a row but you only look at your lock screen blankly. You don’t feel like doing anything, and after remembering the events of earlier today,  you dread checking up on work. Still, your concern for the colleagues you get along with eventually wins out. You pick up the device and sift through the messages that were left unanswered yesterday, replying to your friends to assure them of your safety. Your thumbs travel across the screen mechanically, like you’re writing a professional email you have no interest in, but you are genuinely relieved to find out that they’re fine. You hesitate over Himeko’s contact name. She surely hasn’t heard of what transpired yesterday unless there was an IPC broadcast about it. You hope she hasn’t. You want the truth to come out of your lips, not some news network. Worry makes you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at her last text from the evening before. Himeko is one of your best friends, she’s understanding, compassionate and an expert at comforting others. You’re not worried that she’ll put the blame on you, just that your feelings will come to the surface once you start relaying everything that’s happened in detail. 

You steel yourself, swallow once, and press the call button under her contact name. You bring your knees to your chest. The line rings a couple of times in your ears before the call connects and Himeko’s joyful voice sounds through the phone. 

“Hey.” she greets you with a smile you can hear, “are you okay? You hung up on me yesterday.”

Your suspicions are confirmed, Himeko has no idea what went on the previous night.

“Sorry,” your own voice is strained from sleep and you cringe before clearing your throat. “Something… came up.”

“Is everything alright?”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably. You look at the floor and inhale quietly to calm the unease slithering up your trachea. “There was… an incident at work,” you say hesitantly. “A serious one.”

Himeko picks up on your tone and hers softens with her next question. “Are you alright? What happened?”

The words spill from your mouth all at once and Himeko doesn’t interrupt you as you give her a retelling of what you read in that article this morning, Kafka’s identity as both a Stellaron Hunter and the woman you’ve been “seeing”, how she showed up at your door injured yesterday and the moment you found out the truth just hours earlier. The line is silent save for your sometimes faltering sentences. Your eyes fall shut in the middle of your story and your fingers clench the phone in your hand, the knot in your throat tightening near the end of it. Saying it out loud, you realize how stupid you’ve been even if the clues weren’t obvious; you should’ve been more suspicious of her absences and deflections, shouldn't have been blinded by her attention and the way she made you feel, should’ve… You feel like an idiot in the face of Himeko’s silence. She digests the information you dumped on her before it’s even noon, and after a minute of quiet she finally speaks.

“Where are you now?”

“Uh, home,” you stammer, blindsided by the question. You half-expected her to lose her mind at the situation you find yourself in considering she was the one who tried to discourage you to enter a friends-with-benefits relationship, and now people have died by the hands of the woman you have feelings for. You pointedly omit the romantic feelings part for now. 

“You should stay at a friend’s house, to be safe. The Stellaron Hunters are very dangerous and you could easily get wrapped up in their dispute with the law and the IPC. Take precautions and be safe, please.”

“Is that all you have to say…?”

“What do you want me to say, ‘I told you so’? You were manipulated, that’s what Kafka does. She bears all the blame here. And I’m sorry you were caught up in her schemes.”

You pause, staring at the coffee table in front of you. Her reassurances bring you no comfort. Your reply sounds small in your ears, “...A lot of people died.”

“I know…” You can almost picture the soft look in Himeko’s eyes. “But it wasn’t your fault. Whatever they had planned, they planned it long before you were brought into the picture. You couldn’t have stopped anything from happening.”

You nod slowly even though she can’t see you. You do your best to internalize that, but guilt still swirls within you and makes you nauseous. You stand from the couch to make your way to the bedroom, footsteps quiet along the wooden floors. You let the morning light envelop you once you reach the glass doors of your balcony and slide them open so the fresh air can enter your lungs and chase away the unpleasant feeling. 

“No wonder you didn’t know anything about her,” Himeko continues, an edge to her voice, “it’s easier to play mind games when you’re kept in the dark. She’s truly despicable.”

You think of what Kafka said this morning about the source of her injury, how she got it looking for you amidst the chaos. You lean on the railing, observe the circulation of cars and pedestrians down below, but say nothing. 

“I hope she never contacts you again. Did you block her number? Is it even her real one?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should block it anyway.”

She’s right. You put Himeko on speaker and let out a breath as you open your contacts, scrolling through the list and finding Kafka’s contact among it. For a few seconds you feel weak for your hesitation, thumb hovering over the “block caller” button, then you shake your head and press the red letters. You won’t make yourself available for her anymore. 

“I did it,” you tell the woman on the other line and redirect your gaze to the buildings on the horizon. 

“Good. What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you… eventually work there again?”

“Ha. Not a chance.”

You don’t know what you’ll do, you haven’t planned this far ahead and were still on the fence about quitting your job before everything went down but there’s no way you’re going back to doing office work after today. In a way, the incident gave you the push you needed to do it. The price to pay for it was far too high.

You talk to Himeko for another half hour before she has to bid you goodbye to take care of the Express. She reminds you to pack a bag and go stay with a trusted friend, and she makes sure to be certain that you’ll take care of yourself before hanging up the phone. She’ll call again when she can, but in the meantime, you’re on your own. You don’t tell her that you don’t think Kafka means to put you in harm’s way and that you don’t feel comfortable leaving your apartment now. Knowing that you could have been one of yesterday’s victims if you had simply gone about your daily routine worsens your anxiety, and even if Kafka’s been inside your apartment countless of times before, you still feel safer within familiar walls. 

You spend the day in low spirits, half of it sitting on your balcony with your knees to your chest and the other half laying face down in bed. You tell yourself that your free time will be dedicated to finding out what you want to do with your life. Then another day passes you by and when the third one comes around you still haven’t gotten out of the gray bubble you’ve unconsciously created for yourself. Your thoughts are repetitive and oppressive, so you sleep for hours to escape them. You avoid going out by ordering food or groceries. Your phone is constantly on ‘do not disturb’ because you can’t handle the grating alerts about funerals and financial compensation, you only pick it up to talk to Himeko once a day. She encourages you to see your friends, to not let yourself be swept away by the waves of negative emotions, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re just not in the mood anymore. You make promises you don’t intend to keep in order to alleviate her concern and the guilt nesting in the pit of your stomach grows bigger with each one. You’re not helping yourself, you know, but it feels like all you can do is sit in your feelings as they ripple around you and you stare at the disturbances for hours, crestfallen. 

In the evening, you await the takeout you ordered 30 minutes ago. You’re laying on the couch despite the TV not being on and feel drowsiness creeping up on you from doing absolutely nothing all day. Who knew inactivity could be so exhausting… You reach for your phone on the coffee table and tap the screen to see if your driver is nearby. He’s parked in front of your apartment building, so he should reach your door soon. You close the phone and wait some more until you hear firm footsteps on the other side of your door. You only stand up after a couple of minutes have passed to make sure he’s truly gone and won’t see you bringing your food inside. Opening the door reveals an unexpected find; the takeout bag lies next to a rectangular package that wasn’t there in the morning. You pick up the bag but stare at the box with a crease between your brows. Outside of food, you haven’t ordered anything else from the internet. You wonder if it’s a misplaced item and bend down to check the postal information. There’s no return address, but yours and your full name are written black on white. You decide that you must look like a weirdo, inspecting a package in the hallway with takeout in one hand, and you pick up the box before retreating inside. 

Putting down the brown bag on the kitchen counter, you think perhaps the package is from a colleague or a friend, maybe even from Himeko since her return address is hard to find. You look for scissors to cut the tape holding the box shut and lift the lid. A pair of black velvet gloves lie on a similarly coloured coat, the inside of which is a dark shade of blue. The material is expensive judging by the gentle  sheen on the fabric in the light, and you blink in confusion. It’s beautiful and a piece you would definitely feel compelled to buy if you saw it in a store, which means it must actually be meant for you. You pick up one glove to find that it fits perfectly with the size of your hand. It’s soft to the touch, you bring it to your cheek to feel the material against your skin. You spot a small card sticking out from one of the coat’s front pockets bearing only three words written in curvy letters: ‘Thought of you, K. <3’

The glove falls from your hand like it burns your palm and lands on the floor without a sound. Suddenly, the clothes aren’t a thoughtful gift but a mocking gesture meant to get a rise out of you. You tear the card into pieces. If anything, one could admire her limitless audacity, not you, but someone out there. She’s playing with you, taunting you to see how far she’s allowed to go before you lose your mind completely. That, or she deludes herself into thinking that she can buy your forgiveness with meaningless peace offerings. Either way, her obvious lack of care for your feelings hurts more than it should, and you’re once again reminded of your own weakness. You know that she doesn’t care, there’s no need to twist the knife in your already infected wound. Does she only see you as a toy for her entertainment? Is she incapable of even a bout of empathy or do you simply mean that little to her? The thought rotates in your head endlessly until you put everything back in the box and throw it in the trash. 

Two days later, you find another package on your doorstep; two expensive pairs of slacks and three tops that are all exactly your size and your style. The note has only a handwritten K and a slim heart on it. You donate the clothes to a thrift store in the afternoon. It's the first time you’ve left your house since you learned the truth about Kafka’s identity.

Next Thursday, you accept a friend’s invitation to go out for drinks. Kafka’s stunts made you internalize what you've been telling yourself for weeks; you won’t pull the brakes on your life for a broken heart, certainly not for her. Being hung up on somebody who isn’t thinking of you at all is embarrassing enough, to allow her such a place in your mind after what she’s done is just pathetic. Despite your heart still not being it in, you dress up in clothes that always make you feel pretty and let your friends drag you to a bar where they dance for three hours and flirt with strangers for two more. The loud music makes it impossible to hear any words that aren’t shouted or whispered in your ear, its bass reverberates uncomfortably through your chest like a second heart. The night goes by with a drink in your hand that is replaced by another the instant its last drop lands on your tongue. Inebriated and surrounded by sweaty bodies, you forget all about the world beyond the cheers of your friends as you make out with a woman on the dance floor and the flavored liquor on your lips. The events that occurred between midnight and 3 AM are a haze when you wake up before lunchtime the next morning, body halfway off the couch and head throbbing so intensely you think you might pass out before you reach the bathroom for some aspirin.

You stumble into the room, squinted eyes barely seeing two feet in front of you, and fumble with the small plastic bottle of what you believe to be your magic pills. You swallow a couple of them and bend low to take a few sips of water directly from the running faucet. Your skull feels like it’ll split open with any strong enough stimulus. You sink to the cool floor and close your eyes, breathing as steadily as you can through your mouth to relax a little. You think you fall asleep for a while, leaning against the cabinets while the medicine does its job of reducing your headache to a dull pulse. Three firm knocks on your front door wake you up abruptly and you jerk away from the sink in surprise. You wipe the corner of your mouth. Blinking away remnants of drowsiness, you shakily stand on your bare feet and run a hand over your face as you walk to the entrance of your apartment. You hope you don’t look as bad as you feel, but you know that’s likely the case. Still, you adjust your clothes and your hair before opening the front door. 

A mailman is waiting for you with a package in hand and thrusts a form in yours after a disingenuous greeting. You sign the paper confirming whatever delivery you just received, a little out of it. He leaves once the small square box is given to you. You walk back inside, turning the package over in your hands before tearing it open. A glittering necklace lies inside, nestled in suede. The gems embedded into it easily catch the light and would make a strong statement resting on any person’s collarbones. You stare at the jewelry, puzzled. Checking the package again reveals no return address, and if your mind was less hazy from this hangover, you would have guessed who the gift was from immediately. Your cell phone pings with a text, bringing you out of your confusion long enough to find it on the floor in front of the couch. You press the message to open the private conversation. The recipient has no caller ID and is texting you like you’re supposed to know who they are. You lay the jewelry box on the coffee table and reply quickly.

“Who the fuck is that…?” You slowly ask no one in particular, brows twisting in a frown. 

You type in a text and send it. The reply you receive sobers you up like an ice cold shower. You rub your eyes with one hand and hold your phone a bit farther from your face as if it poses a threat to your safety, disbelieving. The nerve… There’s a familiar flutter in the depths of your belly but the sensation is uncomfortable now, eating at you and forcing you to take a deep breath.

You block the number before another message can pop up. Frustration bubbles up inside your chest, Kafka’s dedication to remaining a part of your life like a coffee stain on a white tablecloth is seriously messing with you. Make amends? She can’t be this dense. The gifts, her promise to send more— is her image of you so shallow that she believes you can be bought with fancy clothes and jewelry? None of these have been thoughtful or paired with a note that contains more than three words. She’s hurt you more than she understands, clearly. Your issues with her behavior are evident, you don’t believe the idea of them not computing in her mind, she’s smarter than that. She’s kept key details of her life from you, lied to you and caused over a dozen scientists to lose their lives for a component that could surely be found elsewhere, not to mention her treatment of you afterwards and her lack of remorse for the emotional damage she’s inflicted on you. Your feelings are more than justified and run deeper than petty grievances. You don’t understand her at all, and at this point, you don’t care to.

An offended scoff escapes your lips and your first reflex is to tell your best friend about the situation, looking to vent your irritation to a person that’ll stand by you no matter what unlike Kafka’s fickle attitude. You video call Himeko’s number and wait until she picks up at the last ring. Her fiery hair is slightly disheveled, held up tightly in a ponytail. She’s not wearing her usual elegant clothing and is instead clad in overalls with a plaid shirt underneath. Motor oil stains her cheek and fingertips as she waves at you through the screen. You think you can see engines and steam behind her, you can definitely hear hissing noises in the background. 

“Uh… Are you busy?” You ask, taking in the dark stains on the front of her overalls. “Are you working on the Express?”

Himeko makes a sound of agreement. “Don’t worry, I always have time for you though. How are you?”

“Hangover. What’s wrong with the train?”

“Nothing as of three minutes ago. I just finished fixing some issues but it wasn’t anything too serious. I’m due for a shower. You said you’re hungover? You do kind of look… disheveled.”

“I appreciate the euphemism,” you sit cross legged on the couch. “I woke up not too long ago and immediately popped some over-the-counter medicine.”

“So you went out last night? Or were you drinking alone?”

“I went to a bar with some friends, took your advice and drank until I passed out.”

“That was not my advice.” Himeko’s frown makes you smile. “At least you left your house and returned safely. I told you it’d be good for you not to stay cooped up in here.”

You hum absentmindedly. “I don’t remember most of the night, honestly. I think I made out with someone for like… twenty minutes, four songs. But that’s not why I called— I got something in the mail today.”

Before Himeko can ask what it is, you reach for the jewelry box on the coffee table and hold it up to the camera so the necklace is in full view. You tilt it this way and that, the outside light reflecting prettily on the clear-cut gems. You watch Himeko’s eyebrows raise as she moves from her spot in the engine room, likely headed to her room for that shower she mentioned a few minutes ago.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Did you try it on?”

“No.”

“Is that a treat for yourself? You deserve it, you had a really rough week and it’d look good with that fancy low-cut top you have— the silk one?”

Maybe it would, too bad you’ll never wear it. 

“I didn’t buy it, I got it as a gift,” you put the necklace down next to you and close the small box, making sure to put an emphasis on the last word.

“Oh? It must have cost a small fortune. From who?”

“Kafka.”

The easygoing smile Himeko wears disappears in an instant. She stops moving somewhere in a hallway, near panoramic windows that show the galaxy beyond them. Tiny creases form along her brows and she stares at you intently, worry and affront clear in her gaze.

“Kafka sent that to you?”

You nod. “She’s been sending me stuff all week, clothes mostly, but this one really took the cake because she texted me from an encrypted number afterwards.”

“Why won’t she leave you alone?” Himeko looks vexed on your behalf and you shrug, relieved that your feelings are validated by her anger. “What did she say? Please, tell me you blocked the number immediately.”

You hesitate a couple of seconds too long, Himeko’s shoulders slump and her lips part to reprimand you but you interrupt her readily, “I blocked her! I swear. She said she wanted to ‘make amends’ and it pissed me off so bad, I blocked her number again. Can you believe her ego? Does she think my world revolves around her, that I’m just waiting for her to make it up to me before I take her back with open arms? We didn’t even have anything. We used each other for sex and despite the semblance of good-natured relationship we had, she still chose to betray me!”

Himeko studies the hurt in your eyes at your outburst and pauses, her gaze flitting across your face for a moment. You exhale, willing yourself to calm down. Your heart rate has picked up a few paces and you despise how easily Kafka gets a rise out of you without even being in the room. The redhead leans on a nearby wall.

“You have every right to be as angry as you feel,” she starts, meeting your eyes with a knowing look in her golden ones, “but… You’re this angry because you have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“W-What?” Your stutter sells you out and Himeko tilts her head in a silent gesture to not lie to her. 

“I had my doubts. You talked about her a lot, I don’t even think you noticed. And your word choice just now; ‘betray you’?” You wanted to trust her and hoped she'd let you in, but she manipulated you instead. It’s normal to be hurt, and while I have… opinions about that, you can’t help what you feel.”

You look away from the screen, lowering the camera in resignation. There’s no use in arguing Himeko’s point because you both know the truth already and you’re too out of it to fight the obvious. You don’t say anything so the line is silent for a while, Himeko resumes her walk towards her cabin and gives you a moment to gather your thoughts. You didn’t know you talked about Kafka this often but the information doesn’t surprise you, she made your days exciting and you genuinely liked her for more than sex. You used the latter as an excuse to justify the former countless times. From the beginning, you were attracted to more than her body, and from the beginning, you were more attached to her than she was to you. Even though these are facts that you’re aware of, your throat tightens at the reminder. 

“I hate it,” you say quietly after a while, facing Himeko’s figure in the camera.

“I know, sweetheart. Nothing’s easy about what you’re going through right now, but it’s not the end of everything. I’m here to help you through it and you have your friends that are there for you too, just don’t isolate yourself while we figure out a path forward, okay?”

“What if she contacts me  again?”

“Then you tell me immediately.”

“What, you’ll come to beat her up?”

Himeko laughs softly. “I don’t resort to violence without at least a conversation first, but….”

Her long pause brings a white toothed smile to your face and Himeko’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight. 

After assuring you that she’ll text you in the evening, Himeko hangs up the call. You run a hand over your face, chest heavy. You’ll donate the necklace once you feel less like a wet rag that’s been wrung until no moisture is left. Someone will probably be happy to stumble upon a find like this one, and if Kafka’s ill intentioned gesture can bring happiness to one person then perhaps that cancels everything out. 

The next afternoon, you find yourself in a clothing store that resembles the one you first met Kafka in months ago, browsing the racks for whatever catches your eye. Shopping for clothes relaxes you; feeling the different fabrics and textures under your fingertips, finding a piece that resonates with you, admiring the craftsmanship and creation process of the items on display are all things that take your mind off the mundanity of your life. You’re not that well-versed in fashion, not really, even if it interests you. You’re approached by one of the store’s consultants and it’s as you politely decline her help that you realize that this is something you could do. You could take classes about a subject that actually matters to you and work in that domain afterwards— maybe you’ll learn how to make your own clothes and sharpen your personal style. The idea makes you smile among elegant blouses. You can deal with your parents’ expectations of you if it means you won’t spend another day in an office researching mechanical components for projects you don’t care about. 

You pass by your local thrift store to donate the necklace, but they won’t accept it. The employee’s eyes widens after one look and drags her manager to the front, who in turn adamantly refuses to take such a precious item from you. They wouldn’t know how to price it and its value is a few zeros too many to belong in a thrift store. You leave the place a little dejected, you don’t want to make any money out of it or it’ll feel like Kafka did you a favor in the end. You look at the box in your hands for a minute, then make up your mind. You’ll pawn it and give the money from it to the families who lost their loved ones during the incident last week. It won’t bring them back, it might not alleviate their families’ grief at all, but at least they’ll be set for years in the future and that’s something, right? That’s one thing Kafka would have (indirectly) done to make amends. 

You decide to pawn the necklace after doing a bit more research about it to make sure you don’t get ripped off. You put it back in your bag for the time being and make your way back to your home, shopping bags around both of your wrists. By car, it takes less than half an hour to reach your apartment building. You carefully park in the designated spot and struggle to carry all of your bags to the elevator. Maybe splurging on clothes wasn’t the best financial decision when you plan to return to school and are currently unemployed. You repeat the phrase “I deserve it” like a mantra all the way to your floor. Standing in front of your door, you’ve almost completely deluded yourself that you do, indeed, deserve five new pairs of pants, nine pretty tops and two jackets you’ll wear at most three times in the next year. You’re not too sure about the pairs of shoes you bought afterwards… 

You free one hand to turn the key into the hole and push the door open. Picking the shopping bags back up, you step into your apartment with a sigh, wondering how you’ll begin to start this new chapter of your life. The door hasn’t fully closed behind you that you freeze where you stand, assaulted by the various colors and fragrances of flowers resting on every surface of your home, some in bouquets twice as big as the other ones and all of them transforming your apartment into a disorganized greenhouse. Your mouth opens, bewildered. You can’t count the different kinds of flowers that are there, you only recognize a handful of them. You’re so shocked by the sight that you don’t notice the figure stepping out of your kitchen until she speaks and a sharp scream of surprise flies from your lips.

“Hey– It’s just me,” Kafka lifts her gloved hands in a gesture she means peaceful.

Stupefied, the bags in your hands fall to the ground with a soft thud. Your heart races widely in your chest and you cover your mouth with a palm, eyes closing with the next shaky exhale that you let out. It takes you a minute to slow the drumming of your heart enough to utter words that aren’t strained. 

“How did you get in here?”

“You didn’t change the locks. Seriously, it’s like you wanted me to show up again.” Her joke lands flat and her smile falters an inch at your glare. “Not in the mood for jokes, alright.”

She walks to the couch and picks up an item your eyes previously skimmed over. It’s an intricate hexagonal vase with a soft brown tint, clearly meticulously made. The glass looks very fragile judging by the way she carries it and outstretches her hands towards you, presenting it to you like a gift. 

“For the flowers you want to keep,” she says. 

You’re going to break it over her head. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

After the tense morning, you don't speak to Walter again that day. Or the next. When he arrives, he stays outside with his thermos of coffee and waits for Timothy. At the end of the day, he gives your brother an excuse about chores at home. Maybe not an excuse. He has been spending a lot of time around here.

Nearly a week after it happened, after everything changed, your mother appears in the kitchen with a crease in her forehead. You offer her a cup off coffee as she rubs her eyes. She yawns and and shakes her head.

“We'll grab a cup at the hospital,” she says, “you're father has a check-up. Timmy's taking us.”

“Oh?” You pour yourself a mug and lean on the counter, “I forgot.”

“Lots going on,” she sighs, “can't blame you for being distracted.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” you shrug.

“I called Walter, left a message,” she checks the clock hung above the door, “wouldn't be too bad if he did swing by, huh?”

“Hopefully he doesn't waste the time,” you grumble.

“Honey,” she chides playfully, “you know, I think your dad would approve… if he could. He always liked Walter.”

“Mom,” you frown, “please, I have enough to worry about.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she whines, “I'm just… looking for a little sunshine through the clouds.”

You wince, a pang of guilt between your ribs, “I'm sorry, mom, I just… Walter's nice. He helps so much and I think… I think maybe it's too much.”

“Don't I know it.  He is so generous. I gave him some money and I found the envelope in my purse,” she tuts, “you could do much worse. He… he could take care of you.”

You exhale, “mom.”

“Just listen,” her tone turns dire and her eyes gleam, “your pa can't. He's not gonna be able to ever again. I already know what the doc's gonna day and you shouldn't fool yourself. Walter won't help forever, not for no good reason. And next year, your pa won't be back on his tractor…” she sniffles and dabs her nose, “those days are behind us.”

“Ma, you don't know–”

“I do,” she utters solemnly, “I see the man I married but he's hollow. He's… a shell, honey. He's there but he's not really.”

“Oh, ma–”

“I'm just saying… we need to weigh our options. I'll look into selling if we gotta and Timmy, maybe he can go work with Walt–”

“Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?” You cross an arm around your middle.

“We shoulda been talking about this a week ago,” she shakes her head.

“Well, I can apply at the grocer or–”

“You do that,” she says, “but you think real hard. You got options,” she steps closer and cups your cheeks, “you're a pretty young thing. That doesn't last forever.”

You don't say a word as her greyness seeps into you. She draws away and you bow your head. You wait for her to go as you stare into the black depths of the coffee. You take a sip to try to chase away the ice in your veins but it only sends a shiver through you.

🌾

Your parents go off with Timmy in the truck. You set to sweeping the porch to keep yourself busy. Your mother's words ring in your ears. She can't be serious, there's more out there than the farm. Pa always said as much and you don't think he meant Walter.

As you get to the steps, the distant rumble of an engine rolls over the ground. You turn as gravel grits under treads and Walter's large truck lazily rocks along the bumpy road. You still the straw broom and grip the handle as he pulls up. Did he not get your mother's message?

He lingers in the truck as you squint against the sunlight. His door pops open and he jumps down, sending up a cloud of dust. He goes around the bed of the truck and opens the back.

He slides out a sheet of wood and drags it towards you. You watch in confusion as he stops and leans it against the side of the porch. His eyes meet yours and his brows furrow.

“Morning,” he checks his watch, “barely.”

“Morning, Mr. Marshall,” you eke out.”

His eyes flash and he nods. He turns and marches back to the truck, pulling out several planks before carrying them over. You watch him as you lean on the broom.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

He stops and looks up at you. He points to your feet and flicks his finger up, “building a ramp. For your dad.”

You look down at your slips flecked in dirt and stray strands of straw, “oh? Didn't ma call–”

“She didn't ask,” he says bluntly. 

Your lips slant and you tilt your head, “that's real nice.”

“Yeah well, I'm a nice guy,” he huffs and spins on the heel of his boots, stomping away once more.

He goes back to the truck and retrieves his toolbox. His agitation roils off his tense shoulders and the stone set in his jaw. You're too afraid to ask but you do need to. He has been avoiding you.

“Well, I'll stay out of your way,” you lift the broom and back up the stairs. “If you need anything–”

“Not in the way,” he says curtly as he takes out a measuring tape.

“Oh, I know but I wouldn't wanna bother–”

“I don't mind,” he shrugs as he steps onto the stairs and measures the angle over them.

“Right, of course, do you need anything? A glass of water or–”

“Seems like I'm the one bothering,” he stands and lets the tape retract harshly.

“No?” You bat your lashes at him, “I didn't say that, Mr.--”

“Walt,” he growls, “you know what I like best in a woman. Honesty. So why don't you be honest and tell me what you really feel?”

“I…” you gulp, “Walter, er, Walt, I… I'm just… confused.”

“Don't act like a child. We both know you're not,” he crosses his arms over his broad chest. You've seen him angry before but it's never been aimed at you. 

“I… I don't know what to say. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry. Okay,” he shakes his head and unfolds his arms, going back to measuring, “I'm open to talking when you wanna be an adult.”

You flinch as you watch him. He grits his teeth, ignoring your presence as he focuses on his work. You turn, hiding the hurt deep in your chest. You never meant to hurt him but you really don't know. As much as you try to wade through your feelings, you only feel as if you're drowning in them.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm sick and tired of people writing posts about how if you don't always support your "crisis friend," then you're a horrible piece of shit who sucks the dick of capitalism and only thinks through hyper-individualism. I'm fully convinced that these people never had to deal with a "crisis friend," and they're either surrounded by (mostly) mentally healthy people or they are the crisis friend and don't realize it.

A crisis friend sucks the life out of you, will cross all the boundaries you'll set, and then, once you tell them that you're hurt by their behavior, they'll go to other friends and act like you're a big meanie who abused them.

I recently had to close off a relationship with a crisis friend because their objective in life was to drag me down too.

I like an actor? He's surely a rapist. I post a fic and people enjoy it? I shouldn't be happy about it because the fandom is small and those are very few comments and I'm wasting my time. I find the name of an aesthetic I like? I'm not allowed to, because it reminds them of *extremely triggering memory they'll tell me about in detail when the only thing I wanted to talk about was something silly.* I wasn't allowed to discuss my employment situation because theirs is wobbly at best, and if my family gifted me something nice for whatever occasion, I had to keep it to myself because it would upset them.

Crisis friends won't bother remembering your birthday (not even the month, just to have a general idea of when they're supposed to ask you about the specific date), they won't bother remembering what you like, and they won't care about your boundaries.

I have very few "no-nos," in friendships, and one of them is that I don't want to be put anywhere near the word or concept of rape because I was sexually assaulted as a teen and it was so traumatic I had to drop out of college and go through EMDR. My crisis friend never bothered remembering that, gleefully sending me articles of celebrities who got accused of having assaulted someone.

This is not friendship, and you're not sucking capitalism's cock if you don't want to be someone's burnt-out, underpaid, and mistreated therapist, and I don't give a shit about what Wannabe Communist Tumblr Users think about it.

--

One trillion percent they are the crisis friend.

And they do realize it.

That's why they're writing guilt trip posts to try to move Tumblr's general understanding of boundaries and appropriate behavior back in a direction that favors them.

--

Your particular... uh... "friend" sounds more than usually toxic.

The more commonplace version of the crisis friend is a lot better at not sending you triggering stuff and not insulting the fuck out of your interests.

They do still want free therapy all the time and have trouble understanding why that's just not a fair burden to put on their friends and/or they do kind of know but are in too much of a crisis all the time to figure out how to stop.

[sugarsnappeases]

i need to know what u think about jily

hi....... the only way that jily interests me is A) when they try so so hard to make things work for years but ultimately decide they need to go their separate ways or B) when one or both of them dies, like in canon but also esp. when lily kills james and maybe harry too <33

in this essay, i will discuss option A but if you want there is MUCH to discuss for option B........

for me. jily is like. james who is in love with the idealised version of lily that he created when he was like eleven and decided that she was going to be the love of his life and they were going to have their happily ever after forever and ever amen. the lily he loves is one he made up over years of pining and one that ultimately does not exist. lily, similarly, isn't so much in love with james but with what he represents and what that means for her. he's what everyone expects, a good, well-off man who can provide and care for her and who has been loudly declaring his love for her for years. he's something solid and the inevitable next step in her life and their relationship is a kind of wartime whirlwind spurred on by the feeling that maybe they're running out of time (they are) and by the fact that as far as everyone is concerned, they're perfect for each other.

i think a lot about them during those long months in hiding, just them and baby harry and the realisation that maybe they don't actually know each other all that well or have anything to say to each other or all that much in common. they've never really spent a lot of time one-on-one before. i imagine those months as very quiet and very lonely and filled with a lot of revelations about their relationship that they tell themselves they'll deal w when the war is over. obvs in canon that never happens.

in a non-canon context, i think they're both incredibly stubborn, and convinced that they're right for each other and this is the life they want, and, without the isolation that arose from their specific war-time circumstances, it would take them a long time to realise that their marriage is built on the foundation of fundamentally failing to understand and see each other for who they are. and even when they do realise this, it takes a long time for either of them to do anything about it bc, like i said, stubborn, but also. terrified of what it means if the one thing that's always felt certain and inevitable, is falling to pieces around them. they're scared of those uncharted waters, and also a little embarrassed, and also entirely horrified at what's become of them. they're clinging to the broken pieces of the façade that was their relationship.

i think this is also a very internal thing, in terms of like each of them internally, but also mainly in terms of the breakdown of their marriage mostly taking place behind closed doors, in their house, where it's just the two of them (and baby harry) and there's no one to perform in front of. and they argue and they cry and they try to hold things together and eventually they both come to the realisation that they can't do it anymore, no matter how scary and unknown whatever comes next is, and quietly go through the process of a divorce. their relationship begins with bright swirling colours and loud glittering celebration and a kind of manufactured joy and ends with a messy kind of honesty, and closure even if i kinda think they'll never fully understand each other, and horror & guilt & anger & fear about the time wasted and the times to come...... so.........

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 4)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 2.9k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating, caught masturbating, overall mature themes.

slight trigger warning for thoughts of death?? (except Derek isn't really suicidal he's just a drama queen)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

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It's been nearly twelve hours since you accidentally walked in on Derek doing the unspeakable, and you're still kicking yourself for it.

In an attempt to make it up to him, you'd spent the morning making a nice breakfast. Unfortunately, it's almost noon now, and he hasn't left his room.

No way in hell are you going to go knocking on his door. Not after last night. The image of him finishing into his own hand while making eye contact with you is still burned into your brain. Fuck, he ended up covered in cum. And that stupid fucking face he made...

Oh god, think of something else. ANYTHING else.

You turn your attention to the breakfast you'd prepared for the two of you. The cold breakfast. Sighing, you scrape the eggs and bacon into a container for later.

Why did you even open the damn door? Obviously he was jerking off. Horny bastard. Of course, when you'd heard the whimpers and moans coming from his room, you'd assumed he wasn't feeling well.

Which was a valid assumption to make, right?? I mean, he sounded absolutely pitiful, what were you supposed to think? You swore up and down he even called out your name once or twice, but fuck, you didn't want to think about the implications of that.

And so, after knocking and saying his name a few times, you had decided to just go for it. How were you supposed to know he was doing... that??

"It's not my fault." You grumble to yourself, blindly shoving the leftovers into the fridge and trying to shrug it off.

Then again, even if the initial situation wasn't your fault, you still owed him an apology. You'd absolutely been staring. Gawking, even. It probably took a good five seconds before you'd come to your senses and slammed the door, but five seconds was enough for him to... oh god. Stop thinking about it.

You try physically shaking your head to dismiss the perverted images plaguing your mind. It works... sort of. As you make your way up the stairs to his bedroom, your stomach knots with guilt.

Just about anything sounds more appealing than knocking on his door right now. Unfortunately, that's what you're about to do.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's plans for the day only include one thing, really. Rotting in bed and wishing he was dead.

He figures if he locks himself in his room long enough, the three weeks will eventually pass without him having to show his face to you ever again.

Or he'd die first. With the way he felt right now, that would honestly be fine too.

He groans into a pillow, desperate to hear something than the pounding in his head. He's been trembling all morning, a sign he really needed a fix.

The guilt has been eating away at him almost as much as his stupid withdrawals. He replays the scene from last night over in his head for the millionth time, internally screaming at himself for not covering up. Or locking the damn door.

He knows there's nothing he could have done to change what happened. The timing was just too... perfect. Looking at your pretty face while he came was literally a dream come true.

The aftermath, unfortunately, was a nightmare.

There's no way you don't hate him now. Or at least feel completely disgusted. After all, you'd slammed the door and left him.

So this is his fate. Rot in bed until he wastes away. It's all he deserves, really, for being such a fucking pervert.

"Derek? You still alive?"

He nearly falls off the bed in his scramble to make himself look presentable.

"...Yeah." He eventually croaks out, trying to smooth his curls with one hand and pull the blanket over himself with the other.

"Can I come in?"

Derek begrudgingly agrees, sitting up against the headboard in an attempt to look less pathetic.

You slowly swing the door open, looking visibly relieved when he isn't... exposed. Like last time.

Before he can even think about what he's saying, the words roll off his tongue.

"I'm sorry." You both say at the same time.

Wait, that doesn't make sense. What do YOU have to be sorry for? He's the one that fucked up. Derek's brow furrows as you take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I- I mean it." He stutters. "I really didn't... didn't mean for you to see that."

He avoids your gaze, turning away as you place a hand on his leg. Well, on the comforter covering his legs, but close enough.

"I know." You seem equally uncomfortable, silently looking around and examining his bedroom. And it is HIS room, decorated to suit his tastes. Unlike the other guest rooms in the house, which are all decorated in shades of pastels and beach-themed paraphernalia.

He squirms a bit, starting to get self-conscious of his own design choices. The dark wood furniture with gold accents stand out against the emerald green walls. Under usual circumstances, he'd feel proud of the expensive atmosphere. Right now... It all felt gaudy.

"I love all the animal print." You say, eyeing a pelt hanging on the wall above his dresser.

Derek winces. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a bit much.

"I picked out these decorations, like, 5 years ago. Cut me some slack." He grumbles, crossing his arms and giving you a pouty look.

"It looks nice." You smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, your hand trailing further up his covered legs.

"Don't lie."

"..."

"Okay, It looks like you gave a redneck with no prior knowledge of interior design an unlimited budget and a kilo of cocaine, then set him loose and told him to go crazy."

Damn. He'd be pissed at that if you didn't look so... warm. Even with the harsh words, he could tell you were only teasing.

"To be fair, I probably was on cocaine when I picked all this shit out." Derek snorts, gesturing around to the clashing animal prints, gold-rimmed mirrors and paintings, and wood accent pieces.

That little comment seems to make you waver. Shit. Bad joke?

"Not anymore." He tries to assure you, putting his hand on top of yours. You still haven't moved it from his thigh. "I haven't had anything like that since I got here, and it sucks. I feel like shit."

He slumps slightly against the headboard, letting his put-together act fall. Not like it was a very good act, anyways.

"I believe you, just... I feel bad. I'm sorry for last night."

Derek winces as the topic gets turned back to last night's activities. You didn't even have anything to apologize for, as far as he was concerned. He'd let you watch him cum any day. Make a show of it, if that's what you wanted.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it.

Derek struggles to listen as you ramble, instead staring into your pretty eyes and overthinking the way his hand is still on top of yours. You're saying something about how he shouldn't stay in bed all day, how he needs to keep a routine or he'll end up in a slump.

"...so can we just forget about what happened and move on? I don't think I can stand 17 more days of awkwardness." You finish, giving him a pleading look.

Forget about what happened? Derek's heart sinks into his stomach. He doesn't want to forget. Even though he hates himself for it, he loves what happened last night. He'd re-live it over and over again if he could, minus the part where you freak out and slam the door.

"Derek?" You ask again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah. Forget about it, please." His face heats up and he finally takes his hand back from yours, nervously running it through his hair instead. He might not what to forget about what happened, but he sure as hell wanted you to forget about it.

"Done." You give him a relieved smile and hop off his bed. "Alright, I'm gonna wait for you downstairs. Come meet me soon or I'll drag you down myself."

Derek does as asked, going through the motions of his normal morning routine. That didn't go as bad as it could have, all things considered.

At least you don't hate him.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Derek eventually trudges downstairs, you already have lunch heated up for him. Or... breakfast? It doesn't really matter.

He refuses to eat at first. Stubborn man. He says he feels nauseous, but how does he expect to get better with no food in his stomach?

After practically forcing him to eat, you settle down on the couch with him and try to decide on a movie.

"We are not watching another stupid action movie." You grumble, snuggling up in one corner of the couch while Derek takes a seat on the other end.

"Well I'm not watching some cheesy chick flick."

"Then what do you want to watch?"

Derek shrugs.

"Oh my god, Danforth. Just pick. Comedy or Horror?"

"Comedy."

"Okay, Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey?"

He pauses for a bit, furrowing his brow in a way that you might find adorable if he wasn't being so damn difficult.

"Sandler."

"Okay then, we're watching Billy Madison." You turn your attention back to the television and smile to yourself as you search for the movie.

"I don't think I've seen that one." He starts to shift in his seat as the movie starts, looking restless. What's his problem?

"Do you want to...?" You look over at him, trailing off and patting your lap.

He nods, and immediately lies down on his side, cheek against your thigh.

"Thanks." He mumbles, looking more relaxed by the second as he makes himself comfortable on your lap.

"Mhm." You hum, turning your attention back to the movie.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for him to start getting restless again. You pretend not to notice the way he occasionally glances up at you, keeping your gaze fixed on the television.

His hand finds yours, slowly tugging it towards his head. You take the hint and run your fingers through his hair, chuckling at how needy he's being.

"Don't laugh." He groans, leaning his head back slightly and melting into your touch. "It feels nice. And I've been feeling like death."

"You'd better not die on me, Danforth. No one would come to pick me up for another two weeks, and I don't think your corpse would fit in the freezer."

"You could chop me up." He offers, shifting so that he's lying on his back, looking up at you with his head across your thighs.

God, that smug look on his face. Why did the bastard have to be so cute?

"Okay, this is getting morbid. Shut up and watch the movie." You do your best to scold him, but it's hard to keep up the façade while gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, you slap your free hand over his mouth. His eyes widen for a moment, the smug look replaced with... something else.

Muffled noises come from his mouth as he attempts to speak through your hand, but you just laugh and continue petting him.

That is, until you feel his tongue on your hand.

"You're lucky you look so pitiful, Danforth, or I'd push you off the couch." You grumble, wiping your hand off on his shirt as he smirks up at you.

"Pitiful?" He scoffs, shoving your hand away from his chest.

"Yeah, sad and pitiful. You're a mess." You taunt him a bit, but your words are just as soft as the gentle touches you've been giving him.

Derek straightens best he can while lying your lap. "I'm not pitiful." He grumbles. "Stop pitying me."

His little act gets another chuckle out of you.

"It'll be easier if you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those puppy eyes."

Derek's brow furrows, and he frowns up at you while you tug at his curls.

"I have puppy eyes?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek spends the rest of a movie in a blissed-out state on your lap. Physically, his body is a wreck. He feels weak, shaky, and all-around ill.

But emotionally? He's giddy. The way you've been treating him lately... there's no way you don't like him.

Fuck, no, don't jump to conclusions. Just ask. Yeah. Simple.

As the credits roll, Derek finally works up the courage to speak up.

"Why do you put up with me?" He asks, shifting to look up at you while his head rests against your thigh.

You pause mid-way through stroking his hair, and Derek is scared you might be able to hear how fast his heart is beating. He can sure hear it, at least.

"What do you mean, love?" You finally respond, untangling your fingers from his curls and setting your hand aside.

That makes him groan out loud. See? Exactly that sort of thing. Always calling him love. It drives him crazy.

"You're just so damn nice to me." He sighs, tossing his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

"Oh? Should I be mean?"

"Maybe." He lets out an amused huff, but there's a twinge of bitterness in his voice. It isn't really a joke. You're just too nice. He doesn't deserve it.

You seem to pick up on his shift in attitude, because you start running your fingers through his hair again.

"It's my job to take care of you, you know. At least for the next... 17 days or so."

Right. Your job. Derek can't help but sigh. He finally finds someone who seems to be interested in him for reasons that aren't monetary... but only because his mother is literally paying them.

"Oh, don't be like that." You scold him, and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek takes the hint, sitting up. Before he can stew over your words further, he feels you pulling him into an embrace.

The angle is slightly awkward, with his back against your chest and his head resting on your shoulder, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

"Stop... you're gonna make me soft." He grumbles, but makes absolutely no effort to stop your arms from wrapping around him. He melts back into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

From this close, he can smell your perfume. He's caught a whiff of it a few times before, usually when you get up close and personal with him in the kitchen. It's a soft, sweet, floral scent. Extremely different than the expensive, in-your-face scents of most women in his social circle. He's started associating the smell with comfort.

"Maybe that's my plan." You muse, giving him a tight squeeze before finally letting him go.

If only you knew just how well it's working.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Stop! You're getting sand everywhere!" You swat at Derek as he accidentally kicks sand onto the blanket you've spent nearly ten minutes arranging.

"It's a beach, sweetheart. There's gonna be sand." He scoffs, but carefully brushes off his legs before returning them to the large quilt.

After dinner, you'd realized you accidentally let him go an entire day without going outside. So, you'd dragged him out to go stargazing with nothing more than a blanket and a couple of flashlights.

"There's a difference between lying on top of it and being buried in it." You elbow him as he gets just a little bit too close. There's plenty of room for you to both stretch out, why does he have to be so clingy?

"I'm cold." He whines, grabbing at your arm.

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"I didn't think you were serious?! What kind of a beach is cold?"

You roll your eyes at him. It's not even cold, honestly. Just a bit brisk. There's a soft breeze coming from the ocean, smelling slightly of salt.

"Just cover up with the blanket."

"It's covered in sand."

"And who's fault is that?"

"..."

"Please?"

You finally turn to look at him, and you can feel yourself giving in almost immediately. God damn it. There's no way this man didn't know he had puppy eyes. Fuckin' manipulator.

"Fine. C'mere."

Derek scoots closer and you throw an arm around him, letting him rest his head on you.

You both lay like that for a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the soft crashing of the waves.

The moon is full tonight, illuminating the seemingly endless sand and water. There's a forest made of palms and ferns off to the side, and the leaves all ripple in the breeze.

"It's really pretty." Derek finally sighs, eyes still looking skyward.

"I know. You can actually see all the stars out here. In the city it's harder... light pollution or something." You shrug, making his head bob slightly as it rests on your shoulder.

Derek just hums in agreement. Poor thing. He looks exhausted, even though he slept until midday.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me now. Not sure I could carry you back."

"I won't... promise..." He yawns and scoots a little closer, his arm reaching over and wrapping around your waist.

You should probably push him off, but damnit... he just looks so peaceful.

You rest your free arm on his, keeping him glued to you. It feels nice, all of it. His warmth, the cool breeze, the sound of the ocean, the twinkling stars... fuck. He's really growing on you.

Derek doesn't keep his promise, falling asleep in minutes.

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Author's note: This chapter took FOREVER!! There were just so many different directions I could have taken the story from the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed the one I ended up with!! It was mostly fluff, I know... but Derek is just so cute. I can't help it.

Thanks so much for being patient, and for all the kind comments & asks!!! Feel free to send in literally anything, I don't get many messages in my inbox.

Part 5

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Jasey Rae

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: pure angst, nothing about this is fluffy

Lights out

I still hear the rain

These images have filled my head

Now keep my fingers from making mistakes

Tell my voice what it takes to speak up, speak up

And keep my conscious clean when I wake

Your relationship with Mattheo had almost always been kinda rocky. You had amazing days, and you had some pretty bad days. There were a lot of nasty fights, lots of yelling and name calling and insults. It wasn’t pretty. And each time Mattheo felt insanely guilty about it. He hated hurting you, he hated fighting with you. Especially when he knew he was the main cause of all the fights. 

And he’d eventually go back to you and apologize, and you could see the guilt on his face.

Don't make this easy

I want you to mean it, Jasey

(Say you mean it)

You're dressed to kill

I'm calling you out

(Don't waste your time on me)

He doesn’t want you to just accept his apology, though. He didn’t want you just to lie there and take all of his words like a kid getting scolded. He didn’t want you to just say “it’s okay.” after his apologies and hug him. Well, he did. But, his heart hurt every time you would just accept what happened and accept the apology and go back to normal.

Now there's an aching in my back

A sudden pain that says I lack

The common sense and confidence

To bring her hands to promises

That I'm making time for desperate conversation

Holding my knife could be better than this in the end

(Just say when)

He knew he was no good for you. He knew he caused too many arguments, he hurt you too much, he made you cry too much, he made you way too mad too much. Too much of it all. He felt like he hurt you more than he made you laugh or smile. He knew he should end it. He knew you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to give up on you and him. You held onto the good times too much. You held onto the small moments where everything felt perfect.

Don't make this easy

I want you to mean it, Jasey

(Say you mean it)

You're dressed to kill

I'm calling you out

(Don't waste your time on me)

He wanted you to yell and cry and curse him out, anything but accept his apology and forget the fight. He wanted you to be pissed and call him out for every little thing, tell him he’s being an asshole, tell him you deserve better. He hated hurting you and you just accepting it. He hated it, he hated the guilt and shame that came with it. He hated how his heart broke every time he had to comfort you because of his own stupid mistakes that hurt you. Why couldn’t you just call him out and end it with him?

I've never told a lie, and that makes me a liar

I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire

I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire

But recently the flames are getting out of control

There’s times he forgets the guilt of hurting you. Like he forgets everything he did and just focuses on the moment with you when you are having a good time together. Like the beginning of your relationship where he would innocently flirt with you, not really expecting anything out of it. But you two just clicked. You had so much in common and he made you laugh and smile super easily and you would do the same for him. It all felt perfect for a little bit. Before the fights.

Call me a name, kill me with words

Forget about me, it's what I deserve

I was your chance to get out of this town

But I ditched the car and left you to

Wait outside

I hope the air will serve to remind you

That my heart is as cold as the clouds of your breath

And my words are as timed as the beating in my chest

He needed you to actually acknowledge how bad he was for you. He needed you to get pissed at him and leave him for good. He did it when you were laying in your bed, talking about the future and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he could never be in your future.

So he blew up like normal. He started an argument, telling you he didn’t want to be in your future, he didn’t love you, he didn’t want to get married and settle down. Not with you. Of course, you were angry and yelled back. In his rage, he ripped up a picture you had of the two of you and tossed the pieces onto the bed and stormed out. The guilt kept eating at him, but he was hoping you got the picture of how horrible he was for you. He hoped you wouldn’t come back for him. He hoped you would get mad and yell and curse at him the next time you saw him, if you ever did see him again.

He could take the rage from you. But he couldn’t take the guilt of hurting you anymore.

Taglist:

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Let me know if you wanna be added!

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the prologue of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

Happy reading!

Summary : We are just after Feyre became Fae and was able to get out from under the mountain. She tries to forget what happened by trying to live happily with Tamlin. Their wedding is also in preparation. Tamlin's spies let him know that Hybern possessed the cauldron and wanted to destroy the wall and that Rhysand was looking for the Book of Breathings to nullify the Cauldron's power. When Feyre learned it, she asked Tamlin and Rhysand to form an alliance. Then, they all find themselves heading to the Archerons' manor to organize a meeting with the human queens.

But Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel would never have thought to meet their mate in Archerons' manor and to share her with their brothers.

Luxiana is Feyre's best friend. She taught her everything, including how to hunt and survive. Luxiana has a complicated past. She seems fragile at first glance but is in fact extremely badass. She live in the Archerons' home.

Number of words : 1 345

Prologue

Luxiana would have done anything for Feyre. She reminded her of what she was like as a child. How fragile she'd been and how much she'd needed help. Someone had helped Luxiana and saved her, but no one had been there for Feyre. So Luxiana had taken on that role. Feyre was only nine and Luxiana was thirteen, but they had become best friends. 

Feyre thought of Luxiana as her big sister, as the one Nesta doesn’t want to be, as the one Elain should be. Luxiana had taught Feyre everything. She had taught her to hunt, to cook, to fish, to make money, to save, to hold on. She'd taught her absolutely everything, without ever asking for anything in return. Sometimes, causing herself troubles, she even gave Feyre all her money so that she and her family could live a little longer. If Feyre had achieved everything she had done, it was thanks to her best friend. 

She knew that Luxiana would do anything for her. In fact, she had crossed the wall to rescue her after Tamlin had kidnapped her. When Luxiana had arrived at the high lord's house, she had expected to find her best friend tortured and bloodied, but Feyre had never looked so alive. She assured Luxiana that she had to pay her debt for killing a fae and that she needed to stay with Tamlin. She had even sworn that she wasn't unhappy. So Luxiana believed her and left her there. She regretted it at the moment Feyre returned home, saddened by the fact that Tamlin had sent her away. 

Feyre loved this high lord, or so she thought. When Feyre had left to find him, she had made Luxiana promise not to come looking for her and to live happily ever after. 

Feyre had thanked her for all the things she had taught her and all she had done for her. For the coins Luxiana gave her to please herself and her sisters. For the hours she'd wasted trying to teach a ten-year-old girl to hunt and butcher beasts. For the bow and arrows she'd given her, including the one she'd used to kill the wolf fae. Without Luxiana, Feyre would never have met Tamlin.

Luxiana had cried a lot. She had accompanied Feyre to the wall that day but hadn't stopped sobbing all the way. Not only because she knew she'd probably never see Feyre again, but also out of guilt. Because without Luxiana, Feyre would never have met Tamlin. Without what she'd learned from her, she wouldn't want to leave her family for a fae and a world full of danger. Luxiana had cried because she knew she would no longer be able to protect the one she considered as her little sister. 

“I'll take care of your family for you,” Luxiana had promised as she gave Feyre one last hug, knowing fullyl well that this was the only thing her best friend was worried about.

Feyre had laughed, relieved. She couldn't ask this of anyone, not like her mother had, and especially not of a girl who had already sacrificed so much for her, but she knew that Luxiana would take care of her sisters for her, no matter what she said.

Feyre had thanked Luxiana and then she had crossed the wall towards a high lord and a life she knew nothing about. 

Luxiana had stayed, waiting in the bitter winter cold. Fighting vehemently against the irrational urge to grab Feyre by the scruff of the neck and lock her away somewhere safe. She was even ready to go and live with her, to make sure she was happy. 

But in the end, she had turned back, reassuring herself as best she could with the idea that Tamlin, the high lord, would take care of her just as he seemed to have done during those few weeks and just as he had done with Feyre’s family. She hated this fae because he had stolen her best friend, but she liked him for the caring man he seemed to be with her. 

Luxiana also hated Elain and Nesta. She hated them for all the things they should have done for Feyre and their family but chose not to. Luxiana understood that everyone reacted differently to their own unfortunate experiences, but she couldn't help feeling irritated by the two older sisters. But when Feyre left, she began to spend more time with them. She began to understand them. She needed to know them and to be close to them to protect them if needed. 

The Archeron sisters had even offered Luxiana the chance to move into the family home, given the constant presence of their sister's best friend nearby. So, against all odds, Nesta, Elain and Luxiana ended up becoming friends, living in the same house. 

But no friendship could replace the void Feyre's absence had created in Luxiana's heart. Not even Josher, her best friend. And the increasingly difficult missions Kaden entrusted her with didn't keep her busy long enough to keep her sadness at bay, only replacing it with exhaustion. 

After all the horrible things that happened to Luxiana, she finally had found a family in Josher, Kaden and Feyre. She could see herself finishing the rest of her life with them by her side. So when Feyre left, it was as if a part of her heart had been ripped out. The hardest thing was not knowing what had become of her best friend. If she was happy and healthy. 

But Feyre hadn't been. Feyre had been trapped under the mountain for three months and had even died there. She had suffered and almost regretted not bringing her best friend with her and forbidding her to come. She was convinced that Luxiana would have got her out of there with a few genius ideas, and the only thing that kept Feyre from fully regretting that decision was the knowledge that Luxiana was safe and happy away from everything she was going through. 

Fortunately, Feyre had received help from certain people, including Rhysand, the high lord of the night court. She hated him, but Rhysand had saved her life against Amarantha. Feyre knew he'd only done it because it was in his interest to kill Amarantha, but he'd nursed her back to health and helped her through her trials. Feyre lived in constant fear that Rhysant would come to claim his due. 

“A favor.” He had asked her in exchange for his help. “One day I'll come and ask you to do something and you'll have to do it without question.” Feyre was dying, so she'd agreed. 

Rhysand, for his part, had only asked for this because he didn't want anything from Feyre. He simply wanted her to think he was helping her in exchange for something, not because he knew Feyre could put an end to Amarantha's curse and, consequently, to his nightmare. He certainly didn't want to show his weaknesses or entrust his hopes to the wrong people, least of all to the girlfriend of his sworn enemy: Tamlin. 

That said, and Rhysand didn't know why, Feyre looked familiar to him. As if he'd seen her in a dream. He felt an irritating need to protect the human as if she were someone who meant a lot to someone he cared about. As if Feyre were some kind of sister or best friend. 

But Feyre was Luxiana's best friend. She missed her sisters, but she missed Luxiana the most. So when Tamlin learned that Hybern was planning to destroy the wall to attack the humans, and when Feyre found out, she wanted to defend her family and her best friend more than anything. 

Feyre had asked Tamlin and Rysand to put their grudges aside to save the humans. To become allies in battle. Having the same common enemy, they agreed. Rhysand needed Feyre and a place to contact the human queens, and Tamlin wanted to please Feyre.  

So Tamlin, Feyre, Lucien, Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel went to the Archerons with moderate animosity.

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Little Lion Man (Mumford and Sons)

Weep for yourself, my man/You’ll never be what is in your heart/Weep, little lion man/You’re not as brave as you were at the start/Rate yourself and rake yourself/Take all the courage you have left/And waste it on fixing all the problems/That you made in your own head

“It’s the anger. The whole like... well at least to me, it reads like self hatred? The entire “you’ll never be what is in your heart” hits a lot harder, especially with characters who have aspirations they feel they cant reach. With my own blorbo (dazai bsd) i feel like it speaks about how he feels he’ll never have a reason to live, and that he doesn’t see himself as a “good person” like the rest of his colleagues. And coupled with his past actions and his current ones i think the whole “you really fucked it up this time” fits him well. From a personal standpoint this song fucks me up as a trans person, especially as one with a family that doesn’t accept me.”

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (Les Miserables)

Phantom faces at the window/Phantom shadows on the floor/Empty chairs at empty tables/Where my friends will meet no more/Oh my friends, my friends/Don't ask me what your sacrifice was for/Empty chairs at empty tables/Where my friends will sing no more

There's a grief that can't be spoken/There's a pain goes on and on/Empty chairs at empty tables/Now my friends are dead and gone

"In a musical about sad thing after sad thing, this one hits the hardest. I once saw a production of it in Budapest where the stage of the song before it had women in big white dresses literally turning around and around and then disappearing to leave the actor playing Marius alone on the stage and it was just so jarring and heartbreaking"

"This musical never fails to make me cry. Les Mis was the first musical that made me so passionate about the medium, and it still is my favorite. The story is heartbreaking, and it really fucks you up (especially if you're attached to the characters). About the song, at this moment (spoiler alert, I guess?) the revolution just failed (the people didn't come to support the movement, they were fighting alone), and everyone that participated pretty much died. Marius only survived because Jean Valjean saved him, and he finds out afterwards that ALL of his friends were murdered by the french police and that he's the only one left alive. He's drowning in survivor's guilt and on the memories of his dead friends, and is singing in the room they used to have their meetings when they were planning the rebellion. It fucks you up because you spent part of the musical getting attached to all of the Les Mis and you want them to succeed with the barricade, so this really rubs their deaths in your face (and you see Marius getting really fucked up over it)."

"Dude is singing about how his friends all died. If someone says they watched a production of Les Mis and didn't cry at this song they are lying"

Poll runner: I saw Les Mis live a while or so ago and holy fuck... it is the ultimate fuck-you-up musical. This song is especially devastating. It's all about survivor's guilt and the price we pay for a chance at revolution. The way they staged it fucking RUINED me, they had Marius surrounded by all the dead characters, all holding candles, and they slowly raised their candles like glasses, before blowing them out until only Marius was left onstage, candle raised to the sky. It was a picture perfect moment. Anyway, this song is absolutely devastating.

[nothorses]

Well that was a lot of really creative ways to avoid saying donate to a Palestinian.

Hey, I understand the hurt and the panic you're feeling, and I'm worried about Palestinians too. I'm hurting too, and I'm worried too.

This ask sucked to receive. It hurt a little to feel like the effort I have been putting in to promote Palestinian fundraisers, particularly to double check that what I promote is vetted by someone trustworthy so that people do not lose more faith in the validity of these donation efforts on my account. More than that, though, this ask made me feel angry and isolated.

The post you're referring to is a post about local community support networks, and what I said on it was just a list of small things people can do to build local community connections, starting from 0. It's for people who don't think they have friends and don't know how to make them, or who don't know how they can translate friendship into material support and action that benefits the whole.

This ask made me feel frustrated that you don't understand that point, or the importance of it. Or maybe you do, and you weren't willing to see or engage with that point because of other feelings you were having. Maybe you chose to direct those feelings at me because you needed an outlet for them, and you weren't thinking about the impact your actions would have on someone else.

Donating to Palestinians is also good, important work. I have fundraisers in my pinned post for that reason. I haven't had time or energy to go through the asks I've received to verify, promote, and add them to that list in a while, and I feel bad about that! And it's weird to me that you think I'd avoid advocating for that after all the energy I've put into doing exactly not that.

And like, again, I feel bad that I haven't done more. Part of that is because my expectations for myself are too high, and I am a person who tends to feel guilty over stuff that I shouldn't feel guilty for. Part of that is because I really could be doing better. I just haven't figured out how to do that in a sustainable way yet; which also means getting over the guilt so I can redirect that energy into productivity.

I wanted to respond to this ask with the frustration and irritation I was feeling when I first read it. I'm choosing not to because, when I started drafting that response in my head, I realized that telling you off for guilt-tripping me in this hostile, unproductive way would be hypocritical.

Community connection is more important than ever right now. We need each other. We need patience, forgiveness, grace, and connection. We need to be vulnerable with one another, even and especially when it's hard. When it hurts.

I would have preferred you ask me why I didn't add a suggestion to donate to Palestinians in my response. Better yet, that you add it yourself! I would have been happy to reblog that addition, and receiving that as a reminder, or as building on what I said, would have felt encouraging. It would have made me feel more connected to you, more hopeful, and more excited to do this work. It would have made me excited to dig into my ask box and promote more Palestinian fundraisers, in solidarity with them as well as with you.

I understand why you didn't do that; it hurts right now. It's hard to make the choice to embody critical hope in the face of so much pain. I don't blame you for the guilt I feel, and I know I can't let that discourage me from doing work to help other people either.

I also know you're less likely to hear any of this than the uninvolved people who'll see it without feeling any defensiveness over this critique of your choices, and like, that's fine too. But I don't think I'm wasting my breath either way; I want to set an example in my community, promote connection, and promote the healing and growth that will allow us to do the hard work we need to do in the coming years. We're entering a fight, and we need to do it together, with grace for each other and the vulnerability that will allow us to connect and heal. We need to practice the future we're fighting for, and we have to start now.

[michaela-o]

Hello guys.❤️

I just wanted to update you on why i'm not really active anywhere, discord, tumblr nowhere, is because i'm going through a very hard and toxic break-up right now..

WARNING: Toxicity, Attempt of se**al a**ult, gaslighting ( if you feel uncomfortable reading about this please don't read )

Sadly, to realize all of this toxicity, took me 2 years because i was too blinded by love and the desire to feel loved, apreciated and i was blinded by trying so hard to see the best in that one person...

Only NOW i realized what everything i let him do to me without me even knowing about it...i was letting him get control over me, i was letting him guilt trip me, i was letting him gaslight me, i was letting him make me feel like my body wasn't even mine, i was letting him make me believe that having emotions is bad, i fucking letting him make me believe that everything THIS was okay..that i deserve to be treated that way...that i deserve to be left alone when i cry too much..

He would always get upset if i told him i was going out with friends through the weekend when i came back from the dorms, he would get upset and leave to go home if i cried for a little longer than he liked, he would get upset when i told him that i would like to change stuff in our releationship, he really had no friends ( which i felt bad for but was not my problem but i was willing to help him out ) to go out with and when i told him i'd like to go for a walk when was pretty outside he'd say he thought we would be together and not wasting time outside..

Even after all this HE told ME that I'M the toxic one..that when i expressed what i think is wrong, when i told him what bothered me about him, he said that i was using my emotions to controll him..

But now i will set my foot down and i will no longer tolerate ANY of this and i will stand on my spot. I told him that if his behaviour continued things won't be looking okay with our releationship. He started to cry and tell me that i'm scaring him, that i know where his weak spots are, that this isn't me, asking me if he's really that bad to deserve those words..he tried to force me to take it back..that we would stay together forever..(god that fucking stings..)

But not anymore..

BIG thank you goes to my dear roommates at dorms and friends Lea, Silvia, Emma, Adrian and another Lea. These are people that have stayed by my side the WHOLE time even if i cried a bit too much. Even when i talked a lot. I owe them so so much. These people have helped me to finally open my eyes and to finally see my own worth...i'm very hurting right now because i really loved him and i know he loved me aswell but he was NOT self aware and was not going to admit and acknowledge his mistakes..and saying sorry for only the sake of peace? And then doing it again?.. it is not my responsibility to explain that to him..i think i was doing that for long enough..

Thank you if you made it all the way down here❤️ and lissening to my story. I apologize for the inactivity but i'm feeling very stressed, scared and lost right now..he wants to meet eith me today but i just don't want to..i need time..this wound is very fresh and bloody and i think it's going to be healing for a long time..

Thank you again❤️

- Michaela-o

(P.S. sorry for the tags)

[ltghosty]

If only you would have trusted me (Simon "Ghost" Riley ﾒ Female "Cobra" Sergeant)

A/N: MW 3 broke me, don't talk to me

Summary: Makarov blackmailed you into joining his army and Task Force 141 thinks you betrayed them without hesitation. Once Ghost and Soap find Milena and you, Ghost finally confronts you about letting him down.

Warnings: curse, angst, guilt, fight, betrayal,

Wordcount: 4.7k

”I thought I was someone whom you could trust because you can be sure as hell that I still trust you with my life. Whether you like it or not."

You knew this moment was coming once Laswell had let you know that Makarov escaped the gulag and was on the move.

You didn’t want it to happen but your job wasn’t famous for making guarantees. Especially with crazy terrorists who wouldn’t stop until the world fell to its knees in front of them.

And Makarov was just like that.

Ruthless, smart, cruel and unpredictable.

While running from location to location, you started to feel getting lost. There were too many dead ends while Makarov was playing with Task Force 141 as he’d wished.

Ghost noticed how much you’d changed since Makarov broke out and wasted no time in getting his hands dirty.

You’d heard stories of him before Price and Soap managed to capture him once 4 years ago which ended in agony and cost a lot of innocent lives. You’d dealt with all kinds of criminals who wanted to build their throne out of corpses but Makarov was by far the worst and most dangerous one.

 With each mission you’d went to with the others, the less your voice could be heard. You were silent and kept checking every corner while wondering how could you finally make a step forward.

There were times when you were seated with Ghost and his favorite sniper to watch the others’ back, and while laying on the ground for hours, the lieutenant tried to get you to talk but you weren’t too bulged.

You hadn’t noticed because you were too focused on your task but Ghost always kept an eye on you when you were in his sight. He’d seen this kind of dedication before, so he understood where your change of heart had come from but he didn’t want you to completely forget who you truly were before.

He’d hated to admit but he would have done anything to bring you back to the surface. It’s been too long since he had heard your laugh or seen your beautiful smile. Hell, he even started to miss those moments when you’d happily join Soap and push his buttons while making fun of Brits.

Ghost couldn’t stand your silence, he liked listening to your voice even while you were only making small chats with him through the coms.

What Ghost had never expected – or anyone else for that matter – was you suddenly disappearing without a word and hearing from a source that you’ve been seen on Makarov’s side.

At first, he was confused and kept denying it but when Price told him that it wasn’t some sort of plan for you to get involved with the Russians, Ghost felt like someone punched him in the chest.

You’d left willingly without a word, and the next thing he knew, you were working under the hands of the enemy.

He was overwhelmed with your betrayal, he was sad, furious, and desperate to find an explanation for your treachery.

What Ghost and the others didn’t know was that Makarov had his eye on you since he escaped from the gulag. Firmly, because you knew Milena from before, and she knew that you were an unstoppable sergeant.

Makarov wanted to break Task Force 141 from the inside before he would grab a gun to put a bullet into everyone’s head, so he ordered his men to do their research on you.

It didn’t take them too long to find your family, even though you tried your best over the years to make it seem like you didn’t have them. You’d never once talked to anyone about your sister and mother who always waited for you to go home, who were always worried about you whenever you departed and had been gone for months while fighting terrorists.

For the first time in your life you didn’t know what to do, you wanted to tell Price and the others that Makarov had captured your family and gave you no choice but the Russian’s intentions were crystal clear. If you’d told anyone about this, he’d kill your family and would blame it all on Task Force 141.

You even thought about telling Ghost that Makarov had found you and backed you in the corner but you knew if the lieutenant would have found out about any of this, he’d never let you go.

Ever since you joined Makarov, the guilt has been eating you from inside, especially whenever your friends’ name was thrown around as Makarov was planning his next move.

Makarov has been calling you ’Rynda’ ever since you gave yourself up to him which you absolutely despised. Since you were his only living connection to Task Force 141, he’d given you the task of always letting him know what the special forces’s next move might be.

”Like the bell ringing when danger is around the corner,” Makarov had said back then with a wicked smile on his lips. ”I don’t want you to disappoint me, Rynda.”

”I won’t.”

Your words might have caused satisfaction in the man but your tongue was burning with the forced promise you’d had to make to him. Your skin was crawling each time he touched you and his voice crept through your ears like venom.

You hated being Milena’s present. Makarov didn’t want any women on the battlefield but he admired your strength and skills, so he ordered you to always stick to Milena and watch her back. Without his financial support, he would have had some problems getting into this whole capture-or-kill scenario.

Milena always made a sound of her whines about how she hated that you were practically babysitting her. Don’t worry, I hate it too, you’d thought.

Whenever you were alone you missed the guys, missed Price being a father figure to you, missed Gaz making fun of your looks after a horribly executed plan, missed Soap teaching you Scottish, and missed Ghost for… for being himself and keeping you under his wing.

”I admire your dedication, really,” Milena called from the other side of the room.

”Do you?”

Milena glanced up from her papers and searched your face.

”Yes, I’m surprised you betrayed your people right away and did everything Vladimir ordered you to.”

”He didn’t give me much of a choice, did he?” you asked and crossed your arms. You hated that she was able to think that you betrayed your second family easily while in reality, it was wearing you down in every way possible.

You were sure you’d never be able to look into their eyes if you saw them again.

”He knows how to win people over.”

You cleared your throat and narrowed your eyes.

”Or to force them to do something that would benefit him.”

Milena was one delusional woman, you were sure of that. You hated how spineless she was and how easily she could get under your skin within seconds.

If Makarov wasn’t so intimidating then you would have already punched her whenever she said a bad word to you. You would have enjoyed it for sure.

Gunshots and shouting emerged from the other side of the building which made you tense right away.

”What the hell?” Milena asked as she stood up and walked to the wall where the security cameras were shown.

You took a few steps, examining the figures that appeared, and felt the color drain from your face.

You wished you would have mistook them for someone else but after serving with them for years, there was no way you wouldn’t recognize them.

It was Soap and Ghost.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, and your stomach turned when you saw Soap getting closer and closer to the door that stood behind you.

With trembling hands, you grabbed your gun and spun on your heel just when the Scots opened the door.

”Special forces, show your hands!”

Raising your guns at the same time, you faced your best friend whose eyes softened the second they found you.

”Cobra…”

It’s been so long since anyone called you that, you almost dropped your gun.

Then you forced yourself to remember your family whose life was on you and how you act now, so you tightened your grip on the cold metal.

”I’d advise you to turn around and leave, Soap.”

Soap lowered his gun while his face dropped in sadness. Your voice was cold and distant, something you’d never used toward him before. You’d only given this treatment to your enemies.

”That’s not going to happen, you know it.”

”I’ll shoot you,” you said, trying to hide your nervousness as he kept your stare.

”You won’t.”

Gritting your teeth, you took a step forward, keeping the gun at him as Milena looked at you in fury.

”What are you waiting for? Shoot him for fuck’s sake!”

No matter how hard you tried, your finger couldn’t touch the trigger. Your heart didn’t let that happen.

Memories flooded and invaded your mind as you looked at John MacTavish who was your favorite partner in crime. Moments of him making you laugh and calming you down after losing a battle made your hands shake in defeat.

You didn’t want to do any of this but you had no choice.

When Soap realized you were not going to shoot him, he let out a small sigh, grabbed one of the chairs, and pushed it forward, his eyes finding Milena.

”Sit.”

You didn’t want to admit but you missed the way Soap could talk coldly to those who were on the other side.

”Fuck you.” Milena spat in hatred.

Soap kept his gaze and gun firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

”Sit down, Milena.”

Milena gave you a deadly glare before dropping her hands and taking a seat. You couldn’t say a word, it seemed like your voice ceased to exist.

”Where is your boss?” Soap asked sharply.

”I don’t have a boss. No one tells me what to do.” Milena said and you almost scoffed. Only if her words were true.

Soap glared at her for a while before turning around when heavy footsteps broke the silence. You lowered your hands, sweat appearing on your skin as you noticed a familiar tall figure moving in the shadows.

Soap turned around when Ghost walked through the door with a laptop in his hand.

”She’s not talking.”

As Ghost’s familiar dark eyes met yours, he stopped walking and you felt your heart skip a beat. Just like every other time he’d looked at you, you felt exposed and small.

Ghost’s eyes never left you as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes held many emotions, such as surprise, melancholy, and distance.

You hated the way he was looking at you like you were someone else. Like you weren’t someone who was close to him like you weren’t the sergeant who was never afraid to be honest and open with him.

Before you could realize that there was nowhere to run from him, he blinked and walked over to the table.

”She’s about to,” he grunted and put the laptop down on the table, and walked to the other side of the room.

Not wanting to look into his eyes again, you focused on Soap who opened the white laptop and extended his hand to Milena who was sitting still like a rock.

”Give me your hand.”

”Why? Or else you’ll cut it off?” Milena asked.

”Your friend over there knows that it’s true when I say to you that it’s not my style,” Soap said glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. Then tilted his head in Ghost’s direction. ”He might.”

Milena seemed to lose her patience with each second that passed by.

”Why the mask?” she snapped.

You almost rolled your eyes at the question you seemed to hear a million times.

”To hide my face.” Ghost answered with cold eyes.

You were surprised he answered even though it was an obvious and useless response.

You felt Ghost’s eyes finding you again, making your skin burn as you dropped your gaze. You were intimidated by his presence and not because you were afraid of him but because you knew for sure that you hurt his feelings when you left.

You wished you weren’t here to live through this unwanted confrontation. A part of you was happy to see them but your heart was aching by the disappointed and hurtful looks you received from them.

”Cobra.” Ghost called after you as you turned your head away. His voice reached your bones immediately and you hated how much you missed your callsign falling off his lips.

”Don’t call me that,” you said dryly, turning back to him.

Ghost gave you a challenging look as he pushed himself away from the wall and closed the distance between you two. With each step he took, you felt your chest tighten with anticipation and guilt. You wanted to look somewhere else but he firmly held your gaze.

He always did and that hasn’t changed.

”How about we give these two birds a few minutes to find a way to cooperate with each other?” Ghost asked and you felt your eyes widen.

”I’m not leaving Milena.”

Ghost gave you a meaningful look and took the gun from your hand with such ease that wasn’t surprising to either of you.

”Yes, you are.”

Remembering that you weren’t supposed to leave Milena’s sight for even a second, you felt panic and annoyance wash over you.

”You can’t just order me around. Not anymore.” You said in a cold tone that made Ghost shift in his place.

Without saying a word, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you with him as he made his way to the other door that led to another empty room.

”Hey! Get your fucking hand off of me!” You shouted in frustration and tried to free yourself from his grasp but Ghost easily dragged you with him through the door and kicked it shut with his foot.

You let out a desperate groan as you grabbed his wrist, trying to pry it off of your arm which seemed tiny compared to his.

You bit into your lower lip as you tried your best to move his fingers but he wasn’t moving an inch.

”Cobra…” his voice was calmer and more thoughtful now that you were alone with him.

You didn’t look at him, only let out a defeated sigh and stopped fighting, your skin slightly aching.

”This hurts.”

Ghost glanced down at his hand still holding onto you and let go of you the second you’d admitted your physical pain. Hurting you was something he never intended to do.

Hissing, you brought your arm to your chest and touched it with your other hand, and turned away from him. You didn’t trust yourself when he was alone with you.

”What are you doing, Cobra?” Ghost asked from behind you and you closed your eyes. Hearing confusion and disappointment hiding in his voice made you feel guiltier than before.

”That’s none of your concern anymore, Ghost.” You replied still facing the wall.

Taking deep breaths you tried your best to collect your thoughts as you heard him walk closer to you, dropping your gun to the table standing next to you.

”It is.”

His voice circled around you like clouds darkening the sky before the storm.

”Why did you leave?”

You pressed your lips against each other and turned around. You got used to his menacing presence coming firstly from his height. You felt small and weak because you knew he could see right through you.

”People change, Lieutenant. You better get used to it.”

”People change that’s for sure. But don’t betray and stab others in the back just like that. A decision like this never comes from a single thought.”

You hated how much he tried to get into your mind, still trying to find answers to his questions that have probably been burning in him since the day you left.

”I refuse to believe that after everything that happened, you’d willingly just switch sides, I know you. And I know how much you despise traitors,” his eyes never left you as he was speaking.

You didn’t say a word, not when you were on the edge of breaking down.

”Talk to me, Cobra.” Ghost said, his voice quiet.

”I can’t,” you shook your head. ”Why don’t you just do your job and get out of here?”

”I’m not leaving until you say something to me.”

”There is nothing for me to say, especially to you.”

Ghost felt his chest tighten at your coldness. He would have never expected you to speak to him this way. Not after how long it took for you two to finally let your guard down around each other.

”Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

”I do, Ghost. Believe it or not, I’m not part of the special forces anymore, so either shoot me or get out of my face.”

”You really think I’d hurt you?” he asked, his voice low and sad.

”You eliminate targets and now I’m one too,” you crossed your arms, trying to look confident.

”I know why you’re pushing me,” he narrowed his eyes. ”And I know for sure that you didn’t betray us because you felt like you could. I know there is something behind all of this that you refuse to tell me.”

You didn’t answer and that was more than enough for him to confirm his theory about you.

”What happened, Cobra?”

”I left and now I’m one of Makarov’s people, that’s what happened!”

You were desperate to try to get him out of here because your heart was breaking with each word that was exchanged between you two.

”No, don’t even say that. I know who you are.”

”You don’t, Simon. Just get over it and let me go,” you snapped and his gaze dropped for a brief second. You didn’t even realize at first that you called him by his real name until you saw the change in his eyes.

It seemed like your words had made a final straw in Simon’s heart. You hated yourself for talking to him like that and you wished you could go back to them, to him, and forget about this nightmare you’d fallen into.

”I thought I was someone whom you could trust because you can be sure as hell that I still trust you with my life. Whether you like it or not."

His words made more impact on you than they should have. They meant the world to you and knowing that even after turning your back on him, he still trusted you and wanted you to go back.

”I trusted you.”

Trusted you. Past tense which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

”You didn’t if you could leave me like I was nothing to you.” Ghost confronted you with raw honesty, not even hiding the fact of how much your decision had pained him.

”It wasn’t easy,” you admitted, hugging your stomach and your eyes filling with unwanted tears. You hated if someone saw the vulnerable side of you, you hated being vulnerable but around Ghost, you knew he wouldn’t use your pain against you. Never.

Ghost stepped closer to you, making it impossible to look at anything else but him. When he heard your voice tremble and saw your eyes become glossy, he knew he meant something to you after all.

Lifting his hand, he put his index finger under your jaw and made you look at him. His eyes mirrored his emotions as he watched you slowly letting go of the invisible mask you’d hidden behind.

”You don’t need to keep anything from me, Cobra. Have I ever broken your trust and let you down?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as a lonely tear escaped and rolled down on your hot skin.

When you slowly shook your head, he dipped his to your level.

”Then tell me. Please.”

Swallowing your doubts, you took a shaky breath, his hand still on you.

”He’ll kill me.”

”I won’t let that happen,” Ghost promised it without a second thought.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, almost jumping down. You hated to keep secrets from anyone, especially from Simon who had proven himself worthy of your trust more than once.

”Cobra, I can’t help if you don’t let me,” he continued with sad eyes and wiped your face.

It surprised you how a tall giant like him who had a name for his ruthless methods and interrogation scenes, could act so soft and careful with you.

It was hard to believe that the hand that was confronting you and wiping away your tears had killed so many people before.

With your lower lip quivering, you felt your fear taking over you, making your knees shake. Ghost watched you with worried eyes as you let out a sob you couldn’t hold back anymore and jumped into his arms, hiding your face into his neck.

As you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, you felt the heat coming off of his body, his tenseness slowly fading away once he’d realized what you were doing.

Ghost embraced your hug, his big arms wrapping around you like a shield, silently promising to keep you safe. He felt your scent filling his nose and his heart slowing down as your bodies pressed against each other’s.

”He has my family, Simon. He’ll kill them if I don’t obey his orders,” you sobbed in pure panic, your small hands holding onto him.

Ghost exhaled and tightened his grip around you, his head dropping onto yours with ease.

”Shh… I’m here,” he scooted you as you let your tears fall onto his gear.

”I couldn’t tell anyone and he made me swear to leave you or else…”

Ghost didn’t say it was okay or that it would be all right. Because he wasn’t sure if he could keep his promise if he’d told you something you wanted to hear at the moment.

So, he just kept you in his arms and rubbed your back while his heart came to peace now that he knew the real reason why you left them.

”I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

”Hey, hey…” Ghost pulled you away slightly so that he could look into your eyes.

When you glanced up at him, his eyes didn’t make you feel anxious like a few minutes ago, they made you realize you weren’t alone and that he wasn’t blaming you for anything.

”Don’t be sorry, family comes first.” Ghost answered. ”You did what you have to, I understand.”

”But you’re also my family,” you whispered in a defeated tone and his eyes softened.

”It’s okay, Cobra. I’m not mad, I could never be mad at you,” he admitted and pulled you into his chest, his hand caressing your hair.

You sniffed and hid your face in his chest, wishing you could wake up from this nightmare.

But unfortunately, you were awake. You have been this whole time and there was no turning back from now.

”I wish you would have told me without running away,” he said quietly. ”I understand why you did it, I just wish you would have told me.”

”I wanted to,” you admitted, your voice small and vulnerable.

”Why didn’t you then?” he asked, still holding you against his chest.

You sighed and wiped your flushed face, your other hand still around his waist.

”I was afraid you wouldn’t have let me leave.”

”You’re fucking right I wouldn’t have let you do that,” he agreed immediately, causing you to giggle.

Ghost felt warmness fill his chest at your almost laugh, making it easier for him to breathe now that you were in his arms and let yourself smile.

He missed you, a lot.

”I trust you, Simon. You know, I do.”

He hummed as he let his fingertips dance on your skin a little.

”It was hard to believe otherwise when I woke up to you missing one day.”

The familiar feeling of guilt made your expression drop and your brows furrow. You really wished things would have been different.

You hated yourself for making Ghost feel like he didn’t mean anything to you. You hated yourself for making him almost lose his faith in you.

”I’d tell you that you’re coming back with us but something tells me you won’t.”

You stepped away from him, letting go of his torso with defeated eyes.

”He’ll kill them, I can’t go with you,” you said sadly. You’d never felt so lost and desperate before and Simon could see that in your eyes.

”So, what…” his voice trailed off. ”You’re just going to stay by his side and do whatever the fuck he wants you to?”

”It’s not like I want to work for him, Simon. But I have no choice.”

”We’ll figure something out,” he replied.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair in frustration.

”You can’t, you know it.”

Ghost shook his head. ”No, there has to be a way… We have to do something before he kills you.”

”I appreciate your concern but there’s nothing you can do for me,” you whispered in a hoarse voice.

Ghost stared at you while hundreds of thoughts had run through his mind, wondering if there was a way he could help you. Hoping he could say or do something that would make you feel better.

”I have to do something… I can’t lose you again, I won’t.”

His words made your heart almost jump out of your chest while he massaged the back of his neck. You felt physically weak at the plea of his voice while he was trying to find a solution.

But there was none.

Not when Makarov had his chains on you like on a dog.

”I’ll be fine, just go.”

Ghost looked at you with hesitation.

”I can’t, Cobra. What if I won’t see you again?”

Wiping your eyes, you took a shaky breath. Him trying to get you out of this just made the whole situation more unbearable.

”We knew what we were signing up for when we joined the special forces, Lt.”

Ghost felt his heart starting to ache in sadness as he took your defeated and exhausted sight in. You weren’t the woman who once made a race with him about getting more kills on a mission or not.

You were only a shadow of yourself and he hated to see you this way.

He would have done anything to be able to take you back with him to the base and never let you go.

It terrified him how lost he’d felt when you left the team, he could still remember how he’d stare at the ceiling of his room, wondering if he’d ever see you again.

”Don’t talk like that, Cobra.” Ghost scolded you. ”Now is not the time.”

”You know I might end up getting killed after all.”

”Don’t.” Ghost said in a stern voice, his body tensing at your words. ”Nobody is dying. Not on my watch and I’m going to keep my word.”

It made you feel better to know that Ghost didn’t hold anything against you. Your soul found peace now that he knew the why behind your decisions and betrayal. It killed you that you couldn’t go home with him and Soap.

Ghost stepped closer to you and waited for you to look into his dark eyes that led you directly to his soul.

”I’m going to get you out of this, Cobra. I promise. I’m not leaving anyone behind, especially you.”

His promise made you forget the danger that was around the corner and just for a brief second you were happy to let yourself believe what Ghost was saying.

”You better not to, lieutenant.”

Ghost huffed and touched the side of your face, his thumb softly caressing your skin. Closing your eyes, you leaned into his touch and forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Simon Riley was famous for a lot of things and keeping his promise was one of them. That was the only thing that helped you come to peace with the things you were forced to do in order to protect your family.

[yantalia545]

Can we also get reader trying to divorce the axis with the similar reasons as the allies' darling?

Japan:

Well, how...unfortunate for you. He had to pull a lot of strings and ask for backhand favors to push you to become his wife in the first place. He's not going to let that go all to waste. You're one of the few people he can actually stand and he's not about to let that go.

Don't you enjoy being his wife? Is there something that he's doing wrong? Whatever it is Japan is more than happy to work on it for you. He knows he's not much for physical contact but if you would like more of that then he'd be more then he'll push that boundary just for you.

Even though you will want to be friends, Japan still feels like you're trying to pull away from him. You better not be divorcing him because you're in love with someone else. Japan can't stand that thought. Why else did he work so hard to obtain you in the first place?

He wants to make sure you're his and only his. Japan may be a bit more closeted about his obsession but he definitely can be possessive over you.

He will show his much darker side after this fight the two of you had over a divorce. You won't leave him. Japan may even try to pull more strings to keep you bound to him. The house may be a bit tense after that but if it keeps you here then he's fine with it. After all, there's no way you can stay mad forever and if you dare try to drag someone else into your marriage dispute then he'll be forced to take even greater actions. He'll kill them brutely right in front of you to make a point. There most certainly will be no other lover.

I could definitely see Japan calling treason against your divorce. The two are you are together to strengthen your countries and your backing out would forfeit your end of the deal. This would lead to a whole mess of things where you'll be blamed every step of the way.

This is all your fault, you know. The two of you could have stayed a happy couple in a fair marriage, but if you want to be a brat a cause more trouble for him then so be it. Japan won't lose on this one. He'll shelter you in a dimly lit room to keep you in place if he has to.

Japan wouldn't let you go unhealthy though. It's his job as your husband to take care of you. You'll be given plenty of meals and exercise alongside him just as long as he's not forced to withhold them as punishment.

Italy:

Here comes the tears. Italy's first line of defense will always be crying. He'll cling to you all while begging for you to tell him what he did wrong and how can he fix it.

He was so happy being married to you. It was like a dream come true. Why would you ever want to leave something so amazing?

Again, Italy will make you look like the bad guy here. Guilt tripping you to the max in hopes that you'll just forget about everything and stay. When you still try to leave he'll latch on to you and cry into your legs. Probably sending you falling to the floor. The more you struggle, the more he cries. You can practically hear his heart breaking on the spot. Try to fight him off if you'd like, but when he's determined for something, Italy can be surprisingly strong. His grip on you is just so tight.

"We can talk about this (Y/n). Please don't go." He sobs pitifully.

You can try to coax him to calm down and release you, but you'll have to stay for the night. Either way, you'll end up in your shared bedroom with a locked door rather than Italy snuck out in the middle of the night to lock it on you, or he dragged you in there and then shut the door.

Italy will be paying Germany a late-night phone call, begging for his help with his marriage. He'll do anything to make you stay. He doesn't care how long you have to stay in your room or the number of hug therapies he needs to give you.

The two of you will fix this marriage.

Italy will gather anything and everything to fix your marriage from connection exercises to marriage counselors that are, of course, tailored to fit only his side of the argument. You're the only bad guy here. It's all your fault that he has to go to such lengths in the first place. There's no way his cute self could ever be capable of doing any wrong. Even if he is keeping you hostage in his small villa apartment.

If you ever want to feel the grass between your toes or the wind brushing through your fair again you better give in and fix your problem.

Germany:

Germany was in need of some serious comfort and support from you after he had lost everything in a grave war. He swore that you were the only thing he had left, and your stupid boss was trying to take you away from him.

Just the other day he informed you of filing for diverse and it was up to you to break the news to your disheveled husband. Some boss he was. Since Germany has quite a bad reputation for himself as of late, your boss thought that it was wise to withdraw your alliance from him to protect yourself.

And so, here you were in Germany's office with diverse papers in hand. You felt a sour taste in your mouth when you finally handed the papers over to the poor man. He was your friend. Someone you held dearly, but denying your boss wasn't really an option for nations.

Germnay's face hallowed as he quickly glanced at the papers bestowed before him. He should have known this was coming. He couldn't support you like he used to. However, he was selfish. He wasn't going to let you leave without a fight.

It wouldn't be long after Germany built up his forces that would he be knocking at your door. Demanding for your hand in marriage again. Your damned boss who thought to separate him from his love would be brought before you; shriveled and beaten. You were horrified as you were forced to sign the marriage contract Germany had conjured up for you.

And just like that, you were bound to him again. Germany, making sure you'd never slip through his fingers again.